#i cannot for the life of me remember what my stitching tag is

[madegeeky]

I finished my last embroidery project (I'll post pics when I get it framed) so I've been working on this one: an amazing embroidery of Catherine from The Great. (There's also a version where she's holding a cup instead of flipping the viewer off but I'm me, so of course I preferred the "fuck you" version.)

[uranium235s]

it occurs to me I've actually never done anything to introduce my courier despite posting about him 400 times I just kinda made everyone witness him so here's some basic stuff + his lore under the cut (long and probably very boring post incoming)

chester was born in Utah and lived there til he was almost a teenager when the Legion swept through his village and took him as a slave. his parents were much older, and were killed, and his other family (older brother) had left for California some months prior, leaving chester the sole support of his family. he does not remember his birth/original name

chester had some decent experience (for an 11 year old) of fixing machines because his father collected pre-war cars and motors and sold them and their parts for a living and so was sent downriver to Arizona to serve as a repairman and technician. while Legion property he was given the name Chiron

Chester lived in Arizona with the legion until he was 20 years old, hating every minute. a boy around his age by the name of Attilius was charged with keeping watch over him and bringing him new projects, and during the duration of their time together had developed a rapport over Roman poetry and literature, the only thing they could stand to talk to each other about.

Attilius was watching over him when Chester staged his escape and made it out. the two fought with Chester emerging victorious, believing he had killed Attilius, and escaping despite some severe injuries, including a spinal cord injury that ended up giving him brain damage, causing him to live with hallucinations, seizures, and worsening eyesight from this point on

Chester escaped via the Colorado River and came out on the other side in Nevada. he started wandering aimlessly, ignoring his injuries until he began becoming faint and passed out in a toppled semi truck and was discovered by some well intentioned folks that were traveling up the way to Vegas. they got him medical help before leaving him in Primm, at which point he took up a job as a courier with the Mojave Express at age 21, taking on a new name which he now cannot remember.

the freedom of being a courier was something Chester lived for. every day was a good day, he could go anywhere, meet lots of people, and got paid pretty good for his efforts. he was, and I cannot stress enough, perfectly and utterly happy with his simple mailman life, and misses it every sinnggglllee day during the game events. this continued on for ten happy years, in which time he learns that his older brother, Tomás, has become a trooper with the NCR. he avoids reaching out for some years after the discovery, wary of what his brother would think of him for his years in the Legion (even if it wasn't his choice.) when he does reach out, the only thing he receives in return is his brother's dog tags, learning he was killed in the battle of hoover dam 😀👍

the day after his 31st birthday is when he took the platinum chip job and ended up in a shallow grave in Goodsprings. after his brief coma and stay in the doctors house, and picking a new name again (Chester) and after resolving tensions with the Powder Gangers, he immediately cut a path to Vegas on the hunt for Benny. at first, he wanted revenge, but the anger turned to confusion, turned to helplessness. on his way through quarry junction, he was attacked by an injured deathclaw that had been abandoned by the rest of its pack, and recieved the scratches that blinded one of his eyes

after the attack, he managed to run as far as the NCR sharecroppers outside of the Strip before he collapsed and crawled his way to Freeside, where he was discovered by an unsuspecting Arcade, who took him in with haste and stitched him back together. the following day when Chester finally woke, Arcade gave him a full examination and decided it was medically unsafe for him to be alone and decided to follow him to keep an eye on him, though the two get a lot closer over the game events. Arcade also decided it'll be easiest if they make their way back to Primm and start the investigation from where it all began, rather than trying to break into an expensive, well armed luxury district and demand answers from a complete stranger. Chester agrees.

Chester has questionable memory of his past. he more or less remembers being a courier, in fact it's the period of time he remembers best (in comparison) about his life and kind of sensationalizes it and how badly he wants to return to that stage of his life, but the future marches ever onward. he doesn't remember any part of his life before the age of 15, and therefore only remembers he was part of the Legion and not the circumstances as to why. he avoids and detests them, scared that he's forgetting something awful about who he was and what he did, and keeping the information close to his chest. he remembers being Chiron, and doesn't know the limitations of his Chiron persona, and therefore has been renaming himself and reinventing himself every chance he gets (this is made worse by the fact that he remembers "killing" Attilius and fears that it proves he was as evil as the rest of them)

after the game, and because he had formed a strong relationship with Arcade, he elects to join the Followers of the Apocalypse, offering to help find and restore medical supplies across the desert. this arrangement lasts for about a year and a half until the events of Dead Money take place, and chester has a severe downward spiral upon returning home. he gives all his money from the Sierra Madre away immediately, tried to keep the severity of how bad he was doing mentally under wraps so as to not draw any concerns or questions from his friends but ended up breaking down and having a less than stellar confrontation with Arcade involving holding him at gunpoint (I must stress he was not in his right mind!)

after that they grew distant for a few months when Chester was back to patient status amongst the Followers, skirting around camp, talking mostly to some of the better suited doctors about what he was going through, before him and Arcade inevitably made up! and the rest is happily ever after. kind of

other misc things:

• chester playlist

• favorite wasteland animal: bighorner

• favorite radio song: johnny guitar - peggy lee

• lives in Novac and in Freeside

• closest relationship with Arcade, but also with Lily, Julie Farkas, and a decent partnership with Boone, though he gets along better with Manny and talks to him more often when in Novac

• he doesn't remember the dog tags he wears are his brother's, but he keeps them on because he feels like it might be important. I think he rediscovers this fact when he revisits Utah much later in life

• he hates wearing his glasses and pretty much only does so when Arcade or Julie insists he must (and insist they do)

• Attilius did not die in their fight, he was found unconscious and badly wounded and was punished by having his tongue cut out (with the claim that having those talks with Chester made him too weak to do his job.) the two met again during the second battle and he was killed in combat

• he develops a fondness and eventual passion for energy weapons after visiting the Silver Rush with Arcade and taking an interest in why he likes them so

• never returns to the Lucky 38 after the events of the story, so that casino is just rotting eternally. would ideally give the property to anyone who needs it but doesn't know who needs it to begin with

• low intelligence high science and medicine because of how invested he gets in learning from Julie and Arcade, and medicine in particular he finds passion in when speaking to Lily and examining her condition

• high perception because of paranoid hypervigilance

• clothes were given to him by The Followers after he showed up post-deathclaw attack, originally had a denim jacket but it was ruined in the conflict

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Chapter 20: Transmission

A/N: This is one of my favourite chapters 🥹

Warnings: erm, some cuteness? Mention of blood, bugs, Tech being Tech, feeeeelings!

Word Count: 7.1k+

Tagging: @idoubleswearimawriter @ravenclawbitch426 @dreamqueenkala @moon-wrecked

Masterlist

Tech was aware Omega was staring at him. Her eyes wide and fixed and he found himself fidgeting more than normal under her heavy scrutiny. “Have you finished studying the blueprints for the Venator-class?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me where the subsidiary reactor is as well as the ion drive thrusters?” He glanced over as she turned the datapad in his direction pointing out what he’d asked for. “Good. Next is the new Imperial-class…”

“Are you going on a date with Stitch?” He stopped talking and pushed his goggles up his nose.

“I do not understand, to what you are referring.” He frowned and cocked his head. “I am meeting her on this particular date, if that is your meaning.” Omega leaned back in the seat with a smug smile.

“You like her,” Omega said. Tech’s frown deepened and cast his gaze back to the circuits he had been working on.

“Of course I do. I have not ever, disliked her.”

“No,” Omega chuckled and nudged Tech’s arm. “You like, like her.” Now he sighed and delved back between the wires he was working between.

“That sentence does not make grammatical sense. You cannot double like someone. You either like them, or you do not.”

“Fine. You love her.” Tech’s hand jerked and he nudged a wire he didn’t want to touch, resulting in the screen shorting out and he saw his shoulders sag in the reflection. It was an easy fix for him, just a time consuming element he hadn’t factored in.

“All right you,” Hunter strode in and Omega was still smiling as she looked up at him. “Wrecker’s waiting outside.”

“Have fun, Tech.” He nodded, noticing the teasing change in her tone but ignoring it all the same. Hunter took her place, leaning on his knee as he watched his brother work for a moment.

“Got anything planned?”

“I do not know why you are all taking a sudden interest in Stitch and I.”

“Come on, Tech. We’re excited. Some of us have seen this coming for a while,” he scoffed, now sitting up and crossing his arms. Tech didn’t know how to respond, favouring his default reaction and staying silent. “At least take her somewhere away from here.” Now Tech looked up, working his goggles into a more comfortable position as his brain ticked over for a moment.

“I thought Cid’s parlour would have been an adequate rendezvous.” Hunter filled his chest, slowly exhaling through his nose, fixing his gaze on Tech’s goggles.

“What, in the Galaxy, brought you to that conclusion?” He finally asked.

“Well, I thought it was obvious,” Tech announced but saw his brother needed it explained to him, so he complied. “Stitch prefers surroundings she is familiar with, places where she would not be surprised or worried. Between that, the ship and the medcentre, my options are limited.”

“The ship!” Hunter exclaimed. “Take the ship.”

“Take it where? I do not have the time…”

“No. No, Tech.” He could see the amusement in Hunter’s eyes and he knew he wasn’t processing what his brother was saying…correctly. He was already nervous about this meeting with you. The longer he thought about the meaning of last week, the more he realised his feelings ran deeper than even he knew. He wasn’t well versed in social situations and he still remembered in clear detail the times he had upset you. It was not something he wanted a repeat of. “I meant, take Stitch in the ship, set up somewhere, uh, quiet…you know,” Hunter finished with a shrug.

“No. I do not know.” Tech turned back to the wires, glancing at the screen as it flickered but didn’t come fully back to life.

“Is she coming here?” Hunter asked, slightly exasperated Tech wasn’t giving him much.

“We agreed to meet at Cid’s. It is close to the medcentre and that was, originally, where we were going to be together.”

“Trust me, Tech. You do not want us all looking over our shoulders at you,” Hunter sighed.

“Then do not look,” Tech muttered. He did toy with the idea, seeing how he could take the ship out and listen to the engines. There has been a repetitive whine that was coming from the back of the hold and he needed to eliminate certain systems it could be. There was also something his scanners had picked up several klicks from here and he wanted to investigate. “I will take the ship.”

“Great. Shall I get Stitch and bring her here?”

“Unnecessary. I shall com her and make her aware of the change of location. She knows the way and since the local authorities arrested the thieves that have been troubling that sector, she will be safe.” Hunter sighed again, shaking his head but getting up anyway.

“You know where I’ll be if you—run into trouble.” Tech heard the phrase, he didn’t understand the phrase. Turning, he went to ask Hunter to explain himself but he was alone in the cockpit. Giving a slight shrug he keyed the com and waited for you to respond.

“Hunter suggested we take the ship so I can listen to the engines and pinpoint an aggravating whine that sets Wrecker’s teeth on edge.”

“A whine?” You could see him hunched over the console, light flashing over his goggles as he soldered away while having the conversation.

“It could lead to greater problems that we cannot afford to have at this time, what with work from Cid not very forthcoming.” You watched the way he leaned back and admired what he’d just done, a swift finger to the middle of his goggles. “We could rearrange,” he added because of your lack of response.

“It’s fine, Tech. I’d love to go for a flight with you.” Part of you wished this wasn’t over holocall and so you could see the faint dusting of red over his cheeks. “Shall I meet you at the landing pad?”

“That would be the most logical option.” You nodded, a soft wave of disappointment swelling in your chest. “Although,” your head snapped up and you watched his eyes dance around looking at everything except you. “If required, I can come…and meet you…” he sounded so uncomfortable. You could see the line of his shoulders and the subtle way he moved in his chair. Someone had said something to him, no doubt.

“I can meet you at the ship,” you reassured him. “I’m happy to do that.” He smiled, just a quick upturn at the corner of his mouth.

“I shall see you at 1700 hours. Havoc-2 out.” The call clicked off before you could even respond and you leaned back in your chair. A faint groan rose up and you were still sure he’d only agreed to “meeting” you because he wasn’t thinking about the heavy implications it could have.

“Sooooo?” Tesama leaned against the doorframe, with a teasing smile. “Excited?”

“I honestly don’t think there is much to get excited about,” you told her in a cynical tone.

“Wear something that will make him finally see!”

“I have nothing,” you admitted shyly. “Plus I don’t think he’d notice anyway.” Tesama scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I have something. Might need to show a little skin though.” You tensed, showing skin meant showing more scars than you were comfortable with. Tech had never seen them and you were worried when he did, he’d find you repulsive. You’d seen the way his fingers flicked and recoiled from fabrics or surfaces he didn’t like the feel of; and your skin was anything but desirable to touch.

“I think for this one I’ll just wear what I normally do,” you told her, trying to inject some nonchalance in your voice.

“You’re thinking there’s going to be more?” She moved aside as you went past but then proceeded to follow you into the bays.

“Well I’d like there to be more, however…” you shrugged, ignoring the way she heaved herself on one of your kitchen counters.

“You don’t think he’d go for it?”

“I’m surprised he went for this one,” you stressed.

“But you gave gifts at the Festival and you said he’d be the one to know that meant!” She cried, waving her expressive hands about.

“I know…I’m just having doubts.”

“Cold feet?” She asked, her eyes widening slightly.

“No, nothing like that just—doubts in his ability to recognise his own feelings.” She sighed and slipped off the counter, tossing her lekku over her shoulder and planting a hand on her hip.

“Then you make him see them. You are stunning and have been moping over this, man for far too long.” You could feel the embarrassment rise in your cheeks and lowered your gaze. “He would be stupid to pass you up. Don’t let him. Now, go and get changed.”

The streets were quiet, dusk was settling over the sleepy city as it entered the lull before the night life awoke. Hunter had been waiting outside the medcentre which you were grateful for. He didn’t enter the landing pad, just leaving you by the entrance with a few softly spoken words and a twinkle in his eye.

“Tech?” You’d climbed the ramp and were standing awkwardly in the doorway, not quite sure if he was actually in here.

“Stitch.” His voice came from behind you, making your heart skip a beat and you let out a nervous giggle. “Why are you standing here?” He asked with a subtle frown.

“Well, I was looking for you.” He gazed up at you for a moment which made your eyes look up over his head. You were so nervous and it was beginning to show in the twitch of your hands.

“Shall we?” You nodded and ducked into the cockpit, hurriedly seating yourself in the seat behind Tech which he didn’t comment on. “I was just checking the exhaust vents for build up and thinking my next lesson for Omega is recalibrating the thrusters correctly.”

“She’ll soon be able to maintain the ship as well as you.”

“Not as well as me, but somewhere near my skill level would be adequate.” His hands hovered over the buttons and you expected him to prime the ship but he turned in his seat. “Would you like a flying lesson?”

“Me?” You squeaked. As far as you knew he always preferred to pilot, very rarely relinquishing the controls.

“There is not anyone else to ask.”

“Well, I meant are you sure?” He almost sighed, you caught the rise in his chest and he looked at the floor.

“I would not have asked if I was not certain you were capable of handling my ship.” You were up and out of your seat before he could change his mind, slipping past him and brushing against his body. You weren’t sure if he did that intentionally or if he was now regretting his decision to let you pilot and was subconsciously trying to stop you.

You stared at all the different buttons on the console, your excitement dipping as you realised there were a lot of lights and you had no idea to what any of them pertained. Tech leaned over you, a hand on the back of your seat near your shoulder and he reached over to point out the necessary systems.

“This is your fuel level. This one is to retract or begin the landing sequence, this is your hyperspace lever, thrusters…” you tried to keep up, not wanting to disappoint him and get something wrong or, worse, damage the ship he was entrusting to you. Except, his words blended together as the scent of him drifted across your senses. He’d showered, the rich scent of a different type of soap triggered something in your brain and you felt yourself heating up. You didn’t remember Tech ever smelling so…desirable.

“So I would never suggest activating these two systems at the same time as the cooling system would not be able to work efficiently.” You blanched, having not heard anything he’d said beforehand but too nervous to ask him to repeat it. Turning, you jolted at how close his face was, instantly your gaze dipped to his lips and you tried not visibly panic except your hands were wringing your fingers roughly, giving you away. “If this is too much…?” He asked with a heavy hint of concern, leaning just that bit closer as you now stared out of the canopy.

“No, no I can do it.” To your relief he retreated, settling in the co-pilot's seat and waiting for you to begin. Taking a quick breath you reached for the engine priming button. You flicked the switches, feeling the satisfying hum as the engines sparked to life at your touch.

“Check the fuel levels before activating the pump. I have already calculated we have an adequate amount of fuel to reach our destination and back. But it is a good habit to adopt.” You read out the amount and glanced up at him, seeing him nod and silently encouraged you to continue.

“Next I disengage the landing gear?”

“While pulling back slightly on the flight controls.” You reached for the two pronged handles, wrapping your fingers around them and trying to settle your vibrating heart as it thrummed at an uncomfortable level in your chest.

You saw the nose begin to lift from the landing pad, the walls dropping away as the ship rose into the air at your direction and you pressed the control for the landing gear. The light went out indicating the struts were drawn into the ship and you nervously looked over at Tech.

“Continue ascent and engage thrusters…” you pushed the lever with more force than necessary, resulting in a slight scream from you as the ship rocketed forward. Tech flattened in his seat in surprise, and you nearly dropped the controls completely in shock. “Less thrust!” He managed to strangle out and you eased off the lever, bringing the ship to a more steady speed. Tech righted himself, clearing his throat and roughly pushing his goggles up as peered out the canopy. “I did not factor in how sensitive the flight controls are in my explanation.”

“Am I doing ok?” You choked out, trying to keep breathing as you tried not to think about how far off the ground you were. Ord Mantell had disappeared in seconds with your burst of speed and all you could see were mountain ranges in the distance and flat grasslands below, occasionally dotted with small holdings occupied by farmers.

“Keep the controls steady, if you pull back we will climb and if you push them we will…drop.”

“Drop?! I don’t want to drop!”

“Stitch.” You dragged your gaze off the horizon to look at him, seeing him smiling at you. “You’re flying.” He sounded somewhat proud with those two words and you allowed your fingers to relax a little, easing out the beginnings of cramp. “Now, we need to change course.” He stood up and approached, yet again leaning over your shoulder only for your concentration to waver and the ship bucked in midair making him fall into you.

Panic seized your brain and you accidentally pushed forward on the flight controls, making the ship dive abruptly. “Pull up! Up Stitch!” You hauled on your arms, trying to ignore the way he felt pressed into you as he tried to hold himself steady and you yanked the ship out of the dive. The new position had him falling away from you, hands holding onto the backrest of your chair. “We don’t want to breach the atmosphere!” He huffed making you try and find the middle point with the controls.

Eventually you gained control, once again travelling level at a steady pace. Tech reappeared beside you, running a hand over his ruffled hair and realigning his goggles. You couldn’t help the hysterical giggle that erupted at his nervous dishevelled state. Trying to contain them didn’t help and you ended up snorting in a rather undignified manner, causing Tech to give you a worried side eyed glance as he tugged on his top.

“I’m sorry!” You gasped, still fighting the giggles.

“Nerves are normal in a situation such as this. You have never flown a ship before.”

“How can you tell?” You muttered.

“A skill like flying, no matter how rudimentary, could be the difference between life and death.” You sobered up. Watching the mountains glide pass, under the flying ship and you made yourself concentrate harder.

“You said we needed to change course?”

“Yes.” He pressed a key and the map changed, drawing out a path for you to follow. “These coordinates are where we will find it.” Turning the controls you eased the Marauder on a gentle arc through the sky, cutting between some clouds and coming out the other side. “Excellent. Stay on course while I try to pinpoint this noise Wrecker talks about.” You began to sweat when he disappeared into the hold, your eyes wide as you desperately tried to keep steady and on the right track.

“Where are we going?” You called.

“I did not get a chance to study the Irlings beneath the city when we ventured into the old mining tunnels,” he responded from the back of the ship. “I have since found a new hive where I can carry out unhindered observation.” Bugs. The man was taking you to see a webbed hive of bugs. Honestly, you expected nothing less, this was Tech after all. “As I expected.” You risked a glance when he re-entered the cockpit. “The engines are in fact, perfectly maintained. The noise Wrecker was referring to was a lost item stuck beneath the grating.” You recognised it instantly. A long thin bolt, slightly grimy from where he’d dug it out. “I have to admit, I cannot place where it is from.”

“It’s mine.” He didn’t respond, only settling his curious gaze on you as he waited for an explanation. “From the time I fixed your leg.”

“Ah.” The quiet you both settled into wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t smooth either. You could still feel the way his blood gushed over your hands, how it caked your skin, clinging to you like it needed you to survive. Tears rose in your eyes and you subtly coughed the emotion back down. Now was not the time to remember such a moment. “I realise I am severely indebted to you,” he murmured from beside you.

“That’s…no Tech. I was doing my job. I—I can’t imagine my life without you, any of you.” Smirking a little, you continued. “You’re the one that freed me, remember? Saved my life. Maybe we should call it quits.”

The proximity alarms interrupted and you were grateful for the distraction. He didn’t ask to take over, instead talking you through the landing sequence which only resulted in a landing a little too hard but nothing was damaged. Leaving you feeling rather pleased with yourself. Tech gathered his helmet, passing you yours as well so you could watch the Irlings through your night vision.

After Kashyyyk you had asked Hunter to stow your armour on the ship and he’d reluctantly agreed. Even now, just seeing the helmet reminded you of things you rather wished would stay dead.

Tech lowered the ramp, datapad in hand and his visor already down. You were the one to gather blankets and a glow rod before joining him outside. “Shall we sit on the nose?” You asked.

“Brilliant idea,” he responded, turning to give you a smile that you could see even when he had his helmet on. He climbed up first, taking your helmet, blankets and the glow rod, before reaching down to help you up. You clasped his hand tightly, using his strength to help you find a foothold and haul you up onto the nose with a soft grunt of effort. “We should have a remarkable view of the hive when the sun fully sets,” he almost gushed with enthusiasm, moving to the end of the nose with his vambrace open and his datapad in hand.

“So, what exactly do I need to know about Irlings?”

“A species of nocturnal insectoid ptero-creatures.” You rolled your eyes behind his back, he’d answered the question so literally it didn’t give you any answers. Ask the right questions.

“Will they attack us?” Now he looked back at you, tilting his head to the side and seeing the way you had laid the blankets out on the hull. He glanced back out into the gathering gloom, hand poised over his vambrace and then he turned and came to stand opposite you, blankets both laid out in the middle.

“No. I have recorded a frequency they will find distasteful.” He knelt down and removed his pack, pulling out a device that had you crouching, leaning toward him over the blankets. “If that fails I can activate this as they have visual sensitivity to high levels of light. As long as we are quiet though I do think they will leave us alone.” Again, disappointment grew heavy inside your chest but you smiled anyway.

“Sounds like a fun night ahead.”

“I am hoping to record their flight patterns and even see a mating flight.” He shifted, moving to sit with one leg cocked and he rested his vambrace against it, tapping the buttons inside. His visor was down and you knew he was seeing a whole lot of info you couldn’t see. Admitting defeat you shrugged to yourself, putting your own helmet on and switching to night mode.

The world came alive around you in perfect detail. Your audio receptors picked up a faint chittering and you tried to pinpoint where it was coming from. Switching to the internal com you asked Tech what direction they were in.

To your surprise he shuffled right up beside you, the armour nudging up against your shoulder and even though you knew he couldn’t feel it, you could. “They will be rising from the ground caverns 0.25 klicks, north, 20° northwest.” Turning your head slowly you managed to pinpoint the exact angle he was referring to but still he leaned in, pointing with his finger in case you missed it. Instead, you got another inhale of his fresh scent and you allowed a quick lip bite under the helmet, thankful that he couldn’t see it. “Can you hear them?” He asked and it sounded like he was whispering right into your ear.

“Yes,” you murmured back. The chittering was gathering strength and you imagined them clawing their way up the cavern walls, ready to erupt in a cloud. Tech sat slack next to you, leaning with one hand just behind you so his spaulder rested on you, his helmet watching the cavern entrance.

Your mind was tripping over itself. He was so close, literally pressed into you, his left leg open and relaxed on the blankets while his right was cocked, his vambrace casually resting on top of his knee. You drew your legs up, wrapping your arms around them while fidgeting with your fingers constantly. You picked at them and pulled on the skin, wincing slightly. Why couldn’t you relax? How was he so relaxed?

“There is no need to be nervous,” he said softly and you quickly held your breath. You forgot the channel was open and he could hear you breathing. Before you could respond, silence filtered through your helmet, drawing your attention to the cavern entrance.

Nothing happened at first and you caught yourself counting your scattered heartbeats just as the sky erupted to life. They flew in a huge black gathering, blocking out the light from the moons, spreading across the sky like a blanket. Their calls sounded loud in your helmet as they raced around, stretching their wings and revelling in the darkness. Some came close, followed by a string of others and you froze, the wind of their wings ruffling your clothes and giving you an exhilarated feeling that had you gasping with wonder inside your helmet.

“Fascinating,” he murmured. As you came down from that moment you felt Tech move away. He stood, gazing upwards as he watched the creatures dip and weave, catching the moonbeams through their wings and casting patterns on the ground.

“Is this what you wanted to see?” You asked, easing yourself up and going to join him near the end of the nose. The datapad was held up and you could see the lines rising and falling over the screen as it absorbed the noises of the creatures.

“It is.” The pair of you stood in the moonlit dark, like you had that time with the Purrgils. You could feel the Irlings, their bright sparks as they fluttered past and you absently reached for one.

Tech sucked in a breath when it approached, giving him a close look at their hairy limbs, multifaceted eyes and stained glass wings that shone in the faint light. Your hand reached for the creature as it hovered before you, tilting its head and chittering curiously. It really was ugly, their motives coming through as basic and primal. But Tech seemed utterly spellbound when he lifted his visor and took a step forward. You released it, your gaze following the flying shape until it rejoined the larger body.

“How long are we staying here for?” You finally asked, jarred by how loud your voice was in the semi stillness inside your helmet.

“I was hoping to do an all night observation but if you need to return…?”

“No,” you instantly said. “I am happy to do this with you.” Moving back to the blankets you settled down, wrapping one around your shoulders and taking off your helmet so you could lay comfortably against the canopy. You watched Tech with sleepy eyes, tracing the line of his armour until you eventually gave in and dozed.

Voices reached you, so soft you had to strain to hear them.

“We did this.”

“We were following orders.”

“But we still did it. Our homeworld, destroyed because of us.”

“Good soldiers follow orders…”

“…follow orders.”

“…orders.”

A chill so deep crept into your body. Nothing could stop it as it crawled up your throat, no matter how hard you fought the sensation persisted, pushing up and making your eyes roll. It felt ugly, made your stomach churn with wrongness but you couldn’t shift it. Nothing could purge the blackness that rolled over your body, obliterating everything around you, eradicating who you were even as you reached towards the light that diminished with each passing second.

The world tipped and you were falling, screaming silently, clutching at nothing. Falling ever deeper into the blackness with no name, the pit that claimed everyone and everything…

I see you…Child of the Jedi.

You shrieked loudly, lurching up only to collide with Tech’s chestplate. Pain exploded from your nose, drawing you back to reality and making you realise, you’d been dreaming again.

“Are you hurt?” Tech’s fingers curled tightly, his elbow rested on his thigh as he crouched before you.

“Give me a minute,” you gasped, massaging the bridge of your nose.

“You are bleeding.” Sure enough, you’d slammed hard enough into his katarn to break a few blood vessels in your nose.

“I’m ok,” you murmured, but Tech shifted. His hand pressed into your back making you lean forward and you drew your legs into a crossed position. The pads of your fingers pressed just above your nostrils, yet you still felt the agonising consistent drag of blood as it dripped from your face.

“Shall I get the kit?” Tech asked hesitantly, now kneeling beside you as he absently rubbed a spot between your shoulders.

“No, I just need something to catch it with.” He gathered the edge of the spare blanket and pressed it into your waiting palm. It wasn’t ideal but it was the closest thing to hand. Closing your eyes you sighed loudly, hating that even here with Tech you couldn’t escape the dark.

“I am going with the assumption you had a nightmare.”

“Your assumption would be correct,” you huffed. “It was just blank. A darkness so deep I couldn’t see anything. I heard voices…good soldiers follow orders?” You risked a glance up at him as his touch left your back. He looked troubled, his eyes frowning behind the goggles and he stood in a fluid movement. “You’ve heard that before.” You could sense his trepidation, watching his feet as he began to pace from one side of the nose to the other.

The early morning sun was beginning to rise, hues so vibrant exploded across the hull, making Tech’s shadow cross over your form every time he walked past. You could hear the faint start up to the day, small daytime creatures moving through the grass or calling to one another from the sparse trees that littered the landscape.

“I think it’s slowing,” you told him.

“Did your vision centre around anyone?” He asked.

“No. Just a feeling.” You eased a slight ache out of your neck, grateful to feel the flow had indeed stopped. “They were clone voices though.”

“It is a phrase both Crosshair and Wrecker have said when under the influence of the chip. It would make sense for the regs to say it as well.” He came to a stop, throwing you into shade so you could look up without squinting. “We must return to the others.” He held a hand out which you gratefully took. His arm contracted, pulling you towards him but a little too quickly and you lost your footing, falling into his chest plate with both your hands.

“S-sorry!” You gasped.

“I did not consider you would be a little out of balance,” Tech told you with an apologetic note to his voice. His arms had caged you to him, almost in an embrace, the idea made your breath stutter and you glanced up at him as he quickly shoved at his goggles, eyes darting away from your face.

“Thanks for the catch,” you mumbled.

“Are you stable?”

“I-I might need your help getting down,” you replied softly, not trusting yourself to stay upright and not fall off the nose of the Marauder.

“I was going to suggest assistance.” His hands slid from your back to your arms and he guided you to sit down on the edge. You watched as he agilely leapt down, using one hand to steady himself on the ship, legs bending to soften the impact. He placed your helmet and his datapad down, only to turn and hold his arms up for you like he had on Kashyyyk.

Shuffling to the edge you tried to ignore the fuzzy pain in the centre of your forehead. Concentrating on not flattening Tech completely as you slipped off the ship, your hands reaching for his spaulders, he caught you at the hips and gently lowered you to the ground.

His hands ran up the side of your body, tangling slightly in the material of your top, making your heart throb in your throat as you tried to swallow. Wriggling out of his grip, you stepped back and tugged it back down, refusing to look at him and you missed the confused, almost hurt, look that crossed his face.

“We should, we should return. Mmhmm.” You turned on your heel and walked up into the ship, arms wrapped tightly around your body as you tried to expel the panic from your system. Tech followed slowly, placing your helmet down with care. He hesitated and you could feel he wanted to say something. He didn’t. Instead he continued to the cockpit and sat in the pilot’s seat.

You braved the cockpit, still holding your top down. You’d felt the cool morning air kiss your skin and it had sent you into flight mode. The idea of Tech seeing your skin, even a little, made you want to shut down completely.

You settled in Echo’s seat, knowing that this night hadn’t been what you imagined but…you didn’t have anything to compare it to either. Everyone can have their expectations, dragged out of holobooks but it never ended up being that way in real life. You were frustrated with yourself for wanting something else and yet knowing, you’d never be able to follow through with it.

The city came very quickly back into view, Tech took a much more direct flight than you did the previous day. No one was waiting on the landing pad, part of you assumed they’d all be clamouring to get back in the ship and find out what happened.

The landing gear took the weight of the ship and it all powered down with a faint whine until there was just you and Tech breathing in the quiet cockpit.

“So…” you threw a carefree smile at him and pushed out of the seat. “I hope you got everything you wanted from the Irlings?”

“I did. Your assistance in studying them was an added benefit.”

“Tech…can I have more flying lessons?” You asked, trying to keep the hopeful tone out of your voice and failing.

“I think it is about time. You performed better than I had anticipated yesterday.”

“You assumed I’d be bad?” You asked incredulously but he just shrugged.

“You have never flown a ship before. It is only a natural conclusion to make.” He wasn’t wrong. You gathered your bag, hearing the hiss of the hydraulics as the ramp opened, throwing bright light into the hull. You paused for a moment, touching the painted side of your helmet.

The boys had shed their markings the last time they repainted the armour, but you could still feel the ridges of yours. Tracing the lightning bolt outline that you remembered had once matched Tech’s. You frowned, hearing him come through from the cockpit.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you blurted out, making him come up beside you.

“What for?”

“I fell asleep and I know I shouldn’t have.” He sighed, the datapad dropping to his side as he levelled a look at you. Your own eyes darted away from him suddenly flustered with the strength of his attention.

“You cannot help it. They are a part of who you are.”

“Yeah but…you shouldn’t have to deal with it all the time,” you whispered. He reached for your hand but quickly thought better of it, clenching his fist and exhaling roughly as though frustrated. You stared at his hand, your own flexing in a silent response and you felt the need within your fingers. “I would like you to touch my hand.” Your gaze travelled up his body, roaming over his chestplate before you allowed yourself to look into his eyes, seeing his expression was one of surprise.

Just like you had before, you flattened your hand, holding it out slightly as you watched him eye it hesitantly before unclenching his fist. Your fingertips met, pressing together for a second that felt like a lifetime. Nothing else existed for you right now, it was just you and Tech as your hands connected, entwining your fingers and gripping each other tightly.

You gazed at him, your eyes wide and your heart tripled its beats. “Stitch…” never before had he whispered your name with such feeling and it made you lean in, inhaling sharply when his forehead rested gently against yours. His eyes closed and the tension left his shoulders, his fingers pressing deeper into the back of your hand.

He surrounded you, filling your vision and permeating you as his presence thrummed in the air around you. You wanted to feel him, taste him on your lips and you felt emboldened to move. Closing your own eyes and tilting your head you hurriedly pushed your lips against his, hearing him gasp against your mouth in shock.

You were surprised by how soft he felt, how warm his skin was next to yours, his scent filled your nose, making you want to melt against him. Your lips trembled as you pulled away, eyes snapping open as what you’d just done cascaded over you in a wash of panic.

“I’m sorry!” You breathed, pulling your hand out of his loose grip. “I’m sorry!” You couldn’t look at him, heading past and almost running down the steps of the ramp and across the landing pad only to run straight into Wrecker.

“Hey! Where you goin’ in such a hurry?” You didn’t register the playful tone in his voice, you barely saw them all standing before you because your brain was still in the hold of the ship with Tech.

“Turn back around,” Hunter rumbled. You let them turn you, forcing you back towards the ship. It wasn’t until you refused to go up the ramp that Hunter stopped, letting the others precede him as he watched you.

“You ok?” He asked slowly as Echo disappeared into the ship. You nodded, squeezing the strap of your bag in an effort to keep your hands from attacking one other in the face of your pent up distress. You kissed him?? He didn’t even come after you. What a mistake, it was a mistake… “Stitch. Did something happen?”

“No, nothin—.” Your mouth clamped shut and your body turned away from the ship when Tech appeared in the doorway, his eyes on the datapad.

“Rex is sending a transmission.”

“Yeah. Yeah ok, we’re coming.” He waited for Tech to leave before he leaned towards you, risking a hand on your shoulder and his eyes roamed over your face.

“Look, whatever happened between you will have to wait. Then we can talk. Ok?” He was trying to be soft but there was an urgency in his voice and you straightened your back.

“Yes.”

“Good. Come on.” You entered the hold and Hunter closed the ramp behind you. He walked into the cockpit leaving you facing the gleeful looks of Wrecker and Omega.

“Well?” Omega whispered.

“You were gone all night,” Wrecker added in his own gravelly whisper with a lopsided smile lighting up his face.

“We erm, we watched a nest of Irlings.” Both their faces fell and they exchanged a look.

“Wait—the bugs?” Wrecker asked and you nodded. “But…but why?” He rubbed a hand over his head and looked helplessly at Omega as he shrugged.

“It’s Tech,” she said simply. “Letting Stitch join him in things he enjoys…is like a love language.”

“Love?” You choked.

“Are you joining us?” Hunter called from the cockpit and you all squeezed in as Tech connected the holocall with Rex.

“Hey, boys. Any chance I could use your squad’s expertise for a mission?”

“Finally!” Wrecker exclaimed from beside you. “I’m tired of waitin’ around for Cid.”

“What do you need, Rex?” Echo stared at the holo intently.

“I’ll explain everything when you get to Coruscant.” You felt the surprise in the room followed by a shot of doubt as Hunter answered.

“Coruscant? That’s a big ask, Captain.”

“Why?” Omega asked. “What’s on Coruscant?”

“It is the Galactic Capital and, thus, the heart of the Empire,” Tech explained. Your blood ran cold and you shared a worried look with Hunter. Knowing the boys might be heading there made you nervous, what if they were found and caught?

“But the Empire thinks we’re dead,” Echo mused out loud. “They won’t be looking for us.”

“I’d like to keep it that way,” Hunter said firmly and you silently agreed.

“It’s a covert mission. A simple data extraction, but a crucial one. I’ll send over a flight plan to bypass Imperial security and coordinates to a safe landing zone,” Rex told them.

“We’re on our way,” Echo replied, leaving no doubt they were going to do this.

“But you might get caught!” You suddenly said, your gaze going over the group. “Leave Omega with me at least…”

“That’s the other thing,” Rex announced slowly and all eyes fell back on him. “I need Stitch’s medical expertise as well.”

“M-me?”

“Yes ma’am.” You stared at him as he watched you hopefully through the holo.

“Whatever for?” Demanded Tech. “It would make sense to leave Stitch here, with Omega.”

“Oh no, I’m coming,” the girl interjected with a cross of her arms.

“I’m sorry I can’t say more. I’ll explain everything when you get here.” The transmission ended and everyone stood there for a moment as they processed what Rex had said.

“I suppose that’s that,” Hunter muttered. He wasn’t happy with where they were going but his sense of duty towards Rex was overriding any hesitation he was having.

“We shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Echo suggested and it prompted Tech to move towards the pilot seat. You slipped out of the cockpit, rushing for that place on the floor and making Gonky honk lightly in greeting. It felt good to scrunch up, to try and hide as you attempted not to freak out over going to the centre of the Galaxy. What if you were caught?

The door to the cockpit swished shut as the engines rumbled to life behind you. Hunter sat in his usual seat at the console, crossing his arms and leaning back in the seat.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Going to Coruscant is terrifying,” you whispered. “What if we’re caught?”

“Then we’ll get out of it. We always do, somehow.” He sighed and tipped forward, resting on his elbows. “We have to trust Rex. You can trust him. He wouldn’t put you in harms way.”

“But he would all of you?”

“Yeah well,” he scoffed lightly. “We’re used to it.” He eyed you in the corner, watching you twist the skin on your finger and you knew he was building up to asking another question. “What happened with Tech?” Your head jerked at the mention of his name, your neck felt swollen and it was hard to swallow.

“We, um…I might have, ruined everything.” Hunter eased himself into the floor, slowly moving towards you until he was sitting opposite you and leaning on the wall.

“Go on.”

“Well…” you felt stupid and the knots in your stomach made you feel slightly queasy. “I kissed him.” You made a motion with your hand swiping a finger over your lips as Hunter’s eyes widened in realisation.

“Oh.” There wasn’t anything else to say, what could he say? Oh, was an appropriate response. “Did he, uh, reciprocate?”

“I didn’t give him a chance to. I panicked,” you admitted, plucking the buckle on your boot.

“Mmmhmm.” He was thinking it over, trying to come up with a solution because that was his job and you were a part of his squad.

“You don’t have to fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” he reassured you in a low tone.

“Yeah. I guess we’ll see,” you muttered.

[incoherentbabblings]

15 Questions 15 Mutuals

Thanks for tagging me, @joy-4-joy! I have written nothing these past few weeks for DC so I cannot do the WIP ones, but these I can T_T

Are you named after anyone? My middle names yes. Named after my mother's aunts. I have a long name, my mum had a lot of aunties... When was the last time you cried? I cannot remember! Oh that's a good sign isn't it. Months and months ago I suppose. I think maybe it was back in September. I was forcing myself to try dating and I had a bit of a panic attack. He cancelled on me anyway so... relief. Do you have kids? Nope! Do you use sarcasm a lot? Not often and not well. Not very British of me I suppose. What sports do you play/have played? I am a good swimmer and am... decent... at badminton. I'm okay at cycling too. What's the first thing you notice about someone? Their clothes. I admit. I judge. What's your eye color? Blue! Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings :D I have no skill for fear. Any special talents? I am very organised... I can bend my thumb back to touch my wrists??? I am never late? :D Where were you born? London in a hospital 4 weeks early. I wanted out, clearly. Jaundice and radioactive tubs for my first month! What are your hobbies? Cross-stitching, writing... I am a bit of a foodie too, if that counts. I like my video games - though I suppose quite a narrow selection. Do you have pets? Never in my life! I really want a cat though. I want an old sleepy cat who I can call Crumpet. Life's ambition right there. How tall are you? 5ft 7", or 172cm. Favorite subject in school? History which is linked to below as... Dream job? Archivist. Which is what I am. Woot woot!

Gosh 15 is a lot. Sorry lads!!!

@nuclearwintercoat @dragonictitan @phoenixiancrystallist @thatrandombystander @shewhotellsstories @mrsmarymorstan @thatblondeperson @bitimdrake @clubolive @stephaniesdrake @trafficlightchild @mollyhats @pig-wings @bim-mba @sarahreadstoomanycomics

[goingsparebutwithprecision]

Fic writer interview

Thanking @sinni-ok-sessi for the tag!

How many works do you have on AO3? 13

What's your total AO3 word count? 50455 - holy shit, a whole nanowrimo!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Sleeping Arrangements (Good Omens) Habitual (Good Omens) Project New Hope (MCU) Passing the Time (Star Trek:DS9) With Friends Like These (Star Wars, The Mandalorian)

I think I kind of already knew about the top 3, but I would not have called the last two. Nice to see With Friends LIke These doing well, that was so much fun to write but I never felt like it found its audience, y'know

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Mostly not, alas - it feels very awkward to just repeatedly say Thanks <3, however genuinely and enthusiastically I would mean that! I want emoji reacts to AO3 comments, that's about the level I'm at. That being said, I'll try to make the effort if someone's written me an essay, because it's so cool to get that and I've had some really fun conversations that way

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? I don't really do angsty endings. I've been known to write angsty fic, but I'm usually ending on an upswing...Story-Wise is probably the closest, being as how it's heavily implied that everybody involved is dead, and also Bilbo walks away at the end, but even that to me is more bittersweet than angsty.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? Not Story-Wise, and probably not Lethe. But with the rest I don't know that there's much between them. The ship ones tend to end with a get-together, the dealing-with-shit ones tend to end on a found family gathering, and the funny ones end on punchlines; they're all happy but no stand-outs, if that makes sense.

Do you write crossovers? Write? Sure. Plan out intricately and in great detail? Absolutely. Finish? Never in my life. I tend to have the idea for a lot of crossovers too, but very few of those ever get started. Off the top of my head, the current list includes a Star Trek AOS/Disney's Atlantis fusion, thousands of words of BBC Merlin is happening in Starfleet now, a few incoherent sentences of post-Burial Mounds Wei Wuxian having absorbed all of its ghosts a la Matthew Swift of Blue Electric Angels fame, three scenes of Person of Interest and Castle, several pages of Phryne Fisher and Diana Prince are besties - ohhhhh, and my beloved "Oh Good, My Sith Found the Chainsaw" Star Wars/Lilo and Stitch nonsense, which is the only one of these I have any intention of finishing.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Not as far as I remember. The closes I ever got was someone commenting on Project New Hope in a very "trying to start a fight about MCU Civil War" way, but claiming they agreed with my opinion on it despite MCU Civil War very much not happening in that universe. Very odd.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Not really? The closest I've gotten in anything published is the blowjob letter in And With It My Constant Mind, which is more of an extended sext, and the ending of Untitled #3...the theme seems to be Cyrano De Bergerac and blowjobs, so make of that what you will.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not as far as I know

Have you ever had a fic translated? No.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Involves too much unfortunate-ordeal-of-being-known, I'm afraid. I'm in awe of people who do this though, the process mystifies me.

What’s your all-time favorite ship? I am invoking my god-given bisexual right not to choose. I cannot do it. Simply impossible. Cyrano/Christian/Roxane of Cyrano de Bergerac fame is probably a front-runner though.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? Lin Chen's Hanahaki Research Project - I was having a lot of fun with character voices and style, and it was challenging me as a writer in interesting ways, but I think it needs more research and investment and full Nirvana in Fire rewatches than I'm ever going to commit to.

What are your writing strengths? Comedy, yearning, and sentences that sound good when you read them aloud.

What are your writing weaknesses? Actually finishing things and comedy (I contain multitudes)

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? Absolutely do not have the confidence to do that, thank you and good night.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? By published work, the MCU, unpublished I was not immune to Supernatural

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to? Was not expecting this to be the trickiest one to answer, what the heck. Ummm. Idk. I get more enthused by specific ideas than by specific fandoms, I think - if I actively want to write for something it's because I've been Seized By An Idea(TM), Taken Hostage By An Idea, Had My Whole Brain Rewritten To Think Constantly About This Idea, rather than like abstractly, huh, it would be fun to write something for X

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? I-love-all-of-my-children-equally.gif. No, that's a cop-out. Um. Usually I think whatever I've written most recently gets the most affection, so With Friends Like These is bang at the top. And With It My Constant Mind I suspect is going to have the most longevity at the top of my list, I was living with that one for years and I'm really really proud of how it turned out.

Right, no pressure tagging @starkey @missfangirll @july-19th-club @ereborne and any other writerly folks lurking out there who are interested :D

[beautifulhigh]

rules: share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns. 

Thanks for the tag @reyesstrand - I’m absolutely not procrastinating the last 15 minutes of my shift today...

Tenderness and rot share a border 

"We will shortly be commencing our descent into Austin Bergstrom airport where the local time is—"

TK turned away from the window and laid his head on Carlos' shoulder. "Do we really have to go back to normal?"

"It's called real life for a reason, babe," Carlos laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of TK's head.

my whole life I’ve been under her raincoat 

He never imagined this. Not even in his wildest dreams, those quiet moments where he dared to hope. It was always the hope that hurt the most, those dark nights and darker days between highs and hits. The moments where he fleetingly wondered but what if? and let the seed germinate the tiniest of roots before he pulled it out.

Maybe I will be happy. Pull it out.

Maybe someone might love me. Pull it out.

I'd like to be a husband one day. Stamp down that idea and put up warning signs. That one was dangerous.

because of lines we neatly drew and later neatly stumbled over

For a moment it was what he was used to. Turning over in bed in the middle of the night, a little stretch out across the sheets to the empty space that was there. For months this had been his life and so when his hand found cool cotton it was, for a moment, unremarkable.

He'd dreamt, more than once of course, of TK being on the other side of their bed again. Of him being in this space, their space, home at last and forever. Those nights and mornings when he had woken to an empty pillow he had to force himself to remember.

Now he didn't.

she has almost killed me with love for that boy

He doesn't know where this feeling has come from but it's not going away. He's pretty sure he doesn't want it to go away: not now, not ever.

He stares at the back of the New York Firefighter Captain's son, trying to work up the courage to do what he had wanted to do ever since he walked into the bar and saw them there.

Well, saw him.

  the small roar of a mind trying to clear itself      

"I don't even know why I'm here," Carlos said. "Well, no. I know why I'm here. I just don't know what I'm supposed to talk about."

"There are no rules here, Carlos," Rebecca said, "people usually come to me just to talk about what's going on in their lives and how they feel about it."

"I know that's what my husband wants. I just don't know if I can do it."

"Why not?"

That glamorous love lasts where you sparkle and waltz and laugh before you were mine

TK forced himself to pick up his feet as he walked along the corridor. The loft door was in sight, his keys had been in his hand and primed since entering the building. He was so close. On the other side of that door were the welcoming arms of his fiancé and then a few steps beyond those was the bed and he would probably manage to kick off his shoes before he fell into it and then after that he had no other plans than to sleep until he was woken up for food.

Carlos was probably going to wake him up for food. He usually did.

The tender things are those we fold away 

FDNY confirm: We will not look to 'put out' the Firefly  

A spokesperson for FDNY confirmed last night that they are officially calling off the so-called hunt for the person behind the popular Only Fans account, New York Firefly.

Since starting his account two years ago, Firefly has amassed a following making public videos talking about what it's like to be openly gay and serve the city of New York as a firefighter, all between posting the usual photos that you'd expect to see on Only Fans behind the paywall. Reality and raunchy? Sign us up!

People keep asking for my address and I keep handing them your name

"I cannot wait to get home," TK sighed, one hand drifting up to his head. The stitches were beginning to itch a little and the urge to claw at his hairline was almost too much to bear.

As if he knew, as if he understood, Carlos reached out and slid his hand into TK's, hooking their thumbs together and his fingertips resting over the pulse point in his wrist. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe Carlos just needed to know that he really was OK.

"You should go home, get some rest."

Carlos shook his head. "I can stay, already cleared it—"

"You need sleep."

Life, believe, is not a dream, so dark as sages say

He looked up as his mom took the seat across from him, her hands folded together in the way she always did before she launched into a topic of conversation she knew he didn't want to have.

"Mom, I don't want to talk about this anymore—"

"Mijo—"

"No, no you don't get to do that."

"Do what?"

"You only use Spanish when you're trying to guilt me into listening."

"And can you blame me?" she asked. "You're my baby. Why won't you talk to me about this?"

In the burned house I am eating breakfast 

He’s aware of a lot of noise, maybe someone shouting? But it’s all a bit fuzzy and he just wants to go to sleep and so he does.

Not really a pattern! Dialogue, expository narration, teasing hooks, establishing flashbacks...

My big thing, as anyone who has had feedback from me will know, is that I love a last line that loops back around to the beginning. So whatever the ending of the fic is I promise you that it will link to the beginning. Because of this, I usually end up going back and editing the first line of the fic once I have firmly established what the last one is going to be.

Share your first lines @iboatedhere @welcometololaland @rustandruin @bubblesandroses8 @kiras-sunshine

[arkhamsrevenge]

I read a one shot where the reader found Jason and helped him detox. I CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME remember who it was.... PLEASE TAG THE USER IF YOU KNOW! Anywhosie, my one shot was inspired by the detox one I read.

The reader was supposedly dead so did Jason see a ghost?

"I'm gonna get you outta here." A sweet voice whispered. Jason knew who it was but why is she here? Did he die again? "Come on buddy you gotta work with me here." Jason felt a tear roll down his cheek. It has to be her. He then felt a cold hand wipe it away. "Don't worry. He won't hurt you again." Jason felt the tightness of the restraints dissappear. A dull ache was left in its place. He felt himself getting hoisted up on his feet, one of his arms were around someone's shoulder. Jason tried to open his eyes and focus on something. He heard a door to a car open and he was helped inside. Jason passed back out to the sound of the cars engine. "Hey. Jason hey." He wanted to see her, make sure it really was her so Jason attempted to opened his eyes slightly. His vision still foggy but he was able to make out the figure standing above him. He'd know her anywhere.

"Y/N?" He whispered falling back asleep.

A little while later Jason woke up feeling a lot better. He felt he was in a haze and his head was still foggy.

"Jason, how are you feeling?" Jason's eyes landed Barbra. His brow furrowed.

"Fine? How's Y/N?" Barbra wheeled over to Jason.

"Did you see her?" Jason nodded.

"That's three..." She whispered.

"Three?"

"Three times...you, Dick and Tim have all seen her." Barbra's fave was twisted in confusion but then Jason understood. It all came flooding back to him like a bad dream. Y/N and himself going after Joker. Y/N getting shot point blank while he was severely beaten and blown up.

"She died quickly so you die slowly." The clown had said laughing his head off. "You tried and she died! HAHAHAHA!"

Jason's chest felt tight.

"How?" He asked though he had his theories. Barbra shrugged.

"I don't know. But Dick saw her when he got shot, he blacked out and woke up in a cabin the next morning all stitched up. Tim saw her when he was shot by Crane. He woke up in the hospital again stitched up. The doctors said whomever did it saved his life or else he would have drowned in this own blood." Jason's brain finally kicked on. "And now you've seen her. She found you and brought you here to detox." As if on cue Dick and Tim walked in.

"Hey." Dick mumbled.

"Hey." Jason whispered back. "I thought she was..." He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"She is...or was. When she brought you here, she left us a piece of glass with her finger prints and blood for DNA testing. A note came with it saying, "I always keep my promises". I contacted Bruce and asked him if he knew anything. Apparently, Bruce made Y/N promise to protect at all costs. He never told me or any of us cause he knew what he was asking of her. We would have never agreed to..." Dick trailed off. His eyes watering.

"We would have never allowed her to do it." Jason said sitting up. He caught a glimpse of himself in a little mirror on the table. He looked terrible. His hair was a mess, curls tossed every which way and his eyes were blood shot.

"The next 24 hours are going to be tough. Would you like one of us to be with you?" Dick asked. Jason felt awkward. Why were they forgiving him so easily?

"No...thank you." He swallowed roughly.

Jason shook violently. He was warm but his body didn't seem to understand that. Jason wanted nothing more than to drop into a cold tub of ice. But he knew his body was just trying to sweat out the toxin. At some point he fell asleep finally.

"Oh Jason." Y/N? Is she here? Jason opened his eyes to see a ghost. It was y/n but different. He knew she'd taken a dip in the pit at some point. Maybe that's why her hands were cold. He runs hotter from his time in the pit and she runs colder. Still her cold hands felt good on his fevered skin. She was brushing the hair out of his face.

"You're here." He croaked weakly reaching for her. Y/N didn't hesitate to grab his hand.

"I always am." She whispered giving him a small smile. "Go back to sleep Jaybird. I'll be here." Jason felt himself smile slightly before letting sleep take him

[prettyboykatsuki]

♡ GENSHIN IMPACT + HOW LOVE FINDS THEM ♡

➳ ft. kaeya, diluc, zhongli, tartaglia

➳ tags ;; tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, alcohol as a coping mechanism, a little angst but happy endings always, extreme kaeya bias ngl, spoilers for kaeyas story, nonsexual nudity, gn!reader 

➳ a/n ;; first time writing for genshin so if the characterization is funky.. my fault 

➳ summary ;; genshin impact characters and how i think love finds them when they find you 

ZHONG-LI

Sometimes, he admits to himself, it feels forbidden to love you. 

When love finds him, it is on the stairway of a small cottage, tucked into a corner of Liyue. It is quiet and unassuming, more importantly shared. A place you’ve decided to spend hefty mora on to live in. 

There’s a backyard and a space for a garden and there are sweet flowers that always seem to regrow after you pick them. On the walls are weapons and hunting gear but in the drawers are spare clothes and change. It’s got two stories but it’s not big. It’s a home, still. 

You’ve invited him inside, an adopted street-cat at your feet as you make dinner. Zhong-li is a working man, but he spends his days off here. You are an adventurer, strong with a big heart and bigger dreams. Your silhouette makes up all the shadows that dance on the wall and you sway to the beat of a soundless song. A smile makes the corners of your lips twitch up and you stir the pot of whatever you're making with boundless enthusiasm. 

Zhong-li would not wish godliness on anyone. He thinks about it often. Where Rex Lapis ends and where the human, the mortal Zhong-li starts is a blurred line. Humanity is a grieving thing. People live and are happy and then they pass and it is the only thing someone can guarantee. You will be born into the world tearful but you will pass silently - like a wind. 

Godliness means little is forbidden to you. Reality is something you fumble with in your clumsy hands and hope you can get right and humanity is a grieving thing. Always in that order. He knows there is no such thing as love that is truly forbidden - feelings like love and sadness and joy are things that cannot be settled by contracts or understood. They simply exist as if they are their own religion. 

Zhong-li watches you pick up a white furred cat and let it’s nose rest against yours for a brief moment. You hug it and sing to it like it is a child and when you’re done, you let it fondly nudge against your legs.

“Stop being bad and let me cook dinner,” you’ll say, like it knows. And maybe it does - Zhong-li thinks to himself that it might. It prances off and sleeps in the basket you’ve bought, covered in blankets and linens. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes dancing down your silhouette.

There is something remarkably human about love. Perhaps love is the one thing gods cannot truly get their hands on. This greed, this loneliness, this tender feeling - so soft it might fall apart in his hands. In all of his years of living, he likes to believe he has known love. For his companions and for his people. 

But this affection that soaks his bones, greedy and aching to be cared for, must be something only a human could get their hands on. He thinks he could only love you like this with his mortal body, his beating heart and dry mouth. With golden eyes that blink at you, curious to know what you’ll do or say next. If humanity is grieving, perhaps love is acceptance. Reconciliation. Maybe the reason no human complains about a short life is because they, at least once, have loved. 

He thinks he understands it briefly. If redoing everything meant he couldn’t be with you, even once, he would keep it all the same. What a sentiment. He smiles at you as you dance and the sunlight hits the bare skin of your thighs, buried in the expanse of your skin. He longs to be so close to you too. 

Remembering he can choose to be so close to you. That he can act upon this insatiable desire to be loved. It feels forbidden and unreachable. 

But it isn’t. 

He holds out his hand to you and you pause, tilting your head before taking it. He stands and wraps his arms around your waist and stares down at you with so much affection you falter. His lips press against the crown of your head. You’re warm and real.

When love finds him, it is just like this. Under the setting sun of Teyvat, harbored in his mortal body. 

TARTAGLIA 

You never wrap his wounds with care. 

The process is rough and not very quick. It must be comfortable for you to put your hands on him because you never seem to show him any mercy. He’ll enter your quarters with something like a wince. A wound - red and bleeding in his shoulder. He’s got his blazer dragged down his biceps, an uneasiness on his face as he drops into the room. You’re clearly busy doing something, but that’s never stopped him before. 

Wordlessly, he drops himself into the chair to the left of the little table in your room. He sits in it before dropping his head back, looking at you upside down. A frown etched into your features, eyes low and exasperated. You give him a look of discontent that he returns with a shit-eating grin. His heart stutters when you stand but he says it’s blood loss. You shut your book and place it on your bedside table. 

Underneath your bed is the first aid kit, which you grab - swift like ocean waves. He scoots back until he’s facing you. You stare down at him for a long while, brow furrowing. He gives you a dizzying smile. 

“You’re staring,” ― he proclaims, brunette hairs sticking to sweaty skin ― “Do you like the view?” 

You ignore him. Instead, you place your first aid kit with a slam onto the table and rummage through it. Nimble fingers quickly take out clear vials of alcohol, bandages, a pair of small scissors and some creams of your own making. He thinks you’re brilliant and he wants to tell you as much but the words feel too unruly, too soft spoken from his mouth. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes so forlorn by your lack of attention that you speak.

It’s a sigh first like the wave of a white flag. 

“Take your shirt off,” 

“Take me for dinner first at least,” 

You give him an unimpressed look. 

He replies by sliding his shirt off his shoulders with a little grunt. Worry plasters itself all over your face and you don’t make any attempt to hide it. He watches as you walk towards the opposite end of the room - grabbing a towel and a bowl of water. You clean the wound by pressing on it, even though it seems like the blood has dried. It’s rough - you’re rough with him. A sharp inhale of air makes its way through his teeth. 

You don’t apologize, nor do you want to. He watches as you clean the blood off and then inspect the wound for a long while. Afterwards, you mumble underneath your breath, speaking mostly to yourself than to him. 

“No stitches needed.. that’s good,” 

You sound so relieved his heart aches. There’s a brief moment of silence where neither of you know what to say and Tartaglia stares at you with soft eyes. There is always this longing feeling. A constancy to his need for your touch that brings him to his knees, weakens his resolve until he’s stumbling to your bedroom instead of going to see a doctor or a god. He needs you before he needs forgiveness or life. For him, loving you is an act one can only describe as selfish 

He knows this because he still comes to you like this, body bruised and battered. When your worry filled eyes look over his skin, he feels like a second rain has come. Your concern is it’s own addiction, intoxicated by it. It is selfish to want you to worry, even more so to make sure of it. 

But how else can he hold your love if not to make you look at it? How else can he know love if it’s not in the furrow of your brow or the way you push him so hard. When you get angry for him and at him. What is love if not a violence? If not teeth in the nape of his neck or your fingers on his bruises?

You rub alcohol in his wounds to clean them before taking your fingers and dipping them into a cream. It smells like mint, making his eyes water. You do this step with care, running your hands over fierce marks and scars with heartbreak written all over your eyes. 

Love must be a violence. It must be - this stinging feeling in the way you look at him like he is a dead man walking. Love must be a hurricane that rips through him. A storm, an uncentered and reckless devotion. He thinks, even if it was your hands who gave him this wound, he would ask you again to heal it. 

Tears spill at your lashes. He softens, smiles. 

“C’mere” 

You relent, give in. Exhaustion settling in your bones you let yourself be wrapped into his arms. He holds you to him, lets you be frustrated with him. He is too, would you know?

Love finds him like this, in your room. Begging you to look at him, getting drunk off the taste of your devotion. You squeeze his heart in your palms and he lets you. He would let you a hundred times over. 

KAEYA 

Sobriety is a fragile thing. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like being sober, but he spends most of his time around liquor. It’s comforting - the smell, the rush of heat - not scorching but warm, the dizziness. Kaeya doesn’t drink enough to have a drinking problem but more times than not, he wonders if there are answers at the bottom of a bottle. If maybe he chases the end of the pint, he can find answers on his own misery. 

Sobriety is.. fragile in that way. So easily he could drink himself to sleep but he has duty and responsibility. A life to live and sins to atone for but the laundry list of them just keeps growing larger. Bigger than his dexterous hands can cover for. It’s not that he’s miserable or lonely, but there is this lingering hollowness in his chest. 

On his fathers birthday, he sits on the rooftop and drinks. He takes about 3 days off, every year, just for this. He’ll sit on the rooftop of the tavern day of, legs swinging off the edge as the world becomes an array of color beneath him. His thumb is over the mouth of the wine bottle, and he moves it just to drink. 

The sound of your voice doesn’t startle him, but it makes goosebumps appear on his skin. He’s clad in a thin white dress shirt and it prickles as the breezes brushes by him. His chest is warm as you drop yourself down next to him. 

At first, all you do is sit silently. Leaning back on your palms, you watch the stars and constellations shimmer like they always do in Teyvat. He smells strongly of alcohol but it’s nothing to scrunch your nose at. He takes another drink. Unsure of how to handle his misery, his grief gracefully at all - he gives you a strained smile. 

“Has someone come to join me in my demise,” ― his voice is raspy when he speaks but he doesn’t miss a bit ― “How apt,” 

Wordlessly, you take the bottle from his hands. He’s about to argue with you to give it back but instead, he watches you take three long gulps before pouring the rest out. Shocked, he watches it drip down the tile and onto the concrete below. 

“Why’re you...” 

You don’t reply with words but instead, lay back and drag him down with you. He can’t help but wonder what you’re doing. He lays down anyway, back hitting the tile as he blinks. 

“How long do you plan on living like this?”

There’s no hidden meaning to your words. They are straightforward and laced with nothing but honesty. It makes him choke back a sob, the way you ask. Without much left to give, he cracks a barren smile. 

“What could you possibly mean?” 

Normally, you’d laugh at his despair. At his attempt at nonchalance. But you don’t, turning to your side to look at him. You reach your hand out to rest on his chest and he grabs your hand, shutting his eyes. Tears pool at his lashes but he laughs anyways. 

“Kaeya,” ― you say, rubbing his chest and scooting in close to him. He turns to face you, for real, for the first time ― “How long, Kaeya?” 

He doesn’t sob. Doesn’t cry or let himself be hurt. He gives you a misty smile and laughs as tears falls horizontal on his cheeks. You can hear his heart rate, erratic but slow. 

“When it feels like enough.. when I’m forgiven,” he tells you. 

“Whose forgiveness will it take? Dilucs?” 

He shakes his head, unsure. You press your hand onto his skin, golden even in the cold blue of night. His cheeks are in your palms, he shakes his head. 

“I don’t know,” he confesses. You sigh as you wrap an arm around his waist, loose. You bring his body to yours, letting your fingers rest in his scalp. In the nape of your neck, warm tears rolls down your shoulder. Your body is a safety like a brick house - like no wind or storm and disaster could ever take him from you. When he lets his cries turn into sobs, he mourns. 

A life he doesn’t remember but atones for. The only family he ever had. For Kaeya, love finds him like this - grieving. A loneliness tearing him apart at the seams, frayed and long forgotten. Love comes to him while he is in tatters, offering itself to him. 

“I forgive you, Kaeya,”― you repeat to him, over and over like an incantation ― “I forgive,” 

This is how love finds him, in your arms. Forgiven

DILUC 

He rests his head against your knee, body stiff after a long day. It’s a wordless evening - sky painted with a layer of pink and orange. It pours into the room in heavy waves, paints his pale skin with a warn shade of pink. His skin is warm from the heat as his shoulders slump in exhaustion. 

You drag your fingers down his scalp before letting them slip beneath the hairtie that keeps his red hairs up. You drag it slowly, carefully down his back until it’s free. Red and unkempt - tangled from days out in the wilds. You give it a quick brush through, a quiet sigh leaving your lips. 

There’s not a proper bathroom here - far out and away from the city. It’s an old house with an outhouse and dusty floors. After a particular difficult encounter with an Abyss Mage, you’d found refuge into the abandoned location. Without a bathroom, it would be hard to freshen up but you gave Diluc a playful half-grin. 

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine,” 

He thought you were kidding but now the two of you are out by the lake. And this is too intimate for two people who are really only supposed to be working together. It’s too gentle, the way your fingers comb through his red hairs and the little bottled shampoo you keep in your bag. 

There’s something about the way you touch his scalp so careful that is too intimate. His shirt is somewhere inside, over the back of a chair. Pale skin that’s hot to the touch as your fingers work through each individual hair. A long, tired sigh leaves his mouth. 

“So much hair,” ― your murmur under your breath. A blush turns him hot. His father was a good man.. affectionate and caring and proper. But this is different. Too much, even ― “But it looks good on you,” 

You say it so easily. Just like how you touch him - unconcerned for what it means. For Diluc, the idea of romantic love is something awkward. It is clumsy and confusing. Love, has always been something that hurts, more than it has healed. 

But his head is resting on your thigh and you’re touching him like he’s precious. As if he’d break if you’re too rough with him. There is an intimacy in it. A well-meaning and innocent love in the shape of your fingers and how they drag against his skull. 

“...You’re so forward,” he tsks. You give him a gentle laugh, running your hands down his jaw and tilting his head back so he’s facing up at you. Your hands cradle his face with delicacy, thumb dragging across his jaw bone and admiring him. You’re being sincere, but he can’t meet your eyes. 

“You don’t like it?” you ask him. He grabs your hands and puts them away, huffing under his breath. He is childish like this, with you  and only you. No longer the Dark Knight or Master Diluc. Easy to jealousy and even easier to agitation, the kind of man who the world stops for seems to crumble at your feet. 

“No,” he replies, unusually dishonest. 

You lean forward until your arms are wrapped around his barren shoulders. He can feel your skin against his, the way your heartbeat sounds, the fanning of breath of his throat. It’s too much but he can’t move as your arms wrap around his shoulders. You know too much, see too much. There is something so all-knowing about the way you love him. How you tease him. 

Love is a worship when it finds him. You are the closest thing to heaven he has ever believed in - sheer bliss in the way your eyes linger on his silhouette. Diluc is a devout lover for you, a follower in your all-knowing religion of love. Of affection. He leans his head back again to look at you as you look down at him, smiling. 

“You’re troublesome to love, you know that?” he admits to you. You bend down to meet his lips in a kiss. Chaste. Holy 

A smile parts your lips that Dliuc finds himself mirroring. 

“Of course I do,” 

Love finds him like this, in your arms - skin to skin underneath the summer sun. Alone in the fields of tall-grass and wheat. Love finds him like a religion, so much devotion and prayer for you to keep him in your heart always. He knows he would do anything for you. 

[maplecornia]

Chapter 4

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 3.06K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: this one is literally just revolving around one of the BTS members. i don't really have much else to say other than HYUNJIN'S BACK and I'm crying.

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne

Kim Namjoon never imagined he would lose his assistant.

JaeJin was a great worker and a great friend. He loved music and expressed it through his very soul, his every move whenever he danced or helped Namjoon produce a song. Namjoon smiles as his hand hovers over the soundboard.

In the back of his mind, he remembers the days spent here ever since Jaejin was promoted to his assistant. He remembers the first time he met his dear friend, how nervous Jaejin looked, unspoken excitement reverberating off of him in waves.

As Namjoon pushes up the volume on the soundboard, he thinks back to the moments spent as Jae learned how to be his assistant, as Namjoon taught him as much as he could. How what started as respect turned into a mutual friendship, and later, a brotherhood.

Though Namjoon is sad to see JaeJin go, he is happy to see his dream accomplished. He will miss Jae's smile, his laugh, and his good heart, but he knows that just because Jaejin is taking a different path doesn't mean they will cease to be friends.

As soon as Joon finishes a part of his song, he sighs, pulling away from the board and whipping out his phone.

He doesn’t know why he started thinking about him all of a sudden, he was one of the first people to know that Jae was leaving. Besides, he would see him soon, it’s not like Jaejin leaving for a couple of months means that he won’t ever see him again.

Standing, RM walks out of the room, leaving Suga to continue by himself.

He's lucky that Yoongi has his headphones on. If he caught Namjoon slacking he wouldn't get off easy. Carefully, RM exits the room, shutting the door softly behind him as he leans against the wall next to the door to the studio. Turning his phone on, he checks the time, his heart thumping slightly.

8:30 am.

Perhaps the reason his mind is so full of nostalgic memories is that he’s been waiting since last night to meet his new manager.

Jaejin said that his replacement should show up around this time, but he hasn't given much information other than that. Namjoon pockets his phone and heads down the hallway towards the front lobby.

Staff members pass by him, some working for TxT, others for the new girl group they put together about 3 years ago, and even more for the new boy group that BigHit began putting together in 2020.

Namjoon finds their presence surreal.

The members of BTS's staff have been around ever since their debut, and even more, have joined the crew over the years. These staff members will no doubt do the same for their groups, maybe stick around till the very end.

If anyone asked Namjoon's opinion, he would say it was the staff that had to do the real work. And all from behind the scenes. They are the ones who help them put on a great show. They are the ones who tutor them, provide for them, allow them to create their vision, their masterpiece. They are the stitches behind the fabric.

To Namjoon, BTS is just the face. The whole idea of them, of their message, was created through everyone's effort. Including ARMY, including their staff, including BTS themselves.

Losing one of their members would be like trying to fill a hole that cannot be filled.

Perhaps that's why Namjoon is so worried about Jaejin's replacement.

No one can truly replace him.

Namjoon never wanted a new manager.

There was a reason he chose Jaejin out of all the others, a reason he turned a backup dancer into his manager. He needs someone with the same passion, the same grit, the same determination that he has. Jaejin had that, and more. He was able to keep up with Namjoon’s crazy schedule, his unhealthy habits, his tendency to overwork himself.

Normally it was Suga trying to keep up with him, trying to help him, trying to do the best for him, but when he met Jaejin, he found exactly what he needed in a manager.

Will his replacement be able to do the same?

Entering the lobby, he knocks on the counter, where a receptionist is taking a call. She looks up at his knock and he smiles at her, receiving the usual smile back and a slight blush on her cheeks.

After a moment of their little staring contest, Namjoon grows impatient. He indicates silently that he’s waiting to speak with her and her eyes widen in realization. She nods sheepishly at his signal, holding up one finger to signify to him that she'll talk to him in a second. He complies, settling in as she continues her call, faintly aware of Kim Namjoon behind her.

Namjoon is never sure how to feel about these types of things.

People recognizing him in the street, others noticing him even with a disguise, he doesn't know what to do with the attention.

Why didn't people pay attention to him before? When he didn't have all the makeup, the money, and the influence? Are they looking at him because they appreciate who he is as a person?

Or because he is Kim Namjoon?

RM of BTS.

Putting the thought out of his mind, he turns his back to the receptionist, unlocking his phone, and opening the chat with Jaejin. He doesn't see any sign of his replacement, but then again, how would Namjoon know what she looks like?

Hey

YOUNG APPRENTICE- oh hi, what’s up hyung?

When was your replacement supposed to be here again?

YOUNG APPRENTICE- ummmmm, 8:00 am or so, why?

RM pulls away from his phone, looking around for any sign of a girl who looks lost or out of place in the lobby. Every time Jaejin talked about this so-called friend, he referred to them as a “she” so the only thing Namjoon knows about this new manager is the fact that she’s female.

Sadly, as he desperately scours the lobby, there's no sign of anyone there that fits the description. The one girl who was waiting in the waiting area has just been called aside and led to a meeting room. Namjoon, a little worried, bites his lip before a buzz in his hands causes him to glance at his phone.

YOUNG APPRENTICE- Namjoon?

Yeah?

I’m sorry it’s just….she’s not here yet

YOUNG APPRENTICE- WHAT

Namjoon rolls his eyes playfully at Jae's reaction before walking out of the lobby. If she's not here, there's no need to hang around, and it doesn't seem as though the receptionist is paying much attention anyway.

As he leaves, the receptionist stares after him almost hopelessly, Namjoon oblivious to the longing gaze.

He glances at his phone once more maneuvering his way through the hallways of the building.

YOUNG APPRENTICE- are you sure?

YOUNG APPRENTICE- I'm gonna murder her

Well I can’t know for sure

Could I have a picture or maybe a name?

YOUNG APPRENTICE- I never gave you one?

Not to my knowledge

YOUNG APPRENTICE- oh I am so sorry hyung! Her name is Lin Yen and just give me a minute and I'll find you a picture

"Lin...Yen...." Namjoon murmurs, pondering it in his mind.

"Just who exactly are you?" he whispers, putting the phone down once more as he comes to a stop in a corner of the hallway.

Yen...he repeats in his mind, playing around with it, trying to see how it sounds on his tongue, how it feels circling in his thoughts, how it plays on his voice.

It's a beautiful name, one he hasn't heard often, and for some reason, he feels as though it's foreign. Another vibration from his phone jolts him out of his pondering thoughts, and he looks down at the screen, immediately bursting out laughing.

Jaejin has sent the picture of you, but it's not just any picture.

It's a picture of you eating salad.

But that's not what makes it so funny.

You and Jaejin are at a Korean BBQ in the picture, and you hold the signature salad bowl up to your face, your chopsticks hooked around an enormous bite. You're shoving the bite into your mouth, your cheeks puffed up like chipmunks, your eyes wide and nose pinched.

Your expression, your face, the fact that you're attempting to shove a huge bite into your mouth, everything about the picture is hilarious, and Namjoon can't stop looking at it.

He can't stop looking at you.

Now he is sure that you are a foreigner, with that complexion and your facial features. You aren't necessarily tall, but not super short either. Then again, Namjoon doesn't think that Park Jimin is short, so what does he know?

One thing is for sure, though…

You are beautiful.

And it’s not only the physical things that make you beautiful, though they are a contributing factor.

It’s the personality.

The charisma that exuberates off of you, managing to touch him most charmingly through a mere photo. The way you smile, how it lights up your eyes. The blush of your cheeks, and even the color of your hair. Everything about you has captured his attention, and he can't look away.

His smile doesn't want to fade, so he covers his face with his hand, leaning against the wall. No doubt he looks like an idiot, but he doesn't care.

You have that gift.

The natural gift of familiarity when you are less than strangers.

And it has surprised him. The cool, calm, professional, wise Namjoon wouldn't have thought that such a thing could reach his heart...and yet he can't stop smiling.

"Namjoon."

Startled, the smile fading just as quickly as it began, Namjoon jumps, his phone slipping out of his grip. Frantic, and a bit embarrassed, he fumbles to catch it before it falls, but to no avail.

He watches in hopeless despair as the phone hits the ground with a sickening thud, the screen immediately cracking at the impact of the harsh tiled floor.

Namjoon lets out a groan, while a slender, pale hand reaches out and picks it up. Wincing, he glances to his side.

Where Min Yoongi holds his phone in between his fingers as though it were a dirty piece of trash; looking unamused. Glaring at him with a stare as cold as ice, he drops it into RM’s hands before folding his arms across his chest. Namjoon rolls his eyes at his luck, sighing inwardly.

He doesn't look too happy.

"Hey, Yoongi, I--"

"Yes, please explain, Kim Namjoon." Yoongi drawls, his voice monotone and sending shivers down Namjoon’s spine. Almost shamefully, Namjoon turns off his phone and slides it back into his pocket, avoiding that icy stare.

"You're supposed to be helping, yet you left for what? To laugh at memes? Now is not the time to be fooling around with Jackson for heaven's sakes!” Though Yoongi doesn’t raise his voice, the severity of his tone is enough to make it seem as though he has and Namjoon has to restrain himself from visibly flinching away from him. After a moment of silence, Suga sighs, rubbing his temple with frustration. “Why are you so distracted today?"

Joon has been asking himself the same question.

"For one thing, they weren't memes and I wasn’t talking to Jackson. It was a picture of Jaejin's replacement. I was trying to see if she's arrived yet." He explains, a bit indignantly, before walking away towards the studio once more, hoping to escape the conversation.

He should have remembered that nothing escapes Yoongi.

"And did she?" Suga follows Namjoon, managing to walk fast enough to catch up with him and yet still look nonchalant and unbothered. RM sighs at the question, speeding up his pace, as he notices the studio door in the distance.

Jumping at the opportunity, Namjoon makes a break for the door, Yoongi calling after him in surprise. He reaches it, leaving Suga behind in the dust. Opening the door he sinks into a chair as though it were a refuge from the uncomfortable situation he found himself in. As Yoongi comes to a stop in front of the door, Namjoon acts as though he were there the entire time.

"Do you need something?" he asks innocently, and Yoongi rolls his eyes, walking in and closing the door behind him before settling into a chair of his own.

"Yes. I need you to focus on this project. This is important, and is nowhere near done if it's going to be our next title track." He murmurs, immediately setting to work, his mouse echoing in the silence. Biting his bottom lip in guilt, RM turns back to his phone, frowning a bit at the sight of the cracked screen.

Yoongi is right, Namjoon knows this.

They dedicated this day to work on BTS’s new title song.

Namjoon especially wanted Yoongi to produce it because of his incredible skill and work ethic. He practically begged him to take time off from his other projects to work on this with him, Yoongi is sacrificing a lot of his time just to be here.

Namjoon knows how important time can be.

It doesn’t help matters considering how this song is so essential to their comeback album. Promotion is still far off, but it doesn't change the circumstances. ARMY waited for them for so long to come back to them, it’s only fair that they give them the most groundbreaking album they can.

But RM can't focus.

And it’s for such a stupid reason.

Just because Jaejin is gone doesn't mean the world will fall apart.

He knows this, it's just...

Namjoon smiles a bit bitterly, turning back to the booth as he resumes his work once more.

"She wasn't there." Suga turns to Namjoon at the sound of his voice. Namjoon notices but doesn't pay any mind, continuing to play with the soundboard, creating his type of spell, his sort of magic. "In response to your question."

Yoongi doesn't respond, waiting for Namjoon to finish. That's the way he is, sometimes RM can’t finish a thought in one sentence and it takes him a moment to piece things together, what with everything else running through that expansive mind of his. Suga knows when to wait, when to stay silent, and allow RM a chance to tell him everything he needs to.

He's no stranger to listening to people, especially when it comes to Namjoon.

Sometimes, Joon just needs to let something out without anyone saying anything, and Yoongi won't say anything unless he feels it's necessary. He’ll listen, and be there for anyone to lean on, able to offer them the emotional support they need to carry on.

"I'm sorry, I guess I'm a little nervous to meet her." After a moment, Yoongi responds to him, his soft voice carrying across the room in a comforting murmur.

"What's the big deal? If she's professional, she'll be perfect. I'm sure there's nothing to be worried about." He reassures him. RM nods, trying to concentrate once more, and put the thought of your arrival to the back of his mind.

Maybe Yoongi is right, maybe there is nothing to be worried about.

However, Namjoon can't help but think that your arrival will change their lives.

And who knows if it'll be for the better?

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: how are you guys liking Jaejin now? lol

chapter 5 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[tumsa]

i didn’t plan to write more but my hand slipped. i blame @snailsweater​ for being so sweet in the tags, and maybe billie eilish a little bit for writing the 'i love you' song that ends me every time i hear it. and tumblr user kinnbig who talks about big and makes my poor little heart ache. my love language is writing random stuff in people's dms (or posts), and i am not even sorry.

- - - "You're an idiot," Chan says because the nurse is too polite to do that. Big's abdomen feels like it's been lit on fire, but the fresh dressing is stark white and sterile, and Big can recount all the things used to clean his wounds and how it happened. He thinks, hopes he can do it for Ken now.

"Sorry," he says because he cannot say, "I tore my stitches while cleaning the staircase so my neighbours don't freak out and call the police."

"What happened?" Chan, of course, asks. He does sound more worried than suspicious. It's the first time they've seen each other since Big got shot, since Big willingly took a bullet in hopes that Tawan could not destroy Kinn's life again. Big looks away before he encounters pity in Chan's gaze.

He doesn't know how to lie to Chan. It feels like lying to Kinn too much. It feels like walking on a tightrope made of razor blades.

"I want more time off," he finally says. It's not untruth, but it's not something Big would ever say. He never asks for anything, never wants anything other than protect Kinn, he expects Chan to shoot him just then and there.

But Chan just looks at him for a long time, then coughs, clears his throat and sounds almost choked up when he says: "You could have just asked, Big. You saved Porsche’s life, Khun Kinn will give you anything you want, kid."

Somehow it feels worse than a bullet for betrayal would have.

- - - Ken is asleep when Big returns. He is pale, almost lifeless, but his chest moves slowly with each inhale and exhale. He looks dead and still might die, Big knows. There might be internal bleeding, blood loss, infection. There might also be a bullet from Kinn or Vegas. Or Big might wrap his hands around Ken's throat and squeeze until there's no life left.

Don't let your emotions distract you from work, Chan would say, so Big unpacks everything and puts it on a plastic tray, on the mattress. He washes his hands with scolding hot water and soap that smells like the hospital and puts on gloves.

He works slowly to ensure he gets things right, and because his stomach still burns, even sitting on the floor next to the mattress feels like it's taking too much strength. One by one, with long pauses in between, Big cleans the gashes, wipes away the dried blood, and removes the makeshift dressing he did earlier from kitchen towels. He stitches up the more extensive wounds, trying to repeat the pattern he saw the nurse doing and mostly failing. They will scar horribly, he thinks before he remembers that Ken probably won't live that long.

He has to stop to drink water and take painkillers for his own wounds. He finds some protein bars that are not expired in a cupboard and eats one of them mindlessly. He starts to cry when putting on a new pair of rubber gloves; when he returns to the bedroom, and Ken still looks like a broken body with no life left in it.

"I hate you," he whispers as he struggles to put on the dressing around Ken's stomach and chest. He is heavy, and lifting him pulls at Big's stitches, and the bandage keeps slipping, and Big would punch him if there was a patch of skin not covered in cuts on Ken's body.

"I hate you so much," he says again, using a damp cloth to clean Ken's face.

"I wish I had never met you," when cleaning the incisions around Ken's cheek and eye.

"I hope you die," through more tears when Ken doesn't wake up and open his good eye.

- - - It's dark outside when Big wakes up. He lets go of Ken's wrist and turns on the small lamp on the floor next to the mattress. He never bought a bed or a nightstand table, and he never will now, not when he might not live until the end of the month.

Ken is awake. He is looking at Big, and his gaze looks hollow. Big gets the water bottle and painkillers he left beside the lamp. Ken takes the pills and lets Big give him water.

"If you want me to leave," Ken starts, and Big laughs. It's a bitter and nasty laugh, and Ken winces. Big is pretty sure Ken could not even get up from the mattress.

"If you pull the stitches," he says, because he spent hours patching Ken together, "I will call Vegas myself."

"As if you have his number," Ken says.

"But you do."

Ken looks away, and Big regrets being mean. He thinks about Kinn, how he got cold and vicious after he shot Tawan years ago, and how Kinn built a wall, leaving Big on the other side. He thinks about how Ken could always find a way to make Big laugh when Kinn scolded him for making mistakes. How Ken kissed him when Kinn wouldn't. How Ken-

"You need rest," he says, trying to sound less sour. They have never been gentle with each other; Big doesn't know how to be soft and kind. But he does know how to protect someone he loves. "Take the other pills, those are for infection. I'll get us some food."

He leaves the bedroom, pretending not to see tears on Ken's face, and closes the door behind him with a soft click. Not for the first time, he wonders how he got here, willing to take a bullet for the person behind the trigger.

Big takes a deep breath, then another. Food first, he thinks, then transport, money, and a safe place next. He will fall apart later when they escape the country, when Ken is safe.

He exhales and gets to work.

*smooches you on the cheek* i hope you have a lovely day!

- - -

"Who is the new guy?" 

Big regrets the question the moment it leaves his dumb mouth because Chan tilts his head and looks at him with knowing eyes. 

"Big," he says, and his voice is stern. His eyes are steely, and Big can feel them unravel everything he is trying to hide away; everything he promised wouldn't be a problem.

A few meters away from them, Kinn laughs so openly and joyously that it stings. 

Chan sighs and turns back to his tablet. Only when Big turns to leave he says: "His name is Tawan."

The way Kinn looks at Tawan makes Big sick. The way Tawan looks at Kinn makes an uneasy feeling crawl into Big's gut. 

- - -

"Who is the new guy?" 

The new guy is sitting at the edge of the pool and grinning. His dark hair is dripping water everywhere as he runs his fingers through them all pretend casual. He winks at Pete, whose record so far has been undefeated, and Big thinks he looks like a certified fuckboy.

"Ken," Arm whispers, quiet enough so Ken cannot hear them. And then, because Arm likes to gossip, he adds: "He's been staring at you all morning."

Big glances up and catches Ken's eyes on him. There is a pink flush on Ken's cheeks as he bites his lip and quickly looks away. 

"Cute," Arm says next to him, and Big bites the inside of his cheek to stop the stupid smile that wants to sneak onto his face. He feels warm. Nobody has ever looked at Big like that.

- - -

"Take the day off," Ken pleads again. He has argued about this all morning, talked about how Big needs a break, how he looks exhausted and how Ken knows he didn't sleep well. "Come on, mate, just today."

Big sighs. "I can't, not with Tawan being here."

"Please," Ken says in English, and it startles Big. Not the English, as Ken constantly swears in it, but the way Ken sounds distressed, the way he looks at Big with wide eyes, and the way his fingers are gripping Big's arm so tightly that there will be bruises. 

"Is everything okay?" Big asks because he knows he is missing something, something important. Ken is shaking as he lets go of Big's arm like it physically pains him to move his fingers, and then he smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes, and he looks down before Big can see them.

"Forget about it. It's fine," Ken says, and his voice is raspy. "Just don't do anything stupid because of Tawan."

Big cannot guarantee that, so instead, he says: "I'll see you later tonight."

Later, when Big takes a bullet aimed at Porsche, he wishes he wouldn't have made a promise he couldn't keep.

Later, when Chan says, "Ken was working for Vegas", Big wishes Tawan was a better shooter.

- - -

Big's apartment looks as sad and pathetic as he feels. He doesn't spend time here more than once a month, doesn't share it with anyone, and never bothered to furnish it properly. He sits on the sofa and stares at the empty wall because there's nothing else to do, nowhere else for him to be. He feels hollow, wonders if the doctors put him back together wrong.

"Take a week off," Kinn has said, voice sincere and sad. "You deserve it."

"I should have known," Big had whispered, trying to hold back his tears, and wondered if that's how Tawan's betrayal felt. And then, because he couldn't stop thinking about it, he had said: "He wanted me to take a day off." Kinn had patted his shoulder awkwardly before leaving. 

Big wonders if he can just sleep for a week, if any of the painkillers can do that for him, or if he can get his hands on some sleep medicine or something.

The knock on the door startles him.

He gets up slowly. His stomach still hurts, and so does his arm. He leaves the gun on the coffee table. If anyone wants to kill him, Big thinks, he wouldn't mind. He opens the door.

Ken is bleeding. His face is purple and bruised, and one of his eyes is swollen shut. His shirt is soaked with blood, and it's dripping everywhere. He is trembling.

"I didn't know where else to go," he finally whispers, voice hoarse and broken.

Big feels like he is being shot all over again. He wants to slam the door close, he wants to get the gun he left behind and kill Ken himself. He wants to ask why, he doesn't want to know the answer, but mostly he just wants to pretend that nothing has changed, that everything will be alright. Slowly he moves and opens the door wider. 

"Come in," he says.

anon i am smooching you on the mouth i can’t believe you just dropped this masterpiece anonymously in my ask box i am emotionally devastated. come back pls i’m losing my mind?!

[prisoner009]

Here is why I, a person who has DID, think that Mikoto also has DID. I have seen a lot of misinformation about the disorder in the Milgram tag so I will try to correct them with the best of my abilities. And just a heads up, I am not interested in arguing whether or not Mikoto is a singlet or not since I had this conversation with others several times. This is just what I think Milgram meant to portray.

Before I start, please be mindful of the fact that Mikoto isn't a real person and I don't think he is a great DID rep however I feel like a lot of people just ignore the fact that he has DID because "it is ableist" while it is true we shouldn't ignore the obvious intention of the series, Milgram doesn't like being vague about the prisoners as seen with others. Here is the diagnostic criteria for DID. Code 300.14 "A. Disruption of identity characterized by two or more distinct personality states, which may be described in some cultures as an experience of possession. The disruption of marked discontinuity in sense of self and sense of agency, accompanied by related alterations in affect, behavior, consciousness, memory, perception, cognition, and/or sensory-motor functioning. These signs and symptoms may be observed by others or reported by the individual. B. Recurrent gaps in the recall of everyday events, important personal information, and/or traumatic events that are inconsistent with ordinary forgetting. C. The symptoms cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning. D. The disturbance is not a normal part of a broadly accepted cultural or religious practice. Note: In children, the symptoms are not better explained by imaginary playmates or other fantasy play. E. The symptoms are not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance (e.g., blackouts or chaotic behavior during alcohol intoxication) or another medical condition (e.g., complex partial seizures)." 1) "Disruption of identity characterized by two or more distinct personality states" for the sake of clarity, I will refer to Mikoto's alter as "Other Mikoto". Mikoto himself is very sociable, kind and has a more sweeter tone to his voice. He calls most prisoners by nicknames even though he isn't really familiar with them. In John Doe voice drama Mikoto gets stressed and switches to "Other Mikoto". Other Mikoto talks more like a delinquent, swears a lot and generally has more of a raspier tone to his voice. Other Mikoto goes as far as attacking Es which is out of character for Mikoto. 2) "B. Recurrent gaps in the recall of everyday events, important personal information, and/or traumatic events that are inconsistent with ordinary forgetting." We know that since day one Mikoto had no idea about what he had done to be in Milgram. In MeMe, during Other Mikoto's parts (metal parts of the song) he is very blunt about the murder making it clear that he is the alter that holds that traumatic memory while in Mikoto's parts (softer, chorus parts of the song) he says that he doesn't know why he is there and that they must be mistaken. No, he isn't lying about amnesia. It has been confirmed that to ensure that they are not lying Es uses a song extraction machine that extracts the knowledge about murders from their subconscious mind. MeMe sounds like two songs stitched together because Mikoto's subconscious is shared by another alter. In short, it was extracted from both of them not just Mikoto. Also, in John Doe voice drama right after Other Mikoto switches out Mikoto gets really confused because he doesn't remember beating Es and then fighting with Kotoko. 3) "C. The symptoms cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning." Even though Mikoto has a stable office job and tries his best to look like a functioning adult I believe there is more to it. In MeMe, towards the end it sounds like they are aware of each others existence but Mikoto wants to deny the fact that he has DID. His amnesia barrier and miscommunication with Other Mikoto does affect his functioning. 4) D and E points are as we know, don't apply to Mikoto so I won't bother explaining them. I have seen a lot of people say that Mikoto is faking DID because "He remembers/knows about it a little as seen in the MV." which is literal misinformation. Amnesia barriers are not always the same and you may remember bits of things at times. Mikoto is well aware that

something bad is going on, he is scared to admit it. He just doesn't know what and that is when Other Mikoto comes in the stage. Other Mikoto is supposed to hold that traumatic memory (murder) so Mikoto won't have to process that all by himself. I believe Other Mikoto is a trauma holder + most likely an protector. "You don't have to keep it in and hide it away, “I” will save “me”." is the reason why I think Other Mikoto is a protector. Motive for the murder was not mentioned a lot in the video but basing from these lyrics I believe that he has killed someone that was a past abuser or a threat to Mikoto's life in anyway. The murder was planned. At the beginning we can see him waiting on a specific subway station for his victim, which makes me think that it was most likely someone he knew rather than a random pedestrian. Hopefully, we will learn more about his motive on the second trial but for now all we can speculate is that he did it to "protect" himself. Not by the means of self defense, but by something else. Another thing I have seen that has been spread around a lot is that "Mikoto formed a system after murdering someone/because of his stress as an office worker." No. No one can form a system at the age of 23. It doesn't work like that. (next part is taken from did-research) The theory of Structural Dissociation works off of the assumption that no one is born with an integrated personality. Instead, infants operate based off of a loose collection of different ego states that handle their different needs- feeding, attachment to a caregiver, exploring the world around them. Over time, these ego states naturally integrate into one coherent and cohesive personality, usually by the ages of 6 or 9. However, childhood trauma disrupts this process. Different ego states are left unable to merge with each other due to conflicting needs, traumatic memories, or learned action paths or responses to trauma. One coherent sense of self cannot form when the primary caregivers of the child are inconsistent, loving one moment and abusive the next, preventing healthy attachment from occurring and instead facilitating disorganized attachment. In short, Mikoto's DID formed in childhood because of repetitive trauma that he had experienced when he was between the ages of 6-9. We don't know what his trauma is but perhaps we may learn about it on the next trials. Overall, DID is used in a lot of symbolic ways in MeMe (from using OSDDID terms like "switch" to a headspace) that I think it is almost impossible for Mikoto to not have DID. Thank you for reading all this mess. Feel free to shoot me ask if you have any questions.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Into The Thick of It (2)

Loki x Female Reader

Chapter 2: The God

Series Summary: Her work as an agriculturist nearly takes the readers life is not for a stranger (and his weird looking dog) who later turns out to be the God of Mischief. Thrown into a completely different realm, you want to figure out a way home while trying to stay out of the way of this literal God. But fate has its own plans for the two of you.

Written for @tarithenurse and her #Taris1Kchallenge

Warnings: sexist remarks

Word Count: My jaw is selectively pounding now that my wisdom tooth is out and the stitches are in place. It feels so weird because its not like you can simply scratch an itch or around the itch in some way.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"How does this look?" Zaira is holding up a green dress that goes down to your toes in length. You give the deep shade a once over and turn back to your laptop. "Meh." Zaira tsks. "I mean-" you breathe and give your attention to your friend- "it's okay. For you. For me?" You shake your head and shrug before trying to discreetly get back to the screen. "Bullshit. You look amazing in green." You try to find the mouse on the screen. "Are you sure?" The question is bland. "Of course! No one can carry this like you! And for the sake of all things holy, stop looking at your death again and again!" Your brows furrow at the statement, turning back to Zaira, who still stands there with the green dress, except for one thing- the usual workspace of white and grey is now replaced with an eerily familiar dark forest with trees trying to touch the sky. "What?" It is nothing more than a whisper, this word erupting from your lips at the change in scenery. Your mind is at the edge of a realisation waiting to erupt when your hand feels an unwelcoming heat. The immediate reaction is to get your arm away from the laptop, or at least that is what you think you are doing considering the last saved spot of this occurrence in your memory. But there is no laptop. No chairs or tables.  Just a bonfire in front of you and your hands covered in blood and tied in ropes tearing through your flesh. And beyond that fire are figures in the dark chanting verses that are alien to your ears. But just as the chanting grows louder, you can feel a cloud of dread begin to loom of your heart; growing bigger by the second. Zaira! You are screaming her name but your voice isn't audible and you cannot see her anywhere either. Zaira!! You call out for her again when the figures seem to be getting closer to you, the anxiety in your chest beginning to hurt even more.  ZAIRA!!!

The loudness of her name in your conscience jerks you awake with the dread transported straight out of your hallucination. Still breathless and sweating from the nightmare, your head pounds at the sudden jump to the reality of finding yourself lying under a fur skin as heavy as you inside what seemed like a tent. From where you lay, the roof is a muddy beige colour dense enough to block sun or rain. Turning your head to your right, you can see a side table housing a copper goblet along with a copper jug. I hope to the Gods that water. I don't care if it's laced with poison at this moment. Turning to your left you are taken a little back to see familiar golden eyes staring from the copper jug back at you, so close that that saliva ridden tongue could lick you if it wanted. "Hi," you greet the familiar creature from the night of your nightmare, your heart still trying to dilute, resting by your side. The creature tilts its neck a little before you can see its tail rise up and swing from side to side. Such a doggo. You try to get up- with much effort, thanks to this animal duvet weighing just as much or maybe more than you- and breathe the cold air around you. Even though the anxiety of this recent incident is still looming around you in the corners you don't want to look at, it is a relief to feel the quiet around you. And the weird doggo looking at you seems to make those corners lighter, convincing your heart that it all ended not so bad at some point. Moving the fur duvet off you to get to the water on your side, you suddenly find yourself quickly putting the fur back on at the momentary realisation of something major amiss, bringing back all that anxiety that was watching you from the corners. "Where the fuck are my clothes?" you whisper right at the doggo despite knowing that poor thing can only swing its tail whenever you look at it. "They were tattered beyond repair." The voice immediately brings your duvet up to your chin before your eyes dart towards the entrance in front of you. No fucki-oh. A woman with skin paler than the pale described for Bella from Twilight stands at the entrance of the tent with a bunch of warm clothing. Her eyes carry a hint of grey and muddy green in them. She takes it upon herself to have already gotten permission to walk towards your side and place the clothes she has got in front of you before going back to secure the entrance. "You were fortunate to be alive in those deadly woods of the dark," she mentions while taking a thermos out of her dress and pouring the contents in the bowl kept on the makeshift table; all the while with her back towards you. You, still cautious of the eyes around you, slowly snuck the clothes inside the duvet to put them on. Only when putting them on, you realise the lack of a bra or panties; just a loose cotton camisole in their stead. ...okay. Maybe they didn't know my size. You look back at the woman busying herself around the tent. All you can see is the huge- and seemingly heavy- overcoat made out of an animal. Or maybe they...don't have the resources? Great, Y/N. Go be a judgmental b for the people who saved your life. The gown is a deep blue shade that neatly wraps around your shape and is put in place with the hooks, the last step being securing it all with the one string tied in what only you would call a bow. "So, it was you who saved me last night?" The woman brought you a bowl with steaming hot stew, bursting out in laughter on hearing your question. You stand there watching her immediately suppress the laughter as if she had been caught red-handed for a grave crime. "My apologies for what you just saw. It was not me who saved you." And before you can ask who it was, the woman gathers a wide bowl filled with water, a couple of hand towels and two bowls of what looked like homemade ointments, and walks out of the tent. You are about to go thinking about the materials that woman just took away when the only being you are familiar with, gets up from the bed, jumps down and struts out of the tent. "Wait...don't leave me," you whimper in a low tone, gathering a bit of strength to walk out right behind him. . The clearing in the forest has been turned into a camp with soldiers bustling in any direction you look. Swords, bows and arrows are being used for practice in one corner and the same are being mended in the other. Helmets akin to the ones Vikings wore can be seen on top of many heads. So can the undercut and braids. "Is this a cosplay fair?" you ask the one guy who passes by close to you. He is nearly the same height as you, but with a lush red beard and hazel eyes.  He- and his two friends- observes you from head to toe, almost making you realise how out of place you already look. "This is a war camp, missy. One where you have no reason staying." You mock a laugh at the audacity of this person. "I will decide the reason for my stay myself...boy." You start to walk away, trying to find any familiar figure in this quite realistic cosplay village. But last you remembered, there has been no such fair going on in the vicinity of that cursed town. A heated hand captures your arm and forces you to turn around. A wince comes out of you and flashes of that gory incident move before your eyes. Especially the face of that man. The Viking guy takes a step towards you, not letting go of your hand in the first wank. "Sigmund! Who is this wench with a quick mouth?" Sigmund, the taller of the three men, with bulky features and a sharp nose huffed. "Someone who needs to learn her place, Kare." "Aye," the last of the three speaks, "she does not look like help. Not in that silk she wears." Kare smirks through that unruly beard of his. "Why, are you that prince's mistress then, lassy? Is that why you came out from those royal tents, eh?" Kare turns towards his lads to laugh, who had slowly gathered now to watch the show, giving you something new to be anxious about. Agni, on the other hand, makes his way through this crowd to come and stand next to you, observing the situation. "Fucking dogs," you whisper under your breath- which you are trying your best to stop from trembling- and begin to walk away again but Kare is already hopping in your path. "Why in such a hurry, my lady?" He bows and turns towards his lads to let his words be heard by everyone "Give us unworthy lads a chance to find out how well you warm the royal beds, eh?" But the 'lads' seem to be having a sudden seizure. Either that or the joke did not seem to register. A sudden movement behind you and all the eyes staring past you assure you in your heart that it is the former one. "Your lads do not seem to find that funny, Kare." A voice not too deep but certainly somewhere right under the surface with a weight that can be felt in your bones, speaks from right behind you, freezing you where you stand. It takes some time for you to turn around and look at the source of the voice. And once you do, you realise how tall this man stands. His pale skin is radiant and his features sharp. You could draw straight lines just by referencing his cheekbones. His black hair- perhaps the only one with black hair in this cosplay fair- is neatly braided in braids at each side and the rest of the hair left open. What shampoo does he use? "I pity your mother and sister," this man continues, "for meeting your lads in an alley someday and being asked the same question." He does not stir his gaze from Kare, constantly piercing through that man's existence without so much as a smile.  "Apologies, your grace." Your grace?  You turn to watch Kare and his buddies drop their heads down and then it hits you. Your grace?!!! Your head whips around with the air of surprise as you watch this man in a new light. I mean, yeah, he kinda looks like a...'your grace'. "It is not me you should be apologising to." He doesn't even blink. He is as stoic as a boulder and everyone here revolves around him. "Apologies...my lady." The words bring you out of the trance that this man's face has created for you and you turn to watch Kare bow to you along with his 'lads'. "Ansa!" the man calls out for someone, finally turning to look at you. You have to catch your breath when those green eyes bore into you, the stare not too piercing and neither too soft. Just balanced. But damn the skies for it is making you lose your balance somewhere inside you. "Yes, my lord," the familiar lady comes out of the crowd to stand before him with her head low. "How is the weather today?" He simply puts the question. Within seconds you realise what the question really is about. You try your best to stand still in this chilly weather despite the sun high in the sky but it is as if he can smell the chill off you. "It's cold my l-" she realises it too, running to the nearest tent to grab a fur coat just like her Lord's and put it gently on your shoulders. "My apologies, my lady. Apologies, my lord." "Are the armies ready for the west front, Aren?" "Yes, your grace. Two battalions are ready to march to the mountains. They wait for my signal." Aren, a tall ginger with soft features gives a warm smile when you look in his direction. "Very well. Go for it then." And with that command, Aren walks to the space vacating in front of you, spreads his arms and transforms into an eagle to fly up and away beyond the nearest mountain. You are left with your jaw unhinged as you try to make sense of what just happened, turning towards the man in charge here; all the while pointing at the sky. "H-how?" "Walk with me..." that commanding voice a couple of minutes ago has transformed into a soft tone that captures a completely different personality of this man. "Y/N." "Y/N," he repeats the name as if to memorise it, and lets his arm gesture you towards the direction you are asked to walk. "I am Loki, of Asgard. Pleased to make your acquaintance." "Asgard?" you wonder the name out loud, confusion visibly dripping from your face. "There is no place by the name Asgard on the maps? Is this further north in the Alps? Wait...are we still in Norway or did we change countries?" The guards by the biggest tent make way for Loki and you to enter. Unlike the place you woke up in, this one houses everything fit for a king. From the bed to the cutlery. And everything has a colour theme going on for some reason. A real deep shade of green. Even Loki's fur coat carries blues and greens as if they had been specially plunged from the deepest corners of the oceans on earth. "Y/N-" he gestures you to sit down on the settee by the foot of the bed while he pours you wine in a goblet- "I have to tell you something. Be kind enough to hear me out before jumping to conclusions." You take the glass from his hand and sit down on the settee. Oh! cold hands! Is he okay? It's really chilly out there. "What?" You wait for him to start. Loki stands by the conference table and faces you, his hands working with each other as he looks at them before finally letting his gaze meet yours. "You are no longer on earth. You were transported to Asgard last night during the Pagan ritual, where you were conveniently made a sacrifice, and would have died if not for Agni hearing your prayers and tearing that scum apart." Silence. Loki’s features show no emotions when he narrates the reality to you. In fact, he waits for a reaction from your end, carefully studying those y/e/c eyes as they blink at him in unadulterated innocence, turn away to look at Agni and then come back to him. Ultimately, you take a sip from the goblet, letting the wine go down your throat, the involuntary reflex of tasting something not to your liking naturally coming over your face. Waiting for a few seconds, you bring the goblet back to your lips, this time gulping down the contents within a breath. "Okay." Loki looks at you with a focused glare before tilting his head a little. "Okay?" You nod. "Are you-" Loki pauses to come and sit down in the chair right in front of you but at a respectable distance- "okay with everything that I just told you? All the parts of it that do not make sense to a human?" You breathe in a lungful. "Oh, Gods! No. I am overwhelmed at this point. To even consider the fact that I am not currently on earth and that I was about to be raped by an eighteen-year-old cultist if not for your wonderful doggo and you, I am considering. Because now that I look at you I completely put you in the silhouette I saw last night. And I thought this was some adult dress-up show going on until a legit person just turned into an eagle and fucking flew away right in front of my eyes. I mean...it would take a good amount of CGI to actually make that happen just in the movies, forget real life. And if I am not on earth, the thought of getting out of doing mindless labour because your boss is an asshole is very appealing, mind you. Even though that means I have been thrown straight into a pit of testosterone-filled sexist Vikings who look like they will pounce on me the first chance they get. So...yeah. I am...I...uhh...have decided to shut my brain down till-" you simply shrug before breaking into nervous laughter and bringing the empty goblet back to your lips, raising it as far as it could go before it decided to release a drop into your desperate mouth. Loki blinks at you before breaking into a smirk that he hides from your eyes. It feels like he has watched you slowly crumble a little within the last few moments when all you did was talk. He has noticed those shaking hand movements and those trembling lips that force a smile to show they are doing absolutely fine. He has observed that shift of your fingers to scratch an itch on your exposed neck and that movement of turning that sole ring made out of iron in your index finger; hiding your anxieties in the rotations of that little circle. And now he watches you trying to dissolve the incoming anxious winds in alcohol. He knows this look too well. The look of fear; fear of the unknown. Loki raises his hand to you. "Allow me to refill that. With something better." You watch his hands and make a mental note of those long pale fingers and how good they would seem wrapped around anything. "Something better? I don't think Asgard could provide me with a Long Island Iced Tea or a Jeager Bomb. Or a Zombie." Loki simply chuckles and you find yourself stuck on that toothed smile of his. Is he the same guy who was dragging his soldiers in the mud like anything? Taking the goblet from you, he gets up and walks towards a little cabinet that opens up like a medieval bar.  "I sympathise with you being so far away from home. But I can assure you these...Vikings will not touch you or even think about pouncing on you ever." You furrow your brows and let your arms rest on each side while you tilt your head a little in question. "They know it better than to even think about what I claim as mine." You feel little chills go up your spine at his words, your legs going one over the other as you wiggle away certain scenarios from your mind. Damn! He should write dialogues for the entertainment industry. "Excuse me, sir," you press while raising your brow, "I may have fallen on your royal highness' land but that ain't making me anyone's property...considering this is your property." You cannot see it from where you sit, but the God chuckles at your audacity of raising your voice at him. He comes back to you with your drink. You notice that this time it is not the familiar red wine waiting for you in the goblet but something relatively darker and comparatively with a more medicinal odour. "No one will harm you. Agni will make sure of it. Isn't that right, beast?" You turn to watch Agni sitting right next to your feet, immediately wagging his tail at the mention of his name, contently growling as assurance. You notice how familiar this creature look to the Pitbulls back on earth. Give them pits some pointed skeleton for their backbone, a pair of horns and huge canines and these two breeds will be a copy of each other. "And we will find you a safe passage home once we reach back to the city." Home. unfortunately for you, the first thing at the mention of 'home' is the rush of crude flashbacks from last night of that horrid nameless town. No matter how hard you try to breathe in, the scenes keep on coming. Both Loki and Agni seem to sense the uneasiness creeping onto you. Your racing heartbeat and uneasiness of breath can be heard by them as clear as you can. "I hope you were not too attached to your clothes. I had to tear them apart to treat your wounds," Loki announces, gulps his herbal drink and walks towards the entrance of the tent. "Yeah, no problem. They were just clo-wait what? WHAT? You-" you get up and lower your voice for the fear of any third person hearing it- "you tore my clothes?" He nods with the most neutral expression you wanted to punch. "Yes. As you mentioned, they were just clothes. And nothing I haven't seen before. Now come on." You wonder whether to be relieved or angry with this one. Putting that thought on the back burner to simmer for a while, you gulp down the goblet without breaking any eye contact with him.  "Where are we going?" "To get you out of your clothes again," he states without skipping a beat and you have to question all the good you have thought about him till now. Son of a bitch! What an ass- "You stink. About time you took a bath."

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.34

A Little Spell

07/20/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 6,799

Warnings: smut, language, FLUFF, cute babies, slight angst

A/N: Enjoy! I’ve had fun with this one. As always if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work.

Tags are CLOSED!

Please do not REPOST my work on any other sites or blogs. REBLOGS are welcome!

Spring has awoken in Broklin. The sky is blue once more. Small tufts of cotton clouds fly by overhead as you walk with Maggie in your arms. She’s little, only three months, and aging with the peony blossoms in your gardens.

She wears one in her soft hay colored hair, carefully pinned by her Godmother Natasha this morning.

As she gawks at a flying bird, her chubby baby arms stretched out as if to touch it, your mind has a fleeting thought as you think about Nat, as it does every time you think of her.

What is he not telling me?

You remember it like it were only last night, Steve and Sam racing from your bedroom with a scroll crushed in Steve’s right hand.

He’d come back hours later looking tired and worried for only a moment as he walked into the room and then he’d smiled at you as you sat up, your little girl pressed to your breast as she fed.

He’d laid down beside you and kissed Maggie’s little feet just to hear her fuss a little and then laid with his eyes shut. Thinking things that you wanted but couldn’t know. Wouldn’t know. Still don’t know.

You’d known better at the time than to ask him what all of his rushing around had been about and instead settled Maggie between the two of you after she’d fed and only after he was asleep had you moved her into her cradle.

Steve had wrapped his arms around you in his sleep as you’d moved closer to him and it had chased away any fretting you’d had at the prospect of more trouble.

Despite the fear that had begun to grow in your mind, your worries seem to be unfounded as nothing has happened to alarm you or, really, anyone in the Kingdom.

“Sister!”

The call shatters your thoughts back to this blissful spring day and you turn to see Morgana moving quickly towards you, one hand holding up her pale green dress. The little vines etched along her collar and sleeves stand out in dark green and earthy brown.

“Morgana, your Majesty.” Peter states, moving towards Morgana and give her a quick bow while she too stops to greet him.

“Hello, Peter!” She smiles, then hurries back to you while Peter leaves you two to wait by the garden entrance.

You inspect your work—her dress—worried about the state of the stitching as she flounces about, but it’s holding up very well.

“Morgana, I thought you were in your lessons until the afternoon?” You chastise, eyes narrowed suspiciously as Maggie gasps in excitement, coos, and kicks her legs so quickly that you have to adjust her dress around her little feet. She’s a vision in pale blue to compliment the rosy pink peony in her hair.

Your own dress a stunning yellow, and a ribbon around your waist to match the color of Maggie’s dress.

With a little one, you have had to learn to keep your hair up or tied back. Grandmother had insisted on a braid this morning. Long with peonies also wound through to match your daughter.

For the most part, you don’t understand the fuss everyone has been making over the two of you looking so coordinated but apparently it is a tradition of the kingdom for a Queen and her child to set an example of “unity” . How exactly clothes show this, you have no idea.

“Hello little Maggie.” Morgana gushes then opens her arms to take her.

Handing your daughter over, you adjust her dress as Morgana gets her comfortable.

“Don’t ignore me, Morgana.” You warn her, with love of course.

“I’m not ignoring you.” She huffs. “I’m merely using my beautiful niece to avoid answering the question.”

You laugh. A confession you had not been expecting.

“What are you doing here?” You demand, still chuckling as the two of you resume your walk through the winding hedges of your now wild garden.

All these flowers once grouped with their own species and rigorously kept apart before were now in a truly wild blend of organized chaos.

“I finished early and the Master asked if I would like to proceed to the next lesson or spend the day on my own…” She begins.

“And naturally you decide that the day is better spent with Maggie and I?”

“Of course!” Morgana smiles, tickling Maggie’s little tummy. “Isn’t that right, Princess?”

“You should have gotten a head start on your lessons.” You reason.

“And miss out on this beautiful day? I don’t think so. Besides, my brother-in-law would like to see you. It looks like a meeting.” Morgana says, knowing that you will know what she means. “He sent me down to fetch you, and to take little Maggie back upstairs for her nap.”

“Has something happened?” You panic, stopping to look at her with wide eyes.

Maybe you were getting too comfortable too soon?

“I don’t know.” She laughs. “Father tells me nothing and mother insists that I stay out of all Avenging business.”

“They’re right, Morgana…I’m so glad that you weren’t anywhere near during the battle.” You worry. “Or Shuri. I’m glad she and her brother had to go back home before anything could happen.”

“They could have helped. The Black Panther is very skilled. And powerful.” Morgana reasons.

“He is.” You nod. “But I would have everyone be safe rather than risk the dangers of the castle that night.”

“You make it sound so terrifying.” She tells you, not realizing that you’d left out a chunk of compelling story when you’d recounted the events of the night.

“It was.” You assure her.

“Sister, even if it was scary, don’t you think that all of the Avengers fought for a reason? They all want to protect you. And my brother-in-law fights for more than just you and Maggie. He fights for the freedom of his kingdom.”

She thinks a moment, and smiles. “But mostly for you. You should see the way he watches you and Maggie. There’s a fear in his expression that I don’t understand. Almost a yearning. Even Nat says that she does not remember him ever looking at anyone so.”

“I don’t want anyone fighting for me, Morgana. I want everyone to be safe.”

There must be something in your eyes as you insist because she nods, understanding.

“Where were they?” You move on, eager to forget the night of Maggie’s birth.

“It’s only Steve, Sam, Bucky, and Natasha.” She informs you, making sure you know it isn’t the entire team. “They’re waiting for you in Steve’s den.”

“Can you manage Margaret?” You wonder, waiting to see what she’ll say.

Morgana rolls her eyes, “Of course, I can! Now go.”

With a bite to your bottom lip you quickly lean in and press a kiss to Maggie’s cheek.

She turns towards you as you pull away. Eyes wide and hands and feet flailing and kicking in excitement.

“I’ll see you shortly my pretty girl.” You coo at her then head towards the castle at a hastened pace.

As you pass the gate you move to Peter’s side with a pleading look.

“Will you stay and watch over her?” You fuss, worried about leaving Morgana alone with Maggie. Not that you don’t trust her, but you’re a little more wary now after so many close calls.

“I-” Peter begins, ready to defy you in favor of protecting you. He’s your personal guard!

“Please, Peter. I need to know that I can trust you to protect her if I cannot be around.” You plead.

Peter watches your expression then glances behind you towards Maggie and Morgana.

“Of course, your Majesty. I will protect them both with my life.” He promises, easing the worries in your heart.

You hurry on, but just as you reach the door you look back at your daughter once more and find Morgana helping her wave her tiny clenched fist as she mouths Bye-bye momma! Peter joining them with a small jog.

As he stops beside them, Morgana’s gaze is diverted, and her cheeks fill with a rosy tint.

You return their small wave and allow your feet to carry you faster through the castle towards Steve’s den.

On the second floor you pass Sharon nestled into a small library with her nose in a book.

You stop, warring with your two halves. The one side of you is eager to greet her and ask her to accompany you to this new meeting that you’ve suddenly been summoned for when you’re so often left in the dark about Avengers matters. You’re grateful to her for saving your life and the life of your little girl.

Then there’s the second half. The wife half. The woman within you that remembers the sight of her nestled in against Steve’s chest. The stern set of her jaw when you staked your claim for him and then the feeble attempt at an apology that so clearly had meant nothing at the time.

Your jealousy is moderate now. It doesn’t rear its head like a starving monster anymore, but it’s still there. You are Steve’s and he belongs to you. You’ve rarely felt the need to make it clear that you belong to each other. When you see Sharon being one of those occasions.

With a quick breath, cut short by a determined huff from your gnawed-on lips, you stifle the urge to claim and instead allow the friendlier side to move you into the room.

“Sharon?”

Sharon blinks, searching for you with wide eyes still dazed by her book.

“Oh,” She smiles, rising as she sets her books aside.

She curtsies as you stop before her, hands placed gently at your front as you try to stand the way Nat has taught you. Regal. Or as close to it as you can manage. You’re still unconvinced that you can pull this royalty business off.

You know you’re Queen and you make no arguments about it, but you’re fairly certain that Sharon—and other women like her, Nat included—will always look more the part of nobility than you do.

“Your Majesty, good morning.” Sharon greets, rising and matching your pose but clearly more relaxed.

“Good morning. I hope you’re well?” You begin, hoping the pleasantries aren’t unwelcomed.

“I’m very well, my lady. Thank you for asking.” She smiles again, a bit softer.

“I was wondering, why aren’t you with the others in Steve’s office?”

“I, my lady?” Sharon asks, genuinely confused as she presses her hand to her chest. The pale silk orange dress is elegant but fitting of the weather. The dark purple roses that flow upwards into a cluster in the pattern draw the eye to her bust, just as her hand does.

“I was sent for by Steve just now.” You explain.

“I-I’ve been in here all morning. All night even. It might be possible that they sent for me, but no one knows where I am. This has always been a good place to hide.” She confesses and her smile widens.

“Well, why don’t you accompany me? Whatever schemes they have you will no doubt be an asset. Indeed, I don’t know why they’ve sent for me. I’m…I couldn’t possibly be of much help.” You shake your head, relaxing a little more with every word you speak.

“I think it likely that his Majesty wants to keep you apprised of the events in the Kingdom.” Sharon ponders. “After what happened at King Anthony’s castle, he’d be a fool to keep you in the dark.”

You hadn’t though of that. Steve is summoning you to keep you informed? He never has before.

Once again, your mind is dragged back to the day of Thor’s visit and Sam’s urgent scroll.

You must have gone into a daze while your mind ran with thoughts because Sharon clears her throat, pulling you from your own ponderings.

“Your Majesty?” She checks, wary.

“Sorry.” You smile again. “I’m sorry. Will you come?”

Gesturing towards the door you take a tentative step as you await her choice.

“Of course!” She exclaims, rushing to open the door fully for you.

“You don’t have to-”

“Please.” She states simply, and you don’t refuse her.

The two of you walk together, Sharon a half step behind you—as she should be with you as Queen—in surprisingly comfortable silence.

When you reach the wing that you and Steve live in, you clear your throat, walking a little slower with his den visible at the end of the hall.

“I’m glad you decided to stay a little longer with us.” You tell her quietly.

“As am I, your Majesty.” She smiles. “Seeing you run the castle and the introductions with the court and the people…I hope Maggie won’t turn in her grave, but you do this job better than she ever did.”

“Oh?” You’re not exactly surprised by her statement. Steve has often told you this himself, but to hear it come from two people who loved Margaret the most and knew her the best really speaks volumes.

“Maggie was always focused on the world. It’s good to see someone care about just this Kingdom. It wasn’t in ruins or anything when she was in rule, but it has truly prospered under your care. And your attentions to its people force Steve to also consider those closer to home.

“There will always be an evil out there for us to fight. I think he used to forget those that depend on him waiting right here.” Sharon ponders, not really asking any questions just making observations.

“You’re too kind.” You smile. “It has truly been my honor to serve. To help.”

“Serve?” She asks, confused.

“Isn’t that what we do? Steve and I?” You think aloud. “We are here to provide a service. That service is indispensable. We provide stability and structure to the lives of everyone in Broklin. We were placed here to not only rule, but to help and to take care of those who need us. We are called to serve our people in the best ways we are able.

“There can be no service more important to perform in all the world.” You shrug, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

Sharon huffs a small laugh, not in sarcasm, but surprise.

“What?” You stop, turning to look at her with your hands carefully placed at your front. “What have I said?”

“You truly put us all to shame, your Majesty.” She states, looking into your eyes with a sparkle of sincerity. “There are sovereigns that would say the exact opposite. That it is the duty of the people to serve their King and Queen.”

“And it is.” You agree. “We are a carriage wheel, the people and us. In order for us to carry forward, we all must do our parts. It’s why I chose to marry Steve despite never having known him.

“I love him now, but when I agreed to marry him, I had no idea who he was. My father needed me to be dutiful and I was.” You smile. “We serve the people and they serve us in turn. We cannot have one without the other. Kingdoms fall every day to famine, disease, discontent among the people…one cannot expect to take and take without giving something in return.”

“Yes.” Sharon nods, “I see that now. And I’m sure Steve has seen it too. You’re teaching him well.”

You laugh, finding it silly that you could teach Steve anything that he doesn’t already know.

“Come on, before they grow impatient.”

As the two of you approach the door, you spot Grandmother leaning against the wall just outside the door, her hand on her chest and her eyes shut tight as if she’s struggling with a pain of some kind.

“Your Majesty?” Sharon probes as you slow just outside the door.

“Go on in.” You tell her, “I’ll be right in.”

Sharon nods and joins the others while you approach grandmother, a sudden realization fills you with dread.

Grandmother is old. And as much as you’ve grown used to her care, she will not always be with you.

“Grandmother? Are you alright?” You check, easing closer before placing your hand on her back carefully.

She’s lost so much weight recently that her dresses have begun to fit her loose. You’ll have more made for her.

“Shall I send for a doctor?” You ask, ear growing.

“No.” She says, withered voice shaking with a trembling breath.

“What’s the matter?” You wonder, placing reassuring hands on the sides of her arms.

She looks up at you, her eyes boring into your own and you can see it all in the reflection.

She’s terrified. This old woman, fearless in the face of a full on battle, is scared.

“Will you not confide in me?” You fret.

“No.” She says, eyes narrowed as she considers you and her legs grow stronger. “Not until I see it all.”

You’re confused by her words but try not to dwell on them.

“Let me at least get you a glass of water.” You insist.

“I said no, girl. Get back to your duties and leave me be.” She grumbles and pushes around you, muttering something under her breath as she reaches into one of her hidden pockets and pulls from within it a small vial of glittering powder.

You watch her until she’s out of sight, your mind trying to make sense of what little she said, but you can’t. You never could with Grandmother. Why was she out here to begin with? Had she been part of the meeting up until now?

Inside Steve’s den, you find Natasha sitting on one of the plain seats by his desk, Bucky beside her, arms crossed as he stares at a map spread out across Steve’s desk.

Sam is leaning against the desk, one hand along the edge while he points at a cluster of black iron houses near the corner. Sharon, sits in the chair beside Nat giving the impression that Sam must have given the seat up for her when she entered.

Your husband sits in his large chair behind the desk, his elbow on the wooden arm. His right hand covers his mouth while he taps a finger on the other deep in thought.

All of them turn to look at you as you enter. Sam straightens up, Natasha and Sharon both rise to their feet, and Bucky drops his arms. Steve however is transfixed on the map, eyes blazing with storm clouds as his mind fixates on whatever problem has gathered them all into this room.

“No, please…” You tell the others and they relax, taking up their previous positions.

You edge your way over to Steve and almost on instinct he opens his left arm to greet you beside him, turning his chair before he pulls you into his lap without sparing you a glance.

Normally you might protest the open affection in front of your closest friends but as you sit and he wraps his arm around your waist, there’s a needy weight to his embrace that tells you in this moment he must feel you there with him.

You recognize it and it makes you nervous. Fearful of what is troubling him.

“Is it bad?” You ask, looking only at him.

He takes a deep breath and then releases it slowly but doesn’t utter a word.

“Bucky?” You turn to him and wait as he shakes his head then nods to Sam.

“They’re here.” Sam says, leaning over the map again to point at the same cluster of black iron houses. “In this village. Abandoned long ago. All of the structures are crumbling. Decayed. If they’re not overgrown with vegetation, they’re soggy with mold and moss. Thor says there are at least three dozen soldiers left.”

“Hydra?” You ask, surprised you could find the breath in your body to do so.

“We thought that Captain Danvers had killed Rumlow, but it appears that he escaped before she could finish the job. He’s taken what’s left of their numbers here to regroup and rebuild.” Sam explains.

“Then we go after them.” Sharon says passionately.

“Thor says that rushing in would be reckless.” Bucky says. “They have something there. A weapon unlike any he’s ever seen before. It turns men into mindless slaves with a single touch. It shoots out an energy that he has never seen.

“And there’s no way to guarantee that they would still be there, even if we went now.”

“Where is Thor?” You wonder, looking around as if he might appear form the shadows.

“Searching.” Nat says. “For information on the power they possess.”

“We have to do this carefully. I won’t risk open war. Not with these villages here surrounding them on all three sides and the border on their back. They could slip into the Kingdom to the south and start a war between our kingdoms.” Steve shakes his head. “We’ll take a day, come up with a few strategies. We must move but we must do so correctly.”

“I thought they were gone.” You lament, starting at the cluster of houses.

Your tone finally brings Steve’s gaze to you and he wraps his arm around you more tightly.

“And they are.” He assures you. “This is what’s left of them. They’re weakened and if we do this properly, we might finally be able to eradicate the world of Hydra.”

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” Bucky says solemnly drawing everyone’s eye.

Steve is frowning, his hands gripping the fabrics of your dress above your thigh as he considers his childhood friend.

“Then we’ll rip out their hearts.” He declares before immediately stifling the rage that filled his chest. “We need to take that weapon away from them and then we can kill them once and for all. We can’t wait for Thor.”

Nat gets to her feet and Bucky drops his arms. “We should at least give him a week to return before we attack. We need to know what we’re facing.”

Steve considers this, “I’ll give him three days. It’s all we can afford. Any more time and we may as well send them the numbers to withstand us.

“You and Nat take the rest of the day for yourselves, enjoy each other and tomorrow begin recruiting amongst the guard. Anyone skilled in deceit. They should also be able to hold their own against either of you.”

Nat nods and heads for the door. Bucky hesitates but quickly follows his wife out, leaving the door open.

“Sam, ride for Malibia and see if Tony can come back and whether Lord and Lady Lang are still present at his castle.” Sam nods, then leaves too.

“Shall I reach out to Fury?” Sharon wonders, pushing herself to the edge of her seat.

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “They’re racing after a separate faction of Hydra supporters. We’ll let them do their work. I want you to go to the East tower.”

“Wanda?” She asks, curious but unsurprised. “You want me to train her?”

“I want you to question her.” Steve clarifies. “She and her brother were part of Hydra. They were created by Hydra. If anyone might know what this mystery weapon is, it will be them.”

Sharon rises and rushes out with a curtsy leaving you and Steve alone in his office.

Your eyes dance around the now empty room, stopping on the curtained off corner that had been Margaret’s reading nook.

The jealousy you feel is almost imperceptible. He’s had it sectioned off for so long that you’re certain he did it to either keep you out or shield it from view so that he might move on without being reminded of his first love.

“Are you worried?” He asks, drawing your gaze back down to meet his own.

“Only because I wish this were over.” You shake your head, reaching up to trace the shape of his cheek and then slide your hands into his soft and slightly unwashed golden head of hair. “But it will never be over, will it?”

Steve’s face is serious, pained in a way, but only because he can see your distress. “No.”

His agreement weighs your heart down and you settle into his arms a little sadly.

He wraps you up in them, pulling you so close that you might as well be fused with how he’s got you tucked in against his chest. You shut your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder, tucking it underneath his chin when he adjusts it to rest it against your head.

“Oh, my sweet flower.” He whispers. “I’m sorry that I cannot be normal for you.”

His lament gives you pause, making your heart ache for an entirely different reason.

“Steve…” You push yourself back up, searching for his storm blue eyes which you find full of sorrow. “…I would not want you to be anyone but who you are.”

He considers your words for a few moments while you renew the caress to his head.

“Wouldn’t you prefer it if I were a normal king? No Avengers? No strange enemies with strange abilities?” He wonders. “I know that even my own abilities might be a little troublesome. I know that I can be a little heavy handed.”

“Steve,” You stop him, taking his face in both your hands and turn him to face you. “I would not change one single thing about you. Not your strange addiction to salted pork with that cherry glaze Cook makes. Not the wrinkles around your eyes when you laugh. Not the strength in your body or the smiles that greet me in the morning. Not the love you will always hold for Margaret, despite your declarations to the opposite.”

You drop your voice so that it is low and only for his ears, even though you’re very much alone.

“And most definitely not those heavy hands that pin me to our bed.”

His cheeks flush pink and it makes you so proud to make him blush that you chuckle once.

“I love every inch of you. Yes, I worry but only because I’ve seen you beaten and bloody. I’ve tended your wounds and watched you flinch. I’ve waited at your bedside in fear that you would never wake. I’m afraid that someone will take you from me and I’m not sorry for that. I can’t pretend that this life is not without risk and that very risk might one day take you from me and Maggie. I would wipe the world of evil if I could, but I know that I cannot so, I will worry every day for the rest of my life because I love you.

“That’s not a bad thing.”

Steve sighs heavily, hating your words. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against your chest as his hands trace the shape of your back, rubbing it to give you comfort.

“I wish I could give you a life without strife.” He cries, voice muffled against your breast.

“Oh, my darling, there is no woman, no wife or mother in this world that lives without strife. Perhaps mine is a little more elevated with so much hanging in the balance, as Queen and also the wife of the Captain, but I do not regret my choices. I would gladly marry you and endure all of my hardships over and over again if it meant that I could have this moment. Our daughter safe with her Aunt and you with your arms around me.”

Steve smiles at you, sappy and pure.

“I’ll be careful.” He promises.

You throw your head back and laugh, your hands gripping his shoulders to keep from falling off his lap.

“What?” He asks in humored shock. “What’s humorous in my promise?”

“Just swear to me that you will return to me in a somewhat decent state. One which I can nurse you through and I will gladly wait forever for you.” You can’t expect him to make promises he can’t keep and for him to be careful…well, you know better.

“I love you.” He tells you, voice deep and low.

His sudden declaration sends massive butterflies into the pit of your belly and your heart does a dance. It robs you of breath and you lick your lips and swallow the lump forming.

“Even after seeing me as I gave birth to Maggie? You love me after that?” You wonder, knowing the sight it must have been.

“No woman on this world is stronger or more capable than you, my petal. I could not have done what you did to bring her into being and I will worship at your feet for sacrificing so much to bring her to us.” He gushes, genuine and intense in his expression despite the lovesick flow of his words.

How long will this last? How long will he really love you in this way?

You know it all fades eventually. You’re not a fool. You’ll be glad if you and Steve love each other half as well as Tony and Pepper when you two have been married as long.

He pulls you down to kiss him and you give him what he needs and what you so desperately want. You think back to every time he pulled away from you, despising you for touching him just after you were married. You remember the way he forced himself to consummate, the way he’d drowned out your cries for relief because he wanted to get it over with.

He wanted to be done with you and never could you have imagined that he would hold you so dearly. His lips wrapping themselves along yours, tongue softly probing for entry which you swiftly allow.

“Do you have to get back to work?” You whisper between a kiss, lips wet, eyes hazy with desire.

Steve pulls back to see your eyes and he shakes his head, leaning back in. He runs his tongue along your open mouth as he pushes you up onto your feet only to reach down and hike up the front of your skirt.

He pulls you towards him, hands hooking behind your thighs as he guides you back onto his lap but leaves you standing over him.

His hands disappear underneath the folds of your dress, but you can hear the swish of his pants as he braces himself on the arms of his chair and pushes his trousers down a bit.

His hands caress the length of your leg, from behind your knee to thigh before finding your hip. With one hand he leads you and with the other he lines himself up, the heat of his cock pressing against the soft wet folds of your cunt.

You shiver.

“Tell me you love me.” He begs, needy.

“I love you.” You answer, a breathy whisper as he impales you slowly.

“My sweet…” He groans, yanking you down to kiss him in a fevered passion that you hope he will never forget.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I need to go check on Grandmother.” Your eyes are fixated on the shielded corner of Steve’s den.

You’re not really looking at it, but it’s in your line of sight.

Steve groans, tracing the skin of your bum where you sit, still resting on his lap. Your head is on his chest, your body still wrapped around his. Still full of him though he’s spent after three rounds. You will both be sleeping soundly tonight, so long as Maggie will allow you to do so.

It’s not the custom for you to watch her at night but you insisted and as Queen no one will argue. Especially when Steve is so eager to support you in building a new way of life in the castle.

“She’s ill.” You reason with him, “I found her outside your door nearly fainted. With her age, I’d hate for us to be careless with her heath.”

“Shall I send for a doctor?” Steve asks, hands stopped on your bottom.

“Not yet. I’ll check with her first and then send for someone if needed.” You sit up and make to rise.

Steve’s hands suddenly grasp your bottom tight, fingers digging into your flesh. There’s a worry in it and it makes you look at him in search of what it might be.

“Do you want to see?” He asks you.

You’re at a loss as to what he means, and it must show on your face.

“Behind the curtains.” He explains, then gestures at the spot with a nod. “You were curious once before.”

You look at the spot and try not to feel too hurt or sound wounded by the memory of that day.

“And you were angry with me for it.” You remember.

“No.” Steve says, voice stern and certain. “No, my love, I-I was angry but not because you tried to look at her spot. I was angry because I thought you’d read my book.”

He sits up a bit more, arm wrapped around your waist to keep you in place as he reaches with the other one to grab the red book with the large A embossed on the cover.

“This book holds every account of every mission that we have ever run as a team. It holds details of enemies and their abilities or their motives. It has everything.

“When I walked in that day, I saw you with your hand on it. I saw you reading it.” Steve hurries to explain. “My heart dropped when I realized what it was you were looking at and I lashed out. It wasn’t right of me to do so, but the last thing that I wanted was to have you involved in that world.”

“Oh.” You realize, staring at the book in his hand. “I thought-”

“I will not lie and say that it didn’t have a little to do with Margaret and her space in my den, but mostly I-I was already in love with you and the thought of you and all your purity and goodness, all of your vulnerability exposed to the violence of the world I lived in filled me with a fear that I have never known.

“Even now, only the thought of our little Maggie in danger compares to the terror that fills me when I think of you at the mercy of Pierce’s sword.” He brings his hands up, one on your cheek and the other on the back of your neck. “I would have gone mad if he’d taken you both from me.”

You can’t blame him for the fear. You’d felt it too. Still feel it when you imagine your little one, protected only with your body and you with no way to fight Pierce off.

“We owe Sharon so much.” You tell Steve and he nods.

“I can never repay her for being there when I could not be.” Steve agrees.

Several moments pass in silence as the two of you reflect on what could have been and relish in each other’s presence, bodies pressed so close still, in gratitude for the reality of the outcome.

“So?” Steve continues. “Would you like to see?”

He tosses the red book back onto his desk and carefully helps you up. He pulls your skirts down, helping you fluff them out as they should be before tying the string of his trousers and adjusting his shirt.

With the soft hiss of skin on skin, he takes your hand and pulls you around his desk towards the corner.

He releases your hand and reaches up to unhook the heavy curtains.

As they fall away, it reveals not a reading corner but a remade space with a new seat by the window. A bench with a plush pink cushion, darker pink peonies in the fabric. The dark woods compliment the lighter colors. Around that seat is indeed a bookcase but it’s much smaller than the ones that surrounded it before.

There is also a spinning wheel, a basket of what you can only assume is everything you will need to make your own yarn. There are several small round containers that you recognize as sewing kits. In one sitting open you can see a pair of iron scissors, thick and heavy. A leather pouch, spools of already woven yarn, and a collection of cutting knives for leather should you decide to work with it. There’s a small table against the other wall where a large bookcase had sat before, piled with patches of fabrics for embroidery and a few samples of tapestry fabrics that excite you as you’ve never worked on a tapestry before.

Near that table along the floor is a plump yellow cushion. The design is also feminine but only just with silver and baby blue butterflies. A small pillow, a doll made of rags and another out of wood tells you that this spot is for your little one.

Steve offers his hand once more and you take it, in awe of his reveal.

“I know you like to read so I had some books brought for you, but I wanted this space to be yours and yours alone. Well, until three months ago when Maggie was born, and I had that small space added for her. Do you…like it?” He wonders, watching you as you let his hand go and move to trace the smooth lines of your spinning wheel.

“Like it?” You gasp. “Oh, Steve…”

You burst into tear and cover your face. Why must you be so emotional right now? You want to show him how happy you are!

“Oh, no. Please do not cry.” He pleads, moving to wipe your tears away.

“I c-can’t help it. I’m sorry.” You weep. “I’m just so-so happy.”

Steve laughs, an easy chuckle as he pulls you against his chest.

“Thank goodness.” He kisses your head and holds you until you stop crying.

The walk to grandmother’s is a happy one. You’re excited to spend time in Steve’s den. Not only because he’s given you so many new tools to really make some high-quality products but because this means that you’re officially part of his life. He wants you near him when he works. He’s opened his space up for you and is welcoming you so openly.

After so long spent wondering whether you belonged here at all, you finally have your place. Truly this is where you belong.

A keening cry pierces the cool spring air. The shade of the trees that surround Grandmother’s cottage suddenly seem looming with the clear sound of an animal crying out in protest is cut abruptly cut off.

You stop walking and wait a moment to see if you might hear anything else but when you don’t, you race towards the cottage, in fear for Grandmother’s life.

As you shove the door open, you expect to find the old woman clutching her heart again, on her knees in a heap on the floor.

What you do not expect to find is the old woman in the middle of a large circle drawn onto her floor.

Even now, a strange purple light fades from the circle leaving behind the sight of Grandmother on her knees, a slaughtered mess of black fur in front of her and her hands bathed in blood as she struggles to catch her breath.

“Grandmother?!” You race towards her, stepping into the circle as the light fades completely.

She turns towards you, watching you with pure white eyes. Although she looks at you, her eyes see beyond you. They watch something you cannot see, and you begin to realize that everything that everyone said about Grandmother being a witch had been completely correct and not at all because of her old age and her hermit behavior.

“Grandmother are you alright?” You ask in a panic, realizing her true self while trying to make sense of it with the old woman who just delivered your daughter.

When she speaks, she breathes inward. Her voice escapes as a gasp.

Breathing in. “The worst is yet to come.”

Breathing out. “There will be a power much darker than this world has ever seen.”

Breathing in. “Six are sought by the one who shall wield them. Half will die.”

Breathing out. “Already he makes his move.”

“Grandmother?”

With her eyes still bone white, she seems to finally see you and grasps the top of your arms with such strength that you’re sure her fingers will leave a bruise.

“He will fight harder than he has ever fought before. He will protect them all with his life.”

He? Steve?

“And he will fall.”

[jezzibee]

Thanks for the tag @curiouselleth It's always fun getting to know people on this app :).

Are you named after anyone? Not my first name. Although I was supposed to be named Jennifer, when I was born, they said I looked like a Jessica stuck with it...but my middle name was from my dads adopted mom.

Do you have kids? Nope. Just nieces, nephews, and fur/feather babies. Doctor said, no kiddos for me. Stupid reproductive system is defective. I tried to call and get it sent back, but I have yet to receive a return call about it. Do I still have to deal with a monthly, annoyingly yes...which is not fair...but is life. I am getting my masters in elementary ed, so I will have classrooms of kiddos to keep me busy so I am all good and have had years to process and live with it all.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Me? Sarcastic. Never. (Did you get that?) Sarcasm is my first language. In fact, I went out with this guy once, nice guy, who said "Jessica...I can never tell when you are being serious or not." I can't remember the question, but it was like, a common sense thing in my opinion so I was kinda take aback. Did he honestly think I was that dumb? Whatever, I just laughed it off. But ya...sarcasm.

When was the last time you cried? Ohh...like two minutes ago. It is a daily thing. I cry. It goes with the chronic anxiety. Lol. I'm good.

What's the first thing you notice about other people? Their smile :).

Eye colour? Blue

What sports do you/have played? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA Sports? Me? I get asked to STOP playing sports because I am a danger to myself and others. Though I USED to drag my sister out to play some really bad tennis. That is about it.

Any special talent? I am really good at pretending to be happy in the early mornings at work XD. Anyone who knows me knows I HATE mornings...but I can flick a switch and be a bubble machine at will when patients arrive. Everything else is more a mediocre thing. I can sing, I can play piano by ear, I can play a bit of guitar, I can draw...ish, I can write-ish, I am just sort of...decent at a lot of stuff.

I am also VERY talented at being single. So talented in fact, I don’t make it past second dates…ever. LOL. Single life baby! Woooh. For reasons I cannot discern (cough cough, I probably talk too much) it’s always just the one date. I am unsure about how much I like this talent to repel men…but I will list it nonetheless.

OH, I can also be thrown on a stage and be mildly entertaining, I used to have an arena of campers in stitches. Improve man, it comes and goes but I can do it. I remember when I realized this in 8th grade when we had to do a presentation of a book I never read. LOLS. I just walked up and pretended to be a talk show host who was supposed to have the guest be the author of the book...but they never showed. And of course, said talk show host never read the book so I was scrambling to keep the show going while giving a summery based on the back of the book and some random pages I opened up to, I think it was Lord of the Flies for something in that genre. Aced it anway, the entire class was laughing and I loved it…and it impressed my teacher too who I am not sure if she knew I didn’t read the book. Who cares, I still got an A. Still never have read the book. OH, and that teacher was the one to recommend Drama class to me…I got the lead in the school play that year.

Where were you born? The beautiful Pacific Northwest, USA. I love all the green, and the water. It brings joy to my anxious heart. Plus as a ginger...sun bad...so its nice it is cloudy most of the year, lol.

Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings. I even like scary movies WITH happy endings, lol.

Do you have any pets? Of course. My baby girl Viltarra, she's my kitty. Yes she is named after an OC in my story. No I did not choose it myself, my sister did because she loved the name and the character. My cat was originally going to be my sisters, but because she bonded to me, I was the one who ended up with her when my sister moved out...but of course I kept the name.

I also have a green-cheek conure (small parrot) named Zim. If you don’t recognize that, he was named after Invador Zim by my friend who was the one who bought him...yet somehow I ended up with him. Lol. He's my loud nipper. When he is in trouble, I call him Zimothy Binks. Don't know why, I just do.

How tall are you? I think 5'5 or 5'6. Somewhere between there.

What are your hobbies? Writing, crocheting, drawing, playing piano, singing, shopping, playing video games, hanging out with my friends, reeking havoc...the usual.

Favorite subject in school? Anything in the arts. Though I did enjoy history too.

Dream job? Dream job? Teaching. Two years away from it. I would also say it would be a dream to sing in Disneyland.

Alright, that is me!!!!

I tag @unorthodox-oblivion @animallover81 @sotwk @peneigh-dzredfohl @evenstaredits @mrsdurin and anyone who wants to share.

Fifteen Questions for Fifteen Mutuals

With apologies for answering this so late - thank you for tagging me, @general-illyrin!!

Are you named after anyone? Not my first name - my middle name is named after a character in a very obscure fantasy novel though

Do you have kids? No.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Yes, nearly constantly, I'm a snarky bitch

When was the last time you cried? Like...last week? Life is hard rn ok

What's the first thing you notice about other people? Honestly? Probably their hair. I like hair :)

Eye colour? Blue

What sports do you/have played? I used to run a lot if that counts, lately my health has been very borked so not so much anymore. I played soccer in middle school I guess? look im a nerd, what did you expect

Any special talent? ummmm. I play violin. I used to teach an elementary school orchestra so I guess I'm pretty good at wrangling 2nd graders? I'm also fairly good at wrangling Karens, I used to be a retail manager and it shows haha. oh I'm also very good at getting along with unfriendly cats.

Where were you born? USA

Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings, i hate scary movies

Do you have any pets? Yes! A cat named Momo (yes, he is named after the lemur from ATLA)

How tall are you? 5' 10.5", or 179 cm

What are your hobbies? Writing fanfic, reading fanfic, running (when I'm less sick), playing chess, playing Mario Party, uhhh does getting boba count as a hobby because i do a lot of it

Favorite subject in school? English/literature by a wide margin. Despite this I am now a chemical engineer

Dream job? Scientist who has the breakthrough that saves the planet and stops global warming. im doing my best ok

No-pressure tagging @eilinelsghost, @curuwen, @arrivisting, @leucisticpuffin, @redbootsindoriath, @mersilisk, @sakasakiii, @skull-bearer, @sesamenom, @aotearoa20, @solmarillion, @welcomingdisaster, @cycas, @idrilsscribe, and @melestasflight! You all are amazing <3

[aftgficrec]

Hi omg you’re open again!!!

So someone wrote a Jean/Neil fic for the summer exchange and I actually really liked the pairing! (I cannot for the life of me remember what it’s called)

Do you have more?

You have discovered one of my favorite ships! We have quite a few excellent fics we’ve recced before, and some more below. -F

Definitely check out our Jean/Neil tag!

lowkey/highkey Jean/Neil here

tumblr Neil/Kevin & Neil/Jean here

‘Qui n’avance pas, recule’ here

‘give your tears (to the tide)’ and ‘birds of prey’ here

‘Fly low carrion crow’ here

‘we’ll survive, you and i’, ‘Heart on Your Sleeve, Eyes on the Street (the Heart-Eyes Remix)’, and ‘Doves & Ravens’  here

‘Born to Beg’ and ‘Apart from Your World (A Part of Mine)’ here

‘Gucci Gang’ here

Where Dead Birds Lie by Leloqier [Rated T, 1023 words, Complete 2021, AFTG Summer Exchange]

Neil went through a lot in his life. Running from his father/serial killer, stitching up his own wounds, getting shot at in high speed car chases, having to bury his own mother- and then the whole thing at the nest... But what's worse than all that? Sharing a bed with what should be a stranger and wishing you could be closer... He's just cold though... And Jean looks so warm.

Aka The fic in which there's only one bed

(tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced torture)

A Shrike To Your Sharp and Glorious Thorn by Kevingayimeanday [Rated T, 4471 words, Complete 2021, AFTG Summer Exchange]

8 moments in Nathaniel Wesninski’s life that he falls just a little bit more in love with Jean Moreau and the 1 moment he has to do something about it

(tw: violence, tw: abuse, tw: blood)

kiss the boy by jeanjosten [Rated T, 12670 words, Incomplete, Updated March 2019]

Eighteen year-old Jean moves in Neil's neighborhood one summery evening of July 2008. Troubled, perturbed, anger-fueled Neil. He doesn't know how to deal with the fact that his next door neighbor is as infuriating as he is charming and, to tell the truth, things are requited. Neil's killing time: getting into fights, eyeing the waiter in the café down the street, playing lacrosse in his backyard, but when his father comes back from one of his business trips, he shuts down again—and then enters Jean.

(tw: depression, tw: child abuse, tw: alcohol, tw: drug use, tw: overdose, tw: violence)

ten of swords by morexu [Rated E, 22257 words, Complete 2018, AFTG Big Bang]

Riko sank into the throne, as the people threw blossom petals and maple leaves onto the ground where they stood, screaming for the new era of peace of harmony and of prosper- as if Riko, the new King of the Moriyama Empire, would be the one to bring about the prophesised Golden Age.

Riko silenced them with a single gesture, hand raised, fingers splayed. Jean was afraid to breathe. Kevin looked like he couldn’t breathe at all.

(tw: violence, tw: abuse, tw: noncon/dubcon)

NB: art for this fic by @uzea-ke can be found here

domesticity by cldwrites [Rated T, 1517 words, Complete 2021]

Jean has a cafe, Neil is a clingy sook and they are just soft and domestic.

also pls I just wanna talk about how much I love Jean Moreau ty

Art

Jean and Neil can swim in peace art by @aminiyard

Neil and Jean by @eggpy

Raven AU by @yolkylemon

[mushroom-cartel--writing]

begrudging (love-)blindness

Summary: You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

Relationship(s): Gojo Satoru & Reader, Gojo Satoru/Reader

Note(s):

Here’s the link to read this on AO3! (You know the drill, extra tags, different notes, the format I intended, etc.)

Personally, I think this is hot garbage in terms of structure and pacing (it’s loosely all strung together is what I’m saying, but I just needed to get it off my chest before I wrote anything else. Yet... I guess I had fun? Yeah. I did!

There's spoilers from the manga mixed with headcanon.

I still hate spacing and formatting on Tumblr, it sucks. Please, please, please, this is for your own good, click the AO3 link, this fic is such an eyesore on this platform.

|||

There’s a tug at your chest, sending you hurtling backwards and into something hard. A wall. Tiles. Smooth.

The heavens and the earth view one another through a layer of haze of light at night.

There are thousands of people gathering, their footsteps thundering echoes in your ears. Their chatter is a constant hum in the air. It stinks of sweat.

(“The train will be arriving soon. Please stand behind the yellow line—”)

You sigh.

“Dammit, Satoru! A little warning would be nice,” you hiss to the man. You hear him whisper something back but his voice is swallowed up by the crowds and then he, too, is consumed.

You feel him wander farther away from you; not left with much choice, you follow him. And down, down, down you go.

You pause when there’s an invisible wall blocking your path of his own making. “Hey!!” you shout, starting to scream expletives at him from the top of his lungs and he doesn’t look back.

A few seconds pass. The people, these poor, clueless civilians who just want to go home for the night are like sardines in a can, their bodies pushing and shoving. For space. For air. Requiring neither, you phase through the wall and the remaining levels to catch up to him, the thoughts going through your head solely focused on figuring out why he has let you out. He wouldn’t do something like this without warning you beforehand.

Why now? What now?

You pull out from the shadowed cracks of the feeble curtain set up along the fifth floor underground, suddenly feeling a heaviness you hardly ever experience. You run a cursory swipe over his teeth; the blood in the air is fresh, there are more civilians down here than up above, more sardine-ing (their presence is fading away, the above platforms’ panicked din becomes extinguished, it’s ghastly quiet, a moment frozen in time), but no Satoru. Not physically.

He loves you, you know. (You don’t understand though… Why?)

It’s a burden, draining you of what vigour is left in your soul, barely just clinging on to this plane itself.

His love is a curse in itself, really.

"I don't want you to see me hurt," he had said often, back when you were children, oblivious to the power of those words until you got older.

What they meant.

What they did—to him and you.

Still as the wind, you stand together, hands brushing up against each other's, your fingers infected with poison where his is not; the calloused skin and scars shared between you weaving a tale for the ages that will never be told.

You’re both nineteen at heart but certainly not in spirit.

You lean against him, completely unseen, waiting for him to flick his finger back.

Waiting for him to obliterate the first person he thought he could trust outside.

He doesn’t. You disappear for another time, expectant.

His love is a burden and you're not sure where you would be without it.

If he hadn't looked your way, would you be the same person you are today?

It's frightening, these thoughts of yours, but he usually chases them off when he senses them bubbling to the surface. (You want him to be annoyed.) A casual grin and stance, a flick of his wrist, a rush of wind by your side, then the phantom pressure is gone, yes, gone, however—it's never banished completely. It never can be.

You don't remember the colour of his eyes but there's a memory of you claiming they looked like marbles, buried somewhere (somehow), in the back of your mind. Like the marbles you'd smash glass bottles to obtain, their fizzy contents only drained seconds beforehand; stubby, sticky, small fingers sorting through the shards, squashing ants in the process.

Those very same fingers, now, haven't changed a bit, save for the chipped nails and whatnot duress they’ve sustained throughout his life.

You use them to push the blindfold up to his forehead, taking in the surrounding sights.

Why now? The fact that you can feel them, his fingers and everything else—that’s a bad sign. A very bad sign.

You breathe, inflating the faux lungs.

Finally, you see it. The reason why you’re walking and talking and fully corporeal.

You gulp at the living corpse, its stitches wonky and fresh. Cerebrospinal fluid spills from its face in fat droplets and lands upon the clothes of a dead man. Disgusting.

“So I was right in the end,” you say, more for yourself than anyone else. “You’re not Suguru.”

(Satoru owes you a thousand yen. You told him to burn the body immediately. Or, you know, the usual. But what’d he do instead? He went and passed it off to a third party! Man, why’d that old hag have to kick the bucket so soon… If she was still around she’d probably kick Satoru’s dumb ass for trying to be decent.)

“How are you free?” Not-Suguru asks.

The real Suguru wouldn’t ask about your appearance. He would make a comment about how the temperature has dropped and burrow into his collar. He wouldn’t question things.

The real Suguru never acknowledged you, but he knew there was something in the corner of his eye that took the image of his friend and laughed alongside them when they pulled their antics during missions.

The real Suguru is gone.

Who the hell knows where Shouko is.

Yeah. A little warning would have been nice. Real fucking nice.

There’s a cube with a dozen eyes between the two of you, the crater on the ground betrays its unassuming weight. Satoru’s muted presence, a shrunken pearl of light, emanates from the cube.

Not-Suguru follows your line of sight to it.

Giving him an answer would be a waste of your time.

You can’t, they say.

Young master, please, don’t go there, implores the servants and guards.

The elders, his grandmother especially, tell him not to enter the storehouse tucked away in the garden behind an avenue of camellia trees because that’s something they’ll discuss when he’s older.

He doesn’t listen to them, the curiosity of a three-year-old child cannot be satisfied by mere words. (“Let this be known,” the gardener says in his defense, one cold summer’s day. It is raining outside. His grandmother shoots the only person in the compound that doesn’t treat him like a blind fool with a withering glare. He does not see them again until—)

What’s in the storehouse?

A library of cursed objects? Spiritual remnants, artefacts, texts, poisons, weapons?

Maybe the mummified corpse of an ancestor whom they keep around to ward off evil?

Perhaps a curse, frozen in time forevermore?

Maybe it’s nothing and the adults are all in on some kind of elaborate hoax, he figures. Mm, yeah. Sounds about right. No one else knows about the storehouse.

It’s old and earthen. Wild plants curl the walls to one side and splotches of moss grow on the tiled roof. Where the sun hits least is pristine. Clean. He wonders if that’s where the wards are placed, out of sight, out of mind.

Oh.

Standing in the entrance of the open door with bare feet, at the threshold of the aged structure, fulfilling his desire, he learns why they wanted him to remain ignorant.

It’s a child. (A human…? This whole situation is off.) A kid his age. He can’t tell whether or not they’re older or younger. They might be a bit taller, though.

No, he wants to shout, this can’t be it! He stomps his foot. That’s cliché! Boring, boring, boring! Again, he strikes the ground. Ugh, whatever—

A sigh escapes the emaciated figure sitting in the darkness, hunched over themself against the wall of the bare storehouse.

“Ah, my f̶̥̍r̵̝͐̏i̷̳end,” they start, softly. “M̶̹̦͒y̸͍̮̋̚ f̸͉̓̋r̴͇̦̕ǐ̴̦͇e̵̫͠n̷̢͉̅̓ḍ̸̅, my very dear, old friend. You have returned.

“My e̷̳̭̿y̶͈͂e̷͔̭̎͘s̴̭̄̊, have you come to give them back? Ask for several others?

“I have waited for you, as promised. Come. Closer. Please. I do not know how long has passed since I last gazed upon your visage. Do not be afraid.

“I no longer lust for flesh as fervently as before, I will not ask of y̸͖͔̒o̵̳̍u̵͍̘̓ ą̴͕̈́n̵̫̓d̸̛̳͛ y̵̻͑̎o̵̖̥͒͌ų̴͋̐r̵̦̩̓s a sacrifice to please me.”

Their voice is garbled, the resemblance to a broken radio off-pitch jarring his reaction time, a music box opened underwater gurgling, ghosts beat to the rhythm of the blood in his ears and titter buried mysteries.

In the corner of his eyes distant stars burn, galaxies explode to life and die repeatedly, the vast cosmos is shredded apart. Universes are swallowed whole. The plane he stands upon bends to the will of the one whose gifts he uses carelessly to play the role of a deity and dictate the balance of the world.

People have said [they] reflect the very heavens.

His faith wanes.

.

a trio of ragtag orphans,

escapees, survivors and starved,

on the verge of being

no better than beasts,

happen upon a traveller taking respite from the winding roads.

a foreigner no doubt

they guess from the strange hued garb;

rest, everyone around these parts,

they know comes not

easy to scum, scoundrels, sinners and

deceivers alike.

.

.

.

mad ones, rushing to death

—without protection i must add—

oh my darling children, you are!

consume my flesh,

defend those unseeing,

purge the blight

and you shall witness

my return before long, indeed?!

.

They do not move and neither does he.

What he assumes to be their head tilts ever so to the side, gauging him, this fool of a boy trespassing on their domain. This part of the garden, the little boy realises too late, is theirs.

This, the storehouse and now him.

(—the gardener finds him sprawled out on his back come dusk. They help him to his feet and dust him off, the sparkle in his eyes an unusual occurrence; they ask their precious young master what happened and he points them in the direction of the doors sealed shut.

“I took a peek inside,” he lies. Children are supposed to do that, right?

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing.” The gardener knows he’s a bad liar.

“Good. Now come.” They lead him away from the path of the camellias. “Lady Mitsue has been beside herself over you, mister.”

His grandmother hasn’t. She probably knows what he has done and will instruct him to feed the council what they want to hear. My son was too soft, she asserts before and after every meeting with those windbags.

You have to do better.

And his father is dead, so only time will tell who’s right.)

He starts having weird dreams (memories?) several days later.

Trying to ignore them doesn’t work.

Every waking moment is subject to gore.

He has to resist the urge to scratch his own eyes out while he trains.

In the world beneath his eyelids, there are shadowy figures claiming it best he is blinded and locked away and fed what no other soul could hope to consume without issue. And just as they force open his jaw—every night, every time—he wakes up.

Satoru doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know what to make of you.

One day, he dreams of years of living without sunlight causing you to screw your not-eyes shut and look away upon the opening of a door into your domain. When you recover, you turn to the door, the emotion of curiosity tugging for your attention out of the myriad of beings you’ve eaten.

Standing at the threshold, ethereal, desperate and short of breath, is a young man. In his arms is a woman, his wife, you presume. They’re stark shades of white, binary stars of a celestial system long dead.

You smile, recognising them in an instant. “Ah, my old friends, children of my children’s children a dozen times over, tell me, what is it you wish for?”

“My wife and our child,” says the man, “please, I beg of you, save them!”

Oh? A healing? It’s been quite some time since that was last requested of you.

You skitter to the pair’s side and shut the door gently behind them, ushering them further in.

You click your not-tongue at the woman’s state, wondering why no one thought to come to you earlier. If they did, the price they’d have to pay would be much less than what you’re about to tell the man. Humans are such prideful creatures, Satoru knows this, but he can’t help but feel tense as you instruct the man to lay the woman down and state your cost.

First, he opens his mouth. Then it shuts. Opens. Shuts. The man regards his dear wife with something Satoru has never seen before in the eyes of those around him.

His reply?

“I accept—”

A harsh smack to the head disrupts the memory; he looks up, unsurprised to meet his grandmother’s gaze, wrinkled eyes so very much like his own piercing his soul.

“Being distracted in the middle of a fight is unbecoming of you, boy,” she says. “What seems to be the matter?”

He can’t tell her.

He stays silent.

“Satoru.” She raises her hand, fingers crossed, indicating the void’s opening. “We Gojou pride ourselves on our ability to adapt. That is why, in fact, I say my son was too soft. He could not accept that he would lose my daughter-in-law and the child she carried in her womb to common illness. He could not accept that it was impossible to cheat death. He could not accept the position he was placed in. And for that, he died and of the aforementioned two, only you lived. Do you understand?”

No. He doesn’t want to understand.

What is adaptation if they’ve yet to rid themselves of and bow down to your constant presence? Is that not their most fatal flaw?

You eat them.

One life in exchange for another; you told his father it was the only way.

You were given the corpse of his mother a hundred days after his birth by the elders.

Every Gojou after death, you grind their bones between your teeth and their flesh rots at the bottom of your belly. Their soulful essence fights for dominance against the forces of the innumerable curses the clans feeds you—the hate, the sentiment, the sheer bursts of techniques and mighty powers clashing, click, click, click—you embody and absorb the aftermath of each childish scuffle, playing the bored jailer adjudicator. Corpses, tools, objects, energy and flesh. It’s how you’ve lived for so long without light or human thought to taint you: the jujutsu world’s dirty little secret, waste disposal.

You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

He loves you for that one reason.

A means to an end, forever.

(The boy, a few days shy of his fourth birthday and inauguration, does not know what love is. He thinks he does, having read the definition in a dictionary in order to familiarise you with modern speech, but love is not a word to be thrown around lightly the way he does.)

“I do,” he lies again, this time, to himself. “I understand everything.”

His sight is black.

He pushes back against the current, against instinct telling him to relinquish control and reaches forward for the dream that he was ripped from.

Your true form towers over his mother’s prone form, dripping ichor and the fluid of loose entrails all over. His father stays seated even when you lift an arm to draw blood, the man facing you without a trace of fear.

“I accept—but on the condition that my child receives your protection.”

“My p̶̹̽r̴̽ͅo̵̠͐ť̷̬e̶̺̊c̶̻̒t̷̙͑i̵̮̓o̶̱n̷̖͂?” Do they not teach the younger generations what that entails?

“Yes. My ancestors wrote that you were a benevolent being in a past life. That you were a kind-hearted human who accidentally drank poison before being found and buried alive, condemned and reviled, forcing you to become what you are now. Does that still not hold true?” His father’s face is hopeful.

It doesn’t. But who are you to tell him that? That ‘benevolent being’ never existed in the first place. You’ve always been this.

The vivisepulture part was true, but the beginning? Debatable. Your memories of ‘being human’ are foggy; you’re not sure if they’re real or someone else’s. Satoru’s is the clearest thus far because you abide within him. And he’s young, there’s little to garner.

What other nonsense has been made truth in the time you have withdrawn from the world?

He wants to go down that rabbit hole.

You grab the cube and run, warping reality in your wake.

You are many things.

Alive, you are first; secondly a parent, a teacher and a friend; cursed thrice times over; quarter something-something or rather by this point; and last, your hollowness complements the damned hallowed.

You are Gojou Satoru but not.

His skin peels off in delicate scales from the speed you’re going.

The first and last time you puppeteer his body, Satoru invokes his father’s contract with you for the second time in his life.

Like the first occurrence, it happens by accident.

(The first occurrence is a stain on your memory.

Mitsue looked her grandson in the eye and tasked him with a futile quest, one that would decide the future headship of their clan. You personally thought such practices outdated but you held his tongue and grit his teeth, faking laughter for the audience they had.

She reminded you too much of your youngest, both in the way she cobbled herself together and how she suspended time long enough to catch a glimpse of you hunched beside him, flickering in and out of her void domain with the ease of a toddler climbing free of their crib.

Beautiful and deadly.

He nearly died.)

He is unaware of the finer details, but where his consciousness ends at getting a scalpel to head, it rouses again with him standing before the man who has the blood of Satoru’s friends on his hands and left him to bleed out undecapitated.

On a high from escaping Izanami’s clutches, he sprouts math and whatever nonsense off the top of his head and ragdolls up, down, across and through the air.

He feels like a being higher than the gods. Doesn’t mean he is, though.

He’s barely in control.

Violent swashes of red and blue fill the sky. He sees beyond his opponent rising from the earth the heavens condemning his breaching unto their space.

“Hey, stranger, did you know purple was her favourite colour?”

“Whose?”

|

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“You are Satoru, right?”

“Yessssss?”

“You… you’ve got a bit of…” Suguru gestures vaguely around the lower half of his face.

“Oh.” You rub the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and see it come back tinged pink. The drying drool on his sleeves is used to rub the rest of the blood away. “Thanks.”

“Have you found her?”

“Amanai? Her body?” Suguru flinches. Your gaze is drawn to the cultists clapping. “Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says. “I feel like killing these people. Should we?”

“Why?”

“I’m still h̸͓̟͐u̴̦͗n̴͇͈̅͛g̵͔̒̕ŗ̴͕͂͘y̸͚͍͘͘.” Two wasn’t even a snack.

“I’m angry that we failed too. But we can’t do anything now, it’s out of our hands.”

|

Several days later finds him back at the entrance of the storehouse, none the worse for wear.

In the shadow of the building grows a lone weed.

“It’s changed.”

“Of course it has.”

“Will I end up like them?”

“Yes.”