#did i add silver metalic paint to his hair? yes.

[gregwithagh]

I guess we doing paintings now

[oatmealdaydreams]

Stargazing the Stargazer

Happy Logince Week! A lil drabble to start off this wonderful event.

Pairing: Logince, gen

Trigger/Content Warning: none?

Description: Logan and Roman go stargazing in the Imagination.

Extra: written for Day 1: Stars of @loginceweek2024! A lil cliché but still cute to write. Yes, I posted this at 1am on the 21st. Fight me.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[read under the cut]

As much as Logan and Roman oppose each other in baseline functions, they share plenty of similarities. They both do their fair share of research for projects- how else would you get representation for a story right- and they always make time in their schedules for brainstorming sessions. They both appreciate poetry in their own ways, if the rap battle they did was any indicator. 

Most importantly, they both love the stars. 

And thus, this specific shared factor spurs Roman to take his nerdy friend on a trip into the Imagination. He stands before Logan’s door, its wood decorated in hues of indigo and adorned with little white painted stars. It’s alike that of a starry night sky in differing shades of blue. Logan’s name hangs on in silver metal lettering, the font being as sharp and concise as he is. Roman knocks in his signature pattern: one short knock, a longer knock, and then another short knock. To most, it’s just a random series of knocks; to Logan, who’s adept in morse code, it’s announcing that it’s Roman at the door. Roman knows Logan’s skills in different languages, which includes a set of codes. Once he learned this- sometime before there was a big shift in Light and Dark- he learned a decent amount of morse code to better connect with Logan. He still remembers a few things from before they broke into their respective cemented roles and opposed each other more harshly. 

Upon hearing the recognizable knock, Logan steps up to his door and opens it. Roman smiles at seeing his hair a little unkempt, and Logan steps aside to welcome Roman into his room. As Roman walks in, Logan smoothes and fixes his hair to be more presentable. It makes Roman’s chest ache a little, thinking back to when the logical Side used to feel comfortable to have messier hair around others. Then again, it’s been so long since then. It shouldn’t be a surprise, but it still aches when the Prince sees how his companion tenses with another person in the room. 

“What is it that you need, Roman?” Logan’s voice is a constant steady noise.

“Well, my dearest nerd, I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to the Imagination for a surprise?” Roman watches as Logan tenses more at the mention of a surprise.

He never did like surprises.

“Roman, you know I don’t like surprises. Furthermore, I already have things I need to do.”

“I- well, I know that. I wasn’t done yet.”

Logan looks at him with patience, nodding at him to proceed.

“This surprise isn’t an adventure, or anything like that. I wanted to take you to a certain hill and sit with you. That’s it.”

An eyebrow raises and, “Then, how is it a surprise?”

Roman smirks.

“That, dear astrophile, is the reveal you shall see. A mystery to solve.”

Logan’s shoulders slump at the knowledge it won’t be an adventure, but still a mystery to uncover. Roman practically sees gears turning in his nerd’s eyes as he waits, shifting in place. 

“Well… I do like mysteries,” the nerd trails off as he glances at his computer.

“It can always wait if you can’t come right now. I know your work’s important to you, and it looks like I may have interrupted it,” the Prince quickly adds, hoping he’d at least agree to come along at some point. 

Logan pauses, seeing an odd anxiety twist in his fellow Side’s eyes. Roman can be loud and excitable and take up an entire room, but he also notes things most don’t. Like how who and who doesn’t like surprises, how certain Sides like their coffee in the morning, everyone��s varying love languages and they best receive affection from others, and so many more things. It still makes Logan pause, sometimes. He’s not used to being known, to have his little likes and quirks known and acknowledged by someone else. It’s been… a long time since he really felt known by someone. And he can’t say anyone but Roman has made an effort. Perhaps, though he’d never admit it, he welcomes Roman’s company over the Others because of how well he knows him, especially with how well he continues to know him. No matter how much they oppose each other. 

So, though he has work to do, he turns and saves his work as he shuts down his computer. When he turns back, Logan can’t miss the hope and excitement in Roman’s eyes. It makes them twinkle like spotlights. 

“Well, I was about done for the day, anyway. I wouldn’t mind accompanying you, Roman. Besides, who would I be to turn down a mystery?” Logan says, and Roman’s smile matches his eyes. 

“Wonderful! Come with me, Microsoft Nerd, and let the mystery begin,” Roman offers his hand, radiating an excitable energy only ever akin to him. 

The detective blinks at the gesture, humming before he takes his hand and gives a rare warm smirk. A brief look of princely fondness, and Roman pulls him along as they leave the room. 

~~~

After a bit of walking in the Imagination, Logan can’t help but think Roman planned detail into this little trip. 

Sometimes, he forgets how much thought goes into everything Roman creates. The path they walk is dirt, tall oak and vibrant irises line the sides. It’s in the middle of a forest, it seems, and Logan spots birds in treetops watching them as they stroll. It’s dark, but a plethora of fireflies light their way as swarms of them guide them to their destination. Their lights reflect in Logan’s eyes, and Roman finds himself distracted by the constellations he can see in them. He forces himself to look away, to ignore the fact his companion hasn’t taken his hand from his, and looks for the landmark. He smiles when he sees it ahead; a small flower of red, blue, and purple, each blossom its own colour, a flower that’s three flowers in one. It’s very different from the indigo irises around it, a floral creation of Roman’s own. Logan spots it as they walk closer, curiosity blooming like the flowers they pass by. 

“Roman, where are you taking me? We’re still in a forest,” he speaks softly, not wanting to break this peaceful atmosphere with his voice. 

“I told you, I’m taking you to a hill.”

“And yet all I see are trees and no hills.”

“Oh, and so you doubt my abilities, dear nerd? I thought you wanted a mystery.”

Logan rolls his eyes as he examines their surroundings. 

“Well, if we are going to a hill, and the path is through a forest… and it is dark out here…” the logical Side mumbles his thoughts. 

Roman smiles, listening for the inevitable moment when the nerd figures it out. 

“Perhaps… will we see the sky out on the hill?”

“We will,” the Prince feels excitement bubble in his gut as they walk an upward path.

Here, the trees are slowly less and less, but the flowers increase in number. The flora slowly changes from indigo irises into red and blue asters as they continue on. The fireflies slowly leave as well, making it darker and harder to see. Logan almost worries before he spots bright dots through the leaves of treetops, his heart racing at the hope that he gets to see something he really likes. He can see more and more lighting up the inky sky as the treetops become thinner and thinner.

“Roman, are we… the stars?”

Roman turns to Logan, seeing the hope in his eyes and a wonder he hasn’t seen in so long. He can only nod, silenced by his own awe of how beautifully soft and at ease his detective is. His detective’s eyes widen slightly with poorly veiled excitement and joy, his mouth agape. He quickly turns to see ahead of them, spotting a few stars peek out from where the tree line ends. Roman tugs his hand lightly, hurrying to the hilltop where the path becomes grass. 

Once they get there, a soft and plaid blanket awaits them, surrounded by all the odd asters. They sit down, releasing hands. Logan lays down to stare up at the starry night sky, and the Prince lays next to him. They’re quiet in this moment. The astrophile gapes and gazes at the asterisms of stars; the royal stargazes at the stargazer. Logan forgets the oddity of asters being red and blue- they’re only supposed to be white, purple, and pink realistically- captivated by everything he loves about the sky. He points out every constellation he sees. Delphinus, the Big Dipper, and even Ursa Minor as he whispers what they are. He doesn’t notice how Roman nods at him, though still staring fondly at Logan. To him, to the Prince, to this part of Creativity, Logan is the starry sky that’s filled with wondrous and curious things. He cannot look away from him; he cannot look away from his brilliant asterism which lays beside him. 

“Isn't it just astounding, the beauty of the universe and its many mysteries?”

“Yeah, it is,” Roman whispers back, because his beautiful universe is made of logic and starry eyes and indigo and glasses, and he’ll never not be astounded by him. 

As much as Logan and Roman oppose each other in baseline functions, they share plenty of similarities. They both love peaceful walks in the Imagination. They both appreciate each other’s presence, the ease it can bring to be around someone who knows you. Most importantly, they both love the stars. 

Logan loves the constellations and mysteries and wonders the night sky brings. 

Roman loves his own star, his favourite asterism of mystery and wonder, and he’ll always be starstruck by him. 

[kotlc-deleted-scenes]

Unlocked Paperback Edition Short Story

Hi again, Keeper readers!

SURPRISE!

The story you're about to read is a special bonus scene that I wrote exclusively for the paperback of Unlocked Book 8.5. (so yes, that means this story isn't in the hardcovers.) I wanted to add something extra for my paperback readers, since hardcovers always get all the attention.

(Plus, who doesn't want a little more of the Keeper crew?)

This scene features Linh, Marella, Maruca, and Stina and gives a little insight into what they were up to while Sophie and Keefe were dealing with their own struggles in Unlocked's main novella-and yes, there will definitely be more about this in Keeper #9!

So, think of this story as a tiny taste of what's to come, as well as a closer glimpse of four fan-favorite characters. It's told from Linh's POV, which was such a joy to explore, and I hope it's as much fun for you to read as it was for me to write!

Happy reading!

xo- Shannon Messenger

Trust Issues

Linh

"Is it me, or is your hair extra silvery today?" Marella asked as she thrust her arms out and snapped her fingers to ignite long threads of searing red and blue flames, which she quickly wove into a floating purple fireball as big as her head.

She nodded smugly at her creation-until it turned white-hot and started to spin. And no matter what command Marella shouted, she couldn't stop the flames from untangling and lashing out toward her friends.

Maruca shielded herself behind a force field.

Stina dived behind a cluster of rocks.

But Linh didn't blink as the fire whipped closer. She just flicked her hand in a smaller arc, making a wave curl off the shore and drown the inferno in puffs of shimmering mist.

"My mother gave me a set of hair combs yesterday," she told Marella, trailing her fingers through the strands framing her face, which were now silver from root to end. "She claimed she saw them and thought of me. But I know she was hoping I'd use them to pull my hair back and look 'normal' from the front. So I melted down the combs and added some additional metal highlights."

Maruca whistled as her dome of glowing energy blinked away. "Wow. My mom gave me the side-eye for days after I added this." She pointed to the single blue dreadlock twisted among her other brown ones. "Did your parents freak out when they saw?"

"Oh, I'm sure they're seething right now. But they pretended not to notice. They're good at avoiding confrontation." Linh glanced over her shoulder at Choralmere's elaborate mansion, where her mother had surely locked herself in her studio and was now furiously painting another portrait of her children with plain black hair.

"Well, that's one thing you and your parents have in common," Stina called as she stood, dusting sand off her tunic. "Oh please, spare me the confused eyebrow scrunch. I'm an Empath, remember? I've been picking up on all that bitter fury you keep trying to bury behind half smiles and dodged questions. Plus, you're hiding out at your parents' house-which we all know you hate-instead of going back to Solreef and smacking some sense into your brother."

"She has a point," Marella admitted. "Come on, Linh-we spent weeks plotting ways to get Tam away from the Neverseen. And now that he's back, you're pretending he doesn't exist."

"You won't even answer his hails," Maruca added.

"Can we also talk about the doom and gloom following you around?" Stina asked, pointing at something above Linh's head.

Linh felt her cheeks burn when she spotted the dark gray clouds casting her in shadow.

She hadn't sensed the storm's presence, or realized she'd been the one gathering it.

Did that mean her control was slipping?

Or that her power had grown once again?

Maruca moved to Linh's side and hooked an arm around her elbow. "It's okay to not be okay. But I think you need to start talking about it."

"Not 'it'-her," Marella corrected, smoothing a few of the tiny braids scattered through her blond hair as she moved to Linh's other side. "And don't act like you don't know we're talking about your brother's new black-cloaked BFF."

The air shifted.

Cold moisture pressed against Linh's shoulders, covering her pale skin with goose bumps as the clouds pleaded for a downpour.

"If you need to make it rain, I can shield us," Maruca offered, stretching out her fingers and making sparks of white energy dance across her dark skin.

Linh shook her head and gritted her teeth, sending a silent command to the clouds to disappate-but the water fought back, coiling around her head as pleas pulsed in her ears like a drumbeat.

Storm.

Storm.

STORM.

"Brace yourselves," Stina warned, clearly assuming they were going to need Maruca's force field.

Linh refused to let the water take over.

She hadn't had Mentors to guide her until recently, so most of her methods came from hard-won instincts.

Be calm, she told the storm.

Steady.

Gentle.

The clouds softened with each word. But the mist lingered in the air-a cold, sticky veil against Linh's skin.

Time to scatter, she told the tiny droplets.

Be peaceful.

Quiet.

The last command was also for herself.

She'd choked back so many words over the past few days that her throat felt raw from the effort-but she wasn't about to acknowledge the traitor's existence.

She didn't even want to think her name.

Because it wasn't a name.

It was a persona.

The Neverseen's way of staying anonymous as they carried out their evil deeds.

Much like the black hoods that covered their faces-which the traitor was still hiding behind, even though it'd been almost  week since she switched sides in Loamnore. Yet she'd also made zero effort to hide the creepy white eye symbol stitched across her sleeve.

"Whatever you're thinking right now, just say it," Maruca whispered as the clouds gathered again, darker and heavier then they'd been before.

"And maybe try calming that," Stina added, pointing to a white-capped wave surging toward them.

Linh's eyes widened-then squeezed tight as Maruca shielded all four of them under a glaringly bright force field.

"STOP!" Linh shouted at the ocean. "RETREAT!"

The words sent the wave curling backward-but it was too late to stop the frothy water from surging up to their stomachs.

"Sorry guys," Maruca mumbled as everyone gasped and tugged on their soaked tunics. "Water's a lot harder to block than I thought it would be."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing," Linh assured her, turning her face toward the sun. Her ears rang and her head throbbed as the warmth tingled against her skin-but she used that energy to gather the water from everyone's hair and clothes and send it scattering.

"We're fine," Maruca promised, lowering the force field.

"But if you want to make it up to us, you can start by talking about Little Miss Neverseen!" Marella added. "I'll even go first! Raise your hand if you think it's super weird that we still don't know Glimmer's real name!"

Linh cringed at the title, and the ocean churned and frothed.

"Maybe we shouldn't pressure her," Maruca suggested as Stina scrambled to higher ground. "Or at least we should wait until we're somewhere a little... drier."

"Linh wrapped her arms around herself, trying to match her breaths to the calmer, steadier currents hiding beneath the waves.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Ebb and flow. 

Just keep breathing.

Slowly her pulse calmed, and the tide receded.

"I'm fine," she promised her friends. "And talking about this isn't going to change anything. My brother has decided to trust her-"

"Even though Glimmer's the one who made the bonds that turned him into-what did Lady Gisela call him?" Stina interrupted. "Her little Shade pet?"

Just keep breathing, Linh reminded herself again as her gaze shifted to the horizon, where the water seemed to stretch and stretch.

It helped her to remember her place-a single drop in a vast sea of other voices.

"I'll admit... I don't understand my brother's decision," she murmured. "But Tam's not the only one who's decided to trust her. Tiergan's letting her stay at Solreef-and the Black Swan and the Council are clearly cooperating with her. Otherwise we'd know who she is and what she looks like."

"That's why I'm bringing this up," Stina told her. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time before Glimmer pretends to know something important about the Neverseen and makes a deal for her freedom and-"

"Actually, that already happened," Marella cut in. "Thankfully, she didn't get her freedom. But somethin big went on yesterday. I'm still trying to get more details."

Linh chewed her lip, wishing she could insist that she would've heard about something like that if it were true, but...

Sometimes her friends weren't the best at keeping her in the loop. Or including her in their plans.

Usually she didn't mind. But with the way things were with Tam, she was starting to feel a divide.

"So what I'm hearing," Stina said, resting her hands on her hips, "is that it's up to us to prove that Glimmer's evil, before she can follow through on whatever she's planning."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Linh asked, trying not to imagine what chaos the traitor could be preparing for.

"Easy! By proving that Glimmer's the one who helped Lady Gisela escape from Loamnore," Marella told her. "Someone had to help, since Tam had bound her hands with shadows-and I'm pretty sure a Flasher could take care of that."

Linh sighed. "I already though of that. Sophie told me she'd look into it, so it must be a dead end."

"Right, because Foster the Wonder Girl never misses anything," Stina countered, rolling her eyes. "You can all save the yay-Sophie speeches by the way. I know you're all on Team Moonlark, so-"

"You're not?" Marella interrupted.

"I'm on Team Let's-Be-Real, okay? Sure, Foster's done some fancy stuff-and she has lots of abilities and whatever. But she fails just as much as she wins. Probably more, actually. I mean, how many times has she almost died now? And how many times have all of us almost died because of her plans? Plus, she's also not always the hero. You saved Atlantis that time"-she poked Linh in the arm-"not Sophie."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't have been able to if Sophie hadn't been enhancing me," Linh reminded her.

Stina shrugged. "Like I said, she's done some fancy stuff. That doesn't change the fact that she's also made some pretty huge mistakes-many include trusting the wrong people. And she tends to lose focus when her little boyfriends are in danger."

"Truth," Marella agreed. "Which is definitely happening right now. Sophie's main focus is on figuring out what Keefe's mom did to him-which is fine. That's also important. But, your brother's spending way too much time with one of the Neverseen right now, and someone needs to fix that-and I know you'd rather hide out here because you're mad at him. But you're the only person he's going to listen to about this."

"Maybe not." Linh watched the waves crash, steady and strong.

The water was always so sure of its next move.

Oh, how she envied it.

"Tam seems... different," she murmured, needing a breath before she could add the truth she'd been trying to hide from. "His time with the Neverseen... changed him."

She understood why.

But that didn't make it any less terrifying.

Plus, she missed her twin.

Tam was the one person she'd always been able to count on.

Her voice of reason.

Her source of strength and comfort and calm.

And now... he'd chosen Glimmer over her.

What other ways had his loyalties shifted?

And what would happen the next time he had to choose a side?

"Can we at least talk to your bodyguards?" Marella asked, dragging Linh out of her drifting thoughts.

Linh frowned. "Why would we-"

"Because they were in Loamnore with us," Marella reminded her. "And because they're dwarves."

"The only other way Lady Gisela could've gotten out of the city is if some dwarves helped her," Stina clarified. "So maybe your bodyguards saw something or heard something from their friends."

"If they did, they would've told me," Linh argued.

"Would they?" Maruca asked. "I mean, it doesn't seem like you talk to them much."

"I bet you don't even know their names," Marella added-and Linh's face burned when she realized Marella was right.

She'd only spoken with her bodyguards a couple of times-despite how long they'd been protecting her.

"Well... they would've told someone," Linh corrected.

But as the words left her lips, she realized she wasn't sure.

And this was the kind of detail they should definitely check.

They should've checked days ago-but she could deal with that regret later.

For now, Linh raised her foot, trying to remember the precise stomping sequence she was supposed to use to call for them.

Her bodyguards must've been listening because three thuds in, two furry, molelike bodies popped out of the sand.

"I'm Urre," the shorter dwarf said as Linh, Stina, Marella, and Maruca scrambled backward. "And this is Timur-but there's no need to apologize for not knowing that," Urre added quickly. "We keep to ourselves. It's easier to be objective about your protection that way."

"Plus, your world is far too bright." Timur rubbed his squinted eyes.

"I'm still sorry," Linh felt the need to tell them. "And I hope you know how grateful I am to have your protection."

Both dwarves dipped a tiny bow.

"To answer your question," Urre said, resting her paws on her forehead to shield her eyes from the sunlight, "I wish we could confirm or deny your suspicions. But neither of us saw your enemy escape. And all the lingering deserters have been arrested and interrogated by our new queen. None of them had any new information."

"Couldn't they be lying or hiding something?" Maruca wondered.

"Perhaps," Timur admitted. "But their reports match our evidence. Your enemy left alone. We traced her escape path through an old corridor with soft, unsteady ground. And there was only one set of footprints, and one set of handprints from times when she must've stumbled."

"There were handprints?" Marella verified, glancing at Linh before she held up her arms with her wrists pressed together, as though they'd been bound. "Were those handprints close to each other, like this?"

The dwarves slowly shook their heads.

"I cannot say for certain," Timur said quietly, "since we were more concerned with her footprints. But I feel like I remember the palm prints side by side, like this."

He dropped to his hands and feet, keeping both shoulder-width apart.

"See?" Stina said as Linh, Marella, and Maruca each sucked in a breath. "Someone must have cut her shadow bonds before she fled-and there's only one person who could've done that."

Linh's mouth went dry.

Her pulse thrummed as she glanced at the sky, where dark clouds were gathering over her head again. But this time she embraced them.

A storm was coming.

She wasn't sure how big or brutal it would be.

But if they were going to weather it, she needed to talk to Tam.

Immediately.

[crybabyjam]

ship: todochako 

rating: g

length: 3k

summary: Todoroki picks up hitch-hiker!Uraraka.

c/w parental death (past), joking about murder

deleted from twitter, written for a former friend

---

The sun beats down heavy as Ochako tightens the straps of her backpack. In it was three changes of clothes, some stale bread, her dead phone.

It was only mid-morning but already she was sweating her absolute ass off.

She runs her fingers through her choppy hair, uneven on one edge because she hadn't had a mirror when she'd taken a rusty pair of scissors to them. Now she wishes she'd just shaved it all off, if only to save herself from a sweaty, overheated neck now.

Her parents had loved it when she'd had long hair.

Ochako remembers how her mom would wash the long strands for her every weekend, even when Ochako huffed and puffed and said she could do it herself.

Her mom always took the time to wash it gently, and condition with something sweet smelling— "Because a sweet girl like you deserves sweet hair, too."

And how her dad would braid it every time she visited, even when Ochako would have to undo it the next day. He would take his strong, worker's hands and lift each length of hair carefully so that he didn't tug on her tender scalp.

Now that they were gone, Ochako didn't see the point in keeping her hair long. It just slowed her down. It just made her /sad/.

She sighs, and steps out of the way when a car plows through a puddle right beside her.

Her legs get soaked, but it isn't anything worse than the day prior, when a truck had soaked her from head to toe.

Ochako just sighs and brushes the muddy water droplets from her already dirty legs.

It's a good thing she was out of socks, or else she'd have to start worrying about her shoes molding at this point.

She's just begun kicking her shoe off, to finish the rest of the trek up to the next city barefoot, when a car pulls up to a stop beside her.

"Are you alright?" A low voice asks, to her left. Ochako startles and twists on her heel.

She almost ignores it, because cars like that didn't stop for hitch-hikers like her.

But the car follows her a few more feet as she slows to a stop.

When she looks over her shoulder, confused, the man in the car tilts his head at her and nods.

"Are you alright?" He repeats. "I saw you get wet."

"Ah!" Ochako yells, and then lowers her voice. Geez, where are your manners, Uraraka? "I'm fine! Sorry."

The man blinks, and Ochako belatedly notices that he has the most stunning, grey eyes. Like darkened silver.

"Why should you be sorry?" He asks with a frown.

And then, he shakes his head.

"Do you need a ride? It's dangerous to get in a stranger's car, but you shouldn't walk around barefoot. Glass would hurt." He pauses, and then adds. "Probably less than murder, but I promise not to murder you."

Ochako is speechless.

But not speechless enough not to /laugh/ at the absurdity of the stranger.

She feels it bubble up in her chest like boiling water, and it floats out of her ugly, like when a pot spills the water and burns on the stove burner.

The man just watches, silent, as she wipes tears from her eye and keeps on laughing. He just leans against the steering wheel and waits patiently, face completely deadpan.

He's /serious/, and that just makes it funnier.

She gasps for breath as she leans against his car, one shoe falling to the pavement and skipping beneath the undercarriage, shit.

Ochako's laugh starts up again as she drops to her knees to retrieve it.

When she comes back up, knees blackened by sidewalk dust, and hands darkened by asphalt, the man is smiling. Just barely.

"I guess murder /would/ hurt more than stepping on glass." She agrees. "Depending on the type of murder."

He murmurs the words underneath his breath, eyebrows furrowing.

"You're right," he says, troubled.

She leans into the rolled down window, arms crossing to hide the ripped hem of t-shirt.

"You sure you /promise/ not to murder me? I kind of need my life."

Well. All things considering, it was pretty much all she had left. She couldn't exactly afford the house after her parents died. They hadn't been able to finish the down payments, and none of them (including Ochako) had enough savings to keep her afloat.

So, hitch-hiking. Walking to nowhere and hoping for more.

A few miles in an air-conditioned car was more than what she had, so she'll take it.

The man turns serious, though. The smile wipes off of his face— not replaced with a frown, but replaced with another deadpan look. He nods his head, making eye-contact the entire time, and says,

"I promise not to murder you."

Well.

He promised, at least. Ochako still had a little bit of mace in her pocket, if she needed it.

So she gets in the car.

---

His name is Todoroki Shouto and he has an open duffle bag of yen, two pillows with embroidered pillowcases, a shattered phone, and a half-full photo album in his backseat.

Ochako stares at the photo album instead of the other three things, because she definitely does not want to get murdered, thank you very much.

He was a cute baby. Two-toned hair from birth, and big eyes that only had one expression: wide. Ochako traces her ragged thumb nail across one of the pictures, where he's covered in cake frosting at his second birthday, and accidentally creases the polaroid image.

She hurriedly flips the page.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm fine," Ochako mumbles, ignoring her tummy which immediately begins to grumble in argument. She flips another page to muffle the noise, and comes across more empty pockets than full ones.

From the way there's the edge of one polaroid still caught in one of the slots, Ochako assumes that they used to be just as full as the rest.

She flips to the back, and a roll of film flops into her lap.

"Do you even still have a camera for this?" Ochako asks, holding the strange, almost novel-looking thing up to the waxing light of the returning sun. Then she brings it back down to the shadows in case that might ruin the film inside, oops.

"At home," Todoroki says, low. Her shoes are in his lap, because he wanted her to have more room to look at the photo album. Ochako had tried to just place them on the floor of the car, but he looked so earnest in his offer that she hadn't been able to say no without feeling bad.

Besides, she had a feeling he was pretty harmless. Weird, but who wasn't?

"Oh, are you moving or something?" Ochako asks, and then immediately grimaces at the invasion of privacy. "I mean… 'cause of the stuff in your backseat."

"Moving…" Todoroki repeats, focusing on the road. They're driving slow enough that almost everyone passes by them, but Ochako got pretty motion-sick so she appreciated it.

Todoroki leans back in his seat, both hands at the very apex of the steering wheel. It's outlined in a leather cover and is so shiny that it almost looks metallic. Expensive as fuck, probably.

Everything about him looked pretty expensive, actually. The car was brand new, from this year. Still had the new smell and everything.

Ochako was actually pretty glad he insisted on the shoe-thing, if only to prevent mud stains.

Although his pants /did/ look pretty designer. Ah, fuck.

"Yes," Todoroki says, after the long moments of silence. "I'm moving."

"Oh! That's… fun. That's fun!" Ochako nods.

Todoroki turns them off of the road, and pulls into a parking spot. Ochako blinks past the raindrops on her side of the window, and squints out at the illuminated signs.

A restaurant. Ah, /fuck/. Ochako pats her shorts for her wallet, as if she could even /pretend/ it had money in it. All it had was her ID (almost expired) and a coupon for leg waxing.

"Do you want to come in with me?" Todoroki asks, turning to her completely. The seatbelt gets caught, and it does that thingy it does where it locks and gets tighter until you take it all the way off. He doesn't seem to mind.

Ochako smiles, though even she can feel how strained it is. "Ah, I'm fine. I should probably go actually, but thank you for the ride. The rain should stop soon, so…"

"Oh."

Todoroki frowns, glancing at the arm rest between them. He's engaged the parking brake even though they aren't on an incline, and Ochako's smile relaxes to something more real.

"It was really nice to meet you," she says. "I'd give you my phone number but I kinda didn't pay the bill." (Since, uh, last year, but he didn't need to know that.)

"It was nice to meet you too," Todoroki says. "I can buy you food."

"Oh," Ochako parrots, dumbly. Her eyes dart to the yen-bag and she hurries to shake her head. "I couldn't—"

"I don't mind. It's my dad's money— and he hates me. And I hate him, so." Todoroki finally takes off his too-tight seatbelt and it rattles noisily as it smacks against the car door.

"I…"

Ochako isn't sure how to approach /that/ particular landmine. Nor is she sure how she's supposed to resist free food. When had she last eaten. Two days ago, or something? She'd kinda been ignoring it, but the walking helped.

Now that she's technically resting, she can feel her tummy about to throw a conniption.

Todoroki blinks his wide eyes at her as he waits, not making a move. His blinks are slow, like a cat, and his eyes flicker back and forth between her own.

She sighs heavily, but a grin is already parting her lips. "You're a strange one, Todoroki."

"Am I?"

"I don't have any money, so you have to pay for all of it," she warns.

"I will."

"And I eat a lot! I haven't eaten in a while."

"Okay."

"And… and I want my shoes back."

Todoroki hands her the shoes. There's mud residue on his pants and the bottom of his shirt.

But he has a small smile on his face as he watches her struggle to put her shoes on in the closed space, so maybe it was alright.

---

Shouto watches as Uraraka stuffs two donut holes in her mouth, licking away the powdered sugar that paints across her lips. It looks like snow when it dusts down to her shorts, and smears chalky residue on her thighs.

He hands her a napkin, and she blushes pretty like a sunset paints ocean water pink when it sets at night.

"Sorry for the mess," she says quietly.

"It's okay. Is it good?"

"It's good!" She wiggles in her seat, and it reminds Shouto of a really happy hamster. "Do you want some?"

She's very beautiful. Her hair is cut in a way he's never really seen before, but it frames her face nicely. He likes it more than his almost-bowl cut. Some of her hair tickles across her shoulder, but she ignores it as she holds a donut hole out to him with a toothpick.

She keeps holding it as he bites down on the warm, cooked dough. He'd never really been fed by someone before. Well, as a baby— sure. But he had a feeling this was different. Was it different?

Shouto chews thoughtfully, and Uraraka smiles at him. She doesn't seem to mind feeding him. She stabs another one with the same toothpick and holds it out for him again, one hand underneath to catch the crumbs.

"Yummy, right? Thanks for buying them! I'll…" She flinches, interrupting herself. Her smile dims a little, like she'd lost power. "I'd offer to pay you back but, uh… ahaha, you know?"

Shouto /doesn't/ know, but he nods anyway. "I can buy you more," he says, soft. "You can take them with you. When you leave."

She uses the toothpick to prod and poke at the remaining few donut holes. They roll in the leftover powdered sugar at the bottom of the box.

"I'll be alright. But thank you." Her eyes get watery at the bottom lashes, and Shouto frowns. "You've been really kind."

When she laughs next, it's thick like she's close to sobbing. Her voice is shaky. Shouto doesn't like it- liked it much better when she was laughing /happily/ instead.

"Thanks for not murdering me," she adds. "This is probably the most fun I've had in a while."

"You can stay. I can drive you anywhere you want."

"Oh!" Uraraka jumps in her seat, as if he'd yelled it. He hadn't really spoken any louder than before, but he clears his throat and speaks even softer anyway.

"We just met, but I can take you anywhere you need to go. And I have enough money for the both of us. I really enjoy your company."

They're pulled off at an empty lot near a supermarket. Somewhere off in the distance is a park. The children there are loud, voices echoing in the evening ambiance.

Uraraka looks out towards the noise, but he can see her swallow heavily.

"That's kind of dangerous, isn't it? We just met."

She says it like how she says other things that are meant to be teasing. He nods anyway.

"It is. You can drive, if that makes you feel better. Or you can sit in the backseat. I would have bought a bigger car if I knew I would meet you today."

She laughs again, starting with a snort and ending with a giggle. It makes his heart beat faster in his chest, and he isn't sure if he's nervous or happy to hear it.

"What if /I'm/ the murderer?" Uraraka stabs one of the donut holes and brings it up to her mouth. She smiles at him when he frowns, and then smiles wider when he shrugs.

"If it happens, it happens."

"/Todoroki/." She slaps her palm against her forehead and sinks down in her seat. "That's the most dangerous mindset I've ever heard."

"I'm sorry?" He glances down at her the further she sinks, but she doesn't seem particularly angry. It looks like she's fighting, but on the inside. "It's not that dangerous."

"It's pretty dangerous."

She brushes her legs clean. Sits up straight and looks out the window again. Her breath fans out across the glass, fogging it.

He rolls the window down for her, and she does that snorting laugh again.

"You're a funny guy, Todoroki."

"Am I?"

"You are." Uraraka shifts in her seat, to pull her legs cross-crossed. There's one donut hole left in the box, and she rolls it around a few more times before she pokes it with that same toothpick and shoves it in her mouth.

As she chews, she glares at him. Almost like she can't see him and needs glasses. He leans in closer so that she can find what she's looking for.

"You're funny in both ways. Weird… but you make me laugh."

She closes up the box, fitting the toothpick between her teeth so that she can absently chew on it.

"So you're… 'moving'," she says, finally. "- and I don't have a home anymore. Where would we even go?"

Shouto glances past the parking lot, at the semi-distant street that is starting to pile with traffic after a brief lull. But his eyes inevitably drag back over to her.

Uraraka stares back, cheeks pink. A small smile grows on her face. She runs her fingernail across the edge of the empty donut box. He'd have to figure out a place to recycle it if he could.

There are so many places they could go. Somewhere warm, towards a beach. Or somewhere quiet, with wide hills and short buildings. To a festival. To a shoe store.

"Everywhere?"

"/Everywhere/?" Uraraka shakes her head, exasperated. "What about when we run out of money?"

Shouto shrugs. Uraraka laughs again. Her hand drifts to the middle console, palm up, and Shouto watches it for a while.

Then she leans over to grab his hand. Her fingers are warm, rough at the tips but soft everywhere else. She would look pretty in nail polish. /Prettier/, rather- if it were possible.

He maybe had a crush on her. Was this what love felt like? Soft hands and warm smiles? He liked it.

"I-"

She interrupts by leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. It's soft, like a feather landing on snow. "Take me everywhere, then. And then I'll give you my answer."

Shouto, dazed, touches his fingers to his cheek. He forgets to stop holding her hand, so hers come along with it. She doesn't seem to mind. "Your answer?"

"On whether or not I'll stay," she says, cheeky. "So you'd better make it a fun ride."

Shouto squeezes his other hand down on the steering wheel, if only to keep his heartbeat in his veins so that the organ doesn't leap out of his chest and act a fool. He accidentally steps on the gas, and the car revs in protest.

Uraraka laughs again. She tightens her hold on his hand and pulls it back down between them. He squeezes it back.

And when they get back on the road again, fifteen minutes later, Uraraka has gone from laughing to singing loud to the radio and dancing in her seat. She's pure joy.

---

It stops raining, and the world feels brighter.

[generalfoolish]

Jate'kara

Rating: 18+ (minors take a hike)

Warnings: lots of bad space language, talk of Bo-Katan and Death Watch, sleazy g-pa Greef

Word count: ~2K

Pairing: (eventually!!!) Din Djarin x F!reader

Summary: A Mandalorian is searching for Mando.

A/N: Hey babes! This is number four of the #mandomay2021 prompt list. I promise they'll keep being longer! Enjoy 💕

Masterlist | Aru'e | Cyare’se

Piloting in hyperspace didn’t require you to interact with the controls. For longer flights, this allowed you to sleep and recharge. But on this flight, you longed for something to do with your hands. You were jittery. You couldn’t sleep. You could only pace. Zek’s words crashed around in your mind. You had left Echi there, with a stale promise on your lips to return. He had slowly shaken his head in disagreement and muttered that it wasn’t your jate’kara. You had only scoffed, your destiny was what you made it.

Except in the deafening silence of hyperspace, the crushing truth was suffocating. You had long decided that your jate’kara was to die fighting the Empire. You had mused and waited, hunted and paced, you were tired of plotting. You would give your life, gladly, to see even one Imp fall.

Why did it have you reeling now?

It was the covert. You told yourself. Placating and smoothing the crinkles that so much life had created. Beyond Echi, you hadn’t talked to another soul in ages. You were well and alone. However, now, you had a place. Zek had offered, insisted, and almost begged, you to stay. They needed more hands for foundlings, they needed more income to sponsor them. The group had moved from Zanbar after a deadly battle had broken out, and there had been no shortage of orphans in the wake.

You had turned the offer over more than you wanted to admit. You had stayed the night. You shared their meals, their home. They were far from the reaches of Mandalore, and they seemed free to live without the stifling rules you had known on Krownest. You had felt seen and accepted there. They didn’t even notice your armor. Their kindness reminded you of your own covert.

You wouldn’t have fit in. Your darkness would have been their destruction, your inner voice reprimanded. You shuddered the thought down. The images of prone children, faceless for their helmets with pools of blood gathering underfoot, were too quick. You fisted your eyes, rubbing your knuckles in harshly.

Before you knew it, the children were your own. The destruction of your own covert. Your buir crawling to his blaster, stopped with a crack from another faceless stormtrooper. You gasped and tried to think of anything else. There was nothing else. Only death, and the lull of deep space. You tried to calm your breathing. It only worked marginally, the panic attack at bay, but the paralyzing fear still lingering.

A shrill ping brought you back to life. You made your way over to the panel, and dropped from hyper. The ping was a message, a holo sent from an informant, and the message was simple: go to Nevarro. You wondered what good the volcanic planet would be to you. You drummed your fingers against the datapad, before punching in the coordinates to the port on Nevarro. All you knew was that there had been a Guild on the planet, but you didn’t know much else.

With no other leads, you hoped that the Guild might have a puck or a location on some of the men you sought. It was close to Mandalore, too close to not have ties, so the locals might not immediately view you as a danger.

The T Visor of your helmet stared back at you, your reflection searching the inky wells and finding nothing. The helmet was the most important piece of armor, it protected you the most, but you couldn’t help but feel separate from it. You felt stripped every time you took it off, and you wondered how much of your humanity was retained when you slid the metal in place. You hoped most of it, but you knew it was likely none.

~

You maneuvered your ship down, a ring of dust blurring your windshield. Volcanic planet, indeed. You made your way through the streets quickly. The main street appeared to be under construction, and you wondered why they would bother. The whole city seemed on the brink of falling in on itself. You found the market easily, and veered opposite it. You had expected the town’s leader would be across from the most populous spot, and right you were. You crossed the open threshold, and looked around.

“Ah, here for Mando?” The human woman was leaning over some paperwork, but sat up straight when she saw you. You tilted your head slightly, but remained silent.

“Sheriff Dune, at your service. Who’re you?” The woman’s short hair curled into her eyes, but she swept them back with a broad hand. You noticed her bulging arms under her long sleeves. She was far from just a sheriff. You had no idea why you were sent here, or who you were actually looking for. You decided to take the chance. Mando, short for Mandalorian?

“Yes, Sheriff Dune. I’m looking for Mando.” She stretched her lips in a thin line and nodded.

“Your business with him?” You swore her eyes narrowed as she spoke. She was friendly with this one. You worked fast to think through a sufficient lie. A mandalorian not sharing his name would likely be a bounty hunter, and of course, the guild was on Nevarro, not too far from Mandalore. You needed more information, but you could work with what you had so far.

“Heard he was the best, and I need some help tracking someone down.” You released the stance you held, to look more at ease, and tried to lighten your voice to a self-deprecating tone. You hoped she would buy it. It was plausible enough.

You didn’t worry long. She visibly relaxed.

“He’s off world at the moment. Want me to send him a holo?” You tensed back up, and paused. You had no message for him. Dank farrick, you didn’t know if he was even who you were searching for. Cara seemed to pick up on that.

“I’ll just ping him, tell him Greef needs him back.” She waved it off, and disappeared behind a door. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to think. What if he was Death Watch? What if he was with...you swallowed it. You couldn’t afford to think about that. If he was against you, you’d deal with it when the time came. You had handled yourself against mandalorians before, and not that you were itching for that fight, you could do it again.

“You always wear that bucket?” Cara asked as she walked back in. Your mind raced again. The lies piling on, the hole you were digging seemingly too far to return from.

“Only if I want to put it on again.” You told her, terse. She nodded, and chuckled.

“Yeah, you and Mando will get along fine. He’s only a few hours out. You caught him on a return trip.” You swallowed hard, knowing that the metal would hide your nervousness.

“Good. Guild?” You asked, not knowing anything else to add. She nodded.

“Karga, got a guild member up front. Another bucket head.” She flashed a grin at you, and slumped down heavily into her chair.

“Welcome to Nevarro! What can I do for you?” A darker human entered, holding his arms far apart. You knew the tactic, he was afraid of mandalorians.

“I’m looking for someone.” You started slowly, hoping to gain more information than you lost.

“Not really my expertise.” He raised his hands in a shrug.

“No, I’m wondering if you have any Imp pucks?” You asked, hoping to cut through the game.

“You guild?” Crik. You hadn’t thought about the guild requiring status. No sense in lying here.

“No.”

“Doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid.” You bite your cheek. Hard. Hard enough to draw blood. Anything to keep from grinding your teeth more.

“You can keep the bounty.” You reasoned, hoping he was greedy.

“Like I said,” he glanced at Cara who was doing a bad job at hiding her interest. “Doesn’t work like that.” Greedier. Great, you thought.

“I’ll pay you for the puck, and you keep the bounty. I’m assuming you do have a puck.” You had struck a chord.

“It’s an Imperial job, and I can give you the chain code.” You nodded at him, and brought your vambrace up, ready for input. He was silent. You raised your helmet to him, and he shook his head.

“I can’t. It feels...wrong now.” You ground your teeth down hard enough to make your jaw click. The sooner this Mando was here, the sooner you could blast a hole through this Karga.

“Who is it on?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Bo-Katan. She helped Mando, and well, seems wrong sending another one of you after her.” You dropped your arm, not caring if your hand was played. It couldn’t be true.

“Bo-Katan? The mandalorian?” You asked, the modulator picking up your shock with ease.

“Yes, she is not an enemy here.” Dank farrick.

“She fought with us. I can’t believe you even thought about it, Greef.” Cara reprimanded, but you barely registered it. You were spinning out.

“I...I have no quarrels with Bo-Katan.” You told them, hoping they heard the sincerity. “I...I’m sorry, is there a covert here?” They looked at each other before looking at you.

“It was destroyed.” Cara told you gently. It felt like too much. “I can show you.” You nodded numbly, and followed behind her through the dusty streets. She took you to a tattered curtain, and you slipped in.

“I’ll send Mando here when he arrives.” Cara told you, her tone more concerned than anything. You nodded tightly and disappeared down the concrete steps. When you were away from the landing you tugged your helmet off and threw it against the wall. The beskar clanged loudly against it, but it tumbled to the ground unharmed. You cursed under your breath at yourself, and grabbed it to inspect the paint. As expected, there was a gash under the eye, where the black had chipped away. The silver shining through broke what was left of your resolve.

“Bo-criking-Katan? Who is this guy?” You grumbled and collapsed to the floor. Dust swirled up and around you, and you couldn’t help but think of Jeculan. The swirling snow had been beautiful. Echi had bounded through it easily, hunting for some unsuspecting prey. You laughed, you had released a menace on that planet. You wondered what Zek was doing, and how the foundlings were liking playing with their new pet. Your lie wasn’t unsustainable. You could keep the helmet on, that wasn’t a problem. But you didn’t know enough about the Death Watch to play pretend with a member. If Mando was in bed with Bo-Katan, they’d kill you before you made it off this crikking dusty planet. You laid your head back, and rolled your neck. You hadn’t even got any leads from the guild guy, what was his name, Karga?

You groaned and looked around. You hadn’t noticed at first, but the covert was wrecked. The clan living here had left in a hurry. Cara had said it was destroyed. You wondered if they had lived in secret, like some. You wondered about the foundlings who would have made their way here. You wondered about this Mando.

Not the most original, you scoffed. Mando the Mandalorian? You supposed it would be helpful in bounty hunting to be nameless, but a fake name would have inspired more fear.

You were so entranced in your own thoughts that you hadn’t heard the footsteps ringing down the steps. You barely registered a man clearing his throat. You whipped your head around to face him before you thought about it; before you remembered to put on your helmet. He turned his head quickly, and you realized your mistake. You slid your helmet down into place, and you mumbled an apology.

“You’re Mando?” He nodded tightly, turning to face you again. Your heart was seizing with fear. You had seen other mandalorians, you knew that they could be broad, even massive. The armor helped. But Mando seemed giant, looming over you, no paint, glinting in the dusty sunlight.

“Cara said you needed me?” He sounded tired. You felt, even amidst your fear, guilty for this.

“I’m looking for someone, but I didn’t realize that…” You fell off, not sure how to continue. He waited, his head tilting slightly when you hadn’t continued after a moment. “You were with Bo-Katan.” His helmet seemed to tilt further over.

“What does this have to do with her?” He asked, a hand landing on his hip.

“Nothing, actually. I just don't want her attention.” He snorted, and held his hand out. You took it, and he helped you to your feet.

“I’m not with her. I’m actually trying to stay as far from her as possible. Who are you after?” He asked softly. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Imps.”

**Translations

Jate'kara: destiny, luck

Crik: expletive

Dank farrick: expletive

[kaetastic]

A TEASE

pairing: Luca Changretta x Shelby!Reader

summary: Times when Y/N tease the Italian with his native language, except, he seems to always (maybe) be stuck in situations he cannot respond. [requested: @supermegapauselouca​ ]

word count: 5.0k (i know haha)

warning: it can get slightly nsfw, handjob, edging, language, a twinge of angst, interruption of a possible smut, fluff ??, barely a mention of shelby

note: i’m sorry that this is out late but thank you so much for your ideas @supermegapauselouca​ ! a true blessing to my luca list. once again, sorry not sorry that i added a twinge of nsfw. i couldn’t help it okay. the man does something to me. also! i’m sorry if i barely mentioned shelby but to add it all up, she’s the cousin of tommy :) (i realized shelby!reader after rereading the request eekk) p.s i do not know italian so please pass for any incorrect translation

An exasperated huff squeezed into the air. The man whose face had been splattered with lines of prominent wrinkles of age, plopped into the frigid seat, shifting from the cooling bites of the leather. On his left side was a much younger man who was dressed in a velvet green suit, pressed without a crease despite the troublesome issue he had fallen hours ago. His hair was thick and luscious of chestnut locks, though ruffled like the peaks of a meringue. Unlike the patently elderly uncle who had sprinkles of dust and cigarette ashes smeared on his strands of hair, the two other men in the room had been of more youthful age than he was.

The wallpaper plastered over the brick walls were smeared over with golden frames of oil paintings that were accompanied by hazy grey of photographs snapped by a camera. Although there was a handful of ones with the mafioso owner of the house sporting a sly smirk either alone or with figures of his family, the office had also been decorated with other business-related pictures. Blurry photos of hands shaking with business partners and the times when they had been successful to claim a port as theirs were framed amongst the plentiful bunch of personal photos. A touch of sentiment as the office resided in his own home. 

“Where’ve you been Luca? I only see your face once a month. Bet you been diggin’ holes that we’ll have to fill back up.” A chuckle fell off the lips of the house owner who sat behind the desk, a toothpick dangling between his fingers. Despite him being in the comforting walls of his home, Luca was still dressed impeccably over the top.

Suit pressed, polished black shoes (one he had dug out from the bottom of his closet), hair sleeked back, and gold onyx rings singing a clink every time he furled his fingers, it would seem as if the man was ready to attend a critical meeting. That was not the case. The Italian didn’t have to, but he was Luca Changretta. Family was not an exception for them to see him in a loose, crumpled white dress shirt.

“The only person that’s doing that’s you, my cousin,” The young man chuckled, shaking his head at the unexpected hurl. “I’ve been hearing a lot about this new woman you’re seeing.”

A huff fell the older man’s lips when the words trickled into his ears, “He’s with someone new every week.” Orlando shot back, eyes gawking at his uncle in disbelief. The old man had just shot bullets. 

“That’s not true!” Orlando semi-pouted. Even though there were endless of evidence to the statement, Orlando had to defend himself. The elderly quirked his bleached eyebrows. If only the accused man had been slightly early, he wouldn’t have been caught deep inside a woman by his uncle. 

“Oh, it’s very much true.” Luca’s eyes shot up to meet his girl. The silver tray in her arm sparkled, alongside with the accompanying coffee pot and three ceramic cups. 

Crossing his arms, Orlando couldn’t help but feel as if everyone was on the other side while he was stranded alone, having to fend for himself, “You too, Y/N?” 

While she gently placed the tray on the wooden table, the smile she wore never wiped off. Orlando was an amusing man, somehow, he would always find himself things to entertain people with. Even if it was a story on how he had to walk across three blocks, half-naked because the previous girl he had slept with had sliced through his suit. Orlando had an ability to cheer up the mood in a tensed room. As she poured the coffee she had made into the mugs, the elderly man quirked up a question, “Y/N, isn’t it a gypsy holiday today?”

“I’m not sure, Zio,” She darted a glance at the man before she proceeded with the next cup. “I haven’t bothered to remember.” 

“Zio,” Orlando practically whined, not liking the ambience his uncle had just yanked out of nowhere. “Y/N isn’t in contact with the Shelby’s, plus she doesn’t do those things no more, right Y/N?” The woman hummed, resting back the coffee pot on the tray.

“I’m sorry if that offended you in some way. With this age, my memory seems to... deteriorate.” The old man mumbled. However, before she had the chance to raise her voice, an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her to stand beside the office chair. 

Luca’s lips opened to say something, but his chance was stolen when Orlando’s wandering eyes that could not be tamed screeched over a record player in the corner of the office, “Is that a record player?” The child-like man sprinted across the room, next to the door to inspect the machine. Despite his lustful tendencies, Orlando will always be a kid with his family. 

“Stop playing and sit back down!” His uncle huffed out. “Don’t you have one at home?” 

“Yes, but look at this one!” 

While the two bickered and the old man’s back was turned to them, Luca craned his neck up to face his girl, “You going out somewhere?” Although it had just been a few hours since they have woken up, the outfit she wore seemed suitable to walk through the streets. And if she was, he wouldn’t have to waste a second to inform his men. 

“No. Just felt like wearing a dress,” She replied, fingers fiddling with his hair on his neck. Taking a quick dart at the two guests, she bent down to whisper into his ears, “Also, non indosso niente sotto.” (i’m not wearing anything underneath)

Straightening back up, she pressed down her peacock green dress, smoothing it. The Italian was speculating, but his heart nearly dropped out of his chest when his fingers brushed over her bare ass. Her smooth skin caressed his fingers. Hand still in her dress, he ran his fingers to check her hip. Nothing. Though, with still slight speculation and wanting to tease if what she was saying is true, his frigid metal prickled a pinch in her inner thigh. Y/N flinched, not expecting his finger to be coated by her wetness. Y/N wasn’t wearing anything underneath, “Ho bisogno che tu mi scopi, per favore.” (i need you to fuck me, please).

“Fine then! Let’s talk business.” Luca tugged his hand out, followed by his throat clearing. Gesturing towards the mugs filled with swirls of heat escaping the drinks, he sipped on his own after he discreetly sucked on the wetness coating his index finger. The taste of her was more pleasant than that of the coffee. Orlando plopped back on his seat. Although they were already pulling up sheets of papers, Luca darted his glance at his girl who strayed by the door. Y/N bit on her thumb before whisking away, leaving the men to do their work. The Italian gripped on the side of his table, a staggering exhale fell off his lips. That woman would be the death of him.

A drowsy hum trickled in the tranquil air. The chirping of birds who zoomed past the glass pane dashed to cut the rays of honey sunlight. The sun painted the wooden floor of the house warm yellow with a smear of red, though, it had been faint. As the moon shuddered away from peripherals, its accompany rises up in power, lording over the land with its morning glow. The tint of purple in the sky draped down as if a descending brush, concocting a hanging curtain that poked the roofs of houses. Despite the rise of the sun, those who indulged in the warmth of the bed had still yet to pull themselves away from their blanket. 

“Mhm... Luca...” Y/N wasn’t sure what sound that brushed her lips was. It was in the middle of a moan and a groggy groan, a noise she would make when her beauty sleep was interrupted. The Italian hummed at the call of his name, the vibrating noise in his throat rippled through her bare shoulders. Placing chaste kisses on her shoulders, Luca’s fingers brushed up her thigh to her hip. Although, it was just dragging the tip of his nails to trail up. The corners of his lips curled up when the path he ran over was met with bumps from the faint touch. Always a tease. His loud, wet kisses echoed into the morning, chill air, followed by her gentle, agreeing hums at every action he did. 

Strands of his hair pricked her skin, sending shivers as it caressed her neck. When waking up with the mafioso, it was a sight to see him without the excessive petroleum jelly he would smear all across his scalp. Indeed, it was a sight. A sigh left her lips, fingers clutched around the silk sheets when his hand cupped her heating spot. Despite his fingers pressing onto her dampening spot in her panties, she couldn’t help her mind but revert it to the hard object prodding into her. 

Too lost in the feeling, Y/N gawked at the man who now hovered over her. Luca flipped her onto her back, fingers pinning her hands over her head, his back still draped over with the silk sheets, “Say it, say it...” 

His lips mumbled over hers, nose running down her neck as his lungs took in the scent of the raw morning. Body curving into him, Y/N’s hips pressed onto him once she felt a hardness poking through her panties, “Scopami. Scopami forte, please, Luca.” (fuck me, fuck me hard)

Before the Italian had the chance to yank off the clothing that was unnecessary during the heating time, the sound of the phone ringing in the air called for him. An aggravated groan left his lips, hands curling into a fist, ready to smash whatever ruined the moment, “Ignore it.” Pulling his neck back down, the climax of the moment proceeded. Then it rang. And it continued to ring. Shifting her hips up to meet with his grinding, she was then met with air. Eyes watching as the back of his figure fade into the hallway, she threw her head into the silky pillows. 

“I’m sorry, amore,” The Italian mumbled, hands running down his face before he mussed his already untamed hair from the wild moment. Crossing her arm, sheet on her neck, she hummed, nodding as if she wasn’t bothered by the interruption. But Luca knew better. The mafioso crouched beside the side of her bed, thumb caressing her hands in his. Without meeting his eyes, the woman nodded. “Something happened at work. I’ll come back home as soon as I can, alright?”

Y/N nodded, nothing coming out of her mouth as she watched him sprint around the house. A new piece of clothing on every time. Then, the house became silent. Cold. Another typical day.

Grinding of knives against the ceramic plates played a screeching note in the air while it was overlapped by the clanking of glass meeting the wooden table. Whenever Luca pulled away from his plate and was met with gazing eyes, he would send a smile, to which they would respond with the same gesture. Chatters from his relatives weaved through their bodies, striking up a conversation about their recent travels or how their children were doing. After swallowing the steak she had chewed on, Y/N glanced at the man who sat beside her. The Italian sliced through the steak, cutting out a smaller, more chewable piece. 

Hand resting on his knees, he sent her a smile before dropping the steak into his salivating mouth. The gesture was innocent. Just a little indication that she was there. Then her fingers lingered to rest on his thighs, her rings shooting a wink at his glancing eyes. However, that had only stopped him for a second before he began to pluck at the side-dishes of potatoes. With a glass of red wine in her hand, she called out his name, “Luca.”

“Yeah?” He quirked up, shoving down another piece of potato before slashing through the steak for another part. Y/N bit her bottom lip, eyes running over the heads of the people who sat on the dining table. She took a sip, crossing her thighs. 

When the woman made sure that everyone was at least focused on their eating or they were too busy about their nieces who have finally found a man, she leaned onto her arm, mouth hovering over his ears, “Non sto indossando le mutandine.” (i’m not wearing any panties)

The blade of the knife plunged straight through the tough steak. His hand didn’t move an inch as he digested the words, ears muffled to his chatting family. Oh, she’s a troublemaker. Y/N wore a grinning smile at his reaction, her red fingernails trailed up to draw imaginary lines. While sipping on her drink, she shot back smiles. Luca hadn’t moved, eyes strained onto his plate. 

Noticing his cousin’s peculiar behaviour, Lorenzo interjected through the already tranquil air, “Luca? You fine, there?” 

Y/N’s hands were quick to rest on his arm. The Italian mafioso craned his neck up, noting that everyone’s eyes were now on him, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just not sure if I finished that last sheet at work.” With the miracle of his signature smirk, the tension in the air evaporated as if it wasn’t even there.

“Oh, Luca. Such a hard-working man you are.” Despite his innocent glittering smile towards his aunts and uncles who began to praise his work ethic which then escalated to bashing on his lazy cousins, deep down, he had calculated every plan. Y/N pressed her lips, back leaning on her chair. She watched the back of his sleeked hair while she enjoyed the taste of her wine. Questions resounded the walls in Y/N’s head. Was he not going to do anything? Even though disappointment rose in her chest, the rising bar halted. 

When the piece of steak he had just swallowed was cleansed with a sip of red wine, the Italian patted his hands on the serviette. One leg thrown on the edge of his other, he cleared his throat, though, only loud enough for his girl to hear. Oh, Y/N had put the Italian in countless situations where she would sit back to enjoy as he tries to crawl back out. The woman knew with everything she commits, there’ll be consequences. But his English weaved with a twinge of Italian, raspy and husky voice trickled straight down to the heating between her legs, “Are you wet?”

In the corner of his eyes, his orbs stared at her deep red lips. At the amount of wine she had downed, he wasn’t sure if it was from her lipstick or the red wine. He watched as her tongue peeked out to run over her lips, white teeth stealing a wink at the Italian. The corners of his lips curled up when she nodded as a response. Shameless thoughts roared in his head. If he hadn’t imagined enough, he was surely out of capacity to ponder more. Y/N beamed at his ring-covered fingers delicately run around the ring of the glass. 

“Tell me what you want.” Tongue coated by the wine, he quirked an eyebrow at his girl whose legs could not find a comfortable position. 

Y/N could feel the damp spot smearing wetness in her inner thighs, thanks to his prodding question. Although Luca sat back with a cocky smirk while he swirled his glass, his shoulders went rigid as she practically moaned into his ears, “Voglio la tua testa fra le gambe,” (i want your head between my legs) The woman exhaled, clenching her legs together at the thought. “Piegami e voglio che tu mi scopi bene.” (bend me over and i want you to fuck me good)

The pleasant air was sliced through with an ear-pitching screech of a chair. All heads were darted towards the towering man whose face flushed, although, the temperature of the room was decent. This was not how it was supposed to be. A mass plunged down the Italian’s throat, barely noticeable despite everyone’s wandering eyes, “I’m sorry. But Y/N doesn’t feel well.”

The family barely had time to process what was happening. Even though the couple had already left the room in a rush, Luca’s fingers furled around his girls’ hand, there was only one pair of eyes who had caught a look on their faces. The corners of his lips quirked up. Orlando shook his head as red wine smeared his throat. Oh, Luca. 

“Luca?” A sweet, mellow voice trickled into his ears as if a sugary dessert was placed onto his tongue. It slithered across the drenched frigid ground of the bathroom, crawling up to graze against his bare arms that sat on the sides of the bathtub. Prickling up his arm, it swerved through the bulging hairs on his frigid, exposed skin that saluted the barely visible breeze in the room. It weaved as if knotted vines down a mossy wall, done by a fairy. Eyes heavily shut, Luca didn’t bother to tolerate the light seeping through the window pane. Well, more like he couldn’t as a consequence of locking himself in his office for at least nine hours per day. 

The muscles in his arms ached, his whole body was numb to the idea of a warm bath after days of not being able to indulge in time. It was always the stacks of papers on his desk that prevented him from breathing in at least an air of relaxation. If the Italian had managed to complete the bundle of papers, someone would scramble in with more work. Work, work and work. He has had enough of it. 

All he wanted now was a getaway, a vacation far away from the bustling noise of New York despite his love for the grand city. Luca didn’t care where it would be, he just wants to hop in his car and not think of the criminal business he was a part of. He desired a place of furious wind that can take his mind off the illegal organization he participated in. A place where no one knows him. A place where no one wants to know him. Just him and his girl. 

The corners of his lips curled up at the thought. Even though it was just six days of not slumbering in their shared bed, it felt too long. It was too long. The excruciating hours of shifting and trying out every possible position on an office chair was one of the music he would hear often while he scribbled away. Luca called the record, grumpy chair. However, it was not as annoying as the ticking clock. Squeezing his eyes tight, Luca clogged his mind. If he heard another damn clock ticking, he would not hesitate to shoot it in its dancing arms to shatter its ability to ever move again. The infuriating presence was a necessity. 

Despite his hatred for the object that hung high on his wall, he needed it there to remind him that it was in fact night, the time everyone should be deep in slumber, and not morning, where he would be working away. The Italian could barely count the number of times he had to be reminded that it was dark outside, and he needed to rest. With the curtains shut tight to prevent the Italian to peek out into the busy street of bustling cars and people sauntering, Luca was restricted to limited options. Maybe it was because he hated sleeping on the incredibly uncomfortable couch that was as solid as metal. It was only there to appeal the eyes with its crimson red buttons and silky stitching. Now he understood why his clients were squirmish on the seat while he sat on the velvet armchair. 

The mafioso had tried slumbering on the much more tolerable seat; however, the only comfortable position he had explored so far was that of a baby resting against his mother’s chest. The reminder of the furniture decorating his office pulled up an essential task he would have to do soon. Find a better couch. 

Sure, Luca could’ve stayed at home and sleep in his bed with his girl. But for how long? It would’ve probably been a twenty-minute nap in the middle of the night before he would scurry out of the house to head back to work. The Italian had only visited his home to grab changes of clothing, although, it was just an excuse to see Y/N. 

With the amount of work that had been hurled onto his desk, he had no time to do the littlest thing that would drive a normal person crazy. It seemed as if every time he had stood up to accomplish a side mission, he had a last-minute meeting. Luca hated to admit it, but having to be present at a meeting while deprived of sleep was not a good idea. If only he could yank out the memory of him nearly slipping off the chair while he was supposed to listen to the business partner who rambled on and on, he would live his life more freely. Something about percentages. 

Luca pressed his lips at the thought of his girl sleeping in the bed alone. Y/N and him were still in contact despite his hectic hours, but they managed. Hours of calling was a relaxing method that calmed his thoughts even though her being there had been slightly distracting.

The woman had been more than persistent in paying him a visit, maybe bring him meals when she had heard from his mother that he had not eaten properly. Luca kept denying it even though his stomach was screaming a faint cry. He didn’t want her to witness the hurricane mess of his office. There were short stubs of pencils he had tortured in grinding sharpeners all over the floor. Glasses of whiskey covered the whole area of his coffee table. Not to mention the incessant amount of coffee he had consumed. For sure, it was more than the recommended. 

Oh, but he could not imagine her reaction to opening the closet in his office. As a result of barely having any time, his dress shirts sagged from the curved wooden hangers, creating an unbalanced position. With an accidental immense pull, its contents would regurgitate on the victim.

The starting of the week was the calm before the storm. It commenced at a casual horizontal line that Luca and his fellow employees would saunter on. The Italian would tip his hat to people who walked past, acknowledging their presence. However, when it started to incline at a steady steep, it was when all hell broke loose. 

No one in the organization was surprised to the incline since the month had been inconsistently fluctuating with their business. But no one expected the amount of work they had to exert caress the clouds. While the amount of work had increased steeply to a hill one could barely climb (it was an impossible vertical line to hike upon), he couldn’t apply the concept of the lines to his exhaustion graph. His energy had sloped down below negative zero to be wiped off from the given space. Non-existent. The man wasn’t sure which factor weighed more to the reason of his true tiredness, his ageing years that teased to the number thirty or the lack of sleep. It was most likely the lack of sleep because he knew he fought well in bed.

His drenched hair dripped water out as if faulty syringe squirting out the liquid. An agonizingly slow-paced stream of tears bawled down to plunge back into the tub which sent beads to splash out. It sang a faint song that echoed out of the wide-opened door and into the hallway. Patches of water were plastered on his face, though it had dried up after he had dunked his whole body in the tub. 

The swirls of the evaporated water on the surface of the tub grazed his skin with a prickling touch which he soon adapted to. Luca hummed as he shifted in the container. Water lapped against the bathtub, smacking the walls with a splat. While other’s had not been so lucky, some strands and beads of water managed to succeed to escape the heating container to plaster a mess. Smearing the frozen ground which had been coated with a layer of heat, the splashed out water plastered against the bathroom floor. A trap for those who wanted to slide around. Although Luca was sure she couldn’t hear his hum as a reply to his name being called, she now knew of the presence in their shared bathroom. Well, she could assume that it was either an intruder who had dared to pass the endless barriers of defence around their house or it was Luca. 

But, after seeing the polished black shoes thrown haphazardly on their living room carpet, and his lavish, onyx gold rings on their coffee table, excitement and joy grew in Y/N. She knew Luca was exhausted. It was the main topic of their conversations during the hour calls during his work hours when he wasn’t away from his office. The Italian had stacks upon stacks and meetings after meetings, he called his cramped office that began to be overrun by sheets of papers, home. There was a pinching urge in the tip of her fingers to run against his skin. It’s rare for the two to be separated for that long.

Y/N was one of the people who had assumed that Luca Changretta was as distant as he seemed. She was wrong. After living with him and being with him, she can say the exact opposite. Luca was clingy like a drenched shirt to skin. In bed, his arms would be around her so tight, legs tangled with hers. It was as if he needed to remind himself that she was there. Luca liked glueing his body against her back or chest. Sometimes (most of the time), it was the match that commenced a fiery morning.

Gnawing on her bottom lip, she made way to the bathroom. Eyes fluttering open, eyelashes caressing the air, Luca sported a lazy smile at the sight. Y/N leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. The Italian mafioso who had been part of the opposing group to that of Al Capone’s was here, in the bathtub with a thin layer of bubbles covering what laid in the water. The water level halted at the middle of his chest, the exposed half was glistening with droplets of water. Swirls of heat vaporized from the container, smearing against his ageing skin.

As Y/N made way to the bathing man, Luca watched at the approaching figure. Sweet honey from the mirror coated her skin, glowing on the evening dress she wore to the market. Of course, Luca would know where she went. Despite her hatred for it, Y/N accepted the fact that there were prominent men trailing behind her with every step she took. Crouching down to hover her face over her lover’s, she leaned in to inhale the vapours. The Italian mumbled, “Hello darlin’.”

“How’re you?” His drenched fingers hook back the strand of hair behind her ears before it trailed down to rest on her cheek. 

The Italian mumbled, lost in her eyes, “Better, now that you’re here.”

“How’s work?”

“No. We’re not talking about that shit,” Meeting the frigid bathtub, a piercing at the back of his neck pinched his skin. He eyed her dress, confused to why she was still in her clothes. “You’re not getting in?”

“We’re not gonna fit.”

“We tried before. We can make space.” Y/N shook her head, teeth poking through her grin at his words. Before she knew it, the sleeves of her dress were coiled up, arm dipped into the water.

A sigh left his lips at the grip of her fingers curling around him. Tipping his back, neck meeting the cold tub, it didn’t even bother him as all he could see was a hazy blur over his vision. Hand moving at a languid pace, up and down, Y/N bit her bottom lip at the sight of his neck. Strips of veins running down were prominent, bulging as if he had waited such a long time for a sense of relief. Of course, he would need to be relieved. He had been cooped up in his office for days. The pair only had time to place kisses on each other’s lips whenever Luca rarely came back home. Makeout time was so short, it felt unfair. It would always be a peek of their tongues caressing before Luca noticed the time. Always.

Y/N relished the way his adam’s apple bopped, engraining the sight into her head for later uses. Knees prodding into the walls of the tub, Luca’s clench on the tub tightened when her thumb pressed the slit. The wicked grin she wore widened once she felt the shaft twitching, hardening with every move of her hand. His legs stuttered as the splashing of water echoed into his ears. But it barely made sense. Everything was a buzzing of a bee, muffled by the blur he was in. 

“Ti piace cosi?” (do you like this?). Luca nodded. “Voglio sentirti dentro di me.” (I want to feel you inside me.)

The sight of his ink cross seeped into her head, creating warmth between her legs. Luca’s eyelids fell, shutting his vision to indulge in the feeling of her hands on his cock, “Fuck..” The Italian felt himself chasing his euphoria, he could’ve snatched it in an arms length. It stopped. The splashing of water halted. The air of the room died. Y/N’s hands pulled away, beads of water diving onto the ground as she stood up. 

“But... as much as I enjoy this, I prefer if I’m very much involved. I’ll be waiting.” Luca’s eyes flickered to her teeth peeking out to wink at him while she bit her bottom lip. Sauntering out of the bathroom, swinging her hips, Y/N sent a coquettish wink over her shoulders. Not this time.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Encore - Harry Hook x reader -  Part 17 - bday present for myself~

Harry cursed to himself, the island he was going to use to propose to (y/n) on was some sanctuary for an endangered species and the wildlife preserves didn’t want humans on the island. So he would have to figure out something else for his propos…wait…her birthday was next week! And he had been wanting to do a surprise party for her, and Gil had suggested a scavenger hunt for her to do to keep her busy.

He already had the ring, permission to marry her from her aunt, and the knowing that if he asked, she would say yes…

All he had to do was add one more thing.

=

You sighed, setting down the heavy crate, wiping sweat from your neck as you stood. “gods, why does it gotta be so warm today” you groaned, undoing the colling towel from your belt and tossing it on your face “aahhhh that’s the good stuff~”

“(y/n) what are you doing?” you took off the towel and tossed it around your neck, sighing as the heat on your neck finally decreased.

“cooling down, it's like 95 out here” you complained, turning to look at Bonnie, who was holding two cold waterbottles “oohhhh fuckin-thank you!” she snorted and tossed one to you, you caught It in mid-air and cracked it open, gulping down the cold drink.

“slow down girl” Bonnie chuckled, cracking opening her bottle and starting to drink “oh, happy birthday by the way” you burped and grinned at her.

“Thanks, Bonnie,” you blinked in surprise as she handed you a note. “oh, thank-“

“yeah yeah, see you later girl” Bonnie trotted off deck, soon walking out of sight. You shrugged and tore open the paper.

It was Harry's handwriting.

-hello my bonnie lass~ today is your birthday and I wanted to celebrate it by giving you a scavenger hunt to your party today

It will be from the isle to Auradon, no stone left unturned.

Now go to the place, where our first meeting occurred.

You pursed your lips, tilting your head, where you first met huh? Well, that would be on the isle. You closed the note and stuffed it in your pocket, heading to your cabin for a moment to change your clothes, grab your bag, and your motorbike keys.

=

You looked around the slightly collapsed building, where you had originally met harry, after the chase between the gaston twins and you.

“oh,” you gasped, kneeling next to a large chunk of building and pulling out an envelope beneath it. Standing up you leaned against the wall and opened the note, a small bracelet falling out with it, golden painted seashells and opals danced across the metal, you slipped it on and read the note.

-you found it lass, now in the spot where the stars shine bright, the place I realized my heart was yours that night.

You groaned slightly, a smile on your face, he was being cheesy with these hints, but his rhyming wasn’t bad.

But you knew exactly where he was talking about, the hiding spot.

=

You took off your shoes, walking along the shore of the small inlet. You took a deep breath, the air much cleaner than the first time you had been here.

You spotted the white envelope holding the next clue, you trotted over and pulled it out, smiling at the long thin box underneath it. You pulled the box and opened it, clicking your tongue and tilting your head.

A new golden chain for your ruby necklace. You closed the box and slipped it into your bag, opening the note you laughed at the twin's messy handwriting.

-hi aunt (y/n)! harry let us write this note! -skipper

-so the next clue is “where you joined the crew”-sterling

“that’s an easy one” you snorted, but you couldn’t give them crap, they were only 12. So you walked the short distance from the hidden beach to the chip shop, nodding to the patrons as you entered.

“Hey (y/n) Hook left this for ya” Cook handed you the letter and a small bag, you grinned and nodded. “happy birthday by the way”

“Thanks, cook, see you later” you walked out of the shop and leaned on the docks outside. Opening the bag you snorted at the new leather gloves inside, small painted designs on the leather.

“such a dork” you whispered, taking out the note and grinning at it.

-another job well done my love, now for the place were we spar, and we “hit” it off

You groaned and rubbed your forehead, you remembered that…your head still hurt after that day.

=

You stepped onto the old lost revenge, even with Umas magic, it had been unable to sail again, so now it was used as an isle home for the crew. Desiree grinned, holding up the note and another small bag.

“hey, commander~ happy birthday!”

“Thanks, Desiree” you chirped, grabbing the note and bag from her “you can go ahead and do what you’re supposed to do after you give me this”

“Thanks, girl, see you later!” she hopped off the rails and walked off the ship, going through the tunnel to the bridge.

You opened the bag to see a scarlet headband with silver hook embroidered into the side, you slipped it on and opened the note.

-hope Desiree didn’t just leave the present unattended for you to find but! This next clue is just across the border, when I got to hold you in my arms once again.

Alright, to the bridge it is.

=

You stepped across where the magic barrier used to be, looking to your left, seeing a small stone holding down a note.

You walked over and picked it up, seeing no mini present. Opening it up you smiled.

-sorry love no present with this one, too risky for someone to take it, but this next one will be where we walked into Auradon together for the first time

Alright then, so just the other side of the bridge. Turning around you walked back to your motorbike and swung your leg over the seat and started the engine. You quickly strapped your helmet on and drove to the other side of the bridge.

=

You tilted your head at Evie, who smiled and waved at you, holding out a note “hey (y/n)! happy birthday! Here you go!” you dismounted your bike and met her halfway, nodding at her.

“Thanks, Evie, see you later” she nodded and ran off, presumably to your “surprise” party. Opening the note you chuckled.

-astute as always love (though im not really making these hard am I?) but the next is where I learned I wouldn’t be ripped from your arms for the second time

The courtyard of Bens castle, where you and Harry had gotten the keys from Persephone. You got back on your bike and rode off through the bridge gate to Auradon, making the 15 minute trip to bens castle.

“hey beasty boy!” you called, waving to the king who was just exiting his castle “you probably got something for me don’t cha?”

He shrugged “maybe? Dunno- ow” you punched his shoulder and held out your hand “okay okay here, I’ll see you later (y/n)” he handed you the next note and walked off, but you didn’t bother to pay attention where.

You ripped open the envelope, once more smiling at Harry's handwriting.

-Final clue my love, where we stepped through to our new life

That one made you think for a moment before it hit you. The door, the very first door you and harry stepped through to get to your world.

But you don’t remember a room behind it? Which it probably did but who knows. Good news was the door was in Bens castle so you unlipped your helmet and hung it off one of the handles, walking through the gates and making your way through the castle.

You stood in front of the door, looking at the small note taped to it.

-happy birthday (y/n)

You took a breath and opened the door, laughing as the room burst with streamers and confetti.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!”

The entire crew, the core four, Ben, Jane, Lonnie, even Audrey was there, blowing horns and throwing confetti in the air, screaming in your face.

“guys!” you whipped a stray tear from your cheek “awwww…ive never been thrown a surprise party before!”

“Really?” Jane gasped “why not?!”

You shrugged, “dunno, guys people from my world aren’t as amazing as you guys”

“aw thanks” Evie sniffed, smiling at something behind you. You rose your brow at her and turned around, gasping and stumbling back.

“H-Harry?! Wha-“ Harry stood infront of you, a clean dark red suit fitted on his body, his hair combed back yet still in that wild style you loved, his eyeliner clean.

“(y/n), yeh have been the light of meh life for the past two years, since yeh fell into my life. Yeh have saved me from becoming a dark bitter person hell-bent on revenge, yeh have saved me from my da, yeh have protected meh family” oh gods you were already crying “and eh have both given and helped meh love, and I want to spend the rest of meh life with yeh, and love yeh for the rest of meh life, so” he kneeled on one knee, taking out a red velvet box from his pocket and opening it, revealing his mothers red ruby ring, in a brand new golden band with small bits of sea glass running down the sides “will you marry me-“ you fell to your knees, tears streaming down your face, unable to talk.

You let out incomprehensible babbles and nodded, leaping into Harry's arms and wrapping your arms around his neck “Im guessing it’s a yes” Harry chuckled, pulling you back and smiling, tears brimming in his eyes.

“yes” you croaked “yes I will marry you, you giant dork” Harry laughed but you shut him up quickly, pressing your lips to his.

Harry hummed into the kiss, lifting you slightly and tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

“Alright alright” Carlos chuckled, walking over and patting Harry's shoulder “wed rather not see you two do it right in front of us please”

Harry separated from you and glared at Carlos “shut it up, let me enjoy this” he muttered, smiling at you and helping you stand, sliding the ruby ring onto your ring finger.

He kissed you again, bringing up your hand and kissing it “happy birthday my love”

“I love you Harry” you whispered, still whipping away your tears.

“I love you too (y/n)”

--end of part 17--

permtaglist

@queer-cosette​

@sephiralorange​

@lunanight2012​

@daughter-of-the-stars11​

@musicarose​

@random-thoughts-003​

@rintheemolion​

@amorathegamingkitsune​

[peanutbutterjelly-pie]

prompt: Salad

hosts: @bend-me-shape-me, @helianthus21, @pray4jensen

+

Dean hums in satisfaction as Cas' mouth gently trails down his neck.

The hunter bends his head to the side a little to give Cas better access and revels in the sensation of those hot lips brushing over his skin. He loves the feel of it – the warmth, Cas' stubble, the occasional nibbling and biting – and he could happily live like this for the rest of his days.

Sam, however, doesn't seem to appreciate it.

Especially not during lunch time.

“Seriously, guys?” he groans, staring at the couple across from the him at the table with a hard glare. “Right in front of my salad?”

He gestures at the bowl with rabbit food underneath his nose to get his point across.

Cas completely ignores him, not swaying off his mission even once, while Dean just finds enough energy to acknowledge his brother's mere existence by shooting him an incredulous glance.

“Did you really just say that?”

Sam answers with a scowl. “This is where we're eating, idiot!”

“Yeah, so?” Dean scoffs. “Cas is eating me right now, so I don't see the problem.”

Sam groans and curses and eventually rushes out of the kitchen, taking his beloved salad with him.

“You're being rude again,” Cas points out while simultaneously showering Dean's pulse point with a lot of attention.

Dean blinks, a little dazedly. “It's not my fault, asshole. You are the one who's insatiable since I gave you the ring.”

It's certainly true.

Dean never considered making a big event of his proposal and eventually just fell to his knee in their bedroom, right in the middle of Cas preparing for the night.

Cas stared at the ring for a seriously long time, not moving a single muscle, and just when Dean began to fear that the angel might have no interest in such a sort of bond with his human companion Cas pulled him into a sensual kiss, pressed him against the wall behind him, lifted him upwards and ravished the hunter right there on the spot. Afterwards he threw Dean onto their bed, like he just was a mere rag doll, and continued to devour him with such a determination Dean lost his head somewhere along the way.

And it was about three hours later when Cas suddenly remembered to say “yes” to Dean's proposal.

Since then about two weeks have passed and the angel hadn't stopped since. Either he stares at Dean with so much love and devotion it's almost unbearable or his gaze gets heated and clothes are being ripped off before Dean even knows what's happening. And then just afterwards Cas argues passionately with the History Channel and Dean laughs his ass off the entire time.

It's surely been a wild roller coaster ride.

And Dean loves it.

“You are to blame for traumatizing Sam's salad,” Cas objects, for the first time since he entered the kitchen detaching himself from Dean's neck to look him into the eyes. “With that ring you offered eternity to me. How did you expect me to react?”

Dean can't help a fond smile. “You're a dork.”

“And you should learn to take responsibility.”

Dean rolls his eyes before pressing a quick kiss onto Cas' lips. “Okay, fine, this is all my fault. I'm a horrible human being for proposing to you without taking that salad's feelings into consideration.”

“Glad we agree on that.”

Dean huffs. “Look at us. Engaged for two weeks and already acting like an old married couple.”

The corners of Cas' mouth twitch upwards as he runs his fingers gently through Dean's hair. “According to Sam we have been behaving like that for many years.”

On first instinct Dean wants to protest, because hey, but when he takes a moment to actually think about it he can't help realizing that Sam indeed might have a point here. The sassing, the bickering, the arguments about the most mundane stuff, the over-protectiveness – it's been painting a certain picture for a long while now. Dean just took his sweet time to catch up on that.

“Yeah, okay, maybe Sammy's right for a change,” he concedes in the end. “We're that classic old married couple for years now.”

Cas smiles easily, his gaze flickering to the silver band on his finger. “And with the ring you finally made it official.”

Dean can't help leaning in once more, kissing his fiancé – his FIANCÉ – all slow and tender. Enjoying the sensation of warmth and closeness he only ever felt with Cas.

“I love you,” he whispers against Cas' lips. “So much … can't wait to call you my husband …”

Yes, he can't wait to be old and married. To sit on the couch every evening and watch their shows and argue about their favorite characters. To fold laundry together and meet up for lunch in town. To be way too exhausted to do about anything than falling into bed and wrapping their arms around each other before instantly drifting to sleep like old, tired men.

It sounds amazing.

“We're gonna be so domestic and boring people will roll their eyes at us all the time,” Dean promises, feeling stupidly giddy at the prospect. “We'll debate about the right detergent for hours like it's the most important decision of our lives and then we crawl into bed and fall asleep at 9 PM.”

Cas raises an eyebrow at that. “That is your dream life?”

“Well, of course I'm not complaining about you ravishing me in the kitchen and scarring Sam and his food once in a while,” Dean adds with a wink.

Cas chuckles. “Good to know.”

Dean brushes his fingertip over the ring on Cas' finger, grinning at the pleasant shiver running down his spine at the feeling of the cold metal on his skin.

“Love you,” he whispers again. Because in his opinion those words can't be uttered enough.

Cas' expression gentles even further. “I love you, too.”

And so they stay like that for a long time, just staring into each other's eyes and murmur sweet words to one another, full of affection and hope for the future.

[mail-me-a-snail]

Stardust of a Song

Chapter 1:  Sero Maaviks tag list: @starl1ght-child​ tw: violence, swearing The first chapter of the mafia AU :3c 

On any given night in the Last City, the lounge that goes by the name Luna is packed full with patrons drinking their worries away and listening to the nightingale tone of the lounge’s singer.

No patron that dines or drinks there lives in the rich districts of the City; they all come from the back alleys, looking to make connections or strike up a deal. Any rich patron that comes comes with a posse of bodyguards and a poorly veiled aura of disgust. The lounge is nice--silver tiles, dark blue wallpaper, comfortable sofas, and mahogany shelves lined with spirits--but more often than not it’s the people that puts a damper on the ambiance. Rich folk like to mingle with their kind, because they have all the connections to more money.

Washed up gamblers with debts hanging over their heads have a reason to go to Luna, however, because it’s not just a lounge--it’s the Hive. Dredgen Yor, owner of the establishment and boss of said Hive, walks through the doors from his personal office. He surveys the room and catches the eye of several clients.

Some of these people will want someone dead; others just want a job. It’s not Yor’s place to question it. All he asks for is money, unwavering royalty, and a when and a how. No job is too bloody, no amount of cash too great. You want someone dead?

Done. Quick, clean, and best of all--entirely discreet.

Dredgen Yor is considered the golden standard of the back alleys. A gentleman who's all business and ambition, who's heart softens only for the love of his life--the lounge singer, an Exo by the name of Avidan-9. He sings something from the Golden Age, maybe even well before it, and Yor is entranced. He is enthralled, has been ever since they met. They are, as everyone knows, partners in crime.

--

The lounge is peaceful tonight. There are two, three patrons, none sitting together, drinking their worries away and shooting billowing clouds of smoke out of their parched lips. They’re waiting out the storm. The band play something appropriately soft; chimes of the piano, deep plucks of the bass, and soulful trumpet remind those lonely drinkers that they’re not so alone after all.

The owner of the lounge sits at the bar, swirling golden whiskey in his glass. He is not alone, unlike the midnight crew. The prettiest thing sits beside him, not drinking or smoking, in order to keep that nightingale voice of his in pristine condition. He has never heard an Exo sing more beautifully than this one. On the surface, he might not look like much to anyone but Yor; grey and what had once been white paint, now yellowed with age; green, almost blue optics; tall build, enough to rival even Yor’s stature; all tucked into one midnight blue suit. Always with the clean cut suits of muted colors.

“Yor, darling,” he says, laying the adoration on thick, accent emphasizing; dar-ling. He brushes Yor’s hair out of his face. “promise me you won’t get blood on the tiles tonight. You know how hard it is to get blood out of leather soles.”

It isn’t hard at all; take soap and dump it in some water, lukewarm, just right. Stir it until it’s sudsy and you take the foam with a sponge and gently wipe the leather. Easy as pie and just as clean. For his love’s sake, Yor indulges him.

“I know, dear,” Yor sympathizes, taking an amused sip, trying not to sigh as the Exo’s hands move through his hair. “I promise. Whatever business might go down--”

“--business always ‘goes down’ in this lounge--” The singer removes his hands from his hair and Yor tries not to groan. How can metal hands feel so good?

“--I will handle it,” Yor cuts him off. He cups the Exo’s cheek. “in the backroom. Will that suffice?”

He grins, takes the glass from Yor’s hand, and sips. One drop never hurt nobody. “If I say no, what would happen?” He challenges, “You’re the big, scary mob boss; what would you do to this buzzing bee of the Hive?” His hands, always moving, always gentle, tug at his tie. Black, tonight; Yor had gotten an earful about getting blood all over his green one.

“Always such a tease,” Yor tuts, his hand now holding the other’s chin, thumb stroking gently. He leans close, just close enough to smell the whiskey on his metal and hints of cologne here and there. “Honey, if I did what I wanted to you, what I have always wanted to do to you, you wouldn’t be able to sing. And we don’t want that, do we?”

The Exo visibly fidgets in his seat. He can dish it, but he can never take it. That’s what Yor has always loved about him. Even with limited expressions, he can tell he’s struggling not to overheat.

“Is that a threat?” He snorts and puts the whiskey glass down. “Besides, there’s nothing that can keep me quiet. You of all people should know that.”

“You’d be surprised.” The doors of the lounge swing open and in walks his clientele, all sharp suits, all business in black and white. Not an ounce of color. They’re just in time.

The one at the head of the posse is holding a shiny leather briefcase with gold clasps. He can smell the abundance of Glimmer from here. They’re not Guardians; no Light on any of them. Guns, maybe, tucked into their suit jackets or strapped to their legs. Their leader is Sero Maaviks, an Awoken man with light blue skin and white hair in a braid over his shoulder. He’s one of the few to come from old money, being Reefborn, however his status as a City dweller and the scorn of his fellow Reefborn has diminished that repertoire considerably.

All three patrons stir. They didn’t come in together, but they sure are leaving together; they know danger when they see it. Nevermind the hail outside. The band stands at attention.

Yor slides off his stool, as does his love. Before they separate, Yor grabs his hand, relishing the smooth metal grooves for just a moment. “You can start off gentle, if you’d like, but in ten minutes’ time,” he advises under his breath, “it’d be better if it’s big, loud, and extravagant. You know how these things go.” He raises his voice loud enough for the clientele to hear. “Remember, Avidan, you are the beauty of this Hive.”

Avidan grins, or as much as an Exo can. “Like me, it’s hard to forget.” Reluctantly, they part, and Avidan goes to the stage. He talks with the band for a moment. They nod along to his every word. Both know exactly what to do.

Avidan’s been in this business as long as Yor has--they had started this lounge together, after all, when he had first met the Exo in Spinam Gorge, those many, many years ago, when the Exo had been down on his luck. It hadn’t started out as love, but does it ever really start at the best part? It had taken a while (several proposals, in fact) until Avidan had said yes. The wedding had been private, of course. Yor takes off his ring and slips it into his pocket. Avidan keeps his on--he won’t be dealing in blood tonight.

“Gentlemen,” he addresses his clients at last, downing the whiskey in one go, and giving them the best smile he can. One of them shivers. They must be the replacement for the one who’s fingers got broken; he had had it coming, touching Avidan in a way that would’ve garnered all ten fingers broken, not just the five, had he had gone any farther. “Shall we?”

Yor gestures to the backroom. He always makes good on his promises. Avidan flashes him a wink from the stage. Yor resists grinning. The Exo steps up to the microphone and taps to test it. The piano player picks up a violin, as does everyone besides the bass player, and they begin. Their strums are gentle and sweeping, but they’re loud. They don’t call it big band music for nothing. Avidan reels the microphone stand in to waltz. He holds it close, as close as he had held Yor on their wedding night.

“And now the purple dusk of twilight time,” Avidan starts, soft, but not quiet. His mouth glows green, though not the sickly green of the Hive. A vibrant green, and it is easily the brightest thing in the lounge. The clientele stop to gape. His voice floats without a care in the world. It’s soothing--almost like a drug. It tells you everything will be just fine. “steals across the meadows of my heart. High up in the sky, the little stars climb...”

Yor feels sorry he won’t be able to hear the rest of the song as he leads the gentlemen into the backroom. It’s one of his favorites; the one they had played on that night years ago on a record they had found in the City archives dating back to long before the Golden Age. Avidan’s voice fades behind them as they go past the deserted kitchen and into his personal office.

It’s a lived in, yet professional office. One mahogany desk, leather chair behind it, and unimportant documents--bills, mostly, for the lounge--piled on top. A cart with his own personal whiskey stock sits under a painting. A bottle of that horrible swill vodka is next to it. Four pristine and polished glasses sit in a tray beside it. A couch sits across the room. Yor leans against the beautifully cut edge of the desk and crosses his arms.

“Care for a drink?” Yor gestures to the vodka. Unfortunately, it’s just the kind of drink for business. Poisonous for the liver and mouth, as all business in the backwaters is, and clinically impersonal enough with its clear white color.

“You know I don’t drink on the job,” Sero says, then adds, almost begrudgingly, “sir.”

“The only thing I know about you, Maaviks--” Yor reluctantly pours himself vodka. He doesn’t take a sip right away; a clear sign of his distaste of the drink-- “is your insufferable pride. Then again, I can’t blame you for keeping it so close. It seems to be the only thing you have to offer.”

Sero bristles and growls. He moves towards Yor, fangs bared. “If you would just accept my offer on the Vanguard job--”

It’s a shame to crumple such a nice tie but Yor grabs Sero’s tie anyway and pulls him forward, bearing his own fangs. The Awoken man gulps, aggression evaporating. “And if you would just hear sense,” Yor snaps, “you wouldn’t still be coming to me about that. I told you: I won’t do it. Tell your bodyguards to lower their guns.”

Sero waves them away and the guards holster their guns. They stand at attention. Yor releases him and the man stumbles. Sero fixes his tie, tucking it back into place and dusting off his suit.

“It isn’t as crazy as you make it out to be,” Sero argues, though with more caution, “I have the floor plans. I’ve got moles in the Praxic and the Vanguard. Nothing will go wrong.”

“Apparently, you’re a terrible gambler, too,” Yor snorts, then gestures to the couch. “Have a seat.” Sero does not and stays standing, as if he didn’t hear him. Yor rolls his eyes, rubbing his temple with his thumb--prideful and stubborn.

He goes around his desk and takes a seat. There’s no reason for him to stand when Sero is already doing plenty of it for the both of them. He sinks into the comfortable leather. He swirls his drink around in one hand while the other taps against the mahogany surface.

“I have all the winning cards. I think I’m more than inclined to play them. Don’t you want to share the winnings, Yor?” He sweetens his tongue with charisma. “I’m sure we can find something in that vault that could work for you.” Yor doesn’t appreciate the patronising tone, as if he’s a child being asked to pick out a toy. “There could be any number of items that might...interest you.”

“Maaviks. I already told you. There is nothing I want in that vault.” Guns and gadgets to sell, maybe, but there is nothing rare enough to risk so much. It would be so much easier if Sero had just been asking for an assassination, but a heist? “It’s a suicide mission. If either of us get caught, we’re done for. The Praxic vault is one thing, but the Vanguard vault? You must be more arrogant than I thought. It won’t succeed.”

They’ve been over this countless times. From the first day Sero proposed it, Yor has had no reason to say yes and he’s not seeing anything promising now. Every time he asks, Sero doesn’t have a convincing argument.

“I’m not so arrogant as to think I can do it alone.” Sero crosses his arms. “I’m putting aside my pride to ask for your help. You are the one and only Dredgen Yor...”

“The flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“...and besides, if what’s in the vault doesn’t interest you now, it might look appealing in just a few moments; if you don’t accept my offer, that is.”

Yor puts his glass down and smiles at the nerve this little punk has. He stands, pushing his chair backwards, and laying his palms flat on the wood, leaning forward to look Sero right in the eye. His fingers go to the holster on his hip. The Thorn hums.

“Are you threatening me, boy?” He says quietly.

“Am I?”

Just as he whips the Thorn out, the band explodes with sound, rattling the walls with percussion and bass, Avidan’s voice commanding every listener’s attention.  The volume masks the gunshots; two for each of them. They fall, a dark red splatter blooming across their white shirts. It’s a good thing they wore black suits. Sero barely flinches, even as a graze on his ear bleeds and drips onto his shoulder.

“Are you threatening me,” He growls, louder now, “boy?!”

Sero pauses to look at the two corpses behind him. Puddles of blood grow under them, staining the soles of his shoes and the rug. He looks wholly uninterested. The man smirks.

“Not you,” He answers, “specifically.”

He turns, swings open the door, and runs down the hall. Yor takes a second to register these actions, then slides over the desk with a curse, hearing his glass shatter on the floor, and chases after Sero. He splashes the puddle of blood on his way out; there goes his promise to not get blood on the tiles.

The band has stopped playing when he rounds the corner. He only realizes why when he sees Sero behind Avidan, holding the Exo at gunpoint. The blood in Yor’s veins turns ice cold. He comes to a halt. Avidan stands statuesque, rigid with tension. Only the piano player remains of the band; the rest have hidden behind the bar. He sits on the stool, shaking hands poised over the keys.

“Blood on the tiles,” Avidan says, nightingale voice faintly warbling,  “I thought we talked about that.”

“No choice, darling,” Yor says through gritted teeth, then swings his glare around to Sero, who is still fucking smiling. “No choice.”

“Your answer, Yor: yes or no?” The gun clicks as it’s loaded.

“You’re fucking insane; you’re not going to walk out of this bar alive.”

“I’m not going to walk out of here alive?” Sero snorts, “That’s rich. Considering your boyfriend is at the end of my gun, you’re gonna wanna rethink that.”

“Husband,” Avidan corrects him tersely, “Didn’t you see the ring, asshole?” He wiggles his finger. The ring glints in the low light.

“It hardly matters.”

“So, this is your plan?” Yor keeps him distracted by talking as he inches closer to the stage. “Threaten me with my husband’s life to force me to work with you just to repair your goddamn reputation with the Reefborn?”

“It’s not about them,” Sero hisses, but it’s not very convincing. Yor can see right through him. He’s now inches away from the stage. “There is something in that vault I need, something that would benefit all of us, every gang, especially yours. So what’s it going to be, Yor?”

Yor remains silent. Just as he formulates a plan, Sero cuts across his thoughts.

“Yes or no? Come on, Dredgen, your boyfriend is waiting.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but Avidan interrupts him.

“For the last time,” the Exo growls, “he’s my husband.”

He swivels right around, catching both Yor and Sero off guard, and grabs the man’s wrist. They wrestle for the gun, Sero pushing back, struggling to keep his grip on the weapon. Avidan pulls his arm this way and that but the man won’t budge. Sero wrenches free. He strikes Avidan’s jaw with the gun. It knocks the Exo back and he stumbles. The microphone topples off the stage and the feedback disorients all. He nearly falls off the stage, but Sero grabs his arm, pulling Avidan towards him.

The gun slips under his chin, presses against his neck--there is no music or song to mask the gunshot now. There will never be any music or song, ever again. 

Yor climbs the stage but always, always he is too late.

In a way, this is all music. The click of the gun, the pulling of the trigger, the release, the... 

BANG!

The thud.

Then, the deafening silence.

part two coming soon :)

[fanficwriter013]

The Tower: The Queen of Asgard - 22

The Tower: The Queen of Asgard An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 1520

Warnings: none

Synopsis: The twins are now three and while the Avengers know that Clint and Thor are the biological father’s none of them know or care which blond, blue-eyed baby is related to which man.  When Riley gets the power to control wind and it becomes evident that she is the heir to the Asgardian throne, Elly, Steve, Thor, and Tony take the twins to Asgard to train her.

Not every Asgardian is happy with their king’s choice of consort, nor the impurity of the heir’s blood.  While others expect Thor to make things more official.  What’s clear is, the role of Queen of Asgard is not easily filled.

Author’s Note:  written with one of 3 people that I know is in my corner, @avengerscompound​

Chapter 22:  Dressing for a Feast

“Honey.”  Steve’s voice pulled me back out of my sleep.  My eyes fluttered open and for a second I just blinked up at him a little disoriented.  “El, it’s time to get up.  We gotta get ready for Thor’s celebrations.”

I sat up and stretched, looking around at everyone.  Sam had been acting as my pillow and Thor had returned with Loki who was now a woman again.  But Natasha, Wanda, Bruce, and Tony were all missing.  “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes, you did,” Bucky said.  “Drooled all over Sam.”

“Oh,” I said, wiping my mouth.  “Sorry, Sam.”

“It’s okay.  It was cute.”  Sam said, rubbing my back.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.  Guess the stress got to me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said.  “You obviously needed it.”

I got up and stretched out my spine.  “Okay, getting ready.  What do I need to do?”

“I have clothes for you in here, with tailors to take them in if need be.  And Loki has organized a team for hair and makeup in Wanda’s room.”  Thor explained.

“Oh, wow,”  I said.  “Didn’t trust me to do my own makeup, Loki?”

“Like you even factored into the decision,”  Loki scoffed.  “I just didn’t want to paint my own face.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said.  “So clothes first?”

“Yes, follow me,” Thor said.  He led me into my room where a team of tailors were dressing Bruce and Tony.  Bruce was being fitted into an indigo and gold outfit that was a blend of scaled armor and long silk-like jacket.  Tony seemed to be forgoing Asgardian wear, over an Armani suit.  Though he was allowing them to add embellishments in gold and red to the black.

Thor nodded to one of the tailors and she pulled a gown off the rack that was a dark blue, satin-like material.  I took off the dress I was wearing and right away she began to help me into the new dress.  Another two tailors came over and began taking in sections as quickly as their hands could move.  Not that they seemed to need to do much.  It fit pretty perfectly.

The gown was strapless with intricate silver filigree that trickled down into the skirt and trimmed the symmetrical lines of the hem.  When they were happy with the fit the armor and jewelry came out.  I was strapped into a silver breastplate that had dark blue filigree that mirrored the silver that it was covering so where the breastplate ended it looked like it flipped colors into the skirt.  Next, they put on shoulder guards and vambraces in the same silver with blue filigree.  They wrapped a fine filigree band that had leaves and blossoms on it around my upper arm and put a matching choker around my neck.  By the time I was fully dressed, Tony and Bruce were gone and Clint and Bucky were being dressed too.

Clint was being dressed in plum and black leather.  The jacket was knee length and the leather was embossed with a beautiful design that looked like a mixture of feathers and air-currents.  Bucky was being fitted in leather plated armor of deep green and gold and there was a black fur cloak waiting to go over it.

“What do you think, my love?”  Thor asked.

“It’s beautiful.  What do you think?”  I asked spinning.

“Gorgeous,” Thor said, smiling.  “It is as if all the air has been sucked from the room.”

“Flatterer,” I said coming over and kissing his cheek.

“Asgardian clothes suit you, El,” Bucky said.

“You look pretty good in them too, Buck,” I said

Thor handed me a tiara in silver with blue crystals that matched the other jewelry.  “Take this to the hairstylist to put in.”  He said.

“Thank you.  You should get dressed too.”  I said.

He nodded. “I will now.”

I went back out into the living room and found Wanda.  She was already dressed in a red floor-length gown that sat off the shoulders and had sleeves that reached the floor and were lined in a gold satin.  She had panels of gold metal acting as a corset, the centerpiece going from the neckline and between her breasts and was adorned with a crest.  Around her neck was a necklace in the same gold that cut a similar arrow shape as the plates.

“Hey,” she said.  “Hair and makeup?”

“Yep.  Let’s do it.”  I said.

We went into her room where a team was set up with chairs placed in front of a long mirror.  Loki sat in front of the mirror dressed in a gown of gold and green, adorned in her usual curled filigree and leather and scale armor.  Natasha was just getting the finishing touches on her lips.  Her gown was black and gold.  The skirt was layer upon layer of a sheer black fabric that almost resembled feathers on a raven.

She stood and my breath caught.  “Nat.  You look stunning.”

“Thank you.”  She said.  “You both look so beautiful too.  They are quite painless with the makeup.”

“I’m gonna tear that dress off you later.”  I teased.

“Sounds good.”  She said and kissed my cheek as she left the room.  Wanda and I took seats next to Loki.

“Okay,” a woman says with a heavy accent.  She looked me over and then grabbed my face and turned it left and right.  I startled a little.  No one had been so rough with me since I had gotten to Asgard.  Or before really.  At least not a stranger.  “Might be able to work with zis one.”

“They’re a little abrasive, aren’t they, Loki?”  Wanda joked.

“Total change from the mother-of-the-heir stuff I’m used to.”  I agreed.

“I thought you might appreciate Griselda,” Loki said as a woman fussed around her.

“Keep still.”  Griselda scolded and began to do my hair.  Carefully curling it and braiding it.

The three of us sat quietly for a moment while the women worked their magic on us.  It was Loki who broke the silence.  “I’m not asking for opinions.”  She said.  “Left or right?”

“Left,” I said, not knowing what she was talking about.

“I agree,” Wanda added.

“Thank you.  I think the left design will work.”  She said.  “I’m having jewels added to my eyes.”

“I see,” I said, not understanding at all, but assuming I would see soon enough.  “I look forward to seeing the finished product.”

Loki made a dismissive sound like she was done talking about that and I smiled to myself.  “Hey, Loki, when we’ve bonded with Thor will that make me your sister?”

Loki turned and glared at me.

“It will, won’t it?”  I teased.  “I’m gonna be your sister.”

“I will stab you,” Loki warned.

“Oh, sister.  Don’t be like that.”

“Elise,” she said.  “You’re pushing your luck.”

“Fine!”  I said putting up my hands in defeat.

She scowled and the makeup artist seemed to start working on her a little faster.  We fell silent again.  Loki was the first to be done and she swept out of the room wordlessly.  Griselda finished with me next and I looked at myself in the mirror.

“Wow!  That’s me?”  I asked.

“Yes,”  She said, her voice sounding like she was addressing someone who was quite dim.

“Thank you.  It’s beautiful.”  I said.

She nodded and the woman working on Wanda finished up.  The two of us headed out to the living room to find the others.  Everyone appeared to be dressed, though Thor was noticeably absent.  Everyone’s clothing uniquely made to fit them.  Sam was in a dark grey and silver with what looked like black and silver feathers adorning it.  Both embossed into the leather and metal and each scale in his armor looked like a feather.  Steve wore a dark blue and silver.  There were stars worked into the detail, but they looked like real stars.  Like he was wearing the galaxy rather than the five-pointed star he normally wore.

Thor came out of the kids' room.  He wore his usual armor but it was a little more ornate and a little more polished.  The metal was iridescent like an oil slick and the cape he wore wasn’t his usual red, but rather seemed to have a color to represent each of us.  He was carrying Pietro who was clinging to him and hiding his face in Thor’s neck, while Riley walked beside him holding his hand.  Both the children were wearing white robes with gold ropework and gold capes.

“Pietro does not wish to be put down,” Thor said.  “He doesn’t like his clothes and he’s feeling shy.”

“I’m feeling shy too, Piet.  Do you want to go with me?”  Bruce asked.

Pietro turned in Thor’s arms and held out his hands to Bruce who took him and the little boy immediately hid in Bruce’s neck.

“Is everyone ready?”  Thor asked.

We all nodded in agreement and those that were sitting got up.  Thor looked us all over and nodded.  “Alright, my chosen people, follow me.”

We formed a line of two by two and headed out to the feast.

//NEXT

[nitewrighter]

Karasu Tengu

Will we ever get that fic where a teenager Rei breaks into the Shimada Castle and gets picked up just in time from relieved-but-really-mad Shimada brothers?

(From @nerdingsince96)

The neat thing about getting this as a submission is I can save it as a draft! Nifty!

Alternate title for this fic is “This bird keeps itself in the air through sheer force of anger alone.”

—-

Kenzou cupped his hand over the end of his cigarette as he lit it, tinging his palm orange with the light. He puffed smoke out of his nose and looked out over the lights of Hanamura. The wood of Shimada Castle’s grand veranda creaked beneath his polished shoes. He glanced over at Minako, calmly scrolling through her phone. The omnic was in a suit, like him, with long black wires trailing out of her head, tied back in a sleek Heian style with white ribbon securing the wires at the lowest possible point. He had teased her about it before, but then again Minako had given him just as much shit for using ‘analog’ over e-cigs. Their workplace was a timewarp in and of itself, anyway. No one could really tease anyone for letting it imprint on them. Minako felt his eyes on her, glanced up from the phone and gave him a ‘Yes, I’m still paying attention’ nod and he gave a slightly amused huff, puffing more smoke out of his nostrils. His watch beeped and he brought a finger to his ear.

“Link check,” he spoke quietly, “Taigen?”

“Front Gate’s clear,” a voice came in over his earpiece, “Bernier?”

“West side of the shrine is clear,” said another voice, “Hisanobu?”

“No movement in the garden,” a voice huffed, “You know, it’s been years since our last breach–”

“That we know of,” said Minako, sleeking a metal hand over her wires.

“Oh come on–” Taigen started over the line.

“I’m just saying, thermoptic cloaking, teleporters….” Minako shrugged, “It’s not like management has ever been big on updating our tech.”

“Oi oi oi–” Kenzou put a hand up, “That’s the boss you’re talking about.”

“Right, right,” said Minako with a sigh.

“As I was saying, link check,” Kenzou said, side-eying Minako, “Alenko?”

There was only white noise on the other side of the link, “Alenko?” Kenzou repeated. Still only white noise.

“…Guest house,” said Minako and Kenzou loaded a clip into his gun.

“Hold the veranda,” said Kenzou, “I’ll go—”

He was suddenly sideswiped hard by a dark shape. His eyes only registered black and red. He felt his ribs crack as a clawed boot made contact with them. 

“Shit–!” Minako drew her own sidearm but a sound whistled through the air and a kunai knocked the gun from her hand, sending the gun tumbling over the side of the veranda. She quickly drew an extendable shock baton from her hip and ran toward Kenzou and the grappling assailant. “You little–!” she started.

But they were little, at least compared to Kenzou. As the two of them grappled in the milliseconds of Minako’s approach, she made out the rough shape of the assailant. Dressed in a snug but not restrictive black outfit, two dark frames arched off of the figure’s back. The figure’s face jutted up as they caught Kenzou in a headlock and in the darkness Minako made out two red eyes in a black mask, illuminating a narrow, corvid-like beak, she hesitated only momentarily.

“Minako–!” Kenzou choked under the figure’s grip and Minako flicked her baton and rushed them, only for bright red lights to flare out of the two frames on the figure’s back. Like blood-red feathers. Like an avian threat display.

Wings, thought Minako, A demon. A tengu.

And then, with those wings flaring, the figure suddenly swung their legs hard around, using Kenzou’s weight and those very wings to add to their momentum and kick her in the face—But Minako could react. She brought up her arm and baton in a block and forced the figure to push back, they were dependent on Kenzou’s balance, naturally unstable, and Kenzou was struggling against them. It was still two on one, she had to remember that. 

But then the figure pushed off of Kenzou’s back in a backflip, touching on the ground with one hand in a backhand spring, as they used the other to draw a wakizashi and the sheath from their hip, wielding both as weapons. Kenzou was coughing but he managed to raise his gun at the winged figure. They rushed him and he fired several times in their direction. The figure brought their wakizashi up and the pulsefire sparked off the blade, Minako flinched as it pocked the wall next to her head, but Kenzou grunted as his own deflected fire impacted the kevlar beneath his suit and grazed his arm and shoulder.

 Minako rushed past him and swung down with her baton, only for the figure to block her arm with the wakizashi and then uppercut her jaw with the scabbard. Feeling warm blood running down his arm, Kenzou brought up his gun in his still good hand to shoot at the assailant again, but they were thrashing around too closely with Minako for him to get a clear shot. Grunting in frustration, he tried to grab them off Minako from behind, only for those wings to flare out to buy a few milliseconds of hesitation from him. Minako brought her baton down again but the figure seized her arm and redirected the force of her downward strike, pivoting on their feet, striking Kenzou in the face with their wings in their turn before throwing Minako into him. They both grunted and splayed out with the force of the impact, but as soon as they managed to roll off of each other and Minako sprang up to her feet to see the last flicker of those glowing red wings darting around the corner heading into the main hall of Shimada Castle.

“Shit–” said Minako and Kenzou grunted and held his gun out to her. 

“Take it,” said Kenzou, holding the gun out to her.

“Are you okay?” said Minako.

“I’ll be fine! But I’ll just slow you down! Take my gun before she gets away! I’ll get you backup,” said Kenzou.

Minako took the gun and gave him a single nod before running off after the red-winged figure.

Kenzou grunted as he pushed up to a seated position. He brought his hand up to his ear. “Hisanobu–There’s a breach. I need you to back up–”

There was a whirring, whistling sound and suddenly several shuriken pinned his arm to the ground by the sleeve of his suit jacket. 

“Whuh–?” Kenzou started but he felt his commlink get plucked out of his ear. His eyes trailed up to a figure in silver armor, with a v-shaped bright green visor.

“Kenzou? Kenzou are you there?” Kenzou could hear Hisanobu on the other side of the line before the silver figure crushed the commlink in his fist.

“We’re not here to fight,” said the figure, “You have our word we’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Who…?” Kenzou started but he felt a sharp fingertip blow between the shoulder blades and blacked out.

“…you didn’t have to do that,” said Genji as Hanzo stepped over the unconscious henchmen.

“We don’t have time for you to play Zenyatta,” said Hanzo, already breaking out into a run.

Genji huffed and ran after him.

“I still can’t believe you let her out of your sight here of all places!” said Hanzo as they ran into the main hall of Shimada castle.

“She’s fourteen! Angela and I can’t be breathing down her neck all the time!” 

“You should, in Hanamura!” snapped Hanzo, looking around, “Now where did she go?”

They heard a grunt down a hallway and sprinted after the sound, until they came upon another unconscious Shimada henchman. A bruise roughly the shape of the tip of a wakizashi sheath darkened his forehead.

“…okay she’s moving a lot faster than anticipated,” said Genji.

“Of course you would be stupid enough to put wings on a ninja!” said Hanzo as they continued sprinting down the hallway.

“I didn’t put the wings on her! And you were the one who started training her!”

“You gave her that first shinai!”

“Kendo is a sport! It’s a sport!”

“It’s still a sword!” 

“I just hope she’s alright…” Genji said quietly.

Hanzo just gritted his teeth as they kept running. 

—-

Deep in the maze of guest rooms and galleries of Shimada castle, the winged figure’s feet lightly touched down on the ground as their red wings folded against their back. They paused to catch their breath, feeling it fog up against their face underneath the mask. There weren’t nearly as many guards this deep into the castle, so they continued on foot, sliding away door frames and peering inside before moving on. They opened a door to a long gallery featuring numerous weapons on stands and painted silk screens. There was an Edo-era painting showing a woman in beautiful Heian robes holding a baby in a wheelbarrow being pushed by a servant. They were being wheeled away from a manor in flames, and another painting of the same woman now in rags, still holding the infant, now standing before a spring framed by a single Torii. The moon seemed to be descending from the sky its reflection yellow in the water and a great white dragon was twisting around the moon. The tengu tilted their head at this painting, and nearly reached out to touch it, before they caught themselves and continued on in a brisk walk.

They reached the end of the gallery where there was a large ornate door, and they opened it. The room inside was dark, and the air stale, as if no one had been in it for a long, long time. The tengu stepped over the threshold and the lights bloomed on sleepily. Atmospheric, but doubtlessly electric.

“Old building, new tech,” murmured the Tengu to themselves. The room was clearly a master bedroom, elegant in its simplicity. The Tengu walked around the room, pausing next to a bedside table. There was a black framed photo of a five people. A weary-looking man who was the spitting image of Hanzo, a woman with Genji’s smug little smirk, a sour-looking toddler with a chonmage hairstyle, and a chubby-cheeked baby. To the left of this family stood a tall woman, her arms folded confidently. The Tengu tilted their head and studied her more closely. Her hair was piled in a smart faux-pompadour with a ponytail flowing over her shoulder. The Tengu picked this photo up and walked around the room. “I guess it was too much to hope for some kind of computer–” they started before stopping at a breezy noise that almost sounded like air conditioning. The Tengu put their hand to the wall and trailed it along the wood and plaster, until their hand ran over a crack at one of the wooden frames and felt a puff of cool air across the palm.

“Hello,” said the Tengu. They pressed against the wall panel and it pushed inward and slid to the side to reveal a narrow cement staircase leading down. Tucking the photo under their arm, the Tengu headed down the stairs. The staircase lead down just deep enough to be slightly claustrophobic, to feel the weight of the whole castle on top of oneself, but at the very bottom was a steel door.

“Crisis-era panic room,” muttered the Tengu to themselves, looking at the keypad locking the door, “…dead end,” they sighed. They pulled the framed photo out from under their arm, “Well… you programmed it,” they muttered under their breath, “Any ideas?”

The family stared out from the photo in bland photogenic cheeriness.

“…didn’t think so…” muttered the Tengu, “All this way for no–” the Tengu caught themselves and noticed one corner of the photo was dog-eared in the frame. They arched an eyebrow beneath their mask and turned the photo frame over, untwisting the clips to pull away the back. There was a number written on the back of the photo: 9007.

The tengu punched those four numbers into the door and there was a loud beep and a kachunk as several locks receded and the door swung open.

Inside was a bare, all-cement mini-apartment. Dusty canned food lined the walls, a bathroom was tucked away into the corner, a cold fluorescent light shined white overhead, and several bare futons were on the floor. At the opposite end of the room was a large monitor. The tengu silently approached it and turned it on. The word ‘Passcode’ appeared on the screen in Japanese and the tengu typed in ‘9007′ into the entry field. The words ‘ACCESS DENIED’ appeared on the screen in bright red text. Undeterred, the Tengu pulled a data lamprey from their belt and stabbed it into the side of the computer. The screen fizzled briefly before blipping to a desktop.

“There we go,” said the Tengu, scrolling through files. A video file titled ‘For Hanzo’ caught their eye and they opened it.

A figure blipped up on the screen, that same man with a stunning likeness to Hanzo, though he wore his hair shoulder-length and half-tied back, and it was more heavily streaked with gray.

“Hello, Hanzo,” he spoke in Japanese, “If you’re watching this, that means you’re the head of the clan now.”

“…Grandpa?” the Tengu said quietly, watching the screen.

“The truth is, I’m making this video because I’m not entirely sure the council will be happy with my decision not to pursue a partnership with Talon. I know Talon isn’t happy either, and while I have no doubt in the competence of my retainers, I must be prepared. No matter what happens, you, Hanzo, must not allow the Shimada clan to fall in league with Talon. Their interests are not our own, and I fear to see what damage our resources may wreak in their hands. I wish I could say you can trust your family, but with the clan splitting its opinion over this matter…I feel it’s wiser to prepare you. I never told you why my sister, your Aunt Yuriko, committed yubitsume.” 

The Tengu gave a quick glance back down to the photo, to the tall woman standing next to the family. Beneath their crow mask, their eyes widened. The woman was missing a pinkie.

“Aunt Yuriko,” the Tengu said to themselves under their breath, tracing over the pompadoured woman’s face with their finger.

“Back when your grandfather, Shohei Shimada, was ailing, it was clear that the title of head of the clan would have to pass soon. As first born, I was the obvious choice, however Yuriko’s effectiveness as an enforcer lead to significant outcry in the clan and lower branches that I was too weak to take over for your grandfather—”

“There you are, you little shit!” 

The Tengu flinched, pausing the video instinctively, and their hand went to their wakizashi.

“Don’t even try it. You’re organic. I can tell.”

The Tengu whirled on their feet to see Minako on the stairs, her gun fixed on them. She descended the stairs. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming down here. What kind of stupid are you? A panic room’s a goddamn dead-end!” 

The Tengu said nothing, just stared at her, still holding the photo to themselves.

Under the light of the fluorescent, Minako made out their figure more, the size of them in relation to their environment. They looked even smaller with the wings folded in.

“Shinjirarenai…” Minako stared down the gun sights at the tengu, “You’re just a kid, aren’t you?”

The tengu seemed to flinch at the word ‘kid’ but kept pressing the photo to themselves.

“A kid in a goddamned costume…How the hell did you–?” Minako started but suddenly got hit in the back of the shoulder with an arrow and currents of electricity pulsed around her body. She grunted and the gun in her hand went off. The tengu brought up their own wakizashi to deflect but a silver shape leapt past Minako and a green flash dove out in front of them and deflected the pulsefire off into one of the cement walls. The lights in Minako’s forehead flickered out and she dropped to the ground and Genji turned on his heel to look at the Tengu.

“Are you okay!?” he said, reaching a hand toward the Tengu but they stepped back from his grasp.

“I’m fine! I don’t need your help!” snapped the Tengu.

“Who just stopped you from getting shot!?” said Hanzo.

“Then I don’t want your help!” said the Tengu.

“What were you thinking!?” said Hanzo.

“I’m thinking I’m sick of you both treating me like a kid! Or like I’m stupid!” said the Tengu finally yanking off their mask. Rei glared at them both with those big gray eyes as she gripped her crow mask with white knuckles in her other hand. 

 “Perhaps we wouldn’t treat you like you’re stupid if you weren’t doing the the most foolish thing you could possibly do!” said Hanzo, throwing his hands up.

“Maybe if you actually told me about the clan I wouldn’t have to find out for myself!” said Rei.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?!” Hanzo seethed, “Do you have any care how much danger you’re putting not just yourself, but your family in!? This was nothing but pure idiocy and egotism that put everything we have worked for, for your sake, at risk! This was not why we taught you—”

“Hanzo,” Genji put a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and Hanzo caught himself, “I can handle this.” 

“I–” Hanzo started, glancing between them, “Right.”

Genji stepped past Hanzo and put both of his hands on Rei’s shoulders.  “Rei, I need you to understand how scared we were–”

“I had it handled–” Rei started to argue.

“Let me finish,” said Genji and Rei quieted down. Genji drew in a steadying breath. “I understand what it’s like to feel like there’s a big part of you that you don’t understand. I understand being willing to try anything to understand it. There is still so much to teach you, but we also want to protect you from the cycle of violence that defined our clan.” Genji looked around the high ceilings of the room. “This place…this castle, it is a part of your history. It’s also a place of great anger and pain for both me and Hanzo.” Genji sighed. “And…that pain is another reason why you don’t know as much as you should. As much as you have a right to know. And for that I’m sorry.”

Rei blinked a few times. “Do you mean that?” she said.

“I do. Part of this is on me–I always considered you to be so much more than a ninja, that I didn’t consider how much the Shimada aspect might mean to you. Now, we’re still very much in danger just being here, so—” Genji moved toward the stairs.

“How do I know I’m not making their mistakes if you barely tell me anything about them?” said Rei, folding her arms.

Genji paused for a beat. “To be honest, there’s so much of your mother in you that I always took it for granted that you were a good person,” he said with a slight shrug, “I thought you did, too.”

“Mom doesn’t do stupid stuff like this, though,” said Rei, turning the mask over in her hands.

“Rei, I assure you, your mother does stupid things all the time–but like you, she only does them because of something she believes in. You came here for answers, you came here wanting to know the truth, and that’s very brave, but it’s also insanely dangerous. So can we continue this discussion somewhere safer?” 

Rei looked back at the screen where Sojiro’s image was frozen for a few seconds before closing her eyes and biting her lip. “…okay,” said Rei with a single nod. She gave a glance to the data lamprey on the processor and yanked it off, “But I’m still taking this, though.”

“…it’s actually a very good idea to take that,” said Genji.

They gingerly stepped over the collapsed form of Minako.

“…Is she gonna be okay?” said Rei, putting her mask back on.

“Give or take a few hours, yes,” said Hanzo, “But we can’t wait around that long.”

—-

The three of them nimbly leapt across the rooftops of Hanamura back towards the hotel where they were staying, Rei was using her wings on gaps she couldn’t clear as easily as her father and uncle. It almost felt thrilling to Rei, like they were all on the same team, but at the same time she was absolutely dreading her mother’s reaction to all this, and felt a stab of guilt as well. 

They paused briefly to let Rei catch her breath on one rooftop before she looked back at the castle. 

“Thank you,” said Genji stepping alongside her, “For coming back with us.”

“…well they probably would have shot me if I stayed, right?” said Rei, sitting down on the edge of the building.

“Or taken you alive, found out who you were, and forced you into something much worse,” said Hanzo.

Genji gave a wary look to Hanzo but Hanzo just gave a ‘Well, she asked’ shrug.

Rei pulled the data lamprey from her belt. “So do you know what’s on here?”

Genji shook his head. “Hanzo and I will go through it first with Winston and Morrison,” he said. He held a hand out to her.

Rei made a face.

 “…if there’s someone dying in these files, I don’t want you to watch that,” said Genji, “I’m going to find out exactly what’s on here before I expose you to that. I do want you to know, and I will tell you, because you should know the truth of the Shimada clan, but I won’t traumatize you.”

“You don’t think they’d actually save something like that, would they?” said Rei.

Genji looked back at Shimada castle. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m making a point of finding out first.”

Rei gave a glance down to the data lamprey, and huffed before handing it over to Genji. “…the first file I found was a message to Uncle from Grandpa,” said Rei.

Hanzo perked up slightly.

“…you didn’t tell me I had an aunt,” said Rei.

“A great aunt,” said Genji, “I mean… she’s… not great, she’s, frankly, terrifying, but she’s your grandfather’s sister.”

“’Is?’“ Rei repeated, “As in she’s still alive?”

“Well someone has to keep sending those assassins,” said Hanzo, “We’re fortunate we did not cross paths with her tonight. If she was in Shimada Castle tonight… I doubt we would have made it out.”

Rei’s eyes widened. A long silence passed between all three of them.

“You know I love you, right?” said Genji, at last.

“Yeah,” said Rei, hugging her knees.

“You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe, right?” said Genji.

Rei huffed a little. “Yeah.”

“Good. So I want you to keep both of those facts in mind when I say you’re grounded, because you are so grounded. I cannot stress it enough how grounded you are. You are… more grounded than you have ever been in your life.” 

Rei snorted a little. “Understood,” she said. She tucked her hair back and looked at the crow mask in her hands, “And I’m… I’m sorry.  I wasn’t thinking of how hard you and Uncle and everyone worked to try and keep us safe…. I was just… angry.”

“Well that runs in the family,” said Genji with a shrug, “I accept your apology. But when we get back I want you to apologize to your mother, too. You scared her half to death. It took everything to convince her not to come and put herself at risk, she was so worried about you.”

“…that’s not going to be fun,” mumbled Rei under her breath.

“No, no it’s not,” said Genji.

Rei huffed and got to her feet.. “Well, better get it over with,” she said, spreading her wings and gliding over the gap between roofs. Genji watched as she ran on ahead toward the hotel with Hanzo standing next to him. The red tips of Rei’s wings bobbed on into the night. Hanzo watched her next to Genji.

“That was…” Hanzo itched at his sideburns, “That was good.”

“Mm?” Genji leapt over the gap after her, “Oh–Well, just ‘playing Zenyatta,’ like you said–”

“No–you spoke to her with… respect. With empathy. You spoke from your own experiences.” 

“Oh,” said Genji, “Well… yes. I owed her at least that much with how much we’ve been keeping her in the dark.”

“…I hope you don’t think it too odd of me to say that… I wish Sojiro spoke to us like you spoke to her when we were her age.”

Genji chuckled a little and rubbed the back of his neck. “So do I,” he said, before they both took off running after Rei.

[mldrgrl]

Ordinary People

by: mldrgrl Pairing: Hank Moody/Stella Gibson Rating: PG-13 Summary: In the Hanella universe, March 15th is Hank’s birthday.  Today is March 15th.  Also, in the Hanella universe, there is no coronavirus.

A/N: I usually don’t do these, but I just need to say, my creative drive is at an all time low.  I’ve tried to get a few Hanella stories off the ground for months, with no success.  I wanted to have this prepared for this morning, but it took me a painfully long time to put this together.  With all the panic and anxiety happening around me, us, the world, hopefully this is a small contribution to put a smile on a few people’s faces.  Stay safe everyone.

Hank likes Sunday mornings the best.  By virtue of a long-held agreement, Sunday mornings are unhurried and unplanned.  Afternoon brunch with Becca is usually on the calendar, but the mornings belong to them.  That’s why, when Stella’s cellphone rings at 9am, and she answers it, Hank rolls over with a disgruntled groan.

“Of course,” Stella says, slipping out of bed and Hank’s searching grasp.  “Yes, of course.  I’ll be right there.”

“Timeizit,” he mutters, coming up on his elbows, face scrunching as he struggles to fully open his eyes.  “Where you goin’?”

“Go back to sleep,” is all she says, and then she disappears into the bathroom.

Hank flops back down to the bed and buries his head under the pillows.  He tries to fall back to sleep, but he knows it’s futile.  Groaning again, he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed.  He jams one fist against his eyes, rubbing the sleep out, and searches the floor blindly for the pair of shorts he’d whipped off and slingshotted at Stella the night before when they were on their way to bed.  He knew they’d landed there somewhere.  

Stella comes out of the bathroom in a peach silk camisole and navy blue panties.  He perks up a little as she crosses towards him, but she’s only there at the side of the bed to retrieve her diamond earrings.  As she afixes them in her ears, he hooks an arm around her waist and drags her into the space between his open knees.  

“Go back to sleep,” she says again.

“Who was on the phone?”  His voice is muffled as he rubs his face against her hip and tries to nuzzle her panties aside.

“School.”

“On a Sunday?”

“I just need to run up and take some exam notes around to my TA.”

“Can’t you email them?”

“I’ll be quick.”  She wiggles her hips out of his clutches, but he pulls her back in.

“I can be quick too.”  He gets his fingers under her panties to squeeze her right asscheek and tugs the left side down at the hip.

“Later, Watson.”  She pushes him gently, but firmly away.  “I’ll make it up to you later.”

He rubs the back of his head and unhappily watches her get dressed.  It takes her less than two minutes to get into a pair of black, cropped pants, and a black and white striped sweater.  She pulls on a pair of black flats and then she’s gone and he still hasn’t found his shorts.

Two hours later, Hank has showered, fiddled with the latest chapter of his novel, and accidentally watched an episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians, but Stella isn’t home.  He receives a text at 11:30: Work issue to resolve taking longer than anticipated.  Meet at Sarabeth’s for Becca brunch at 1. x - Sherlock.  Because he’s annoyed, he texts back a sad face and an eggplant, hoping she feels guilty for leaving their bed for work.  And he really wants her to know how unhappy his dick is about it.  She doesn’t respond.

It’s a nice, unseasonably warm and sunny day with a cool, but gentle breeze, so he decides to walk to the upper west side to meet his wife and daughter.  It takes a little more than an hour, and on the way, he feels guilty for trying to make Stella feel bad, so he stops and buys her a bouquet of blue roses.  He probably has something to apologize for to Becca as well, so he gets her a colorful arrangement of daisies.

He’s early by ten minutes to Sarabeth’s and heads inside to try to get a table for three.  He doesn’t have to though.  He spots Becca at an upper level table and she waves at him.  He points out his party to the hostess and then ascends the staircase, two at a time.  It’s obvious to him something’s fishy by the wide smile on Becca’s face.  Stella’s back is to him.

“Milady,” Hank says, handing Stella her bouquet.  He presents the other to Becca with a nod.  “Mi-other-lady.”

“What’s this for?” Stella asks.

“Being a general pain in the ass,” he answers as he sits down beside her.  She laughs lightly and he places a lingering kiss to her cheek that she leans into.  He catches the hand she lifts to stroke his face and kisses her fingers one by one and gives her hand a squeeze as he pulls away.  

Becca still has the mysterious grin plastered on her face.  Hank eyes her suspiciously.  “Have you been dabbling with nitrous oxide, Daughter?”

“Can I give it to him?” Becca asks, shifting her eyes between Hank and Stella.  She looks ready to burst with excitement, so much so it’s palpable.

“Go on.”  Stella nods.

Becca turns and reaches into her bag.  She pulls out a shoebox-sized package wrapped in silver paper and passes it over the table to Hank.

“Me?” Hank asks, accepting the package.

“Happy birthday!” Becca exclaims.

“Oh…”  He’s forgotten.  Never much of a celebrator of birthdays, he’s forgotten that today was March 15th.  He looks from Becca to Stella.  “You two conspired on something?”

Becca nods and grins.  “Open it.”

“Alright.”  

Hank tears through the silver paper and uncovers an old, wooden cigar box.  It’s got more depth to it than boxes he’d ever seen before, fitting at least four rows of cigars deep by his estimate.  And it’s weighty, so he doesn’t think it’s full of cigars.  He flips up the aged metal latch at the front of the box and inside is a book.  Not just any book, a hard copy, possibly first edition of Call it Sleep by Henry Roth.

“Oh,” he says.  

“Keep opening!” Becca orders.

“Okay, okay.”

On closer inspection, before he even opens the book, he can see something is off about it.  The pages seem strange, like they’ve been altered somehow.  He opens the cover and on the inside is a small manila sleeve, stamped with PROPERTY OF MIAMI BEACH SENIOR HIGH SCHOOL.  There’s even a checkout slot still embedded inside with return dates back to the 1940s.  The copyright page indicates that it is not a first edition, but a fifth.  He starts flipping the pages and that’s when he’s able to see how unique this book really is.

“What in the hell,” he murmurs.  Pages have been replaced with handwritten notes.  There are photos embedded inside.  Polaroids, even.  Part of the book has been hollowed out and a tiny bottle of airplane-sized Jack Daniels has been nestled inside.

“We called people,” Becca said.  “Friends and stuff.  Mom helped.  Asked them to personalize something for the book for you.”

“All these notes and things are…”

“From everyone.  Aunt Heather, mom, me, Stella, Fish, Charlie, Marcy-”

“I miss that bald little creep and Cokey Smurf.”

“Fish added the bottle of whiskey.  He said to tell you there’s an adult-sized one waiting for you next time you come up to the house.”

“The Trout’s a good man.”

“We’ve been working on it for over a year.”

“Over a year?”  Hank looks up, incredulous.  

“It took awhile to get from person to person.  It was Stella’s idea.”

He tries not to look surprised, but he can’t help it.  Stella has never revealed a creative side to him.  “Really?”

“Something I read about.”  She waves a hand, dismissively.  “I didn’t invent the concept.  I just thought it might be something you’d enjoy.”

“I do.  It’s really...it’s just really...”  Hank stops.  He finds himself choking up a little.

Stella leans over, kisses his ear and whispers, “Happy birthday, love.”

“Which pages...where do I find your notes?” he asks.

“Read them later.”

“Aunt Heather painted silhouettes of the city skyline on some of the pages,” Becca says.

“I’m going to go over all of this with a fine tooth comb when I get home.  Thank you, ladies.”

“And Karen,” Stella adds.  “She was the perfect liaison.”  

“I can’t believe you guys did this.  I can’t believe anyone would do this.  For me.”

“We love you.”  Becca smiles broadly and then gets out of her seat.  She gives Hank a hug and then straightens.  “Have to run to the bathroom.  Be right back.”

When Becca leaves, Hank turns to Stella.  “You didn’t have to go up to work today, did you?”

“No, I had to pick up that box.”  She nods down to the cigar box on the table.  “We were able to acquire it last minute from a flea market auction and only had a small window of opportunity to pick it up.”

“This was really incredible.  Thank you.  I can’t wait to find what you contributed.”

“I haven’t added mine yet.”

“No?”

“It’s with me.  It’s just too...personal.”

“Something you wrote?”

She nods.

“Will you read it to me later?”

“No.”

“No?”

“You can read it yourself.”  She blushes and turns her face away from him.  

He runs his fingers through her hair and then cups her cheek and brings her gaze back to his.  “Do I get a birthday blow job tonight or is this old library book my only gift?”

She chuckles and takes up the bouquet he’d given her from her lap to smack him on the leg with it.  He kisses her once, twice, and then goes in deep on a third.  She’s breathless when he pulls away.

“I love you, Sherlock,” he says.

“Happy birthday, Watson.”

The End

[minervahopebeyond]

Blood Daffodils.

Chapter 23: The Battle of Hogwarts (part 2) <<part 2/3>>

The forest seemed so beautiful in that exact moment. Even with everything.

The sky was starting to clear up, the dark sky started to be light blue around the edges (or the horizon? He wasn’t sure what he could call that)... If Draco were there he would point out that it meant that the Witching hour was ending, that everything that happen from that moment on, during the day, would be more terrenal, The Veil, the souls would get more settled down on the other side and would not intervine in the slightest to the events in the living realm. Harry had always liked the Witching hour, even from before he knew what it was, he always found it comforting to stay up late... He wasn’t sure if it was because of the insomnia or someone visiting him even though he couldn’t see them.

Now, it was probably almost six a.m. It was those hours where the fog still caressed the trees seemed to walk the forest along with him. It was impossible to hear a single animal, Harry guessed they had scared them all off with the battle.

He could hear their voices near, not enough for them notice him approaching, but he could.

Knowing that you are going to die brings somewhat of relief to the act of living, he noticed everything about what was surrounding him. It was like he didn’t care for keeping himself alive, therefore, he could take a moment to admire a rather nice flower that was growing next to the roots of the tree besides him.

The snitch was heavy on his hand. Another sensation he would never have again, the feeling of catching the snitch.

He looked at it, the words ‘I open at the close’ appeared again in beautiful cursive letters. Dumbledore’s handwriting.

“I’m ready to die.” He whispered to it before bringing it to his lips and softly kissing the metal.

The snitch opened itself. Leaving a small stone floating in front of him.

He took a deep breath before taking it in his hands. Trying to focalize what he wanted, who he wish to see. He closed his hand around it, closing his eyes.

When he opened them, his mother was standing there, smiling. Not aged a day, just like his father when he crossed to this Realm.

“Hi.” It’s the only thing he can formulate, his eyes already watering.

“Hi, love.”

“Your eyes are really green.”

“Yours are too.” She replied with amusement in her voice.

“Are you alone there? Now that dad-“

She quickly shook her head.

“I have Marlene here, she is a good friend. I don’t know it your father can recall something from this side... but we wandered around with her and Regulus most of the time.”

“Regulus? That’s Padfoot’s brother.”

“Yes, he is very funny, just like Sirius. For what I could spy from here, I believe you would think he was more like Draco.” She said with a look that made Harry understand that she approves of him, that she liked them together. “And I believe an old friend will be joining us soon.”

“Snape.”

“Severus, yes.”

“He called you-“

“We were just kids. Doesn’t make it right but it’s still true. I think you have a very close example of how people can redeem themselves and change... I’m still going to chase his sorry arse for a few months first though, didn’t enjoy how he treated you in the slightest. He always had a twisted sense of humor.”

Harry snorted and offered her a smile.

“What’s yours?”

“What’s what?”

“Your sense of humor. I know dad’s humor is now.”

She crooked her head, her stunning deep-red hair falling to the side.

“I like mean jokes, dark humor...Your father always enjoyed laughing from silly things. Always only took a few words to reminded him he was the most ridiculous human being I’ve ever met.”

“Dad says my sass comes from you.”

“That would be correct, your father liked it. Severus on the other hand... kind of hated it and still found it amusing all the same. I like the one where you said to him ‘There is no need to call me Sir, Professor’, I laughed for days after that one.

And her laughter echoed around the forest, only for Harry to realize that they laughed the same way, with a snort at first and that little chocking sound in the middle.

“I love you. I wish we could have had out time here.” Harry said. He was crying again. He lost count of how much he had cried that day.

She reached out to touch him but couldn’t, because she was not here... Not really. But seeing her hand over his shoulder was almost like feeling her touch, he could imagined it.

“I love you too. And we can have our time there, don’t cry, love.”

“Does it hurt?”

“You don’t feel a thing, quicker than falling asleep.”

“And you will be there with me?” He asked, he felt his fingers trembling so he tightened his grip around the stone.

“Always.”

For a moment, hearing her saying those words made Harry regret to not have a proper conversation with Snape through all those years... Clearly they talked the same sometimes. Maybe he could have heard stories about his mother that weren’t based on his Dad thinking she was pretty and funny.

He put the stone carefully in his pocket and walked to meet his end.

He saw Narcissa and Lucius again. Harry had this unbearable need to tell them to go look for Draco, to hug him before it was too late. After all, he could only hope that Hermione and Ron would get to kill Nagini after he was gone.

He really hated Tom Riddle’s snake-alike face. His only regret in all this was that he would be seeing him last in this world, those disgusting red eyes... That was going to be the last thing he saw.

But then he noticed Hagrid when he heard him plead for Harry to run away, to not be a fool. He focused on him as he heard Voldemort’s voice.

“Harry Potter... the boy who lived, came to die.”

How fucking poetic.

‘So here goes nothing.’

“AVADA KEDABRA.” And the green light hit him square in the chest.

Everything was white and bright. His first thought was that if all the afterlife was this fucking bright he would need sunglasses.

It looked like King's Cross Station. But white. Like someone had forgotten to ad the colors to a painting and left the drawing only with the black pencil traces.

“Hello, Harry James Potter.”

A woman’s voice, but it was not his mother’s. He raised his eyes to look at whoever said those words and found a gorgeous woman with long silky black hair, wearing a very transparent dress. Harry could see her entire body perfectly.

He walked over her, his cheeks as red as he didn’t even imagine possible for the afterlife.

Once he was standing in front of her he had to fight with every single fiber in his body to keep his eyes on her face. He failed.

“Oh, the other one never looks. Let me just...”

And with a wave of her hand, the transparent dress was replaced by a beautiful silver gown that seemed to be made of stars with how much it glittered.

“Who are you?” Harry asked and the woman just raised an eyebrow. “Death?”

“Yes.”

“Well... is this it? I don’t see my mother-“

“No. You are in what your people would call the Limbo. I call it the In Between.”

“Why does it look like King’s Cross?” He asked pulling a face. It seemed so boring.

She started to walk around the station and Harry followed her as she kept on talking.

“Everything presents to the new soul in a way they found familiar. My only guess it’s that your first happy memory was in here.”

The first time he got on the Hogwarts Express. Meeting Ron. Making his first friend.

“I’m actually surprised you chose for me to look like me. Most of them choose someone they miss and trust.”

Harry looked at her. She seemed genuinely happy about what she had just told him. He remembered something that Draco said:

‘Can you imagine being a deity that nobody loves? Everyone fears her too much to accept her.’

“But it’s always you, right? You receive the souls.”

“It is always me. I’m just a very good actress.” She said before laughing. It sounded like a soft melody, everything about her was enchanting and beautiful.

She took a seat on one of the benches and Harry did the same.

“You are now the first and only Master of Death to ever exist. You can add that title to the extensive curriculum you have, boy.”

Harry frowned.

“What?”

“You possess all three of the Deathly Hallows, The Invisibility Cloak, The Resurrection Stone and The Elder Wand... And even having all those items, you decided to face Death rather than to run away from me.”

“I don’t have the Elder Wand.”

“I can’t talk about the Hallows in the Living Realm. I can only tell you what I told you.” It seemed like a spell was casted on her tongue and she couldn’t even pronounce other words. She couldn’t explain. “ A rightful Master of Death can choose his time. What do you wish to do?”

He felt like he was floating just from hearing her. He couldn’t contain the smile that appeared on his lips.

“You mean I can go back?”

“Yes.” She answered simply.

But then, he remembered.

“But I’m a Horcrux... If I go back he can’t die.”

She took a deep breath as she looked away. He could hear a train coming their way, the clickety-clack approaching them.

“I always hated that man. He called me with rituals but never paid his debts. Just like the Three Brothers. You give humans gifts and they destroy everything in their path.” Death turned to look at Harry, her dark deep eyes staring at him. “Do you have The Stone?”

Oh. He almost had forgotten about that. He took it out of his pocket and offered it to her.

“This was probably the worst decision in my entire eternity and now I can finally destroy it.”

The conversation with his mother replayed in his mind.

“I liked that one. I think it was very kind of you...”

Death let out a snort.

“You would think that. Everybody does.”

“Then whats the problem?”

“It makes living souls want to join their love ones here. Contrary to popular belief, I do not wish for my Realm to have more souls than the absolute necessary.”

Blue flames surrounded The Stone, it felt like ice rather than fire.

“Et periit, attuleris mortem”

And the little stone evaporated in the blue flames.

The train entered the station, all white too, it was like the colors could not be part of the In Between.

“The Horcrux in you was destroyed. Personally, I think the method was rather unnecessary. Your Headmaster was a brilliant man, I’m surprised he did not think about something less traumatic.” Then she smiled at him. “But it is good that it happened as it did. You will realize why... soon enough.”

He started to walk towards the train but turned around as he remembered something. He would not get a chance like this and it would be a shame, Death was very nice.

“Thank you for giving me my father back. And thank you for letting Draco stay.”

She smiled kindly at him.

“That boy loves you very very much.” She stated, nodding. “And can I tell you a little secret?”

Harry nodded sightly, without saying a word, he just wanted answers.

“I didn’t want him here for loving you. That would have been unfair, don’t you think?”

“Did you... Did you know how I felt? Or how was I going to feel for him?”

She smirked and made a gesture like she were locking her own mouth and throwing away the key.

Of course She had known. Apparently Harry and Draco were the only ones who hadn’t realized it back then.

He smiled at her and turned around to get on the train, he could hear the whistle announcing the departure...

Harry had expected to see the train ride, at least a little bit. In reality, he just found himself in the Forest again, lying on the leaves and dry branches.

He heard someone approach him under the order to check if he was alive or not.

He kept his eyes closed, calculating how little chance of escaping death he had, now that the Resurrection Stone had been destroyed and he was no longer Master of anything...

Someone knelt next to him, putting fingers on his neck to check his pulse. They were women’s fingers, he noticed.

“Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?”

The whisper was barely audible; she was giving showing her back to the rest of them. Harry couldn’t see if someone else was with them but he guessed that this was his only chance to escape.

And it was Draco’s mother. He wasn’t about to lie to her.

“Yes,” He breathed back.

He felt Narcissa standing up again.

“Dead.” She declared without the slightest fear in her voice and Harry understood where had Draco gotten his bravery and protectiveness from.

“You see?” screeched Voldemort over the tumult. “Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio!”

It took everything in him to not move an inch. Expecting that unbearable pain, that heat in his veins that made him want to die rather than to fight... but the pain never came.

He heard laughter, mostly Bellatrix’s, her laugh was the most distinguishable of them all; very high pitched, a lunatic’s laughter.

He also could hear Hagrid crying. He was so tired of hearing people he loved crying.

——————————

[onstarsandiron]

Cannon Character Descriptions

Here’s a big master post of cannon character physical descriptions, for all your related needs. Let me know if there’s anything I missed/should add!

Ana

"She had warm bronze skin and wide golden-brown eyes, full lips, and a heart-shaped face. Her hair was as dark as space itself, but it always curled into tangles. She wore it atop her head in a long braid and shaved the sides. She was moderately tall, solidly built for a life of evading death at every turn, and wore hand-me-down coats like the red one she wore now and darned trousers that never fit right. She looked like a girl from any part of the Iron Kingdom—and nowhere all at once.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

“Tattered burgundy coat, a Metroid at her hip, long black hair in a renegade braid, and looking like she hadn’t bathed in a week—the girl must’ve been an outlaw.”  (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Robb)

When Ana arrives at the palace and is shown to her new quarters she has a little break down in the bathroom -- and who hasn’t had one of those? -- and shaves her hair off. In SoS, 6-months have passed since the coronation day and her hair is describe merely as “short”.

Di

As D09: “His hood was pulled low to disguise the slats and plates that made up his face, without a nose or ears or eyebrows. He was more dented than other Metals, having fallen through mine shafts on Cerces and been shot at by mercenaries on Iliad. She felt bad for a particular ding on his forehead, but she had apologized a thousand times for accidentally running him over with a skysailer.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

As Di/Dimitri: “Redheaded and dark-eyed, a strong jaw, and broad shoulders that filled a slightly-too-small lavender evening coat. He smiled at her—lopsided, imperfect. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place from where. ... So close, the individual strands of his hair looked woven with sunlight, his skin pale—but not like Jax’s, more like a boy who had never seen the sun." (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

“So she memorized how the light from the windows slanted across the sharp edges of his face, the way he leaned toward her like a shield, how there were a thousand stars in his eyes, which sometimes made them shine as silver as moonlight—as they did now.” (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

Di received a cut on his cheek during Coronation Day that is held with silver stitches during SoS to prevent the cut from revealing the metal underneath. He also has a little breakdown -- as one does -- in which he busts up the skin on his knuckles, which he hides then with gloves.

Throughout SoS, Di’s hair is often remarked very specifically as “Blood red”, and he wears quite a bit of black.

Jax

"A Solani. The one from the skysailer. He must’ve been close to Robb’s age, but his silver hair made him look old—ancient—and his skin shimmered as if starlight hid just beneath. He wore a ruffly purple evening coat, golden filigree decorating the collar to match the lining, and buttons so polished they gleamed. Underneath that insufferably garish jacket was a silk shirt, stained with what Robb figured was his blood. A pair of goggles sat around his neck.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Robb)

Wears purple often; after the event with Koren Vey, his skin literally glows. “”It’s a long story, but yes, I’m a glowlight. It makes reading in the dark riveting.” (SoS, III: Starless, Jax) Also in SoS, Jax has to chop his own hair off during the final fight, resulting in him sporting a shoulder-length cut during Erik’s funeral; according to Robb, he looks no less dashing for it.

Robb

“He looked the most like their father, broad shouldered and stocky, with hair that curled like the lies that fell from his tongue.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Robb)

Like his mother and brother, Robb also has olive skin and signature Valerio-blue eyes, often compared to the Erosian sky. In HoI, Jax threatened to make a short joke (mind you, Jax is tall); in SoS, Robb notes that he was always shorter than his brother, but a recent growth spurt had now made them eye-to-eye.

In the conclusion of HoI, Di -- then HIVEd -- made his tracking chip go haywire and an impromptu amputation was needed, cutting his right arm off between his elbow and his shoulder. Robb got a cybernetic prosthetic about a month before the events of SoS.

Elara

“She was around Ana’s age -- eighteen, maybe -- with shoulder length silver hair that partially shadowed her sharp face, and wide violet eyes rimmed with kohl.  Her lips were painted black to match the rest of her wardrobe. She was short and curvy, with wide hips and thick legs that tapered into knee-high gravity boots. She was a Solani like Jax, but her skin was darker, reminding Ana of the cold deserts on Cerces. There was a wire that looped from her right ear down into her collar and disappeared. A hearing apparatus.” (SoS, I: Starship, Ana)

Xu

"Then -- like twin stars igniting -- moonlight-colored eyes flickered to life on a face made of metal slats, forming angular cheekbones and mouth and chin. There was a horrible, deep scrape across its temple that had been soldered closed. A Metal.” (SoS, I: Starship, Ana)

Malifare

“She walked with the grace of a dancer, floating without a sound. The pins in her flaxen hair matched her black dress. Floor-length, high collar, the insignia of the crown on her sleeve.”  (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Di)

“Flaxen hair, narrow face, wearing the deep purple of a royal handmaiden." (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Di)

Siege

“The captain’s black hair framed her brown face in wild, electrifying curls, glowing with interwoven fiber optics, simmering orange like a stoked fire— Oh, Ana could tell by the color that she was mad.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Siege has green eyes. When she isn’t mad her hair is typically a golden yellow, though it grows dull when she’s drained or injured, and can be blue though it happened very rarely. As a teenager -- in a very hazy recollection by Di -- she’s described as someone who never smiles.

Talle

“Talle—short and thin, with black hair in a pixie cut and hands so steady she could slit a throat clean while navigating the skyways of Nevaeh...” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

In Jax’s flashback in Soul of Stars, Talle is described as tall with long black hair, but I’ll just assume that Talle is simply tall compared to an 8 or 9 year-old Jax. (SoS, II: Starless, Jax)

Also, her voice is often noted as sweet.

Lenda

““Seriously?” Lenda groaned, brushing back her floppy dishwater-blond hair. She was solid, with narrow brown eyes and tawny skin with rosy undertones. She displayed the scars on her arms like trophies—battles won in the fighting arenas of Iliad. Lenda was twenty and unafraid of everything— Except, maybe for Palavar.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Riggs

"Riggs, fiddling with a ball bearing in his mechanical leg, grumbled a reply and heaved it off the table, setting it on the bench beside him. He’d lost his right leg to the Plague twenty years ago—cut it off himself right above the knee. He lost his family to the disease on Eros, and kept a photo of his daughter in a silver locket around his neck. Sometimes at night, Ana heard him talking to her in his dreams." (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Wick

““No one [likes Palavar],” rumbled Wick, who had a habit of being quiet. He listened, and that made him a talented communications specialist. He absorbed languages like a sponge, so many that Ana could only hope to wrap her tongue around a quarter of them. He was Cercian by birth, the markings under his eyes so faded Ana couldn’t tell which clan he hailed from, and he never told, having left that life years ago. His skIn was a shade darker than Siege’s, with a warm hue to it—like the dawn.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Barger

““Eh, don’t bother me. Three jacks,” said Barger, a stout man in his mid-twenties with a ginger mustache. His fingers were always grease stained, nails ripped short, the signs of a tireless weapons mechanic.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Cynthia Valerio

“Lady Valerio looked wicked, from her bloodred lipstick to her bloodred dress, as she gave a gracious bow.”  (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

“Tall and thin, with olive skin and graying brown hair swept into a bun, cheekbones so sharp they could cut ice. She wore a finely detailed coat and trousers, a Valerio crest pinned above her heart. She appraised the small crew with shrewd blue eyes—he knew that color. He knew it achingly well. The color of Erosian skies.” (HoI, III: Iron Blood, Jax)

Mercer Valerio

Robb is his spitting image, except that Mercer wore a thick beard.

Erik Valerio

“At nineteen, Erik Valerio was dashing, popular, and conniving in a way that granted him whatever he wanted. He looked like their mother—tall and olive skinned, a sharp face, with straight dark hair and a smile that made you want to trust him.”  (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Robb)

“His brother stood blocking the doorway in a deep brown leather jacket with mink fur at the collar and dark trousers. His boots were well polished and decorated with the Valerio insignia—a snake eating its own tail. He filled the doorway just like he had in Robb’s nightmares, his hair short, the sides shaved with celestial designs, and he narrowed his eyes like their mother always did—disapproving, but not surprised, as if nothing Robb would ever do would be worthy of approval.” (SoS, IV: Star Crossed, Robb)

Erik and Cynthia often match, both wearing red at the celebration for Erik becoming the heir, both wearing black at the pre-coronation ball, and both -- this time including Robb -- wearing white at the coronation itself.

Nicholi

“The Emperor, clad in royal purple, had a hand on his wife’s shoulder. He looked like all the pictures she’d seen in the newsfeeds. Golden-brown eyes and rich brown skin, like the Grand Duchess, a full beard over a strong face.” (HoI, III: Iron Blood, Ana)

Selena

“Beside him, his wife, the Empress, smiled out of the portrait, brown curly hair and Valerio-blue eyes.” (HoI, III: Iron Blood, Ana)

Rhys, Wylan, and Tobias Armorov

Ana’s three older brothers are described as having dark curly hair, and the youngest, Tobias, has Valerio-blue eyes. They’re described further in short snippets Ana recalls in the palace, chasing the ghosts of their voices:

“Rhys— He let her taste the sweets from the kitchen. The scent of cinnamon. Warm brown eyes, a melting smile. He used to kiss her bruises when her middle brother, Wylan—a cocky smile and a mess of black curls—knocked her down when they pretended to be outlaws. All the horseplaying would scare her youngest brother—Tobias. Valerio blue eyes and a small smile and a love of violins and sweet candies and stories.” (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

Lord Rasovant

“An older man, graying beard braided down his chest, appeared at the far end of the hallway. Dark eyes and deep wrinkles and ghostly-pale skin. The clank of decorative medals on his breast accompanied his footsteps. He was dressed in a simple royal-purple evening coat with uneven tails, gilded buttons and filigree across the collar and sleeves.”  (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Di)

The Grand Duchess

“Ana drank the woman in, from the delicate wrinkles across her face to her silvery-white hair pulled back into a simple bun, making her cheekbones look sharp enough to cut. Her skin was the color of soft earth and speckled with age, her hands bony knobs. She looked old, but in a terrifying and timeless way, the way mountains looked old but immovable.”  (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

She also has “...stone-cut green eyes...” (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Robb), similar in description to Siege’s

Wynn Wysteria

Wynn has a freckled face and long, curly strawberry-red hair. (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

Viera

“She was tall, with white-blond hair and arrowhead-shaped markings under her eyes—heritage markings for certain Cercian clans.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Di)

Messiers

“A patrol of six Messiers appeared in the doorway. They were sharp, metallic. Made of planes and slats she knew well, because they looked like D09. Like Metals. Because once, they had been. Now HIVE’d, the Messiers’ blue eyes blazed like virtue incarnate. They moved in unison, their blue-and-black uniforms pristine, shined boots making solid thumps on the masonry floor as they marched into the shrine.”  (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

Mokuba

“A tall, burly gentleman in a stained long coat and trousers, the seams frayed and boots greasy.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

Redbeard

“He had been an imposing man, as thick as two men. He had a braided red beard that reached halfway down the front of his barrel chest, and it glowed with optics the way Siege’s did, although Ana much preferred the way they looped into her curls.” (SoS, III: Starlit, Ana)

Cullen

Ana spun around to the owner of the voice, a tall androgynous person with long black hair that reached well below their waist, and warm brown skin, decked in gold jewelry and a coat the color of a nebula. They grinned at her, and the neon implants in their cheeks glowed a brilliant teal. (SoS, IV: Star Crossed, Ana)

[skye-blacke]

1, 4, 7, 8, 9, 17

1. Do your Guardians have back stories? So I have like Nine Guardians due to burner accounts. But yes. My Primary three are: Hunter - Aedric Corvos- Awoken. Aedirc found himself risen in a nook under a cliffs edge. Opposite him where five dead bodies, all around a campfire. He doesnt remember what happened, maybe they were a group and they all died of starvation and the cold, or maybe he gunned them down and was gunned down in turn. It haunts him to this day. Travelling to the Tower he found people both welcoming and scornfall. And his journey was distracted by a mission of vengance. But thats a story for another day.

( I.D. A blue skinned man with orange eyes and black hair, obscured mostly by shadow bar the red tints of his armour) Titan-Aila-Human. The first thing Aila saw was a beautiful horrizion. The sun breaking over the sprawling glens, and bouncing off the water. From that day on she knew exactly what she was trying to protect. Her arrival at the tower was intersting, as she showed up during the Battle of the Twilight Gap. She fought her way to the city, trusty shotgun in her hand (The Heart of Olden Glory). From that point on she was frequently found wherever nature and people were.

( I.D. A young woman with a long side swept pixie cut, black eyeliner and lipstick. She’s clad in big thick blue and white armour with a fur collar, to her left floats her Ghost,a small red and white diamond with a purple eye.) Warlock-Jarek-Exo. Not his first name, not even his second. Jarek rejected the principles of numbering himself, and instead chose to change his name on each reboot. Although he doesnt know it, this is his 12th. The oldest of the three, he’s seen more and grown jaded as times gone on.

( I.D. A black and yellow Robot in a smart coat sits in a ship, his white eyes staring off camera, besides him is his Ghost, who is also black and yellow, shaped like a much larger diamond) (The rest will have shorter desciptions) Titan-Diva 5- Exo A kind soul who was found wandering after being newly ressurected by an equally kind man. Diva was taken in and this traveller helped him reach the city, though he himself never did. Diva wears a mark to remember him by.

( I.D. A wide eyed, white robot, with blue eyes and internal lightings and a red mark over his right eye like a splatter) Warlock-Madre 9- Exo. Ressurected in the city, she has never seen the outside of it. Instead she shuts herself away, helping others like Jarek learn what they can.

( I.D . A female robot, orange eyes and yellow internals. Her brown metal looks like its in a constant frown, with tightly bound lips. She has a silver line of paint down the centre of her face. ) Hunter-Myrah-Awoken. Reef born in Nature, Myrah is the youngest of my Guardians. A pathological flirt who prefers the bow to the gun. She’s bouncy and energetic, and a bit naive.

( I.D. A strong cheeked, young woman with purple side swept hair, blue skin and eyes, black lipstick, eyeline and two markings near her eyebrows. ) Warlock-Syril-Awoken. Syril was found by Myrah and the two formed a strong sibling bond. Much more reserved than his “Sister”, Syril likes to plot out every plan of attack and every action he can.

( I.D. A fairly square faced blue skinned man, with long black hair thats been styled up and to the left. He has cold white eyes.)  Finally we have Janus-8. An Exo who seems to have patched himself back together with parts from other Exos. A strange and eccentric man who spend more time in a cave than in the tower. Stories say his Ghost found him half eaten in an abandoned ship, revived him and he was forced to swim to shore, before patching himself together with another Exo.

( I.D. A robot who is mostly orange, including his right eye and internals, bar from a pair of closely linked grey lines down the middle of his face, and a patch of blue from his left eye to his chin. His left eye is also blue) 4. What is your favourite class? HUNTER BABY 7. Favourite armour?

(I.D A man with a pistol, in what looks like black boots and cargo jeans, with a birds feather tied to the belt. His chest is armoured with two red bolts on either side of his torso. His arms are played with bones, and his helmet is mostly plating bar from a single strip of blue around his eyes. Over it all he wears a black cloak with a red trim.) 8. Favourite weapon? Finally a short answer. I don’t have one. The weapons are catered to my individuals. So no favourites. 9. Favourite Exotic? Sealed Ahamkara grasps. They add so much mystery to Aedrics design. 17. What NPC is your favourite in the game?  As said before, Eris and Petra.

[galfridus1]

Happy Birthday Sam!

@jacklynnfrost I love you, I love this AU you have developed. Thank you for sharing it with me and for letting me write with you. I hope you have a day filled with joy.

@yuleira drew this amazing picture to go with it. Thanks for collabing with me Keshia - you are amazing to work with 🙂

“Remarkable!”

Slugorn rubs his hands together, his pudgy face split with a grin as he stands over Elizabeth’s caldron, taking deep breaths of the indigo smoke that rises in curling plumes from its depths. The professor wafts his hands around, guiding the aroma towards him as he takes another appreciative sniff. Tentatively, Zeldris shuffles forwards a little in his seat, peering over the bench as he too tries to catch a glimpse of the mixture. But he fails. All he can see is the back of Elizabeth’s head, her long, silver hair shining in the sparse light that leaks from the green-glowing torches placed around the dungeon. He does get the smell though: wild berries, geranium, mint and something else he cannot quite place but which makes a shiver run down his spine.

“In all my days, I have never, ever, known a first year student manage to brew a perfect healing potion,” whispers the potions master, awe trembling through his tone. “Remarkable, Miss Liones. Simply remarkable.”

“It was nothing,” the girl replies shyly, and Zeldris feels a rush of pride. His friend is remarkable. That is a fact he has come to realise with an increasing certainty over the past several weeks, ever since he and Elizabeth had become more than passingly acquainted. With a twist of the mouth he looks down at his own caldron, which is simmering gently; the faint hint of fruit and herbs is there but their concentration is in no way comparable to Elizabeth’s. Once, that knowledge would have made him feel wretched, and he is surprised to find he does not care. This time, his friend’s success feels as good as his own.

“Ten points to Hufflepuff,” Slughorn declares with another huge grin at Elizabeth and Zeldris does not need to see her face to know she is blushing. The back of her ears are a distinct shade of red. “Now,” Slughorn says brightly, rubbing his hands together once more as his kindly eyes rove over the room, “let’s see how the rest of you have done, shall we?”

Slughorn makes his rounds, observing and testing each of the students’ concoctions. He gives Zeldris a beaming “Well done” followed by a hearty “Keep up the good work” before sweeping along the bench, dispensing advice and tuts to those of his peers who have fared less well in their task.

His legs wobble a little when class is dismissed, and he hops down from his stool with a slight stumble to pack up his things. It is lunchtime and he hopes to catch a few words with Elizabeth on their way to the great hall. He wishes wholeheartedly that students did not have to sit at their house tables. A Slytherin he may be, but he has nothing in common with the others who wear stripes of green on their robes, and nor does he wish to.

He makes his way with the others up the stairs from the dungeons, and is on the point of calling a greeting to Elizabeth when a boy steps in front of him, then another, and another. He stands firm, his hand grasping his wand. Every muscle in his body is tense. This time, he will be prepared for the attack. This time…

“Where do you think you’re going, shrimp?” The largest of the boys blocks his path, the others moving to flank him on either side, and Zeldris grits his teeth as he assesses the gameplay. The bullies have out-foxed him. If he attacks out here in the open, he will be the one to be reprimanded - most of the teachers are in the dining hall and will hear any disturbance - but if he does nothing he will be called a coward. Either way his non-existent popularity will plummet even further. He is trapped.

“Zeldris!” He starts as Elizabeth runs towards him, a slight smile on her lips but her blue eyes cold as frost. “I need you to help me with something.” Before he can protest, she grabs his hand and starts pulling, dragging him in the opposite direction from both the thugs and their lunch. “It won’t take long,” she says brightly to the bullies who are staring hard, their arms folded across their chests. “Excuse me.”

He turns and lets her lead him away, his heart pounding. He is on high alert, straining to hear any footfalls behind them. But as they move away from the throngs of students, the cacophony of chatter lulls to a hum and it is only their own footsteps that echo through the corridors.

Zeldris swallows. He knows he should thank Elizabeth for saving him - again - but the words stick in his throat. His eyes dart to the floor, to the ceiling, to the portraits on the stone walls whose occupants wave and sing and roll their eyes at the pair of small students striding along, black cloaks billowing out behind them. None of it helps. Embarrassment clenches at Zeldris’s stomach, and he wishes fervently he was someone else.

He nearly bites off his tongue when Elizabeth turns towards him, her face wreathed in smiles and all the anger gone from her features. “I want to show you something,” she whispers. “Follow me.” And follow he does as his friend leads him up staircases he has never used to the upper floors of the castle and through the labyrinth that is Hogwarts School.

He stops short when they reach a grey-looking door, its once white paint peeling off in ugly strips. “I can’t go on there,” he protests as Elizabeth places a hand on the doorknob. “This is a girls’ bathroom,” he says, horrified, as she cocks her head to one side.

“Oh!” Elizabeth laughs, then pushes the door open so hard it knocks against the wall with a soft thud. “Don’t worry. No one ever comes here.” She pulls Zeldris over the threshold. His feet feel like lead, but reluctantly he takes a few steps, though only to maintain his balance. The room is enormous: four sinks line the wall, gold taps gleaming in the sunlight that streams through the dusty window and onto the marble tiled floor.

“But it’s for girls,” he protests again, gooseflesh creeping along his skin.

Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “I told you, no one ever comes here,” she says with a little chuckle. “That’s why I can grow these.” She beckons to a stall at the far end of the room, Zeldris shuffling along as he follows.

What he sees within the toilet makes his mouth pop open. There are rows and rows of pots of various sizes filled soil and the first beginnings of bright green shoots. He recognises some from Herbology: there is mandrake, gillyweed, snapdragon and yarrow, along with some specimens he has not seen before. “What do you think?” Elizabeth asks shyly.

He does not answer and she continues into the silence, “I’ve been experimenting, trying to breed stronger varieties. This mandrake, for instance,” she says, her voice becoming more sure. “Usually they take several weeks to mature, but this will be ready in a few days. I planted it yesterday. Isn’t it exciting?” she asks, her voice tinged with hurt.

Zeldris clears his throat. “It is. I’m sorry, it’s really exciting. I was just so… taken aback. This is incredible. You’re amazing!”

Elizabeth gives him a full on grin. “Thanks. I feel like I can make a lot of improvements, you know? I come here when it gets a bit much. And now you can too! This can be our little hideout.”

“But…”

“But what?” asks Elizabeth, her head cocked a little to one side.

“I don’t understand. How come no one comes here. It’s a toilet…”

“Oh!” Elizabeth’s eyes light up with understanding and she starts to back out of the stall, Zeldris preceding her. “I’m so sorry. You haven’t met…”

He nearly jumps out of his skin when the wailing starts. “What was that?” he hisses. His wand is in his hand, and he turns slowly to survey the room. “Show yourself,” he commands as his grip on his wand tightens.

“Peekaboo!”

He whips round, pushing Elizabeth behind him, but all he can see are sinks and mirrors. His rapid breathing sounds through the space. “Elizabeth,” he whispers, “move to the door. I’ll hold off whatever it is.”

“It’s only a boy.” He whips round again, teeth grinding as his gaze once more falls on nothing at all. “How very… disappointing,” the voice continues and Zeldris swears he can hear an audible pout in its tone.

Elizabeth sighs. “This is why no one comes here,” she whispers softly into Zeldris’s ear. His eyebrows raise into his fringe. He has not once, ever, heard Elizabeth be anything but welcoming and friendly, enthusiastically nice to whoever she is talking to. The note of annoyance is one he would not have expected.

“Hello Myrtle,” says Elizabeth more loudly and brightly.

Zeldris sucks in a sharp breath. “Myrtle? Moaning Myrtle? I thought she was a myth…”

A piercing scream rings, the metallic rasp bouncing off what Zeldris suddenly realises must be the many copper pipes. The noise is deafening and he has to suppress the urge to cover his ears. Elizabeth shakes her head slowly, placing a finger over her lips. “He meant Myrtle,” she placates, “and of course you are a legend. Your role in the second wizarding war is…”

“I. Saved. Everyone!” The ghost materialises, her pudding bowl haircut and glasses pushed right into Zeldris’s face. “You will treat me with respect. Ooohhh,” she coos as she looks more closely at him, and he lowers his eyes under her knowing gaze. “But you must be the brother of that one, the dangerous one,” she practically purrs. “You look just like him, only less handsome. Can you introduce me? I was so upset when Meliodas was expelled. It was so unfair! I miss him. He was so handsome.”

“I… um…” stammers Zeldris.

“He used to come and see me all the time,” the ghost gloats as she lies on her back in the air, her arms resting behind her head. “Now it’s only her,” Myrtle says rather waspishly in Elizabeth’s direction. “You know it happened right here, in this bathroom,” she adds conspiratorially, her attention fixed on Zeldris once more. “I saw Meliodas kill that girl…”

“Yes Myrtle, whatever you say,” Elizabeth murmurs as she backs towards the door. “My apologies. If you’ll excuse us we need to head down to lunch. See you soon!”

Before the ghost can reply, Elizabeth bundles Zeldris out into the corridor. “That’s why no one goes in there,” she explains a little breathlessly once the door has shut behind them. “Myrtle is… an experience. I try to be nice but she keeps going on and on about Olive Hornbeam! The poor woman’s been dead goodness knows how many years, get over it!”

She places a warm hand on his shoulder. “She’s constantly exaggerating,” Elizabeth assures. “Every time I see her, Myrtle tells me something different, makes herself out to be more heroic. Don’t take any notice of her.”

“Yeah… sure…” he mutters past the lump in his throat. His brother never had told him why he had been expelled, leaving Zeldris to fill in the gaps with rumour and speculation. But deep down he suspects, has always suspected, that the role his brother played was far from an honourable one. The thought makes him sick, and he swallows hard as a splash of bile coats the back of his throat. He had always looked up to Meliodas and now...

“Come on.” Elizabeth says quietly, taking his hand and interrupting his brooding. “Let’s go get lunch. Not in the hall,” she adds quickly, obviously seeing the reluctance in his face. “I have some friends in the kitchens.”

“Why am I not surprised you get on with the house elves?” Zeldris says with a chuckle, Elizabeth joining in with his laughter as they head down the stairs. Zeldris feels a warm glow smooth over his fear. An outcast he may be, and his brother may no longer confide in him, but he has a friend. A real friend. And she happens to be the best one in the whole school.