#and the thing with this band is that. every single ship works.

[winxanity-ii]

RESONANCE

ship: various!bnha x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 5.5k a/n: just wanted to spit out a lil one-shot, not sure if I'll make a full fic from this but who knows lolol; tell me what y'all think…

★·.·´🇲‌🇾‌ 🇭‌🇪‌🇷‌🇴‌ 🇦‌🇨‌🇦‌🇩‌🇪‌🇲‌🇮‌🇦‌/🇧‌🇳‌🇭‌🇦‌/🇲‌🇭‌🇦‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

All your life, people gravitated to you.

It was something that felt almost like gravity—a pull that made others orbit around you, with secrets and vulnerabilities spilling out like some cracked, overflowing dam.

They couldn't help it, and it wasn't something you actively tried to do either.

Your Quirk, Confidant, was a force of its own, turning you into an unwitting confessional booth for whoever happened to cross your path. Whether you were ready for it or not, they opened up.

There had been days when you tried to keep it off, to put up the wall and protect yourself from the sheer emotional weight that others dumped at your feet. But it took too much effort, too much focus to constantly repel that need in others.

If someone came to you, tearing up over a breakup or raging about the stress of everyday life, you'd let them; it was just easier to let it run its course.

And, sure, there weren't any physical drawback—no energy drained or migraines induced. But to you, there was a burden no one else seemed to recognize: the reboot.

Once someone started talking, your mind went into what you had nicknamed "short-reboot mode." It was like something within you flipped a switch, and suddenly, every part of you worked to cater to them.

Your eyes would track every shift in their expression, your ears catching every wobble in their voice. You'd analyze, break down every cue, every breath, until your responses flowed with practiced ease—the words that person needed to hear, the exact tone that made them relax.

Sometimes, you'd offer a soft, comforting touch. Other times, you'd say nothing at all, just be a presence there to anchor them.

When it was over, and they'd leave—well, that was when things got weird.

Not for them; no, for them it was almost as if a fog rolled over their memory of the whole thing. A protective influence that made the event seem far-off, unimportant, a comforting haze to keep them from fixating on you.

For you, though? You'd collapse in bed later on, mind swimming with everything you'd absorbed, while the Quirk worked behind the scenes to sort and compartmentalize every scrap of information.

It all got stored away—permanently—so you'd never forget.

And because of that, you hated it.

You hated how your brain worked on autopilot for everyone else, how every emotional exchange was something you'd retain forever while the small, everyday things slipped right through the cracks.

You'd put down your phone and lose it within minutes, or take things into a room one by one when you could easily grab everything at once. Your grandfather loved to tease you about it, always laughing as he cackled out, "Book sense, not a lick of common sense!"

Today, it was no different.

You groaned as you walked down the stairs from your bedroom, a yawn escaping your lips as you shuffled along.

You looked every bit as tired as you felt—oversized hoodie hanging loosely from your shoulders, the fabric wrinkled and slightly twisted, and your oversized socks pooling around your ankles.

Your clothes were a patchwork of dark shades, clinging to you in a way that made it clear you'd grabbed whatever was closest without a second thought. Your hair was pulled back into a lazy ponytail, secured with a shoelace of all things, because you couldn't find a single rubber band.

You sucked your teeth at the thought, recalling how bit by bit, you had given away every one of your hairbands over the last few weeks to others who needed them. "I just bought that bulk pack," you muttered under your breath, feeling the mild frustration bubble up as you ambled into the kitchen.

The moment you stepped into the bright atmosphere of the kitchen, it felt like you were walking into another world. The colors, the light, the very mood—all of it was the opposite of you. The kitchen was warm, sunlight pouring in through the curtains, highlighting the cheery yellow walls.

Your mother was already bustling around, her cotton candy pink hair tied neatly at the base of her neck, her slender form moving with practiced grace as she prepared breakfast.

Her skin was a deep, rich shade of brown, and her eyes were bright yellow, almost glowing, with small opal-like moles at the corners that caught the morning light. She looked like something from a storybook, too perfect for the mundane scene unfolding around her.

The moment she noticed you shuffling over, she gasped softly, a bright smile blooming across her face. "Good morning, ____~," she sang, her voice lilting and sweet. "Did you have a good rest?"

You grunted in response, barely managing to pull the chair out before plopping down into it, your face half-hidden by the hood of your sweatshirt.

"That's great, sweetie~," she chirped, entirely unfazed by your lack of enthusiasm. She set a plate of food in front of you, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your cheek. "Eat up. Your big brother will be taking you to school soon—you know how he gets about wanting you to be on time." She gave you one last gentle pat before twirling away, humming to herself, lost in her own vibrant little world.

It wasn't long before the rest of your family joined you. Your father and brother came down the stairs only seconds later, both of them just as bright and awake as your mother.

Your brother's footsteps were loud and purposeful as he approached, his hand ruffling your hair as he passed by. "Morning, sis," he said, his voice cheerful, a bright grin lighting up his face.

"Morning," you mumbled, barely looking up.

Your father followed, his broad shoulders taking up the space in the doorway for a moment as he stepped into the kitchen. His blue hair was tousled but neat, the same shade as the sky on a crisp morning. His green eyes were sharp but softened when he looked at you, a smile spreading across his face.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Good morning, little love," he said, his voice deep and warm, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You sighed softly, nodding in response as they settled at the table.

Your mother moved between them, setting their plates down before finally taking a seat herself, her smile unwavering as she looked at all of you.

The scene was perfect, almost unreal in its harmony—the three of them chatting easily over breakfast, their voices blending together with the soft sound of birds chirping outside the window.

Even though it was a regular, cloudy day, the kitchen seemed filled with sunshine, the warmth radiating from your family like a beacon. Everything about the morning—the bright voices, the gentle smiles—made it feel mythical, as if you were living in a fairytale.

It was always like this: your family's moods almost too perfect, too light. How could they not be, though, when they had you? Built-in therapist, problem solver, always there to smooth over any tension, any hint of unease.

They could always be at their best because you carried the weight for them.

As everyone finished up, your brother stood, gathering the dishes and taking them to the sink. Your mother got up as well, moving to grab everyone's packed lunches for the day.

Your father turned to you, his gaze softening as he addressed you. "____," he started, his voice gentle but with a hint of something else—hesitation, maybe? "Could you come by my agency later after school? We've got a case... or, well, a patient. I could use your help again."

You hummed, a small sound of acknowledgment as you poked at the last bit of food on your plate. "Sure," you said, though the idea of it made your shoulders droop a little. It wasn't that you didn't want to help, but the thought of more people, more emotions, more weight, felt heavy already.

Your father's smile brightened, and he reached over, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, little love. You know it means a lot to me." He worked as a hero, and it wasn't uncommon for him to ask for your help.

He ran an agency called Constellation, and his quirk, Record, a photographic memory that worked both by touch and mentally, made him one of the best at what he did. He primarily worked with police and undercover heroes, solving cases that required an eye for detail that few others had.

Ever since you'd gained your quirk, he'd relied on you for the more delicate matters—the emotional weight of things that even he couldn't quite process alone.

A few seconds later, your brother returned, his grin blinding as he held out your backpack and lunch. "C'mon, sleepyhead," he said, his eyes bright with excitement. "I got your stuff. Let's go catch the train."

You pushed your chair back, standing up with a stretch. "Yeah, yeah," you muttered, taking the bag from him. You turned to your parents, waving lazily over your shoulder. Your mother and father stood side by side, your father's arm wrapped around your mother's waist. She towered over him with her lithe frame, his head just reaching her collarbones. "Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad."

"Bye, sweetheart!" your mother called, her voice as sunny as ever.

"Have a good day, little love," your father added, giving you one last smile before you followed your brother out the door.

The cool morning air hit you as your brother led the way down the sidewalk, his usual confident stride carrying you both towards the train station.

You glanced over at him, watching as he talked animatedly, his hands moving to emphasize whatever point he was making. He was always like this—full of energy, especially in the mornings, unlike you, who was still trying to wake up.

As you both settled into your seats on the train, your brother continued to talk, his voice carrying over the quiet hum of the train. He was telling you all about his third year at Shiketsu High, his eyes sparkling as he described how different and fast-paced everything was compared to the previous year.

He even started rambling about his work-study with Fatgum, who he mentioned was an alumnus of Shiketsu High, and his fellow collegues, some guys named Suneater and Red Riot.

You glanced at your brother as he spoke, taking in his features. He looked like a perfect mix of both your parents.

His hair was a blend of your mother's bright pink and your father's deep blue, swirling together like cotton candy, giving him a vibrant and almost ethereal look.

His eyes were a mesmerizing combination of green and yellow—a galaxy of colors that seemed to shift with his mood, as if reflecting the emotions he felt around him.

Scattered across the bridge of his nose were luminescent, opal-like freckles, glowing faintly in the light as he spoke. They weren't just decorative; they were part of his Quirk, Emotilink—which was inherited from your mother—would glow and shift in color depending on the emotions of those he touched, allowing him to feel the emotions of others.

Together, their abilities made them almost like human mood rings, their markings betraying the emotional states of anyone in their vicinity.

Your brother was tall and broad-shouldered, his husky build making him seem both strong and comforting. His skin tone was a perfect, ambiguous shade—not quite pale, not quite dark—striking a balance that made him stand out without fitting neatly into any one category.

He carried himself with a confidence that only seemed to amplify the presence of his quirk, his luminescent markings always a glowing reminder of what he could do.

You, on the other hand, looked nothing like the rest of your family.

When you were younger, you'd had your mother's yellow eyes and your father's blue hair. But after your Quirk had manifested, everything about you seemed to change.

Your features had shifted, becoming more subdued, less distinct, until you were left with an appearance that could only be described as forgettable. Your hair had dulled to a mousy brown, and your eyes had lost their vibrancy, now a muted shade that seemed to blend in with the rest of you.

Sometimes you wished your Quirk was just that—forgettableness. Maybe then you wouldn't feel the weight of everyone else's emotions pressing down on you.

You were pulled from your thoughts when your brother grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you up from your seat. "Let's go," he said, his voice filled with his usual enthusiasm.

You barely had time to react before he was practically dragging you out of the train and towards the school.

It was a routine you were used to by now—your brother carrying you along, making sure you got where you needed to be without any issue.

He didn't even break a sweat as he deposited you in front of the school gates, his hands moving to smooth out your clothes and pat down your hair, completely uncaring of the looks you both were getting from the other students.

"Aaand... there!" he said, stepping back with a satisfied smile. He handed you your backpack, his grin widening. "Alright, sleepyhead, I'll meet you here after school to take you to Dad's agency, okay?"

You nodded, adjusting the straps of your backpack. "Yeah, okay," you replied, your voice barely louder than a mumble.

He bent down, staring you right in the face with a grin. "Have a great day, alright?" he said, his eyes filled with warmth and encouragement. He reached out, ruffling your hair one last time before turning to head towards his own school. "See ya later!"

You watched him go, a sigh escaping your lips as you turned to face the school. You never really understood why he insisted on taking you to school every morning, especially when his own school was a twenty-minute walk in the opposite direction.

But then again, he'd managed to maintain perfect attendance for the past two years, so he must have been doing something right.

With another sigh, you pulled out your headphones, hoping that maybe—just maybe—they would be enough to keep people away today. You knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

As you walked through the gates and into the bustling courtyard, you could already feel the familiar pull—the curious eyes, the hesitant glances, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

You pushed your headphones over your ears, the music drowning out the noise around you, but it wasn't enough.

It never was.

You stayed behind in the classroom during lunch, deciding to give yourself a break from the constant buzz of students. The cafeteria was always too loud, too busy, and you needed a moment to just be alone.

You pulled out a packet of fries you had bought earlier, munching on them absentmindedly while staring out of the window. The clouds rolled lazily across the sky, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to drift off, letting the quiet calm your racing mind.

You were jolted out of your thoughts when you heard your name being called. You turned, startled, to see your homeroom teacher hovering near the doorway. "____," she called again, her voice soft but carrying an unmistakable edge.

Your teacher, Ms. Hachiko, was hard to miss. She had a distinctly bee-like appearance, with large, round eyes that shimmered like polished onyx, and her entire body was covered in soft, fuzzy yellow fur.

Two delicate antennae sprouted from her forehead, and her long hair was pinned back into a neat bun. She floated a few inches off the ground, her wings fluttering quietly behind her.

But it wasn't just her that caught your attention. Standing behind her, with his shoulders slouched and an unmistakable frown etched across his face, was none other than Aizawa Shouta—the underground hero, Eraserhead.

You felt your eyes widen, and you choked on the fry you had just been eating, your throat seizing in shock. You coughed, hitting your chest several times as tears welled up in your eyes.

Both adults stood there, awkwardly waiting as you hacked out a few more coughs. When you finally managed to catch your breath, Ms. Hachiko gave you an apologetic smile. "____, you need to speak with Eraserhead here," she said, her antennae twitching slightly. "I'll leave you two to it," she added before fluttering out of the room, her wings buzzing softly.

You were left alone with Aizawa, who ambled over to the desk beside you and dropped himself into the seat, his tired eyes fixed on you.

He was wearing his hero uniform, his capture weapon loosely wrapped around his neck, and his dark hair hung messily around his face. He looked exhausted, deep lines etched beneath his eyes, but even then, there was something undeniably striking about him. He had an air of quiet authority that demanded respect, no matter how disheveled he appeared.

He stared at you for a moment before finally speaking. "Look, kid, I'm not sure why Nezu sent me here," he began, his tone blunt, "but apparently, you're needed for something. Honestly, you're a child, and you shouldn't even be involved in this. But here we are."

You blinked at him, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that thee Eraserhead was sitting in front of you, talking to you. He let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Have you heard about the recent villain attack on the UA first-year training camp?"

You nodded slowly, recalling the news you had heard about it weeks ago. You remembered hearing that it was the same group of first-year students that had already had a run-in with villains at the USJ. "Yeah, I heard about it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "They got some crappy luck..."

Aizawa gave a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, it's been rough on them, that's for sure. The thing is, my boss, Principal Nezu, wants you to help the students who were most affected by the attack—Class 1-A. The other students have been able to get help from their assigned therapists, but Class 1-A... they're different. They've built a wall around themselves so thick that not even the best world-renowned therapists can break through. They think this is just part of being a hero, that they have to suck it up and move on."

You frowned, a slight pang of pity tugging at you as you listened. You knew what he was asking before he even finished explaining. It wasn't like you had a choice anyway. If Nezu, the head of UA, was asking, then your small, out-of-the-way school, Okiyama Municipal High, wasn't exactly in a position to say no.

With a heavy sigh, you slumped back in your chair, dropping your half-eaten packet of fries onto the desk. "Will I be back before school is over?"

Aizawa rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed with your lack of enthusiasm. "Yes, you'll be back before the end of the day. Nezu already spoke with your parents. One of your father's sidekicks will pick you up from UA bring you straight to his agency. It shouldn't take too long—you're just meeting them and getting a quick assessment."

Shoulders slouching, you could already picture the long, draining night ahead of you. With a resigned sigh, you pushed yourself out of your seat, nodding reluctantly. "Alright, fine," you muttered, gesturing for Aizawa to lead the way. "Let's get this over with, then."

Aizawa gave you a curt nod, standing up as well. You followed him down the hallway, the silence between you two heavy but not uncomfortable.

It wasn't long before you were out of your small school building and on your way to UA, sitting beside the underground hero in a rather unremarkable car, driven by a UA staff member.

You were about to meet the students who had faced villains twice now, and you knew that whatever you were walking into, it wasn't going to be easy.

When you arrived at UA, the sight that greeted you was different from what you remembered. You had been to UA before, a few years ago when your brother brought you along during his campus tour while deciding where to attend high school.

Back then, UA had been impressive, sure, but now it looked almost like a university campus—new dormitories and additional buildings scattered across the grounds, giving it the appearance of a bustling college rather than just a high school.

Noticing your confused expression, Aizawa spoke up, his voice gruff but explanatory. "After the training camp attack, UA opened up dormitories to house students. Villains have become more audacious lately, targeting students even outside school grounds. The dorms are an extra precaution, meant to keep them safe."

You nodded, taking in the new structures as Aizawa led you through the campus. It made sense, given how much had happened to these students already. You felt a small pang of sympathy for them—it couldn't be easy, constantly looking over their shoulders, waiting for the next attack.

Eventually, you arrived at one of the dorm buildings, and Aizawa opened the door, ushering you inside.

You stepped into a spacious common area, expecting to see a dozen traumatized, weary teens gathered together. Instead, there were just two people sitting on the couch, their attention fixed on the television in front of them.

The room was warm and cozy, a stark contrast to the tension you felt brewing inside you.

The moment the door opened, both heads snapped towards you, their bodies relaxing slightly when they realized it was Aizawa. The redhead sitting closest to the door smiled brightly, while the blonde beside him scowled, his eyes narrowing.

"Kirishima," Aizawa grunted, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation, "where is everyone?"

The redhead—Kirishima, you assumed—grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, some of them went out shopping, Sensei. And Deku and Shoto are out training."

Aizawa let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his forehead as if trying to stave off a headache. "I thought I told you all to stay put because you had an important visitor coming."

The blonde on the sofa snorted, his voice dripping with irritation. "What important guest, Sensei? Don't tell me it's that pipsqueak over there," he said, jerking his head in your direction.

You blinked, taken aback for a moment before letting out an affronted scoff. "Pipsqueak? I have you know, I'm taller than average," you sniffed, crossing your arms defensively.

The blonde gave you a withering look, scoffing again. "In what? Middle schoolers?"

Before you could retort, Aizawa intervened, his tired eyes narrowing at the blonde. "Bakugo, stop," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. "I was told to bring you here, so even though not all of them are here, you've got two clients. Have fun," he said, giving you a small wave over his shoulder as he left the room.

You stared after him, your stomach sinking slightly. "Clients?" Kirishima asked, tilting his head in confusion as he looked at you.

You forced a smile, feeling awkward under their curious gazes. "Uh, yeah. I'm here to... help you guys. I guess you could say I'm kind of like a counselor," you explained, scratching the back of your head.

Kirishima's eyes widened in surprise before his expression broke out into a wide grin. He jumped up from the couch, crossing the room in a few quick strides to extend his hand to you. "Well, that's super manly! So young, yet already helping people like this. I'm Kirishima Eijiro," he said, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

You took his hand, shaking it a bit hesitantly. His grip was strong but friendly, and you couldn't help but notice the small details about him—his bright red spiky hair, the way his eyes seemed so genuine and open, the muscular build that made it clear he took his training seriously.

There was an energy about him that reminded you of your brother—that same relentless positivity.

Lord, it seemed you had found someone who could give your brother a run for his money.

"I'm Hanabira ____," you replied, your voice a bit more steady now.

The moment your name left your mouth, Eijiro's eyes widened even further, and he let out a gasp. "No way! You’re The Emotional Hero: Emberpulse's sibling?!"

You blinked, taken aback. "Uh, yeah?"

Eijiro's grin grew impossibly wider as he continued, "Your brother talks about you all the time! It's like I practically know you already. He says you're always helping people out, even when it's not easy, and that you have this way of making everyone feel better just by being around."

You raised an eyebrow, a bit skeptical. "How did you even know? Our last name isn't exactly unique, and we don't look alike at all."

Eijiro blinked, then broke out into another grin, shrugging as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't know, honestly. Your brother just said you gave off this aura of immediate kindness. Like, you just have this energy that makes people feel safe, you know? So when you introduced yourself, it kind of clicked."

A gruff voice cut in before you could respond. "Only you would make such a dumbass connection, Shitty-Hair," the blonde from earlier muttered, standing up from the couch. He turned to face you, his intense eyes boring into yours.

He had a scowl permanently etched onto his face, his posture confident and almost confrontational. His blond hair was unruly, and you couldn't help but notice the small, almost imperceptible twitches of annoyance in his expression—like he was constantly teetering on the edge of irritation.

Eijiro just laughed, seemingly unaffected by the insult. "That's Bakugo Katsuki, my best friend," he said, gesturing to the blonde. Katsuki sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes but not bothering to say anything further.

Eijiro turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. "So, uh, what exactly are you here for?"

You sighed, holding your hands up. "Like Aizawa-san said, I'm here to help, but it's not exactly like I'm a therapist or anything. I didn't ask to be here either," you said, your tone a bit defensive.

Katsuki scoffed, crossing his arms. "We don't need a damn therapist," he muttered, clearly unimpressed.

You gave him a flat look, deciding not to engage in an argument. Eijiro, sensing the tension, quickly stepped in. "Hey, don't mind him. He's just... like that," he said, scratching his head awkwardly. "Uh, would you like to join us? We were just watching a movie."

You shrugged, figuring you might as well. "Sure," you said, trying to sound casual.

Internally, you figured it was better to stay and at least try to connect with them, given that the rest of the students weren't even there. Plus, Katsuki seemed like he'd be impossible to talk to seriously right now.

The three of you settled on the couch, and Eijiro quickly started chatting again, asking you questions about your brother, your Quirk, and your school. He leaned in a bit closer whenever you answered, his eyes bright with curiosity and genuine interest.

You could tell he was trying to understand you better, his questions growing more specific as the conversation progressed.

At one point, he asked about your brother's favorite hobby, sharing how they had bonded during training sessions over their shared love of working out.

"You know, your brother's kind of like a legend," Eijiro said, his eyes wide with admiration. "I know I already told you, but he always talks about you, and I was really excited to finally meet you. He says you're his biggest inspiration."

You felt a warmth spread across your chest—a mix of pride and embarrassment. You gave a small smile, shrugging. "He always exaggerates. I'm really not that special."

Eijiro shook his head vigorously, his red hair bouncing slightly. "No way! I can totally see it. You've got this calming vibe. It's like... you make everything seem a little less scary, you know?" His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you could feel a slight buzz in the back of your mind—a familiar haze that signaled your Quirk almost activating.

You blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of your body language, realizing that your posture had subtly shifted to mirror Eijiro's, your smile matching his intensity.

Quickly, you broke eye contact, focusing on Katsuki instead, who was watching the interaction with an annoyed expression.

He caught your gaze, and his scowl deepened. "Don't let Shitty-Hair butter you up. He's got a habit of getting all sentimental," Katsuki muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Eijiro laughed, giving Katsuki a playful nudge. "Aw, come on, Bakugo. Just trying to make our guest feel welcome."

Katsuki rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite behind his irritation. "Yeah, whatever. Just don't go crying on us, idiot."

The conversation shifted, and Eijiro asked more about your school life. You found yourself relaxing again, the haze receding as you focused on answering his questions.

He seemed genuinely fascinated by even the mundane details—how you spent your days, what subjects you liked, even your least favorite lunch options. There was a warmth in his attention, a genuine desire to know you, that made it easy to keep talking.

Time seemed to pass quicker than you expected, and even Katsuki, though gruff and standoffish, eventually chimed in with a few sarcastic comments.

You noticed that, despite his harsh words, he never actually dismissed anything you said. It was as if he begrudgingly accepted your presence, though he made sure to keep up his rough exterior.

At one point, Eijiro nudged you lightly with his elbow, a grin on his face. "You know, I think you and Bakugo would get along great if you gave it a shot. He acts tough, but he's got a good heart. Right, Explosion Boy?"

Katsuki's glare could have cut glass. "Don't drag me into your dumb ideas, Shitty-Hair," he snapped, but there was a faint blush on his cheeks, barely noticeable.

Eijiro just laughed again, unbothered, and you couldn't help but smile. It was strange, but you found yourself feeling a sense of comfort in their dynamic—like, despite their differences, they had a bond that was hard to break.

After what felt like a couple of hours or so, there was a knock at the dorm door. Aizawa entered, followed by one of your father's sidekicks, who gave you a nod. "Time to go," the sidekick said, their voice gentle but firm.

You stood up, giving Eijiro a small wave. "I guess I’ll see you around," you said.

Eijiro grinned, giving you a thumbs-up. "For sure! And thanks for coming by, ____. It was... nice."

You nodded, turning to follow Aizawa and the sidekick out of the dorms.

The ride to your father's agency was quiet, your mind still replaying the interactions you had just had. You found yourself mentally sorting through the profiles you had unconsciously built on both Eijiro and Katsuki so far.

Eijiro was enthusiastic, open, and incredibly genuine—his positivity seemed almost endless, and you could tell he was the kind of person who made it his mission to uplift others.

He had this earnestness that made you feel at ease, like he genuinely cared about the people around him. He was always leaning in, listening intently, and his questions showed just how interested he was in knowing you.

There was something infectious about his energy, and it reminded you so much of your brother—the way they both could fill a room with warmth just by being themselves.

Katsuki, on the other hand, was more of a closed book. He was gruff, blunt, and had an intensity that made it hard to know what he was really thinking.

Yet, underneath all of that, you could see small glimpses of something else—his scowl wasn't always as sharp as he wanted it to be, and he had moments where it felt like he begrudgingly accepted your presence.

He never outright dismissed you, and while his comments were sarcastic, they didn't carry the kind of malice you might have expected.

It was almost like he was challenging you to see past the tough exterior, to prove that you could handle being around him.

When you arrived, your father was waiting for you, his expression stern.

He grabbed your arm, his eyes serious as he looked at you. "Listen carefully," he said, his voice low. "The villain you're about to interact with is dangerous. He was part of the Vanguard Action Squad—Mustard. He's unpredictable, so I need you to be cautious. Understand?"

You swallowed, nodding. "Got it, Dad."

He gave you a small, almost reluctant smile, his grip on your arm loosening. "Good. Just... be careful, alright, little love?"

You nodded again, feeling the weight of what was about to come settle heavily in your chest.

This was just another part of your Quirk, another responsibility you had to shoulder—whether you wanted to or not.

A/N: so what's the verdit? will it be good as a fic or just do a one-shot series???

[mokulule]

Almanac - Chapter 1

Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Masterpost Summary: Summoning extradimensional beings was never without a cost. Jason didn’t consider himself particularly knowledgeable when it came to magic, but that he knew. Desperate situations however called for desperate measures and the Justice League was desperate with Trigon suddenly allied to ghosts of all things. Summoning the Ghost King in that context even seemed like a sensible choice.

For better or worse John Constantine was the expert on those kinds of deals.

At least when his information wasn’t out of date.

Chapter 1 - September 23rd Fall Equinox

The summoning circle blazed in tall green flames. John grit his teeth against the terrible heat. Sweat ran down his brow, but he barely even dared blink. Across from him Zatanna was equally affected. This was like no summoning he’d ever done before. Normally the circle and the ingredients in a summoning ritual would do most of the work, that was the whole point. But this, John thought, as he doubled down on his hold on the magic, this was like riding a dragon. It was almost like the Ghost King really didn’t want to be summoned.

What else could cause this?

But they couldn’t give up, the fate of the world depended on it. Zatanna was not looking good, John didn’t suppose he himself was looking chipper either right now, but he had done things to increase his magic power Zatanna never had, because she was too good, and she was flagging. John growled, he’d be dammed a hundred more times if he lost her to this ritual.

Come on you bloody bastard!

A green rip opened in the middle of the circle with a terrible screeching sound. There was yelling and ears being covered behind him by the Justice League, but John couldn’t focus on that, it was not over. They were nearly there. A flickering dark shadowy form was getting sucked upwards through the rip. Wind rushed around the room, throwing papers and small objects around the room; The bucket of stag blood they’d used for the circle splattered onto Green Lantern judging by the sound of disgust. As long and tiresome as the ritual had been as suddenly it was over. Like an elastic band finally snapping, the shadow was pulled all the way through, the rip closed and the flames died.

“ ̵̨̜̩̜̖͈̺͈͎̜̩̻̖͔̗̺̳̘͈̳̖̩͂̄̏̇͂̂̃͒͌̊̓́̿̽̽̀̚͜ ̶̧̡̢̜̯̘͔̺̻̖͚͚͍̪̼͙̲̭͌͛̈́̈́̆̀͝N̵̢̢̧͓̩̱̮̰̪̘͙̹͍̪̤̼̺̑̀̓̔̔̍̂̍͛̈̈́͋͛͆̆͌̌̃̀̄̕Ơ̵̡̱͕̬͕͎̞̞̟͔͇̽̀́̇̐̂͂́̈́̈́̾͜͠ͅ ̷̢͖̯̰̙̥̤͔̹̜̦̙͙̲̪̲̯̗̙̦͓̜̓̋̂͋͘̚͝ ̶̭̺̣̻͖͗̍̔͂ ̶̡̰̞̹͇͓̫̜͖͛́̀̒̃͆̀͑́̅̂͌̿͐̚͝͝.”

The word rung in the sudden silence like a bell, cracked like glaciers, skittered across their mortal senses like small needles. John fell to his knees clutching his chest. It was so cold it was hard to breathe. Teeth chattering he forced himself to look up. The shadow coalesced into something with too long limbs, too many joints, claws, teeth. It had gained a blazing white flame and underneath there were two pools of green.

It observed them with an intensity like a thousand eyes on them, then it drew in on itself, getting smaller until it was more person shaped and the cold disappeared.

John gasped in relief. He wasn’t the only one. He looked to Zatanna, she met his eyes with a pale and tense nod. She was alright.

“Aaaaargh!” The frustrated scream had them quickly focused back on the circle. The green pools, now more eye shaped glared back at them all.

“The fucking Justice League of course, who else would summon me to save the world?” The shadow for lack of better words paced back and forth in the air, then spun on John. “And you John Constantine should know better.”

There was a pool of dread in his stomach and every single backup plan vanished from his mind as those toxic green eyes held him trapped. “If you have a problem that calls for the assistance of a ghost, why do you not ask a ghost you know? Why in the Realms would you summon the Ghost King? Of all the bullheaded…” The angry words devolved into an angry growly mutter too low for anyone to hear the words, but it was a sound that grated in their bones. And the Ghost King resumed their pacing.

“Deadman is-“

“I’m talking about Phantom,” the king snapped.

“Phantom?” John repeated baffled, meeting the equally baffled eyes of Zatanna. The friendly spirit from small Amity Park? “No offense, your Majesty, but Phantom is small fry compared to this.”

“Full offense,” The King growled. “I am Phantom.”

With a bright flash, suddenly there was Phantom. The surprisingly human looking ghost, who would have fit in perfectly amongst the Justice League standing outside the circle with his white highlighted tight black suit and the logo on his chest. Right now his usually friendly face was drawn into a glare.

It was then, when it clicked with a small delay in his brain that Phantom was the Ghost King, that John Constantine realized how much he’d fucked up.

Oo o oO

Danny was livid. He had done his very best to resist this summoning, but of course summonings weren’t meant to be resisted and with John Constantine and Zatanna Zatara two of the Justice League Dark’s most powerful magic users being the ones reeling him in like a fucking fish, it was no wonder he hadn’t succeeded. This was a disaster. Why did they put him in this situation?

“We thought you were a city spirit…” Constantine trailed off helplessly.

And that had Danny gaping. They thought… how? why? He was confused, but most of all-

“Excuse me, did I introduce myself as Amity? No, I did not.”

Of all the stupid things to think. City spirits were some of the proudest ghosts around, to even think a city spirit would introduce themselves by anything other than their name was beyond moronic. And last he checked his hometown wasn’t called freaking Phantomville.

“We thought, since you never left the city-“ Zatanna cut herself off when Danny swiveled his glare on her.

“It. Is. My. Haunt,” Danny hissed enunciating each word clearly, the lights in the room flickered. “Did you not at all think it was weird that a city spirit-“ he made quotation marks around the words- “was visible to regular people?”

“We figured it was because of all the death magic in the air,” fucking Constantine said and Danny keened in despair. It was a sound just at the edge of human hearing, and most of them really couldn’t hear anything of it aside from a very high pitched tone that had the entire group flinching. Superman though, not only flinched but also took a step back covering his mouth, he looked sick.

“You could have asked, like normal people. What did I do to give you the impression you couldn’t just ask?” He dug his hands into his hair and tugged, doubled over and took a deep calming breath.

“Okay,” he forced his voice chipper, “so we’ve established you’re morons and now you’re all going to pay the price.”

There was a moment of silence as they all took that in and Danny’s eyes ran over their faces: Constantine, Zatanna, the big seven of the original Justice League and would you look at that Batman brought a bunch of his brood along, one of which was an actual child. Danny whimpered.

“I don’t really understand the problem,” the Flash stepped up to the circle in, well, a flash. “If you can help us then what does it matter that we summoned you instead of going to you?”

“It matters,” Danny said rubbing the bridge of his nose, “because you’ve gone and made it official. You didn’t ask small time ghost hero Phantom for help saving the world, you went and summoned the High King of the Infinite Realms.” He waved a hand allowing the green flaming crown to manifest over his head and the ring to appear on his right hand, the long starry night cape settled over his shoulders with a familiar weight like freshly fallen snow.

“The fact that I am one and the same is irrelevant. Intent is the most important thing in magic.”

“So we can just unsummon you?” The Flash suggested, looking from Danny to Constantine and Zatanna who both looked away.

Danny chuckled humorlessly. He touched a hand to his chest pushing energy into the chains binding him, so they could all see the chains going from him to each and everyone of them.

“We are already bound in a pre-contract, that’s what a summoning is.”

Oo o oO

Jason looked down at the Lazarus green glowing chain, going from his chest to the Ghost King. From each of his brothers including the brat’s - the brat, who actually looked scared. No matter, his maturity and upbringing he was still just a kid. Anger flared in his chest, but before he could do anything Bruce stepped forward.

“John, what is the meaning of this,” he demanded. To the League, that was just the gruff Batman voice. To Jason and the birds, the undertone of fear was obvious. Nothing set the old man off like a threat to his birds. Jason would know, he’d taken advantage of that before.

Constantine grimaced, “well, you see-“

But the Ghost King interrupted him. “No, let me explain. John Constantine is the greatest con man that ever lived. He could sell sand in the Sahara. He’s swindled demons and gods alike. He’s somehow managed to sell his soul like fifty fucking times, making the day of his eventual death into a jurisdictional nightmare of interdimensional proportions.”

He paused to take another deep breath - something Jason noticed with bemusement was a bit strange for a ghost.

“Ol’ Johnny here probably expected Pariah Dark, the previous Ghost King, the kind of mad hat conquerer who’s been locked up for millennia for unspeakable crimes against the Realms - just the kind of proud, single minded sod that’s ripe for John’s kind of swindling. Whose only spells of freedom came from summonings like this, which were thankfully rare, ‘cause very few people are stupid enough to summon the Ghost King.”

“But me-” he touched his chest, “there’s a reason I’m not locked in a sarcophagus. For one I don’t deal in souls or eternal damnation, secondly even if I did I wouldn’t touch that soul of yours with a ten feet pole.”

“Congratulations, Jackass, you managed to summon the actually ruling Monarch of the World In Between Worlds at full power and there’s absolutely nothing you can offer me. I deal in equivalent exchange. Nothing matters to you as much as the world, except your own skin and your ownership of that is questionable at best. That leaves your… friends? Or coworkers? Is that what they are? to pay.”

And with that the King turned to them all, green eyes both angry and resigned.

“Better start thinking about what things you’re willing to give up, I’ll be friendly and let your offerings stack, the world is heavy enough as it is.”

An unsettled murmur rustled through the assembled heroes. It was one thing to sacrifice in the heat of battle, but this was something none of them had prepared for. They had all expected Constantine to handle things, they all were just present for safety’s sake. It was certainly why Jason was there or he wouldn’t have been in same room as the heroes.

Ever since his revival he’d had somewhat of a magic resistance and the All Blades were the best bet if something went south. That had been the idea at least, but this had gone south in the entirely different direction. And, Jason suspected, the All Blades probably wouldn’t even work on the king. The impression Jason got from him wasn’t evil at all; he had purposefully directed their thoughts in the direction of physical possessions.

With the room stalled in uncertainty, Jason felt anger rising. They were wasting time when the solution was obvious. He’d said he didn’t deal in souls or eternal damnation that still left a wide range of interpretation to Jason’s thinking.

“Oi, Spooky!” He stepped forward tilting his head up in challenge, “You can have me, - a willing sacrifice gotta be worth a good deal.”

There were gasps all around him but he didn’t look just kept eye contact with those glowing Lazarus eyes as they turned to him in consideration.

The was a sudden cacophony of protest from his brothers, hands grabbing onto him pulling him back but he stood his ground.

“J-Hood, back down right now!” That was Bruce’s voice and for a moment there, it was almost like he actually cared, but then he was just ordering him about like usual. Then Dick was in front of him and even he couldn’t ignore that.

“Jay, no,” he hissed lowly horrified, “what’s the matter with you?”

The was a small tug in Jason’s chest at that.

“He said he didn’t deal in souls,” Tim pointed out urgently.

“Todd,” was everything Damian said, but there was a vulnerability there that was rarely in the little brat’s voice.

Jason couldn’t help but smile. It was heartening that they cared at least a little. He set a hand down on Damian’s head and ruffled his hair roughly. “Take care of my books, brat.”

“NO,” That was Dick, and he held on tighter, Jason couldn’t shrug him off, but as it turned out he didn’t have to.

There was a tug on the chain in his chest and he slipped right through his brothers and flew right up to the king inside the circle until he hovered level with the Lazarus green eyes.

The was a cacophony of protest but it was somehow muted like background noise from here inside the circle and yet the crackling fire of the crown was loud in his ears. The inhuman Lazarus eyes flickered from Jason then behind him and then back again.

“You offer your life to the High Ghost King as a sacrifice?”

Jason shuddered, felt fear grip him at the wording, because that was what it meant. Truthfully he didn’t want to die, but he’d been there and he’d done that, and if he was to die again, at least those eyes held no cruelty. He was the obvious choice. He clenched his jaw and steeled his resolve, the world would do fine without him.

“I do.” There was a momentary frown like regret on the king’s face before he looked to the wider room.

“Then with the consequences of that we have a deal, and I, High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, will save the world.” The chains leading to everyone but Jason burst into showers of tiny green stars.

“Come.” A white gloved hand was reached out to him, deceptively human if it wasn’t for the glow. Jason took the hand and next he knew the world turned into a green swirl.

The world solidified suddenly like a punch to the gut and Jason fell to his knees in loose sand. He gagged, but nothing came up from his empty stomach. Slowly he looked up, they were in the desert. In the distance was the nightmarish portal to the Dark Dimension Trigon’s forces were coming through. If only Raven hadn’t been hurt so early in the fight, but Trigon was working with someone else, someone Constantine had claimed was a powerful ghost and the combined forces were not something they had been prepared for. Even so there were heroes in the distance trying to hold back the hordes.

“What are we doing here?” He looked up to the King who was floating just half a foot off the ground and he was suddenly aware of the fact that he was kneeling.

“Figured the least I could do is show you that I uphold my end of the bargain. Stay here, this distance should be safe.”

With that the Ghost King flew off.

Jason had half a mind to try escaping, but as the first punch was thrown in the distance the futility settled in his gut. At least he could enjoy the show.

Oo o oO

“Daniel,” Vlad greeted him in his typical self satisfied drawl, “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Danny’s lips split in a grin. He wouldn’t be so satisfied in a moment. He flashed forward throwing a punch that sent Vlad into a crater in the ground. He looked down at the man who at one point had been his nemesis. Now he just looked sad and confused.

“I think you’ll find you miscalculated this time, Plasmius.”

Finally Vlad actually seemed to register that Danny was wearing the full regalia and what that meant. His face paled to white.

“No, your Majesty, please, have mercy,” he begged, folding instantly - pitiful.

Danny snarled, fangs and limbs growing and growing with sickening cracks, like the frozen surface of a lake when you’ve stepped too far. He was the darkness of space itself, too many mouths split into white fanged grins.

“A line was crossed today.” His words reverberated across the field halting all the combatants in place as terror gripped them. “You have been warned time and time again. Now a price has been paid, a deal has been made and you shall reap what you have sown.”

With that he swept across the battlefield dark and all encompassing leaving only the heroes standing cold and shaken as he pushed Trigon’s army and Vlad and his panicking ghost minions back into the Dark Dimension.

The portal closed behind him when he willed it.

The large horned guy in the armor who was shouting in outrage had to be Trigon. The Ghost King was bound in contract to save the world from this threat. He could technically stop now, the threat was ended they had no portal and those were not simple to make, but was the world really saved when Trigon still stood and his army was still whole?

No, the Ghost King did not think so.

It had been a very stressful morning. He would very much enjoy taking it out on these fools.

Oo o oO

It didn’t take long before the Ghost King reappeared, thankfully looking more human, though there was still a wild glint in his eyes as if the beast hadn’t quite been sated.

“It’s done then.” Jason said with resignation. The green eyes blinked down at him slowly and again a white gloved hand was offered as if Jason had any real choice in the matter. Annoyance that he wouldn’t just get things over with rose up and Jason grabbed the hand with more aggression than was maybe wise.

All he got in return was a bemused look, as if he was less threatening than a kitten. Which arguably, compared to the eldritch monarch of the death, he probably was.

The world turned into a green swirl again. When the world solidified he found that traveling this way didn’t get easier a second time. He was down on his hands and knees in plush red carpet, his stomach turned nauseously. Shit it felt like he really would puke this time.

Suddenly a cool hand touched his forehead, somehow easing enough of the nausea that he could look up.

The king was kneeling in front of him, a worried look on his face. And that had anger rising in Jason’s chest, because how dare he.

“Why don’t you just get it over already?”

Black eyebrows rose.

“Get it over with?” He had the audacity to ask.

“Just kill me already, stop playing with me.”

Any leftover amusement went out of the Ghost King’s face at that.

“Why would I kill you?” He asked flatly.

“Because I gave you my life? What else would it mean!"

"Your life belonging to me, does not mean I have to kill you, in fact that would be rather stupid of me.”

“What difference does it make? Aren’t you the king of the dead!”

The King shrugged. “Sure, but I don’t own my subjects. Death is the one thing that will free you from me.”

Jason paled, he hadn’t considered this. The Ghost King had said he didn’t deal in souls or eternal damnation, but a human life wasn’t eternal - hadn’t he himself thought there was a lot of leeway in those statements?

“No no no, I’m gonna stop you there, you look like I ate your favorite pair of slippers.”

Jason blinked, startled out of his spiraling train of thought by the sheer absurdity.

“Is that something you have experience with?”

“You’ll never know.” The king grinned back at him teeth definitely sharp enough to rip slippers to pieces. His features turned serious. “Now you listen closely. You did not offer your mind-“ he poked Jason’s forehead firmly- “your body, your soul or your service-“ he underscored each of the last three words with a poke to Jason’s chest.

He got up to his feet.

“All I own in capacity of King is your life. And so your life will be lived here with me, that is all. Wording is very important in magic.” With those words he strode down the hall, cape flaring out behind him.

Jason was left on the floor, mind reeling.

“You changed the wording,” Jason realized, because he had offered himself - all of him being implied. But the Ghost King had changed the wording when they made the deal. He jumped to his feet to catch up. It’s wasn’t hard, the Ghost King was actually rather short when he deigned to touch the ground.

“You changed the wording,” Jason repeated firmly, “you-“

“I already told you I’m not into the soul trade. Nor do I want any slaves, there’s enough of that mess leftover from the previous king.”

He grimaced at that.

He wouldn’t kill him. He’d changed the wording, so Jason’s will was his own. He wasn’t a servant or slave, or a soldier or anything. “So what then?”

“What then?” The king stopped and looked back at Jason bewildered.

“You own my life and you have no plan or purpose for me, what am I gonna do?”

His eyebrows drew down in a frown but Jason was not done. Indignation burned hot in his chest.

“If you are not going to kill me or have any use for me, why even bring me here? You could own my life just as easily in Gotham as you can here!”

There was a rumble, it sounded like it was in the distance but somehow Jason knew it was from the ghost king in front of him. His legs suddenly felt unsteady.

“You are here,” the King growled, “because idiots decided to summon me and you and your family are paying the toll for saving the world.”

The anger turned to ice in his chest. “My family, what do you mean?”

“I mean, Jason Todd, that you mean the world to them and if it wasn’t for that your sacrifice wouldn’t have been enough, you think too little of yourself for that.”

What? No! That couldn’t be right?

“You’re lying,” he whispered. It couldn’t be true. Jason was the one paying the price, not his family. It couldn’t be.

The Ghost King snarled, morphing into sharp shadows and glowing eyes.

“You dare,” his voice boomed from all around Jason and he clapped his hands over his ears.

“I have stretched-” he seemed to grow longer and longer into spindlier shadows, chittering and cracking, “stretched, as far as I can on this deal and you call me a liar!”

The last word rumbled through Jason’s bones like a bulldozer and he fell to his knees. Nothing existed for Jason in that moment but the pain and the voice- he had nothing left to do anything with, he could neither protest or apologize. Only feel and hear despite plugging his ears.

“You summoned me! I did not ask to be cast as a villain in your Saturday morning cartoon!”

The temperature plummeted and there was something like a mournful wail in the distance, then a long spindly arm opened a door in the wall. Jason could have sworn it wasn’t there a moment ago, but honestly up could be down right now and he wouldn’t know. His teeth clattered and he desperately wanted to wrap his arms around his body, but dared not move them from his ears.

“Your room,” the King spat. The tapestries on the wall melted slowly together with his shadows.

“You may move around the castle, but don’t go into the west wing, those are my rooms, and don’t go into the dungeons - for your own sake.” He disappeared in a short flash of light.

Jason’s ears popped as pressure and temperature returned to normal and he gasped as if he hadn’t breathed for several minutes. Maybe he hadn’t. He couldn’t remember.

His mind was reeling, unable to comprehend, to process, what had happened. Words, he didn’t know them, but the King’s voice felt engraved onto his bones.

Beyond the doorway was a bed. A bed, he turned the concept around in his head as if it was a strange new thing, despite that he knew he should know the concept.

Slowly he picked himself up. With every staggered step, he felt more and more worried he would just melt into the carpet, but finally he fell down on top of soft covers.

Bed good.

-

Next

We are not talking about the fact that this is another wip... >.> I wanted to do something for Trauma Tuesday, but in the end I'm too tired, and then Clock suggested it would be Trauma Lite Tuesday, so that's what we're going for XD I don't tag people, if you want to follow the story please subscribe to the handy masterlist/subscription post

[unholyhelbig]

https://www.tumblr.com/unholyhelbig/748001277238181888/ive-reread-the-entirety-of-oversight-again-and

i’ve done this as well. i think u should 😌😏😉☺️🥰

Title: Rose Colored Glasses [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Reader gets word that Natasha is hurt and rushes home to assess the situation.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): injury to nose & foot, slight blood, and shrimp

[a/n: Did someone request more oversight? Because I've got you covered. This is pure fluff, sorry for the lack of angst! It's short, and sweet, and not proof read because I don't have time :( ]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

A quiet house was never a good sign. Growing up in the foster care system teeming with other wards of the state had taught you that. Often, you were three or four to a room. There were bunk beds with sheets slotted against the ceiling or stuffed under the mattress above your own, just for some type of barrier. It was an illusion of privacy, most of the time. Because houses like that were never quiet.

When you’d moved in across from Darcy after your 18th birthday, things weren’t quiet. Above you was a Latin-American couple that would wait until just past midnight to turn on a slow, rhythmic song and dance. Their steps were soft, and calculated. They carved out time for one another every single night between shifts. Just for the two of them. You often let the thumping base lull you to sleep.

The city was just outside your window. In the summer, you could prop it open with a brick and let the sounds of cars become a backdrop. There were sirens, and when the fire hydrant on the corner was loosened, the world welcomed a cold blast of water, sprinkling into the street. That was the opposite of quiet. That made your chest feel light, and warm.

After marrying Natasha Romanoff, you settled into the loudness of her home. Your home. Veronica was constantly running around the twists and turns of the bottom floor, Clint or Kate or Darcy galloping after her with a big smile on their face. They slowed themselves to make sure they didn’t break anything, but they wanted her to win, too.

Yelena often came with the muffled sounds of Russian techno bands coming from the headphones around her neck. It was a staple to find her in the kitchen with her head down, slicing into an apple from the backyard with precision unknown. Natasha would tug the headphones off to get her attention, or to send her into annoyance.

The night that Natasha got hurt was stifled with the sound of rain. It had soaked you to the bone, dripping onto the linoleum floor and then the carpet as you ascended the stairs two at a time. You’d been at the docks later than usual, the storm that had plagued the side of the harbor was relentless and delayed shipments.

The captain of the shipping boat your family had utilized for decades wanted to discuss something over whatever crap coffee you could beat out of the machine in your office. He spoke with a thick southern drawl, his mustache was encrusted with salt and sand. You had shed your coat and tried to warm yourself up by hugging your mug to your chest. Nothing seemed to work.

While you weren’t opposed to giving the man a raise, you were not the final say. Natasha was, and you figured he could use the company more than anything. The captain flicked through books that were on the shelf, taking two or three for his next journey out to sea. It was like clockwork with him, and you indulged his need for quiet companionship each time.

When your phone rang, you never looked at the caller ID. Those who were privileged enough to get your number knew to talk without any of the pleasantries that they were used to. Clint’s voice came through the receiver in a smooth, hushed tone that made you believe he wasn’t supposed to be calling you in the first place.

“Look, y/n, there’s been an… incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

He was meant to escort her to one of the many cocktail parties that Carlos LaMuerto was throwing at his mansion that bordered the same body of water that you resided on now. They were lovely get-togethers that you often attended with your wife. This, however, was the fourth one this month and your stomach was turning at the idea of another cocktail shrimp and lamb pate.

Clint had offered, seeing the desperation in your eyes. And while Natasha was reluctant, she ultimately agreed. No news of a bust had reached you yet, nor had a gun blazing argument. While the Captain licked his dry lips and scanned the books in front of him, you continued in hushed tones.

“Nat’s hurt. It’s not a big deal, you can finish up your business. She’s just being stubborn is all.”

An escaped sigh “I’ll be there.”

No shit, she was being stubborn. Your wife was bull-headed and wouldn’t admit to the smallest defeat. It eased your nerves slightly, and only slightly, that Clint said it wasn’t a big deal. No gunshot to the back, or knife to the throat. It wasn’t good enough, however.

Natasha would be upset that you tracked mud into the house and left your boots sloshing by the door. You were panting by the time you reached the double doors that led to your bedroom. They were, of course, blocked by Clint and Kate. Yelena was leaning lazily against the railing that was parallel. She regarded you with an uninterested stare.

“You did not have to come here.” She said, “We’ve got it handled.”

“She kicked all of you out, didn’t she?”

“What? She certainly did not!”

Yelena’s voice pitched with her lie. Kate’s cheeks turned an off-shade of pink and Clint just rthe hallway, that was a good sign. Still, neither of the two moved to let you into your own room.

“If you’re not going to get out of the way, can you at least tell me what happened?”

There was a muffled reply from behind the door. With the way that the voice flitted, you knew that she was trapped on the bed. Otherwise, she would have leveled you with a glare right here and now. The words were simple “Do it, you die.”

“Oh, come on,” You whispered harshly, turning your attention to Kate instead. She was the easiest to break. “Katie, what is the harm in letting me through? I’m going to catch my death if I stay in these clothes.”

“Catch your death?” Clint scoffed “What are you? A poet from the 1800’s?”

“I’m about to be breaking your fingers if you don’t-“

“You can’t even break wind,”

The two of your voices combined as you kept at it. You didn’t’ miss the wary look that Kate shot Yelena. One way or another, you’d get into your room. You refused to be banished to the couch again, especially in wet clothes. If you had to threaten ruining the rugs with your muddy footprints, so be it.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” You held up both of your hands, silencing the chaos of the corridor. “Nat, you are my wife, you’re hurt. Whether you like it or not, I’m coming in. Does anyone have any objections?”

Kate went to raise her hand, but Yelena yanked it back down and shook her head no. You tore into Clint with a look that could drop him dead. He relented and stepped away from the door. While you had a moment of peace, you walked into the dark of the room. She’d turned out the lights, save for the half-moon that showed a pale pattern against the carpet.

When you reached for the light switch on the wall, Natasha let out a noise that was similar to a wounded animal. You halted, your actions and made out her form on the bed. She was folded in on herself, her silhouette rigid.

“Baby,” you cooed, closing the distance between you and the bed. She grunted again, this time in pain. She attempted to turn away from you. You lowered yourself onto the sliver of bed, approaching the situation softly. “Can I turn on a light?”

“No, I’m hideous.”

You chuckled softly “I highly doubt that, my love. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Natasha had never liked being vulnerable around you. It had taken a full weekend of you nursing her back to her feet after the incident on the pier for her to let herself cry. You held her for hours, her nose pressed against the small of your neck. She’d gripped onto you, as if you’d leave. But you never would.

Eventually, you saw her shadow nod. Before she could change her mind, you flicked on the lamp on the side table. It didn’t’ have a far reach, but the light was less harsh on the both of you. It was impossible not to notice the blood that had dried against Natasha’s nose, a split right down the middle.

You’d seen her with broken bones before, bruises that wrapped around her midsection. You’d put ace bandage around her ribs after drawing her a bath. This was nothing to be ashamed about. In fact, she often saw them as battle scars that would heal in a pink gash.

Her foot was wrapped up with a bag of peas and one of frozen carrots that Clint, or even Yelena had situated. There was bruising around her ankle, it looked painful and you internally winced at the coloring. She groaned into the small of her elbow.

“I want to die”

“Natty, it’s okay. This is nothing a cozy weekend inside can’t fix.”

She said something that was quiet and muffled by her arm. You didn’t understand her one bit, but she squeezed a single tear from her eye that you wiped away dutifully before it could reach the silk of sheets.

“What was that, baby?” You asked gently.

She threw both of her hands down and glared at the ceiling. Her fingers eventually found yours, squeezing your palm in reflex. Her words came out in a quick breath, “I tripped over a carpet at the stupid dinner party and hit my face on the catering table.”

You were effectively silenced. That was very un-Natasha. But lately, you and Clint had been pestering her about her eyesight, especially at night. It wasn’t something she wanted to hear. In fact, each time you brought up the idea of glasses, she would effectively silence you with a glare, or even a kick to the shin under the kitchen table if you had company.

You bit the inside of your cheek and ran your thumb over her hand. She clutched your hand tighter. Now was certainly not the time to laugh, and while you fought back the initial giggle, you were more concerned about your wife.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I bet you got right back up.” You said, pressing your palm against her cheek. “None of those fancy party types would dare question your influence on this city.”

“Shrimp went flying everywhere.” Natasha pouted.

“Everyone was tired of shrimp anyway, even the shrimp.”

She grasped at the collar of your jacket and pulled you closer to her, pressing her lips against your own. They were warm, the warmest thing that you’ve felt since getting caught in the passing storm. You were careful not to lean on her ribs, breathing in the rosewater scent of her.

Natasha pressed her forehead against yours, running a hand up your spine. She grimaced. “You’re all wet.”

“Well now I am,” You smirked against her jawline, leaving a little nip in your wake. “You need to get glasses.”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re getting the sheets all damp, and you smell like fish.”

“I smell like fish?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to the exposed part of her neck. You felt Natasha laugh too, using her hands to cover her face from the blush that was blooming against her cheeks. “We’re talking about me?”

She laughed harder, attempting to shove you off but you let your body go slack against her, not using your arms to hold yourself up anymore. “Yes! Go shower!”

“Mm, but you’re so warm.”

“You’re not going to be warm if I make you sleep on the couch.”

You gasped dramatically, pulling your head off her stomach and meeting her dark green stare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. After the day I’ve had, I refuse to sleep next to my wife when she smells like a marina.”

Even while she said it, her voice was gentle, her fingers working over your scalp to brush the wet hair from your eyes. You pulled yourself up to give her another peck on the lips, careful to avoid the split nose and busted ankle.

“Fine, but only because you need more aspirin.”

She grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can’t believe I let you through my defenses.”

“Uh-huh. Get some rest. I’m going to go talk to your defenses about getting you an appointment with an optometrist.”

You turned to move towards the bathroom, already craving the warmth of a shower and some clean pajamas. Two steps from the doorway and you felt a plush throw pillow hit you directly on the back of the head. Natasha had amazing aim, always had, and always would.

You bent down and picked up the gold upholstered pillow, giving her a faux glare. “You’re not getting this back.”

“Oh, come on, baby.” She stuck out her lower lip “I have to prop up my foot.”

“You should have thought of that before you launched it at my head.”

 [Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[threepandas]

Bad End: Happy Hunting! (1)

I should have known better. They told us. TRAINED US. Over and over, drilled into our heads! Don't assume! Don't PROJECT Human body language onto alien species! Think that just because they look similar, are ACTING similar, their brains are in any way WORKING similar!

Not every species pack bonds! Some of them are PREDATORS. Be CAREFUL!

I was an idiot. A fucking IDIOT!

I gasped for air. Ran. Ran and ran and RAN. Desperately trying to put distance between me and the hunters behind me. I could hear screams. Crashing. The sound of weapon fire. The air here wasn't RIGHT. Too high in oxygen? Too low? Some other trace element, slowly poisoning my lungs?

I didn't know. Scared! Oh god, I'm so scared!

I thought he was my friend!

Thought THEY were my friends! Stupid. So God damned stupid! You really will pack bond with ANYTHING, won't you?! They bare their teeth and you fucking thought it was a SMILE! No wonder I barely graduated. They never should have-!

A root catches my foot.

Crashing to the mulch of the forest floor. Scramble to get up. My ankle on fire. Hurts. Oh god it hurts! Ignore it. Go! Keep going! Gotta get OUT! Find a ship. Any ship! Radio for help!

All the trees look the same. Am I even going in a straight line? Deeper or across? Away from civilization? I don't know how to survive here! Can I even drink the water? No. Run! Just RUN! Nothing else!

I can't hear them.

Him.

I thought he was my friend.

My grades were shit. Worst of the Best, but ultimately good enough. Got to see the stars. The galaxy. Meet real life aliens. Was a glorified gofer for the Earthling Diplomat's Entourage. Galactic Council offered staff. Wasn't really an offer. We took um. Some of them were the "better" guards then the super military badasses we had brought.

Military badasses were pretty offended.

But I was a gofer. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Just here for the aliens, right? Yay getting to meet some, right? I couldn't even PRONOUNCE their species name. I was mortified. Tried my damnedest. They thought it was hilarious. My pronunciation was god awful. Was calling them the cutesy babified version of "office chair".

Met Wolfe. He seemed FRIENDLY. Kind. Considerate. He told jokes. Asked about my day. I started sharing. Hobbies and interests. Stories about home. Explained weird human behaviors. We were close. I... I thought we were close! Was it a lie? Was everything A LIE!?

When my rotation in space was coming to an end, I was SAD! Fucking HEARTBROKEN! That I might never see my friends again. Since communication between our two planets wasn't even stabilized yet. Might never be. I wanted to savor our time together. Treasure it!

But then things started to go wrong.

Random malfunctions, that delayed and delayed us. Lost communications that nearly caused interplanetary incidents. Took days and weeks to fix at a time. People went MISSING. We looked. Every time we LOOKED!

They're dead, aren't they? Oh god. Dozens of crew members DEAD.

Then the engine "broke". Conveniently just close enough for us to make an emergency landing on this planet! And oh, would you look at THAT! A sacred cultural festival!? They won't help us unless we join in.

It's a MARRIAGE HUNT.

Heavy emphasis on the HUNT part!

They weren't surprised. Not a single one. Every last one just turned too different people and... and...! Wolfe planned this. THEY planned this! We're gonna die. I trusted him and now I'm gonna DIE! Can't breathe! Branches whipping at my arms and hair and face, as I RUN. Down slopes. Across shallow rivers. Even as my limbs BURN. I... I HAVE TOO-!

A powerful wall of muscle slams into me.

I scream. Thrash, even as I fall. My arms are easily tucked and pinned against my side, as the body covering mine rolls with me down a slight incline. The smell of wet plant matter and upturned soil thick in the strange air. Dizzy. I feel sick. Oh god please no!

Heat and pressure pin me down. Arms like thick steel bands. Still, I struggle, like a cornered animal. I have too. They always tell you to FIGHT. Only chance and survival. The deep rumble of crooned reassurances in an alien dialect fill my ear. I can feel how DEEPLY he breathes me in, before each sentence. Like hes been holding back and finally no longer has too, is giddy with it. How his hands already spread possessively, eager to explore.

And he's strong. Oh god, he's so strong! Please please please! Let go. LET GO!

"Shhhhhh shh shh, is 'okay' now. I have you. You ran so hard! Did so well! My precious little human~ so brave. So strong. You did it! Now, no one can EVER seperate us! You don't have to worry anymore. No more tears~" Hunter, Warrior, oh god it was never a GRIN-! His teeth are so sharp. Pressed so close to my skin!

"I'll take care of EVERYTHING~"

I'm scared.

[almondemisewriting]

doomed to repeat

prologue: original sin

This story happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. It is already over. Nothing can be done to change it. - Matthew Stover

notes: as mentioned before on my main blog @almondemise, I recently watched the acolyte while recovering from an infection and became rather obsessed with it. I fear this might be my roman empire. star wars had never really interested me but you can count on the fact that I watched every single of those movies after finishing the acolyte. although I haven't written fanfiction in years, I better put this english degree to work. no oshamir as I fear I can't do them justice. / banners are by @cafekitsune & gif by @goodsirs

summary: after Osha and Mae had banded together and betrayed Qimir in the forest of Khofar, he killed them. now, once again, he was alone. how good that he had already been working on another plan. on the other end of the galaxy, there was a girl born out of pure force. a weapon raised for one reason only: to kill him. but the force works in mysterious ways.

word count: 3.6k

pairing: qimir x female oc; the stranger x female oc

warnings: english is my second language, jedi evil arc, manipulation, psychological abuse, physical abuse, violence, martyrdom and other religious themes, probably inaccurate star wars lore & deviation from both plot and general worldbuilding, explicit content and other sensitive themes in following chapters

She had never chosen to be the Chosen one. Her destiny of martyrdom was forced onto her as retribution for her original sin: being born. All the suffering Amalthea endured throughout her life never could quite make up for it.

In fact, Amalthea had never made a decision, she was simply an amalgamation of all the choices made for her. She had no particular feelings about it. It was not like hate was a feeling that was allowed for her to feel anyway. There were dozens of rules for her to follow, a hundred things being forbidden to feel, a million things not allowed to experience, all for her safety.

If pride was allowed, Amalthea would have been proud of being good at following rules. It made her life easy, but it also made her lonely. Late at night, she lay awake, a blanket of unhappiness weighing her down, the viciousness of isolation gnawing on her bones so tangible that she bit her lips bloody. There was no one she could talk to. Amalthea was not allowed to speak to anyone unless spoken to. Emergencies excluded, of course. An easy rule to follow.

But at Anantore Point, only a couple of people were authorized to talk to her at all. Her days were spent in perpetual silence, thinking, listening. Often she went days without talking to anyone. It helped that people usually ignored her, acted like she was part of the furniture, her Cortosis ring and the veil helping to keep her hidden. Amalthea often imagined the others not being able to see her at all.

Until a year ago, no one bothered to correct her daydreams. It would have been worse if there were people who actually wanted to talk to her. A connection. Any connection. Amalthea vastly preferred being invisible. At least that is what she often told herself.

With time, not being able to talk to anyone made her into someone who was an excellent listener. And she was eager to listen. Going into most of the rooms of Building C and blending in to eavesdrop was easy.

"..heard that Team Three did not come back from their mission. Apparently they sent a message that they found him and then just vanished. They couldn't even track their ships!" "And they won't try to find them?"

Kiani and Odessa were low-stationed officers who mostly did administrative work but had a hang for gossip. Amalthea became acquainted with most of the events at the station thanks to them. Usually, it was just who slept with who, complaints about what food they served in the canteen, and other inconsequential things. But sometimes Odessa had interesting news thanks to Nyseth. Amalthea did not know exactly what his job was, but she did know that they tried desperately to hide their relationship.

Knowing so many secrets of the people living at the station did not make her feel bad. It was not like she could have told anyone. And with news like that she could not help listening in a bit more closely. Sinking into a plush brown chair close to them, she acted like she was reading one of the books she always carried around, but focused on their mouths. Conversations like these were often whispered and she was lucky that the veil hid her stare. 

"No, I heard Yavin say that they will not send a recovery ship. It's too dangerous. He is probably on some other planet already, but all kinds of cultists will be searching for him. He says that having multiple ships in the same vicinity will end up with us losing more teams."

Odessa's voice was hushed and taut. When she named him, she almost stumbled over her own words, her fear transforming her dispatch into a jumbled and croaky mess. Amalthea heard Kiani gasp. There was a short silence after.

"I guess it will be time then soon," Kiani mumbled. Both she and Odessa started looking towards Amalthea. The insinuation made her sick to her stomach. She promptly lowered her gaze down to her gloved hands. Had the others seen her staring? Were they still looking themselves?

Trying to sink deeper into the chair, her shoulders slumped forward in an unnatural curve, her veil almost touching her knees. Now, standing up and going anywhere would have made it obvious that she listened in. So she agonized in the awkward silence, trying to make herself invisible again, the feeling of uneasiness leaving behind an uncomfortable prickle on her skin.

Suddenly, loud chatter outside the door interrupted them. The metal of the double doors crashed into the sandstone walls next to it and in came a whole barrage of people back from their missions and other work, ready to storm into the canteen to fill their grumbling stomachs. 

By now, Amalthea knew all of them. At Anantore Point there were less than fifty people employed and even less than that were allowed to enter the buildings on a permanent basis. The less people knew she existed, the better.

The loudest group of all were Brom, Qimir, and Kona. Qimir was today's good news. During a mission over the last couple of days, his ship suffered sudden engine failure while in hyperdrive, and while going back into realspace he got unlucky and landed in an asteroid field where he got cut off from the rest of the group. Just this morning he was able to find them again, his ship completely beaten up, but his mission completed.

Amalthea did not know what to think of him. He was unprofessional, goofy, carefree, and not the smartest. But he knew his way around ships and various planets better than more experienced explorers at Anantore Point and he had come here on personal recommendation by Senator Fasmum. Most importantly, he was her anchor point when the time came.

Qimir's job was being responsible for getting her safely to him so she could do her job. Perhaps the last person she would ever see. Still, he was the reason she had to wear the Cortosis ring. At least that is what Amalthea guessed. Until Qimir showed up a year ago she never had to wear one. But like her, he was Force-sensitive, although he never studied it. They tested him and he could barely even light a lamp. Master Xylter said that the Force was wasted on someone like him. But Qimir could still observe it. 

And that was the problem. Although Amalthea could not see it, she exuded massive amounts of the Force and that was distracting for every Force-sensitive person who came close to her. Close in this case was relative. Depending on how sensitive someone was to the Force, they could feel her from hundreds or thousands of miles away, even if they were strangers.

She wondered what it looked like, but no one had ever bothered to tell her. And Amalthea did not dare to ask. Master Xylter had said that it was because more important guests would visit after the recent happenings, but it was obvious that Qimir could not concentrate on his job with her around in this state. Amalthea did not mind the Cortosis ring. Sure, it was heavy, but having it rest on her collarbones was strangely comforting sometimes.

However, not even the ring could make Qimir stop looking at her. She felt the weight of his stare bearing down on her without mercy. And she just didn't understand why. Most of the people at Anantore Point didn't even give her a single glance, never mind a second one. Meanwhile, it was like he could not rip his eyes away from her.

Sometimes, when she sensed him, she looked back and it was like he could stare straight through the veil into her eyes, making the hairs on her neck stand up. At least, he was good at concealing it in front of others. Amalthea was not ready to be lectured on being too noticeable. 

So, like many days in the last year, she decided to eat her dinner in her room. Nobody looked at her when she got up and made her way to the door. Except Qimir. His gaze was glued to her. When she walked past him to exit, she could have sworn that their eyes met. Knuckles white and straining, she clutched the front of her robe in her hands and got out of Building C as fast as she could, stumbling over elevator entrances, stairs, and her own boots.

Could he see underneath her veil? That was impossible unless you were a Jedi and had enough control of the Force. And there were only five Jedi living at Anantore Point: Grandmaster Torinn, Master Xylter, Yavin, Ecla, and Amalthea. Shuddering, she tried to physically shake off the feeling, her dense robe rustling in the desert winds outside. The way from Building C to Building A was, as usual, completely empty. Out of all of the people living here, only four had access to Building A, Amalthea being one of them. Only Ecla was standing in front of the entrance ready for her night shift and nodded at her. "Meditation?"

She simply nodded back and made her way to her room. As her guard, Ecla was allowed to talk to her. When she first came to Anantore Point six years ago, Amalthea was really excited but soon understood. Ecla was here to do her job, not make friends. She would later quietly enter her room to put down dinner and then leave as quickly as she came. The same routine as most days. Only after closing the door behind her, she realized that her books still laid in the employee room.

Although Amalthea was bored a lot, she was grateful. The Conclave of Light had saved her life when she was a baby, housed, fed, and trained her. In exchange, she did what she was born to do and it was an honor. There might have been many rules, but they were all there to keep her safe from Rebels, Wildlings, and, in the worst case, the Sith.

Most people believed them to be extinct, but you could never be too sure. And suspicious events over the last years had proven the caution of the Jedi right. Soon it would be time for Amalthea to go. A nameless Sith had been slaughtering people. Jedi searched for him and ended up dead too. He was not a dark user with many followers, but he was amassing amounts of Force that made it clear that he was a danger. Not just to the Jedi, but to the Republic at large.

Just a month ago he had executed multiple Jedi and civilians on Khofar, then vanished without a trace. It was Amalthea's responsibility to stop him. A final fight. It was all Amalthea had been working towards. The climax of her entire life. Her purpose. Her dream? She had never asked herself that. She would rather not. The choice had been made for her, the Chosen One. Her immaculate conception would either end in immaculate victory or immaculate death. Before her thoughts could get any louder, Amalthea assumed her meditation pose, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

Amalthea did not know how much time had passed since she started meditating when she heard Ecla enter her room. She often lost herself in her concentration, not knowing when and where she was when she awakened, saturated with Force and strengthened with knowledge. Ecla did not put her dinner plate down or leave the room. When Amalthea turned towards her, Ecla did not even hold a plate.

"Master Xylter requires you in the main office in Building B."

Immediately she knew what this would be about. Actually, Amalthea had already expected to be called in soon. It was time. The feeling of finality grabbed her by the throat and squeezed. But there was no time to acclimatize. She put her gloves back on and followed Ecla outside, struggling and breathless.

Amalthea could have found the way to the main office herself, but it was night, and Anantore Point, being the only cluster of buildings in this desert and desolation, stood out. Not having others around made it safer, but the lights flickering could be seen far away. So as soon as the sun tinged the sky with hues of pink and orange, Amalthea was not allowed to walk outside alone. She moved gingerly behind Ecla, almost hiding behind the broad shoulders of the experienced Jedi warrior, becoming invisible in between her massive strides.

Often, Amalthea pictured Ecla before Anantore Point in her head. She knew nothing but her name. Nevertheless, she trusted her. And, while she could not tell anyone, she admired her. She knew that Ecla would always keep her safe. Amalthea had personally seen her finish off intruders before. Secretly, she wished Ecla would come with her on her mission. She knew she was sinning heavily with that wish. Personal affections were forbidden. Any outside help during her mission was forbidden. But no one would ever know what she thought. No one ever asked. 

Master Xylter was not the only one waiting in the main office. Amalthea had a look at the others. Grandmaster Torinn. Yavin. Qimir. So it was as she expected. Master Xylter cleared his throat and she quickly got down on her knees and looked to the ground. "Greetings Master." Amalthea could hear Qimir swallow loudly. When she got up and glanced at him, he was glaring at her. Was he angry that she didn't greet him? But there was no time to contemplate.

"You know why you are here. Your mission is in three days. Say yes if you understand." Master Xylter had never been patient. "Yes, Master."

Amalthea pondered for a moment. It was now or never. "I don't know if I am ready for the mission yet. I still have not been knigh-,", she began.

Master Xylter reacted fast. "Insolent!" His voice was so loud that even Ecla flinched. Immediately, Amalthea fell to her hands and knees, her veil brushing the dirty ground. Not a second later, Master Xylter's boot secured it there. Desperate, Amalthea pleaded for forgiveness. She should not have acted so rashly and the humiliation of her audacity stung worse than a cut.

"How dare you question the decisions of the Conclave! I must have spoiled you too much. You have not been knighted because you're simply not worthy. I do not care if you do not think you are ready, you are ready when I say you are. You will do your duty and you will do it gladly," Master Xylter exclaimed. 

"Stand up." Slowly, Amalthea got back on her feet, her posture demure, her arms hanging aimlessly at her sides. They were dirty and bruised, but it was too mortifying to openly try to brush them clean on her already ruined clothes. She decided to get this done quickly.

"I have been ill-mannered, Master. I deserve punishment."

When she was younger, Amalthea cried every time this happened. But she quickly learned it would just incense Master Xylter more. By now, she had more control over herself. Calmly, she lifted her dirty veil, her face as tranquil as an undisturbed lake at dusk. When her Master struck, not a single soul in the room dared to move.

But the corner of her sight showed something interesting. Qimir's hands, tightly curled into fists. Did he want to hit her as well? He was an explorer, after all, a job that sought people with a hang for violence.

"Thank you, Master. I will do better," Amalthea said softly. As she put her veil back down her unobstructed gaze fell back upon Qimir. His eyes seemed to bore themselves into her, his dark blown-out pupils reeling her in like the gravity of black holes. It was the first time their eyes met directly. The moment was gone as quickly as a shooting star and Qimir straightened his gaze towards the empty space in front of him, his jaw unclenching and his back loosening. 

Yavin spoke up. "You will leave Anantore Point at dusk together with Qimir. He will take you to the designated place, deploy your pod, and wait for you to finish your mission. You will kill him. You will wait for further instruction," he stated slowly and clearly.

Yavin had been the commander of the explorers ever since Amalthea could remember and he was good at his job. He was deviant and did not want to be found. Commander Yavin did so anyways. He prided himself in his work, but he had gotten older as well and Amalthea could hear in his voice that he was glad that he could soon retire. It all came back to how successful Amalthea would be. Grandmaster Torinn laid a calming hand on Amalthea's veiled hair.

"Remember, Padawan. No weapons. Your Force will provide. Do not doubt the Conclave. As a last resort, please make use of this."

His old croaky voice was barely above a whisper, and still, everyone listened with reverence. Grandmaster Torinn had trained Jedi for decades, was highly respected, and had been specifically chosen to instruct Amalthea in the Force. He dropped a small green crystal in Amalthea's open hands.

"This is an Artusian crystal. It will strengthen your Force when you need it."

Next to him, Master Xylter grew impatient. "You will finish this mission. You will be successful. You will be allowed to talk to Qimir during the mission. Flight emergency situations only. Now go back to your room. Do not expect rations for the next twenty-four hours. Dismissed," he bellowed.

Amalthea clutched the crystal in her hand and felt the sharp edges press into her skin as she wordlessly left the room, bowing slightly. Of course, she didn't expect to get fed any time soon. Denial of food was Master Xylter's favorite punishment.

The three days were over faster than Amalthea anticipated. Ecla came into her room to wake her, but Amalthea had not been able to sleep and was already meditating, her new clothes equipped and her bag next to her. It was her first time to leave the building complex ever since arriving here over twenty years ago and the airfield fascinated her. There were thousands of little lights blinking like stars on the ground, dozens of ships awaiting to soar into the gradually lightening morning sky.

Amalthea felt electrified by what expected her, her stomach churning, her body slack and glossed over with cold sweat as she dragged herself behind Ecla towards a small exploration ship. Qimir was already waiting for her, greeting her shyly. Once again, his eyes wandered all over her body, fixing themselves on her face. Today was the second time he saw her without her veil.

She would not need it anymore from today on. There was nothing that could keep her safe now. So she lost her protective layers shielding her slender, bony figure and her dark curls. Qimir watched them billow in the artificial wind of the ship's engine, seemingly unsure of what to say. After some deliberation, he asked the worst question possible.

"Are you ready?" Ridiculous. Did it matter? Had Amalthea been anyone else, she would have probably laughed. Alas, she had not laughed in years. So she responded in the only way she knew and silently climbed into the ship that would deliver her into the hands of her destiny.

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Hazband 2: Band AU

Buckle Up, Buttercups. This is gonna be looooooooooong.

-"Insider Bands" playing on VH666 streaming services on a computer monitor / TV screen sitting on the desk against the far wall-

Charlie: (laying on her belly on her bed and chewing her nails like a cartoon goat chews through a field of grass as she watches the TV)

Riff Rascal: Alright, dudes, dudettes, non-duders, and rock-aholics! That was Simple Plain's newest single "Why Are We Kids?!". Coming up next, our guy, our big shredder, our big bad-

????: Dammit, Riff!!!! Just get on with it!!!

Riff Rascal: Yo, sorry, boss lady! Coming up next, we have our expert in all things metal and shredding, Axel Steelgrave, conducting a super secret, super exclusive interview with one of Hell's latest and greatest! Stay tuned!

Charlie: (whines and plasters her face into the comforter) Fuck! I really messed up! I shouldn't have released that album, guys! What if Vaggie doesn't like girls outside of the metal scene?! Then I'm just the creepy, stalker, pop diva who messages her on Sinstagram every once and a while! And likes all of her posts! And comments on each picture! And-

Razzle: (trying to finish polishing Charlie's hooves after a full pedicure and hoof care) Baap?

Charlie: So? It was only ever mentioned once in a tabloid that she was once in a poly ship with a man and woman before. Nothing set in stone. Who listens to tabloids anyway? She said she was a lesbian in her last interview with Angel Metal Monthly.

Dazzle: (brings up a wide array of nail polishes) BaaaAaaAp?

Charlie: Yes! She messages me back almost immediately after every message I send her, but that doesn't mean the's interested in me. She hasn't been online in a week! (rolls over and flops onto her back, covering her eyes with her arm) Not since Katie Killjoy did that whole news segment on my new single music video and album.

Dazzle: (painting Charlie's hooves in a deep red hue called "Wicked Sinister") Baaaaaaap. BaaaAAaaap. Baap. (clicks his hoof in a way that's supposed to look like a sassy finger snap and blows heated air over the paint)

Razzle: Baap! (scowls) Baaap. Baaa. Baap!

Charlie: Thanks, Razzle. No, Dazzle. I really don't think this is some kind of rebound. I really started liking her during the Battle of the Bands gig over at the Jackpot Hotel and Casino. She was the first person who didn't openly laugh at me being there even though I was the only pop singer there.

-VH666 blares back with a heavy metal guitar riff-

Axel Steelgrave: Hey, good evening, everyone. How's it going? Tonight, we have a very special guest. (camera pans out to show Vaggie sitting next to Axel in an interview chair) Lead singer, guitarist, and rocking girl, Vaggie the Steel Vagina from Fallen Angels.

Charlie: WHAT?!?!?!?!?! (crocodile death rolls around in her excitement and falls out of bed, completely wrapped in a burrito, and worm crawls over to the TV) RAZZLE!!! DAZZLE!!! TURN IT UP!!!

Razzle: (salutes) Baap! (grabs the remote and turns up the volume)

Dazzle: (sad bleats as he looks at the mess of nail polish everywhere) baaaaaap.....

Vaggie: (trying not to snarl at the name) It's just Vaggie, Axel.

Axel Steelgrave: Oh, sure. Sure. Well, thank you so much for taking the time to come and see us. Not gonna lie. We were shocked to hear that you were coming out with a new single so quickly.

Charlie: (plasters her face to the screen) New Single?!?!?!?!?!

Vaggie: (blushes slightly) Well, I figured after hearing the Princess's new album and call-out, I should work on a reply.

Angel: (from behind the camera man) You wouldn't have had ta write and record a whole new song and music video if you just sent 'er a video of you jacking it all week! I've never heard dat vibrator work so hard in its life! I swear I smelled smoke last night!

Charlie: (squeals, gasps, and shrieks all at once and falls backwards)

Vaggie: (jumps up from her seat) Angel! What the Fuck?!

Axel Steelgrave: Well, well, well, I guess that answers my next question. I take it this new single is going to be good news for the Princess?

Vaggie: (still steaming as she sits back down and tries to compose herself) I know you have the video on hand. Why not play it and let the fans see for themselves?

Axel Steelgrave: I couldn't have said it better myself. (to the camera) With that being said, let's take a look at a sneak peek of Fallen Angel's new single: "Dear, Charlie - For Somewhere Better".

-Video cuts to some random point in the music video where Vaggie is standing in black leather skirt that has the leather ripped into strips in a hoola-skirt style, black halter tank top, thigh high leather heeled boots, and black fingerless gloves, holding and shredding a guitar. Angel is a pink, fabulous gay disaster on drums while one set of hands works a keyboard.-

Vaggie: (singing) We'll ignite. Still dreaming wide awake. On the hunt for "Somewhen brighter". Pull me close now, and I'll dream until my dying day. Till we create a new "Somewhere better". The promise of a life. Like a thousand suns inside my broken heart. I can see through your eyes. And embrace the flame that guides me through the night.

-Video Cuts back to the interview-

Axel Steelgrave: (freaking out excitedly) Wow! That's quite the statement! Good on you, Steel Vagina!

Vaggie: Vaggie.

Axel Steelgrave: Before we end this exclusive, is there anything you want to say to the Princess in case she's watching?

Vaggie: (Face falls briefly as her eye widens and a blush colors her face) Oh.... (shakes her head to compose herself, looks into the camera, and makes a telephone gesture) Call me~

Axel Steelgrave: (laughing) Alright! You heard it here first, folks. "Dear, Charlie" will be available on HellTunes tonight at midnight. Thank you all so much for tuning in. And, as always, stay rocking.

Charlie: (finally managing to unravel the blanket and sitting on the floor with a bright red blush) C-Call.... Her.... She wants me to call her... (jumps up and down like a teenager in a bad "not another teen movie" while holding Razzle and Dazzle's hooves) SHE WANTS ME TO CALL HER!!!! (pauses) How?! I don't have her number!

-DING!-

Charlie: (dives for her phone on the floor and opens a new Sinstagram message)

FallenAngelVaggie: Hope you got a chance to watch "Insider Bands" tonight. Talk to you later? Maybe over coffee? XXX-XXX-XXXX

Charlie: (takes a deep breath) SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Vaggie: (leaning against the wall of the VH666 studio, holding her phone against her chest, and taking a long drag of a cigarette)

Angel: Hey! I thought you were quitting! (yoinks the cigarette and plops it between his lips)

Vaggie: Dammit, Angel! I said I'd be done once my case is empty! (digs in her pocket and pulls out an angelic steel cigarette case) It still has four left! I haven't even lit up in nearly six months!

Angel: I know! Proud of you for that. That interview rile you up that much that you gotta wreck six months of hard work?

Vaggie: Ugh! (slams her back into the wall) You think Charlie got the message?

-squeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

Angel: (looks up at the sky towards the Morningstar Mansion where it looks like fireworks are going off on one of the balconies) Oh, I think she got it~

[hezzabeth]

The trumpets were old plastic souvenirs painted gold, so the off-key wailing was hardly surprising. A band of disheveled people marched onto the stage, still blowing on the plastic trumpets. Surprisingly, Isabeau was among them, her face displaying a bored, blank expression. They abruptly stopped once they reached the center of the scaffold, the wood creaking under their feet.

A man wearing green tights and a shirt reading "Medieval Christmas market 3345" on it walked onto the stage. His hair had been cut into a peculiar bowl shape with a blunt fringe, and someone had painted red circles on his cheeks.

"All hail Sister Morganna! Conduit of the one true god," the man bellowed in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

“Did you bring your solar flare gun?” Dityaa asked.

“Of course I did! I never go anywhere without it,” Revati snapped back.

Revati had never seen Sister Morganna up close. During her childhood visits, Sister Morganna was a distant figure. Glimpses of her gloved hands could be seen waving from the castle windows. Every summer solstice, she would lead a parade across the park, carried by men in a gold and white carriage. Through the mesh curtain windows, her shadowy figure could be seen shifting about. Now, Sister Morganna was walking across the scaffold boldly and freely.

She was dressed in a sky-blue and emerald dress, with a thick red and golden scarf covering her scalp, the ends trailing down her shoulders. Slowly, she turned toward the waiting audience, and Revati gasped. Sister Morganna's skin was the same color as fresh lavender. A single round, circular eye glanced about—an eye that could see and understand everything, even things that had yet to be—an eye that could glance into the very nature of people.

“She’s an alien!” whispered Dityaa.

It was an eye that could read minds; no wonder she had successfully started a cult.

“Technically, she’s a human from a faraway planet,” Revati hissed back.

The "faraway planet" was the closest the solar system got to actual aliens. Over a thousand years ago, a group of scientists set off to colonize Pluto. Obviously, they vanished, the ship sinking into the darkness of space. Three hundred years ago, their descendants returned. They were, of course, different.

Sister Morganna calmly walked across the stage and raised her hand.

“Praise be to Marduk, son of the sun, radiant is he,” Sister Morganna said.

“Radiant is he,” the crowd echoed, their expressions blank.

“Who’s Marduk?” Hissed Dityaa.

Revati merely shrugged, completely confused.

“Today we bring forward two heretics, those who smother the great transition,” Sister Morganna said, gesturing towards Bridgadeiro and Aurora.

“Heretic? I don’t even understand what I did! All I said was 'Bless Goup' when my new friend sneezed,” Bridgadeiro argued, nodding at Aurora.

“And I didn’t do anything! I swear,” Aurora cried.

“Goup is a lie! A false prophet created by an ancient snake oil seller,” Sister Morganna said with a small, tight smile.

“False prophet? The rainbow mat of crystal light has been proven to work! It balances your mind, body, and spirit,” Bridgadeiro smiled, and Sister Morganna turned to him, her one eye slowly blinking.

“I can see you standing on that mat, praying to the dark,” she whispered. “Your brother, he drowned, didn’t he? On that hot summer night? You cried and prayed! You think it was her that brought him back,” she added, and the smile dropped from Bridgadeiro’s face.

“She did save him! Goup saved him,” Bridgadeiro said, and Sister Morganna shook her head.

“Oh, you’re a true believer... you poor little boy,” she sighed. “Some gods are lies, but Marduk is true and ancient. My people have lived on his surface! We have been blessed with his gifts! Praise Marduk,” Sister Morganna said.

“Praise Marduk,” the entire crowd screamed, including Revati, who found herself clapping her hand over her mouth. Sister Marduk had hijacked her vocal cords.

“Now repent and embrace Marduk or sacrifice your light to his glory,” Sister Marduk cried.

“I repent! All hail Marduk!” Aurora cried, bursting into tears.

“Well, I’m not repenting. Marduk is just another name for your home planet that blew up centuries ago,” Bridgadeiro said with a small shrug.

“Very well,” Sister Morganna said. Revati sighed, pulling out her solar gun and setting the final charge to maximum.

“Oh, you’re not going to…” whispered Dityaa, and Revati nodded, pulling the trigger.

The solar flare hit the stage in a blinding loop of ultraviolet light. Sister Morganna screamed, flying upwards and landing face-first in the crowd, her body twitching.

“Praise Marduk! This must be an omen!” Aurora smartly yelled from the stage.

The crowd, no longer under Sister Morganna’s control, began to scatter in all directions. Some stumbled towards the fallen leader, striking her with whatever they could find. Others pushed and shoved each other, stumbling over cobblestones.

Through it all, Bridgadeiro stood, completely confused, his hands still tied behind his back. People pushed and shoved, stumbling over each other and tripping on the slick cobblestones. Revati fought through the tidal wave of chaos until she reached the scaffold again. Bridgadeiro was staring down at her, completely transfixed.

“Did you just save my life again?” He asked.

“Yes!” Revati replied, climbing up to the scaffold.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen! He said it so quickly,” Aurora said as Revati began to undo her bound hands.

“It was pure instinct!” protested Bridgadeiro.

The crowd was starting to swarm towards the stage like ants around a sugar cube. From above, Revati could see the smoking, twitching form of Sister Morganna.

“What are they doing?” Bridgadeiro asked, and there was a faint creaking sound as Isabeau joined Revati.

“They’re probably going to kill her; none of them wanted to worship an ancient Babylonian god!” Isabeau said and then she smiled. An actual smile. “I can talk normally again! She’s really gone!” Isabeau cried with delight as Aurora pulled her hands free.

“She’s gone!” Aurora echoed, grabbing Isabeau. Revati watched them kiss for a fraction of a second before politely turning her head.

“Did she really control all these people with her mind? Why would she do that?” Bridgadeiro asked as Revati began to undo his constraints.

“The tornado and the second invasion messed a lot of people up,” Revati merely replied.

“You seem fine,” Bridgadeiro replied, and Revati chuckled.

“Trust me, I’m not fine,” Revati said firmly. Life on Baker Street before the tornado had been hard. But there had been drawing lessons with her father. There had been fairytales with her mother. There had been tea parties with Dityaa. Dityaa.

“Where’s Dityaa?” Revati said as Bridgadeiro tugged his hands free. There was no telltale flash of Snow White silk in the crowd. Everyone was dressed in shades of green and mud brown.

“She was out there before,” Bridgadeiro said, gesturing to the bottom left corner of the courtyard. Revati jumped swiftly off the scaffold, ignoring the pain searing up her ankles. People were pressing in from all sides, shrieking, laughing, and, in some cases, singing. A blur of purple skin and red fabric passed her head on outstretched hands.

“Did you see a girl in a white dress?” Revati screamed in general; no one answered, and the crowd pushed her forward. People were spilling out of the courtyard into the laneways. Someone had decided to start looting the shops. Revati felt herself thrown against a wall, crushed face-first into the bricks. A hand grabbed hers, calloused, well-worn fingers gripping her wrist.

“I saw her at the end of the crowd! This way!” Bridgadeiro ordered her.

“You’re helping,” Revati gasped; something hot and red was trickling down her cheek. Revati was bleeding.

“Let the crowd push you forward; don’t fight it and try not to stumble,” Bridgadeiro said firmly, still holding her hand. The crowd surged and pressed in. Revati could see nothing but gleeful faces, smell nothing but hot, foul sweat.

Then suddenly, the crowd began to break into pieces, trickling away like water. They had reached the back wall of Medieval Faire. There was a hole in the wall. A massive hole. Beyond the hole lay the freezing wilderness of Mars. People were climbing out of the hole, running into the cube-shaped snow. One of them was Dityaa, spinning around and dancing with the Duke of Io. Dityaa spotted them and waved happily.

“They’re all going to freeze to death,” Revati realized, marching to the hole.

“It looks like some of them had enough to steal jackets,” Bridgadeiro added. Revati and Dityaa rarely left the park. When they did, Amma always made them wear her old protective gear. Dityaa seemed oblivious to the cold. It was almost as if the Duke's love was covering her in a warm, sacred light.

The escaping people were beginning to join in with their dancing.

“Look! He was waiting for me outside the wall,” Dityaa yelled, resting her head on his shoulder. Revati stepped closer to the wall. Revati let go of Bridgadeiro’s hand and carefully climbed through the hole. The freezing winter of Mars blew around her, fighting against the park's atmospheric heating system. Snow began to blow around her chest, and Revati felt flushed and dizzy.

The Duke was dressed in the same outfit from the night before. The same thin jacket and trousers. Up close, his blue hair was a little too shiny. Up close, Revati could actually feel heat wafting off his body.

“The Duke was waiting for you… outside in that outfit?” Revati asked suspiciously. Dityaa’s expression froze for a moment as if considering this.

“Sissy’s right! Let’s get out of the cold, darling; I have so much to tell you,” smiled Dityaa. The Duke held up a hand. The tip of his finger turned blue.

“Ah, the sister,” he remarked, reaching towards Revati. His eyes glowed with the brilliance of true Ai, and darkness prevailed.

Here's the revised text with corrected spelling and grammar:

True, jet-black, soothing darkness.

For Revati, who spent most of her nights lost in nightmares, it was actually comforting.

In fact, Revati felt herself sink into it.

The darkness was as soft as the mattress she once slept on.

“Oh, don’t sink into it, Dimpy. It’s not time for that,” her father’s voice whispered in her ear.

Dimpy.

Revati was Dimpy, Dityaa was Rinky.

Jay would draw pictures of them flying across the stars with wings.

Dimpy and Rinky; the sisters were so close they could be twins.

“You’re not real. You died, and your consciousness is in a plastic box,” Revati muttered.

The darkness was warm and sleepy, lulling Revati into nothing at all.

“Some of me is in that box, but scientists don’t know everything. Some of me is also in you, in your sister, and in your mother,” her father’s voice said.

“And I’m guessing I’m dead?” Revati whispered.

“No, you’re just recovering from a traumatic brain injury. Someone has placed a standard issue healing pad on your forehead,” Jay’s voice replied soothingly.

“And how do you know that?” Revati groaned doubtfully.

A distant, tiny light had appeared in the dark.

A pinprick that seemed to strip away things.

“Dimpy, you know I was a nurse! Relax, your glia cells are busy repairing themselves. Look, they move like fireflies,” her father said.

He was right; more dots of light had appeared.

They buzzed around gently.

For a moment, one of them flashed, lighting up everything.

Revati, in that second, saw a much younger Dityaa handing her a doll.

“I remember that doll. I bought it the day Dityaa was born,” her father said.

“Dityaa tried to give it to me after we buried you. I told her I’d take the book of fairy tales instead,” Revati remembered.

“Once upon a time, in the ancient kingdom of Mithila, the earth yielded a miraculous gift. A baby girl was born. She was discovered in a furrow by King Janaka and named Sita. As she grew, her grace and beauty were matched only by her wisdom and strength of character.

One day, Rama, a prince known for his valor and virtue, won her hand in marriage by stringing the mighty bow of Lord Shiva.

Soon after the wedding, Rama and his best friend were exiled to the forest. Sita, full of devotion, followed.

The forest was dark and full of dangers.

The most dangerous being was the demon king Ravana,” a woman’s voice, the voice of the maternity droid, whispered.

The lights were growing stronger, and Revati remembered something.

“Dityaa’s in trouble,” Revati realized.

“Yes, she is,” her father replied.

Revati’s mind was so bright she could see her father.

He looked younger than what she remembered.

He was dressed in the blue protective outfit Amma kept packed away.

Standing next to him was a woman.

A familiar woman cloaked in a fuchsia and green saree.

“You’re the lost princess,” Revati realized, and the Princess nodded.

“Wake me up, wake me up, and I will find my daughter,” the Lost Princess insisted.

[wardenparker]

In the Still of the Night, ch 6

Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.

But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Brief mention of assumptions made about the homeless, family death. Summary: Things have been going so well, that of course life finds a way to interrupt bliss. Notes: We seem to have hit the drama button this week. As always, I apologize for an errors I may have missed, and gif is for vibes not physical representation of characters. Hope you enjoy 🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

It’s still astounding to Zach how much shit he has acquired since getting on the cruise ship. He’s spent so much time living in sea bags when he was in the Marines and then out of that same bag when he was homeless, it’s fucking surprising to have to make multiple trips to move his stuff from the cabin that he shares with Shane to the brand new soulmate suite he will share with you. “Fuck.” He hisses, nearly dropping a little trinket he had picked up in Athens.

“Careful.” Shane warns needlessly, lugging in the last box with both arms. This one is books and Zach likes thick hardcovers from street markets.

“Why didn’t you tell me I had too much shit?” Zach grumbles, even though it’s not Shane’s place to say anything. He never takes up too much space in their shared cabin and always keeps his side neat.

“Why the hell would I do that?” His now former roommate huffs. The fact is, Shane never wanted Zach to feel bad about a single damn thing he owned. Not when he had gone so long with so little. “Memories are fuckin’ important, Wellison.”

“Yeah.” He feels a little embarrassed though, that’s a lot of money compiled into that box. Money he could have been saving or using on necessities.

“Stop.” Shane huffs as he stands up again. “I know it’s—it makes you feel guilty. Like every single penny needs to get saved for a rainy day.” He had felt that way too, after getting out of prison and making it through a halfway house. He’d spent a year or so squatting and saving until he finally found steady work that didn’t ask too many questions. There are a lot of similar memories still working their way through Zach’s mind as he navigates the next stage of his life. “What are you saving it for if not to live? To have a life?”

One of the things that he loves and hates about Shane is his ability to read Zach easily. He guesses it’s easier since he’s walked the same path he has and can relate more than anyone else they know. It’s also comforting to know that Zach could possibly be as well adjusted as Shane one day. “You’re right.” He huffs, rolling his eyes. “Damnit.”

"You okay, baby?" The first thing you hear from the doorway of the suite when you arrive with your arms full of garment bags is Zach swearing, and your brow furrows.

“Yeah!” Zach pops his head up from where he was trying to fit the trunk into the tight space and slams his head on the desk above. “Ow! Fuck!”

"Babe!" You flinch when he swears again, mostly because it comes with hitting his head, and immediately drop what you were carrying onto the nearest piece of furniture. "Take it easy, honey. It doesn't all have to get done instantly."

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He groans, rubbing his head as he straightens up. “Thought I would have everything squared away.”

"There's no hurry," you remind him gently, checking his head for a bump and thankfully finding none. "Hi. It's been like four hours since I saw you last. Way too many."

“Hi.” He smiles even though his head still hurts, happy to see you. “It was too long.”

"Way too long." In fact, it's been long enough for your heart to start hammering just from being around him again, so you have absolutely no shame in going to wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

He leans into your touch like he seems to always do. Basking in the simple intimacy that some might take for granted, but not him. “I’ve got all my stuff.” He tells you. “What else do you need to bring?”

“I’ve got one more trip to make.” You tell him, happily bundled into his arms. “I brought some stuff over this morning before bingo.”

“I can help you.” He promises. “I don’t have to be at the club for another hour to start prep.” He knows that he can have his staff do all the prep, but he doesn’t like to do that. It makes him feel guilty, like he’s not earning his paycheck.

“Are you sure?” Searching his face, you but your lip and frown. On the one hand? You’re not going to give up the help, but in the other you don’t want to make him feel like a packhorse.

“Of course I want to help you.” He would be offended, but you had confided that beyond a few friends like Shane, you hadn’t found many people who were willing to exert any extra time or energy when you needed help. Even though you had constantly helped anyone who needed it. “We can make quick work of it together.” He promises, flashing you a reassuring smile.

The instinct to push back and refuse is there, but you know that with Zach it isn’t necessary. Or at least, he had promised you it wasn’t and you have to remind yourself that he has no reason to lie to you. “Thank you, baby,” you murmur instead, dropping a kiss in the corner of his mouth. “It’s just one more trip.”

“Then we will get it all settled.” He loves that you are letting him help and he wraps his arms around you. “So let’s go before I want to drag you over to our new Queen sized bed to try it out.”

“That big bed is going to make such a difference.” And you won’t apologize for a second about sprawling out over him, either.

“Need me to stay?” Shane asks, smirking as if he knows the answer.

“We got it.” You promise him, tucked into Zach’s side. “Go call Diana and tell her that I said hi.”

“He’s going to be happy to have his room all to himself.” Zach chuckles. “I bet their sex talk increases.”

“Guaranteed.” The two of you close the door to your new suite behind you and head back toward your old room for the last of your things. “Ten bucks says he’s halfway back to your old room already for sex.”

“No doubt.” He snorts and knows that he would do the same thing in the other man’s shoes. “But enough about him.” He purrs playfully. “The sooner we get your stuff back here; the sooner we can have our own alone time.”

“Do we have time for a little homecoming before work tonight?” You wink for full effect, already giggling at your own joke.

“Hmmmmmm.” Zach pretended to contemplate it, grinning back at you. “I think it’s necessary at this point.”

Nudging him along the hall, you end up slipping right past him to practically pull him along. "Then why are you walking so slow, Wellison?"

His laughter follows behind you, a light, happy sound as his footsteps speed up to match yours.

The last trip is a few bags of every day items like your cosmetics, jewelry, and hair things, along with bathroom products. It’s nice to have a hand, and River takes it as a last chance to tease Zach about ‘taking you off her hands’. All the teasing in the world doesn’t make her hug you any less though, and you promise her one time that not being roommates anymore doesn’t mean a damn thing for your friendship. It just means hanging out will be even more special now.

“You’ve got a lot of jewelry.” Zach is uneasy holding the bag that seemingly holds hundreds of earrings and necklaces as you both walk back to your new home. A throw over from times where he would and could be accused of stealing a stick of gum. He keeps his hands where you can see them, even if it’s completely ridiculous, considering he is living with you and will be alone in your shared space with this stuff eventually.

“I like thrift shops.” Walking side by side, you lug your bags of cosmetics and bath things down the hall with a anime. “You can always find vintage stuff pretty cheap. A dollar or two for a pair of earrings I can wear on stage, ya know? Sometimes you can even find sets.”

“A couple of dollars?” He frowns slightly. “It’s…costume jewelry?” He asks incredulously. All of your outfits and accessories look extremely expensive.

“I mean…there might be a piece or two that’s worth something because some grandkid didn’t bother to have granny’s jewelry box valued after she died, but yeah.” You shrug, always having been more practical through your life out of necessity. “It’s pretty much all paste stone and glass. Looks pretty, though.”

His shoulders relax significantly and he nods. “Though I think you deserve real jewelry.” He frowns slightly, wondering how much something gorgeous for you would cost him.

“Maybe one day.” In an effort to make him smile, you nudge him with your elbow as you turn down another hallway together. “I’d wear a gum wrapper as long as you were the one who gave it to me.”

"I'll do better than a gum wrapper." He scoffs, but his lips pull up and his eyes are soft as he looks over at you. "That I can promise you." He'll buy you the very best ring he could find.

"My point is that the emotional weight of a gift means more than the price tag." It's something you've talked about just a little, the fact that you're both realistically broke when you're not living on the ship. "As long as it's something that made you think of me, I don't care what it costs."

“Hell, everything makes me think of you.” Zach grins and winks at you. “Hurry up and I’ll show you what I’m thinking right now.”

“Naughty.” The scandalized tone in your voice is just for show, and you pick up the pace considerably, practically racing him back down the hall to your new suite.

******

Both of you show up to work with incredibly smug smirks and a small skip to your steps. Zach rushes into the kitchen, technically late by thirty-five seconds but he couldn’t resist that one last kiss with you.

"Oh my god." Zach's sous chef and saucier are smirking right by the doorway when he walks into the kitchen. Both holding up their watches. "For the first time ever — Chef is only on time instead of early."

He couldn’t look stern even if he tried. Just too buoyed by happiness with you and the fact that you are just as giddy as he is. One day maybe the feeling will settle, but for now it’s butterflies and feeling lighter than a cloud. “Yeah, yeah.” He huffs, waving them off. “I know you have work. I might be on time but everything’s already outlined.”

"Oh, we were early today." His sous chef flashes him a grin. "We only stopped to wonder if you were actually going to be late."

“We were moving cabins.” He defends half-heartedly. He still can’t shake the grin on his face, so he knows they know that excuse is complete bullshit. “Get back to work.” He huffs, shooing them away.

“Any changes tonight? Last minute specials?” Zach’s team asks gently. They aren’t stupid. They know he’s been catering his specials to what the boss’s new girlfriend likes best. And if it weren’t so damn sweet, they might be annoyed about it.

He grins and shakes his head. “Nothing tonight, except I want to add a cherry cognac sauce to the chocolate cake.” He admits. “I appreciate you working with me on the unusual menu changes. You all have adapted admirably.”

“Keeps things interesting, chef.” His sous chef tells him, with a knowing grin. “But at this point we’re gonna be offended if we don’t get to cook your wedding dinner since we know what she loves already.”

"I couldn't imagine any other staff I would trust." Zach admits. Being in the trenches of the kitchen with this group had taught him how fucking talented most of the cooks on a ship where. Not only did they turn out the 'regular' foods served in the buffet for breakfast and lunch, but they also executed the finer dinning menu with the same ease. "Seriously."

“You heard the man!” The call goes out around the kitchen even as though few members of the staff closest to Zach are exchanging knowing smiles. He’s a good guy and an even better boss, and they would all walk through fire for him. Adjusting menus is the least of it. “Let’s get to work!”

The kitchen is a flury of activity from the moment they say 'go' and Zach just chuckles as he watches all the crew that he has assembled rush back to their stations. "Let's put a meal on the table they will never forget." He hums.

******

It goes from rare that you and Zach spend a night apart to downright impossible for the first several weeks of living together, but your old roommate River is having a little birthday party for her thirtieth and you can’t deny the request to join her that night. She’s forgoing a big party and just having a few of the girls over after hours, with wine and treats and gossip for all.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” Zach promises for the eighth time, leaning in and kissing the concerned frown off your lips. “Shane and the guys invited me out for a drink, so you go have fun. I won’t be pining away for you in misery.” He grins. “But I will miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” The bag with River’s gift in it dangled from the same hand that your purse does and you have the other hand on his cheek. “Have fun, baby. I love you.”

“You too.” You look amazing, but you always do. Zach watches as you turn and stride towards the door. “I love you.”

Down a few hallways and in the deck below where you and Zach share a suite, River has turned your old shared room into a boho chic crash pad with beaded curtains and scarves over her lamps, and the smell of patchouli in the air. It’s her happy place and you love that she is able to fully settle in and enjoy a comfortable place to herself until the quartermaster gives her a new roommate.

The music is on, but respectfully low to not disturb the cabins around hers if they are sleeping. The sound really coming out when she opens the door and grins. “Honestly didn’t know if you could tear yourself away.” She teases, lunging forward to wrap you in a tight hug.

“I didn’t either,” you joke, though it’s not wholly a joke. You squeeze her back and let her pull you inside easily. “Happy Birthday, honey.”

“Well, come in.” She grins as she pulls you inside. “Everyone else is on their way.”

“How many people are we going to cram into this place?” It’s nice to be back in a sort of nostalgic way. You had liked living with River and been fast friends with the philosophically-inclined bartender.

“Only four others.” She promises. “Intimate. Wine and gossip.”

“And snacks.” Along with River’s present, you have a tray of treats Zach made for you to bring for the party.

“Your soulmate is the best.” She gushes, eyes lighting up in delight. Zach had picked your brain for her favorites and managed to put together a finger food tray that was completely River. Right down to the mini cucumber sandwiches.

“He says happy birthday, too,” you laugh as she pulls you inside with gleeful giggles.

“What’s he doing tonight?” She asks, taking the tray and setting it down on the desk where she already has four bottles of wine and six glasses ready to go. “Pining for you?”

“Maybe.” You huff, though you can feel the warmth in your cheeks at the suggestion. “He’s having beers with the band. Boy gossip time.”

“Good.” She knows that you will be thinking about Zach, you have this almost dreamy expression on your face now. “Then I won’t feel guilty about pumping you for details.”

That only makes you laugh, because you had a feeling she would go that route, but she’s still your friend to tease. “Oh, so I’m the subject of tonight’s gossip?”

“Of course.” She huffs, rolling her eyes dramatically as if it was never in question. “No one else has anything as interesting going on in their lives.”

“Oh my god, you are not starting without me!” Madi — one of the hostesses from the ship’s high end restaurants and the most fashionable person you’ve ever met — comes in right behind you with a look of conspiratorial glee on her face. “I need to know everything.”

Quickly after her, the three other women who were invited arrive, all squealing about seeing you and soon all of you are lounging around the room with wine glasses in your hands. All of them waiting for the gossip to begin.

“Okay, okay.” You can pretend all you like, but getting to talk to some new people about Zach is actually nice. The guys in the band have heard every story already. Or they were there when it happened. “What do you vultures want to know?”

Tara grins, picking up a cucumber sandwich and examining it. “How much food play is involved in your bedroom life?” She asks, cackling at the joke. She’s a casino host from Zimbabwe and has a wickedly sharp sense of humor. Guests and crew alike adore her.

“Surprisingly very little.” You shouldn’t be stressed that that is the first question, but it still makes you grin. Zach doesn’t like food play because he still has hang ups about wasting food, but you use it in other ways. “Food is usually flirting with him. Seduction. Sometimes I walk into the club at night and his menu special is something I know he meant just for me.”

“That is so damn romantic.” Madi huffs. “I want a man who makes me special meals.” She takes a sip of her wine. “I bet he does that a lot, doesn’t he?”

“Almost every day,” you admit, hiding your grin behind your wine glass. “I swear I’m going to need a gym membership when we get back to New York. His food is so fucking good.”

"It looks like you are getting plenty of workouts." Jasmine snickers, lifting a brow at you. "You haven't gained a pound so you are sweating it off somewhere."

Zach doesn’t mind if you gossip a bit, you had made sure to ask how much he was comfortable with and he said it was fine. The broad strokes will surely be shared tonight, even while you keep the finer details for yourself. So you have no qualms admitting how active you actually have been. “I’m putting my birth control through the wringer.”

All of the girls erupt into giggles, happy about how proud of that fact you look and the playful banter starts to ping pong back and forth between them. All of them teasing you about positions and techniques to keep your soulmate making you fabulous meals for months to come.

“I know you guys didn’t invite me just to hear about how incredible my soulmate is,” you tease. Pouring your third glass of wine has you just as giggly as the rest of them. “Did you?”

A form chorus of ‘yes! is only counter by one ‘of course not! and that was only River who disagrees. Everyone starts laughing again and Tara hums. “We are all so happy for you babe. You light up at the mere mention of him.”

"He's..." The dreamy sign you let out is undeniable. Not that you ever would deny him. "He's the love of my life. I really don't know how I got so lucky."

"Did you know?" Jasmine asks quietly. "Before you actually knew? Were you like, drawn to him?"

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty," you admit, with a shrug of your shoulders that convinces no one at all. "I was definitely drawn to him, but I had no idea why. It was just..." The feeling had been there. It had blossomed in you and taken hold and grown so fast you couldn't keep it up. "I just thought it was the most intense crush I'd ever had. Like when you're a tween and have that very first puppy love experience? But as an adult it was so much more intense. I thought that's what it was...but it was the bond."

"Did Zach feel the same way?" Tara asks. "I can only assume he thought you were gorgeous, but every man on the crew thinks you're beautiful."

"Oh come on, don't be ridiculous." It's a lovely compliment, but it's definitely an exaggeration. "If you were to ask him, he would tell you that it was love at first sight for him. But he didn't think I'd ever like him, too. Which is patently ridiculous. Obviously."

"Obviously." River giggles. "Don't kill me, but Zach is hot."

“Why would I kill your for that?” You giggle over a sip of wine. “You’re right and you should say it.”

"Are you not jealous?" Tara asks, impressed by the idea that you wouldn't be. "I mean, I guess you wouldn't be, when he's so obviously devoted to you."

“I’m not going to be jealous that people have eyes. That’s silly.” Besides which, you’ve dealt with jealousy. You’ve seen it firsthand. It’s an ugly emotion that you never intend to face if you can ever help it. “As long as I’m the one he comes home to at night, I don’t care who else notices him. I know I’m damn lucky.”

"You are truly lucky." Madi sighs. "So lucky."

“Maybe you’ll find out Olaf is your soulmate,” you tease, grinning and making the other girls giggle. Madi had been long distance dating a Swiss hotel heir that she met while on vacation with her family in London. “You should get up the gumption to ask him if he has that tattoo of yours.”

"I would rather see it." She groans, rolling her eyes. "I need to see him. Tell the captain to sail around the continent. I have a man to jump."

"Get. It. Girl!" Jasmine crows, clapping and practically cheering.

Everyone laughs and you nearly spill your wine in the jostle of enthusiastic women.

It's a breath of fresh air to feel this happy and this free. This happy about your life. It might be the first time ever that you really are happy with exactly how things are, and that itself is a miracle.

******

Coming back to the room he shares with you, Zach is pleasantly buzzed. He had shared quite a few beers with Shane and the other guys, as well as shooting the shit and catching up. Trading jokes and stories. It’s different working back of the house in a kitchen and being up on stage in front of the same crowd of people. Both have interesting outlooks and everyone had laughed over the similarities and differences.

The click of the door startles you, mostly for reasons you can't quite articulate, but you jump out of your seat when Zach comes into the room. Cheeks stained with tears that you're still crying, your phone is clutched in one hand but you immediately reach for him with the other.

“What’s wrong?” Zach is immediately grabbing you, rushing over to your side and he sees that you seem physically alright. But your tears are aching, painful. He can feel how you are heartbroken. “What is it?” He demands, crushing you to him and instantly sobering.

"My, um—" You have to gasp between the tears, but you had hung up the phone with your mother just seconds before Zach came home and you haven't had time to process it all yet. "My Gram died." It seems so surreal, that sentence, and the very fact that you have to say it. She had seemed so well the last time you saw her. So capable and healthy. You had talked to her barely a week ago and she was perfectly fine. "It was—she had a stroke. This morning."

“Oh baby.” Zach has no family left to speak of, but he knows the heartbreak of loss. He closes his eyes as he holds you close. “I am so sorry.”

"They're organizing the funeral." Your voice wobbles, as uncertain as you feel, and you hold onto him tightly. "I—I gotta go home."

“Yes you do.” Zach squeezes you tight. “Do you want me to come with you?”

"Can you be away from the club?" Honestly you hadn't even processed the idea that Zach would offer to come with you, let alone that he actually could. "The, uh...the cruise—" You sniff back tears as best you can, trying to give yourself a clear head. "It's almost over. I have to talk to...I don't even know who. Someone. About going home."

“I’ll make sure I can.” Because of the pilot program on the cruise ship, they are docking and spending a week in port for meetings to make sure that there aren’t any changes that need to be made. It’s unusual, but it’s actually a good thing in this case. “My crew can handle the kitchen, even if it’s not new recipes.”

"Are you sure?" His willingness to just drop everything to be there for you is astonishing, and you couldn't be more grateful.

“Unless….you don’t want me to go?” He asks, unsure of why you’re so resistant to the idea of him supporting you during your loss. “I don’t have to if you’d rather go alone.”

"No, no — I want you to." Your hands tighten a little on his arms, silently begging him not to pull back. "I'm just...I'm still processing. And I guess I didn't expect you to offer it so easily."

“Of course I would.” He firms up his hold on you and leans into the embrace. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

"Thank you." You lean your forehead on his chest and breathe an extremely shaky breath, trying to keep hold of yourself so you don't break down crying again. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." He promises softly, his hand running up and down your back to soothe you. "Come on, let's lay down and you can cry it out." He knows it's too late for anything to be done tonight, but in the morning will be soon enough.

******

The morning, it turns out, is a whirlwind. The crew is given notice that the docking in port will be for two weeks instead of one due to a necessary repair on the ship, so when you go into the office to ask for a few extra days of bereavement leave, you’re told to take whatever you need. Shane promises to keep the band rolling in your absence and Zach turns his kitchen over to his sous chef for the time being. Things at work will be perfectly fine while the two of you are on dry land. You keep telling yourself that over and over while you pack.

Zach doesn't have many formal clothes, so he frets over that while he packs the nicest ones he has. "I— I will have to get a suit." He tells you after a moment. " I don't have one, and I'm assuming you want me at the funeral?"

You nod, still feeling fuzzy and vague, like your whole reality is off center. “I’m sorry honey, I mean—yes. We can get you one. The funeral isn’t for a few days, thankfully.”

"Don't be sorry." He sets the shirt down he had been folding carefully and moves over to where you are stuffing a large black suitcase full. Sliding his arms around you and hugging your back in support. "I'm sorry that I have to get one, that it will take time away from family."

“It’s okay,” you promise him quietly, drowning in the feeling of actual comfort and security inherent in being held in his arms. You’re so fucking grateful for Zach all of the time, but especially now. “I have a feeling that an excuse to get out of the house will be helpful now and then.”

"Whatever you need." He assures you. "I know it's not the best way to meet the family, but I'm here for you. If you need time away, you just let me know."

“I thought I could show you around Tulsa a little.” The good parts, anyway. He’ll see enough of the shitty parts while he’s with you. “When we decided we needed to get out, I mean.”

“That sounds good.” Zach nods. “What time is our flight?” You had made the arrangements, since you knew what to do. He had offered, and he had insisted on paying for his travel since you wouldn’t let him pay for both of you.

“Seven tonight. It’s going to be a long-ass flight home. Two layovers and every flight is at least a few hours long.” That draws another long, low sigh out of you and you lean back against his chest. “You’re amazing for doing this with me, baby. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“Of course.” He makes it sound simple and for him, it is. “Don’t forget to pack your book.” He murmurs. “And your sleep mask. Maybe you can get a few hours of sleep on the flights.” You didn’t sleep last night, but that’s almost expected.

“You’ll have to teach me the military trick for sleeping anywhere.” Zach’s ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat is fairly spectacular, and you grab your sleep mask from the bedside table as he recommends. It can go in your carryon with the book you’ve been reading. And a spare, for good measure.

He grins at you and drops a kiss on your forehead. "Exhaustion beyond compare." He explains. "There's no other way to describe it."

“I have a feeling I might get there this week.” Slowly, methodically, the two of you work through your packing. Your little hometown right outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma isn’t much to talk about but you tell him little bits here and there. It doesn’t feel real to be going back like this. It doesn’t feel right. But it is what it is and cannot be anymore.

"It'll be alright." He knows you are bouncing back and forth between grief and nervousness, but he lets you talk it out how you need to. "If you need me to do anything at all, you just let me know."

“The fact that you’re coming with me means more than you know.”

"Baby, you are my soulmate." He reminds you. "We are a team, and I know that if it was me, you would be right beside me." He appreciates that and he takes your hand when you turn to him. "I want you to know you can lean on me anytime. I'm here for you."

“If it was you, I wouldn’t hesitate.” And that, you suppose, is his point. So you nod your head and to your head back, pressing a short kiss to his lips. “I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “You’re my world.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

ItSotN: @greenwitchfromthewoods @copperhalfcent @ariavitiellos @spishsstuff @76bookworm76

[pollyna]

So, hear me out. Bradley knows about the Iceman but doesn't know him.

He's the friend Uncle Mav takes for important dinners once in a blue moon, and Bradley feels awkward around him because the man is tall, even if not the tallest man in his young life, and even if his mom tells him to go say hi, he hides behind Mav's leg and spends most of the night looking out at this man like he is some sort of mythical creature who not only knew his dad, Nick, but flew with him too. There's a picture in moma's bedroom of the five of them: moma, dad, uncle Mav, uncle Slider, and the Iceman.

Iceman is the man that Bradley hates a little bit because when he ships out, Uncle Slider wakes up at actual dawn, and Bradley can never get back to sleep because then his mom gets up too, and Uncle Mav really really tries to walk around on his tips when he comes through the door with him, but Bradley is awake. And it's too soon for him. So he has the right to hate him a little bit because of that.

In the years to come, the Iceman is going to be a voice over the phone, a sporadic presence over their table, and the person who will make Uncle Slider, who he calls Papa these days, cry like a baby the day he and his mom got married. And he's going to be the person with whom Uncle Mav sometimes disappears for weeks at a time, sometimes even months, coming back generally more tanned and happy than Bradley can remember him even being. He is the man who sends letters and postcards that his mom pins on the fridge and the man who makes his Papa leave the house at 2 am because his plane had been shot down and nobody knows shit about what happened. He's the man who forces him to wear his suit because of the medals and all that, and he has to go, especially if they are in the afternoon. (It's that Iceman forces him in the suits, nope, that's all his mom's work).

So yeah, he knows of the man, but he knows very little of him, and maybe he spent about twenty hours in his presence and company in his sixteen years of life. Then, during a party, some of his classmates ask if his uncle Mav is single because her aunt is interested in him, and Bradley doesn't know how to answer. When he asks his mom that same afternoon about Mav's love life, she shrugs and says, "He has someone, baby goose, had for a long time," and that's all he gets out of her, besides a single long look at the photo of Mav and the Iceman.

Something happens in the two years he and uncle Mav don't talk because something stupid Bradley said and something equally stupid Mav answered, and Mav writes to him a lot��letters, mail, and even a wedding invitation he sees five months later because he was away for his training and didn't switch postal codes. He doesn't open it because he's still angry with him, and his mom is so fucking disappointed with Bradley because "he got married and you weren't there". This thing hunts him for a long while, until he doesn't see Mav by chance when he gets assigned to Top Gun for the first time. He's wearing his wedding band, and he smiles sadly at him before saluting a superior and disappearing in the crowds, talking away with the base commander.

(It takes another half a year before they reconcile, but Mav doesn't talk about his spouse, and Bradley doesn't ask. He hears, thanks to the gossip vines, that the Iceman is getting his second star, and his mom talks, with Papa about his white hair and how distinguished he looked, during a barbecue the week before. Papa laughs and says, "Yeah, I'm sure he thinks exactly the same.")

But then he gets to know the Iceman, and not only of him after the mission, after he and Mav almost died, the man himself, with four stars on his shoulders and enough commandments on his chest to make the jacket look really heavy to wear, came to salute them on the bridge, shaking hands with every pilto and exchanging a couple of words with Mav himself. They are back on the land, Mav is sleeping in the back of the Bronco when they arrive home, and Carole and Ron are already at the front door waiting for him, talking with a guy sitting on the patio swing.

"Hey Mav, we are here," he says, gently shocking the man.

It almost happens all too fast, considering Uncle Mav is injured, and he's limping because his ankle is in a cast. He wakes up and looks around like he doesn't know where he is, but then his eyes focus on the figure who's looking back at him and who's getting up and walking towards them. And oh god, the Iceman is there, the fucking Admiral is in his backyard, and he's walking towards his car, but his eyes are on the person behind him, who's trying to get out of the car without killing himself.

"Kazansky, fancy finding you here," Mav starts, straddling himself against the Bronco.

"I was in the neighbourhood, so I thought to come by and say hi," he says, all serious but with a smile trying to creep on his features.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Admiral," Mav answers, already taking a step towards him.

"It is always a pleasure to know you are alive, Captain," he said, closing the distance between them, taking his face between his hands, and kissing him slowly.

"Fuck Pete, Jesus Christ, baby, I'm so happy you're home," he murmurs, and Bradley knows he shouldn't be hearing this because it's private and not for his ears. So he slips out of the car, as silently as he can and walks towards his mama and papa who engulf him in the biggest, warmest hug he has received in a little while.

He doesn't know how long they spend like that, hugging each other and not really talking because Bradley is getting all the comfort he needs by only being there, until Mav pats him on the back and says, "Hey B, I want to introduce you to someone."

And Admiral Kazansky smiles at him, not in the polite way he got accustomed to seeing him smile, but in a warmer, more familiar way: "Hi, I don't think you really remember about me, I'm Tom, Pete's husband."

So, at the end of the day, he knows of the Iceman, because of gossip, and knows a little about him because his mom and papa talk a lot about him, but he can say he personally knows Tom Kazansky, the man who married his uncle Pete and who sits in front of him every time they come over for dinner.

[quakerjoe]

A CUPPA JOE: 14 JAN 2025

Let's keep on point for a moment and screw the civility for a bit. My sense of civility died with Heather Heyer.

As tragic a thing it is when violence breaks out, TOO OFTEN it is the ONLY language that seems to get through to the rich and powerful since the voices of those whom they lord over always, reliably, fall upon deaf ears; ears crammed with corporate cash and bribes from oligarchs.

"Can we all just get along?" did nothing leading up to the American Revolution

"Hey, how about we don't allow slavery, huh?" didn't free a single slave in the USA.

"Yeah, Pearl Harbor... how about that? And those natsi death camps! We should all be waving fingers at those nations, especially when you look at how bad Stalin's Soviet Russia outdid Hitler but Stalin got away with it because he mostly kept Russian atrocities in-house. Ammiright?" Thanks, Mr. Chamberlain, but no thanks. Churchill's predecessor kept trying to play nice with natsis. How'd that work out?

Since the dawn of humanity, there is a line of trust between those who give consent to be governed, and those who do the governing. History is filled with countless examples of rich @$$holes who just don't know when to quit and they push and push and push until the breaking point hits and these dip$hits are suddenly surprised to find themselves being put up against a wall to be shot, led up a scaffold to be hanged or beheaded. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

We can warn them, time and again, that if the masses aren't being responsibly governed by people who see to the needs of ALL (or for feck sake, at least MOST) of the people in the country, it is inevitable that the masses no longer consent to the governance being applied.

Thomas Jefferson said it well in the Declaration of Independence: "When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation."

In other words, government in question anywhere, any time- "You're Fired!" When government agents sell their souls to oligarchs and push lies and create an environment where "We the People" cannot hold free and fair elections and hold the results of said elections to come to bear in favour of the MAJORITY, then we, as a society, as a whole, have failed ourselves and our posterity.

Every industrial nation on the planet has socialized medicine but one. ONE! You guessed it- the U.S.F'n-A. Every day the American people, no matter what side of what aisle you're pitching for, are highly strung out knowing, consciously or subconsciously, that their family's fortune can be erased with a major medical debt. This alone should be as uniting factor among ALL Americans, but the people of this country have grown increasingly stupid, less informed, more ignorant and certainly more apathetic.

Americans have a SERIOUS problem with TRUTH. This is what brought us to this sheep-like state of being.

Does anyone seriously believe the USA was minding its own business when the Japanese destroyed Pearl Harbor in WWII? History classes never teach 'Murican kids about how we helped the Chinese repel the Imperial Japanese forces from invasion. We cover up all the planes we sent to China to bolster their air force and the stories of brave American pilots who served as flight and combat instructors during this time. Covert submarine missions conducted by the US Navy to destroy Japanese shipping rarely, if ever, gets a mention. You know who DID know about US involvement in hindering Japanese advancements in the Pacific then? The Japanese. We weren't sucker punched. We weren't broadsided by the Japanese. We just didn't have the guts or gumption to answer the calls of our allies in China and the Pacific OR of our allies in Europe to stand up and fight when the call came. It wasn't until the Axis powers openly punched us in the face that we finally had enough support to DO something other than continuing talks and sending out pleas for the Axis powers to knock off all the killing and conquering.

This begs the question- when do we acknowledge that sometimes to stop the slaughter, one must stand and fight/commit violence? Is it only wrong when it's against our own rich @$$holes running the show at home? How many people DIED because trumplefuckstick screwed us ALL during the pandemic? How many DIED because insurance companies refused to keep up their end of the faith/trust and cover the life-saving things needed for people to survive an accident or curable disease? How many CEO's out there listen to those who, in the case of insulin alone, literally BEGGED to have the prices brought down to some reasonable level of affordability?

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. That whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness." Paragraph II of the Declaration of Independence; just a reminder that the oh-so-sacred Founding Fathers were very well aware that government gets power from those consenting to be governed. When government betrays the sacred trust of the people that put these @$$holes in power in the first place, it is on US to remove them and while through the rendering of laws that should allow us to do so peacefully, Jan 6 has proven that even those pillars of democracy mean f-all today.

So who is going to help us out? God? Jesus? The Great Pumpkin? The Spaghetti Monster? I highly doubt it. God hasn't show up for a war since, oh, ever. I mean, never. Religion has gone from an early stage of mystery where the wise find themselves on a quest for knowledge and to seek the Divine in any and all things while the not-so-enlightened use it like they do today- a tool to make even the dumbest, stupidest, most ignorant tw@ts appear smarter than they are because they were clever enough to tell an even greater body of people following them "It's God's Will and He works in mysterious ways- DON'T QUESTION." Nothing has drowned out God(s) like human arrogance and hubris like 'organized' religion has. It has trained the less fortunate to believe what they're told and to not question anything. Those who see behind the curtain see it for what it is: The Oldest Grift that's still going after thousands, maybe millions of years.

If you think I'm having a poke at God(s) (There are more than the One God- the First Commandment makes it abundantly clear) you're wrong. I'm not. I have no truck with God, and if we, as a species, are truly the recipients of the gift of Free Will, then that's simple enough to understand and it would of course explain why never openly see or hear from God. Then again, who REALLY does?

For example, look at Joseph Smith. This convicted grifter from my state of Vermont, managed to somehow procure unto himself some mysterious golden tablets that only HE could even see, let alone read. He managed to con a bunch of desperate, disenfranchised burnouts to follow him across this continent, to settle in bum-feck nowhere in Utah near a poisonous lake. He convinced these poor, less-than-bright acolytes that he was their new messiah and that they should all give him their possessions as well as their women (meaning their wives and daughters of all ages for him to F'k as he pleases). Yeah. That's Mormonism. That's religion in general, from ancient times to Charlie Manson and David Koresh and Jim Jones. It's not about gods or sacred tomes and riles, it's about selfish shitbags finding a flock of dimwits to follow them and that in places in the world where education thrives, it is harder and harder to find such dimwits to lead in a collective flock.

It happens all the time in the US; a nation continually crashing the education system to the point where it's beyond the point of being a matter of national security because the troops are literally too stupid to work the equipment. People aren't so stupid, I think, that they don't know why the GOP wants to end TikTok. It's an untethered platform where we can see, unedited, what's going on elsewhere. We can see the war crimes committed by the IDF in Palestine. We can see the atrocities committed by Russia in Ukraine.

The point is, sooner or later THE TRUTH GETS OUT. As the protagonist in "V for Vendetta" said- "People shouldn't be afraid of their government; government should be afraid of its people." He's right. In a time where civics is no longer taught in public schools, that's just the GOP and corporatists in government suppressing the truth of how things work, to keep them in fear of all sorts of things that really DO NOT MATTER in the realms of reality!

Racism- an artificial construct that means literally nothing. You may as well hate people because of the color of their car or house or shoes. Nonetheless, it is a perfect tool to keep people divided. It is the tool of white men to keep black people in a state of fear, but is the KKK publicly branded a TERRORIST organization? What about Natsi groups? Churches that promote division and hate? I don't see them getting hit with terrorism charges, but one young man kills some rich prick? HE gets a terrorism charge? How do we define "terrorism" in the US these days? Is it only when rich people are made to be afraid? Hmmm.... Must be. This is why it's just hunkey-dorey for cops to shoot black people in the back for no reason. Kill some rich CEO who is LITERALLY responsible for a death rate akin to 9-11 EVERY MONTH for years?

Gender Issues- Literally meaningless in the grand scheme. Why are so many GOP/MAGA f'n OBSESSED with this? It is something that a very, VERY small percentage of the population is affected by, and still, it's nobody else's business. Just the same, this little prop in the culture wars if waved around, set on fire, and used as yet another prop to divide us all when it takes far less effort to just not be a dick, not let it be a thing, and to either ignore it (best choice of the apathetic) or to take a sincere crack at trying to actually understand it, the sciences behind it, and to get a little smarter (best for those with empathy and a sense of curiosity for learning what was once considered a fictitious thing that people with "issues" had. Biologists have been mapping the genetic spectrum for a while now, laying out their findings to show why some men are androgynous and feminine and others are 'alpha male' douche-canoes, mouth-breathers and knuckle-draggers. You know; MAGA types.

The list is far longer and more specific, but you get the point. There's no TRUTH to 'race' or 'gender' that matters worth a damn for those who are accepting of everyone around them and tend to judge others by their character, not skin tone or by what's going on in their crotch.

Now that I've written a small novelette here, I'm going to conclude by reminding you that violence is often the last viable hand dealt to those who can't afford an anty and are never given a seat at the game. "Freedom's just another word for 'nothin left to lose." When you live in a time and a place where fear is a daily part of your mental diet because some religious nut is going to terrorize you because of your gender/sexuality, it's not right and when there's nobody to help, this leads to violence (self inflicted or lashing out). Everyone has a breaking point.

If you live somewhere where white people cause you to pucker-up because you're about to get pulled over by a white cop and this could literally be your final moment of life, it's only a matter of time before it invokes violence.

Tragic, though it may be, this is where selfish, evil, vile people in power push things, over and over again. They truly bring it onto themselves. They literally turn kind-hearted, loving people against them because they no longer want their boot on their necks. "We the People" out here will, when pushed far enough, bring the torches and pitchforks. There are more of those people than rich people have bullets.

Luigi got a terrorism charge, not because he killed a man. He got it because of who he killed and that the result wasn't as negative as those in power demanded and the bullshit terrorist charge is simply the rich man's way of saying "We can't be having you kill one of us rich elites and we'll have to make an example of you."

Sadly, nothing heroic is likely to transpire from Luigi's actions. Americans forget shit very fast, all the time. They're conditioned to it. I find myself fighting against that sort of forgetfulness all the time. It's why I read books on history, and if history is anything to go by, one of two things is going to happen this year in the USA.

ONE: All hell is going to break loose and the US will have ended its existence as a sovereign nation, or

TWO: Fuck-all nothing.

You know all of those 2nd Amendment fanatics who sit out in the woods having firearm fantasies about saving the world from tyrannical government while have group circle-jerks at their special camp? Well, decades of looser and looser gun control have been put at their feet so they could DO that, even sacrificing our children in schools and other loved ones out there in movie theaters and other public venues, just so they can have they're ammosexual fantasies. So... Where are they now? An ACTUAL TYRANT, guilty of grape, theft, grifting, stealing secret gov. documents and officially convicted of 34 felony charges is about to have round two in making 'Murica a hateful, divided shithole. Are the Gun Nuts coming to save us? Don't be stupid. Of course they're not. If ANYTHING, they'd be trying to pucker up enough to be able to kiss dipshit-donny's ass nice and deep. We're talking some serious colon cleaners here. We DO know that they're going to feel more embolden than they did on Jan 6 and that a LOT or people are likely to die. That's not the use of violence to solve a problem; that's them using violence in order to keep the problems going and they goddamn know it.

In the end, while I seriously don't condone violence, I cannot condemn outright since that's sometimes the only way to solve the problems dropped on us by a government that has betrayed you on one side of the aisle while the other side continues to take corporate cash to do nothing about it. While my heart is adamantly against violence, history has shown us all, repeatedly, that sometimes, as a measure of last resort, when the rich and powerful have left "We the People" with nothing to work with or to survive off of, gets the job done.

There are far more of us 'common folk' than there are rich people, and they forget, constantly, that they need "WE" more than we need "THEM". NOBODY with a conscience felt remotely sad when Luigi put 3 well-labelled slugs into a total tyrant. Boo-fucking-hoo; he had kids and blah, blah, blah... So did a lot of the people he consciously and willingly MURDRERED with his business practices just so he could have... money.

[dearweirdme]

https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/755230566619758592/thanks-for-answering-my-ask-i-was-this-one

• JK being obsessed with JM is an assumption made by jkkrs — the same assumption is used by all other ships JK is involved in

• Jikook did not drink together before Hobi’s enlistment ceremony — that was a manipulated translation by a jkkr who used “language barriers” as an excuse for non-Koreans not understanding what they were talking about, meanwhile other native Korean speakers corrected them multiple times

• JK apparently wasn’t even playing “Letter” on the guitar, as it has now been pointed out by other anons lol

• JK being excited and “giddy” about a project that he is a part of?? No way. He must in be love 🤪

• The uncanniness of JK going live when JM leaves the country is a shipper mindset, because as a tkkr, I can tell you that there’s also a pattern for JK’s lives whenever Tae had a schedule/was busy — I’m sure other shippers have similar theories as well lmao and that’s just confirmation bias

• I think I have an idea of why JK didn’t go to JM’s shows and it’s most likely because he wasn’t even fully aware of JM’s schedule — idk I’m making an educated guess based on JK not even knowing when JM was out of the country or not knowing that his promotions were over (JK said this himself, mind you)

• “Maybe he’s too distracting for Jimin” BFFR ANON they’re in the same band 😭

• JK did not actually know all the words to JM’s songs and what jkkrs like to claim is JK being “mesmerized by JM” while watching his MVs, is JK reading the lyrics (iirc, he literally mentions that he wants to look up the lyrics for that part or something like that)

• JK also consumed every single thing the other members put out too (pls he’s so aware of when they release things) — but fun note (because I’m a tkkr) JK watched Vibe with Tae and was ✨giddy✨ over remembering how Tae misheard the lyrics — also despite not doing a live to show that he was watching Tae’s content, JK was really up to date with any and all things Tae-related (this is corroborated by the multiple times he mentioned having seen the content, or by references he made that came specifically from something that Tae was a part of)

• “It was way more than any other member of BTS” and you’re talking about the interactions they had during a WV live 😭

• Do jkkrs actually listen to anything that jikook say? Because even during Face promotions and when he was busy preparing the album, JM mentioned that he’d been seeing Sope the most often — Hobi and Yoongi also made comments about how often they’d see Jimin, so whyyyyy weren’t jikook seeing each other? Let me guess, they’re too distracting to each other? 😂

• “Pretty involved application process” and it’s just filling out paperwork to choose the buddy program as an enlistment option — it’s wild how jkkrs are suddenly experts on how the SK military works

• Jikook do have a history of working together, so that’s definitely a possibility, but as other people have since pointed out, Yoongi also picked up boxing, and he actually showed up with bruised and swollen knuckles around the same time as Jimin — omg yoonminkook boxing buddies lessgoooo

• Neither of them tell us when they are hanging out, but you know what they do tell us? That they haven’t seen each other in a while, that they don’t know what the other is up to, that they don’t know where the other is. So where do we go from here 🙃 also, the same logic can be applied to literally any other ship, including TK 😭 (we KNOW they’ve hung out more than they’ve mentioned)

• I’m curious what jkkrs think about JK being a cook in the military tbh, because as it’s been reported (by multiple sources, not just bitter JJKs as jkkrs like to claim) JK doesn’t actually sleep in the same area as the rest of the soldiers, but is with a smaller group of cooks since they have differing schedules from the other soldiers — yes, they are still in the same unit

• The irony of saying that Kayla’s blog is cherry picked and that you watch original content and “know the context” whilst typing out this monstrosity of an ask is wild

• If you believe all of that about jikook, what about all of the similar but arguably more compelling things about taekook? I’m almost certain that I can take any “jikook moment” and find a comparable moment between TK or any other ship for that matter because nothing jikook do is exclusive to them

Apologies, I’m sure this is choppy because I was trying to address as much as possible but yikes 😭

Hi @thv-jk97 !

An excellent picking apart of an insane take!

[knownsome]

I see a river, it's oceans that I want

you have to give me everything, everything's not enough

Caius Lennox, Toreador of New Orleans. Pre-chronicle bio below.

Born to a single mother in Miami, Caius grew up adoring the stage, theater, and performance in general, fostered by his mother's insistence on dragging him to every community theater and park performance she could. She encouraged his artistic pursuits and the two were terribly close. Idyllic, in a way, but a vampire story rarely stays as such. Heart disease took her suddenly when he was 13.

Left alone, he was shipped off to his nearest living relative, his aunt Renee, living in a family home deep in nowhere important, Louisiana.

Renee was in many ways, the opposite of his mother. She resented caring for her sister's boy, and her religion became an excuse to berate and abuse him. It was an evening two or three years into her care when he found a brochure for a conversion camp in her mail. That night he ran away to New Orleans, no further hesitation. Anything would be better, even living on the streets.

Caius survived, the next few years, barely but survived all the same. He eventually turned to work for a brothel, just to keep food in his belly and a room to sleep in. It was bleak, a parade of johns and people using him, but it was living, at least.

To escape the feeling of just surviving to the next day, to find something he could connect with the old parts of himself, he began to frequent local gay clubs. Seeing the drag queens on stage, he found something that resonated so terribly within him, he couldn't live without it. To be a diva, a star, surrounded by people like him, embraced by the night, it clicked. "This is what I am meant to be."

Caius began performing, then, as Clover Clarke, the girl who could be everything he never was. Caius was low-key, she was this ditzy, lovable slut, kind and loud and one never to be looked away from. Any money he got, whether from johns or tips, anything, was quickly funneled back into this newfound passion, resonating within him.

This was the stage that put him on the radar of Prisma Rowe. She met him after seeing one of his performances, and they kept running into each other. Caius couldn't explain it, but she was magnetic.

Prisma was, as she put it, "From a little bit of all over," not native to the city but had been there some time, performing in a rotating handful of punk bands, mostly on guitar and vocals. She took Caius under her wing, letting him stay at her place and telling him, "Don't worry about all that other stuff. Do drag. I'll take care of the rest."

Given a place to stay and even funds for his work, he blossomed. He happily learned to deal with Prisma's quirks (slightly unhinged at times, never, ever, go into her room during the day, and sometimes he'd have to care for her after a particularly rough bender, among other things. Honestly she was kind of a mess.) and eventually, she asked if he'd like to have her help to be better than ever before, to be something truly spectacular.

He agreed.

She Embraced him into Clan Toreador.

Several years later, he's a mover and a shaker in New Orleans, no longer a fledgling. Caius has decided it is time to start making a name for himself and leave his mark on this city.

[kindsummer]

so this is christmas

happy holidays to my hbowardaily secret santa recipient, @sharkboyandlavalieb !! the length is actually insane because i couldn't pick a single ship/trope and instead decided to write a love, actually inspired separate stories mold into each other at the end situation. hope you love it <3 obligatory spotify playlist && ao3 link (bc i will swear up and down forever that it's easier to read stuff on ao3)

The quiet clack of keyboards and swish of pencils was the only sound in The Daily Planet office, all workers focused on their tasks with a single minded drive. The soft ‘ding’ of a phone notification alerted, David apologizing under his breath as he glanced toward the screen. The text was one that he had been dreading the entire month, from his mother, six words. Are you coming over during Hanukkah? Webster swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, sighing audibly with the bridge of his nose pinched between his forefinger and thumb. 

Joe glanced up from the comic on his desk, a pencil held in a loose grip. “What? What’s crawled up your ass now, Web?” Joe teased David mercilessly, though Hoosier swore up and down that it was his method of flirtation. David wasn’t so sure, but the small flicker of flame that was hope in his chest refused to burn out, whether he wanted it to or not. 

“My mother,” David grumbled, staring at the text like it was a live grenade that happened to be thrown directly in front of him. Robert and Joe met eyes across the room, twin brows arched in question, waiting for David to finish his explanation, nosy to the marrow. “She’s asking if I plan on visiting for Hanukkah. She’s so self unaware. All she ever does any time I visit is grill me about getting married to a nice girl and becoming a doctor when I’ve told her what feels like a thousand times that I’m gay and a writer.” 

Robert snorted, then clicked his teeth empathetically. “I know exactly what that’s like. A disappointed mother will never think anything you do is enough.” Joe’s brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them. He had no idea what it felt like to have parents who disapproved of you, his were just happy that he made enough money to survive. “I would outright tell her no, or ignore her. Make something up about a deadline for the paper.” 

“I’ve got an even better idea,” Hoosier inserted himself into the conversation as he entered the office, tearing the camera from around his neck. “Pick someone, a person y’know would piss her off, ‘nd bring them as a fake date. Pretend that you’re in a serious relationship, act all lovey dovey. Should be enough to cause her to not want to invite y’ever again. Done it before, worked a charm.” 

Robert squinted, mentally questioning when exactly Hoosier had done such a thing. Joe hummed in agreement. “Yeah. Hey, I’ll do it. Since ‘m enough to piss you off, I should be exactly what your mother doesn’t like. I figure it’ll be nice to see what the richy rich do for the holiday.” 

David furrowed his brow, weighing just how dangerous it was to pretend to be dating Joe when he liked Joe, but figured that he would do just about anything to get his mother off his back. “Alright, fine. If it worked for you, Hoos, it should work for me. Thanks, Lieb.” David reached for his phone, his chest feeling lighter than it had as he typed a reply. Yes, and I’m bringing someone. 

Bucky leaned back into the plush chair, doing everything in his power to seem at ease when he’d felt like there was a rock in his throat since he’d entered the restaurant an hour ago. The woman beside him, Eleanor, seemed equally as uncomfortable, glancing toward him every so often out of the corner of her eye. It was rare that anybody could resist what Bucky believed to be his natural charm and good looks, but Eleanor had barely said a word to him the entire date. Bucky’s gaze shifted toward the snow dancing through the air outside the window, wishing that he were anywhere but there at that moment. It had been Marge’s idea to set Bucky up with her close friend Eleanor. She hated how lonely he seemed, ‘jumping from warm body to warm body’, those had been her words, Buck insisted, not his own. They had stung nonetheless, especially because neither had any idea that the reason Bucky slept around was to get his mind of his best friend. Bucky would go to his grave with the knowledge that he was in love with Buck just so he wouldn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of their pity, and he would suffer similarly through a shitty double date if he had to keep up his image of a playboy. Bucky felt Buck’s eyes on him, practically boring a hole into his skull as he tried to read the expression on his face, but Bucky avoided the contact. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the restroom.” Buck bent down to press a kiss to Marge’s cheek before heading in the direction of the bathroom. Marge looked between the two across from her, completely ignorant of the discomfort hidden in their eyes. “I’ll just–yeah, one minute. Try not to have too much fun, you two.” Now that Eleanor and Bucky were alone, Bucky felt like he’d been placed underneath a spotlight, hot under the collar and the weight of expectations. He turned in his seat to face Eleanor, plastering a cocky smirk on his face. “So, Eleanor–” Eleanor held up her palm, dark eyes meeting Bucky’s for the first time that evening. “Stop. I think we both know that we’re in love with those two. You don’t need to pretend when it’s just the two of us.” Bucky deflated, the smirk quickly falling from his lips, replaced with a frown. “Am I that obvious?” Bucky asked after a long moment of silence, his tone soft and wounded. “Yeah. I’m sure I am, too. Yet here we are.” Eleanor replied bitterly, swallowing gulp after gulp of her glass of wine. Bucky sighed and slid down his seat, staring up at the ceiling. What had he done in a past life to deserve this?

“Woah, Deacon. Slow down!” Sledge admonished his Spaniel as he rocketed down the stairs in front of him, nearly causing Sledge to trip over him in the process. So focused on avoiding catching his pup underfoot, Sledge completely missed the other threat on the staircase: one of Deacon’s dog toys, perfectly poised to endanger. Before he knew what was happening, Sledge’s right leg was horizontal and the momentum had flung him onto his back, tumbling down the staircase, hitting every step precisely on some part of his body. 

Sledge lay at the bottom of the staircase for a long time, flat on his back and aching all over. Deacon leaned over into his space and licked his cheek affectionately. Sledge sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket, dialling 911 blindly. “Hello. I’m at 2351 Ayersville Road, Apartment 2C. My name is Eugene Sledge, twenty-four, male. I just fell down the stairs ‘nd I don’t think my spine is injured, or that anythin’ is broken, but I believe I might have suffered some head trauma.” Sledge had been around his dad enough to know exactly what an emergency operator looked for and what to tell them. He also knew what a concussion would feel like, and he may very well have had one. 

About ten minutes later, two paramedics knocked and then entered his thankfully unlocked door, kneeling beside Sledge. One had a short crop of raven colored hair and dark, deep blue eyes. The other was tan and sharp eyed, an unruly mop of hair sitting atop his crown. Sledge blushed and cursed internally at the fact that he would, of course, have to endure a cute paramedic stabilizing his pathetic ass for travel. “Heya, sir. Sledge, was it? Sledge, y’sure sounded like y’knew a thing or two ‘bout medicine. Gave my operator plenty to go off of.” The raven haired man greeted, wrapping a cuff around his bicep while the other stuck an oximeter on his opposite pointer finger. 

“My dad ‘nd best friend are both doctors,” Sledge replied, trying not to stare at either paramedic while they worked. “‘m not paralyzed, nothin’ is broken as far as I can tell, but I definitely smacked my head on a couple steps on the way down.” The second paramedic smirked like he was amused, his eyes twinkling as they met Sledge’s gaze. Sledge could only blush further, feeling entirely too vulnerable and exposed. 

“Your blood pressure is good,” The first paramedic replied, glancing at the oximeter. “your heart rate is a little high, but y’did just take a fall. We’ll finish checkin’ y’out ‘nd then send y’on your way to the ER for a CT scan just in case. Sound good, Mister Sledge?” 

“Sounds like fun, sir. Sign me up.” Sledge replied, causing the second paramedic to chuckle low in his throat, the first shaking his head in amusement. At the very least, he made some likely exhausted folks smile, and that was the best case scenario Sledge could think of at that very moment. 

Robert cursed and fell to his knees behind his desk, clambering to pick up the massive stack of papers he’d knocked onto the ground. Unseen, two pairs of footsteps entered the office, lingering by the coat hanger in the entrance. 

“I think it’ll be good, Lieb. I think it’ll turn out better than y’expect.” A voice that could only be Hoosier’s floated down toward the kneeling Leckie. 

“Well, ain’t no way anythin’ gettin’ through that thick skull of his,” Joe replied, Robert’s brows furrowing. “Lucky you know the person you like is head over heels for ya, huh?” Robert didn’t appreciate the tone, his heart hammering in his throat in the realization that it sounded like Liebgott and Hoosier were together. 

Their conversation faded as the duo turned off the lights and headed out the door. Robert reached blindly for a bottle of whiskey he’d hidden in his desk drawer, flicking the cap off and swallowing mouthful after mouthful. The burn distracted him from the ache in his chest, knowing that it was far too late to tell Hoosier just how he felt. 

“I know this is to mess with her, but please don’t actively try and antagonize her. You won’t ever have to see her again, but I’ll be dealing with the repercussions for the rest of my life.” David pleaded to a huffing Joe. 

“Whatever you want, princess,” Joe replied cheerily, though he rolled his eyes all the same as he knocked his fist against the front door. The cook answered the door, wiping her hands on her apron as she ushered the two inside. 

“Mister Webster, your parents are waiting for you in the dining room. You arrived just in time, I’m serving dinner right now.” She took their coats and hung them on a nearby rack, gesturing for them to follow her down the hallway. 

“Thank you, Alma.” David sighed, ignoring the mocking smirked Joe directed at him. He knew his parents were over the top and ridiculous, but he hadn’t needed Joe to know that. David set his shoulders before entering the room, plastering a smile onto his lips which quickly fell when Joe followed behind him, causing his mother to gasp as though she’d been mortally wounded. “Hello, mother. Father. Oh, Johnny, you made it.” 

David brightened a little seeing his baby brother, who stood and embraced him warmly. “Wouldn’t miss it, Dav. I see you finally brought home a boyfriend. Nice to meetcha…?” John offered Joe his hand, his grip firm as they shook. 

“Joe. Joe Liebgott. Chag urim sameach.” Joe pulled out a seat for David like a real gentleman, kissing the crown of David’s head before taking his own seat. David’s cheeks pinkened as he glanced at Joe out of the side of his eye. Joe was sitting like nothing had happened, watching Alma place plates on the table with curiosity. 

“Oh, and he’s Jewish? You did well, David. Mom must be proud.” John grinned, looking toward his mother for confirmation. Joan remained silent aside from a soft noise, which didn’t sound particularly happy. John cleared his throat and joined Joe in watching Alma. “It smells amazing, Alma.” 

“Thank you, Mister Webster.” Alma tutted, placing serving silverware amongst the dishes so that they could be served. “Enjoy your meal.” With that, Alma disappeared down the hallway, leaving the awkwardly silent Webster family and Joe to their own devices. Each reached for various dishes, covering their plates in a smattering of food in complete silence. When Joe didn’t place his napkin on his lap with the rest of the family, Joan’s eyes narrowed. She cleared her throat, hoping that it would correct him. David glanced at Joe, his fingers wrapping around his wrist in warning. 

Joe glanced down at the contact, then looked to Joan, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” 

“When you said you were bringing someone, I didn’t think you would bring a mongrel.” Joan sniffed haughtily, staring at Joe with a gaze full of distaste and dislike. 

“A mongrel?” Joe scoffed, his jaw cracking as he grinded his teeth together. “Fuck’s sake, lady. ‘M not the one treatin’ my son like a leper ‘cause he brought home a man. No one said it, but it’s obvious. I won’t ever be good enough for ya, so why would I try to imitate your highbrow shit?” 

“Joe,” David gasped, his cheeks warm. It wasn’t with shame, or embarrassment, like one might expect. No, David felt something else entirely, his stomach heating with pleasure as he watched Joe and Joan stare one another down. 

“Get. Out.” Joan ordered through gritted teeth. Joe wrapped his arm around David’s shoulder, tugging him up out of his seat and dragging him bodily toward the door. 

“Gladly! Have a nice life, y’evil witch.” Joe retorted, holding the door open for David before slamming it shut. David sighed and melted against Joe like he’d lost all his energy. Joe wound his arm around him, knocking their temples together. “C’mon. I know one family who’ll be happy to see ya.” 

 Bucky stared down at his mug, inhaling the scent of roasted coffee beans like it was a life vest held aloft a sinking ship. He felt a little guilty, being here, but he was desperate at this point. As desperate as the woman that sat across from him sipping a warm, incredibly aromatic cider. Eleanor hummed in thought, her lips pursed as she stared out the window. “I don’t want to hurt either of them, that’s not the point of this.” 

“Of course not,” Bucky agreed quickly, his chest aching at the knowledge that no matter what they did, it would mean that the two had intentionally broken up what seemed to be a perfectly good couple. Bucky felt like he was the scum of the Earth at that very moment. He swallowed his guilt alongside a heady gulp of black coffee. “But what could we do that would hurt neither of them? It seems like someone will have to get hurt in the end.” 

“Maybe a little, but we can make the blow soft,” Eleanor replied, her features scrunched in thought. “I know they care about each other, but I’m certain they’ve fallen out of love after so long. They’re just…stagnant. I’m sure if I can just seduce Marge, that I can remind her what being in love is like, that she’ll break it off with Gale. They need a jumpstart to show that while they’re content, they’re not happy.” 

“Right,” Bucky murmured, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling at the sound of Buck’s actual name. “If you can seduce Marge, she’ll surely break it off with Buck because she won’t want to hurt him. They’ve been together so long…it’ll need to happen like a bandaid being ripped off. Then, he’ll come to me, wanting to be comforted. He’ll realize what he feels. It’ll be a no brainer.” 

“So, a win-win situation?” 

“Yeah. Win-win.” Bucky agreed, though he hated to know that Gale would be hurt in the process, even if that hurt was only temporary. This wasn’t some malicious attack. Bucky and Eleanor agreed that it was clear that Buck and Marge felt something for them, but wouldn’t make a move because they were committed to one another. You fell into a rut, curled helplessly into what felt safe even if it no longer held love. Eleanor would be the rock in the motionless water, awakening the emotions that Marge held deep inside of her. Bucky tried to ignore the pit in his stomach, hoping that Buck wouldn’t break under the pressure of the unexpected loss. 

The air was crisp and bitter as Sledge trudged through the snow, his face stuffed into the collar of his jacket. Deacon ran ahead of him on his lead, completely oblivious to the chill, simply excited to be out in the fresh air. Sledge was honed in, solely focused on following the track. He didn’t see the squirrel that Deacon chased after, barking and dragging Sledge though nearly a two foot high snow bank. Sledge collided with another person, the two falling backward into the snow as Deacon chased the squirrel up the tree with unparalleled enthusiasm. 

For the second time in a month, Sledge found himself on his back, feeling bruised and concussed because of his dog. Groaning, Sledge rolled over onto his side to check on the person he’d slammed into, finding another ginger spread eagled and staring up at the sky. “Are y’okay? I’m so sorry, my dog got too excited.” 

“Oh, yeah, ‘m fine,” The other man replied, smiling as though he hadn’t just been shoved to the ground. “I’m sorry for runnin’ into you, I should’ve been more careful. Lived in Philly most of my life, ‘nd ‘m out here with my phone in my face when it’s icy out.” 

Sledge laughed as much as he could with what felt like bruised ribs, reaching for his phone. “It takes two to tango. ‘m fraid I have to call an ambulance just in case. I wouldn’t want either of us to go home with head trauma.” 

Five minutes later, two paramedics arrived, paramedics that just happened to be the same ones that had tended to Sledge after he had fallen down the stairs. Now he was truly embarrassed. The raven haired man cursed in a language that Sledge didn’t know, immediately crouching beside the other ginger. “Why am I not surprised that it’s you two? What was it this time, Mister Heffron?” 

“I told ya, call me Babe,” The ginger, Babe, directed, staring up at the raven-haired man like he’d hung the very stars in the sky for him. The medic shook his head, his lips pursed as he inspected Babe. The other medic knelt in the ice beside Sledge, grinning like he’d won the lottery. 

“Another fall, joli garçon? Y’seem to be very accident prone.” Sledge didn’t know what the phrase meant, but it caused him to blush all the same. 

“Y’can blame my dog,” Sledge retorted, which caused the paramedic to snort in amusement. Instead of replying, he spoke rapidly in the same foreign language to the other medic, who replied in what seemed like anger before simmering down. “What are y’all talkin’ ‘bout? We’re okay, aren’t we?” 

“Oh, you’ll be just fine. Just your ego must be bruised, is all,” The paramedic leaned in closer as he shone a light into each of Sledge’s eyes, his breath thick with cigarettes and stale coffee. “‘m tryin’ to get my cousin to ask Babe out. He’s been pinin’ after him since the first call a couple of months ago.” 

Sledge could relate, and laughed quietly. The smile he received in reply made his chest feel warm, another victory for the man who had become consumed by a mottled bunch of bruises. 

Despite the sheer chaos of the sheer number of family members seated around a much too small table, David felt more at home amongst the Liebgott family than he ever had with his own. The room was filled with raucous laughter and cheery conversation, and David was relieved at how welcome he was. Mary, Joe’s sister, was nonstop with quips and anecdotes that caused David to laugh so hard his belly hurt. Joe’s mother, also named Mary though she told David to call her Ima, continuously offered David a taste of a dish, another sip of wine, endless hugs and warm kisses pressed to his cheek. 

“I’ve been waitin’ for my son to bring someone nice home. He never has, kept tellin’ me he was waitin’ for someone important enough to,” Ima informed him as she filled his plate with Rugelach and Babka and Sufganiyot. “He wouldn’t shut up about you for a couple’a months there. I knew y’would get together eventually.” She pressed a kiss to his temple before shuffling away to dote on one of her children with a bright smile. 

David watched Joe from across the room, measuring him up for a moment. Was it possible that Hoosier was actually right? That Joe did like him, too, and teasing was his method of flirtation? Weaving through the crowd of Liebgotts, David wrapped his fingers around Joe’s wrist and dragged him out to the front stoop, sitting abruptly on the stone with a cigarette held between his lips. Still confused as to why he’d been forced outside, Liebgott drew a lighter from his pocket and lit David’s cigarette for him. 

After taking a shaky inhale, David passed the cigarette to Joe, who took a greedy drag. “Is it true? That you told your mom about me. Do you like me?” David refused to make eye contact, staring down at the impression his boots made in the snow. His cheeks were red, the tip of his nose already pinkening in the cold air. 

Joe took another drag before answering, handing the cigarette back to David. “Yeah. Talk about a long shot, right? In what world would someone like you want someone like me?” It was self deprecating, damaging beyond repair. What kind of person did Joe think he was? 

“You’re an idiot,” David murmured, turning to face Joe with snowflakes melting in his long eyelashes. Joe felt like he’d been kicked in the chest, his lips parting instinctively even before David leaned in to kiss him. David’s arms wound around Joe’s neck, the taste of cigarette lingering between them as they molded together. “I’ve had a crush on you for months. I can’t believe you didn’t realize that.” 

“What, am I supposed to be a mind reader?” Joe retorted, his eyes soft and mouth curled into a small, pleased smile as he leaned in for another kiss. 

A knock on the door startled Bucky out of half-asleep rewatch of Titans, brows furrowing when he checked the clock and the torrential downpour outside. Who would come calling in such shitty circumstances? Scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms, Bucky stumbled toward the front door and wrenched it open. On the other side was Buck, absolutely drenched in rain, his hair matted to the crown of his head and dark, his eyes wet with tears. 

“Oh, Buck,” Bucky murmured, his gaze filled with sympathy. It had to have been Marge, there was no other reason why he might have shown up at Bucky’s door at this time of night in the relentless rain. “Come in, you’re soaked. Jesus,” Bucky closed the door behind him, scrambling for a towel in the nearby bathroom. His apartment was cramped and cozy, but it made it much easier to reach for things because of his height and long legs. “Lean against the counter. That’s it.” 

Buck had begun to tremble as the cold soaked into his bones, shivering as Bucky toweled him down as gently as possible. Bucky took special care around Buck��s face, ears, and hair, tender in a way that would be embarrassing if he gave a shit about appearing masculine. After he was mostly dry, his hair still a bit damp, Bucky cradled Buck’s cheek, his brows furrowed in concern as he stared down into Buck’s still wet eyes. “What happened, Buck?” 

Buck sniffled, more pathetic and expressive in emotion than Bucky had ever seen him. “Marge, she, uh. She broke it off. Said that it was for the both of us, that we deserved better than ‘stagnancy’, whatever that was supposed to mean. What am I supposed to do, Bucky? We’ve been together since we were kids, and now…” Buck dropped his head, his shoulders visibly shaking from the chill. “I don’t even know how I’m supposed to function without her.” 

“Buck, Gale, you’re your own person,” Bucky chided, forcing Buck to look up at him by tugging his chin up as gently as he could. “You don’t need anyone to function. Whenever you’re ready, you’re gonna find a nice person who loves you and brings joy into your life. I know it. You are the most amazing person I have ever met in my life, there ain’t no way that your soulmate isn’t out waiting for you. And if it isn’t Marge, then so be it. You’ll find them.” 

Buck stared up at Bucky with an unreadable expression for a long moment, and Bucky wished, more than anything, that he knew what he was thinking. Instead of replying verbally, Buck arched up on his toes to press a warm kiss against Bucky’s lips. His eyes closed, his pale, pretty eyelashes fluttering against his sharp, cut cheekbones. Bucky was the one to break the kiss, even though it was practically a dream come true, knocking his forehead against Buck’s. “Buck, I don’t–I can’t be your rebound.” 

“You aren’t,” Buck reassured him, leaning in for another kiss, this one far deeper. Bucky believed him, winding his arms around Buck’s waist and pressing him bodily against the counter. This was the moment he had been waiting for since he was a teenager, there wasn’t any universe in which he wouldn’t enjoy every last second, even if Buck changed his mind. 

“Please tell me that wasn’t the ladder, Sid.” Sledge couldn’t believe that his luck was that bad. There was no way. Almost like a confirmation sent by God himself, Sledge deflated against the roof as he heard Sid bend over and howl with laughter. Yeah, that ladder had absolutely fallen, and now he was stuck up here at the whims of his annoying best friend. “Can y’lift it, please, Sid?” 

Instead of doing so, Sledge lay flat against the roof, waiting for his best friend to do anything in the way of helping him. All Sidney did was laugh. Sledge rolled his eyes and pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing 911 for the third time in a month. Which was ridiculous, but Sledge would pretend that he could endure the embarrassment with ease. The Christmas lights they had been attempting to hang up were partially draped over the side of the house. Why Sledge had even agreed to help Sid, he didn’t know. 

Twenty minutes later, sirens blasting, a firetruck and ambulance barreled down the road toward Sidney’s house. By that point, Sledge was shaking from the chill in the air, and Sidney was on his knees, still unable to stop himself from laughing. Sledge prepared himself for judgement as the ladder smacked against the drainpipe, huffing in irritated amusement as the two paramedics from before climbed onto the roof one after the other. The curly hair man laughed audibly, even though the other sent a glare in his direction. “O’course it’s you.” 

Sledge sighed, letting the two look him over despite a lack of injury, except perhaps his pride. Another car pulled up onto the driveway, a voice that was unmistakably Mary Houston Phillips’ echoing through the plot of land. “Again, Sidney? Stop laughin’! Your best friend is in danger!” 

 The raven-haired medic side eyed Sledge, his perfectly manicured brow arched incredulously. “This has happened before?” He wrapped an arm around Sledge’s bicep, carefully leading him to the edge of the roof and the ladder. The other paramedic waited at the bottom, grinning as he held his arms out, prepared to catch Sledge should he fall. 

“Unfortunately, I never fail to come to Sid’s aid, even when he’s put me in more than one precarious situation.” Sledge grumbled, dutifully ignoring the cursing from the other paramedic as he descended. 

The curly-haired medic led Sledge over toward the ambulance, his palm spread wide over Sledge’s back, he assumed, to stabilize him. “You’re lucky you’re cute, gettin’ away with a lot more.” 

Sledge glowered, his flushed cheeks exposing the fact that he was not actually mad at all. “I didn’t do anythin’.” 

“Sure, joli garçon.” He crouched beside Sledge as the redhead sat atop a stretcher, visually inspecting him. It might not have been for injuries, Sledge wasn’t sure, he was too annoyed. “There’s gonna be a party at my apartment complex next week, for the holidays. Y’should come.” 

Sledge opened his mouth to reject the offer, but figured that maybe hanging around a paramedic would do him some good with all his recent accidents. He nodded, his cheeks flushing a deeper red. “Alright. Y’never told me your name, y’know.” 

“Snafu. Snafu Shelton, at yer service.” 

“Did you check under both our names? Nixon? Winters?” Lew seemed perturbed, his brows bunched. Dick was hardly listening, his palms sweating as the realization that he would have to share a room with Lew sunk in. It was bad enough going on a solo business trip with Lewis, who shouldn’t have to go on any due to his seniority, but now there was no second room booked? Dick didn’t know how he would survive the proximity with his secret feelings for his boss. They were stupid, and childish, but it was a mere fact that Dick didn’t want to face. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but it appears that we don’t have your registration.” The clerk, who already seemed quite harried due to the holiday season, did come across as sympathetic. It wasn’t his fault if the system had glitched, or there was an issue when the booking was input. It was, however, deeply frustrating, and Lewis looked about ready to blow his top.  “There are no rooms I could give you, I’m afraid, since we are fully booked for the next few days.” 

Lewis opened his mouth as though he were about to reply with a snappy or rude comment, and Dick felt he had to swoop in to avoid an emotional explosion. “That’s alright, sir. We’ll just take the room.” It wasn’t like there were any other options. “Thank you.” The clerk handed Dick the key, and Dick wrapped his fingers around Lew’s wrist, dragging him toward the elevator before he could say anything.

The two were entirely silent as the elevator shot up toward their room, the hallways eerily quiet that time of night as they approached the door. The room wasn’t small but neither was it large, and Dick could only stare blankly at the bed for a beat. He couldn’t share that bed, not without unforeseen circumstances, and that couldn’t happen. Dick needed this job, and he needed Lew as a friend. It would be an entirely horrible idea that was not palatable. “I’ll take the floor, Lew. You take the bed. You paid for it.”

“My business card paid for it, which means dad did, not me.” Lewis scoffed, waving off the excuse with a wildly thrown hand. “No. We’re grown adults, we can share a bed. It’s not like anything’s going to happen that we need to tell HR about, is it?” 

The question was clearly a joke, but it made Dick swallow around a hard lump in his throat anyway. He didn’tt see how he could disagree verbally with a statement like that, which sounded more like an order than a request. “Alright.” He threw his bags in one corner and retreated to the bathroom to change out of his suit, returning to find Lew already tucked into bed. Dick crawled in beside him, determinedly facing the opposite direction. “Goodnight, Lew.” 

“Goodnight, Dick.” 

Dick wasn’t sure how much time passed, it felt like weeks, years, which was incredibly overdramatic and unwarranted, but it was impossible to sleep next to Lew. His mind was racing, his heart was pounding, and all he could think about was things that he knew he very well shouldn’t. After tossing and turning so much that he was tangled in the sheets, Lewis sighed audibly and curled up directly behind Dick, throwing his arm around his waist. Lew pulled him close, tucking his face into the back of Dick’s neck. “Quit thinking so much, Red.” Dick deflated instantly, melting into the embrace and closing his eyes. Within minutes, Dick had drifted off to sleep with an ease he hadn’t had since he was a child. 

Merry laughter and the soft tones of holiday music drifted through the air from the conference room. Robert felt obligated to attend despite not living at the building himself because Hoosier had asked him. The fact that Liebgott also lived there was grating enough to draw his ire, but Bob was happy to overlook many horrible things if only to please Hoos. He entered the building with a dramatic wrench of the door, his eyes immediately narrowing when he spotted Liebgott with his arm around Webster. What the hell? This wasn’t the place they needed to fake a relationship…so did that mean that Liebgott was cheating on Hoosier? 

Jaw clenched tightly, Leckie stormed over to Liebgott, clenching his fist around Lieb’s collar and dragging him away from Web. “Hey, what the hell are y’doin’?” Liebgott grated out, already glaring at Leckie, squared to fight from birth. 

“Could ask the same thing of you. Stepping out on Hoosier…what is the matter with you?” Before Leckie could swing a punch or Liebgott could reply in earnest, Hoosier’s voice floated over to them from the doorway. “Is your head so far up your ass ‘cause y’lost a fight to Krampus? Liebgott ‘nd I ain’t together, dumbass.” 

Embarrassed, his cheeks heated, Leckie tucked a metaphorical tail between his legs and headed toward Hoosier with his hands stuffed into his pockets, murmuring an apology. Hoosier grinned toothily, his overbite obvious when he wrapped his fingers around Leckie’s collar and tugged him in for a kiss. Robert froze, but eventually relaxed by the time Hoosier pulled away. “What was that for?” 

“Mistletoe,” Hoosier nodded to the parasitic berry bush above them, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Oh.” 

By the drink table, Dick actively avoided looking at Lew, who chatted with Bucky and Buck, very confusing nickname choices, his downstairs neighbors. After the two Bucks floated onto another conversation, Lewis turned to Dick and kicked his shoe. Dick jostled, his eyes wide when they met Lew’s. “What’s the matter with you?” 

“Hmmm? Oh, nothing, Lew.” 

“Bullshit,” Lewis snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve been acting weird since our stay in Chicago. Is it because I cuddled you, Dick? ‘Cause we don’t have to make that out to be anything serious if we don’t want to.” 

Dick hummed, his brows furrowed as he debated whether admitting his feelings were worth it. “What if I want it to be? Serious, that is.” 

Lewis stared at him for a moment, different emotions flashing through his eyes like a Viewfinder. Eventually, a slow, wide smile grew on his lips. “Then it will be. Nothing more to it. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Dick couldn’t help but smile when Lewis’ was so infectious, his freckled cheeks dusted an adorable pink. 

Babe took a deep breath as he entered the party, already so nervous that his palms were sweaty, leaving distinct markings on the handle of the door. The conference room was filled to the brim with cheery conversations and grinning renters, but Babe spotted Roe’s raven-colored cut from across the room and beelined straight for him. Roe was laughing at something that Snafu said, his cousin grinning toothily with his arm wrapped around Sledge. “Hey, guys.” 

“Hey there, accident de marche.” Snafu greeted, Roe sending him an irritated glare that apparently held no weight to him. Babe, unsure of what to do, waffled between shaking Roe’s hand and hugging him, sending Roe’s cup of punch splattering all over him. 

“Oh shit, Gene, ‘m so sorry,” Babe turned as red as his hair with embarrassment. Roe held up his palm to direct him to stop, which Babe listened to unquestioningly. Then, seeing that his shirt was ruined, wrapped his fingers around Babe’s wrist and led him down a series of hallways to what could only be he and Snafu’s apartment. As Roe rifled through his closet, Babe haphazardly scrubbing at his shirt in the sink as though it would in any way clean the now ruined white fabric. “‘m tryin’ to clean it, Gene, but the stain ain’t comin’ out, ‘m so sorry. Fuck.” 

“‘s fine, Heffron. It’s just a shirt.” Roe almost materialized beside him, placing his palm on Babe’s hand to still him. The shirt he’d chosen to replace it was even more flattering, bringing out the beautiful blue shade of his eyes. Babe was so flustered that he started to speak again, not sure exactly what he was saying, but that he had to talk otherwise he was afraid that the angel beside him would disappear. Roe rolled his eyes, grabbing Babe’s shoulders to pull him down in a kiss. It was soft and earnest in a way that made Babe’s chest ache, and an odd desperate noise reverberated in his throat. 

Roe pulled away chuckling, his eyes sparkling with emotion in a way that Babe had never seen before, which only made him all the more pleased. He’d really thought that Roe was annoyed with him the entire time they’d known one another, having to attend call after call because of all the accidents that he managed to get himself involved with. However, when Roe invited him to his apartment complex’s holiday party, Babe couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe his feelings were returned, that maybe the gorgeous paramedic with the softest hands he’d ever felt actually liked him back. 

“Merry Christmas, Heffron.” Roe murmured, nuzzling Babe’s cheek with the very tip of his nose, his palms laying flat against Babe’s chest in almost a possessive notion. 

“Merry Christmas, Genie.” 

[sauron-kraut]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you so much for tagging me, @nihil-ism 🖤

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently 15.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

9,329 - you see, my works posted so far are either shorter one shots or ficlets/drabbles.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Silmarillion and adjacent works by Tolkien. :) And within this fandom it's almost exclusively about rather niche ships with Mairon. Let's see when/if I will write for other fandoms; I'd love to at some point.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Of Gods And Monsters

Sacrificial

Plaything

Sugar

Sacred

All of these are Mairon/Ar-Pharazôn. lmao

5. Do you respond to comments?

I will respond to every single (first) comment someone leaves on a fic of mine. I thorougly enjoy these little interactions and I want to show my appreciation to people who show me theirs.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That must be my double drabble Plaything I guess. At least if we talk about the very moment ending the fic. Throwing up from negative emotions and alcohol alike seems pretty... angsty.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

That must be Of Being Born and Little Deaths. Everyone (well...) is having a good time and it literally ends with an orgasm.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

So far I haven't and I'm very grateful for that.

9. Do you write smut?

I love writing smut. And I love weaving character analyses/studies and some poetry into it.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I don't, personally not a fan of crossovers.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I haven't, but sharing headcanons and ideas with others has endlessly inspired many of my fics.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Angbang (Melkor/Mairon). I love them, I will never be over them; they've been with me for ten years now, I could ramble on forever about how important this ship is to me and what it means to me. It's rather popular in fandom though and I feel like there's many great writers out there who have graced us with their brilliant work. That makes me feel like I don't necessarily need to... add to that somehow. I'd love to write (more) Angbang at some point but as far as writing goes my favorite ship is Mairon/Ar-Pharazôn (which many of you might have guessed at this point lol). It's rotten, it's biblical, it's a playground for all things terrible to me. And it's a rarepair (why??) and therefore (in my mind) lies like a bare field before me, ready to sow and play in. 🖤

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

No such thing. My WIP are my children and I will not abandon them. It might take many months but they will see the light of day.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Building atmosphere, pretty lines, poetry, in some parts characterization. (Very) short formats are my strength in general.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Not really able to write anything plot-driven, sometimes dialogue (though I might have started to improve a little), prioritizing pretty imagery and rhythm/sound over meaning/sense sometimes, having difficulties writing longer stuff.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Not really my thing; could get awkard quickly imo.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Visual Kei bands (Moi dix Mois) when I was 14.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? 

Easily my little double drabble Reverence. It illustrates nicely what I talked about regarding my writing strengths for question 17 imo.

Tagging @lvsifer, @curufiin, @cilil, @saintstars, @gardensofthemoon, @elevenelvenswords , @crackinthecup , @swanhild , @a-world-of-whimsy-5 and @i-did-not-mean-to (no pressure ofc and sorry if I forgot anyone, in that case: that's just my forgetful brain at work)

[blacklegsanjiii]

Based off that ask about ASL+S but also golden, croc and warlord Sanji's growing up and being friends. I had a thought golden!Sanji and Single dad!Mihawk who keep visiting because it's good for Sanji. And after Sabo dies and Sanji is crying and Ace is telling Sanji that's not what he would want. Ace is telling him to toughen up and Luffy is nodding and Mihawk sits them down and explains grief and that there's no time limit for it and like he's talking to them like they're little adults. He also somehow goes back to Kuraigana as a father of three and not just one.

Mihawk suddenly has two absolutely feral children on his island who willingly rile up the humandrills, one of them is rubber, the other is the son of Roger and Rouge, he does not tell Shanks he has them, and his bed has four people sleeping in it regularly. It doesn't start that way every night but that's how he wakes up most mornings. He doesn't mind though, there's something about how the three of them are that makes his heart happy.

Mihawk lets Ace build his massive fires and lets Luffy rubber band around the island. He's not surprised when Garp shows up demanding to take Ace and Luffy back to Foosha but Mihawk simply says no, he won't let them go. He'll sink Garp's ship before letting him take them. Garp is looking at him and then Ace and Luffy march forward while Sanji is quietly trying to get them to stop and go back, but they tell Garp to go away because they're happy. Garp says he'll be checking in and gives both Luffy and Ace fists of love and looks at Sanji, who is shaking and looking at him in fear. Luffy says he can't hit Sanji hard because he cries a lot and Garp is going on about being his grandson and how he needs to learn but Mihawk and Ace are telling Garp if he touches Sanji he's going to get it. Garp says he'll be checking in and leaves and Luffy whines he's hungry so they go make lunch. Garp starts making multiple visits and stops hitting Ace and Luffy because the second time he visited Mihawk set the humandrills on him.

Mihawk brings home the mera mera no mi from a raid and is making calls to find where best to sell it when he feels the rubber fingers of his youngest son and then his body snap into him and tell him his eldest son is on fire so he hangs up quickly, holds onto Luffy tightly and runs. Sanji is staring at Ace who is indeed on fire. Ace is laughing though and he's not hurt, he is not burning. After checking the three of them over and deeming them all unharmed, surprisingly, he tells Ace he's not mad and just glad he's okay.

Luffy has a hard time adjusting when Sanji goes to work at Baratie full time and when Ace sets off not long after. But Mihawk takes him to visit Sanji a lot and when he has to go on jobs as a Warlord he calls Luffy every day to check on him because Mihawk knows Luffy hates being alone. So when he sets off and starts gathering his crew and they end up at Baratie and Zoro fights his and Sanji's dad basically at what is basically their uncle's restaurant and almost dies and then the ship gets stolen by Nami. Luffy finds Sanji at one point and says they are not telling Ace about any of this and Sanji fucking loses it.

When they see Ace in Alabasta and all catch up. They don't really mention Sanji is their brother but Ace and Luffy show up their brotherly habits. It's good being together again but it's over too soon as Ace continues on and they get Alabasta back for Vivi. Things are pretty normal until Marineford where when Luffy breaks out of Impel Down with his whole team he sees Mihawk waiting with the other Warlords and Ace and Garp on the execution platform.

It all comes to a head when Sengoku is pressuring Ace to claim Roger as his father and Ace claims he has two but Roger is not one of them. Mihawk steps forward and away from the other warlords and joins Luffy in the fight to save Ace which no one fucking expected. After the fight, Ace and Luffy are both severely injured so Law takes Luffy and Marco takes Ace. Shanks looks at Mihawk who simply ignores him and leaves.

When the crew reunites on Sabaody, Zoro is pissed because Mihawk is there with him and keeps guiding him by yanking his shirt. As the rest of the crew and Ace arrive they look at Mihawk in puzzlement because they all know Mihawk helped at Marineford without a reason, except for Ace, Luffy and Sanji. When everyone is on the ship Luffy can't help himself to rubber band himself to Mihawk while yelling 'Dad!' at the top of his fucking lungs which makes everyone but Ace and Sanji stare in shock.

"You can't just yell that, Luffy." Sanji sighs.

"I didn't even say it at my execution, which where you for that?" Ace asks Sanji.

"Running for my life." Sanji shrugs. Mihawk sighs as Luffy laughs. Once things are explained to the crew they set off. Things go as normal just Ace is there, and they run into Sabo in Dressrosa. Ace quickly tells him Mihawk somehow convinced them to go to Kuriagana and raised them there until they set off and he's basically the man Luffy and Ace consider 'dad' as Sabo is like 'yeah, this explains everything at the execution basically and Dragon is going to love hearing this' and Sanji just fired on Big Mom's ship and is on the way to Zou. Sabo gets a double whammy punch from both his brothers though.

When Cross Guild forms, Crocodile asks during a random meeting why Mihawk joined the fight to save Ace. Crocodile understands Buggy, it was his captain's kid but Mihawk? What the Hell was he doing? Mihawk simply gives a small smirk and reminds him Ace said he had two men he considered his fathers but he also knows Ace has three brothers which makes Buggy blink at him and Crocodile yell.

[ravenflorals]

Hi Jackie! I saw that you are into Dramione and they are my favorite ship. I would like to request a fluffy Dramione drabble to the song “Never Stop” by Safetysuit, if I may :) I believe it was intended to be a wedding song (do with that what you will). Thank you very much if you choose to do this!

Never Stop

rating: teen & up

word count: 800 words

pairing: draco malfoy / hermione granger , backgroung harry potter / ginny weasley

characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley ( more a cameo ) , Theodore Nott ( also a cameo )

excerpt: He loved his wife. Did when they started dating, did during the official courting, and did now. “You’re nonstop , witch. The press can wait.” He says, holding tightly to her frame. “To be truthful you get my heart racing.” He says and can feel his heart practically pounding in his chest. Her head rests against his chest as they stand there. Her back against him. One day they’ll be fifty and telling these stories, they’ll be seventy still learning little things about one another, and they’ll be ninety and turning gray. Holding onto one another with the memories they carried.

authors note: Hi lovely! Thank you so much for the ask — I LOVED the song choice it made writing this easy and fun. Thank you for the request!!

Gray eyes examine the sight before him. His curly haired bride stands between her two best friends, smiling for the press who decided to come. Despite his mother telling him not to let it get to his head. He overthinks the headlines that are due to come. “DISGRACED PUREBLOOD MARRIES MUGGLEBORN HEROINE. HOW DID HE TRAP HER?” the kinds of articles people would skip to page eight for but still not know the whole truth. The truth if anything. She trapped him. Trapped him in body, in spirit, and in mind. In every single way he belonged to her just as she belonged to him.

Ron —— who admittedly had grown on him since Hogwarts put bunny ears behind Hermione in a “funny photo.” And all Draco can think is what would have happened if he wasn’t an arse and got to know the trio. Would the war have raged as long as it did? Would he have been able to ask Granger to the Yule Ball instead of staring at her the whole night? Would he have gotten something right? As these thoughts roar he hears the sound of his wife . His witch. Laughing. His eyes are on her as Theo nudges him

“Go and get her tiger.” The combination of the words from his friend and the sight of Hermione being bright, vibrant, warm. Made him want nothing more than to be by her side. No matter what the press or news would say. What he knew was his amortentia smelt like her in sixth year. In the eighth year he danced around his feelings for her. Two years later he met her parents, post obliviation –—— and sincerely trying their best to relearn their child. He knew that when she proposed she said yes, and now he stood with his wedding band on her finger.

She wore virgin white, which was ironic with the things they’d done. And truly looked like every single blessing in the world. “Sorry to intrude Weasley. Can I borrow my wife?” He asks, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Hermione raises her head, looking at Draco with complete wonder. He hoped to never lose that glance from her. Once Ron leaves, the newly wedded husband keeps his arm around his wife. “Usually the bride and groom keep together in these events.” He says pressing a kiss into Hermione’s hair.

“Sorry. You know how press gets regarding any of us.” She says in a ramble “they wanted to hear about the cases we were working on. And the death eater tri—.” His lips are on hers. It’s soft but stern. When he pulls away, a light sigh escapes parted lips.

He loved his wife. Did when they started dating, did during the official courting, and did now. “You’re nonstop , witch. The press can wait.” He says, holding tightly to her frame. “To be truthful you get my heart racing.” He says and can feel his heart practically pounding in his chest. Her head rests against his chest as they stand there. Her back against him. One day they’ll be fifty and telling these stories, they’ll be seventy still learning little things about one another, and they’ll be ninety and turning gray. Holding onto one another with the memories they carried.

A song ——— distinctly muggle and soft. The kind of music he wouldn’t have ever found on his own but one Hermione loved. “You remembered?” She asked as he dragged her onto the center of the dance floor. Other couples hung around. You had Harry who danced with a very pregnant Ginny, Ron who spun Pansy with no effort across the floor. Theo who flirted with a bartender … and finally Hermione’s parents who watched. Standing alongside his mother who had never looked prouder.

Growing up he had been worried about a legacy. About something he could pass onto his future family. Sixth year came and with it came the tasks. The ones that still hung in the back of his mind as he wondered what could’ve been. Forced to become the man of the house while the dark lord became a roommate. If he had told someone, like he should’ve he wouldn’t have carried the guilt he did now. The guilt considering the markings on his brides arm, but as they dance. As he looks around the room. This was his legacy. The fact he had grown. The ways he had grown.

In his life he had grown based on choices. The choice to either do the right thing —— or the wrong thing. And for years he had chosen the wrong thing. Now though we his arm rests on his witch. He knows maybe he got a few things right. “I love you.” He tells her, and she smiles brightly

“And I love you.”