#at the very least this brush is making drawing a lot more gun for me

[cornerdreams-txt]

okay but did he HAVE TO ZOOM IN ON FIT'S CHEST when he said that though

likes < reblogs !!

do not repost. crossposted to bluesky.

[b3achysurfer]

I really wanna talk about this scene where “Logan saves Ashlyn” because I really believe it’s more than just that

I’m gonna be referencing mostly episodes 34, 35, 43, and 44 just in case you want to do your own digging 😋!

for starters I kinda bugs me when people brush this whole scene off as ‘Logan saving ash’ because 3 things:

1.) Logan saving Ashlyn didn’t really feel natural! mans was allllll the way in the graveyard, he was scared, it was dark, and he didn’t have any prior experience with using guns. but he still somehow did it in 1 shot. I honestly feel like that bit was so that he can’t be excluded from the later celebration and so that him being left behind had a purpose.

2.) ASHLYN WOULDVE SURVIVED WHETHER OR NOT HE MADE THE SHOT!!!!! if anything we’d probably learn a lot more about the phantoms if Logan had never shot his gun.

3.) I feel like Logan making the shot was suppose to distract us from the important lore aspect we see during the scene. we already know red loves throwing in foreshadowing and small hints for us. Especially when these hints get covered by other scenes so that we only notice them after we get the new information and we re-read old chapters. We can see an example of this in the same episode when Taylor offers to go see why Aiden was screaming and Tyler quickly takes action instead and sends her upstairs. it’s obvious that going back outside was the more dangerous option which is why Tyler told her she shouldn’t do it. But at the time many people brushed this off as Tyler caring about his sister as much as any brother would, and a part of his ‘jock/I’m bigger and better than everyone’ attuide seeping through. then later on in chapter 49, we learn about Tyler’s promise to always take care of Taylor and their mom, and we see how their safety is always his priority even if it’s to much for him. Taylor’s frown makes a lot more sense after we get this context.

Anyways what I’m trying to say is that I think Logan saving ash was suppose to draw away our attention to the whole reason he was even able to get the shot in the first place.

Ashlyn is convinced she’s gonna die here and this is her last effort to live. So very strong emotion. But pay attention to her voice box thing. It’s black and has the red streaks around it.

The phantom immediately pauses, as if it understands her. Also, it’s aggression vanished as soon as she spoke. This being LITERALLY TRYING TO KILL HER pauses and starts to question her!! In some twisted way Ashlyn can communicate with phantoms, or at the very least they can tell there is also a connection between her and them. This is literally so important and it’s not talking about enough. Even though no one has ever tried speaking directly to the phantoms before this, I do think this trait only belongs to ashlyn. For starters we already know that she has the strongest connection to the phantom world, and she’s the only one who can actually hear them. Her parents also said that they saw the phantoms after ashlyn was born. This is important for later on.

The only other time we ever see the black text bubble is here when Logan is mad (chapter 42) his shadow has also changed to his phantom world-self. Notice that even though his actions are connected to the phantom there is no red streaks next to his text box?

The fight obviously shows again that they affect the real world because their emotions and phantom and blah blah. This is all stuff we know. But hear me out! View their actions as if they are part phantom.

Ashlyn’s commanding them to do something while feeling strong emotions. Her text box is black with the red streaks again. Just like it was during the scene that ‘Logan saves her’.

And just like the phantom, all of them freeze and their violent behavior disappears. The fact that it’s all in sync and they all stop immediately shows that they didn’t just stop because their friend told them to. They stopped because Ashlyn’s commands have some strength to them. And remember earlier when I said think of them as part phantom? It makes sense why her commands would work, because it’s frozen a phantom before.

AND LOOK!!!! THEY SOUND JUST LIKE THE PHANTOMS! The fact that this guy doesn’t react to that statement means that his organization already knows this. They already know that the kids are partly related to the phantoms. Ashlyn’s especially.

I guess this can split into two ideas:

1.) Ashlyn’s becoming part phantom the fastest. And I don’t mean that she’ll eventually become a full phantom but idk how else to phrase it. Her words can already be understood by phantoms and they have enough impact to confuse and stop phantoms in place. The phantom tilting their head at Ashlyn was kinda like ‘how did you do that?’ .

2.) Ashlyn’s connection gives her semi-control over phantoms. This could be a skill she has to develop over time but the fact that her words were able to break that main cast out of their anger and brought them back into reality shows that they CAN listen to her commands. Either she’s not strong enough yet to control real phantoms or she can only stun them, ash was still able to communicate with the phantom.

That scene is such an important building block that people just brush over. I just don’t see a lot of people talking about the fact that Ashlyn can talk/control phantoms in a way. Or maybe she can’t and all of this means smth else but it’s still so important.

Also before ppl jump on me for saying Ash would’ve lived w/ or w/o logan:

Aiden was literally two seconds away from getting to ash. Plus the phantom was stunned. We don’t know if this hesitation would’ve lasted long or not, but it would’ve been enough time for Aiden to crawl to the top of the roof or for Ashlyn to kick it away. Ashyln was also in shock though so I’m not sure she would’ve been able to do much. But if Aiden saw the phantom on her he would’ve went crazy bro. Do not touch his girl ❌🙅‍♀️❌ All jokes aside though, we definitely would’ve learn more about the connection between Ashlyn and phantoms if Logan didn’t shoot. Not blaming him or anything but I’m just saying.

ANYWAYS THATS ALL THANKS FOR READING!!

[kazanskys-mitchell]

okay so someone sent me an ask about my headcanons for maverick and i had some technical difficulties. but here they are anyway!

again, these are random and some will be icemav related

first and foremost, maverick has been bi since before tg 86, i like to think that’s what goose meant by the “carnal knowledge, of a lady this time” comment

mav’s favorite color is blue, but only the shade of blue that’s on ice’s helmet

loves animals, more of a dog person. but will adopt as many strays and rescues (dogs and cats) as he can because they all deserve a loving home

likes to draw, is really good at it. has a sketchbook from when he was in top gun, full of drawings of jets and probably ice. ice finds the sketches years later and teases him (again, lovingly)

is a drama queen when he’s sick. when he has a cold or even his allergies act up, he makes it everyone’s problem. he also does it so that ice takes care of him

if he’s hurt from something happening while flying, he brushes it off like it’s no big deal. flying can’t take him out but a cold can

refuses to ask for help with simple things. i love the headcanon that he has to climb on the counter to get to something on the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet. ice always catches him and just sighs

needs to drink coffee in the morning immediately after he wakes up. he will probably consume at least 3 cups within the first hour of waking up

he loves to build things. anything. he’s a master at building legos and model planes. it’s what keeps him occupied in his retirement

can cook very simple things, like spaghetti, tacos, etc. he cooks on the nights that ice doesn’t feel like it

loves to use nicknames for absolutely everyone. it’s a bit of a weird thing for everyone to get used to, but it’s how mav shows his affection. he also loves to give hugs (i feel like that one’s obvious but still)

keep sending me these, i love answering them! i’ve got a lot of thoughts and need to get them out somehow

[littlekoifishes]

can you do meggy and desti agere headcanons for me, bestie? [i never seen a desti agere headcanon before and i think it would be really interesting if one was made] but you no have to do it, no pressure!! :3

Oh heck yah!!!

Little desti and flip! meggy headcanons!!!

Little desti:

5-7 little age, very much a big kid regressor and has a lot of fun running around and yelling happily out loud.

She does throw a mean tantrum when she doesn't get what she wants.

She is a great prankster in her own eyes, putting whoopsie cushions or scarying people just running around hiding before popping out saying boo!

Very playful regressor and just wants to have fun. She uses sidewalk chalk a lot to draw hopscotch and to draw flowers, etc.

She has splatguns made for little kids, nothing compared to her main splatgun, but she adores it and often shoots meggy for fun during playdates.

She isn't a pacifier user, she uses sippy cups and blankies. She has a red velvet blanket she takes everywhere it's her calm down blanket.

She had a white and brown spotted dog as ur comfort stuffed animal and a crow plushie she has when she plays pirates.

She is very creative and often times plays pretend if she's not intrecating with her caregiver or friends.

Very much needs to take naps. She gets very fussy if not given naps at the hour. Oftentimes, she will just slump over when little and fall asleep whenever exhausted.

She is a big kid meal eater, mashed potatoes are her favorite, she loves egg salad sandwiches or pbnj, chips and salad she is a big salad fanatic.

She does stomping from time to time whenever upset, but stops when told to at least 3 times.

Queen of the playground loves the playground runs around the entire thing 4 times before going down slide, monkey bars, and digging for treasure in the sand box.

I do think her eyes get really big when regressed and are a big sign that she is small. Also, she'll very much get her voice more whiny before she even noticed.

She wears big kid clothing like t shirts and pants, mostly just shorts and tank tops. But for bedtime, she does regress to 5 and often wears onesie or matching pajama sets.

Switch meggy (caregiver)

Meggy is her 2nd caregiver.

She plays with desti shooting child sized guns paint guns at her or playing hide n seek with her.

She makes sure desti gets her naps in and has seen all with destis tantrums and finds them all adorable but very annoying at times when it drags on.

Not at all a stern caregiver, but she does get very bossy when desti gets grumpy with her.

She is pretty much like a big sister to desti and keeps her happy.

She buys new jammies and outfits for desti at random and buys her a good amount of toys.

She throws a sick birthday party for her little one just whole thing with a cake and all her friends.

She has a lot of fun doing desti hair, putting them in pigtails,buns,ponytails, brushing it down and out, etc. She adores her hair and loves being able to do it she thinks she looks so pretty.

Running around with her on her back giving piggyback rides.

Is the reason why desti eats her greens because she can not cook to save her life without help and will opt to make salad than to make other hard meals.

Neat freak at times but gets desti involved to learn to pick up her toys etc.

( Little meggy headcanons ):

5-8 year old little

Big kid and older sister to desti when 8 years old and little sister to desti when younger than her.

Very playful and giggly, playing tag and running in puddles and mud with desti.

Picking up rocks and seashells at the beach and playing in the sand, making sandcastles. (They can not play in the water.)

Often when older helps desti put on coats and jackets and does her hair to her best ability and desti always loves the charms and hair lips pins she puts in her hair.

Big sticker user her entire face would be covered in stickers if it wasn't for desti taking then off her face out of panic.

Very messy regressor often get hurt while little by accident and needing bandages.

She likes soft foods a lot and eats mashed potatoes and smoothie bowls a lot.

Candy eating loves showing her tongue that is green or blue from candy. Has a treat jar because of good behavior.

Angst headcanon//

Meggy would regressor more when desti did die in canon and would become very emotional when regressed.

Getting very emotional and upset when little hearing destis name or seeing her toys or blankie or stuffed animals.

Oftentimes, the day she died, she died, crying when little to desti, saying she missed her sister.

And when in caregiver space have very bad empty nest syndrome and feel overly upset that she doesn't have a little.

She would often take 4 when regressed to caregiver or mario to caregive for when she is ij caregiver space like this. They both don't mind at all but it did scare them a few time when she did this.

Alrighty that's it chat!! X3 hope you enjoy!!!

[suicidalslasher]

𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 - 𝒘𝒆𝒔 𝒉.

This is a complete AU of who I would have liked to see as Ghostface rather than who we got in Scream 5. It's not much of a fic, more of a blurb than anything featuring the reader.

This story includes spoilers from the movie, or at least one major spoiler is mentioned. I hope you enjoy it and tell me what you think, please! I do apologize as well in advance if there's any errors, I may go and edit over this later + add more to the story if there's any plot holes. Otherwise than that, thank you and happy reading. (Also, ACAB. Remember that.)

As soon as the rubber Halloween mask was ripped off, she stumbled backward, nearly losing her balance.

The girl was too stunned to move, too much in shock she couldn't even process what was happening and why exactly that one person she never expected to see was behind the mask.

There was no way...

Absolutely no fucking way!

It couldn't be!

Everybody was a suspect, sure, yet never in a million years did she ever think her best friend would be the one with a knife in his hand and being the one that slit one’s throat.

She saw everyone else playing the part. (Y/N) even had been carrying a journal around, listing off theories and suggestions, trying to lead up to who the man in the mask was.

She never fucking thought it would her best friend.

She had to turn away, gathering her thoughts. Tears had already been running down her face, sticking to her skin, making her cheeks red and puffy, her eyes even redder.

(Y/N) thought she had cried enough to the point there wouldn't be no more tears left to cry. She couldn't be more wrong. Like this very moment, she thinks...

(Y/N) couldn't have been more mistaken on who the killer was.

Instead of seeing who she thought was going to be Ghostface — whom she swore it was going to be Amber, out of everyone that was suspected, she assumed it was her; the main reason was based off the fact that girl literally lived in one of the previous Woodsboro killer’s, Stu Macher's, home — she saw her best friend, Wes Hicks, standing there. He stood there with a sly smirk drawn out across his pale pink lips…

"What? Didn't expect that ending? Nobody expects the killer to be the son of a police officer. Or, should I say previous police officer?”

"Y-You killed your own Mother, you're a sick and twisted bastard," (Y/N) stammered, clutching the knife closer to her side, fingers feeling numb at the grip she mustered.

She had been so ready to aim the weapon right into his heart and kill him, right then and there. The killer had murdered everyone else she cared about and loved right in front of her.

And, if he wore a vest that protected him from multiple stab wounds, (which a lot of the intelligent ones did, though she has read the previous Ghostface killers weren’t the smartest in their school) she would have been quick to draw out her Dad’s gun that she stole from his safe and put two, if not three, bullet holes in his head.

All around (Y/N), the people who she had grown up with were dropping down like flies.

(Y/N) was determined to be the one to get her revenge. She was waiting for the right moment to seek out her vengeance.

Yet, seeing her best friend in front of her, she was having second guesses.

She thought she knew him. She thought she knew him better than anyone else… clearly, she was wrongly mistaken.

Everything she loved about Wes dropped the very moment that mask fell to the floor, too.

Almost in a blink of an eye, the love and adoration she had toward him went out the window. It was insane.. all of this was!

There’s just no way this is really happening..

(Y/N) questioned her sanity, her fingers brushing upward to grab hold of her skin as she pinched down on it, hissing through her teeth.

Wes threw his head back, howling with laughter upon the reaction (Y/N) wore across her face.

It was one of those clichés whereas the villain would laugh menacingly and the poor, helpless victim would get shivers down their spine as well as causing their stomach to drop, along with their heart.

(Y/N) explains it this way because that's how her body reacted to it. Chills zig-zagged throughout her body, goosebumps prickling her skin and the beat of her heart was so loud, she swore Wes himself could hear it.

And the way that he cocked his head aside, the corners of his lips turning upward into an even bigger, darker grin, (Y/N) gulped a lump in her throat, shivering as if she were cold.

He hadn’t hurt her.. no, not yet. Though, she felt as if all the heat had been ripped right out of her, no body warmth whatsoever.

She already felt as if she were dead, even without getting killed.

This is what hell is, she thinks. And I’m looking into the eyes of the devil. You know what they say, Lucifer was once God’s favorite Angel.

Wes couldn't hear the beating of her heart, no, but he could see the terror pooling in her eyes, the horror that clouded her pupils.

And he loved every second of it.

"Oh, (Y/N)... This is no nightmare. This is real life and you're the final girl! Congratulations. How do you feel?"

"Like I'm about to throw up." She confessed. She took a deep breath before refocusing her gaze elsewhere, if she didn’t she may as well have vomited the food she didn’t even have in her stomach.

As soon as her first friend was killed, her appetite sunk, food not even being her main concern.

Then, the next friend followed and well, after that eating a stale bag of chips and a way too greasy slice of pizza from the gas station was her breakfast and lunch; never did she have time for dinner.

(Y/N) was too focused on trying to investigate the kills herself. The police were no help, but that was to be a given. All cops are bastards.

Expect for Dewey Riley.. he had saved (Y/N). He was a hero, unlike the rest. He risked his life, unlike those who take innocent people away from the Earth.

He was another reason she wanted to be the one to end things and unmask the killer. She deserved to see the life pool out of their eyes as she took away their life the same way they had taken Dewey and the rest of her friends’.

"How could you, Wes? They were as much as your friends as they were mine! They loved and cared for you! Why did you do it!?"

"Oh, shut up, (Y/N)! Give me a goddamn break. They didn't care about me. Nobody expect you did. That's why you're still standing here. That is why you are still alive and breathing." He informed with a click of his tongue and a roll of his eyes.

"Tara, for instance.... Had what was coming to her. Do you remember that party Amber threw? Everyone from school was there and at the time, I didn't think anybody was really listening, too focused on poisoning themselves with liquor, snorting lines in the bathroom, or getting high with the bong that Mindy brought.

I asked her out on a date and she laughed in my face, telling me not even in my dreams would I be able to go on a date with her. Everyone, apparently, over the loud music and chit-chat, heard and laughed. It made me feel pathetic, like a loser. She embarrassed me-"

"And that gives you a right to kill her!?"

Wes shrugged.

"What about the others? What about your Mother? Why'd you murder her?"

"Oh, she was the first to go. First on top of the to-do list, actually."

“You see, ever since 2011… My Mother got more… protective. She sheltered me, rarely ever let me stay outside past 10pm. She even threw away all of my horror movies. Said that there were too much horror nowadays in the world, I didn’t need to brainwash myself and watch people getting killed over and over, again and again. She said seeing shit like that was traumatizing and I was over there, watching it like it was nothing. What a dumbass!” He laughed again, shaking his head as he wiped a fake tear away from his eyes.

“I told her it was acting, they were paid to play a part in a movie, everything was fiction. She watches movies all the time… shitty ones like animated ones or musicals that constantly gave me a headache but she was as much as a movie fanatic as I was.

"You know what she told me? She told me that it didn’t matter, the movies I watched were based off of real life events. Real events that happened in our own town and it made her nauseous, thinking all the crazed shit that went on was the town she and I grew up in. I just had the stronger stomach, I guess.” Wes shrugged again, that wicked and emotionless grin he wore never seeming to lower.

“As for the twins, they were a bit more difficult to get my hands on. But not quite… You see, having an officer for a parent, I can easily get away with shit. I can easily be able to cover my tracks and get away with things. The police are always able to hide their faults and get away with shit… well, so was I.” He hummed.

This entire time he had been sitting, but he shakily stood to his feet and as he did so, a river of crimson pours out from his knees — the place (Y/N) had stabbed him at earlier before she decided to take the mask off after.

She shouldn’t have. She knows this now. She should have just killed him right then and there. Stabbed him straight in the heart or blew his brains at.

(Y/N) wouldn’t have been this hurt if she had done those things. She would, of course, still have been shell-shocked and wondered why Wes did it but… it was better than her, listening to his motive right now.

Now, if she somehow was going to survive this, she was going to be having nightmares of Wes, without the costume, killing her friends and neighbors.

“And why me? Huh?” She looked up, meeting his gaze once more, her bottom lip wobbly as she talked.

“Why keep me alive at all? I tried to kill you… multiple times have you been stabbed by me already. Is that enough to slit my throat or gut me like a fish?”

Wes tsked as he preyed against (Y/N), getting closer to her before she backed up against the wall behind her, all the air in her lungs deflating as he leaned close to her, the smell of mint and cinnamon burning her nostrils.

His breath was hot against her face and she grimaced as his hand cupped her face, gently pawing at her cheek with the end of his thumb.

“I told you; you’re the final girl. You’re my final girl. Either I kill you myself or we can go down together and die with one another. It’s your choice….”

“Or..”

He cocked his head aside, brows drawing together in confusion before he gave a small, timid nod, asking her silently to continue.

“We can just go… we can just go and run away together,” She couldn’t believe she was saying this.

Had the words that left her mouth, were they even her speaking them?

Or were they spoken from the monster she had been always so desperate to hide?

She had been so good at it before — pushing away the sinful thoughts, the dark and brooding ones that would frighten anyone else if she had told them about it out loud.

Maybe, that’s why she was so obsessed with the murders and trying to piece it together. She didn’t want to save them… no..

Instead, (Y/N) wanted to be just like Ghostface. She wanted to come up with the same kills or even better ones. More unique. And as Wes waited for her to say something — anything — she began to laugh, same exact way he had done before.

“Let’s do that then.” She announced, feeling the darkness consuming her. There was a part of her — the sane & rational part — that was screaming not to let the blackness into her soul; she’d be one with the rest of the demons in Hell if she were to go through with its’ plans.

Yet, as his smile took over his face completely, nearly reaching the tips of his ears, he’s quick to lean forward and kisses her with such fire and passion, her body finally feels warm again by the mere touch of his lips against hers.

“I always knew you were my ride or die. So, how about it? Partners in crime?” He asked as he pulled away, hand never leaving her face as he awaited her answer.

(Y/N) hummed with delight, with satisfaction, and up until that moment, she had completely forgotten she had been gripping a knife in between her knuckles.

“I guess the ‘Stab’ franchise won’t ever die, huh?”

“Nope. And neither will we. We’re going to be the killers that survive.” Wes announced.

“We are going to be legends and legends never die.”

Oh, how she liked the sound of that. She smiled a devilish grin before leaning on the tip of her toes and kissed him the way he had done to her not even a second ago.

“Partners in crime.” She echoed. “It’s me and you against the world, Wes.”

[2-cute-4-school]

𝘕𝘊𝘛 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘱 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴

Mark Lee

so we all know mark is a quite expressive person with his emotions

and come on when playing video games we all rage and throw fits so emotions are running especially high ‎(ﾉಥ益ಥ）ﾉ ┻━┻

what i’m trying to say is that mark is yelling, banging fists against his desk, laughing his ass off and pissing you off

i mean mark’s laugh is very cute and ENTIRE BLESSING TO HEAR but ♡ sleep ♡ is also precious 

but mark can’t hear your exaggerated sighs nor see your ever-lasting pout

so you lift your tired self from the bed and plop down on his lap

mark : “hUH??¿¿ B-BABE?!¿¿” （＊〇□〇）……！

haechan, audible through the headphones: mark, not in front of the boys, you wild beast (๑⁍᷄౪⁍᷅๑)

mark opens his mouth to shout in protest but you bury your head in his shoulder and let out a soft whine and mark.just.COMBUSTS!!!

he grumbles something about how haechan is due for a good beating and nuzzles the side of his face against the top of your head  ♡(.◜ω◝.)♡

whenever he has a break and doesn’t need both hands to play, he brings one arm around you, cuddling you closer to himself and running his hand along the length of your spine

or just LAYS HIS HAND ON YOUR THIGH askfafwsr- ya know (˵ ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°˵)

doesn’t have the heart to break the atmsophere even after he shuts down his computer and just cocoons you in his warm arms and hums a song softly as you doze off intertwined together UwU

Huang Renjun

you’re just trying to be cute and create a romantic enviroment as you cuddle up to your boyfriend who is immersed in his game

“y/n?” his voice is soft, almost a hush and it could almost lull you to sleep

“yeah?” ෆ╹ .̮ ╹ෆ

“i can’t see because of your head”

FIRST HIT HOME but you didn’t give up of course, just flattened your cheek against his shoulder to accomodate his complaint 

just as you settle downs drowsily, glued to his frint, he covers his mic to grumble to you again  ಠ╭╮ಠ

“it’s getting hot” 

SECOND HIT HOME and you’re starting to get discouraged as you scoot a little further away from his body and loosen the grip of your hands around his neck (๑′°︿°๑)

but of course ever grumpy renjun still had complaints karen who

“my legs are falling asleep” 

*SIGH* “eye roll* *definetely not pouting* you start pulling yourself away from him and trudge defeatedly and bury yourself under a ton of blankets

but he just chickles, has the AUDACITY to chuckle, and brings you back on his lap, squeezing the life out of you  (≧д≦ヾ)

“i was just kidding babe don’t leave me!!” says renjun as he sways you kinda violently may i add from side to side and rubs his cheek against yours cuz he’s a kitty and adorable confirmed  ε=(｡♡ˇд ˇ♡｡）

rough love you have other there as you can see

Lee Jeno

jeno is GENTLE GIANT （ﾉ｡≧◇≦）ﾉ

gentle loving giant in this case actually so even better

so we all know how the dreamies exposed this boy TWICE for playing video games 25/8 and he got scolded by his mum lol so i’m thinking

you’re trying to get him to go to sleep or at least rest his eyes he’s already blind enough i WONDER WHY damn

all this started when you settled in front of his computer to block his view

and as he argued with you he decided enough is enough and pulled you into his lap, traping you against his chest (╬ Ò ‸ Ó)

“jeno it’s 3 am!!” :<

“ just one more round baby” of video games ya nasties...no? only me?ok

he tries to give you a *smooch* but you move your face away and refuse to turn around and let him kiss you

and that’s where jeno draws the line (; ･`д･´)​

kithes are something that can’t berefused between you two, an unspoken rule you apparenly weren’t aware of

so with a ‘eep!!!’ from you, he simly stands up from his seat with you latched onto him like a koala like (＾ω＾ ≡ °д°)

“jeno put me down!!!11!!1! NOW!!” 

“kiss first” (.◜ ᵕ ◝.)  

“are you nuts??!!!?” *exaggerated smooch* “now put me down!!”

needless to say he’s not letting go anytime soon, he just plops into bed and you cuddle until you fall asleep you’ve been scammed

Lee Donghyuck

haechan is a very VERY petty brat person ಠ_ಠ

so guess what... fights with him are a national competition of petty acts

and you know what his ultimate move in your most recent fight is? *drum rolls* turning off the central heating really original hyuck i applaud you

and this kid knows exactly what he’s doing when he sits down in his gaming chair with a shit-eating grin  (ง ͠ ͠° ل͜ °)

he hears you stumble around the house in your dora the explorer exploration in the search of a blanket

but guess what? they’re all under his flat cake  ( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖)

so when you bardge in the room and find him hogging all the warmth you hope to intimidate him with your  ✨ highly horrific glare ✨

but he pretends to be too busy to notice you so you just defeatedly settle on his lap and under the blankets

“well well well look who’s crawling back with their tail between their legs”

“i might just cut off your front microscopic tail” (눈_눈)

but i just know he’s gonna cuddle you until you sweat your ass off under that mountain of blankets

and even when he can’t hold you, he’ll press his lips against your forehead, lingering there as his warm breath fanned across your skin

he also made a deal with you to which you didn’t necessarily agree with but that’s a minor detail am i rite

if he wins the round he gets a kiss as a reward (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

if he loses, he gets 2 kisses as a consolation (ฅ⁍̴̀◊⁍̴́)و ̑̑

you’re getting suspicious of his 4 consecutive losses

Na Jaemin

he’s a fluff ball we all know it, we all love it

he’d DIG THAT KIND OF SHIT  ٩̋(ˊ•͈ ꇴ •͈ˋ)و

and he babies you to the end of earth

99.8% chance that he’s gonna stop playing just to cradle you against his chest properly because YOU’RE. HIS. BABY!!! periodt.

cue yelling from his teammates for abadoning them in the middle of the game but that’s inevitable

“na jaemin you SIMP!!!!” 

but jaemin is too busy making puppy eyes at you (●♡∀♡))ヾ☆*。

he’d kiss you everywhere he could reach and then scoop your hands in his and bring them to his lips for another shower of kithes  (*'､^*)chu

and if you kiss him back??  

this man will literally COMUST with uwus istg

like just imagine you brush your lips against his neck and then you gently nuzzle against him??

jaemin would melt in your embrace ♡(｡- ω -)

even if he did eventually go back to playing, he’d press kises anywhere in reach periodically cuz he’s soft like that

would also LOVE feeling your breath fan his neck he gets a unique feeling of comfort knowing that he has you so close to him  (๑˃ᴗ˂)

“even if you were the impostor i’d still vote myself out for you”

the romanticism of this decade 

Zhong Chenle

this boi is ruthless when playing video games

god frobid you’re in his way cuz you’re getting SQUASHED (｢⊙Д⊙)｢

 he obvioulsy LOVES winning

but ya know what he loves more than winning???

𝓨𝓞𝓤  ♡(㋭ ਊ ㋲)♡

so chenle is all (｡+･`ω･´)

“you waste of space move along!!!!”  “shoot that gun straight dammit or i’ll shove it up yo- oh hey baby°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°“

the moment you plop down on his lap and curl yourself up with your head tucked under his chin, his blazing eyes soften so cutely

and so raging kid chenle turns into best babyboi chenle (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

he M E L T S like he just leans into your touch and continues gaming  A LOT more silently and just smiles absent-mindedly the entire time

“yo chenle you dead????” most likely jisung on the other side of the headphones

“no?” ｢(ﾟ<ﾟ)ﾞ??

“... guys he’s plotting something, reatreat!! i repeat, RETREAT!!!”

“what?? no, what do you mean by that !??!!!”

you stir as his voice rises in volume and chenle immediately settles down again and shushes you while patting your heah and threading his fingers through your hair carefully (*-ω-)

goes straight for jisung after that teammate or not rip jisung you’ll be missed but also bad choice to annoy a soft-for-only-my-baby chenle

Park Jisung

a bit flustered but just couldn’t refuse you when you cutely asked him with wide puppy eyes if you could sit in his lap to watch him play

probably short circuited for a good 2 minutes before he could produce and intelligible answer (ง ´͈౪`͈)ว

and that’s how you found yourself perched on his lap, facing the screen with curious eyes as jisung struggled as if his LIFE depended on it

“how do you jump?” (,Ծ_Ծ,)

“you can’t jump”

“what do you mean you can’t jump?? gravity doesn’t work like that” Σ(･ิ¬･ิ)

you’re like 2 newborn babies running wild and unsupervised

“jisung, that character looks like you when you’re constipated” (๑꒪▿꒪)*

cue cackling from the devil spawns on the other side

he’s gonna keep in mind this betrayal UNTIL THE END OF TIME beware

if you catch sight of one of his hands not working away i bet my allowance you’ll have this uncontrollable urge to hold it in yours DO IT I NEED MY ALLOWANCE DON’T BE SHY

of course he’ll automatically intertwine your fingers together and bring them up for a chaste kiss  ～(^з^)-♡

and i know for sure that he won’t have the heart to let go of it even when he needs it to play sigh jisung you SIMP

he’s gonna get scolded and teased by the other later but ya know

at least he ain’t no touch starved coward ¯\(°_o)/¯

he gets grounded for that by jaemin

[queenshelby]

The Policeman’s Daughter – Part Two

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warning: Mention of Assault, Murder, Fluff, Mild Smut

Words: 2,345

Birmingham, 12 September 1924

It was Saturday night and seven days have passed since your encounter with Thomas Shelby and you have not heard from him. Perhaps he had changed his mind, you thought. You could understand if he did. He was probably still grieving the death of his wife or perhaps you simply weren’t a match for him.

Over the past seven days, you had learned that Thomas Shelby and his family owned most of the factories and industrial buildings in Small Heath as well as several streets of back-to-back housing.

He must have been a wealthy man with no interest in a common woman like you.

That same night, your father was away for work, investigating two recent murders in Small Heath in a pub called the Garrison and he had left you with two men who were employed by the Crown as security guards.

You felt safe with the men around the house and certainly didn’t expect an intrusion to occur on that night. But you were wrong. You weren’t safe at all. At least so it seemed as, at around 8 o’clock, you heard a knock on one of the windows behind where you were sitting, inside the reading room which was facing the forest.

Your heart began to pound as you turned around and peeked through the curtain only to find that it was Thomas.

Surprised and shocked all at the same time, you quickly opened the window while covering up your skin with a large satin robe.

‘What are you doing here?’ you asked with slight anger.

‘I said I would find you’ Tommy smirked, whispering as he did. ‘Get your coat’ he then instructed, not really giving you a choice to say no.

‘I am not leaving the house with an armed man who I barely know’ you said reluctantly and Tommy raised his eyebrows for a short moment before giving you a smile.

‘Fair enough’ Tommy said, reaching beneath his coat, taking the gun out of his holster and handing it to you.

‘Now you are an armed woman leaving with an unarmed man’ he then smirked and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

You quickly got your coat and boots from the next room, not bothered by the fact that, beneath all this, you would be wearing only a thin nightgown.

Tommy then held the window open and helped you to climb outside while ensuring that you wouldn’t slip on the wet grass.

‘So where are we going?’ you asked quietly, knowing very well that you shouldn’t be going anywhere with this stranger. You didn’t know why, but for some reason, you trusted him. His deep blue eyes appeared honest and comforting in a way and your attraction towards him clearly had gotten the better of you.

‘Just follow me, eh’ Tommy said somewhat reassuringly before taking your hand.

‘My father is a policeman and will get very angry if something was to happen to me’ you said nervously, wanting to ensure your own safety.

‘A copper, eh?’ Tommy said somewhat unbothered, thinking that your father is probably one of Moss’s men and therefore on his payroll.

You simply nodded and then followed Tommy into the woods, nervously and excited all at the same time.

After about fifteen minutes, you reached a small camp near the river and Tommy was quick to introduce you to some of the men, women and children who were there.

‘I thought you might like to be with kin for a change’ Tommy said after he introduced to the Lee family.

‘Your mother used to travel with us when she was young’ a woman named Esmeralda said to you and it was obvious to you that Tommy had told her your name. It was also clear that Tommy had done his research on you before visiting you that night.

You immediately felt comfortable around the Lee Family and spent several hours at the camp, talking, drinking and eating.

Whilst you appreciated Tommy’s gesture, introducing you to the Lees after what you had told him about your life when you met at the orphanage, you also desperately wanted to be alone with him and get to know him better. He seemed to know so much about you while you knew so little about him.

Eventually, Tommy noticed that you were cold, clearly not dressed for the occasion and he finally suggested that you sit down by the fire with him.

‘Go on Tommy Boy�� Johnny Dogs shouted after you as followed Tommy to the fireplace near the river bank.

In response, Tommy swore using gypsy tongue, before telling you to ignore Johnny Dogs. According to Tommy, he hadn’t been accompanied by a woman since his wife Grace had passed away and, therefore, your presence took Johnny Dogs by surprise.

As you finally reached the fireplace and you sat down on of the blankets scattered around it, Tommy took off his coat and placed it over you in order to keep you warm.

‘Thank you’ you said shyly as his blue eyes locked with yours. ‘Now tell me Tommy, how did you know where I live?’ you asked curiously, knowing that you had never told him your address.

‘I simply asked your employer’ Tommy winked and it was when you realised that you just asked him a completely silly question. Of course, he knew your address. The charitable organisation of which he was the founder and chairman had signed your employment contract.

‘You never told me what brought you to Birmingham’ Tommy then went on to say before asking you to hand him the cigarettes from the pocket of his coat.

But, as you reached into the pocket on the right to retrieve his cigarettes, smokes weren’t all you found. In fact, the first thing you inadvertently took out was a small case containing a blue bottle of cocaine and a brown bottle of opium which, without questions, you quickly put back into their place.

‘My father’s work is what brought us here’ you eventually said as you handed Tommy his cigarettes.

‘You said he is a copper, right?’ Tommy observed before lighting himself a cigarette and you nodded before Tommy continued on.

‘What is a copper from London doing in Birmingham? It doesn’t seem like a good career move to me’ Tommy chuckled and you simply told him that he wanted a change of scenery for the both of you and an easier life.

‘Well, I am not sure if he came to the right place then, eh’ Tommy laughed.

‘Why, is there a lot of crime here?’ you then went on to ask and Tommy shook his head.

‘Just the usual brawls you can expect in a town full of working men’ Tommy chuckled before quickly changing the topic.

You then talked for at least an hour about your respective upbringings and gypsy roots and Tommy appeared genuine and kind. It was obvious to you that he felt attracted towards you and, over the hour, you moved closer and closer towards each other, sharing one cigarette after another as you talked for what felt like an eternity.

You sat so close to him that you could smell the scent of his aftershave, a hint of musk and sweetness and it was at this point that Tommy made an admission to you.

‘I have to be honest Y/N. I didn’t just bring you out here to introduce you to the Lee Family’ Tommy said, just as the moment was right.

‘So, what are your alternate motives then Mr Shelby?’ you asked shyly but with a smile.

‘This’ Tommy responded quietly while caressing your face with one of his hands before drawing your face towards his with ease and pressing his lips onto yours.

You gave into the kiss, parting your lips slightly as you did and allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.

His lips were soft and warm and you ran your hands through his hair gently as you deepened the kiss.

Tommy’s hands then moved from your face over your chest and beneath his warm coat, brushing your breasts in the process.

It was at this point you abruptly pulled away and began to breathe heavily. His hands were too close to the scar which carried all your bad memories.

‘Don’t. I am sorry’ you said, your hands shaking as you broke out in tears.

‘Hey, look at me Y/N’ Tommy said calmly, unsure why you reacted the way you did but wanting to calm you down and comfort you.

‘Whatever it is, its alight, eh’ Tommy said, his both cupping your face, making you look at him and nod.

‘I am so sorry. I just…’ you said, looking down at the fire, unable to finish your sentence as tears built up in the corners of your eyes again.

Tommy sat there patiently, telling you to breathe before wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

‘I am ashamed of my body Tommy. I just am not ready for this’ you went on to say and Tommy looked at you, his eyes full of questions.

‘Then we won’t’ Tommy said calmly, his thumb running over your cheek as he smiled at you. ‘Although, you really have no reason to be ashamed. You are beautiful’ Tommy then whispered reassuringly before giving you another quick kiss, intending to leave at this for the night.

‘Yeah, well, you say this now but that might change when you see the hideous scar covering my stomach’ you said rather upset and it was at this point that Tommy stood up, took off his suit jacket and began to unbutton his shirt.

You weren’t quite sure what he was doing and you were slightly concerned about his actions when he suddenly pulled you up and reached for your hand.

‘Count them’ Tommy said as he guided your hand over his bare chest before telling you to reach behind him and run your hand over his back.

‘Six’ you said, swallowing harshly, realising that he had just a few more scars than you which evidentially all came from bullets and stabbings.

‘Seven actually’ Tommy chuckled as your hand left his chest and you took Tommy’s hand and guided it beneath your nightgown and right over your scar.

Your scar was large, covering the right side of your abdomen. But Tommy didn’t seem bothered and simply kissed you again, as passionately as he could and you would allow him.  

‘Who did this to you?’ Tommy then asked as your lips drifted apart and it was at this point that you broke down, confiding him about what had happened to you.

You never confided in anyone before and the truth was, you didn’t know why you told Tommy that night. But you felt that it was the right thing to do.

Shortly thereafter, Tommy walked you back home and, just as you reached the house and sneaked past the security guards which, quite evidentially didn’t do their job, Tommy kissed you again, gently but yet passionately.

‘Can I see you again?’ he then asked and you nodded shyly.

‘I didn’t think you would want to after tonight’ you said somewhat embarrassed about how things had ended.

‘You have no idea, do you?’ Tommy chuckled just as one of the security guards came walking around the house.

Without his coat and gun, Tommy kissed you goodbye in a rush before disappearing into the night, ensuring that he wouldn’t get caught.

‘Everything alright Miss?’ one of the guards asked, curious as to what the noises were which he had heard.

‘Yes, just two rabbits out and about. So cute’ you said as you stuffed Tommy’s coat and gun beneath the blanket on the sofa while looking out of the window.

‘Rabbits?’ the guard asked.

‘Yes, the small animals with the big ears and the fluffy tail’ you said.

Birmingham, 17 September 1924

Following your evening at the river with Tommy, you hadn’t heard from him for days and thought again that, perhaps, he had changed his mind.

But he didn’t and, on the morning of the 17th of September, you received a telegram, delivered to your house along with the daily newspaper your father had ordered.

With a cup of coffee, you sat down in the reading room, opening the telegram.

****

‘Y/N,

I ensured that this telegram would only reach you in your father’s absence.

Meet me tonight, at 8 o’clock. Your father will be busy and security will be taken care of. I will be waiting for you outside the gate of your property’

Tommy’

****

After you read the telegram, you couldn’t help but smile while a feeling of warmth and butterflies rushed through your body.

Nonetheless, you were surprised by his influence. How did he know that your father would be busy and how would he take care of security, you wondered?

But those thoughts soon left your mind when you opened the newspaper and read the headlines.

****

Judge dead in house explosion

Judge Kent has died along with his 24-year-old son in what appeared to have been a house explosion caused by two hand grenades.

Mysteriously, their death occurred just an hour before two killings in a London Nightclub in which another two men had been shot. This also appeared to be a targeted attack.

The two men identified as Jonathan Cohen and Lucas Cohen, friends and acquaintances of the Judge’s Kent’s son who, several years ago, escaped charges for assault.

Whether the murders are linked is yet to be determined and no arrests were made.

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[spenciegoob]

A Short Film

A/N: hey hey hey... mid writing this I realized how much I jumped the gun and thought this was a good concept, but now that I’m thinking too hard about it, maybe it’s not. I also wrote too much of it to back down now, so hopefully someone out there enjoys this as much as I did in my head lol.

Summary: Spencer steps way out of his comfort zone to ask his film major girlfriend a question.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: nothing really...  Spencer hardcore struggling with technology

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

___

“Hey Garcia, do you think you could help with something?” Spencer asked, rubbing the back of his neck nervously and not looking up from the floor of her office.

“Of course, Boy Wonder? What can I do for you?” Garcia answered while excitedly turning her chair back to her wall of screens.

Spencer grabbed the extra chair in her office and mumbled, “Actually um,” causing Garcia to completely abandon her position and fully face the genius.

“Spencer, are you okay? Is something wrong?” Spencer couldn’t blame her for asking. He was sweating more than usual, his face was bright red and he hadn’t stop fiddling with his hands since he shut the door.

“Oh no, nothing’s wrong. I just, uh, I don’t really know how to ask this,” Spencer stumbled back. It was the truth after all. No life experience had prepared him for such a request, one that in the grand scheme of things was not a lot, but to Spencer.

To Spencer, it was everything.

“That’s okay. Take your time,” Penelope stated back, and coming from anyone else, Spencer would have believed it was sarcastic in nature. But he also knew that Penelope was one of the only people he could never find judgement or maliciousness from.

You were the other.

“So Y/N and I as you’re probably aware have been together for 2 years now, and you also know that she just got her degree in cinematography and design, which is really funny if you think about it because I know nothing about any of that, but she knows everything. You know, sometimes she’ll explain to me what she sees through her eyes and it’s nothing like what I’ve ever been able to. I’m rambling now but I want to do that,” Spencer spurted out, and once he was done, he took a breath so deep Penelope whole-heartedly believed if he spent one more second talking, he may pass out.

“Woah there, slow down. First of all, that’s adorable. I love Y/N so much. Second of all, how exactly am I supposed to help you see things that way? Shouldn’t she be more help?” Penelope questioned, now completely confused about Spencer’s intentions with this very early morning visit.

“She can’t exactly know. It’s kind of a surprise thing,” Spencer answered shyly. He hadn’t even gotten to the punchline and yet, he was contemplating every move.

Was this a good idea?

But when he saw the way Penelope lit up before she yelled, “Tell me everything, and spare no details. None!” He knew he would stop at nothing to make this perfect.

“So here’s what I was thinking.”

That was 1 year ago today, and since then, Spencer has tried to figure out what to say when he revealed his big project. He stood in front of the mirror every day for 365 days trying to find the perfect way to put it. Still when you sat on your shared couch gazing up at him in amusement, confusion and adoration all at once, his mouth was dry and his throat clamped up.

“Spence, you’re starting to scare me. Are you okay?” You asked, watching as your boyfriend stared at you like a deer caught in headlights with a laptop and assorted cords in his hands.

“Uh, yes! Yes I am okay. I just need to um, this needs to go. You know what? I wasn’t told how to do this part, can you help me?” Spencer paced back and forth between you and the TV four times while he was talking before he stopped defeated in front of you. He wouldn’t have asked for help unless he was certain Penelope was smart enough to insert a black screen in the beginning of what caused the laptop to burn a hole in his hand.

“Yes, of course,” you said, slightly chuckling at his confusion. Spencer Reid and technology, whilst tragic, was also very adorable. “What are you trying to do?”

“I need the video on the laptop to play on the TV,” he stated simply. At least he knew what he wanted. That was a new, first step in the right direction.

“Okay easy. Just hand me that cord, and,” you drew out the ‘and’ as you bent around the TV and plugged in the cord. “Perfect. Now just plug this end into the laptop and hit play.” You handed Spencer back his end of the cord, watching as he examined the object and the side of the computer to know where exactly to put it. It almost felt like watching a toddler try and find the rightly shaped hole for the triangle piece, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t endearing.

Before he could break anything, you stepped in. “I know you’d be able to figure it out, but it’s that one.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled back sheepishly. 

“Okay so a little back story. A year ago today, I asked Penelope to teach me how to record videos on my new phone. Thank you for that by the way, the camera on it is really cool, and I’m not just saying that because it’s one of the only things I know how to work. Anyways, I started secretly recording videos of you, of us, anything that reminded me of you, and me talking about you. So I sent them over to Garcia and she pushed them all together, and I think what I’m trying to say is I made a short film? Home video? It doesn’t really matter, but I’m showing it to you now.” Spencer didn’t acknowledge the shocked look on your face as he settled next to you and put the laptop on the coffee table.

But as you watched him find the video and set up, your jaw stayed slack. Spencer Reid, the world’s biggest technophobe, figured out how to use an iPhone camera just for you. While to others it may not seem like a lot, to you. 

To you, it was everything.

“Spence, I don’t even know what to say. This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” It didn’t feel like enough. The amount of awe, and love that filled your chest was so comforting, so warm.

It felt like home. It felt like Spencer.

“You don’t have to say anything, just watch,” he stated before hitting the spacebar, something he’s seen you do plenty of times.

The video started out with Spencer crouching down slightly to where the phone was set up against a bookcase in front of the couch.

“Is it recording?” He whispered, and when he realized it was, he took a step back and gave a thumbs up before rushing to sit on the couch. You couldn’t help but let a full smile stretch across your face, an involuntary act when it came to Spencer.

“Hey, love bug. It’s Spencer, but wait you knew that because you can see me.” There was a small pause as Spencer squinted to see if you could actually see him from his position on the couch. When he realized he was in frame, he continued. “This is totally weird that I’m technically talking to myself right now, but I hope future me gave you an explanation. I tried to wait for a good time to start recording this, and in the two weeks I’ve known how to work that thing,” Spencer said as he pointed to the camera. “We’ve been on a case. I came home tonight, and you’re sleeping right now, but if I stay quiet enough I can say what I need to.”

You looked over at Spencer as he was twiddling with his fingers. Something he only did when he was nervous. You reached over and grabbed one of his hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze, but when you tried to pull away so as to not truly disturb his fidgeting, he caught it. So, you intertwined your fingers together, and continued to watch past Spencer.

“I came home today, and all I wanted to do was hold you. Granted, that’s every day, but today was just, it was really hard. When I came home you were asleep on the couch. One time you told me you didn't like to sleep in our bed while I was away, something about it being too big. At first, I was mad because your poor back, but today I changed my mind because the amount of steps to get to you was much less.”

Spencer unlocked the door to the apartment, resting his head against the wood as he inserted the key into the lock. The most recent case had ended with the death of both the latest victim and the unsub, and he couldn’t bear another second of remembering the scene play out in front of him.

All he wanted to do was lay in her arms, but when he opened the door, the apartment was completely silent.

And then he saw a little fuzzy sock clad foot sticking out from underneath the huge, fluffy blanket on the couch. Slowly, he walked towards you, finding you fast asleep with a t-shirt of his tightly snuggled up to your neck and face.

Spencer got down on a knee in front of you, and brushed the hair that had fallen over your eyes. Slowly, they fluttered open at his feather touch, only to widen with realization.

“You’re home!” You squealed, throwing your hands around his neck. Immediately, he reciprocated the hug, tighter than usual. Spencer tucked his head into your neck and inhaled the scent of your shampoo, a grounding technique he would never tell you he developed. The hands he delicately placed at first across the expanse of your back grew heavier, drawing your body closer to his. 

You pulled your head back, him following your movements, and stared deeply into his eyes for a second. The moment you two locked eyes, he knew the jig was up. Spencer knew you could see right through him, and he knew that even if you weren’t there to witness what he had, you saw it replaying over and over in his eyes.

“You must be tired, let’s get you to bed.” Your words shocked him at first. Usually, the people in his life would ask insistent questions on his mental well-being, and while they were greatly appreciated, Spencer was never one to open up when asked to.

You, however, didn’t meddle, you didn’t push. You simply gave him a place to feel safe as you two settled under the duvet together, never letting go of one another even for a second. You held the back of his head, slowly brushing your fingers through his curls as he laid against your chest. Your fingers were medicinal to him, softly taking away the pain and violence of the day, and replacing it with security, comfort, love.

“No one’s ever been that excited to see me before, let alone knew how to take care of me the way you did. I just,” Spencer trailed off and looked towards our bedroom, where you stirred in your sleep looking for him. “You’re about to wake up and wonder where I went. Now you know what I was doing in “the bathroom” for 30 minutes actually meant. Alright, see you next video, love bug.”

The screen cut to Spencer obviously holding the phone close to his chest, the only thing in frame the space where his shoulder and neck met. The soft chords of the start of Vienna by Billy Joel can be heard from outside the room he was in. 

“Okay, I’m gonna have to sneak up on you. I’m sorry in advance.” 

Spencer finally addressed the camera. As the Spencer on the TV quietly left his position in what you could only assume was your bedroom, you looked over at your very real Spencer softly smiling at the TV.

When he caught your stare, he said “Watch, this is my favorite part.” Turning back to the TV, you watched as Spencer carefully tiptoed to the living room, placing the camera to lean against the vase in the middle of the dinner table to face the kitchen.

In the kitchen, you watched yourself very poorly sing along with Billy Joel using a whisk that you just got done washing as a microphone. The blush that crept up your neck and to your cheeks with embarrassment still felt the same as it did that day.

You hadn’t heard Spencer sneak up on you, not until he was right behind you and let out a soft chuckle at a note you missed. Spencer had never seen someone jump out of their skin as much as you did when he made his presence known. 

“Jesus Spencer, you scared me!” You yelled before a smile crept up your face. You couldn’t help it, even in the most embarrassing times, not when Spencer looked at you like that.

“Sorry, love bug. Although, I didn’t mean for you to stop the show.” At that you hit his chest with the whisk/microphone, both of you laughing fully now. “Come here.”

Spencer took your hand, pulling you softly to his chest where you laid your head to his heart. Wrapping his hand around your waist, the two of you started to slowly sway to the music. You both were incredibly offbeat to Vienna, but listening to Spencer’s heart, you realized that the tempo you were dancing at matched up. Unbeknownst to you, due to the adrenaline of being scared, Spencer could feel your heartbeat on his abdomen, and was swaying to that.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, dancing to the in sync beat of each other’s hearts.

The clip of you dancing however only lasted 10 more seconds as the next scene of Spencer bundled up for the fall played. You had met Spencer during the fall, and fell in love with the way the red, yellow and orange leaves contrasted against his honey eyes. This clip was no different.

“Hey, love bug. I’m on my way to deliver this coffee to you in between classes, but I had to stop so I can show you my new friends I’ve made along the way.”

The camera panned down to 4 little ducklings surrounding Spencer’s converse, most of them just waddling around, but one was insistently pecking at the rubber toe of his left shoe. Spencer pointed at the little deviant and said ‘that’s you’ before bringing the camera back up to his face.

“I may have made the mistake of feeding them the fruit I was bringing you, which reminds me I should probably go get you more. I don’t think you’ll be mad though. How could you? Look how cute they are! I kind of want to take them home, but I definitely know that’ll make you mad. Anyways, I just wanted to show off that you’re not always the animal person in this relationship. See you soon, love bug.”

“Oh my god, Spencer. That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, but to confirm your thoughts, yes, I would’ve been mad,” you stated, the giddy smile never leaving your face, and giggles spreading themselves through your words.

“I know, I know. They belong in the wild,” he said back, holding up his free hand in faux defeat.

A new scene presented itself to you, this one being Spencer setting up the camera on the bathroom sink while brushing his teeth. You knew you were approaching by the music slowly getting louder.

You entered you and Spencer’s shared bathroom, Don’t Go Breaking My Heart by Elton John playing out of your phone. He was brushing his teeth, and you followed suit, not stopping the small dancing as you did.

You looked at Spencer, and started moving side to side, your free hand grabbing the crook of his elbow to join you. Looking in the mirror expectedly, you watched Spencer look up at the ceiling before joining you, a smile on his face.

Slowly, the two of you fell into a rhythm to the beat of Elton John, making funny faces to each other in the mirror as you did so.

You reached out fully to lean your head on Spencer’s shoulder as you watched.

The scene on the TV shifted once again to show a very flustered you standing in front of the TV with Citizen Kane paused. Your hair was in a messy bun, and you were sporting one of Spencer’s old Caltech t-shirts, and fuzzy black pants with little pumpkins printed everywhere.

Spencer was also wearing the same fuzzy pants.

“Spence, I’m gonna sound crazy here,” you sprinting off the couch after pausing the film you were currently trying to study for your film analysis class. 

“You’re not off to a great start here,” Spencer laughed out. Spencer once told you that no matter what he thought about a book or film, he wanted to listen to you ramble about it for hours. The first thing he fell in love with about you was the way you challenged his thinking, expanding his mind to the possibilities of learning about the difference between production design and cinematography. You taught him something that no class, book or person could ever.

Your mouth dropped open, an over exaggerated gasp leaving your lips, your hand meeting your chest softly. 

“Meanie.” Spencer and you chuckled at the antics, and when the laughs died down, you continued. “Here me out, though.”

And from there, you went into a deep dive about the unreliable narrator, and how it affects camera placement in the scene you two just watched. 

“Oh my god. I talk that fast?” You asked Spencer, who just let a breathy laugh out at your realization.

“Don’t worry, I think it’s adorable,” he whispered the last part, the smile on his face turning from one of hilarity to one full of love.

30 seconds into your rant, you realize the phone he was attempting to hide close to his lap. Your eyes flicked between the camera that was pointed at you, and Spencer, who’s face filled with confusion as to why you stopped talking.

“Are you recording me?” You asked, a smile never leaving your face. Oh no, he’d been caught. Spencer has to think of a believable excuse, and quick.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I just uh... I figured instead of you trying to write it down later, you’d want all your notes now.” Perfect!

“Damn, that was good,” you said, nodding softly at his swiftness. You couldn’t be mad he lied, how could you when the truth was this beautiful?

“I know, right? I came up with it on the spot,” Spencer joked with you. As if TV Spencer knew he was interrupting a moment, a throat clearing came from the video. The Spencer you saw was from 3 days ago, and was sitting in his car in what looked to be the Quantico parking garage.

“Hi, love bug. I’m days away from showing you this, and I still don’t know what to say. I hope the me you’re with now has figured it out. So, uh, yeah. That’s it. Uh, take it away, future Spencer. Actually, you’d be present Spenc-” The video cut off, courtesy of Penelope Garcia.

“Y/N,” Spencer started, turning to face a very emotional you fully. “I still haven’t found the right words. None of them could express my love for you, and perfect doesn’t come close to describing you. I know you have a thing for supporting evidence, and I think I just provided a lot to prove that the best thing to ever happen in my life is you.” You let out a small giggle, the tears welling in your eyes breaking free. “Oh no, if you cry, then I’m going to.”

You let out a full laugh now as Spencer wiped the tears falling down your cheeks before continuing.

“Before you, I was reckless. I didn’t care what happened as long as I did something to help. Now, I have a reason to be careful, a reason to care. I can’t do that to you, and if I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, I need to live.”

You inhaled softly as Spencer reached into the pocket of his pants, taking your hand in his.

“Which brings me to my question,” he said with a small smile and cocked his head. Slowly, he dropped down to one knee in front of you.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” Spencer opened the velvet box to reveal a simple silver band with a square cut diamond delicately placed on top.

“Spencer Reid, yes. I will marry you.”

With shaky fingers, he slid the ring on your fingers, the fit perfect. You couldn’t wait any longer, and grabbed his face in your hands to pull his lips to yours. Your lips molded together in perfect harmony, lulling you deeper into Spencer’s embrace. 

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips.

“I love you, too,” Spencer answered, only pulling back far enough to mumble before kissing you again.

Note to self: thank Penelope Garcia.

____

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[seijorhi]

Acts of Devotion

👀 i um 👉 👈 i hope this is okay...

Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

TW blood, gore, violence, murder, dub con, nsfw

Akaashi loves you.

He’s known that for a long time now, probably from the very first moment he laid eyes on you, back when you were both just wide eyed first year uni students, wildly out of your depths.

A lot’s changed since then. For one, he now gets to call you his, and it’s his arms that you return to at the end of a long day, his house that you both live in. It’d be a lie to say that it doesn’t bother him that he wasn’t your first love, but he’s contented himself with the knowledge that he’ll be your last. Your only great love.

The only one that matters.

But it hasn’t been without its challenges. He’s learned a lot about love since those early days, about what it means to truly devote yourself to somebody, to give everything you have for them.

Love essentially boils down to two things, Akaashi’s come to realise - sacrifice, and forgiveness. 

You always look so beautiful when you’re sleeping. Of course, Akaashi thinks you’re beautiful all the time; when you’re smiling and laughing, when your face is screwed up in petulant anger, when those pretty eyes of yours well with tears and they glimmer and shine - but there’s something about the peaceful expression, so soft and unguarded when you’re asleep that inexplicably draws him in. 

There’s a part of him that wants nothing more than to stay, to reach out and brush away the hair that’s fallen across your face, pull you closer and let sleep drag him under, but he can’t. 

Not tonight.

Instead he cranes his neck to press a kiss against your lips, a small smile tugging at his lips when you let out a quiet mewl in response. He loves you so, so much… that’s why he has to do this.

He’d forgive you anything. You know that, don’t you?

Sure, it hurt him when he found the messages. Scrolling back through your text history, it was like somebody had grabbed him by the throat and plunged a knife into his gut, twisting it for good measure.

Kaito i don’t know what to do

i love him but lately it feels like idk he’s being a little controlling i guess? 

… but maybe i’m just being paranoid?

He knows it’s not entirely your fault. For all the amazing qualities you possess, you are remarkably naive and so very, very impressionable - which worked to his favour in the beginning, he’ll be the first to admit, but now…

Now it’s becoming a problem.

You haven’t realised yet that everything Akaashi’s doing - it’s all for your own good. 

Your family wanted you under their thumb. They always asked too much of you, guilt tripped you whenever you tried to stand up for yourself or set boundaries. They’d never be happy for you, not truly. It hurts, he knows that, but some people don’t deserve to be in your life, especially when they treat you like that. 

Your job was causing you stress, and your boss was an arrogant, nasty piece of work. His salary is more than enough to support you both, why put yourself through that if you don’t need to? Aren’t you happier now that you don’t have to trudge into that office every day and pretend that it isn’t making you miserable?

Your friends were bad influences. Jealous of your relationship for one, but they were also petty, self absorbed and vapid, always trying to drag you down to their level so you wouldn’t ever outshine them. You’re better off without them, why can’t you see that?

Akaashi’s the only one you’ll ever need.

And he really thought that he’d solved that little problem, but apparently not. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that out of all of them, Kaito’s the one who’s been the hardest to shake. An old friend of yours from high school, Akaashi had known within five minutes of meeting him that he was head over heels in love with you and had been for a long, long time. 

He can’t blame him for that. You’re beautiful. Perfect. Entirely his. It’s painfully obvious that even before he came into the picture to sweep you off your feet, you’d never so much as looked twice at the guy. So Akaashi was more or less content to let his somewhat pitiful one sided crush on you slide. Considering that he had absolutely no intentions of letting him or any of your other friends remain part of your life for much longer, it was hardly worth wasting energy thinking about.

Until, that is, he read the messages that Kaito’s been sending you.

Leave him

I’m serious. 

My sister had a friend who was with a guy like that. She had to get a restraining order because he wouldn’t let her go - it got scary… You can come stay with me. I don’t want you getting hurt :(

It’s that last one that bothers him. Not the attempts to lure you away from him under the guise of being a safe haven from your ‘dangerous’ boyfriend, painting himself as your knight in shining armour - mildly irritating if not a little amusing - but for putting the idea in your head that Akaashi would ever hurt you.

That he can’t forgive.

He won’t have you look at him with fear in your eyes. 

Akaashi’s never tried to deny that side of himself, but he’s kept it from you, locked it away and buried it deep. The things he does… you’re too pure for that. He loves you, loves the way that your eyes still soften when you catch sight of him, the warm, trusting naivety that bleeds out of your every pore. If you knew what the hands that caressed you so gently had done, would you still beg for his touch?

You wouldn’t, he knows that just as he knows that even if you were to uncover the truth, he wouldn’t let you go. He can’t, you’re his.

Is it really so selfish of him to want to preserve that innocent naivety? 

But it seems like now he’ll have to indulge once again, and Akaashi, really, truly can’t say that it bothers him. Killing other people has always thrilled him, made the blood in his veins race… Killing other people for you, oh, that’s going to be a whole other level of pleasure he can’t wait to explore. 

The pads of his fingers trace the curve of your jaw for just a moment. “Back soon,” he whispers, gracing your cheek with a feather light kiss.

You’ve never asked why the door to the basement locks from both sides, he doesn’t even think you realise that the walls are soundproofed. Tonight he’s grateful. You won’t wake up, he’s almost positive of that, but Akaashi has no desire to be gone from your side for any longer than absolutely necessary.

He usually prefers to take his time. 

His first kill was more of an accident than anything else, there was too much blood, he panicked and it was over in the blink of an eye. There wasn’t time to savour it, to really enjoy the sight of the light leaving their eyes, the weak, desperate struggles and whimpers, the tantalising fear that inevitably bleeds into the air, growing more potent by the second - even the strongest break eventually. He’s learned since then how to draw it out, how to have fun with his work.

But he doesn’t have that luxury tonight, and, as he keeps having to remind himself, this isn’t about his pleasure.

Guns are quick. Messy. Akaashi’s never really taken a liking to the crude, graceless weapon. He prefers his knives. 

Waving a gun in somebody’s face gives them the idea that they’re going to die, and there are only so many times that you can shoot somebody before they just… bleed out. It’s not nearly as satisfying a death. A knife, on the other hand, brings with it more opportunities. It isn’t death that his victim becomes worried about, at least not initially, but pain. And as his hand glides over his collection, Akaashi decides that Kaito is due for a little pain.

I love him, you’d texted. I love him. I love him. I love him.

That’s what he’s trying to protect. 

Long, pale fingers wrap around the handle of his chef’s knife, (eight inches, sharp - a familiar, comforting weight in his hand) and he takes a deep, steadying breath.

Kaito’s mouth is taped shut. Akaashi doesn’t want to hear a filthy word out of those lips. His hands are bound behind his back, his ankles tied to the old, wooden chair. He’s good with his knots, the more Kaito struggles, the tighter they pull. And judging from the ugly, purpling shade of his hands and the tears leaking from bloodshot eyes, he’s been struggling for a while.

Good.

Akaashi smiles as he strolls towards his captive audience, fingering the straight edge of the knife. Kaito doesn’t try to speak, but the muffled whines and sobs grow louder with every step closed between them. The fear and tension in the air is palpable. 

His breath is little more than a frantic wheezing by the time Akaashi stops in front of him and drops into a crouch. Cool, gunmetal blue eyes meet Kaito’s deep brown ones, blown wide with terror.

“I’m not the monster you think I am,” he admits quietly. 

Looking up at him from beneath long, dark lashes, a faint smile on his lips, Akaashi could almost pass for an angel if not for the gleaming kitchen knife in his hand. Kaito pales, his entire body going taut as his gaze slides from Akaashi’s face to the gleaming blade in his hand. He shakes his head in desperation, another muffled scream escaping his gag-

Akaashi strikes fast, like a viper. The blade plunges into the meat of Kaito’s thigh and without an ounce of mercy, Akaashi yanks it back towards his knee.

The scream that rips through the air sends a pleasurable shiver of warmth down his spine, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he feels the muscles beneath him convulse. The gash isn’t too long, maybe a few inches, but it’s deep and Akaashi’s smirk only grows as warm blood gushes from the wound, coating his hand in slick vermilion. 

He tugs the knife free, rewarded with another choked howl from his captive as more blood sprays. Bound to the chair, there’s not a whole lot of room for Kaito to move, but it’s somewhat amusing to watch him try to thrash, escape the white hot agony radiating from his thigh through his entire body. It’s hard for the human body to comprehend that level of pain, and from experience, Akaashi’s well aware that it won’t take long for his body to go into shock and simply shut down from the blood loss, and once that happens, he won’t be of much use to anyone. 

Kaito’s trembling, face pale, his skin clammy. Impossibly black pupils swallow his irises whole, erratically tracking his captor’s every movement as Akaashi pushes himself to his feet and takes a moment to study him. Tears and bubbles of snot leak in a disgusting mix down his jaw, dripping onto his lap as he sobs against his bindings. It’s pitiful, seeing a man reduced to a whimpering, terrified wreck, but as the hand still holding his knife grips at his chin and yanks his face closer, Akaashi can’t help but gleefully drink it all in. 

Your would be knight in shining armour doesn’t look quite so strong and capable now, does he?

Akaashi doesn’t have much time left to make him suffer, but he can’t seem to resist trailing his fingers along Kaito’s injured leg, digging them deep into the ruined muscle - grinning wildly when he convulses and screams, arching up off the chair. 

There’s still so much that he’d like to do. He toys with the idea of taking his tongue, of carving his knife deep into his skin just to watch him whimper and bleed… but no. This isn’t about indulgence. This is about you. He has to have more discipline than that.

Dangling on the edge of consciousness, Kaito meets his gaze one last time. Maybe he senses that his death is close, or maybe he’s just searching for a last minute reprieve, mercy from the cold blooded killer before him. Terrified, agonised, delirious from the blood loss, he tries to speak - a plea, he thinks, or maybe just incomprehensible babbling, but his eyes burn into Akaashi’s, desperate and hollow.

Akaashi’s never been one for theatrics. He won’t waste more time monologuing while your friend clings to the last vestiges of life. If Kaito hasn’t guessed by now the reasons he’s ended up here, at Akaashi’s mercy, he’s far less intelligent than he gave him credit for, but he supposes that he owes him something, at least. 

“I love her,” he says with a small shrug, as if it explains everything.

And maybe it does. 

It hardly matters though, as Akaashi decides to finally end it with a vicious slice across his throat. Blood sprays like a fountain, splattering across the room and drenching him, Kaito’s body slumps in his seat, the last flicker of life slowly snuffing out, and Akaashi revels in the pure, sweet euphoria that floods his system.

He’s never killed anybody while you were home with him before. Normally he’s methodical, quick to clean up whatever mess is left behind. Tonight though, Akaashi doesn’t have the patience for all that.

He should at least take a shower, rid himself of the blood that soaked him to the skin, but the call of your arms, the sweet, soft floral scent he longs to drown himself in beckoning is too hard to resist. He sheds his clothes, casting them aside haphazardly along with the bloody knife as he stalks down the hallway to the bedroom. His heart is still racing, excitement drumming through his veins as he crawls onto the bed and slides the covers off of you.

Dimly, he registers that this is a monumentally bad idea, but all he can think about is the vivid memory of the light leaving Kaito’s eyes and you. Tonight, he killed for you, and it was exhilarating.

He doesn’t think he could stop himself even if he wanted to, and why would he want to?

You’re perfect, beautiful - his. Nothing and nobody will ever be able to separate the two of you, he’ll kill anybody who tries. 

You stir a little as Akaashi’s lips graze along your skin, his fingers sliding the silk of your nightgown up over your hips.

“‘Kaashi?” you sleepily murmur, trying to blink heavy eyelids open.

He wonders if you can feel the way his bloodstained hands are trembling as they ease your supple thighs apart. “Shh, baby,” he presses a kiss against your leg as he manoeuvres himself between them, “It’s okay, go back to sleep.”

Let me take care of you. 

He needs this.

[agerefandom]

Only Heaven I’ll Be Sent To

Fandom: Resident Evil VIII/Village

Words: 4,000

Characters: regressor!reader, cg!Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu (other Dimitrescu sisters mentioned).

Content Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence. CGLRE terminology/parental caregiver terms (Mommy). Diaper mentions. Firearms, knives, and vampirism. Reader gets injured (but cared for afterwards). Minor character death. Blood. Eldritch biology and limited insect horror. Fem reader (uses she/her pronouns). 

Author’s Notes: Y’all are clearly hungry for caregiver Lady Dimitrescu, and I hear you! I’m planning a fluffy follow-up fanfiction with a happy reader getting babied by Alcina, where there is no blood and violence, but first… we have to take care of Ethan Winters. So that’s what this is. Enjoy! 

You come to consciousness slowly, the strands of a dream still clinging to you. The memory is already fading, but you remember feeling cold. Wandering a frozen wasteland, lost and alone.

It’s a relief to breathe in the warm air of your bedroom. The fire has burned down to embers, but the windows keep out the cold winter of the mountains around the castle where you live. The rooms are always kept warm for the comfort of your big sisters.

You yawn and stretch your arms over your head, wiggling your toes against the soft sheets of your bed as you shake off the lingering fatigue. You were dressed in a onesie for the night, with a short built-in skirt, and you don’t really feel like a baby right now. Today, you want to run around and explore the castle on certain legs.

You slide out of the bed and make an unhappy sound as the cold stone meets your bare feet. You quickly make your way over to the heavy wardrobe that towers on the wall across from your bed. Far too tall for you, it was made to fit Mommy’s dresses, but you liked climbing in it so much that Mommy brought it to your room one night while you were sleeping, and filled it with your own outfits.

You reach up to the handle and pull the doors open, looking up at the many dresses and onesies that fill the wardrobe. It’s winter right now, so there’s a whole section of fur-lined dresses that will keep you warm if you want to play with Mommy outside. You don’t do that often, because your sisters get jealous, but Mommy is really good at making snowforts that you can climb inside, and you like playing with her in the snow.

For today, you pick out a simple ruffled black dress that comes down to your knees. Mommy can do your hair with black ribbons and crow feathers, and you’ll blend in with your sisters’ dark dresses.

Humming to yourself, you bring the new outfit over to the statue in the corner. The door to the bathroom is hidden in an alcove, and you have to push the statue’s elbow to open it. This seemed odd when you first moved into this room, but now it’s just another part of your daily routine. The castle is full of tricks and hidden passages, and you still haven’t explored all of them.

You slip past the statue into the revealed doorway, and dump your clothes on the floor as you rid yourself of the onesie and the diaper underneath. Baby stuff! You’re not a baby today.

You replace the diaper with a pair of soft bloomers, and the onesie with the black dress. It has a line of buttons that run up your spine, and you can’t quite reach them all, so you leave a few undone and decide you’ll ask one of your sisters to help. Mommy has been busy a lot for the last few days, so you don’t know if you’ll see her today. You hope so, though. You miss her.

You pull a pair of stockings on, sighing happily as your toes are finally protected from the cold tile floor. The rest of the bathroom visit is boring, brushing your teeth and washing your face. One of your big sisters will brush your hair: hopefully Bela, she tugs your scalp the least.

Once you’re all dressed, you skip out of the bathroom and slip on a pair of shoes. They’re flats, because you’re too young to walk in heels, but they click on the stone floors and make you feel like a little tap dancer. And they have bats printed on the sides in white, which makes you happy.

You run into the hallway, letting the golden door to your room close behind you.

This castle used to confuse you, with all its winding hallways and grand staircases. You would get lost whenever Mommy wasn’t holding your hand, and one of your sisters would find you and drag you back to your room. They didn’t like you very much at first, but they’ve gotten nicer. Daniela reads to you sometimes, and Bela plays pretend when you ask her. Cassandra is… Cassandra, and she tries to feed you lots of nasty things, but she also likes to do your makeup. So she’s okay.

The four of you cuddle sometimes, when Mommy’s away and the castle is a little chilly. They like your body heat, and you like the contact.

Through the years, you’ve gotten comfortable both with your big sisters and with the castle itself. It’s second nature to dodge through the secret passage to the staircase into the main foyer, peering around for any of the other castle inhabitants. Mommy gave up on the servants again last week, so it’s just you and your family members right now. Unless you want to go down into the basement and play with the remains, who stumble and hiss and take care of the rats. They don’t attack you, only intruders, but they aren’t very much fun to play with.

“Mommy? Sisters?” you call out into the hall, tapping one foot against the ground.

For a few moments, there’s nothing. Then Mommy ducks through the door behind you, fully dressed with her lipstick on. Maybe she’s already been out today.

“Sweetheart?” Mommy rushes over and kneels on the stone floor to embrace you. “What are you doing out of your room?”

“Hungry,” you say. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, little one.” Mommy draws back and puts both hands on your shoulders. She makes you feel so small. You almost wish you’d worn a onesie today. When you’re a baby, Mommy carries you everywhere and never lets you out of her arms. That sounds nice, especially when you missed her so much. “Listen to me, sweetheart.”

Mommy looks… serious. You blink and try to focus. What is that look in her eyes? It’s so unfamiliar. Could it be worry? No, Mommy doesn’t worry about anything.

“I need you to go back to your room and lock the door, okay? I’ll bring you food soon, but you need to stay there.” She isn’t blinking as she stares into your eyes. “Some prey has escaped. Your sisters will handle him swiftly, but he is armed. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Sometimes, Hunters come to the castle and try and hurt your family, and you have to wait in your room. They bring knives and guns, but they can’t hurt any of the others. You aren’t like your sisters, you’re fragile. So Mommy keeps you safe.

“I’ll carry you there, little one. And remember, don’t you leave.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Mommy wraps her arms around you, and the ground drops away. Settled on her hip, you cling to her side. Mommy runs hot like you, not like your sisters. When you lay on her chest, you can hear her pulse, a rapid double-beat. Your sisters don’t have a heartbeat, but you can hear the fluttering wings that fill their chest if you hold your breath and listen closely.

You like Mommy’s warmth, and you like how strong her arms are around you. You can barely feel the rhythm of her steps as she drifts down the hallway towards your room.

“I’m a big girl today,” you tell her. She’s carrying you like a baby, but maybe she just missed you as much as you missed her. Or maybe she really is worried.

“I can tell! You got dressed all by yourself,” Mommy teases, wiggling a finger into the gap left by the buttons you couldn’t reach.

“Uh-huh!” You’re proud of the outfit you picked out. “Can we play outside soon?”

“Once the problem is taken care of, I would love to watch you play in the courtyard.” She rests her hand at your back, keeping you close. “Big girls need their fresh air, after all.”

“Thank you, Mommy.”

She sets you down all too soon, straightening them hem of your dress. “Here we are, darling. Don’t open the door for anyone other than your sisters, and protect yourself if you must.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” Mommy presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, and then ushers you inside the bedroom. You turn in time to watch her close the door behind you, and you obediently turn the lock. Only Mommy’s key can open your room, like many others in the castle.

You flop onto your bed with a huff.

You got to see Mommy for the first time in days, but she’s busy with some stupid human who escaped from your sisters. You hate the stupid human who’s costing you time with Mommy, especially when she said you could play in the courtyard.

And you’re hungry! Mommy said she would bring you food, but you’re hungry now.

You kick your feet against the mattress. It’s a half-hearted tantrum, since no one is watching, but it makes you feel a little better.

Eventually, you hop off the bed and pace the room, your shoes going click click click on the stones.

It’s just one human, right? And you’re a big girl today. And it’s a big castle! He’s probably nowhere near the kitchen. You can run out, get some food, and then go right back to your room. Mommy will never know that you left.

You reluctantly retrieve your weapons from the top of the dresser, adding your belt of throwing knives on top of your dress. You aren’t supposed to use them when you’re little, but you’re not that little, and Mommy said to protect yourself if you needed to.

You take two of the knives in your hands, and try spinning them. It’s easy, body memory taking over. You toss one across the room, and it slices through the swirl of curtain you had been aiming at.

There, it’s settled. You’re a big girl and no manthing is going to scare you.

Nodding, you tuck the remaining knife back in its sheath, and turn your attention to the fireplace. It’s the fastest way to the kitchen from your room, and you’ve used it as a shortcut many times in the past. Your sisters don’t care if you get your dress dirty, they get blood and dirt on theirs all the time. So a little ash and grime is fine. (Mommy would disagree, but Mommy isn’t always around.)

You pour some water on the remaining embers from last night’s fire, and shuffle carefully into the fireplace. The wall at the back of the fireplace has crumbled away, revealing a passage that once needed to be triggered by pressing a certain brick. Now you can just crawl straight into it.

The rats like the passageways by the kitchen, and you brush past a few of them in the dark. Cassandra once trained a bunch of the castle rats to attack intruders, and you’ve had a fondness for the little friends ever since. They were scary in big groups, but just like everything else in Mommy’s castle, they would never hurt you.

You emerge into the kitchen, and stretch up to standing. As expected, your palms are covered in grime, and your skirt is heavy with soot and ash. You do your best to brush yourself off, and then start towards the sink to wash your hands, when a terrible screech fills the air.

“You stupid manthing!” you hear Bela scream from the next room.

Your headspace makes a quick shift into adulthood, startled to hear one of your sisters so distressed. Immediately, you run to the gate between the kitchen and the lower levels of the castle. Through the gate, you can see that one of the windows has been shattered. Dozens of your sister’s insects lie on the floor, unmoving, as she stumbles in the wind blowing through the broken glass.

“Bela!” you cry out, scrambling to open the gate. That’s when the first gunshot rings out, tearing through your sister’s shoulder. Her insects reform around it, but she cries out and you can tell that it hurt. As she stumbles to the left, you see the man standing behind her.

He’s covered in blood and grime, barely recognizable as human, but the stubble scattered across his cheeks marks him as prey to your family.

“Get away from my sister!” you scream, as the manthing shoots again at her. This shot hits her head, and insects scatter from the impact. Her face is gone for a moment, then reforms, her mouth wide open in rage.

Bela charges the stranger, her scythe held high.

You watch them struggle, and the man pushes her back into the frigid wind. He switches his attention to the windows, and breaks another one. You feel the winter air sweep inwards, and Bela wails.

“Bela, run!” You throw the gate open. “Get out of there!”

“He’s mine! My prey!” Bela hisses, advancing on the man again. Fear beats in your chest. You’ve never seen your sisters outmatched, but this man is too smart, and Bela is at a severe disadvantage in the room with broken windows. “How dare you bare your teeth at us!” She launches herself at the manthing again, and you watch his blood drip from your sister’s blade.

You’ve hunted with your sisters before. You’ve seen humans face death more times than you could count. You know how pain looks on their faces.

This man barely flinches as he pushes your sister back into the swirling snowflakes coming through the window. His face is set in a mask of determination, as he reloads his weapon and levels it again at Bela. This is no human like you’ve hunted before.

“Bela!” you scream, and throw one of your knives.

It sinks into the manthing’s thigh, and he hisses, pausing to pull it out and toss it aside. That brings your sister enough time to swoop towards him, but she’s moving more slowly in the cold air. The stranger manages to get his weapon back up before she can hit him, and fires straight into Bela’s face.

Both of you scream in unison, and you run forward into the room. The cold air prickles at your arms, but it doesn’t debilitate you the same way it does your sisters. You tug Bela backwards, as she writhes and hisses against your grip.

“Bela, find the others!” you yell. “Get out of here!”

The manthing seems to have finally picked you up as a threat. The next shot goes through your calf, and you lurch to the floor with a shout.

“How dare you!” Bela screeches, and throws herself again at the stranger.

You manage to get to your feet, and stumble towards the door. If you and Bela can get on the other side and then lock the manthing in the basement, Mother can deal with him without fear of the cold air or his stupid bullets. She is stronger than your sisters, stronger than anyone else.

Bela takes two more shots to her chest and begins retreating after you. You know that your sisters are unused to running from fights, but you don’t want to risk anything with this strange manthing who pulls knives out of his leg and tosses them aside without hesitation.

Another shot clips your shoulder, and your shaky grip on your adult headspace falls away. You topple to the ground, unable to stand the pain in your left leg.

You hear a scream, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s coming from you. You take your fear, your pain, and give it a voice. It echoes through the hallways.

“Mommy!”

The manthing seems to hesitate as your scream echoes around him.

You take the chance to throw another two knives. It’s a sloppy attempt, thrown haphazardly from the floor in pure self-defence. But they both strike true, one between his lower ribs and the other just above the mark from the first knife.

Red fluid seeps from him, dripping onto the tile.

He stumbles backwards, pulling a green bottle from his pocket and pouring its contents over his leg as he yanks the knife out. You watch as the blood is washed away, and the wounds close.

He came prepared.

“Ethan Winters!” a familiar voice snaps, and you almost collapse from pure relief. Mommy.

Mommy drifts in from the kitchen, ducking through the gated doorway and ushering Bela behind her. Bela is still snarling, but she’s clearly hurt, and allows her mother to push her back.

“You sneak into my house, you attack my daughters, youngest and eldest alike?”

The manthing fires his weapon again, directly into her chest, and you cover your ears against the noise. It echoes against the walls and although you know it can’t hurt Mommy, it scares you to see him try.

“You bring your filthy body to my property, you draw blood from my baby, and then you dare to raise your weapon to me?”

You haven’t seen Mommy this angry… ever. Her claws are extended, her back rigid as she faces down the man named Ethan Winters. Bela’s arms wrap around you and she drags you away from the fight. The movement jostles your wounded leg, and you cry out in spite of yourself, trying to twist out of Bela’s grasp.

Mommy looks back towards you. The man takes her lapse of attention as a chance to pull out a heavier gun, firing straight at her head.

It does nothing.

Mommy stands tall, in the face of bullets, in the swirling snow, and her claws flex as she looks down at the manthing in front of her.

Now, Ethan Winters looks scared. Now, Ethan Winters looks human.

“I would love to take my time and truly teach you a lesson,” Mommy purrs, reaching out to grab the manthing by the throat. “But my daughters need my attention, and I am… a doting mother. So I’m afraid this will have to be quick.”

Blood is all around you, in the Dimitrescu Castle. Big or small, old or young, you’re no stranger to violence.

You still find yourself covering your eyes as Mommy tears the strange man to shreds. You can hear her spitting out pieces of him, making sounds of disgust. His blood must not be good.

“Bela, come feed. You need the replenishment.”

Mommy drags what remains of the body into the kitchen, where Bela is safely resting, away from the cold air that fills the room where you sit.

You hear your sister begin to drink.

“Darling, are you alright?”

Mommy’s arms wrap around you, careful not to jostle your injuries.

Tearfully, you shake your head. You were scared, and Bela almost died. If you had stayed in your room and hidden like Mommy had said, you were sure that your sister would have been gone. You had almost both been killed, and if Mommy had been slower….

“M’sorry,” you sob, turning into the embrace. “I left.”

“And I’m very upset that you put yourself in danger, but I am not going to scold you right now. May I carry you to your room? You need medicine.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Mommy cradles you and carefully picks you up. Your dress is ruined, covered in grime and blood. You look over and see Bela crouched over a body. It’s suddenly easier to breathe once you see its face, blank and staring. The manthing doesn’t look special as a corpse. Just another dead human.  

You turn your face into Mommy’s chest, and she presses a hand to the back of your head, keeping you there. The smell of copper blood fades as she carries you out of the kitchen and down the hall to your room. Mommy doesn’t take the shortcuts like you and your sisters. They’re much too small and dirty for her.

That thought makes you laugh.

“Is my little one amused?” Mommy asks, petting your scalp with gloved fingers.

“Mmm, m’small and dirty,” you giggle.

“You are very small and very dirty. A bath is in order for both of us once your wounds are tended to.” That sounds like heaven to your exhausted mind.  

Mommy shoulders your door open, splintering the lock, and lays you on the bed. You whine as she moves away from you, reaching towards her.

“I’ll be back in a moment, darling. Are mama o fetiţă, cat un ghemotoc, are mama o fetiţă, cuminţică foc,” Mommy begins to sing as she makes her way around the room, gathering supplies. You relax, her voice reassuring you that she’s still nearby.

Soon, she’s back, sitting at the foot of your bed. There’s a bottle of first aid fluid in her hand, like the one the manthing used.

“This will sting, but it will help.” Mommy takes your foot in her hand, and carefully unbuckles your shoe. It looks tiny in her hand, like a doll’s shoe. Dropping it to the ground, she pulls down your stocking to reveal the wound in your calf.

You turn your face away, whining at the sight of the blood streaking your skin.

“Hush, darling.” You feel lips against the wound, a brief flare of pain as she presses against it. She makes a soft sound, and you look down to watch her lick your blood from her lips. “Don’t look,” Mommy tells you, and you close your eyes again.

Then she pours something on your leg, and everything is pain.

You twist in her grip, crying out, and she holds you down.

“I know, darling, I know. It will pass. I’m sorry.” More pain, this time radiating from your shoulder. You try to kick out, and she catches your feet. “I’ve got you. Breathe, little one. It will pass.”

And sure enough, after what feels like an eternity, the pain begins to lift. You can feel your fingers again, and your toes. Your body is more than a twisting line of agony. The ache becomes gentler, and eventually it lifts all together.

You lie on the bed, feeling the tears streaking your face, and you hear Mommy sigh in relief.

“There, all done.”

She gathers you onto her lap, and you lie passively in her arms, too exhausted to do anything else.

“My brave girl,” she praises, kissing your forehead. “My brave, brave daughter. I’m so proud of you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

“M’sorry.” You know she was worried about you. You can still hear it in her voice.

“No, darling, I’m sorry. I should have found him and… well. He shouldn’t have been able to hurt you. It won’t happen again, I promise.” Mommy rocks you back and forth, gently, and you can tell that your body has been healed. There is no pain in your leg, no pain in your shoulder. “I promise.”

“Love you.” There are so many things you want to say, but you’re tired and little and you just want to take a bath with Mommy and have a bottle and fall asleep in her arms.

“I love you more.”

She holds you tight, close enough that you can hear the doubled, inhuman heartbeat thrumming in her chest. Close enough that you can feel the unnatural heat of her skin. Close enough that you feel at home.

--

A/N: The song that Alcina sings is in Romanian, but I think it’s a translation of an English song. If anyone knows a traditional Romanian lullaby, I’d be happy to replace it. The lyrics translate as

“Mommy has a little girl, as small as a ball of fur Mommy has a little girl, and she’s a very good girl.”  

I do have a fluffier, lighter sequel to this story planned, so let me know if you’d like to read it!

[therenlover]

Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk (A Young Revolutionary!Zemo x Non-Binary Reader Oneshot)

(a/n: so, in honor of barricade day, have this young revolutionary!Zemo fic, which is basically just canon Enjoltaire dynamics but with a Zemo/reader twist on it, because that dynamic is literally my whole heart. Consider this a weird twisted Les Mis au if you want to, but you don’t need to know the book or musical to enjoy this, if it can be enjoyed...) 

Synopsis: Helmut recalls the story of how he came to be the ruthless man he is and, more specifically, how he came into possession of his strange purple mask. 

Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst, Young!Zemo, Non-Binary!Reader, Death, Enemies to Friends With Benefits to Lovers????, Implied Sexual Content, Friendship, Pining, Revolution, Speedrunning A Slow Burn

Rating: M (+16) 

Warnings: Major Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Drinking, Minor Homophobia/Transphobia (it’s one sentence near the end and it’s very vague coming from Heinrich), Swearing, Survivor’s Guilt, Really Just Death Everywhere

Word Count: 10,200~

“What’s with the mask?” 

The question was innocent enough.

Sam posed it while lounging on the expensive couch of Zemo’s Riga apartment, head tilted back and eyes closed in silent contemplation. 

Bucky remained silent as Zemo glanced over from his place at the counter. Outside, the sun was long gone, giving way to a stunning moonrise over the city that poured through the stained glass windows and lit up the night with its glow. It was quiet, much quieter than things usually were between the trio. Still, things being quiet didn’t mean they weren’t tense.

Clenching his teeth, he took in a long breath through his nose. “I am unsure what you mean by that, Sam,” 

“The mask,” Sam pushed, “you know, the one you wore during the fight in Madripoor. What’s the deal with that?” 

“Ah yes. That mask,” As if on cue, Zemo took a long swig from his glass. It burned all the way down. He didn’t speak again, though, instead choosing to let his gaze fall on the elaborate tilework above his countertops, tracing the patterns with his eyes. Anything to divert himself from the thoughts that rushed back into his mind at the thought of the knit piece of cloth that sat firmly in his inner coat pocket. 

Unfortunately for him, Sam wasn’t satisfied with letting the topic fizzle out. “Come on man,” he griped, rubbing a hand over his face, “we got you out of prison, so you owe us one. In fact, you owe us a lot. So, spill. What the hell is the deal with it? Were you Sokovian batman or something?”

That urged a dry laugh from the baron’s lips as he set his crystal glass on the counter with a little more force than was necessary. “Are you always so interested in your captives’ personal lives?” 

“Usually,” Bucky chimed in dryly. 

“I suppose I’m outnumbered,” Zemo sighed. The bile rising in his throat was easy enough to force down as he turned himself out on his stool to face the room. It wasn’t the right time for true weakness, not yet, but he couldn’t deny that painting himself in a desirable light and offering the pair honesty might give him the upper hand. So, he folded. 

Slowly he retrieved the purple mask from his coat and turned it over in his hands. It still fit after all the years it had sat gathering dust in his storage unit which was a blessing in its own right. It still served its original purpose too. That mask had seen horrors beyond imagination, had been washed clean of blood more times than could be counted. Did it hold the memories of the things it had seen within its fabrics as Zemo did in his mind? Or was it as naive as he had been at the time of its creation? He let out a bitter laugh. That was a question they would have asked him. 

As he exchanged his literal mask for one entirely emotional, Zemo leaned back on his stool and managed a smile. “How educated are you on Sokovian politics?” 

Sam shut his eyes again, letting his head lol back once more. “I went to public school, so I don’t think I even knew Sokovia existed until it didn’t,” 

“I know enough,” Bucky added. From his place leaning against the way, ever vigilant and ready to jump into an imagined battle, he turned to face Zemo and crossed his arms. “Hydra had fingers in the government there, more so than other places. There was a big power struggle in the ’90s when the king died, right? Because people wanted democracy, and they didn’t want the little shithead prince to take over,”

“Yes,” Zemo nodded, “My cousin Emil. I’m glad you’re familiar,”

 A spluttered laugh escaped Sam’s lips as he shot up. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised by this stuff anymore, but damn,” 

“He and I weren’t close,” Zemo waved his hand dismissively, and yet there was a strange sadness in his eyes. It wasn’t for his cousin, though. Not in the least. “But James was correct, there were riots in the streets when the king died. They were shut down quickly by the National Guard, though, who had more than a little help from Hydra’s favorite supersoldiers once they realized just how much power the citizens held. What street were you assigned to, James?” 

Bucky sucked in his cheeks, eyes falling to the floor, but before Sam could butt in and defend him he had muttered an answer. “I cleared the barricade at 18th Avenue, the second largest. Those kids fought valiantly,” 

Zemo hummed lowly. “And so they did,” 

“Okay, what does any of this have to do with your stupid purple mask?” Sam exclaimed.

He was sitting up fully now, face turned to where Zemo had stood from his stool and begun to round the bar. His mask still sat in a small ball on the marble. It seemed to be a member of the conversation all its own, silent and sure, drawing all three men together as it weaved a story from the past into the present with its very presence. 

“That mask served me well and hid my identity when I stood against the very men that were serving my family,” Zemo muttered, letting his fingers brush the fabric gently. The names of the lost sat heavy on his very soul even if they would never pass from his lips. 

Hans, Andrei, Ivan, Vladimir, Anton, Lazlo, Nicholas, little Sebastian… 

Y/N. 

“I was young then, too young for my own good,” he said softly, “naive and hopeful and convinced that the world was able to change for the better if I simply willed it to be… so when I discovered the connection between my family and Hydra I packed up my things, emptied my bank account, and moved into a tiny apartment with another like-minded friend, Hans Perlitch,” a soft laugh escaped him, genuine and youthful and all too honest, “We preached to the hungry masses of a world free from the thumb of the elite and all the while we would return home to a heated apartment and a stocked pantry. Still, we were well-liked and gathered a bit of a following. That was when everything changed, the early fall of 1997…” 

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

“You know, for someone who claims to be as smart as you say you are, you’re quite a fool,” 

The voice came from the back of the room, smoke still hanging thick in the air from the cigarettes shared by the masses of students that had packed the tiny repurposed stockroom of the bar while Helmut had given his speech for the week.

He didn’t give the interloper the dignity of his full attention as he gathered a few of his scattered notes from the table that served as his soapbox. Still, he was in a generally good mood. Almost double the usual students had shown up for the meeting and a few had even chimed in to ask questions, so he took a deep breath and resigned himself to the fact that rooting out one ignorant opposer now would mean less work in the long run. “I’ve never claimed to be smart, so I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to,” 

A scoff came from the back of the room, but the person made no effort to come closer. “You can change your last name and present yourself as a member of the public all you want, but someday someone is gonna recognize that pretty face of yours, and your whole revolution is going to come crumbling to the ground,” 

Now that was enough to make him pause.

“How did you-”

“How could I not?”

It was sardonic, biting and harsh in the worst of ways. Everything about the tone made Helmut’s blood boil beneath his skin. He was not one who enjoyed being threatened or outdone. Still, the play was out of his hands now, should this strange intruder choose to ruin him. 

Biting his tongue, he finally turned to face them. “You have my attention, now what do you want?”

Across the room, the stranger remained unphased. They were relatively unremarkable, a bottle of cheap beer held firmly in their grip as they toasted to nothing and drank down the remaining dregs. With a smile and a chuckle, they propped their feet up on the small, round table before them. Something about that sight lit a fire in Helmut’s chest. He didn’t know who they were, or why he was there, but he was certain that he despised them already. 

“I don’t want anything,” They replied, and with a certain grandness reserved for a gamin mocking the bourgeoisie, they flourished with their hands, letting their booted feet drop to the ground as they stood and bowed. “I’m just saying that if you’re trying to convince people that you’re not the missing baron while you’re pretending to be all impoverished and rallying us commoners, you might want to change more than your last name and your fashion sense,”

Helmut gritted his teeth. “So what? Did you come here just to rub my face in it, or are you going to help me make a change?” 

That elicited a small snort from the stranger, but they did take the opportunity to traipse up to meet him at his table, leaning on the edge as they gazed up at him with a strange look in their eyes that he couldn’t quite identify. Their face was soft upon closer examination, alive and bright with a merriment that only came from intoxication. It made Helmut sneer involuntarily. 

Licking their lips, they murmured, “Make a change? Is that what you think you’re doing?” and as they let a giggle escape their parted lips Helmut lost it. 

He gasped them firmly by the front of their baggy sweater and dragged them in close. “At least I’m trying! What are you doing about it? Extorting the only person who might be able to actually make a change in this shithole of a country? That’s so much more helpful!” 

Their faces were inches apart as Helmut spat his words like venom and yet the stranger never stopped smiling. It was almost dopey, the grin that made its way across their lips. Helmut couldn’t stand it. 

“You know, baron,” they purred, setting down their empty bottle on the table beside them, “I like you. I might just stick around here for a little while, see what else about your little plan I can pick apart,” 

Never in his life had Helmut been less thrilled for someone to join his cause. 

“Why are you here anyway,” he groaned, releasing their shirt, “don’t you have something better to do with your Friday night than bother me?” and, as an extra jab, he added, “besides drinking yourself to death, of course,” 

The jab didn’t land, though. 

Taking it all in stride, the stranger simply grinned as if they too knew how badly they stank of cheap alcohol and was thrilled that someone had noticed. “Anton invited me. He said I should get out more, make some friends. It’s just a coincidence that I happened to recognize you while writing down an itemized list of all the things you got wrong while you grandstanded,” There was a pride in their words, a giddy energy burbling just beneath the surface of their skin, and suddenly it all made sense. 

Anton was newer to their group, a poet and a free thinker, something hard to find in the slums of Novi Grad. Still, he lightened the impromptu meetings up with his smile and would often spend the hour scrawling away fervently in his notebook as he immortalized each and every word that was said “for posterity”. Helmut was sure that only someone as accepting as Anton would ever choose to spend their time with someone quite as insufferable as the person before him. Suddenly, and uncomfortably, he became aware that he didn’t even know their name. 

Swallowing down a nasty barb, Helmut sighed and offered up his hand, which the stranger took after a moment of pause. “And you are?” 

“Y/N,” They replied.

“Well, Y/N,” he spat their name from his mouth like a cherry pit, “I suppose I’ll have to get used to having a man like you-”

“Don’t call me that,” 

Helmut cocked his head to the side. “Pardon?”

“Don’t call me a man,” Y/N replied, “and before you ask I don’t want to be called a woman either. I’m just… I’m just Y/N, at least for now I am, it’s not like I’d give a rich brat like you my legal name while we’re mixed up in all this illegal, halfway-treasonous nonsense you insist on spouting. Maybe next week I’ll be something completely different and new. Until I tell you otherwise, though, I’m just Y/N, your highness,” 

“Do I dare dream that that means you might learn to respect my ideas?” Helmut sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face and choosing to ignore the sarcastic address in the hopes of letting such things fizzle and die without encouragement. Unfortunately, the goofy grin he got in return told him that was wishful thinking. 

Suddenly, the door opened and Helmut jumped away from his newest tentative ally (if you could call them that) to find Hans standing in the doorway. At his side was Andrei, the third in command of their little posse and final member of the leading triumvirate. They seemed shocked at his lateness and he was quick to try to gather himself up lest they see him as undone as he had found himself while facing the smallest taste of Y/N’s antagonistic nature. 

What had he even been doing when they interrupted him? It took him a moment to even gather himself together enough to remember. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on the papers 

Oh yes, he had been gathering up his notes…

He was quick to finish the task as Y/N sauntered away towards the door, preparing to push past the two men who stood beyond it. 

“You’re Anton’s friend, right?” Hans asked, back stiff. When Y/N nodded he did little more than give a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat. He had always been good with making things impersonal as he crunched the numbers and calculated probabilities. That was why Helmut liked him so much. 

Andrei, on the other hand, provided a needed warmth to their leadership in his outreach. 

He smiled warmly at Y/N and clapped a hand on their shoulder. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of you around,” 

Y/N was quick to offer one of their signature grins before winking back at Helmut in a way that made his stomach turn. “Oh, you’ll be seeing plenty of me from now on,” 

“We’re glad to have you,” Andrei replied as they passed. 

Before they fully left, though, they turned one last time to shoot Helmut a final smile. “Till next Friday, fearless leader,” 

Then, Y/N was gone, lost in the crowd of revelers beyond the small, smokey storeroom and, more importantly, beyond where Helmut’s eyes could follow. Somehow, despite everything, he missed having them there. He quickly chalked the feeling up to wanting to keep a close eye on people with the ability to thwart his best-laid plans and left it at that. Besides, he had no room in his heart for anything besides the betterment of Sokovia. 

Attachments meant the possibility of other priorities, and other priorities got people killed. He couldn’t have that happening on his watch. 

Thankfully, Hans snapped him out of his melancholy quickly. “Do you have everything sorted?” 

Helmut gave a short nod before tapping the pile of papers against the table and setting out towards the door, abandoning his thoughts and feelings about his interaction with Y/N at the table as he exited the room and gathered himself once more into the man his friends needed him to be. 

He could only hope that as long as he ignored Y/N’s jabs, they would soon grow tired and be gone within the month once they realized he was anything but afraid of their little games. 

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

Much to Helmut’s abject disappointment, Y/N did not, in fact, stop showing up. 

They did quite the opposite. 

Instead of leaving him well enough alone, they showed up to Helmut’s meetings every single Wednesday and Friday for months, always piss drunk and happy to jeer at him from the corner, shouting their unwanted opinions and throwing off every meeting with their nonsense.

It was as if they did it just to get on his nerves, and get on his nerves they did.

As the seasons changed, from spring, to winter, to fall, and, finally, to the very beginnings of summer, so did the types of jabs Y/N decided to throw. 

In the beginning it was all business, comments on the idiocy of his plans for a protest based on common police routes or mocking jokes about his unending optimism when it came to fighting the national guard on a large scale, but as things began to get more and more serious on the path towards a full-fledged revolt, they seemed to aim more and more of their vitriol towards Helmut personally.

Sometimes it was a comment on his face or voice. “Ease up pretty boy,” they’d jeer, “keep talking like that and a guardsman might just do more than knock out a few of your perfect teeth,” Other times, which Helmut found infinitely worse, they’d throw a jab at his ability to lead them to victory. “The only thing that waits for us at the end of this is a painful death, especially if you’re not joking about those fucking super soldiers they supposedly have on ice,” 

The worst part was that half the time, Y/N was right. 

Helmut hated to admit it but it was true. More than once he had to go back and edit his plans to take into account a valid point thrown in by Y/N that he had never even considered. Hell, if it had been anyone else picking him to nothing he would have been grateful, but it wasn’t a well-meaning contributor trying to make the world a better place, it was a drunk who seemed to have one solitary life goal: making his life as miserable as possible. Perhaps that’s why they had devolved to frantic angry fucks behind crates of wine and massive cans of chocolate spread after the worst of their arguments…

Not that Helmut cared for them. 

No, he didn’t do attachments. Neither did Y/N. They hated each other, after all. 

It was just a way to release their tensions at the end of stressful meetings and nothing more. They were dealing with matters of life and death after all. It was only normal to seek comfort in the warmth of a companion, if he could even call Y/N a companion.

Whether he liked it or not, though, they were they to stay, even if they rarely made themself useful to the cause.

By early June, the drunkard had become close friends with all of the remaining students that still gathered at Helmut’s location for meetings instead of ending up at the offshoots that began to form once the group got too big to pile into the storeroom. Helmut loathed thinking about it, but Y/N was probably invited to more birthdays and Saturday night get-togethers than he ever was. There was something about their smile that drew people in. It made them feel wanted, welcome. Helmut hated that he never got those smiles from Y/N, only ever the mocking, blithe kind that they handed out freely to friends and enemies alike. 

He didn’t have time to think about that, though. Not with so much fast approaching as the first pears began to hang from branches down in the royal orchards, soft and ripe and ready to be harvested. Their growth marked King Hugo’s daily weakening. His death could come any day, and when it did, Helmut knew he would need to strike quickly if he truly hoped to overturn the system before the coronation of his cousin. That meant every meeting, now more frequently held throughout the week, was filled to the brim with preparations and planning. 

Well, preparations and planning and a healthy dose of Y/N and Helmut yelling at each other about nonsense across the room until Anton or Laszlo stepped in to pull Y/N down into their chair once more so the meeting could resume and they could all go home before things got too late and they were questioned in the street on why they were possibly out and about at such an hour.

Things were no different on that Friday meeting on June 4th. 

“Is there anyone here who isn’t already passing out pamphlets in the dorms at NVU tonight?” Helmut asked the room, scanning for a hand that didn’t belong to his least favorite member of the group. Unfortunately, none came up. “Come one now, at least one of you has to be free,”

Y/N groaned. “It’s like you don’t even see my hand waving up here, oh great one,” There they went again with the ridiculous terms of address that made Helmut’s blood sizzle in his veins. He remained composed, though. At least, as composed as he could be given the situation.

“I’m ignoring you because I remember the last time I asked your drunk ass to pass out pamphlets. What round of dominos were you on by the time I showed up to check on you, five or six?” 

The scalding remark was enough to get Y/N to sheepishly lower their hand, eyes downcast. It was getting easier and easier for Helmut to manage to shut them up the more frantic meetings got, and he couldn’t say he was displeased by that fact no matter why it was the way that it was. A quiet Y/N meant less chance for mistakes which meant fewer future casualties. Fewer casualties were good, it was what he strived for. 

Thankfully for Helmut, a new hand came up. 

It belonged to Vladimir, the oldest of the group by a year rounding out at an even 26 years old. He was dependable, definitely the kind who could be trusted to run an errand as important as the one Helmut needed to have done. The thought that Vladimir would be the one to pick up the shipment of smuggled guns was a relief. He made as much evident while explaining their next moves. 

Throughout the remainder of the meeting, though, Helmut couldn’t help but feel watched. It didn’t last long, half an hour at most. Still, there was the creeping itch on the back of his neck that told him there were eyes on him that he wasn’t aware of. Only when the group was dismissed and the feeling didn’t go away did he realize exactly who was staring at him so intently.

“I hope you know I really did intend to hand out those pamphlets,” Y/N said once they were the last one remaining, the rest of the group having trickled out to get food and drinks before heading home for the night. It wasn’t unusual for Helmut and Y/N to be the last two remaining at the end of a meeting. That didn’t mean he was happy about it though. 

So, instead of offering up an acknowledgment, he busied himself with plotting out a few potential spots to barricade the roads and hunker down when things got messy in highlighter on the large, laminated map of Novi Grad that had found its home on the big front table.

Y/N didn’t let up, though. They never did. “I know you don’t believe me, why would you, but I did. I just wanted to loosen them up before I started talking about overthrowing the damn government, which is a terrible plan, by the way. Have I told you that lately?”

“Only every time you see me,” Helmut sighed. 

Somehow, that made Y/N smile, soft and sarcastic and all too honest. Helmut didn’t know how they managed it. Secretly, he envied their neverending veracity. He’d never say that though. No, not while they crossed the floor and offered up a large bottle of whiskey. 

“A drink, dear leader?” 

“Absolutely not” He griped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How many times do I need to remind you I don’t drink?” 

“Too many,” 

“For once, I agree with you,” 

A laugh passed through Y/N’s plush lips and, regrettably, Helmut couldn’t help but look up at them and relish in the sight. Their hair was a bit longer than they usually grew it out, a particularly unruly piece tucked behind their ear. Helmut hated that he noticed little details like that, despised the way he had come to know the soft dip of their cupid’s bow and the warmth of their palm. It was still Y/N, after all, for better or worse. He couldn’t help but allow himself those small recognitions though. It made him feel human, or something close to it. 

Still, all good things must come to an end, and they did when Y/N decided to speak again. “You know, the longer I show up for these stupid meetings, the more I think you’re actually gonna try to go up against those bastards,” 

Helmut should have known the barb was coming, but perhaps his better nature, if it truly existed, prevented that. Nevertheless, he sighed into his hands as he dropped his highlighter. “If I didn’t intend to actually try to change things, why would I have spent the last year of my life living in a shitty apartment and putting up with you?”

“You’d be surprised the things people do and never finish. Not everyone is as driven as you are,” Y/N huffed. They were quick to seat themself on the table once Helmut wasn’t actively working over it, smearing the highlighter away on their corduroy pants. “Nobody would blame you if you did tap out, you know. There are plenty of ways to make a change that don’t involve trying to take down the entire local Sokovian military force until they decide to give you what you want,”

“The changes we could make without a revolt wouldn’t really be changes, they’d just be the illusion of changes. You know that as well as I do,” Helmut replied with a groan. 

Two of the fingers from Y/N’s free hand, the one that wasn’t gripping their bottle like a lifeline, pointed towards the closed door behind them. “Is living under our current system and knowing they have fingers in a few less-than-savory organizations really worse than leading all of your friends to their deaths?” 

That struck a nerve in Helmut’s chest.

“And who says that has to be true?” 

“Come on, oh benevolent and giving baron,” Y/N’s voice was light yet pointed, like a million minuscule particles of glass flying through the air, “Do you really think we’re all gonna make it out of a fight with the big guys? And even if all of us do, can you say the same for the poor kids fighting where we aren’t?”

“I never said there would be no casualties-”

“What about Sebastian? The kid is barely 12 and I know you’re going to say that if he tries to show up, you’re gonna send him home, but I think you underestimate how many people will want even someone as young as him dead if they catch him in the street. Are you really going to let him risk his life for this? A half-assed plan for you to get revenge on your asshole relatives for making your childhood shitty?” 

“You know that’s not what this is about,” 

“Do I?” Y/N asked, and for just a second, no, a millisecond, Helmut wasn’t sure anymore. It was only a brief moment though, nothing more. The fact that they could make him doubt himself do deeply though… it was a problem. Calling it that was an understatement, but there was no other way to put it that truly worked. 

Helmut growled lowly and nodded, pushing the doubt from his mind. He was right. He had to be right. What would he be if he was wrong? A spoiled rich boy who was leading his friends to their dooms for nothing? 

No.

He had to be right, so he was. It was as simple as that.

“Is there anything else you need to critique, or can you leave me to work now?” Helmut asked. His patience had long since worn thin. That didn’t matter much to Y/N, though. They liked to wear him down thin, see just how far they could push without breaking his resolve. It was a game they were both intimately acquainted with. 

They played their hand expertly. “In fact,” Y/N smiled while they spoke, another mocking little grin that made Helmut’s stomach turn in the best and worst of ways, “there is one last thing I needed to ask about,” 

“I shudder to think what it might be,”

“How are you going to hide your face?” 

The question caught Helmut off-guard as he leaned back on his heels, letting his forearms brace against the edge of the table, his face scrunching up in thought. “What?” 

Y/N gestured absently towards his face before bringing their bottle to their lips. “I’m betting that your family will expect you to be out there whenever we actually stage our attack. If I’m right, that means the soldiers will be looking for you as their top priority, and if they find you, they’ll kill everybody around you just to get a chance to drag you back to mommy and daddy. Even if they don’t kill us on sight we’ll be charged for harboring you without turning you in to the proper authorities. So, how are you going to hide your face?” 

Once again, Helmut found himself thinking that, despite their drunken stupor, Y/N might just be right, and he hated it. He hated that he hadn’t thought of it first, hated that it was a valid point, hated that he had no satisfying way to answer the question they had posed. He hated it all. 

“I’ll just throw on a bandana,” He managed to grumble, and that was that. 

Or, that should have been that, but Y/N scoffed at the idea, setting down their bottle and leaning in close to Helmut’s face. After a moment of contemplation, they brought their hand up to his face and let their thumb come to rest on one of his largest beauty marks, the mole that rested high on the left side of his nose. “I’m afraid that a bandana isn’t going to cover up your absolutely blinding radiance, fearless leader,” There was a softness to their voice, a gentility Helmut was unused to. It made his chest hurt. He hated that too. 

“Are you going to offer a solution or are you just going to sit there telling me I’m stupid,” His words were a low groan. 

Much to his surprise, though, Y/N reached into their back pocket only to pass him a crumpled purple ball. It was obviously fabric, though the outside seemed to be coated in some sort of weatherproofing, and upon closer inspection, once unraveled, two distinct eyeholes became visible. 

“Is this-”

“A mask?” Y/N finished his sentence for him, “Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t think about it, so I whipped something up with some old polyester-based yarn and then I coated it so it wouldn’t be a problem if it got wet. It should still be breathable, though,” 

For the first time since he’d known them, Helmut looked up at Y/N and thought that they were incredibly valuable. He still hated them, of course he did. Y/N was Y/N and he was himself and they hated each other because they were, at their basest, entirely incompatible. 

At his silence, Y/N looked away, almost nervous. “I hope it’s alright,” 

“It’s more than alright,” Helmut said as kindly as he could possibly manage, “I hate to say this, but owe you one,” 

“Could I collect on that debt now?” Minutely, Y/N leaned closer, eyes falling to Helmut’s lips. 

He swallowed thickly. “You’re drunk, Y/N,” 

“I know I am. Isn’t that wonderful?” 

“Why would that be wonderful?” 

“Because that means I won’t remember this,” And, with that, they closed the gap between the two of them and captured Helmut’s lips in his own. 

Kissing Y/N wasn’t a new thing. They had kissed plenty of times during their frenzied hookups; soft kisses and hard kisses and long kisses and short kisses. Still, Helmut would never get used to the thrill of it. That was yet another thing he hated about Y/N. He could never quite get used to them. Every single interaction always felt as fresh and raw as their first. 

With a fervor only he could muster, Helmut kissed back and pushed at Y/N’s hips, pressing them harder into the table below, and just as quickly as he had gained a physical mask, he had lost his emotional one. 

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

In the end, that was the last time Helmut had slept with Y/N.

They had fallen together, two sweaty half-dressed bodies laid out over the laminated map of Novi Grad, and then Y/N had gathered themself up and left with little more than one last kiss pressed to Helmut’s temple. By the time he himself had gotten home to Hans, the news of King Hugo’s death was almost an hour old.

After a few phone calls to lay the final plans and keep every sect of their band of revolutionaries on the same schedules, things rolled into motion like a finely tuned machine. 

On the morning of June 5th, the barricades rose and Helmut wore his mask proudly as his people fought for freedom in the streets he had walked since childhood. Y/N was beside him. 

By the early hours of June 6th, they were the only barricade that remained. 

Helmut should have known that once things got too challenging that the super soldiers would be released, he should have anticipated that they’d be waiting for the backlash once king Hugo passed, and yet he hadn’t. He had blindly walked into the disaster with his eyes wide open. There was no one to blame but himself. 

Little Sebastian, just one month shy of 13 years old, was dead, shot at long distance when he had attempted to grab a fallen box of bullets that had toppled over the peak of the jumble of hoarded furniture and scrap metal. Anton was dead too, taken at gunpoint while he stood guard at a side street and executed with his eyes bound and a sonnet on his lips. Even Ivan, stoic and strong Ivan who bound his knuckles in boxer’s tape and sparred with Helmut when he needed to clear his head, had been caught in the initial fire and bled out over the course of the day, dying with a smile on his face as he leaned on a discarded chair.

I never said there’d be no casualties.

His own words rang in his ears, taunted him with every bullet he shot and every breath he dragged into his aching lungs. How had he ever been so naive to believe that even one life could be expendable?  

The real lowest point came at almost midnight when Helmut picked up a call from a student on another barricade only to met with screaming. “Winter is coming!” They had wailed, “Winter is coming!” and then they had died, right there over speakerphone. Helmut had the good sense to hang up once it got to the worst of it, the strangled gurgled growing to be too much for the group. 

As things truly settled, in those hours so early that the world still considered them night, Helmut still stood vigilant. That’s when Y/N finally approached. 

They wore no smile, not like usual. Instead, their face was stoic as they came to stand beside Helmut and waited silently for a moment. He took the chance to beat them to the punch. 

“You don’t have to tell me you were right. I know you were,” I hate you for it.

Y/N offered a gentle, humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t rub it in at a time like this, but yeah, I was,” I know you do. I hate myself for it too. 

Slowly, Helmut brought a hand to his face, scrubbing the exhaustion away from his eyes. How had it all come to this? 

“How much time do you think we have,” Y/N was speaking before he had a chance to say anything more, saving him from having to elaborate on his admission. He was grateful. Grateful to not be alone, grateful to be spared more shame, grateful to see Y/N’s gentle smile one more time. He’d never show it though. No, he was to be the fearless leader till the end. 

So, he sucked in a deep breath and stared out into the starry sky. “A few hours at most. I’m surprised they haven’t made another advance after the last big push in the evening when we lost…” he swallowed thickly, “when we lost Anton,” 

Licking their lips and pushing back their hair, Y/N sighed. “For what it’s worth, for a minute there I really believed you could do it,” 

It was a bigger compliment than it seemed and they both knew it, but neither acknowledged it. Instead, Helmut gestured absently towards the half-full bottle of wine in Y/N’s hand. “You mind if I have a drink of that?” 

A grin spread across their lips, but it was as far from mocking as was possible as they passed the bottle over. 

“I never thought I’d see the day,”

Lifting the bottom of his mask to take a swig, Helmut groaned at the deep, bitter burn of it. “Don’t get used to it,” He replaced the fabric quickly before passing the bottle back. 

“I’ll try not to,” 

“Happy 20th, by the way,” Y/N added, “this is a hell of a way to celebrate, but it’s very you,” 

Helmut froze as the realization sunk in that it was, in fact, the 6th of June, even if it had only been that way for a couple hours. 

There had been a party planned. It was just an intimate thing, cake and a few card games in the afternoon with his closest friends, but that was long behind them now, forgotten in favor of the larger cause. To Y/N, though, there was never a larger cause than Helmut himself. He was realizing that slowly. In a bitter moment of realization, he laughed. 

“What?” 

“You weren’t invited,” 

They quirked up an eyebrow. “Huh?” 

“To the birthday party. I didn’t invite you,” 

“Well, I’m here now, and this is a pretty good party if I do say so myself. You and me and the revolution all jam-packed together in the middle of a street. Wouldn’t it be cool if the new democracy was born on the same day you were?” 

He smiled softly. “It was meant to be,” 

“I got you something, you know, even though I knew I wasn’t invited to the party,” Y/N added breathlessly. “It was stupid, just some dumb sweater with a whole bunch of random ass quotes from Machiavelli all over the back, but Anton and I saw it when we visited the better side of town to hang up those fliers for the march a few weeks ago and we knew you had to have it. It’s sitting all wrapped up on my front table,” 

“It’s a shame I won’t get to open it today,”

They nodded distantly. “Yeah, a real shame…”  

Then, they were quiet again, staring up at the stars mere feet away from each other and yet miles apart, farther than they’d ever been. 

Y/N cut through the soundless night first, but not before several silent minutes had passed, filled with only the distant chatter of their surviving friends and the gentle whistling of the breeze over the rooftops above. “When everything goes to shit… with the universe, I mean, not now. Everything’s already gone to shit now. But that notwithstanding, when the world goes kaput and the sun explodes, we’re all gonna be starstuff together, right? You and I and Sebastian and Andrei and Anton and… all of us. We’re gonna be nothing but matter and dust out there in space,” 

“Is there a point to this or are you just having an existential crisis?” Helmut muttered, but there was no bite to it. 

They just chuckled as their eyes scanned the sky. 

“I was just thinking, if all of us are gonna be nothing more than matter and dust and star stuff, it only makes sense that someday, even if it’s a billion years from now, a little part of each of us will be together again as part of some supernova in the sky to be seen by somebody else, and, when that day comes, I think I’m gonna know, and everything is gonna be alright,” 

He hummed thoughtfully, running a hand absently over the thick purple knit of his mask, relishing in the gummy softness of the coating on his bare fingertips in the cooling air. “That makes no sense,” 

“Do you think I don’t know that?” 

“Still, it’s a pretty thought. Anton would have liked it,” 

“Yeah, he would have…”  

Helmut let his eyes fall from the sky to his companion. They looked so fragile, so broken, that he could barely stand himself, because, if he hadn’t made the stupid choices to lead them here, they never would have felt that way. They’d be curled up in bed somewhere, asleep and safe, far from the cold darkness of the night at his side. It made him sick. 

How could he possibly put that to words? How could he apologize for denying every nudge, every chance to turn around? He couldn’t, and it made him as bitter as the wine that Y/N sipped from absently before turning to face him once again. 

“Hey, Helmut,” they whispered, and his breath caught in his throat because how dare his voice sound so sweet on their lips? How dare they keep that joy, the joy of hearing his name whispered with reverence on the early morning breeze, real and caring and perfect, away from him for so long? “Do you think I could take a chair from the barricade?” 

Just as soon as it had come, the joy was gone. “Why would you need a chair?” 

Y/N shrugged. “I want to go sleep,” 

“Why can’t you sleep out here?”

“I don’t want to be woken up,”

“We wouldn’t wake you until the fighting was starting back up again-” 

“Oh, my darling fearless leader,” their voice was empty, tinny and cold, “I don’t ever want to be woken up,” 

Their words pierced Helmut straight through the heart he didn’t know he had. It made him feel so much, so many emotions he had simply not allowed himself out of a misplaced sense of self-preservation. “But we’ll need every able body ready to fight when they send in the super soldiers if we even want a chance at making it out of this,” 

The smile that crossed Y/N’s lips didn’t come from a place of joy, nor did it mock Helmut for his blind and dying faith. It was simply there because they did not know how to do anything else. “There’s no making it out of this. Not for me, at least. For you, though… you still have a chance,” 

Denial and anger went hand in hand as Helmut sucked his teeth, grinding his molars and letting his hand ghost over his pistol hanging at his hip. 

“So you’d really rather die like a coward than take a stand against the evils in the world?” he spat, harsh and cold as the air around them. “Pathetic,” 

“Don’t do this now, Helmut, not after we were finally getting somewhere. I don’t want to die with things like that,” 

“I’m not the one who’s giving up,” he snapped.

He just needed… something. A reaction. A reason to keep fighting when the war was already lost. Anything. Why couldn’t Y/N light the same fire in him that they’d kindled for months? The fire that had driven him to spend sleepless nights poring over maps and plans and speeches and guns. If he just pushed a little harder, just hit the right button, they’d light it again, he just knew it. 

“Please,” the word fell fragile from Y/N’s lips. Not a beg, just a soft plea. 

It fell on deaf ears. 

“You know what? You can take your chair!” Helmut was shouting then, loud enough that the remaining students on the barricade could hear every word. “Take your chair and leave us to fight while you die in your sleep. If we make it through the day I’ll put the bullet between your eyes myself. Now get out of here! I don’t want to see you again,” There was a cruelty to it, an edge that he thought might just push them off the edge. Still, it wasn’t cruel without reason. Helmut thought that maybe, if he was lucky enough, Y/N would simply leave. 

They had no stakes in the results of the revolt, no serious lasting ties that would get them hunted down in the weeks to come if things came to a gruesome end. If he bid them to leave, to disappear from his sight, there was a chance, however small, that they would disappear into the shadows with a chance to live. 

Against all odds, though, Y/N smiled one of those empty smiles again and drank down the very last of their wine.

“As your baronship commands,” they whispered, before departing to gather up a chair and disappearing into the restaurant where they had met so many times before. 

Then, they were gone, and Helmut was free to sink to the ground as his heart broke and mended and broke again. 

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

As expected, the super soldiers arrived only a couple of hours past Y/N’s departure.

Their arrival was silent, only marked by the slow thud of retreating national guardsmen in the distance. They weren’t needed there anymore, and the less they saw the better. 

Helmut watched his friends fall one by one in the panic, the barricade falling to ruin as the soldiers- if they could even be considered that, soldier seemed a far too human term for the monstrous creatures before him- pulled it apart with their bare hands. From there it was just a game of who was caught first in the insanity that ensued. 

Nicholas; caught a bullet through the neck. 

Vladimir; thrown against a solid stone wall at a speed near impossible.

Lazlo; impaled on a bit of broken wood as the wood exploded. 

Andrei; shot 3 times point-blank in the chest as he held the door closed to buy Hans and Helmut a little more time with a love confession for his closest companion falling from his mouth. 

Hans…

Helmut didn’t know how Hans died. 

He had never asked. All he knew that the shots had come as he wailed Andrei’s name, and then there was a deathly silence in the golden light of the morning sun as Helmut stood alone at the back of the storeroom, taking in the 4 walls that had held the best year of his life. 

What remained now? 

A failed dream? A pile of bodies? A single survivor waiting for his death?

Helmut didn’t know. He couldn’t fathom it. 

The two soldiers sent to finish the job were nameless and nondescript as they slipped through the door, armed with long, silent rifles and hidden by masks not too dissimilar from Helmut’s own. They did not speak, not a word. Instead, they simply raised their guns and took aim at Helmut as he closed his eyes and thought of-

“Wait!”

The word rang out heavy and made the two executioners snap to the side.

“I’m with him! I’m with the revolution! Down with King Emil! Down with the monarchy!”  

There, hidden among the crates and shelves of canned goods and glass bottles, was Y/N. 

They looked objectively awful, eyes rimmed red and hair mussed up and coated with oil. Still, it was the most beautiful sight Helmut had ever seen. 

It was only right that they go together. 

Slowly, Y/N made their way across the room to take their place at Helmut’s side. “I know you said you never wanted to see me again, but I assume you’ll make an exception for the circumstances,”

“I never meant it,” he whispered back, and Y/N smiled, “You have to know, I never meant it,” 

“Even if you did, I never would have listened-”

Suddenly, one of the soldiers spoke, taking aim straight for Helmut down the barrel of their gun. 

“Quiet,” 

Y/N only paused for a moment before pressing their hand into his. “Kiss me, Helmut?”

Who was he to deny them? 

Pulling off his mask, he pressed his lips to theirs and clasped their hand like it was the last thing he would ever do. When he pulled away, they were smiling one of their old, mocking, joyous smiles. 

“Oh, fearless leader… I win,” 

The words were a whisper of air against his lips. Before he could fathom the true meaning of them the pair was peppered in a spray of gunfire as Helmut closed his eyes to the world for what should have been the final time. 

When he opened them, Y/N was struck dead at his feet. 

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

It was their final winning move, he later realized, the checkmate to a game of chess he never believed would end. 

In the end, Y/N had been as correct as they always were.

All the same, he hated them for it. 

Some nights, in the darkness of his room back at the summer estate where his father has imprisoned him until further notice, he wondered if Y/N had kissed him because they wanted to or if they had done it to get him to remove his mask long enough that the soldiers would recognize him and spare him. It wouldn’t surprise him. Y/N did have a tendency to be right about things like that. 

Ghosts haunted him often.

Not full specters, he would wish for something so merciful. Instead, he saw flashes in the periphery of his vision. Outside his window, he’d hear a child’s laugher and be so sure it was Sebastian until he looked out to find that it was simply a group of the staff’s children playing ball. Or, when the assigned guardsman brought him his dinner, he would glance down the hall and be so sure that a man at the other end was Lazlo, preparing to face a board of proctors as he delivered a thesis he would never write. It never was, though. It never would be. 

Worst of all, when he laid awake in his bed as the clock struck twelve, he would feel them beside him. 

They had never slept together in the literal sense. Whatever they had shared (love, Helmut would come to realize after many, many years with Heike, painfully hollow without the same kind of flame. He had loved them and simply never known how to show it) was purely physical and contained within that bloody, bloody storeroom that he was sure would be torn down someday soon as they glossed over the casualties and stamped out the evidence. Still, he could feel Y/N beside him in the darkness despite the fact that they had never been there. 

Their head on his chest, their body pressed flush to his side, their hot breath fanning over the fabric of his nightshirt, creating a patch of damp warmth in its wake…

It was maddening, an eternal punishment he was doomed to endure for his stupidity. Nevertheless, if he let his brain wander to a better place, a different lifetime, it was almost comforting to feel their ghost wrapped tightly to his side. 

When he woke, though, the loss of the dream was more maddening than living through it. 

Almost a month after the failed revolution, in the hot and heady days of early July when the wasps buzzed loud at the window and the skies were filled with thunderclouds most of the time, his father finally came to speak to him.  

“I trust you spent your birthday how you wished to,” Heinrich said plainly. There was no question to it, just an empty sentiment. 

Mockery wasn’t nearly as pleasant when delivered by his father and not his lover, Helmut thought distantly. 

“On the contrary, I spent my birthday watching everyone I cared about die,” he snapped back. 

Heinrich didn’t offer any sort of commiseration. He simply shrugged and continued on with what he was there to say, not that his son minded much. The less time he spent there the more time Helmut would have to himself, which was preferable to listening to his father’s droning. 

“You’re lucky to be alive. The family is on thin ice thanks to that stunt you pulled, but with time we’re all sure that you’ll become an asset if you simply learn to use that fire for something more… productive,” 

Who the ‘we’ was went unspoken. It didn’t need to be.

Helmut sighed and looked out the window at the rain falling on the garden. Nicholas would have loved the gardens at this home. He would have pressed every flower at least once in the little book he kept beside him filled with the pieces of the world that he collected as he passed through it. Where would he be kept and collected now that he was dead? 

“I’ve called in a favor and enrolled you for military service. You’ll be tested to find your strengths, sent where you’re best suited, and trained from the ground up. Once we know you can be trusted, you might even lead your own squadron and make some friends more of your caliber,” 

It took all Helmut’s strength to clench his teeth and hold back the rage he felt in his chest. “When do I leave?”

“As soon as you’re married,” 

Married. 

The word struck a bolt through the rage and dissolved it, giving way to pure shock. “What the hell do you mean?” 

Crossing his arms, Heinrich took to pacing a 2-foot line back and forth in front of the door. “We’ve found a suitable match from a good standing Sokovian family, and they’re willing to look past your little misstep as long as their daughter becomes a baroness and is adequately involved in society. She’ll be here in three days time and you’ll have a week to get acquainted before the wedding,” 

“I never said I was going to get married,” Helmut growled, “You can’t make me get married,” 

His father stared down at him from above like he was a little boy again. “I can make you do whatever I want. Don’t think I didn’t hear about what happened with that freak they shot down at your side! No son of mine is ending up with someone like-”

In an instant, Helmut had rushed across the room and punched his father square in the jaw. As blood poured down the man’s face, a hiss escaped his son’s lips. 

“Never talk about Y/N like that again,”

“So it had a name!”

That earned him another punch, but Heinrich escaped Helmut’s grip quickly, cupping a hand beneath his nose to catch the redness that poured from his face. As he retreated out the door, he turned to deliver his final verdict. “You have three days to get your act together, and maybe, just maybe, if you don’t fuck this up, I’ll let you know where they dumped all your little friends to rot,” And with that, he shut the door behind him and left Helmut to pick up the pieces of his soul.

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

The tale Zemo wove was a sad one (sans most of the details about Y/N. That was a story whose finer details he would take to his grave) and as he came to a close, the purple fabric between his fingers was a tether to reality. The coating was a bit old, thinner in places than it should have been, but it had remained steady and strong for over 20 years and he didn’t know the first place to start repairing it. 

Y/N would have known, they’d been the one to do it in the first place after all, but they were long gone, not even a ghost anymore. Just a name and a face forgotten to time as all the other impoverished students were, buried in an unmarked grave in a place he never learned. It was all that remained of them. The only thing that proved they were ever there at all. 

“You know the rest of the story,” he added firmly. “I married Heike, climbed the ranks of the military, had my son… and they were simply lost, an unwritten page in the history of a country that no longer exists,” 

Suddenly, though, a deep voice cut in through the heavy air between them. 

“Ciczheni,”

“Pardon?” Zemo asked softly, pouring himself a final tumbler of whiskey and stuffing the mask back in his pocket. 

“We buried them in Ciczheni,” 

He nearly dropped the bottle in his hand. 

Bucky was quick to continue, voice low and eyes clouded with memory in a way that only the two of them would ever truly understand. “It’s a tiny town along the border to the Czech Republic. There’s a big open field there, or at least there was, marked with a flat grave marking it as a burial site. I don’t remember the name on it, some random pseudonym, but they’re all there, all 57 dead and buried in the ground under that rock,” 

Helmut gave a stiff nod. “I see,” Then, in one long gulp, he downed the whole two fingers of whiskey straight and relished in the way it burned down his throat. When the glass was empty and set down safely on the counter again he was quick to school his expression as he turned away. “I’m afraid all that excitement has exhausted me for the day. Goodnight, gentlemen,”

He was gone down the hallway into his bedroom before the pair had a chance to say another word. 

Ciczheni. 

As he undressed, he smiled softly, letting a few errant tears drip down his cheeks. 

They had been born and raised in that tiny farming town. Sometimes, when he had let himself listen in on their conversations with some of the other members of their small, tight group, they would talk about how much they wanted to return someday, once they’d made enough money to live on for a while if they supported themself by growing a small garden and maybe keeping some chickens. The thought, even then, had always made him smile. Just Y/N and a cottage and a chicken or two. 

Sometimes, if he was especially indulgent, he would imagine himself there with them. Sharing a home. 

Making a family. 

His biological family, the one he had created with marriage and his own flesh and blood, was something different entirely. He had loved them. God, how he’d loved them. Still, it was never the same. He was never at peace. He was never home. There would always be a bitterness there, as bitter as the dark summer wine he’d drunk the night he’d turned 20, a resentment that came with the obligation of creating a place in his heart for them when there never should have been. 

For Y/N, though... 

He sighed, wrapping himself in his robe and slipping on a pair of fleece pajama pants before crawling between the sheets and laying flat on his back, eyes to the ceiling. 

Things wouldn’t have been happy all the time. Hell, they probably wouldn’t have been happy even most of the time. Still, they would have been where they belonged, seated firmly at his side for the rest of their long, wonderful lives. 

Ciczheni, he repeated in his mind, then the memorial for Novi Grad. It was a minor detour, adding barely 2 hours more to the whole trip when he had plenty more to spare. 

Ciczheni, then Novi Grad, and then, finally, peace. 

Beside him, he could feel the phantom limbs wrap around his body, resting their weight firmly on his chest where the guilt and shame and terror built by the day, and for the first time in almost a decade they were not Heike’s. Perhaps, if all went according to plan, they wouldn’t be phantom much longer. 

Or, if not, he would wait. He would wait a billion years to disintegrate into stardust and spread across the cosmos in search of them. 

Either way, when they were together again, he’d know. 

They both would. 

--------

a/n: I’m not crying, you’re crying. 

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[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Nine / Café con Miel

W/C: 3k

Warnings: [in a dream: blood, violence, lots of scary nightmare stuff, guns, threats of violence], language, sexual innuendos and jokes, tears, angst, voices being raised

A/N: hi I wanted soft but also wanted angsty so here’s a good half and half mixture!! I have this plot point I SO want to get to but I want to show you more of their relationship so that’s what the next few chapters may be more of

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Cafe con Miel (Spanish Coffee With Honey) is made of espresso, honey, and whole milk then finished off with a heavy sprinkle of ground cinnamon.

“No, no,” Javi groans in his sleep. “Please.”

It’s dark. So dark, he can’t see anything, but what he can see is cast in red light. It’s almost like a medieval dungeon, wherever he is. He can’t smell but he knows the air is filled with something disgusting.

It’s a coke plant, that’s what it is. There are laborers upon laborers, working in this dark wherever-the-fuck-he-is, producing cocaine that he somehow knows is for Escobar. Dream logic. Escobar is still alive and he’s very much a threat.

Then there’s a weak cry. Dream-Javi spins to find you in the sweatshop. You’ve fallen to your knees, clinging to the table in front of you, and there stands who but the bastard himself, with a gun to your temple.

The red light emphasizes the blood dripping from your face, from where he can’t tell. There’s dirt and dust caked on your beautiful skin, on the cheekbones Javier traces his fingers over nightly now. There’s a wedding band on your finger and it matches his. It makes his eyes turn to your body and note the torn white gown on your figure- a wedding dress. The worst thing is the fear in your eyes, the agony with which you look at him.

Your voice is strained. Broken. Ruined from shouting. One word croaks from your lips. “Please.”

Then Escobar morphs into Tie Guy and then into Murphy for some goddamn reason, just smirking at Javier with the gun to your forehead. When he speaks, he’s the three men at once: “Not so fucking tough, huh?” He asks, cocking the pistol.

He can’t move. He wants to, he’s desperate to, but he can’t speak or move or breathe either: something is stuffed in his mouth and preventing it. “Javi,” you whimper, but it just makes Murphy-Escobar-Tie Guy crack the pistol down against the crown of your head.

The worst comes next: the man becomes Chucho. Javier’s own father, holding a pistol to your head. “Mijo,” the man says, his voice disappointed but soft. “What have you done? Bringing her here?”

Javier wants to shout at him, ask what he’s done because certainly this can’t be his fault, but of course it is. This is what would happen if Javier brought you to Colombia. A fate like this for you and for him.

Then your voice is strong again. “Javi. Javier. Hey, Javi-”

He gasps desperately, air filling his lungs and making him sit bolt upright. His breaths heave, drawing in as much of the cool oxygen as he can possibly take. He sounds like a drowned man arising from the water. His first sign that he’s gone from the sweatshop is the smell of your skin, of your lavender pillow spray in the room. Then it’s the fact that the room is cast with soft blue light, not with red. Then it’s you.

“Javi?” You ask, voice timid and quiet. “You were having a nightmare.”

Thank fucking God. Thank God it was a nightmare and not the terrible fate he’d been spinning in his own head. “Yeah,” he mumbles, lying back in bed.

Your hands, your warm fingertips, trace across his bare chest slowly, splaying your fingers over his racing heart. It grounds him, centers him to the fact that he’s here, you’re here, you’re okay. You kiss his skin softly, with soft lips that leave a trace of balm behind on his sweaty body. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

His breathing slowly comes down. His heart rate does too, as he plays the dream back in his head and deconstructs it all. You rest your head on his chest, fingers softly running up and down his sides, and it anchors him to reality. Your skin is clean and smooth, not broken or bleeding anywhere. Your hair smells fresh and warm and your chest rises and falls against his own. It’s a checklist of your vitals and you’re acing it.

When his heart rate resembles something closer to yours, you kiss his skin again. “You okay?”

He nods, swallowing hard. His face is tight, salty tears drying on his cheeks. “All good, yeah. Thanks for waking me,” he murmurs, his own voice strained.

You’re quiet, allowing him to breathe and recuperate and think it over. Your curiosity gets the best of you. “What happened?” You ask.

He takes a deep breath, in and out and then another, making himself think properly. “You were in one of Escobar’s coke plants, and you were all beat up and in pain. And I couldn’t move, or talk or breathe or anything.”

“Oh, baby,” you murmur and nuzzle your face into his skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not real,” he assures both you and himself, “so it’s fine.”

“Do you have nightmares often?” You ask him, looking over at the clock to discover it’s about 4 A.M. He’s slept with you for four nights now, but he’s yet to wake you with a nightmare.

The sweat slowly dries, leaving his skin cooled and smooth again. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

There’s not much more to say. You’re already tired, eyes drooping from the heavy sleep that encased you before Javier’s whines and moans woke you. He wraps his arm around you and kisses your forehead. “I love you,” he whispers, honestly and gently. “I don’t ever want to see you hurt.”

“I’ll try to avoid it,” you muse sleepily, mind floating into the melatonin haze. “Love you too, Javi.”

There’s a soft smile on your face, and it puts Javier at ease. You’re here, whole, safe and sound. He has you in his arms, and the both of you feel that nothing can go wrong when the two of you lay like this. It’s all over, that dream. It’s not a premonition or a memory; just a random stimulation of the sleeping brain that creates chaos.

Before long, you’re snoring softly on his chest, a circle of your gentle and warm breath passing through your parted lips onto his pec. It’s so relaxed and warm that Javier feels ready to sleep again too. Usually, he takes at least an hour or two to fall asleep after a nightmare, but you’ve soothed him more than any of his usual remedies can. With one last heavy breath, Javier drifts off to sleep again, hoping his rest is as peaceful as yours tonight.

-

You wake before him in the morning. It’s the first time such a thing has happened. You’ve rarely had the privilege of seeing him sleeping peacefully or sleeping at all, and you wish you could take a picture without disturbing him.

In your sleep, the position switched. You’re lying on your back with Javi’s head resting on your breasts, using you as a pillow. His mouth is slightly parted, his breath ruffling the lowest hairs of his mustache. His face holds none of the lines it usually does when he’s awake. He’s just Javier, resting, and he scoots closer to your body when you unintentionally move.

It’s hard not to be truly consumed by love. He’s so beautiful, and so trusting to fall asleep like this. You’ve never met Colombia Javi, never seen him in the heat of his job, but you’ve felt that he rarely lets his guard down. To see this is a symbol of how much he trusts you. You watch him with an adoring smile, your heart fluttering at the love it feels.

With your fingertips, you scratch at the nape of his neck softly, massaging his skin as he sleeps. Your fingers barely touch his skin, drifting across the surface and drawing little circles into him. With one finger, you write your signature on his upper shoulders, as if it can mark him as yours.

Time passes slowly like this, but you’re thankful. You want this to last as long as possible, so you can spend all the time you need with Javier cuddled into your side. Your mind wanders, watching Javier’s sleeping face. Wondering what the future holds for the two of you.

He’ll have to go back to Colombia. You know it. He knows it. A tiny bolt of panic races through your body at the fact that he’ll be down there, investigating another cartel and certainly putting himself in danger. The idea of him being hurt makes you terrified.

When he finally wakes, you kiss his forehead and brush his dark hair from his face. “Hi. Did you sleep better?” You ask him gently.

His eyes remain shut as he lets out a groan, rubbing his face. “Sorta. No dreams.”

“Good,” you mumble and stroke his cheek, tracing soft circles with your fingertips. “I found a fun place we can go tonight.”

Javi’s eyes flutter open to look at you, smiling softly. “I’m not really awake yet, querido.”

“Querido. I like that one,” you chuckle and kiss the bridge of his nose, feeling his sleep-warmed skin beneath your lips. “I might use that on you. I’m going to go make us coffee. Take your time waking up.”

Javier nods and rolls over, nestling into the blankets and pillows. You, on the other hand, get up from bed and do exactly that: make a pot of coffee.

The morning is spent lazily in bed, with breaks for coffee and bathroom runs. The apartment is warm to contrast the cold outside, the frost collecting on your windows visible even from bed. Javier doesn’t say much and neither do you; both of you have lots on your mind. As much as you want to talk with him about your thoughts, you figure he isn’t in the mood to talk or he’d be talking.

You drift in and out of sleep on Javier’s chest, your ear over his slowly beating heart. After a while, when you’re half asleep, Javier chuckles and wakes you. “You can fall asleep even after a cup of coffee, huh?” He teases, letting his fingertips brush across your face.

The noise that comes from your vocal chords is something between words and a hum. Basically, it’s a noise of affirmation. You cuddle closer to Javi and he kisses your head. “I love you,” he mumbles into your hair. You mumble it back, fully content in the moment. Whatever the future brings will be alright, because you have this now.

The afternoon is spent mainly in the same fashion, simply lazing around the apartment. Javier picks a Elton John vinyl from your closet and turns on the small record player in the living room. “Never pegged you as the Elton John kind,” you tease Javi from your position on the couch.

He just shrugs and looks the sleeve over, reading the contents. He removes one of the large, flat discs from the paper sleeve and sets it down, turning on the turntable and watching the record move.

The music that floats from it is soft and instrumental: Your Song. Javi turns back to you with a small smile and offers you a hand. “Let’s dance.”

Taking his hand, you stand and he wraps his arms around you. “Thought you’d be more of a sexy dancer,” you murmur into his ear, wrapping one arm over his shoulder while his hand takes yours.

“Shut up for once,” he chuckles, kissing the side of your face.

“Absolutely not,” you laugh and rest your forehead on his chest.

He sways along to the music, pulling you with him. To your surprise, he knows all of the words. His lips barely part as he sings them to you, in a low and raspy voice you can tell he doesn’t often use. The tenderness nearly brings tears to your eyes, the way he just buries his face in your hair and breathes in your scent.

“Querido,” you murmur, testing the name out. You like it, and so does Javier; he pulls you tighter against your chest as the music of the chorus swells and drops off. “What’s this all about, huh?” you ask in a whisper.

Javier takes a deep breath. You can feel it press against your chest then fade. “Just… needed to hold you.”

“Javi,” you chuckle and kiss his neck gently, innocently. “You did all night and all morning.”

He shakes his head. “Like this. It’s different.”

You nod too. You suppose you can understand it. The two of you have made a little circle around your living room, around the coffee table across from your couch. The song ends, four minutes of being pressed to Javier’s chest and feeling the full force of his love in the way his arms enveloped you.

Breaking away, your worries have escalated, the ones that kept you up after Javier’s nightmare last night. Swallowing hard, forcing yourself not to cry, you look into Javier’s eyes. His brow furrows and he immediately pulls you back into his arms. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs.

Shaking your head, you try to talk but it comes out as a watery squeak. “Nothing,” you whine.

“No, it’s not nothing,” Javier insists, leading you to the couch as Rocket Man begins from the record. He sets you down and sits next to you, both arms still around you. “Talk to me.”

The words just can’t come out, especially as the tears begin to fall from your eyes. You shake your head again and bury your face in Javier’s chest, letting them fall. You manage to finally whimper out your words a minute or so later. “I’m scared for you.”

Javier’s face falls and he lifts your head, forcing you to look at him. “Why?”

“Be-because, you’re going back to Colombia soon and you’ll be in more danger and I won’t be around and I know you, Javi, I know you put yourself in more trouble than you should, and-”

Javier cuts you off, speaking as he stares into your eyes. “Stop. Stop that thinking. It’s going to be okay. Escobar is dead.”

“But the new cartel you’re chasing isn’t, Javi!” you practically wail, body collapsing into his. “You’ll be in danger as long as you work in that damn job, and I know I can’t do anything about it, but I’m just so scared. I’m scared for you.”

Javi takes a deep breath and nods, wiping the tears from your face. “Listen to me. Are you listening?” Your eyes dart from his and Javier grips your chin a little tighter. “Listen. This new assignment is a new job. I’m going to be in the office a lot more. These men are nowhere near as violent as the Medellín ones. This is going to be much safer. If you want, I can call Steve and you can talk to him. He’ll tell you. I’m safe on the job and I’m about to be in less danger.”

The words sink in as he talks. “Okay,” you whimper, sniffling the tears back.

“And I promise that even when I’m in Colombia, you’ll be the only thing on my mind. We’ll get those motherfuckers and I’ll come back to the States, okay?” His voice is softer now. Gentler.

“Okay,” you repeat and let your body melt into his.

Javier’s mind wanders through the options. “We could live up here. In D.C., and I could work at DEA headquarters. Or we could move to Laredo, live there. My dad would love you. Or somewhere else entirely. When I get back, we can do whatever we want.”

His words are a hidden promise; I will come back, and we can get married and have a life. “You’d better not take too long then,” you try to joke, though your broken voice ruins it a bit.

“For you, I’ll get it done in two days flat.” It makes you laugh, and Javier kisses your head. “What did you say you wanted to do tonight?” He asks you.

“Th-there’s a Christmas market in town,” you sniffle. “Since that’s coming up. I thought we could go.”

Javier nods, wiping your tears and snot with his sleeve. “That sounds great.” He rests his head on top of yours, one arm draped over your shoulders. You nuzzle into his side, feeling somewhat relieved but far from entirely.

“You could bring me with you. To Colombia,” you shrug, looking up at him with big eyes.

Javier shakes his head. “No. It’s nowhere near as safe for you. We’ve been over this, I-”

“I can hold my own,” you protest, crossing your arms.

“Not against the Calí Cartel,” he refutes you, stroking your arm. “As much as I love you and would love to have you there, it’s not happening. It’s just… not feasible. Not a good idea.”

This makes you frown deeper and your body tense. Javier kisses your head, which negates some of the stiffness in your body. “Trust me. Please. It’s not worth the trouble we’d find. Plus, you wouldn’t like it.”

“I speak Spanish,” you try to argue.

“Classroom Spanish,” Javier reminds you. “Listen. You can’t make me change my mind on this.” While his words are somewhat harsh, his tone is gentle. “I’ll come home as soon as I can, but you’re not coming with me.”

Sighing, you nod. “Then we have, what, two or three weeks until you leave?” He nods. “Then we’ll make the best of them. Get your ass up, Agent Peña. We’re getting dressed and going to the Christmas market and then we’re going to come and you’re going to rail me,” you laugh, kissing him once he’s standing.

“That’s fine with me,” he chuckles before kissing you once more. -

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[bekahdoesnerdshit]

♞: Caring for each other while ill and ♟: Patching up a wound for bitch bastard and her pirate

♞: Caring for each other while ill

“They just call it that, it doesn’t actually mean—“ the boat lurches, and so does Raini’s stomach. She reaches blindly for the recently emptied bucket beside her, retches, and promptly refills it. The room’s stale, acrid scent is suddenly much fresher, but while Ecstasy wrinkles her nose in disgust and steps back  Raini just closes her eyes, groans, and rests her forehead on the rim of the bucket. “…it doesn’t actually mean I’m sick,” she finishes, voice scratchy and tired.

Ecstasy, to her credit, is at least trying to act like she doesn’t think the scene in front of her is as funny as she does. She isn’t trying very hard, of course, but fortunately Raini is too preoccupied to notice. “That’s what I’m saying, Angel. I’m not so sure it is just seasickness. Seen a lot of sick sailors, and it usually doesn’t include… all of this.”

“We’re on a ship, it’s rocking, and I’m throwing up. What else would it be?” Raini retorts, but her words lack their usual heat. “Why are we sailing, anyway? Isn’t the whole point of you that your ship flies?

Ecstasy snorts. “You’re the one who asked for discretion. We can run friendly colors, your little disguise spell can help the crew pass at a glance, but people are gonna start asking questions if the ship’s out of the water.”

Raini turns her head to glare, but the effect is somewhat ruined by the way the rim of the bucket presses against her cheek. “…fine.” She deflates as she concedes the point, suddenly looking like the effort it would take to continue the argument just isn’t worth it to her anymore. She’s tired, she aches head to toe like she just got out of a fight where the people supposed to be taking the hits didn’t do a very good job drawing attention away from her, and the stupid, drafty ship is so cold that she’s shivering hard enough to make her teeth chatter. Stupid ocean. Stupid boat. Stupid pirate. 

It’s the refusal to bicker that actually gives Ecstasy pause, that makes her brush back her coat so she can squat down next to Raini and reach out to brush her knuckles across Raini’s forehead. She lets out a low whistle when she can feel the unnatural warmth even against her heat-resistant skin. “You’re not gonna like this,” she starts, bracing one hand on her knee to keep herself balanced while the other -the one that had briefly rested on Raini’s forehead- moves down to rest on the small of her back. She does Raini the dignity of not acknowledging the way the simple weight there smooths out some of the tension Ecstasy can see in her body, particularly between her shoulder blades, “but sea sickness usually doesn’t come with a fever. Which, unfortunately, makes one thing pretty clear.”

Raini doesn’t bother to open her eyes to respond. “...it’s something else.” she guesses dryly, groaning again when Ecstasy hums her assent. “Fuck.”

“Fuck.” Ecstasy agrees as she pulls her hand back and stands. It doesn’t take her very long to do what she stood up to do, to shed her coat and set it aside on top of a nearby crate of supplies, but when she looks back at Raini she’s watching Ecstasy through one, half-open eye. Ecstasy raises an eyebrow at her as she begins working to undo the leather straps of gun holsters resting on her hips.

“...you left.” The complaint is small, subdued in a way Raini usually isn’t, needy in a quiet way she would be beyond irritated by if she was any more herself. 

It makes Ecstasy smile. She doesn’t bother to hide it. “Just for a second.” To prove it, she sets her guns on top of her coat and moves to squat back down next to Raini. Her hand settles on Raini’s back again, this time using just a little more pressure and rubbing small circles against the aching muscles. “...let me take you up to my cabin, Raini. You’re not going to get any better hiding back here like a wounded animal, and my bed is a lot more comfortable than the floor. I’ll make sure no one bothers you up there, alright?” 

And god, after so long spent hunched over a bucket, muscles tense and aching, the gentle pressure of Ecstasy’s hand on her back feels wonderful. Raini lets the question hang for just a moment, enjoying the feeling, before finally, reluctantly, asking, “...will you keep doing this?” “If you want me to.”

“I’m going to make your room stink.”

A shrug. “It’ll air out.”

“...you’re sure?”

“Absolutely.” 

And, well. How is Raini supposed to refuse? “...you’re probably right,” she admits, as close to consent as Ecstasy is going to get. 

Seeming to understand this, Ecstasy shifts her weight so that she can gather Raini in her arms -bucket hooked around one wrist and as far from her own nose as possible- so that they can start making their way up onto the deck of the ship. She won’t, she doesn’t think, ever get used to the way Raini settles in when Ecstasy carries her. The weight of her, less than it should be for the space she takes up, the fine strands of her hair, the way they tickle Ecstasy’s chin when she pulls Raini momentarily closer to maneuver them safely through a doorway, the eventual soft thump of Raini giving in and resting her head against Ecstasy’s shoulder. 

Raini is quiet for most of the trip -out of the ordinary in and of itself- taking in the even rise and fall of Ecstasy’s chest, more deliberate now that she’s carrying Raini but certainly far from labored, her thumb brushing gently, absently, against Raini’s shoulder, the way she shifts subconscious to keep them steady as the boat rocks under her feet. She’s dozed off before the door to Ecstasy’s cabin closes behind them, and the shift from Ecstasy’s arms to her mattress isn’t enough incentive to rouse. The sound of hooves moving away across the wooden floor, however, is. “You said you would stay,” she says quietly. The sound of movement stops.

“...well,” Ecstasy starts, choosing her words carefully. Her voice is coming from too far away for Raini’s liking. “I wasn’t sure how close you wanted me.”

“You know where I want you,” comes the murmured response.

There’s a moment of silence, then the sound of footsteps yet again, and the bed dips beside Raini as a hand once again settles on her back. “I guess I do.” Ecstasy answers quietly. “Go on, get some rest. Otherwise, what was the point in dragging you up here? I’ll still be here when you wake up. I promise.”

And, for once, Raini does as she’s told.

♟: Patching up a wound

“You’re the worst.”

“Why, thank you.”

“You are the stupidest person I have the misfortune of knowing.”

“We both know that’s absolutely not true.”

“And more than that you are, apparently, a terrible pirate.”

“…well now Angel, that’s just mean.”

They’re sprawled out on one of the lower decks of the ship after having been swept away from the fighting above by Raini’s magic, Ecstasy looking a mess and grinning broadly despite the crossbow bolt buried in her gut, Raini in much better shape and scowling fiercely. “I am mean. And you are a fool,” she informs Ecstasy as she assesses her wound. “Did you not see the archer? They were feet from you. Maybe if you weren’t so preoccupied with whirling around, flashing that shotgun and making the tails of your coat spin out—“

Ecstasy laughs at that, then laughs harder at the way Raini looks up sharply to pin her with an indignant, exasperated glare. Her laughter quickly devolves into a pained groan, but the grin still tugging at the corner of her mouth betrays her untempered spirits. “Fucking— God, that hurt. You really can’t make me laugh right now. I was just trying to say: shit, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were fussing because you were worried about me.”

Raini’s scowl darkens, and she quickly returns her attention to the crossbow bolt. “It’s a good thing you know better, then.” She retorts as she reaches up to grip the shaft of the bolt as close to Ecstasy’s stomach as she can manage and brace her other hand close to the entry point.

Ecstasy tenses instinctively and reaches out to intercept Raini’s wrist, grin going wary. “Careful there, sweetheart,” she warns. “I get that you make it your business to try and keep from gettin’ shot, but I’ve got plenty of experience. And let me tell you: that thing’s keeping my blood in right now, and it’ll hurt like a bitch to take it out. As much as I appreciate you getting me out of the middle of things, why don’t we leave this part to somebody who knows how to patch me up afterward, hm?”

The look Ecstasy gets in response is withering and wholly unimpressed. “I know what I’m doing.” Raini twists her hand free of Ecstasy’s loose grip and reaches for the bolt again. “I’m pulling on three. One—“

“Come on, Raini. That's not funny,” Ecstasy objects again, now trying to push Raini off her lap.

Raini braces herself, her thighs squeezing tight against Ecstasy’s as she tries to ignore the protests. “Stop- Stop jostling me, you’re going to make it hurt more. Two—“

“Raini, I mean it! Knock it off!” Ecstasy snaps, an edge to her voice like she’s barking orders at her crew. 

Raini rolls her eyes, hard, but finally sits back. “You’re ridiculous,” she says. “I know what I’m doing. You’ve seen who I travel with, you know I’ve had practice.” 

Ecstasy sags back against the wall, visibly relieved that Raini let go and backed off. Raini has a nasty habit of being willful to the point of belligerence. Once she gets it into her head to do something, there’s hardly a force in the world that can talk her out of it. “Yeah, and I also know you’re a whole lot better at blowing people up than patching them up afterwards. If you’re that worried, go grab Lent. I trust her to put me back together.” 

“I’m sure you remember, but she’s a little busy at the moment.” As though to punctuate her words, directly above them: the sound of heavy footsteps, a shout, the flash of brilliant, blinding light bleeding through the gaps in the boards, the thud of a body hitting the deck. Raini raises her eyebrows as though to say ‘I told you so’ before continuing. “What would you have us do until she’s done? Do you plan to just sit here and bleed out?”

Ecstasy grins again, the expression slipping right back into place now that the danger has passed. “With you to keep me company? I’d die happy,” she teases, winking.

“…keep you company, hm?” There’s a brief pause before Raini is slipping back into Ecstasy’s lap, mindful of the crossbow bolt, her hands this time drifting along toward Ecstasy’s hips rather than toward her stomach. Maybe it should be suspicious that Raini so easily dropped the subject and let herself be led to something new, but in that moment Ecstasy is just glad that she did. And, quite frankly, she’s more than happy with this new development. “And what exactly would that look like? There’s… something pretty substantial in our way here.”

Ecstasy hums, reaching out with greedy hands to slip one hand up into Raini’s hair, the other along the smooth fabric of her robes. “Aren’t you always telling me how smart you are?” She teases, leaning in as though to steal a kiss, delighted when Raini lets her close instead of pulling away. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out for us…”

Raini’s answer is a noncommittal noise, and it’s almost enough to make Ecstasy pull back and ask her what she meant by it. But then their lips brush, and suddenly very little else matters. Their lips brush, and it’s distraction enough that the whispered, “...three,” slips by unnoticed until it’s too late. Raini grips the shaft of the bolt and pulls, and the way Ecstasy howls underneath her as it comes free— Well, it certainly doesn't rank among the most flattering noises she's made under Raini's hands. And then comes the blood, hot and slick and pouring out of her as freely as Ecstasy had known it would when she told Raini the first fucking time to leave well enough alone, and—

…and then a crackling, a pulse of energy that radiates out from a hand pressed against the hole in her gut. It thrums through her, and when it goes it takes the pain from the wound with it. Raini sits back on her heels looking incredibly self-satisfied, holding the bloody crossbow bolt in one hand while she wipes her forehead with the back of her other, careful to keep her bloodstained palm away from the wisps of her hair. “Oh, you really thought there was a kind of magic I couldn’t do? You thought I couldn't heal?” She scoffs, rolling her eyes and making no effort to suppress the look of smug satisfaction on her face. “You really should know better by now. Honestly. It’s insulting.” 

“...well, fuck me.” Ecstasy marvels as she takes stock of herself, reaching to prod at her stomach. Her shirt is still torn and bloody, but while her stomach is a little pink and a little sensitive, the skin is undeniably smooth and intact. She lets out a low whistle, cutting her eyes up to Raini in time to see her preen at the compliment. “A pretty neat trick, I’ll give you that. But, Angel?” 

“Mm?” Raini had already stood while Ecstasy was inspecting her handiwork and is in the middle of Prestidigitating her hands clean when Ecstasy leans up grip the near end of the shaft of the crossbow bolt and use it as leverage to jerk Raini back down so they're eye-to-eye.

Ecstasy’s other hand darts up to catch Raini’s wrist and keep her close, noses nearly touching. She’s not above admitting it: she enjoys the way it makes Raini’s eyes shoot wide for a moment, the way her breathing picks up from the simple act. “I’m used to having my orders followed on my ship.” She warns, pitching her voice low between them. “Even by wizards who think they’re the cleverest little things on board. Do you understand what that means?”

Raini’s eyes dart from Ecstasy’s face, briefly down to her mouth, over to the hand holding her wrist. She takes her time before answering, testing Ecstasy’s grip, measuring her words, but when she speaks she has the audacity to smile with a saccharine sweetness. “It means,” she says, despite her position looking no less pleased with herself than before, “that you have quite a bit to learn about dealing with me. Come back up and help finish the fight you started, won’t you?” And with a snap of her fingers Raini shimmers and disappears, presumably to rejoin the fight above, leaving the crossbow bolt to clatter to the ground beside Ecstasy as the only proof she had been there at all.

“Mo- ther- fucker” Ecstasy huffs out, exasperation clear in every syllable, half laughing to herself as she lets her head thump back against the wall. “Little spitfire. Don’t envy the son of a bitch that ends up with their hands full of her.” With a grunt, she pushes herself up, pausing long enough to scoop up the crossbow bolt before turning to make her way back up to the main deck as well, grinning in spite of herself and spinning the bolt absently between her fingers as she goes.

[kingofkingdom-archive]

1979

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (Read part 2 HERE)

Rating: T (Teen) - part 2 will be E

Summary: The year is 1979. You need a ride to anywhere that’s far away from where you are. When a handsome stranger in a rustbucket pickup gives you that ride, neither of you could predict any of the events that follow.

Warnings: Smoking (and lots of it), mild violence (a punch is thrown), brief harassment of reader, food, mention of a gun (one is encountered but not used), mention of homelessness, brief mention/description of war (Vietnam), child abandonment, mention of abusive/dangerous father figure, passing mention of serial killers, vague description of non-specific events leading up to reader resorting to hitchhiking, very meta mention of a certain beloved space opera

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: Whew! This one has been in the shop for a LONG while. Originally I meant for this to be a single work, but I’ve hit a bit of a slump with the last bit. I decided to post this to see how y’all feel about it! The second part will be much longer :) Also: I know there has been some discourse recently about Din’s characterization in certain fics, so I hope this does him justice for you! I’m always open to comments, and like I said I’m very interested in hearing what you think! As per usual, no use of Y/N and please heed the tags/warnings.

8:47

You lean against the streetlight, glancing down at your watch and then back up to the motel across the street. You told yourself you'd wait until 8:30 and then you'd go back and reserve a room for another night. As you watch the second hand wind its way around the small, plain face of your 2-dollar timepiece, you've convinced yourself that maybe staying out until 9 is the ticket.

Your ticket, out of this shithole town.

The summer air is hot and thick around you. It's especially unbearable both between your legs and at the band of your bra, the elastic stretched around your middle doing its best to make you feel as sweaty and uncomfortable as possible. At least you're wearing your cutoffs, giving your legs the chance to breathe. You've also got a loose tank on, which flutters in the sticky wind as cars pass you by.

8:51

Your thumb has been stuck out for passerby to see for the past three days. No one has picked you up. You suppose you should be more wary of taking lifts from complete strangers with all the murder and kidnapping that's been in the news recently, but you're more than a little headstrong with a dash of stupid to go along. That's what your mother always told you, anyway.

Some Cadillac speeds past you, blaring what you think is a Donna Summer song, and you watch as the music and taillights fade into the night.

You shouldn't be surprised, you figure, as the minutes continue to tick on by. There's a gas shortage, you reason with yourself as you bend down to pick up your bag, thumb still stuck out, elbow resting on your waist. People don't do this anymore. Afraid of getting picked up by a pervert or a killer. Afraid of picking one up, and then a streetlight just like the one you're under is the last thing they see.

8:58

You sigh, ready to head in for the night. Marvin, dude who sits at the motel's front desk, is sure to give you shit about it again.

You're preparing to cross the street when you hear the low growl of a pickup truck approach. Not looking to get creamed by some fuckin' rusted-out GMC, you step back onto the curb where you'd been posted.

Except the truck slows up, and the window rolls down as it crawls to a stop in front of you.

Your heart races. Finally.

You walk up to the passenger side window and look in, expecting some fat old putz looking to get some tail in exchange for a ride.

That's not what you see.

"Need a lift, young lady?"

The truck's driver is older than you, sure, but you were wrong about pretty much everything else. He's got short dark hair and a 'stache, with some stubble across his chin. He's wearing a leather jacket over a plain gray tee, with a pair of sunglasses hung on the collar. One hand is on the wheel while the other is laid across the back of the bench seat, a cigarette perched in between his first two fingers.

You lean forward on your tiptoes as best you can, forearms resting on the door's open window. Pretending to survey the interior, you look around and take the opportunity to check the man out. God, you think. I wouldn't mind giving him whatever he wants in exchange for this ride. Maybe another kinda ride. Ha!

"As it turns out, I do. You offering?"

You rest your chin on your arms and give him the sweetest smile you can muster. The man eyes you up and takes a drag from his cigarette. You watch with rapt attention as he inhales deeply and then exhales the smoke out through his nose.

This guy's got you all hot and bothered and you haven't even gotten in the truck.

He gestures with his hand. "Come on, kid. I gotta make the state line by midnight."

You definitely like the sound of that. Eager and supremely stoked to finally have a way out of this dump, you pull on the handle, jump in, and swing the door closed behind you. Your backpack finds its place between your feet, and the stranger starts driving again as you pull your seatbelt across your shoulders.

"Where're you headed?" the man asks, glancing over to you and then looking back at the road. The asphalt seems to stretch into infinity, flanked by trees and fields and the occasional watering hole.

"Away from here," you chuckle as you fidget with your fingers. Black nail polish decorates your trimmed nails. It's chipped and uneven in some spots; you never were great at painting your nails, especially your right hand.

"I got that," the man drawls, voice deep and smooth like honey. "Any particular destination in mind?"

You shrug. To be honest, you hadn't exactly thought that far ahead. Your first and only priority was a way out, and anything after that was a problem to be handled when it came to it.

"Nope. Just as far as you're willing to take me."

The guy nods and takes a drag. The smell of cigarettes never bothered you like it does some other people; you find it relaxing, calming, especially when it's fresh and all-consuming like it is in this guy's truck. The vehicle itself is old, maybe 10 or 15 years, and a glance into the bed behind you tells you he's traveling with a couple boxes and nothing more.

It's certainly not state-of-the-art, but that's all the better for staying under the radar.

The silence looms over you like a cloud. The stranger seems content to just listen to the engine and the tires on the road, but you're prone to fill silences unprompted.

"What's your name?" you ask, and look over at him. He glances at you and raises a brow.

He clears his throat, eyes moving back to the road. "You can call me Mando."

"Mando?" you retort before you can stop yourself. "What kinda bogus name is that? Like, what... you got a thing for mandolins or some shit?"

The man huffs. "It is what is, kid. Get used to it."

You sigh, crossing your arms. "Alright, alright... Mando."

He doesn't try to continue the conversation, so you don't either. Minutes pass, and then hours, and you find yourself drifting off not too long after the clock reads 10:00. You shake yourself awake, wanting to stave off sleep until he pulls over to rest for the night.

But the engine is like a lullaby, the soft swaying of the truck a gentle rocking motion, and your eyes fall closed despite your best efforts.

When you wake up again, the truck is no longer moving, and the clock reads 12:30. 

You must have been woken up by Mando putting the truck into park. The darkness outside does not give any clues as to where you are, but as your eyes adjust you can just make out some picnic tables, garbage cans, and signs.

A rest area. Makes sense.

Mando is fumbling with something beside you. It's a map, you realize when you look over.

"Where are we?" you ask with a yawn.

"Just over the border. Made it a bit later than I would've liked, but that's not a big deal. You can sleep here in the cab. I'll take the bed, since I sleep there anyway."

You nod, though you find it odd the way he's... not asking you for anything. He hasn't mentioned payment, monetary or otherwise. You watch as he folds the map back up, and catch his gaze as he stashes it in the glove box.

"I gotta repay you somehow, mister," you mutter. "For how nice you're bein' to me. 'Specially since I made fun of your name and all."

At your words, Mando gives you a stern look from under one of his furrowed brows. "No, you don't. Blanket's under the seat. Get some rest."

He turns away, grabs the keys, and is out the door before you can reply.

It's just so unusual for a guy to pick up a girl like you and refuse payment, much less not ask for or take it outright. It's a shame, really. Any other guy, you'd give him what he wanted sure, but with less than enthusiastic participation. The one man to whom you'd gladly deliver anything he asked... and he seems not to want it.

You suppose you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Better a prude than a murderer, that's for sure.

As you reach under the seat for the blanket, your hand brushes against some sort of canvas bag, long and zippered. You lean over to look in at it upside-down, hair brushing against the dusty floor mats.

It's a rifle bag. You reach in to feel at where the barrel would be, and sure enough, there's something distinctly rifle-shaped inside.

Huh. It's not a surprise that a guy like him's traveling armed, but it makes you wonder. A hunter, maybe? Probably. There's a lot of those around.

You spot the blanket and pull it out. It's gray, scratchy wool, but as you pull it over yourself, you find it keeps the nighttime chill away quite well.

-

You wake up to Mando swatting at your feet.

"Time to get up, sunshine. Gotta get going."

His deep voice pierces through the fog of sleep still hanging thick over your mind. You groan and push yourself up onto your elbows, drawing your feet in to give him space to slide into the drivers' seat. 

It's still dark out. You see a hint of light on the horizon, the beginning of the sunrise peeking over hills and fields.

"What time is it?" you ask, rubbing at your eyes. You're a chronic over-sleeper, so seeing the sunrise is a rarity. It seems Mando has no such problem.

"A bit after six. We'll stop at a diner for something to eat in about an hour. You're welcome to go back to sleep until then." He turns the key in the ignition and the truck rumbles to life, a blast of lukewarm air hitting you in the face. 

"No, no. I'm up," you assure him, shrugging the blanket off your shoulders. As you fold it, you look over at the man beside you. He's wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket as yesterday, but the shirt underneath has changed. The sunglasses are still hung on the collar, but now it's some faded band tee from like 8 years ago. 

You set the folded-up blanket on the seat between you and him, watching as he puts the truck into drive and starts off. Before you know it, you're watching the early-morning world pass by outside your window. You kick off your sandals and tuck your feet up under yourself, sitting crosslegged on the seat.

About 15 minutes later, you've grown tired of watching farmhouses and cornfields fly by in the dark.

"So, uh..." you start, not really knowing where you intend to finish your sentence, "you like music?"

Stupid. That was stupid.

Mando chuckles. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" you reply, hopeful that he might have more to say.

"Yes. I do like music."

You roll your eyes. "What kind of music? Jazz? Opera? Country-western? Who's your favorite artist? Got any favorite records?"

He glances over at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "You sure do ask a lot of questions."

"Well, I figure if I'm gonna be traveling with you for a good while, I might as well know a bit about you. And vice versa."

Mando just hums. 

"I'll tell you mine, then," you inform him, grinning widely now. "My favorite record right now is Parallel Lines. By Blondie, you know? I really like them. This time last year I woulda told you my favorite album was something by Wire or the Sex Pistols - I was real into punk, if you know anything about it. Now I'm more into poppy stuff. I just think it's fun, to be honest."

You continue to ramble to Mando well into the drive. The sky grows lighter and the road grows more crowded, but he does not stop you. At the end of a tangent about Bowie, you turn to look at him, and he's sitting there like you haven't just talked his ear off for the past twenty minutes.

"Sorry. I jus-"

"Don't apologize. It's... I don't mind," he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, looking at the sandal-shaped marks on the tops of your feet. "Don't you have any particular songs you like?"

Mando's quiet for a minute. You wait, looking up out the window. The sky is a pale pink and blue, with a hint of orange off to the east. A field of cows comes up on your left - your eyes track them as they pass by, wondering what it's like to pet one.

You bet they're soft. Soft and cuddly and so dumb they're cute.

"You have to promise not to laugh." 

The words come as a surprise. You look over to Mando, eyes wide and interested.

"Never. Favorite music is sacred."

He sighs. His grip tightens on the wheel, like sharing even a small part of himself causes him distress.

"Tapestry. Carole King," he says, though the words are quiet and guarded.

That wasn't the answer you were expecting. "Really?" you ask, smiling brightly.

He just nods, though he spares a glance towards you, like he's gauging your reaction. You lean back against the seat, turning towards him more fully.

"I wouldn't have guessed. Color me surprised, Mando. You have good taste." It's true. The album's a classic, though more so with girls your age, not guys who pick up hitchhikers and keep rifles in their trucks. "What do you like about it?"

Mando shifts, bringing his left arm up to rest on the door, elbow propped so his head can rest on his hand. "Not sure. She writes a good song, that's all I know."

You're not satisfied with that answer. You'll get to know Mando, even if it's like pulling teeth. "Bull-shit. Pink Floyd writes a good song. Paul Simon writes a good song. Why her? Why that record? It came out like ten years ago, there's gotta be a reason - a real reason - you still like it."

The drone of the engine and the road is like a soundtrack in itself to the silences that loom heavy before every sentence he speaks. You wonder when the last time he really got to talk to someone was - talk like this, not small conversation with the waiter or grocer. 

You're no psychiatrist, but it doesn't take a genius to spot someone who's been alone for a while.

Mando hums. "I guess I relate to her songs... in a way I didn't expect to when I first heard her music."

You smile at that, pleased as punch that he trusts you with that information. It's like cupping cool water in your hands on a hot summer's day, fleeting and precious. "What's your favorite song on the record?"

He turns his gaze to your for a moment, dark brown eyes staring at your dirty feet and day-old shirt and messy hair. You're not sure what exactly he sees as he takes you in, but you sit there and allow it regardless.

Mando looks back to the road, watching the small town approaching slowly on the horizon. "I Feel the Earth Move."

You nod. "A classic."

He just hums in response, and you expect the truck to fill with silence once again.

Except it doesn't.

Mando reaches out and presses the button to turn on the radio. Blondie's Heart of Glass flows out through the speakers - and you laugh.

-

The glowing neon sign advertising Lindy's Diner, with her promise of pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee, gets you more excited than you care to admit. Mando pulls into a parking spot along the street, and you're out the door before the wheels have stopped turning.

Admittedly, you do also have to pee. 

You rush into the diner to take care of your business, also using the provided sinks to brush your teeth and the mirror to comb through your hair with your fingers. 

It's not much, but you do feel better. Hopefully tonight you can stay in a motel at least, maybe take a shower.

You exit the restroom and look around the diner. Mando's sitting in a booth, smoking a cigarette and looking out the window. You head over, tossing your backpack into your side first and sliding in after it.

"I'll be right back," he says, and leaves. You watch him walk over to the men's restroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Whatever. Kinda rude. Not like you care, anyway.

You lean back in the booth and take a menu from the stand at the end of the table. The classic breakfast platter is looking particularly tempting, with its hash browns and bacon and eggs-however-you-like. You're contemplating scrambled versus over-easy when you hear a pair of footsteps walk up to your table.

Two strange men stand over you, looking at you like they know exactly how homeless you really are.

"You here alone, baby?" the shorter one asks, putting a grimy hand on the back of your booth, right behind your head. You open your mouth to say no, in fact, I am not, but the other guy speaks for you.

"It looks like you are, honey. Just our luck, a girl like you all on her -"

"Is there a problem?"

Mando's deep voice cuts through whatever it was the creep was planning to say. The low timbre of his voice, normally soft and kind, is uniquely dark - almost menacing - when it hides a threat. 

You slowly cross your legs, hoping no one notices the movement under the table.

The two guys turn, and behind them you see Mando, looking extremely pissed. He puts a hand on the back of the taller man's neck, cig still perched between his fingers, and yanks him away from where he'd been standing in front of Mando's side of the booth.

"Jesus, man! We didn't know you were -"

Mando puts his hands on his hips, eyeing them up like a lion might size up its prey. "What? You didn't know what?"

The guy gulps. "Uh..."

"Come on," Mando taunts, something dark glinting in his eyes. "Don't get nervous on me, now."

"We didn't know you were with her, man. Sorry."

Mando shakes his head. "No. Don't say that to me. Say it to her." He nods hid head towards you, subtly positioning his body in between yours and theirs.

You're frozen in your seat, torn between fear and arousal.

The tall guy glances at you. "Sorry," he mutters. The shorter one's still looking at you funny, though.

Your companion jerks his head towards the door. "It's best you both leave, now." 

You realize the diner's gone quiet, customers and employees alike watching the exchange with bated breath. The taller guy glances around and turns, heading straight for the door. His buddy hesitates, gaze shifting from Mando to you and back again. Eventually he also turns to leave, following the other one out.

Mando slides into his seat, though he won't quite meet your gaze when you look at him. Noise picks up in the diner once again and you let out a shaky breath.

You're about to say something when the two guys pass by the window. The shorter one peers in, works his jaw, and spits on the ground on the other side of the window from you. You see him mouth the word 'bitch!'.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to Mando to try and joke about it, attempting to brush off the uncomfortable encounter. But he's not there, and you realize belatedly that he's now storming outside.

Mouth agape, you watch as Mando stalks up to the short guy. Jesus, you think, if looks could kill... 

The creep whirls around, throwing a fist at Mando before he even gets a good look at him. Mando dodges it easily with a step back, looking simultaneously murderous and annoyed. He winds his arm back and sends his fist flying at the creep's face. The guy stumbles and falls, clutching at what is now a bloody and broken nose, landing on his back on the sidewalk. His friend has long run off.

Mando puts a boot on the guy's sternum, pressing down so he can't get up no matter how much he struggles.

You see him lean down, elbow on his knee, and say something. The guy's eyes widen and he nods frantically. Mando then removes his foot and, without sparing the guy a second glance, re-enters the diner.

He slides into the booth again and takes the menu from you. There's blood on the knuckles of his right hand, but he makes no move to wipe it off. He flips through the pages as if nothing happened. You stare at him.

"You didn't have to do that," you mutter, voice soft and wavering. 

Without looking from the menu, he responds. "Yes, I did."

"But, you coulda just... just let him go..."

"I could have," he replies, and turns a page. "But I didn't."

"But -"

For the first time since you both entered the diner, he looks up at you, and you're taken aback the intensity of his eyes. "He deserved worse, kid. Far worse."

He sounds so sure of it that you can't bring yourself to say otherwise. You sigh and clasp your hands together on the table, unsure of where to go from here. 

Just then, the waitress comes up to your table, notepad and pen in hand.

"You two know what ya want?" she asks as Mando puts the menu back in its place.

He gestures for you to go first.

"Uh, yeah. I'll have the classic platter with scrambled eggs and white toast. And black coffee, please."

The woman nods, writing your order on her pad. "And you, sir?"

"I'll have the blueberry flapjacks, please. And coffee, black, for me as well."

The waitress nods and turns away. As you watch her push through the silver kitchen door, you realize that maybe you should be grateful for the way things went. That they didn't get uglier.

That Mando was there at all.

"Thank you," you say softly, doing your best to convey your sincerity to the man sitting across from you.

He simply nods, observing you with a look you can't quite place.

-

After breakfast, the two of you set off down the highway again. Fleetwood Mac flows out through the speakers and you don't expect to stop until after noon, when Mando will have to refuel (both the truck and your stomachs). Until then you kick off your shoes and put your feet up on the dash, window cracked about an inch so the summer wind can flow through your hair.

Despite the rocky start to the morning, the hours pass by easily, weightlessly. Sometimes you talk with Mando, other times you simply sit and watch the world pass by. You don't think you've ever seen this much land in one go, and it thrills you. The idea that there's so much more. 

The topics vary from your time in school to movies to the truck. You're surprised to find out that Mando's never seen Star Wars, a fact nearly unheard of to you. You promise yourself that you'll make him watch it sometime, somehow.

Lunch passes without incident; you insist on paying for your ham and cheese sandwich, because Mando had covered breakfast before you could protest. It hits the spot, along with your ice-cold Coke from the little market's freezer. There's a line to get gas, as there is everywhere, but luckily it isn't too long, since you're in the middle of nowhere. Mando won't be able to fill the truck up again for a few days, meaning you'll have to stop for the night earlier tonight than you did yesterday.

You do find something interesting at the market and you decide to shell out the money for it because it intrigues you. A new style of Kodamatic camera, complete with a pack of instant film - 12 potential photos.

In your mind you see pictures of mountains, and the truck, and Mando, and you stuff the camera in your bag before your mind can wander any further down that road.

You have to admit - traveling with someone who you know can protect you if the need arises is comforting in a way that almost makes you nervous. You keep telling yourself not to get used to it, that this is just a temporary situation for as long as he sees fit to keep you around. After he decides he's had enough, he'll leave you, and you'll be on your own again. You can't get too dependent on him.

Nighttime arrives much too quickly. The sun has just dipped below the horizon when you drive into another small town, not much more than a stoplight and a few bars. You get lucky, though, because the unmistakable neon of a motel glows just ahead.

"Thank god," you groan as Mando pulls into the parking lot. "I need a shower so goddamned bad."

Mando chuckles. His arm rests with his hand out the window, flicking the ash at the end of his cigarette out onto the pavement. The orange glow at the end of it brightens as he takes a drag, and you tear your eyes away from his lips before he can catch you staring.

That's another problem. He's every inch as attractive to you now as he was before, except now you know he's nice. The mustache and the dark curls and the broad expanse of his chest are all only made hotter by the knowledge that he likes Carole King and Elton John (he knew all the words to Tiny Dancer) and blueberry pancakes.

Plus there was that whole punching a guy to defend your honor business.

The guy at the motel's front desk reminds you of Marvin. Greasy blond hair and acne on a kid not much younger than you. You give him a disgusted look when he eyes you up, but he cuts it out when Mando walks in behind you. It gives you a small sense of satisfaction to see him so meek before your companion.

"We need a double for the night," Mando drawls, counting cash on the counter, cig perched between his lips. The sign advertised a night's stay for $22. You'd tried to pay Mando your share, but he'd refused your money.

The kid shakes his head. "Only got singles available."

Mando raises his brows. "Really."

The kid, whose name is Matt according to his name tag, nods. It takes Mando a moment to think on it, and then he looks to you.

You shrug. "I'm fine with it if you are, Mando."

He nods once and pays for the room. 12. You take the key and head over to get a head start on your shower while Mando parks the truck and gets his stuff.

The hot water feels divine. Even the towel feels great, because as threadbare and shitty as it is, it's clean and warm from sitting under the vent. You finish up in the bathroom and emerge in a pair of old track shorts and a loose-fitting tee.

Mando's sitting on the bed, back against the headboard. His jacket's draped across the table and he's kicked off his boots, so he sits with the remote in hand, barefoot. It's the most casual you've seen him thus far, and it makes your heart race.

"Shower's all yours," you tell him.

Mando looks at you from the corner of his eye. It's hard to tell what he's thinking at any given moment, so you fidget with the hem of your shirt as he looks at you. 

A thought blooms unbidden in your chest. I wish I could kiss him.

You blink, taken aback at the sudden, intense nature of your desire to feel his lips against your own. Not knowing what else to do, you cross your arms and turn to the TV. Bonanza is on.

"Seen this episode before?" you ask. It's an old show, but you still like it.

Mando nods, humming. "Used to watch these every week, right when they came out. Only the first few seasons, though."

"Why'd you stop?"

He turns to sit on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the ground. He gives you a small smile, though his eyes hide something pained.

"I got drafted."

Oh. "Oh. I didn't mean -"

"It's fine," he says and gets up, brushing past you to enter the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him.

You walk over to sit on the other side of the bed from where he was. Drafted. Jesus. You feel bad for bringing it up, even if it was unintentional. The TV plays though you aren't watching, mind wandering to thoughts of Mando in Vietnam. You picture him in the jungle or in a helicopter, the deafening noise of artillery and gunfire filling the air around him.

Maybe that's where he got the nickname. It certainly explains the rifle.

You reach over for the remote and shut off the TV. The clock on the wall reads about 8:00, still early for you, but you tuck yourself under the sheets and blanket regardless. You face the door, away from where Mando will sleep.

Just as you're drifting off, the lamp on the bedside table clicks off. You feel the weight of Mando crawling in beside you, and he too curls up on his side, back turned.

You fall asleep hoping he's not too upset with you.

The next thing you know, you're awake, though the world is still dark outside. Behind you, Mando snores softly, warm breath fanning out across your neck.

Wait.

You blink a few times and realize the two of you must have shifted in the night. Mando's body is pressed right against yours, chest to your back, arm draped over your middle and hand tucked under your chin. Your legs are intertwined and against the back of your thigh you feel -

You feel him.

Sleep is a powerful drug, however, and the realization is not enough to make you move. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you think maybe this isn't so bad. Your tired brain convinces you to revel in it, to enjoy this position you've found yourself in. Before you can second guess that reasoning, you drift off.

And then you're awake again. 

This time it's thanks to a rush of cold wind in your face. You reach back to feel for Mando, but the warm pillow tells you he's not there. You open your eyes to see him standing in the doorway, looking down at something. It's still dark out, but the lights of the motel parking lot put him in silhouette before you.

"What is it?" You lean up on your elbow to get a better look. The nighttime air is cool on your face, smelling faintly of gasoline and rain.

He bends down and picks up whatever it is that's in front of him. You watch as he turns to look left, then right, seemingly in search of something. He turns around and you see what he's holding.

It's a baby's carrycot.

You immediately sit up, heart racing. "Is it -?" you whisper.

Mando nods, closing the door behind him. You get out of bed and rush over to stand next to him, peering into the carrier.

Sure enough, there's a baby asleep inside. It looks to be a boy, about a year old. You bring a hand up to your mouth.

"Why - who would - what?"

Mando shakes his head, staring at the little guy. "I don't know. I heard a knock at the door and there he was - no sign of anyone else."

"We should - what do we do, Mando?"

He brings the carrier over to rest on the table beside his jacket. The boy is out cold - his little hands grip the blue knitted blanket and his mouth is just barely open. He's got dark hair, wispy and soft atop his head. As you observe the sleeping child, you notice the corner of a small piece of paper tucked in between the blanket and the cradle. You reach out and grasp it between your thumb and forefinger, unfolding it carefully.

"What does it say?" Mando whispers. Your voices are low so as to not disturb the child.

"Grogu. Please take him far from here," you read, and feel your blood run cold as the note goes on. "Not safe in this area. His father is dangerous."

It's scrawled in blue ink on half a sheet of lined notebook paper, the fringe from being torn still attached. Your hands shake as it hits you - there's some mother out there so scared for her son that she left him in the care of strangers. That there's a man out there who legitimately threatens this boy's life.

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, rage and sadness simmering in your chest.

"We have to, Mando." Your words are shaky but certain. The man beside you rests a hand on the carrycot, still looking at the sleeping child within.

You turn your eyes to him. He nods, solemn.

"Let's let him rest. We'll leave in the morning, get as far west as we can. Might even be able to make Texas if we leave early enough. We can figure it out from there."

His other hand brushes against your back, and then he's drawing you into his chest. The embrace is soft, unhurried, and you lean your head against his shoulder, hands tucked against his chest. Letting your eyes slip closed, you think back on the previous day, how you never could have predicted this turn of events. How you've never felt so uncertain of things, even when you'd lost everything.

Together you return to bed, but neither of you gets much sleep.

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

The Voyage So Far: Whole Cake Island

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano

sanji is such a self-sacrificial idiot. and i know that’s not exactly a ground-breaking statement, but it does define the entire first half of whole cake island, so it may as well be reiterated here: sanji does not value his own life as much as he should, and fails to grasp that other people care about him outside of what he can offer them, which is why he’s so surprised when luffy later comes charging headlong into big mom’s territory.

zou is a really good little arc, and it also mirrors the themes of whole cake island in miniature. the minks collectively make a massive sacrifice and risk absolutely everything to protect raizou, and wci is essentially all about loyalty and sacrifice, whether its sanji giving himself up to protect the strawhats and zeff or luffy and the strawhats facing impossible odds to rescue him to pedro giving up his life to get them all out of there safe.

huge fan of this panel partly just because it’s cute and partly because it’s a great visualization of just how dysfunctional the heights are in one piece.

zou is one of my favorite settings in one piece just for the sheer creativity of it. zunesha is so massive and so mysterious and so strange. and she really looks unspeakably old just from how she’s drawn, looming over everyone and everything, eyes hollow and empty, an entire forest and an entire people growing on her back that have been there for thousands of years. it’s just so neat and so wildly inventive.

this applies to zou as a whole, but i think it’s really cool how all the little threads that will become important during wano are set up so effectively even before whole cake island starts. we get this shot here of kidd beat to shit and then forget it because so much happens between here and when he shows up again in wano, but then oda punks us into caring about him and killer so much and this retroactively becomes very important.

ever since his introduction sanji’s always been a character basically defined by his adherence to his principles: always feeding the hungry, never wasting food, never hurting women, never using his hands in combat. he’s probably the most firmly principled person on the crew, and that’s more obvious in whole cake island than in any other arc except maybe baratie.

sanji is very stubbornly good, which puts him in acute contrast to his siblings and their general cruel apathy. it’s something i really like about him.

i’m a huge fan of big mom’s introduction, which is also our introduction to tottoland in general. it’s cutesy and colorful and musical while simultaneously being deeply creepy, with lyrics about killing people for ingredients and making jam out of blood, which is a great summary of the core of big mom’s character. she’s an old lady all in pink who lives in a cartoon fairy-tale land- but she’s also a deranged cannibal, and all those singing trees and flowers are animated by the life she steals from her citizens as tax.

whole cake island draws on a lot of fairy tale motifs (especially with brulee), and the contrast that saccharine appearance creates with how fucked up the actual content is is super effective and memorable, i think.

honestly i find most of the content of sanji with the vinsmokes just plain upsetting, which i’m sure is intentional, so i’m not going to go into it a lot here, but i am including this panel of him kicking niji in the face.

sad as this scene turns out, luffy’s absolute thrill at finding sanji and the corresponding bafflement of the vinsmokes as to how the fuck he even got there always kinda makes me grin.

i always love seeing people’s underestimations about luffy get thrown right the hell out the window- because let’s be honest, he’s easy to underestimate, he’s like a five and a half foot tall rubber teenager and not very physically intimidating and all, and then he goes and pulls off the impossible without blinking.

the thing that makes luffy unique as a captain has always been his willingness to rely on his crew, and his willingness to openly admit that reliance, like he did all the way back in arlong park. most of the other contenders for the pirate king’s crown we’ve seen- big mom, kaidou, crocodile once upon a time- have been stubbornly individualistic people who explicitly shown not to care for their crew and allies, generally seeing them as disposable.

luffy is the opposite of all of them, because his crew are everything to him, to the point of being willing to sacrifice his dream for them. and the loyalty he wins from them in return is unmatched, as opposed to big mom and kaidou, who both get cheerfully betrayed not just by their own crewmates but by their own children.

brook is really cool in whole cake island, and honestly it comes at just the right time for him as a character. ever since his introductory arc in thriller bark until this point he hasn’t gotten a ton of focus, so it’s great that he gets to be the mvp here and demonstrate exactly why he’s a strawhat pirate and how much he’s grown over the timeskip.

oda is generally really good at introducing and handling characters contained to a single arc/saga, but i do think he absolutely knocked it out of the park with pedro. he has an interesting backstory, compelling motivations, and basically an entire sub-arc ending in his death that never distracts from the main plot, but only ever adds to it.

pedro really feels like a fully realized character who’s had a whole life offscreen, who we just happened to catch at the very end of his story. i think that’s super impressive.

i really love this moment, because for me, this is the moment where whole cake island becomes a tremendous arc, and where the tides begin to turn and the dominoes begin to fall, one after the other. this is sanji hitting absolute rock bottom. the one ray of light he pinned all his hopes on was a lie, and he can’t even light a fucking cigarette.

but one piece is, very often, a story about picking yourself up even when you feel like you can’t.

i think there’s something lovely about how much one piece emphasizes the value of honestly asking for help. luffy waits for nami to ask for help, and for robin to say she wants to live, and for sanji to admit he just wants to go home, and then says, “okay, i’ll make that happen.”

it just makes me so happy how happy the stawhats are to know sanji’s back with them. it reminds me a lot of how they all brush off robin’s thanks after enies lobby. sure, they’re going to have to crash the wedding and confront big mom directly and might all die, but who cares? they’ve got sanji back. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, i love how much they love each other.

i think the gangster outfits are super fun, and i love that oda is committed enough to his aesthetics to come up with an excuse to put them all in formalwear. it pays off, they all look extremely snappy.

i know i just said it in the dressrosa posts but i’m reiterating it here because this is my favorite example of it by far: i love when oda does this split-screen thing with his panels. the contrast between the two halves of pudding is so severe and yet they’re so clearly the same person i honestly just find this pair of panels fascinating to look at.

this panel also kind of gets at my favorite thing about pudding as a character, really. i know she’s a little controversial in fandom, but i’ve always found her entertaining (at least post-reveal), especially in the contrast between her unhinged evil side and her genuinely sweet romantic side and her post-wedding tendency to randomly ping-pong between the two.

i just always like reminding people that sanji is fast enough and his observation haki good enough to dodge a surprise attack, while thoroughly distracted, from katakuri.

sanji in this arc tends to get shit from a certain side of fandom for being ‘useless’ since he doesn’t have a big climactic fight despite being the focus of the arc, which i think is thoroughly missing the point. sanji is still plenty capable in combat, as demonstrated both here and later, with chiffon and oven. it just happens that his strength isn’t what saves the day ultimately, because combat ability isn’t everything, which is the entire point of the vinsmoke backstory/subplot. sanji saves the day just by being kind.

i’ll admit big mom’s flashback isn’t one of my favorites, taken in isolation- there are some parts of it that kind of unresolved (at least as of now- i still suspect they’ll be followed up eventually), and in general, although there is a tragedy to it, it doesn’t quite hit the way many of the other more effective flashbacks do. that said, i do think it does a really good job of succinctly explaining why big mom is the way she is in the present: she’s a child who was never told no, who never grew or matured past the disappearance of her adopted mother. that’s it, and that’s enough.

i’ve always been a little bit in love with how seriously and consistently one piece handles its themes of found family, and sanji outright disowning judge in whole cake island is maybe the most outright they ever get: family is found, not made. you owe nothing to your blood and are never beholden to your abusers.

and i just like that a whole lot.

i do think the tamatebako is one of the best uses of chekov’s gun i’ve ever seen. we’re first shown it at the end of fishman island, it’s revealed it got sent off to big mom rigged with explosives which is a minor “oh fuck” moment, and then it gets forgotten about, because the entirety of punk hazard and dressrosa happens in between! which is a lot!

i remember when i reached the moment in whole cake island where we’re reminded that that bomb still exists and is still waiting to explode, i just started laughing hysterically out loud, because i’d completely forgotten, and now that i remembered i was just delighted to know it was going to definitely go off at some point, almost certainly in a very satisfying way.

pedro is, if i remember right, the first time the imagery of the coming dawn that will become quite important in wano really has attention drawn to it in-text- the recurring motif is there before this, of course, dating all the way back to the names of the first chapter (romance dawn) and first island (dawn island), but this is the first time it’s actively addressed in-story.

in doing so, oda essentially presents a fresh mystery for us, but one that has been set up so consistently ever since chapter one that it feels like it fits perfectly into the world and story.

luffy’s been punching way above his weight class ever since crocodile all the way back in alabasta, fighting enemies who clearly outmatch him but always managing to win anyways, but his fight with katakuri is maybe the clearest the sheer differential in strength ever gets, because katakuri’s powers are similar enough to luffy’s that he can pull off pretty much all of luffy’s techniques, but better. so luffy has to fall back on the two things that have always been his greatest strengths, again all the way back to crocodile in alabasta: innovation and sheer fucking stubbornness.

one thing i love about one piece is how no character is immune to being clowned on. absolutely nobody. everybody looks like an idiot sometimes, and it makes everything so much more fun than if the series took itself more seriously. katakuri basically actively tries to avert this by building up a fearsome, flawless, and utterly no-nonsense persona, but it winds up failing hard because it actually only makes the contrast and surprise of his actual personality and vices that much funnier.

i’ve always loved this one panel of carrot going sulong, because she just looks so monstrous, like a true werewolf. the same goes for the shift in big mom’s design when she starts going truly mad with starvation and gets even more threatening-looking (below). i just think oda should let women be monstrously scary more often.

i do really love that the entire climax of whole cake island hinges on the degree of trust and faith the strawhats, and sanji and luffy specifically, have in each other. they’re all facing massive challenges that would seem insurmountable to an outsider- luffy facing down a yonkou’s commander with a bounty of over a billion and sanji remaking a massive cake that took months to plan and make in just a few hours, the others evading big mom’s full forces and big mom herself for a full night- but none of them have even a shred of doubt that the others can manage it.

i wrote a meta post awhile back about one piece’s concept of ‘honor in a pirates’ fight, and what it came down to is this: honor can never be expected between pirates, but the best of them will show it anyways, and it can be a very telling judge of character. nobody would expect katakuri to do this, and luffy even calls him an idiot for it, but he has enough respect for luffy as a strong opponent to do it anyways, and that’s how we know for absolute certain that even though he’s an antagonist, he’s also a good, honorable person.

i really like the gesture of luffy leaving his hat over katakuri’s mouth, especially because until this point, we’re never even given any indication that he’s really noticed it, let alone that katakuri is insecure about it. he never reacts to or comments on it (which is in itself kind of unusual from someone who tends to nickname opponents by their appearances as often as luffy does) one way or another.

and then he does this, confirming all at once that he did fully notice and understand, he just doesn’t care. which i think sums up one of the more under-appreciated aspects of luffy’s character- he’s generally way more observant than people give him credit for, especially when it comes to people, it’s just that he has a very different sense of what’s important and what’s not than your average person.

i love the sheer contrast between big mom’s delighted, rapturous singing as she devours the wedding cake against the violence taking place on screen as her army rains fire and hell down on the thousand sunny. it parallels her initial introduction at the start of the arc perfectly, and is just an excellent way to close out the arc with a bang.

i said it earlier but it bears repeating here, for a different reason: luffy is not very physically intimidating. he’s shorter than most of the other main characters, he’s a lanky teenager, he dresses casually and his most identifiable accessory is a farm hat.

but then there are times when he looks like a captain, like a future pirate king, and it just looks so natural on him. i can never get over it.

i really like that, after spending a whole arc demonstrating just how different (and how much better) sanji is than the vinsmokes, it ends like this- showing us just how similar he’s grown up to the man he’s chosen as his real family, and just how proud zeff would be of him.

[sovpologist]

hi, genuine question! I want to like Mara, but d2 lore shows her, in my eyes, as selfish and cruel, set on her own goal with no consideration for others. At least that's what I got from marasenna lorebook.

Why is she liked by so many in community? I feel like I'm overlooking something over things I mentioned above, but I would appreciate a perspective from someone who likes her character! If it's okay to ask!

its totally okay to ask!! this is going to be a long post so im going to put it under a readmore :)

i just want to stress first that mara is like.... widely disliked by many in the community. it used to be very unpopular to like her and if you even said anything remotely positive about her, people would reply to your posts and send you anons about how you were a terrible person for liking such a manipulative and toxic character. it was only recently that community opinion kind of started to shift, and people started to actually appreciate her character as nuanced and interesting. i definitely dont think this is because of me or anything crazy like that, but ive tried to correct misconceptions about her and cultivate a space on my blog at least where people can just openly like mara and not feel like they have to qualify it by constantly assuring people that they know mara's done bad things too (because literally every character in d2 has done bad things, and somehow people understand that liking the uldren doesnt mean you support him killing cayde but cant apply that same concept to mara for some reason). ok, im getting off my soapbox now and im going to just talk about why i like her.

mara is genuinely just such a fascinating character to me. reading the marasenna im really struck by how alone she is, even as a 19 year old human. her mom has essentially abandoned her and says that she's mara's friend but not her mother, and mara's father is never mentioned, so mara literally has no parental guidance or supervision or love. this puts a lot more of her pre-awoken actions into context, such as her not knowing how to interact with people and preferring to keep herself away from the rest of the crew. everyone mara loves leaves her. her mom stays in the distributary, uldren is distant in his efforts to impress and surprise her and then dies, and sjur dies too.

i also love mara's character arc, although it kind of makes me sad. mara is so painfully human in the earlier parts of the marasenna. she's awkward, she's lonely, she thinks her and uldren's secret language is "cool," she gets embarassed at her mom's embarrassing petnames, she hero-worships alis li and listens to her advice. watching her lose all of this and crystalize into a queen is so interesting. remember, mara didn't go out into the fight between the darkness and the traveler bc she knew she would gain power and create the awoken, its stated that she went out there to die. so a 19 year old just trying to die peacefully ends up witnessing firsthand the power of the dark and light and being tasked with essentially creating a new species, knowing that one day she wants to go back and fight the darkness. she becomes such a politician and has to scheme and plot and really loses her humanity while following ALIS' advice- alis was the one who told her that people need a mascot, not a friend. this also makes for a really interesting scene where alis grants mara one favor, and instead of asking for political power, even though mara is such an intensely political and scheming person, she tells alis the truth about the awoken and asks for forgiveness. alis, who mara looked up to, doesnt forgive her, and mara really internalizes this and starts to permantantly close herself off. mara made herself into a queen and lost her humanity in the process. there's a couple people who see the real her, like sjur, but even sjur doesnt really understand her. but her relationship with sjur is also so well written and interesting, sjur being the one person she lets herself drop her mask around and just act human. i made a post about this once, but even mara's speech patterns change around sjur, becoming much more casual and "normal." however, at the same time, mara's mask/persona is a part of her character, and one that i love. people hate her for being "mean," but i like characters like that. mara doesnt take any shit, even from the protagonist, and has her own plans and goals that she doesn't feel obligated to share or change for other people. she's ambitious, sticks to her guns, and doesn't allow other people to influence her.

you say she's selfish, and i think it is easy to brush her off as selfish and doing everything for her own gain, but there's a lot of subtext and outright text in the marasenna and other lore that shows mara genuinely believes that the only way to fight the darkness is to become a being on the same level as the darkness and the traveler. she doesn't let the awoken become immortal gods, which some people regard as a bad thing, but she did that for a reason. mara understands that a people who are eternal and ageless will never grow as people, and she knew that the darkness wanted them to just be complacently sitting aside in their little realm while it does whatever it wants. mara wasn't going to let that happen, and knew she had to find a way to encourage people to leave paradise. you can dislike the way she went about this, essentially encouraging conflict and war among her people, but she did not just do it for her own gain or amusement. mara has also been hated on for starting the reef war/firing a missile at the house of wolves, people act like she did that just for fun too, but the eliksni fleet was heading to conquer earth. instead of just hiding and building up her own resources, which wouldve been the logical thing to do in this situation, mara put her own fleet and power on the line to draw the eliksni's attention away and help earth. she doesn't do things solely bc they benefit her, but because she genuinely loves and wants to help earth. her uncaring persona is a mask, the thing that she feels she needs to be for people to have faith in her.

i have more to say but this is already so long and ive said a lot, so i'll end it here :) at the end of the day, some people are just not going to like mara and thats totally fine. she's not everyone's type, bc she IS ambitious and manipulative and sometimes cruel. i just wish she didnt get a disproportionate amount of hate for being like that when i know for a fact that if she was a male character she would not get this much hate, and i wish that people could just dislike her normally without lying about her or misinterpreting her character and motivations. but if you dont like her, you dont like her! sometimes we just dislike characters, sometimes for well thought out reasons snad sometimes just for no reason! thats completely fine, as long as you're respectful!!