#but now I think he has some degree of face blindness?

[djeesperate]

The Monster Called 'Gawain'

Chapter word count: 1307

C/W: Body horror?, pure unfiltered angst, alternate universe (bad endings).

In which we found Gawain a little too late.

It started with a curse on a knight who was far too proud—a hopeful life lesson for a man to be kinder.

He would find someone who cared for who he was, flaws and imperfections, enveloping him in a familiar warmth that would melt the frozen heart that had forgotten the boundless love he had.

He would find a place to belong after feeling lost. A new calling to be by another’s side, through darkness and light and every spectrum of hardships in between.

He would be at peace, lying beside his most trusted and beloved for years to come as the world continues to spin around them.

It sounded too good to be true—happy endings are only for fairy tales, after all. The blue skies that symbolise peace were nothing but a joke, a mockery of a man long abandoned by everyone around him.

There he was, flesh rotted and scarred where he pried off his bloodied iron prison, storming through the woods into nearby towns like a rabid animal, pupils dimmed after all hope left his soul years ago. He bares his teeth and screams out as the civilians run to safety.

A monster, they screamed.

He remembers the nights Morgause sat beside his bed, telling him stories of heroes that slay monsters and save the day. He remembers the days Lot would train him to protect people from these same monsters. He has had many experiences slaughtering said creatures as they near Dalmore.

Gawain, the exiled knight, knew the definition of a monster. Yet, somewhere down his journey to redemption, it would seem that he became that definition.

People would shy away and scurry off as he roams around looking for deeds to fulfil. People would run and hide when he was spotted coming into their town. People would beg for him to leave them alone, near crying on their knees because he was so overwhelming as a presence.

They looked so distressed, he didn’t know what he did wrong. Their request is for him to disappear? Does his existence cause this much pain for others?

Why won’t anyone look at him? Why wouldn’t anyone hear his cries?

He thought, at the very least, his sister would still be on his side, waiting for him to return to Dalmore. He would do all this so Florence knew that he was still her beloved brother and that he wasn’t a bad person.

He had tried hard to do good deeds. Whether or not he understood the meaning of kindness, he tried his best. It began as a chore but slowly turned into a genuine plea to be accepted, and over time, it became desperate, aggressive and frightening.

… what a cruel joke.

Somewhere down the line, he had uncovered the identity of the damned witch that put him in this mental spiral. He felt utterly betrayed, he cried for days. It was almost like no one wanted him around anymore, he was better off a corpse.

So he isolated himself in the mountains.

The times when he would skip and run through trees with Lamorak, dear Florence tailing behind as the three bantered. Three pairs of feet jumping around giggling before the Sun goes down. The memories he fondly kept in his heart corrupted since that day—he only recalls a boy whose face was crossed out, and a haze behind them, voices all muffled. He blocked them all out. 

He trekked the mountains alone in pure silence. Not even the beasts watching him in the distance would give him any company out of fear. He drags his feet as he enters a small cave with his makeshift bed of animal pelts he had acquired from hunting. Far away from people who had started to send out bounties to end his life once and for all.

He was hurting and no matter how much tears he wept at night in the cold, neither mother nor father came to hold him. Eventually, his eyes dried, bloodshot red to accompany the scarring around his face from where he ripped his mask off.

He rubbed his arm for warmth, draped in a cloak. He had broken down and torn off the armour from his body, which meant most of the skin on his torso was now gone. Now he really looked like a monster. Does that mean a hero would come and slay him?

Something twisted grew inside him from that revelation. He starts to pray for the day he will meet this hero—the only one left who will look at him. The pathetic thought enraged him, insulted that the thought of death by another person would put him at peace. 

He hated himself.

Standing in front of him was a skyfarer, eyes bright as the stars he would count while he sat on his father’s shoulders on their way back home. He charged at them with the intention to kill; that’s what monsters do, after all. Yet all they did was dodge and block his blows.

He saw it, the compassion and pity in their eyes. Every time he backs up to prepare for another attack, they try to call out to him.

“You’re Gawain, aren’t you?!”

“Wait! Just listen to me!”

“I don’t want to hurt you! I just want to help!”

Their words fell on deaf ears. He’s heard all these lies from her already, he refuses to believe that there was someone out there that actually wanted to help. He was in too deep that it hurt more to heal his heart than to continue down this endless madness. He was too afraid of trusting someone again, to put his guard down and give even a crumb of his heart away. His attacks became frantic, like a wounded animal trying to survive.

He watched them try, again and again, shouting in hopes that their words would reach him. He watched tears flow down their face as they became increasingly frustrated, knowing that if this battle continued, their other crewmates that were rushing to the scene would behead him on the spot.

“Gawain!”

He huffed, energy draining. His damaged flesh tore open from all the heavy blows he tried to deliver, blowing apart from the sheer intensity of his own strength. His vision was blurry but he saw the distress in the person’s face, trying their best to get closer to him. In his head, he thinks it was so that the hero could slay the monster once and for all. Their eyes grew wide, he saw them open their mouth to scream but he heard nothing but high-pitched ringing.

He didn’t notice he fell to the ground.

He didn’t notice the giant gash on his body that was spilling out blood like he was a waterfall.

He sees wings, six pairs of them, radiating light so blinding as it joins the side of his opponent, it was as if he was staring directly at the Sun. 

He felt warmth, for the first time in years. He watched them run over to his dying figure, holding onto him as their tears fell onto his face, begging him to stay awake. He watched them scream and scold the angel beside them in anger, ripping off their own sleeves to bandage his wound as if it weren’t fatal.

He hears his name being called repeatedly. It had been so long that he almost forgot. How could he have forgotten it?

Visions of three kids running around the mountains haunted him for one last time—faces clear as day, his dear friend and sister.

Where did everything go wrong?

Gawain didn’t know. Gawain didn’t have long to find out, either.

The last thought he had before he went cold was a new revelation. He wasn’t the monster in the story at all…

He was who the hero needed to save.

[dumbbitchgalore]

tf141 hanging out together and finding out that old man!Price has a girlfriend 💫

The crowded pub bustles with the commontion of drunkards of varying degrees. Some slightly tipsy while others have decided to forgo their pants in the name of the King.

And then there's a group of men occupying a table at the corner of the pub. Simon with his balaclava on, Kyle with a cigarette between his fingers savouring the arcid flavour and Johnny ogling some girls on the other side of the pub.

All that was left was John, who makes his way to the table with four pints of beer. He sits down at the table with a grunt as he passes each on of the boys a glass. They all start chatting and catching up about everything's thats happened after Price's retirement.

Johnny begins to bitch and whine about the new captain saying how uptight he was critising everything the squad does that John would've probably turned a blind eye to.

John chuckles slightly, listening to them all talk about what's is going on with the taskforce. Despite the smile on his face, there is a bitter resentment inside of him, gnawing at him.

Useless, useless, useless

He takes a swig of his drink hoping that it'll calm his worries down. And lo and behold he receives a call from you, his baby. He smiles to himself and picks up the phone.

"Hey birdie, doing okay by yourself at home?" He asks softly.

That one sentence caught the attention of the other boys as they give each other quizzical looks. Who the hell could their former captain be talking to?

His mother, maybe his sisters? Nah, he wouldn't call any other birdie.

They listen to John's gravelly voice and breathy laughs as he talks to the mystery person on the phone.

What felt like hours to the boys and a few fleeting seconds for John, he hangs up and faces the group. He raises an eyebrow when he sees their faces contorted into expressions of confusion and curiosity.

"What?" John asks slightly defensively

"Who's the birdie, Captain?" Johnny asks with a tooth grin.

John shakes his head, "my girlfriend." he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Their jaws drop to the floor. Shocked would be an understatement as to what they were feeling and thinking right now.

"You sure it's not schizophrenia, sir?" Kyle asks.

John huffs in annoyance. What the hell? Couldn't they just accept that John finally had someone in his life. A perfect little doll who patiently waits for him at home.

They all start to laugh obnoxiously, barking and howling as if they were witnessing a circus show. And John's irritation grew tenfold and he huffs a sigh of annoyance.

"Oi captain, why don't you show us a picture of your birdie and then maybe we'll believe ya. Or well just keep thinking that the sarin gas is still in your system." Simon says, followed by a cackle.

John rolls his eyes and opens his photo gallery and shows the trio a photo of you and him. The picture is of the two of you in bed, with you resting your head on his shoulder with a smile on your face as John is still fast asleep. Evidence of the previous night's lustful tendancies still apparent on both of them.

This time their jaws drop for certain as the tangible evidence is placed in front of them. You're beautiful, and that fucked-out, post orgasm face is something else. This isn't fair. How did Price get blessed with a beauty such as yourself.

Soap scowls and scoffs looking away and crossing his arms in annoyance. While Kyle gushes about how lucky Price his to hide his jealously rearing its ugly head. And simon simply stares at the photo with a discerning expression on his face.

John smiply smiles, his ego fuelled and his pride sky high.

"Well boys, I gotta get back to my doll. Maybe next time I'll bring her along." He exits the pub, leaving the boys all confused and jealous.

[drownedthemall]

sweetness of her laughter

part 2 - misjudged

next part

caracalla x noble!reader x geta 

2.1k words

a/n - i didn’t expect anyone to even read this fic !! especially part one, that part really is not that good :)

summary - you’ve been escorted to rome on behalf of the emperors. you stand before them, what will they decide to do with you now?

There was a change in the atmosphere, you could feel it. This led you to believe that you were now in Rome. Not only did it feel like the temperature rose to an unsettling degree, but the sheer amount of people surrounding every street was unimaginable. People were stood staring, some were almost clawing their way through to see who was the person General Acacius was accompanying. Not just accompanying, but personally escorting to see the Emperors. You weren't very talkative with the General throughout your travels together. But now, you couldn't help but ask questions as you were nearing the residence of the Emperors.

"General?" you ask, which came out way quieter than you had imagined, but fortunatley he heard you.

"Yes, Princess?"

"Are you aware of how many other nobles will be part of this whole fiasco..?", you fumble with your hands as you speak. You try to ignore his stare and redirect yours to the outside. You noticed carriages further away, of what seemed to have once been free people, were now slaves, getting carted away. The carriage tilts enough for the sun to dust your face, blinding you momentarily. "You are the first they've decided to personally invite.", his sombre voice declares.

You begin to feel nauseous at the statement. "What?" is all you can muster. He laughs at your reaction, finding amusement in your whirling storm of emotions.

"They have been sending out letters to a select few nobles that they deemed 'worthy', and they all eagerly accepted, except..." he nods to you.

"So, just because of that, I'm the first on the menu?" you huff, you had changed into your royal garments by now, but they were still too warm for such a climate. "Even then it wasn't my doing." you mull over your thoughts.

"All I can say is, good luck, Princess," he says with sincerity, hand over his chest. Symbolising his heart.

You shake your head, you can basically feel the aura of the Emperors oozing and you're not even there yet. You were unnerved that the Emperors even knew of your existence, the fact they chose you over your sister, who despite her attitude, was more than prepared to rule. You, however, were not, you knew of your sister's claim to the crown, which you had no issue with. You did what you were interested in and never bothered to even think of leading a Kingdom, and sure as hell, not the Roman Empire. You enjoyed having close to no responsibilities. You sigh, this invitation doesn't even guarantee you'll be Empress, this will only be a play to humiliate you for your own father's misstep. You've heard many stories of the Emperors. Everyone has.

The carriage comes to a halt. You look at the General, your eyes probably resembling that of a kicked puppy. He chuckles and pats your shoulder, "Come on, kid." He steps out of the carriage, holding out his hand for you to take. You see the stark difference between your own and his. His definitely belonged to that of a general, they were worn, rough, and showed years of commitment to his work. Despite you also having skills in weaponry, yours didn't compare one bit. You felt respect for him and his dedication.

You oblige and accept his hand, stepping out and feeling the sun above and its effects already. He holds onto your hand for longer than you deem necessary but appreciate it nonetheless. He and some praetorians guide you into where the Emperors reside. As you step foot inside, you feel relief from the cool marble beneath you and around you. You felt as if you could finally breathe again. That semblance of peace doesn't last long as you reach the room where they are known for throwing all sorts of celebrations

Your breath hitches. It seems it was just them two. The one who you assumed to be Caracalla was sprawled out and shamelessly enjoying the company of his concubines. Their hands reached and groped at his pale skin and silk. He was lavished in gold, from earrings to rings, to cuffs and all sorts of gold embellishments throughout his toga. The gold stood out against his complexion. Then there was Geta, he was also adorned in riches, but he on the other hand was mostly glamoured with silver and cooler tones of silk. However, their concubines weren't as bare either. Some of them, the favoured ones you presume, were also glistening in jewels. It was a sight to see. A sore one, but a sight. The both of them really did have an aura around them, no wonder people call them gods.

Geta seemed lost in thought as he swirled the deep red wine in his cup, staring off into the distance. They must be waiting for someone. Small giggles and sweet nothings can be heard from Caracalla's entourage, with him indulging in their soft-spoken words.

They hadn't yet registered the presence of you two, as neither you nor the general wanted to step to the centre of the room. However, Caracalla perked up as he noticed a glimmer of Acacius' armour.

He smiles broadly, "Acacius!!", he announces with his arms wide open. Geta looks over and wordlessly signals for the both of you to come closer. Each step on the marble floor felt slower than the next. As if you were walking to your death. The two Emperors shoo away the whores surrounding them, wanting to dedicate all of their attention to the entertainment that stood before them.

The General stands tall and begins, "Emperor Caracalla, Emperor Geta", he greets as he directs his attention to each of them.

"Acacius.", Geta greets in return, "Seems you have now earned your awaited respite, have you not?" he says stone-faced.

Caracalla finds this very humourous, giggling at his brother's words. "Yes, he really has brother, after all, he's done as asked...", lightly pointing in your direction, eyeing you, fiddling with his rings. His eyes scope you from head to toe, lingering on every uncovered area of your body. Which didn't leave him satisfied. Your attire didn't match those of the Romans. You feel your skin crawl, uncomfortable at such ogling.

From what you understood, Acacius had already conquered Numidia and was sent to get you straight after his conquest. You suppose that explains his unwillingness to negotiate. Not that the Emperors would have approved either way.

You tried to calm your thoughts and ignore one of the Emperors embedding stares. "Princess," Geta states, you politely nod, "Emperor Geta".

He hums "Hope, you weren't too startled by the entrance of our General," he fakes sincerity, barely holding back his smirk. He then glances towards his brother, who breaks like a dam.

"Haha, mhm. We're glad you're a poor shot, we wouldn't want Acacius here to have his eternal respite just yet" Caracalla laughs and giggles throughout his little joke.

"We'd have no choice but to wed Lucilla!" Geta jabs and laughs as he looks for the Generals reaction. Feeling dissatisfied when he doesn't outwardly react.

Geta calms, his demeanour changing. "But, please, don't let the avant-garde gesture affect the way you view us", he says, keeping his eyes on you. He adjusts in his seat.

Caracalla nods, "It's what needed to be done", he leans back, sprawling his legs out again.

You have trouble maintaining eye contact with either of them, transitioning from one to the other. As they settle down, Acacius pipes up. "She's travelled far, I'd suggest, Emperors, you let her rest for the day.", he tries to explain carefully.

They go silent for a second, exchanging glances. Geta starts, "You make a point, Acacius."

Caracalla nods "She should rest up and change..." he looks over you again, "..into some more appropriate clothing", he stopped mid sentence as if his thoughts drifted off elsewhere.

Geta gives him a bit of a disapproving look before directing his attention to you. "Yes, he is right, not to mention now that the General is back, the games shall finally begin.", he claps at the final statement.

"Which you will attend, Acacius", Caracalla leans forward and pointedly chuckles.

---

You were led to your personal chambers. They were guarded by two praetorians and were located close to the Emperors own. Which you weren't too fond of, it made you worry if anything.

The room was spacious, meant for royalty, you couldnt deny that. You saw that the wardrobe was open and filled with all kinds of silky clothing for you to wear. Which you knew would provide some ease for the heat you were experiencing. You’re stopped by a servant entering your chambers. You turn towards them expecting someone else.

"For you, Princess", she states as she places the bowl of fruit onto a small engraved table nearby. "From Emperor Geta himself", she finishes as she turns on her heel and leaves.

Your heart warms, this was oddly welcoming? Unexpected. However, you felt you couldn't let your guard down. You decide to change into something more comfortable before letting yourself indulge in the fruits before you.

The fruits consist of all kinds, not just home to Rome. Every single one you’ve tried so far was so sweet and refreshing. You head to the balcony with the bowl in hand. You gaze at the sky, and how it changed from all shades of blue to orange. This makes you think of home and how distant it is from where you stand now.

You wonder if your family misses you and if your father feels any remorse or regret. You've only just arrived and you feel more isolated than ever. You wonder… if this doesn't work out, will they let you go? Or will their bruised egos make sure to rid of you? You reach for another piece of sliced pear, only to feel the bottom of the bowl... You're afraid that this loneliness may affect your judgment.

Your head swiftly turns as you hear a few knocks on the door of your chamber. You waltz to the other side of the room, lightly treading to the door. As you open it, the other person doesn't wait for you to even register their presence, they just push themselves past you. You see a blur of orange and red and blink a few times before setting your eyes on them. It’s Caracalla. You've heard rumours of how unpredictable he is, well, they both are. The reason he is, however, is because of some sort of disease… If what you've heard from people is right.

"Emperor Caracalla," you say slightly flustered at his sudden entrance. You push the door shut. He waits for you and stands before you with a smile, "Princess."

You were unnerved, "Yes, Emperor..? Is there some wa-", he cut you off.

"I knocked!" he shouts, smugly.

What. You furrowed your eyebrows, "Mhm, you did..." you respond utterly confused at the declaration. He acted as if it was some sort of achievement.

Caracalla hums and takes a few steps forward, cornering you, "See? I've been on my best behaviour..." He ends this by gliding his nose against your collarbones, taking in your scent. His hands find their way to your waist, lightly taking hold of you. You feel his breath against your skin, you can smell the oils and perfumes he lathers himself with. All of a sudden you’re feeling warm again. He locks eyes with you, and this leads him to step back, slightly. "I like the change of outfit", he starts.

"The colour red…”, he begins as his eyes swerve over you, appreciating the way the silky garment is draped over your curves, “..is my favourite."

"..Oh, thank you, I'm glad then." you're unsure of what to say in this predicament.

He giggles at your response and then says calmly, "I'll let you rest," he takes your hand in his and kisses your knuckles, kissing each one separately. All while maintaining eye contact.

He then unexpectedly pulled your hand over his shoulder, making it so that there was no space between the two of you. His mouth was by your ear. "Sleep well", he whispers softly, the warmth of his breath faning over the side of your face.

You shy away at the forwardness and unexpected proximity, "..Thank you, Emperor, I hope rest finds you well." you lightly respond. You noticed that his smile widened.

"Empress." he declares, before leaving a chaste kiss on your cheek. He loosens his grip on you and scurries out of the room. Thud. The door shuts and you're left alone once more. His ghostly touches still linger on your body. Leaving you to wonder if this actually happened or if you have gone mad. You stand there in the same spot he left you, hand over your cheek. You're not sure what to feel anymore.

taglist - @duckyhowls @himikoquack <3

[floylia]

ELYSIAN ♫

18. Am I wrong? ✎

“So my manager leaked my information.” It’s not a question anymore.

Scara nods apologetically as if he was at fault, eyes gleaming with genuine sincerity. This is the third time, he’s been vulnerable with you. He guides you up the cobblestone path, leading you closer to the Estate’s courtyard. The sun has already grazed its goodbye, only the moon rests above, gleaming at you and Scara. The darkness along the trees, shrubs, and boulders around the garden is eerie but something about his presence soothes your worries—something about his rare smile, hushed voice, and messy hair.

Perhaps it’s everything about him.

You pause in your tracks, watching over the waves on the beach—hands on the wooden fences standing around the courtyard, “Do you think they’ll believe me?”

“They’ll believe you once you tell your side.”

Doubt lingers, “What if they don’t?”

“Then they’re all fuck heads with no hobbies,” He swerves his head, now facing you with narrow eyes, and brows pulled together, “It’s stupid, how some of them graduated with degrees but have no basic sense of empathy or respect. They’re all entitled, gullible, and hypocritical assholes who use every opportunity to deflect their insecurities on others. It’s a crazy world we live in.”

The scowl on his face is almost laughable—how angry at the world he is on your behalf. You take note of Scara's wrath, experiencing it is not for the weak. Although, you don’t need to worry. His patience for you seems limitless.

“I can’t believe Jean lets you handle your social media accounts. You have no filter.”

He scoffs, “She doesn’t, but I find my way. They have to change the password every other week or else I might be permanently banned on every platform.”

You chuckle at his smug expression, “I want your confidence.”

“You already have it, you just need to use it.”

You avoid his gaze, “You sure do have a lot of faith in me.”

“Because I believe in you.”

For how long? You heard those same words before and they never kept their promises. Your agency, your manager. It was blind trust. Funny how life works.

“You blindly trusted me.”

You didn’t mean to say that. But it can’t be helped. What if one day you disappoint him? Will he leave too, like your manager? Or your fans?

“I knew you wouldn’t do that.”

No he didn’t. What did he know?

“There’s always a possibility—“

“But you didn’t and that’s what matters,” He sighs before running a hand through his hair, “Am I wrong for trusting you?”

You shake your head in guilt, realizing you let your doubts slip. Overthinking kills the mood, “It’s just that—“

“Am I wrong for wanting to be with you?” His voice softened.

You squint your eyes, unsure of what he means. You open your mouth to say something, anything to fill the silence, but nothing comes out.

So he inches forward, his left hand rests on your cheek, the other latches down to your waist, gentle and warm—you lean in to his touch, “Is it wrong to be this close?”

“No but—“

“For once please,” He sounds desperate, “Fuck what they think, focus on me and you. They can all go to hell.”

“So tell me: Is it wrong to need you at every moment?”

Once again you shake your head, this time with no interruptions.

“Is it wrong to be with you? To wake up every morning knowing I’m yours—knowing I can flirt shamelessly without doubting your feelings? Knowing I can write songs about you without hiding my love. Knowing I can feed you my favorite dishes without asking: am I doing too much? Or buy you things that remind me of you because not a single day goes by without your presence in my fucked up head.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. Everything is blurry but your gaze remains on Scara. Only him, because it has always been him.

“Am I wrong for feeling this way?” He whispers softly—so gentle that you want to apologize for trying to push him away.

You wrap your arms around his neck, “Kiss me.”

“Can I really?”

“Please.”

He does.

He does like his life depends on it.

Notes:

im on vacation but nothing will stop me from writing 😃

sorry for grammatical errors or spelling mistakes

Synopsis: After 7 years of enduring the media’s relentless pursuit of painting you as a villain, you’re forced to go through an indefinite hiatus with a tainted reputation on your head. However, just when you thought your career was over, a certain 5WIRL member wants you to feature on his solo career. Surely, this won’t affect your reputation once more, would it?

Scaramouche x fem!reader

masterlist | previous | next

Taglist (open!): @aruatsu @magicalink @featuredtofu @scarasbaby @veekoko @scaranthropy @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @vernith @thystarsshine @lily-lmao @lovemari @mellowberrie @kunikuzushis-darling @skyoverkill1 @alatusorrow @kukikoooo @kyon-cherri @keiiqq @tzuw1ce @xiaossocksniffer @kaitfae @infinitetrashbag @lvnalxve @lovelypadisarah @ulquiorraswife @sketcheeee @atyour-kitchencounter @pirate-of-the-dark-seas @neiiuna @sn1perz @kazioli @inelenastyle @hearts4shu @wisheslost @Kazeyozuha @kazumiku @eutopiastar @chemiro @bananasquash @mujiwuji @danhenglovebot @cremesluv @boomie-123 @kookiibun @help-whatdoimakemyusername @vavrin @beaniedoodz @misterpoofin @justpeachyteastea @one-and-only-tay @peaceindreams @strxwberryfetish @shutingstar @projectsfantasy @quacking-simp @morgyyyyyyy @cante-lope @k-cris

[mscryinglighting]

hello, would you do an alex turner x musician reader? she's just as famous with a solid fanbase, and they get a lot of media attention and even called a power couple of some sort. yet behind closed doors they're like any ordinary couple that love each other the most and doesn't care about what other people say about them? basically lots of fluff. i hope this makes sense! <3

Between The Chords

Alex Turner x musician!reader

Word count: 1.1K

a/n: Thank you sm for this request!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The paparazzi's camera flashes momentarily blind you as you exit the airport, arm in arm with Alex, you try to speed walk through attempting to reach the car in one piece, all while the shutterbugs yell things like:

“Do you think you’ll be up for a BRIT this year?

And

“Y/n, any thoughts on the criticism of your new single?”

“These paps seem tame enough, non invasive especially for LA’s standards.” You thought, though their relentless camera flashes were starting to turn your mild headache into a full on migraine. You were fairly new to the scene, your debut album having blown up a little over a year ago, Alex on the other hand was slightly more well versed in the music industry, maybe that was what drew you to him -his experience- he’s become sort of a lighthouse keeping you afloat among the madness.

After what felt like an eternity you finally reach the car. Alex, ever the gentleman, holds the car door open for you, once you’re in he climbs in next to you, his fingers naturally finding yours, intertwining them as the car eases forward.

“God, I have such a headache,” you groan, burying your face against his neck.

“Oh, me poor baby,” Alex teases, smirking. “Need some Aspirin?”

“Shuddup.” You grin despite yourself. It’s like his superpower—making you smile through anything.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The hum of the engine and the faint rhythm of raindrops against the windshield make the drive almost peaceful. Alex’s thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of your hand, his warmth lulling you into a half-daze. Before you know it, the car slows to a stop outside your place.

“You alive, love?” Alex murmurs, squeezing your hand.

Barely. You just want to crawl into bed—but with him, of course.

Inside, the familiarity of home washes over you. Despite four months of touring, you both fall into your usual routine like no time has passed. Instead of unpacking like a responsible adult, you strip down and slip into a pair of Alex’s boxers and his hoodie—your real post-tour uniform—before heading downstairs.

Alex is already in the kitchen, and you watch him from the couch, your favorite spot for early morning and late-night admiration.

“Whatcha makin’?” you call, arms draped over the back of the couch. The open layout of your home—a design choice you hadn’t realized you’d love so much—means you get a perfect view of him moving around the kitchen, a bonus you fully take advantage of every time he makes breakfast shirtless.

Alex returns from the kitchen, a steaming mug in hand. “Doctor’s orders,” he jokes, handing it over with a lopsided grin. “Drink up before your headache gets worse.”

You take a sip, the warmth spreading through you. “When did you get your medical degree?”

“Oh, love, I’ve been a specialist in you for ages,” he quips, nudging you playfully.

“Stop it.” You blush bashfully, hiding your face in his chest.

He chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before reaching behind the couch to pull out his guitar. “Mind if I play some tunes?”

“Now?” You raise a brow, amused. “You just survived an eight-hour flight, and you still have energy for this?”

“Yes, now while I still have my gorgeous muse beside me.” He starts to strum out a tune on his guitar, his fingers moving with practiced ease until he reaches the F Major, the one chord that always seems to trip him up.

You’re playing it wrong,” you say, watching him fumble with the chord.

“I am Alex Turner, y’know.” He says smugly while still trying to perfect the chord.

“Then act like it,” you tease, playfully nudging his shoulder. You set your mug down before briskly taking the guitar to show him how it's done. 

“Look,” you say, shifting closer, “put your index here, and your middle on this string—like this.” You guide his fingers into place, your hands lingering over his.

He looks up at you, his eyes glinting under the warm glow of the lamp. “What would I do without my genius of a girlfriend?”

Alex strums the chord again, this time getting it right transitioning into a melody. It’s slow, almost hypnotic, and then he starts singing—low and soft, just for you.

You rest your head against his shoulder, letting his voice wrap around you like a warm blanket.

“You falling asleep on me already?” Alex murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair.

“M’not,” you mumble, but your body betrays you, melting further into him.

He chuckles. “That’s what they all say before they start drooling on me hoodie.”

You swat at him weakly. “I do not drool.”

“Right. Just like I don’t mess up F Major.”

You groan, hiding your face against his chest. “I regret helping you.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice is warm, teasing. “And you love me.”

You huff, but your sleepy smile gives you away. “Yeah, yeah.”

Fame could be loud. But moments like this? This was what really mattered.

Speaking of fame, the airport paparazzi pictures have already been posted to social media, both your fandoms were going absolutely berserk over the images. Since Alex was a grandpa about social media you had to read out all the comments to him. Well maybe only the nice ones.

“Wanna hear what the internet has to say about us?”

He hums, strumming idly on his guitar. “Oh, go on then. What’s the verdict?”

You clear your throat and read dramatically, “‘Rock’s Most Stylish Couple Spotted in L.A.: Y/N Stuns in Casual Chic While Turner Keeps It Classic.'"You glance down at yourself—his hoodie and boxers, your hair still slightly messy from the flight. “Casual chic, huh?”

Alex looks over, eyes flicking lazily across your outfit. “Yeah, proper high fashion, that.”

You snort, scrolling down. “Oh, this one’s good—‘Alex Turner and Y/N Y/L/N prove once again they’re the definition of couple goals.’” 

Alex smirks but doesn’t look up from his guitar. “Ah, well, hate to break it to ‘em, but we’re actually a disaster behind closed doors.”

You roll your eyes, scrolling further until a tweet makes you burst into laughter. ‘Alex and Y/N are real-life couple goals. If they ever break up, love isn’t real.’

You turn to Alex, raising a brow. “No pressure or anything.”

Alex finally stops strumming and squints at your phone. “They’re putting that much faith in us?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you tease. “Apparently, we’re single-handedly holding the concept of love together.”

Alex sets his guitar aside and tugs you closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “Well then, guess we’ve got no choice, love.”

You grin, leaning into him. “Guess not.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

a/n: Hope I did this amazing request justice! I had so much fun writing this, and I truly appreciate all the love and support. Also, part 2 of ‘The AM Effect’ is in the works—I can’t wait to share it with you all soon!

[voidcat]

– call it fate, call it karma

characters: mithrun of the house of kerensil, elf!sorcerer!reader

notes: hello! another fic of mine that rqures a note bc once again i got too impatient. i fear it may not make much sense without the rest. this is originally the first of a 3-part work. because this is a mithrun fic, it has possible spoilers for dunmeshi, especially mithrun, so if you're an anime only, this is your warning. this takes place before the dungeon chapter of mithrun. reader is an elf. there is subtle looking down on southern lands/deeming them as inferior from mithrun's perspective- in dnd, magic users vary and how theyve acquired thier way of casting spells:) a sorcerer is p much "born to it" / in their blood. its not smt theyve studied like a wizard. thank you for reading!

i.

On a breezy day in the southern side, Mithrun, formerly of the house Kerensil, now of canaries, finds himself lost in the cobblestoned streets.

The sun shines bright above his head, creating a makeshift halo on top of his head; the weather has just begun to warm up, he thinks to himself, maybe in small moments such as this, the sun is on his side.

Unlike the lands he is familiar with, the sun is harsher here, the people mixed, one big pot of cultures and species, a stew of life and history; it's what the southern lands are often preferred for, the easier access to various branches of fields and of people. right under one's fingertips, at every five steps one takes.

Though the canaries have graced the place with their presence, it is not a matter to be fretting about. the dungeon roaming side of things almost fall unimportant this time, hence he growing worry he feels within his body as he tries and tries each street entrance he sees, but to no avail, unable to find his way to the palace grounds– taking a look at the horizon, it might be possible he has found a way to stray further away from it even.

The streets well donned with signs as they may be, they are but a book to a blind man when you haven’t got the slightest idea of the city. And so Mithrun finds himself looking around cluelessly, trying not to allow the situation to take its toll on him; keep your head up, chin high, here returns the smile bright enough to light up countless possible suitors’ lives, he takes a step, turns 180 degrees and begins to walk again, back into the crowd that is gathering with each passing minute.

Everyone seems to be in their small little world, preoccupied with those accompanying them. The sun burns bright, few gulls fly by as they greet the cityfolk with their shrieks. Only a few people look up to greet the birds, the kids waving their hands as they jump in the air. He sees a baby trying to grab one of them, a hard task to accomplish from where they lay. A kobold waving its tail eagerly, as if the scene never gets old for him.

The breeze carries the scent of seafoam and Mithrun begins to notice a slight shift in the crowd. With each step, the nonsense chatter of the people begin to change, slowly taken over by what he can guess to be vendors and the like. The strolling rhythm of the people soon replaced by hurried steps and a faster pace of liveliness in the streets. The cobblestones beneath his feet a tad shinier and worn out, he assumes this must be some point of transaction.

Standing where he is, he tries spotting the rough estimation toward the palace, deciding a route for himself from then on. 

The swarm of people suddenly increases, the volume with them as well, and in about five minutes, it all dies down.

It is the instant loss of sound that first draws his attention and Mithrun finds himself unable to hide the surprise on his face. Lips slightly parted, he can taste the air growing lighter with the little amount of people in its vicinity. Forgetting his main task at hand, he looks around, left and right, a tad surprised, a tad observing the place, spotting more and more differences it holds compared to the other streets he has passed thus far.

Mostly vendors selling drinks or tools one might require at the last minute, shops that reek of ink and freshly published books, buy one get the second frog for half the price– do not miss this deal of a– “hello… anyone the–” a foreign voice cuts his thoughts in the middle.

What was it he was reading again? Some nonsense bargain to quickly sell leftover produ–? His thoughts come to a halt when his mind finally registers the foreign voice to be still talking, and presumably its owner waving a hand into his face.

“Ah, there you are! Sir, are you alright?” the voice gets clearer with each syllable, as does his view. 

Before him, stands an elf, no older than him for sure but with a doubt in the back of his mind. If there is one thing he has noticed, it is the southern continent elfs, at least the ones of this city all look remarkably young, younger than their northern siblings for sure; big curious eyes, bright skins glistening under the sun. probably just a side effect of the climate, and perhaps the result of a more leisure life. Starvation is never a thought in the back of one’s mind, causing stress with the passing days when there is no risk of all your crops freezing overnight. 

You could toss the seed of a fruit you ate as you walk, and find it growing into a tree in few years time, he has overheard people say about the lands here before. Fertile lands, rich in culture and nutrients.

“Aah,” your wondering sound draws his attention back on you, “are you lost? Do you need help?”

His lucky hours indeed, he thinks.

With a chuckle, he closes his eyes, bringing a hand to the back of his hand, “ah, is it that obvious?” he asks in a manner others often find shy and friendly.

With a hum, you seem to weigh your answers. “Yes and no.” you say, “if that’s what you’re worried about!” you add as an afterthought.

Then it must be the clothes that gave him away. He finds it odd that someone this far away from the palace recognizes the canaries’ uniforms but apparently possible.

As if reading his mind, you speak “I’m used to people asking for directions. I usually run into people who lost their way here.” with a smile as if sharing some sort of joke, or a secret with him. Maybe the occurrence has happened so frequently you just find it amusing at this point, accepting your fate as it is.

“So, where were you going?” you inquire. “The palace.” he answers curtly.

At his response, your eyes seem to gleam, who knows what it is you have found amusing this time– he begins to wonder if it’d be safer to get directions from a nearby vendor.

“I’m headed around that way too! Come on, just follow me.” you take off before the last word leaves your mouth. Quick, long steps, you create a gap between the two of you before he can catch onto the development of events.

With quick strides, he catches up to you easily, calculating if he keeps the same pace, he will be ahead of you, and lost again, soon, so he slows down, letting his eyes roam.

You walk in rhythm, as if using a song to keep yourself and your steps even. Eyes locked up ahead, only drifting when you pass by a reflecting surface, you seem focused, probably walked the same path countless times before, and become a guide many times as well.

After passing several buildings, the architecture of the city seems ordinary now, the general theme and style making itself apparent with its bronze and corals, warm and earthly tones. He muses whether to hold a conversation be wiser or not.

“So…” he begins as to signal the beginning of a conversation. “Are you a voluntary guide or mandatory?”  

You chuckle at his question and steal a glance his way: “hard to believe but by pure coincidence and luck every single time.” 

“How come?” how often would it have to happen for you to say it like this? “More than I would like to count. And not even mentioning the ones i try to avoid.”

“Such as?..” He lets the question hang. “Ah, just those who are clearly locals but refuse to read the signs right behind them.” you say. 

Suddenly you bring your hands in front of you like those extinct birds, eyes rolled, mimics overly exaggerated “‘How can i get to X street?’. You pitch your voice in a sudden “We ARE in X street! How could you have gotten here without knowing!” you raise your tone, sounding exhausted. 

As quick as you were to make gestures, you drop your arms in front of you as if they are not extensions but just sacks attached to you.

He finds himself giggling at the display. So dramatic.

At his reaction, you gather yourself again and remain your initial self. “You don’t believe me, do you…” you fake a pout. “Well, no matter! I don’t lose anything at the end of the da– cat!” before you finish your word, he watches you rush to your new subject of attention a little ahead of you too.

At the horizon, he sees the palace getting bigger and bigger. As quick as you were to dash, you return just as swiftly.

The walk continues steadily. Was it not for the sun slowly making rounds, its rays shifting the color of the walls, Mithrun wouldn’t have noticed time passing by. You don’t ask much about him, most likely out of respect for a stranger, but still talking nonetheless, pointing at things here and there, giving random information about whatever it is you are showing– be it a concrete part of the city or just a random flower by a windowsill.

The general theme of the streets begin to shift again, foretold by the overtaking scent of something sweet, salty and yeast-y. Up ahead, he can hear the growing chatter of the people once more. 

“From then on, you should just walk straight ahead until you are at a crossroads. Then take a right and keep walking straight until you spot the gates.” you to him and say. So you part ways here, he thinks, recalling what you’ve said earlier when you’ve met.

“I’ve gotta do a quick run somewhere, I walk fast so chances are I will be by your side in no time but if i don’t, and you get lost, you can ask around anyone here now.” you add on as to assure him. What a sense of duty for someone you’ve just met… if this is how you are with everyone you give directions to, then you should be really looking out for yourself.

Yet it is a refreshing reminder, Mithrun finds, that there are still those with innocence and good will, no hidden agendas or the like.

Repeating what you’ve just told him in his head, Mithrun gives you a nod and a formal thanks. Watching as your steps fasten ahead and to the left of the street. So you do walk faster, what a city in hurry with its people, no wonder the cobblestones all look worn out and polished.

As he walks by people, he overhears the time, ease taking over him to know he is not late to anything yet.

The source of the pleasant scent shows itself in the guise of a street lined with bakeries and small market places brimming with freshly picked fruit.

The city gains a different wave of life in this particular street– people more at ease, a perfect representation of the leisurely image they have for themselves. Not a care, not a single worry in the world, a safe haven to live and spend the end of your days.

Among the chatter, his ears pick up on familiar footsteps and he finds himself side by side with you once more. Such a hurry for a lazy city…

Too enamored with the box you now have in your hands, you don’t seem to notice him– or even if you do, you make a good job of hiding it.

It doesn’t hurt to have a companion for the remainder of the path as well, and so he calls out to you “it seems fate allowed us to meet again.” he says with a smile, receiving one in return after you wipe off the short lived expression of surprise on your face.

“Someone was afraid of getting lost again, I see.” you claim playfully.

Putting away the box to a bag, you let it dangle slightly with your steps and refocus your attention back on the road and on Mithrun.

Just as you said, at crossroads the two of you make a right, the sign there only showing the palace ahead.

Well maintained soil and flowers take over the road, adding a faint fragrance to the air.

Each step closer to the gates and with nothing else in the perimeter for you to have gone, Mithrun begins to wonder whether you are prolonging your route for the sake of him or not. 

Only for you both to walk past the gates of the palace; one guard checking his identity and another yours; only for you to carry on walking with him, your end destination revealing itself to be the same as his since the beginning.

At the steps he can hear his teammates' voices in the distance and in the blink of an eye one of the fairies approaches him. Casting a glance at you, and seeing you’re away from the hearing range, attention already elsewhere, he is informed their meeting isn’t until another hour and he can wait wherever he wishes, as long as he arrives prior to 10 minutes.

Bidding the fairy goodbye, he walks up to where you stand, hearing a disappointed sound coming from you at the sight of a butterfly taking off as he arrives.

Noticing his presence when his shadow casts over you, you turn to look up and meet his gaze. “You’re still here?” you sound surprised.

He settles for a shrug, “it seems I have another hour to kill.” 

You seem to be contemplating something, eyes going between the main entrance and him, the entrance and the benches by the gardens– “oh i know!” you sound excited. “How about I give you a reading!” you say more than ask, leaving him no choice but to comply. You seem too excited to be turning down any ways, and so Mithrun finds himself following after you once more.

The palace gardens are wide, starting from the gates and, if the palace plans are like any other, spreading all the across the palace itself, a section of a greenhouse somewhere, a labyrinth of bushes and trees in the back; so much green and so much land, it is impressive how well maintained it is even from the looks of what Mithrun can assume to be the epilogue of the real thing. That’s the thing with southern cultures, as leisure and fertile as they come, theirs is a lifestyle devoted to luxury as well, in all the slight, hidden ways. Hectares and hectares of land worth more than measly chandeliers made of gold. They need constant attending to, care, resources and whatnot.

You walk ahead and settle for a bench made of stone, no different than the ones you have passed along the way, save for the shade falling over its space. Seeing you sit at one end, Mithrun copies your act, the bench itself is long enough for more than three people in regular wear to fit, and wide enough that he cannot sit all the way back. Seeing you positioning yourself sideways, he pauses and lets his eyes wander over the garden section you are at.

Not too far away from the gates but not too out in the open, a decent distance away from every direction one may need to, it mustn’t be the first time you had to kill time here. He wonders whatever is happening that postponed their meeting is the same thing that has you waiting outside all by yourself.

The sound of something dropped onto the bench draws him out of his thoughts followed by the sounds of rummaging through what one assumes to be a bag. Turning to sit sideways like you did, he looks down to spot a box on the middle of the surface. Recognizing it as the box that came into your possession after you first parted ways, his eyes look up, watching as you have one in a bag, your cast upwards, tongue almost sticking out, painting one of those comical poses.

“Found it!” you exclaim more to yourself in victory and redirect your attention to him, only to find him looking back, seeming surprised to realize he was watching you the whole time. Seeing the clueless expression on your face, as if you have no idea what to do or how to live with your shame now, he tilts his head to the side and giggles at your demeanor. Only a few deep breaths later and with his nonchalant reaction do you return to normal, blink a few times then remember what it was you were looking for this whole time.

“Here! Let me do a reading for you.” you say rather excitedly, and yet again, excitement seems to be a part of your nature from his observations so far. “A… reading?” Mithrun sounds confused, he titled the other way this time.

“Yes!” you say as you begin to shuffle the cards. “It’s a relationship reading technically, but a harmless way to pass time that my friends and i often do.” you explain.

Looking down at the cards in your hands, he first notes how worn out they are, like everything else in this city. Then seeing the reds and blacks, as well as the symbols, he finds it odd it’s a simple deck of playing cards. Fortune tellings and readings done with cards often use special decks like tarot after all. The cards don't glide off of each other like a professional deck should, a side effect to their age, but it doesn’t seem to bother you once a bit, your fingers make it work smoothly. Either you must have done more readings than you let on– which he doesn't find plausible, as you sounded a little inexperienced and unsure, or that the cards were passed down to you from someone else. Or you have been introduced to gambling at extremely young ages, which should be more than alarming in his eyes. 

What too much free time brings to lives, it seems. In the northern cities, you don’t have the time nor the luxury to learn to gamble unless you have a life that doesn’t worry about survival. Partially true for his case, he muses, you are either too busy surviving or busy ruling, in charge of something bigger to not have any time left for such petty things.

Suddenly your hands come to a halt and your gaze finds his. “Alright, so, any other na–” you stop mid sentence. “My apologies, I never got your name.” you say sheepishly, waiting.

“Mithrun,” he says, “of the house of Kerensil.” he watches for any sign of recognition in your eyes but to no avail. At most, you seem to ponder in your head ‘where was this name familiar from’, but you don’t seem to know of them, and he cannot blame you, there are many noble families and people often aren't acquainted with them unless they are from the same vicinity. 

Giving him a nod, you test his name on your lips, dragging the syllables, your gaze cast upwards again, then turn back to look at him in a sudden you seem content, you introduce yourself as well.

You place the deck between the two of you almost in a slam and look at him again. Mithrun’s eyes land on the deck, then to your face and back at the deck again, waiting for your instructions.

“You can cut the deck.” you say and watch as he does carefully, a perfect half. Placing the bottom half on top of the top, you hold and right as you are about to pull a card, you notice the box that’s been sitting there this whole time. 

With the back of your hand, you push the box towards him, earning another confused look from Mithrun. Placing the deck, you undo the ribbon at top and open, revealing its content with a sudden burst of the scent of that busy street. “I had purchased extra to share with and to snack later on.” you say, not sparing the pastries a glance. “You can have some.” you urge him to try one. 

Fingers carefully dipped into the box, Mithrun grabs one of the long pastries and brings it out, ‘an eclair, huh’ he recognizes the small sweet to be. Though unlike the classical ones he has come across, this one contains red cubes of something within the cream, cut up strawberries, he assumes; and biting into the pastry, his assumptions are proved correct as he lets the taste linger on his senses.

Seeing him eat and display a face of pleasure, you seem content as well and begin to count each letter of his name, placing seven cards separately, their backs facing the sun. just as he wonders if this was it, you repeat the action, creating seven piles of cards until the deck ends. When you have no more cards to deal, you grab one of the stacked groups and deal them again, and again and again, until you have no more cards to deal, until there are only two piles left. Just as you did when he cut the deck, you place one on top of the other and put all the cards, backs facing the sun.

Just as he thinks, ‘so, this was it?’ you pull the cards from the deck and place them side by side, repeating the process until there are no cards left in your hands. Unlike your dealing and shuffling, you do this part a little slower, he examines. He can see you pull the cards at the top and bottom. Face concentrated, you gather the pile of cards back into a deck and start over. “Anyone in your life, or a certain someone in your mind?” you ask, eyes finding his.

His mind goes to his beloved at your question, but he chooses to be silent. “My cards are rather old, and I don't like to make mistakes.” you say, not allowing for silence to gather. “So when I pull the two cards, I pull each one separately. My friend pulls both with only two fingers rather smoothly actually, hers is much more pleasant to watch.” so you did notice him observing after all. Pulling and placing another couple of cards, you suddenly stop and place them to the other side, away from the pile. He shouldn’t be guilty of observing though, when you are doing all the work and the other party has no choice but to wait, one either talks or watches, no inbetween. 

He watches as your hand quickly places another double to the side, a few spaces later and another one again. So this is how it is, he thinks, as you gather the deck one last time and repeat the process a third time.

When finished, you spread the remaining cards in a line and quickly count the amount or pairs, tell him to pick the same count of cards. Staring at the cards laid down before him, Mithrun picks each card carefully, reaching them out to you face down, as you take each and place it on top of an existing pair. When he picks the last one, you speak up: “now pick three more.”

He recalls what he heard from the others before regarding cards and readings, dont think too much, pick quickly. His hand goes on its own and he picks the first card; “you” the card taken from his hand and placed down, your voice fills the air. His hand darts to another card, and you take it from him in no time; “the other party.”. There is something in the way you started speaking that gives him an odd feeling. Without looking, he picks his final card and holds it out for you to take, “your future.” you simply say.

Flipping the cards on top of the doubles, you stay silent for a while, looking at each card and muttering something to yourself.

Then with a sudden clap of your hands, you look up. “alright, so!” you begin, waiting just to make sure you have his attention on you, “this is mostly a silly thing we use to pass the time and there is no guarantee the cards say the absolute truth. With some of us, the readings made no sense until the reader and the one being read got to know each other and became friends.” you ramble off, “although, with some people I later grew to be friends with, I got their latest relationship right in the cards so… I suppose it’s a fifty-fifty situation, alright?” your rambling comes to a stop and you offer him a smile. Out of pity or some sort of consolation, he doesn't know. He didn’t watch carefully enough to learn how you opened the cards, so the possibility of giving him all the info you have on this is out the window too.

Flipping the remaining cards, you leave the last three and begin to tap on each couple plus singular piles of cards.

“Hmm… jealousy… trouble… the relationship card is there too but ah… could it be really yours?” you speak more to yourself than to him and Mithrun finds himself leaning in.

He doesn’t believe in such things like fortune telling, everyone decides their own fate, craft their lives with decisions they make. A random made up reading a stranger made for him out of nowhere won’t have an affect on him. But then again, his mind stops for a second, straightening up, he waits, still– he senses no mana in the air so even if you manage to get some things right regarding his life, it will be a lucky guess and no ruse, he thinks. 

For such leisure lives, one would expect people to use magic in their daily lives too, yet from all the minutes he has spent by your side so far, he hasn’t felt a drop of mana— so much so, the lack of it would be found eerie by other elves.

“It is a little vague but that’s what the last three are for.” you begin speaking. “So it goes like this: there is jealousy and yearning, an offer that will come with time and a relationship that has jealousy on it. There is trouble as well, with time– assuming the relationship is yours, a third person might cause trouble; but if it is not, then… well,” you pause, a sad look on your face, “I am sorry, I hope whatever happens works in your favor.” you say. As he begins connecting what you have said with his life, doing his best to keep his brother’s image away from his mind, you flip the three cards in order.

“Oh…” you sound upset, and a little surprised. So it is the latter, he gathers.

“I was hoping maybe the ‘offer’ card would come second here but i suppose not.” you say and show him the cards.

“You, jealousy; the other party, agape; and the future…” your brows furrow, “time.” 

Silence takes over the two of you for a while. Just the sound of leaves rustling with the breeze, some cicadas, and the birds in the distance communicating.

“Welp! As I said, sometimes when it’s a stranger, the reading itself makes no sense.” you speak up suddenly, bringing a hand to your hair, seeming apologetic. 

Gathering the cards together in one go, you collect them into a deck again and put away, avoiding Mithrun the whole time. Placed in their case and out of sight the traitorous cards are, your hand makes way for one of the pastries, carefully placing it between your fingers so as to not get any of the chocolate coating touching your skin. You bite into the small treat intently, careful not to have the cream filling overflowing.

“I hear footsteps, they must be finished inside.” you say as you take your last bite and nudge the box to him to take another one. Seeing as your offer will not end until he complies, he grabs another eclair and slowly munches on the pastry as you close the box and gather your belongings, preparing to take off.

“Do you remember the way back?” you ask, standing above him. When he replies with a nod, you let out a sigh. “Alright then, I will be taking my leave. It was my pleasure meeting you and making your acquaintance for the day!” and with it, you turn on your heels and walk just as you came, still fast and rhythmic; as if walking at a slower speed is physically impossible for you. With the eclair still in his hand, Mithrun sits a little longer, letting the breeze carry away all the thoughts your cards have brought him. Looking at you go, you never once turn back, odd, he thinks, you almost seemed the type to turn one last time and wave a hand.

[ireadwithmyears]

Looking Out for You: Part 3

Pairing: Commander Fox/fem reader

Part 1 | Part 2 |Visually impaired reader masterlist

Tagging: @tazmbc1

Word count: 4.7 K

Tags/warnings: visually impaired reader, Angst, confrontation, disability based discrimination/ableism, mild hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, Fox (and reader for that matter actually) are both bad at feelings

Summary: When things start showing signs of getting confrontational when you’re just trying to get a ride home from work, Fox, as is seeming to become routine, saves the day. Now if only you could save yourself from falling even harder for the man who you’re certain, without even having to ask, does not feel the same way about you, things would be just perfect.

Authors note: Surprised I got this up before the new year? Yeah, me too. Planning to have the final installment of this up sometime in January, though with me, you really never know what’s going to happen until it does 🤣 I’m not good at scheduling when it comes to writing. Things are only going to happen when they’re ready to. But without further ado, I hope you enjoy this one, and I’m wishing everyone a happy new year🎊

The third time it happens, Fox is imbued with a vengeful, murderous rage.

Is that an exaggeration? Only slightly. But honestly, it doesn’t take much to set him off these days, and this, he thinks—striding through the twists and turns of the Senate Building’s hallways with tightly clenched fists and a contemptuous glare on his face that he hadn’t even bothered to conceal with his helmet before storming out of his office—has certainly done it, no question

*

It had all started a couple of weeks ago, a few mornings after you and Fox had gone on your breakfast date. No—he adamantly refuses to call it a date. But regardless, after that, several events had occurred in quick and notable succession.

The first, the morning after you had returned to the Senate Building after you had been given a day off in compensation for your working overtime the night prior, you arrived to find a new and fully operational orientation and mobility droid, photoreceptors blinking and waiting for you outside.

Fox, after doing some research, found that they were a very useful and highly sought-after navigational tool for the blind in the workplace, assisting with guidance, orientation through different spaces, and generally aiding by describing visual markers, signage, inaccessibly formatted documents and other things you might encounter.

He had come to find, sifting through Senate-issued requisition forms, that you had been approved to obtain one, fully covered, weeks ago. He made some calls, pulled some strings, and with some degree of satisfaction boosted you to the top of the waitlist and made sure that the droid had been fully set up and functional by the time you returned to work.

Two days later, the first box of baked goods mysteriously appeared outside his office door.

Fox, ever the skeptic, had been wary and had even gone so far as to take the first box of deliciously powdered donuts to one of his medics for screening just to make sure it wasn’t some Separatist trick filled with poison. 

That was proven to not be the case, and his brothers, laughing at him for being so paranoid, had swiped the remaining donuts, converging around the box like a swarming hive of bees eager to taste the first drops of a flower's nectar, eating whatever they could reach.

Fox had glared at them and pretended to be annoyed at his loss, but then the food kept coming. 

Baked goods were sent down to HQ or his office anonymously every couple of days, and if he had been suspicious before—considering he had only just spoken to you about how little exposure clones actually had to food—exiting his office to find your visual interpreting assistant droid, Via, resolutely marching down the hallway with a tin of Coruscant Guard-red frosted cupcakes held in her metallic arms with the logo of the small coffee shop he had taken you to just over a week ago made the pieces come together with a satisfying click in his mind.

“Via,” he had called out, voice colored with fresh surprise and bafflement. “What are you doing?”

“I am delivering a parcel on behalf of my mistress,” she had stated with that tone Fox privately thought droids always used when they believed a human was asking a stupid and redundant question. “As you are the benefactor, I shall relieve myself of it and hand it directly to you.”

He had taken it, utterly lost for words and filled with a mix of confusion and strange, totally foreign delight knowing that you had been the one delivering these gifts.

It was thoughtful, he had mused. Kind. And he really should insist that you put an end to it, because it was unnecessary. But, stomach growling as he looked down at the clear-plastic topped box and turned back to his office to set it down, he found that he wasn’t in too much of a hurry to do so.

*

Come on, Via, hurry up.

The singular thought chases around in circles in your head, anxiety increasing with every tap of your foot against the pavement-covered ground. 

As a rule, and on the recommendation of a certain clone commander, you weren’t in the habit of waiting outside the Senate Building on your own anymore, which is why the droid had shown up at precisely the right time. Rumors were abound that the Senate abductions were still occurring, and even though the Guard was closing in on a specific lead, the suspect was still at large. The situation was made worse with the sun beginning to set earlier, leaving you in almost complete darkness by the time you started making your way home most nights.

But then, things like this would happen, and it made you all the more grateful for the droid’s unexpected but welcome company at the end of the day.

You had explained on her first night waiting with you to catch your ride home from work that sometimes situations like this would arise. 

“And how am I to assist if things were to, as you say, ‘get ugly’?” she had asked, photoreceptors blinking as she looked at you.

“Nothing you can do, I think,” you had shrugged, and when that response had only elicited the mechanical equivalent of a dissatisfied sound from the droid, you had conceded. “I suppose you could get the nearest member of the Coruscant Guard to intercede,” you said, thoughtfully biting your lip. “An uncooperative driver might be more inclined to listen if it’s coming from one of them, though I would prefer to try and handle it on my own first. After a moment’s pause and almost as an afterthought, you had added, “Preferably, get Commander Fox.”

You couldn’t explain why, other than you just trusted him above all others to make sure that if you were ever in a tight spot like this, you got out of it without trouble.

“Excellent,” Via had chirped, straightening with a now satisfied air. “Then that is what I shall do. Though let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Well, a few days later, it did. You found yourself frantically depending on the droid that had, out of nowhere, arrived outside Senator Organa’s office, clearly denoted as being meant specifically for you.

She had her uses, you had to admit. Outside of the usual—getting you to where you needed to go inside the often tricky-to-navigate Senate Building—she could also run errands for you, and that, you had found, was very useful—even if it was for a more personal nature than had originally been intended.

Via had, with the help of your descriptions and admittedly blurred memory from your sleepless night, helped you locate the coffee shop Fox had taken you to, and if outside of work hours, you had required her assistance to help read the menu and place large orders of baked goods to be shipped down to his office or Coruscant Guard HQ…well, no one had said anything against it, and it made you happy knowing that Fox and hopefully some of his brothers would be able to eat food that they would also be able to enjoy, an apparent luxury that they had never been afforded, to your disgust, by their seemingly cutthroat creators.

You had also taken advantage of her translating abilities, which became especially helpful during Senate meetings and also when you had asked her what the kriff “cyar’ika” meant. Your ears turned pink every time you thought about it, and your lips couldn’t resist curling upward into a small, endeared smile whenever the commander came to mind after that.

At this moment though, you certainly weren’t endeared. 

“Who are you to tell me my rights as a driver?” 

The furious shout rings through the quiet parking lot and you swallow, heart picking up in speed as you reach down to run your fingers through Mandalore’s soft fur at the top of her head. She nuzzles into your hand, well practiced in your number-one technique to self-soothe and ground yourself by now. You close your eyes, focusing on the rhythm of your pets, the way her fur feels beneath your fingertips, and find that for once, it’s not helping.

Especially not when the driver—apparently sparked into a rage at your audacity in telling him that it was against planetary law to deny service to beings purely because they were accompanied by a service animal—opens the drive’rs seat door, the click of his seat belt unbuckling unmistakable and ringing in your ears as he gets out of his speeder.

Oh, boy, you think, tentatively taking a step back as he steps into your field of vision on the sidewalk. This has never happened to you before.

“Look,” you manage to get out through a panicked swallow, the rhythm of your hand smoothing against Mandalore’s head too fast, too uneven. “I am simply stating that there are laws in place. If I were to take this to court—”

“You’d what, take away my license?” He’s menacing as he takes another step forward, and you physically recoil at the smell of stale caf that you catch on his breath as he invades your space. “I bet you think you’re untouchable because you kiss Organa’s ass, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

He reaches out, you think maybe to grab the badge that denotes your name and position within the Senate, but you’re stepping, no, stumbling backward, Mandalore jumping to her feet and shoving her way in front of you as her ears perk upward in consternation, intuitively sensing your growing unease.

She’s trained to be well-behaved, to remain calm and unaffected in even the most chaotic situations, yet right now she senses a clear threat, and you don’t scold her for acting on it. Hell, your hands are shaking so hard that you can barely keep a grip on her leash, let alone reach for her harness.

And then the double doors of the Senate Building come swishing open behind you and a voice—steady, sure, and with the cutting edge of a deadly knife—fills you with such a sharp, distinct sense of relief that it nearly brings you to your knees. 

*

“Do we have a problem here?”

It’s strange and distinctly unsettling for Fox to catch a glimpse of Mandalore giving voice to his internal rage with her expression alone. But he realizes as he steps out from the shadows that he’s only ever seen her happy and calm, a far cry from the tense, highly alert, and looking like she’s about to pounce canine that stands in front of you right now.

He understands though. He understands her all too well. If Via’s report on the rapidly escalating situation she had briefed him on as they speed walked hadn’t been enough, than this—hearing the tail end of the confrontation and seeing that the driver had looked to be about to lunge for you—well, sufficed  to say his blood is boiling, and his heart is beating loudly in his ears.

Fox takes a breath, flexes his fingers, and wills himself to calm down before he speaks again. When he calls your name, it’s still gruff, but softer, wanting only gentle words to be directed your way. He’s relieved to see that despite your already tense shoulders and your shaking hand clutching at Mandalore’s leash, you don’t flinch when he addresses you—a small but resounding victory in his mind.

“Stay right there,” Fox murmurs, his voice steady, coaxing, and soft, making it all the more  obvious when he directs it away from you. When he speaks to the man that still looms menacingly over you, his words are anything but soft.

“You,” Fox barks, pleased to watch the man cringe at the hint of a snarl in his voice. “You’re going to take five large steps away from her right now.”

Before the driver can get any foolhardy ideas of turning tail and diving back into his speeder, Fox allows his hand to drift to his hip, though he’s not reaching to draw. His fingers tap against the holster, not even having to lift it or look down as they adeptly prime the weapon to stun.

There is an audible swallow before the man slowly complies, taking the required amount of steps away from you. Fox nods, satisfied as he clears the distance, immediately putting himself between you and the driver, now allowing the man to know what it feels like to have someone much bigger looming menacingly above him as he glares.

“Now,” his next words are quiet, calm…deadly, “you’re going to get back into your speeder, and you’re going to do exactly as your job has directed you and bring this lady, accompanied by her service dog, to her place of residence.”

He senses the objection coming, and he growls lowly, reaching to grasp at the man’s collar, giving a small tug to enunciate his next words when he speaks them.

“And perhaps,” he says, his words biting in the chilled air, “if you do your task satisfactorily, I will consider having the suspension I’m going to place on your license as soon as you’ve dropped her off reinstated after a week instead of a month as I had originally intended.”

“A month?” the man practically squeaks. “That’s preposterous—”

“And did you really think she was joking about the 5,000-credit fine for service animal access denial?” Fox asks, cutting him off. “I’m sure I could pull some strings and still work that in on top of the suspension if you’d like.”

“Technically, the fine could be doubled to 10,000,” Via pipes up, her mechanical footsteps coming to a stop as she stands beside Fox. “I have recorded evidence that you attempted to physically engage with my mistress without her expressed consent.”

Fox has to restrain the impulse to give the droid a full-out grin as the driver, twitchy and squirming as he already is, falls silent, biting the inside of his cheek before letting out a breath and mutely nodding his head, and as Fox releases the grip he has on his collar, he scurries back into his speeder, opening the back passenger door with a remote as he does.

Is he supposed to use his rank as a Marshal Commander of the Coruscant guard to deliver personal vendettas like this? No, but he’s certainly already exploited his position to do much more ambiguous and morally questionable things, and one lone speeder driver attempting to rat him out for this one will, in all likelihood, fall on deaf ears. So, weighing the odds, he’s satisfied and feeling just pissed off and petty enough that he’s willing to take the risk.

“Fox,” your voice escapes you in a breath as you move forward, catching his arm and looking up at him with wide eyes.

“It’s all sorted,” Fox says, trying to sound reassuring as he places a hand lightly over yours. “He’ll get you home with no trouble.”

“But, I…” despite your inability to articulate, he sees it. A single glance you throw towards the speeder displays the anxiety and fear still very real and present within your eyes, and Fox understands, the pieces clicking together in his mind like a puzzle.

Fox can tell just by watching the man through his window—fumbling with his keys and sending nervous glances over his shoulder, as if he’s concerned that Fox might change his mind and instead demand him to surrender his license on the spot—that he’s eliminated the threat. What Fox hasn’t done though, and what he should be wholly focussed on right now, is eliminating your fear.

“You don’t feel safe with him,” he states, watching as you nod your head.

“No,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t.”

Of course, you don’t. Fox internally kicks himself. Why would you even under normal circumstances feel safe in a speeder with a man you’ve never met before, let alone one who’s angered and personally confronted and threatened you within the span of several minutes. And that’s only what Fox had witnessed.

Right, he thinks. Time to fix that. 

Fox gives the hand that’s still curled around his bicep a small squeeze, feeling how unwilling your fingers seem to be to let go, and as he looks up, watching the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, an idea sparks.

“Bet you thought you were going to drive away from here and get rid of me,” Fox mutters darkly, startling the driver as he ducks inside the back of the speeder, shifting to the other side of the seat. “Not a chance.”

“Come on, Cyar’ika,” he calls to you, voice warm as he invitingly pats the available row of seats at his side. “Let’s get the two of you home.”

*

“Mandy.”

Your voice is a soft, quiet call within the silence, and even the sound of it makes you startle slightly and flinch, eyes uncertainly flicking towards the front of the speeder. You desire to make yourself small and inconsequential, as inconspicuous to the unwilling and already annoyed driver as you possibly can.

Angry people are unpredictable, and you have no desire to be in his targeting range. But you also, despite the fact that there is a fully trained and armed clone commander sitting at your side, need comfort. You need the reassurance that you’re not alone and that you’re safe, and sometimes only your guide dog can do that, making the nights feel less dark and the paths you wander never lonely because she’s there leading you through them and standing at your side, as constant as the air that you’re breathing.

When her head pops up from where she’s been lying down at your feet, eyes shining through the evening’s encroaching darkness, you smile, though it’s strained, and reach down to stroke one of her long, soft ears. 

“Hey, girl,” you whisper, leaning forward to bump your forehead against hers. The proximity is familiar, the feeling of her fur imprinted on your memory like the back of your own hand. “You’re so good.”

“You call her Mandy?” Fox asks, his voice low and amused at your side as he watches you.

“Sometimes,” you say, straightening as you continue to pet her fondly. “It’s one of her many nicknames.”

There’s a beat of silence where neither of you speak, looking at each other as the traffic blurs by outside the windows. 

“Do you have any?” you ask, suddenly seizing on the opportunity for conversation, craving any kind of distraction from this mess. “Nicknames, I mean.”

“Not really,” he responds, shaking his head before pausing and glancing down, his cheeks warming with a slightly embarrassed heat. “Well, sometimes my brothers call me ‘Fox’ika,’ just to piss me off.”

“What does it mean?” you ask, privately suspecting that it’s another term in Mando��a, but not wanting to reveal to him that you knew of his prior slip up.

Right now, what he had called you can exist in your mind, and you can smile and blush about it all you want. But if you said anything, if you let him know that he had given voice to the feelings you were becoming more and more aware were stirring within you for the commander, it would become real, and with reality comes the knowledge that it was probably nothing more than accidental.

You’re not ready to let that go, not just yet. The fantasy that he could think of you in that way, that he could want you in that way is just too good, too enchanting—enough to give you butterflies every time you think of that one, simple term of endearment that means everything to you but probably means absolutely nothing to him—to let go of just yet. So you don’t.

“Adding ‘-ika’ to a word makes it more diminutive,” Fox explains, oblivious to your inner mess of conflicting thoughts and feelings. “Little. It would be like calling me ‘Little Fox,’ you know?”

“That is kind of cute,” you can’t help but admit, your smile cheeky as you look up at him.

You’re imagining this tall, well-built, and highly competent clone commander as nothing more than an adorable, little fox looking up at you with wide eyes, and you can’t help but grin.

“Oh, please,” Fox groans, placing a hand on his heart. “Your betrayal has wounded me grievously.”

His voice is so stoic, so serious and deadpan that you can’t help but snort, a small giggle slipping past your lips before you can stop it. Fox pokes you in the side, which makes you instinctively slap his hand away as you begin to laugh more, until there’s a small, but audible huff of irritation from the driver's seat of the speeder. You stop, all of your previous safety and feelings of starting to be at ease retreating in an instant, your previous anxiety and discomfort snapping back like an elastic band being pulled to its limits and rebounding.

Fox notices your sudden stillness, your startling and abrupt retreat back within yourself. He frowns, and before you know it, your hands are intertwined with his. Your eyes widen. You’re taken off-guard for an instant because while the warmth of his hands and their steady, reassuring weight against yours has become familiar to you, the barrier of gloves in between is gone, and the palms that cradle yours are soft, warm, and grounding.

He lifts one of yours, guiding it until the palm is flipped face down, lightly resting against Mandalore’s warm, soft forehead.

“She’s here,” he states, lightly stroking the back of your fingers before letting go, leaving your hand settled against the guide dog’s soft fur.

The warmth of his touch completely surrounds and envelops your hand as he cradles it, taking the one remaining between both of his and guiding it to rest against his thigh, making no move to push you off or retreat as he looks down at you.  

“I’m here,” he says, his voice a low, soothing rumble that’s just above a whisper in the darkness.

He presses your hand against his, and you feel the rough calluses built up from years of handling blasters and weapons as his fingertips trace against your knuckles. 

“You’re almost home, Cyar. Just two more minutes,” he murmurs, glancing down at his comm as it tracks your progress on a map. “And me and Mandy aren’t going anywhere in the meantime.”

You swallow, shifting closer to him and nodding your head. You should be relieved, should be happy that you’re almost home and you can finally get away from this speeder that smells of stale cigars and dirty old caf cups and from the driver who has done nothing but make you feel uncomfortable and unsafe this whole time.

But all you can think as you look up at Fox and continue holding onto his hands, is consequences be damned. You really just want to lean forward, press your lips against his, and kiss him until the two of you are breathless right now.

*

“Are you good from here?”

You give Fox a small nod of your head, but make no move to extricate your arm from where it’s nestled in the crook of his elbow. Truthfully, you had been good some distance ago, as soon as the speeder had pulled up in front of your house. You knew where you were going, but he had still offered out his arm and guided you down the pathway, up the steps, and straight to your door with such uncharacteristically gentle attentiveness that you found yourself unable to refuse him, and since your hand is still shaking and you’re still throwing glances over your shoulder as the speeder drives off, so what if you’re enjoying someone fussing over you just a little? Right now, you’ll take it.

“You know, we will sort this out,” Fox says, voice quieter as he glances down at the hand still looped through his arm, sensing your hesitation. “This won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it.”

In all honesty, Fox is fully preparing himself to march straight up to Senator Organa’s office, because he knows that out of most of the fools who work in the Senate Building, he will at least respectfully listen and take the security concerns towards his lower staff members seriously when Fox informs him of them. If nothing else—if your right to having consistent, accommodating transportation to and from work isn’t enough—then surely the knowledge that the Guard still hasn’t managed to catch the culprit behind the abductions surrounding his committee and the fact that you have to travel in unregulated and unsecure transports will be.

“I know,” you say, looking up at him through your eyelashes. Reluctantly, you let your hand fall away from where it’s been holding onto his arm, turning to unlock your door. “Thanks for getting me home. I don’t think I would’ve felt safe without having you there.”

The door opens, and you raise one foot to step through the threshold. Then, possessed by some reckless, unthinking urge, you turn around, clear the distance between the two of you in several quick, small steps, rise up onto your tiptoes. and with one of your hands holding onto his shoulder for leverage, press your lips against his in a soft, chaste kiss.

Fox’s brain short circuits. One minute, he’s thinking about speaking to Senator Organa and potential breaches in security, and the next all of his thoughts are swept away and instantly consumed by you, the hand that holds onto his armored shoulder feeling so light and inconsequential, and yet even through the plastoid, the touch is present and poignant, burning through his skin to the bones that lie beneath.

When your lips meet his, he feels the way in which they part, making way for a soft exhalation of breath that brushes against his own skin and his eyes widen, surprised and all at once wanting. He lifts a hand, undecided between whether he wants to tug you closer by one of your hips so he can indulge himself in knowing what it feels like to have you pressed up against him, or to lightly and with a gentleness he didn’t know he wanted to have, lift his hand to brush his fingers against the soft cheek unmarred by scars as his is and hold it within the gentle press of his palm as he cradles the side of your face, keeping your lips pressed against his exactly where he wants you, where he needs you, with a sudden fervor and to the very core of his being.

Fox isn’t given the chance to do either of those things. 

Mandalore, evidently impatient to get inside so she can finally be relieved of her work duties, gives an exasperated shake, jingling the metal in both her leash and harness as she waits by the door for you to return. You jump back, looking for all the world like you have just been caught doing something completely inexcusable. Fox doesn’t understand the twisting, sinking feeling in his chest when he catches sight of your expression, and you don’t give him much time to investigate it further.

“I…forgive me, Commander.”

Your words come out in a barely there whisper, and before he can respond—before he can even think about the over half-a-dozen responses in his head, ranging from a casual “nothing to forgive,” to a “please, do it again,” to just taking you by your fidgeting hands, spinning you so that you’re pinned against the wall and pressing his lips against yours until you’ve forgotten all about your previous apologies—you’re turning and scurrying away, eyes widened as if you’re a frightened tooka, and retreat back into the safety of your house, the tap of Mandalore’s paws click-clacking against the hardwood floor following after you, seeming to echo the accompanying silence, the abrupt and startling standstill that takes place in Fox’s mind as soon as you’ve disappeared behind the door.

Fox stares, eyes equally wide, at the panelled wood that now stands between the two of you, his breath caught in his throat. His lips are still parted, still eager, and still waiting to be given another kiss that he now knows is not coming.

It takes him a long, long time to summon the energy, the willpower, to turn and step away from your door and slowly descend the three porch steps.

Fox doesn’t know how he manages it, but, coward that he is, he walks away, hating himself more and more with every step that he takes as he leaves you behind.

•Thank You to @strangergraphics-archive for these adorable puppy dividers

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Sleepless - A "Kissing You" Drabble

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader Warnings: I'm gonna go with M. There's brief mention of spice here, but nothing exceptionally graphic. Still, it's mentioned. Word Count: 1279 Prompt #33: Soft kisses while cuddling in bed. a/n: For Frankie's Wife. I hope you feel better soon. <3

Masterlist | Previous Drabble | Next Drabble

You can't sleep.

It's not that you haven't tried to sleep, because you have. You strategically put your phone on the other side of the room hours ago, sprayed your pillow with a lavender mist that was supposed to help you relax, made a cup of chamomile tea, and settled into your bed with a book to wind down for the evening. You did everything you were supposed to do, and yet hours later you're still tossing and turning beneath the down comforter that simultaneously leaves you too hot and too cold at the same time. With a huff, you turn once more to glance at the clock beside your bed, the only light you've allowed to permeate your space reading 1:58 a.m.

Five hours. 300 fucking minutes spent naming countries that start with each letter of the alphabet and counting metaphorical sheep in a last-ditch effort to get some rest.

At this point though you know there's no reason to continue frustrating yourself by staring at the dark depths of the ceiling above your head, so you flip on the TV, squinting as the light blinds you momentarily. It doesn't take you long to scroll through the channels, clicking the button repeatedly until you pass something familiar and hit the back button.

Minutes later you've retrieved your phone, Frankie's number dialed and the line ringing.

"Cariño?" Frankie questions, his voice rough. It cracks slightly as he continues, "are you okay?"

The guilt hits you instantly, the realization that normal people are actually asleep at two in the morning settling in and you quickly backtrack. "Shit, sorry. You were sleeping."

He clears his throat on the other end of the line, "No, no. It's fine. What's wrong?"

You're suddenly silent, and you can hear the quiet rustle of his bedsheets as he shifts his position. He likes to sleep on his stomach, usually draped over your torso with his face pressed into the valley between your breasts, but you'd be willing to be that he's on his back now, raking a hand through his mess of hair in an attempt to wake up for your benefit.

"I can't sleep," you finally blurt out, "and I turned on the TV and When Harry Met Sally is on and it just made me think of you and..."

"Hey, slow down for a second," he laughs, the sound of his voice ringing in your ear and immediately soothing you in a way the chamomile never can. There's a beat of silence and then suddenly you hear the soft hum of his own TV turning on. "What channel?"

A smile creeps across your face as you tell him, Meg Ryan's voice echoing through the phone and matching the way she's talking about Casablanca on your own screen. "You're not actually watching it, are you?"

"Figured it was better than that dream I had again where I'm making love and the Olympic judges are watching. I'd nailed the..."

"Frankie shut up," you giggle as he continues to repeat the line he's had memorized since the first time you made him watch the film. He has you in a laughing fit in seconds, restarting the line over in time with the movie when the scene plays soon after. You discuss your hunt for the perfect white sweater, talk about how Billy Crystal looks superior with a beard, and debate the legitimacy of how women actually sound, which mostly turns into Frankie reminding you about the way he made you scream last weekend when he had you pressed against the kitchen counter.

By the time New Year's Eve rolls around at the end of the movie, he's quoting line for line again, except he replaces each of Harry's examples with what he loves about you. That he loves how 80 degrees is too warm for you, and that you always check the menu and know what you're ordering eight hours before arriving at the restaurant. You're faintly aware of him reminding you about the way your eyes crinkle at the edges when he makes you smile and how he loves that you smell like lavender, even though you actually hate the scent and just won't admit it. When the channel starts to roll into Sleepless in Seattle, your eyes have drifted shut, letting the sound of your boyfriend narrating the movie lull you to sleep.

When you wake hours later, you're blinded by the sunlight shining through the curtains and directly onto your face, heating your skin. Your hazy mind struggles to remember if you added your weighted blanket to your bed the night before, only when you shift to block the sun you realize that you most definitely did not.

"Frankie?"

He groans softly, nestling his face further into the soft fabric of your t-shirt. "Still asleep," he mumbles, "someone kept me up all night."

You run your fingers through his hair, pushing the unruly curls back from his forehead. "I don't seem to remember you being in my bed when I fell asleep."

His gaze is warm when he shifts to rest his chin on your chest. "You fell asleep on me," he explains, "and then I couldn't sleep."

It's impossible not to laugh. "That still doesn't explain how you ended up in my bed, Francisco."

Frankie smirks as he presses kiss after kiss along your body until he's rolling on his back at your side, pulling you against him and guiding your lips to his gently. You sigh as you melt into him, lazily matching his rhythm.

"You still haven't answered my question," you remind him, your lips still brushing against his. He draws a smile to your face as he guides you back in, his hand leading your motions as he kisses you again.

"Maybe I just needed to be with you to fall back asleep," he explains once you've tucked your head into the crook of his neck. "Or maybe..." he continues slowly, his lips tracing along your forehead as he speaks, "maybe when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

It takes a moment, your mind turning his words over and over in his head until you start to realize that maybe he isn't just quoting Billy Crystal anymore. "Frankie?"

He hums, but you know he's grinning before you even pull back to see his expression. "Yes, love?"

It feels like your heart is going to pound out of your chest as you will yourself to ask the next question. "Are you just quoting the movie again?"

Your boyfriend seems to consider this for a moment before he shifts again, reaching over to the table on the side of the bed he's claimed as his own. You wait, moving to sit with your legs crossed as you watch him retrieve something from the drawer. He turns back to you, "I was going to do this differently, but..."

He doesn't get a chance to finish the sentence because you're on him immediately, hands cupping his cheeks and holding him as close as possible as you seal your lips to his. "Yes," you whisper, just a breath away when you both come up for air.

"I haven't even asked yet," Frankie laughs.

"Doesn't matter," you return, because it's the easiest answer you've ever given even without the question to precede it. "You don't need to ask me if I want to spend the rest of my life with you because you know you make it impossible to hate you. Which means," you kiss him again, "the answer will always be yes."

Masterlist | Previous Drabble | Next Drabble

[yanderes-galore]

yandere zombie John hcs?

Here's icky zombie man, hope you love him because he loves you.

Yandere! Zombie! John Marston Concept

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Slight gore/blood, Possessive/Protective behavior, Murder, Forced companionship/relationship.

Honestly, this could go one of two ways.

You knew John back in RDR2 and met him again during this outbreak, unfortunately he's infected.

That, or, you have never met this man in your life and now you have a zombie following you around.

What's even worse is the fact John isn't entirely mute as a zombie.

Most of the others have the benefit of being mute when they turn.

John? Nah, with him you get what sounds like the equivalent to the screams of the damned.

At least... That's according to his 'Undead Cowboy' outfit.

John failed to survive this outbreak and now he's left to shamble through the west with seemingly no direction.

It could be interesting that he found you and recognized you as an old member of the gang...

That or he just found a human he could get attached to, following them around like some lost puppy.

It doesn't matter how you meet him, you nearly have a heart attack regardless.

I like to think you're helping out a settlement or looting some abandoned coach... Only to turn and see John staring you down with glazed over eyes... pardon, eye.

John's lost an eye, his lips have rotted away, and he has a horrid green complexion to his skin.

His clothes are tattered and bloody... yet he seems oddly docile.

Knowing you can't afford to waste bullets or fire on a zombie such as him, you keep your eye on him and ignore him.

Hopefully he just wanders off... even he just seems to stare at you.

I like to think John is partially blind, too.

His sight is rotting away so he can't entirely see you.

But he does know you're there.

You only ever run when he makes an attempt to come closer, making a raspy yet loud noise as if trying to call to you.

It's then, regardless of if he's an old friend or not, you ditch.

You leave so fast when John tries to shamble after you.

Unfortunately, this is not the first time you see John.

You see John plenty after this, actually.

While his face is mostly rotted, it appears John can still smell you to a degree.

It's small but... he can sense you.

The good news for you is he's rather blind and can't smell all that much.

If you really wanted to... you could probably keep him around as a pet in a way?

You will eventually learn he's docile only towards you and probably use it to your advantage.

Originally you think he's just docile because he's weakened.

Although... It appears your new zombie companion has other motives.

John seems to listen when you talk to him.

Although when he starts trying to talk to you... You quickly shush him.

He's so loud and it's hard to understand him.

You're thankful you have gloves... whenever John tries to talk to you just, hold his jaw closed.

Which then leads to John making upset grumbles.

John isn't as affectionate as zombies like Sean.

He mostly respects your space and just likes to stumble around you.

Before you took him as a companion, John would stand at a distance from wherever you're staying.

He's outside abandoned cabin windows, just beyond your tent...

The weirdest thing is you've noticed he can use firearms... somewhat.

While John can indeed pounce and bite like other undead creatures...

One time you were in danger, disarmed in an attack.

Then John shot one of your handguns at a zombie, before gesturing for you to light it on fire.

It... surprises you that he's retained basic survival skills.

He isn't entirely a feral beast.

This event may actually be the one that makes you keep him.

Much to his pleasure.

John is actually aware of being dead.

This is no doubt one of the reasons he isn't affectionate towards his obsession.

He is completely aware that you'd find that weird.

Especially since he keeps gooping everywhere....

John retains quite a bit of humanity as a zombie.

He doesn't particularly like indulging in human meat.

When you offer him the corpses of bandits, part of him yearns for it...

Although he ends up just stealing animal meat or something.

He... doesn't want to scare you.

In a strange way John cares for you and despises the idea of harming you.

He's less of a guard dog and more of a bodyguard since he lacks a feral demeanor.

Eventually you can make out basic responses in his rotting voice.

Things like 'Hi', 'Thanks', 'Yes', 'No'...

All very basic communication but it's something.

One time you could even make out a 'Sorry...' when he spooked you.

Many find it strange and odd you managed to tame a zombie.

John makes no effort to attack you, following you the best he can.

It's not like you need a lead or anything.

The one issue is horses...

You have to find a wagon or something to put on your horse in order to have John stick with you.

John's only ever hostile towards threats.

Other zombies, violent humans...

Survivors just trying to survive are spared by John.

You often look away when John attacks people....

He doesn't like eating people... but manages it because sometimes he has to.

You try desperately to ignore the sickening tearing and squelching noises made... along with the screaming....

John's mostly protective, yet he can be possessive too.

He hovers around you, 'watches' your every move...

He never wants to leave you.

You could easily get rid of him, yes.

But he's also your best weapon in this environment.

Having a clingy zombie is a small price to pay for safety, right?

For the most part, John is just overly protective.

He's possessive if people get too close.

Although... let's be honest... who's getting close to the person with the zombie following you around?

John's just about your only companion...

He'll be yours until you die... Even then, he'll still have you for as long as your body's still functioning after death.

[larathia]

Dragon Prince thoughts - no really, Magic = Love

You hear the phrase within the series now and again - usually repeated in the same platitudinous way you'd hear "friendship is magic" on My Little Pony episodes. It's treated as a kind of optimistic affirmation, not something literally real.

But I think the real secret to the magic in this setting is it is, in fact, actually literally the case that Magic and Love are very deeply intertwined, and I think that's the secret of Dark Magic too. Because, as Pratchett once observed, hate and love are very nearly the same thing, emotionally. It's the same focus, the same passion, just hate has its back turned.

I think, too, that the majority of people in the setting therefore have it backwards. It's not that "humans have no magic". Everything that lives has the potential for magic. It's that humans have traded an 'in' on one type of magic for being generally capable of doing any and ALL types of magic, as a species.

...Oh...I've probably got to explain this. Lemme put a cut here before I go breaking people's dashes.

Mmmk. Let me take this in ...more or less order.

Humans aren't WITHOUT magic - they're highly GIFTED at magic.

That's nonsensical on the face of it, but really think about it in a big-picture way. Elves, all the elves, are born with one kind of magic. They don't get to choose it. It defines their culture, their tribe, their worldview. Regardless of whether an individual elf is suited to any of that.

Consider, as a really quick and obvious example, Rayla. Rayla the moon elf, who almost never uses illusions, who's typically highly honest and straightforward, an assassin who really sucks at being an assassin. Yes, she has access to Moon arcana, but not much, and she's not suited to it. The moon elves that are most connected to their arcana ARE secretive, prone to obfuscation, mystery, subterfuge. Personality meshing with the arcana they're born to, creating a powerful mage.

Consider the sun elf Karim, stated in canon to be the strongest sunfire mage bar none. He's direct. Bold. Strong physically and mentally. Ambitious, and unbending. These are all traits of the Sun arcana, and he shares them to an actually detrimental degree - but it makes him one hell of a sunfire mage. Who he is meshes with the arcana he's born with.

Consider, too, that every elf being born connected to an Arcana means every elf - however weakly - is directly bound to some aspect of the natural world, meaning there's a background drive to preserve and protect that aspect. They care, and caring is sort of like Stage 1 Love.

Now...let's consider how they almost HAVE to view humans. Pitiful, short-lived creatures, born without any connection to the arcana. How do you teach a blind man about colors? How do you explain sounds to the deaf? Elves are at a disadvantage trying to teach humans about magic because 1) any given elf knows only one arcana, and 2) they've had it their whole lives. Teaching someone how to sense it is a huge hurdle, and that's just the teacher. Tack on that every human's different and no wonder elves think teaching a human magic would take most of a human's lifespan just for basic spells.

Elves think of humans as...well, magically handicapped. Which makes humans angry and envious and...hateful. And because a lot of humans are approaching elves to learn magic because magic has power, they're...well. Firstly, not in the right mindset even at the start, and secondly, it's going to make the consumptive, destructive aspect of Dark magic look that much more attractive because fuck you, elves, fuck you.

The history of human magecraft is that of power-seeking. Of course it went wrong. But it didn't have to.

Look at Callum. He's done Dark magic, now and then, but never really took to it. To him, magic is beautiful. Creative. Wonderful. He's not in it for the power. He's in it because he loves it (LOVE) and because he wants to help his friends (CARE). He's not in this for glory or might, and even when he gets authority and title he has no problem handing both of them back. His most useful power, flight, was gained while trying to save someone else's life. Most of his magic is like that; something he works out when he needs to help someone else. It's very rare for him to play the badass, and when he does it's against another mage...and again, to save his companions.

He learns magic out of love. He practices it out of love. He mastered the Air arcana first, probably because it's very liberating and he's always kind of been bound, his whole life, to the royal family and its duty. But he can dip into other arcana when he needs to - something that stuns everyone else - because he's not treating it like Power to be grabbed. He tries his best to understand the natural forces around him, and when he taps into them, it's out of love. It's not that he's a natural genius (although the photographic memory and art training help a LOT) but simply that he approaches the entire situation differently than humans typically do.

[oneatlatime]

Sokka's Master

pleasebegoodpleasebegoodpleasebegoodpleasebegoodpleasebegood

Strange choice of master but we'll see where this goes.

The meteor shower animation is quite meditative. I wouldn't mind it as a screensaver.

How to describe something exceptional to your blind friend: "You've never not seen anything like this." It's amazing the quality put into even the tiniest of throwaway jokes.

Are meteor strikes flammable?

I love how whenever Sokka's disappointed he gets noodle arms. A surprisingly consistent characterisation.

Momo butt skate.

Iroh. The fuck?

ok. So he's playing a part for the guards. Why?

Pretty.

Funny to think about, but as a former WWE character, Toph's probably had more hero worship than the Avatar.

Lots to say about this! First, I stand corrected! i honestly thought that Sokka would be immune to this specific insecurity by virtue of him not being a bender. I was wrong! Second, I love how, as soon as Sokka expresses that he feels that he isn't as talented as the rest of them, the others respond by listing his actual, invaluable talents, without which the group would be completely at sea. They don't respond with "no you're perfect!" they respond with "no one can read a map like you can" and how he keeps their spirits up with jokes. They're not using false praise. They are using specific facts. I love that an episode that looks like it's going to deal with a character feeling down on themselves establishes from the get go that the character is invaluable, actually. So often, the 'low self esteem stock episode' puts the affirmation of the character's value at the end. Which means the viewer spends the whole episode being convinced that the character in question might actually be useless. Here, we're told from the start that the character is invaluable - the problem is that they do not perceive themselves to be so. Quite on the nose for a show that deals so much with identity.

OMIGOD IT GETS BETTER!!!!!!!!!!

Validating Katara sweeps in and a) validates his feelings, while b) clearly explaining that his self-perception is not in line with how the others see him, which c) doesn't invalidate a) !!!!

Katara has such emotional intelligence when she chooses to use it.

Nuanced intelligent discussion of the complexities of emotions and self-perception in a Sokka episode I am so happy I am blessed the gods are shining on me today I'm sitting here twirling my hair and swinging my feet and doodling hearts on the corner of my journal

SHOPPING!!!!!

btw that's the same face he makes when he says SUKI!!!

"Reinvigorate my battling" this boy. just. this boy.

He lasted a lot longer than I would have with nun chucks.

Aang the Happy Meal toy.

Some say that Halberd is still spinning today.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present: the 45 degree Sokka.

Some Foley artist had the time of their life with this weapons sequence.

Why thank you for that exposition, Mr. Exposition. Now walk away and we'll never see you again.

Toph does NOT move ONCE this whole scene and it's ever so slightly freaking me out.

Toph tells you she learned from Badgermoles and no one wants to discuss this further?!? We're going to gloss over that?

So this episode has a training montage theme.

Sokka goes freestyle on those door knockers.

That's one hell of a castle. Must be dark in there though. Tiny windows.

Which explains the several hundred candles. This show. Set up with one hand; slam dunk with the other.

This guy's reciting Sokka's s1 introduction on Kyoshi Island.

Sokka: Actually. I am a dumb. The Master: Sold.

The face of someone who is definitely picking up what you're putting down.

It's been ages since I watched the episode, but is some of what the Master saying here about swords an echo of what Zuko says to the kid in Zuko Alone when he's decapitating sunflowers?

A Sokka-less Gaang. Depressing and they know it.

The way Katara's voice actor says "oh everyone's a critic" is gold.

Multidisciplinary education vs. kid who's never been within a mile of the box he's being told to think outside of. Fight!

Yikes that was a meaty hit. Does Sokka have a nose left?

They're wearing beehives on their heads.

Was Sokka always this short?

The greens in this episode are such a delight.

The way he says "I'm finished!" Sounds like "Am finished" and you can actually hear the smiley emoji he throws in.

He's good.

What do they FEED him?

Sokka's voice actor had a great time this episode. All the voice actors had a great time actually.

Sokka invents the La Z Boy

Katara inadvertently invents a fandom war by attempting a joke.

They're all so useless and it's wonderful.

That was all only one day? That's a lot of outfit changes for one day.

"You mess things up in a very special way." Compliment? Let's go with compliment.

Sokka is so very Sokka this episode.

A reason to live is coming!

*thundering herds of shippers in the distance*

That's clever. The inciting incident gets smelted. Haven't seen that before.

This whole Iroh gets buff montage has been completely dialogue free on Iroh's part. Crazy levels of inner peace, that he'd doesn't need to snark back at the guard.

Seriously. What are they FEEDING these children. Also how is that door that shiny.

Sokka really has it in for those door knockers.

Apropos of nothing, the clouds in this episode are all so yummy. All these soft slate colours and misty layers.

Meteoric iron is actually a thing, right?

Ok but aren't mold made swords crappy?

HI YUE

I love how they managed to made a crafting montage where the character who does the least work is the one who looks like he's working the hardest.

"I saw a heart as strong as my garden decor"

"No it certainly wasn't your skills. You had none."

Creativity, versatility, intelligence, meat, sarcasm.

You've known him like two days and you can already tell he's more worthy than any man you've ever trained? Sounds like you had poor taste in students.

"No. This is my fight. Alone." Bro you are going to DIE. The first time you held a sword was two days ago. You might need the avatar on this one.

Guard who never shuts up actually kind of has a point here. He's a dick about as usual, but it's entirely possible that the rank and file of the Fire Nation army view Iroh's actions as a betrayal. Does anyone remember in Star Wars movie number 7, or maybe 8, when that Trooper sees Finn after he's switched sides and yells "traitor!" and it's the best part of the movie? Yeah, like that.

This episode throws the concept of linear time out the window. In two days, Iroh gets swole and Sokka masters sword fighting.

Do you think Sokka's realised yet that this is his final exam?

Yummy yummy clouds.

One in a million pocket sand shot.

One in a million stick placement.

So this master is like a sword spirit or something. He can't be human. There's no way he could get the scabbard to fly on perfectly without seeing.

"Try Lee, There's a million Lees. There's a tea shop in Ba Sing Se that has a super cranky waiter called Lee."

This guy's just this side of committing treason and I love it.

I see this Master is a devotee of the 'Hakoda school of shoving outrageously over the top compliments into Sokka's thick skull in the hopes that 1% of them will stick.' I approve.

This last scene has gorgeous hills and skies but you'll have to take my word for it because I've hit the image limit.

Sokka's been inducted into the super secret boy band!!!

He saved space earth for Toph! He's so considerate! He's fuelling the ships!

Let's compromise and call it space dirt instead.

Final Thoughts

This episode every two minutes: Sokka, you are currently flawless and you're about to get better. Me: Yes. Yep. Yeah. Seconded. I concur.

I like it! It's great! It's 24 minutes of the writers and characters fangirling over Sokka! Of course I like it! It made me criminally overuse exclamation marks! What else can I say?

Hands down my favourite episode is Bato of the Water Tribe. For Sokka's story, this episode is Bato of the Water Tribe part 2. Of course I'm going to love it. This episode was lab grown specifically for me.

Now let's see if I can say something about this episode that isn't poorly disguised squealing.

I love how the characters respond to Sokka saying he's not special with an evidence-based refutation rather than blanket reassurance.

I love how shopping cheers up Sokka. I love how Katara knows that shopping will cheer him up. This must be something she's learned since the show started. I don't think there were malls in the South Pole. So Katara was paying attention when Sokka and Momo went through the bag saga.

I love how much the master is baffled yet impressed by Sokka. He seems almost charmed by this breath of fresh air. I think it's hilarious that, when Sokka first approaches him, he's expecting early season 1 Sokka. He'd better send Suki a thank you card.

I also really like "The way of the sword doesn't belong to any one nation." It seems obvious to us, but in a world where there are weaponisable skills that are quite literally inseparable from the nations their wielders inhabit, it's probably something no one in the Gaang has ever heard before.

Obviously the episode is a little rushed - half hour kid's show and all that - but it's still pretty crazy that you can apparently impart a solid basic knowledge of swordplay in two days.

Toph going all tsundere is funny, and makes Aang and Katara unapologetically desperate for Sokka's company twice as funny as it already is. Toph's like "whatever" and the other two spent the day making a welcome home banner.

I love how Sokka's happiness is always so loud and shameless. It makes it contagious.

This episode highlights what Sokka's actual strengths are, by instructing him in what he thinks his strengths are. If that makes sense? Sokka is brain, which he's finally starting to realise by attending brawn lessons.

He's also heart, and I'll die on that hill.

Iroh getting swole was honestly just a thing that happened. No comment really, except it was interesting to have a reminder from the guard that a character we perceive as the good guy is currently perceived as the bad guy by everyone but us. When the Fire Nation does inevitably get defeated, a whole nation is going to have to reset their worldview and that will not be an easy process.

More like this please!

[her-devils-advocate]

Through the Mist | Part 1

pairings: Femshep x Garrus

summary: When a routine mission to rescue and recruit a handful of scientists goes wrong, Shepard and her team are left to fight against something they had never expected to face. Now stranded on a heavily fog-covered planet, they realise there is more to the strange weather than they originally thought, especially when they hear things from beyond the fog; calling for them.

word count: 4,213

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60592000/chapters/154704487

“Commander, a handful of scientists are located in a remote facility near you. Their knowledge is invaluable, and we could use them for the crucible. I’ll send you all the information I have, Hackett out.” 

The blue holographic display fizzles away, leaving Shepard alone in the QEC as she mutters out a quiet “Yes, sir.” to the air. She heaves out a sigh before opening her comms, “Joker, we have a new destination. Set course for the Rosetta Nebula.”

“Aw, seriously, Shepard?” He groans, the sound coming out muffled and even without seeing him Shepard can tell he’s rubbing his face. Exhaustion has quickly become more prevalent across her crew, the war wearing them down physically and emotionally, especially after losing a lot more than just their pride to Cerberus. A fact that still gnaws away at her, despite her brave mask which has since been carefully reinforced to keep up what morale is left in her crew.

“Yes, seriously. Orders from Hackett,” she replies, her voice tense. She bites her lip before forcing out a smile, hoping it comes across in her voice. “I don’t like this any more than you Joker, but it needs to be done and it’s better to do it now while we’re nearby. Think of the fuel prices otherwise.”

“You’re buying me three drinks next time, each with their own little umbrella.” He declares, pausing for a moment before adding, “And a damn good dinner, you’re killing me here, Raven.”

Shepard snorts just before the line drops, letting herself flop against the railing in front of her, safe in the privacy of the war room. She feels Garrus approach her slumped form, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to him. 

“Let me guess, one more mission and then we’ll go to the Citadel for shore leave?” He asks, his fingers drawing comforting circles against her waist.

She gives him an apologetic smile as she leans into him, resting her head against the cool plating of his armour. “It will be quick and easy, we just need to pick up a small group and drop them off. We might as well do it now and then take them with us to the Citadel, though I don’t like putting off shore leave like this.”

“Well, at least the wait will be worth it,” he jokes, catching her tired expression. “Hackett just wants you to collect some people? Sounds like he’s going easy on you with this one.”

“God, please don’t jinx us, Garrus.” She laughs, letting him hold most of her weight against him. 

“Me? Never…” 

From what is visible, the planet appears to be a desolate wasteland; all grey stone and barren of all signs of life. She has yet to learn what the scientists have been working on here and regrets not pressing Hackett for more information, despite the Admiral sending all he had. A high clearance team, working on something secret. A weapon, she theorises, maybe something even shady.

Liara was not much help either, finding very little about the base besides a suspicious number of funds being funnelled into the group from an unknown benefactor; all of which does little to calm the annoyance beginning to build. Discomfort twirls in her gut as a familiar and hated group springs to mind.

“If this is Cerberus again, I think I'm going to lose it,” She mumbles under her breath as she looks through the available data they have about the planet; a base temperature of twelve degrees, breathable air, and splatters of human colonies slowly being formed across the rock.

Shepard hates going in blind and it’s almost as if the planet has decided to use that against her, taunting her. The shuttle shudders as it approaches the ground. She can hear Cortez mutter a swear under his breath as he battles to control the vehicle, her grip tightening on the handrail above. Without any warning, she is thrown against her seat, her knees buckle as they hit the object and she comes crashing down into it. Garrus’ hand is instantly on her shoulder, stabilising her with a strong grip. She gives him a thankful nod and leans back in her seat.

“Everyone alright?” She asks, watching as James knocks his head against the back of his seat before giving her a thumbs up with one hand, the other rubbing at the base of his skull.

Despite the turbulence hellbent on giving them a few bruises before the mission can properly start, they touch down without any other issues. She lets out a small sigh of relief, biting back a smile when she hears her crew do the same. Shepard is quick to leave her seat, giving orders for Cortez to return to the Normandy until they signal for extraction, hopefully with the scientists, before hopping out onto the unknown planet. 

A thick fog instantly wraps itself around Shepard and her squad, drifting to and fro and obscuring their vision. They instinctively move closer to her, almost standing shoulder-to-shoulder while their eyes dart around the blank landscape. The area is silent, not a single bird chirping or a tree swaying its leaves in the wind; as life itself has abandoned the planet.

She can see James nervously glancing around as if expecting an ambush from beyond the thin barrier, despite their lonely landing zone. Their battle-trained senses are useless to them now, sending them into a state of high alert, and if the disconcerted grumble from her sniper is any indication, his visor is doing very little to aid him. He catches her questioning gaze through the blue display and shakes his head.

“I’m getting no readings through my visor, Shepard,” He confirms, his hand raised against the metal frame to fiddle with its settings.

“I’m not surprised. Good to know that we don’t need to worry about any surprises so soon, at least.” She says, securing her Mattock onto her back with ease. 

“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m not getting any readings through this thing, including your own.” She watches as his brow plates come together in a small frown, his hand dropping in defeat as the tech continues to fight against him. “As long as you are suited up and we’re not lightyears apart, my visor will display your vitals. There’s no reason for it to not show while you’re standing in front of me. The thing still works, the kill counter and the current galactic time are still lit up…All biometric data, however…”

The air chills and a thick tension is carried over to them with the gentle breeze. She opens her comm link to the ship, hoping EDI can have more luck scouting the place than they will. 

“EDI, we’re going to need some guidance here. Are you able to lead us to the closest structure?”

A loud buzzing sparks from her comms in response, along with a barely audible voice fighting through the interference, “Comman… We can’t… Unable to…Signal is…”

Shepard drops the link with a frown, her mind running through a million scenarios and plans as she speaks. “Okay, we are effectively cut off from the Normandy, so we’re on our own until we reach our targets. They are our best shot at the moment.” 

"Shepard," Garrus mutters warily and she can hear the concern buzzing through his sub-vocals as he begins to expect the worst, "This isn't the ideal place for a firefight, we are completely blinded."

"I hear you. While it may seem quiet, something’s not right. Everyone stay close and on alert. If you hear or see anything, we avoid it for now." She clenches her fists, quelling the urge to wrap everyone up in her biotics before something has the chance to strike first. She bites back a groan as she rolls her neck, the last thing she wants is to reveal their position if something lurks in the distance. “Maybe the weather can be used to our advantage here,” she mutters as she turns from the group.

She steps further into the fog, waving her hand in front of her and slicing through it with ease. She watches as it parts around her hand before forming again shortly after, dancing around them in a thick haze. An unusual silence hangs around them as no one dares to speak and break it; their footfalls are amplified with every step, almost echoing around them. 

They keep moving, the rhythmic clunking of their armour accompanying every step before James suddenly comes to a halt, groaning in frustration. “This is loco. How are we supposed to find anything when we don’t even know how far we’ve been walking?”

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that we need those scientists. You’re not afraid of a little bit of fog, are you, Vega?” She throws him a smirk from over her shoulder, her smile widening when she hears Garrus chuckling beside her. She much prefers that sound to the empty nothingness that’s been following them.

“You never know, Shepard. He might be, what you humans say, a chicken.”

“Oh low blow, Scars. You don’t even know what that is.”

“According to the extranet, it’s a bird from Earth that is usually killed for food. According to humans, everything tastes like it and they are fearful creatures.” He casually retorts, grinning triumphantly when James scoffs in defeat.

“You spend too much time with Lola.” James gives Garrus a small nudge, grimacing when the impact of their armour rings through the air.

“And you say that as if it’s a bad thing, Jimmy.” 

Shepard rolls her eyes at their back and forth, biting down a laugh at the unique insults being playfully tossed around. She has to step away from the group to focus, she hears Garrus shift to keep her in his line of sight before the familiar warm glow of her omni-tool causes the fog to light up around her. She lets out a small huff as it does nothing to improve their vision, somehow making things worse.

She shuffles back to the duo and glances between them, James half-heartedly glaring at Garrus, and finally spots the outline of a large, grey building, highlighted by the smothered rays of sunlight. Frustration rattles around in her brain at the obvious structure hiding in plain sight, a structure she is positive she would have noticed, yet she does what she does best and throws her emotions into yet another bottle.

"There, ahead of us. That must be the research base." She looks back at Garrus and James, making sure they can see where she’s pointing. An uneasy feeling begins to snake around her heart when she glances back at their destination. Their previous banter had helped to lighten the tense atmosphere surrounding them, but with each ebb and flow of the fog, the thin relief begins to crack again as they approach the base.

"You know, Shepard. We should find some rope and use it to keep us all together." As if reading her mind, Garrus' duel-toned voice breaks her out of her worry and she gives a low chuckle at the suggestion, not entirely disagreeing.

"Uh, no offence, Garrus. What you and Lola do in your free time is up to you, but I don't want to be involved." James says with a cheeky smile that only grows when both Shepard and Garrus roll their eyes at him.

“Very funny, Vega. We’ll just leave you behind then,” Garrus drawls out, his shoulders finally dropping as he relaxes. He catches Shepard’s eye and she gives him a gentle nod, the pair almost speaking without words. Yes, this is weird, and yes, I’m alright.

Shepard is quick to open the structure’s door and usher the others inside, the fog stalking them in through the wide entrance and dissipating into the room. The room is dark, with only the emergency signs providing any light, casting shadows up onto the steel walls around them. There are no other doors within the small room, just a few windows that have since been securely boarded up.

The air within is still and stale, and Shepard grimaces when she catches a hint of something slightly rancid. She glances around and spots a dozen datapads littering the surfaces. Chairs are stranded away from the desks and numerous personal belongings have been left behind. She picks up one of the datapads, a large crack running across the screen, and begins to read aloud what remains of the corrupted file.

“...Day 5, no progress has been made. My head has been killing me, but I refuse to rest until we get results.

“...Day 8, we might finally have good news. Callum from base two has made some improvements. We will need to make adjustments to the formula, but any news is good news at this point.”

The words begin to blur, seemingly dancing across the cracked screen, the flickering worsens the longer she reads before the datapad goes black, cutting her off. She lets herself relax for a moment, holding back a scoff for being so on edge.

She catches Garrus roaming the room out of the corner of her eye before becoming rigid. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stick up once more, a shiver creeping down her spine as he speaks. 

“Spirits… Shepard, you should come and see this.”

She’s quick to reach his side and spots a body curled up in the small space between the wall and one of the desks. His head is leant back against the cold steel, letting them see more than they wish to. His skin is pale, almost taking on a grey tone. There are visible veins under his paperlike skin, bulging along his neck, trying to break free. His eyebrows are pulled together, almost impossibly close. Sending unnatural wrinkles along his forehead. The body is young, too young to have such deep lines.

The worst part is his mouth. It hangs open in a silent scream while his glazed-over eyes are open wide in pure terror. 

She moves closer, keeping her footing light as she approaches the body to read the name badge across the arm of his attire. Without any warning, the man’s head rolls forward. Greying hair falls with it, covering his face. The group instantly jump back, aiming their rifles towards the body and waiting with bated breath for any more movement. After a minute of stillness, Shepard raises her hand, signalling for them to holster their guns.

“He’s dressed in uniform, this must have been one of the researchers. What happened here?” She says softly, leaning down to carefully make a note of the man's name for her report before she stands back up and steps away from the sight.

“No clue, Commander. Half of these datapads are damaged. Some have been trampled on, whatever spooked these people spooked them badly. Bad enough to leave in a hurry.” James appears behind her with a worried frown. 

She takes a moment to think, gently tapping the datapad against her thigh in concentration before a sound breaks her attention. The noticeable whirl of a nearby shuttle flying overhead. She tosses the datapad onto the table and quickly signals for them to follow her as she rushes out of the building, peering up at the sky. Garrus falls into position on her right, gazing down at her oddly before shrugging at James.

Everything is silent, even the breeze that had greeted them has since fallen still. She wanders away from the building, hearing her team scramble to stay close. She continues to watch the sky, her confusion is evident on her face as no shuttle is fast enough to vanish that quickly. 

The more she stares into the white void around her, the more she notices that the fog has grown thicker. It has started to take on an almost yellow hue as it blocks out more of the sunlight. She can feel it glide over the exposed skin of her face, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She feels her spine straighten and her jaw tightens, confusion flowing around the group.

Out of nowhere, she hears footsteps and her head snaps around to trace the sound. She sees nothing out in the distance, but the sound grows louder as it approaches them.

She is quick to grab her pistol, ignoring the alarmed two-toned rumble from her right.

She keeps it low, her finger away from the trigger as she listens. She signals for the others to remain silent, her heart pounding. 

The beating of the organ is loud in her ears, almost to a painful degree. Yet the footsteps grow louder.

She is almost a statue, eyes alert and trained on the direction of the sound, yet she sees nothing as the mysterious figure darts past them and deeper into the fog. In her peripheral she can see her squad standing still, Garrus’ eyes are locked onto her, his mandibles fluttering with uncertainty, while James is frantically looking around, trying to follow her line of sight. 

She swallows down her unease and turns to face them fully, “One of the researchers must still be out here. They were heading north, so that could be where the other base is. We can’t know for sure if that was a researcher or what killed the team, so be careful.” 

Garrus and James glance at one another momentarily before they nod and continue to follow her deeper into the unknown. Unease stalks their every step, their postures rigid and on high alert. A new building reveals itself before them, grey steel walls reflecting the now-setting sun like a beacon awaiting their arrival. A hastily drawn number two sits just above the door, the paint beginning to chip after being left to withstand the elements.

“Let’s hope this is the right place, I don’t enjoy the idea of wandering out here for much longer. You’re certain the person ran this way, Shepard?” Garrus mumbles, back pressed against the wall next to the door. 

“I know what I heard, Garrus,” she mutters as she watches James take his position against the wall on the other side, awaiting her signal. “Even if this isn’t the building they ran to, there’s got to be something here that would explain what happened.”

“...Heard?” He questions, his mandibles flaring in badly concealed bewilderment.

She cocks her head at him, pausing for a second. Shepard gives him a careful nod and bangs a fist against the red omni-lock to open the door, hoping they don’t have to fight against firewalls to gain access. Much to the group's surprise, the lock flashes red a few times before it complies and turns green, the door opening with a small groan.

“A technical malfunction or a research base that has very little security?” Shepard questions, opening up her omni-tool to provide her with some light as she peers into the room.

James shrugs, his back pressed firmly against the wall. “Who knows? Possibly both with how quick the other team was to leave, they probably didn’t have time to properly lock the place up. That or they didn’t think they would have to, with how remote they are out here and all. Can’t imagine anyone loco enough to visit.”

“And whoever we were following probably didn’t expect us to make our way here without getting lost first, giving them no time to fix any issues,” Garrus adds.

She signals for the two men to stay put as she begins to stalk into the room. Even with the door open, it’s darker than the previous base, all the technology within has since lost power after being abandoned. This room is larger, with another door leading deeper into the structure. 

“Hello?” She calls out, her hand hovering close to her pistol, just in case. “I’m Commander Shepard, I’m with the Alliance Navy.”

Silence answers her and she holds back a sigh as she creeps deeper into the building, away from the safety of the door and checks out the room, her omni-tool guiding her every move. Unlike the previous base, this one is relatively clean. It shows no signs of struggle or distress, no corpses hiding away in the shadowed corners.

The base is tidy, too tidy, she notes. Not a single data pad has been left behind, and with the power drained, they are left with no way of accessing the consoles to read through their logs. Shepard runs an armoured hand through her hair as she turns to the entrance, waving the others in.

“This is getting us nowhere. James, stay here and guard the exit while we check out the other room.” She says as she approaches the door, exhaling in relief when it opens without a fight.

“Aye aye, Commander. Leave this mess with me.” He gives her a playful salute before throwing himself down into one of the office chairs, facing the exit. His grip on his Revenant is tight, and the skin stretching over his knuckles turns pale.

There’s only a short corridor connecting the rooms, but the air within is thick and old. As if it hasn’t been disrupted in weeks. A thin layer of dust covers everything in sight, not a single surface is safe from the fluffy, grey specs; a sharp contrast to the room a few metres away. 

The room itself is tiny, barely containing more than three desks pressed tightly against the walls.

“There’s no one here,” Garrus whispers, double-checking all the corners and under the desks. “Looks like this is just an extension of the other room…Just as empty as well.”

“Not quite,” Shepard says as she spots a rectangular object, obscured by a thick layer of dust. She brushes it off, cringing as some of it sticks to the fabric of her gloves. She suddenly spins to face Garrus, waving the half-dead datapad in front of him with a victorious smile. He gives her a smile in return as he moves closer to read over her shoulder.

“...Day 20, we messed up. I don’t know what went wrong, maybe it was our calculations, or maybe it was… Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore.

…Day 21, if you… read… We…can’t…It’s too late.”

“Well, that’s horribly ominous,” Garrus states as Shepard finishes reading. He glances down at her and spots the telltale sign of exhaustion creeping across her expression. Another dead end, another failure. He gently bumps his shoulder against hers, keeping his voice light. “They could have fled, abandoned the bases and left. Or they were relocated to another project after this one. With the Reapers here, it would make sense why Hackett and Liara couldn’t trace them.”

“Maybe…Let’s grab James and get out of here. Liara might have found something by now. There’s no point standing around in a dusty room and possibly catching something.” 

She opens up her comm to try and contact the Normandy once more, wincing at the static rumbling through the line. She listens closely, her focus stolen by the white noise. For a moment she swears she can hear a voice calling out to her. The voice is low and feminine, but not the smooth, metallic tone that she is accustomed to with EDI.

This voice is old and familiar. A memory that had faded with time, crawling back into the present through the static.

“Raven.”

She freezes, feeling like a bucket of ice has been thrown over her, or just injected directly into her veins instead. Tears instinctively rise through her ducts and it takes all that she has to force them back down, doing all she can to hold her commander mask firmly in place. The galaxy hasn’t broken her yet and she refuses to let this planet be the tipping point, not after everything that's happened.

With more force than what is needed, she quickly cuts the comm link. 

Sensing her growing distress, Garrus gently places his hand under her chin, raising it so he can meet her gaze. She lets him manoeuvre her but refuses to meet his eyes. He lets out a quiet sigh and she can feel his concern in the tender action when his thumb brushes against her cheek.

“I think the stress is getting to me. I made a bad call, we should have done this after our shore leave. When everyone is better rested and more focused,” she admits and attempts to hang her head in shame, getting nowhere thanks to his strong grip keeping her head held high.

“I’m not sure, Shepard… I’ve been getting bad vibes from this place. I’ve not once doubted your judgement and I’m certainly not going to start now.”

She gives him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, feeling his body relax at her attempt. He reluctantly releases her after quickly pressing his forehead against hers, doing all he can to give her some reassurance while she secures her mask of authority once more, feeling slightly pissed at how often she’s let it slip on this mission. It’s rare for something to get under her skin, yet she begins to feel as if the planet was designed purely to do just that.

[honestsilasbirchtree]

June 15, 1952

The waffle house had been nameless for the entire eight years it had been in operation so far. Lizzie Dixon, 22, had been working there for three of those years. She could now begin preparing orders based on the sound of the cars pulling up and the tops of hats and hairdos that she could see through the blinds.

All of her lunchtime regulars were currently in, the dishwasher was out for a "smoke" again, and absolutely nothing was going to surprise her. She thought about dropping a milkshake glass for the hell of it.

"The back of that greasy kid's head looks like it could use some sparkle! Why don't you give it a hurl!"

Lizzie jumped at the sudden loud voice by her ear and dropped the glass, just missing her foot. The shards scattered. "Oh-! Oh no, no..." The dishwasher, finally back behind the counter, turned around at the sound. "Whoa, Lizzie, what happened?"

"Where have you been?" Lizzie snapped. "Don't just-- careful stepping through, oh, come on, get a broom or something, I have to take this gentleman's order--" She turned back to find herself face to face with a pale stranger in a suit and hat.

"Shucks, you missed!" he continued. "Better luck next time, huh?"

Lizzie allowed herself a smirk at that. "I might like that, but I like working here more, I'm afraid."

"Oh, you do?" said the stranger. His voice seemed strangely loud and shrill no matter what volume he was speaking at. "I see, got to comfort yourself somehow after your big audition flopped. Don't worry, that whole rodeo will fold a year from now anyway! BIG shooting malfunction! You're better off out of the, haha, line of fire! Trust me!"

Lizzie's eyes flicked over to the ad taking up most of the far wall at the end of counter--a flirtatious blonde cowgirl, SLUGGER COFFEE, 'Start Your Day Like a Shot!' She really hoped he was talking about cameras. "...I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Silas Birchtree, travelling salesman and so much more!" he doffed his hat. (For a moment, she heard some kind of buzzing.) She could see his eyes better now, wide and avid to a near painful looking degree, just like his smile. "Now, Lizzie, can I just say--"

"Hey!" A redheaded young man wearing a blazer in an unfortunate color took a seat at the bar. "Is this fella bothering you, Liz?"

"She hasn't been interested since you called her "Lizard" the first day of junior high, Chris!" the newcomer shot back. Heads all through the establishment were turning. "Take your comedy act somewhere else! I'd suggest the middle of the road, but if this one horse town ever gets anything resembling actual traffic, I'll eat that horse myself!"

Lizzie wanted to sink into the floor. Chris flushed red and balled up his hands. "Why don't you get bent, you creep! Who d'you think y--"

"Hey, ain't you supposed to be dead?" an old farmer at the other end of the counter called out. "We had a burial and everything, I saw." This set the gathering crowd murmuring.

Birchtree flashed a megawatt grin his way. "Normal human man, right here!" He thumped his chest hard. "Aren't you supposed to be cutting back on the drink, Ray? Then again, the doctor has bills to pay, too! Wanna bet you can help finance his new car?"

Ray's brow furrowed. "Say, how'd you know all that? What new car?"

"An excellent question! My unearthly knowledge comes from above!" Birchtree threw his arms wide, shouting to the whole restaurant. "An all-knowing entity of awesome power has chosen me to be his herald! He's seen your mistakes! He watches your dreams! He foresees the terrible way that you will die, yes, each and every one of you!" Now he was standing on the counter, with a sea of open-mouthed faces around him. "All of these secrets and more I will share with you rubes, if! You! Follow me outside!"

He stepped down from the counter and strode out the door, a throng following him out and down the street to Orchard Lake's central square. Lizzie let herself out from behind the counter to join them, still trailing broken glass underfoot.

"Hey, where are you going?" the dishwasher shouted after her. "Hey! Lizzie! What are you doing? Come back!"

[alacants]

User alacants where are your beautiful fics? 🥺

anon would you believe that in my two weeks of vacation i didn't have a SINGLE DAY to write. and now i am back at work. 😔

i am still likely to finish one promptfest fill before the end of the week and if i get lucky (really... really... lucky...) i'll manage a second. in the meantime here is the opening of the non-promptfest wip.

Carlos didn't even realize it was a big deal, at the time. They were joking, so what? That was what they did. Carlos got bored or he got fidgety or he had too much energy and it needed to go somewhere, and the somewhere was usually Juanki. Bumping his shoulder, batting at his cap, moving his stuff around, whatever was closest to hand when the restlessness hit. And, yeah, of course he talked through it, had a little running commentary going. Gotta keep Juanki on his toes. Yap yap yap, Juanjo mimicked once, imitating one of those little purse dogs. Biggest shih tzu I've ever seen. So it was just another round of the usual, right? Playing around, roughhousing, until Juanki said Anyone this good at getting at under my skin must be able to read my mind, and Carlos said Are you kidding? Tio, I never know what you're thinking. And he'd swear, he'd swear that everyone laughed and then they broke it up. The whole team ate in the academy canteen, even Juanki, which didn't happen often. Carlos went back to his room early and dicked around on Instagram for a while, did some texting. And then he went to bed. And then he woke up.

*

By his third stab at the call button, Carlos is cursing aloud, pacing a circle around his bedroom. Ferru isn't picking up, why isn't he picking up—

Click. Carlos sucks in a massive breath of relief. Over the line: "Carlitos?" 

Ferru sounds groggy, which is crazy since it's already 8 a.m. You really do let go after retirement, huh. That's not the point. The words tumble out of him. "Ferru, hi, can you—it's Juanki. It's—" And then he stops, because what the hell is he going to say. 

"Juan Carlos?" No more groggy, this is a four-alarm fire. "Is he hurt? Are you okay? Where are you?"

"No, no, sorry, he's—" Carlos can't say fine. "He's not hurt. We're both safe. We're at the Academy. I just—can you—I really need help."

"Help." Ferru sounds a little less like a one-man emergency response vehicle but he's still alert, urgent. "Carlos, what's going on?" 

Carlos scrubs a hand over his face. "Can you, um. Can we switch to video?" 

Ferru's hair is sticking up at a 90 degree angle, jaw unshaven. He's squinting at the viewfinder, blinking in the bright sunlight. He's not wearing a shirt and he's in great shape for a retiree, which is something Carlos has noticed before—Ferru's old enough to be his dad and also not even close to his type, but it's not like he's blind or anything. Once again: not the point. Without a word, Carlos flips his phone around. 

Sitting at Carlos' desk, kicking his feet where they dangle well above the floor, maybe five years old, tops. A little cherub with white-blond hair and delicate features, the kind of child that stops Carlos' mother dead in the street.

Carlos clears his throat. "Juanki."

The kid looks up. Catches sight of the screen and immediately lights up, brightening all over his unbelievably photogenic face. "Is that David?" He waves eagerly at the camera. "Hi, David!" 

Carlos flips the phone back around. Ferru looks like he's just seen a ghost. 

Carlos says, "So, uh."

"Hold tight," Ferru says. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."

[beauregardlionett]

m'kay in light of the most recent cr episode i got thinking about this post of mine again because it's relevant and i am SO excited for whatever happens this week with the hells. brief tl;dr for that post - it is so fascinating to me personally how the m9 and bh treat vulnerability and trust as two distinct concepts in complete opposite ways. the m9 trusted each other to an insane degree and were only vulnerable when held at metaphorical gun point. meanwhile bh trauma dumped on each other the majority of their shit before we were even 50 episodes in, but they have yet to display constant, true trust in one another.

and the trust exercise is the last to happen, and it involves two people being replaced with doppelgängers who intend to impede the group's progress. how much personal bias is going to bleed through? how much will recent events blind their choices? how well do they actually know each other? is this going to actually relieve tension or increase it?

fifty episodes into the campaign, orym asked fearne if she would help him stop imogen and then leave the group with him if it came down to it. laudna lost all faith in ashton and some faith in fearne after the shard stunt just two/three episodes ago. orym just admitted that he has planned out how to take down every single member of bell's hells. they did a poll once on who they thought would turn on the group. they still fumble their way through combat doing mostly solo attacks because they don't know half the shit everyone else is capable of. the m9 weren't perfect but they were further along on that front by this point in their campaign.

and maybe it's on account of the lack of downtime they've had thus far - but one would think that if they were vulnerable with each other and had been through several, consistent fires with each other facing a force that could end the world, trust would have developed somewhere along the way! but instead - we're here.

and personally, i think it's because these are all the people who were left behind. who cares about being vulnerable when you've already been broken? putting your broken pieces on display is a lot different than allowing someone to handle those pieces and try to put them back together. because then you run the risk of shattering again.

they have all been left behind by someone. trust doesn't come easy after that. chet and his family, laudna and her parents, f.c.g. and dancer and his whole life hundreds of years ago, fearne and her parents, imogen and her parents, orym and his husband, ashton and his parents and the nobodies.

chet put it perfectly - "i don't want to get attached again"

too bad. you're in this now and until you decide to back out, you have to learn how to trust at least these people. they've all decided to at least stick around and that's the first step. the rest of the process will be painful, but worth it.

i hope they never have to cut each other down.

[madhatterbri]

Christmas Party | C.C.

Summary: you are invited to a Christmas party and you beg Christian to be your date to not look lonely to Jack.

Author's Note: I'm like in love with this story. 🥺🥰 Tried to make it funny and flirty. Hope I succeeded.

@theswitchbladessweetheart (hope you feel better ❤️)

@1dluver13xx

"Heeeeey it is my absolute favorite patriarch," you greeted seeing Christian backstage. He tensed at hearing your voice. Any time you greeted him that way you needed a favor. Nick chuckled and walked away giving you some privacy to talk. "Remember that favor you owe me for babysitting your daughter?"

"You mean that one time you were supposed to watch her for like five minutes while I cut a promo? And when I came back you spent five minutes looking for her because you forgot she was hiding for hide and seek?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. Of course the grumpy old man remembered the bad part. Typical.

"That very time, yeah, good, you remember. Listen, I was invited to a Christmas party and I need a date. Are you free on Friday night?" you told him. He looked at you puzzled. Christian never thought you would want to be with him outside of wrestling business.

"Why do you need a date exactly?"

"I just do, please, I will do anything,"

"Seriously? What is this high school?" Christian muttered and walked away. You yelled at him to wait and stood in front of him to block him. He rolled his eyes and looked at you. An amused yet annoyed look on his face. You had a few seconds to plead your case.

"I asked everyone else and they said no,"

"Who did you ask?"

"Max"

"And what happened?"

"He slammed the door in my face. I asked Roddy and he said he was going with Adam. Well, actually, he yelled Adam's name so I'm not sure. HOOK and Orange just stared at me while eating chips. I promise it will be worth your while,"

"Why?"

"A certain curly haired Jungle Boy will be there," you sung. The Captain Charisma figured it out. You didn't want Jack to see you alone while he had Anna.

Christian stared at you in deep thought. His blue eyes dazzled in delight. Jack would certainly not like seeing you with him. He simply nodded and told you he would text you when it's closer.

🎄

"And you still don't think he has a crush on you?" Skye questioned while looking at your reflection in the mirror. She agreed to help you with your hair and makeup. You never agreed for her to give you the third degree.

Ever since she made it to your apartment you were bombarded with questions about tonight. She started to sound like a parent. Every time she brought up Christian liking you, you shut it down. He was just doing it to mess with Jack nothing more or less. A point you frequently brought across.

"He's doing this to piss off Jack. He wasn't going to say yes until I told him he was coming," you insisted.

"Don't take this the wrong way but you are a blind idiot," she insulted.

"Oh good because I was immediately going to take that as a compliment," you scoffed.

"He trained you and was always there for you when Jack dumped you for Anna. What are we missing here, girl?"

"He is just really nice. I was his manager for a while and babysat his kid,"

"Are you really flexing on that time you lost his daughter because you forgot you were playing hide and seek with her?"

"It was one time and the new season of Stranger Things just came out!"

"And trust me he trained you because he wanted to be closer to you,"

"He wants younger talent to succeed. I bet if Kyle asked Christian would happily help him,"

"Kyle did ask him over text. Christian sent a screenshot of his cash app username and said he isn't a charity,"

You tried to hide a laugh. A pissed off Skye would not help your situation. A knock on your front door ended your conversation. The butterflies in your stomach now in full force. Despite always having a crush on him you honestly never saw anything from him. You looked in the mirror one last time.

"I look great. How can I ever repay you?"

"If I ever ask you for relationship advice please don't give it to me or remind me to do the opposite of what you say," she joked. You shot her a glare and stood up.

You called out that you were coming to the door and opened the door to see Christian. The man before you was dressed to the nines for the Christmas party. Long gone were the tights, t-shirts, and velvet sweater. Now he wore a tuxedo with a blue tie that made his eyes pop.

"You ready?" He asked leaning against the doorframe. A smirk tugged his lip as he saw you staring at him.

"Have her home by ten, Cage, I know where you work," Skye called out and winked at him. He smiled back at her.

🎄

"What a gentleman," you teased when he held the door open for you. He grabbed your hand and helped you out of the car.

"I'm not the little boys you are used to dating," he joked and closed the door behind you. He adjusted his jacket and tie before taking your arm around his.

"Really selling this, Christian, I knew you were a good choice,"

"Well I have to pay you back for that poor excuse you call babysitting," he chuckled. You slapped his arm playfully as he walked you to the backyard. His hand placed securely at the small of your back. "Let's get this party started,"

The backyard had curtains of Christmas lights covering the fence. A hot chocolate bar with assorted Christmas treats laid neatly on a wooden table. A DJ played a mix of Christmas songs and other assorted hits. A projector displayed a Christmas movie. Different Christmas games were spread out to get the guests to mingle with one another. Pillows and blankets of different styles laid around the yard to ensure maximum comfort.

"Isn't this amazing?" You asked and looked at him. His hand was pressed to his forehead. His blue eyes squinted as if he was looking intently at something.

"I think one of the lights on that curtain doesn't work,"

🎄

The night wore on with you trying to avoid Anna and Jack. It was pretty easy. Jack stayed on his phone on a bench. He mindlessly scrolled as if that was the only thing going on. Every so often he would stare at you with Christian. He glared at you if you happened to meet his gaze. Anna stayed inside the house complaining about Jack.

"Do you mind if we dance?" You asked expecting a no. Jack used to never want to dance with you. Any time you went out you had to dance with your friends. Christian looked at the dance floor and back at you. He took one last drink from his beer.

"Fine but don't get intimidated by my dance skills," he accepted your invitation.

"Wait, really?" You asked and smiled wildly. He grabbed your hand and led you to the dance floor. He spun you around before placing an arm securely around your waist. His other hand grabbed yours.

The music played softly through the speakers. You were glad the song wasn't too fast. He was surprisingly a good dancer and easy to follow. The man certainly had many talents.

"You look beautiful tonight," he whispered in your ear. "I forgot to say that earlier,"

"Are you saying I'm not beautiful on most nights?" you giggled and looked in his eyes. "You are not so bad looking yourself,"

He spun you around and pulled you closer to him. You wondered if he was trying to sell this to Jack or if Skye could be right. A part of you wanted the latter. You just needed a sign. Anything to prove that maybe you weren't just another wrestler to him. You would get your wish shortly after.

He placed his forehead against yours. His blue eyes stared into yours as if to read your reaction. When he noticed you didn't pull away he placed his other hand to your hip. You placed your hands on his head running them down to his neck. Your hands rested on his shoulders.

"Christian, you don't have to do this," you whispered. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable,"

"He's not looking. It's just you and me," he confided in you. "If you want me to stop I will,"

"Please don't stop," you pulled his jacket so he was closer to you. You could barely hear the music with how loud your heart was pounding. Your cheeks burned brightly. With the help of your high heels, your lips pressed against his. He stood in shock momentarily before kissing you back.

Growing up you always read about a spark when you kissed the right one. You always told yourself that the spark would eventually ignite when you were with Jack. After the break up you were sure it was just a fairytale. Now maybe it was time to live your own real life fairytale.

He looked at his Apple Watch and sighed.

"It's Adam. I gotta take this call. Don't go anywhere," he apologized and kissed your forehead. He walked inside to a quieter place to take the phone call. You walked to the hot chocolate bar to warm up a little.

🎄

"Seriously? The whole you bringing one of my ex-friends to not look lonely is a little pathetic," Jack sneered. You jumped not expecting him to bother you. He was so adamant about not being anywhere near you. "Can't find someone your own age?"

"You cheated on me with one of my closest friends and I'm pathetic?" You asked bitterly. Not only did your friendship with Anna end but your relationship with Jack. "You and I clearly have different definitions of pathetic,"

"You being the type of person to fuck around with anyone in the business just proves that leaving your ass was the best choice i could’ve ever made,”

Tears immediately sprung into your eyes. This was exactly what used to happen while dating him. He made outlandish claims against you. Things that were never true but still hurt. The party was no longer fun for you. Maybe you could text Christian to meet you at the car.

"Want to say it again, Perry?" Christian asked from behind Jack. The younger wrestler turned to see his now enemy and ex mentor. Everyone knew he would never repeat himself after getting choked out by CM Punk after an altercation back in August. He was more respectful to the veterans to their face. "Come on, Y/N. We are getting out of here,"

You slowly walked past Jack and into Christian's arms. He pulled you in for a hug and kissed the top of your head. His arms felt so safe like he could save you from anything and everything. The sound of his heartbeat calming you.

"Oh, and Jack, go fuck yourself," he hissed. He took your hand and led you back to the car leaving a shocked Jungle Boy in the backyard.