#i love him so much i hope he’s enjoying this modicum of peace.

[adimouze]

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[superfanficnatural]

The Son: Chapter 14

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Male!Reader (The Son)

Summary: You’ve finally broken free of the forces controlling you at a great cost, though the cost of doing so was even greater than you thought. Now, you fight for the antithesis of what you had been representing, and have to grapple with finding your own place in the galaxy while grappling with the person trying to find their way into your heart. Will The Son choose the light? Or the dark? Whatever the answer may be, may the force be with us.

A/N: Y'all might hate me after this one LMFAOOO. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Angst??

Word Count: 4,390

Italics are your thoughts

Masterpost

Everyone was struck silent as the tears flowed down your faces. The moment felt everlasting as Kylo retracted his saber, the cries of Rey and Finn behind you filling your ears. Damn it, Han. Why did you... You weren’t too close with Han but you felt like you knew him, especially after seeing him through Leia’s memories. He did so much for the people he loved and for the galaxy and his life was just taken in front of you. 

Han’s hand came up to cup Kylo’s cheek in a shocking manner as he still offered compassion to his son, the one who just ran him through with his saber. You could feel no resentment, no anger from Han, only love for his son. From Kylo, you finally managed to understand the confusion he felt at his fathers actions. It had only served to break him further. 

Han’s body fell over the open catwalk and you felt your heart sink in your chest as you gasped. Kylo looked completely broken but you didn’t care. His actions spoke loud enough for you in that moment and you were filled with rage. Though, that all too familiar feeling you had you kept under control. Chewie howled loudly and you saw him take aim and fire his crossbow bolt directly at Kylo. He actually managed to hit him as Kylo wasn’t exactly paying attention in the first place. You immediately understood that all of the troopers now knew Chewie’s exact position and knowing you couldn’t do anything to Kylo even if you wanted to, you chose to prioritize protecting Chewie. As the troopers began firing at Chewie, you assisted him by igniting your sabers and throwing them, using the force to propel them in a motor motion to strike down the enemies below. You leaped, using the force to increase your jump as well from platform to platform to catch up to Chewie as you threw and recalled your sabers. Eventually you caught up to him as you took out most of the troops and ducked into the exit.

“Chewie, the detonator!” you yelled.

He vocalized back and took it out, pressing the red button to have the ground immediately shake from the vibrations of the explosives. You knew Rey and Finn were right at an above ground exit so you and Chewie needed to get back to the ship and pick them up.

“Chewie, we need to get to the ship,” you said.

He responded, saying to follow him. 

As you escaped from the precinct, you turned to see that it was damaged but not un-operational. Though there was now a big hole that a ship could possibly fly through. You smiled to yourself for a moment despite the horror you had just been subjected to as you thought, Poe could get in there easily. The trek to the ship was rather long as it was through difficult terrain and it was snowing, and you could feel anxiety rising in your gut about Rey and Finn. You could feel that they were most likely facing off against Kylo. It angered you inside as you couldn’t keep Han alive and now you left Rey and Finn to fend for themselves. The only thing that brought you a modicum of peace was the fact that you knew the nexus event hadn’t been completed yet so this would most likely not be Rey’s last encounter with Kylo. As you got to the ship, you co-piloted with Chewie as you rushed to prepare to take off. You got off the ground immediately and came face to face with more of the aerial warfare, seeing a few of the x-wings get shot down. Fear crept up your spine as you tried to feel if Poe was still alive. Though you knew you couldn’t focus on that as you had to get Rey and Finn out before either Kylo or the planet exploding kills them. You had to believe in the fighters to be able to dish out the last hit to take the base down. 

As you were flying over the trees near where the precinct was, you were suddenly overtaken by a strong connection being cast below you. 

“The force?”

You could hear Rey’s voice in your head and immediately understood what was happening. You could feel her trying to connect deeper with the force, with those who came before her in order to give her the power she needed to fight Kylo. 

“Rey, trust in yourself. Don’t run away from your feelings,” you projected your thoughts out, hoping to reach her. The connection stabilized and you knew that she was ok, “Chewie, they’re over here.”

You took at the controls to steer the ship in the right direction and headed towards where Rey and presumably Finn was. The ground began to shake and the floor began to collapse, the planet beginning to split. They must have delivered the final blow... we did it.

“Chewie, over there!” you called out as you visually spotted them with the light from the ship. “Oh no,” you muttered as you saw Finn lying still.

Chewie landed the ship and the two of you rushed out to meet Rey and Finn, Chewie immediately taking him into his arms as you helped Rey back in. After setting him down, the three of you rushed to the cockpit and began to pilot out as the ground was falling out beneath you. 

“All teams, I’ve got eyes on them,” you heard an all too familiar voice on the intercom as your scanners picked up the x-wing tailing you.

You sighed in relief, “Poe? Oh thank the maker you’re still alive.”

“I know, I’m doing the same thing right now for you guys,” he responded.

You heard the excited cheers of the other pilots as well over the intercom and it finally hit you that you managed to take out the biggest threat the galaxy had ever seen.

“Our job’s done here. Let’s go home,” Poe said as your fleet entered space.

After inputting the codes for hyperspace, the fleet took off and you were headed back to Yavin-4. As you arrived, you came face to face with what seemed like the entire resistance out celebrating the victory. You had let them know in advance that Finn was wounded and as Chewie carried him out, a transport arrived with a few workers to help transport him to medical. 

“We’ve got a heartbeat!” 

Poe raced up as he was worried about Finn too and all of you except for Rey followed along with the transport. You knew you told Rey that you would introduce yourself after everything but right now you just wanted to make sure Finn would be ok, he was beginning to become a friend after all. Once the transport got to the medical station, everyone helped haul Finn off and onto a stretcher where the medics took him inside. Afterwards, one of the doctors said that they would update command on Finn’s status so you, Poe, and Chewie headed towards command. 

“So, he’s really gone,” Poe muttered, half a question towards you.

You nodded sharply and closed your eyes with a deep sigh through your nose, “I had one job. One, singular job.” Your hands balled into fists as the tears threatened to fall, “One of the greatest assets of the resistance, died due to my negligence.”

Chewie vocalized in response, the sound so sad you didn’t have to understand his language to know what the context was.

“Y/N- what did he say?” Poe suddenly cut his sentence short.

You shook your head, “I shouldn’t have listened to him, Chewie. If I didn’t...”

Chewie growled again, letting you know that it was Han’s choice to risk his life there, not yours, and you realized that you needed to respect that. If you didn’t, you would be disrespecting Han’s resolve to connect with his own child.

You sighed and steeled yourself, “You’re right. He said that Han told me to stay back and that it wasn’t my fault.”

You didn’t realize it but Poe actually seemed sort of pissed, or riled up, “N/N, I know that you know what I’m going to say but I’m still going to fucking say it anyways. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this, because if you do I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll have trouble walking straight.” He reached out to grab your hand to take it in his as you walked which took you by surprise, “Now, let’s get to command.”

You smiled as butterflies shot through you and walked along in a comfortable silence. 

Poe’s POV

The second I heard Y/N start muttering that bullshit again like everything in the world is his problem and taking on the blame for things that weren’t his fault I got pissed. I don’t know why exactly but it felt like the reason I was angry was because I couldn’t bear knowing that Y/N felt that way. I spouted some nonsense myself and grabbed him by the hand because I needed to take away his pain. His fingers burrowing into his own skin for a reason Y/N was too perfectly noble for... shouldering the blame of others. I knew that no matter what, I would do anything to make sure that I shoulder his pain, whether it be my mind or my body, I would help take on his pain. A slight blush crept up my face when I grabbed his hand and I began to think I’d need to grow out a beard to start covering up more around him, if he knew what I felt for him he would definitely hold it over me.

Your POV

After your group had reached command, you notified Leia about Finn and Chewie sat off to the side while you and Poe leaned against a wall. Leia was at one of the displays and you could feel the pain coming from her, it was nearly unbearable and you wanted nothing but to wrap her in a hug. Rey was actually in the room with you guys so you decided to go and introduce yourself.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” you spoke softly as you approached her.

She gave a very good impression of composure but you could tell that behind those eyes her mind was still reeling, “I’m ok. Thank you for rescuing me.”

You smiled, “That lightsaber, belong to you?”

She glanced down at it clipped on her side and back up at you, “No, I- it belongs to Luke Skywalker.”

Your smile was still intact, “And his fathers before him.”

She gasped, “How did you know that?”

You reached for your own saber and unclipped it from your belt, showing it to her, “Because I’m like them.”

She gazed at your saber in wonder, “You’re a Jedi?”

You winced a bit internally as you didn’t want to lie but couldn’t tell her everything right away, “You could say that.” 

After clipping your saber back to your belt, you were about to speak before you heard C-3PO, “General. Excuse me, General.” He walked in with R-2D2 which was a surprise to say the least as you were told it basically shut down ever since Luke left, “R-2D2 may contain some much needed good news.”

Leia turned to face them, “Tell me.”

They walked around the room to the open area and everyone began to gather around them. R-2 suddenly projected a hologram display of a map, with a small area of it seemingly removed. As you noticed the shape, you remembered that it looked awfully similar to the shape of the map that BB-8 recovered! BB-8 rolled up to the map and seemingly came to the same conclusion as you as he immediately turned to Poe and began chirping at him. Poe didn’t speak droid but he had a special connection with BB-8, telling him to wait just a moment as he turned around and grabbed the map segment that BB-8 had asked for. As he handed it to the droid, it rolled away back over towards R-2 and displayed its own hologram, the piece of the map floating in the air near the bigger map. As it came ever closer and began to fit into the shape, the energy in the room began to take on a hopeful undertone. 

“The map! It is complete!” C-3PO cheered.

“Luke,” Leia spoke aloud.

“Oh my dear friend, how I’ve missed you,” the golden droid placed a hand on R-2.

“We actually found him,” you muttered, wondering what this meant for the Resistance and the war.

Poe’s POV

After we found out that we could find Luke, I knew that if he helped us along with Y/N, there was truly hope for the Resistance. I found myself wanting to actually tell Y/N how I felt about him. Finally, it had been months, hell probably longer since we’ve met and he has been the singular focus of my mind ever since. Shit, I tried denying it for forever, but he means more to me than the word “friend” could ever encompass. As the map formed, I found myself looking at him shortly after, gauging his reaction. At first, he seemed hopeful and interested, but then... he seemed sad? It immediately concerned me and I felt this dullness in the pit of my gut. It was like I knew something I would dread was coming, very soon, and it sent my nerves on edge. I knew that the conversation I needed to have with him would be held off but only after I asked him what was wrong. 

Your POV

After you knew the Resistance could find Luke, you immediately extrapolated that Rey would be the one to go after him. As you knew you needed to accompany her and keep her safe, help with her training, you would need to go with her to Luke. You also knew that the Resistance couldn’t afford to lose Finn temporarily, Rey, you, and Poe on top of everything for an unforeseeable amount of time. Therefore, only you and Rey could go. Not to mention, Luke was a powerful Jedi, and there was probably quite a bit that you could learn from him. Though...

Poe.

You knew this meant having to leave him for... well you had no idea how long. And now with the First Order knowing where the Resistance is, along with the Resistance finally launching a large-scale counter attack for the first time? You knew they would be in trouble, especially without you. But you also knew that this was your duty, and you had to put that above all else. Otherwise, what did your father and sister sacrifice for you? As you were leaving Starkiller base, you had thoughts about finally telling Poe as you had narrowly escaped death and didn’t want to hold it in any longer. Though, telling him the extent of your feelings right before running away for however long felt disrespectful to both your feelings and to Poe. You couldn’t tell him, not yet at least.

You felt tears beginning to form in your eyes as your throat swelled, and turned to leave the room before anyone, especially Poe, could notice. That, and you needed to get your things together for the trip you would have to embark on shortly. As you got to your room, you could hear boots thudding behind you and instinctively knew that it was Poe. You opened your door and walked in, knowing he would follow you and turned as you got into the middle of the room. Poe was just about walking into the room and you could see the concerned expression on his face. 

“Y/N, are you ok?” he asked.

You threw on a smile so fake you already knew he could see through it, “Yeah, just fine.”

He sighed and his shoulders sagged as he looked at you pleadingly, “N/N, you know you don’t have to keep anything from me. It’s Poe.”

You pursed your lips and looked off to the side as your throat constricted and your eyes welled up once again, “I have to leave. I have to accompany Rey to go find Luke.” You took a deep breath and let it out heavily, moving to make eye contact with him, “And I don’t know how long we’ll be gone for.”

He didn’t look surprised, something you didn’t expect as he simply closed his eyes shortly. 

After a moment he reopened them and looked at you, the skin around his eyes reddening as he was also holding back his tears, “I understand.”

The two of you stood in the silence as you gazed into each other's eyes, trying to convey the emotions you knew you couldn’t speak. 

After a moment he cleared his throat, “We’ll uh, miss you around here, but.” A smile managed to form from his lips, as small as it might have been, “We’ll be waiting, excitedly with open arms.”

You couldn’t help your own smile to form, managing a small grunt in response as you nodded your head. 

Poe’s POV

“Yeah, just fine.”

No. You’re lying.

“N/N, you know you don’t have to keep anything from me. It’s Poe.”

“I have to leave. I have to accompany Rey to go find Luke. And I don’t know how long we’ll be gone for.”

My gut feeling was right. I knew that I couldn’t tell him now that he was leaving. It wouldn’t be fair. I’d just sound like I’m desperate for him to stay. I mean I am but... this isn’t the way I want us to have this conversation. Fuck...

My voice almost broke but I cleared my throat and slapped together some stupid response before I let myself say anything. I couldn’t take the look on his face. I knew that he was in pain, and I wanted to take it away but I knew that the reason he was in pain... was because of me. I didn’t know how I knew, or what I felt about that but… it made it even worse. After he gave me another glimmer of hope with that smile of his, I left, knowing he needed to prepare.

Your POV

After that, he turned and left as you gathered a few ration packs, a backpack, flashlight, along with rain gear. Once you were finished preparing, you left your room and headed to command, intending to look for Leia and presumably Rey as well. As you arrived, you saw them speaking and Leia noticed you. She had a faint smile on her face as she saw you with your gear packed.

“Y/N, I was waiting for you to arrive,” Leia spoke, Rey turning to face you.

“General, I’d like to accompany Rey on her mission to find Luke,” you simply responded, deciding not to cut any corners.

“How did you-” Rey started.

“Permission granted,” Leia decided.

“Leia, perhaps it’s time to bring her in on a few things,” you said, looking towards Rey.

She nodded her head, “Yes, please, before you leave, let’s speak in my office.”

The three of you moved to her office and she closed the door behind you, making sure no one else could listen in on the conversation. 

“Get started,” Leia simply said.

You sighed, “Rey, I know that this is a lot, and you probably don’t understand most of everything quite yet, but there’s something that you need to know.” You paused for a moment and after she made no move to stop you, you continued, “Everything I told you about me was true, I just didn’t tell you everything.”

“Ok,” Rey blinked.

“How much do you know of the force?”

She looked off to Leia and back to you, “Honestly, I haven’t the slightest clue about any of it. I just... it’s this feeling that I get... this feeling that helps me when I need it.”

You smiled, “Well, that’s certainly one way to put it. The force is an energy that lives in and surrounds all living things. It passes through all of us, through me and through you. Though, certain individuals are born with a capacity for more. A capacity to manipulate the force themselves. They are known as the Jedi and the Sith.”

“The Sith,” she whispered, her anxiety spiking.

“That’s correct. We Jedi and Sith are filled with what we refer to as midichlorians, the more there are, the stronger their connection with the force,” you explained.

“What does this have to do with you?” she questioned.

You sighed, “Well, I firstly wanted to make sure you knew at least that much. My name is Y/N, that is correct, but I was also a cosmic entity that was once known as, ‘The Son.’” 

“Cosmic- what do you mean?” as scared as she might have been, her curious mind took over.

“It’s a rather long story and honestly, I don’t even know it all myself. What I can say though, is that I’ve come from a long time ago, and I need to make sure that you become a Jedi, that is my role.”

“I cannot be that special,” she shook her head. “You’re saying that you’re this all powerful being and you need to make sure that I become a Jedi?”

You nodded, “Right now, I’m not at my full power as I need to blend in with the environment. However, once we reach the nexus event, I will be able to unleash my power.”

“Nexus event?” she questioned.

“Honestly, I’m still trying to put that together in my own head,” Leia reminded the two of you she was in the room.

You looked off to her for a moment before returning to Rey, “Because my power is so great, if I were to unleash it, the galaxy would fall out of balance and into chaos. However, a nexus event, which is a force event so significant that it ripples throughout the galaxy, will be able to throw the state of the force into disarray and allow me to reintegrate myself safely while establishing a balance.”

She plopped down on one of the chairs, “And if your duty is to make sure I become a Jedi, that means that I have something to do with the nexus event don’t I?”

You sighed but were also feeling a bit of pride in her assessment skills, “That’s correct.”

“And you’re not telling me how exactly I fit into it because if you do, you risk it being ruined?” she continued.

You chuckled a bit, “You’ve got it dead on.”

She sat there and looked off into the distance for a while as she thought to herself.

You walked up to her and squatted down with a sigh to get closer to her, “I know this is a lot, and a lot is at stake. But just believe in the fact that I will protect you, and we will save the galaxy.”

She looked into your eyes for a moment and gasped as she seemed to think of something, “It was you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, “What do you mean?”

“You were the one who spoke to me before and helped me when I was fighting Kylo... I couldn’t remember that until now,” she said, a small smile forming on her face.

You smiled in return, “All you had to do was believe in your own abilities, and you did. Listen... there’s a lot to do, and a lot we don’t know, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t try. Trust me, and believe in our mission.”

She nodded her head, “I understand.”

You could feel that she wanted to trust you, and that she did a bit, but her past didn’t allow her to let people in quite that easily you felt... 

After that, the three of you left the room while Rey went off to medical to see Finn. Poe joined you and Leia as you walked towards the airstrip where the ships were. Leia told you Chewie would be joining you and that you would be taking the falcon, something you had no issues with. It was a bit strange with Poe though, you walked along but there were words between the two of you neither of you could share. There were small smiles exchanged between you as you walked and caught each others’ eyes, but you felt sadness and disappointment within. Finally, you reached the airstrip and shortly after Rey joined your group. You stepped off to the side to have a moment with Poe before you left and Rey began to speak with Leia.

“So... I guess it’s time for me to go,” you muttered as you shyly looked at him.

He cleared his throat and looked off to the side, “Yeah, to find Luke and... to help save the galaxy.”

You could tell he wanted to sound much more energetic than he did but it was obvious that he wasn’t happy with this either. It almost gave you hope that maybe he didn’t want you to leave because... he loved you. But... if he did he would tell you, so maybe... he didn’t.

You took a breath and threw a smile on your face, “Well, at least give your friend a hug before he leaves!”

He smiled a bit at that and nodded, chuckling softly as he moved in with open arms. The minute the two of you intertwined you immediately had the thought, I never want this to end. It felt so intimate, so comfortable, so secure, that for the first time in your life you had truly felt... right. 

“I’m uh, gonna miss you,” Poe choked out.

The tears were almost falling from your eyes but you swallowed hard and smiled, “Yeah, me too.”

It was far too soon but eventually, the two of you pulled away from the hug and gave each other a smile. Once you looked at his handsome features one last time, you turned and headed to the ship, Rey also following afterwards. 

As the two of you were nearly at the ship, Leia called out from behind, Poe standing next to her, “Y/N, Rey.” The two of you turned to see them watching and Leia determinedly said, “May the force be with you.”

Next Chapter

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[writefightandflightclub]

Hi there, I absolutely loved your story "You-o-meter", and I was wondering if you would be open to a request for something similar to that? I had an idea with Santi or Poe, with the reader either having sensitive ears or having a similar situation to what happened in the story with Nathan. And if you do Santi, maybe the reader gets scared of a loud gunshot or something?

Thanks so much for this prompt, Anon! Really enjoyed this. Hope you like what I did with it! 🧡

The space between words: Poe Dameron x GN!Reader

Summary: there’s never any peace and quiet with Poe Dameron around… or, is there? (This is about sensory overload but also it’s a super cute love story; because of course it is, so I think anyone could enjoy this even if that’s not something you deal with!).

Genre: it ends fluffy 🥰

Author’s note: this one is about reader experiencing sensory overload / overstimulation (reader is particularly sensitive to noise here rather than other forms of stimuli.) Hilarious fact - I wrote most of this in the midst of a week which was overloading me to the point I felt hungover. But, the glass is half full bc ha! At least it helped me get in the right headspace for this thing! 🤪

Warnings: sensory overload (especially noise), lots of descriptions of said stimuli (upfront, before the comfort arrives), reader is not overloaded by touch. Unspoken love. Generally fluffy / eventually cute. Hugs and luff. Mentions of canon-typical angst but only as a scene-setter. Quickly written not proofed. Oh and he calls reader “kiddo” but it’s just meant to be cute not an age thing at all.

It’s loud everywhere on base and it’s pretty hard to escape it. Near impossible on the days where you are rostered for duty, in fact.

There is the barking of orders in the command room. The tense, terse exchanges of tacticians, spit flying with every heartfelt enunciation. The grind of metal. That tinny punctuation and crank of tools in the hangar. The whirr of engines out on the duracrete and the beep of droids - well, kriffing everywhere. There’s Threeps babbling at you over your shoulder. Wracked, rhythmic sobs throbbing in the corridors like a pulse through an artery, perfectly in time and yet completely at odds with the clamour of jubilation from the makeshift bar across base.

It is near constant. Even the supposed avenues for winding down are loud. The pulse of the bass around the campsite. Lairy, throaty laughter from those necking fire whiskey. The only place you can retreat for a modicum of peace is the edge of the forest, but by the time you make it there after a long shift your head is already so bleary, throbbing, that even the mocking song of the cicadas is enough to send you over the edge.

You do what you can to subdue it. You wear ear loops to take the edge off of the decibels, but even then, without any circuit breaks it… builds up. For others, the noise seems to flow through them; dissipate. But for you it sticks. Settles. Accumulates. Fills you up like a bucket until you are spilling over.

Even aside from the noise, it is loud everywhere. There is the bold, blaring flight suit orange. The flashing blue of star maps and whizzing space. The palpable smell of fear too - and all these stimuli sometimes feel as deafening a tumult as the noise itself.

It all scrapes you. Grinds you down until your head throbs.

And then, because of course there is… on top of all that noise…. there is Poe kriffing Dameron. Poe, your shockingly handsome Commander. And, as per usual, the famously verbose man will not shut up.

You adore the guy. No, you really do - in that kind of harbouring a dead secret (presumably unrequited) love sorta way, your feelings for him excavated at the pit of every exhale, and and buried again with the tip of every in breath; circular, bedded deep and never straying too far from your chest. His voice might even be - hands down- the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. You could - and have - listen to him talk for hours on end with pleasure, when you’re feeling in the right spot to manage it. But, right this second?

Right this second, you cannot stand his jibber-jabbering.

He’s been talking for so long, and all you want is for this briefing to end so you can head back to your bunk. Your bunk being the only kriffing place around here that you can attempt to get some peace and quiet - at least, before the morning alarm sounds and you’re back at it all over again, that throb pushing out from beneath your skull and threatening to crack you open like a geejaw egg.

The lack of sleep doesn’t exactly help either. 16 hours on duty without relent. You know that you desperately need to recharge - reset and replenish your threshold for stimulation back to zero, before you surpass your limit. It’s just that, around here, everyone’s batteries are running low (even the droids’, thanks to those classic Resistance power cuts). So, during those times when you feel like taking a moment for yourself? You always feel like it would simply be taking too much. For goodness’ sake - Poe has soldiered on with concussion, a broken leg, and innumerable other ailments. You certainly don’t feel you deserve to duck out because it’s too kriffing loud.

Meanwhile, your commander is rattling things off now at pace, somehow animated and peppy at this makerforesaken hour (you know it’s not even as a result of the caf, because you drained the last of it).

So far, you’ve tried so hard to mask your discomfort throughout the briefing. You’ve put in effort to mirror the expression of the others around the table who are listening keenly. Hanging on his every word. You’ve tried so hard, but… after a double shift? You’re overstimulated enough that you actually feel physically nauseous. Panicked even, the anxiety buzzy throughout your body as you approach overwhelm - alarmingly quickly now.

Blissfully, there is a teeny tiny circuit break. A brief, blessed silence as Poe pauses to shuffle around some files on his datapad, and your body sags with momentary relief. Perhaps that false end to all this is why - as he resumes talking once again only moments later - you actually wince, sucking in air through your teeth and pinching the bridge of your nose as though you’re in physical pain when you realise it’s not over.

Well. You are. You are in physical pain.

The whole table swivels to look at you now, as your sharp sound slices through the room. To them, it’s quiet in here -which you find inexplicable- and your “interruption” has garnered their attention.

You immediately creak your head up to Poe in apology, your face twisting - in equal parts discomfort and contrition. But, of course, he’s Poe, and so he looks at you kindly. He only ever looks at you kindly.

You feel that love for him stir again on the exhale, and you push it back down again as you remember to breathe in.

“You okay, kiddo?”

His umber eyes are entirely earnest beneath his thick brows, and you nod - rather unconvincingly.

“Mmmhmm.” Your response is weak and you’re not entirely sure he buys it, but you wave your hand anyway, insisting he carry on with what he was in the middle of.

And so, given the go ahead, Poe indeed continues talking. You try to tune him out, but that was always going to be impossible. You’re so attuned to his voice - after so much time spent together - that your whole body stands on end for it, like iron filings dragged by a magnet. He’s impossible for you to ignore. And, stars, under any other circumstance, why would you want to?

Still, in this present moment, you are where you are, so instead, you grit your teeth, trying at the very least to steady your breaths - genuinely worried you might have some kind of mini meltdown if you’re not able to get out of here soon. You even feel your lower lip begin to tremble, and note your hands balling into fists against your thighs - clenching and unclenching as you try to focus on anything else aside from the urge to flee to somewhere quiet, or, to let this accumulation find it’s venting point through the corner of your eyes.

You breathe in and out, the pads of your fingers soothing at your temples and trying to relieve some of the tension. Your eyes close, so that you at least shut out the colours and shapes and visuals and everything else added into the mix which might tip you over the edge.

You’re more than sure Poe would understand if you ever talked to him about this. That he’d insist you check out right now and promise to catch you up later. You just know that he would try to find some workaround in briefings, if you brought your needs to his attention. He’d do it for anyone… but he’d do anything for you, you’re sure. But… you never have tried to talk to him about it. It never seemed like the most important thing, always something bigger or more urgent that seemed to trump your discomfort. Right now though, you are cursing yourself for always pushing yourself to the bottom of the list.

Even so, you make it through, somehow. You let out a huge, audible exhale of relief as Poe concludes the briefing, and you let his comment about whether he was “boring you” glance right off, unanswered. Then, you stay put in your chair, even as your fellow Rebels slow to wait for you, turning your body only briefly to wave them on. You don’t wish to exit alongside them on this occasion. Right now, you’re not sure at all that you could handle being immersed within the centre of such an inescapably thick cloud of chit chat. Being the grounding quiet in the eye of a storm.

You take a second to slump in your chair and breathe a sigh of relief, relishing the relative hush of the room; even covering over your eyes with your hands and letting yourself revel in blackness, until the clutter of voices safely recedes from your range of hearing.

When you open your eyes again, you are a little shocked -it’s fair to say - to see that Poe has remained behind in the room. You blink a few times and look up at him in confusion, and in response he circles quietly, slowly around the table, a small, sympathetic smile curling his plush pink lips. You watch as he comes to perch on the table edge before you, one pert butt cheek hiked up on the surface and his hands falling loosely into his lap, turned palms up like cupped rowboats strewn across a sea of rumpled orange flight suit. You want to climb into them and be rocked to sleep.

“You really okay, kiddo?”

You brace, waiting for the sound of his question to scrape you, but you are relieved to find his tone hushed - the cracks in his voice all smoothed out.

You lie, voice thin. “Sure.” It comes out as more of a question.

Poe’s eyes narrow in scepticism. “Okay.” He probes gently. Only ever gentle with you. “So are you coming to the bar for a few?”

Shit. He would call your bluff, wouldn’t he?

There are plans, you see. Things had gone well today. Victories against the First Order. People want to “celebrate”. As much as you would love to share some quality time with your fellow Rebels -would jump at the chance on a good day- you cringe at the mere thought of how noisy it would be. For some, “celebration”, and “loud” are synonymous. For you, conversely, you often find yourself exalting the quiet. The spaces between words. The room; to breathe in. The expansive possibility of that in breath.

“No. I… I can’t.” You bounce your foot agitatedly and the feeling shakes through your whole body. You sorta think you want to cry.

“Sure? Honestly, y’ look like ya could do to let loose.” Your body drags to his voice like a magnet, even as you want to push the sound away.

“Astute assessment, Dameron. But, pulsating music so loud I can’t think isn’t really it for me right now.”

Poe tilts his head sympathetically. Scratches at his crown of errant curls. You’d see his bark-brown eyes flitting gently -fondly- over your face, if you were looking. He speaks softly, his voice a vat of honey and a niggle settled on his brow. “Okay. I’m not gonna push it. Just… you take care of yourself, okay?”

You blink before tears can ball. “Yeah,” you concede. “Yeah, I’m trying to.”

He reaches out his weathered, rowboat hand and cups it against your shoulder. “You be okay? Can I do anything?”

You look at him now. His voice is not the only thing that drags you to him. His eyes too. His whole damn being. You wish you could stay and be close to him tonight, but-

“-Nah.” You stand, bumping him playfully in the shoulder with a balled fist. “Just tired, fella. I want to come but…” You cup your hands over your ears and the quiet swirls around you like the breath caught inside a seashell. “Loud,” you explain, with brevity. “No thank you.” Maker, you’re starting to sound like D-O. (Well? Maybe that’s not wholly a bad thing - D.O. sure knows how to set boundaries.)

Poe nods, reluctantly. “Ok. Well. You’ll be missed.” His mouth rocks into a fond smile. His thumb draws back towards his chest. “By me.”

You absent-mindedly curl your fingers around the lip of his collar, smoothing all the rumples out. He holds his breath. Then, you can’t help but smile at him, even as your head continues to blare and throb. “Oh, Poe. I know that I will,” you purr smugly, before you swivel on your boot to leave.

Sometimes your feelings for him are far too loud, and you need to turn the volume down.

***

Some time later, you’re sat up in your bunk. Your legs are folded beneath you, and you’re settled in the centre of the mattress, your favourite misshapen plushie -a mascot gifted by Poe- stuffed into the space between your legs, its head carefully angled so you can both look out of the viewport, of course.

You’re one of the lucky ones, you realise - one of the few Rebels on base to benefit from not only a first floor room, but also a small, round transparisteel hole which looks out on to the base. Usually, it is covered by a blackout curtain, to maximise the chance of grabbing some shut eye between shifts. Tonight though, you have drawn it back, opting to lookout across the expanse of duracrete. It’s not as though you have much chance of sleeping, anyway. Not after the five shots of caf in as many hours.

It’s quiet in your room - finally. Quiet enough that you actually find it soothing to watch the activity of the new shift, the routines and duties falling into place seamlessly like a well-oiled machine; oddly rhythmic. You even find it peaceful to watch the ships lifting off, taking flight gracefully (though not quite as gracefully as the flight of one pilot in particular).

You are mesmerised for a while, as you watch the droids and Rebels and vehicles shuttling from one station to another, busying themselves as the last dregs of light weep over the horizon. You slip on your headphones, playing some gentle white noise, and you lean your head up against the pane, disappearing your hands into the sleeves of your soft woollen cardigan.

Then, you brighten as you spot Poe down there, an involuntary smile claiming your features as he emerges from out of the munitions building. You even clutch your mascot a little tighter, in lieu of him.

He has his data pad in hand, and he’s brightly greeting the night shift as everyone slots into position.

You watch him do the rounds, his attention to detail meticulous even as Snap beckons him over to the bar to join the rest of the squadron. You can just about see his mouth move, but of course, you can’t hear the words spoken in reply. You can imagine them though -something promising revelry- and the smile slants from your mouth as you wish you could join them. You even think about it, but you know it would be too much today. And so, you console yourself with watching Poe flit around the base, ticking off his duties one by one on his pad.

He stands down on the duracrete as he completes the last of his checks, his muscle memory taking over - no doubt - as he completes the all too familiar run.

He’s done it so many times that it’s seamless by now. You watch him fondly as he assigns duties, checks positions and rosters, passes out equipment, checks protocols, and inventories munitions. And, as he concludes his round, he executes his last stop with a flourish. He pauses to look up squarely at your window - as though that is part of his nightly routine too. His final stop, no less, before he makes his way back to his own quarters.

Except, this time, of course… you’re peering right back at him.

Surprise hooks his face, tugging it up into a lopsided grin. You can’t see the flash of happiness in any detail from up here, but you can imagine it. Can picture those creases as the smile reaches his long-lashed eyes, and the slant of his pearly, gappy teeth. You smile bashfully in return as he swipes a “hello” up at you with an arc of his hand, and shyly return his wave.

Then, Poe holds his finger in the air as though he has a bright idea - hang on - and you see him typing on his datapad. Your eyes flit over to your own device, just in time to catch the gentle illumination of the screen as his message is transmitted through to you. 

“What ya doing still up? Thought y’were too tired to come out?”

You scoff lightly before firing a message back. Sleep would be amazing, if it could come. “Can’t sleep yet. Too buzzed. Drank too much caf, I guess.”

You glance back out of the window, and see Poe still stood down there. He is looking all too earnestly up at you, his shapely jaw tipped up and feet spread in a wide stance. It makes you feel giddy, and the churn of butterflies in your stomach makes you feel a little exposed, you suppose. So, hurriedly, perhaps with too much haste, you offer him a “good night” wave, tugging your curtain closed with a flourish and throwing your body back on to the mattress.

You let out a big breath and all of the silt inside you stirs, your buried love for him floating to the surface. It makes your skin hum. A quiet, resonant note, too deep to hear. A sort of peace.

As soon as he is gone though, you miss him.

You even miss his noise.

***

You lie back in your bunk for a while, unwinding, decompressing, and letting your mind slowly filter through all the thoughts from today. You still don’t feel ready to sleep, but a little of the tension has slipped away.

Still, your thoughts can’t help but wander back to Poe. You keep imagining him in the bar, full of jubilation. You think about the creases radiating from the corner of his eyes like sunbeams. The warmth of his hand through your flightsuit, reaching for your arm or thigh or smoothing up against your back. You feel like you’re missing out on seeing him happy. On sharing this win with him and your teammates. You wish there was a way that you could be a part of it, but there’s no way you feel up to it just now.

So, instead, you continue to bask in the hush of the room, reading and tidying and freshening up.

You are startled when you hear an unexpected, soft rap on your door. Your chunky headphones now slipped down around your neck, you thankfully hear the subtle yet insistent request for your attention and you tread towards it. 

A frown notches in your brow and you crane forwards to peer through the spy hole. A distorted, grinning idiot appears to you, in swirled shades of orange, brown, and black.

There’s only one grinning idiot that could be.

“Poe?!”

You swing the door open, and you don’t even have to ask what he’s doing here. Poe volunteers the information freely, instantly, his tone soft and just a little mysterious. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Your frown deepens, and you respond a little tiredly. You’re of letting him down, if you’re not feeling up to taking part in whatever harebrained scheme he’s about to propose to you. “What is it, Poe?” You raise your eyebrows, knitting them in the middle, tilting them up like a question. “Is this like the time you and Snap raced those wheely chairs down the runway? Because I told you that I-”

Poe shakes his head, his eyes gently gleaming. “-Nothing like that. Something you’ll like, I promise.”

He extends his hands towards you, cupped expectantly, in a way that beckons you to pour all of your love into it. He beams hopefully at you, his eyes big and round and sparking gently. “Can ya just trust me?”

You take a deep breath, and - so help you - you slip your hand immediately into his.

You can. After all, there’s no-one else you trust more. Your hand clamps hold of him, his warmth blooming across your palm. With the other hand, you move to uncoil your headphones from around your head, ready to discard them.

“Keep ‘em with you,” he suggests, upon seeing the slight indecision in your face. “It’s okay.”

You nod at him, and his eyes tighten in something like admiration. He’s always made you feel comfortable. Comfortable enough to be yourself. He looks down at your hand in his then. “This alright?”

You gulp, nervousness fluttering in your stomach. “Yeah.” Yeah, it is, actually. You don’t want him to let go. 

Guiding you by the hand, Poe leads you outside, down through the winding  corridors and towards the door leading out on to the duracrete. You walk out to the main thoroughfare, and your hand becomes clammy in Poe’s, your whole body stiffening unconsciously as you brace for the onslaught of sound all over again. But, he doesn’t let go, and with him leading you, nor do you want to stop.

You look towards him in apprehension as your path twists to take you via the hangar, and Poe simply provides you a reassuring nod, clasping your hand all the tighter. “Trust me,” he promises as he feels your pace dragging, and it bolsters you. You do. You do. You do.

You approach the noise and the clamour and you screw your eyes shut, as if that could help. The night shift is working hard on patching X-wings before the morning’s recon flight, the hammered notes of metal on metal resounding through the space. You are about to reach in haste for your headphones; however, you find that, in fact, you don’t even need to. You see one of the Captain’s clock Poe and they share a firm nod with one another. Then, one by one a message is seemingly conveyed seamlessly through the hangar.

You watch with a slack-jaw as every one of the mechanics and droids and officers downs tools as they see you and your Commander approach. You toss your head towards him, expecting to see confusion there too, but all you see from Poe is a knowing, humble smile. All you feel is your hand in his, guiding you onward.

“Poe?” you ask, voice shaking, but he gently encourages you further, until you observe each area on base you walk through responding in much the same way - quietening upon your approach - and entirely confirming your suspicion. That Poe is the one who orchestrated this. For you.

You are so full with emotion at the thought he would do this for you, that it does not even occur to you to think about where he is leading you. That is, not until he brings you to a halt outside the door to the makeshift Rebel bar. He turns his body towards yours and you mirror him, tears shimmying in you eyes and making his appear as a distorted, grinning idiot all over again.

Then, he cups his hand on to your shoulder and swings opens the door, his voice an invitation. A magnet. “After you.”

You take a deep breath, still pretty much lost for words. Apprehensive, at the thought of entering the crowded space. However, you will try for him, you think. You will try for him, because he deserves the world, and you would do anything for him. Look at what he just did for you.

So, instead of any protest out of your mouth, it simply opens and closes wordlessly. You enter the dingy little room, once again bracing yourself for commotion, but floored all over again as you realise… it’s quiet in here too.

Poe reaches to squeeze your hand in his once more, and your eyes are so full with happy tears now that you can barely make him out at all. At least, not beyond the outlined orange of his flight suit and that unmistakeable, raven crown of curls, which never seems to suffer from a helmet.

You blink your tears to the corner of your eyes as you take it all in, in complete shock. The music inside is turned right down, to nothing more than a pleasant background lull - not the usual din, which, at times when you’re overloaded throbs unpleasantly in your skull. As well, the usual throng of patrons have evidently been cleared out. Inside, only one table is occupied: your squadron, sitting there and waving at you with open, inviting smiles.

You grin back at them in utter delight, glancing back and forth between them and Poe, your heart overflowing with gratitude.

“Hey,” he intones softly as an aside to you, as you begin to make your way towards the table together. “You deserved this, okay? You shouldn’t have to miss out on celebrating with us. Not for anything.” You swallow. Your throat feels scratchy and swollen with emotion and you can barely take it. “Anytime you want to step out is all good, alright? If this still is too much or you need a break that’s okay.” He squeezes your hand one more time, before releasing you to take your rightful seat amongst your team. “Whatever you need. We all love you.” He looks down at his scuffed shoes. “Want you with us.”

Still gobsmacked, you take a seat at the table. Jess dips out to get you a drink from the droid behind the counter, and the others envelop you in gentle, amiable chatter. It’s not obtrusive or grating at all, with everyone clearly being mindful of the noise. You find everyone is better able to speak with more hushed tones, given that the music is playing far lower than usual. No-one need strain to be heard above it, and you find it is manageable. Like this, their voices - brimming with joy and peppered with laughter - feel like a cosy, warm blanket wrapped right around you. Knowing that you can step away at any time without anyone judging you? It feels wonderful.

After a few moments of allowing you to bask in the jubilation of your squad - their joy at having you join them - Poe quietly takes his natural place next to you. He shuffles up beside you and he subtly rests his palm on your thigh, letting you know he’s right by your side.

You turn your head towards him, and for once, in this moment, there is no need to say anything at all. Instead, you simply plant your hand right on top of his, twining your fingers, and you watch him attempt to swallow down the goofiest, most bashful smile as you do so.

And so, it continues like this, everyone sharing their battle stories and jokes and gossip. Ripping the shit out Poe - as per usual - but in a way that is entirely fond.

You’re still tired -exhausted even- and so you can’t contribute all that much. You simply enjoy listening. Even so, it feels good to be present. To be a part of things, instead of on the outside.

Best of all, Poe is there too at every turn, to make you feel entirely included. His warm hand remains where it was planted, the heat of him suffusing through the fabric of your trouser leg. He turns towards you, to share every joke and laugh with you. Bigs up your flight skills every chance he gets. And even more than that, there are the other moments too. The moments where he simply turns to look at you, his eyes creasing with fondness. Gleaming with a forceful admiration.

Suddenly, his feelings for you seem so incredibly loud that they are deafening.

You had never dared to dream that Poe might have feelings for you, but suddenly you can hear it so clearly.

You feel entirely overwhelmed, but not at all in the same manner as earlier.

“Poe? Do you mind if we step outside for a second?” Your voice cracks open, and Poe’s thick brows immediately knit together in gentle concern for you.

“Sure,” he nods. “Okay.”

You head outside towards the rear door to the bar and the others excuse you seamlessly, Jess throwing you a covert and all too knowing look at you duck out, as if she is somehow aware of what might befall Poe through those doors. As if, in this quiet, you are screaming it out loud.

“Is it too noisy?” Poe asks as you exit into the cooling night air, rounding your body to face him as the door shushes closed. He throws up a thumb over his shoulder, back in the direction of the bar. “I can tell Snap to stop yabbering if-“

“-No.” You reassure him quickly. It’s not the noise. Not the noise at all. That’s not what you’re overwhelmed by. “It’s perfect. It’s… I wanted to say thank you, Poe.” He blinks a few times in quick succession, lending an all too rare cloak of shyness to his handsome features. “I mean. How did you know, Poe? Exactly what I needed?” Your voice creaks under the weight of him. The burden of your undisclosed love for him. You feel you are ready to buckle. Your knees feel that way too.

He scratches at his crown of curls, a gentle scoff escaping his plush mouth. “Believe it or not, kiddo, I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing when someone wants me to shut up.”

Your mouth tipping up in gentle amusement, you opt to shuffle a little closer to him, until you’re almost toe-to-toe.

He doesn’t back away.

You deliver him a watery smile, overcome by him - though you still don’t relent on the teasing. “Hmm. That figures. It must happen a lot.”

Poe laughs at your dig; and that? That, is the most beautiful sound in the world, you think.

Then, your commander finally falls silent - an all too rare phenomenon. But even so, the way he’s looking at you? It’s ever so loud.

You feel the thrum of butterflies in your middle, and now, it’s you who can’t seem to stop talking. “You know. You should learn to leave some space between words more often, Poe. Some quiet.”

“Oh yeah?“

You swallow, a tremble in your voice, but you shuffle even closer to him and his eyes track your lips as you move, his tongue dragging along his lower lip. “Yeah. ‘Cause then I could show you what happens when we stop talking.”

He shifts his warm, broad hands to your waist. Slots his sturdy thigh in between yours to draw your body closer. More flush to him.

For a moment, you entirely forget how to breathe, and, without the usual pulse of music from the bar, it is hushed enough that you hear the hard swallow which bobs down his throat.

There’s an awful lot of beauty in the pauses, you think. The lull between beats. The spaces between words. The moment of held breath before an exhale, where love might have the opportunity to rise to the surface. In the little gaps between his teeth. The gaps between his spread fingers. The distance between you, waiting to be closed.

Your heart thuds in the cage of your chest, and when you speak next, your words are barely audible. “Can I kiss you, Poe?”

Poe’s gaze dances over your face, enthralled and misted over, and then, with a smug, soft, fond curl of his pretty mouth, he raises a thick finger, pressing it against your lips. “Ssshhhh,” he urges, his voice barely above a whisper. “You really need to stop talking.”

Then, sweeping his hands up to gently cradle your face, Poe kisses you.

His tongue licks like a gentle flame into your mouth, warmth spreading through you. You breathe him in, and let your love for him rise; releasing it on the exhale. Sending it out into the open, no longer buried.

Somethings are too loud to remain unspoken, you realise. And, some things that need saying don’t require any words at all.

You draw back and your eyes lock with his, saying everything there is to know; loud and blaring, without a single decibel.

Poe catches his breath, and then; he kisses you again.

For the first time all day -and the first time for a long time - you feel wholly and entirely at peace.

[catholicdaredevil]

newsflash asshole, chapter two || matt murdock

hey y'all here we go with chapter two!!! this is pretty sad so i just wanna give you guys a warning that there's some heavy descriptions and emotions in this chapter

this is chapter two of twenty five but don't worry our besties will finally interact in chapter three

words: just over 2k again

ao3 link

series masterlist

gif credit: @hiddlesisterhood

Touch starved– the absolute bare minimum way to describe Matt Murdock. There didn’t seem to be a word or term that fully encapsulated the way he longed for even the smallest of touches. Not that he would admit it, no the trademark Catholic guilt wouldn’t allow him to ever confess to something like desire. The way that guilt was stitched into every fiber of his being, sewn together at the seams.

That same way the hunger for connection was wired into his bones, sunken down in a place no one could get to, not even him. It ached– He ached– in a way far worse than any injury had ever hurt; those healed. They got better with time, with meditation, sometimes even medicine though he’d never admit to that either. Even when he tried, it never healed as much as he hoped, or needed. Stick. Elektra. They couldn’t fix him, couldn’t heal the Devil. Instead he opted to push everyone away, coming to terms with the fact that maybe he didn’t deserve to feel the warmth he so desired. Maybe the cost of the Devil, of his abilities, was that no matter how much he helped, he would always be on the outside looking in on what he loved.

The city, the people. The people.

He coped. Poorly, of course. Went to work. Nelson and Murdock Attorneys at Law, during the day and spent his nights as Daredevil fighting the few things he had even a modicum of control over. In the repetition was some peace, the monotony holding his mind together, luring him into auto pilot. Sleep, wake, work, change, work again. Again. Again.

It wasn’t all bad; there were times when he played Matt Murdock so well that he had fun for bits and pieces. Usually when he was with Foggy and Karen, he could let himself go for a bit. Keeping himself on a tight leash, but it still allowed him to drink, joke, even go so far as to make Karen teach him how to play pool. Staying up late working on cases at Josie’s with them was the closest he ever got to feeling whole.

It always made him freeze, touch, no matter where it came from. He always expected the worst and maybe that was the Devil’s fault, expecting it to hurt, knowing he deserved it. He’s sure it never showed, the slight tightening around his eyes when Foggy reached out to clap his shoulder over a solved case, when Karen leaned into his side grinning when a story finally cracked open under her touch, even the way Claire would mournfully brush her fingers around wounds she had sewn up. He didn’t let himself enjoy, but couldn’t stop the way his body reacted; canting towards everything, anything. He couldn’t avoid it either, not with Foggy as his best friend. Foggy, a man well renowned for being the kindest shining light of a person. Foggy loved in many ways, each one louder than the last, constantly giving pieces of himself without thought or hesitation. Someone who loved so deeply without fear of what it could do to him; someone who didn’t have to worry that the pieces of himself he gave were jagged, sharp, dangerous. Wrong.

The craving for touch that wormed its way under his skin couldn’t be trained out of him. He tried, like a dog with a shock collar. He tried to carve it out and when that didn’t work he prayed. Begged. Pleaded. Please, God. Every time they hung in the air suffocating him with no response.

So he fed the desire in the night. In the crunching of bone under his fists. In the throb of bruises that would be dark for days. The fight satiating as much of the urge as was possible. When his mind tried to remind him it wasn’t enough, he pushed. Pushed his body farther, running himself ragged along Hell’s Kitchen, hit harder, leaving himself open at times to be hit back just to feel something. Yet, the Devil was never satisfied, even when he quieted down, there was still the thrum in the back of Matt’s head, the thirst for action, only ever chained up.

In every rhythm he found there was always something to drag him out, to pull apart every piece of solid ground he ever stood upon. He’d tried time and time again to get better, to be better. Be a better man, a better lawyer, a better friend. Tried to fix what he always seemed to break, who he always seemed to break. In the aftermath of Foggy finding out his secret he’d become reckless and unruly, losing the only thing that ever tethered him to this world. But then they had worked through that, through tears and broken hearts, through broken promises and shattered hearts.

At the sight of what he could lose Matt tried again, opened himself up for connection, fought to be there and present. To love and be loved by Foggy and Karen, find his place in the world; lawyer by day Daredevil by night. It even started to work, his struggle to find land among oceans of guilt and self hatred, a tiny island of reprieve. Of family. Night’s spent at Josie’s playing pool once more, drinking and laughing into the late hours. Cases spent all crowded around one table, Karen taking notes while Foggy and Matt mock argued their way into perfecting speeches for court.

Difficult and consuming, but his heart ached with the new weight of allowed connection. Felt too heavy to be sitting in a chest once so hollowed out it had become the expectation. Then as all good things in Matt Murdock’s life, it ended. This time a little more dramatically than before, this time in a building collapsing on top of him, crushing him underneath his own failure.

He died.

He should have died.

It would have been better if he had died.

For him, for Foggy, for Karen.

Everyone.

That’s why he didn’t tell them, that’s why he told himself he didn’t tell them. Until Foggy did that thing that Foggy did best, and he relentlessly wormed his way back into Matt’s life. The endless dedication something Matt would never fully understand. Never really feeling worthy of the kind of love that Foggy gave, not deserving of the care in which Karen took of him. But where the voices in his head said that it was wrong- that he was wrong, his family once more, were louder.

The debt of his life returned to him again, held out in Foggy’s gentle hands, is one will not be able to repay. Not in full. So when Foggy and Karen ask the worst of him, he has no choice but to say yes.

“So, there’s this benefit on Saturday that Marci was talking to me about and I realized that we all got invited, so we should go.” Foggy’s words are meant to be casual, tossed over his shoulder as he brews another pot of coffee on Thursday morning. It’s not enough for Matt to not sniff out the trap, laid in the leaves on the trail ahead of him.

Except it’s Foggy, and despite every instinct in Matt’s body he can’t find it in himself to distrust Foggy. So he prods the earth in front of him, and continues down this path placed out. “Benefit?”

“Yeah, actually I heard a couple of my old friends will be there. It’ll be nice to see them again, what about you Matt, you in?” Karen, while a much better liar than Foggy, her words are still slightly off, almost forced. Alarm bells ring and flash in his head and Matt has to take a moment to actively work to shut them off, whatever scheme the two of them are obviously planning can’t be that bad. Not to mention he owes it to them to play along, after everything he’s put them through, if it'll make them happy for him to get dressed up and go be miserable at a party for one night, who is he to say no.

“I don’t have any other plans so I guess I’ll be dragged along,” he shrugs, thinking his assent will be the end of the conversation.

“You should wear that one suit, the tux,” Karen throws out, going back to the papers on her desk that had previously held her attention. In her words a better picture of what lay in store for him this weekend starts to form.

“Sure Karen, I’ll wear the tux.”

—

He regrets agreeing to this. Putting on the tux and getting ready, already dreading what lay in store for him tonight. It’s not helped by the way Karen immediately adjusts his bowtie the second she sees him, nor by Foggy’s barely contained energy, bouncing off the walls. It is a small gift, one he can easily give, and one that clearly makes them so happy. But God, does he not want to spend the night stiffly dressed doing pleasantries among people he couldn’t possibly be less interested in talking to.

He prepares for a night of schmoozing hopefully offset by at least half as much boozing if he has any say in it. Maybe drinking will be the way he makes it through this night, just drinking and hiding in a corner hoping everyone is willing to overlook the grumpy blind lawyer dragged along by his golden retriever friends.

“Wanna make this into a drinking game?” Foggy offers picking up on the nerves radiating off of Matt. All packed into a small cab wasn’t helping to calm himself, it felt stupid to be hesitant over a party.

“Foggy, that’s a terrible idea.” Karen reaches out to bat at Foggy’s arm, hands moving from where she had been fixing her hair. It dissolves into childish swinging of hands and giggles, the two of them had really solidified their friendship in the months that Matt had been missing.

“It might be a bad idea, but it sounds fun,” Foggy tosses back from the front seat, his voice almost a sing-song.

Karen knew the best way to shut this down, shoving Foggy’s shoulder to push him back into his seat from where he hung off halfway in the back. “If we get trashed at this benefit, Marci will be pissed.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Before the argument could continue the cab pulled up outside and Foggy handed over several bills quietly before the three of them climbed out. The air was crisp, the very beginning of fall around the corner curling around them. Matt could smell the storm coming, probably several hours off, the underlying buzz of thunder and lightning humming in the ground beneath him. It was his favorite part of his senses, storms, what had once been overwhelming was now some of his favorite sounds and smells. The clean smell of rain, the relaxing thrum on his roof, even the feel of energy wrapped all around him.

“Matt, come on, it won’t be that bad. Who knows, maybe there will be someone who’s not an annoying prick.”

Matt was pulled out of his thoughts by Foggy’s loud laugh, he turned to follow his friend's voice, Foggy wrapped his arm around Matt’s elbow to drag him the rest of the way in the doors.

“Yeah, well I really doubt that Fog,” he grumbles under his breath, the sounds and smells of the party already hitting him and he could feel an oncoming headache behind his temples. He felt Karen step up next to him and he tapped his cane in front of the three of them, hoping it’d ward off anyone thinking of saying ‘hello’.

“Foggy,” Karen whispers and Matt feels the air shift as she reaches behind his back to bat at Foggy’s arm once more, she certainly did a lot of hitting him, but Foggy never seems to mind. Matt is reminded of the way they brought the event up originally, that something underlying her tone again and is already irritated over whatever set-up he’s about to walk into led by his two closest friends.

[honeybrulee]

With you by my side

Requested by @empty-noggin ! ♡ Hope you like it!

Erwin Smith x Reader

Prompt - "The straps of your gear aren't tight enough, come here"

~ This one's a little on the shorter side but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Just some silliness bc we all know that Erwin's secretly a huge softie ~

You still had about two hours before you were to depart on an expedition with the scouts, but Erwin being Erwin decided that it would be appropriate as Commander for him to get up in advance. Despite him insisting that there was no need for you to get up alongside him you knew that you had no chance getting back to sleep without the feeling of him tucked in by your side.

The morning sun was barely rising outside, a deep orange sinking in through the window. You sat on the edge of the bed, distracted from dressing by the sight of your handsome commander doing up the last few buttons on his crisp white shirt.

"There's no point in getting up early with me if you're just going to sit and watch me, you know," Erwin's rich voice, still slightly grumbly from the grasps of sleep, teased.

"Maybe I'm just admiring the view?" you quipped, leaning back slightly and tilting the corner of your mouth in a smirk.

"Oh? And would the view be to your liking?"

"Mm," you pretended to consider his words, raising a hand to pinch your chin comically, "I suppose it's not bad."

Erwin spun to face you fully, mock horror on his face.

"Not bad? That's all I get?"

"Eh, maybe decent at a push but-"

Before you could finish your teasing Erwin had lunged at you, scooping you up and taking you down to the bed with him. You squealed, digging your fingers into the flesh of his arms through his shirt.

You threw your head back in laughter as he nuzzled his face into the spot on your neck that he knew was sensitive, sending ticklish shivers straight down your spine.

"Erwin!" you cried, feeling the man grin against the skin of your neck.

"I'm not stopping until you apologise. And maybe suck up to me a little."

"No please-"

Again Erwin buried his face into the crease of your neck, his brassy chuckle vibrating against it.

"Okay, okay! You're better than not bad, I promise!"

"Yeah? What would you describe me as then, hmm? Sexy perhaps, maybe the most attractive man you've ever seen? I'd venture to say even the personification of perfection?"

"Sure yeah, all of that, whatever helps you sleep at night-"

You cackled as Erwin only doubled down in his efforts, arms and legs flailing in a fruitless attempt to free yourself from his weight pressing you down.

"So horrible to me. Truly. Doesn't your commander deserve even a modicum of respect from his love?"

"Not after that training you put us through yesterday. Even my aches have aches. It's almost impressive."

Erwin laughed, turning from nuzzling to just pressing kisses against the column of your neck.

"My sincerest apologies, soldier. Allow me to make it up to you later tonight," he grumbled against you, a breathy sigh leaving your throat at the feeling.

"That is if we make it to tonight. I don't know about this expedition, Erwin. Something isn't sitting right with me," you spoke quietly, hating to ruin the mood but needing to get your worries out there.

"Hey, none of that now. I won't let a thing happen to you, my love. You understand? I'll be right by your side from the moment we ride out the gates until we come back in."

You sighed, mind still troubled but ease sinking in at the thought of Erwin looking out for you.

"M'kay. I trust you, but this does go two ways Erwin. I need you to not do anything stupid, nothing self-sacrificial, alright?"

"You have my word, love. We'll be back home safe and sound in a few hours. Not a scratch."

"Not a scratch," you echoed, following Erwin's actions in sitting upright.

He took your hand in his much larger one, encompassing it as he brought it to his lips and stamped a reassuring kiss on its back.

"Now come on," he smiled gently, "you do actually need to get ready at some point. You'll be no good out there without your harness on."

Erwin stood, reaching a hand out to you and pulling you to your feet. You walked over to your closet, taking the harness of your ODM gear from the top shelf. Erwin sat back on the end of the bed and observed you as you fastened the intricate straps, sliding the thick leather over your thighs, waist, chest. A slight looseness on the strap around your chest caught his attention, eyebrows furrowing.

"The straps of your gear aren't tight enough, come here," he spoke calmly, a large palm tapping against his thigh in indication for you to sit on his lap.

You obeyed, making your way over to him. As you straddled his legs, Erwin pulled you closer by your hips, getting you so that he could get a close look at your gear.

Erwin raised his hands to the strap at your chest, sliding across the smooth leather to the silver buckle in the centre. With slight fingers he unclasped the buckle, sliding the leather through the loop to tighten it until it was pulled straight.

You felt your face grow hot at his closeness, despite the fact that he had been lying on you with his face in your neck mere moments ago.

"There. Perfect," he concluded, sliding two fingers under the strap for good measure.

"Thank you, 'Win," you spoke breathily, finding yourself feeling shy regardless of the length of time you'd been together.

"Of course," his tone of voice mirrored your own, his gaze rising to study your face. "Anything you need. Anything for you."

You met his eyes as he lifted a hand to stroke his thumb across your cheek, subconsciously leaning into the touch. Erwin felt his heart pounding at the way you leaned into his hand, the way your eyes fluttered shut in momentary peace. Remaining still, you felt as Erwin traced your features lovingly, as though he were observing a sculpture made by the most elite of artists. His fingers travelled across your forehead, tracing your eyebrow before sliding to your cheek, finally ending up at the peak of your chin. He pinched it lightly between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up.

With a sigh Erwin leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. He moved his mouth precisely to fit against yours, deepening the kiss then pulling away with a subtle suction sound.

"The same applies to you, remember. Don't put yourself unneccessarily in harm's way. No needless sacrifices."

You nodded in response to his orders, not daring to speak at the risk of stopping the way the pad of his thumb was caressing your lower lip.

"Good. That's what I like to hear. Now, shall we head out? It would probably be beneficial to see what's available for breakfast before Hange tears through it."

After one final kiss, for good luck of course, you made your way hand-in-hand into another day. Erwin would always have your back, and you would aways have his. And that was all you needed for everything to work out just fine.

[volturialice]

good politics 

a deeply silly arranged marriage/royalty AU

words: 3400

rating: gen (for now)

warnings: mentions of food, alcohol

pairings: jalice, rosalie/anyone but edward

status: casually ongoing

part 1: in which jasper is forced to put his money where his mouth is, and edward is absolutely not interested in rosalie’s huge tracts of land

By the second day, it became clear that negotiations were breaking down.

It began at dinner, when, in his preoccupation over the proper formatting of sheet music, Grand Duke Edward forgot to pull out Princess Rosalie’s chair. Then he had the nerve to quote Republic and ask if she knew who Plato was. By the soup course, her expression was fixed in lines so haughty that anyone who dared to make eye contact was reduced to a squashed insect. By the time they carved the meat, she was asking sugary, pointed questions about whether there was a nationwide comb-manufacturing shortage in Edward’s charming homeland. And by dessert, Edward was emphatically vowing that, were she ten times as beautiful and the last woman on earth, he would still cast himself into a volcano sooner than spend the rest of his life tethered to her.

Princess Rosalie upended a pudding over his head.

And so it was with growing unease that, over the port, their respective parents agreed to halt negotiations and recommence in a few weeks, after their royal scions had perhaps calmed down a bit.

If only his son would exhibit some sign of calming down a bit, reflected Carlisle II once he was back in the palace of Olympias, safely shut into his study. Edward had always been a bit of a romantic—it was something Carlisle enjoyed about him, had even encouraged on occasion. There was, perhaps, a modicum of self-congratulation in the idea that his son, having no example but the deep and abiding affection between his parents, had come to regard marriage as a sacred bond between people who were passionately in love.

But they had indulged him too far, Carlisle realized now. They had clung stubbornly to their own rosy vision of a life wherein Edward and Princess Rosalie of New Haland were as smitten with each other at first sight as he and Esme had been, raced eagerly up the aisle to seal the peace between their countries, and lived out their days in conjugal bliss.

It had not been so far-fetched an imagining, he consoled himself. Princess Rosalie was renowned worldwide for her beauty, and what woman in the world could fail to adore a young man as wonderful, clever, and magnanimous as their Edward?

This one, apparently. She had called him a patronizing and conceited windbag with all the charm of a spilled chamberpot.

The problem was the treaty, Carlisle thought wearily. It had been years in the making—more than a decade of careful diplomatic maneuvering, making desperate concessions to shore up the fragile peace between their two countries…and it simply didn’t work without a marital alliance. So much of it hinged upon the union of their two houses, which was to be emblematic of the shining new age of cooperation between their two nations. He could not imagine standing before King Henry and telling him the treaty was off because his famously beautiful daughter wasn’t up to Edward’s standards. It would be politically devastating, not to mention personally humiliating.

But neither could he imagine a conversation between Edward and Princess Rosalie that didn’t end with one or both of them purple-faced and dripping with pudding.

What was to be done? He could not stomach the idea of consigning his son to perpetual marital bitterness, but if the alternative was another war with New Haland…No, he vowed. He would not manufacture problems where none yet existed. It was all speculation until they had gotten the chance to sit down and discuss this as a family.

.

“I was hoping we might sit down and discuss this as a family,” said Carlisle, pinching the bridge of his nose.

They were in the council chambers, though the councillors had been temporarily dismissed. Edward was pacing before the windows, mutinous fury twisting his face. His mother and sister sat at the long, mostly-empty table with Carlisle, casting each other significant glances.

“What is there to discuss?” burst out Edward. “Either you force me to marry Princess Rosalie or you don’t. But I tell you now, I refuse to fawn and flatter at the feet of that…that ill-mannered shrew.”

Queen Esme looked a little scandalized at his language. “Oh, Edward,” she exhorted. “You’re so determined to think the worst of her, when she was nothing but gracious to me and your father! If you’d only give her a chance—”

“A chance to hurl more desserts into my face?”

“Oh, I wish I had been there to see that,” sighed Grand Duchess Alice, propping her cheek wistfully against her hand.

Edward rounded on his younger sister. “Laugh all you like, but you’ll feel differently in a few years when it’s you they’re shipping off to marry some vainglorious brute with the right…iron exports, or, or naval fleet!”

Esme flinched at the word brute, but Alice remained impassive. “Hmm. You’re right, I’m sure,” she drawled, in her particular, patronizing way.

In truth, Carlisle could not imagine shipping his daughter off to anywhere. It had been difficult enough choosing a bride for Edward, but at least whomever Edward married would come to live here in the palace. To send their youngest child and only daughter off to some far-flung corner of the world would break her parents’ hearts. When the dreaded time finally did come, Carlisle resolved to look back over the list of eligible noblemen his advisors had made and choose someone local.

Edward whirled back around, having worked himself into even more of a state. “I won’t marry her, Father,” he warned, voice trembling with fervor. “Not unless you force me.”

Carlisle put his head in his hands. “The alternative is war.”

“Surely not!” insisted Edward. “Surely the treaty will be sufficient—”

“Your marriage was to be the lynchpin of the entire agreement,” said Carlisle wearily. “Without it, the treaty falls apart. And if we snub Princess Rosalie in the bargain…I’m afraid another war is the inevitable consequence.”

“Well, we’re…we’re stronger than New Haland, and they know it. We could…” Edward’s voice dwindled away as he ran out of straws to grasp at.

“Our army is larger, yes,” agreed Carlisle. “But it’s also more expensive to maintain. It requires more resources, more arable land. Higher taxes. Our finances have yet to recover from the last war. Our people have yet to recover. If a new war breaks out because of your decision, are you prepared to lead them into battle?”

There was silence around the table. They all knew Edward was prepared for no such thing. He was a prince for the bookroom, not the battlefield, renowned for his knowledge and (until yesterday) his statecraft.

Edward had gone pale. “Then…must I really marry her? It would be a life of…of unending misery. For her too!” he added. “She certainly doesn’t wish to marry me either—she made that clear.”

Carlisle reached for Esme’s hand. “We won’t force you, son,” he promised. “But you must understand the consequences of a refusal. I fear the only other outcome is war.”

“Not necessarily,” said Alice, dashing her incongruously cheerful tone over the tension like a bucket of ice water.

In any other conversation, Edward would have rolled his eyes and dismissed her, but now his head whipped around so fast there was a faintly audible crack.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“Yes, Alice, what are you talking about?” echoed Esme.

Alice’s guileless brown eyes flickered between them. “I can marry Crown Prince Jasper, of course.”

Silence again, as Carlisle and Esme struggled to process the stark simplicity of the solution.

Then Edward scoffed. “Princess Rosalie’s brother? The sword-swinging lout?” (Edward did not look kindly upon military-minded princes, who by their mere existence had a habit of casting his own failings into relief.)

It was Esme who spoke next, choosing her words delicately. “Sweetheart, we….it’s a very generous offer, but perhaps you should consider things more carefully.” She let go of Carlisle and laid her hand atop Alice’s where it rested on the table. “You’re still so young, we weren’t planning on fixing your betrothal for a few years yet. There’s no rush. You know your father and I would never force you into a marriage with someone you disliked.”

(Edward muttered something bitterly resentful beneath his breath.)

Alice shrugged. “I like Crown Prince Jasper fine. I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t willing to go through with it.”

“Like him? You don’t know him! You haven’t seen him since we were children,” Edward pointed out.

Esme’s brow was furrowed in deep contemplation. “Well, I suppose he’s about the right age,” she said hesitantly, “and certainly a well-favored young man…”

Edward scoffed again. “They say that about any nobleman who isn’t a hunchback covered in pustulent boils.”

“Well I’m glad to hear he isn’t covered in boils,” said Alice with a roll of her eyes. “What a glowing report. Having second thoughts about marrying Princess Rosalie after all?”

“Certainly not. But if her brother is anything like that harpy—”

“Really, Edward, there’s no need to be unkind—”

“Lots of people are nothing like their siblings,” said Alice sweetly, cutting off Esme’s next lecture. (“Thank God.”)

Esme heaved a small, defeated sigh and turned to nudge her husband. “You haven’t said anything, dear. What do you think of Alice’s suggestion?”

Carlisle closed his eyes, gathering himself to speak past his own stunned reluctance. “I think you’re right: it isn’t something to be undertaken lightly,” he said slowly. “If Alice is truly willing, I can write to King Henry. But your mother is right, Alice—this is not something we expect of you, not so soon. You are under no obligation to step in.”

“Goodness, must you all speak as though I’m going to my untimely death?” complained Alice. “I said I would marry him, and I meant it. I don’t see why it has to be such a grave affair.”

“It’s simply a big decision, dear,” said Esme gently. “Especially when it affects the fate of our two countries. We just want you to be aware of what you’d be getting into.”

“Well, I am,” said Alice flatly. “And if it will spare Edward a ‘life of unending misery’ and keep us out of a war, I’ll marry whomever you like. But it doesn’t seem like such a dreadful sacrifice to be Queen of New Haland someday,” she added, with a pleased little grin at the grandiosity of the title. It sounded terribly grown-up and impressive—much better than “Grand Duchess.”

Carlisle silenced Edward with a look before he could snipe about his sister’s vanity. Then he turned the look on Alice.

“I’ll write to the king,” he told her. “But once I do, there will be no reneging on our agreement. So I’ll ask you again, Alice: are you absolutely certain about this?”

Alice drew herself up to her full height, skinny shoulders back and pointed chin out. The effect was more cute than imposing, but still moderately successful. “Yes,” she said, meeting Carlisle’s gaze as if she were a queen already. “I am.”

.

The floor outside Princess Rosalie’s bedroom door did not make for a particularly comfortable seat. Nor was it a very dignified position, leaning against the wall with his legs sprawled out across the passage. They were considerably longer now than they’d been when Crown Prince Jasper was ten.

He double-checked that the corridor was free of servants before reaching up to knock on the door. “Rose,” he called, dipping into his last reserves of patience, “how much longer are you going to do this? I have affairs to attend to.”

“Then go attend to them!” snapped a muffled voice from within. “Leave me alone!”

“I would love to,” said Jasper, “but I’ve been ordered not to show my face until you’ve shown yours.”

Silence. How mature. “At least eat something,” he urged. “What exactly will starving yourself accomplish?”

“If I die, I won’t have to marry that joyless, melodramatic blowhard,” said Rosalie.

Jasper happened to know she kept about a week’s supply of chocolates in the tufted ottoman by her settee, but he decided to play along. “We’d break down the door long before we let you die.”

“Just you try it!” challenged Rosalie.

“Do I really need to? If you won’t come out, let me in and we’ll talk.”

“And why would I do that?”

Good point. “Aren’t you bored?”

“…No.”

Rose was not nearly as accomplished at deceit as she was at tenacity. Jasper wondered how she’d been passing the time for the last four days. Rereading her old books? She’d never been one for embroidery—she preferred more active, outdoor hobbies.

“How about this: let me in and I’ll speak to Father on your behalf.” He meant to do so in any case, but she didn’t need to know that.

There was a scraping sound, and the door cracked open a few inches. “Really?”

“Yes,” said Jasper, pushing to his feet as the door opened a bit wider. “I promise.”

A moment’s consideration, and then Rosalie’s arm shot out and yanked him inside as if they were spies who might be caught at any moment. Jasper decided it would be best to retreat out of her way while she replaced the chair she’d been using to brace the door shut.

Her rooms were a study in chaos—Jasper stepped over a whetstone and an empty chocolate box on his way to the armchair by the fireplace, expressing his silent condolences to the chambermaids.

Rosalie shoved a stack of books and a crumpled handkerchief onto the floor so she could throw herself onto the settee opposite, arms crossed. “Talk all you like,” she invited. “I still won’t marry him.”

Jasper sighed. “You’ll have to marry sooner or later. Why should it matter to whom?” He didn’t understand how any of this was worth causing a war.

“Why should it matter? It matters because I’ll spend the rest of my life stuck with him!”

“I don’t see why,” said Jasper. “A spouse is just the person who sits on the throne beside you at court. You’d hardly need interact with him.”

Rosalie shot him a withering look. “Are you serious? I’d have to share his bed. Eugh.” She added with an elegant shudder.

Jasper shrugged. “Only until you produced an heir. Then you could have nothing more to do with each other.”

“Wow,” drawled Rosalie. “Won’t your future wife be delighted.”

Jasper’s retort was cut off by someone pounding on the door. “Rosalie Hale! You will open this door right this instant!”

Rosalie blanched. It had been years since either of them had heard their royal father so angry. Jasper moved for the door.

“Don’t!” hissed Rosalie, leaping off the settee to pull him back.

“Enough,” said Jasper, shaking her off. “It’ll be fine. Grand Duke Edward is leagues away in Olympias. No one’s dragging you down the aisle yet.”

Rosalie bit her lip, but wiped her hands on her skirts and allowed Jasper to slide the chair away from the door.

“I swear if you don’t open this door in the next minute I’ll summon—! Oh.”

“Good evening, Father. Come in,” invited Jasper.

“Ah yes—Jasper. Very good,” said King Henry gruffly, sweeping past him into the room. He barely seemed to notice the disarray, focusing instead on Rosalie.

“Daughter, you have greatly displeased us,” he declared.

Rosalie sank into a sullen curtsey. “It was not my intention, sire,” she grumbled. “But Grand Duke Edward and I are not suited.”

“Yes, that is quite plain,” agreed the king.

Rosalie glanced up in surprise. “Father?”

“We’ve had a letter from Olympias,” he announced. “Several, in fact. We’ve agreed to new terms. Your betrothal to Grand Duke Edward is dissolved.”

Rosalie seemed torn between glee and apprehension—it was clear their father was gearing up for some more dire pronouncement. He turned to Jasper.

“Jasper, you will marry Grand Duchess Alice instead. We trust you have no objections.”

Jasper blinked. His father seemed to expect an answer, but his mouth seemed to have disconnected from his brain. “…None, sire,” he managed after a beat.

“Good. Then we shall begin preparations. The Olympian royal family will arrive before the month is out. You will have one opportunity to speak with the Grand Duchess and determine whether you are suited,” King Henry continued, his tone and expression making it clear that they had damn well better be, “and then you marry.”

“Yes, sire,” said Jasper, slowly coming back to himself.

“You will both,” said the king sternly, with a pointed look at Rosalie, “show her the utmost hospitality. The importance of maintaining peace with Olympias cannot be overstated. Jasper, you will keep her happy.”

“Yes…Father,” Jasper agreed. No one knew better than he just how unprepared their army was for another war. He made a slight bow, conscious of the great weight of responsibility that had just been shifted onto his shoulders.

He was also conscious that he was no Rosalie, to kick and scratch and buck off the yoke like a wild horse. There would be no going back on his word.

“Very good,” said King Henry, with a pleased nod of acknowledgement. He turned and swept out of the room, muttering something about how at least one of his children knew his duty. The door thunked quietly shut behind him.

Jasper sank back into the chair by the fire.

“What just happened?” demanded Rosalie. When Jasper did not reply, she bent down, warily searching his blank expression. “Are you…all right?” she asked uneasily.

Jasper straightened up and pushed past her. “Of course. I’m fine.” He held the door open. “You must be hungry. Let’s get you something to eat.”

Rosalie trailed after him with uncharacteristic timidity.

“Grand Duchess Alice, huh?” she ventured as they walked. “I remember her. The little pest who wouldn’t stop following us around.”

Jasper and Rosalie had met Grand Duchess Alice exactly once, as children, nearly twelve years ago when the shaky peace between New Haland and Olympias had first been ratified. He’d been ten, so Jasper’s main memory of the event was of being banished out of doors and expected to entertain the young Grand Duke and Duchess, who had not made much of an impression. Edward had been stilted and awkward while he and Jasper and Rosalie shot arrows and rode horses, and Alice had indeed followed them around, whining to be included in everything her brother did.

“She was seven,” Jasper pointed out, strangely defensive.

“Right. Well, let’s hope she’s grown out of that.”

They made the rest of their way to the kitchens in uneasy silence, conscious that the servants were casting them furtive looks. It seemed the news of his betrothal was already circulating.

Rosalie followed Jasper all the way back to his study with her tray of food. He couldn’t decide whether to be irritated or grateful for her company.

What had he said to her? A spouse is just the person who sits on the throne beside you. Why should it matter?

He had not expected to have his own convictions put to the test quite so soon, but…well, fine. So be it. Their father was right—Jasper knew his duty. He had meant every word he’d said.

“I feel…bad,” admitted Rosalie, when she had finished shoveling down food. She picked at the beveled edge of his desk. “Like you got stuck with this because of me.”

“It was my choice,” said Jasper calmly. His situation certainly was her fault, but he saw no point in discussing it now. She could take his place whenever she wished by offering to marry Grand Duke Edward, but they both knew she wouldn’t. Jasper wasn’t about to assuage her guilt in the meantime. This was his life.

This was his life, and he had always known he’d one day marry someone for political reasons. It might as well be Grand Duchess Alice as anyone else. At least she wasn’t forty, or thirteen, though his own fuzzy mental image of her was still that of a pouting seven-year-old. She probably looked different now.

“I know,” said Rosalie quietly. “I just…wish things could be different. Not just for me but for you, too.”

“Well, they aren’t,” Jasper reminded her. He forced a smile. “I’m glad you won’t have to marry Grand Duke Edward after all.”

“Hear, hear,” said Rosalie, raising her glass of wine. She took a long swig, saturating the room with her profound relief before she set the glass back down. “And here’s hoping for your sake that Grand Duchess Alice is nothing like her brother.”

Jasper cast a sideways glance at where she had occupied the corner of his desk, crumbs spilling off her tray onto the perfectly polished wood. “Many people are nothing like their siblings,” he observed.

.

thanks for reading Part 1 of my Absolutely Goofy arranged marriage AU! I currently have next to no plans for this story other than letting it develop organically and sort of crowdsourcing the plot. if you have any thoughts, ideas, questions, or requests for where it should go, please please slide into my askbox!

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

K so for an angsty headcanon thing, I was wonderin if you'd write something where reader is in a relationship with the boys and overhears a conversation where they say the were using her for food, but like she didn't hear the part where they say they changed their minds. If you don't want to thats chill tho, just wanted to ask cause I love your writing x

Oh god I love me some angst. Here you go babs, I hope you enjoy!! (Also, rip this turned more into a fic I hope you don't mind)

If That’s How You See Me (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader) fic

Warning: angst, slight smut

You had been dating the boys for a few months now. You knew what they were, as they hadn’t actually tried to hide it from you. They’d told you almost immediately, and, while it took some time to get used to, you’d accepted it pretty gracefully. After a little over a month, you’d even let them start feeding off of you.

They only ever took a little. Well, compared to their usual meals. They each had their place that they liked to bite, and you had learned to wear long sleeves and high collars to prevent their marks from showing. David always went for your neck. He would hold the other side of your throat, and thumb your jugular lightly as he drank. Marko would almost always go for your wrist. He liked to be able to look into your eyes as he drank, and he’d wipe his mouth and chin so he could quickly press his lips against yours. It never failed to make him aroused, and you barely minded. Dwayne would bite your shoulder. He was always the most careful, and he’d only drink from you during your most intimate moments. It’d never fail to make him groan and still, and he’d hold you so close that you’d think he was trying to meld you two together. Paul, being the cheeky little bastard he was, always bit the inside of your thigh. He’d do it whenever he ate you out, and he’d always treasure the small yelp of surprise you made each time. You swore that he purposely chose the moment when you were most relaxed to tear into your flesh. As soon as he was done, he’d dive back down and finish you off.

You’d settled into a comfortable routine with them. You’d meet them at the boardwalk, hang out for a bit, and then you’d go back to the cave. You’d get some alone time with them, and then one of them would drive you home. You never had to see them feed, and they assured you that it helped their cravings. Even if it was just a little bit.

But you’d had a particularly bad day, and you wanted to skip the boardwalk and go straight to cuddling them. You wanted Marko to hold you close and kiss your nose, for Paul to make you laugh, for Dwayne to be your silent shoulder to cry on, and for David to tell you that everything would be fine. The sun had only set only a little bit less than a half hour ago, and you knew they would still be groggy. Their senses probably wouldn’t be at their highest, but you didn’t want to aggravate them by making a lot of noise. So, you climbed into the cave as quietly as possible to not disturb them. To your surprise, you found that they were awake already. You were just outside the mouth of the cave when you heard their voices clear as day, and you realized they were talking about you. You paused. You knew you should announce yourself. Make your presence known. But when else would you ever get to hear their true thoughts about you? So, you stopped and you listened.

“-great fuck. God, and those legs?” It was Pauls voice first, and you smiled to yourself. So far, only good things, even if they were mostly just sexual. You knew you shouldn’t have expected much else. At least you knew that they thought you were good in bed. Markos voice continued,

“She’s such a babe. You better not have taken too much, man. I have dibs tonight, and I’m starved.” He said, and you furrowed your brows. The way he said the word made you think of only one thing. Marko wasn’t talking about sex. He was talking about feeding.

“I’ve told you before. She tastes better when she cums.” It was Dwaynes voice then, and you felt a pang go through your heart. Dwayne had always been the sweetest. The kindest of the four. The way they were talking was like you were a meal more than anything, and it worried you that even Dwayne seemed to think the same. It wasn’t like you’d told the boys you’d loved them yet, but the feelings were still there. Just unspoken. Marko let out a laugh, and then he said something that made your blood run cold.

“Remember when we first saw her and Paul wanted to eat her that night?” It made you freeze. You remembered that night. Paul had walked right up to you. He’d flirted with you, won you prizes, and even taken you to a show on the beach. It had just been coincidence that they’d run into the others. Or so you thought.

“Yeah, and David wanted to keep her around. Make her last longer.” You could hear a small scuffle, and you guessed some of the boys were rough housing. Your heart felt like it was going to stop. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The boys had wanted to eat you. Kill you. The only reason they hadn’t was because David had wanted to make you last. A personal snack. It didn’t help when he finally said,

“Took long enough for her to let us take a bite.” You could practically hear the grin in his voice and your heart truly fell out of your chest then. You felt your heart break, and the betrayal laid heavily on everything else that had bothered you that day. The boys had been using you. All they’d wanted was to feed from you. All they’d wanted was your blood. You rushed back up the stairs, and you could feel hot tears pouring out of your eyes as you went back up to your car. You hadn’t stayed long enough to hear the end of his comment. “Didn’t think we’d end up falling for her in the meantime.”

You didn’t go to the boardwalk that night. You stayed in your room with your window firmly closed and locked. Of course, that didn’t deter the boys. You were laying on your bed, doing your best not to let your heartbreak consume you, when you heard a knock at your window. You lifted your head, and outside was Marko. He called your name in a teasing voice. You weren’t surprised. He had called dibs, hadn’t he? He probably just thought that this was just a way to get him alone. You went to your window and he smiled as you came closer. Instead of letting him in, you closed the curtain. 

“Hey!” He called, but you paid no attention to him. You didn’t want to speak to any of the boys ever again. You heard another persistent knock, but you grabbed your cassette player and headphones. You’d ignore him all night if you had to. You put the headphones on your ears and laid back down in bed, resuming the ball you had been in before he’d arrived. No matter how loud you turned up your music, you could still hear him saying your name. You knew it was a trick. A vampire power. You turned off your bedside light. It shrouded the room in darkness. After a few minutes, the mantra quickly turned softer and softer until finally it stopped. You could feel silent tears streaming down your cheeks, and you knew he must’ve been gone. He must’ve left. It had been nearly a half-hour of silence, and you almost found peace in it. You took off your headphones and rolled onto your other side. Your back was to the door, but the idea of monsters didn’t scare you as much anymore. Not since you’d met them. You thought that perhaps you’d be rid of them, that they’d entertain themselves with some other meal. Until you felt cold hands grab you and you heard your name fall from his lips instead of by poking his way into your mind.

You started to shriek, but a hand clapped down on your mouth. It wasn’t Markos. it was Davids. It didn’t take you long to realize all the boys had invited themselves into your room. You knew it was too good to be true to think that they’d left you alone. Marko and David sat on either side of you on the bed. Dwayne and Paul stood, with Dwayne on Davids side and Paul at the end of the bed. Dwayne turned on the light, and you glared at the sight of them. Were they really so persistent? Could they not find another girl to drain? You glared at them with such hatred in your eyes that it surprised them. It was Paul that ungracefully asked,

“What’s your damage, babe? You didn’t come to the boardwalk and now-” And you could feel your angel boiling over. Your damage? Your damage? You quickly interrupted the blonde.

“My damage is you four. Get the fuck out of my house. I don’t want to speak to any of you.” You spat, and the boys were taken aback. You hopped off the bed, shrugging off Davids hand when he tried to grab you, and you went to the window. You unlocked it and threw it open, and you pointed out of it. “Out. Now.” You demanded, and the vampires stared at you. There were mixes of anger and hurt on their faces, and you wanted to laugh. They were hurt? Then, they were truly eviler than you thought. You couldn’t stand the sight of them. Your four beautiful boys. Before this night you would have done anything for them. But finding out they only saw you as an over-glorified juice box changed some things. The two angriest were Paul and David. Paul was an explosion of emotions on a good day, and he couldn’t do anything to keep his mouth shut. The moment you two fought, you had to expect there’d be some tears. Marko, despite the hurt in his voice and on his face, tried to dispel the tension. Even if his own anger was starting to tick like a time bomb. He asked quietly,

“Y/n, why are you acting like this? Like, you’re acting like you hate us.” He said, and you glared at him. At his perfect angelic features. At his eyes and lips that didn’t hold even a bit of a smile. He looked confused and hurt. For some reason, the very sound of his voice enraged you. Perhaps it was because you were supposed to hang out with him that night. Your intimate moments had been nothing but a feeding to him. Your heart had frozen over, and you didn’t have a modicum of sympathy for any of the vampires. They were assholes, dogs, pigs. Worse than any of your ex-boyfriends. They’d been after something worse than sex. They’d been after your blood, and there had been a time where they’d considered killing you to get it. It was why the words slipped from your mouth, even if they weren’t entirely true.

“Because I do hate you.” You said, and you watched Markos eyes fill with hurt. It was a hard blow, for all of them. Dwayne and David hadn’t said a word yet, and their eyes were the most unreadable. But you knew it had stung them too from the way Dwayne refused to look at you, and how David scoffed and shook his head. Like he refused to believe it.

“What the fuck, babe. Why are you being such a bitch?” Paul asked, and you wanted to rip the blondes hair right of his skull. You were a bitch? You set your eyes on him and you swore, vampire or not, you were about to kick his ass and force him out that window. The smarter part of you knew that Paul would simply pick you up and throw you over his shoulder the second you tried to force him. Instead, you reached up to your ear. You yanked out the earring they’d given you, and you threw it at the rocker. He caught it, and he gasped. His face had been filled with anger before, but now it was filled with shock and pain. The boys knew what that meant. You weren’t just mad at them over something small. Whatever had happened, you were willing to break up with them over it. It looked like Paul regretted opening his big mouth instantly, and he didn’t even try to say a single thing as he held the earring in his hand. 

David stood then. He was silent, and the air changed as soon as he did. You’d been in charge of the situation before, but, suddenly, that was no longer the case. David was in front of you in a moment, and he grabbed you by your shoulders. You knew that when it came to all of them, it was going to be his hooks that were the hardest to dig out. He’d told you that you were his, and he truly believed it. David didn’t like it when things that were his tried to leave him. He stared down at you and snapped,

“What happened? Did hunters get to you? Are you cursed? Tell me, now.” You could hear the suggestion in his voice. He was using his powers on you, but he didn’t need to. You already knew exactly what words you were going to throw into his face.

“’Took her long enough to let us take a bite’ ring any bells? You know, you guys have a lot of nerve being mad at me. I’m the one that was turned into a meal. I’m the one that was reduced to nothing but a juice box. I’m the one that you were going to kill, right, Paul?” You asked, and you set your glare on him. His face fell, and he opened his mouth to speak. For once in his life, he thought better of it. David stared and his hands dropped.

“It’s not like that. We would never hurt you.” He said, and you scoffed. Really? For some reason, you couldn’t believe him. You were on a roll, and fresh tears were in your eyes as you pointed to Dwayne.

“Really? Because Dwayne, Dwayne, even seems to think so. I don’t have to worry about him trying to eat me though because he only likes me when I’m cumming, huh?” Your voice was harsh and cruel, and the brunette stared at you. He shook his head, and he took a step forward. You weren’t going to let him calm you down this time. You continued. “Or is it only Marko that I have to worry about. I mean, he did call dibs, didn’t he?” You snarked. You knew you were playing with fire, but you didn’t care. You were pissing off four vampires. Four vampires that had admitted they’d wanted to kill you earlier that night. But you didn’t care. The tears were spilling over and the hurt was swallowing your heart. They were pricks, every single one of them. You never wanted to see any of their faces again. “Or is it because you wanted to make me last?” You finished, and David clicked his jaw. You had thrown all of their own words back at them. Revealing just how much you’d heard. You expected harsh words, maybe even a slap. Maybe he’d even kill you. Instead, he spat,

“It’s because we fell for you, y/n.” He said, and you stared. You didn’t believe him. How could you? His words from earlier, when you weren’t around, had been completely different. “We love you. I love you.” He said, and your eyes didn’t leave his. You didn’t know if this was a trick or not, but it felt like it was. Honestly, David’s mind tricks made it impossible to know. You shook your head in disbelief, and muttered a small,

“Yeah, sure.” It hurt you to say it. The second it left your lips, you regretted it. For the first time in your life, you saw Davids eyes fill with pain. You sniffled and wiped your face, and you kept your mouth closed so you wouldn’t say anything else. Wouldn't take it back. His voice was quiet as he said,

“You’re not going to forgive us.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a realization. It settled over the room, and all of you knew it was true. Your lips loosened then.

“How can I? If that’s how you see me.”

[my-writings-and-musings]

oof,, now i wanna see a scenario where max actually ends up killing the tiny human for maximum angst,,, ur stuff is seriously so good.

The angst is real. These are real angst hours. I'm glad you like what I make! I enjoy hurting these bots I love and I have no idea as to why...

WARNING

THERE IS DEATH BELOW, ALONG WITH SADNESS, EMOTIONAL TRAUMA, GRIEF, AND A WHOLE LOT OF ANGST. THOUGH THE ENDING IS SOMEWHAT HOPEFUL READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

The level of guilt and grief had shaken him down to something in the depths of his core, and the onslaught of it all had nearly killed him, his spark all but flickering out when he was given the news. He'd still been in Rung's office, having ended the whole ordeal by pleading for help and promising not to hurt anyone so long as the little human limp in his hands received care. But of course it had been too late...

He hadn't remembered anything about collapsing beyond the incredible hope not to wake up again. Yet, despite everything he had done, Ratchet had put him on spark support and stabilized him. Why was a mystery he didn't have the energy to solve. Cuffed to the berth, he'd asked only to be taken offline for his transgressions, and had refused to eat. When the medics had put him on an energon drip, he'd wondered if his punishment had already been decided and would be the worst possible for a bot like himself; living with what he'd done. They even prevented the multiple attempts to terminate him from various members of the crew...

Rung had been his only non violent visitor, beyond the bots in charge. They'd all been stiff, but the sweet little phsychiatrist had been comforting, as if Max was the one who deserved empathy in all this. Nothing had occurred to him to say beyond how sorry he was and that he didn't mean for any of it. Primus bless his overly soft spark, Rung had forgiven him for what he could, assuring him that the trauma he'd suffered was capable of twisting any spark.

But, he'd also pointed out, it wasn't his place to forgive for the one who wasn't with them anymore. Such a thing could really only come from himself...

He'd cried when he'd heard that for the first time. Cried like a little sparkling after having an energon candy snatched away. The smaller bot had just held him, as much as he could with their differing sizes and positions, and gently encouraged him to let out the pain as long as he needed to. Had his body not been so frail he'd have likely wept for much longer. The pain was just overwhelming, as the phsychiatrist had just told him more or less that he'd never be forgiven.

Because he'd never be able to forgive himself.

Still, for reasons he didn't understand, he'd kept living and the others had refused to let him die. Most of it what you might call his "recovery" had been a blur. Between the grief and the guilt his spark had been determined to snuff itself out, but the skilled medics had refused him even that much, looking progressively less angry as they did so. Ratchet had actually appeared to pity him, something he found both unfathomable and at times infuriating. Regular sessions with Rung did little to soothe that desire to be hated.

He'd have probably continued that way for eons, even after being moved to the cells once his spark was strong enough to handle living on its own, but fate had thrown the entire ship down a very different path.

It had done so in the release of Overlord.

Like a warbeast, he'd been unleashed to take care of the rampaging monster, if only because death for all was guaranteed if the gleeful murderer went undefeated. With nothing to live for and everything to die for, he'd taken the opportunity almost gladly. There had been nothing to hold him back when he met his tormentor. Fear had stood no chance against his pure and unfathomable hate, but he didn't care at all for avenging himself, his spark burned for a life that had been lost in his own hands. It had been almost comically clear to him; he didn't need to be forgiven, but he hardly shouldered all the blame, for who had twisted him into what he was today? Who had caused nothing but suffering from the moment his spark had emerged from the Well? Who was smiling through it all?

The battle had been long and, even to experienced veterans, gruesome. He'd been torn apart, but pain had seemed so minor it simply didn't stop him. Pink energon had slicked up the floor beneath them, and when firepower had become unavailable the two had resorted to grappling with raw strength, fighting more like animals than bots. It had been agonizing due mostly to how desperately he needed to not die. Death wasn't an option unless this monstrosity went first. Looking into those twisted optics had been an excellent source of motivation, both at the beggining of the battle and towards the end, even as his vision began to fail from the strain of keeping himself going.

The final push had become possible when he saw what he'd wanted so desperately; Overlord was afraid.

Because he knew he was losing.

According to witnesses, the murderer had actually made an effort to flee in the end, but Max had finished him off by hunting him down and pinning him to the energon and viscera soaked ground.

A crack to Overlord's chassis had been his only target, one he attacked with primal fury using what remained of his arms and servos, clawing and tearing like a starving beast tunneling for a meal. As the armor had peeled back to reveal a sickly green spark, the former tormentor had actually begged. Max had heard none of it, taken no pleasure in the reversal of their roles, and had instead been unnaturally silent as he worked. This wasn't about his revenge. When his digits had secured about that spark, they'd actually burned from the heat of it, as if the accursed thing had come from the Pit itself. Yet he'd persisted, not even looking the now pitiful Overlord in the optics. The Phase Sixer was no longer a concern.

All he remembered before the blackness was how unusual a sound the heated orb in his hand had made upon being wrenched outwards, like the cracking of organic timber, only to collapse between his digits with the sound of thick glass shattering all at once. The explosion had taken his arm off, but pain had dissapeared from his being on every level. In fact, he'd known only that his battered face was smiling in what he believed to be the end. It was the small and content smile of knowing a job was done. Perhaps that was the closest someone like him could get to absolution, but even as his body had hit the floor, he hadn't minded whether or not the afterlife would deem him worthy of peaceful eternity.

Because if it didn't, he'd have the opportunity to do this again, and then perhaps Overlord would face a modicum of justice in eternity...

He could have sworn he saw you in the still silence, but that made little sense for a multitude of reasons. Though he could have passed it off as the effect of a million life saving treatments while he hovered on the edge of death, a state he apparently spent weeks in, he had decided to view the moments in your presence as an eternal mystery. You'd smiled and had assured him everything was fine, but had always been that way. Shushing any efforts at apology, you'd embraced his palm just as you'd done once in life, but this time the warmth of your touch seemed to fill his entire frame. It hadn't been enough for him to forgive himself, but he'd known peace. The one who'd started the vicious cycle of hurt was no more, and he promised it would end with him. Though he'd still fight, it would only ever be as a guardian. Wherever he ended up...

The soft beeping of countless monitors and the hum of just as many life supporting machines had replaced your voice when his optics had finally opened. Unable and unwilling to move, he'd been plagued by hurt in every solid inch, save for something far less unpleasant on his right hand.

Rung had been there when his optics finally found the strength to roll in his immobile helm, and the tiny mech had looked ecstatic to see him wake, calling for Ratchet as his small hand secured its grip on his. There had only been enough energy in him to stay awake a few minutes, but that had been all he needed to see the bursting shelf of Innermost Energon left for him. Apparently his victory and subsequent survival had redeemed him for most. That didn't really matter to him, nor did the assurance his crimes would be absolved in the wake of his considerable... extenuating circumstances and actions of atonement. Recovery had come impossibly slowly, and with all that quiet he finalized his plans for the future, finding endless companionship and motivation in his tireless therapist.

He'd live for you, every day that remained of his own life, to shape the galaxy into one as bright as it had been with you in it. Nothing could undo the past, but further wrongs might be prevented. The first hope he felt in forever was that you'd approve of his decision.

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[miss-spooky-eyes]

Teething Problems (belated OC Kiss Week fic)

I know, believe me I know, that I couldn’t be later with this one ... but if you know me at all, you also know that I physically couldn’t write something for OC Kiss Week fic and not write about the murder wives, aka my BH Indirae (Indy) and November’s BH Orcodaa (Coda).

So I started thinking about kissing and this is what happened. I think it’s the shortest and silliest fic I’ve ever written, which is saying something on the latter front.

When a Togruta and a Cathar fell into bed together, there were always going to be problems.

Hope you like it @vespertine-legacy, and thank you for continuing to be so generous with Coda <3

Author Notes: Vaguely set when the murder wives are mere murder girlfriends/accomplices/partners-in-crime-with-benefits/it’s complicated. Cathar/Togruta biology headcanons vaguely taken from fanon. Coda belongs to @vespertine-legacy​ as aforementioned. 

Interspecies romance, or something within ninety degrees of romance, had been a part of Coda’s life since she was sixteen and realised how good humans smelled when they were nervous (a nervousness not unconnected to the fact she was sixteen, she realised in retrospect). And while her private fantasies about her partner-in-literal-crime had been free of fumbling and awkwardness, she’d been around enough to know that two women from such different species were not going to come together in instant, seamless harmony. Especially when Indy hadn’t been … around.

So she had expected there to be difficulties and surprises and oddities that had to be overcome with the aid of an open mind and a sense of humour, a prospect that seemed all the more daunting when you considered that they had one of each between them and both were Coda’s. But the biggest surprise was how swiftly things fell into place once Coda got Indy into bed (or rather, got herself into Indy’s bed, which was bigger, softer and didn’t have Mako sleeping three feet away). Coda found that she loved the sleek glide of Indy’s fur under her hand and the slight drag against her palm when she brushed it the wrong way, the contrast of hard muscle clothed in smooth silk and the hint of claws sheathed in soft velvet. When Indy’s smell changed with arousal, Coda breathed it in hungrily, and she delighted in eliciting all those involuntary sounds Indy got so embarrassed about. And even if all of that had been awful, it would still have been a more than acceptable trade for the texture of Indy’s tongue.

(Not to mention the body heat that Indy, with her faster metabolism, generated. Coda’s vague, shamefaced plans of sneaking back to her own bunk before the crew woke up hadn’t even lasted one night, her resistance to all the implications of awakening in Indy’s bed melting and evaporating amidst the sheer warmth of the body curled around hers.)

And Indy, for her part, didn’t seem the slightest bit repulsed by or hesitant about some of the aspects of Coda’s anatomy which had thrown previous lovers for an understandable loop. Quite the contrary.

No, what had been most surprising about finally becoming lovers was how natural it all seemed, at least while the actual lovering was going on.

Which is not to say that there weren’t teething problems.

Literally.

Because Togruta and Cathar had both evolved as apex predators, and that meant two mouths full of fangs. And while many millennia separated the two bounty hunters from the ancestors who had hunted to survive in a much more immediate way, Shili and Cathar had still left their marks on Coda and Indy. Which meant that they left marks on each other.

The peculiar reaction of Cathar to Togruta venom aside, a little enthusiastic nibbling was not an issue for either woman as long as Coda’s glands remained unexpressed. But when it came to kissing, two sets of fangs meant a certain amount of delicate manoeuvring was called for, a modicum of care and attention required.

Care and attention which Coda was not always, in the heat of the moment, capable of applying. Especially not once they discovered that one position that felt so good for both of them. Because Coda could be as careful as she liked, but when Indy braced herself with her palms flat on the wall and sank down on Coda and squeezed in just that particular way, Coda’s vision reliably went white around the edges and her instincts took over.  

Which, if Indy happened to be kissing her at that moment, could have painful results.

There were probably worse ways to be abruptly yanked back from the brink of an orgasm, but discovering you’d just involuntarily pierced your lover’s lip or tongue with your teeth was rapidly becoming Coda’s least favourite.

And late-night trips to the medbay in which she had to call upon her long-ago medic training were not her idea of basking in the afterglow.

Things got worse when their spare handheld dermal regenerator was cannibalised for parts by Blizz and their spare spare got lost on Voss, meaning that any crew member who had absentmindedly taken the regen unit back to their room to treat an abrasion was risking being woken up in the middle of the night by a frustrated, half-dressed Coda.

‘I think,’ Torian said diffidently one morning after watching Indy wince her way through a bowl of porridge, ‘the problem might be ... teeth.’

‘Because of you both being predatory species,’ Mako added. They were all in the cargo bay, which Indy had decided needed to be reorganised, since there was still stuff in there from the Mantis’ previous owners.

‘Really?’ Coda said sarcastically as she dragged a heavy crate away from the wall.

‘Maybe you could wear mouthguards,’ Mako suggested brightly. ‘Or file down your fangs?’ She blinked as both Indy and Coda turned to stare at her. ‘Maybe not.’

‘Why do you even have to kiss anyway?’ Gault demanded from where he was leaning against the wall next to the door. ‘That’s such a -’ he waved a hand dismissively - ‘human thing. On Devaron, mouths are for lying.’

‘Devaronians don’t kiss?’ Mako demanded incredulously.

‘Not other Devaronians, no. But sometimes I make allowances for the primitive habits of humans.’

‘Humans aren’t the only species who kiss,’ Torian objected, helping Mako lift another crate.

‘No, but they’re the worst offenders.’

‘Wait,’ Mako said, frowning. ‘Why do humans kiss? I never really thought about it.’

Indy forestalled the slicer as she reached for her datapad. ‘Cargo inventory first, HoloNet research hole later.’

‘I think it’s a reconciliation gesture,’ Torian suggested. ‘Like declaring peace after aggression.’

‘That’s such a Mandalorian perspective,’ Mako objected, rolling her eyes.

‘Humans kiss because they have such weak senses of smell that they can’t detect each other’s pheromones unless they’re squashed up against each other,’ Gault said scornfully. ‘Disgusting business, really.’

‘Oh, like you never kissed that hot Mirialan woman whose holo you keep under your pillow,’ Mako retorted.

‘The point is that you two don’t have that excuse,’ Gault said, pretending not to hear Mako and gesturing to Indy and Coda. ‘Which means you don’t have any excuse for waking me up in the middle of the night looking for the regen unit because you accidentally pierced your girlfriend’s tongue again, Coda.’

‘Gault,’ Indy said ominously.

The Devaronian held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Sorry, champ, but it’s getting ridiculous. Torian agrees with me.’

‘Torian?’ Coda demanded, turning to him.

‘I -’ Torian floundered, his fair skin reddening under her scrutiny. ‘I don’t want to get involved.’

‘Smart decision,’ Indy said quietly.

‘No, let’s hear from everybody,’ Coda said, waving her hands. ‘What do Mandalorians do, anyway? Bump helmets? Blizz, we haven’t heard from you yet, don’t you want to tell us about Jawa kissing?’

There was a sudden silence. Blizz put down the tool he had been fussing with and drew himself up to his full height. ‘Coda-boss should not ask Blizz such things,’ he said stiffly. ‘Is for Jawa to know.’

Coda didn’t need the look Indy directed at her to step forward and drop to one knee in front of Blizz, bringing her eye level much closer to his. ‘I’m sorry, Blizz,’ she said gravely. ‘It was rude of me to ask you that. Please forgive me.’

Blizz patted her shoulder graciously. ‘It OK, Coda-boss. Blizz knows Coda-boss mean well. It not Coda-boss’s fault that no one taught Coda-boss to behave civilised.’

‘Thank you,’ Coda said meekly.

Indy cleared her throat. ‘Back to work.’

*

‘What do Jawas do?’ Coda asked Indy much later as she lounged on Indy’s bed, watching Indy get undressed.

‘I don’t know, and I don’t think we should ask Blizz any more.’

‘I’m just wondering.’ Coda shuffled to one side as Indy sat down next to her. ‘Do Cathar kiss, though? I mean, I know you kiss me, but on Ord Mantell, in your town, were kids sneaking away into dark corners to kiss, or what?’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘If you had been, though?’ Coda pressed.

Indy considered the question in her slow, thoughtful way. ‘We do kiss. But it’s not the main thing.’

‘What’s the main thing?’

‘Well, we do this.’ Indy dropped her head to Coda’s shoulder and stroked her cheek and the side of her jaw against Coda’s skin, then did it again, her warm furry face pressing against Coda hard enough that Coda had to brace just a little bit to keep her position.

Coda smiled, enjoying the feel of Indy’s fur against her bare skin. ‘What else do you do?’

Indy pulled back and considered. ‘A bit of this?’ She leaned in again and bit Coda, very, very gently, on the cheek, then trailed down, alternating nuzzles from her soft nose with the most delicate, deliberately restrained bites along her jaw. ‘And I might groom the fur on your ears, if you had it.’

‘Feel free to try anyway,’ Coda said a little breathlessly, shivering at Indy’s breath against her skin.

Indy made a little noise deep in her throat that Coda knew was the sound of temptation, but pulled away. ‘Why, what do Togruta do together?’

‘This, mainly.’ Coda took Indy’s hand and lifted it to her lek, guiding the Cathar’s fingers down the inner surface. ‘And you already know I like this.’

‘I do,’ Indy said, a faint growl rumbling from her chest as she watched Coda close her eyes briefly and shudder.

‘And I’d smell the back of your neck.’ Indy obediently bent her head, and Coda buried her nose in the nape of Indy’s neck. There wasn’t a scent gland there for Cathar like there was for Togruta, but it didn’t matter, because being this close to Indy’s skin, breathing in her fur, her smell … Coda reluctantly pulled away before it became overwhelming, touching the nape of Indy’s neck with one finger instead. ‘That’s where I’d bite you, if. You know. We were. Looking to mate like that.’

‘It always comes back to teeth with you,’ Indy said, but she was smiling.

‘With us,’ Coda corrected, and they kissed, just brushing their lips together, although even then Coda felt the light pressure of Indy’s incisors.

‘So if kissing isn’t a big thing for Cathar, and it’s not a big thing for Togruta,’ Coda said, stroking Indy’s soft cheek with one finger as the Cathar settled herself between Coda’s legs so they were face to face, ‘why do I always find myself kissing you?’

‘I don’t know.’ Indy shifted her weight to drape her legs over Coda’s thighs.

‘Maybe, with people from different species, kissing’s like Basic. The universal language,’ Coda mused. ‘You know, it’s like barter credits. Acceptable everywhere.’

‘Maybe. Or maybe you just like my tongue.’

‘I do like your tongue.’ Coda traced Indy’s lips with her thumb. ‘I’d like it intact.’

‘It’ll survive.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Coda persisted.

Indy considered her for a moment, her expression unreadable. ‘Don’t I hurt you when I scratch your back?’ She lightly touched Coda’s upper arm, where rings of fingertip-sized bruises were fading. ‘Or grip you too hard?’

‘I like it when you do that.’

‘Exactly.’ Indy leaned in to rest her forehead against Coda’s. ‘And I don’t mind bleeding a little.’

Coda smiled, sliding her hands down Indy’s back to her hips and pulling them against her own. ‘So we can keep kissing?’

‘As long as you keep your venom to yourself.’

Coda’s lips traced the two small puncture-shaped scars on Indy’s shoulder, relic of the bite that had started it all. ‘As long as you warn me before you do that … squeezing thing.’

Indy leaned in for a kiss, nipped lightly at Coda’s lower lip, surprising a laugh from her. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’

[slashingdisneypasta]

Slender Brothers Headcanons

#1. Mating Season 

WARNINGS: Heavy content here. Slender’s and Offender’s of course talk about rape. Very violent and graphic rape and mention of necrophilia in Offender’s. Trender’s talks about prostitution? But not in a dark way, really. Splender’s describes some pain- for him. Pain for him. Its unfortunate ): The ‘If he had an S/O’ parts are pretty safe though 

Notes: 

Heed the warnings. If you don't, then I take no responsibility. 

Or... maybe these aren't as graphic as I think and I’m just a baby? Dunno, better safe then sorry though!!! 

If you are interested in this stuff, then enjoy! ^^ XD

~~~

Slenderman:

You thought he hid away before… but, man. During this time, no one knows where he is.

In truth, he’s hauled away in a bunker that he set up himself and upkeeps every year, all alone (For his benefit, because he haaaaates, hates, hates being out of control. Not for everyone else’s benefit, I want to make that clear.) and if it wasn’t for the constant, unattended, unquenched heat overwhelming him then he would be in total peace. I mean, here he’s underground (In the earth. His favourite thing) and he’s alone (This favourite thing ties with the earth).

That bunker ends up in teeerible shape after he’s been in there. He loses most of his control, and because his needs aren’t extinguished, he gets violent. He has a lot of pent up tension in every orifice and periodically he snaps. At the walls, at the chairs, at anything that’s a satisfying weight to throw, or break, or crush.

He never leaves the bunker though without repairing and replacing shit though so that when he comes back the next year, he doesn’t feel even worse.

Now, if Slender didn’t hide himself away… Look, Slender is not a good being. He controls himself because he genuinely enjoys controlling things and the most important thing to do is control yourself. But at this time, if he really actually tried, he would have like 0.10 percent control.

And… he wouldn’t feel any reservations about taking a mortal and using them to help himself, raping them. He would feel disgusted with himself later on, for sure, but that’s only because he lost his control. Not because of what he did to the mortal.

I think the only reason he doesn’t normally do this, is not because he’s in any way better, morally, then Offender. It’s because he generally doesn’t feel sexual desire that often. And when he does, he ignores it. He isn’t interested, like Offender is. So, don’t get it twisted, Slender is a selfish and rotten.

If he had an S/O:

If there is even the smallest chance that you won’t find out, he will take it.

Of course, that would be pretty hard to do seeing as the damn thing can last for up to a week (Although that is still very lucky, seeing as cats and dogs last a month or longer. I’ve decided the Slender’s are more like birds XD) and you will be puzzled when your cranky, hermit Slenderman disappears from his beloved home for that long.

Even after its over and he’s back, and you know something out of the ordinary happened, he still won’t tell you. Just very bluntly, so you know he knows you know somethings up but you also know he isn’t about to tell you, says “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”. The ass will even say “I was here the whole time Y/N, for goodness sakes. You must have missed me.”.  

HOW?

I beg to differ, Slendy.

Eventually one of the other brothers will tell you, and get a prompt smack from a stray black tentacle when he finds out. “Oh, my bad. Spasm.” He’ll say, totally deadpanned.

Now, if you decide you don’t want anything to do with it and to respect his decision to keep it from you, he’s happy to go on like normal with you. Whenever the season comes around, he’ll just tell you he’ll be away for a bit for his mating season. No drama! And no more secrets!

On the other hand, if you wanted to help…

Well, he would describe to you everything he feels during his mating season and exactly how strong these urges are, to scare you off. And e tells no lie, and it does sound terrifying.

But if you still want to after that, then fine. Next mating season, he concedes a test run. But he enlists Zalgo to stand by for a bit and if he hears non-pleasure noises, then to come in and take you away.

Slender’s a big fan of informed consent where you’re concerned.

Trenderman:

Trender does a lot of meditation and drinks a lot of calming herbal remedies at this time… and, also, jerks off a lot and is out picking up partners every night for wild one-night stands. He deals with it pretty healthily, actually, compared to the others! Haha

As song as he’s satisfied, everyone who is prospectively around him, will be safe. That’s his thinking, and it’s true.

Also, why treat the feeling like it’s a curse? It is an issue, but if you act like Frollo then you’ll just make it worse for yourself and more importantly, for everyone else.

He will even hire prostitutes if he has no luck picking anyone up himself. Don’t worry, he’s very good to them, and pays them well (Boy makes it a habit to even send them off with breakfast, or at least breakfast money if they don’t feel comfortable spending more time with him then what was professional). Like, from the prostitute’s point of view, he is the best customer. Favourite customer. Love him.

He doesn’t do any work with anyone, during this time. Just stays in at home all day meditating, drinking his tea’s and working on designs and outfits from the safety of his house (He does some of his best work during this time- they’ve been described as ‘Seductive’). If he absolutely has to contact someone, he will text them. Even the sound of someone’s voice might set him off, so he really avoids anything like phone calls and delivery people- he has his groceries dropped off at his front door while he’s out at night.

He wears headphones most of the time (Noise cancelling or music), blocking out anything possible from the outside world, and keeps the blinds closed and windows and doors locked.

If he had an S/O:

If you’re willing to help him out during the season, he’s jazzed. I mean, he was hoping you would XD

Let me tell you, you can satisfy him way quicker than anyone else that he could pick up or hire, so its not really an issue if you want to help him. You will be pretty tired after a night so I’d prescribe you maybe every second night if you’re up to it?? But you won’t be fatally tired or anything like Splender XD And you definitely wont be hurt, because honestly it doesn’t take much from you to finish him, because it’s you!

Theirs no poetic reason. It’s just, simply, because it’s you.

Kinks that he doesn’t mention before this suddenly come out to play… You will learn some new things about yourself, that’s for sure.

Offenderman (I’m saying it again because it’s very necessary. WARNING. Please read with caution):

This is… not an issue for him…

In fact, it affects him much, much less than the others. Offender is always horny, anyway. Its literally in his nature. So, he’s used to living with it.

His temperament does lose its bearings for the duration, though, which makes him even more dangerous then usual. Most of the time he doesn’t even play with his victims at all (Doesn’t tease or go even a modicum slower. Doesn’t care to look into their eyes to see the fear- which tends to be a big part of what he does. He gets off of their terror. But at this time he just seems mad, sloppy and impatient), just rapes them in an the back of an alleyway and leaves their corpses when he’s not getting anything out of it anymore, looking for a new one.

Usually, when it’s not mating season he’ll usually leave them alive, specifically so they have to deal with the trauma, but now the force he uses… breaks them. The force of his hips breaks their bones, the way he bites their neck leaves a gaping, jagged hole that blood escapes out of, he suffocates them to death or crushes their windpipe. Long before he’s done, they’re a corpse. Not that that bothers him. At all. As long as they’re tight, he can work with it.

Also, something about them being dead turns him on also, so…

The body count at night means that he’s fine during the day, except for a normal, gentle buzz of thirst but he can handle that just fine. It’s more like normal.

If it wasn’t for his general lack of care for mortal (Or any other) lives and cruelty he would be able to manage this season like any other time of the year. No one would get hurt and no one would realise he’s any different.

But, this is Offenderman.

If he had an S/O:

Offender is so much more in control. Like, literally, he can date you and have a normal life and everything. He doesn’t want to scare you away or, very much less, hurt you. If he can get away with it, he wont even mention a mating season.

But, if you were happy to help him out (Which, I realise now, may be hard for some of us to imagine after reading what I just wrote about him not 4 dot points ago… ), then he would lose his ever loving mind.

But not in a bad way like before was. Less violent and more… submissive. I guess. He’s still him, and he thinks he’s head honcho and everything (Second only to Slender) but he has absolutely zero issues with bottoming- theirs plenty of pleasure to source from that position.

Your touch and your warm, wet pinkness feel’s 10 times better to him (And he already loved it with his whole, black heart) in this condition. He’ll mule.

Splenderman:

This is ESPECIALLY hard for Splender. He feels everything 10 times stronger than any of his brothers, which is saying a lot because they’re all very passionate about their shit.

But Splender is the most so. (*Cough* Its because I like to believe kindness is a stronger urge then hatred, personal interest or even lust. This is also the reason I headcanon Splender as the oldest).

One year, soon after he reached adulthood and mating season actually kicked in, (The first time shocked him. He had no one to tell him this was about to happen, and it stole the wind from him. He nearly hurt someone when he tried to ignore it, which explains why this that I’m about to explain about, which is the second time, turned out so badly),he tried to haul himself away and do nothing. Not touch himself, not see anyone for help, not do anything.

It caused him to cease up completely. He was just sitting there for a full day, thinking about nothing but his physical need and his pain. First his cock went painfully stiff, then the rest of him, and when he finally tried to move it was agonising.

Ever since then he’s careful not to do that. For a long time he subscribed to Slender’s method of hiding and locking himself away until it’s over.

But, it was not until Trender became an adult and started dealing with his mating seasons that Splender’s eyes were opened up to a much safer and healthier management strategy.

Instead of fighting the season, just accept it. Take care of yourself Splendy, we worry for you.

Nowadays he spends most of his time treating his body the bets he can, in a remote area in some mountains in Switzerland. Beautiful nature to revitalise him, spring weather, clean fresh air… no one around for miles and miles to hear what he’s up to… Haha. Its half an half. Half of the time he spends eating healthily and relaxing in fields and rocky mountain areas, and the other half he masturbates.

A lot of the time actually he’s doing both at the same time. Jacking off outside in the fresh air.

If he had an S/O:

He’s surprised to hear that his mortal mate likes the idea of being… uh… used, essentially. For his personal gain.

“You think that’s okay, Y/N??”? He’s a bit sceptical.

“Yeah, Splender, as long as its you! I don’t mind helping- plus its kinda hot.”

Well, if you’re sure! Splender doesn’t try to tell you that you don’t know what you’re talking about or that you don’t know what you like in anyway.

He’s kind of excited now XD

He’s going to come up with a plan though to separate the two of you at some point so you can rest and revitalise because while he understands that you’re consenting to a lot and are genuinely interested, he also knows that during this time he can go for a looooot longer then you can, and he refuses to break you. “You can come back if you want once you’re not so tired!” He assures you, when you whine and say you can ‘handle it’.

ALL SLENDER’s:

Final thing.

Imagine having a vagina and being on your period at the same time that he’s enduring his mating season. 

[autumnsoldier13]

I’d like that very much

*inhales*

Taylor left her old record label (Big Machine Records) in 2018. She was one of the first artists and obviously their biggest artist. Her music, and her hard work, is the reason Big Machine Records got off the ground. The sticking point in re-upping her contract has come to light as: she wanted to own her masters to her first 6 albums. Scott Borchetta (owner of the label) would let her own one for each new album she put out. So they parted ways, with BMR owning her master recordings (owning the rights to them, but as song writer she still has a modicum of control-this will be important later), and Taylor made her peace with it, knowing Scott (hereafter referred to as a derogatory Bruschetta) would sell the label.

In 2019, it was announced that Big Machine had been sold to Scooter Braun

(This is literally her reaction to him being brought up)

Scooter (hereafter referred to as 🛴) is manager to such lovely people as K*nye W*** and Justice Beaver. In 2016, Taylor was character assassinated by W*st and his then wife, Kartrashian. It is an open secret that 🛴 had a hand in this. He apparently paid journalists to contribute to the cacophony of hate press that year. Why did they do this? Because they hate powerful women, but beyond that is not fully known.

So Taylor’s music (and everything within the first 6 albums released and unreleased material) was now in the hands of someone who tried to ruin Taylor on every level. It is worth noting that he used an investment group to overpay the 300 million dollar price. And word is he said he’d get Taylor’s co-operation with regards to using the masters. 🤢 This use is in ‘syncing’ - using the music in TV, Movies, Trailers, Commercials, etc. This is where the real money is, NOT in streaming.

HOWEVER- Taylor, as songwriter on every single song she has released, has a little thing known as publishing rights. She can therefore veto the use of any song and no one can prevent it. So she has been blocking every single use of her music prior to 2018. This devalues the original recordings, and gives her control.

To further de-value the original recordings and take further control back, she is re-recording her first 5 albums as is legally her right as songwriter. She can then, when offered a sync, decline the use of the original, and offer her copycat re-recorded version instead. This makes Bruschetta and 🛴 lose lots of other people’s money 😈.

Last year (or earlier this year?) her back catalog was sold (we hoped it was Taylor) to Shamrock holdings (fuck capitalism!) and she was hoping to work with them. But 🛴 had in the contract that he would still make money off the music, because he is a sleaze ball scumbag.

This is not all inclusive and leaves out details along the lines of Bruschetta saying he didn’t want to be subservient to anyone (Taylor) and 🛴 attempting more character assassination, and both d-bags trying to block her from PLAYING her OWN MUSIC. I think I’ve got the main story covered but if I missed something, swifties, let me know. This story is long and awful.

So now we get to experience both re-recorded music with Taylor’s better voice, and ‘vault’ songs (unreleased and alternate versions) to make it more incentivizing to fans and interesting to the general public. I hope she gets to own every single piece of her music someday, but for now I’m highly enjoying waiting for Taylor to metaphorically murder me with more Red songs, and metaphorically murder Bruschetta and 🛴 in business and reputation, and say ‘fuck you, I win’ 🥂

*panting*

[dreamscapesin1582]

Day Five: Keep Me...

It was well into the night, but the light in Edgar’s room was still on. A resigned sigh slipped out his lips as he examined the numerous documents sprawled all over his desk. He was feeling a sense of fatigue now, although he doubted that it was the physical sort.

The soft knock on his door even startled him, only proving his speculation. Edgar quickly sorted the files but his lover had already opened the door, coyly peeking from where she stood.

“…Bad time?”

“No, not at all.” He assured, a reflexive smile plastering itself on his handsome face. “Come in.”

She stepped inside his room, revealing the mug she was carrying all along. His eyebrows perked in subdued interest as she offered it to him. “I heard you were staying up late. I thought I’d try to cheer you up a little.”

Edgar took it with utmost gratitude, then asked her to sit down. She passed by his desk, spying the several folders stacked together haphazardly before sitting down the edge of his bed. He sat beside her as he relaxed a bit, savoring the hot chocolate she got for him while she quietly hummed to herself.

“I can’t believe King Lancelot gave you paperwork on the eve of your birthday.” Edgar watched as his lover pouted adorably. He chuckled at the misunderstanding, despite the ugly truth. “I hope you aren’t working yourself thin tonight.”

He placed the mug on the nightstand as he faced her with a rueful smile. “These—aren’t work related.”

“Oh...” She uttered, sensing the context of his words. “…May I ask why you’re staying up late?”

“I was reviewing everything my uncle… orchestrated. Being reminded of it, I… cannot seem to sleep.” He confessed as his gaze dipped low towards his hands resting on his lap. However, they were soon wrapped by her own warmth, her thumb tenderly caressing his skin.

“Just the fact that you are facing your past makes me very proud.” She smiled gently at him as he met her gaze. “But you don’t have to face it alone.”

“I—” He swallowed the lump on his throat as he carefully thought of the words to say. “It’s just that… I slowly began to realize how large an issue this is. This colossal wall I have to climb. And I know I have you… but you don’t need to look at this side of me.”

“But I want to.” She retorted, cooing. “Edgar, you know I love you.”

“…Yes.” It was more than he could ask for. She is like the sunbeams that illuminates his life, permeating through even the greatest of storms. It was impossible not to know, but...

“I love every single part of you. Even if it were the darkest fragments of you, those are still you. If those came with the good parts of you, then I will take all of it.” Her warm hands cupped his cheeks as he gazed at her eyes. “Because it’s you, Edgar. I will always stay with you, beside you… because I know that you’re not a bad person.”

It’s almost frightening how her eyes reflected the honesty in her words, something he almost forgot what it looked like. But it was so clear that it was undeniable, and it gave him courage to say a modicum of truth as well.

Edgar led her hand towards his lips, pressing a meek kiss on her knuckles in response to her reminder. Then she felt his touch tremble as he breathed out the fear he had been holding in.

“…What if I lose my sanity one day?”

He expected it, if he were to be honest to himself. He had doubts that he was strong enough to hold on, to stay sane in spite of everything he has done. Because he won’t just turn his back on it and forget everything—no, he cannot forget. He won’t allow himself to forget.  

Although… despite of that, he doesn’t want to let go of this hand.

Oh, Edgar. She felt his pleas reverberate at the subtle brush of his cold fingers against her skin. If only he could see that the reason he felt afraid is because of how gentle his heart is…

She slowly pulled him into her arms, feeling how stiff his shoulders were.

“I’ll be here to keep your feet on the ground.” Her reassuring voice cooed as her lips brushed against his ear, eliciting a sigh from him. It was like she was so sure of herself. “Because no matter what, I will be there with you. So, you don’t have to worry. You don’t need to rush trying to redeem yourself.”

He exhaled as he nuzzled his face on the crook of her neck. “…Will you remain with me until then?”

“…Even after then.”

His arms finally found its way to return her embrace. He never felt as warm as he did then, as he managed to lift his head to lean his forehead against hers. She saw the tears he was keeping at bay, thinking of the beautiful soul that it reflected. But what he saw was a soul he could watch until the end of days, the perfect mate of his own.

“Thank you...” Edgar whispered, their lips just shy away from each other. “I love you so much.”

The two lovers remained in each other’s arms through the night, even in their dreams, as the woman was the first one to awaken. She opened her eyes to find his face in close proximity, washed over by peace. She touched a chaste kiss on his cheek as she gently removed herself from his embrace.

August 23. She greeted the rest of the officers gathered in the king’s office, who had already discussed their ‘master plan.’ Lancelot regarded the woman, “I trust you to execute your role without incident.”

“Count on me!” She cheerfully declared, earning a satisfied smile from the King of Hearts. Then he stood up and ordered the rest to see through their respective assignments.

She returned to his room, only to spot Edgar who was about to leave. “You’re getting cheekier now, leaving me alone in my bed.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She clapped her hands in apology. “…Say, Edgar. Let’s get breakfast outside for today.”

“Hmm? Why all of a sudden?”

“W-Well, the sun is bright! Perfect for walking outside!” To be fair, despite of her attempts, he trusted it was an innocent gesture. He laughed. “Edgar?”

“Okay. Now that I think about it, there’s this new café at Central Quarter that I wanted to visit.” Edgar offered his hand. “Shall we, then?”

The couple went on to have a pleasant breakfast at the café, and as if that wasn’t enough, they satisfied their sweet tooth by trying out a variety of desserts that caught their attention. After that, the woman just had to insist taking a stroll around Central Quarter. Just innocent window shopping while holding hands… although she’d immediately tug him away once he began asking for the price of the objects she took interest in.

Edgar didn’t even realize that the day went by so fast, but he didn’t mind. There was no better gift he could receive than spending time with his lover… or so he thought.

She led him back to headquarters just as the sun was about to set. They almost ran inside, like excited little kids, as they found themselves standing in front of the dining hall.

“Before we go inside…” she suddenly spoke, “I just want to add something.”

“What is it?”

“…I’m not the only one who wants to keep you.”

And when he pushed the heavy doors open, there stood his colleagues, shouting an enthusiastic ‘Happy Birthday!’ to his surprise. And it lasted, until the king himself walked towards them, giving them both a glass of champagne.  

“We’ve prepared this party for you with utmost dedication. I hope you would enjoy the rest of the day with us…” Lancelot said with the fondest of smiles. “…our beloved Jack of Hearts.”

Everyone raised their glasses. “To our Jack of Hearts!”

The woman watched happily as Edgar stood there, staring at the cheers that erupted in the room. The toast dedicated to him.

When Edgar was alone in his room this morning, he found himself praying. Keep me in your heart, those words echoed within himself. And seeing all of the officers present in this room, along with his lover, intending to celebrate his birth…

What more could he ask for?

“…Thank you, everyone.” Edgar wore his grateful heart in the dazzling smile that formed on his lips. “Now that we’re here, we can now start the celebration!”

It was such a memorable day, for his dull world was filled with love… with the touch of the most vibrant of red.    

[ajokeformur-ray]

Cold hands, gentle soul // Joker x Reader // angst + fluff.

This is a twin piece to Coming Home To You. I wanted to explore a similar scenario with Joker in which his fear of losing you is never too far from the surface and tonight, for reasons you have to figure out, everything bubbles over and you’re left with the realisation that the man you first fell in love with is still right here.

I believe that Joker is just as tortured as Arthur is; his entire performance on the Murray show was an explosion of pain and anger and rage, and therefore I feel no shame in writing for him romantically. I fought it at first but now this is the hill I was die on, I don’t care. I love all of Arthur Fleck.

I hope that you enjoy this fic as much as you liked the first! <3 Let me know what you think; as always, there’s little pieces of my soul scattered everywhere, and my love for Arthur Fleck is laced throughout too. Where else can it go but in these works I share?

TW; swearing, smoking, miscommunication in a relationship and definite unhealthy elements which reader is aware of. Angst and fluff; no smut but there is nudity. Reader has flexible morality. Implied mentions of being sick and nausea; no actual occurrence of this though.

Word count: 4, 869.

Something was wrong. 

Something was really, really wrong. 

Joker had barely spoken to you all day. He had smoked almost double his usual twenty a day while he sat on the sofa in his eccentric three piece suit and his face dressed in full make up. All day was he staring at the television with one leg crossed over the other. He paid little attention to what was on the television and even when the news reported another riot outbreak did his lips barely twitch upwards in the self satisfaction that he usually felt. Not knowing how to read his painted face, you had stayed away from him. If Joker had known how to speak through the shouting in his mind, he would have asked you to stay beside him. He would have told you that he was so, so scared of losing you that he was stuck on the sofa, unable to stop the tirade of negative thoughts which had smashed through his facade like someone had taken a hammer to a mirror. So reluctant was he to open up to you, however, because he never wanted to go back to the weak days when he had been Arthur Fleck, that he did his best to keep himself quiet... His restraint manifested itself in anger towards his own reluctance, which was projected thus onto you. Today was a mess, everything was going wrong and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t just tell you and that made everything so much worse. Combining this with the fact that he had no control over his mood and actions meant that there was a very unpleasant atmosphere in the cramped apartment.

When you tried to speak to him throughout the day, Joker would take a deep drag on a cigarette - by noon you had stopped counting how many he was smoking each hour - and either stare at you until your temporary bravery faltered and you stuttered out a, “Never mind” or he would ignore you all together. It dawned on you by three in the afternoon that Joker was angry. It was in the way his nostrils occasionally flared. In the way he would randomly clench his fists or in the way he would audibly groan and tip his head over the back of the sofa, like he couldn’t handle whatever was bothering him anymore. It was in how restless he was; often did he rearrange his legs, only to huff and rearrange himself some more. He didn’t stay in the same position for longer than a few minutes at a time. You would do your best to not worry about him until his knees started to bounce, though. That was a danger sign that was left over from before his Joker transformation and it always spelled trouble. It meant that Joker was feeling too much all at once and his nerves, his neuroses and his tensions were getting the best of him. Woe betide you if ever you didn’t take this warning sign seriously. 

All day had one thought been in your mind, swirling like a tornado and disturbing the peaceful waters of your mind: if the shoe had been on the other foot, Joker would have literally cornered you into telling him what was wrong by now. He would have backed you into a corner and made you tell him what was causing your bad attitude. He would have barricaded the front door and used his body in all the best ways to make you speak to him. Joker wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. He always preferred to get everything all out into the open as soon as possible so that whatever it was could be resolved; he knew well what it did when one held in their emotions and didn’t act on or even release them. It poisoned one’s heart, made them bitter. Over time did this twist their soul until they no longer remembered who they had been before the emotions had taken hold with a tight and relentless grip.

The way that Joker point blank refused to even look at you for any period of time longer than it took for him to glare at you before he inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten under his breath; his lips miming as he did so was starting to piss you off. It was starting to really piss you off. What made him so special that he could act as he liked, whereas if you tried to do it, you would be confronted and held accountable for your actions? It was just rude and you had had enough. You had the feeling that he was trying to protect you from himself. He was trying as hard as he could to not tell you what was wrong for some reason, but the irony was that, in doing this, Joker was doing what he was trying so desperately to avoid. It was nonsensical but the modicum of logic within his suspected thought process was so Arthur that it made your heart ache. He was still the man you had fallen in love with all that time ago. You could feel it and it gave you hope; a dangerous thing for one to possess in a city like Gotham which took everything that you had and more, giving nothing back but desperation and shreds of the person you had been before it all.

You made dinner quietly, spending as much time in the kitchen as you could. You made Joker’s favourite meal, complete with another pack of cigarettes which you had stashed in the bedroom for emergencies, and you had set both down on the living room coffee table with an expectant look towards Joker. You would have taken a sarcastic comment over the passive aggressive way he said “thank you”, like he actually meant the opposite. When you had taken the liberty of lighting a cigarette for him and holding it inches from his mouth and Joker had pulled his head back and snatched the cigarette from you, that had been the last straw for you and you had moodily stabbed at your own food, no longer restraining the urge to glare at him. Underneath your growing anger, however, was worry. It had a hold of your stomach and was making you increasingly nauseous with every mouthful. What the fuck was going on with Joker? You couldn’t help him until he came to you for help, but the way that the grey sky outside had slowly bled into a blacker, more ominous setting made you feel like this would continue into tomorrow; you didn’t think your temper could handle another trying day like this one. You didn’t think you could handle this again in the morning. You had never been great with tense or confrontational situations; most especially when you were being forced to walk on eggshells because you didn’t know why things were strained.

After dinner time, you were just as pissed off as Joker seemed to be. You no longer tried to speak to him. Instead, you holed yourself up in the bedroom after dinner had been cleared away, making your own displeasure known by slamming the door hard, hard enough that the paper thin walls shook and you felt a contrasting sensation of guilt towards your own childishness and satisfaction. You hoped it pissed him off even more; if he was going to treat you the way he had all day then the very least you could do was give him a reason to do so. He had been fine when you had woken up this morning, but by the time you had come out of the bathroom from getting ready for the day had his mood soured. Something had happened while you had tended to your physical and bodily needs and he wasn’t telling you what it was. You had tried many a time to ask if he was all right, but each time did he snap, “Yes, doll. I’m fine.” Any questions you further asked were greeted with the silent treatment and his mood - and yours, subsequently - had deteriorated throughout the day.

You lay curled up on the bed with your back to the door. You were seething and left there to stew in it. It was here, on the bed that you had always shared with the man that you loved, that you could admit to yourself that you weren’t angry. Well, you were, but  you were only truly angry about how Joker was hiding something from you. His attempts to protect you from whatever was bothering him were admirable but unnecessary; hadn’t he learned by now that nothing he could ever do or say would take you away from him? You had been with him long enough to know that he was it for you. Never again would you love another. You never wanted to love another again. When you considered his overall mood and the way he very obviously just wasn’t okay but he also wasn’t telling you anything, you were more worried than anything else. It was making you sick to your stomach and you hoped that your dinner wouldn’t come back up; nothing ever tasted good the second time around.

You shut your eyes, curled up even tighter into yourself. You were beginning to feel the consequences of the day’s tension now. You felt sick, you were scared and you were angry at how you had been treated and you were feeling lonely. Joker was just beyond the insubstantial bedroom wall, he was less than thirty seconds away from you in reality, and you felt lonely. Unneeded. You felt inadequate and just wrong, like nothing made sense without Joker by your side. You knew it was dangerous, unhealthy, to place so much of your worth and value as a person into someone else, but you couldn’t help it. You loved Joker too much, you had been there for him, with him, for so long and through so much that without him by your side, your life became cheap. Meaningless. Empty. Your arms felt empty. Just as you realised this, the bed became too big, too cold, too empty and void of everything that had happened here: love, passion, desire and lust and adoration and trust. Trust... Did Joker trust you with what he was experiencing? Did he trust that he could tell you anything and you would listen to him, you would comfort him, hold him and love him and make sure that he knew that he wasn’t alone, that he was seen? Did he know that you loved him?

How had things spiralled so far out of control in just one day? 

You let out a soft noise of pain, just wanting to alleviate the ache in your heart, that palpable sensation of love and loss, loneliness and grief. It seemed as though your entire being was bleeding from the inside out for Joker, for the man that he was once, that sweet, pure man of sunshine and light and goodness despite all that happened to him on a daily basis. Your heart bled for the man that he was now; how he obviously felt that he couldn’t be honest with you about what was going through his mind. You had only ever wanted to help him. What good were you to him if you were incapable of doing so at the most crucial moments? You knew you loved each other, and you clung to that knowledge just as surely as you were gripping the duvet beneath your body, your fingers wrinkling the material which still had lines from where it had been folded. You had only changed it this morning and you allowed the scent of fresh laundry to wash over you, soothe you and still the chaos inside you that had been put there by the man who usually brought you nothing but peace and solace.

All thoughts left your mind when your ringing ears picked up the sound of the bedroom door cracking open. You stayed completely still. Your eyes were open now as you stared at the wall, hardly daring to breathe. You were suddenly conscious of your heart pounding in your head, of the way you could feel Joker’s presence in the room. You knew not where he was, only that he was in the room with you, and it seemed to set your entire body alight with love and affection, worry and fear. It was so conflicting to be in love with a man such as Joker, but you wouldn’t trade it for the entire world. You had tasted total liberation in his soul and you would be damned if you ever went back to the way you had lived before you knew that such a man existed. You had always craved, in the deepest parts of yourself, someone who made you feel like you could create chaos, that you could do anything and everything you wanted to without fear of the repercussions, without fear of judgement. In Arthur Fleck, in all that he was, had you found complete and utter acceptance and understanding. That had never been any different, even now. You had always been able to be your naked self around Joker and he had been the same with you - you were each other’s home, each other’s safety. No matter what either of you did, you were safe with each other. You were whole and happy and alive. Joker made you feel alive and that was more valuable to you than anything else.

The silence stretched impossibly far. It mirrored the way that the skin on your hands was pulled taut across your knuckles; so tightly were you gripping the duvet upon which you rested. 

The bed dipped behind you and instantly did you tense up. Slowly did curly green strands of hair descend over you, marring your limited vision of the darkened room. You bit your lip as Joker leaned down further still to press a kiss to your cheek. You shut your eyes, feeling a sad smile spread across the corners of your mouth. Unconsciously did you sigh and lean into the touch.

“I know you’re awake.” Joker’s voice was deep, raspy from the way it hadn’t been used for a long time. He hadn’t spoken for hours and if your eyes hadn’t already been shut, they would have slid closed blissfully at the sound of his voice. Oh, help you, it was your favourite sound next to his heartbeat. Just knowing that he was alive, that he was beneath you in those moments, meant more to you than the knowledge of your own continued existence. During those nights that he couldn’t be with you did you suffer the most with sleeplessness, and when he came back in the mornings to find you wide awake and too worried to sleep was he reminded of the depth of your love for him. Sometimes he stayed out all night on purpose, aimlessly wandering around Gotham, just so that he could come home to you in that state. He dearly loved tugging you over to the sofa so that you could fall asleep on him, your head roaming his chest until you found that spot. Oh, how he adored you. You were his entire world and he was yours. Together, your worlds did collide into a universe full of love and light, challenges and triumphs.

You didn’t move. Joker’s breath washed warmly over your cheek and you just enjoyed the closeness. You hadn’t been this physically close to him all day and like he was a drug had you experienced withdrawal. With a huff that carried the weight of unshed tears did Joker put a strong hand on your shoulder, tugging you so that you were lying on your back, your legs still bent. As his face came into view, you saw the tears in his eyes, the way his makeup was smudged; the blue triangles had become physical markers of the tears he had already shed. You lifted both hands slowly, so slowly, and Joker watched you with some hidden depths of pain in his eyes. But you knew. You knew him even better than you knew yourself, and as your fingertips just gently grazed his face did he finally shut his eyes and allow his tears to fall. You didn’t bother to wipe them away. Instead, you tugged him down to you by sliding a hand around to cup the back of his neck, pressing kisses all over his painted face. Joker was beginning to tremble, and you took the initiative to pull him down on top of you fully. 

Again and again did you kiss his face, his neck, his jaw... anywhere and everywhere you could reach with his face in your hands did you rain kisses. You had always kind of liked the taste and smell of the face paint that he used, so it was of little consequence to you when it started to smudge on your own face in a strange combination of red, white and blue blurs. You looked like a work of art to Joker.

You opened your mouth to speak and the resounding inhale you took to announce this had Joker’s eyes snapping open as you lured him back to reality. His face was hot under your hands, his body the most welcomed weight. He was like a security blanket in that moment, giving you the strength and the courage you needed to face the very issue which was also giving you comfort. “You’re still the man I fell in love with. Nothing has changed.”

A broken sob. His hands gripped your hips tightly. He would probably leave bruises but you didn’t, wouldn’t care. Anything was better than the sense of emptiness he had begun to instil in you.

Again were you forced to wonder just what was going on in Joker’s mind. Unless... unless that was the issue: Joker was scared that you didn’t love him anymore and in an effort to keep you safe from what was hurting him, he withdrew to the point that you wondered if he still loved you. He thought that, because he had changed, because he had succumbed and dropped any and all sense of responsibility and shed the shackles that were holding him down, because he had transformed from Arthur to Joker, that you didn’t love him anymore. And because you didn’t love him anymore, that meant that he couldn’t tell you what was bothering him even though he desperately wanted to.

In a twisted way did it make sense. You silly man.

You cooed quietly and tugged him down into a proper cuddle; his face resting in the crook of your neck. You rubbed his back, played with his hair, stared up at the ceiling and allowed yourself to cry. You decided to take a wild stab in the dark and just talk. All of those things that you thought of late at night that you dared not tell Joker did you tell the ceiling, needing the man in your arms to understand just how critical this entire situation was. A change in your relationship would occur this night, but it would be for the better. From rock bottom could you only go up; you would drag each other up in the sunlight if you had to, hand in hand and triumphant. “Don’t you know that I’m not afraid of you, of what you do. I’m afraid for you.” Joker stiffened in your arms and you felt him holding his breath, his heart beating a wild tattoo against his rib cage. “If something ever happens and you get taken from me - death or prison or hospital or something - I don’t know what I’d do. If I ever lost you, I couldn’t... mm.” You cleared your throat, raised a hand from Joker’s back to swipe your hand across your face before putting it back where it had been. 

“Let them try,” Joker snarled and you smiled. You just smiled. He was talking again. He wasn’t snapping at you, he wasn’t glaring at you. Finally had he accepted the help that you had been trying to give to him all day. “I would rip this world apart to get you back.”

I know you would, Arthur. Only in the safety of your own mind did you dare to call him by his real name. You were unsure of how he would react and so you didn’t risk anything. It was better to keep quiet than to raise questions which he himself had no answer for.

“Will you tell me now?”

“No,” Joker sighed. He sounded so much like his old self that your tears fell hotter, faster, and you couldn’t stifle the sob that left your lips for the life of you. He raised himself then to look at you, supporting his weight on his elbows as he gazed down at you in consternation. It seemed in that moment that he realised what he had been doing to you all day, and the most sincere apologetic look flashed across his face and settled into one of love as he bent his head to kiss your tears away. You leaned into the touch, wanting more of everything that he was giving you. He pulled back just to say “I don’t need to. You love me.”

You grinned. You couldn’t stop yourself. Help you, you did. You would follow him into Hell just to stay by his side. It was with an unspoken mutual decision that you decided to put today behind you. Bottling his emotions up hadn’t worked and you had only fed off of each other’s discomfort. You had somehow managed to figure out what it was that was bothering him and without his even needing to tell you had you soothed his fear in the end. He wasn’t going to lose you because he was Joker now. You still loved him. You weren’t going to leave. You were going to stay by his side and that was all he had ever needed; to be needed.

You hesitated on your next words. Could you say it and get away with it? Would he allow you to bring up his past, to bring up his most vulnerable and weakest part of him? Would he take it at face value and understand that you said it with only the best of intentions? Would he run? Would he get angry? Woulds, coulds and shoulds threatened to choke you but just at the point Joker was going to ask you if you were okay did you say,

“I love you, Arthur. I love you so much.” You allowed all of your love, all of your affection and devotion, trust, respect and need to show on your face and it was with some kind of released tension that Joker smashed his painted lips against yours, kissing you again and again and again. 

“Show me. Please, show me,” Joker suddenly seemed almost frantic in his movements to get the both of you undressed, and you grabbed his hands in yours tightly, tugging lightly so he knew to look at you.

“Relax.” You murmured, holding his face in your hands. “Let me take care of you, Arthur.” You rubbed your thumbs across his face in soothing motions, willing him to understand that there was time. Nothing had to happen right now, nothing had to be done before a certain time limit. There was no getting up for work in the morning, nothing that urgently had to be done. You had time. 

Carefully did you roll so that he was under you. Softly, gently, did you undress him, making sure to keep your eyes on his body language. The way he inhaled shakily when your hand brushed over his crotch, the way his eyes focused on the way you easily unbuttoned his shirt with deft fingers, the way he arched into your touch. You put so much care into everything you were doing, trying to use your actions to convey just how much you still loved him, even after everything. Truthfully did you know that there was nothing Joker could say or do that would turn you away from him. You were just in too deep to be able to pull yourself out of the life that you had built together.

When at last you were both naked, your clothes scattered carelessly about the room, did Joker begin to take initiative again as he rolled so that you were under him. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I - “

Gently did you shush him. “It’s okay. I understand.” You reached up and kissed him tenderly, keeping only love at the forefront of your mind. Desperate were you to soothe his pain with your love, your patience and your understanding. Your anger had melted away now as though it had never been there in the first place. You could never stay angry at him for too long; it hurt you too much and often did you just let it go, accepting each moment as it came. “I know you.”

Joker seemed to lose all trace of lust and want as all the fight left his body. He tucked his head back into the crook of your neck, pressing dry and warm kisses to the skin there as he snuggled into you. He just wanted to be loved. Clumsily did you attempt to pull the duvet out from underneath your bodies. Joker huffed the first genuine laugh of the day against your skin and it made you laugh too. Joker pulled back to gaze at you, galaxies in his eyes as a slow smile spread across his face. His makeup was now smudged all over your face, your chest, your clothes, and he looked more like his bare faced self, now. He was ethereal no matter what state he was in. 

“Look at you.” His voice was quiet, his eyes shining with that same spark that Arthur’s eyes had always had, and you heard his words for what they were; an apology and a promise. A promise to try to be better in the future. A promise to try to be more open, to allow you to see his vulnerability without leaving you on eggshells and uncertainty. It was a promise to try, just try, and that was enough. You both knew that you would be fine together if you continued to try every day, as it came. Sometimes one of you had to try more than the other, and sometimes it was more of a balance. But no matter what, you couldn’t give in, you couldn’t give up. Each day did you choose each other and each day did you fall more in love. You completed each other and offered balance to the other’s personality traits. It was written in the stars, you liked to think.

You blushed. “Speak for yourself.” You booped his nose with a delicate finger and he smiled at the old, familiar gesture as he caught your hand in his, held on tightly and pressed a reverent kiss to the palm. The gesture had made him think of the day he had come home shattered by the truth, and you had showered with him and gently put him back together; you had always been there for him, always, and nothing he did would ever be enough to repay that kindness, that goodness in you. He would spend the rest of his life being the best version of himself, if only to make everything you did for him, everything you had sacrificed for him, worthwhile. Even now, even after all of this did he feel most unworthy of you. If you knew, you would tell him that in feeling unworthy did he become worthy, but he wouldn’t understand or be able to accept that he was already more than enough. All he had to do was to be himself and in that would you love him. 

“I love you.”

A soft murmur against the skin of his neck. “I love you too.” Again and again did you kiss him, as if you were trying to kiss his tormented soul better. As if you could reach the deepest parts of him and soothe them. Love them. Heal them. Heal him. If love was enough to heal someone’s hurts and torments, then the strength and depth of yours would mean that Arthur Fleck would never feel an ounce of pain or hurt ever again.

In the end, it would never matter who or what Arthur became, what he did or even what mischief he caused in the city. He was yours and you loved him, cherished and treasured him. You were still just as fiercely protective of him as you had always been, and though there were more challenges now than there had ever been in your relationship, you were still able to reach the rawest parts of him. You were still able to bring  his vulnerability into light and you could still quiet his rage. So long as you could reach his core self, his goodness, you knew that you were still needed. No matter what happened, you would never leave. Not for all the money in Gotham.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z  @x-avantgarde-x  @mapreza1 @insomniabird  @mavalenovaninagavi  @itwasrealenough  @morrisonmercurymalek  @rand0ms-fand0ms  @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing  @rebs-doom  @vivft  @help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection   @taintednihilist   @vladtoly   @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92  @that-s-life   @dopey-girl-blogs  @seeking-dreamland  @sweetheart-syndrome  @heartxfdesire  @xmusichealsthesoulx  @0callmejude0  @the-one-that-likes-riddles  @hannibalsslut  @folliaght  @freeeshavacadoo  @bingewatchingmylifegoby  @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything  @okamiredfoxx  @sp0okysp0oky  @the-pandorabox  @mardema  @jibanyyan  @honeyflvredcoughdrop  @emissarydecksetter  @jokerfleckk  @epidendroideae  @chuuntas  @stillmabel  @pumpkinpeyes  @onehystericalqueenposts  @the-jokers-wolf  @nalsswa  @justahyena  @arianatheangelworld  @soullessblondbitch  @gothamslittlejester  @twentyonestarrynights  @sirianfromsixties  @kissmeclownman  @joker-is-my-hero  @lazyloosah  @lovesickkloxx  @ladylovelyluna  @live-love-loki  @clownerybbxx   @tragicarthur    @anmach123

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

JKR 2: BRC 1

Joker x Reader

Word Count: 1921

Summary: You love him, that much is obvious, but now Wayne is being flirty suddenly.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Alas, the much awaited sequel to JKR. At some point I got an ask for a sequel, but I literally cannot find it, so … Here it is! There will be more posting randomly as I get it out. Unlike my other series, I’ve got nothing like an outline, so I have no idea how long this is gonna be or when I’m gonna be posting it.

One of your favorite parts of being a mercenary was the fact that it was extremely rare for you to have to be a functioning human on Monday mornings. It was a perk you hadn’t really expected, but you absolutely loved sleeping in while the rest of the world crawled out of bed to begin another shitty work week. That alone almost made it worth it to put up with all the nonsense you handled day to day. And since you’d gotten involved with the joker, you’d even gotten to enjoy the addition of a warm body next to yours seeing how he shared your philosophy on those mornings. 

So when you woke up naturally one Monday morning several months since agreeing to work with Joker, you were more than a little annoyed. The irritation was only slightly alleviated when you started to really observe your surroundings and realized that Joker was currently playing big spoon with you and clinging to you like a child with a beloved toy. That, at least, was a sweet bonus to waking this early. A little smile formed on your face despite yourself. You could feel his breath on your bare shoulder, softly puffing every now and then in his sleep; the rhythm of it could almost put you to sleep.

And then your bladder made itself known. 

The annoyance promptly came roaring back.

Getting out of bed was a whole little challenge in and of itself due to the way he was clinging to you, but you somehow managed to escape without waking him. When you glanced back at the bed and saw the fearsome Clown Prince of Crime cuddled up to your pillow and snuggled under your covers, your heart gave a hard thump. Try as you might, it was steadily becoming harder to deny that you’d somehow developed feelings–real, deep feelings–for the madman. Every day you tried not to think about it because of how unlikely it was for him to reciprocate, but seeing him so vulnerable–without makeup and with green hair so faded it was almost completely back to its normal dishwater blond–made some part of you swoon. He trusted you enough to be so unguarded, and that was enough for you … mostly. Part of you still craved someone to talk seriously with, but you were content enough even without it. Or so you told yourself.

Sighing, you shook off the emotions and picked up his grey, patterned shirt from the day before. Problems for another day, you supposed.

Once your bodily functions were taken care of, you quietly stalked your way into the kitchen. Clearly, you weren’t going back to sleep anytime soon, so you might as well make a coffee. Maybe that would somehow help you tame your unwelcome feelings.

Clearly the answer was a big, fat “No,” since, as you were returning to the bedroom, you got distracted with how cut he was while you were in the doorway, mug clasped between your hands. You allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere and pretend that the two of you were just normal people.

Then, true to Gotham’s nature, it all came shattering down when you heard the telltale scratching of someone picking a lock. Specifically the lock on your front door. The switch in your mindset to Business Mode was instantaneous. Your world seemed to sharpen as you slowly eased the bedroom door closed; it would be quite bad if your suspicion about the intruder was true and he saw your houseguest. Your hand tightened around the mug, ready to throw the scalding liquid in an instant if threatened.

An angry scoff left your lips when you recognized the head of brown hair that peaked inside your apartment once the door was unlocked. “You’re really making me regret my decision against getting a guard dog, Mr. Wayne.”

You absolutely hated how dashing his ensuing smirk made him. “As busy as you are? Probably not the best idea.” Unlike the last time he broke in, he wasn’t dressed like he came from a trust fund soiree; instead, he was in a more casual ensemble of dark jeans, a dark shirt, and a leather jacket with red trim.

“Any particular reason you’re breaking into my home today or were you just hoping I was still asleep so you could peep?”

“I have to say no. That’s not exactly my style.” A thump from the bedroom halted whatever excuse he had for this breaking and entering episode.

Your heart gave its second hard thump for the morning, this one out of fear instead of love. Leveling Wayne with a harsh glare, you ordered, “Stay put.”

“Of course.”

Mug still clenched in your hand, you quickly retreated back to the bedroom. Based off the sight that greeted you, you could only assume that the noise was Joker grabbing his pants off the chair and inadvertently throwing the knife from his pocket into the floor. “You good?” you asked the obviously-groggy man.

“I heard voices. What’s going on?”

“Don’t you normally hear voices?” you teased in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“No. And you know that,” he deadpanned. His tongue started flicking as his irritation aggravated the tick.

“I’ve got an unwelcome guest again,” you stated, deciding that blunt was probably better than finesse.”

“Wayne?”

“Yes, so you’re going to stay here while I deal with him.”

“Should I be … jealous?”

“Fuck no. Can’t stand the bastard.” Well that was a bit of a lie. As much as the richboy infuriated you, he also acted as a constant source of amusement. “But I don’t want him knowing anything else about me if I can avoid it. Be a good boy and stay here, and I’ll let you have your wicked way with me later.”

“You’ll let me do that anyway.” He was right and he knew it. There was a long pause as you stared each other down. You could practically see his brain working over his options until he finally exhaled heavily. “Fine. I’m too tired for this, anyway.”

For once, his exhaustion worked to your advantage instead of making him intolerable. “Thank you. I’ll be back in a few.”

“I await with bated breath.”

The Joker handled, you slunk back out to deal with the unmasked Batman; part of you realized that Gotham City Police would love to be in your position. Both men, vulnerable with identities out in the open? They’d probably kill for it. You, however, were just tired of today already.

When you returned to the living room, Bruce had once again made himself at home on your couch. “Boyfriend?” he questioned, eyebrow raised.

“Something like that.”

“He’s got interesting taste,” he commented with a little gesture towards your body.

You raised an eyebrow. Sure, it wasn’t exactly your style, but, “You’re one to talk. Enough of the questions, Mr. Wayne. Why are you here?”

“I need a date for a gala I have to go to tonight.”

Your eyebrows now shot up almost to your scalp. “And you came to me? First off, I don’t like you, so what the fuck? Second, you don’t like me, so what the fuck? Third, do you honestly expect me to believe that you couldn’t get a date? And for that matter–”

“Relax, Y/N. I’m hiring you for a job. I need a distraction, and I hear you’re the best.”

“Awfully short notice. What if I don’t have anything to wear?”

“Already have that handled. Come by my penthouse at six.”

“And payment?”

“Half now, half after. Check your bank account; money’s already there.”

“You’re damn sure that I’m gonna do this, aren’t you.”

“You’re curious, you want to know what I’m up to, and you always get the job done if you’re being paid for it.” He was smirking again and heading for the door as he said that. “See you tonight.”

“Bastard,” you spat at the door the second it was closed. Already, you wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed and stay there for the rest of the day and it was only …  8:13 according to the clock on the wall.

Resigned to your fate for the coming evening, you retreated back to the bedroom. This time, you didn’t even pause to admire your lover’s form splayed across the bed. You did notice that his eyes were staring at you as you approached, though, and gave him a small smile.

“Got a job tonight with the hunky rich boy, huh?” he teased while rolling onto his stomach and kicking his feet up like a girl in a movie about a slumber party. “Am I just not, uh, doin’ it for ya anymore, dollface?”

“Fucker didn’t exactly give me much of a choice, did he?” you sniped right back. “Scoot over; you’re in my spot.” 

His response was to flop back over onto his back and pat his lap. “You’re mine now, remember? I was a proper gentleman and hid away while you talked to your suitor.”

“He is not–” You were cut off by him tugging you down to straddle him. “My suitor,” you finished, doing your best to sit on him with some modicum of dignity.

“Oh, you don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart. He’s quite, uh, dreamy.” He cackled. “Any chance you could convince him to join us in here sometime?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, J. I don’t think he’d go for it.” Especially considering the whole nemesis thing … “You’re just stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

“Ah well, have fun for the both of us, my dear,” he shrugged. His fingers suddenly halted their attempts to unbutton your (his?) shirt; alarmingly, you hadn’t even noticed him doing that. “Why did Brucy know what it is you do for a living anyway?”

Fortunately, you knew that question was likely to come up months ago, so you’d long ago thought of an excuse. “Did a job cleaning up one of those trust fund brigade’s messes after a particularly nasty party–”

“Ooh!”

“–and that apparently got me on his radar.”

“Never a dull day for a mercenary.”

“Or a madman,” you teased right back. “But be that as it may, I’m gonna enjoy having you all to myself until I have to go to that stupid party.”

“Never a dull day, indeed!” he cheered. “But for real, you gotta get a video or somethin’ if you fuck him tonight.”

You rolled your eyes even as you tugged at his boxers. It was an interesting thought. While you had first priority on the Joker when he was off the clock and a serious case of feelings for the clown, you were under no illusions that this was an exclusive thing. Physically, you sated each other easily. Emotionally, you were all the Joker needed (or wanted, for that matter), but he wasn’t crazy enough to think that he satisfied all of your needs. The whole comforting thing specifically was a weakness of his. You’d discussed all this (excluding the whole love issue) months ago at your insistence since you had no desire to earn the Joker’s wrath by having an affair.

Shoving all that aside, you just scoffed. “That man is infuriating.”

“And he has a crush on you. I can tell. We madmen have a … sixth sense for these things. Besides, the flirting was painfully obvious even from in here.”

“I’m not fucking Bruce Wayne.”

“Right. You’re fucking me!” Another hysterical cackle.

“Well …” you grinned, “I’m about to be, anyway.”

[dust2dust34]

Four Walls (Of Law Firms and Honey) - Olicity AU, Explicit

Summary: Oliver is Felicity’s boss at Queen & Queen, a prestigious international law firm. She’s the tech genius, he’s the top dog’s son, and they viciously disagree on nearly everything. Despite that, they work together, neither outright acknowledging the ever-present simmering attraction that has slowly been growing hotter and hotter…

Until a chance meeting at a grocery store one night has them crossing a line, a tiny little line that was never meant to be crossed.

A collection of ficlets in the same ‘verse: Of Law Firms and Honey.

Rated: Explicit

Full fic: AO3 | Tumblr | Timeline

Reminder: Please read the story tags and notes at the beginning of each chapter.

This fic is being told out of order. Please see the timeline to read them in order. Please see the previous installments for additional author notes and story information.

Check out the Four Walls playlist, and if you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them!

Additional A/N: This is the other ficlet I planned for a generous donor in the Fic For Food Drive I took part in. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Chapter Summary: Flash Fic #4. She finds him in a coffee shop.

(read on AO3)

8:27 a.m. Gilded Bean (Flash Fic #4)

The bustle of the coffee shop encompassed him in a pleasant haze.

Sipping his coffee, Oliver scrolled through his email on his phone, enjoying the relaxing slant of his shoulders caused by the chatter behind him, the footsteps of people hustling to the counter, the distinct sound of beverages being crafted. It complimented the busy downtown street outside the window he faced, the people rushing by, cars stopping and going, the sky clear for once, letting sunshine spill on the world.

He savored it, knowing he would be going back to his quiet office for the board meeting in thirty minutes.

Pinpricks of anxiety slithered over him.

Oliver sucked in a breath and quickly looked up at the busy world. His fingers tightened around his coffee cup, so hard the top nearly popped off. He fixed his eyes on signs of life - the strands falling from a woman’s braid, a man digging in his back pocket, a dog prancing by on a thin leash, the woman walking it staring at her phone, a dent in a passing car, a man talking to someone in the backseat of another car, pieces of hair sticking to the corner of someone’s mouth, a woman’s lips as she sang along to whatever came out of her headphones.

He clung to everything before him, holding it close, despite being outside of all of it.

A chime told him he had fifteen minutes to get back to the office.

He didn’t move. Instead, eyes not straying from the mosaic of life, he set his phone down and rubbed his thumb along the ridge of his index finger. The motion soothed him enough that he settled, his heart rate slowing. He calculated how long he could stay until he had to run back to the office to make it in time.

Six minutes.

Ten if he really booked it.

“Hey.”

Oliver froze.

For a split second he wondered if he was imagining it. He’d heard her voice enough over the last several months, whispering through his thoughts, and dreamt about it even more than that. It had become a permanent fixture in his mind during those days drifting on the ocean, memories coming to life, haunting him until he wasn’t sure if he was praying for death or for her.

A hint of her perfume sliced through the smell of coffee.

Oliver breathed it in, deeply, as the warmth of a person sitting down next to him fully registered.

Holding his breath, he turned.

His heart slammed into the floor.

God, she was a sight for sore eyes. She looked the same - her hair back in a high ponytail, dark-framed glasses, bright pop of color on her lips, her earrings exactly how he remembered them - but she was different, too. Calmer. Softer. A casual confidence made the air around her shimmer.

She was stunning, even more than he remembered, and all he could do was stare as the full breadth of how much he missed her hit him square in the chest.

“Felicity.”

A hint of a smile touched her lips and the quiet beauty of it shredded his insides.

“Don’t think I’ll ever be used to that,” she said with a little laugh.

Oliver huffed out a noise, something caught between a chuckle and a grunt, mostly because he felt like he should acknowledge her words somehow. And because his voice was gone.

He stared at her, his mind whirling.

He hadn’t seen her since the bluff last year, their bluff, a few weeks after he’d been found in the North China Sea. She’d found him on the cliff’s edge, staring at the water crashing into the rocks down below. To this day, he still didn’t know if he would have jumped, but then it hadn’t mattered, because she was there. And the second she touched him, he’d fallen apart, collapsing into her arms, breaking under the weight of all of it.

… the Gambit flipping in the frenzied sea, going under… terrified shouts for help from the crew before the ocean tore them away… his father shooting the captain in the face… propping himself on the edge of the raft, telling Oliver it was the only way before putting a bullet in his own head… Oliver’s frantic screams as he fought the rough ocean waves to get his father’s body back… the sea sweeping his father away, so far away, taking the gun with him… floating, for days on end, so many days, knowing he was going to die… hoping for it… wishing for it… so much that when the shadow of the freighter appeared, he finally felt a modicum of peace knowing it was all over…

But it wasn’t. He was still alive.

And the world was unchanged, unaffected, unaware.

She was the only one who knew what had happened out there. The words had come tumbling out in a fervor of raw emotion, running together, his tears blurring the edges until he was nothing but a sobbing mess that she held together all through the night.

Then that was it. They went back to their separate lives - her to a life that didn’t involve him, and him to continue his life with McKenna.

Except here she was, in all her beautiful glory, glowing with all the light he’d taken for granted.

“Hi,” he whispered.

It was all he had.

Her brow furrowed and he watched that familiar line appear between her brows. It always announced her troubled thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to hide them. His mouth went dry. Was she regretting sitting here? Did she wish she’d turned and left instead? They didn’t have much of anything to say anymore, did they? Not now. Not after everything. But the thought of her walking away again sent a white hot knife slicing through his gut and Oliver opened his mouth to beg her not to leave, even though he knew he didn’t deserve it…

She didn’t leave.

With a tiny whisper of his name, Felicity grasped his hand.

Choking on a surge of emotion, Oliver’s eyes dropped to where she touched him. How many times had they touched? In how many ways? Hundreds. Thousands. It was countless, and yet it felt like the first time he was feeling her skin against his. She was as soft as ever, and so damned warm. It wasn’t until this moment that he fully appreciated just how frozen he still was at his core.

His fingers curled around hers, his heart cracking when she held him back.

His phone chimed.

Oliver started, blinking rapidly, only realizing in that moment that tears had been filling his eyes. He swallowed hard as he glanced at his phone.

Five minutes.

“Damn it,” he breathed.

She tugged her hand out of his and the loss carved a jagged hole in his center.

“I have to go, too, actually,” Felicity said, sliding off the barstool. Her front grazed his arm in the miniscule space between them before she stepped free. She offered him another smile. “It was good seeing you, Oliver.”

“Yeah,” he replied.

Absently. Automatically. Blankly. Just going through the motions.

Which was all he’d been doing, wasn’t it? For months now. Floating through life, doing what he thought he was supposed to do, filling shoes he felt woefully inadequate in, going home to someone who barely pierced the surface of his heart.

And he was doing it here, with her.

He didn’t want to be numb anymore.

Oliver surged off his barstool, towards her. The coffee shop was busy, people loitering in line, baristas yelling names, glasses hitting tabletops, utensils hitting plates. All of it was suddenly so viciously clear that it hurt his ears, but none of it mattered as he looked at her.

A thousand words hovered on his tongue. None of them came out, nothing but…

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said, her smile warming. She grasped his bicep and pushed up onto her toes to kiss his cheek. Oliver’s eyes slammed shut and he instinctively leaned into her, his heart damn near ricocheting off his chest plate when she lingered for a second longer than necessary. Her lips moved over his stubble as she said, “Of course.”

As if it was a given.

As if he deserved it.

Oliver let out a ragged exhale and pressed his cheek to hers. She paused, but she didn’t pull away, like he thought she would. Like she probably should. Instead her hand tightened on his arm and then she pressed back, a stuttered breath dancing over the shell of his ear.

They lingered there, caught in the in-between, suspended between the past and the present, and a future that didn’t exist.

He knew nothing about her life anymore. He didn’t know what she had been up to. He didn’t know what she did with her time. He had specifically gone out of his way to avoid looking her up, because it was a closed door that needed to stay that way.

But she was also here, right here, right before him.

“Felicity,” he whispered, his hands finding her elbows, tentative, unsure.

I miss you.

With a ragged gasp, Felicity slid her arm around his neck and tugged him into her.

Relief shot through him and he sagged into her arms.

They hugged each other, tight, grasping, clinging so tight it hurt. Her nails bit through his jacket, a whimper he hoped he wasn’t imagining slipping out as she used her hold on him to yank him down closer to her. He pulled her flush against him, burying his face in her shoulder, and then her neck. The lapel of her jacket got in the way and he nosed it out of the way so he could breathe in that unique scent that was all Felicity. She smelled so good, so perfect, and something deep inside him slid into place, a missing piece he hadn’t realized was missing. A piece he hadn’t wanted to admit was missing. Because he needed it, like the air in his lungs, and the thought of living life without it for even one more second had him gasping her name again and pulling her in even more.

He had to leave. So did she. They had lives to live, lives that didn’t involve each other anymore.

But neither of them moved, not until someone bumped into them, breaking the moment. Even then, when they parted, they lingered in each other’s bubble, so much flying between them that he didn’t know where to begin thinking about it, much less talk about it.

They did finally part, though, and went their separate ways.

But they didn’t say anything, because they didn’t have to.

This was enough.

It had to be.

*

Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse.

[trashyeggroll]

Cooking prompt for ThunderGrace? I hope the finale doesn't fuck shit up!

:: throws hands out to the guard rails :: I THINK WE ARE OKAY? WE MADE IT? It REALLY feels like they haven’t signed Chantal to the next season officially yet and HOPEFULLY the only question is whether to rightfully upgrade her to a main cast member 😤

After Chantal said Grace was making phở for the surprise wedding, I had to lean into that for this prompt, and if you go back and look at the scene, there really are like vermicelli noodles and such sitting on the counter and i just 🥺

Spoilers for season finale ahead, plus the angstiest prompt ficlet thus far. Also it’s 2am and I adrenaline-typed this, sorry for errors!

Sitting on one of the breakfast bar stools, Anissa watched quietly as Grace tended to the stew she’d been nursing to life all day, from just beef bones and water to the heavenly-smelling broth filling the air now. It was a long, tedious process of waiting, skimming, and stirring, adding spices here and taking out the brisket there, and most astonishing to Anissa was that Grace did it all from memory, hardly stopping so much as to measure a single ingredient. Star anise, cloves, fennel, coriander, cinnamon... Anissa knew the long list well by now, too.

“It’s a shame we don’t have any fish sauce. Life under siege,” Grace would sigh, washing her hands between tasks.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to get star anise?” Anissa would joke back from her seat. “You can make it the right way for me, after all this.”

“As your wife.” Grace offered a smile that made Anissa feel more bulletproof than lungsful of air.

“As my wife,” confirmed Anissa, sliding a hand across the table. “I love you.”

Grace’s fingertips met hers on the cool surface, and the shapeshifter’s expression softened. “You sure you’re ready for what your parents will say?”

“Psh, after all this? Disapproval of my engagement is nothing, and besides—once they get to know you better, my family’s gonna love you, too. There’s no question.” Her gaze dropped to their hands as Grace pulled back, fingers slipping away from her as she peeked into the stockpot again. She looked so at ease, so... warm, confident. Anissa swallowed against the lump in her throat, thankful that Grace was focused on the phở and not her likely pained expression.

“Every family has their own recipe for this. My foster parents are the ones who taught me this,” Grace was saying, rueful. “But the fun thing about getting married is... we can have our own family recipe now. However the Pierces like it best, and it’ll be ours.”

Anissa’s heartbeat was picking up. She knew what was coming, and not just the words. “Pierce family phở, huh? In that case, I think you’re gonna wanna add extra pepper for Jen.”

Grace chuckled at that, brushing a loose curl from her eyes as she turned to look at her fiancé. As much as they’d been through, individually and together, Anissa never felt as sure, as safe in her reality, as when Grace Choi was smiling at her, whether a reluctant reaction to one of Anissa’s bad jokes, or the bright, sunlight warmth of right now, when she was thinking of their future together. Anissa would do anything to give that to her, to be able to visit Grace at the bar once again, walk through the park and go see movies on their days off. Those things had seemed so... quaint, at the time. But today, and for too many unknown days ahead, Anissa could only enjoy these hours, watching her wife-to-be tend to something she loved.

A knock on the door, Gambi arriving before the others, drew Grace’s attention, and Anissa closed her eyes as the kitchen blinked, green-black code replacing the oven, and Grace’s confused expression glitched along with it, almost like when she shifted between forms. But that wasn’t what this was.

“Anissa?” she asked, her voice tinny and far away, and Thunder’s heart grew heavy again. “Anissa, what’s happening?”

The world around them had nearly completely broken to pieces, but Anissa kept her eyes locked with Grace’s as she replied, “I love you, Grace. I love you.”

Seemingly endless blackness overtook her vision, and then Anissa was opening her eyes again, with TC’s face leaning close over her. He quickly leaned back, his eyes changing from neon green to his natural brown, and took a respectful step away as Anissa sat up on the medical bed.

“Anything new?” prompted the younger meta, gently.

“No. Not today.” Anissa swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching up to the base of her skull to remove the sensor TC had designed for this exercise.

On the other side of the room, another bed held the prone form of the real Grace Choi, the one who wasn’t doing any smiling or cooking or announcing their engagement today. She’d shown no signs of recovery since the fight that left her in a coma, weeks ago, and Anissa was fighting to not lose faith. Where she had so genuinely thought she’d finally get to spend her nights and mornings with the woman she loved, instead Anissa had become accustomed to the low whirs and flashing lights of the machines that monitored her fiancé’s physical hold on the world of the living.

The longterm care facility was a nice operation, clean and with kindly enough staff, but it smelled like a hospital, like sickness, to Anissa. Nurses were regularly in and out of the room, adjusting Grace’s position to avoid bed sores and muscle atrophy, though Anissa would take over those duties whenever she could be there. Knowing what Grace had gone through as a child, it didn’t feel right to let strangers constantly handle her body, and no matter what was happening out in the rest of the world, Anissa took full responsibility to bathe her fiancé in a quiet, painstaking ritual that usually left Thunder feeling raw and near tears. It was such a far fall for the powerful shapeshifter who’d lifted her dinner table clear off the ground.

“She’s still there,” TC was saying. “We know she hasn’t gotten worse.”

Anissa nodded, offering him a quiet, but genuine ‘thank you’ before he left the room. TC’s modified brain stem connections let him step into Grace’s mind, similar to how he’d gone into Khalil’s, and he’d found that she was looping in the same broken memory of their last day together. No matter how much Anissa begged, pleaded, or explained, the dream-Grace wouldn’t wake up from it, and so instead, she’d learned to just play along. To relive that memory in peace, to have that modicum of Grace in her life, however long it would last. It was all she had, for now.

Ten minutes, or ten years, Lynn had said. Anissa would be there every day, would be asking every meta she came across at the boarding school or in other cities if they could help. She had made a promise, she had been the one to open the door to the next level of commitment... and like Jefferson Pierce and his father before him, Anissa Pierce’s word meant something in Freeland. She would never give up on Grace.