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fullscoreshenanigans · 4 months ago

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Genuinely shocked Emma and Yuugo role swap received any votes when stacked up against the other options, but I can think of at least two reasons to dislike each one so respect o7

For me, it's a toss up between Mama Emma AU and Emma Ratri AU. With the latter,

#but oghhhh the way people interpret Emma Ratri AU’s is INSANE #( noremma stans) #( some of them ) #the only two acceptable Emma Ratri AU’s are #1 . Norm married her ( and Ray har har )#( because can’t leave him out ) #or 2 . she’d be a GOOD ratri #she would NOT be evil !!! (via @sleepyhouzuki) --- #as for emma ratri most the fics of it completely change her personality and it really bugs me (via @silentstudiosyt)

So often I've seen this tied up in "enemies to lovers" NE that's more overtly horny than the other options and turned me off to the concept almost entirely because I have zero interest in that for these two characters based on their canon personalities. With Emma in particular there's a need to balance her being a product of her environment, as in, at least at the start of the AU she should have some degree of disdain or at least disregard for the cattle children. Even if she's heavily influenced by James, I need some dialogue indicating she used to believe in the clan's ideology that kept them going for a millennia before the shift, otherwise it's like, what's the point lol

With Mama Emma AUs, especially if there's a timeskip to her becoming a Mom with the focus on her being broken by the farm system, it feels like an exercise in excessive sadness and despair and the tragedy of abusive cycles for the sake of seeing just how sad one can make oneself, without any additional nuance to make it worthwhile for me.

#my Norman fic is literally him being a Ratri so can’t choose that one !! #I also hate Mama Emma au’s because lord would she rather die than do that #yes #yes she would #but Emma Ratri AU takes the cake I am raising my brows at you . (via @sleepyhouzuki) --- #mama emma au for me personally bc I can't see emma ever doing it unless she was absolutely forced to #and even then she's still gonna be difficult about it (via @silentstudiosyt)

If she keeps her rebellious spirit and some degree of her idealism then it's a bit different, but there's still my personal hangup of not wanting any of the characters we're introduced to as children experiencing the horrors of systemic medical rape, so there's not much to entice me unless the farm system is dismantled before it gets to that point. (But then there's also my grievances with how canon speedruns this after nearly a millennia of inaction and without larger collaboration with the general demon population so I'm just never completely happy dljfks)

#I think I'm that weird person in the fandom who's very firm in wanting to explore the themes and ramifications of Emma's reward so I chose #The No Reward AU #With the other AUs there will always be one fic that will try to go against the curve of whatever cliches the fandom carves for it #That's what me and my friend are trying to do with our version of the Mama!Emma AU (via @thathilomgirl)

I love how half the post-canon AUs I've seen on AO3 are No Reward AUs that boil down to "…yeah I'm ignoring that because that ending was rushed as hell" kldsj

But this might come down to whether a person considers Emma regaining her memories in any capacity as an AU or only if she regains them right away because I'm thoroughly enjoying works like SuddenWhisper's Tethered where the possibility of her regaining her memories seems to be on the table, but at the cost of undoing the promise/the separation of the demon and human world, and how the trio feel about that versus how people like Mike Ratri feel about it. (Ngl this is my ideal continuation of canon with the level of nuance the author puts into it).

There's still some significant conflict involved to make it worthwhile that's related to canon, but even without that, if there's new character drama that arises from the kids naturally aging, or if its an AU where they aren't as easily accepted by the human world and/or Lambda sickness isn't cured quite as conveniently, I'm entirely on board for that too in a No Reward AU.

#same with lambda emma au #i genuinely can't see her trying to kill off all demons like Norman no matter how much hell they put her through (via @silentstudiosyt)

I haven't delved too much into Athena Emma just because Apollo Ray is more prominent, but from what I've seen Emma isn't as militant as either of the boys in her approach, so I thought that was an interesting spin on it. Could be wrong, though.

#most of the norman ratri aus (that I've seen at least) are also a modern au #still fairly interesting tho (via @silentstudiosyt) --- #so - Norman Ratri it is#despite me liking the idea. could be fun especially if he's not directly related with Peter and James #but most time it's an excuse to make him the rich famous white boy. difficult (via @officersnickers)

Modern AUs are hit or miss for me depending on the author because everyone's threshold for when characters become OCs after being removed from the canon environment that shaped them varies.

I've mentioned before how I think Norman has too much shit going on in canon so throwing him being a Ratri into the narrative as it stands feels excessive, but oooooh am I still fully on board with him being a Ratri clan descendant in some capacity other than him being James' or Peter's son. The key component for me is that he has to not initially be aware of it and he has to absolutely loathe it once he finds out.

#lambda ray and emma and yuugo role swap are criminally underrated #i wanna see more of those #no reward au is just a guilty pleasure for me lol #let them all be happy together :( #anyways mb for the tangent (via @silentstudiosyt)

Please feel free to go on more tangents I love hearing from you 💖💝

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perfectly-uncapable · 2 years ago

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ugh why does this Belgian series have more gay chemistry (between characters who definitely will not be gay bc it was made in the 2000s) than anything i have ever seen

#like yesss the main character and the badass single mom should kiss actually #de ridder #they literally have more chemistry than any of the men that are thrown at the main character #your honor they did an enemies tot friends to lovers speedrun #your honor they are flirting over case evidence #your honor why cant i talk about it with anyone #this series is really good though #and thats an honor i do not bestow lightly on flemish series #like almost as good as #de twaalf #id say #also as a law student its so much fun to watch #like ive been in that building!!!!#like fuuuuck how do you make gifs i need to express the vibe

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lebrookestore · 3 years ago

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𝙂𝙇𝙄𝙏𝘾𝙃 𝙈𝙊𝘿𝙀: 𝙖𝙣 𝙣𝙘𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 !

Welcome to GLITCH MODE; an rpg starring none other than the nct dream members! In each mission, you will take on the role of a new character and play through the story quest to reach the end!

[MAIN MENU]: from controllers and professional gaming pc’s, to head sets and twitch subs— the boys have it all. competitive, smart and ever ready to win, they begin to realize that there’s another prize lying out in the real world for them, the prize of your heart.

[SETTINGS]: fluff, angst, gamer! au, streamer! au, various trope pairings, fluff, angst, comedy, romance, suggestive, food, profanity, etc. warnings and themes will be added with every individual fic.

[DURATION]: speedrun: 3k | playthrough: 16k

[NEW GAME]: START (latest release)

▸𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟐 | na jaemin

version: streamer! jaemin, gamer! jaemin, friends with benefits au, profanity, fluff, slight comedy, angst duration: tba closed beta test: Na Jaemin has always been player 1, the one at the top of the player chart with all the wins and everything he could possibly want. Being the best sometimes got to his head and unfortunately for you, you were the girl who was hopelessly in love with him, eager to please. It’s sad really, the fact he only ever saw you as player 2.

CLICK TO PLAY!

▸𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐒𝟓 | lee donghyuck

version: streamer! hyuck, gamer! hyuck, established relationship au, profanity, comedy, fluff, slight angst duration: tba closed beta test: Your boyfriend is sweet and considerate, always looking out for you and making sure to be there for you. You had met him in one of your college classes and although you had been with him for over two years, sometimes you wonder if he loved his PlayStation 5 more than he loved you.

CLICK TO PLAY!

▸𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | lee jeno

version: gamer! jeno, streamer! jeno, enemies to lovers but also friends to lovers, profanity, fluff, comedy, angst duration: tba closed beta test: Lee Jeno is the epitome of everything you could ever hate, and the feeling is mutual. You’ve competed in almost everything against each other, determined to gain the upper hand. On a totally unrelated note, that fun streamer you’re pretty good friends with is thinking about doing a face reveal.

CLICK TO PLAY!

▸𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 | zhong chenle

version: gamer! chenle, streamer! chenle, friends to lovers, profanity, fluff, comedy, mutual pining, angst duration: tba closed beta test: What happens when you play a game a lot? You get better at it with each level, and that was exactly the approach Chenle took when it came to you, the only girl who seemed to be able to make him nervous.

CLICK TO PLAY!

▸𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 | mark lee

version: gamer! mark, streamer! mark, strangers to lovers, profanity, fluff, comedy, angst duration: tba closed beta test: Mark Lee was popular, there was no doubt about that. Being one of the most relevant twitch streamers tended to do that to you in the online world as well as the offline one. That popularity led to a plethora of people falling for his sweet demeanor and pretty smile, so you knew that winning his heart would be a challenging game it itself.

CLICK TO PLAY!

▸𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐒 | huang renjun

version: gamer! renjun, streamer! renjun, exes to lovers, profanity, fluff, comedy, angst duration: tba closed beta test: You’re heard of crying in the club, now get ready for crying on your DS! There was only one person in the world who managed to get you doing that and it was none other than your darling ex-boyfriend; Huang Renjun. The world hates you though, because you end up having to compete against him in a gaming competition. Using a DS.

CLICK TO PLAY!

▸𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘 | park jisung

version: gamer! jisung, streamer! jisung, best friends to lovers, profanity, fluff, comedy, angst, duration: 5.4k closed beta test: Jisung was the complete opposite of you, he liked peaceful games like animal crossing and you liked league. He liked story based games and you liked horror. Too bad that he was head over heels for you, because if there was one thing both his viewers and you liked to do, it was to make him suffer.

CLICK TO PLAY!

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zoruui · 3 years ago

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Word Count: 5058

Pairing: Commander Night x Reader

Summary: You hadn't planned on having a legion dropped upon your lap so soon after your knighting, and you never expected them to be the infamous 82nd of all units. With you as their newly appointed General, their leery commander is anything but pleased. You grapple with earning the respect of your men, but unbeknownst to both you and your commander, something beyond your control is beginning to fester.

Content/Tags: gender neutral jedi reader, slow burn (but like speedrun slow burn), unresolved tension, touch starved, hurt/comfort, developing friendships, enemies to friends to lovers (not exactly enemies really, night is just passive aggressive LMFAO) order 66

AO3 Link: x

CHAPTER 1-”the lion with a thorn in its paw”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

21 BBY

Your transport ship’s landing hatch extends with a hiss as it finally docks inside The Reaper.

This marks your first assignment as a fully-fledged Knight. It may not be your first time being dispatched without the company of your Master, but you can’t say you aren’t at least glad to have Rex and Cody along for the job. The mission is sending you all to a rather remote planet bordering the Mid and Outer Rim, on reports of a threat to a village with Force-sensitive younglings. It was by a stroke of luck that Cody was able to get a hold of the ever distanced 82nd Legion through a mutual contact for a joint mission. From what you’ve read off what little of their public and military records that are available to you, they don’t often work with other units, if at all.

“Keep the objective in mind, but make the most of your time with them. This is quite the rare opportunity,” your Master suggested good-naturedly before you departed her flagship. You thought it was an odd piece of advice, but you know Master Endivain wouldn't mention something without reason. You could only wonder what she meant by “make the most of your time with them” and why.

The vessel’s hangar bay is quiet, save for a few clones doing routine maintenance on their starfighters or transporting supplies. Cody and Rex follow closely beside you. You don’t consider yourself “ship-savvy” but if the outdated designs of the floor layout and equipment are anything to go by, even you could tell that this is an older model of assault starship. You rub your nose to stifle a sneeze. Perhaps the air cooling system has seen better days, as well- the cold chill that nips at your skin almost makes you wonder if you’ve somehow landed on Hoth.

“You doing alright?” Rex asks.

“Just a little chilly.” You offer a small smile and pull your heavy woolen robes closer around your shoulders. “Though I’m starting to think I should’ve worn winter gear instead.”

Cody says, “Well, if this campaign goes smoothly, you won't need to be here longer than you have to.”

“I guess we can only wait and see...” The texture of your robe is rough between your fingers. You were advised to stay behind aboard The Reaper, while Rex and Cody were to be called back to their own vessels after the briefing. They figured they’d visit if they had a little time to spare, since they hadn’t spoken with this unit’s commander in person for some time.

Rex speaks quietly, “I’ll be honest, I never thought we’d see the day where we’d have the 82nd as support.”

A rickety old mouse droid rushes past Cody’s feet and he narrowly avoids bumping into it. It beeps an apology before scurrying off. “Neither have I.” He mutters, “But these situations are their specialty and they’ve dealt with these specific creatures before. Either way, we can’t risk having a repeat of the Stalgasin hive. Not if they’re available this time.”

“Agreed." You nearly grimace at the memory. Ahsoka told you all about the incident. Some mind-controlling parasites sound like something that would be up the 82nd’s alley. You wouldn’t be surprised if it weren’t the worst they’ve had to deal with either.

It isn’t long until the three of you are approached by a trooper.

“Welcome, commanders. We’re honored to have you.” He salutes the three of you stiffly. “Sergeant Major Hull reporting.” He stands straight, his hair cropped neatly to standard regulations. A geometric tattoo creeps up from the collar of his undersuit and along his neck and jawline. The pauldron fastened over his right shoulder mirrors his rank.

You give a slight bow of the head, “Thanks for coming to greet us, sergeant.”

Hull nods, “If you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you to the bridge.”

“Lead the way.”

He guides you down the hangar towards the south wing and your gaze wanders back to the troopers you pass. The other clones preferred to call the 82nd “gravediggers” - a term meant to be delivered with callousness and bite. They aren’t the most “popular” unit, to say the least. A few greet and salute Rex and Cody, but otherwise keep to each other. They carry themselves differently compared to the 501st, who’ve been in your company for some time now. The clones under Master Skywalker’s command were fiery and headstrong, but these troopers felt inward. Not shy or cold or particularly unwelcoming. Just different, and comfortable among themselves.

Speaking of different, you can’t quite tell why but even their ship feels a bit strange. You noticed the moment you docked. You peer up at the towering ceilings and trace the slithering network of pipes and wires. It heaves slowly through its dusty vents, its old flesh patched with newer, unfamiliar panels of durasteel. The air this ship pumps through itself is crisp, cold, and sterile.

A lift is hailed and its doors rattle slightly when they open. Curiously, you ask Hull, “We’ll be meeting with Master Ollis, right?”

He presses a button and with a subtle whir of a complaint, the lift begins to ascend. “Unfortunately, the general has since passed. You’ll be meeting with the commander instead.”

You hum, “Mm, I see…” Ah. A frown tugs at the corners of your lips. If you can recall correctly, Master Mar Ollis was their third general to date. You only ever saw him in passing at the Temple during your early studies as a padawan, and never knew him personally. But the news of his loss is disheartening. He always seemed so sure and steadfast…

Soon enough, you arrive at the command bridge. The observation deck is dim and thrumming with a low chatter, the occasional beeping of consoles, and the residual drone from the bowels of the ship. The familiar expanse of space is dark and peppered with stars through the transparisteel windows.

“Here we are. Commander Night should be with you in a moment.” Hull departs with a salute, leaving the three of you to gather and wait by the holotable.

You lean against a weathered gray alloy packing crate and absent-mindedly fiddle with the soft leather details of your belt as you half-listen to Rex and Cody’s light chat. Understandably, you never had the opportunity to meet the commander in person before, but you’ve heard his name occasionally float around the 501st and the barracks back on Kamino. Especially among the younger cadets. Most of the rumors were either related to his apparently notorious reputation or why the Kaminoans appeared to dislike him as much as they did. But the cadets who were absolutely desperate for a true challenge actually looked forward to the rare instances in which Commander Night returned to supervise graduation tests and scout for new troopers. He was not described as someone who is easily impressed or pleased. And you don’t think he’d leave any exception for you, Jedi or not.

Master Endivain’s words echo in your mind. Try to make friends. How hard could that be?

Beside you, Rex knows a pensive face when he sees it. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, sir. The commander may have a bit of a...critical attitude, but he’s one of our best. Tough as a rancor and smart as a whip.”

You offer him a small resigned smile, “Thanks, Rex. I guess I’m just curious about who I’ll be working with. Not that the boys gave him… raving reviews. But you knew each other, right?”

“Back when we were cadets, yes. Fought together in the first battle of Geonosis actually, before he was transferred to a different unit.” Rex rubs at the back of his neck. “We fell out of contact after that.”

Cody dusts a speck off his pauldron, “Frankly, I don’t think we’d really be here if Hunter didn’t patch me through to the commander’s comm channel.”

Behind you, a lift finally opens with a hiss.

“Commander Cody, Captain Rex. It’s been a while, boys.” Night responds with a slow nod of acknowledgment. His voice, low, smooth, and measured, is warmer than you expected despite its gravel (at least, it sounds warm when he’s speaking with his brothers). His armor is stained a blueish, inky black- a stark contrast to the warm standard ivory. He stands tall with his hands clasped behind his back.

“You and your men are more elusive than we thought. I’m almost hurt you haven’t kept in touch all this time.” Rex says lightheartedly as he places his helmet on a crate beside the holotable and the three of them exchange their handshakes.

“We all have our places to be. But I’m glad to see you’re still kicking, Captain.” Night turns slightly and you notice the grisly, jagged scar that runs across his left eye and cheek, across the corner of his lips, and the bridge of his nose. A peppering of grey and light brown streak from his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair is well kept, but a rogue curl falls lazily over his forehead. And he looks exhausted . The dark circles are heavy beneath his eyes and there’s a tiredness in the way he moves. You realize now that what little official holopics or recordings there were of him never showed his face. Clones were men of a thousand faces, yes, but they were each undoubtedly unique.

You snap back to yourself when Cody introduces you and warmth rushes to your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Maker, where are your manners? It's rude of you to stare. You bow your head hurriedly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander. I look forward to working with you.”

Finally, Night’s attention settles on you. He didn’t pay you much mind when he arrived but now he looks at you as if you’re some stowaway that crawled onto his ship, or even a pebble beneath his boot. You can’t sense exactly what he’s thinking, not that you would pry, but you don’t need the Force to tell that he’s judging you. Nonetheless, he returns a slow bow of the head, “Welcome aboard, Master Jedi.”

Something tells you that may just be the best you’ll ever get from him.

With no interest in a reply, Night turns to the holotable and powers it on. “If you’ve all read the initial report, then we may begin the briefing.”

The initial report, crafted carefully by the 82nd’s senior researcher from recent ground reconnaissance, was generous with its information. It provided a relatively thorough map of the destination planet, Koseron 8, and their data on the invasive predators that have been terrorizing it.

At face value, the mission is an extermination job, but the two younglings that were reported missing are your top priorities. For now, you listen intently as a strategy is formulated. An image of the objective is projected above the holotable; a laurek - a rare species of carnivorous subterranean fauna previously known to be native only to a planet far into the Outer Rim. The beast’s body is long and segmented with a sickly pale leathery hide. Despite the insectoid fangs protruding from its jaws and long neck, its face is flat and eerily human. Its forward facing eye sockets are sunken and deep set, with lips curled into a sharp, toothy snarl. But its looks should be the least of your concern, what with the species’ insatiable appetite for midichlorian-enriched blood.

The projection fizzles out to display a slithering network of tunnels below the barren expanse of a desert. The laurek seemed to have made quick work of their new environment. But it’s a peculiar place for them to be, you think. From what you’ve read, they’re exceptionally sensitive to sunlight. Their skin could crisp up like rice paper on oil if they remained exposed to it for too long.

You ask, “If they’re vulnerable to sunlight, can’t we lure them to the surface, where they’re at a disadvantage?”

Night’s gaze flickers to you, as if reminded that you were even there, and his brow furrows just the slightest. “That used to be an option, but based on their recent movements and behavioral patterns during the day, we can only suspect that these have either grown starved enough to be desperate or somehow adapted to their sensitivity.”

Rex huffs, “I guess it can never be that easy.”

“Unfortunately, no.” Night switches the map to a series of data, graphs and charts, “The more we study them, the more unnatural the laurek on Koseron seem to be. Generally speaking, lasting evolutionary change takes thousands of years to develop. And considering that the earliest account of their sightings on this planet was barely 3 standard months ago, there has to be something else in play here.”

Cody crosses his arms and brings a hand to his chin, “I doubt just anyone would express this much interest in creatures that have a natural taste for Jedi. You think these could be some Seppie lab rats?”

“I believe there could be a high possibility of that.”

You didn’t like the idea of it. It could mean the Seps potentially have access to the locations of all recorded Force sensitive children. To even infiltrate the Temple’s vault would be beyond risky on their part. You speak up uneasily, “Evidently, the best case scenario is that this is an isolated incident or pure coincidence. If the Temple's vault was somehow breached without any of us knowing, then we’ll have a whole different issue at hand, and it’ll have to be escalated directly to the Council.”

Night nearly scoffs, “Of course. But currently, we do not have the intel to make any solid theories behind this yet, so we’ll anticipate and prepare for the worst. And that includes Separatist involvement of any degree.”

“How do you say we should approach this then?” Rex asks.

“Skinner will take a small portion of the squad and follow any leads on the missing younglings. The rest of us will deal with the laurek. These things are no greater krayt dragons, but they have numbers and are sturdy enough to be resistant to blaster fire and even lightsabers to a lesser extent. Taking them on one by one would be a waste of time and ammunition.” The map zooms into a specific area. “Fortunately, their tunnel system is within proximity of an active volcano and there are three paths that connect to a lava chamber where they dispose of their scraps, here and here. I’m sure you can tell where I’m going with this.”

Cody remarks, “It looks promising. Rounding up so many of them isn’t going to be easy though.”

Night’s gaze is on you again. “Then it’s a good thing we already have our bait.”

You blink. “...Pardon?”

The rest of the briefing is quick and concise and the plan is solid and straightforward. But the commander did not make it easy. Every fleeting interaction between the two of you felt like a challenge- like he was waiting for you to make some rookie proposition that he could pick at. You aren’t particularly chuffed about the role he dropped on you, in fact, you would’ve volunteered yourself for it anyway. It’s the most effective position that you could think to take. However, funnily enough, now you’d believe it if you were only brought onto this mission solely as bait.

As the meeting wraps up, the doors to one of the lifts slides open. Hull steps out with another trooper at his side and he clears his throat. “You’ve got another incoming transmission. It's the director.”

There’s a subtle and tired droop to his shoulders before Night accepts a tablet from Hull. He turns to the three of you, “If there are no further questions, this concludes the briefing.” The holotable is powered off and he secures his helmet over his face. “It’s good seeing you two again. We’ll make quick work of this.” He exchanges a parting handshake with Rex and Cody, sparing you nothing but a brief glance behind the shadow of his dark visor. Only when he and the sergeant head off into another office, does the tension roll from your back.

Something beeps on Cody’s commlink and he tucks his helmet beneath his arm, “Excellent, right on schedule. We should be on our way, sir. We’ll see you on the ground.”

Rex gives you a heavy pat on the back as he passes, “Hang in there.”

You shrug and chuckle lightly, “I’ll try. Safe travels you two.”

The other trooper, having waited patiently on the side, salutes Cody and Rex as they take one of the lifts back down to the hangar. He approaches you with an easy and pacified smile, though you feel it doesn't fully reach his eyes. His dark curls, parted through the middle, reach just above his ears. A faded Medical Corps sigil is branded on his shoulder pad.

“Chief Medic Hollow at your service. Hull said you’d need an escort to your quarters.”

“It’s nice to meet you, and that’d be appreciated, thank you,” you say politely.

He steps aside and lets you step into the lift first before joining inside. He leans against the wall opposite of you with an ankle crossed over the other and quips bluntly, “So, you’re the Jedi we’ve been hearing about? You look a little younger than the ones we usually get.”

Amused, you replied, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He gives you a cheeky, good-humored look as though to say ‘you do that’. The lift falls into a natural silence as his attention falls back on his datapad, save for the muffled drone of machinery. But a question still hangs at the back of your throat until you decide to speak up, “I hope this isn’t rude of me to ask, but - is he normally like that?”

He hums absentmindedly, “Who?”

“The commander.”

Hollow glances at you briefly from the screen of his datapad, “Ah, he gave you the ol’ cold shoulder?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘the cold shoulder’ per se but…” You start to fiddle with the end of your sleeve. Well, actually, maybe you would.

The lift comes to a stop and you follow Hollow out. He waves his free hand dismissively, “He’s like that with all the Jedi that come in here, but he means well and for good reason. Not to mention all the paperwork and meetings he’s been dealing with lately. I don’t know how he does it. Especially since his insomnia’s only been getting worse.” He shakes his head, “I try to get him to rest but let me tell you, he’s stubborn and a horrible workaholic. But hey, that’s what makes him commander.”

“That so?” You don’t know whether or not you should feel relieved that Night’s distaste towards you isn’t personal. You’ve never met a clone who had such an ill view of Jedi. There’s a lot you wish Hollow would unpack, but you choose to refrain from digging further.

“Yeah, I mean, y’know, I may be a medic but if it were me trapped with all those boring meetings, I don’t think I’d last a day.”

“You don’t say.” You fold your arms into the warmth of your sleeves.

At this point, the medic begins to ramble off about his day to day woes and a placid smile settles on your lips. His short tales of messy shenanigans with his brothers keep your mind from wandering back to your somewhat tense meeting with the commander and you laugh along with him. You imagine he and Kix would get along pretty well if they ever had the chance to meet. You don't even notice that you’ve reached your destination until he stops in front of the door to your quarters.

“And this is where I leave you.” Hollow gestures with a tilt of his head, “If you’re ever feeling peckish, the dining hall is three levels down. Make two rights and a left past a storage area and you’ll be on the right track.” He snickers to himself, “That is, if you’re craving vitamin slush.”

You give a soft laugh, “Sounds appetizing, I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for the help and company, Hollow.”

“Eh, no need to thank me. And look on the bright side. You play your cards right and maybe he’ll warm up to you eventually.” The clone smirks and gives you an easy, two-finger salute. With that, he takes his leave and you wave goodbye as he disappears back down the hall.

You tap the access switch to your quarters and think to yourself, ‘I hope so’.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The ship has been in hyperspace for a while now- about 13 standard hours to be more precise. Your private quarters isn’t anything out of the ordinary and is perfectly by the code. Clean, quaint, and minimalist with a meditation mat tucked by a small bunk. The refresher is modest and the crate kept by the desk holds a set of sleeping robes that are neatly folded, if not a tad big on you.

You’ve preoccupied yourself with rereading your notes from the briefing or meditating, but it doesn’t do much to help with the light itch of restlessness in the back of your mind. You slump forward on the desk and drum your fingertips on its surface, staring at your handheld holoprojector. You know your Master would appreciate an update soon, though you’re not sure how to go about a report- or where to start, for that matter.

You aren’t bothered by Commander Night. The galaxy is far too big and busy for you to worry about how one individual thought about you. And the lightsaber that hangs at your hip is not and never should be a tool that instantly commands someone’s respect. You suppose now, you’re more intrigued by him than anything. You pick up the holoprojector and idly balance it between the desk and your finger, watching the worn metal glint. You only hope his attitude doesn’t compromise the mission; if Rex and Cody’s faith in him is worth its weight, you trust that it won’t.

A low grumble from your stomach pulls you from your thoughts. With a heavy sigh, you lean and stretch out the tight muscles in your back. Maybe having something to fill your stomach would help you clear your head. Throwing your heavy robes over your shoulders and slipping into your boots, you lock the door to your quarters behind you.

You recall Hollow’s directions. Take the lift down three levels, make two rights and a left... As you wander, the sound of the heel of your boots on the metal floors echoes against the walls. Somehow, the ship seems drowsier than before. The illumi-panels along the hallway have dimmed slightly to paint the corridors a pale, dreamy blue. You hear the occasional beep of maintenance droids and the hushed voices of the few troopers on their late patrols. By now, you’ve grown a little more accustomed to The Reaper ’s low temperatures.

You don’t realize you’ve got company until you hear a low mechanical whirring beside you. An R5 unit, one you remember seeing briefly at the observation deck during the meeting. The black paint of its plating is faded and littered with scratches and deep dents. It continues forward without a word.

“I don’t reckon you’d like to join me for a quick bite, would you?”

The astromech doesn’t respond or address you for what feels like a solid minute or two. As if registering your question at last, it slowly turns its head towards you. Its lone red sensor light flickers and a glitchy beep gurgles from its loudspeakers.

You watch it move on ahead of you into a darker hallway and mutter to yourself humorously, “Huh. I guess everyone’s a critic.”

You make the last turn and the hall opens up to a larger space. The lighting is sparse here but you can see stores of supply crates lined into neat stacks. A few were put aside and cracked ajar, with some of their contents strewn atop their lids. Hollow mentioned a storage area, so you should be going in the right direction. You pass through quietly. Curiously, you approach one of the open crates and take a quick peek. Jetpacks, ascension guns, assorted survival gear…These must be some of the equipment being prepared for the mission.

“A bit late to be exploring, isn’t it, Master Jedi?”

You nearly jump out of your skin and whip around, “Oh! I'm sorry, Commander, I didn’t realize you were still up.” Night stands by one of the crates partially in shadow. He doesn’t spare you a glance as he inputs something in his datapad, and you realize he’s been here, double-checking their inventory for the mission.

“Likewise,” he replied dryly.

You shift awkwardly in your place. “You don’t always have to address me so formally, by the way. I wouldn’t mind, really.”

His nose turns up to the idea. “I’ll hold on to the formalities, thank you.” His back is to you as he continues inspecting a crate of JT-12s.

A few seconds of silence pass but they hang over your head like a thick canopy. Feeling bold, you decide to try your luck. “Would you want to join me for something to eat? I was just on my way to the dining hall.” You see his hand falter for a second while he types and you add, “It’ll be quick, I promise. I can even help you with the work too, if you’d like. I might as well be useful while I’m here.”

Night carefully places the jetpack back into the crate and pulls the cover back over. A cloud of dust kicks up and you stifle a mild cough. Patting down his kama, he drawled, “No need. I was just leaving.”

You aren’t surprised that he’s cutting the conversation short. Hollow wasn’t kidding when he said the commander was stubborn. A part of you nags that you should just cut your losses and leave this whole thing be, let sleeping akk dogs lie, but you wish he would at least just communicate with you. Something has got to give. Against your better judgment, you blurt, “Have I done or said something to offend you?”

This makes him pause. The space between the two of you feels wide and empty. “Offend me?” There’s a hint of cold amusement in the inflection of his voice, as if you’ve asked the silliest question. “No. You haven’t,” he says flatly and powers off his datapad, “Now goodnight, Master Jedi.”

With a frown, you press on, “Commander, if we’re going to be working together- if you could give me a moment-” You take a step forward and reach out to catch his wrist.

The moment your hand touches him, you feel the air thrum, then freeze like ice in your lungs. A flare of white flashes in your mind before a heaviness settles deep in the pit of your stomach. Night glares at your hand clasped around his clothed wrist. You feel an echo of distrust, melancholy, weariness, and a slurry of voices you cannot recognize. His gaze flickers back up to you. You don’t know why but a shiver shoots down your spine. Whatever you were going to say dies pathetically in your chest.

You release him and hold your hand close to your body, as if you’ve touched fire. Your cheeks feel flush with shame- you didn’t mean for that to happen. Night's jaw is set tight, but he doesn’t yell or lash out. You steel your resolve, though a vague tremble remains in your voice, like your heart has been pushed up your throat, “I…I apologize. But…I want to stand by my words because I feel it’s best to establish this now. If we’re going to be working together, then I don’t believe it would be beneficial for either of us to constantly be on edge like this-”

“With all due respect, sir,” Night's voice is quiet and measured, “I’m afraid you may be misunderstanding the conditions of this temporary partnership so allow me to make this perfectly transparent.”

He takes a step closer and this time you can’t help but waver. The small of your back bumps against the chilled metal of a crate behind you. You know you aren’t in danger, and physically, he’s no taller than any other clone. But his presence feels heavy, intense, and oppressive. Breaking eye contact, you swallow and focus on the mauve markings painted across his armor that glow faintly in the shadow of the broad line of his shoulders.

“All you require from me is my obedience and cooperation. I will obey your orders and lay down my life if you give the word because that is what I was bred for. But we will not be ‘friends’, nor will we even be acquaintances. Once this mission is over, we’ll part ways and that will be the end of it.” His tone is smooth and eerily calm despite the sharp venom in his words. However, the warning look that burns in his eye betrays the facade.

You know better than to continue to fight that.

Deciding you are no longer worth the trouble, Night’s posture shifts and he takes a small step back. He turns and says bitterly, “That should be one less burden off your precious shoulders.”

The commander disappears back down the hall, but you do not miss the way his hand- the one you nearly touched- flexes and clenches into a fist at his side. A dull throbbing still pulses behind your eyes and you rub at your temple. Well. That entire ordeal could have gone a lot smoother. You shake the headache off and make your way towards the dining hall alone. Maker, what were you thinking? You’re sure this isn’t what Master Endivain had in mind when she suggested that you ‘make the most of your time with them’.

But if this is where Night wants to draw his boundary, then who are you to protest? And it’s just as he said. Once this mission is over, you’ll part ways and that will be the end of it.

#star wars #tcw #clone trooper oc #clone trooper x reader #commander night #82nd legion #i crawl back from my male living space with this measly offering #literally took so long to clean up for no reason #EMBARRASSING #anyway #ride wit me #fly wit me #on this journey to order 66 angst #fishermandraws

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dadsbongos · 2 years ago

Text

why did you ask me out? (3)

1 / 2 / chapter 3 - heartbroken but alive / 4 / 5

5.4K words

warnings - quick c-tier slur, jason carver is homophobic (go figure) and shoves you into a desk, eddie outs you to your friends in a convoluted and roundabout way (everything ends fine), speedrun enemies to friends to lovers trope

summary - You and Chrissy are long-lost best friends that join sides to pull one over on the girls hoping to make you prom queen as a bet. Things don't always go to plan - sometimes you realize you're in love and sometimes the girls shoot back at you.

1986. Senior Year.

It felt pathetic to still be in love with her then. Hell, it feels pathetic now.

Chrissy isn’t one to lie, you know that after this she won’t let you go like she did over the summer of ‘82, but you’re sort of dreading that. Having to pretend you’re okay hearing about Jason Carver and his stupid hair and his stupid lips and his stupid body.

You never understood how Chrissy and Jason started dating. Sure, she left and she stood by but she was anything except evil. Jason Carver, however, was evil.

“How’re you and Jason?”

“We’re not talking.”

You hate to smile, but she doesn’t seem too upset so you hope they secretly break up. Not because you’re jealous (a little bit because you’re jealous) but because he’s so terrible and she’s so good, you doubt that anything he could ever do would be worthy of her affection. Not that you think you’re much better.

“What happened?” Chrissy swipes a shade of red over your palm and quickly pairs it with a pink, then turns to her own forearm to do the same.

“We got into a fight,” she frowns, “I feel bad that I don’t…” you wonder why she bothered bringing you if she was just going to test the shades on her skin anyway, “I don’t really care.”

It’s whispered. Shaky. Like she’s petrified at the idea of being overheard.

“I mean, maybe it’s just… that time,” you mutter, hoping you can sound dismal enough to be convincing, “Jason’s an asshole, in case you haven’t noticed.”

She most certainly did. Chrissy picks out the palette from the shelf and moves to the lipstick. Her gentle fingers brush over a few until she crosses a vermillion shade and holds it up to your face. She squeezes one eye shut before nodding to herself and shoving the lipstick into your hand, then taking up a watermelon pink for herself.

You think you might’ve said the wrong thing, but you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Chrissy’s making a mistake with Jason and if it really hurts her to hear you say that, you’ll apologize - but you won’t be taking it back. He screams in the face of common decency and still gets to call himself the golden boy. He gets to claim that the tragedies of Hawkins fuel the basketball team and he gets to be selfish and he gets to call innocent kids with innocent passions freaks.

He’s worse than an asshole. You think he’s a monster.

She tells the girls that you two are done shopping and sits by a bench at the front of the store while they finish up. You join her and find it too awkward to look at her pensive face. Just before you can mutter a half-sincere apology, though, she’s speaking again.

“You wanna know what happened?” Chrissy’s voice is so quiet, you’re almost worried you imagined her speaking.

“You two fought,” you’re just as quiet, leaning closer so that the two of you can feel alone, “You just- “

“No, during the fight. What it was about,” she turns to face you and you have to force yourself to lean back, lest the other patrons think you want to kiss her (you do, but that’s not for them to know), “I haven’t told anyone and I don’t think he’s told anyone either.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I want to,” her foot bounces and you remember a time when it was excusable for you to place a hand on her knee in public. Now you’re a little too old to explain it on not seeing the issue, “He found out I was smoking weed, and he almost punched a hole through my wall.”

“Jesus, Chris,” you don’t mean to gasp, but you couldn’t stop it before it flew from your mouth, “That’s bad. Like, insane bad.”

“I know. I wanna break up with him so bad,” she’s even quieter than before. Like it’s forbidden she have such a desire. Like she’ll be locked away if she’s heard.

“So, just do it,” you don’t understand the world she’s in, but you know enough to know that people like Chrissy more than they like Jason, “Your status as queen won’t change or anything.”

“I don’t wanna be alone, and if we break up then he’ll spread rumors or make it sound like I’m crazy,” she sucks in a sharp breath, “I can’t be alone like that.”

“You won’t be,” for the first time tonight, Chrissy’s shocked by how earnest you sound. You take one of her hands in yours, and she finally has the courage to lock eyes with you, “You won’t be alone. I’ll be there. The Hellfire guys will love you, too,” you turn away to cough awkwardly, “I- I know we’re not the cheer squad or the sports teams or anything, but we’re good people. I like to think so, at least.”

“No, I know you all are,” she presses her lips, “My mom would lose her shit, though.”

“Your monthly swear makes its appearance,” when she glares at you weakly, you look down, “Sorry,” she chuckles in good humor and you feel the tension leak from your muscles, “Fuck your mom, though. Not literally, but just, like, fuck her. You know? She’s not looking out for you.”

Not like I did.

You choose not to say that on account of how douchey it sounds.

“At the expense of sounding naive, I’ll admit that for the longest time I had no clue why my mom hated you,” Chrissy lets out a hollow laugh, “I just did what she said so it’d feel like she actually liked me.”

Your hand moves from hers to her shoulder, you’re careful - gentle, even - as you press your thumb into her skin.

“I don’t really care that much anymore,” she laughs again but it feels more lively, “I just want you.”

“That’s good, it’d be awkward if this were part of the bet, too.”

“Not so loud or they’ll know you know,” she giggles now, full and hearty and alive, leaning into your side, “I like this.”

“Me too.”

Chrissy suddenly bounds up from the bench and to the cashier. A row of nail polish was on display and she’s carefully examining it for just the right color (Chrissy never had enough nail polish despite having her bin and desk cluttered with the bottles, not that you were really complaining). You join her at the register as the cheerleaders flock out from the aisles and towards Chrissy.

She holds up the nail polish once it’s been scanned, “Black! I didn’t have any and I figured you’d wanna have some color for tonight.”

“What? You don’t like,” you hold up your hands, “chipped to shit, ugly ass moss green?”

“Not particularly,” she teases, nudging your hip with hers. You take the bag of makeup and nail polish from her hand and begin out the store with the other girls.

1982. Eighth Grade.

“Thanks again,” you murmur to Chrissy, “I know this isn’t your scene.”

“What? I’m happy to come,” she seems uncomfortable in the cramped bedroom of your family’s trailer, but says nothing.

The boys shuffle about in the room as you finish tuning your bass. Well, almost all the boys. Gareth was sitting out in what was technically your family’s backyard with his drum set. You bounced up from your bed and over to the open window he sat outside.

He had his walkman on, the tape for Corroded Coffin’s song of choice already loaded and ready.

“Thanks again!” you cheer and he nods, lips pressed thinly and you can feel how embarrassed he is like this. You move into position with the rest of the boys and shoot Chrissy a nervous smile. She gives one back.

“Sorry if you hate it,” you look down at your hands. Callused and rough and sometimes you wondered if Chrissy would hold them anyway.

“Don’t be a bunny,” she waves off. She insists on the phrase even though it’s so dated by now. Cute, she calls it.

Eddie signals off to Gareth and the two quickly find their rhythm. You don’t look back up at Chrissy, knowing full well that if you do then you’ll lose your nerve.

The middle school talent show was soon and Chrissy was more than willing to sit in and listen to what Corroded Coffin had lined up.

Chrissy isn’t much surprised you chose a KISS song, though she’ll admit that the choice of I Was Made For Lovin’ You did shock her. Although, according to you it was either this or Paranoid by Black Sabbath and she took your word that Paranoid was too long.

She doesn’t know that you chose this song for her and she doesn’t know that your hands shake because you’re in love with her and she doesn’t know how badly you sometimes wish you were a boy so that it’d be easier for you to love her. But that’s okay, the favor is returned eventually.

Because what you don’t know is that soon after this, she would slowly stop being your best friend. And after that, she’ll slowly stop being your friend altogether.

1982. Freshman Year.

The summer months have you scorching for a reason besides the heat. You hate to admit it, but you’re mad. Mad enough that when the boys are setting up their instruments, they can all feel the ick that radiates off you in thick rolls.

“Are you sure you’re gonna keep your cool?” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, as if he’d see through your lies if he stared hard enough, “This is our first gig and if you fuck up ‘cuz you’re all heartbroken your cheerleader best friend is gone, we’ll kill you. Collectively.”

“If this goes wrong it’s ‘cuz you’re slumming it with a bunch of 14-year-olds, not ‘cuz I’m heartbroken,” you grumble, making a point of staring at the shiny finish of your bass rather than looking at your lead, “Because I’m not, by the way.”

“So are,” Jeff instantly denies, “I saw you staring at her during lunch. And algebra.”

You totally were and you totally are.

“So what?”

“So, you’re upset,” Gareth jabs one of his drumsticks between your shoulder blades and you whip around to glare at him, “It’s fine, just own up to it.”

“I’m not even upset, it’s fine,” you look up as the nurses herd in the attendees of Corroded Coffin’s first ever gig, “How we even got booked at a nursing home is what you guys should be focusing on.”

Eddie shrugs, shooting you a wink, “I know a guy.”

The elderly didn’t appreciate Corroded Coffin’s rendition of War Pigs by Black Sabbath quite as much as you’d hoped they did.

1986. Senior Year.

The girls have disbanded and now you’re up in Chrissy’s bedroom as if she never left. Here you are, watching through her vanity mirror as she carefully, carefully, applies the red eyeshadow to her outerlid. Her lips are pursed and sometimes she bites her tongue when she’s focusing, it brings you back to every time you wanted to kiss her in this very bedroom. Right now being no exception.

You can’t help but roll over onto your stomach, just to stop staring at an image more beautiful than any painting in the Louvre. Quickly, you decide to busy yourself with her cassette player, rummaging through her tapes and shaking your head - hoping above all hope that she notices you.

“What’re you doing over there?” she hums, moving onto the pink shadow now.

“Searching for something good.”

Despite knowing exactly what you’re about to say, Chrissy opens the door for your jab anyway, “Find anything?”

Madonna - Like a Virgin Michael Jackson - Billie Jean Fleetwood Mac - Farmer’s Daughter ABBA - Angeleyes Madonna - Borderline Madonna - Burning UpMadonna - Crazy For You ABBA - Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

Jesus Christ, maybe you’re as pretentious as Eddie.

“Nope,” your fingers continue to flick through tapes until you come to the end of the line, “Remind me to make you a new mixtape.”

“What? You think your music taste is better than mine?”

“Yup,” you reply without hesitation.

“Wow,” she turns now, looking at you as you lay back in her bed. Cat that ate the canary grin and crossed legs and fidgeting fingers, “Such a snob.”

“‘m not a sob,” you protest even though you’re partially convinced it’s true, “Just want my girl to have good music.”

For some odd reason, your heart doesn’t seize when you let the pet name slip. Not when Chrissy’s smiling as she turns back to the mirror and picks up the lipstick she got herself.

“Your girl, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, then come here and let your girl put on your lipstick, ‘kay?”

“‘kay.”

You slide off Chrissy’s bed and kneel down in front of her, your hands settle on her knees and she uncaps the dark red lipstick.

She holds up her hand to your chin, “Can I…?”

Without thinking, you nod, eyes falling closed, “Whatever you need.”

Carefully, her hand takes to your chin, and tilts your head upwards. The press of lipstick is gentle as she swipes it across the skin. It almost feels like in another life this could lead to something more. Smudged pink and red lipstick and frisky hands and Jason Carver never getting the privilege of so much as seeing Chrissy Cunningham ever again.

But this isn’t that life and Jason will be going to prom, most assuredly. So you sit still until she’s done and when she is, you look in the mirror. Blinking away the bleariness, you grin and watch how the deep red accentuates your lips.

“If I was a guy, I’d kiss you,” Chrissy nods to herself. More so to say you look pretty than an actual desire, you’re sure.

“If I was a guy, I’d kiss you,” you repeat.

Chrissy hopes you mean it the same way she does, but she isn’t sure that you mean it genuinely - so she lets it slide as a compliment rather than voiced desire.

“Now, nails,” she grabs the black polish and shakes it while you lay your hands flat over her thighs. Repressing a shiver (a good shiver, she’s flustered to admit), Chrissy unscrews the cap and picks up one of your hands, “This way, it can dry and we’ll have time to put on the dress.”

1984. Sophomore Year.

You went on a secret date one time. With a girl. With Vivian Coord - one year your senior and captain of the tennis team.

You two shared the same chemistry class and she was pretty and nice and you liked talking to each other. You found out she liked girls by accidentally finding old doodles of her and another girl in her notebook and she found out you liked girls when you told her in a split second attempt to calm her down.

This date was nice. You two went skating and got the pleasure of disguising the hand holding as her guiding you through the rink. But there was something missing, and you really felt bad.

“I don’t wanna lead you on,” you turn to her before she can let you out of her car, “I’m just…” one hand flies up in dramatics, “not over my ex.”

“Yeah,” she nods slowly, one hand bumping against the steering wheel, her lips press and she shrugs, “I’m not either.”

“Is she the one you drew, creeper?” you tease.

“Shut it,” Vivian jokingly pops you in the arm.

“She is,” you open the door and wave, “Good luck with that.”

“Good luck with yours.”

Vivian was funny and lighthearted and she could take it just as much as she dished it - you have no idea why your heart wasn’t in the rink with her tonight.

You’re lying when you think that.

Your arms are wrapped around yourself tightly in the chill that blows through Hawkins. You watch your feet hit the dirt road leading into Forest Hills and you can’t help but wonder.

Why would you lie in the car? Vivian barely knew you, why did it matter what she thought of you now?

Well, it was easier than admitting you were still in love with a girl you had no chance with.

Vivian could swallow the ex response, but if you even tried spooning the Chrissy Cunningham schlop to her, she’d slap it out of your hand.

Chrissy is so high above you now that sometimes it’s crazy to remember there was ever a time you two would practice kissing together. There’s a Chrissy-sized hole in your head when you think about your loved ones and there’s a Chrissy-sized hole that blares through your heart when you see her and Jason kiss in the halls.

A few months later, Vivian and the junior would get closer and when you’d spot them linking pinkies under the table at lunch, you knew what that meant. You’re happy for them, you are - you’d just rather not be alone.

You don’t know it as a sophomore, but even years later - you still go on to daydream about Chrissy Cunningham.

1986. Senior Year.

You know why you’re here. To fuck with Anne Mark and Lily Pham. You know that just as well as you know how sad it is to still be in love with the cheer captain dating the star basketball player.

But as Chrissy is applying the black polish to your nails, it feels different. Nobody is here to impress or trick and this is purely for you two. This isn’t about the bet or fucking over either girl doomed to peak in high school. This is about you and Chrissy and the fact nobody else is home.

And the fact that Jason Carver is probably on his way out as a taken man.

She gently blows against the polish as if it’ll actually dry that much faster before switching to your next hand, “Do you want a top coat?”

“No, I like when it peels,” when she gives you a bewildered stare, you restrain a shrug for the sake of her work, “I think it makes me look cool.”

“You look cool all the time,” she grins.

Her hair is in pigtails that you helped do. It gently cascades down and sometimes it falls into your face, but you don’t mind. You’d spend forever with your face pressed into the gentle waves and loose curls of her honey blond hair if you could.

But you don’t admit that, instead you say something completely lame, “I forgot how to dance.”

“You don’t just forget how to dance.”

“Well, I did.”

“Don’t be a bunny.”

“That phrase expired like six years ago.”

“Well, I like it.”

“You do you, Chris.”

Keep on truckin’, she mouths and you roll your eyes, but there’s such an undeniable smile swiped over your red-stained lips that she doesn’t even care.

“No, but really, I don’t know how to dance.”

“Nobody knows how to dance,” she grins, “They just follow everyone else’s lead and think they look cool. But you know what?” hm, you hum, “I think the coolest people are actually the ones that don’t follow the others, and do what they want - they know how to dance.”

“What about the people who don’t dance at all?”

“They’re waiting for somebody to show them it’s okay to.”

You watched her carefully. Her soft eyes under this pink light. She sits so pretty and looks so kissable. You clear your throat, “Who do you think I’m waiting for?”

Chrissy looks away from her work on your nails, just for a moment, “To show you?”

“Yeah.”

It’s so ballsy to say me, but something about the way you’re looking at her makes her feel like that’s the exact answer you’re waiting for. If she’s wrong you might run away like she did. But if she’s right and she doesn’t say it, nothing will happen. That should be good, right?

Nothing changes if nothing happens and everyone’s happy.

So why does the idea make her want to roll into an early grave?

She’s tired of doing nothing, so she relents.

“Me.”

“Really?” if your tone weren’t so clearly teasing, she might’ve been embarrassed.

But there’s light in your eyes. She did well. So she doubles down and nods, “Yeah.”

“You’ll have to stick with me, then,” you watch her lips curl into an ‘o’ shape as she blows on your other hand’s coat of polish, “Show me how to dance.”

“I can’t show you, but I can encourage you,” she sets your hand down and you back away for her to stand, “like in fifth grade, during the winter dance.”

“You remember that?”

“How could I forget?”

I fell in love with you that night, you both almost say.

…

Chrissy’s heels have advanced since elementary school. You’re fitted in a pair of black pumps she says are reserved for church and court and she’s got on kitten heels.

“I always have trouble with the straps,” she pouted while pulling them on.

Looking back on it, you think it was just a ploy for her to not have to do anything. You don’t regret it, though.

You click one heel into place. Then the next.

Your fingers linger at Chrissy’s calf as you look up at her. She smiles down at you and leans forward, you don’t move.

“Thanks again for coming,” she whispers, so close you can feel her breath gently sweep across your lips.

“Sounded fun,” you lean ever closer, “I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you a lot, too.”

And just like when you guys were eleven, back in sixth grade in 1979, the last night of 1979, you both lean in.

You’re both more experienced now, though. Heads tilted and lips soft, her hands cup your cheeks and yours settle on the tops of her thighs. Your thumbs press into the soft skin and she hums sweetly. She parts your lips with the press of hers and gasps when your hands just dare to climb a little higher.

Then, she’s pulling away, “We still have somewhere to be.”

You pull away, too and your hands settle onto your own thighs, “Probably best you fix our makeup.”

Chrissy’s head turns to the mirror and her eyes widen at the sight.

One minute you’re both laughing at the specks of red riddled into Chrissy’s pink lipstick and the pink faintly sprinkled into your red. The next minute? The next minute, Jason Carver is bursting through the window she forgot to shut and is calling you a carpet-munching freak.

All boyfriends have their way of apologizing, you suppose.

“What is she doing here?!” he shouts and Chrissy jumps away like you’ve been set ablaze.

You can only stare up at him in terror. The man who’s given Dustin and Mike twisted ankles. The man who’s given Jeff a black eye. The man who’s given Gareth two split lips over one summer. The man who chased Grant down the road with his lackeys. The man who dumps cola over you whenever he sees you’ve made an effort to look nice. The man Eddie swears is the real Satanist, despite all his prayers to God. He stands before you with an iron fist.

“She has no right to be here, she’s against God, Chris,” Jason storms over to you and winds a hand behind your neck, squeezing like you’re a kitten and he’s the mother. He pulls back until you’re sitting straight on your knees, “What the fuck is she doing in your room?!”

“We’re just hanging out, Jason,” she tries to reason, “Let her go!” now she’s firmer, heels harsh on the carpet as she stomps forward and pushes her boyfriend, “Let her go, Jason Carver!”

“Let her go? Let her go?” he laughs in her face and gives another harsh squeeze to your neck, “You’re siding with this- this freak?!”

“Yes, I am!” she shouts, “And we’re so over- so just let her go or I- “ her eyes dart down to you nervously and you know whatever threat comes next is a lie, “I’ll call the cops!”

“For what? Treating a freak the way she deserves?” Jason grins like a hyena before dying prey, shaking his head, “I’ll let her go, Chris.”

She doesn’t relax, though. If anything, she’s more tense than before.

Jason doesn’t let you go, more like he tosses you. The second his elbow yanks back you know you’re in trouble, his fingers slip from your neck and your head bangs into the side of Chrissy’s vanity.

A throb forms at your forehead as she screams and Jason pushes her back when she goes to lift you.

From your angle on the floor, you can faintly see up the Sixteen Candles poster Chrissy hung and you can see the hole in the wall that Jason did end up punching.

1985. Junior Year.

The five of you do this every year now. Well, maybe not this specifically - the beer part - but the five of you - Corroded Coffin, Hellfire, freaks, etc. - gather around Eddie’s trailer at the end of every single school year to shoot the shit and drink. This year the drink is beer, now that Eddie is lax enough to let you all have alcohol on his property. It’s a step up from whatever soda he has stocked in the fridge.

You all like to look back on good times and pretend that Eddie should still be in high school. This coming year, especially, since you’ll all be seniors when Eddie should technically be a sophomore in college.

Not that it matters to any of you. Judgment is hardly found between your quintet and you all look up to Eddie (in a half-brotherly, half-role model sort of way that none of you are willing to own up to). Yes, as the DM and face of Corroded Coffin he’s the leader, but he’s also the only guy willing to give four misfits a place to call theirs. Judgment and scorn are hardly a thing between you all, but now you wonder how true that is.

When it’s brought up, you can’t help but seize and wonder if tonight is the night that discrimination finds its place in your home across from home.

“Wasn’t there that rumor? That you’re gay,” Jeff chuckles against the lip of his beer, “God, that was fucking weird.”

“So weird,” Grant nods, then turns to you, “Where’d that even come from?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling heat lick at your skin under their collective gaze, “Dunno.”

Eddie’s smile falls at your mood change, his brows draw tight, “Do you really have no clue?”

The question isn’t insulting nor is it insinuating anything. Not framed as though he knows something he shouldn’t. It’s pure curiosity.

If there’s anything you want to tell us, now’s the time.

Not in a mean way. More like gentle (if annoying) prodding, like a sitcom mother.

“Yeah. No idea.”

Gareth is suspiciously quiet and attention turns to him. He simply stares at his shoes. Unmoving, unwilling to speak. All eyes return to you and you’re just the same.

Eddie scoots closer to you, he tilts his head, eyes squinting in that stupid way he does when he doesn’t believe you, “Is…”

Your eyes finally shoot up and he hates the fear he sees. It reminds him of how he used to be before his shell grew.

No, this is different. Nothing like when the popular kids would sneer at him and make his life hell. You’re scared of him. You’re scared of your friends.

“Is it true…?” he’s quiet enough to where you can easily back out and just shake him away.

Jeff and Grant lean away as if you need the air to breathe. You swallow harshly and look to Gareth, who only stares right back.

Gareth takes the bold move to whisper to you, “No matter what happens, I’m here,” when he can tell you don’t believe him, he continues, “Not joking. I’ll quit the band right now in outrage.”

That gets you to smile and the other boys mirror it.

“It’s okay,” Jeff finally hunches forward again, “if it’s true.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Gareth adds as he pulls away.

Part of you is scared to come through with the truth - too scared to lose the boys you consider family. Another part of you is scared of hiding yourself from them. Gareth is with you, and if you two don’t have a place here then you trust him to follow you to another one. And if that place isn’t right, then you two can build your own. Maybe Jeff and Grant will even join you both.

But what about Eddie? The one that built the palace you all reside in? The one who held his hand out to you that day with an overly broad smile when Gareth said you could play bass. The one who stands up to Jason when you don’t have the energy. The one who said he wanted to run away with your group and be a traveling circus in his van.

If the boys were your family, Eddie was your bona fide brother. You can’t take the disappointment, but the question is out and he’ll know no matter what you say. The silence would double - it was true and you were ashamed. You’re tired of being ashamed, though.

“Yeah,” you huff and stand, starting to walk away only to turn right back.

They stare up at you. Whether in disbelief or shock or horror, you can’t ultimately tell.

Your hands shove into your pants pockets and you look at the starlit sky.

You decide to close up before they - before Eddie - can say something to shatter you completely.

“If you have a problem with it: fuck you, but please don’t tell anybody,” you kick up dirt from the road, staring down at your shoe rather than the band of boys, “Like it even matters, people already fucking know.”

Slowly, they all come to a stand in front of you.

“Nobody actually knows,” Eddie lays a hand on your shoulder, “and none of us care.”

“We care,” Jeff steps in, pushing Eddie to the side so he can look you in the eyes, his gaze is kind and his smile is reassuring, “just not in the way you’re worried about.”

“We just want you to be happy,” Grant pitches in, “It might take getting used to, but we still love you.”

“You’re one of us, little witch,” Eddie wraps you in his arms, refusing to let go even as you groan about the lingering smell of cigarettes on his clothes. His embrace is chain tight but you can’t bring yourself to want out of it.

Gareth sticks back in the hopes nobody picks up on the fact that he already knew. You two happen to spot each other from over Eddie’s shoulder, though, and he nods with a thumbs up - you return it.

I’m proud of you, he mouths.

You spent years wondering what everyone in your life would say about you liking girls. What would your parents say? They were open-minded but you could never be completely sure. What would your neighbors say? What would your classmates say? What would Chrissy have said? Her mom would surely disapprove.

Your arms slowly come around Eddie and you squeeze, head lowering until it’s pressed against his shoulder.

Years wasted pretending your heart didn’t beat just a little faster when a pretty girl would smile at you (back when they did, anyway; before you were a total outcast). Months wasted pretending the welcoming bartender at The Hideout that liked to call you hun had no effect on you. Years pretending you weren’t in love with Chrissy Cunningham.

Chrissy was gone but her hands remained wrapped around your heart. If she couldn’t say she loved you then you were content to lay, heartbroken but alive, with the boys you knew were home.

You hate the way your lashes wet and the way you know Eddie can feel your tears blotting through his Metallica shirt. You feel hands rub your back lovingly and you feel Gareth join the hug with a “don’t tell anyone about this” as if his reputation actually matters to him.

You hated that Chrissy left, but you feel so loved - it’s all you could really ask for. Maybe a little more.

A heavy hiccup falls through you and Eddie presses a tender kiss to your head, just like a big brother would. You’re quiet, but you’re sure they hear you,

“Thanks guys.”

They just hug you tighter.

#chrissy x reader #chrissy cunningham x reader #chrissy cunningham x you #chrissy cunningham fic #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #wdyamo fic #chrissy.🍑

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athetos · 2 years ago

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Glimmadora is so healing to me… I love speedrunning to enemies to friends and then slow burning friends to lovers… they don’t even know when exactly they fell in love but they realize one day and it overwhelms them in how powerful and right it feels… they fight and almost lose each other but their relationship is repaired to be even stronger than ever… they listen to Angella and take care of each other… sun and moon themed gfs… she-ra is like twice glimmer’s height… everything is perfect about them

#glimadora #ash.spop

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nevermindirah · 3 years ago

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Yitzhak!

is a character! who Gregadiah What-Is-Math Rucka gave us almost no information about!

I've gone through Tales Through Time #6: The Bear and #1: My Mother's Axe with several magnifying glasses and done a lot of googling and taken my copy of the Tanakh off my shelf for the first time since (well, since the last time I needed to read Torah for TOG reasons, which I think was Booker Passover headcanons) and here's the best I can come up with.

In The Bear we meet someone who goes by the name Isaac Blue:

Read on for a lot of comic panel analysis and historical research and Jewish flailing!

So what do we know about this Isaac Blue person?

He's Lorge, he's got curly hair, he's basically a taller version of Joe as drawn by Leandro Fernández (ie an antisemitic stereotype why the fuck did they approve this character design?? and then why did they double down and copy-paste it to Yitzhak??):

He's got a mezuzah on the doorpost of his house in Alaska!

I screamed about the mezuzah way back in January in this post where I (very reasonably) assumed this character was Joe and spun myself a tale about how Booker is still Joe's brother so the mezuzah stays up even though Booker isn't welcome in that house for a century. Bottom line: the mezuzah is a tradition with origins in the commandment from Deuteronomy 6:9 to "write the words of G-d on the gates and doorposts of your house" and evolved over the course of the Rabbinic period into the modern mezuzah we see here.

I did unnecessary levels of google image search to glean absolutely no useful information about Yitzhak’s origins from this panel:

I've decided the variant cover of TTT 6 is Yitzhak because of a panel in My Mother’s Axe, shown here, and what's likely an unnecessarily deep reading of Exodus, discussed further down:

The person at the right of the bottom panel is wearing the same clothes as in the TTT 6 variant cover and has the same shoulder-length curly hair and hairy forearms.

Left to right, the people in this panel are Lykon (I'll never get used to him being white in the comics), Andy, Noriko (I think? why doesn't Andy mention her by name here?), and Yitzhak. Andy's robe has a stereotypically Greek design on the sleeve cuff, and I had to stop myself 10 minutes into a Wikipedia rabbit hole because Gregorforth doesn't think that deep about this shit. The solid clues as to timeline that we get in this panel are:

Andy's iron axe

the presence of Lykon, who Andy first met in 331 BCE

So all we know is that Yitzhak is an immortal, he was a contemporary of Lykon, and he's Jewish.

Isaac is the most common Anglicization of Yitzhak (which in turn is the most common Anglophone transliteration of יִצְחָק‎), and Greg always uses the (transliterated) Hebrew when he refers to this character. Yitzhak is the long-awaited child of Abraham and Sarah in Genesis, the child who G-d commanded Abraham to sacrifice but spared at the last minute. I see what you did there, Gregory.

Why Isaac Blue? This is where I pulled out my Tanakh. According to the New JPS translation, blue is the first of three colors of yarn listed in Exodus 35:6 among the gifts requested of the Israelites to construct the priestly garments for the Tabernacle and later the Temple. Then in Numbers 15:38 the Israelites are commanded to "make themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner."

And now for sandbox timelines party! Gregadiah gave us ALMOST NOTHING to go on, so I'm gonna make my own fun.

I, like many modern Jews, think the stories in the Tanakh are foundational mythology that are valuable because of how they've shaped our people but that contain some fucked-up shit and either way aren't meant to be a record of historical facts. Modern scholarship generally agrees that the community we now call Jews emerged as a distinct group of Canaanites sometime in the late Bronze Age (cw this video's host says the Name of G-d aloud despite being a religious studies scholar who knows that is not a name anyone but the Temple priests are allowed to say). The first non-Biblical written record of the people Israel is from an Egyptian source c. 1200 BCE, and the Biblical kingdom of David and Solomon was probably an exaggeration of whatever really happened during the Bronze Age Collapse. We start getting into historical-fact territory a few centuries into the Iron Age:

588 BCE Solomon's Temple destroyed, Babylonian exile begins

538 BCE Cyrus of Persia allows Jews to return to Jerusalem

515 BCE Second Temple construction complete

332 BCE Alexander the Great At Something I Guess conquered Judea, beginning the Hellenistic period of Jewish history — 331 BCE Andy & Lykon find each other

167 BCE another jerkface Greek king desecrated the Temple and basically outlawed Judaism

164 BCE recapture of Jerusalem and Temple rededication during the Maccabean Revolt

70 CE destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans, beginning of the Rabbinic period of Jewish history that we're still in now

What if... and hear me out... what if immortals come in pairs, and the pairs are:

Andy & Quynh

Joe & Nicky

Booker & Nile

LYKON & YITZHAK

What if Yitzhak was a priest of the Second Temple? What if he and Lykon killed each other just like Joe and Nicky would in the same city around 1300 years later, but instead of enemies-to-lovers speedrun with an absurdly long happily-ever-after, when Lykon died permanently Yitzhak decided to separate from Andy and Noriko and become the hermit we later see in Alaska?

We don't know how old Yitzhak is compared to the others, only that he was a contemporary of Lykon at a time when Andy was using an Iron Age version of her mother's axe. Other plausible origins for him:

a Jew of the early Rabbinic period, maybe a child or grandchild of people who were still alive before the Second Temple was destroyed

a Judean of the Second Temple era under the Romans or Greeks or Persians, maybe a priest, maybe not

an exilee in Babylon, maybe of the generation who got to return, maybe of the generation who was exiled (he doesn't look like he was 50 at his first death but who knows, he could've been mortal for both)

an Israelite of the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah, maybe a priest of Solomon's Temple or again maybe not

an Israelite wandering in the desert with Moses

THEE Yitzhak, ben Avraham v'Sarah, our patriarch who was brought up for sacrifice and then spared, and then spared again, and then spared again, and again, and again...

or! he could also be a Canaanite or other Levantine who predates the people Israel, who at some point in his very long life chose to join our mixed multitude, who like Andromache before him (and like Avram and Sarai would in this case do after him) took a new name to reflect the magnitude of influence this people has had on him

Why do I keep saying Yitzhak might have been a priest? It's thanks to the one detail in the artwork I could plausibly connect to solid research without getting a PhD real quick. Take a look at the gorgeous detail on the opening of his robe in the TTT 6 cover. He's dressed in rags, holes and dirt everywhere, rough stitches probably from hasty repair work — except for the neck opening. Compare that to this description from Exodus 39:23 of the construction of the priestly garments for the Tabernacle: "The opening of the robe, in the middle of it, was like the opening of a coat of mail, with a binding around the opening, so that it would not tear."

The next verses describe the intricate designs for the hem of the priestly garment. Yitzhak's ragged garment looks like the hem was torn off entirely.

Am I overthinking this? Yes I am! You're welcome!

My friend and historical research hero @lady-writes is in a Discord server with Gregadiah and asked the man himself some questions about all this. He clearly thinks he's being sneaky?? No shit Yitzhak is Jewish, dude, I want DETAILS!

I will not be giving up my Jewish Booker headcanon, I've put too much thought into it by now, the internalized shame of antisemitism explains Booker's depression too well for me, and it just adds so much richness to Booker/Nile both being children of forced diasporas. Fortunately (for him, not me, bc I'd do it anyway!) Gregothy supports fan headcanons even when they're not in line with his own:

One last thing before I close like 100 research tabs and go back to writing historical fantasy and/or porn! I love that, despite that atrocious caricature of a face design, our canon Jew and our fanon Jew are both Lorge and Soft and Kind, flying the face of the antisemitic stereotype of Ashkenazi Jewish men as small and weak, but also not falling into the New Jew / Muscle Jew stereotype that Zionism created. (I am trying SO HARD not to talk about Israel/Palestine for once ughhhhhhhhhh) Anyway here's a (US-centric but very good) primer on both these stereotypes of Jewish masculinity. Is this why I'm forever projecting my transmasc diasporist feels onto Jewish Booker the service sub? 🤷🏻‍♂️

I’ll reblog a second version of this with full image descriptions so that there’s a version accessible for folks who need IDs as well as a version accessible for folks who get overwhelmed by walls of text.

#TOG POC Love Fest #yitzhak #jewish booker #tales through time spoilers #tales through time #tog meta #tog #jewish things #mine #antisemitism #hi i'm an antizionist jew no i don't really want to talk about it

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floralovebot · 3 years ago

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please talk more about Helia TOT the only things I can get of him are crumbs TTOOTTTT!!!!!! (But like can I get more Helia and Riven head canons plllssss <:]]]? I don't mind if they're shipy lol (I like reading about your head canons about Helia, it's awesome!!!)

UE UE UE it's a hard life being a helia stan </3

i'll do ship headcanons since the others are platonic!

i Love thinking about how they would even realize they like each other??? because you know these idiots would not realize. riven gets stuck in his "helia is a little stuck up prissy pants" until they become friends and helia is in his little "i don't need friends they disappoint me" phase for literally two years so like? when.

so basically i'm thinking they speedrun enemies to friends but slowburn friends to lovers

and eventually it's kinda like the one spiderman meme but instead of it being two people recognizing each other it's these two idiots realizing they like each other

also that one meme but it's sky rushing into their room screaming "I KNEW YOU GUYS WERE DATING" and helia puts his book down and goes "we are? why didn't you tell me :("

riven mindlessly plays with helia's hair so much. like it's literally autopilot, he doesn't even think about it.

i think riven likes to kiss helia's neck! and helia likes to mindlessly play with riven's hand which occasionally means kissing them if they're in range (also the occasional bite because it surprises riven every time. you'd think he'd be used to it at this point but no??)

riven ropes helia into pranking the other specialists! everyone is fair game but of course sky is a popular target. riven thinks there's an added benefit to dating helia because sky lets him get away with everything but then he realizes sky just doubles back on him 😞

helia looks up "harmless pranks" much to riven's annoyance but they do complete every single one on every single list they can find. god they're so annoying </3

when they argue it can get pretty ugly :( but not because of them! they tend to argue once and then silently brood until someone breaks first but when they do that the specialists tend to side with helia and that obviously just makes riven feel worse, especially when helia's the one in the wrong.

one of their arguments started with helia saying he didn't want riven trying to protect him during missions anymore and riven edgelord supreme immediately assumes that helia is undermining him again and they keep going back and forth until helia finally just yells that it's because he loves riven and doesn't want him to get hurt. cue harsh silence and ~prolonged eye contact~

pain

on a cuter note, they love going to cafes and restaurants! meal dates are literally their favorite kind of date and they almost always eat together anyway so why not?

they do still get jealous every now and then but they're also at a point where they're now so confident that they just scoff to themselves when someone tries to flirt with the other aljdghdjla it's both cute and infuriating (sky: you can't be that full of yourself, riven: nsfw joke that i can't say because i want this post to be safe boooo)

#aldghladhgjlad #this was so fun thank you 🥺#i love literally every helia ship but rivelia definitely has a special place in my heart 🥺#i always come up with new headcanons for them too like they wont leave me alone 😞#answered #anonymous #winx rivelia #winx helia #winx riven #mine.headcanons

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caspercryptid · 3 years ago

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caitvi wings au has always been fun 2 me

Okay, this... got out of hand (don't they all)

CWs: Injury, gunshot wounds, fighting, (speedrun enemies to lovers?) Caitlyn Did In Fact Shoot Vi, It's Fine, Implied/referenced broken bones, falling, blood, implied fantasy speciesism (discrimination against nonhumans)

___

This is bad.

The wing’s a bad place to take a shot on a good day, a bad place to take a shot during takeoff or landing, a bad place to take a shot in sunny fucking perfect weather. This is not a good day. This is not the ground, it’s raining, and Vi is falling out of the sky.

She goes head over heels and tries to brace herself but she knows without a doubt that this is going to hurt, no matter how prepared she is, there’s nothing that’s going to save her. She has a few seconds too long to think about it, too little desire for introspection to let her life flash before her eyes, but she spares a few apologies for the promises she’s not gonna get to keep, the people she’s not going to get to call, Sorry I wasn’t a better daughter a better friend a better sist—

She hits a dune, rolls, can’t help the half-scream that’s knocked out of her when her bad wing gets caught under her as she goes, tries to slide, flips again, lands in a heap of her own black and red feathers and wonder how much of it’s her colors and how much is her blood.

She tips her head up, feels the rain on her face. Everything is hazy gray, like she’s fading out into the cloud cover, even as she fights, tries to count her breaths, tries to breathe deep enough to check how badly she’s injured. The answering sharp red flare of pain provides the answer. Bad. bad enough that she doesn’t know what ribs it is that have taken the hit, if it’s her back, if it’s her wings. It’s bad enough that it doesn’t matter. She’s not going to make it.

She’s not going to accept that.

She’s gathering her strength, still counting, still figuring out the exact angles of her joints and how much she can muster, even through the haze, as she hears the footsteps. She stays slack, closes her eyes. Play dead. Catch them unawares. She doesn’t know if she has the strength to— she’ll find it. She has to.

The footsteps pick up into a run, get clumsier— that’s unprofessional— and then there’s the distinct sound of—

“Shit.”

It’s close enough that this is almost certainly the only chance Vi is going to get, so she moves. She launches herself up and forward in the direction of the voice, managing to knock the figure onto it’s back before she’s even opened her eyes, and then—

She makes a mistake.

It’s only half a second, half a second of faltering when she opens her eyes, half a second of shock at the splash of raven hair across the sand, of the wide started eyes, of the parted pink lips, of Oh, she’s beautiful, and then she moves like a coiled snake and flips, slamming Vi down underneath her so hard that Vi feels something give in her wings and can’t suppress another choked-off scream, and then there’s steel against her throat.

“Don’t move.” the other woman orders, and Vi hisses.

“Not a lotta choice in the matter there, sweetie.”

“Don’t call me sweetie.” “Well I don’t know your name, now do I?”

“—Caitlyn.”

Vi’s vision clears enough from the pain to give focusing her eyes another attempt. The woman on top of her has hair strung in a low pennant pony-tail. Her clothes are tactical gear, and there’s a rifle across her shoulder.

...of about the specs it’d need to be to shoot Vi down from half a mile off.

Fuck.

“Can’t say it’s nice to meet you, Caitlyn.” Vi manages.

“Likewise.” Caitlyn says, clipped. She looks... stressed. Something in Vi’s mind is trying to put up a signal that something is strange here. She’d learned to trust that instinct, she lets her head drop, giving the impression of surrender and a little bit of distance from the knife.

“Forgive me for putting up a decent fight for my life.” She snarks. “I’ll be sure to fly into the bullet next time. Just let me go and we’ll try this again, huh?”

Something looks raw and hurt in Caitlyn’s expression, but to Vi’s shock, she just...drops the knife. Sits back and shrugs off her backpack.

“What are you doing?” Vi asks.

She should really have learned to stop asking people with the guns that question a long time ago, but maybe the 454th time or whatever really is the charm, because Caitlyn answers.

“I need to dress the wound in your wing.”

Vi’s eyebrows pull together. That... didn’t make sense.

“....Why. Would you do that. You put it there.”

“Because I didn’t mean to.” Caitlyn says, voice clipped, and for a minute that doesn’t process at all. No one carries a rifle like that unless they know how to use it.

“Because you meant to shoot me in the head?” Vi hazards. “Because I really didn’t mean it about the releasing me again for sport, Angelface, I only get hunted recreationally—”

“Oh will you—” Caitlyn cuts herself off, takes a deep breath in, lets it out again. “—there was. A griffon. I’ve been tracking. I’m not— I only hunt animals. Not people.”

“....Some wouldn’t consider me a people.” Vi says, slowly.

“Well, I would.” Caitlyn says, flatly, like the very suggestion otherwise is offensive. “—It was a small griffon. It’s raining. It has a similar coloration.”

“You... hit me by accident.”

“You don’t need to rub it in. Is it true that— your kind have hollow bones?”

Vi blinks, processing. “—Yeah. Why?”

Caitlyn finishes the work she’s doing on Vi’s wing, which— is stinging a little less now, and carefully folds Vi’s wings the best she can, moving carefully, although Vi thinks that the lingering her hands are doing might be more reverent than medically necessary. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

Vi’s so caught up in the feeling of careful hands against her wings that for a second she forgets that she asked a question entirely, doesn’t catch Caitlyn’s non-answer, is taken completely by surprise when Caitlyn moves her arms underneath Vi.

“Hold onto me.” She instructs.

“What are you—”

Caitlyn lifts her without further comment, tucking Vi carefully into her arms, arm under Vi’s wings to provide cushioning for Vi’s back and ribs, ignoring the startled noise Vi makes as, despite herself, she obeys her instincts and reaches up for Caitlyn’s shoulders.

“Try to relax.” Caitlyn says. “—But stay awake. You need to be awake to tell me if the pain gets any worse.”

The pain has gotten worse, but Vi breathes through it, focuses irrationally on the way Caitlyn smells. It’s... floral. Has to be strong, she can smell it through the rain. She closes her eyes and presses her face more into the hard edge of a shoulderpad.

“Got it.” She grits out.

“You may find it easier to stay awake if you... make conversation.”

“You want me to make small talk with you? After you shot me?”

Caitlyn hisses out a breath. “I am trying to help.” she says, tone controlled, and...shit, that tone kinda sounds familiar. Kinda sounds like the one Vi uses when she’s upset.

“You’re a really good shot.” Vi says.

“There’s no call to rub it in—”

“No, hang on.” Vi says, cutting her off. “Hang on. I’ve got a point with this one. You’re...not used to missing this bad, huh?”

The silence is heavy, the only sound the movement of Caitlyn’s boots on the sand that’s starting to give way to proper ground, the steady drum of the rain.

“....No.” she admits. “I’m not.”

“Well. At least it’s a failure of your eye and not your aim.”

“My eye is my aim.” Caitlyn snaps, and wuh-oh. She sounds more upset now, “If I didn’t hit what I was aiming for I don’t get to retroactively claim—”

“There was nothing in the sky with me.” Vi points out. “You didn’t get mixed up between two targets. I was the only target.”

“I—” Caitlyn cuts herself off with a sigh. “Why are you comforting me?”

Vi snorts. She is, isn’t she?

“No idea.” She mumbles. “Hate seeing pretty girls upset, I guess.”

“Well I hate seeing pretty girls bleeding because I shot them.” Caitlyn deadpans, which startles a laugh out of Vi, rapidly followed by a hiss of pain as her ribs object to the jolt, and Caitlyn adjusts her.

“No more jokes.” She mumbles.

“Save ‘em, if you stick around.”

Caitlyn gives her a curious look, and Vi clarifies, trying to disguise vulnerability as banter.

“—I mean, hey, if you want to leave an injured harpie alone with a medic and just hope they’ve got my best intentions at heart, I guess I could use the practice fist fighting—”

Caitlyn hisses. “—No, I wasn’t going to leave. I just figured you would want me to wait outside. Considering.”

“Nah.” Vi says. “Not every day I get picked up.”

She gives it a beat, grins. Caitlyn sighs, but her cheeks are a little bit pink, and Vi’s tallying that a win. Truthfully, she’s... feeling out of it. The haze of the hit and the pain are a hell of a drug. She shouldn’t be allowing this at all, but it’s....working. She’ll take it.

“—Name’s Vi.” She offers. “By the way.”

“Vi.” Cait says, and the way her accent curls over it makes Vi want to ask her to say it again, and oh. Alright. This might be trouble.

Well. She’s always liked trouble.

#caitvi #vi x caitlyn #violyn #piltover's finest #wingfic au #casper's haunted fic tag #caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane #tw falling

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