#i just think there’s a story there about thinking you’re dying and burning but instead you’re reborn or like maybe even the opposite

[starless-planet]

I’m holding the story of Icarus in one hand and the legend of phoenixes in the other like two ingredients I’m sure would taste really good together but don’t have a recipe for

[hmslusitania]

Ask meme! For TimKon, either 17. “Please stay.” or 34. “When did you know for sure?”

May I offer you: an angst with a happy ending? (who am I kidding; it's you, of course I can)

“When did you know?” Kon asks, staring out well past the horizon. Tim thinks that surely, he must see it, must be able to tell, he’s got fucking super vision of various sorts, but… But he sounds so dejected about it. Like he… like he hadn’t been able to tell. “For sure, I mean, when did you figure it out?”

“Um,” Tim says, and picks up a handful of sand on this very not-at-all real version of Kon’s favourite beach in Hawaii. “Last… night.”

Kon’s face burns bright red and Tim can’t really look at him anymore.

It all feels too real, even though this place isn’t anything of the sort.

And he’s pretty sure that includes Kon.

It had been a smart plan, Tim can tip his hat at the villain du jour for that, at least metaphorically. Trap Tim in a simulated reality, but instead of making it somewhere he knows inside and out, like Gotham, like Happy Harbour, they’d programmed him into a place he only knows in story and rumour. Tim wouldn’t really have any way of determining if there were differences between the real Hawaii the real Kon’s been talking about for as long as Tim’s known him, and this fake, simulation of it. And the programmers had done a pretty perfect job with Kon, too, except for the parts where he can’t tell that this whole place is a simulation, and the part where…

“My Kon, I mean the one who’s not a computer programme, because, like, he’s not mine, mine,” Tim starts. “He’s not… y’know. In love with me.”

Kon is silent for a minute, just staring out at the water and at the small waves lapping steadily higher up the beach while the sun rises. Tim would find this whole conversation a lot less excruciating if computer!Kon was wearing more than boxers with the House of El logo on the crotch, but, well, this simulation was designed to trap and torture him, so he’s not.

“I don’t feel like a computer simulation,” Kon says finally, and buries his toes in the sand like he’s making a point of feeling the sensations. “I remember — I remember meeting you when you were still Robin and I didn’t know who I was beyond Superman’s replacement, and I remember Bart, and Young Justice, and Cassie, and the Teen Titans, and dying and—”

“They probably built you off a brain scan of the real Kon,” Tim says. Tact and gentleness have never been his fortes but, fuck he tries this time.

“Right, and just, like, tweaked my memories so that I can remember being in love with you half that time, and the entire time I was lost in Gemworld, and—”

“Yeah, I guess they must’ve,” Tim says, even though it makes him want to puke. “This place is too… it’s too perfect. You’re too perfect.”

Kon scoffs, and makes a choked off noise that’s all too familiar after last night and Tim flushes with shame that he knows what Kon sounds like now. The thing is, it’s a very, very good simulation, and this isn’t knowledge Tim should have, because out in the real world, Kon doesn’t want to share that information with him.  It’s none of Tim’s business, no matter how desperately he wants it to be.

“Nice to know I’m apparently good enough in bed to convince you it’s all too good to be true,” Kon says, with forced bravado.

Tim swallows, because that assessment isn’t untrue, but it’s only part of the story. “Also I think my biometrics must’ve spiked high enough to temporarily overload the system, because a bird clipped through our room while we were, uh…”

“Oh,” Kon says, blushing even harder. “So, um, now that you know this is fake, does that mean you’re going to escape?”

“Yeah,” Tim says. He swallows. “I just have to crash the programme, make it generate something so insanely huge its processing power can’t keep up.”

“Oh, right, just that,” Kon says. He very gamely swallows, and because he’s built on a very convincing facsimile of Tim’s real Kon, he stands up and nods. “So what do you need me to do?”

**

Tim is not surprised when the explosion they trigger in the simulation tips him out of it’s destabilising pixelated mess into a sketchy futuristic lab. Spaceship? Probably spaceship by the black starfield outside the windows.

He is surprised when his own exit from the gel couch matrix situation is echoed by someone else in another matching chair thing behind him.

He grabs for any kind of weapon available and rounds the central structure, ready to strike, only to find himself face to face with—

“Kon?” he demands. “You’re here too?”

Kon defuses the heat vision that had been starting to build behind his eyes, and then just stares at Tim, blushing a violent red like the heat vision had dispersed through his cheeks.

“Of course he is here too,” an annoyed voice that gives major evil scientist vibes says over the PA. “The simulation traps work best when there are two parties within them to reinforce the shared folie à deux!”

“Sh-shared?” Kon asks.

“Both of us were in the same—” Tim starts, and he understands Kon’s blush better now because he can feel his own viciously taking over his face.

“You thought I was a simulation,” Kon says, floating out of his matrix plug in chair to loom over Tim even taller than he usually is.

“You’re in lo—” Tim starts, but their captor’s voice crackles over the PA system again.

“Yes, yes, teenaged angst. You may continue your argument once my assistants have placed you back in your simulation!”

“We’re twenty-one, actually,” Tim corrects. “And you can—”

He means to tell the disembodied voice exactly where he can expect Tim’s bo staff (as soon as he finds it in one of the cargo pods here in this space station situation they’ve got going on) but Kon cuts him off by pulling Tim’s face into his hands and kissing him.

No birds clip through the walls this time, and the sensation of Kon’s TTK sweeping over him, like it’s not enough to just be touching Tim with his hands, like he has to touch all of him at once, is one that Tim hadn’t been able to fully conjure up out of his imagination. It’s different enough that Tim actually forgets for a second that they’re imprisoned on a space station and have been under for god knows how long, and he seriously considers simply climbing Kon like a tree right then and there to get the actual physical details mapped out.

“I can’t believe you thought my love confession was a simulation,” Kon murmurs against Tim’s lips.

Tim hums and kisses him again. Really, actually kisses Kon. Who really, actually wants to kiss him, too. “I meant it when I said you’re too good to be true.”

“Good thing we’re in a really shitty situation we need to figure our way out of if we want to get back to earth so I can show you the real version of that beach,” Kon says. “Because that part feels pretty on par.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, and sighs. He can hear the distant thuds of whatever sorts of robocop automata their captor has coming towards them now, and this fight’s gonna kinda suck, he thinks. At least there will be one hell of a reward for making it through to the other side. “Ready to fight for our lives?”

“With you?” Kon asks, and can’t help himself but to pull Tim in for one more kiss. “Always.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Christmas Bingo Card 2024: Closure - Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @clarasmoon @andthevillainshallrises

Companion piece to:

Companion piece to:

The Ice Queen - Gibbs meets The Ice Queen for the first time.

Break The Ice - A act of decency helps Gibbs to break the ice.

Grave - You and Gibbs bump into each other in an unexpected place.

Safe - You and Gibbs work through your grief in different ways.

Check In - Gibbs checks in with you after the night before.

Wait It Out - You and Gibbs wait out a threat to your saftey.

All Dressed Up - You and Gibbs have a frank conversation about an office event.

Right Here - You come home to find Gibbs waiting for you on your doorstep.

Revelations - Gibbs is surprised to discover a connection between you and Mike Franks.

Haunted (ft: Mike Franks) - Mike reflects on your prior history.

Lilies - Gibbs knows you're not ok.

There’s a fire burning in the hearth, it casts a warm glow across the living room as the two of you sit curled up on the couch, music playing in the background. Your head is resting on Gibb’s chest, his fingers combing lightly through your hair. It’s something that soothes you, he’s learned over the past couple of hours, that and the sounds of Bruce Springsteen.

You’d fallen asleep about an hour ago, tucked in close against him and he hadn’t had the heart to move you. You’d been exhausted after the call from Frank’s, overwrought and upset.

They’d arrested David at his home in front of his wife and children. Randy had found Violet’s engagement ring, stashed in a wall safe along with photographs from around the time. Most of them were group shots, Mike's face scratched out from every single one of them.

David crumbled when presented with the evidence and then the real story had emerged. How he’d had been in love with Violet for years. How the engagement to that foulmouthed Texan had tipped him over the edge. He’d intercepted her on her run that evening, tried to make his case, it had gotten into a fight and before he knew it he had lost control completely.

All of that trauma you’ve spent years shoving down had risen to the surface at that point. You’d dropped the phone, become inconsolable. It’s something that happens when you live with a nightmare like this for so long, it becomes a part of you and now that it’s gone…

There’s just this void.

Gibbs had gathered you up into his arms and cradled you against him, rocking you the same way he used to when Kelly had a nightmare. He’d held you like that for hours, sheltering you from the storm outside until you’d cried yourself to sleep. He wonders what happens after this, what moving on looks like to you. He hopes that you can find a way to let go, to be happy again.

You stir against him, nestling even closer and his lips brush the top of your head, shushing you. You seem to settle after that, relaxing into him and Gibbs can’t express how good this feels, being here with you. He knows it should feel like a betrayal but it doesn’t and it makes him wonder if maybe he’s moving on too, if he’s just been too thick headed to notice.

Him and Shannon, they’d never talked about what would happen if she’d been the one to go first, they’d always thought that it would be him, dying out there on some unforsaken battlefield.

“I want you to live your life.” He’d told her one night at the kitchen table before he shipped out. “If I die, I don’t want you stuck here mourning my loss, I want you to get out there and do all the things you want to do. I want you to live the life you’re supposed to.”

He’d meant every single word of it. He thinks if he’d asked her she would have shared the sentiment but she hadn’t wanted to talk about that, she’d taken him to bed instead, reminded him what he was coming home to.

That was the last time he’d made love to another person, his last taste of intimacy. He wants that again, he has for a while, he just…

He isn’t ready for the type of connection that comes with loving someone like that, not yet, but he hopes one day he will be and that someone…

He hopes it’s you.

Love Gibbs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[estrellami-1]

More Time (Please)

“Make him pay.”

Steve’s eyes widen in horror. “No,” he murmurs. “Please-”

He doesn’t know what he’s hoping for. That Eddie will say something else, maybe; that happens sometimes, right? People say things more than once. Surely this isn’t it, surely this isn’t the last time they’ll speak to each other—

Eddie’s eyes are widening, and Steve knows he feels the telltale burn of a soulmark, shearing the connection.

“Steve,” Robin calls, jogging back to tug on his arm. “We’ve gotta go, c’mon, it’s time.”

Numb, he lets himself be pulled away.

She glances at him, then back at Eddie a few times. “What was that about?”

He swallows the sob that wants to come out. “Our soulmarks.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, Steve,” she murmurs.

He glances down at it. Still red. He knows it’s probably going to be the bats. He wishes any number of things, but is reminded of the story his grandma used to tell him. “There’s nothing we can do to change it,” he whispers along with the voice in his head, the same cadence as his grandma.

“Maybe,” she tries. “Maybe- you could go back now, just… yell something at him?”

“Don’t you think the soulmark would know?” He asks sadly. “You can’t cheat the system, Robs, not with this. Those are the last words I’ll ever hear him say.”

“I can’t lose you, Steve,” she whispers, and suddenly his eyes are filled with tears, and he attacks her in a hug, pulling her in until she squeaks.

“I love you, Robin,” he whispers.

“I love you. So much.”

“So much,” he agrees.

Up ahead, Nancy’s waiting on them. “Guys,” she calls. “We have to go. I know you’re scared, I am too, but we don’t have long.”

Steve takes a deep breath. “You’re right,” he agrees, and marches on, holding Robin’s hand tightly in his.

Neither of them try to let go until they have to.

Steve gets slammed against the wall by some vines, and they wind around him until he feels like he understands what asthma feels like, and then beyond that, cracking his ribs and bruising his throat, more, more, more, until suddenly they stop, release him, and he falls onto the wooden floor, scraping his hands and knees and earning a couple of splinters.

He hacks out a cough, stumbles back onto his feet, and follows Nancy and Robin into the belly of the beast.

They find Vecna right where they think they will and attack, and Steve thinks he’s screaming but the rushing of blood in his ears is louder than anything else, and he can’t hear himself, can’t check if he is, just keeps going, does what he can to help weaken Vecna, to help destroy him.

It’s over suddenly, Vecna dead, body riddled with bullets, and Steve glances down at his soulmark, hoping against all hope that it’s still red.

His heart drops through the floor when he sees grey instead.

He tears out of the house, sprints the entire way back, yelling for Eddie, but when he gets there he sees he really is too late.

Dustin’s sitting by his side, bottom lip quivering, tears streaming down his face, and Steve collapses next to him, flutters his hands around Eddie.

Ignoring the blood and gore, he looks almost peaceful, and Steve suddenly knows this is how he would look fifty years from then, dying from old age instead, in a world where their soulmarks gave them more time.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @muricel @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

[theewritingbea]

Dangerously In Love: Chapter One

A/N: This story has been kicking my ass. Still practicing my writing. The dialogue is ehh, but we move, definitely will improve once it’s all said and done. This is an introduction chapter so there’s a lot of alluding but everything will eventually come together. NOT a Kory v. Barbara type of fic. Their relationship is cordial and will be touched upon. Pls excuse all typos if I keep re-reading I’m going to second guess myself. Story loosely inspired by two amazing stories “Looking Through Your Eyes” & “With Me” by the amazing @trippinsorrows check them out!! Umm think that’s it. ENJOY💜💙

——————————-—–————————————

Darkness illuminated the Gotham night sky. The cool breeze of the air barely registered to his clammy skin. His ragged breath puffed in clouds as he tried to catch it.

He’s dying. The years of living in the dangerous life of Gotham have finally caught up to him.

Tears burn in his eyes as the life drains out of him on the cold concrete. For years he’d live recklessly hoping the Gotham night life would finally put him out of his misery. But now he had a life worth living. It was just like Gotham to take him away when he was finally happy.

As the world started to blur, all Dick could think was “Why? Why now?”

4 months earlier…..

Hell is what Dick would describe his predicament. Sucked back into the life he spent two years trying to escape. Here he sat in Wayne Manor planning what has been deemed the “wedding of the century” with someone he doesn’t feel anything other than platonic about.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When Dick imagined wedding planning, he imagined it with her. Kory Anders, the love of his life who he hadn’t seen, spoken to or heard from in almost two years. He didn’t even know where she was. It’s like she disappeared off the face of the earth after their split.

He remembers that brutal night vividly. The look on Kory’s face haunts his dreams. He tried to explain that he loved her, that they could still have the life they planned. But she didn’t want to hear it, feeling that he was choosing “the life” over her.

Over them.

And in a way he did. He chose to appease his overbearing father, instead of standing up for her. Instead of standing up for their relationship.

Something he’d never forgive himself for.

“Dick did you hear what I said?” Barbara Gordon Dick’s fiancée's voice questions snapping him back to reality.

“Hmm, sorry what were you saying?” Dick replied

Clearly annoyed with his inattention, Barbara politely dismisses the wedding planner before turning to him.

“Listen I know this isn’t ideal but this is the situation we’re in. I would appreciate it if you at least pretended to care.”

She’s right. The situation was not ideal for anyone. Arranged marriages never are.

But unlike himself, Barbara was better at handling the situation better. For one she didn’t have to leave her life behind.

Born into one of the biggest crime families in Gotham, Barbara wanted nothing more than to follow in her father’s footsteps. Since he’s known her all she talked about was taking over the family business and would do anything to accomplish that. Even if it meant being in a loveless marriage. Business was over everything in her eyes.

“I’m trying here Barbara but don’t you think this whole situation is a lot?” Dick inquires.

“I meaning planning a wed-“

“I’m not talking about the wedding Barbara!”

“Maybe it would be best if I just take over everything” Barbara dismisses. Dick scoffs astonished by her lack of response. This was not the Barbara he’d known.

“You’re ridiculous” Dick angrily gets up to leave the conversation.

“What do you want me to say Dick! You think I want to marry someone I haven’t seen in years just to get my birth right! But this was always the plan since the day we met! You used to want to have Gotham just like me! What changed?”

“Everything! There’s life outside of Gotham, have you ever thought about that!”

“This is about Kory,” Barbara marveled

“It’s no-“ he hesitates.

“You made that choice! I told you from the beginning how it was going to end!”

“Is everything alright?” A deep baritone voice interjects the intense conversation.

Dick knew that voice anywhere.

Bruce Wayne Dick’s adoptive father. The relationship was complicated by all means but in a weird way they still had love for each other as father and son. But in the last year of being home, Dick felt nothing but bitterness towards his father.

“Dick?” Bruce questions again.

“It's nothing Bruce,” Dick coldly responds exiting the room with Bruce right on his heels.

“You want to tell me what that was about.”

“No I don’t, so let’s keep pretending like we always do.”

“Look Dick ever since we lost Jason I feel that I need to be more involved with you,” Bruce sympathizes.

“Don’t use me to clear your conscience about Jason!” Dick shouts. What happened to Jason was a sore spot for the both of them and Bruce knows what heartstring to play.

“What I’m trying to say is talk to me. You’re still my son no matter how you feel about me. Your mad, your angry, I understand I was the same way at this point in my life too. But you have to let it go before it consumes you. That’s a dark and dangerous path that's hard to come back from. I can’t lose another son.”

Dick knows Bruce isn’t necessarily wrong. He needed to let go before it consumed it even more than it already has. Everyday he wakes up mad at the world. Ready for war with any and everyone. He understands carrying all this anger would eventually lead to his demise.

And even though he borderline hated his father right now, he never wanted to see Bruce suffer the way he did with Jason.

But on the second hand, letting go meant letting go of Kory. Letting go of the possibility that one day they would reunite and have their happily ever after. And Dick just wasn’t ready to let go of that possibility.

To let go of her.

He could only hope that wherever Kory was she hadn’t let go of him.

Manhattan, New York City

The early morning light shined through the sheer drapes as Kory stared out into her penthouse living room from the kitchen. She hadn’t been able to have a full night's rest for a while now, so the quiet mornings to herself she’s learned to cherish.

The past year and a half have been a world wind for Kory. It was like overnight the life she had for the past two years had been swept from under her feet.

Grief is what she felt at first. Grieving a man who wasn’t even dead. Grief quickly turned to anger.

Anger at him. Anger at the situation.

Kory knew Dick had his family issues. She understood them probably more than anyone else. The underground life of Gotham was nothing compared to where she grew up.

Being the next in line to take over the Anders family business, she knew what it was like to be raised by an overbearing mob boss father who wanted nothing more than for their children to fall in line. Kory never judged him for his family life, she dealt with it, helped him get over the hurdles. All she asked in return was honesty and that’s all he didn’t give her.

Even so no matter how angry she was with Dick, Kory couldn’t say she hated him.

Though she wants nothing to do with him.

Her trust is something she valued more than life itself. Dick knew of her past trust issues with family, friends, past lovers, and he still broke that trust.

Yet with that she still couldn’t say she hated the man who broke her heart into a million little pieces.

The faint sound of a soft whimper breaks through Kory's quiet morning. Putting the rest of the milk into the bottle Kory makes her way back to her bedroom to start her new morning routine.

Another reason she couldn’t say hated Dick.

How could Kory hate the man who helped create someone who would love her just as unconditional as she loved them.

No matter how hard she tried to forget Dick she simply couldn’t, because every time she looked into the eyes of her daughter she saw him.

[peaches2217]

Regarding a Certain Panda's Nightmares

AO3 Link!

~~~

“I just… I keep having these nightmares, y’know? Real stupid stuff.” Po scoffed and tried to pass it off as a laugh, as if that alone could convince Tigress — maybe himself, too — that those dreams were as meaningless as he wished they were. “It’s always the same. Like… it’s snowing, but there’s fire everywhere, and I hear screaming all over the place, but I feel fine. I’m not cold if I touch the snow and I don’t burn if I touch the fire.”

The smile he gave Tigress was empty, and his eyes, though glancing between the cabinets, the table, and her, were somewhere on the other side of China.

A part of him truly did die there, she found herself thinking, though she forced the thought from her head at once. 

“That’s, uh, that’s usually all there is to it.” Po propped an elbow on the table in the unlit kitchen and rested his cheek on his fist, looking over Tigress’ shoulder at an ever-darkening nothing. “Sometimes it ends pretty quickly. Sometimes I see bodies and, uh, blood ‘n’ stuff. And sometimes I just hear the screaming, and then eventually I don’t hear anything anymore.” He shrugged. “But tonight’s the first time I actually…”

He swallowed heavily and tried half-heartedly to hide it behind his cup of tea. It was still full, but it had long since gone cold.

Tigress glanced down at his paw as he set it back on the table. His claws had grown out. Nothing drastic, and nowhere near as sharp as hers, but the usually blunted tips were reaching a point. He used the tip of his index claw to trace meaningless patterns into the birch.

“She, uh… she recognized me. Called me her little lotus flower. Said I’d gotten so big. But it was like, right in the middle of the, uh… the attack. So that was weird.”

Po looked down at his teacup, maybe observing his reflection in the cooled liquid. He looked so tired. Not the kind of tired brought about by a single sleepless night; no, this was just one of many in the past three weeks. 

“Tried telling her to run. Tried getting her to run with me, y’know, but… she said that, uh, well, my story didn’t have a happy beginning, but she was… uh, she was happy with the way hers ended. Told me she was proud of me. Then I woke up.” He blinked a few times, then his shoulders lifted, like his departed soul was returning to his body. “Just a real stupid dream, y’know? Borderline wish fulfillment. I mean, who would say something like that, right? I know she wouldn’t say that.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know, but like… how do you die and then say you’re okay with it? I wouldn’t be okay with dying like that, especially if it was because…"

And his eyes grew glossy again, going someplace that Tigress, try though she might, couldn’t reach.

“Y’know, I-I don’t know how many… I mean, dozens? Hundreds, thousands? However many, it’s too many. And they’re all, uh, they’re all dead.” Po smacked his lips and shrugged again. “Because of me.”

“Po. You were a child. Nothing you could have done would have stopped it.” 

Tigress kept her voice low, in part to ensure she didn’t wake their teammates sleeping just a few rooms over, and in part so that he didn’t startle and back down. Any semblance of judgment or any suggestion that he had upset her with his words, and Po would apologize and thank her for listening and go back to his room to feign sleep until the morning gong rung. 

For someone so hell-bent on being open and friendly with everyone he met, he was fiercely self-reliant. That much they at least had in common.

“Well,” and Po smiled ruefully as he spoke, “maybe if I was never born…”

Tigress bit her tongue so sharply she tasted blood, because that was all she could do to keep from shutting him down. No, scolding him for such harmful thoughts would get them nowhere, not yet, not right now. “You think things might be different then?” she ventured instead.

“Can’t wipe out all the pandas if you never get told a panda’s gonna kick your butt one day. And that can’t happen if the panda who’s supposed to kick your butt doesn’t exist.”

Tigress averted her gaze to the tabletop as well, breathing as deeply and steadily as her cracked ribs would allow. Though Po had always, to some extent, carried feelings of resentment towards himself, they had never run this deep.

Or if they had, he’d simply never told her. Tigress preferred to think the former was the truth.

“Fate works in odd ways,” she said at last, slowly, thinking and then re-thinking each word before they left her mouth. “We can’t stop it, and we can’t control it. I’m inclined to believe that your absence wouldn’t have changed anything.”

For a moment, Po didn’t respond, just kept staring blankly at the table. Were it not for the minute shifting of his eyes, Tigress would have thought he hadn’t heard her.

“...you think?” Something in the way he asked it, maybe the way his voice fluttered or his brows lifted and scrunched, suggested that he was really considering her words. That was a good sign, at least.

“If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else.”

“But it wouldn’t have been me.”

“People would still be dead, but the Valley wouldn’t have its Dragon Warrior. That would just ensure even more deaths.”

“Maybe the other panda woulda been the Dragon Warrior. Beat Tai Lung, brought peace, kept everyone safe.”

“But we’ll never know, will we? Because you were born, and this life is yours alone.” 

At that, Po nodded, though his face betrayed his despondency. 

I wouldn’t be okay with dying like that, he’d said only minutes earlier. But Tigress knew better. If given no other option, he’d happily die to protect others, especially the ones he held dear.

A tickle in the back of her throat made her cough, lightly, but enough to send a sharp pain through her chest.

A death wish in exchange for the safety and happiness of their loved ones. That was something else they had in common, for sure.

“For what it’s worth…” Tigress mulled over her thoughts for a brief moment. Would someone just like him have come along had he never entered the world? Perhaps. Perhaps the days at the Jade Palace would still be made lighter, and perhaps the meals they shared would still be just as flavorful, and perhaps she would still have found comfort and joy when she had long since given up on such things being part of her life.

But it would still be a world without Po. And such a world was a world Tigress didn’t want to think about, much less be a part of.

“I’m glad that you were born,” was what she finally decided on. “And I know for a fact I’m only one of many who feels that way.”

Po smiled down at his paws. It was small, barely enough to be called a smile, really. But it was warm, genuine, almost alien yet achingly familiar.

“I’m… I’m glad you were born too.”

At that, Tigress smiled in turn.

They didn’t really say much after that. They sat in shared silence until the darkness lightened with the impending dawn, at which point Tigress suggested they at least try to rest, if only for an hour or so. And though these all-nighters had become routine over the past weeks, when Po bid Tigress a good night (“Er, uh— good morning, early morning, I guess”) and ducked his head in thanks, she noticed he looked less tired than he had since they’d returned to the Valley.

It wasn’t some miraculous recovery. But little by little, her best friend was returning.

The thought dulled the pain of her broken bones and quieted her racing thoughts, and it made an hour of sleep feel like a slow and blissful eternity.

[bromcommie]

WIPs word search

the lovely @dharmasharks tagged me to do this one—thank you, friend! I was hoping to do something like this, and it was pretty fun<3

Most of these are bits and pieces that were originally meant for the canon-divergent post-CATWS fic that I started posting in February but have since woefully neglected to update as I lost some steam and tried to restructure it, so this is equal parts a game and an attempt to get myself to finally post a new chapter. Fingers crossed!

Heat:

“How is it,” and he’s laughing, first time in a long time Steve’s seen him like this, laughing loud and unafraid and with his whole body, “Tell me, Rogers – how is it you’re all juiced up on Uncle Sam’s finest steroids, lifting tanks and all, but you still burn like a sheet of paper anytime you’re out in the sun for longer than five minutes?” “It’s a tan,” Steve grumbles half-heartedly, feeling the sorry back of his neck flame up as he rolls his head over to squint at him through the blinding sunlight. “I’m tanning. It’s handsome, I hear.” That sends Bucky off again. “No. No it ain’t.” He gestures vaguely to his own self, to where he’s bronzed out around the edges from the incessant heat beating down on them. “I tan. Morita tans. Even fucking Dugan tans, and he’s as Irish pale as you. You are one step away from sparking up like a tinderbox. Look at that.” He swipes at the bridge of Steve’s nose where he’s gone red and freckled and already peeling a little bit, and he hisses at the burn, swatting his hand away. “Cut it out.” Bucky leans back and just looks at him for a long second, blinking the unfortunate mix of sweat and dust out of his eyes. His face splits back into a grin like he can't help himself and something in Steve’s chest flips, unhindered by the annoyance. “What?”  “You look like a tomato. It's unbelievable.” “Shut up.” It’s stupid, barely even passes for a joke. He finds himself laughing along anyway, caught in the contagious energy rolling off Bucky in waves, the relaxed slouch of his body in the warm red dirt. “Shut the hell up. God almighty, you’re un-fucking-bearable.”

Drink:

“You’d be doing a better job if you were paying as much attention to our man as to gossip Yelena overheard.” “Gossip is our business. And he’s still trying to impress her.” “Is it working?” Natalia casts a glance to the pair at the bar, watches the dull glint of the woman's gaudy necklace where she twists it in an idle loop around a finger over and over, the scatter of light dancing across the polished marbletop. “She just yawned into her drink. Are you, really?” “Am I what really?” “American.” The static of the line crackles in the hollow pause and she gets that feeling again, the invigorating fear of having pushed too far over the clearly drawn line. “What would it matter, anyway?” “People change sides all the time.” That, of all things, finally gets a reaction, trips a miracle: the Soldier laughs. It's not a particularly nice sound. "Sweetheart, I'm not people."

Look:

I remember getting angry every time he told that story. I couldn’t make heads or tails of the point of it. I’d sit there after, while you were going off about adventuring and the hero’s sacrifice and if I think Katherine McMahon from class looks like what Niamh is supposed to look like, thinking to myself about how Oisín deserved the horrible fate he got, dying all old and weak and alone. Thinking, what kind of schmuck leaves the love of his life behind just like that? Turns out I got my answer. Life’s funny like that, and by funny I mean a vindictive old bastard. Anyway, I don’t think it’s all so horrible, anymore. Oisín got to go home, after all. Everyone back there was gone, sure, but at least he got to see it with his own two eyes again, this place he used to love and the way it had changed, instead of spending the rest of eternity not knowing and homesick without realizing what for. At least he got to help some folks before he died. He got to grow old, even for a moment – I remember when we were kids we’d talk about what we’d do if we could be like the fairies and heroes living forever in the stories, about all the exciting things we’d live to see, about what the future would look like. Now I think maybe he knew it was his time, Oisín – maybe he leaped off the horse before he even got to fall, let his feet hit the ground of Ireland one last time. Maybe he knew better than we did back then that the future ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Dance:

They fall back into a drowsy silence as Steve rolls down the window and settles into the rush of cool air. Some crooning melody floats off the speakers and Bucky hums along absently to the unfamiliar tones, taking them off the highway. In his peripheral he can feel Steve’s eyes on him, still soft and loose from sleep, warm in the last of the golden afternoon glow. “Quit looking at me like that,” he grumbles after a minute. “I ain’t looking at you like anything,” counters Steve immediately. “You keep it up, your face will freeze that way.” “You vain son of a bitch,” Steve throws back, smile blooming easy and unbearably familiar. “How d’you even know it’s you I’m looking at? Maybe I’m just admiring the scenery.” “Perfectly good window right next to you, Rogers.” “Sure.” He yawns again, then breaks out into a grin. “View’s not as pretty, though.” Bucky, to his utter bewilderment, feels his face flush hot. “Oh, I’m pretty now, is that it?” he settles on after a moment. “Yeah, Buck,” Steve says, grin widening impishly. This motherfucker. “Prettiest dame in the whole dance hall.” Bucky snorts. “Unbelievable. You stop trying to kill a guy for two minutes…” “Got the hair for it, now, too.” “Asshole,” Bucky mutters, but the laughter’s escaping despite his best judgement. “Tell you one thing: I definitely don’t remember you being this much of a pain in my neck.” “Good thing I don't mind reminding you, then,” Steve says in a breezy tone, grabbing the phone between them and hitching his knees up onto the dashboard.

No idea who all’s done this so far, but I'm gonna go ahead and lightly poke @emjee @snowangeldotmp3 @painted-doe @burberrycanary @vostok3-ka @gyokujyn @buckrogers as well as open tag anyone else who would like to do this. (yes, I really mean that, and please tag me if you do!) Contestants, your words are space, sharp, sweet and home. Go nuts!

[grave-z-boy]

arthur morgan x male reader where reader joins the gang and finds comfort in arthur and at one point gets hurt away from camp and arthur finds them and helps them they camp out at night since it was too dark to go back to camp, and reader and arthur drink and reader drunkenly confessed and there’s some kissing? sorry this is long lmfao. i like ur writing!!

Arthur Morgan x male!reader

Summary: in the months since you've joined Dutch’s gang, you befriended Arthur Morgan, when you can't get ahold on your feelings you start avoiding the man like the plague .

Word count: 2,609

Warning: hunting, guns, mentions of skinning a dear, reader sees a dead dear, reader gets shot, alcohol, reader (and Arthur) get drunk, bugs, period typical (internalized) homophobia, Arthur thinks reader is dying, hozier reference

Masterlist

“Mr. Morgan.” You muttered with a tip of your hat.

Arthur has strode up next to you on his horse, finally back from his days long expedition, just when you were getting ready to leave on yours.

You’d joined the gang not too many months back. You’re parents had been outlaws way back when, and friends of Dutch- they were able to get out of that business early on, settle down, only to be pulled back in while doing a little favor for Dutch and the boys. They lost their lives doing the “little favor”. Years later you still try not to think too hard on it.

Being outlaws, the others weren’t all too welcoming to a new, strange man joining the gang, even if Dutch had vouched for you. You didn’t mind, they would have their own opinions of you until they rolled over and died and there wasn’t much you could do about it. You did, somehow, manage to befriend Arthur. Well, “befriend” might be a bit strong, but he was friendly enough with you. Friendly enough for you to- without meaning to- gain a sort of attraction to the man.

You figured you could just shove it down as far as you could, appreciate the little kindness the man did you, and make it enough. It wasn’t, you wanted more from him and you weren’t supposed to. The comfort you felt around the man dried up like an old well and the relationship you were building had come to a standstill. Your interactions have gone from friendly stories around a fire and taking on the town together, to short, stiff nods as you left- or as he left. You made it a point to leave whenever he came back from one of his trips- nearly jumping to your feet and running to your horse when you heard him coming.

“Where ya headed?” He asked, not looking at you, but instead down at the mane of his horse.

“Hunting…”

He hummed, “Want me to come along?”

Yes.

“No, I'll be alright, ‘m only gonna be out there for a couple of hours, and you just got back, you should get some rest.”

With a short sigh, Arthur dismounted his horse. Shooting you one last glance before saying, “Be careful out there, Y/n.”

“Will do, Arthur.”

—————

Your lungs burned as you rested against a thick tree, hunting rifle in hand, you free had clutched the leaking wound on your side. It was just a graze, you could tell without even looking at it, a grave that only oozed blood due to the fact that you took off running the second it happened.

You were maybe 5 feet away from a deer, so close you could grab the damn thing and slit its throat if you wanted to. But you didn’t, not yet, you just wanted to look at it for now. It had been shot before, a shot you were shocked it survived, straight through its stomach, blood dried around the creature's wound. The deer walked with a limp, and let out a pained noise every time it moved. Big, pitch-black eyes stared into yours, and all thoughts of killing the animal left your mind.

Then you heard a gun fire. The deer ran off, and you’d been knocked to the ground. The bullet gets maybe an inch into your skin, and exits a second later. Grabbing your riffle you took off as fast as you could.

Which leads you to where you are now, back at the little camp you’d made for yourself. The hunter- as godawful of a shot he was, was long gone, you watched him leave, the hide of the dear tossed over his horse's back. You wanted to leave, head back to camp and get patched up, and pretend like tonight hadn’t happened, like everything was normal and fine. You pushed yourself up on the tree, the uneven bark chipping and leaving little wood fragments on your hand, using the rapidly drying blood as an adhesive. your side throbbed painfully, the blood leaving a mark on the light colored tree.

With a groan you turned towards your horse, only for her to drop to the ground, letting out a neigh, which you decided was her way of telling you that she wasn't going to let you ride her covered in blood- or that she was tired.

“You ass.” You muttered.

She seemingly sunk deeper into herself, getting comfortable.

Dropping back down to the floor and resting your head against the tree with a groan.

It took you longer than ever to collect dry wood for a fire. Bending down felt like hell and you considered for a moment just letting the elements take you. You pulled yourself together eventually, starting a fire, eating some dried meat, using your bag as a pillow you tried to get some sleep. You wouldn’t usually leave a wound unattended but you had no supplies, no alcohol, no clean water, and no bandages. You figured you'd deal with the consequences of your frantic packing later. For now, you just wanted to rest.

Your fire had died down, just barely lit. But the cold wasn't what woke you. The familiar sound of a horse galloping against the dirt, growing closer by the second, caused you to jump out of your sleep. You groaned, pushing yourself up in an attempt to move out of the way, the throbbing in your side had turned to a seating pain, and you hissed as you tried to drag yourself away, finding yourself back against the same tree as before.

The tiny clearing quickly became overwhelming as another rider approached. You could hardly see them it was so dark, your fire from before now a pile of smoke. You heard them drop off their horse, footsteps, slow and even, making their way toward you. You tried to use the tree as leverage, trying to push yourself up, be at least a little less pathetic. Your breathing was pained and labored, and with little regard- for yourself, you stood. The man finally stepped close enough for you to make out his features in the dark, standing less than 4 feet in front of you was Arthur.

“Y/n..” he breathed out.

Relief flooded your body as Arthur looked over you, his hands firmly set on your shoulders.

“Arthur, what are you doing out here?” you asked, more awake now, but still pained.

“Saving your ass, apparently.”

“‘M fine.”

You leaned back against the tree, the pain from your wound becoming far too noticeable for your liking. You pressed your hand to it without thinking, blood once again spewing from the wound.

“You’re hurt?”

“It’s nothing..”

He grabbed your hand, snatching it away from your wound, covered in blood and dirt, he looked at it, then looked back up at you. The blood soaking through your clothes and making them stick to your skin.

“I got shot..” you muttered, snatching your and away.

Arthur gave you a look, a look that had a few strong words associated with it, but he saved them for later. Lifting your shirt, glaring up at you, seeing just how unattended the wound was.

“So you were just gonna stay out here and bleed to death?”

“It’s not that bad..”

“Could’ve been-“

“But it isn’t-“

“I told you to be careful-“

“I didn’t get shot on purpose-“

“You didn’t come back to camp on purpose-“

“My damn horse wouldn’t-“

“Well you should’ve woke it’s ass up-“

A particularly painful throb ended your argument with Arthur, clutching your side, you pushing him away with your free hand. You kneeled down, deciding to collect more wood to rebuild the fire and show Arthur that you were fine. As you gathered sticks in your hand you heard Arthur kneel beside you, you didn't look at him, your hands shook but you still tried to gather the sticks in front of you. Your irritation grew immensely, only to be snuffed out when you felt one of Arthurs's hands cover yours.

“Let me handle this..”

You wanted to argue, but you didn’t, your hands were shaking and the wound was only becoming more irritated. Resisting the urge to throw the sticks down and stomp off like a child, you let him take them from your hands, then, with one hand on your chest, he guided you down.

You glared up at him, but he only looked at you with worry. He held your eyes in his for a second before going to check the wound. Moving your coat and lifting your bloodied shirt, he let out a long sigh, glaring up at you for a moment, then back down at the wound.

You so desperately wanted to be mad at him, but as his finger caressed the tender skin around your wound, you couldn’t keep up the act. Your body relaxed, as did your mind.

“Wait here..” he said, you didn’t argue.

Laid on your back, staring up at the trees, and the beautiful clear sky, you listened to Arthur shuffle around the little camp. A few minutes later, a fire was started, and even from here, you could feel its warmth.

He came back to you with his hands full of supplies, bandages, a cloth, and a flask. You could finally see him fully, the warm light of the fire casting a dim light on the side of his face.

“Let me look at ya’” he said quietly.

After a moment of examining you under the light, he reached for the flask.

“This is gonna sting..”

He was right, it did, you choked on a breath as he poured a generous amount of alcohol onto the open wound. Your hand reached for his coat sleeve, gripping it tightly as he dried the wound with the cloth. You were patched up a couple of seconds later, the bandage pulled tight around your abdomen.

Arthur helped you sit up, your wound, cleaned and pampered, stung considerably less. Then, with one of Arthur’s hands on your back, and the other resting on your unwounded side, you felt warm. Your face flushed and in your mind, you blamed it on the fire. You stayed like that for a moment, letting him touch you no matter how little and amicable they might have been. The moment didn’t last, he moved away, reaching for the flask from before and unscrewing the cap. He offered it to you first, and you shook your head no. He didn't say anything, just taking a quick drink and setting it on the ground between the two of you.

You didn't mean to, but you couldn't help but think of how pretty he was in the firelight. So peaceful, relieved- you looked away, glaring into the fire. You reached down for the flask, took a quick drink then set it back down, just as he had.

Minutes passed, you took turns drinking. He drank when he wanted to, you drank when your thoughts got away from you. Every time you thought about it just being you and him out here, about how nobody ever had to know, how you could just leave and it could just be you and him, forever. About his laugh, his smile, the little sigh he let out every time he took a drink- you drank again, and again, and again. Until finally Arthur snatched the flask from you.

“That's enough..”

You groaned, “Not really.”

You could feel the heat radiating off your body, your head was spinning, and no matter how hard you tried, your train of thought never strayed from Arthur.

Silence passed between the two of you, the sounds of bugs clicking and other little creatures crawling played dully in your ears. Tapping your foot in the dirt, you watched the ants crawl, watching the majority of them line up, only for two to break off, form their own line, a line of two. Marching around. You let out a little laugh.

Then, suddenly.

“Are you dying?”

You turned to Arthur, face scrunched in confusion.

“… What?”

“You’re dying..” he mumbled.

“I ain’t dying, Morgan.”

He sighed, dropping himself down into the dirt.

“Then what’s wrong with ya’?”

You laughed, “I got shot.”

“No, no, no- before that, whenever I’m at camp you-you run off like I’ve got the damn plague! You’re never there anymore, at least not when I’m around. I know you’re not getting on with the rest of the gang, but I don’t understand why you’re running from me.”

Flopping down in the dirt next to him, you sighed.

“I’m not dying, Arthur, I swear..”

His voice was slurred, and he fumbled as he tried to screw the cap back on his flask.

“Then I’m sorry, for whatever I did that hurt you- I didn’t mean to I swear I just-“

“You didn’t do anything..” you turned over to your uninjured side, “..something ain’t right with me. I think things I'm not supposed to and feel things I shouldn't, and it's…harder to stop when I'm around you.”

You didn't meet his eyes, focusing squarely on the ground even though it made your head spin.

“Y/n..” he said, quietly.

You pushed yourself up faster than you should have, regret forming in your chest, pulling at your heart.

“Forget it…”

“Wait.” he sat up, vertigo claiming him for a short second before he continued. “Wait, please.”

He grabbed ahold of your wrist as you stood unsteady on your own feet, lifting himself off the ground, just as wobbly as you are.

When he asked you to wait, you did, as he searched for the right words, your mind raced thinking of what they could possibly be. And when he said nothing, just stared at you with those sad blue eyes, the alcohol flowing through your blood took over.

“I love you, Arthur, and I'm trying not to. I really am, but you just-” your rant, however guilt ride it was, was cut short.

Grabbing you tight and pulling you so close that you could feel his breath on you. Then, he kissed you, slow and gentle. Your eyes fluttered shut, you could feel his hands move from your shoulders to the small of your back, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. You didn't pull away, not until Arthur did, he stared at you, his eyes searching your face for a long moment, then, when you finally let a smile find its way onto your face, he kissed you again.

The kiss, even though it was uncoordinated and desperate, was everything you wanted. So much guilty, and shame, just for this. Your grip on the back of his coat tightened, he pulled you closer.

You would have stayed like that forever if a sudden wave of vertigo hadn't nearly made your knees buckle, your already unsteady stance faltered, you stumbled back, then forward into Arthur. And he laughed, watching you try and hold your fleeting balance, entirely unhelpful.

“Shut up, Arthur-” you laughed, lightheaded and in pain.

But he kept laughing. Holding onto him by the collar of his jacket you pulled him in for another kiss, he stopped laughing, he smiled though, like he was the happiest man in the world, so you kissed him again, and you kept on kissing him until it was true.

The night ended with you in a drunk heap with Arthur, arms, and legs intertwined, giggling and babbling as you drifted off to sleep.

The forest didn’t seem too harsh that night, despite the bug and the dirt, and the distant howling of wolves.

[band--psycho]

Negan x Fem!Reader- Mr Protective

So I'm trying to get some of my dialogue prompt stories written - this one is with dialogue prompt 145!

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Warnings-Gun, gun violence, Negan being negan

“We’ll if it isn’t my favourite wife” 

Wife. 

The words cut through me like a knife.

I wasn’t his wife. And he certainly wasn’t my husband. The only reason we’re ‘married’ was because my father bargained me in trade for his own safety. 

My fathers now chained to the fence outside the front of the Sanctuary now, as a walker. 

Though that’s not why I wanted to kill Negan. 

No.

The community we were with were meant to remain safe; that was my only condition for marrying Negan, and he agreed, reluctantly so yes, but he agreed. 

Yesterday, whilst Negan was away, I overheard  a handful of Saviors discussing my old community, talking about how they’d killed the entire community on Negans order.  

Which is why, instead of greeting Negan with words; I simply raised my gun and aimed it at his head. 

“Y/n? What are you doing?” Negan asked, I could see the confusion flicker in his eyes before that signature cocky smile grew on his face. 

It was as though this was all some type of game to him. . 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I snapped back; watching as the Saviors surrounding us pointed their guns at me.

Dying.

It should have scared me; anytime before this it would have. 

But now as I stood here, there wasn’t a flicker of fear inside me. 

“It looks to me like you’re pointing a damn gun at these good people,” laughter laced his face as he pointed Lucille at me before motioning to the crowd of people around us. 

Was he threatening me?

Was this another thing that was meant to scare me? To intimidate me into going back to being a well behaved ‘wife’?

I shook my head, keeping my hand steady,  “The only person I’m pointing a gun at is you.”

“Sir?” Simon questioned; his eyes locked on me. 

“Don’t,” Negan answered back; turning to look at Simon before meeting my eyes again. The harshness in his voice caught me off guard. 

I was one of his wives, he had five others, I wasn’t important, I was replaceable and yet here he was preventing his men from shooting me, knowing full well I could pull the trigger before anyone could have shot me.

The lightheartedness soon returned to Negans voice as he stepped closer to me,“It’s fine, Y/n here just has her big girl panties in a twist.”

His words made a chorus of low chuckle escape from the lips of people around us.   

“Gimme the gun, sweetheart,” 

It was an order. He was ordering me to give him the gun. And when I didn’t I swear I saw a hint of pride in his eyes as he pressed his forehead against the barrel of my gun. 

“You really gonna shoot me, baby girl?” His voice was quieter now; but still loud enough still so that everyone could hear him; his eyes once again met mine as if he was trying to read my mind, trying to guess my next move. 

“Yes,” I answered coldly with my finger on the trigger. 

I could shoot him now and it would be over, all of it would be over.

So why hadn’t I shot him yet?

Why was he still standing in front of me? 

“Y/n-” he didn’t get to finish his sentence before a gun shot was fired. 

For a brief second, I thought it was my gun, I thought I’d finally pulled the trigger. But Negans face remained intact.Though his eyes filled with some foreign emotion I’d never seen before but I knew that look from other people's eyes.

He was worried. 

I couldn't understand why.

That was until I felt a burning sensation in my side; a sensation that only grew. 

There was so much blood, it didn’t take long before it covered my entire hand.

I never believed it when people said that in the last moments of their life, they saw their life flash before their eyes. I still didn’t. Because when the pain from the shot became unbearable and I fell to my knees, I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes. 

I saw Negan, taking the gun from my hand. 

I thought he was going to shoot me….I think part of me hoped that he would. 

But he didn’t. 

He was aiming behind me. 

He was angry; I could tell that much by the redness of his face and rage in his eyes. He was saying something, I couldn’t make out what, everything I was hearing sounded distant. 

Everything except another gunshot which seemed to echo around me. 

Darkness was slowly encapsulating my vision; I could no longer see the Saviors around me.

That was until Negan knelt down in front of me; and wrapped his arms around me,  his mouth was moving but I had no idea what he was saying. 

His face was the last face I saw before the darkness finally consumed my vision.

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @impala1967dwinchester @thaliastregona @little-diable @book-dragon03 @munsinner @mrsnegan @jdmsgal @howlingmadlady @https-lorna @wheelerdixon @dilfsandtherapy @bestbitchsstuff @cherryheartssblog @darkdevasofdestruction @fangirlsfandomsss

[starbeltconstellation]

So I gotta ask, do you have any headcannons(or cannons I guess since you're the author) about Melanie and Anakin that you can share without spoilers to much.

I'm going through Rewrite the stars withdrawal lol

Awww, thank you so very much for the ask, dear! (And so sorry again about your Rewrite the Stars withdrawal. 😭 Things have been crazyyy in my life. My bro was in the hospital for a while, but he’s okay now though. Also just me fighting my never ending depression spells 🙃). 😅😂

I would be happy to offer some “head” canons! Or canons, technically, as you said. 😂 Lol.

Essentially, this has become like one big, long SW meta analysis and meta analysis on my SW fic, Rewrite the Stars, and Anakin and Melanie’s characters. Sorry for the long response. 😭 I got really into explaining my thoughts. Haha.

I’ll put this under a read more, as it’s VERYYY long:

I’ll just say that the entire reason I started this story is because well, I wanted a fix it fic of course. 😂 But also just because I wanted to write this kind of grand, epic tale in general, just like Star Wars is supposed to be.

A lot of fics I’ve seen like this completely demonize the Jedi most of the time and blame them for their own genocide. And the ones that don’t, also flip it the complete opposite way around and demonize Anakin to where he’s nothing but a cackling demon who kicks puppies for fun (and well… would he do that AFTER the prequel trilogy when he’s in his emo Darth Vader era? Probably. 😂 But he wouldn’t be CACKLING while doing it. He’d be very bitter and callous about it, because Anakin likes to take out his anger on the world when he’s in pain, so by GOD the entire galaxy is gonna be in pain along with him).

But anyways, I’m kinda getting off track.

My point is: the whole reason I started my SW fic is because I wanted to write the type of epic, grand tale of a fic that I’ve been looking for that treats all of its characters with love and respect while ALSO still calling out their flaws and allowing them to grow. That includes everyone: Anakin, Padmé, Ahsoka, Barriss, Mace, Obi-Wan, Dooku, Satine, etc—EVERYONE.

I feel like fandom has become this toxic environment where if you’re criticizing a character, then… (le gasp 😱)… you don’t really LIKE themmm. (Untrue. 😂).

I love, love, LOVE Anakin. He is my hot, insane, child killing bastard of a mans.

… But I also hate him too. 😭😂

I HATE what he’s done and what he believes in after the war and how he just wallows like a child in his pain. I HATE how selfish he is (while at the same time heavily relate to his fear of death and losing those he loves to them dying/growing older). And I also HATE how damn close he was to making a better choice, but he DIDN’T, because in the end, it didn’t MATTER if Anakin technically knew the ‘right’ way to act. He purposely went against it, because he was just too selfish to let go of Padmé (he kinda did a self fulfilling prophecy with her death, but we’re not gonna talk about that part right now), and so he decided his happiness meant more than the entire galaxy, and burned down his childhood home like a school shooter and helped genocide his friends just for the CHANCE to save his wife.

And all of this, in the usual fics I’ve seen, can somehow be undone, just by changing a few little moments in Anakin’s life where he doesn’t get his feelings hurt: ie; Obi-Wan faking his death, Ahsoka leaving the Order/being framed by Barriss, or Mace/Qui-Gon/whoever-the-fuck-you-want-to-say being assigned as his Master instead of Obi-Wan.

And just… no. 😂

As shown through this wonderful SW blog here:

Anakin doesn’t do what he did because, oh, “This, this, and THIS happened to him”, and if you take that away and help him avoid it, he’ll suddenly change and be all warm and fuzzy inside and won’t burn the whole fucking galaxy just because HE cannot handle Padmé (MAYBE) dying and leaving him alone (when he wouldn’t even really BE alone, but Anakin also clearly puts Padmé/romantic love above all else. He might care for his friends and family, but he’d throw them all under the bus if it came down to the wire between them and Padmé). This is something I will go into in the fic as Anakin slowly starts to take a look at himself as he realizes: “wait… wtf? Do I even KNOW what Rex does outside of work? 🤔😨” for him to realize that he’s so obsessive over one person… that everyone else is slowly becoming put to the wayside.

Stopping one or two little things in Anakin’s life during the Clone Wars isn’t going to magically make him see the light and not be a currently ticking time bomb.

That is not how change WORKS. Not REAL change anyway. All of the fics I’ve seen written, usually hand wave a lot of Anakin’s misdeeds and flaws away, and pretend like if you hold Anakin’s hand through certain parts of the war and help him avoid THESE certain moments, that he’ll suddenly just magically become a better person who understands what being selfless and less greedy actually means.

That… is not true change. TRUE change is Anakin HIMSELF realizing slowly but surely as the war goes on that he’s slowly becoming someone he doesn’t recognize in the mirror anymore (*cough* Mel line drop from upcoming chapter? 👀✨ *cough*). TRUE change is Anakin HIMSELF working through his flaws and inner demons, before he gradually begins to realize with a sense of sickening horror that he has been WRONG: ie; massacring an entire Tusken village down to the last child while never telling another soul except Padmé about it and whistling happily to himself without a care in the world as the war rages on.

TRUE change (as you might’ve started to guess from the most recent chapter of my fic) is Anakin HIMSELF slowly but surely starting to question his actions, by comparing them to other people he respects and cares for.

Which brings us to your question on “headcanons”.

The entire purpose of the relationship between Melanie and Anakin (besides me living vicariously through her 😂) is that they are a MIRROR for each other.

Melanie and Anakin, while very different, aren’t COMPLETE and total opposites. There are purposeful parallels between them: their moms, their care of droids, their fear of losing those they love to death, and the PURPOSEFUL CHOICE GIVEN TO MELANIE BY THE SHOPKEEPER 👀 that parallels the choice Anakin is given at the end of ROTS by Palpatine himself in their choice to help the galaxy or be selfish and choose themselves/their own wants instead.

There is a quote I have based their relationship off of. I will share it here (if you are still with me, because I know I ramble a lot 😅😂):

People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.

A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake.

—Elizabeth Gilbert

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Melanie and Anakin are meant to have parallel journeys, even though their personalities are very different. But it’s more than that: their fatal flaws are in direct conflict with each other.

Anakin’s fatal flaw is: greed/selfishness.

Melanie’s fatal flaw is: fear/judgement.

BUT as they are forced into working together… the more they interact with each other… the more their fatal flaws are FORCED to be challenged by the other.

Anakin’s more selfish nature is challenged more and more by just being in Melanie’s presence and watching how she acts with complete compassion and selflessness in certain situations, which makes him slowly start to look at himself internally and take a look at his own actions and thoughts, gradually beginning to realize how selfish he’s slowly become without even realizing it.

Melanie, in turn, has the purposeful flaw of judgment, which can make her self righteous at times (even if she IS correct most of the time 😂), and also the flaw of fear, which as readers have seen, makes her a bit more cautious than she should be in her actions on trying to outsmart Palpatine to save the galaxy.

It’s kind of ironic: just being AROUND Anakin slowly begins to challenge Melanie’s fatal flaws (since she was completely fucking terrified of him the very first moment she realized she was in the SW universe and realized Anakin/Darth Vader was real now 😂). She sees things in such a black and white way at first, but as time goes on, Anakin’s need to be gentle with her and prove himself to Mel, makes her question her judgment with him, which allows her the ability to give him a chance. In turn, just being in his PRESENCE challenges her other fatal flaw on fear, since he’s a walking nightmare PTSD trigger for her pounding heart (and not always in the fun way 👀💓❤️‍🔥☠️😂).

Anyway, my point is that they aren’t just meant to be together romantically to be TOGETHER. It’s because I have purposefully tried to develop a romantic slow burn relationship that comes with my story to weave itself against the original theme of Rewrite the Stars, which is this: TRUE change and atonement/redemption.

Anakin physically CANNOT get closer to Mel, until he forced himself to take a step back and give her some space. If he wants to get anywhere with her, he HAS to start looking internally at himself to try and change and be more gentle with her.

Melanie, in turn, CANNOT outsmart Palpatine and win the war without Anakin’s help and working together with him over the next three years of The Clone Wars. She HAS to get past her judgment and allow herself to swallow her terror enough to give him a chance, because she NEEDS him to win.

This is a chess match between her and Palpatine, remember? And if you lose the king, you lose the game.

ANAKIN is the king. 👀

I bet you can’t guess what chess piece Melanie is. 😂 Lol.

Anyway, I feel like I’ve done a whole lot of taking in circles (sorry about that 😅), because I wanted to go ahead and explain my whole process for this fic while I had the time, so I can also refer this post if I ever need to again.

Now! Getting into some more FUN Stuff:

Idk if you’ve looked up my fic on Wattpad, but I have a lot of cool graphics posted there from my mind and from other artists/authors that have gifted me such wonderful cover art ( @shoniwake ! 👀✨❤️), and in a certain subsection, I have a whole playlist page dedicated as a type of ‘outline’ for the entire story of my fic (fair warning, it’s a lot 😅), just because I think it helps me with planning stuff out.

I won’t tell you all of them, of course. But I’ll share a few of my favorite songs that I always think are the PERFECT songs for Melanie and Anakin’s relationship and their slow burn romantic development. 😭🥺💔❤️💕✨

Innocence by Nathan Wagner

Stronger Together by Lou & SQVARE

Now I See by Lou & SQVARE

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I love these three songs so much, because of their theme of two people coming together as a team and/or learning to open up their hearts to the other and to help the other person the see world in a different way. 🥹❤️💕

This is basically what I want for Melanie and Anakin. Their relationship isn’t just about having a romance in the story (although that’s part of it. Haha 😂💕). It’s about how their relationship meshes in with the rest of the themes of the story: TRUE change and growth into something better.

Melakin is purposely written to be in direct contrast to Anidala (which is still written with care and not erasing their genuine affection, by the way! I think it’s extremely lazy writing to write a canon relationship OOC just to prop up your OC’s own), which shows the difference between a more healthy developing relationship that is based on genuine care and respect (Melakin) and in contrast with one that is more based around idealizing the other person/ignoring their faults and putting them up on a pedestal that is sure to lead to disappointment (Anidala).

This is, as you know from reading the fic, slowly starting to be shown in how Anidala acts with each other in their trash fire (in my opinion! Don’t kill meeee! 🙌😂) of a marriage, which has them basically talking past each other/not really caring about anything that isn’t SPECIFICALLY RELEVANT to the other person (ie; them. Not anything with their family or job. Just THEM. Because while the love is genuine, it’s also eerily obsessive, which was GL’s whole point of them being star crossed lovers that burn out from their own flawed choices in regards to being together and trying to have it all).

This is also shown in my fic with Melakin vs Anidala contrasting each other in Anakin’s choices and how he interacts with them. Anakin REMEMBERS stuff about Mel’s life and choices that really he has no need to care about, but he does anyway. In contrast, there is a scene in the latest chapter of my SW fic where Anakin forgets a very… important member… of Padmé’s family 😭 (If you know, you know 👀🫣😬). 😂

I guess what I’m saying is is that I’m trying to not PREACH to the readers of my fic. I’m trying to write scenes that SHOW them what I believe to be true in regards to Anidala’s toxic relationship/the Jedi being scapegoats that everyone cruelly blames for their own genocide/how the Jedi culture might not be how THE READERS want to live, but it doesn’t change the fact that it IS a valid culture/way to live, and it doesn’t deserve to be eradicated just because you don’t understand/like/agree with it.

I’m trying to lead up into the themes and lessons of my fic as I go along, is what I’m saying. 😂 Which is a really heavy feat, considering how long it’ll end up being as a grand, epic tale. 😩

And a big part of the theme of my SW Fic: genuine change and growth into something better than you were before (ie; TRUE redemption) cannot happen to Anakin as easily as some of the time travel fix-it fics/other fix-it fics I’ve seen written on A03 before. Changing a few little things so Anakin doesn’t have to deal with a few moments in his life is not GENUINE and TRUE change. What that is is essentially placation. It’s PLACATING and CODDLING someone dangerous, which allows them (for the MOMENT) to calm down, because they are generally happy and have the things they want and aren’t under stress like Anakin was in the ending of ROTS when there was nobody there to hold his hand for him to ‘guide’ him in the right direction.

For TRUE change and redemption to happen for Anakin, he has to admit to himself that he was WRONG.

He has to ADMIT and ACKNOWLEDGE that actions he has taken are horrific (the Tusken Massacre), and accept people’s/the Jedi’s judgment on it without becoming defensive and acting like he’s being unfairly attacked and punished for something not that big of a deal. He has to ADMIT and ACKNOWLEDGE that his thought process has slowly but surely become corrupted over the years without him even realizing it, whether that’s from the war or Palpatine stroking his ego or from the trauma of his childhood making him cling to things too hard—it doesn’t really matter. He has to RECOGNIZE that he has become someone over the years that he can’t even recognize in the mirror in relation to that little nine year old boy on Tatooine (about how selfish he has become), and what he can do to change that.

I know some fans will think I am attacking Anakin and that I hate him or something (and well… I DO hate him… but I also love him 🫣☠️❤️😂), but that is not the case. I LOVE Anakin’s character and truly relate to him on such a deep level in terms of how terrified he is of losing the people he loves to death. I can recognize myself and some of my worst fears deeply in him.

However, at the same time, I can also acknowledge that Anakin’s trauma from his childhood (from slavery/his mother dying in front of him), has essentially made his entire personality completely self serving. Because yes, Anakin can care about other people. He cares about and loves his friends. He’d do anything he could to keep them from harm (at least in TCW era 🥶☠️), but the hard truth is… he doesn’t think of his relationships and saving them from death in terms of what his LOVED ONES deserve or what THEY will lose if they die. He thinks about it in terms of what HE will lose if they die.

He straight up says it in the scene with Mace and then the scene with Palpatine: He NEEDS to keep Palpatine (who he KNOWS is an evil Sith Lord) alive, because it’s the only way he can keep Padmé alive. HE can’t live without HER.

There’s genuine love there. I am not denying that. Anakin isn’t a cackling villain like Palpatine (it’s the whole reason Anakin CAN be talked into coming back to the Light Side by Luke, whereas Palpatine would melt Luke’s fucking face off without hesitation if he tried). He cares and loves his family and friends and wife and kids… in a TOXIC way. In an OBSESSIVE way. In a way that is essentially all about HIM: ie; selfish.

Example 1:

Out of context, this sounds very romantic and simply just a reasonable amount of worry. But in relation to all the other things Anakin will end up saying while referring to Padmé as essentially a possession, I’m placing it here anyway as perhaps a sign of his darkening thoughts.

Example 2:

Yes, yes, I knowwww… some of you ladies will be like: 🥺💔 at the sad murder puppy moment. And I suppose it’s still very evil wet cat bastard level/blorbo of him in a intoxicating way for people who want to feel loved—at the same time, he’s essentially saying: look, man, I don’t care if I gotta murder some kids and betray my friends and descend the galaxy and Republic into darkness (which I know my wife will be fucking horrified at). It’s very important that I DO NOT have to deal with this pain, okay?? 😭 Everyone else can be in pain, but not meeee. I’ll crush and stab my friends in the back just so I won’t be left alone from my wife dying.

Very sad. Very wet cat villain blorbo of him.

And yet—VERY selfish and evil. 😭🤷‍♀️👀😂

He’s essentially saying—fuck the galaxy. Let me get mine, and I’ll go home. ☠️

Example 3:

This one’s pretty obvious. By this point, he’s lost his shit. His mind’s already cracking at the seams as he tries to keep justifying the actions he’s taken, which will eventually lead into his 20 year long dissociation where he essentially goes, “Nahhh, that wasn’t meee. That was DARTH VADER. Anakin didn’t do that, because ANAKIN is still a good person (he mutters to himself over and over like a maniac at night in his emo villain lair), whereas I AM THE DARK INCARNATE. 😌🖤” so he doesn’t have to admit to himself that HE—yes, THAT he, Anakin fucking Skywalker—has become an actual terrible fucking person with no heart. 🤷‍♀️😭😬

I don’t see why this is so hard for SW fandom to get. It’s a METAPHOR George Lucas uses to say Darth Vader killed Anakin (and also just a way to plug up the plot hole of what Obi-Wan originally told Luke in the first movie). It doesn’t mean that Anakin’s consciousness is sleeping inside Vader’s head like a fucking cat. Lmao. 😭

Not only would that not make SENSE in terms of how GL wrote it, but it also just essentially makes Anakin’s ‘redemption’ (I don’t really view it as a true redemption. More like just the Christian version of salvation for his soul by the skin of his teeth. Although GL did say Anakin was redeemed in the eyes of LUKE only, because he said some crap about being redeemed in the eyes of our children) all but useless. 😭 You can’t say on one hand that Darth Vader’s ‘redemption’ is the most iconic one of all time, while at the same time saying on the other hand that “Anakin never did any of those things. It was DaRtH VaDeR! 🤪🤪🤪” because then you’re essentially absolving Anakin of all of his crimes while on the Dark Side, and if Anakin is absolved of all of his crimes… then wtf is there TO make him the most iconic ‘redemption’ of all time??? 😭🤷‍♀️ I mean, like—what IS there to ‘redeem’ at that point??? Ya can’t have both, kids. Lol. 😂

This is also essentially what Anakin wanted in terms of his relationship with Padmé and the Jedi Order. He wanted it ALL. He wanted BOTH. Sureee, he TALKED about quitting the Jedi Order eventually after the war to be with Padmé in a little space cottage. But could he WALK THE WALK? Could he really give up the thrill of chasing an enemy, or the twitch of his fingers in reaching for his lightsaber? 😑🤔 Me myself has some doubtssss.

He wanted it ALL. He wanted to be married while ALSO having the strength and power that came from being a Jedi Knight. He didn’t WANT to choose. He even SAYS it.

Example 4: Essentially this SW meme

He doesn’t want to CHOOSE. And it’s why it’s BS when it’s argued he was put in this position by the Council’s rules on marriage, because it’s LITERALLY just like a vow of a priest at a Catholic Church. They can’t marry either, just like the Jedi Order. BUT (unlike what fandom likes to believe), the Order isn’t some cult, and you are free to leave at any time (and hell, they’ll even build a statue after you leave, apparently, if the one they built of Dooku that’s in the Archives (I think) is anything to go by), just as a priest is free to leave the Catholic Church at any time. Because it’s a COMMITMENT to that place. And people might think it’s dumb/stupid/not like it—or even understand it! And you don’t HAVE to like something from a religion/culture/belief, or understand something, to still respect it (another theme drop for the next chapter of my SW fic? 👀😂).

So, what some people will probably wonder is—“But, Starbelt! (Le gasp 😱) Then how is the Jedi culture going to be respected in my fic, if Melakin is still endgame at the end of their slow, slow burn?”

And to that question, I say, “I am not a by-the-book-to-the-very-LETTER interpreter of the Jedi Code (although I’m not saying the code of an entire culture is gonna be ‘changed’ for legit one person/couple. Lmao. 🤦‍♀️🤷‍♀️😂), but I AM a Jedi lover who is of the belief that—even if you don’t completely AGREE or even UNDERSTAND the Jedi Order and their code—it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t be difficult to respect it. It shouldn’t be difficult to not scold a culture on their beliefs, while essentially saying that belief is the reason it is ‘good’ for The Force/galaxy that they were genocided as a ‘clean slate’. 😬🤦‍♀️☠️”

What I WILL say, is that I am going to explore the Jedi Order and the different interpretations of the Code and The Force in general in this fic, and what that means in terms of coexistence, instead of the frankly childish notion of just painting an entire culture as emotionless and wrong in their beliefs, like they are some kind of stuck up, snooty and rich culture that ‘deserved what they got’. 🙄🤦‍♀️😬☠️

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ANYWAY, back to my point with Anakin, and how my fic is trying to complete the most massive and epic of all writing tasks: making Anakin slowly change and grow out of his greed and selfishness into a better person in such an organic way, that perhaps may one day be compared with the likes of Zuko’s redemption from ATLA (I know, I knowww. Pretty high hopes for myself. Lol. 😂).

So, essentially, in the original “timeline” of ROTS, Anakin is freaking losing it, and since nobody is there to hold his hand, he descends right into the core selfishness that is buried inside of him, where he basically just decides, “Fuck it,” and throws all of his morals out the window so he can keep himself from the pain of losing Padmé (ie; it’s really about HIM and his fear, and not about Padmé deserving to live and see more beauty in the world) by cutting off Mace’s hand to stop him from killing Palpatine, because—in Anakin’s OWN words:

Example 5:

Like… 🤷‍♀️😭.

People like to sing “Lalalala,” and plug their ears by pretending Anakin is just so shocked in this scene (le gasp 😱) that Mace is being so UN-JEDI-LIKE, and that it just convinced him that the Jedi Order truly has been ‘corrupted’. 🤦‍♀️🙄

Now see… that might hold some water if Anakin literally didn’t scream “I NeEd HiM! 😡” at Mace like an unhinged five year old, which literally PROVES that the only reason Anakin wants Mace to keep Palpatine alive and not to kill the guy yet is because he needs to learn the super-secret-Dark-Side-magicy way of how to save himself from the pain of losing Padmé to dying in childbirth.

… Because like some may recall, Anakin LITERALLY beheaded Dooku himself all but like… what? 12 hours ago? 😭🤦‍♀️

Essentially, this meme:

So, essentially, what I’m getting at here is: Anakin is a goddamn hypocrite. 😂

Now, in relation to my SW fic? What I essentially am TRYING to accomplish, is to have Anakin slowly CHANGE HIMSELF as the war goes on and he interacts more with Melanie and witnesses her compassion, while in turn comparing her actions to his own.

Melanie isn’t supposed to ‘fix’ or ‘change’ Anakin. Anakin is supposed to be INSPIRED to change from how he grows to care and admire Mel’s choices and who she is inside her heart as the Clone Wars rages on.

I do all of this, so in the HOPES that when he is presented with this scene again, it makes perfect sense to all readers of my fic that his choice may become different—essentially choosing for ONCE, a more selfless route, out of no expectation that he will gain anything in return (that only happens with Luke like—20 years later—and it’s not like he had many other options at that point. 😭🤷‍♀️ Lol.).

(And as I said—MAY become different… 👀 After all, Melanie still has a long way to go before the end of the war… 👀)

But yeah—that’s my plans with my SW Anakin x OC Fic, Rewrite the Stars, and how I’m planning it and Melakin’s relationship to go. I placed a big feat on myself. 😂❤️💕

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If you wanna see some of my like… ideas/notes on what I have planned to eventually place in there somewhere, I will show you a few things, because it’s not really SPOILERS, since I already talk about the Jedi genocide a lot anyway (it drives me up the wall when SW fandom refers to it as ThE FaLl Of ThE jEdi 🤪🤪🤪). Guess it makes it easier to blame them all for their own deaths that way if you refer to their genocide and slaughter as a “fall”. 😭🙄 Idk. 🤷‍♀️

I also have some stuff with the history of Churches splitting into different factions (ie: The Great Schism of 1054), which I will be weaving in as a parallel at some point. 👀👀 I will not explain why, as that would be too spoilery, but I’m sure some of my more in depth analysis readers on my work could guess if they thought about it hard enough… 👀

There are also some comparisons on the Jedi genocide in the SW universe, and how it parallels the Air Nomad genocide in the ATLA universe pretty much to a T in terms of how fast it all happens in one day, and also how any survivors were hunted down and lured out with relics of their own culture, not to MENTION just the fact that both of these cultures are just non-western inspired in general (seriously, what is with people and killing monks in Temples? Lol. 🤷‍♀️😂). It’s also just an interesting comparison in general, because where the ATLA fandom usually is quite sympathetic to the Air Nomad genocide, on the other hand, the SW fandom is so nauseatingly nonchalant and cruel about the Jedi Order’s genocide that it’s almost downright weird. It’s almost like the SW fandom has this THING about never calling the Jedi’s “Fall 🙄” what it actually was—a horrific genocide. I swear to Godddd, SW fandom must be allergic to the word. 😂🤦‍♀️

I also threw in the ‘Hero’s journey’ thing I’ve been using for Melanie to try and make her a relatable protagonist, while also still having her own character arc along with Anakin’s. It was really important to me that she had her OWN arc away from Anakin, and that she had more connections and relationships in the SW universe than just him. Not only does it weaken her character if she had been made to be all about HIM, but it also just makes a certain… choice… 👀… with The Shopkeeper (her antagonist who parallels Palpatine, Anakin’s antagonist) hit all the more harder, because saving the ENTIRE GALAXY isn’t even about saving ANAKIN at all for her. Not at first, anyway.

Instead, from the very beginning, it’s all about how Melanie grows to care and feel compassion for the people she meets in the SW universe and becomes friends with, and how she cannot turn away from them and leave them behind to die, when she has knowledge that can help change their fates. It was SO important to me that Anakin is not even on Mel’s RADAR at first. She doesn’t hate him or anything. She doesn’t want him dead, but it’s not really about SAVING him either (if that happens along the way, it’s a happy bonus for her). Because—as you know—she’s TERRIFIED of him in the beginning, and just plans to avoid him like the plague.

And in doing so, she grows closer to others in the SW universe: Ahsoka, Rex, Yoda, Fives, Obi-Wan, all of the other clones, etc. ALL of that is so important for a certain choice she makes with The Shopkeeper (which I won’t spoil for any new readers who may stumble across this post and want to read my work 👀😂).

So, essentially, my fic is a grand, epic tale, that our main protagonist, Melanie Bains, is going on to save millions of lives in a galaxy far, far away from death and suffering.

No pressure, huh? 😂😬

That’s definitely going to crack and fracture at Mel’s psyche as time goes on… 🥶 The weight of such a feat on one’s shoulders essentially all alone becomes overwhelming. 😓💔 (*Cough* Hint for next chapter? 👀 *cough*).

So I’m really trying to follow that ‘Hero’s journey’ format. I already have her character arc outlined with a clear beginning and end. I just have to find the will to write the thousands and thousands of words to get there to that point. 😩😭😂

It still makes me so happy how many people relate and enjoy Mel. 😌🥹❤️💓🥰

Some planned themes I am going to weave in as the story goes along:

Example 1: Genocide

Air Nomad genocide propaganda from ATLA:

Jedi Order genocide propaganda (Not sure if it’s from before or after Order 66. Either way, it’s meant to rile the populace up against them and demonize the Jedi as ‘other’, like emotionless wizards that are barely human and aren’t capable of true compassion since they’re a ‘cult’ and not from ‘true’ familial structures, unlike the ‘good ol’ regular populace with their attachments 🤪’) from SW:

Example 2: Church factions splitting up/The Great Schism of 1054

Example 3: Hero’s Journey (Mel’s character arc)

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… Now, moving past that long meta ramble, here’s some more songs from my playlist on Wattpad for Melakin’s developing romantic relationship and it’s slow, slow burnnnn. 👀💓❤️‍🔥😂

Borderline by Florrie

Let Me In by Michael Corcoran

The Chain by Ingrid Michaelson

Minefields by Faouzia & John Legend

Unlike the previous songs in the earlier part of this meta post, THESE songs are more about Melakin struggling to open up to each other. I’ll admit, a lot of it is more focused on Anakin trying to get Melanie to open up to him, because he doesn’t understand why she’s acting so terrified of him at first.

The one song that’s more about both of them trying to find common ground is “Borderline”, which is meant to be them both reaching out and trying to meet each other halfway. 😊🥰🥺❤️💕

And if you’re wondering what my favorite song is out of all of them?

It’s the “Innocence by Nathan Wagner” song. WITHOUT a doubt. It’s the PERFECT Melakin song that is basically what the whole arc of their relationship is supposed to be. 😭🥹❤️💔💕

Whew, that was a long post! So sorry about that. 😅😂🤷‍♀️ I just got really into talking about my fic and my writing process. I think this has even helped me with motivation! Losing hyperfixations is a bitchhhh. 😖😖

The only other thing I will add is this to hopefully ease your and everyone else’s minds: I may have to go on hiatuses every now and then because of writer’s block or a family/life problem like the recent one with my brother being in the hospital for a while. BUT! No matter WHAT, I will NEVER abandon this fic. It is literally gonna be my damn life’s work—I swearrrrr. 😖✊😂

To end this long SW meta off, I’m going to link another two great Pro Jedi SW meta posts from the wonderful Pro Jedi blog I mentioned earlier. Feel free to check it out if you want, because it’s a lot of Mel’s thoughts on the Jedi, and part of the problems she has to find a way to solve as the war goes on by trying to keep the Jedi in favor of the public’s eyes:

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To any new readers that stumble across this and are curious enough to check out my fic:

Tags:

@ensomniaa

@heartfairy

@fangirlteallie

@xreadersunite

@shoniwake

[dark-elf-writes]

Suggestion for drabbles since I don't recall if you've done it before:

Assassin's Creed x Dragon Age. Because it just hit me that the memory-reading Animus could be compared to blood magic (literally since its reading stuff in your blood and while I don't know the full details on the function, it seems like body/mind control might have enough similarity with animus burning memories of your ancestors in your head to count) and the Templars are basically Completely Unchallenged in their power over... well, influence or history whereas the Circles's (nominally anyway) are publicly and knowingly tied to a religion structure.

Whether it's a AC character yeeted into DA, vice versa, or a fusion. Take your pick.

“So, you glow.”

Desmond pretended not to look at the man (the dwarf) sitting across the fire, instead fidgeting with his hidden blade. The mechanism had jammed sometime in the last fight anyway, and it was with Altair’s practiced hands that he tended to the weapon.

“It’s a long story.”

Varric laughed, even as his hand didn’t stray too far from Bianca. “They usually are. Fortunately I make my business in stories… among other things.”

Desmond didn’t know where to start, how to put the Animus, war between Templars and Assassins, and the three assassins who had taken the place of their memories in a skull that was already filled with to bursting, into words that someone from a world where chamber pits still existed.

Then again, he had been forced to explain it to his three mental roommates… and dragons apparently existed here so….

That… still wouldn’t explain the arm, blackened as if he had shoved it into an open flame (or directly into the fucking sun) and threaded with golden circuits that were several hundred if not thousand years ahead of their time.

“You’re not a mage,” Varric, thankfully seemed to take pity on him at least a little. “I’ve never seen one so… stabby who wasn’t—.” He broke off all at once some of the reading light dying in his eyes.

Maybe Desmond wasn’t the only one with a long story to tell.

“I was… captured. Experimented on. They… changed me. Put memories in my head that weren’t my own and gave me…” he waved rather than finish the sentence before going back to the hidden blade, cursing in Italian as it stayed stubbornly jammed.

In his head Altair scoffed and called him a novice whose was less than helpful.

“Memories or a demon?”

Desmond laughed a little. “They’ve been called that, but while they are killers threaten killers with a creed.”

“You have Crows in your head?”

This time when Desmond laughed it was full and deep. “Let’s call them eagles,” His voice was filled with mirth and his head full of laughter and irritated grumblings. “But I’m serious about the Creed. We don’t kill innocents.”

“And who decides who is innocent?”

“Who decides that for you?” Desmond shot back with a pointed look at the monster of a crossbow that Ezio was dying to get his metaphorical hands on. Something about Leonardo having made something similar. “Normally the ones that are innocent are the ones not actively trying to kill me at that particular moment… normally. It can get a bit complicated.”

“And when you decide someone isn’t innocent?”

Desmond shrugged, “A knife to the heart hasn’t failed me yet.”

Varric was quiet for a long moment, then huffed a laugh. “Anyone ever told you you think in straight lines?”

The mechanism unjammed and Desmon grinned. “They didn’t seem to think it was nearly as much of a good thing as you do.”

“Trust me, with the person I’m after, the ability to cut straight through twisting words is exactly the kind of thing I need. I could use the help if you’re willing.”

It was strange, being asked instead of being told. Desmond couldn’t remember a single time in his life something had been a request.

At least this time he wouldn’t have his brain scrambled… probably.

“Fuck it, I have nothing better going on.”

Varric’s smile was wide as he set Bianca to the side, still within easy arms reach but far enough away that he couldn’t shoot Desmond before he could move. Not that he could have if he had the crossbow pressed against the back of Desmond’s head, but the gesture what seen and understood all the same.

“Welcome aboard, Rook. How do you feel about pissing off a god?”

Desmond Miles tipped his head back and laughed.

[ochoashusband]

Hello there!

I was wondering if I make a request for MHA, with Class 1A (and possibly Aizawa?) reacting to a Male! Reader having the quirk of an Empathic Healer?

To understand what I'm saying, Male! Reader is capable of healing people like Recovery Girl. While Recovery Girl uses the patients' stamina to heal them, therefore could only heal them a limited amount, Male! Reader's quirk can allow him to fully heal a person, potentially multiple people at once, at the cost of him taking the effects instead, using his own stamina to recover, making him become closer to dying if used to heal major injuries or too many people.

Male!Reader's personality would be someone who doesn't like to cause fighting, only attacking in order to protect someone, given his quirk makes him the medic of the Class. A bit introverted but kind towards other.

Thank you!

OMG THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!! Tbh i didn’t actually expect someone to request 😭 so thank you!!

i’m gonna do this in headcannon formation if you don’t mind!! it’s easier for me :)

CLASS 1A + AIZAWA REACTING TO..

MALE! READER W/ EMPATHIC HEALER QUIRK

CLASS 1A:

I feel like Midoriya would probably think your quirk would be like Recovery Girls

He would probably bombard you with multiple questions about your quirk

“How many people can you heal at once?” “Does it hurt you?” “Do you use stamina to heal?”

Since Midoriya gets hurt a lot, you’ll be very useful for him!!

Mina named you Recovery Boy (named after Recovery Girl) and now everyone just calls you that

Uraraka thinks your quirk is very cool and bcuz of that she really likes to compliment you anytime you use your quirk

Denki, Kirishima, and Sero thinks that your quirk is very manly!!

Bakugo comes to you whenever he accidentally burns himself with his quirk, but he threatens you to never share that with anyone LOL

One time Todoroki accidentally cut his finger trying to cut vegetables and he came over to you and shyly asks if you could heal it for him!!

During the sports festival, since lots of people got hurt during the competition, Recovery Girl asked you to help her with healing people

Sometimes you help out in the nurses office if too many people get hurt or wounded

Mr. Aizawa is very nice to you (mostly because your quiet and don’t talk much)

He always gives you words of encouragement and is overall very kind and compassionate toward you!! (you’re his favorite student)

Jirou thinks your quirk is awesome and because of that she always partners up with you during any activity you guys have with the class

Everyone is friends with you because they think your quirk is very useful and you’re also really kind!!

Denki and Mineta always come up to you to ask you dumb questions like

“What type of girl are you into? Or are you into dudes?” “Doesn’t she look so good?” “Do you think he looks good?”

They only ask you that because you don’t talk much and they want to figure out what your type is 😭

they probably made a bet to see who can make you share your type with them first

Short story!!:

“Alright class, settle down now!” Mr. Aizawa yelled, it was right after lunch, so the class was more talkative then usual. “Everyone put on your gym training uniforms and meet me in the second gym.” Aizawa said lazily as he started walking out of the room and heading towards the second gym. Everyone got their uniforms on and made their way to the gym. “Today, we’ll be practicing enhancing our quirks, that can also mean using your quirk for an extended amount of time, creating new moves, etc. So get a move on people!” Mr. Aizawa yelled. Everyone went off on their own and some paired up. Since you where more stronger in the healing department than the fighting department, you decided it would be best to find ways to protect yourself. You started off try to think of ways that you could potentially defend yourself, until you heard someone call your name. “(M/n)! (M/n)!” You turned your head to find Uraraka calling you over to where her and Midoriya were. Midoriya looked badly injured, his hands where turing purple and it looked broken, you guessed it was because he overused his quirk again. You walked over to them, sighing, you say “Midoriya, it’s not good for you to overuse your quirk. You should try calming down a bit.” Midoriya looked away embarrassed. You put your hands on top of his, your hands started glowing and Midoriya’s hands were slowly turning back to normal. “Woah! I keep forgetting how cool your quirk is!” Midoriya says. “It’s so awesome, isn’t it?” Uraraka exclaims. “Thanks guys..” You say embarrassed. After that, you could finally work on ways to protect yourself.

Sorry if this is a bit short!! It’s my first time writing something, I will keep practicing writing tho!! I hope you like it, and i’m sorry if i took too long!! My family invited me to a party yesterday and i couldn’t finish it in time!!

[gwen-ever]

Chapter 2: The Traitor

Hey there, fabulous readers! 🖤 This is not your usual Chapter 1—it’s the remastered, deluxe edition! 🎉 I’ve sprinkled in extra details, hidden gems, and juicy insights that I think you’ll absolutely love. Think of it as the director’s cut of this fic! While you’re diving into this revamped chapter, know that I’m also hard at work crafting brand-new, never-before-seen chapters (exciting, right?!). These will hit your screens on either Saturdays or Sundays—so mark your calendars and keep an eye out! ⏳ A little extra fun: I’d love to hear your thoughts! What do you think is going to happen between Thorin and Geira? 🤔 Do you have any spicy theories or suspicions about where the story is headed? Drop your predictions—I’m dying to know! 🔮 Thank you so much for your incredible support—it means the world to me. If you enjoyed this chapter, consider leaving a review or reblogging it on Tumblr. Seriously, every little bit helps this story grow! 💖 Now, let’s jump back into the action and explore all the new twists and turns. Enjoy! Huge thank you to @lathalea to being my beta reader and tell me when I am messing up! <3 Mashkil: Dirt 'Angûna: Filth

Summary: When Smaug arrived, he not only killed the dwarves of Erebor, but he also destroyed the lives of the few who survived… whether he did it on purpose or not.After a hundred years, a part of Thorin’s past will come back to haunt him in the form of a dwarf who last knocks on the door of Bilbo Baggins’ house, resurrecting old grudges and the pain of a life no one wants to talk about. Geira, daughter of Geiri, is anything but an open book, an exiled who no one wants around, a warrior who has no one to fight for, but only an oath she must fulfil.

Relationships: Thorin x FemaleOC Rating: M Warnings: none. AO3 LINK: HERE

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“What is she doing here?” roared Thorin Oakenshield, pointing an accusatory finger at the newcomer, who had just set her wooden bow down in a corner and removed her heavy black travelling cloak.

She felt the king's gaze burn into her like fire but avoided looking at him, even as he stepped closer, like an animal poised to attack. Instead, she raised her eyes towards the tall figure of the wizard, who smiled at her faintly from the corner of his mouth.

“My dear Geira, allow me to introduce our host, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf announced in a composed tone, ignoring, like her, the dwarven king’s question.

With small steps, Gandalf moved to one side, gesturing towards the small hobbit standing in the centre of the hallway.

“Good evening.” The hobbit tilted his head slightly to get a better look at her.

She guessed that he probably didn’t like being surrounded by so many intruders. Now that another one had arrived, he was likely in complete panic. She understood, as she could imagine how bewildering the scene must be for him.

For a brief moment, she felt sincere sympathy for him. But she herself was not in the best of moods, and maintaining that façade of indifference was becoming increasingly difficult.

Maintaining her composure, she offered him a small smile, inclined her head slightly, and touched her chest while clutching the edge of her red tunic. “Geira, daughter of Geiri, at your service,” she introduced herself.

“Traitor to her people!” Dwalin added scornfully, shouting at the top of his lungs.

She tried to ignore the dwarf’s words and continued smiling faintly at the hobbit before her. But then another voice, one she could never forget even in a thousand years, spoke.

“What are you doing here, filthy mashkil ?” Thorin growled, his voice reverberating through the house.

Her resolve to stay calm shattered like a crystal glass thrown to the ground.

Geira lifted her eyes, finally meeting Thorin’s. His icy blue gaze bore into hers, cold as a winter’s night during a snowstorm. Yet what she felt was... nothing.

She felt nothing. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

“No one asked for you to speak, King Under the Mountain,” she spat.

The moment she finished speaking, several elderly dwarves around the table erupted with exclamations. In an instant, some of them stood up, shouting at her.

One dwarf in particular kicked over his stool and slammed his two iron fists onto the wooden table, making it groan under the force.

“Filthy traitor, say that again!” Dwalin roared. “I dare you to say it again!”

Her eyes were drawn to the muscles of his arms, rippling with anger, and to the scars on his forearms, which seemed to take on a life of their own. She needed to extract herself from the situation—for the sake of the promise she had made to herself.

“Sit down, Dwalin...” Geira murmured.

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do, angûna . Just breathing your air disgusts me. You should die for daring to show your face here!”

“This is not dwarven territory...”

“As long as I am under this roof, everything around me is dwarven territory!”

At this, however, Geira couldn’t suppress a sneer. “It’s ironic that you’re so preoccupied with noticing and acknowledging my presence instead of thinking about how to reclaim your territory,” she shot back, staring him down.

The dwarf roared, stepping away from the table with a swift movement.

“One word from you, Thorin, and I’ll make her regret it bitterly! Damned traitor!” he bellowed, consumed by rage.

Geira turned her gaze to the Dwarven king, who remained standing. She locked eyes with him, waiting silently for his response to the warrior dwarf’s demand. And she got it.

The frown on Thorin’s brow deepened, but his gaze remained cold—icy and terrifying, like the last look he had given her long ago.

Thorin opened his mouth to issue a command, but both were interrupted by the most unexpected voice, which, to her surprise, came to her defence.

“Excuse me, but I don’t believe that’s the proper way to speak to a lady.” All eyes turned to the side of the corridor—to Bilbo.

The hobbit stammered under their scrutiny, adjusting his stance with his feet planted together.

“Although, I mean... If she’s what you’re saying... or what you think you’re saying,” he added, glancing at Thorin. “But not in my home. No, sir!” He tugged on the straps of his trousers, more out of irritation than anything else.

Geira released her grip on the sword hilt at her side, startled by the hobbit’s boldness towards Thorin. That small gesture of courage piqued her interest, a rarity for her these days.

She noticed Gandalf’s amused glance at the hobbit, who rocked on his heels, likely expecting Dwalin and Thorin to return to their seats—but they didn’t.

Instead, the clatter of dishes and a few chuckles from the adjoining sitting room broke the icy silence that had descended upon them, dispelling the tension that had thickened like frost.

“Uh-oh! Someone’s angered Master Dwalin! Take this pint, brother, and tread carefully.”

“Watch it yourself, you’re the one stepping on my foot, Kili!”

“Well, then move over! We’re missing all the fun because of you!”

The entire room quickly turned towards the source of the noise—all except for one dwarf: Thorin, who kept his eyes fixed on the dwarf woman without a moment’s distraction.

Before Geira could wonder what was happening, two young dwarves appeared from the kitchen, each carrying two pints. One had hair as golden as molten gold, and the other sported dark and curly locks that were painfully familiar.

Geira held her breath for a few seconds.

“Oh, shut it, Fili! You’re always in the way. If you’d just step aside, I might figure out why they’ve all stopped shouting too,” said the younger dwarf, lifting the pints to take a seat.

“Surely Uncle has finished,” the other replied, mimicking his brother’s movements. “Or the other... burg... lady... has arrived…”

The blonde dwarf didn’t finish his sentence as his blue eyes landed on Geira.

His jaw dropped, causing the twin braids of his moustache to sway.

The hazel-haired dwarf tilted his head to the side as he observed his brother in confusion, slowly lowering himself into a seat.

“What’s a burg... lady?”

Finally, his gaze also fell upon her. But unlike his brother’s stunned expression, his open mouth soon curved into a warm smile.

“SO YOU’RE THE NEW MEMBER! WELCOME!” he shouted, throwing his arms in the air, pints still in hand.

Geira said nothing, remaining impassive, all while feeling the other brother’s gaze still upon her.

“WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? SIT DOWN! I EVEN HAVE AN EXTRA PINT FOR YOU IF YOU WANT IT!”

“Kili...” Thorin growled a warning.

“Why were you all shouting like that? And why are you still standing? We were about to explain to Mister Baggins how...”

“Kili,” the elder of the two brothers interrupted, motioning with a glance towards Geira’s sword hilt.

Geira noticed Fili’s eyes and quickly covered the visible seal on the pommel of her sword with her hand. Yet his blue eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re a...”

“Fili, Kili, silence!” Thorin stopped them, but Kili persisted, seemingly unaware that they were only making matters worse.

“Oh, come on, Uncle, it’s wonderful! It will be all...”

“Silence, I said!” Thorin’s roar shook the room, his fist slamming against the table.

Both brothers froze, mouths agape, stunned by their uncle’s sudden outburst. Yet they obeyed, remaining silent as instructed, although their eyes cast accusatory glances of the room. They instinctively knew something wasn’t right.

Geira’s hand slipped away from her sword hilt, her fingers falling as if pulled by an invisible force. Though she avoided meeting the two brothers’ gazes, she felt the weight of their silent scrutiny. They sat back down quietly, their eyes fixed on her.

The dwarven king, however, narrowed his eyes, his expression hardening as he shifted his focus back to Gandalf.

A heavy silence once again filled the room, laden with unspoken words.

“I want her gone,” Thorin declared emotionlessly.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Gandalf replied calmly as he returned to his seat.

“I won’t allow her to stay here. I won’t permit her to remain near my company and endanger it simply with her presence,” Thorin growled lowly. “I don’t trust her, and I don’t trust anything she says!” he snapped, refusing to look at her.

Geira clenched her fists, struggling to remain calm, though it was becoming increasingly difficult.

How dare he speak of trust? Him, of all people—he who had betrayed her.

How dare he!

She gritted her teeth as a blind fury clouded her vision.

“You’ll have to, for I have done what I thought was right, and recalling her from exile is the right choice,” Gandalf interjected.

“The right choice?” Thorin’s voice rose, his piercing blue eyes glinting dangerously. “And how would we know that?”

Gandalf gestured towards Geira, encouraging her to speak with a slight nod of his head. Thirteen heads turned towards her, and even Thorin finally rested his cold gaze upon her.

For a moment, his mere glance made her falter, causing her to choke on the words she had not yet uttered. Yet she had to say them—for herself, for her father, for her 120 years of exile, and for all the pain she had endured because of the cursed dwarf staring at her.

Swallowing her anger, her vision slowly cleared.

“I am here to fulfil my oath,” she said, looking the dwarven king straight in the eyes.

A subtle shiver swept through the room, penetrating to the bones of those present.

A dull thud echoed through the room—the sound of a cup slamming onto the wooden table.

“This is too much!” Dwalin roared, rising to his feet again. “Thorin, just say a word and I’ll take her head off her shoulders, as I should have done years ago!”

Thorin didn’t respond to Dwalin, keeping his attention fixed on her.

“Your oath?” he asked, his tone unnervingly calm.

With a few strides, he closed the distance between them, his fists clenched, his jaw tight. “Your oath holds no value anymore. It was broken long ago. Your words, your oath, are nothing but a heap of cold ash!”

She almost dug her nails into her palm. “An oath is for life. You were there when I swore it.”

Thorin’s jaw clenched again, his breathing unsteady.

“And I was there when you broke it,” he growled lowly. “Right in front of my eyes...”

A pang of pain tore through her chest, memories of that day rushing back to her. She could see his look again, feel the tears streaking her face, feel her heart being torn from her chest. She could see her world burning before her eyes, her life reduced to ashes—and then... exile.

The exile he had condemned her to.

“I have no intention of fulfilling my oath for you , if that’s what concerns you, King Under the Mountain,” she spat.

“I don’t care why you want to keep it. I don’t need you to keep it!” Thorin roared, enraged. “Your words mean nothing to me, a'lâju Mahal !”

His words were followed by the screech of a chair being pushed back.

“Thorin...” Balin whispered, but Thorin was unstoppable, like a raging fire.

“You have no place among us, no honour, no name, no clan! You are nothing! Your oaths were broken the moment you turned your back on us. Your blood is tainted, just like your father’s!”

For Geira, this was the final straw.

She approached him with a few steps, glaring down at him, her words pouring out like an unstoppable torrent.

“Then let Dwalin take my head now, this instant, for I assure you, Thorin, son of Thrain, that I would rather be buried in the ground than keep the words I once swore to your family!” she retorted mercilessly. “If I could, I would take them back one by one!”

“Silence, traitor!” he shouted at her, slamming his fist against the wall beside him.

“ENOUGH!”

Darkness suddenly descended over everyone present, enveloping the room in a dense, almost tangible shadow. Before Geira could respond, a profound silence fell around them, broken only by the power Gandalf had just unleashed.

Gandalf looked down with an intensity that seemed to shrink them, as if the darkness itself sought to break their determination.

Almost. For as sure as the sunrise, dwarves were not easily intimidated—even when the shadow’s power belonged to a wizard.

“You dwarves and your stubbornness! You’ll ruin us all before we even begin our journey! Geira will come with us. If I say her presence is essential, then it is essential! Her reasons do not matter to me, nor should they to any of you!”

“It does matter,” Thorin’s deep voice rose from the silence that had gripped his companions. “You cannot ask us to trust her, Gandalf. What she did is...”

“I know, but I ask you, for the sake of this mission, to set aside old grievances. Otherwise, we won’t get far if you keep quarrelling. When we reach the Lonely Mountain...” Gandalf paused briefly, taking a deep breath. “Geira will accompany us there and help us reclaim it, and then...”

“Then I’ll leave, if that’s what you wish, Thorin Oakenshield,” Geira interrupted, glancing at Thorin’s hand still resting against the wall beside her.

Thorin raised an eyebrow and slowly stepped back, returning to his seat. “That is what I wish for now—that you leave—and that will not change,” he stated, casting a glance at her hair, so short that it revealed her neck, shoulders, and part of her ears.

The same length it had been when he last saw her.

“I don’t want it to change...” she replied, ashamed of those short locks once more after so long.

The cut he had given her.

And with one last disgusted glance from Thorin at her head, the discussion came to an end. Geira bit her tongue, lowering her gaze. After that long exchange, she accepted the chair that the hobbit kindly offered her with a smile. Meanwhile, the company resumed the conversations they had been having before her arrival.

But the grave atmosphere continued to permeate the room, even as everyone’s focus shifted back to the hobbit.

Geira observed him as Gandalf began explaining the mission to him. It seemed suicidal, at best. The hobbit’s brow furrowed with each new detail, each wrinkle reflecting a small, desperate question. He glanced back and forth between Thorin and Gandalf, his wide eyes almost pleading, as though hoping one of them would reveal that it was all just a cruel joke.

It wasn’t hard to imagine the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. She felt an odd kinship with him. She knew the instinct to flee, to turn around, and slip out through the round door, pretending none of it had happened.

But she remained rooted in place, her feet practically sinking into the floorboards.

She had given her word to Gandalf and, more importantly, to herself. This time, she wouldn’t run. Her father’s voice echoed faintly in her memory, reminding her that she was more than the whispered stories people told about her. Enough hiding , she thought, steadying her heart.

It was time to face whatever was thrown at her.

A long scroll, resembling a contract, appeared in Gandalf’s hands, drawing her attention back to the room. She watched as the hobbit examined it, his brow tightening, his shoulders slumping with every line, his fingers twitching faintly. Every word seemed to weigh him down, dragging him deeper into the journey that awaited them.

“Incineration?” he asked incredulously, unfurling the parchment further. “...I’m going to faint...” he whispered.

“Think of a furnace with wings: a flash of light, searing pain, and puff! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash!” quipped Bofur, peering out from the doorway where he sat.

Bilbo lost all colour in his face, becoming alarmingly pale. To Geira, it looked like an alarm bell; she held her breath until he fainted, collapsing onto the green carpet like a sack of potatoes.

So his courage in speaking to Thorin earlier had been a fleeting spark of bravery?

Chaos erupted in that moment. Everyone leapt to their feet, the floorboards creaking under the sudden commotion. Hands reached out, voices shouted over one another, a frenzied attempt to help—but all they managed to do was create more disorder. The room seemed to come alive with confusion.

“Out. All of you. Now,” Gandalf’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. With a wave of his hand, he ushered them outside, sending them stumbling into the open air.

Dwalin and Nori stayed behind, carefully lifting Bilbo with their strong hands and helping him sit upright. They murmured soft, reassuring words to him, though Geira, already heading to the kitchen, barely noticed. 

It had been years since she had worked in a proper kitchen, and the delicate dishes felt foreign to her now.

Her fingers brushed the edge of a blue-and-yellow cup, its smooth surface almost startling her. She picked it up carefully. After what felt like an eternity, she finally brought a steaming cup back into the parlour, her hands trembling slightly from the effort.

Bilbo was seated in a deep armchair, his gaze distant and unfocused, his posture rigid. The moment he heard her steps, his eyes darted to her, following her every movement with quiet intensity.

As soon as she approached, his eyes remained fixed on her, watching each of her gestures until she broke the silence, offering him the cup of aromatic tea.

“Your eyes haven’t stopped following me since I stepped through your door, Bilbo Baggins. I get the feeling you have many questions to ask me,” she said, forcing a smile and trying to appear as friendly as possible.

It was so difficult.

“Well, I... uh...” he stammered, unsure how to continue, perhaps embarrassed to have been caught staring.

He watched her silently as she found a spot near the lit fireplace, leaning her back against its side. “Well, you... you’re like them, aren’t you?”

“A dwarf?”

He nodded, shifting the warm cup between his hands. “But, well, I’d heard that dwarf women... had long...” The hobbit trailed off abruptly, glancing quickly at her hair.

She sighed, deciding to tell him a half-truth.

“I cut them a long time ago,” she explained hurriedly, though she tried not to offend him. “As a sign of... mourning,” she murmured.

It wasn’t the whole truth.

Bilbo’s eyes lingered on her, as though trying to read the story hidden in the dark, tormented depths of her gaze. For a moment, his curiosity took root, growing like a vine left undisturbed for too long. When was the last time anyone had intrigued him like this?

The silence between them grew, filled only by the crackling of the fire, until at last, he spoke, unable to resist.

“May I ask another question?” he ventured, watching her eyes gradually lose themselves in the flames. “Is it true, what they said about you earlier? Those names they called you—are they true?”

“Are you afraid I’ll stab you in your sleep?” she retorted sharply, raising an eyebrow.

Bilbo cursed himself—cursed his Tookish curiosity.

“N-no... no...”

“I am exiled, yes. But a traitor... that...” She hesitated, staring again into the fire that crackled silently before them. “That I am not. Never...” she said softly, her voice trailing off. “I am here for one purpose only: to fulfil a promise I made long ago, too long ago...” she murmured, turning towards him. Grey, curious but respectful eyes met dark, deep, tormented ones.

“All of you have a purpose, a mission in all this. I... I’m just a hobbit. I’m not what you all think I am...”

Geira watched the hobbit’s fingers tighten around the cup, and her gaze clouded momentarily.

They were good questions he was asking. Yet Gandalf believed in him, and the dwarves in the other room trusted him far more than they trusted her, someone of their own kind.

For a moment, he reminded her of a young dwarven lady in a grand, luxurious room in a distant mountain, years and years ago, questioning what she wanted to do with her life.

Slowly, she moved closer to him, kneeling beside his green armchair and resting her hands on the armrest.

“I believe you’ll only find out if you come with us. There’s much more to you than meets the eye, Bilbo. I saw it before, and... even if you can’t see it, it’s there. It always is,” she said gently, surprised at her own words.

Why was she speaking to him like this, in that tone, as though she knew him? As though she cared about his opinion? Perhaps it was because she hadn’t spoken to anyone this way in years.

“The journey would be fraught with danger—both from outside and within the Company. It would require courage, but also a deep fear of the unknown, to achieve what we need to do. Because what awaits us on the other side of the known world could be everything—or nothing. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to come with us.”

“Danger... within the Company?” Bilbo repeated.

Geira was about to respond when the moment was interrupted by approaching footsteps. The wizard entered, his gaze immediately falling on Bilbo as he checked on the hobbit’s condition.

“Excuse me,” Geira murmured, stepping back and preparing to leave, understanding that it might be better to leave the hobbit with the wizard.

She adjusted her cloak, her fingers brushing the fabric as she approached the door. Just as her hand closed around the handle, Bilbo’s voice called after her.

“Thank you, Lady Geira.”

She paused, glancing back over her shoulder with a faint smile. “You may call me Geira,” she replied, her voice soft and unexpectedly warm.

Bilbo’s gaze lingered on her, wide-eyed, before quickly shifting back to the cup in his hands. He gave a small nod, his expression a mixture of surprise and gratitude.

Geira caught the subtle smile that curled at the corners of his lips—hesitant, but present. She returned the gesture with a slight smile of her own. With one final look at the hobbit, she opened the door.

The cool night air brushed her face as she stepped out into the darkness, the gentle rustle of leaves accompanying the soft creak of the door closing behind her.

She needed to calm her nerves, to regain the composure and cold detachment that the evening’s events had so thoroughly shaken. From an inner pocket of her cloak, she retrieved her long white wooden pipe. From another, she pulled out her pipe weed pouch.

Before long, she was peacefully smoking, seated on the bench just outside the door. Each long puff released small clouds that dissipated into the air; she watched them with her eyes until they disappeared, her mind wandering into the labyrinth of her tangled thoughts.

From the moment Gandalf had appeared before her in that human village, she had known this would be anything but a stroll in the woods. She knew how the others would see her, how they would treat her for the entirety of the journey. What she had experienced earlier was merely a taste of it.

She shook her head, taking another long drag from her pipe to clear her thoughts. She was here for a good reason—she had explained it to Bilbo. She just needed to focus on that and nothing else. It didn’t matter if they ignored her, refused to speak to her along the leagues they would travel, or treated her with suspicion and indifference. She would let them. Their stares would have to slide off her like water on stone.

What Gandalf had told her had haunted her for weeks. The possibility of hope—that if she fulfilled her oath, perhaps, if she survived, she could reclaim her name and return... home.

But did she truly want to go home? Why was she still clinging to a broken oath?

“Are we interrupting?”

A young voice pulled her from her thoughts. Turning, she found herself facing not one, but two young dwarves. They were the same two who had tried to persuade Thorin to include her in the group—Fili and Kili, if she recalled correctly. They had recognised what she was and who she was. 

Thorin’s nephews.

Two princes.

Removing the pipe from her mouth, a mix of emotions swirled in her chest—the desire to send them away battling against the impulse to ask them to stay.

“That depends on what you want,” she replied cautiously.

Kili sat beside her without waiting for an invitation. Despite sensing Geira’s wary gaze on him, he paid it no mind.

He pulled out his own pipe and, after lighting it, leaned back on the bench, exhaling small clouds of smoke.

“We just wanted to share some tobacco with you, that’s all,” he insisted, offering a brief smile.

“But perhaps I don’t want to share.”

The younger dwarf widened his eyes and looked at her, almost apologetically.

Geira reproached herself—perhaps that wasn’t the right way to proceed. They were her companions now, and she should at least try not to quarrel with them. Yet the situation was proving so complicated, and the blue eyes of the other brother weren’t making it any easier.

“You should, if you don’t want to isolate yourself before we even set off...” Fili interjected.

Even in the moonlight, his piercing blue eyes gleamed—so familiar it hurt.

She forced herself not to let the sting in his words seep into her voice. “I thought I was already an outcast before we set off, Master Dwarf. And forgive me, but I don’t yet officially know your names, which seems unfair given that you already know mine.”

The dark-haired dwarf sitting next to her laughed, throwing his head back. “You’re right, forgive us. But the earlier circumstances didn’t allow for introductions. I’m Kili, and this is my brother Fili. We’re the sons of Vili.”

Sons of Vili, this mean that they were also Dís’s sons.

A pang in her stomach made her grip her pipe tightly, and suddenly her chest felt incredibly heavy.

The sons of Dís, Princess Dís.

How many years had passed? Had it truly been so long? Had time around her slowed so much that she didn’t even know how many years she had lived this life?

They had been children, but they were older now—older than she had been when everything had changed.

Geira remained silent, trying to calm her racing heart after the revelation. She took another puff of smoke only to realise she was out of tobacco. She cursed silently, cleaned her pipe, and placed it back in her pocket.

Wrapping her cloak more tightly around herself, she braced against a gust of wind that cut through her heavy travelling clothes.

“You’re not very talkative, are you? Yet you spoke to the hobbit. I heard you!” Kili teased, sitting far too close.

“You’re talkative enough for the both of us, young prince,” she replied.

His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing suspiciously.

Geira explained herself before the situation could escalate. “You called Thorin ‘uncle’ earlier. I don’t possess magical powers, if that’s what you fear.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking. But I am surprised you called me young. You don’t seem as old as Balin, or Dori, or Master Óin...”

This time, it was Geira who smiled. She barely lifted the corner of her lips, but it was enough for Kili—even if he didn’t know it.

“Appearances can be deceiving. To me, you are certainly quite young—mere boys.”

“How old...”

His brother Fili interrupted him sharply, his glacial eyes again fixating on Geira’s sword, just as they had before.“The sword. Where did you..?” “Lads, come back inside, please. The hobbit has decided,” Balin’s voice interrupted Fili’s question as he appeared in the doorway.

This allowed Geira to avoid answering a rather uncomfortable query.

The old dwarf cast her a brief but penetrating glance before retreating indoors with the two brothers, not bothering to check if she followed. Geira chose to remain outside a little longer, alone.

Balin left Bag End’s door slightly ajar, and from the ensuing murmurs and heavy sighs, Geira deduced that Bilbo had refused to join them on their quest.

A part of her felt a deep sadness and regret. She had resigned herself to embarking on this journey with dwarves who despised her, but the burden seemed less heavy knowing that a face less hostile than the others would have been at her side.

She let out a deep sigh, straining to catch snippets of arguments, angry exclamations, or stubborn remonstrances from inside, but her ears were met with an unsettling silence.

Then, softly, a melody hummed through the quiet; Thorin’s voice, deep and warm, filled the air like an intoxicating scent.

Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old, We must away, ere break of day, To find our long-forgotten gold.

Geira froze as the melody swelled. The words were different from what she remembered, but the song struck her deeply.

A powerful grip seemed to seize her chest, as though an invisible hand had wrapped around her heart. The words carried a bitter flavour, nostalgia for something lost long ago—a longing for home, for family.

Soon, Thorin was no longer the only one singing; the others joined in.

The pines were roaring on the height, The winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread, The trees like torches blazed with light.

The song ended, but the sorrow lingered.

Geira quickly retreated further into the shadows of the night, her old and familiar companion, to hide the sadness gripping her chest.

She blinked rapidly to stop the tears from falling and took a deep breath, forcing herself to listen as Thorin gave instructions for the next morning’s departure.

“Get as much rest as possible. Gandalf will guide us to our lodgings...”

The room stirred with movement, signs that everyone was gathering their belongings. Not wanting to be seen in such a pitiful state, Geira decided to wait outside. Perhaps, under the cover of darkness, no one would notice her.

As she expected, the others emerged, their faces grim. They cast her fleeting glances before disappearing down a path leading to a small inn. Once the last of them—Ori—had vanished from view, Geira entered the hobbit’s home, looking for her bow. She found it where she had left it, leaning against the small kitchen wall. She cast a quick glance around, noting how clean and orderly everything was once again, as though nothing had happened.

It was a beautiful home, one that belonged to someone who loved their life and wouldn’t change it for all the gold in the world.

Securing her bow across her back, she picked up her quiver and slung it over her shoulder. She moved briskly through the hallway but stopped when her eyes fell on the long contract Thorin had signed, countersigned by Balin, resting on a stool in front of the chair.

Bilbo’s signature was missing—untouched, blank.

She sighed again, brushing her fingers lightly across the parchment.

When Bilbo had thanked her, had he already decided in his heart not to take part? Running a hand through her short hair, she touched each lock from her forehead to her nape.

“You’ll see. He’ll come,” Gandalf’s voice echoed as he approached, his hands clasped behind his back and his usual sardonic smile playing on his lips. He regarded her for a long moment, those piercing blue eyes seeming to delve into her very soul.

Geira, deep down, feared them.

“The contract will be signed very soon,” he insisted.

“You’re so sure? That young hobbit wasn’t convinced. I’ve seen that look far too often—in young soldiers, recruits, even captains of the guard.”

“Oh, I have hope! But, as usual, my hopes tend to be correct!”

“Like the hope that I would come?” she retorted sharply, raising her gaze to meet his.

Gandalf took a deep breath, tilting his head slightly to avoid hitting the ceiling. “That is the uncertainty that, whether you believe me or not, has tormented me for weeks,” he explained softly. “I won’t hide that I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“I didn’t want to,” Geira admitted. “I waited in Aldburg as long as I could,” she added, smoothing her travelling bag with a swipe of her hand.

The wizard nodded before speaking again. “I understand. What changed your mind?”

At that unexpected question, Geira stiffened. She had spent weeks in a small inn room in the village of Aldburg in Rohan, mulling over the wizard’s proposal. Until a fortnight ago, she had been more than certain that she would not participate in the expedition.

Why should she? Why should she believe what Gandalf had told her outside that inn? She had known nothing of what lay ahead, yet the future he had painted for her had been too much even for a hardened soul like hers.

He could revoke your exile, Geira. You could return home, fulfil your oath, and be free. Isn’t that what you want? To be free again?

“ I don’t want to die like this—in the filth of a human village, with an invisible chain wrapped around my chest... I don’t want to be bound to him any longer,” she replied hastily, reciting the words as though they were a well-rehearsed chant.

“And it’s not about him?”

She raised her eyes to Gandalf. “Would you ask that of a victim at the executioner’s block? Or the wife of a soldier killed in battle?”

“That depends on how much the victim cared for the executioner—and vice versa,” he answered quietly.

For Geira, it felt like a punch to the chest. A surge of frustration and anger overwhelmed her, and she fought the urge to shout, to release the fury she had held inside all evening.

She trembled, furious, and finally asked the question that had been gnawing at her for months.

“Why did you want me to come? You have warriors, smart and capable dwarves. Why did you come to me? And don’t tell me it was for me !” she nearly growled.

As he had done throughout the evening, Gandalf remained silent for several seconds. He didn’t show anger or displeasure, but the way he looked at her made the world around her feel cold and heavy. For a moment, she felt the same.

“Because you must fulfil your oath,” he finally said.

"I never intended to honour it! That oath was broken long ago, just like the one he made to me! You know i just want to get this thing away from me and the only way to do it is to cut any connection with him. Stop lying to me!" she insisted, pleading with her eyes.

She was owed an answer, a simple answer, nothing more. She just wanted to know why Gandalf wanted her to suffer, why he wanted her so badly in that Company, why he cared so much that he forced Thorin to accept her as a member of his Company.

Gandalf sighed gently, smiling sadly at the corner of his mouth. "I didn’t do it for you, I did it for the executioner, the warrior, the king..."

Geira unexpectedly smiled, a sad smile, without the slightest hint of joy on her face. "You know Gandalf, now I understand why you lied to me, because if those had been the true reasons, you know, I’m sure I would have rejected your invitation."

And without saying another word, she turned and exited through the rounded green door.

She left the hobbit’s house behind, following the same path the others had taken, passing more green mounds— the hobbits' homes— and finally stopping at the inn where the entire company was already lodging, though still awake. And she knew that tonight, like many others, she would find no rest.

Was she really doing this just for herself? Yes, that was the answer, because if it had been otherwise, she would rather have died at his hands than relive all this. To feel it again. To be betrayed again.

—————-

"I told you coming here would be a waste of time!"

"Hiring a hobbit, where did he get such an idea?!"

"I didn’t think such a small body could possess so much..."

"Stubbornness, Oin?"

"Well, why would he help us if he doesn’t even know us?" Bofur observed, relighting his pipe with a flint and sitting more comfortably on the windowsill."Gandalf promised us the hobbit would come with us; an’ if he said so, we must trust him."

"How about a bet then? Come on, Nori! What do ya say?"

A long conversation began, involving everyone, and bets were placed on whether Bilbo would arrive by the next morning.

The hustle and bustle filling the small inn room, where they were to sleep, allowed two dwarves to slip into the corridor, out of sight and earshot.

"What do you think, lad?" Balin asked, smoothing his long white beard.

The other dwarf sighed wearily, the inevitable frown between his brows speaking louder than words; even after removing his heavy cloak to reveal the long blue tunic covering his trousers, his figure was imposing and commanded awe and respect.

No matter how hard Balin tried, he still struggled to believe that this dwarf, once a child, then a young man, would become king so soon, facing two great battles that had taken everything from him and with which he had to reckon every day, every night.

The old dwarf knew with certainty: even in his dreams, Thorin Oakenshield had never been free, safe from resentment and regret.

"I think this mission began under the worst of omens: I wonder if..." Thorin paused, not quite sure how to continue.

"If we should continuewith the quest?"

The king nodded, but his gaze was far from convinced, lost in thoughts unknown to most, but perceptible to Balin; or, at least, for most of the time. But, for safety's sake, he decided to approach the subject calmly, one step at a time.

"Don’t trouble yourself about the hobbit: if you hadn’t given me a sign and brought me here, I would have placed a bet in his favour, you know?" he gave a half-smile.

Thorin made a dismissive sound, somewhere between scepticism and despair.

"Dwalin was right: coming here was a waste of time. It was madness to believe in his help; but even without him, we must go on. No, it’s not his presence that concerns me... no... not him."

There it was, the exposed nerve, the sore point. Just as Balin had imagined: it wasn’t the thought of the failed thief that troubled him.

"Thorin..." Balin began, placing a hand on Thorin’s forearm. But as soon as he did, the muscles beneath the shirt tensed, and the old dwarf was stopped by a raised hand and a fierce look.

"No, Balin. I don’t want to talk about it," came his abrupt reply; and no matter how much the older dwarf insisted, he would not be listened to. The pride of his king was stronger than reason, which struggled to prevail: if he had even tried to think, Thorin would have understood; but stubbornness and rage blinded him.

Balin sighed deeply and shook his head, but in his heart, he hoped this journey would bring victories beyond the dwarves' lost pride.

———————-

Dawn came too soon, and the continuous yawns surprised Geira as she splashed her face with cold water and then fastened her sword to her side, but first, she drew it from its scabbard, inspecting the blade for new scratches. The daylight broke across it, sending blinding glimmers along the walls: her hand caressed the finely crafted hilt.

That sword was her past, her present, perhaps her future. Everything she still possessed was that sword, all that tied her to who she had been was that sword.

She had allowed the two princes to know who she was and what she had been.

She had managed to avoid their questions, but she was sure, having seen the two princes, they would ask Balin, Dwalin... or Thorin for confirmation. And what would they hear?

She returned the sword to its place and stopped losing herself in pointless thoughts; she took one last quick look around the room, tracing the outlines of the simple wooden bed, the chest against the wall, and the windowsill, where a vase of fragrant lilac and yellow flowers stood: perfect, she hadn’t forgotten anything.

She adjusted her travel pack on her shoulder and closed the door, descending to the ground floor; she nodded to the innkeeper and handed him a coin, then stepped out into the warm morning air. Outside, a riot of colours and scents overwhelmed her, leaving her stunned: everything was so wonderfully green, and as the previous evening, she wondered what life could be like there.

"Good morning!"

Kili’s sunny, mischievous smile interrupted her thoughts, just as it had the evening before. He was standing in front of her, chewing a piece of dried meat with his usual nonchalance, while Fili joined him at his side, wearing the same roguish grin.

"Come on, we’ll show you your pony."

"My pony?" she asked, incredulous.

With a nod, Fili invited her to follow them, or rather, to follow his younger brother, who had already begun walking with his hands crossed behind his neck. They took her to the back of the inn, where three animals stood in a large pen. Kili opened the wooden gate and pointed to the pony, a female with an entirely white coat, calm and gentle: Geira approached her, gently stroking her; the pony neighed, appreciating the gesture and making her new mistress smile.

Yes, she liked her, she admitted: she would be a good travelling companion.

"Thank you, lads," she said, offering a grateful smile to the two brothers.

They lowered their heads in response, still focusing on the straps of their bags before leading their horses outside, where the others waited in silence.

Geira followed them without receiving a single greeting from the other members of the company: only a deep and penetrating silence that reminded her of everything they thought of her.

Even her smile slipped from her lips like a shadow chased away by the light.

Silently, she mounted her pony, preparing for the long road ahead. When they were all ready, Thorin looked at each of them, including Gandalf and Geira, with a solemn and distant look, as though he was searching for an ancient strength or perhaps a hint of fear in their faces.

He did not say a word; there was no need. Each of them knew the task that awaited them, the risks and dangers that accompanied it. Yet, nothing would dissuade them: their hearts belonged to Erebor, their promised land, and nothing would deter or stop them from claiming what was theirs.

Thorin led his mount along the paths of Hobbiton, and the others followed in silence. Geira did not look back, keeping her gaze forward while her heart balanced between the weight of memories and an unexpected relief.

They left the town and entered a clearing bordered by ancient trees, whose branches bent under the weight of past ages.

"Wait!"

"Wait!"

"Wait!"

A familiar voice stopped them, and Geira turned in the saddle, almost incredulous.

Bilbo Baggins, the little hobbit, was now to their left, panting after the long run that brought him there. With an awkward smile, he handed the contract to Balin, claiming his decision with the pride of one who has crossed a threshold. When the old dwarf confirmed the signature, Geira smiled at Bilbo warmly and sincerely, a look that erased any doubt from the hobbit’s face.

[skyfallslayer]

The Darkness In Me || Story 2: Auld Acquaintances

-Kingpin!Matt Murdock x Vigilante!Reader-

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

🖤 Series Summary: You were shocked to find out your childhood friend turned out to be the Kingpin of the underworld, but you had to put those thoughts aside to bring him down. You were Hell’s Kitchen vigilante, its protector. There's no valid reason not to stop him. However, when your hidden feelings for him start to surface once more, how will you be able to even think about bringing him down?

🖤 Story Summary: Deciding you have no choice anymore, especially how your new partner scared you half to death, and the police in this city seemed not to care, your hundred percent committed to becoming a vigilante. But before you could do this, you run into an old childhood friend and his business partner. But unknowingly to you, he’s not the same little boy you remembered hanging out with. He’s… something else entirely.

🖤 Date: 10/08

🖤 Rating: Mature

🖤 Word Count: 7,962

🖤 Warning: Alcohol Consumption; Small Reference to Past Abuse/Child Abuse; Small Reference to PTSD; Small Reference to Past Non-Con/Rape; Heavy Language; Talks of Murder(ing); Talks of Death/Dying; Disability Talk; Nightmares. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

🖤 A/N: Let me know if I missed anything above. Any who, this is where all the fun begins! Plus, Matt's finally here! Along with a few other familiar faces. I don't have much else to say, except enjoy!

You felt like your head was going to split with each memory. But… this was normal for you, believe or not. I guess it comes with the job. Or… did it just naturally come to you with your life?

You suppose so. Could you blame yourself for having these? Could you point fingers at yourself for causing these obstacles? You shouldn’t. It’s not like any of it was your fault, but there was no one here to tell you to not take the blame. No one to coddle you and tell you that everything will be alright.

.

You could still smell the smoke and feel the glass in your skin. Your whole world was sideways as you stared in shock and denial as the victims never moved.

“MOM! DAD!” You screamed, your lungs burning with fear as they never would be able to call back to you; To tell you that they’re okay and everything will be fine.

.

.

“No! Stop! IT HURTS!!” Your pleading sobs were on death’s ears as your Aunt continued pushing your head face down onto the table; Detest in her eyes. 

“After the stunt you pulled, there’s no way I want another mutant in this household.” She spat, letting the people she hired do their work as they started making an incision in the base of your neck.

You tried wiggling out their grasp but to no avail. “Please! It was an accident! I didn’t mean to!!”

.

.

You felt his hand touch your thigh after he kicked you in the dirt; His companions howling with laughter in the background. Like this situation you were brought into was the highlight of their week.

“Awe, baby girl. You’ve got to know your place or you ain’t going to be moving up.” One cooed, cupping your face with his hands, giving you enough view of the stars on his uniform. Certainly more than you have right now. 

You tried to crawl back, but the two other people present had blocked you from behind, busting a gut again. The other man’s hands were back on your face again, and he was chuckling too.

“Awe. Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just a little taste is all I need.” He slimed before smacking his lips over yours, ruining you.

.

.

It was stupid mistake.

You should have waited for your partner instead of running off on your own. 

You’re an idiot. You’re an idiot. You should have waited. You should have waited. You–

You honestly thought the universe would grant you this. To grant you a chance to catch the man you’ve been hunting for weeks, but…

No.

No. Now you’re laying on the ground, your spine feeling funny as you feel the pool of blood grow around your head.  

Damn it. You thought. You really thought you had this one in the bag as you started to fade to black just as your partner’s voice broke out into a scream.

.

.

“Pl-Please. Y-You have to let me go. I-I have to…” You croaked as your veins felt hot and bubbly, your mind started to buzz, and your eyes started to lose their natural color.

You kept begging and pleading but they wouldn’t listen. You know their criminals, and you know they deserve any kind of punishment but…

You don’t want a repeat of what happened in your childhood. You actually want to avoid hurting anyone again with your abilities, you–

But they started grabbing you and beating you, they started pulling at your limbs and clothes, spewing slurs and hate ‘cause you were the one with the shiny gold badge, you were the one that was supposed to bring them in. And they weren’t having it.

You continued to try to reason with them, feeling the buzzing getting louder and louder, and your fingertips started to glow red and–

They pulled you one last time, which was enough for everything to go haywire, which was enough for you scream an apology and you realize you were–

.

“NOOOO!!” You gasp awake, your hands frantically attacking the air. It took you always a couple seconds to realize where you were and that everything was just a dream a nightmare. Your adrenaline died down with your heart beat, your shaky breaths were cooling too. 

“A dream…” You pants, and lick your chapped lips. “Always a dream…”

Subconsciously, you touched the back of your neck feeling the scar. You were surprised you could still feel how prominent it is after all these years. Especially since maybe you deserved it being there.

You sighed with your eyes closing, taking a deep breath before deciding to look at the clock; Unfortunately realizing it was time to go to work.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You finished getting ready, packing up your bag while you waited for your toast to pop. You groaned at your appearance, you took note of the dark circles under your eyes when you passed by the cheap mirror you bought for yourself, and quickly strolled to your bathroom for some concealer. You did the best you could to look somewhat normal, washing your hands afterwards, and nearly dried off your hands on the costume you wore the other night.

You paused as you remember randomly putting it on before deciding you were going to kick your neighbour’s ass for hurting his wife. A stupid hoodie with cargo pants and a bandana you didn’t even realize you had. Not to mention that you did have some old mittens on that had to be tossed when you couldn’t get the blood off them (And trust me, you’ve tried every remedy out there).

To be honest, you were debating going out there after that night. Even though it felt… good… you weren’t sure how people in the public would feel if suddenly a vigilante decided to show up out of the blue. 

You frown, and almost left it.

Almost.

A split step outside the bathroom, and you had already made your mind up. “Oh, fuck it.” You mumbled and snagged it off your hook, rolling it up and stuffing it into your bag (along with the boots you wore that night). 

You grabbed your piece of toast and were ready for whatever work throws at you today.

And not that you were ready for any of this today.

When you finally entered the police department you immediately felt everyone’s surprised stare towards you. Every. Single. Person. They were all staring at you, not even trying to hide it. However, they weren’t surprised by the fact that you finally decided to come into work several days later, but by the fact that you were actually at work. You could tell that they were surprised that you were still… well…

Alive.

I guess they really thought that this ‘Kingpin’ was going to get you.

Cowards. You were scared of nothing. You kept a straight face as you walked past everyone who was still gawking at you like a zoo animal. You somehow managed to keep your cool even when Grimm came running up next to you.

“L-Lieutenant! You’re okay!” He spewed out, looking and sounding like was actually worried (Was he?). “We were wondering if you–”

You throw up the bird and give him a cold glare. “Fuck off, Grimm.” You reply, and exited the area for the locker rooms in the back. But as you were passing by, a man next to the water fountain caught your attention.

“Lieutenant, huh?” His voice raspy and low, almost like he was giving up and fighting at the same time. “You wouldn’t happen to be the new girl, are you?”

You pause your movement to get a good look at him. A man, who you assumed was just a bit older than you, stood about five-eleven with dark hair with the sides shaved, and had a nasty looking scar over his right eye. You took notice of the pack of cigarettes in his hand and how wrinkled his clothes were. 

Interesting.

“That would be.” You said, keeping your guard up in case this was another asshole. You watched him as he checked you out head-to-toe before chuckling quietly.

“Huh. So that would make you my new partner.” He said, with a bit of amusement.

Now it was your turn to act surprised. “Wait… you’re Castle?”

“That’ll be me.” He shifts his stance towards you and holds his calloused hand out. “Captain Frank Castle.”

You shook it. “Detective Y/N L/N.” 

“You introduce yourself as Detective?”

“I like it that way. Gives me… a more mysterious vibe.”

He snorts, his lips quirking up into a smile. “I like you already. See, I prefer Captain. Gives me… a sense of dominance when I’m out in the field.”

You tilt your head, playing coy. “Well, I can certainly see that.”

“Hmm. Sassy. You remind me of someone I know.” His smile fades a little before standing straighter, shoving the pack of cigarettes into his pocket.

“Hopefully that’s a good thing.” You reply, smirking.

“Maybe…”

“Yo! Castle!” A cop said from down the hall. “Boss wants a word with you. Now!”

Frank sighs, throwing his head back. “Ah, our bastard Commander needs a word. Fun.” He said, blowing one last puff of air before putting out the bud on the water fountain, littering. “We’ll catch up later, kid.”

Kid? You raised an eyebrow at him as he watched him walk away. The man that was officially your partner. The man that’ll have to be your mentor for a while. The man that…

.

.

.

Seemed just as messed up as you are.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You weren’t even at the station for an hour when Grimm suddenly appeared next to you, scaring the living hell out of you. “Jesus, man.” You reply, nearly spilling your coffee. “What?”

“So what did he make you do?” He asked, a mixture of worriedness and curiosity (a very odd but seemingly dangerous mix you do say so yourself).

“What?”

“What did he make you do?” He repeated, making you bat your eyes at him, puzzled. 

“Who? Our Commander? Or Castle?” You asked, because you were not following. “Frankly, I haven’t really spoke much to any of them, except–”

“No, no, not them. Him.”

“Who’s ‘him’?”

“You know… the big boss.” Grimm subtly looked around before whispering, “The Kingpin.”

You scoffed immediately. “What made you think he made me do something?” You asked, watching him get taken back by your answer.

“W-Well, you’re… alive, So I thought–”

You sigh, and start walking back towards your desk with him on your heels. “What makes you think I wasn’t alive?”

“Well, we didn’t see you for a couple days. So we thought–”

“I wasn’t feeling it. And besides, I told you, I ain’t following this… ‘program’ unless he comes face-to-face and tells me himself. I don’t want any of his goons coming and telling me to do something.”

“B-But–” Grimm speeds up so he’s slightly ahead of you. “That’s how he does business. He rarely makes an actual appearance. He–”

“Then I ain’t doing anything that’s not an order from my Commander.” You said, picking up the speed as well, hoping to get away from him and end the discussion (or at least see if he takes the hint). You start taking a sip of your drink, but unexpectedly, he knocks it out of your hands, letting it fall to the floor. You looked at him in disbelief just as he grabbed you by the shoulders.

“Lieutenant, listen to me. If you don’t accept the program, bad things are going to happen. And since, it sounds like you’re all alone in your life, there will be no blackmail, only death.” Grimm explained, and his hands started trembling at the thoughts he was thinking. “I-I could, or a-anyone here, could reach out to him; We can ask him to give you an assignment instead of accepting and waiting for an invitation. We can just–”

You threw his hands off of you, giving him the cold glare from earlier. “I’m going across the street for a new coffee. I’ll be back.” You start walking away once more. “Or maybe I should just bring a whole case of booze for myself, seeing how this day’s already turning out.”

You felt everyone’s eyes on you again as you started leaving the precinct. And of course, the little leech that had attached itself to you was still following you, even to the outside world.

He stops on top of the stairs, shouting, “You have to accept the program, L/N! It’s the only guarantee that everything will be alright here!”

You growled under your breath as you turned around. “Will you shut the fuck up already?! I ain’t accepting shit unless he tells me himself!” You watched as he shuttered, and everyone passing by looked at you like a madman. “What are you all looking at?! Do your own fucking jobs and stop worrying about mine!”

That seemed to do the trick, as they all disbanded, heading back inside to mind their own business. You groaned and closed your eyes while running a hand through your hair, just thinking. You can’t believe this shit was still going on. I mean, you should have expected it, but you were holding onto a slimmer of hope that everything was going to be a-okay.

Jesus, Why can’t they leave me–

“You changed your name.” A voice creeped up from behind you, feeling the air get knocked out of you. Trying to not look so startled as your head whips around, looking down the stairs. That voice sounded… what exactly?

You were met with, in your opinion, a very handsome looking man, probably around your age; Nicely combed chestnut colored hair with a pair of red shades, complementing the slick black, neatly pressed suit he had on. He looked like a man ready for business.

Even though he was kind of captivating to look at, you just continued to stare as your brain processed everything that he just said. 

And It did take you a minute to finally understand why he sounded familiar, a memory buried just beneath the surface of your delegate mind.

You blinked, slowly putting it together, finally stringing the courage to say–

“...Matthew… Matthew Murdock?” You asked, still unsure. 

He chuckles softly, flashing those pearly whites. “That would be me.”

Your eyes widened with shock as you took a step down towards him. “Oh my… oh my god. I didn’t think… I didn’t think I’d see you again. Your–” You trail off when you finally notice the cane he was holding. Though, it was not just any regular cane that anyone could have. 

Cane and shades. Oh my god, he’s–

He strangely sensed what you were looking at, and gave you a bittersweet look. “I know I look different since the last time we’ve seen each other.” 

Your face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, I-I didn’t mean–”

“No, no. I know. I get it. Um…” He shifts his weight around, copying with your own feelings. “Are you… free to get some coffee?”

“Coffee? Um…” You shake your head when you even give your job another thought, and smile. “Sure. I’d love to.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“So…” You were trying to figure out how to start this conversation as you both leave the cafe, drinks in hand. “How… How’ve you been? Since it’s been, um…”

“So…” You were trying to figure out how to start this conversation as you both leave the cafe, drinks in hand. “How… How’ve you been? Since it’s been, um…”

Wait. How long has it been? You thought, racking your brain which he seemed to have read.

“Twenty years? Give or take.” He said, with a small smile.

You gasp under your breath. “Jesus, it’s really been that long?”

“It sure has.” He said, a sadness in his undertone. “Um… I’ve been good. I can’t complain.”

You smile softly. “Well, that’s good to hear, Matt–” You shake your head again. “Uh, Matthew. Not, Matt, I uh–”

He chuckles. “You can call me Matt, Y/N. No need to be formal.”

“I can?” You asked, and he nodded. You sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m just… trying to get used to this feeling again. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I get it.” He grins just like you remember from your childhood. “When you do get used to it, should I… call you ‘Peaches’ again?”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You teased immediately, and pointed. “That name’s embarrassing.” 

“Why? I think it’s adorable.”

“Not in the way I got it!”

“So you confused it for another fruit, I think it should still hold up.”

“I was four! You big tease.” You both had arrived at a crosswalk, and subconsciously you grabbed onto his arm for him to stop. You quickly realized what you did, completely embarrassed.

Way to make it awkward, Y/N!! 

“Shit, sorry! I-I shouldn’t have grabbed onto you like that!” You said, as you try to iron out the wrinkle on his sleeve you made.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’m used to people grabbing me like that.” He says, truthfully. “My friend Foggy helps string me along all the time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry… Foggy? Please tell me that’s–”

He holds his hand up. “It’s a nickname. He’s my old college roommate who snores like a foghorn.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I was about to say. Who names their kid that?”

He laughs. “Foggy probably would.”

“What’s his real name?”

“Franklin. Nelson.” Matt says as they start crossing the street.

“Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson.” You tilt your head at him. “So an old roommate?”

“Roommate, friend, and partner. We’re attorneys.” He clears up after feeling your confused stare on him. “We started our own law firm.”

You looked at him in awe. “Really? You’re a lawyer?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. That’s amazing. Just like your Mother.” You missed how his face fell as you thought of the beautiful brunette woman, always dressed like a goddess in your young eyes (She also made the best pie you’ve ever eaten). You smile at the memory, as the two of you get to the other side. “How is Maggie, by the way?”

“She’s…” You could feel how tense the air had become. “Passed away.”

You nearly stopped in your tracks, the wind getting knocked out of you. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry I didn’t know.” You sigh. “Jeez, I am really fucking up today, aren’t I?”

“You didn’t know though.” He points out as you shake your head.

“I know, I know, but still.” 

Times like this I wish I had telepathy as a power. 

You took a moment to process this before deciding to carefully test the waters. “Do you mind me… asking how it happened?”

“Not at all.” He replies, sadly. “Uh, car accident. Same one that blinded me.”

“Jesus. I’m so sorry, Matt.”

“It’s okay. She had a good life. I can dwell too much on what happened.” He stops and points with his stick. “Uh, here it is.”

You look up at the office building, a few signs lingering in the front to show what’s there. Of course your eyes beeline to the one you were looking for. “Nelson and Murdock: Attorneys at Law.” You read aloud, not hiding your smile. “Not bad, Mr. Attorney.”

“Please, Attorney’s fine.” He joked, sensing your happiness.

“Wow.” You look back at it and then back at him again, wondering, “Can I see?”

He seems taken back by it, but happily obliges. “Uh, of course.” He gestures to the door. “Head up the stairs, second on the left.”

You curiously head inside as he follows you, letting you lead until he has to unlock the door. Once you are inside, color yourself impressed by it. Now, it’s not the fanciest law office you’ve ever seen or been in, but it was definitely something you could rant about.

You whistle slowly, nodding in excitement. “Whoa. Sweet place.” You said, spinning back around to him.

“I don’t think it’s that luxurious.” Matt said, letting you walk around.

“Why not? I mean, sure, it’s small, but not a lot of people who start their own business would get something like this. It’s amazing.” 

He quirks a smile. “I guess. Still could’ve got something better.”

“And how would you do that?” You raise an eyebrow with a teasing look. “You won the lottery and haven’t told Foggy yet?”

“Something like that…” He shifts his weight over, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” You reply, tossing your empty cup away, listening.

“Why did you change your name?”

You paused. “Hmm?”

“What’s with L/N?” He asked, confused. “What happened to Maximoff?”

Your heart sank. You didn’t expect him to realize so soon. “Uh…”

Suddenly the door opens to a bubbly blond man. “Matt, you’re here. We have a client who’s urgently coming over here– or is that her?” He looks puzzled, holding his head. “I swear it was a man on the phone…”

“Oh, I’m not a client.” You said, shaking your head. 

“Foggy, this is Y/N. I ran into her this morning.” Matt replies, gesturing towards you with his walking stick.

“Y/N?” His hazel eyes widened. “Wait, like… Y/N? As in your childhood friend?” Foggy asked, with a grin.

“You… talked about me?” You said, looking over at Matt who seemed almost embarrassed by that.

“Oh, Matty here wouldn’t shut up about you.” Foggy steps closer holding out his hand that you take. “Foggy Nelson.”

“Y/N L/N.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss. So what brings you here? I remember Matt saying something like, ‘you moved many years ago’.”

“Yeah, actually. Why are you back here?” Matt asked, curiously. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure you’re not here on a vacation.”

“Uh…” You cleared your throat, nervously. “You would be correct. I… I was on a job, I’m a detective, and I kind of… messed a very tiny thing up that my superior lost his shit on; Instead of demoting me, my punishment was to relocate back here.”

Foggy whistles slowly. “Damn. What did you do?”

“I’m… still not hundred percent sure about that myself.” You shrugged. “I still think it wasn’t a big deal.”

A laugh. “Well, Thank you for being honest, Miss L/N.”

“Please, Y/N’s fine, Mr. Nelson.”

“And please call me, Foggy. Mr. Nelson was my father.”

You snort, and lightly elbow Matt in the arm. “Oh, I like him. I can see why you attached yourself to him.”

“Are you kidding?” Foggy scoffed playfully. “I’m the one who attached myself to him.”

Matt grins, following along. “Well, I can’t exactly see what got attached to me.” 

“Oh, you’ve got blind jokes now, too?” You asked, not surprised. 

“Of course, what else would I do?”

“Was he a smartass like this when you were kids?” Foggy asked, making you nod eagerly. 

“Oh, yeah. You have no idea.” You reply, honestly. You remember Matt always being a bit of smart ass, even at a young age. A quick look at your watch told you it was time. “I know you have a client coming, so I should probably take my leave.”

“You sure?” Foggy asked, sounding disappointed. “You could pretend to be our secretary.”

You laugh. “I would love to play pretend, but I’m technically still on the clock. So…”

“Awe. I just met you and I want you to stay.”

“It’s not like she’s disappearing again, Foggy.” Matt says, before shifting in your direction. “Right?”

“I promise I won’t disappear again.” You smile. “Uh, well… you know where I work. Come by anytime.”

“Will do.” 

You take your leave, and as soon as they don’t hear your footsteps, Foggy faces his friend with the biggest, cartoonish look on his face.

“I can practically hear you grinning.” Matt said, hearing him skip towards him like a kid.

“Oh, come on!” Foggy says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I don’t need super hearing like you to see she was flustered. I think you might be leaning away from the childhood friend zone, Matt.”

“Foggy, I haven’t seen her since I was nine. Maybe she was just happy to see me too.

“Okay, again, don’t need super hearing to tell you’re lying. Besides, you’re Matthew Murdock; The guy who somehow picks out all the pretty women wherever he goes.”

“And… how would I know if Y/N’s beautiful?”

“I don’t know. You describe her as being cute.”

“Yeah, and I was saying that from a nine year old’s point of view.” Matt points out, hearing him sigh. Although, the quietness didn’t last long when he admits that his curiosity has peaked. “What does she look like now?”

Foggy grins again, slinging his arm over his shoulder. “Okay! She’s gotten taller, Obviously. She was wearing a white blouse with a black blazer and pants, very professional looking.” He explains as his friend listens along. “Uh, she still had (Y/H/C) colored hair, which was tied up in a messy bun, and had a few strands in her face, probably from this weather. Uh, you know, (Y/E/C) eyes, uh, some makeup, but not too much. Just the right amount. Uh–”

Matt chuckles. “You’re really going into this one.” He tilts his head playfully. “Shall I set up a date?”

Foggy lightly swats him in the arm. “Can it.” He says, before looking quite prideful of himself. “I, my dear friend, am a happily married man. I think Marci might throw me off the roof If I did.”

“And probably stage it like an accident.”

“Exactly.” He points and sits down in one of the chairs. “I love her too much to do that. But you, on the other hand, don’t have to hesitate.” Foggy points out as his friend sighs. “Come on, Matt. What’s the harm in it? What are you afraid of? Your disability? Your heightened senses? ‘Cause I don’t think she’s going to care about either of those.”

“She’s going to care about something…” Matt mumbles, making the blond perk up.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Foggy hums and straightens up. “Well, if it’s not going to be a date, you can at least invite her out to the bar on Thursday with us. Because I deserve to know about your childhood.”

Matt raises an eyebrow. “I’ve told you about my childhood.” 

“Yeah, but I want it from her point of view. You know–” He shrugs. “Maybe you left out some embarrassing details?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, let’s get that paperwork ready for our client, alright?” 

Foggy sighs, playfully. “Fine. Party pooper.” He whines, and then smiles. “But seriously, drinks with her, por favor?”

“I guess I can.” Matt said, admitting defeat as his friend shoots his hands in the air, standing up from his chair towards the printer.

“Thank you!” He sings, getting a laugh…

And a very subtle…

Frown.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You shut the locker you were using loudly before carefully making sure everything was still inside (You still weren’t sure who could even trust in this place). Once you saw everything is, you slung your bag over your shoulder and exited the room, surprised to find your new partner just outside like on repeat.

“Captain?” You said, confused (You wondered if he needed something, or maybe you two finally had a case together).

“Detective.” Frank said, after a puff from his cigarette. “Where’d you run off to this evening?”

“Just some fresh air.” You reply, shocked that he didn’t even sound mad. “Plus, I… ran into someone I knew. Decided to catch up.”

“Hmm. I get it. It can get suffocating here.” His dark eyes trailed down from your face, looking deep in thought (It was starting to make you nervous).

“Captain?” 

“Your badge is all twisted in your collar.” 

You didn’t even get the chance to look at it yourself before he was leaning in close and started fixing it himself. You stood stiff and confused, not sure what to even say or do. And you really weren’t sure what to do when you suddenly felt his lips by your earlobe.

What is he–

“The walls have ears.” He whispers, making you quietly gasp. You watch him pull away with a smile, and then loudly say, “Want to come with me to the vending machine?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You trained yourself to relax, realizing that you officially know now that someone in the building was watching and eavesdropping on you. You had to act like you were completely unaware of anything, just like you have been since you started here. You stood next to Frank as he was acting like he was trying to decide what he wanted as he started speaking quietly to you.

“I can tell you’re not in the program.” Was the first thing he said, surprising you once again.

“How can you tell?” You asked, also looking preoccupied.

“‘Cause you don’t look scared to death when someone starts talking to you.”

“I could say the same thing about you.”

“Well…” His frown comes and goes on his face. “Hate to break it to you, but I am.”

You let the shock hit your face before washing it away. “You accepted it?” You asked, as he nodded. You couldn’t even believe it. “Why? And what did they make you do?”

“I had to.” Frank admitted. “I needed to prove myself to the… cause.”

“What did you do?”

He glances at you for a second. “I killed the cop that went against the program’s orders.” He must have seen the way you paled because he apologized. “Sorry. But I didn’t enjoy it if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m just trying to stop all this bullshit.”

“Stop?” You asked, intrigued. 

“Yeah. Like it should have all those years ago.” 

“What do you mean?”

“There was a different Kingpin who ran the city years ago. His name was Wilson Fisk, and unlike the new one, he showed the world who he was; He wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone. Until… something or someone slipped up, and he was finally charged for all his crimes.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah. The public thought it was all over, and they still do. They don’t even realize that another person has claimed the throne of the underworld. Except us on the task force.”

You inhale sharply. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” He mutters, not even hiding his frown. “Listen, Detective. I’ve read your file and color me impressed; Like, really fucking impressed. You’ve done some amazing things in your career.”

Your heart flutters at the compliment. “Thanks.” However you couldn’t help but wonder what if he was aiming at something else. “But…?”

“But… there will be consequences if you don’t expect the program.”

You scoffed quietly. “So I’ve been told.”

“And you should take it to heart, Kid.” He said, sincerely. “Look, I admire your… hard headedness, and I’ll try to support your decision as much as I can, ‘cause you’re my partner. But you’re going to face the worst of the worse. You’re going to have verbal and physical threats, your job’s going to get tougher, and you’re probably going to have people try to kill you.”

“So I’ve been told.” You said again, making him grow quiet. 

Very quiet. You could almost sense the–

“I might have to kill you.” 

And then your eyes widened again, this time, your fear really showed. You saw that Frank seemed uncomfortable by what he said (and could you even blame him?).

“I’m your partner, I’m going to be the closest person to you while you’re working here, so it’s highly likely. And I really don’t want to.” Frank meets your gaze, guilt inside his orbs. “But I have a family, Kid. If it comes down to a choice, I’m going to have to choose them over you. You understand?”

You nod slowly. “I understand.”

“Good.” He decides to finally pick what he wanted out of the machine, finishing with, “Just consider everything I said. Because I want to work with you, you seemed like a good fit for me; And I want you to be by my side if we take this guy down.” He reaches down to grab the candy, handing it over to you with a smile. “I’ll see you around.”

You take it in your grasp, watching him leave the room with his work façade on and airtight. Now you were left with all your emotions swirling, leaving you to think everything over rapidly.

I wonder how many people are like Frank. Would I be the same way if I still had my family? It hurts you think about it, but who wouldn’t in a situation like this?

You glanced down at your bag.

.

.

.

That once glance is what you needed to make your choice.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Dawning the all black attire once more, you walked along the dark parts of the city, keeping your eyes peeled and ears open for anything useful. But after a few hours out into the night, you almost headed home in defeat until you caught wind of something.

You carefully walked down the steps of the fire escape, looking down at what was the backdoor of a bodega, open, and two people having a tense conversation. You say the shop owner, a guy your age, talking to someone who you deemed shady. 

“Where’s the rest?” The shady man asked after rummaging through a duffle back that he handed. 

“T-That’s all of it.” The shop keeper said.

“That can’t be all of it. You’re low this month.”

“W-Well profits have been down, so–”

“That’s no excuse.” The shady man grabs him by the collar (which was the last straw in your eyes). “My boss ain’t going to like that.”

“I-I don’t know what you want me to do! I don’t have any–”

You finally dropped to the ground, startling them. The shady man tries to hide his fear by putting up a tough look. “Who the fuck are you?” He sneered, right before you blasted him into the door.

“Get inside.” You told the shopkeeper, which he wastes no time to do. You walked closer and kneeled before the man who was groaning in pain. “So you like to steal money from the innocent. Why?”

He peaked his eyes open, gritting through his teeth. “Who–” Then he sighs. “Oh, you’re a masked… woman? I’m letting a woman beat me?”

“You sure are, buddy.” You snagged his hand just as he started reaching for his gun, and used your strength to apply pressure. “I’ll leave you be if you just answer my question.” You squeezed more getting a peep out of him. “Why are you taking his money?”

“Ugh, c-cause my Boss owns this block, he gets half of the businesses to pay for their protection.”

“So they pay you so you can protect them?”

“Yes!”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know, I’m just the messenger– Ah!!”

You twisted in the opposite direction, making him wiggle under your grasp. “Who’s your Boss? The Kingpin?”

“The Kingpin? Fuck no! I-I mean, we partner with him, but we don’t directly talk to him unless it’s something serious– Ow!”

Interesting. So they’re independent? Or, they believe they’re independent? You have put that information on the backburner for now.

“So who’s your Boss?” You asked, as he shakes his head.

“I ain’t telling you that!”

“Alright then, who’s the Kingpin?”

“He’s–” Then he froze which got you interested.

“Oh, so you know stuff about him? Well that’s perfect.” You use your other hand to pin him to the door. “Tell me everything.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

With just a few pieces of information, it was enough to get you going. Enough to start doing what you thought was necessary. Over the next few weeks, your little night job caught the eyes of the public. What started off with just one newspaper flooded into more. Soon you saw the silhouette picture of you everywhere you go (Might seem a little narcissistic, but you kind of felt a rush from it). But… not everyone felt great about your appearance. What started off with a phone call from one of his men, pleading him to turn on the tv, soon fueled his rage. 

The Kingpin, The God of the Underworld, The Western Sun of The Hand, listened intensely to everything the news reporter is saying.

[More Vigilantes? Looks like Queens isn’t the only one having a masked hero, looks like one decided to spawn in our neck of the woods. Nicknamed ‘The Masked Man’ has been helping out our rougher parts, and bringing rightful criminals to justice. This week alone, ten wanted men from a local gang have been placed on the steps of a few police stations. Although authorities are grateful that they’ve been brought in, just like what happened with Queens’ Ghost-Spider, they’re still hesitant against this new helper. But of course, the public have a different opinion, and are praising this new hero with gratitude. Up next, we have–]

The Kingpin clenches his fists with bitterness, and grits through his teeth with, “Those fucking idiots.”

Why didn’t any of them tell him that this was happening frequently? Or that this was happening at all? Why did he have to find out through a goddamn news station? 

He could tell his men on the other side of the phone was doing his best not to tremble as he spoke,

[‘Do you want us to see if we can draw him out, Sir?]

“Not yet. I have somewhere to be, and I want to meet this person myself. So, wait for my orders.”

[‘Yes, Sir. Enjoy your night.’]

He hung up the phone, tossing it onto his desk as he let out a heavy sigh. One that was loud enough to make his friend crack a joke as he waltzed in.

“Whoa. What did the desk do to you?” Foggy jokes, getting a snort as a reply.

“Oh, I could make a list.” Matt quips back with a smile.

“Well, if you’re caught up with the news, our last client just left. Which means, we can finally go get drinks!” Foggy starts spinning on his heels for the exit. “Come on! She’s supposed to meet us there! You can’t keep a lady waiting.”

“Of course.” Matt calls out, turning the tv off. The next words could be chilling to anyone that wasn’t his friend. And that was…

.

.

.

“What kind of gentleman would I be?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The three of you clink your glasses and yell, “Cheers!”

“Y/N, I’m glad you could finally make it to our weekly outing.” Foggy replies, chirpy as usual (You could see now how he attached himself to Matt).

“Thank you for the invitation, again. I’m sorry I’m…” You chuckled. “Week’s late. Work’s been pinning me down like crazy.”

“Have you had any cases?” Matt asked, curiously.

“Uh… not really. It’s more like stopping a few robbers, and just going over cold cases. But then we got short staff last week, and somehow I got stuck being a traffic cop. I haven’t been one of those since the academy.”

“Do you miss San Francisco?” Foggy asked, as you shrugged.

“Eh, sometimes. I mean, I liked the people I work with; I miss my old partner Max the most. But my new one, Frank, he’s pretty good, a little lazy sometimes, but still good.”

“So what made you want to be a detective?”

“Is this twenty questions now?” Matt asked, tongue and cheek.

“What?” Foggy said, looking between the two. “I’m just curious. You can’t tell me you’re not.”

“Well, uh—”

“Yeah, he’s curious. Please tell us, Y/N.”

You laugh at their shenanigans, reminding you of your youth. “Uh, let’s see.” You start racking your brain on the reason why. “Honestly… it kind of just happened. I saw it on one of those career guides in my last year of high school and I just went with it. Part of me just thought it sounded cool, and the other part of me just likes the idea of helping someone.”

“Huh.” Foggy takes her answer in dearly. “That’s interesting.”

Another laugh. “I guess.”

“One more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Being in the law enforcement, you know, as someone who has to… uphold the law. How do you feel about these vigilantes in New York? Because–” He points to himself. “I think they’re doing the right thing, despite… ‘breaking’ the law so to speak. Now, Matt on the other hand–” He points to the blind man. “Slightly disagrees with me.”

“Oh, really?” You asked, intrigued. 

“I…” Matt begins, shifting in his seat. “Just want to make sure the right guy pays.”

“Huh.” You take that in, storing it away. “Well, it doesn’t really bother me. As long as they’re helping and not hurting the right people, I can side with them.”

“See?” Foggy said, looking in his friend’s direction and slapped him on the shoulder.  “I’m not crazy. And this is coming from a detective of all people.” He sighs blissfully. “Although, my only criticism is, the media needs a better name for this person. Masked Man ain’t cutting it.”

“And what would you call this person? Ghost-Spider 2.0?” Matt asked, interested now (And so were you).

“No, no. This person isn’t a copycat. They need something cool, something, maybe sinister? I mean, have you read one of the reports that say that the person had glowing red eyes? Or that another report said that they swear they fly? So it has to be kind of the nose here. Like… Red Angel, no! Red Devil! Or… Devil Man! Or… uh…”

“Like… Daredevil.” You said, the word clicking in your head. That seemed to get him really excited as he looked like a child in a toy store.

“That’s it! Daredevil! That’s perfect.” He gasps. “Maybe I should have that idea sent somewhere.”

“Daredevil.” You tested, almost getting butterflies from in. “I like it.”

“Oh, I know. It’s perfect.”

You hummed happily. “Alright, enough about a complete stranger. How about the two of you? How did you guys decide to become lawyers?”

Matt hums, thinking. “I guess… mine was kind of just heritage.” He admits, implying his mother’s legacy.

“Well, my mom wanted me to be a butcher, but I told her ‘no’.” Foggy replies, making you tilt your head, confused.

“A butcher?” You asked, as Matt groans.

“Oh, you just opened a can of worms, Y/N.” He says, confusing you more.

“Why?”

Then Foggy claps his hands together, startling you a bit. “Oh, my deary, this is a tale I must tell everyone. But first, I’m hungry. I’m going to buy nachos for the table. Be right back.”

And then he left, and it wasn’t even a second later when the suspense was broken. “You know, if he’s too much, I can make an excuse for you to leave.” Matt half heartedly jokes.

“No, no, I like Foggy.” You smile his way. “I’m glad you both have each other. He seems good for you.”

“You sound almost jealous.”

Yeah, well… maybe?

“Well, let’s be real, Matt, I’m not exactly the same kid I was when I left.” You say, honestly.

“Oh come on, you can’t have changed that much.”

“You have no idea.”

He hums again, leaning closer. “Well, I guess that could imply me as well.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You scoot closer too. “Well… we can just try starting over?”

“Oh, yeah?” He tilts his head. “What about picking up where we left off? Slowly figuring out the missing pieces, Peaches?”

“Oh,yeah? Mr… Bratty-Matty?”

“Oh… Bratty-Matty? You really were a sly kid–” His fingers brush over your. “Weren’t you?”

You chuckle, your heart fluttering. “Maybe…”

“Maybe?” He repeats, then his blank gaze looks away from you. “I can hear Foggy coming back.”

You look up to confirm it. “Yeah, he is.” Which you were kind of sad about.

Seemingly reading your mind, he said, “Hey? If you’re free in the next few days, do you want to catch up? Just you and me?”

You smile, cheeks feeling red. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

“Perfect.”

He removes his hand just as Foggy came back, only for you to grab it under the table. You felt him squeeze back, and start listening to the blond man’s tale about how he became a lawyer.

•°•°•°•°•°•°��°•°•°•°

“Sure you don’t want us to walk you home?” Foggy asked, as they all stood outside on the curb, a cab pulling in front of them.

“I’m like one block this way. I’ll be okay.” You said, smiling. “But thanks anyway.”

“Nice seeing, Y/N.” Matt said, as he started folding up his walking stick.

“You too.” You watch them start getting in before blurting out, “Hey, Matt?” You get his attention. “Call me.” That makes him smile, and Foggy cheers on.

“Ooooh.” 

“Alright, get in the cab, Nelson.” Matt said, getting in himself.

“Bye, Y/N.”

You wave them goodbye before walking away. Hands in your pocket, and a new pep in your step, you strolled the sidewalk without a care in the world.

I can’t wait to meet him again. You felt like a teenager again with your little highschool crushes. 

I wonder what Matt looked like as a teenager? It still saddens you that you lost touch with him all those years back. You always wonder happened to him and why he stopped writing.

Was it because of the accident? Or was it something else? You shake your head.

I’ll just have to ask him next time. Hmm? You stopped your movements in front of a store that you haven’t yet explored, and read the sign before getting an idea.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You plopped the stuff you grabbed onto the counter, everything between some new fabric scraps to some spray paint. You look around nonchalantly as the cashier, who looks like he’s done with this place, starts ringing everything up. You occasionally tuned in on the beeping and the sound of the plastic bag opening before he decided to strike up a conversation.

“You going to comic con or something?”

“Hmm?”

“You going to comic con?” He repeats, and you shake your head.

“No.” You raise an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“The materials you’re buying suggest that you’re making something. A costume?”

You smile, prideful. “Something like that.”

And you could already picture that you weren’t going to be sleeping tonight.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The trembling, beat up goon, kneeled with his head on the floor in front of the man dressed in a blood red suit, a cane shielding the blade everyone saw him use.

“Speak.” Matt hissed, everyone holding their breaths when he spoke.

“I-I swear, this person literally looked like the devil! I-It had horns and c-could fly!” The man shook with every word, biting his lip as he awaited an answer.

“A devil?”

“Y-Yes! A devil! I-It took out the whole truck! Beat up all our guys! Pushed the weapons into the Hudson!”

Matt furrows his brows. “Pushed them into the Hudson? How? Those crates are almost a ton. How is that possible?”

“It’s got some kind of superpower! The whole truck was engulfed in red before being pushed in with a wave of its hand! I s-swear! I’m telling you the truth, my King!”

With a wave of the hand? Matt clenched his can, and anyone could see how angry he was now.

“Sir? What do you want us to do?” Someone behind him asked, and it was no brainer what he wants to do; He’s thought about time and time again.

“Do we still have some of those hallucination vials on hand?” Matt asked, hearing him nod.

“Yes, Sir. We should have a case of them lying around.”

“Good. Get ready.”

“Sir?”

.

.

.

“Because I’ve just declared war on this Devil.”

*Decided to draw what the reader's costume looks like so you can get an Idea.* Ignore the resolution. Idk why it came it out that way. lol.

-Taglist Is Open-

@utterlynuts @etanordoesbullsh1t @mattmurdocksstarlight @l3xiluve @lunaticgurly @margoo0 @swift-enchanted @athenniene

@up-in-space-reading @itwasthereaminuteago @lazyxsquirrel @yeonalie @scoliobean @kayden666

@nkmblackhyuuga

[currently-evil]

Andrew!Writer and Neil!Actor Au

Andrew wrote a book that was called a masterpiece, both by critics and the public. But immediately after completing it He lost all inspiration. 

Meanwhile the book got so popular that somebody decided to make a movie out of it and they asked Andrew to be on set, to supervise if everything is according to his vision.

Andrew agrees out of pure boredom and then chills on set. Mostly just drinking awfully sugary coffees and when asked, giving his opinions in the form of shrugs or one word replies.

One day when he was napping between the sets, he suddenly hears one of the background actors arguing with the director, what was his name? Neil something, with pretty eyes and interesting scars, that the make-up crew always complain about. “Yeah, but do you know what sound people make when they get stabbed in the chest? Because I do, so don't tell me I am doing it wrong because I know more than you.”

Needless to say, Andrew is intrigued. He wants to know more about that guy. There are a thousand questions muddling his mind.

Who stabbed you? What is your eye color up close? Who gave you all these scars? Is that dimple in your cheek showing when you're really smiling? Who twisted you into the shape you are today? Is Neil your real name? What parts of you are real? What parts of you are lies?

They somehow exchange some words when they find each other smoking in the same secret place. Some words turned into meaningful conversations and into even more meaningful silences shared together.

In the movie Neil plays a plain, boring guy, whose main role is to be annoying for a few minutes and then being stabbed to death and forgotten. But in real life he is anything but. With every word shared, with every piece of history uncovered Andrew is more and more fascinated. With every boundary respected, with every harsh truth replied in kind and accepted Andrew wants. More and more.

He finds himself reaching for the pen for the first time in ages, wanting to memorialize everything about that boy. His memory is perfect.But there is something special about letting paper soak in this boy’s bloody past. Something that he needs to do, no, he wants to do.

At first it's just pieces of Neil’s stories, of burning car on the beach, of smiles that look too much Butcher’s to be anything joyful, of running running running…

… but eventually, without even realizing it's all joined in a story. One that might even be more world breaking than Andrew’s first one.

Eventually it's something more than just a book. Pages are full of freckles, cheeks and auburn locks, of icy eyes turning warm as they look at Andrew, of shared stories whispered between the dark, of trust and understanding, of a man who was so afraid of dying alone and being forgotten, without thinking Andrew created for him proof of his existence.

Every word, page, chapter is a confession.

And Andrew doesn't know what to do. He knows what that book tells, what it tells about Neil, what it tells about what he feels for Neil.

He can’t hide it, he feels as if he could explode with it. 

So in truly Andrew’s fashion when he is done he just dumbs the manuscript on Neil’s lap and bails.

There are a few days of silence and then finally Neil shows up on Andrew’s porch.

He pants like mad, of course he runs to Andrew instead of taking a car like a normal person.

There is a manuscript in his hand, held so tight some pages crumble under his fingers.

“I am nothing… I always was. And I am tired of it.” he pants. “But You… you made me into something”

Andrew doesn’t know how to answer the raw emotion in Neil’s voice so he just scoffs, through a lump in his throat. “Don’t be an idiot.”

They both know what Andrew means. He didn't make anything out of Neil because he always was something, always was more than his history. More than his trauma.

Neil shakes his head, but there is a look in his eyes and Andrew knows Neil read all that was written between the lines. All the feelings, all the silent words.

“And You like me.”

Andrew narrows his eyes, but refuses to deny or repeat himself.

“You really do” says Neil with wonder in his eyes. “You like me so much you wrote an entire book about how pretty my eyes are, how interesting I am, and how much you want to take my clothes off and..!”

“Shut the fuck up.” “Make me” answers Neil with hooded eyes and a cheeky smile.

And Andrew doesn't even manage to fully finish asking Yes or No? before Neil interrupts him with Yes, yes Kiss me, and they fall into each other.

Later when they nestled on Andrew’s couch leaning on one another, too tired to kiss more, too buzzed to let each other free, They discuss the book. Neil agrees to let Andrew publish it, after he talks with the FBI and makes sure they won't be in trouble for it.

But he also blinks at Andrew and say:

“I can't believe you’re [writer name] and you didn't tell me, you know I am your great fan!”

(Of course Andrew writes under the pseudonym, of course Neil is a fan, who always cared more about the book than what the author looks like.)

And Andrew press a kiss into his forehead murmuring:

“We met on the set of my book, I was sitting almost entire time on chair with my name printed out on it, you dumbass”

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

If you liked this check out my My compilation of all my AUs and Headcannons here :)

This was suppose to be it but I couldnt stop about their future in this AU soo..

The book is indeed a masterpiece and a year or so after publishing it Andrew again gots offers for movie adaptation. He agrees but only if Neil will play the main role (aka if he would play himself.)

(The Butcher case is closed but they both decided it's safer not to admit that the book is a biography yet)

The role is Neil’s entry into Hollywood, soon he is one of the most sought out actors

They refuse to ever comment on their relationship but paparazzi have so many photos of them walking hand in hand or sharing a meal in restaurant or just sitting in the park together looking at each other like they don't see anything else it's painfully obvious what they are too each other

few years in the future when all leads in Butcher case is finally closed, they decide together to open foundation helping kids with childhood similar to theirs

To help foundation they decide to both admit that the book is actually Neil biography and that they are together

They give interview to their favorite reporter

Neil explaining what book mean to him and how hard it was to play himself, to look back at all that awful things

Andrew explaining why the book was even created, how anytime Neil opened his mouth he let out a story and how Andrew was becoming addicted to it

“I wasn't meant to survive past 18 and when I did I was scared I would die anytime and be forgotten. Andrew saw that and made sure I became something more eternal.”

[softguarnere]

For Whatever We Lose

Lewis Nixon x OFC (slow burn, enemies to lovers) Chapter Seven: A Twisted Satisfaction

Summary: Whatever Minerva imagined that Toccoa would be like at night flies out the window the second she experiences the real thing. It is, in a word: madness. A/N: Today's fun fact: the fight mentioned with the man in the 511th actually did happen! The story was told to me by a local when I was working in Toccoa, and it was too good to pass up on sprinkling it into a fic :) Warnings: language, alcohol Taglist: @kujofam @dcyllom

No longer able to punish them for alleged incidents of fraternization, Sobel runs the company with more vengeance than before. Anything and anyone is fair game. He taunts Bianca when she is chosen to become a medic. Instead of congratulating Lori on improving her time up Currahee the way Dick does, he takes to running right behind her, jeering at her the whole time. When Anna tries to lead them in a marching song one day to keep time, he tells her to shut up and that she sounds like a dying cat.

But – no longer able to revoke weekend passes for fraternization, the women of Easy Company finally get their first taste of Toccoa’s night life.

“Last week a man from the 511th got thrown through a window of a department store after he hit another man over the head with a bottle opener,” Minerva relates to Keziah as the girls race around the bunkhouse to get ready.

“Where’d you hear that?” Lori asks over her shoulder as she brushes her red locks. “One of those private sources you’re never able to disclose?”

Minerva ignores her. In actuality, her source had been Webster, who had watched it all happen. He’s a good source; he relays his stories very well. No wonder he wants to be a writer.

“Where are you gonna go?” Keziah asks. “I’m going with Guarnere, Luz, and Toye to some place they like in the middle of town. Gonna kick Luz’s ass in darts.”

“My money is on you.” If the Oklahoman is as good at throwing darts as she is at shooting, all bets placed on Luz are hopeless. “I don’t know. Webster asked if I wanted him to show me around.”

A smile tugs at the edges of Keziah’s lips. “He’s in love with you. You know that, right?”

I could say the same about Guarnere with you, Minerva thinks, biting her lip to stop herself. Keziah is only just at a point of accepting that Guarnere does not, in fact, look at her so often because he hates her. Still, it might be something of a shock if the real reason were revealed. Minerva can’t decide if Keziah genuinely hasn’t picked up on the fact that the Philadelphian has a crush on her, or if she’s just ignoring it for unknown reasons.

“You’re not answering,” Keziah singsongs with a laugh.

“Well, what am I supposed to say?” No really – what is she supposed to say? David is thoughtful and well spoken and kind and he listens to her. He makes her feel funny things in her chest that she hasn’t experienced since she was a teenager and that she hasn’t allowed herself to analyze yet because . . . Well. “He’s handsome. There, are you happy?”

“Very.”

Good, Minerva thinks. Because that is as far as this thing goes.

Whatever Minerva imagined that Toccoa would be like at night flies out the window the second she experiences the real thing. It is, in a word: madness.

Part of it is probably the shock of being from such a small town. But, to be fair, she did go to college in the state’s capital, and she got her fair share of the city. So it’s not crowds, lights, and noise that are new to her – it’s the utter chaos of military men being set loose in a military town. Specifically, the men who are dead set on catching a local girl to write to once they’re off fighting. They’re particularly rowdy. But one thing that most of the men have in common is that they’re drunk – and many of them seem to be looking for a fight.

Minerva holds her head high as she marches through town in her uniform. She’s always been tall, but seeing these men and realizing that she’s one of them makes her feel proud, which makes her feel just as tall as they are. The playing field is not exactly even – it may never really be – but this is something, at least.

Several Easy Company men call out in greeting as Minerva and Webster enter the bar. They call back, smiling, laughing already, as though they’re already part of the good time.

“You might want to stick close to us,” Don Malarkey suggests after Minerva gets a drink and finds a seat.

“Oh? And why is that?”

She’s expecting some sort of joke, but Malarkey’s face is more serious than she’s ever seen it.

“There are a lot of men here who don’t like the idea of female paratroopers,” he explains in a low voice. “I don’t think they’ll give you a hard time as long as you’re with men from our company. You know we’ll back you up.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Stay safe, Sarge.”

She plans to. She has Webster with her, after all.

Once he gets some alcohol into his system, Webster can wax poetic like never before. He holds himself back though, which is impressive. He only spouts something beautiful whenever someone addresses him directly. And when they call him “Harvard” or “Professor,” he only smiles in response, though his eyes take on a somber, faraway look.

Minerva, for her part, feels more relaxed than she has since arriving in Toccoa months ago. She sings drinking songs with Malarkey and shoots some whiskey with Skinny Sisk. She’s only twenty-two, but the days of doing this sort of thing in college feel like a lifetime ago. So much has happened since then, she realizes. Then she immediately downs another shot to chase the memories away.

She cuts herself off, partially because Lieutenant Speirs arrives and challenges her to a game of darts. She may have beaten him running Currahee, but she needs all her wits about her to beat him in darts – especially because he doesn’t drink, and therefore has more command of his hand-eye coordination.

Minerva lets out a low whistle when he reveals that fact. “With all the temptation around you? You must be a saint.”

Speirs – or Ron, as he assures her that she can call him – only smirks in response. “Far from it.”

It’s at that moment – when she should be having fun and enjoying the game with her friend – that she spots him. A group at a nearby table gets up to leave, and it clears a path of vision to reveal several officers sitting along the wall, chatting with each other while they drink. And there among them, of course, is Lieutenant Nixon. She wouldn’t care too terribly much, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s glaring at her.

Glaring at her like she’s done something wrong. Glaring at her like he dislikes her – although that last part might be true, based on what happened back in the rain.

You backed out of kissing me! Minerva thinks. If anyone should be mad, it should be me.

Then, to her surprise, she realizes that she’s not mad. She hasn’t been mad, anyway. Only hurt, stung by his sudden rejection. Embarrassed, actually, about the fact that she tried to kiss him, which just makes her feel scorned. But now that he’s looking at her like this, so angry and with so much uncalled for hatred, she feels a spark catch in her heart, and it quickly turns into a flame, into a fiery inferno. Hatred is so easy to catch, and it can consume a person so quickly.

Well, fine! If he wants to be mad that he missed his chance, then he can keep on pouting. And he can keep on glaring, too, because she won’t give him the time of day.

Her chest feels light with the satisfaction that spurning someone can bring as she turns back to Ron, smiles, and suggests, “Up for round two?”

She throws herself into the night in a way that she hasn’t allowed herself to since she was a teenager and in college and free for the first time in her life. When she is just Minerva and not an older sister or a teacher or any of her other responsibilities, she can have so much more fun. And when she can feel Lieutenant Nixon’s angry glare on her back every time she laughs or is congratulated by the men of Easy Company for a good shot at the dart board, she feels a twisted sense of satisfaction that adds to the effect of her fun.

Fun – that’s what all this is. It’s what it’s all about. From the very beginning, too, the second that she raced into that recruiter’s office and put her name down for the Airborne. She’s having fun.

They’re just having fun, she tells herself when the night has grown dark and she and Webster have decided to head back to camp, only to grow distracted halfway there and hide behind the town’s movie theater, leaned against the wall, hiding in the shadows as they press their lips together.

“Is this – “ Webster gasps between breaths. “Is this okay?”

“You’re a good kisser,” Minerva assures him as she runs a hand through his hair and pulls him back in for more.

Webster waits until they both surface for air before he tries to clarify what he means. “I mean – Minerva. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Minerva stops, pressing her head against the wall behind her as she considers his words. I don’t want to get you in trouble. That’s sweet. They both know that she would probably get into much more trouble for this than he would.

She nods in agreement. “Okay, then. Let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

Webster sags as he exhales. The shadows they hide in cast a mask over his face, but they do not conceal his disappointment. “I wish we didn’t have to.” A quite laugh escapes him. “I haven’t blown off steam like this in a while.”

That makes two of us, Minerva thinks at the same time that an idea springs fully-formed into her mind. “That’s all this is.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Webster rushes to explain. “I just meant – “

“I know,” Minerva interrupts. “But you’re right. Secret relationships always get found out in the end; they’re harder to hide. Blowing off steam is more casual. You only do it once in a while.”

Webster tilts his head. “Are you suggesting - ?”

Minerva shrugs. She’s perfectly fine with leaving the ball in his court, letting him be the one who makes or breaks this thing. It’s nice to have a break from responsibility and decision making every now and then – fun, even.

“So we’re not going together. We’re not a couple,” Webster clarifies. “Just blowing off steam every now and then?”

“If you want.”

The Harvard man considers this. He raises an eyebrow. “And we would still be friends? Because I don’t want to lose that.” He sounds almost nervous when he adds, “I like being around you, Minerva.”

“Of course we’d be friends,” she assures him. “Just friends with . . . more, every now and then.”

A beat passes while he considers their situation. Finally, he nods.

“Okay. Yeah, I think this could work.”

“Me, too.” Minerva smiles. She closes her eyes as Webster leans in again, feeling him smiling against her own lips.

Minerva feels like she’s floating on the way back to the bunkhouse. Once they near the camp, she and Webster put a respectful distance between themselves, and they try not to smile or laugh too much at anything the other says.

She feels like she’s seventeen again when she slips into the bunkhouse and makes her way over to her bed, except this time there is no sneaking in, no relying on anyone catching her to keep their mouth shut. In fact, hardly anyone notices when she arrives. Very few of the girls are back, and the ones who are appear to be asleep.

The bed next to hers creaks as Keziah rolls over. She lies on her back, watching Minerva.

“Hey,” she greets quietly.

“Hi,” Minerva replies. “How’d it go?”

Keziah shrugs. “It was fun. How was your night?”

“The same.” She flops down onto her bed and sighs. It had been fun. Now that she’s back, however, some of the magic is wearing off, just like it always does. But instead of crawling under her blankets and then waking up in the morning to take on the world with her friends, she realizes that she will go to sleep on a thin mattress and wake up in the morning to run up a mountain. There will be no morning debrief with Helen where they laugh over things boys said to them the night before. John-Michael won’t ask her questions over breakfast. And Jack won’t –

Still dressed, she lies on her back the way Keziah does, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe it was more fun when we were teenagers, though, and there wasn’t a war on. There wasn’t much to worry about then.”

Not looking over, she can hear the pillow rustle as Keziah nods. “I don’t think things will ever be the same again,” she muses.

Something surges in Minerva’s chest like a strong tide coming in. Her breath hitches in her throat.

“I guess you’re right,” she realizes aloud. She will never be a teenager again. The world has moved on, has changed. It is changing, all around them, as history is being made every day. There is no going back. The world is a different place now, and by the end of the war, it may be utterly unrecognizable.

The night on the town soon reveals itself to be a reprieve; nothing more than the eye of a hurricane giving them all a false sense of safety before the rest of the storm hits.

“Athena!” A voice behind Minerva barks the next morning as she leads the Women’s Squad to breakfast.

Facing away from him, Minerva rolls her eyes at the harsh tone in Captain Sobel’s voice as he calls her the wrong name . . . again. She has to force a smile onto her face before she turns around to face him, all fake niceties. “Captain?”

“There’s been a change of plans today,” Captain Sobel informs her. “The women’s work on the rifle range a few days ago was sloppy at best.” He enunciates the p with an annoying pop that grates on her nerves. “I simply cannot report these scores to Colonel Sink in good conscious.”

During the holdup, Diana has followed Minerva’s lead and stepped away from the rest of the Women’s Squad. A wrinkle of confusion appears between her eyebrows when she catches the captain’s words. “What would you have us do about it, sir?” she asks.

You would have to be quick to catch it, and luckily, Minerva is – she sees the way that Sobel blinks in surprise when Diana speaks, as if he hadn’t bothered to notice her before she did so. He looks at her now like she’s utterly inconsequential.

“Well, Sergeant, I would have you fix it. Take all day if you have to. In fact, do just that. After breakfast, report to the range and run drills until I come to get you for lunch.” As if he expects either of them to protest, he barely pauses for breath before rushing to add, “Practice makes perfect, after all. And I expect each and every one of you to be flawless by this afternoon.”

He turns on his heel, ready to leave, but Minerva stops him.

“What about Private Mancini, Captain?”

Sobel spins around, dark brow quirked, his mouth a hard line, every syllable tight when he questions, “What about her?”

“She’s a medic,” Minerva reminds him. “Should she come with us? Or go with the male medics to their training?”

For a second, Sobel flounders. He must make up his mind, though, because he seems pleased with himself when he gives Minerva an answer. “Let her go with the male medics.” He laughs to himself and says in a voice that was clearly not supposed to be heard by the sergeants in front of him, “There’s no helping that girl’s aim anyways.”

Incised on Bianca’s behalf, Minerva and Diana lead the women to the rifle range after breakfast with a newfound sense of purpose. Bianca is still sent off with the male medics, but the other women do nothing but train, train, train. Anita, already the best shot of them all, is bored out of her mind within an hour, and Minerva has to send her to help those having trouble in order to keep her occupied so that she stops showing off.

“Goddamn.” Katherine whistles when the girl from New Mexico manages to hit Lucinda’s target from three spaces over. “She’ll be a sniper by the end of the day!”

The end of the day in question seems to be fast approaching. There’s been no sign of Captain Sobel since he sent them here this morning, and judging by the angle of the sun overhead, that’s been ages ago.

“Funny,” Diana mutters, as if she can read Minerva’s mind. “If he wanted us to improve so badly, you would think that he would be here to oversee this.”

But their captain doesn’t appear. Women start to mutter about being hungry as lunch time comes and goes. They’ve been on the range so long that even Lori, the weakest shot of the group, has vastly improved. Still, no sign of Captain Sobel.

It has to be some sort of test, but Minerva can’t make out his angle. When he finally comes to collect them, will he try to turn the other women against her by claiming that they could have left at any time instead of waiting for him? Somehow or other, he’s going to make this her fault. She can feel it in her gut, the same way that she can sense a storm coming across the ocean while out shrimping with her father and grandfather back home.

Around the time that Minerva starts to wonder if the purpose of this whole thing is actually to make her doubt if she heard him correctly, a figure appears in the distance. Tall, dark haired, and wearing PT clothes, he’s approaching quickly.

“Finally,” Anna mutters, slinging her rifle across her back in relief.

Minerva is about to agree when she realizes that the figure coming towards the range isn’t Captain Sobel – it’s Lieutenant Nixon. She mutters a choice word under her breath before he comes into earshot, and it makes innocent Diana’s cheeks go scarlet.

Nixon is one of the last people she wants to see right now. She may have gotten some satisfaction out of annoying him at the bar a few nights before when she ignored him, but that doesn’t mean that she’s willing to interact with him. Especially not with that expression on his face – the one that clearly says he would rather not be interacting with her, either.

We have that in common, at least, she thinks to herself as the lieutenant comes to a stop in front of her.

The first thing she notices is that his shirt is soaked through with sweat. His hair, too. Has he just come back from PT?

Before she can get answers, he offers both her and Diana a curt nod. “Sobel sent me to find you. Easy Company is meeting outside the barracks, now.”

Something about the way he says the last word sends them all into action. One second the Women’s Squad is on the rifle range, and the next they’re falling into attention beside the barracks.

Their order and timeliness goes unappreciated. Several men glare daggers at them as they approach. Others look confused. Bianca, having been off with the male medics all day, glances between her sergeants and captain with raised brows. Captain Sobel himself whips around the second they appear, and the next thing Minerva knows, he’s in her and Diana’s faces, demanding to know where they’ve been.

Diana opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Instead of watching her struggle, Minerva steps in.

“Sir,” she says in her best teacher voice, which is pleasant and steady – the exact opposite of how she feels right now. “You sent us to the rifle range this morning and gave orders that we were not to leave until you came to collect us for lunch.”

“You must have taken a break for lunch,” Captain Sobel insists. “The runner I sent at noon said he couldn’t find you.”

“What runner?” One of the girls behind her mutters. It’s said quietly enough that Minerva thought only she could hear it, but Captain Sobel is practically omnipotent when he wants to be.

The words are hardly spoken before he demands, “Who said that?!”

Lucinda, Minerva’s mind supplies the answer, because there’s only one person that Southern drawl could belong to.

When no one fesses up, it only enrages their Captain more. His face is scarlet as he flies into a lecture about the importance of following orders, of not disobeying your superior officer. What’s more, some of the men are snickering at them as they observe the lecture.

How dare they! Minerva tries to silence them with a cool glare – and that’s the first time she notices that several men’s white PT shirts are stained down the front with something orange.

She’s so caught up in attempting to figure out what happened to the men while they were on the rifle range that she misses the last part of Captain Sobel’s lecture, and her only real cue that the Women’s Squad’s embarrassment is finally over is that Diana bumps her arm into hers before turning to lead the girls back to their bunkhouse.

The men must have been dismissed, too, because they start towards the barracks as well. But as soon as their captain is out of sight, many of the men pick up the pace, glaring at the women as they pass them.

“So much for being a team,” someone spits.

“Went missing during the worst day of our lives – how goddamn convenient.”

Obviously, something has happened. It’s becoming clear that it must have been awful, but Minerva can’t for the life of her connect the dots to make out the picture. She needs more information, and from someone she trusts. Trying not to get trampled by the rest of the company, she searches the crowd, looking for a friendly face.

Keziah beats her to it.

“Hey, Luz.” She grabs George’s arm to catch his attention, to pull him a bit closer when she quietly asks, “What the hell’s going on?”

Luz lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a sigh and a bitter laugh. “We were told we had the morning off and were given a nice spaghetti lunch. We were in the middle of enjoying it when, out of nowhere, Sobel showed up and made us run Currahee.” 

Minerva winces in sympathy. That explains the orange stains on the fronts of their shirts – spaghetti sauce.

“Quite a show. Sorry you missed it when you were . . .” He cocks a brow, waiting for someone to fill in the blanks.

“On the range, just like Sergeant Revels said!” Even though she’s rushing to her defense in the heat of the moment, it’s strange to hear her friend call her by her rank instead of her name. “Sobel abandoned us there all day and told us we weren’t allowed to leave until he came to get us.”

Understanding dawns on Luz’s face. “He wanted to make it look like you all played hooky to get out of running with us. He’s trying to drive a wedge between the men and the Women’s Squad.”

“Well.” Minerva bites her lip, looking at the angry faces all around them. “Mission accomplished.”

All the hard work of Winter’s scavenger hunt – undone in an instant. Sure, there are those who will understand, like George. But certain others, who didn’t care for the women to begin with, are so blinded by the rage of what they have just experienced that they aren’t seeing clearly.

At this rate, the Women’s Squad may never be fully accepted by the men of Easy Company as equals.