#i need to get a proper banner/break thing rather than just '---'

[monstersandmaw]

Orctober #3 - male half-orc x male character (nsfw) ‘Bait’

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Orctober stories One and Two are up on Patreon (linked below), and this has been previewed on there too, and has had some truly wonderful comments that just made my day, so there might be a part two in the offing now. We’ll see.

Anyway, it’s a bit different in terms of format - it's not a reader insert, but I hope that doesn't matter.

It's a whopping 6914 words long, and I had an absolute blast writing it, so I really hope you enjoy reading it!! I know that 'Josslyn' is a female sounding name, but it's what this prince wanted to be called, so that's his name. :) I think it suits him anyway.

1. 'Ring' - male orc (Liam) x plus size female reader (very light nsfw) 2. 'Mindless’ - female orc (Khara) x male reader (nsfw)

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A silver-trimmed banner caught and snagged in the night breeze as the crown prince strode along the battlements of his father’s castle. The old king’s words still rang in his ears and he ground his teeth, breathing hard and fighting the urge to shout, to yell, to cry. Where was the man who had raised him? The man who had played with him, taught him to ride his first pony, and helped him with his tutor’s tasks when he’d struggled? The man who had taught him the meaning of the ideals of justice and loyalty, of servitude to the people? How could old age ravage a man so much in the mind while taking so little from his body?

The king was in his seventies, having had Josslyn later in life than many had expected, after his first queen had died in childbirth, leaving no heir. The king had the body of a man ten years younger, but the mind of a man a decade older. Joss had tried to keep his father’s unpredictable nature hidden from the council and from the people, and so far all that they had suspected was that the long-running war with the orcish peoples in the neighbouring kingdom was taking its toll on him, forcing him to become harder, stricter in a time of strife.

A guard nodded his resepcts at him as he passed and muttered, “Highness,” to which the prince responded with a small smile and a bow of his head as he swept past, his long, night blue cloak swirling behind him, the wind lifting his long black hair off his face.

A shout and commotion from the courtyard below brought two guards hurrying to his side as he peered down from the wall, but he waved them away with a gentle gesture and watched as a tall, rather bedraggled figure was hauled out from the guards’ supply room in the outer bailey and dumped in the freezing mud beside the castle well. Spear-tips were poised at his throat immediately, and as the flickering light of a wrought-iron brazier illuminated his features, Josslyn saw that he looked orcish, though somewhat more delicate than the brutes who currently inhabited the castle dungeons and gladiatorial rings across the country.

Scuttling silently down one of the nearby stone staircases, the prince emerged in time to hear the guards demanding who the creature was and what the hell he was doing sneaking around the royal castle at midnight. Josslyn wanted to know how the hell he’d got into the castle to begin with.

“Please,” the captive choked, his eyes screwed almost shut as a spear point hovered above his Adam’s apple, “Please, I only came looking… for… for work… I thought…”

“You thought we’d hire something like you? The king doesn’t employ beasts, not even to clean the latrines!” one of the guards sneered.

The prince approached at a steady walk, partly cloaked by the shadows of the courtyard and partly by the thick fabric of his heavy robes. “Why did you come here of all places?” he demanded of the orc and the guards startled at his sudden appearance.

“Your Highness, please,” one of them warned, holding out a protective arm between the captive and the crown prince. “We caught this half-breed orc sniffing around our supplies.”

“He managed to find a way past the gates - outwitting all the guards - and he speaks intelligently,” the prince said, staring at him with hard, black eyes, “And yet you still treat him like a cornered granary rat.”

“They’re all vermin,” the guard said, cheeks flushed with humiliation, jabbing the half-orc in the sternum with the butt of his spear and driving the wind from his chest.

“Stop,” Josslyn said in a voice of quiet command that stilled them all instantly. “Take him to the upper cells, and see that he’s fed and given water and a blanket, and some clean, dry clothes. I want to know exactly what he was doing here, but he’s in no condition to be questioned at the moment. Look at him.”

The guards returned their attention to their miserable captive and saw the way he shivered, his clothes sodden - presumably from swimming the moat - with the fabric clinging to his relatively slim body. With orcish blood, he should have been built like a mythical hero from a maiden’s tale, but Josslyn suspected that he saw high elf in the half-breed’s slender ears and delicate bone-structure. No high elf could bulk up, no matter how much meat he ate or how many press-ups he did, and unfortunately for the orc, it seemed he had inherited that trait from his elven parent.

“Highness?” the guard with his spear at the half-orc’s throat whispered. “You… You cannot be serious…?”

Josslyn simply turned his polished jet eyes on the guard and the man nodded once.

“Of course. Forgive me. It will be done as you say.”

The crown prince watched them haul the mysterious half-breed to his feet and lead him away. He stumbled and staggered, shaking violently from the cold as the chill of the mid-autumn night sank into his sodden clothes and skin, but he risked a glance over his shoulder and smiled gratefully at Josslyn. In answer, the prince nodded once and let his eyes fall to the spot in the mud where he’d been lying, his mind working.

An hour later, fighting the prickling tiredness in his eyes as midnight became one in the morning, Joss headed down to the cells and as he peered through the barred opening in the heavy wooden door of the cell, he found that the prisoner had been housed exactly as he’d commanded. He’d wrapped himself in a moth-eaten blanket but beneath it Joss could see the royal blue of a guard’s uniform, and beside the low, rickety bed was an empty wooden plate and set neatly atop it was a wooden beaker.

The prince had the guards unlock it and then he knocked before stepping inside. A guard tried to follow him in, only obeying protocol, but Josslyn asked her to wait outside. Reluctantly, the woman obeyed, and left the crown prince, the sole heir of the entire kingdom alone in a cell with a strange half-orc.

“Are you warmer now?” the prince asked as the orc rose shakily, woken by the rattling key in the lock.

“Yes, thank you, Highness,” he said, bowing low.

“Rise,” he snapped. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“My name is Tamas,” he said in a croaky baritone. Everything about him spoke of submission; the slope of his hunched shoulders, the angle of his head, his down-turned gaze - it was as if he were perpetually awaiting a blow to the back of the head. His hair was a muddy brown, shaved above his pointed ear on the left side of his head and falling loose and long to his shoulder on the right. He had a small, pale scar on his left cheekbone, and his skin was a muddy green, not dissimilar to the colour of the moat in high summer.

“And what are you doing here?” the prince pressed patiently.

Tamas took a deep breath and said, “I… I ran away from… I’ve been travelling for months… I thought…”

“Sit down,” the prince commanded, and the orc dropped heavily onto the bed behind him, knees simply giving way. His exhaustion appeared to be more mental than physical. “You are not full orc, are you?” the prince asked and Tamas shook his head.

“No, Highness. My mother was a woodland elf. Her people left me to die in the way of all unwanted elven children; she set me adrift in a basket on the river and I was picked up by an orcish mother miles downstream. She had lost her own child and thought to raise me. But… orcs are not kind to those of ‘watered down blood’. I…” he turned his gaze up and the prince was surprised to note that his eyes were a dark sapphire blue. In a strange way, he was quite beautiful, he supposed; a thought which surprised him all over again. All this he kept carefully hidden behind his usual mask of calm control.

“So you finally ran away,” the prince supplied. “And you decided to come here? To the enemy of your father’s people? Hardly the safest choice for you, I’d wager…”

Tamas nodded. “I had nowhere else to go.”

“Alight,” the prince said, folding his arms across his chest. “What services could you offer the crown?”

The half-orc lowered his head again and stared at his hands. The index finger of his left hand was crooked, as though it had been badly broken in the past and poorly set. He sighed, rubbing the knuckle, and said, “I am good with horses and animals,” he said, “But I can read and write and do arithmetic. I could help wherever is needed.”

“I doubt my father will make you his personal valet,” the prince snorted, amused. “But I will think on where to place you. For now, rest. The guards have been instructed not to bother you, but you understand why I must keep you in here a little longer?”

Again, he nodded. “I do, Highness. And… thank you…”

“I haven’t made you any promises,” he warned him.

“Perhaps not, but you have given me a chance. You’re the first person to treat me… well… not like an animal, since the border.”

“I presume folks thought you were a runaway slave?”

“Yes,” he said and shuddered.

With a final nod, the prince left him and gratefully began to make his way up to his chambers. Undressing alone in the simple finery of his room, he thought about the half-orc and realised he had had no idea how orcs treated their own. For all that they had been at war for nearly six years now, he knew next to nothing about their culture. As he lay down beneath the soft sheets and let the deep pillows cushion his royal head, he mused that it might be wise to use this half-orc to learn about their enemy’s culture. Surely if he’d been treated so abominably that he’d run straight to their enemy’s stronghold for shelter, Tamas would be willing to help him?

Thus a hesitant relationship was forged between prince and captive. Tamas was housed in a room in the servants’ quarters - much to their distaste - and to begin with, for an hour every day, he was released and attended the prince in his own chambers to instruct him in the nature and traditions of the orcish nation.

Josslyn was surprised to learn that Tamas had a wicked sense of humour, and that he was also rather fond of reading. After that, the prince asked him to accompany him to the library, and in a relatively short couple of months, the two had become tentative friends. Josslyn encouraged Tamas to speak out truthfully with his opinions to the prince, though only in private, and the two frequently engaged in lengthy and in-depth discussions late into the night. Josslyn still carried a dagger with him at all times, but he soon forgot about it. In time, the half-orc became something of a legend in the castle - the ‘sentient beast’ and the ‘prince’s pet’ were two of the kinder titles he acquired, but he promised Josslyn that he didn’t mind.

“I’m happy to have a roof over my head and a purpose before me,” he said meekly one afternoon when the prince brought it up again as the two of them sat in comfortable chairs in a side room of the library. It was a rare day off for the prince, and having spent the last week in the infirmary visiting the soldiers who returned from the front with horrific injuries, dealt largely by orcish weapons, he was grateful for the quiet and peace of the ancient hall of learning.

Tamas had offered to accompany him, but the prince had suggested that his might not be a face to show to the recently-returned warriors, and the half-orc had accepted without question, apologising for his insensitivity.

The prince felt those sapphire blue eyes on him again and he glanced up from his book to find his new friend staring at him. “What?” he asked gently.

The half-orc smiled, the gesture stretching around the short, almost slender tusks which protruded from his lower jaw. “I haven’t seen you this relaxed in weeks, that’s all,” he said, a warmth to his tone that struck Joss deeply. “It’s nice.”

He snorted and then drew in a deep breath. “I’m tired, Tam. I’m tired of this war and I’m tired of the toll it’s taking on my people. I want an end to it, but I don’t know how. I don’t know - after all I’ve learned from you and from visiting the front myself - how we can make a bridge with them, make peace with a culture so different.”

Tamas’ face showed obvious surprise and a small amount of shock. He closed the book in his hands and leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze met the prince’s directly. “You’ve visited the front?”

“Of course,” Joss said, a frown playing on his dark brows. “I wouldn’t  be much of a leader if I sat at home in my comfortable castle while my people threw themselves at the orcish lines like the sea against the cliffs, would I?”

“Forgive me,” Tam murmured. “I… I didn’t mean to question your integrity. I’m just surprised. I’m sorry.”

Josslyn laughed and set his book down on the table beside his chair. “Come, let’s get a glass of wine. The sun’s going down and we’ve been sat here for hours. I need to stretch my legs.”

Tam stood, still looking a little stunned, as though his every belief had been called into question.

He was slow to follow his friend and the prince paused. “You alight?” Josslyn asked, laying a hand on Tam’s elbow.

The orc swallowed visibly and turned his searing blue gaze to the point where the two of them touched. His eyes then darted up to meet the prince’s and he smiled, though his dark skin still looked a little pallid. “Yes,” he croaked. “I’m sorry. Yes.”

“Come then,” he said again and walked away, leaving Tamas to stare after him for a moment before hurrying to catch up.

One evening, after the Beltane feast that marked the start of summer, Josslyn left the feast early. His father was being truly obnoxious, though mercifully this time he was only trying to get the crown prince to flirt with some visiting duchess or other, but Josslyn was having none of it. Tamas had not been invited to the celebrations, for obvious reasons, and Josslyn found himself aching for the easy rapport the two of them had built over the seven months or so that they had now known each other.

Instead of going to the servants’ quarters and bothering them all like a fox in a chicken coop, the prince headed to the privacy of the royal courtyard garden at the rear of the castle. Only those who tended the plants and members of the royal family were allowed here, and yet, as he sat on a stone bench with his head in his hands, he heard footsteps approaching.

Glancing up, his hand twitching towards the dagger at his hip, he nearly shot to his feet before he realised who it was. “Tamas?” he breathed. “What are you doing in here? You know this place is off limits…”

“Invite me to stay and I won’t be trespassing,” he smiled playfully. “But seriously, I’ll go if you want to be alone.”

“No,” Joss sighed, his spine slackening as he slumped back down on his bench. “Don’t go. How did you know to come here?”

“I was on my way back from the library when I saw you leaving the great hall. You looked thoroughly miserable… May I sit?”

“Of course,” he said, gesturing at the bench beside him. “Did you find anything interesting to read?”

“Mmm,” he hummed quietly, the deep sound somehow going straight through Josslyn. The quiet warmth of Tam’s presence beside him comforted him beyond expressing, and he leaned sideways and rested his body against Tamas’ side, his head falling to lie on Tam’s shoulder.

The half-orc’s hand suddenly slid over his own where it lay in his lap and he squeezed the prince’s fingers gently in his large grip.

“Tam,” Josslyn rasped, tears filling his eyes. “I’m so tired…”

“I know,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes every day. You give so much of yourself to your people. You take no time for yourself.”

There was soft wonder in his tone and Josslyn barked a quiet laugh. “It’s my duty as crown prince, Tam. My father, before he began to change, made me learn my duties young.” He sighed again and added, “I learned the oath I’ll take when I ascend the throne when I was only five. I had no idea what it meant then, but I do now.”

Tam’s arm came round his shoulders then and he held him close. “My people were entirely wrong about you,” he said very quietly.

“How so?”

He didn’t speak immediately, but the silence told Josslyn he was considering his words carefully. Another stereotype shattered, he thought as he realised just how deeply this half-orc cared about the words he spoke and the meaning behind them. “The orcs say you are little more than a spoiled, selfish brat of a princeling who spends his days watching orcs fight in the pits or being tended to by a harem of naked elven women… They did get one thing right about you though,” he added with a wry smile.

“Oh?” Joss asked, too tired to respond to the first comments, ridiculous as they were.

Tam chuckled and said, “They say you’re as beautiful as one of the fae. Apparently because your previous queen died and the kingdom had no heir, your father made a pact with the fae for you.”

Josslyn’s laugh rang around the courtyard, echoing off the statuary. He sat up and regarded Tamas with glittering dark eyes. “And here I thought ‘beauty’ to an orc was brute strength and an unquenchable bloodlust…”

Tamas shrugged. “Good thing I’m not a full orc then.”

The chill evening air had gradually become charged during their conversation, and Josslyn felt his lips parting slightly as he stared up at Tamas. The half-orc wasn’t much taller than the crown prince, but he had a few inches on him; enough to make Josslyn tilt his head back so that his hair fell down to tickle the hand that Tamas still had pressed to his back, though now it rested at the base of his spine.

Slowly, hesitantly, as though he would be shot full of arrows from the rooftops if he dared go through with it, Tamas leaned down and the two brushed their lips together in the briefest of kisses. The fleeting touch sent the blood straight to Joss’ groin and his breath hitched in his chest. “Tam,” he breathed.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, wide-eyed, wrenching himself back and standing, staggering as he half turning to go. “I’m… I shouldn’t…”

“Wait,” Josslyn commanded, standing and drawing himself to his full height. “Wait,” he said again, more gently, stepping over to him. He took his hand and tightened his grip.

The kiss that followed was all fierce, pent-up emotion and passion, and Josslyn found himself backed against the huge marble plinth of a statue of a faun, with Tamas chasing kiss after kiss. The half-orc hooked one of Joss’ legs around his hips and then picked him up, pinning him against the masonry hard enough to knock the breath from him. The prince gasped as Tamas ground his solid length against his own hardening cock through their trousers, and his head rolled back. Tamas shot out a hand to cup the back of the prince’s head before he clonked it on the stonework behind him, and Joss smiled bashfully at him.

They paused then, frozen in place, both breathing hard. “You… You want…?” Tamas asked uncertainly.

“Yes,” the prince whispered.

Kissing him one last time, Tamas backed off, setting the prince back on his feet, and the two of them readjusted themselves sheepishly as best they could before making their way through back stairwells and corridors to his private chambers.

No sooner had the door closed and the latch locked than the two of them were entangled again. They shed their clothes between the door and the bed, and Josslyn ran his palms over Tamas’ slim, lean chest, marvelling at the wiry strength of the half-orc who shuddered and gasped beneath the explorative touches of the prince. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, and as his chest heaved, Joss could see the muscles move beneath his green skin, his dark nipples hard and his cock dampening a spot in his underwear.

They fell backwards onto his huge bed in a tangle of limbs, and Joss tugged off the last of Tam’s clothes to free his impressive erection. Hard, the vein along its length full and prominent, his cock wept pre-come freely now, twitching as Josslyn stared openly at him.

“How… How do you want to do this?” the prince asked breathily.

In answer, Tamas parted his legs a little and the prince smiled, reaching across the orc’s prone body to his bedside drawers for a small vial of oil. Somehow he hadn’t expected Tamas to be the one wanting to take it, but he was too worked up to comment or mind.

When he slicked one finger with oil and slid it inside the orc, Tamas grunted and drove his head back into the bed, his legs falling wider apart, his cock bobbing eagerly as his hips bucked upwards into the intrusion. With his free hand, Joss dribbled more oil down the length of Tamas’ cock and then worked him with both hands until Tam was panting and grunting and cursing in orcish.

Josslyn knew only enough of the language to recognise it as orcish, and he leaned forwards, sliding his fingers out of Tam for a moment and earning a keening whine from him at the loss. In his sensitive ear he whispered, “You’re going to have to translate that for me, Tamas.”

“I said…” he gasped, struggling to speak as the prince returned his finger to him and caressed the bundle of sensitive nerves inside him, “I… I need to you fuck me… Highness.” His voice was beautifully unsteady and his eyes were screwed shut. His cock wept pre-come onto his hard abs, and he was squirming, desperate for more.

“You’re not quite ready yet,” Josslyn said, and this time he slid three fingers into the orc, stretching him, working him open until he was growling openly at him to fuck him.

Running his slick palm over his own cock and gasping at the sudden stimulation, Josslyn lined himself up and nudged into the ready heat. Already Tamas’ head lolled to one side. “Please?” he hissed, bucking weakly upwards, eyes opening a little as he half sat up in an attempt to guide Josslyn further inside him.

In one motion, Josslyn seated himself to the hilt inside Tam and the orc yelled with pleasure and immediately began to shake.

“Please, please, please,” he chanted until Joss began to move.

Slowly at first, he savoured the immense tightness of the orc around him, the heat, the shaking muscles desperate for release, but then he changed his angle slightly and Tamas let out another bellow of pleasure. Hitting him repeatedly in that sweet spot, the prince picked up his pace and lowered his head with the effort. His long hair fell forwards and started to stick to the sheen of sweat that had begun to form on Tam’s chest as he got more and more worked up.

The orc’s cock bounced between them, untouched and drooling as he clutched at the sheets beneath him and growled incoherently. “I’m…” he snarled. “Please!” Despite the pleasure of Joss’ cock repeatedly pounding into his prostate, it wasn’t quite enough.

“Are you going to come for me if I touch you?” Joss hissed, breathless and sweaty with exertion and pleasure.

“Yes!” he gasped.

“I’m close,” the prince admitted, the rhythm of his hips faltering.

“Don’t stop,” Tam demanded, but when Joss’ hand wrapped around Tamas’ cock and worked his shaft once, twice, he suddenly went rigid beneath him and spilled over his stomach with a barely stifled scream. His tusks bit deep into the back of his wrist as he fought to keep quiet as he clenched and twitched, and the combination of sound, sight, and sensation tipped the prince over the edge too. He came almost silently, a blinding heat ripping through him as he emptied himself into the half-orc.

Trembling in the aftermath of his orgasm, Josslyn fell forwards onto Tamas’ heaving chest and he whined as he landed on the mess of release smeared over his abs, but he was too tired and too blissed out to care just yet. Tamas’ heartbeat thundered in his ear as he laid his head on his chest and the orc lay there, lax and spent beneath him, breathing hard, eyes closed, one arm on Josslyn’s back, the other palm up and limp on the sheets beside him.

Eventually they grew chilly, and Joss disappeared to clean up in the adjacent bathroom. When he emerged, swathed in a rich black and gold, silk dressing gown, he found that Tamas had fallen asleep exactly where he’d left him, and the prince chuckled fondly. The half-orc was as large as most human warriors, with clearly defined muscles, but the green tone of his skin, the tusks - however small -, the heavy jaw and under-bite, and the tapering of his ears marked him as orcish as clearly as Josslyn’s crown announced his royal blood. The wiry slenderness to Tamas’ body, however, spoke of his elven lineage too. Always an outcast, never belonging, Tamas had nowhere to call home.

Leaning over him, Joss wiped the warm washcloth over the ridges of his abs and over his sharply-defined hips. With a jolt, Tamas woke and sat up and blinked at him for just a heartbeat before he laughed. “You shouldn’t be doing that for me,” he chided groggily, holding out his hand for the cloth.

The prince shook his head, his long hair in disarray.

“Gods, you look so beautiful like that,” Tamas hissed as he stared him up and down.

Josslyn blushed hard and threw the wash cloth at his chest, where it landed with a wet ‘flap’.

Things changed for them after that.

They kept the nature of their relationship a secret, and continued with life in the castle as best they could whilst maintaining their charade. They still held their discussions about orcish culture, though there wasn’t much more for Tamas to teach him by now, though the two had begun studying the language now too. Josslyn had been surprised to learn that it wasn’t the series of simplistic, guttural sounds that he’d always taken it for, and while his grasp of the vocabulary and grammar was solid, Tamas insisted that his accent was appalling.

“I promise not to speak it,” Josslyn murmured one evening as they sat in each other’s arms on the sofa in his private apartment in the castle.

Tamas ran his fingertip over the prince’s lips and whispered, “I wouldn’t want you to sully your beautiful mouth with the language of such brutes,” which earned him a smack on the chest and a playful kiss for his efforts at romance.

As high summer tipped towards autumn again and Tamas remarked that he’d been at the castle for nearly a year, the prince suggested that they go out hunting together. It was customary for there to be a royal hunt as the festival of Mabon approached, and the Royal Guard had just about come to terms with the fact that Tamas wasn’t going to assassinate their beloved prince if left unattended, so the pair of them mounted up amid the baying of hounds and the clatter of hooves on the flagstones of the upper bailey.

The king’s health was not strong enough for him to ride out, but he insisted on being hauled out in his wheeled throne to bless the hunters and wish them success because it was tradition.

The large party of nobles and courtiers and guards all rode out into the woods about a mile from the castle, and the whole thing soon became the usual chaos of bugles and barking, of horses stamping and men shouting.

Tamas guided his large mare expertly up to Josslyn’s side and murmured, “Is this what passes for a hunt amongst humans?”

The prince laughed, knowing it was the large silken tents and the army of servants standing in the field behind waiting to welcome then back to which he was referring. He shrugged. “A royal one, yes.”

“You want to get out of here?”

With a glint in his eye, the prince galloped away with his lover, following old game trails he knew well from adventures as a boy. The two of them soon left the chaos of the hunt well behind, and slowed their mounts to a trot and then an easy walk.

They headed north in companionable silence, enjoying the late summer light beneath the trees, but soon Joss began to notice that Tamas was tense. His horse skittered beneath him, shying at nothing, reacting to the tension and fear in her rider’s posture, snorting and sidestepping.

“Tam?” he asked, his heart rate picking up. “What is it?”

With his heavy jaw set and his eyes fixed on the path ahead, Tamas didn’t reply and Josslyn realised then just how far they had strayed.

“Tamas, we should go back,” he said with more confidence than he felt, reining his horse around. Everything felt wrong. His skin crawled and prickled, and Arrow danced nervously beneath him, the stallion snorting too.

The half-orc held his own mare in place and didn’t follow. He seemed to be warring with himself, his eyes darting back and forth. His chest heaved and his skin had gone deathly pale.

“Tam?” the prince insisted. “What -?”

“Go,” he finally hissed. “Ride. Gallop for home and don’t look back.”

“What?”

“GO!” he roared as the undergrowth erupted behind him and an orcish war horn sounded.

Terror flooded through the prince and he spurred his horse to a flat out gallop as arrows and bolts whistled around them. He heard a scream and a heavy crash from behind him and glanced back to see Tam’s mare go down, throwing him from the saddle.

“No!” he yelled, immediately wheeling Arrow round. The well-trained warhorse obeyed instantly, and as the prince leaned down out of his saddle like a child at a gymkhana, extending his hand to Tam who was sitting up, winded and with an arrow through his shoulder, Joss caught sight of the orcs barrelling towards them through the trees. “Take my hand!” he shouted.

“Go!” Tam gasped.

“I’m not leaving you.”

And with tremendous effort, the half-orc rose and swung himself onto Arrow’s back.

Slowed by the extra weight, the big stallion charged as best he could through the woods. It was a long, painful ride for Tamas, but by the time they erupted out into the meadow, the sounds of pursuit had faded and the orcs appeared to have given up for now. Evening lengthened the shadows as Tamas slumped against Josslyn’s back, breathing hard and holding tight with only one arm.

Once he was sure that they were alone, the prince slowed his sweat-foamed horse to a walk, letting him breathe and stretch out, and he turned his head to look over his shoulder. Slowly, in a voice laced with fear and trepidation, he asked, “Tamas, what was that?”

“An orcish outpost,” he said dully.

A horrible thought plunged through the prince’s mind and he forced himself to ask, “Did… Did you know it was there?”

Silence stretched between them before he felt Tamas nod. “Yes.”

“Why?” he gasped, fighting off tears as the world spun around him. “Was that the plan all along? You were going to betray me all along?”

Tam’s arm tightened briefly around the prince’s slim waist before it slackened a little and he pressed his cheek against the soft leather of his riding jerkin. His breath wheezed and rattled wetly as he answered, “I was the bait. I…” but before he could continue, a retinue of guards cantered over the nearest grassy rise towards them.

“My prince?” the captain called. “What… What happened?”

“Orc ambush,” the prince said, his tone hard as steel, miraculously revealing nothing of his emotions.

The captain snarled and signalled to his men. “Seize him,” he said, pointing at Tam. “Get him away from the prince.”

“No,” Josslyn said in that eerily calm voice. “No. He saved my life. Escort us to the palace. He needs medical treatment.”

Tamas had gone very still behind him, but the prince suspected that it wasn’t because he’d lost consciousness.

The events of the next few hours passed in a daze for the prince. The news of the attack on the crown prince weakened the king’s condition so severely that the physicians feared he was not long for this world, and Josslyn spent the next two hours at his father’s side, though he didn’t stir once. Still too numb and empty from the shock of Tamas’ actions to feel anything much for his father, he wandered the castle until he found himself in the infirmary.

Tamas was sleeping in a bed at the far end, his shoulder bandaged, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. No one was about, but there had been guards posted at the doors he noted.

Grabbing a chair and silently setting it down beside the bed, the prince stared at the person he’d thought was his friend. His lover. After all they’d shared, Tamas had just been… bait? He couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

After perhaps five minutes, Tamas’ blue eyes fluttered open and he stared at Josslyn.

“Why?” The whispered question fell from the prince’s lips before he could stop himself. “Why didn’t you just stab me in my sleep while we lay together all those nights?” His fury mounted inside him and it was a miracle he kept it in check. “If you wanted me dead, why -” he faltered, choking up.

“I don’t,” Tam hissed back. “I mean… I did… That was why I was sent here, but I-”

“They sent you? So everything you told me about yourself was a lie? You manipulated me… Gods,” he said, lurching to his feet and turning away, fists clenched. “I was so stupid.”

The sheets rustled and Tamas sat up awkwardly, resting his back against the wooden headboard behind him as a wave of dizziness swept through him. He breathed hoarsely for a moment, the pain in his shoulder evident. “I was sent here,” he confirmed. “I was supposed to gather information on the castle and household, and then return. But when you took an interest in me… I couldn’t let that opportunity pass. I…” he paused, trying to catch his breath before going on. Josslyn stood there and glared at him. “I sent word of what had changed, and they told me to earn your trust and bring you to that outpost whenever I could.”

The prince’s vision swam and he bit the inside of his cheeks hard enough to taste the ferrous tang of blood. “Why didn't you go through with it then?” he finally whispered.

“Because… I…” Tamas’ blue eyes dropped to the sheets and he stared blankly at them. “Because I never imagined I’d fall in love with you.”

“No,” he snarled. “You don’t get to say something like that after what you did.”

“I know,” he said evenly. “But you asked me why I didn’t let them do it. I never should have led you away from the hunt, but once I had, I felt like there was no going back. My people were counting on me, but then I saw how afraid you were when… how… how what I had done would hurt you more than being taken by them, and…”

“‘Taken’…”

“They weren’t going to kill you,” Tamas said quietly. “They were going to hold you to ransom.”

“Then why the arrows?” he retorted bitterly as he recalled flashes of that dreadful flight through the trees. His eyes landed on the bandages. “They nearly killed you.”

“You didn’t hear what they were shouting after me. They’d kill me now, for sure. If you let me go, they’ll…”

“It’s no more than you deserve,” he growled, but somehow the words didn’t feel right, even as he spoke them aloud.

Tamas looked up at the prince with his eyes glistening. “May I ask you something?”

The prince made a non-committal shrug.

“Why did you your guards that I saved your life? Why am I not hanging from a gallows right now?”

“Because I loved you,” he said. “And because you did save my life. Admittedly, that was immediately after trying to get me killed…”

“‘Loved’?” Of course he’d fixated upon that word. That tense.

Josslyn’s shoulders dropped and he closed his eyes, head bowing. “Love,” he amended. “You hurt me, but… I think… as insane as it sounds, I think I understand why you did it.”

“What?”

“You remember when I told you that I’m a prince but I serve my people?”

Tamas nodded, looking stunned.

“You came here to do for your people what I would do for mine. It’s not my fault that we’re on opposite sides of a war, Tamas.”

Tamas let out the breath he’d been holding and said in a shaky voice, “Months ago, you said that you wanted to bring an end to this war, and you said that you wished you could talk with my people. You wished you could find a way to end it peacefully…”

“I still do,” he said, his hand gripping the back of the chair to keep himself upright. It was all too much to take in in one go.

Tam’s mind was clearly working well enough though. “Perhaps we can do it together?”

“How? The orcs will kill you on sight for betraying them like that.”

“I’ll find a way to explain it,” he said hopelessly.

“Alright, so I herald you as my saviour, the ‘orc with a conscience’… and then what? You think my father will merrily trot over there and ask to begin a peace conference? Don’t be absurd…”

Tamas laughed softly but cut off with a wince. “We would have to wait until you became king,” he said very quietly. “It would take time, but…” he looked up at him. “I hated humans before I met you. You made me fall in love with you despite everything I tried to tell myself. If anyone can win them round, it’s you.”

“You love me despite your better judgement? Is that it?” Josslyn laughed, feeling his chest lighten somehow. He sank down onto the bed beside Tamas and took up his hand, frowning at the way it trembled.

“I love you despite my former judgement,” he corrected. His eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. He was clearly fighting to stay awake. “There’s a difference. I know I’ve got a lot of work to do to rebuild your trust in me. I don’t know if you’ll ever trust me again, but… still I think we can make this work between our people…”

Josslyn smiled. “I saw the look on your face back there in the trees too,” he said. “You didn’t want to do it. I know regret when I see it, and the expression of fear I saw in you when they came for me was genuine. I understand.”

Tears tracked silently down Tamas’ face from his dark blue eyes.

“Rest,” Josslyn murmured, helping him to lie back down again and sweeping his hair back out of his eyes once he was supine again. “We’ll talk more when you’ve healed.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

The prince smiled softly and leaned down, pressing a kiss into his slackening lips. “I know. Now, get some sleep.”

“Yes, Highness,” he slurred with a smile and slipped into unconsciousness a moment later.

As Josslyn walked away from the infirmary he felt wrung out and weak-kneed, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel now. There was the potential to end the conflict that had ravaged his land for the best part of six years, and he was going to take it.

As if to confirm his new resolve, a low, mournful bell began to toll throughout the castle and his footsteps faltered, knowing it could only mean one thing.

In the morning, there would be a new king.

—

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[hansolmates]

shiver | 01 (m)

banner done by the wonderful @dnrequests​

summary; jungkook changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut—in this installment: touching over the clothes, mc is hornee, *pulls out cards against humanity* “a gentle caress of the inner thigh”, panty kissin, mc is a big ol’ pushover and hopeful for jkk:(( w/c; 1.9k a/n; it’s here! aaaaaa!!! i’ve been really eally realllyyyyyy nervous to post this. even though this is just a drabble series  let me know how you feel about it! enjoy [shiver masterpost]

“Oh, you’re so dead.” 

Jeon Jungkook isn’t thaaaat buff, he's more of a skinny kind of muscular. You don’t understand the hype, why everyone croons over Jungkook’s strength and physique. However, how else could you explain Jungkook being able to climb the currently dilapidated fire escape to the top floor of the chapel. The ladder is rusted beyond repair and is definitely a fire hazard rather than a fire escape. Yet he barely breaks a sweat doing it, and he wipes the minor sheen off his brow with the back of his hand. There’s some soot and whatever nasty residue from the fire escape that gets on his face, a black streak marring his already annoying face. He’s currently wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic “hello.” It makes you sneer, your two consciousness (inappropriate and appropriate) warring against each other to determine whether you still find this man attractive or not. 

Convincing yourself that Jungkook is ugly is the worst quick-fix idea you’ve ever had. 

The words of your Aunties, the family friends in the church, echo in your ears. Jungkook’s bad. They’d say over and over. It would cause you to snort and giggle, unable to imagine what sort of things he’s done to warrant such a cliché label. Yet some of the girls your age, girls that have gone off to college agree with sultry looks and longing eyes that yes, Jungkook’s bad. So bad, it’s good. 

You haven’t a clue what he’s actually done to earn such a hushed title, his parents are lip-tight about his doings, unless it’s his achievements in the architecture graduate program. You hear things, though. Things that make you shamefully green with envy, envious of sin. 

As soon as he finds proper footing in the storage room, he goes to the closet, immediately finding his backup clothes. They’re plain white button-downs, awkward long shirts with no shape or definition to them. They belong to the church, and no one ever uses them because they’re stiff and itchy. Yet Jungkook wears them like it’s tailored, and you have to look away when he quickly knots the bottom half of the shirt, fashioning it into a tasteful double knot in order to cinch his lean waist.

“Pretty sure it was just you that saw me,” Jungkook says dismissively, “so it’s fine.” 

This bristles you the wrong way, and you put down the catering covers you were supposed to return to the storage room. You smooth out your Sunday dress, this shade of Boring Beige looking particularly pale in the morning sun. “How do you know I won’t tell?” you turn your nose up. 

“Because I know,” he doesn’t even look at you, focusing on rolling the sleeves of his shirt. You weaken when you see the black shadowing across his forearm. That’s new, then again you haven’t seen him since last Christmas.   

“Know what?” 

“That you have a crush on me,” Jungkook says into the air like it’s common knowledge, adjusting the leather jacket on top of his outfit so the white-startched collar pops on top, “I mean, it’s hard for anyone not to know. You’ve been into me since youth group, Bunny.”  

You hold your breath, counting to ten as you close the door behind you. A vision of you playing “Duck Duck Goose” as a five year old plays in your head, where you’d pick a bushy, big-eyed Jeon Jungkook each time, hopping over to him to pat his fluffy head so he’d chase you around. 

It’s old news, your puppy love for Jungkook. How could you not like him? He's clever and sweet with his mother and always told the best stories in youth group meetings.  Everyone thought your affections were so sweet, and while that attention weaned over time, your feelings have only increased the more self-aware you’ve become. 

With a mind as open and honest is yours, it’s hard to ignore how well Jungkook has grown. What has also grown is your curiosities since the two of you have moved onto university. Jungkook goes to the university uptown, a far drive which only forces him attend masses during the holidays. You attended the local community college, wrapping up a bachelors in some vague major that you’re not attached to. You’re currently looking around for some graduate schools, but unfortunately you’ve been so wrapped up doing duties for Pastor Nina that you haven’t been able to look around properly. 

Jungkook’s probably living a fun life, with the way he’s grown rough and loose, you resent him. 

When you turn back around, Jungkook’s right in front of you, trapping you between his body and the door.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bunny,” you furrow your brows, nearly growing cross-eyed when he leans in. “I think your crush is cute.” 

You’re not sure what he thinks of you. Sure, he considered everyone a friend when you two were in youth group, but that was youth group. Premeditated, parents forcing other children to do the same things with each other for years upon years in the hope they’ll practice together forever and ever. Jungkook did not want that, evident from the way he dipped his duties as soon as he got into university. 

You hate how easy he dips back into it though, calling you Bunny and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Bunny, because you’d hop around to him whenever he was in sight. Bunny, because Jungkook had been fondly compared to the wide-eyed, diamond-toothed creature. It was cute when you were five. Now, it’s just discomfiting. 

“Don’t call me that,” you bite, “and I don’t like you anymore.” 

“Sure you don’t,” he rolls his eyes, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand rests on the curve of your waist, fingers slotting themselves between the pleats of your skirt. “That’s why you’re not moving away when I’m about to put my hand under your skirt. Because you don’t like me.” 

You press yourself further into the door, your skin hot and vibrating. So warm, you feel like you could melt through the door and escape from Jungkook’s gaze. Sure, the young ladies in the congregation talk. Maybe you’ve heard a story or two about Jungkook being seedy, a result of being repressed after years and years of stiff routines and expectations thrust upon him. You could care less about Jungkook’s sexual appetite, until this appetite has reached you. 

“Mm, you’re pretty,” Jungkook’s eyes roam your form, the daisy white blouse doing nothing to barricade Jungkook’s sudden interest in you, “you’ve never been touched like this, have you?” 

“I’ve touched myself like this,” you hiss in defense, and it’s more out of anger than in pleasure. You don’t need a man to comfort you, but Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in mirth at the new information. 

“That’s really sexy,” Jungkook slips down, roams his fingers down to your ankles and plays with the silver buckles of your Mary Janes. You shiver when his hands trail up up up to your knees, the swell of your thighs, and catch right under the elastic seam that holds your secrets together, “but I’ll have you know, it’s different when you have someone hold your pleasure in their hands.” 

You’re in the storage room of your church, fifteen minutes before the Christmas mass, with Jeon Jungkook’s head between your legs. Your skirt is long, and Jungkook doesn’t bother to ride it up your waist. 

It feels more forbidden that way, Jungkook hiding under the fabric of your skirt to get to your honeyed center, sneaking his way in with rough hands and soft touches.

“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your full spine against the wooden door, “we shouldn’t. N-not like this.”

What is wrong with you? Is it sheer curiosity? Do you just want to know what it finally, finally feels like? You should be pushing him away. There’s red lights flashing back and forth in your brain like sirens. Yet, do you really want to turn away the attention you’ve been aching for years? 

You imagined your first time to be relatively special. The bare minimum, a bed, a talk, and a partner you’re mutually committed to. None of those things are met. Now you understand why all the young women in church whisper about sex like this. It’s a spur of the moment, it’s an unbridled pleasure you don’t want to stop, no matter how forbidden and sinful the act is.  

“How else then?” you feel his deep voice straight through your panties, his lips whispering between the pink cotton like he’s sinking liquid heat into your skin. “I can’t sink my fingers into your sweet cunt during the candle lighting. Or when we open presents with the family after. That would be inappropriate.” 

Your replies come out in breaths, puffs of air that conceal the moans you so badly want to let out as Jungkook pokes and rubs at you. He does nothing beyond the cotton fabric, only slides two fingers up and down your slit as he gathers the arousal between his digits. 

“So wet already, that’s so sexy,” he’s kissing your core, and you sigh fretfully at the pleasure that feels so close yet so far away. 

“P-please, Jungkook…” 

“Please what?” Jungkook teases, fingers slipping back and forth between the elastic of your underwear, “please stop? Please touch me? Please fuck me?” 

The church bell answers that, and Jungkook’s nose knocks right into your bud at the sudden intrusion. You yelp at the jarring stimulation, pulling him from under your skirts as the loud noise echoes in the room. Both of you wince at the pain, the moment interjected. 

“You first,” Jungkook casually opens the door for you, as if he didn’t have you ten seconds away from begging him to make you come. 

You don’t even look at him as you dash away, not bothering to take the elevator in favor of running off the heat. Two minutes before the procession. The church is packed to the brim, only the back seats left. Your family probably gave up on waiting for you up in the front. As you sit down in the corner, you’re momentarily distracted by the beauty of a decorated church on Christmas. Even though you’re part of the decorating committee and commanded most of the design, seeing the stained glass lit up with fairy lights and the poinsettia plants blooming burgundy on the altar, you’re impressed. 

“There’s a draft here, you must be cold.” Jungkook talks to you so politely, a perfect picture of a gentleman as he drapes his leather jacket over your lap. He speaks as if it’s a pleasant surprise, a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in nearly a year. 

You can’t tell him to move when people are watching and Jungkook is seconds from interrupting the procession, so you reluctantly scoot over so he can sit next to you. His scent overwhelms you even more now that you’ll have to sit next to him for a whole hour, lavender and vanilla overtaking your pew. 

The jacket is heavy and heady on your lap, and you force yourself to stare straight ahead. Jungkook cannot weaken you like this, not anymore. 

Thirty minutes later, his fingers are hovering at the start of the homily, caressing your thighs under the jacket with his big hands. A draft? Please. You clamp your thighs together, knocking your knees and hoping they’d lock together for the rest of the mass. Jungkook’s a master key, easily parting his way as if your muscles are pure jelly. You turn your head sharply, glaring at him with all the fire in the world. 

“Careful,” Jungkook mouths, eyes flickering to the symbol atop the podium, “he’s watching.” 

His fingers finally brush the damp blush cotton of your panties, and you shudder. 

[subwaysurf45]

Ghost Rider

summary: on a mission you drop and few flirty comments to Bucky,  he might not pick up on them but Steve helps him figure it out. 

pairing: Ghost Rider!Reader x Bucky Barnes. 

words: 2375

warning: fighting, violence, burns(?), sexual innuendos 

Masterlist!

the whole “demon with the skull on fire” look was kinda hard to keep hidden, not that you wanted to. You were recruited by S.H.E.I.L.D. after a fight, the Ghost Rider needed to be stopped but you had info on the real bad guys that made you who you were, you helped the Avengers with hunting. 

your performing days were over, after crashes and trauma you tried to hide away...like before, the head on fire thing was very memorable; but you wanted to forget. 

Tony and Banner worked together to find a face for you, and after sometime -and a little input to make your hair fire-red- you looked normal, for an Avenger. 

The team sat in the conference room, Cap was leading the discussion. He was going over the plan and all the different ways it could end and the proper ways to handle the multiple endings. 

Bucky was sat beside you, he always found a way to be near, not too close but just enough. “I like the face, forgot to tell you- I mean, I didn’t see the skull because you were in a cell and only Banner and Tony saw it but still...looks nice,” he whispered, you smiled and nodded. When you looked back to Steve, out of the corner of your eye you saw Bucky shake his head, he muttered  something to himself before listening in again. 

“Like the hair,” you whispered after a couple seconds so you didn’t get caught like school, Bucky had just cut the long locks to a nice trim. “looks strong and healthy, like someone could pull it.” you joked 

“Thanks, it really stays out of my eyes-”

“Buck.” Steve slightly raised his voice, “c’mon, man.”

“Sorry,” Bucky whispered before looking out of the corner of his eye to you, you felt like kids trying to be proper in front of the adults. Bucky flashed a smirk before really listening. 

*****

You were all in the quinjet, your combat pants were full of knives, you preferred knives rather than guns; it just happened like that. Bucky sat across from you, you tried not to look at him because of his intense stare you thought your new face was going to melt off if you really focused on it. 

Everything was ready, your uniform was set. or so you thought, Bucky stood and kneeled beside you, His nimble fingers going to your left calf to zip up an open pocket. His hand rested on your knee as he took one final scan, looking at your legs and pockets. His thumb swayed back and forth as he checked, as he stood he used your thigh to get a little push up even though he didn’t need it. 

“Wow,” he dusted off his own knee from the dirty floor, “great thighs, you should teach me your workout routine.” He smirked before going back to his seat, his tongue flicked up and rested on his tooth, he was really going for it. 

and you weren’t one to lose in a battle of flirty comments, the first thing that came to mind was blurted out with the coolest tone. 

“they make great earmuffs,” you winked, but Bucky just nodded, he didn’t get the joke and you were now wondering if that complement he gave you wasn’t supposed to be sexy, he just thought you were strong.

*****

You were all camped out by the building which was deep in the forest, everyone was in position. The rain was beating down hard, you could hear thunder from afar but you knew it was getting closer. You were slightly slipping up in the mud, your boot would get caught and would almost fall off. 

the earpiece was buzzing, everyone was confirming their status and what they saw. The tall trees covered the moonlight so you would have to rely on the earpieces way more than a typical mission. 

“west entrance, clear.” you whispered. 

slowly everyone worked their way inside, your door was open so you went right in. You did have a gun on you but you knew if anyone came to fight you’d switch to knives, but long distance needed guns. 

All you needed was files, this group had too much information. 

Bucky was on the second floor, he and Nat were getting files loaded on the hard drives. She was typing away while Bucky covered her six, he scanned around and around even though the building was extremely dead and quiet. It didn’t look dead, there were no cobwebs or any tipped chairs, it looked like an office that was in use. 

“this isn’t right, they would have someone protecting the files.” Bucky muttered and left Nat’s back, going to the doorway where he came in to look again. When he turned, she was there. “I have this feeling, I don’t know wha-aah!” 

You heard a scream from upstairs, you dropped what you were doing and headed up, gun ready to open fire. Nat was looking around and breathing hard. 

“what is it?” you asked. 

“Bucky- he was there- and then not there- they’re like assassins, they are so quiet.” She was paranoid, you’d never seen her like that before. “I have all the info, but we need to find Bucky.”

the earpieces were constantly running, everyone else was listening. “We have to roll out, we’ll get Bucky soon.” Sam said, “this place is freaking me out.” 

“We can’t just leave,” you shake your head, but Natasha was already leading you out.

As you reached the outside Natasha let go of her death grip, you shook off her hands and looked back to the building, something was wrong; there should be sounds of movement.

“It’s too dark in there and this won’t end well, I’m calling the shots and I say no.'' Steve put his foot down and towered over, you were a little shorter but the build of that man made you feel small.

You turned back and headed to the door, Steve tried to grab hold of you but he retracted his hand with a hiss. He looked at the palm of his hand and saw it was red, there were already pus bubbles forming.

“You burnt me?” Steve yelled.

You closed your eyes as Steve yelled nothing at you, you needed to help Bucky and you were going to do whatever you needed to do. Your head started to heat gradually, like boiling water. The fake couldn’t hold your heat, the jaw began to melt exposing the skull you used to sport; a little melted near your left eye. But what changed the most was your hair, like a bonfire it was big and tall; you were now taller than Steve. Red flames licked the air as the blue flames in the middle stayed almost still, a ball of light from the actual fire on your head lit around you, allowing you to see.

“I did burn you, third degree.” You sneered and walked to the door, “and if you’re gonna leave Bucky and make me save him, get me Steve’s bike.” You left them with the sound of the door slamming to echo around the vacant forest, it rang louder than thunder and rain.

You walked around, trying to hear for any sign of life. Your heart dropped when you heard a muffled scream, it had to be Bucky. Your feet stomped and echoed up the stairs and the screaming got louder and more despite, when you turned the corner you saw Bucky strapped by the ankles and wrists to a medical table, his eyes were wide with fear and his mouth was stuffed with some rag. 

“oh god,” you muttered and ripped out the cloth in his mouth. 

Bucky didn’t even give himself time to breathe, “ghost! It’s fucking ghosts- and they went through me- i can see your jaw bone- and then they could-your head in on fire- and then I’m tied- and- BEHIND YOU!” 

you turned and saw a ghost, your flaming hair swooshed and shot out sparks because of how fast you turned. The ghost had a knife in his hand, and three emerged from behind him. They were opaque and seemed like ghost zombies, parts of them were missing. 

There was a stand off for three seconds before the fighting started, and Bucky could barely see what was going on. You danced around the ghosts with ease and it seemed as though you knew what was coming, he wanted to help but as much as he tugged on the restraints he couldn’t break free. HIs body was about to give out, he was in shock and he was tired like everyone else; but being tied up made him remember his Hydra days and that was enough to make him become small. 

“I got you,” you muttered and untied him, the ghosts were gone. 

“how did you-...?” Bucky didn’t need to finish his sentence. 

“I took one of their knives and used it on them, they couldn’t die from our real weapons so I had to use theirs, it was easy.” you got him out and helped him up,  Bucky was putting most of his body weight onto you. 

“You’re warm,” Bucky tiredly muttered, he was about to pass out. 

“I know, I have fire hair,” you said with a smirk, the fire helped you out of the building. Just for safe measures you leaned down and allowed your hair to light the wall, the rain that was pouring outside would put out your fire and you’d just have normal hair but it would also put out the fire that would start in the building; you didn’t want it to burn the entire forest down. 

Bucky was about to collapse on you, his eyelids hovered and barely stayed open.  he looked sick, his face was green and extremely pale. 

“I-I need to sit..” Bucky slurred and fell against the bottom of the staircase, “I think they drugged me...” You tried to pick him back up again but he was heavier than you. 

“Buck, we gotta go,” you warned. 

he sloppy grin covered his face, “you’re cute when you’re stressed, I love it!” he sang, “you’re always so cute, I just wanna put you in my back pocket and take you everywhere with me- Oh! I could put you in my backpack and... oh that a good idea, good one, James.” Bucky giggled as he thought of taking you everywhere with him. 

“You’re definitely drugged,” you giggled and got him up again, when he protested you thought of staying for a bit longer but the fire you light was fast approaching, “Shit!'' you yanked Bucky up and headed for the door, only then did you notice a oxygen pipe running down the wall, “Bucky was gotta go!” 

you busted through the door and smiled widely at Steve’s bike waiting there for you, you carried Bucky over and put him on the seat and you got in front of him. 

“My butt is wet!” Bucky yelled like a child, it had been there for a while because of the pool of water on the seat.

“Hold on!” you yelled, the engine revved and as your feet left the ground the bike took off. There was mud everywhere, little potholes and murky water splashing up. you spotted a ramp-type-mud-thing near a tree and went for it. Bucky saw it too and grabbed hold, “Bucky!” you yelled. 

“What?” his voice was shaky. 

“That’s my boob!” you screamed as you went up the ramp, the building exploded behind you and Bucky forgot to move his hand, the loud noise made him hold tighter, “Ow!’ you grumbled as you landed, going at top speed. 

Bucky lowered his hand, “sorry, sorry, sorry, god i didn’t mean to, sorry,” he kept repeating himself, you could feel the blush radiating on his cheeks from behind you. 

“Never said I didn’t like it...” you muttered. 

“What did you say?” Bucky asked, but he didn’t get an answer because you were back with the rest of the group. 

You all went home, Bucky was wheeled to the medical ward to see what he was drugged with and you went to your room. 

*****

Steve was holding a laptop as he walked into Bucky’s room, he was still in a hospital bed in the med center, it had been a couple days and Bucky was feeling fine; it was a mix of shock and some random drug they never really identified. 

“Alright, I’m showing you something,” Steve’s eyebrows were knitted together, he opened the laptop and it had the audio recordings from the earpieces from the last mission. 

“Those earpieces save?” Bucky groggily asked. 

“Yes, and I’m showing you this.” Steve had pulled audio clips, “you and y/n need to stop flirting and actually do something, I can’t keep hearing this in my ear all the time.” he sighed and hit play. 

‘great thighs, you should teach me your workout routine’

‘they make great earmuffs’

Steve deadpanned to Bucky, Bucky just shrugged, “I didn’t know what she meant by that so I just smiled and nodded.” 

“Bucky!” Steve yelled, “where does your head need to be for her thighs to make earmuffs?”

“between her legs?” But was picturing a really fatal choke hold that Nat did once. 

“what else is between her legs?” 

“her- oh...” his face went from confused to red, “oh...!” Bucky bug eyes met Steve’s knowing face. 

“and you grabbed her boob, and just listen to what she says when you moved it.” Steve scrolled a bit and then hit play. 

‘never said I didn’t like it...’

“I was drugged, I didn’t know what she was saying!” Bucky cried, “I can’t believe it went over my head.”

“go talk to her!” Steve said. 

Bucky stood up and rolled his shoulders back, he walked out of the med center and to the rooms, and at one point he thought about turning around and wimping out but he held strong and kept going. Once he was at your door he knocked and you opened pretty quickly. 

“I-” he cleared his throat, “I was thinking about you,” Bucky said. 

“really?” you smirked. 

“ya... I was wondering if you had a pair of earmuffs I could try on?”

[spvce-cowboy]

songbird

ch. 4 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 3: “reunion”

next-ch. 5: “the hero’s shoulders”

rating: mature

11.3k words

warnings: PERIL!!!, violence, alcohol and drug use, jealous/protective mando

a/n: apologies in advance for the slight cliffhanger—this chapter got WAAAYY too long so I had to split in two. luckily means I’ll be able to get the next one out to you all asap ! <3

summary: you are forced to go undercover in order to help Mando capture his next quarry, the lionized Tyreus Cavill. 

**

You’re most nervous about remembering the proper steps to a waltz. You know, instead of being worried about aiding one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy on his highest profile mission yet. Because that totally makes sense, right?

At the Estate, you and Febhana were taught dancing in order to entertain the Lord’s guests. Digging up any memories from that period of your life is enough to have the taste bile flood your mouth. You do your best to swallow it down, keeping a cool face for your sake and everyone else’s.

Honestly, you’d trade being afraid of the known over the unknown any day. The anxiety of remembering your time at the Estate was more familiar, something you could deal with, and have been for years now.

Thinking too hard about the severity of the current situation, about how you had absolutely no idea what you were doing, that was the kind of fear you avoid at all possible cost. So you settle for being nervous about a waltz, nothing more and nothing less.

Mando is seated beside the driver. He doesn’t turn back to address you and Febhana directly, instead tilting his head slightly in order to look at the two of you through the rearview mirror. Before the three of you left, he gave you a small listening device that you now have tucked against the edge of the undergarments you have on. The dress is too exposing to hide it anywhere else.

He debriefs you on the specifics of the mission the entire ride there, showing you multiple images of the quarry, plans of action, a blur of different scenarios and how you should react that you have already quickly forgotten in the haze of your building anxiety.

“The main rule is no secondary locations,” he concludes. “We can’t risk either of you being alone with him. It’s too unstable of a situation as is.”

You nod, staring at him through his partial reflection. From the back of your mind there’s a quiet glimmer of endearment, how you’ve never seen him this thorough about a hunt—Mando seems more like a wing-it-and-figure-it-out-from-there kind of guy. You’re not sure if you’re getting special treatment because he doesn’t like involving someone like you in his job or because this quarry is too valuable of a target to botch. The former doesn’t add to your anxiety, so you run with that.

You tear your eyes from the mirror when Febhana digs through her purse and plops a set of papers in your lap. You examine them closely, trying to bring the little details to memory as best you could.

“Is that even a real name?” You ask, face screwed up slightly, pointing where it’s listed on the fake ID.

Febhana cranes her neck over your shoulder, looking down at the papers with you. “Sophste Wilkbail? Sure, sounds like a poet or something. You can play that up.”

From the front seat, Mando gives a sardonic huff of air. It’s such a cruel sound you can practically visualize the scowl he’s put behind it. Febhana rolls her eyes.

“Listen, darling, believability is just about the last thing we need to worry about, right now,” Febhana settles back into her side of the speeder’s velveteen cabin. “Hiding who you are is more important. As soon as we get past the guards it’ll be easy. Just try your best to pretend like this is any other party.”

You neglect to tell her that you have not been to any parties besides the ones at the Estate. Instead, you nod, training your gaze out the front windshield.

The driver lights another cigarette as he pulls the speeder into a line of idling vehicles that border the streets outside the Tagge mansion. You can tell that you’ve arrived by the bright lights and banners flooding from the building’s open face, an intimidating amount of guards tucked away at every discernible outpost. You drum your fingers against your knee to the song you can faintly hear playing from the radio.

Febhana’s soft hand against your arm breaks you from your reverie. Her words are far more gentle now. “Are you ready?”

You nod. It’s a sharp, curt movement of your head. Steadfast. You’re kind of scared shitless, but determined. She smiles at you, widely, and it’s enough to have you smiling back.

“Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

**

The first thing you are certain of upon entering the Tagge’s mansion is the fact that this isn’t a home. It’s a cathedral. Possibly the biggest, most extravagant place you’ve ever been in.

The entranceway alone is enough to have you clinging to Febhana’s side a little tighter than you had initially intended to. It looks like… it looks like a marble maw, stretched open, fangs bared. You and Febhana follow the tongue-like carpet down the hall in small, measured steps. She takes to ducking her head in greeting to those she recognizes, you  

It only takes a few moments for you to realize the awe you’re feeling is a strange combination of genuine wonder and pure intimidation. You think that’s the point. It doesn’t help with the uneasy feeling that’s situated itself in the cavity of your chest since getting into the car.

“They like to play pretend royalty here, don’t they?” Febhana mutters under her breath, giving a polite smile to a passing guard as she does. “Stars, you’d think they’d try to lay claim to Naboo itself with a place as decked out as this. Tasteless.”

You huff a laugh as she continues to lead you down the main hall. You try to look as dignified as possible, as if environments like this were an everyday occurrence. It’s difficult to do, but with the assurance of her at your side and Mando a few rigid steps behind you, the anxiety pressing from within your chest is somewhat quelled.

The main dancehall is filled with people. Everything—from the tall curtains to the paintings on the walls—is in cool tones of green and gold, interrupted by great expanses of marble. At the far end of the room are two twisting staircases leading to a platform where the band is playing. The ceiling has some kind of intricate mural you desperately want to examine, but when you try to crane your head back Febhana tugs at your arm slightly, reminding you to play it cool.

You square your shoulders as Mando sidesteps to remain pressed against the walls with the other guard droids, the movement a little too fluid for someone who is supposed to be a robot. You pray everyone is too drunk to notice. They are.

With Mando’s presence lost you sink a little further into your anxiousness as Febhana begins introducing you to a flurry of different people. She delicately places a drink in your hands from a passing server, murmuring a word of encouragement in your ear before moving to the next group. It all passes in a blur, but smiling and graciously dipping your head seems to get you through a lot of the interactions without having to actually pay attention.

You quickly realize she is strategically maneuvering her way towards the stage—or, rather, those who are gathered beneath it. There are a collection of small tables lining the perimeter where people are seated if they are not dancing. Below the stage are three larger tables that overlook the entirety of the ballroom. It’s too crowded from where you’re standing to see any of the occupants.

What you really notice, right after taking in what you can of your surroundings, is that there will be no feasible way for you to pull this off. Not here in the Tagge house at least. Every entrance into the private portions of the house are heavily guarded, cameras everywhere. You do your best to swallow the mounting sense of dread, keeping a smile on your face while Febhana continues to lead you through so many introductions all the names and faces blur together.

You tug at Febhana’s arm slightly between introductions to signal your need to speak with her. She eventually pulls you into the cubby of a towering window after disentangling the two of you from another meaningless conversation.

“Febhana,” you lower your voice and maintain small smile on your face to keep prying eyes and ears disinterested. Better safe than sorry. “There’s no way this is going to work. Not here. I’ve counted at least five guards around every possible entrance.”

“I know, I saw,” Febhana takes a deep breath, eyes wandering out the window. “Let’s just… tough it out. See what happens. I don’t really want to get on the Guild’s bad side, or your friend’s for that matter.”

You wince slightly as the idea that this plan could affect her in any way but nod, trying to swallow your guilt in not fully thinking through how much you were asking of her to help you and Mando out like this. You step out of the little alcove and move your way back to the perimeter of the floor.

From this vantage point, you can see one of Febhana friends wander up to the main tables and hug a seated boy in greeting. The contact leans down and says something in the boy’s ear before turning back to glance at where you are standing.

You’re close enough, now, to realize the table the contact just approached is where the Tagge siblings are sitting. The playboys surrounding them have such a loud presence you’re surprised you didn’t notice them earlier.

They’re all practically kids, at least a year or two younger than you, but they act in that way where they knew they were untouchable. They have lived and breathed an entire lifetime of knowing that they are people who could get away with absolutely anything—and have, more than once. It radiates off of every movement they make, from the way they throw their heads back in obnoxious laughter, to the cruel tilt of their mouths as they speak. Everything about them set off some deep-seeded instinct in you to stay away.

Scanning their faces, you recognize the quarry almost instantly.

The photos Mando showed you didn’t do him justice. Tyreus Cavill is wearing a crisp black suit and has skin so pale it’s nearly opalescent. His hair is slicked back close to his scalp, the severe nature of his bone structure combined with some of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen gives him the appearance of a leering jackal. 

Cavill stares up at the ceiling, tracing the rim of his wineglass with long fingers as the person seated beside him speaks. He looks bored--they all do, a kind of lax slant to their gathered bodies that stands in stark contrast to the tight, aloof postures of most everyone else around them.

You tear your eyes from Cavill as the boy that Febhana’s contact is talking to begins to stand. You look at the new boy evenly from where you’re standing, holding his gaze as confidently as you can, before turning back to where Febhana is standing behind you.

Febhana flashes you a sly look. You can practically see the gears turning in her head as she flicks her eyes in the direction of the Tagge brothers and Cavill. You quickly put two and two together.

Whoever it was that’s approaching you right now is your invite to the table. Possibly the only one you’d be getting all night.

“I’ve got eyes on him,” you murmur to yourself, hoping Mando’s device can pick it up. You glance to where he is positioned against the wall and see him dip his head slightly in response. Feeling a little more confident, you pull your shoulders back and pretend to make conversation with Febhana.

The boy enters your periphery shortly thereafter, standing at your side as he greets Febhana first.

“Febhana,” the boy tucks his head in greeting to her, then turns his gaze to you. His hair is a thick mop of curls, nose slightly twisted in a way that suggests he isn’t too good at fighting. The crooked smile he gives you is warm enough to push off your initial feeling of disquiet concerning his friends. “And who is this?”

“Lucius, this is my old friend, Sopheste Wilkbail,” Febhana introduces you by your fake name, then motions to the boy. “Sopheste, this is Lucius Laycam, his father owns the racetrack we went to earlier.”

“Dreadful business,” Lucius’s eyes glint, keeping his head tucked slightly in that way men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You don’t like the fact that he knows to say something like that, it demonstrates an ability to read you too easily.  

Lucius takes your hand delicately, leaning down to kiss the ridges of your knuckles. He straightens to say his next words directly into your ear, getting unnecessarily close to do so.

“I’d like to treat you to a dance, if you don’t mind,” his voice rumbles. Your eyes flick to the table from over his shoulder. You make brief eye contact with Cavill, who has leveled his head to take a swig straight from the decanter at the center of the table, entirely disregarding the glass already in his hand. Cavill actually looks at you this time, and holds it, albeit briefly. Lucius finishes his proposal as you train your gaze back to the floor, “And then another drink.”

You give him your best smile and nod. It’s just a small dip of your head, but he eagerly pulls you away from Febhana and towards the center of the dance-floor.

Luckily for you, Lucius isn’t a flashy dancer. He’s amicable in a way you weren’t expecting, considering the company he keeps. He reminds you a lot of the village boy you were having a bit of a fling with before you left Am’ile’s planet: slightly empty-headed, but cute, and very enthusiastic about whatever task he’s put to. There’s a certain goofiness to him that pushes away any residual anxiety with the fits of laughter you tumble into as a direct result of his antics.

It’s kind of… exciting. You don’t want to admit it fully, but there’s something thrilling about someone taking so much interest in you. You’ve been so touch-starved that just the feeling of his hand partially cupping your exposed back in enough to send butterflies straight to your stomach. A different kind of anxious butterflies. Good butterflies.

Maker, it’s only been a few months since you left Am’ile’s and you’ve already been reduced to a giddy schoolgirl at the very brush of someone’s hand against your bare skin. You don’t know how Mando does it, you really don’t.

Lucius pulls the two of you to a halt when the band dies down, the singer murmuring something unintelligible into the mic.

“It was a pleasure, Miss Wilkbail,” he steps back, kissing your hand again and bowing. By this point you’ve figured out that his exaggerated, gentlemanly manner is just another shtick of his. You press your lips together to poorly conceal a giggle, giving him your own mock curtsey in turn.

“And you, Mr. Laycam.”

“Now if you’d like to join me, I’m on a mission to get absolutely plastered before these blowhards,” he motions to the others on the dancefloor with a twirl of his finger, “find a way to make this night even more suffocating than it already is.”

“Sounds just about perfect,” you say as you take the arm he offers you. He pulls you toward the table and you try to keep up with his long strides, bunching some of the skirt of your dress in your hand and lifting the fabric to prevent tripping.

Lucius pulls out a seat for you, introducing you to the playboys seated beside him. You’re directly across from Cavill, who is still nursing the table’s decanter, completely disengaged from the conversation occurring between the two friends that are seated on either side of him.

“Are you new to Canto?” The playboy who asks is a Tagge twin, one of the three brothers who are currently seated at the table with you. You can tell by the signature white-blonde hair.

“A friend of mine wanted me to stay with her for a while,” you say, graciously taking the champagne glass that Lucius plucks off a passing server’s tray to offer you.

“Febhana, you sister’s friend,” Lucius clarifies for the Tagge boy.

“The visiting court singer Heresta was telling me about, before?” The Tagge brother directs the question to Lucius, when his friend nods he raises both eyebrows and shoots you a grin.

“I’m still in training,” you clarify with a nervous laugh, finding it easier to talk if your eyes are trained on the glass in your hand. “But yes, that’d be me. The court singer.”

“What did you say?”

Cavill’s voice quiets the conversations of the other playboys almost immediately. The other Tagge brothers glance over but quickly resume a normal volume. The hierarchy of the table becomes very clear, after that.

“I’m training to be a court singer,” you repeat yourself, sliding your head towards the quarry with your best stab at a cool, practiced gaze of utter ambivalence. Cavill’s eyes remain trained on you, utterly serpentine.

Ah. You press your lips together and look down at your hands folded neatly in your lap, initial resolve broken.

“A court singer?” His voice is a low purr. You raise your gaze again. It seems as though once he takes interest in something, most of his buddies do too. A few of them glance away from their conversations to give you a scathing examination. It takes everything within you to not crawl out of your own skin. So much for the ease you felt back on the dancefloor. “Will you sing for us?”

Your cheeks fill with a heat that quickly travels to your chest. Didn’t expect that. Maybe you should have.

“I... Not here. The singer the Tagges have hired is so lovely, I’m afraid they far outshine me,” your eyes flick back up to his at your last word, you do your best to mask your burning revulsion as shyness.

“That wasn’t a request.” Cavill’s response is so blunt and immediate you actually flinch a little.

“C’mon Tyreus,” Lucius’s voice is quick to intervene. “Leave her alone, she just got here.”

Cavill blinks slowly, as if his eyelids are too taxing of a weight for him to bear. He hums, leaning back in his seat slightly and stretching his arms out to rest on the backs of the chairs on either side of him.

When it becomes clear he has nothing else to say, the other conversations at the table continue as a normal. As if there were no previous interruption. You gradually return to the sense of ease you’d begun to develop earlier, the feeling is seemingly dependent on Cavill’s lack of attention.

Eventually, one of the playboys taps Lucius on the shoulder in passing, quickly murmuring something in his ear before leaving the table to chase down one of the serves for another decanter. Lucius nods, then turns back to you.

“Tyreus wants to extend an invitation to a club we’re going to in an hour or so, if you’d like to join us,” his fingers graze over the peak of your exposed shoulder from where his arm is resting against the back of your seat. For some reason it does not feel as nice as his touch had previously. It’s more intentional, all his playfulness gone. You think that’s why. “Way better than this shit, not so fuckin’ rigid. More private.”

The emphasis he places on those last words is so overt you have to resist an eye-roll. You nod, trying to keep your expression light and ditzy while straightening slightly in your chair. “Tell him it would be an honor.”

Lucius smiles, the fingers that were tracing the line of your opposite shoulder coming up to brush against the shell of your ear. You blink at the touch, vaguely aware of his face inching closer to yours.

You stand without warning, mumbling something about having to use the bathroom before quickly maneuvering your way around the tables and through the arching marble columns that line the ballroom. You walk as briskly as you can into one of the adjoining hallways, following it down and into the women’s bathroom.

Taking a shuttering breath, you place your hands on your hips and close your eyes. Your brain runs at a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to adapt the plan as Mando communicated it to you, considering the fact that Cavill’s posse was leaving within the hour.

You reach your conclusion quickly. You’re the one with the invite, with the way into the inner circle. No time to try and bring Febhana along with you. Honeypot it is.

The bathroom door slamming open breaks you from your thoughts. You gasp, hand pressed to your chest as you whip around. There’s a second of blind panic at the decorated droid stiffly stands at the door’s threshold, both fists clenched at its side, before you remember Mando’s disguise.

You open your mouth indignantly to scold him for bursting in like that but he holds a finger up to shush you, entering the bathroom in one long stride, checking under the stalls for people then briskly locking the main door behind him.

He’s furious. It’s the most blatant display from him you think you’ve ever seen.

“I—” Mando grits out. “Your singing. He doesn’t deserve to get that. None of them do. They’re just using it to get to you.”

You blink twice, completely baffled that that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

He makes another frustrated sound, obviously recognizing your shock, and tries to clarify. “They were… clearly making you uncomfortable but they just kept pushing you—you shouldn’t have to just sit there and take that—"

“Yeah, Mando, that’s kind of how flirting works when you’re dealing with a bunch of entitled assholes,” you snap, finally finding your words. Out of any other possible thing he could be angry about and this was it? “I’ll have to play into what they want to get closer to Cavill. Lucius seems sweet, a little overbearing but sweet. It’ll be fine.”

You’re already hovering the fine line between tipsy and just plain tired. All you want is to get home at this point—your feet hurt, the dress is uncomfortable, and, by your book, making conversation with these silver-spoon pricks could be comparable to pulling teeth. You love Febhana, and you could see the fun in a night like this, but you’re also trying to help Mando do his damn job and if he doesn’t start cooperating—

“He doesn’t. Lay. A finger. On you.” There’s an anger in his voice you’ve never encountered before, not while directed at you, at least. It stops any other thoughts from entering your head. He takes a deep, quivering breath to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “If you’re… if you don’t want it. He will not even look at you. The second—I don’t care if it makes a scene I’ll—"

“Mando.” You lay a hand on his chest. He instantly freezes. “I know that. Thank you. I’m a big girl, I can hold my own. It’s okay.” Trying to lighten the mood, you lift your chin up a bit, smiling at him as brightly as you can manage. “Can we please just talk about how we’re gonna pull this off?”

He gives you a tight nod.

“I… I know that you’ve been doing this for a lot longer than I have, which is the understatement of the millennia, but just… hear me out here. Lucius just invited me to go with them to a club—like, right now.” You feel like if you stop talking he won’t listen to what you have to say, so you keep plowing forward. “I know you made a point about no secondary locations. But, if we have the time I think the best plan of action would be for me to split off, go with them to the club and draw him out to you in some way. The security here is so tight, there’s no way I think we could pull this off without it blowing back on Febhana. She’s important to me and I would appreciate if we could get her out of this scot-free.”

You take a breath, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction thus far. When he doesn’t interject, you continue, keeping your hand on his chest as you speak—for some reason you feel like he listens to you better when you do. “Lucius mentioned that things are way more lax there, so I’m thinking that’ll translate to security measures too. I’m sure Febhana is familiar enough wherever they’re going. She can give you enough intel to be able to get an idea of the place on your way over. Then we can go home.”

“I agree.” His reluctance is palpable, but his next words are far more level-headed than you expected. “You’re right, we shouldn’t jeopardize Febhana. Try to get one of them to tell you a specific location and I can meet you there. I just—” he flexes his hands. “I need to get off this planet.”

“I know,” you sigh, giving his chest a reassuring pat before turning away to go back to the line of mirrors stationed above the sinks, checking your makeup. “Me too.”

You turn on the faucet and lean down to drink straight from the tap. You’re stone sober at this point and the icy water is potentially the best thing you’ve ever tasted. The headache pushing at the back of your eyes has increased to a dull throb.

Mando’s voice from behind you. “Ladylike.”

You turn off the sink and straighten, rolling your eyes. “Oh bite me,” the sharpness of your voice is negated by the laugh you have to push through to get the words out. Relieved that the charged air between the two of you has dissipated, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Let’s get this over with, I’m exhausted.”

Mando escorts you back down the dimly lit hall, the low hum of the party forms a gradual crescendo the closer you get to the intricate archway where the hallway breaches the ballroom. He pulls you to a stop with a hand on your forearm before you are able to enter.

Despite the heels you’re wearing, he still has to lean down to speak to you.

“Be careful,” he murmurs. Unexpectedly, he swipes his thumb across your elbow before turning heel and rejoining the other droids against the wall.

It’s such an unnecessary motion you can’t help but freeze, unsure how to process that small display of… well, if you didn’t know any better you’d describe it as intimacy. And not the unique sort of platonic camaraderie you’ve started getting used with him. It feels too much like a stolen gesture for that. Something he’s only done out of a pure disregard for his usual utilitarian ethos.  

You swallow and square your shoulders, putting on the best smile you can before heading back to the Tagge table.

Biting your lip as you sink down onto the seat beside Lucius, you drag the knuckles of a relaxed hand down the length of his arm.

“Could I say goodbye to Febhana before we go?” You say as innocently as possible, still figuring out a way to organically ask where the fuck they were going to be taking you without acting too suspicious.

Lucius’s eyes flick over the table, only a few of the seats have emptied. Cavill is gone already.

“Yeah, that should be fine. Just find me when you’re done.”

You stand back up, stretching your neck to find your friend among the crowd. Quickly spotting Febhana, you navigate your way back through the crowd. Just as she has predicted, the uptight façade of the event is quickly dissolving as glasses empty and bodies inch closer together. The crowd you are now navigating through seems completely different from the one you’d encountered upon first entering the dancehall. The heady breath of the gathered crowd leaves a different crackle of energy over the room—considering Cavill’s circle wants to leave this for something “more exciting” is foreboding. Wherever you end up, you’ll deal.

Reaching Febhana’s side, you gently touch her arm to get her attention. She turns, smiling as she sees you.

“There you are! I thought I’d lost you,” she aligns her inner forearms with the length of yours, gripping you lightly in greeting. Touch was once meant survival for the two of you. Back on the Estate, sometimes the only communication you would be able to engage in for days on end, the smallest of reassurances are sometimes the most solid. Old habits die hard. You reciprocate the motion, grasping the inner portion of her elbows.

You duck your head in the direction of the person she was speaking to in a small apology for interrupting. Leaning in to quietly inform her of the change of plans, you tell her that Mando is going to try to meet you at the club. Febhana keeps a straight face as you do, but there’s a glint of worry in her gaze.

“Alright,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll tell the driver to wait outside. He can pick you up and take you back to the apartment when you’re ready to call it a night. I’ve prepared the guest room for you, the service droid can lead you there.”

“Febhana—” your brow furrows as you pull back, unwilling to take advantage of her kindness more than you already have, let alone her only way home. She interrupts you before you can insist.

“I’m going for drinks with friends after this, I’ll ride with them. Please, darling,” she kisses your cheek. “Good luck, and be safe,” she says softly as she pulls back, still gripping you by both elbows. You squeeze her forearms, giving a curt nod.

“I’ve learned from the best,” you manage a confident smile and disentangle her arms from yours. You tell her you’ll update her over the comlink and turn to rejoin Lucius, who was in the midst of his own farewells.

Febhana leaves as you wait for Lucius to finish his conversation. Mando has long since disappeared from his place at the wall. Taking a deep breath, you keep your shoulders back and your head high. You were completely alone.

**

There are five neat lines of spice on the mirrored platter. The Tagge twin is the one to offer it to you, pushing the surface in your direction before sinking back into the velveteen material of the curved couch.

You are in a private room at the club, one of a series of pod-like structures suspended over the dance-floor. The private pod opens into an expansive piece of curved glass that fills out the rest of its intended, ovular, form. If it weren’t for all the plush carpeting, the liquor and smoke and sultry lighting, it would make a decent observation deck. The room makes you feel like the surrounding world is a fish tank, all those people below you just interesting little creatures to look down at and inspect.

There’s something about the very nature of the space that drips luxury—but it’s a kind far removed from the crisp marble lines of the Tagge mansion. This is all seduction. All contours. All darkness and deep tones of amber, starkly contrasting against the pulsing blue lights of the dance-floor below.

The table before you is cluttered with empty glasses, bottles, as well as a few personal items owned by the boys who had already left to chase down the bodies below: a tuxedo tie here, a watch probably worth more than the Crest itself there—you know, the usual things you abandon in search of a warm mouth.

Lucius and Cavill are sharing a cigarette, the burning cherry one of the brightest sources of light in the room. Everything else is illuminated by low shades of red and orange from the warbling fixtures woven against the solid portion of the wall, which then part to trace the curved edges of the observation window.

The music is subdued at this height, yet the grinding pulse of a guitar still sends vibrations through the floor. Through you. The boys’ cigarette traces patterns between them as they exchange it, back and forth, saying very little in between.

Taking a deep breath, you glance down at the platter on the table. You press your lips together, glancing up at Lucius, then Cavill, who has gradually started to pay more attention to you the further into the night you descend.

Pretending to take another sip of your drink, you push the platter towards Lucius. Trying not to draw too much attention to your refusal, you move a little closer to his body as a potential distraction. Either it works or they didn’t care to begin with. Lucius curves into himself, pressing a finger against his nostril to inhale a line. Cavill does two.

Genuinely, there’s no way they could find any kind of appeal to this. You just can’t fathom it—they barely talk to one another, this group. And when they do they seem just as bored in the act as everyone else is. You’d take a night spent with Mando and the kid over this any day.

The Tagge boy jolts back awake, blearily rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The motion is so sudden it startles you, jumping slightly as he pushes away from the table.

“M’gonna go downstairs,” Tagge’s legs wobble like a newborn calf’s might. “Getta girl.” His departure is unceremonious, just like the others had been. You have a feeling the only thing keeping Lucius at this table is you, and the only thing keeping you at this table is Cavill. Fuck doesn’t really cut it.

As the two of them work on what remains on the platter, you carefully shift out of the circular booth, pacing over to the glass wall to look down at the crowd of writhing bodies.

“Have y’ever been to this place before?” Lucius asks after a moment. He stretches over the top of the couch to look down at the crowd with you. As he does, because you think the universe genuinely hates you, you notice Mando’s disguised silhouette—he’s barely concealed by the darkness of the dance-floor’s periphery. You look away as to not draw too much attention to that one spot.

“No. Never. I’ve been cooped up at the conservatory for most of my life,” you say as angle your body towards the couch, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall with one shoulder. Like this, you’re able to keep Mando in the very edges of your periphery.

What you just said was true for your mother, you knew that. Honestly, you’ve gotten through most of the night by just adopting what you remember about her. It was far too natural of a mask to adopt—maybe that should have creeped you out, but the ease of being able to do so is comforting considering the scope of the mission before you.

You take a breath to clear your mind, needing to get ahead of the conversation before either of them can corner you in a story you’re not able to fabricate. You need to give Mando a clue about where the hell you are.

“How far up do you think we are?” You ask, cocking your head slightly, praying that Mando’s comlink can hear your above what you’re sure is a raucous crowd. It works, you see his head jerk up to finally notice the private rooms above him. Thank the Maker.

“I dunno,” Lucius turns his head to look where you’re looking. “You afraid of heights or something?”

You give a nonchalant laugh, shaking your head slightly. By the time you look back up to scan the crowd one more time you’ve lost track of Mando. Either he’s disappeared in the mass of bodies or he’d gone completely. You have absolutely no clue, and you don’t want to draw attention by continuing to search for him.

Leveling your gaze back to the two boys, you look them over in a way you hope will draw either’s attention. Both are belligerently intoxicated, the glasses before them long since emptied, the smell of spice thick. It gives Cavill the air of a cat luxuriously stretched in the sun, as if it were just some kind of a natural, comfortable state for him.

As if he can read your thoughts, he speaks.

“Why wouldn’t you sing for us, earlier,” Cavill’s voice alone is enough to make your skin crawl. He ashes the cigarette he was smoking. There’s a loud sound of inhaling from Lucius, whose shadowy form is hunched over the table as he finishes what is left on the platter before him.

“Could you quit it,” Lucius mumbles as he rubs either side of his nose, head thrown back as he sniffs indignantly. “She obviously doesn’t want to.”

“If you were shy earlier, it’s just the three of us now. Completely different,” Cavill says, reaching over to wipe his fingers over the platter’s surface. He rubs his gums with the residue. You expect Lucius to defend you and divert the conversation like he’d done earlier. He doesn’t. Cavill sucks his teeth, leaning back once again. “Sing. I want to hear you.”

“It just feels strange is all,” you bite your lip, voice admittedly a bit brisk in how absent-mindedly it disregards what Cavill is asking. Your turn your gaze back out over the club, mainly to get Cavill’s off you.

You’re worried about Mando, about how long it’s taken him to give you some kind of sign that he’s ready. Maybe he’s waiting until you’re completely alone with Cavill? He pushed that in the car, how this whole thing has to be done as quietly as possible. The problem is that you’ve got absolutely no idea how to get Lucius out of the picture.

“Before there were too many people and now there are too little? What do you want?” Cavill’s words float in the air behind you as you pace to the bar cart, determined to busy your hands by remaking the drink you hadn’t touched since entering the room. “Isn’t that what you’re training for?”

Maybe Mando has been stopped? Your eyes flick to the circular doors partitioning the enclosed room from the catwalk hallway. You remember loudly greeting the guards that were there when the posse first entered the room, giving him the best heads up you could organically muster. Could he take both of them out on his own? Quietly?

“Um, yeah I suppose. It’s just different, there. In conservatory.” Dropping ice into your glass, you hear Cavill scoff. Lucius mumbles something. You bend slightly to get some of the bitters from the cart’s lower shelf.

And an explosion of glass shatters right where your head just was.

You whip around in shock, only to see Cavill already standing, swaying a bit on his feet, dress-shirt partially unbuttoned and messily untucked. It’s almost like some kind of switch went off, transforming him into something utterly unrecognizable.

He’s a fucking mess. Eyes nearly black. The empty decanter from the Tagge mansion in his hand.

“In conservatory,” he mocks, his lips pulled upwards in a vicious snarl. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Before you can react, the decanter is being flung at you—it misses, again. Shattering on the ground in front of you this time. You press yourself as far as you can against the bar cart, eyes wide. Cavill spits, then wipes his mouth with his hand, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Kneel.”

Horrified, your gaze flicks from Lucius back to the tantrum-throwing, wolf-eyed aristocrat standing in front of you.

“What?” You ask incredulously, browns knitted together in complete confusion.

“I said kneel,” Cavill jabs his finger to the ground. “Pick that shit up.”

Lucius does a poor job of concealing a pained grimace. Or maybe you’ve grown far too good at reading the tiniest expressions from your masked companion that you’ve become hyper-aware of these kind of things. He gives a small: “Maker, Tyreus.” If it were supposed to be a warning it was a shitty one.

Survival instincts set in immediately. You turn your eyes to the floor and make your breathing as small and quiet as possible. Obediently, you comply. Kneeling on the ground and reaching out a shaking hand to begin plucking the shards from the carpet.

Cavill stalks behind you in an instant, one hand sealing around the back of your neck and pushing your head down to immobilize you. Simultaneously, his other hand wraps around your wrist, twisting your arm back and making your body to fold in on itself, pressing you into the ground.

You can’t help but cry out, the sharp motion forcing you to quickly catch yourself with your free hand. Your palm lands directly in the broken glass. You’d give anything to erase the wet sound it makes from your head forever.

It takes you less than a second to realize he’s trying to force your face into the carpet. Into it. Fuck.

“D’you want to tell me, huh?” He’s folds in half to speak directly in your ear, his spit hitting your cheek. He twists your arm further, grinding the hand supporting the rest of your body deeper into the glass. You grit your teeth to prevent another pained sound from escaping. “Wanna tell me who the fuck you think you are? Too good for me, whore? Too good for all this?”

The doors burst open. Cavill lets go of you in shock, it gives you time to crawl away from him as Mando levels his blaster at the boy. You scrape one of your knees in the process, you don’t notice it over the adrenalin pulsing through you.

Lucius swears loudly, standing.

“Don’t move.” Mando’s words are more of a growl than anything else.

In the pause this creates, you’re able to kick out your leg and take Cavill out from the back of the knees. It’s not graceful or pretty but it works. Cavill falls to the ground and you quickly clamber on top of him, forcing his hands behind his back, keeping him down with a bloodied knee to the spine.

Mando throws you the cuffs, training his blaster back on Lucius as you work on securing the binds around his quarry’s wrists.

“The spice,” Mando barks out the order. Lucius, eyes wide with terror, looks from the bounty hunter, to you, back to the bounty hunter.

“W-What?”

Mando shoots Lucius in the leg. The boy screams a curse, folding into himself in pain. The air smells like burnt flesh and coins. You swallow, looking back down and busying yourself with keeping Cavill still as he struggles against the floor.

“The. Spice.” He repeats. Choking on his sobs, Lucius reaches a shaking hand into his suit jacket’s pocket, throwing the little bag on the floor. Mando stalks over to him, Lucius cowers.

“Listen, man I—I’ll give you anything you want, ok? My father—”

Mando pistol whips him, the force behind it is enough to also slam Lucius’s head into the table as a result, knocking him unconscious. The bounty hunter turns, snatching up the spice on the ground and crossing over to you, kneeling beside Cavill, whose face is pressed into the ground.

“Mother fucker,” Cavill snarls, the first coherent set of words he’s said since Mando entered. Without reacting, Mando pinches Cavill’s nose shut. You’re confused for a moment, then Cavill opens his lips to either breathe or continue his litany of abuses and Mando takes that opportunity to empty the rest of the spice directly into the quarry’s mouth.

Cavill’s eyes widen, then almost immediately roll back into his skull. He jerks once, then lays still.

It all happens so fast you barely process Mando’s gentle order for you to stand. You do eventually, your legs a bit shaky as you cross back over to the bar cart, holding your palm up to the light in order to puck the largest pieces of glass out before wrapping your wound with a decorative napkin.

When you turn, Mando is pacing the room’s glass perimeter, looking down at the dance-floor to see if anyone noticed the commotion over the pounding music. His takes two brisk strides to cross the room, back to you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice curt and professional. You duck your head in a nod, still pressing the napkins to your bleeding hand. Mando then turns to deal with Lucius’s body, stuffing his mouth with one of the tux ties on the table, binding his wrists. Buying the two of you time, you guess.

You look down at Cavill’s crumpled body. Unconscious, like this, you realize he couldn’t be more than twenty years old. Maybe even nineteen. “They’re all just kids, aren’t they?”

Mando’s sighs, crossing the room again to lean out the open doors to gauge the best way of getting back to the driver. “Pel kar’ta.” Whatever he just called you, it sounds like an accusation “That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No,” you murmur to yourself, gaze still fixed to the boy on the floor. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

**

The napkins you use on your injured hand manages to somewhat stop the bleeding. You wait in the backseat as Mando and the driver stuff Cavill’s body into the trunk. You manage to pluck the last of the shards out of the meat of your palm once Mando silently slides into the seat beside you.

The driver leans over to the seemingly empty passenger seat, plucking a bundle of swaddled fabric and passing it back to Mando. It’s the child, sleeping deeply.

“Febhana said she had a feeling you’d want to get off planet as fast as possible. She sends her well wishes,” the driver grits out. He pulls the speeder off the roof of the club, quickly maneuvering the vehicle into Canto Bight’s weaving back alleys.

You take a deep breath, leaning your head against the window.

“I’m sorry,” you manage after a few minutes of driving, the words so soft they break slightly as they leave your mouth. “I… I didn’t think it could get that messy. I should have stuck to the plan.”

He says your name softly, it crackles over the speakers of the modulator. You take too much comfort in how he says it, the way it fills the space between the two of you. “Jobs like this are never clean.”

“You said this needed to go quietly,” you turn your head to look at him directly. “That wasn’t quiet.”

“I should have interfered earlier, that was my fault,” his response is immediate. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and resting your head against the window. “I am not trying to make this about me. I just—I know it was a leap of faith involving me in this. I screwed it up, I want to apologize.”

“I didn’t think you were. I was making a clarification. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

The kid makes a small sound in his sleep, you know he’s stretching and nuzzling into the crook of Mando’s arms without having to look over.

“Okay. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He says your name again. You shake your head.

“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen like that, if that’s okay?” You keep your gaze trained out the window, watching the city as it passes a good distraction from the pain pulsing from your hand up your wrist. “I’ll be fine once we get home.”

From your periphery, you see Mando nod.

Arriving at the hangar, you scoop the child in one arm and open the speeder door with a slight wince. You thank the driver and make a beeline for the Crest, busying yourself with tucking the little one in his cradle while Mando deals with the body.

By the time you shed the dress Febhana leant you—now ruined, thanks to that asshole—and quickly shower, you’re starting to catch a second wind of energy. You’re wide awake by the time you pull on a sleep shirt and a soft pair of shorts, catching yourself on the wall as the Crest rumbles into hyperspace.

Settling at your med station, you examine your injured hand under a small portable light, making sure you didn’t miss any pieces of glass due to the dim lighting of the landspeeder’s interior. You hear Mando step behind you.

“Let me see it,” he says. You straighten, looking up at him. Mando is holding a hand out, for yours. He’s back in the clothes he sometimes wears during your long stretches of travel, no armor save for the helmet on his head. His gloves are removed.

The first time he’d done this it had nearly knocked the wind out of you, stopping your words mid-sentence as you entered the cockpit to feed the kid breakfast. He was reclined in the pilot’s seat, the sturdy fingers grasping a rag to oil the pauldron he held in his other hand. You only caught the brief glimmer of a thick beskar ring on his thumb before averting your eyes, stuttering an apology.

At this point, you’ve seen enough of his hands to have memorized every scar and callous. You know it all, from the broken mountains of his knuckles to the small tattoo below the web of his thumb, so weathered by age you still cannot make sense of what it’s supposed to be.

This is different, though. He’s asking to touch you, skin on skin. That’s what makes you pause, looking at him blankly. Mando tries again.

“It’s my fault you got hurt—please, let me take care of you this once.”

There’s something in his voice that sounds incredibly pained, it’s enough to break you from your thoughts. You hesitate, then shift to face him on the crate you’d pulled over to sit on.

You offer him your hand, palm up, in wordless agreement.

He starts his work there, diligently giving it one last look over for glass before slathering it in bacta and firmly wrapping it with gauze. His hands feel just as you thought they would, rough but warm, hesitant at first but firmer once he gains the confidence to really touch you.

Mando then begins to examine your shoulder, delicately asking you to lift your arm, shift it in different directions and tell him when it hurts. You comply, easily succumbing to his little, light touches.

Maker, if Lucius had managed to give you butterflies on the dance-floor this… this couldn’t even be qualified at anything close to that feeling. The flight of birds, more like. A whole flock. A force only rivaled by the quick beat of your pulse.

“I got you something.” If you didn’t know any better you’d think his voice has a certain tinge of shyness to it. “A few days ago. I kept forgetting to give it to you.”

“Do tell,” you manage a casual yawn, then wince when his fingers dig into your scapula. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he removes his hands from you, turning and walking to the other side of the hull. He rifles through a crate and emerges with what looks like a little box, offering it to you. You balance it in your bandaged hand, recognizing the object the second you see the speakers affixed to either end of it.

A wide grin breaks out over your face as you look up at him. “Is this a radio?”

He nods, plucking the tube of muscle warming agent from the med-kit and spreading it against your shoulder. His gloves are still off, the rough feeling of his hands against you enough to steal all words from your parted lips.

“Thank you,” you manage. “Mando—this is so nice I—”

“It’s nothing,” he says it frankly. You gladly don’t continue your sentence, turning the object over in your hand. “The woman told me it should work just about anywhere. If it loses signal it’ll just play some kind of recorded catalogue.”

You nod, bracing your forearms against your thighs and fiddling with the radio’s controls as he continues to talk, his thumbs working against every part of the joint they can. The feeling is far too easy to give into, you allow yourself to close your eyes as he continues, placing the radio beside you and leaning back to rest your elbows on the table to your back.

“I thought it was the least I could offer you. You seem so happy whenever there’s music,” Mando says as he kneels in front of you, wiping off your injured knee, rubbing away the scabs that were already forming with a disinfectant-soaked towel. He disregards the hiss you give and begins applying the bacta to the scored surface. “Especially tonight, when you were dancing. I didn’t realize you could.”

You laugh, smiling to yourself. “I was most nervous about that, as ridiculous as it sounds.” You muffle a relieved groan at the numb warmth that begins to spread as soon as the bacta sets in. You turn over what you want to ask for a long time before you muster the courage to say it. Why not? “I could teach you.”

A pause. “What?”

“I could teach you to dance, if you want me to,” you open your eyes to look down at the man kneeling before you. His fingers are frozen against the bandage he was in the process of tying off—incorrectly, you might add, but you can fix it later. You can’t help but smile at him. “Put this radio to use.”

He pauses for a moment longer, then shakes his head and goes back to adjusting your bandages. “Don’t mess with me like that, I’ll take back the compliment.”

“Hey! C’mon,” you bite your lip, stretching out your uninjured leg to faux-kick his side. He grabs your foot before it can make contact, gently guiding it back to the floor. “I’m being serious. Gotta blow off some steam before I can sleep.” Heat shoots up to your face, the words leaving your mouth before you can think them through. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Alright.” Mando stands, crossing his arms over his chest to regard you.

You genuinely don’t believe it. Your smile widens. “Are you serious?”

His head cocks to the side. “If you make a big deal out of it I’ll purposefully step on your toes.”

It’s hard to contain your glee. You push yourself up to your feet, Mando’s arms shooting out in a protective gesture to catch you when you wobble slightly.

“Relax, I’m fine,” you gently push his hands away, walking over to the other side of the hull to place the radio on top of a stack of crates. Fiddling with it for a moment, you find a station playing something slow.

Turning back around, you see that Mando has turned off the med-station’s light, the brightest source of illumination now coming from the radio’s tiny interface behind you. The rest of the hull’s sconces are in night mode, the dull orange glow just enough to see what’s in front of you.

“Okay,” you begin, standing in the middle of the room and motioning Mando towards you. He complies. You hold out both hands. When he doesn’t get it, you press your lips together to suppress a smile, taking them for yourself where they rest limply at his sides. “So, you’d start by approaching your lady and holding her hand up, like this.” You bend your right elbow, your loosely interlocked hand forcing his left arm to do the same.

Mando nods, head bowed to you in observation, a diligent student.

“Then,” you continue, guiding his right hand to the curve of your waist. “You’d place your other hand here, or mid-back, whatever feels most appropriate for the situation.” He doesn’t move his hand. It sends a bit of a thrill through you. You place your left hand on his bicep, looking up at him and grinning. “See? You’re a natural.”

The both of you laugh at that one. His comes out as nothing more than a hoarse release of air from the modulator, but it’s enough to have you absolutely elated.

You start to sway slightly, to the rhythm of the song now playing from the radio’s speakers. Mando picks up the hint, taking up the role of leader while you gladly follow. He’s actually okay—granted, the two of you are just swaying in place, but still.

“I meant that, you know.”

“Hm?” You ask, partially distracted in trying to figure out what move to teach him next. The waltz you and Lucius did would be far too complicated, maybe there would be some kind of way to simplify it…

“What I said earlier. You looked beautiful, tonight,” Mando says, chin still tucked to look down at you. You blink, only actually processing what he’d just said a few seconds after he said it. You purposefully keep your eyes trained to his chest in order to keep your thoughts straight. “I um… I didn’t know how to tell you. Earlier. In the car. But I wanted to.”

“Hate to inform you, but the dress is in tatters and I am way too lazy to put all that makeup on again,” you chuckle, using the side of your foot to nudge him into a bit of a wider stance. He has the resting state of a soldier at attention—fitting, you guess, for a Mandalorian. It’s something so natural about to him that you’ve only really noticed the rigidity of it now.

“No, no I’m not… That’s not what I meant. You look that way always just—tonight, especially.”

“Well, Mando, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you sound a little bashful right now,” you joke, trying to move on as quickly as possible to cover up the fact that you had no idea how to take a compliment. You turn your head a little too quickly to look back down at his feet, ready to instruct him on the next steps, and your forehead collides with him helmet.

It fucking hurts.

You wince, cursing slightly under your breath and screwing up your face, trying to laugh off the heat burning in your cheeks and across your chest. “Ow.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Mando mutters, releasing your hands and cupping either sides of your jaw with his hands. His thumbs press along the underside of your chin, tilting your face up towards him as he inspects it for damage. “Are you okay?”  

You close your eyes and nod, swallowing. “Yeah, just surprised me is all—never had to teach a tin can how to dance before, forgot I had to be conscious about the...” one of his thumbs traces a curved line against your chin before he removes his hands from your face. The motion is quick and then gone immediately, just as he had done in the hallways of the Tagge mansion. It has a far more vivid consequence of completely scrambling your thoughts, this time around. “Helmet,” you manage.

After a moment, Mando tilts his head.

“Close your eyes,” his voice is husky, from the modulator or something else you don’t know.

You comply without question, pulse increasing as you feel Mando step away and rummage through something. He returns, standing behind you this time. Fabric is wrapped around your eyes—once, then twice. You reach a hand up to touch it, recognize the slightly rough texture of gauze almost immediately.

There’s some kind of a hissing sound, then the clank of metal being placed on something solid. Then he’s back in front of you.

“Think you can teach me like this?” And it’s his voice. His voice. Rough but warm and unobstructed. Just as his hands had been. It takes the wind right out of your lungs.

“Mando,” if you could think of anything else to say, you’d cringe at how breathless you sound. What are you, a locked-away damsel in distress?

“When I was younger I was… a bit more lax. Running with the wrong people. I relied on… technicalities, in our code, a little too heavily back then.” You never want to stop hearing his voice. There’s something about the modulator that doesn’t do the light lilt to his words justice, the low but crisp resonance of his voice. “But I’ve… this is new. But okay. Within the rules.”

“Are you—” clearing your throat, you try again. More firm this time. “Are you sure?”

“Just don’t touch my face with your hands,” his voice remains clipped, slightly cautious, but resolved. Typical. “If you—I can put the helm back on, if this makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You interject, placing both hands on his chest in reassurance. “No, I… no. I feel honored and happy, really happy, that you’d trust me like this. It means a lot.”

You hear him hum low in his throat, a sound you know he makes sometimes when he nods. He takes your hand, again, the other going back to your waist. “Okay, start over.”

“So,” you begin again, trying your best to run your mouth enough to distract from how… serious this feels. You know it most likely isn’t a huge deal, if he’s willing to do this after one accidental collision—but, well. Still. “When you’re ready, you’ll step forward and I’ll step back. And… uh…” you bite your lip as his hand drifts lower, just an inch, to rest at the small of your back. You look up at him through the blindfold out of habit. “You lead, I follow, simple as that.”

“Simple as that?” His words have a rare, palpable heat to them. You can never be certain, of course, but you’re convinced there’s a small smile behind his question. It’s easier to tell, now.

“Yeah,” your chest feels tight with an emotion so close yet so different from the joy you’re used to feeling. Your smile is uncontainable, if barely visible in the hull’s dim light. “It really is.”

He’s a fast learner, easily taking you in slow, looping circles around the room for the next few songs. The silence between the two of you is comforting.

The longer the radio plays, the deeper you sink into one another, your entwined movements eventually spiraling back to the center of the space, settling into an easy, sedentary sway there. You only really notice this as Mando’s hand drifts from your lower back to wrap around the curve of your opposite hip, the length of his sturdy forearm braced against your body. After a beat, you let go of the hand you’re holding onto and wrap both arms loosely around his neck, leaning into him fully.

The two of you don’t acknowledge it, playing it off as an incidental thing, this gradual enclosure of your bodies. The equally quick thrum of your hearts betrays the known secret behind the little game you are playing.

“What did that phrase you use mean, when we talked earlier?” You press the side of your face to Mando’s chest. He props his chin against the crown of your head in welcome response.

The hand previously holding yours moves up your spine in order to gently cradle the back of your neck, gently holding you in place. His thumb traces repetative arcs against the sensitive line between the corner of your jaw and your earlobe. It feels like a salve in its own right, erasing the feeling of Cavill’s skin pressed against your own.

“What did what mean?” Mando asks innocently enough, as his hand continues its serene movement. It’s the most he’s ever touched you, and you suppose he keeps his tone completely casual to make up for the fact. As if the two of you were conversing from other sides of the room, not entangled in each other. You’re more than willing to play into the charade if it means you can have this, the ability to close your eyes and take in the rumble of his voice against your ear.

“Pel… pel kar-ta?” You wince at your gross mispronunciation. “What you called me back there, at the club.”

“Oh—” he seems surprised, like he didn’t even remember saying it. “That’s—that’s Mando’a. It means… well it’s the closest expression to kindness we have.” He keeps rubbing the corner of your jaw with his thumb, keeping rhythm with your movements. If it could even be considered that, at this point. “A more direct translation would be ‘soft hearted.’ Someone who is unapologetically forgiving towards others, even to those don’t deserve it. An ability to love that clouds greater judgment.”

“I have the feeling it’s not the most complimentary nickname for Mandalorians.”

“No, no it isn’t,” the breath of his laugh ruffles your hair. You can’t help but hide your smile in the warm fabric of his shirt, laughing with him. Mando shifts slightly, curving over you, your cheek against his, rough with a well-developed five o’clock shadow. “But, um. I mean it as a compliment, for you. As stupid as you can get.”

If someone punched you in the gut it wouldn’t have left you this breathless. You try to disguise the euphoric feeling it gives you in humor. You’re worried that if you give too much away he’ll stop touching you. Stop holding you like this. Like you were the one gentle thing he’d succumb to.

“Well, it seems hardly fair that you get to call me a nickname and I get nothing at all,” you huff in playful offense, barely able to keep the smile off your face. “Totally unfair.”

“Give me your best, then.” He’s still smiling, you don’t know how you can tell but you just can. It’s infectious.

“What about… hmm… I dunno—tin can?”

“That one’s taken.”

“Oh, have some lady in waiting I should know about?”

“That’s probably the exact opposite way I’d describe him.”

You laugh. “Bucket head?”

“Not very original.”

“Well,” you give an airy hmph. “I’m stumped. You win. Mando it remains.”

Continuing your sway as the music maintains its soft tumble from the radio’s speakers, the two of you go so long without speaking you think the conversation has ended--until:

“Din.” He says the word so softly it wouldn’t have been picked up if he were still speaking through the vocoder.

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, what?”

“Din. Din Djarin. My name. When it’s… when it’s just us, you can use it. If you’d like.”

You cup your hand around the other side of his neck and pull back slightly. His hand automatically lifts to press against your cheek, a refusal to allow you to move any further despite the fact that you’re wearing the blindfold. Pure habit, you think.

You blink against the fabric stretched over your eyes, trying to quell your burning desire to do something absolutely disastrous.

So you say his name instead.

**

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar @mandoandyodito @kyjoraven @ineffableloveforyou

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[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Happily Ever After - 2

The Tower: Happily Ever After An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist | Character Refrence PREVIOUS //

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

Word Count: 1849

Warnings:  Pregnancy and minor language on chapter.

Synopsis: Almost 40 years after Elise Cooper first crashed into Natasha Romanoff outside the library at Columbia University, she and the Avengers are adapting to a near-immortal life together with their large brood of children.  Yet things aren’t perfect.  Life is moving on without them and they’re starting to discover who isolating being immortal can be.When Angela comes and asks Thor to take the throne of Asgard once more, the group leaves Earth in the hopes that they will find their Happily Ever After there.

Chapter 2: Anger Issues

When Marya returned home from school that day we were all ready to meet her.  Marya was sixteen years old, a little taller than I was, with dark hair and light brown eyes - just like Bruce.  Those weren’t the only things she’d inherited from her biological father.  She was extremely intelligent and had been skipped ahead a grade in school.  There had been talk about skipping her ahead more than that, but it wasn’t something encouraged in schools due to the strain it has on children’s emotional and social development.  So instead she was finishing up high school with her peer group while taking college courses as electives.

She also had her own little green problem.

Her powers worked differently from Bruce’s.  She could turn into a hulk, and that transformation could be triggered by extreme negative emotions - not just anger, but when she was really sad or anxious too.  Unlike Bruce though, she never had to worry about sharing her body with another person.  When she changed she was always herself and generally she had such precision control over the transformation that she could do it on command, much as Bruce could after the bonding ceremony all those years ago.

She looked around suspiciously at us as we called her over to the couches by the large window, typically the place where we had family meetings.  It was usually where we spoke to the kids if they had done something they probably shouldn’t have.  We took an approach with our parenting where they didn’t usually get in trouble for misbehaving.  Rather we tried to think of a real-world consequence for what they’d done.  For example, if they were fighting they had to sit down and listen to each other’s grievances and then work out a way to both come to an understanding about how the other feels and try to make each other feel better.  It didn’t always work, but we figured it was better than arbitrarily making them go sit in the corner.  So it made sense that she’d think she was in trouble for something.

“What’d I do?”  She asked, dropping her backpack on the ground while she stood looking at her gathered parents.

“Why don’t you tell us?”  Sam teased.  “And we’ll tell you if that’s it.”

“I’m not falling for that,” Marya snarked, folding her arms across her chest.

“Honey, sit down,” Steve said, gently.  “You’re not in trouble.  We just need to tell you something.”

Marya sat down carefully, looking at everyone with deep suspicion.  “Is someone else pregnant?  Are you trying to populate Earth with just our family?”

“No,” Clint laughed.  “What the hell?”

I rolled my eyes.  “Honestly, honey, I sometimes think the same thing,” I said.  “But that’s not what this is.”

“Your Aunt Angela came to visit today,” Steve explained.  “She’s giving up the throne of Asgard.”

“Does that mean Riley’s going to be queen?”  Marya asked, looking over at Thor.  “I can’t believe my sister’s going to be the queen of a whole other planet.”

Thor shook his head.  “Riley is still too young to rule by Asgardian standards.  My people - our people - would consider that the equivalent of having Zak as their king.  I have to step up and take the lead.”

“Which means, we are moving to Asgard,” Steve finished.  “I know that...”

“What?”  Marya yelped, interrupting Steve as she blinked at us.  “When?”

“Within the month,” Steve said.

“But I have school!”  Marya shouted.  Her fists clenched and she started to turn green at the edges.  “And what about my friends?  You can’t just take me away from everyone I ever knew!”

“Mar,” Bruce said, gently.  “Deep breath.  Get that under control.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel!”  Marya shouted, slamming her hands on the coffee table and sending a large crack through the heavy wood.  I jumped a little, startled at her violent reaction, and the green started to creep into her arms starting at her hands, making her muscles swell and double in size.

Sam moved forward and crouched in front of his daughter, taking both her hands in his and looking into her eyes.  “Marya,” Sam said with a gentle yet commanding tone.  “I know you’re upset, but you need to talk about this rationally.  If you can’t talk about it, you’re gonna have to go to your room to cool off first.”

She started crying and pulled her hands out of his.  “It’s not fair!” She cried.  “I don’t even get a say about whether or not you take me away from my friends.  My whole goddamn planet?”

“Honey,” Steve said, wrapping his arm around Marya’s shoulders.  “I know this is tough.  I really do.  But we’re partially doing it for you.”

“I don’t see how taking me from my friends is somehow supposed to be good for me,” she grumbled.

“Alright, kid,” Natasha said.  “I’m going to give you some harsh truths here.  You’re going to lose them anyway.  Maybe not all of them anytime soon, but the ones you would have kept in your life you’d have had to watch age and die.  Just like we all have done and are with our friends and family.  We want to save you what’s happening with Rose.  We don’t want you to have to fall in love and then watch them fade out while you’re stuck looking like you can’t buy a beer.”

Marya started crying harder and fell into Steve’s side and Wanda glared at Natasha.  “You didn’t have to be so harsh,” Wanda snapped.

“Well babying her wasn’t doing it either,” Natasha argued.  “She needs to hear it.  She might not like it, but going to Asgard is what’s best for her.”

“Can’t I even finish school?”  Marya begged.  “I could stay with Eddie - or Rose.  Or one of my friends.  And then… then I’ll come.”

“There will be school for you on Asgard,” Thor said.  “And it will teach you things that far outreach anything any of you have learned on Midgard.  Riley and Pietro both attend and they learn of the world tree, and alien languages, advanced mathematics, and magic.  You are already holding yourself back to fit in, daughter.  You would never have to hide any part of you in Asgard.  Not your intelligence, and not this -” he tapped her arm where it was still tinged with green.

“And I’ll make it so you can talk to your friends here.  We’ll set up a line of communication,” Tony added.  “Don’t worry.  I’ll make sure my kids don’t go without Tumblr and Instagram.  Imagine how many followers you’ll get posting selfies in Asgard.”

“I already have a tonne of followers, dad,” Marya sniffed.  “I’m a Skjodbærer.”

“Yes, you are,” Tony said.  “And don’t you forget it.  The whole universe is yours.”

“We’ll make sure we come back to visit,” I said.  “We all still have friends here, and places we like to spend our time.”

“Yeah, who’s going to annoy Katie-Kate if I’m not around?”  Clint joked.

Marya let out a small laugh that was still more tears than actual laughter.  “I’m sure she’d hate not being annoyed by you.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Clint said and patted Marya on the thigh.

“We aren’t doing this to punish you, Mar,” Sam soothed.  “I promise.  We’ve all been talking about this for a long time, and we were going to wait, but your dad can’t anymore.  He has to go and rule his kingdom.  And sometimes we have to give up what we want to do for what we need to.”

Marya let out a long slow breath and nodded.  “I know.  I know, dad.  They’re still my friends though and I’m still sad about it.”

“I know,” Wanda said.  “Being sad is normal.”

“Can I have a goodbye party?”  Marya asked.

“Look who you’re talking to,” Tony teased.  “The biggest.”

She sat silently for a moment and nodded again.  “If I really hate it, can I come back again?”

“You need to give it a proper chance,” Steve said.

“I will,” she assured him.  “I just… I don’t…”

“If you really hate it, you can come back,” I said, cutting Steve off before he had a chance to reply.  “We won’t like it, but our kids being happy and healthy is the thing we want most.  We just think… in the long run, this is the best option for that.”

“I know,” Marya said.  She looked around at anyone and kicked at her bag.  “Can I go now?”

“One thing first,” Steve said, tapping the table where she cracked it.  “What are we going to do about this?”

Marya sighed and looked at it.  “I’m sorry,” she said.

“And…?”  Steve pressed.

“And… I’ll go see if I can find someone who can repair it.  If I can’t, I’ll shop for a suitable replacement.  And… and I’ll volunteer at the soup kitchen for the Sundays before we leave as a stand-in for the fact I don’t need to earn money to pay for these things.”

“Good girl,” Steve said.  “Dinner will be at 6.30.”

Marya stood up and grabbed her back.  “Okay.”

“Marya,” I said.  “We love you.”

She smiled a little and nodded.  “I love you all too.”

We watched her disappear up the stairs and Bruce sat back and ran his palms over his scalp.  “I really need to help her deal with her anger.”

Bucky patted his arm.  “It’s usual teen stuff.  We’ve seen it before -” he gestured to me “- we’ll see it again.”

“Yeah, but when any of the others got upset we didn’t have to worry about them breaking the building,” Bruce said.

“Umm… do I need to remind you about that tantrum Riley had that meant we had to remodel her room,” I said.

Bruce chuckled and nodded.  “Right.  I guess.”

“It won’t hurt to work with her more,” Sam said.  “But don’t think that her having a temper is on you.  She’s hyper-intelligent and smart kids often deal with anxiety because they’re always thinking ten steps ahead about all the potential terrible outcomes.”

“Tell me about it,” Tony snarked.

“Yes, Tony, you’re a genius, we all know,” Bucky teased.

“I do not like that I am the reason for her distress,” Thor said.  “We could always go back to how it was before Angela took the throne.”

“And barely get to see you?”  Clint said.  “I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

“That’s not going to happen, Thor,” Steve said.  “We’ve been talking about this for a while.  It’s time.  Sometimes kids have to move because their parents are.  It’s not fun for them.  But she will adapt and it is better it happens sooner than for her to fall into this society's expectations for when she should be doing things.”

Thor nodded, though he didn’t look completely convinced.  

“Alright,” Clint said, clapping his hands.  “Enough about moody teenagers.  We have a lot to work out.”

“It’s going to be a big change,” I said.  “But we’ve gotten really good at those, and in my experience, they always worked out for the best.”

// NEXT

[mintseesaw]

love like that

Prompt: You fainted during your shift in the hospital. And Dr. Min, whom your colleagues have no clue of your relationship with, has to be the one to check up on you. Pairing: doctor!yoongi x doctor!reader Genre: fluff, fluff, lots of fluff, established relationship au, drabble Word count: 1.5k rating: pg-13 Warnings: reader’s disregard of own’s health, imposing of punishment, literal spoon feeding if it makes you cringe lol a/n: something light before I update aurora ;) wrote this in honor of my fave yoongi look so far which is pretty obv on the banner haha

As you come back to consciousness, your eyes flutter open, only to shut them close at the blinding hospital light pointed directly at your line of vision. The pristine white walls illuminating the ambience of the sickly familiar room only gave you a dizzy spell.

Still dazed with the remnants of being unconscious, you couldn’t seem to find the last bit of your memory and why you’re lying in a bed inside a familiar facility instead of being the one to check the patients up, yourself. With your eyes closed, you heard a familiar voice spoke, breaking the oddly cold silence, “You okay?” “Why am I here?” You manage to ask with your desert dry throat and a pounding head.

“You fainted.” Yoongi responds briefly. Right, you did! When and where did it happen, again?

”That doesn’t mean I have to be here. How long was I out?” “About 6-7 hours. Your blood pressure dropped, so is your blood sugar. You’re sleep deprived and you haven’t been eating?” He answers in his usual thickly low, professional tone. If you only cared to listen closely, you’d notice he sounded like a father scolding his child for skipping proper meals over sweet treats, than a caring boyfriend that he actually is. You also fail to see the way his forehead creases, him sporting a cute pout while he scolds you with his deadly, monotonous tone.

The nurse, who is on the other side of the bed currently administering a vial medication through your IV, didn’t miss the coldness seeping through Dr. Min’s voice as her thumb slowly pushes through the end of the syringe.

However, the proximity between the two doctors picques her curiosity. The terror senior cardiologist and the junior resident are physically too close to only be labeled as mere colleagues. On your second attempt, you squinted your hypersensitive eyes. Blurry sight steadily adjusts to the familiar figure. As your vision becomes clearer, you finally get to see your boyfriend, Dr. Min, clad in his usual knee length white coat. The undone buttons of the white fabric lets you have a glimpse of his inner dress shirt and the black pair of slacks his lean legs adorned.

Your eyes remain glued on him, not minding the faint sting of the thick liquid as it seeps through your veins from the back of your right hand. The intimidating, gorgeous doctor that you luckily call your boyfriend returns the same longing gaze.

Prior to your fainting spell, the last you’ve properly seen and talked him was two days ago, when he had arrived at the hospital which was only an hour left of your shift.

“I didn’t notice, I guess I was just... occupied?”

Unexpectedly, he flicks your forehead which stung more than the medicine flowing through your veins. “Idiot, you almost got yourself killed.”

“Yoongi!” You whimper in protest.

Yoongi crouches his upper body, dipping his head low to soothe the now reddish area on your forehead with the supple pair of his lips.

He would not want to go through that frightening moment, again. He had seen the worst of the worsts, but having to experience the same thing that his previous patients’ families had endured turns out to be his own nightmare.

Yoongi received a call from a junior resident several hours ago. Ironically, your colleague chose to call Dr. Min out of all the cardiologists in the hospital. The junior resident assumed your case isn’t just a mere fainting spell of fatigue.

He rushed his way to the hospital, furiously driving his car like a maniac. How could he not? When your colleague suggested to place you in ICU if your blood pressure continued to drop. With you remaining unconscious, medications and supplemental fluids had to be administered through your IV to help normalize your vital signs. Fortunately, your body has responded with the medications. “You should eat before I leave.” He murmurs, peppering your skin with his warm breaths.

You didn’t respond, having other intentions in your mind. Lightly tilting your head up, you hover his parted lips. From the looks of it, you two seemingly forgot you have other company inside the room. At the unexpected sweet display of affection, the nurse quietly gaped as you both became too outworldly with each other.

“Only if you’ll eat with me.” You propose. Then Yoongi draws back, pulling the retractable board up over the bed as a makeshift table. Swiftly, he places the tray there which carries the hospital prepped meal that includes porridge, soup and side dishes.

The flustered nurse cleared her throat, silently excusing herself to give privacy to the newly discovered love birds.

Yoongi darts his eyes to the female staff who refused to meet his gaze. Adjusting his heavily graded specs on the bridge of his nose, he takes the chair beside the hospital bed.

Having no sense of will to consume food, you unwillingly pull yourself up. Yoongi then hands you a water bottle, which you took in his hand and eagerly chugged down half of its content in no time. But then the unappetizing food in front of you makes you scrunch up your nose in disgust.

Peaking on your left to look for alternative food that is a little appetizing than the ones Yoongi served, you found nothing else. Other than his daily dose of caffeine. You had enough of it for the day, but you‘d rather have another one or anything else other than that meal.

“Can I have some of that?” “What,” Yoongi pauses, only to follow where your gaze has been directed. When he realizes what you were referring to, he sternly objects, “No, not until you’ve completely recovered.”

Pouting in defeat, you silently huffed, crossing your arms against your chest. You really have no full intent of eating the food, but when you meet Yoongi‘s warning peer, you’re forced to mimic his movement as he obtains a spoon.

Holding the silverware between your fingers, you silently watch him scoop a generous portion of porridge in his spoon, thinking he would eat the porridge himself. But he held it forward, near your lips. The slight arching of his eyebrow made you slowly part your own lips, as if he has this mythical power over your body.

I thought I asked him to eat with me? And not make me eat?! You silently complain.

Yoongi didn’t stop pestering you with the porridge, almost force feeding you with his deadly stare. Something that you didn’t want to mess with ever again. However, on the sixth spoon, you finally had the courage to push his arm away, not liking the way it is making your stomach oddly churns.

“You barely touched your soup.” He proceeds to scold you, coaxing you with another spoonful of porridge.

Whining, you shook your head. “No more,” Then you lean your back against the headboard to increase the proximity in between. “Can you release me now? I have to attend to my patients. What about the meeting with my team? Oh God, Professor Kim—”

“You are my patient, baby. You need to be closely monitored until tomorrow. Don’t worry about your shift for now, your superiors will understand.” “But do I have to be here alone for the next 24 hours?” You gloomily asked, sulking. Realizing there’s no way for him to stay with you here considering he has one of most hectic schedules among the senior residents. He chuckles softly, reaching out to smoothen your protruded lips with his thumb. Gone is the terror doctor from the cardiology department.

“I’m afraid so. I would stay here with you if I could. However, I have an operation in about fours hours’ time. But you’ll go home with me tomorrow so I can watch you over.” “Really?” Your eyes instantly light up, loving the idea of you and him sharing an apartment. You considered the thought before, however, you think it’s too soon for you two to live together. And you understand that Yoongi strangely craves the isolation, so you have not brought up the matter. Unless he asks you to. Technically, you’ll only stay with him for a couple of days.

Still, this is a progress. “Hmm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He whispers, taking in the elation dancing in your eyes. He cups your cheek, thumb rubbing indefinite paths to the expanse of the soft muscle. “Which reminds me, you won’t be spared with forgiveness this time.”

“W-What?” “Ten,” emphasizing his next word with a slap on the side of your scrub suit clad hip before continuing, “for each round. You like being punished, do you not my love?” You yelp, eyes rounding from shock. “I will make sure you’ll be sore enough, you won’t be able to come to work for a week, baby.” He promises, his orbs growing dark as his mind starts to reel with lewd fantasies of you. His warning alone had you instantly weak in your knees, the familiar heat rapidly spreading in your stomach, and all you could do is fist his white coat, groaning achingly in need.

Yoongi smirks, knowing full well what the sound means, then invades your mouth in a searing kiss.

mintseesaw © 2020

[rookie-ramsey]

Curveball, Chapter 5 (Ethan X MC)

Description: Two months after the ski lodge, life throws them a big surprise.

Preview:  She felt movement in her stomach, stronger than she had before. Gasping softly, she grabbed Ethan’s hand and pressed it to her abdomen. “Wait a second. You may be able to feel them this time.”

Ethan held still. A few moments later, he could feel a little flutter against his palm. Unable to resist, his lips twisted into a smile. His eyes softened, more affectionate than she had ever seen before. Olivia grinned and rested her hand on top of his.

“If my phone wasn’t all the way over there, I’d take a picture of you right now because that’s the cutest facial expression I’ve ever seen on your face.”

Previous Chapter

At the halfway mark of her second trimester, Olivia was quite certain she doubled in size overnight.

Over time, Ethan’s spare bedroom turned into a storage space for nursery items. Once all of the furniture had been delivered, they picked out the paint for the walls. Ethan probably would have insisted on doing everything himself, but Olivia recruited help.

When there was a knock on the door, she opened it to let Bryce, Baz, and Zaid into the apartment. “Did you three carpool?”

Zaid sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. Certain occupants of the car felt the need to sing during the entire ride.”

Feigning offense, Bryce frowned. “What’s the point of driving anywhere if you’re not going to put on a concert?”

“You got a speeding ticket.”

“Which I’ll pay!” Bryce turned to Olivia. “Nursery Assistance Crew is here to help.”

“Good.” Olivia grinned and led the way to the spare room, where Ethan was opening the cans of light gray paint for the walls. Curious to see how things would play out, she leaned in the doorway to observe.

Bryce and Ethan carefully poured the paint into trays while Baz and Zaid spread drop cloths to protect the floor from spills. Once the floor was sufficiently protected, Ethan passed out paint brushes and rollers.

“If we each paint one wall, we’ll have the room painted quickly. We can paint the first layer and assemble the furniture while we wait for it to dry. It only takes a couple of hours.”

“Good delegation. Aye aye, Captain.” Bryce saluted with the paint roller, earning an eye roll in response. They each dipped their rollers in paint and started working on the walls. The first minute passed in silence before Bryce started a whistling. A moment later, Baz joined in.

Zaid let out a groan. “First the concert in the car and now this?”

Ethan rolled his eyes, focusing on painting. “If the two of you are going to whistle, could you not whistle Christmas music in August?”

“I could always whistle WAP,” Bryce suggested.

It only took a second for Ethan to shake his head. “No. Absolutely under no circumstances will you do that.”

Just as Ethan predicted, it didn’t take long for the four of them to place the first layer of paint. He wiped his hands on a towel and nodded in approval at their handiwork. “Not bad. We can put the furniture together while we wait.”

They opened the box that contained the first crib. Ethan spread the parts across the floor and eyed them, comparing them to the picture on the front of the box.

“Alright. I can handle this.”

Olivia pointed at the booklet lying on the floor. “There’s an instruction manual right there.”

“I don’t need it.”

Baz arched a brow. “Famous last words, boss.”

“You’ve read more books than the rest of us combined and you won’t read a manual? That’s a new level of stubborn.” Bryce smirked.

“The picture is guidance enough.” Ethan knelt down and sorted through the parts until he found the pieces that he presumed would compose the bottom frame. He linked them together, forming a crib-sized rectangle.

He then found the legs and attached them. So far, everything seemed to resemble the picture, so he reached for the screwdriver to tighten everything.

“And… crash.” Bryce laughed when his words timed almost perfectly with the collapse of the crib parts.

Ethan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t have the parts tight enough. Everything was correct.”

“I think this is why manuals are included in these things.”

“Those are always badly written with poor excuses of diagrams. They’re a waste of paper and time.” Ethan shook his head, picking up the fallen pieces.

“I bet you ten dollars I can build the other crib faster than you without looking at the instructions,” Bryce proposed.

“It’s a bet.”

Zaid rolled his eyes. “What are we supposed to do while you two participate in this competition? Just stand here and look pretty?”

Bryce nodded. “Got it in one, Dr. M! We need an audience.”

Ethan turned his head toward the door when the smell of warm butter permeated his senses. “When did you get popcorn?”

Olivia shrugged, scooping up a handful of the fluffy white kernels. “A few seconds after you decided not to look at the manual. I knew I was in for some entertainment.”

“It has been rather amusing.” Baz grinned, accepting a handful of popcorn when she offered him the bowl.

She sat on one of the furniture boxes and nestled the bowl on her lap. “I’m curious to see who actually builds a crib first without it collapsing.”

Bryce cracked his knuckles. “Ready?”

Olivia and Baz set timers on their phones. “Alright. The race is on in three… two… one… go!”

Rolling his eyes, Ethan started rummaging through the parts to determine which ones actually went together. After some careful matching, he successfully formed the base of the crib.

Working a little faster, Bryce fastened one of the crib legs. “I’m one move ahead of you, Ramsey. You’ll be eating my dust.”

Laughing, Olivia started dictating in her best impression of  a sports announcer's voice. “Lahela is just ahead of Ramsey, but will the fast results hold up?”

Ethan glanced up. “When did we become an Olympic sport?”

“Just now,” Olivia confirmed. “Extreme Crib Assembly is officially my favorite part of the Olympics.”

A few minutes later, Bryce stepped back from the crib and threw his hands up. “Done!”

Baz hit the button on his timer. “Thirteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds,” he confirmed just as Ethan finished.

“Thirteen minutes and twenty seconds.” Olivia rubbed her hands together. “The true test is to make sure both cribs are put together correctly. Bryce may have finished first, but if his crib has a problem, he still loses.”

“Never.” Bryce shook his head and handed her one of the instruction manuals so she could check over their finished cribs.

Olivia glanced from the booklet to the cribs, nodding as she confirmed that the parts on both cribs were in their proper places. She tried to give each one a firm shake, pleased when they remained steady.

“And it looks like both cribs are a success! This means Lahela wins by a narrow six seconds!”

“What do I win?”

“Ethan’s ten dollars and… the rest of this popcorn, because I want pizza.”

“I’ll take it.” Bryce accepted the bowl and grinned. “Looks like all those hours in the OR do help with putting furniture together.”

Sighing in defeat, Ethan reached into his wallet and surrendered a ten dollar bill to him. Once they had the cribs settled into their places, they worked on the changing table. Olivia left the room to order some pizzas, but quickly returned so she wouldn’t miss out on the banter occurring in the soon-to-be nursery.

It didn’t take the four of them long to assemble the changing table and rocking chairs. ��When the pizzas arrived, they took a break and sat down at the kitchen table. Olivia bypassed the chair, opting instead to sit on Ethan’s lap. Instinctively, Ethan slipped his arm around her waist.

“How cute.” Baz grinned.

Bryce smiled mischievously. “Whipped.”

Zaid shrugged when Bryce and Baz turned to him as if they expected him to join in on the teasing. “No comment.”

“Oh, come on. Watching them is as fun as watching you and Ines.” Baz’s grin widened as his twin’s cheeks flushed.

Olivia chuckled, biting into a piece of pizza. “We are cute. I’ll accept your compliments.”

After lunch, she curled up on the couch to watch TV while everyone else finished the nursery. She dozed off, waking up when Ethan joined her on the couch.

“Hi. Did everyone go home?”

Ethan nodded and looped his arm around her. “We finished. I suppose that went faster than it would have if I’d tried to do it by myself.”

She felt movement in her stomach, stronger than she had before. Gasping softly, she grabbed Ethan’s hand and pressed it to her abdomen. “Wait a second. You may be able to feel them this time.”

Ethan held still. A few moments later, he could feel a little flutter against his palm. Unable to resist, his lips twisted into a smile. His eyes softened, more affectionate than she had ever seen before. Olivia grinned and rested her hand on top of his.

“If my phone wasn’t all the way over there, I’d take a picture of you right now because that’s the cutest facial expression I’ve ever seen on your face.”

He let out a low chuckle. “And give you a chance to put ridiculous filters on my face for the world to see? I don’t think so.”

“The world loves your face, ridiculous filters or not.”

Ethan’s hand rubbed gently against her stomach, earning another tiny motion in response. His brow knitted in thought. “It’s a little strange, how…. different this makes me feel.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“Good different,” Ethan assured her, smoothing his free hand over her hair. “It almost makes me wonder why I had worries about anything.”

“That’s good, because we’re halfway there.”

XXXXXX

Presents of every shape and size occupied their living room.

Between the balloons, streamers, and the huge banner, Olivia felt almost certain that an entire aisle of baby shower decorations had exploded in their apartment. She grinned and snagged a cookie from a platter.

“Sienna, everything looks delicious. It’s a good thing I’m eating for three, because I plan on eating at least one of everything,” she declared, licking icing from her fingers as Ethan joined them in the kitchen.

Sienna smiled as she put the finishing touches on a tower of cupcakes. “These were so much fun to make!”

“They look so cute. Every time I try to bake or cook, things go horribly wrong.”

“They really do, don’t they?” Ethan agreed, a teasing glint appearing in his eyes.

“It’s like the time she burnt Christmas cookies the day after Halloween.” Sienna grinned.

Ethan shook his head. “She beat that this year. She set off the smoke alarm making gingerbread men last week.”

Olivia feigned offense, putting her hands on her hips. “Are you two ganging up on me? Because I will get Naveen to help me taunt you, Ethan.”

“Don’t you already do that?”

“Well, yes. But I won’t hesitate.”  Shaking her head, Olivia finished her cookie and watched as their guests finished piling presents on the table. “What kind of shenanigans are we getting into today?”

“You’ll see,” Sienna promised.

Note: The rest of the baby shower takes place in the next chapter! Stay tuned!

Next Chapter

[awkward-teabag]

I'm so exhausted and I don't think people realize just how bad British Columbia, Canada, is right now in regards to covid.

The provincial health office, Dr. Bonnie Henry, ignores science constantly, as does the deputy provincial health officer. They both claim masks/PPE are the last line of defense and not really effective.

They both refuse to acknowledge covid is airborne, instead saying it's droplets. Note that Henry was one of the lead public health responders in Toronto when SARS hit it and she also didn't believe/treat it as airborne. She also still holds onto the idea that SARS, MERS, H1N1, and now covid transmit in other ways rather than through the air.

They both think kids don't get sick from covid and don't transmit it which is why schools are open as normal, some classrooms don't have windows that open (or don't have windows at all), and they've decided against notifying schools or parents if a kid tested positive.

Contact tracing has been scaled back to the point it may as well not exist, which was fully intentional. They also don't consider friends or classmates close contacts thus won't notify them if someone they spent hours with in a room the other day tested positive.

Testing centres are being shut down en masse, the most infamous one was shut down and the following day it had a Spirit Halloween banner above the doors. There's also only 1 testing centre for 550,000+ people in one region of the Lower Mainland, a region that had the most cases in the second and third wave.

There are also no rapid testing kits available in-person or online (unless you have a spare $250+) despite there being over 2,000,000 sitting in a warehouse about to expire because Henry doesn't think they're accurate.

And the government controls access to testing in most areas and will bar you from getting tested unless you lie about your symptoms. Even then, there's a good chance you'll be told to go home and rest for a couple days to see if you feel better.

Vaccines are being pushed hard as the only thing needed and that if people have two shots, they don't need to wear masks. It was only recently the province even admitted breakthrough infections and hospitalizations were even a thing despite it being known for weeks/months elsewhere in the world.

Hospital capacities are over 100% with extreme staff shortages but Henry, Dix, and Gustafson still decided to get rid of nearly all restrictions.

N95 mask usage is being discouraged with the government saying only surgical masks are needed. Even nurses aren't allowed to use N95 masks or have proper PPE.

The government is no longer reporting on certain numbers and has been caught lying about and omitting numbers time and again thanks to brave individuals who leaked the actual documents and those who spend their days comparing multiple sources to find the actual number.

The government would also rather fire nurses and other healthcare workers despite all the shortages out there (3 nurses a shift when it was supposed to be 24, nurses working 24h/shift to have a modicum of coverage, nurses being mandated to not have breaks despite working 12-24h, etc) so healthcare workers are effectively muzzled.

Film and photography in hospitals is also not allowed.

Interactions with the press are done via phone calls that the government controls and reporters are limited to one question and one follow-up question.

And so much more.

People are dying in hospitals because there's not enough staff and people are having their surgeries canceled because there's not enough staff and/or ICU beds so people who could have survived now have a fatal inoperable illness and only months left to live.

If you think Alberta and Ontario are failing in their covid response, I beg you to look at BC's response and what those who live here are saying, especially those who are marginalized. Normally I would not suggest twitter, but the #bcpoli and #bced hashtags are full of people across the province who are suffering under the lack of covid response.

And no, these aren't elected officials. The office of the Provincial Health Officer is promoted, not elected. British Columbians had no say in who we wanted in charge of provincial health.

[shinjukuspiritcommittee]

Top 20 2021

My Favorites (updated)

Hello my readers, it’s been a while since I just posted something not related to a headcanon and I am doing one right now. I just wanted to take a bit of a break to just get SOMETHING on here on my days off work. Plus I’m just trying to find my groove when it comes to writing again so hopefully this helps me just get back into the mood of making a post more often lol. I wanted to revisit this topic for a while just because we’ve had a lot more events and a lot more alts in the game were added. And I know for a fact LifeWonders reads these posts in some capacity because I have meme’d an AR into the game with my top picks from the last list I did for Christmas 2019. No I didn’t. I’m just joking around and I know LifeWonders doesn’t read this.

Anyways rather than just make up a list on the spot like last year I decided to use the Housamo Sortmaker (Link: https://club.housamo.xyz/sortmaker/ ) to try and make a list that’s more revealing to what I was thinking at the time. Since I talked about 20 characters ish last time I’m just gonna read from my 20th place to my 1st place spots and try to justify whatever I was thinking at the time. Anyways-

20: Marchosias and Susan: This one was a surprise for me if I’m being honest but I’m just gonna blame the fact on Shukou’s recent involvement with LifeWonders in the form of Live A Hero and how Ryekie and Mokdai live in my headspace rent free whenever I think about the characters in that game. Maybe we can see about getting some LAH headcanons since that’s a LifeWonders property too). So out of all the characters Shukou drew for Housamo why did I pick Marchosias? Easy, it’s been 4 years and this poor man has yet to receive a proper alt or any kind of skin for that matter and I think that it’s a crime. Sure he’s not my favorite but he’s definitely grown on me because he’s just a gentle dad kind of character and his design has grown on me over the years. I just hope he doesn’t get left behind since he has a lot of really interesting and potential things to look forward to in the future given how the main story has unfolded.

19: Shiva/Algernon: The helmet heads are together because DAI XT quickly became my favorite artist for Fire Emblem Heroes and I really just like their designs. DAI XT just knows how to draw robots, armor and muscles well. Also Chapter 11 with Shiva you can read into some interesting perspectives. I don’t want to spoil any of the untranslated content for anyone who’s waiting for the official english translation. But if you are curious Roureem has a blogspot where he posts summaries of the newly released events.

Link: https://housamosummaries.blogspot.com/

18: Cthugha: I love this goober so much. He’d constantly try to act super sentai just trying say good morning everyday. He may not be very bright but that just adds to his charm and honestly I enjoy how he always tries to play the hero in a lot of scenarios because it’s refreshing when they implement him after a bunch of heavy hitting story stuff. I’m not gonna spoil too much about it but I will say he’s more than welcome after everything Chapter 10 and 11 put the reader through.

17: Mineaki: I’ve made a post about him being one of my least favorites way back when I first started this blog and let me just say how times have changed and I’ve learned the value of not judging a book by it’s cover. I still think there’s something a bit off about Kowmei’s style for his characters, but Mineaki has definitely grown on me. He’s a caring instructor who does watch out for his students even if it’s not always in the most direct way possible. Not to get into too many spoilers he’s got a lot of intrigue around him as well and I am curious to see his role get expanded down the line.

16: Ded: Housamo is the reason I really like christmas. The Christmas stories despite following a similar structure to each other do tend to be my favorite stories. Ded himself is also just another good dad character. He’s also two guys for the price of one, so I mean… you know… you’ve got the forever ask your other dad situation. There wasn’t much thought put into this choice I just like santa as a concept because I think the outfits are cute, it’s always nice to get something for people you care about on Christmas and Ded is the perfect embodiment of both sides to Christmas.

15: Shinya: Everyone we need to manifest buff Shinya for 2021, this is not a drill. This is legitimate. We must make Taromati’s and my wish come true. To be more serious again he’s just a sweet and gentle character. He’s also drawn by my favorite Housamo artist. Their characters always just look so naturally good. I’m just surprised he hasn’t gotten much of an alt given he’s perfect material for Valentine’s day. He’s just a soft boy and I would love for him to be in more things because I just enjoy seeing him.

14: Jacob: I have to be honest Jacob is on here because every time I look at him he just gets more handsome to me. I wasn’t all that impressed with his introduction and we don’t know much about his background but I’ve just been drawn to him more and more. Maybe it’s just because he’s drawn by GomTang? I just like looking at him and I can’t help it. To speak a bit less crass he’s another gentleman kind of guy and those are always nice.

13: Shennong: Yeah I like the doc a lot. Firstly, I’m a huge sucker for big bulls and Shennong fits the bill. The white fur really adds to his appeal visually and the purple horns give off a bit of an unnatural appearance. Shen feels like someone who’s been touch starved and alone for a long time given how he acts as a character and when we actually hug him I just lost it. He always has others well being on his mind so he’s not afraid to jump in and help, or give a much needed lecture about when you need to take better care of yourself. He just comes across as very well balanced overall.

12: Heracles: I won’t lie- at first he didn’t interest me much. He looked incredibly plain when among the rest of the cast and he seemed like the typical “bait” character since the banner had Echo, Barguest, Gyumao and Snow. But after reading the translation for Valentine Time Slip I was taken aback at how much of a gentle giant he turned out to be and I just really liked his interactions with the others in that event. And honestly his special quest from that year was one of the more unique ones given the slower pace and more romantic vibe it had. After the event warmed my heart I did a complete 180 and I just knew I really liked him.

11. Yasuyori: Before I start praising him I feel I have to justify why he didn’t quite make top 10 and it will have some mild Chapter 10 spoilers. To be as vague as possible his resolution just didn’t vibe with me at the end of Chapter 10. Like it wasn’t a bad resolution and it was the right choice to make but in my opinion there really wasn’t a moment I felt was clear where he made a choice for himself. Everything just sort of happened around him and it felt like he didn’t really do much to improve his situation. To an extent I kind of see that being the idea given his origins and the story he’s based on and there is some semblance of him coming to terms with himself alongside his isolation being portrayed pretty well, but I just wasn’t satisfied with it as much as I would like to be. With that out of the way, oh my god I just want this boy to never stop smiling and I just want to give him hugs constantly please he just deserves to be happy!!! Yasuyori is a character who’s got a lot of baggage and he’s just trying to find ways to properly cope with his trauma and not repeat past mistakes and I just really like that idea. His role in Xmas 2020 (sorry I just forgot the name of that event, but its when he gets his alt) was a much better representation for his character in my eyes. I’m not gonna spoil anything like I keep saying but he isn’t one to disappoint in future appearances and I just hope this lovable lug keeps getting the support he deserves.

10: Hephaestus: A spicy way to start the latter half of the list. I just want to give this lad a hug and tell him he is worthy of love. But at the same time he is a little shit… and I love that. I can’t fully explain why I grow a paternal instinct in me seeing this grown man sob about his mother but I just do. I want to keep him safe and give him all the affection he wants. Though I am aware a lot of Hephaestus’s interest in his parental figure is… questionable. I am just gonna say I would accept his love for what it is and he just wants approval.

9. Shuten: I’ll be honest I have no proper reason for why I like Shuten so much. He’s just a cool and reliable guy. He just seems like a go with the flow kind of person most of the time and he’s a bit more direct than most of the characters which I always appreciate. Plus I have an unspoken bias for naop guys in Housamo.

8. Durga: While not number 1 on this list, I still really like Durga. She’s quirky but not to an annoying degree, she’s determined and definitely very confident in her own abilities. Her growing to be more sociable throughout her events is something I enjoy seeing because it really creates this sense of growth.

7. Kyuma: I get a lot of people don’t like Kowmei’s art but I really think we should look past it because Kyuma is one of the sweeter picks. He’s someone who just wants to prove himself for his own worth and not what David can provide, but David is part of him and it just creates the potential for a good arc. Plus this boy is unintentionally smooth and will just take your heart when possible. I honestly want to see Kyuma more in events because he’s honestly the jock that carries 3 of the 4 brain cells. He’s also the last one without an alt so I’m just hoping he gets one in 2021 because he really deserves one in my opinion. (Also fan art makes him really cute).

6. Tomte: Tomte is relatively new but honestly his event in 2019 really endeared me to him. I’m trying to be spoiler free because the best way to enjoy these stories is for yourselves but let me just say his arc in the event was really endearing to me and much more than I was expecting. His fan service is also incredibly hammy and I love it. Visually Tomte is one of my favorites, I love his multi colored hair and starlit pupils cuz it makes his otherwise more generic look have some flare. I knew I liked him out the box and when I read about him in the summaries and can’t wait to read the official translation for him. I was just very endeared.

5. Tetsuya: Tetsuya fucks. Moving on…

Jokes aside this one’s a bit simple. I have no shame in admitting I think he’s attractive and his whole resistance towards wanting a relationship is cute in a weird roundabout way. When he says no I just want it MORE. I just really like duo haired tsunderes.

4. Kengo: Kengo 3rd alt 2021. Please LifeWonders I need my favorite Summoner. He’s a bro and that’s what counts. Kengo has got your back, not afraid to rely on you, a very fun and dynamic guy. Sure he’s not that bright when it comes to making plans or any book smart, but there are times where he’s the best at being able to read the room or just understand what someone needs to hear even if it isn’t always what someone wants to hear. His bullheaded nature is actually one of his redeeming qualities because it’s nice to just not overcomplicate things and just understand what’s actually going on. Yes the early story didn’t do many favors for him but to me the events, especially the later ones, do much more work for his character. To me, at least.

3. Ashigara: Ashigara is best bear, and I will defend that stance in 2021. The main thing that draws me to Ashigara is that I can see a bit of myself in him. He gets very emotional when he gets left alone, he’s very loud when with his friends, has a tendency of speaking his mind- just someone who wears his heart on his sleeve. I also appreciate that in spite of the negative he isn’t someone who backs down when the going gets tough and in a few instances he’s able to hold his ground physically at least.

2. Wakan Tanka: Love at first sight. This ray of sunshine still persists as the number 1 husband, but number 2 character. Firstly I am a huge fan of the partial beast aesthetic. The buffalo ears and the horns  are absolutely adorable. Secondly he’s a perfect body type; he’s not too muscular but not exactly flabby. Third he is just so positive and I love that. He’s someone I admire and wanna hug.

1. Taurus Mask: The more things change the more they stay the same. I’m still a big Taurus Mask fan for all the same reasons as last time. I just… relate to this boy. He is an incredibly shy boy who uses his public persona for confidence. Maybe I’m reading too much into it but it’s like we’re soul bros!

So yeah, my tastes haven’t changed in a year and a half.

[moonflowerlesbians]

6. with dani and jamie would be so cute 🥺 like a lil vermont winter fic

for you, anon! I altered the wording ever so slightly, but the concept is identical. I hope you enjoy :)

you can also read on AO3

~~~

Their flat is located a few streets off from the center of town, close enough to walk but far enough to provide a sense of distance from the bustle of the main drag. Tonight, they set out just after sundown to ensure good seats to what Dani has affectionately dubbed, “the greatest holiday spectacular to ever grace the streets of Bennington,” and what Jamie has deemed, “an entirely American embarrassment.”

It’s their third winter in Vermont, and this year, The Leafling has generously sponsored half of Bennington High School’s Marching Seahorses’ winter uniforms in exchange for a full page ad in their concert programmes for a year and a sign carried at the front of the annual holiday parade. Or, rather, the kids had come to the shop with instruments, a flyer, and an unrehearsed elevator pitch, and Dani had been utterly charmed.

“It’s good to see them so passionate about something,” Dani had said.

Jamie had hummed and had continued tending to her sprouts.

“It would be good publicity,” Dani’d argued.

“Most expensive advertisement of my life.”

“Come on, they’re cute.”

“‘Cute’ doesn’t keep the lights on, Poppins.”

Unfortunately for Jamie, Dani has an irritating way of getting what she wants. And that’s how their small business ended up shelling out an ungodly amount of cash for an extracurricular named after the least fearsome sea creature Jamie can think of.

They don’t even have legs for Christsake.

But, the sheer delight on Dani’s face upon Jamie’s concession softened her heart. In any case, Dani made certain to thank her thoroughly and, ah, enthusiastically, that evening.

Jamie begins to regret her decision, now, as she’s dragged from her cozy flat into the absolutely frigid night air. She’s bundled in her warmest coat, a toque tucked over her ears to stave off the cold, but she swears she’s still going to catch frostbite.

Dani, meanwhile, wears a fleece-lined denim jacket over top one of her many cable-knit jumpers and insists she’s overheating. She carries a blanket under her arm, the other linked with Jamie’s, as she all but skips down the street.

“The English couldn’t handle a Midwestern winter. This is nothing,” she had said.

She’s always loved Christmastime, Jamie has come to learn. Dani has regaled her with seemingly endless stories about stringing popcorn and cranberry garlands, baking biscuits with Judy O’Mara, and breaking the occasional ornament decorating the tree. She’d felt awful about that last one, terrified to tell Mrs. O’Mara. She went on to explain in touching detail how Mrs. O’Mara had taken her hand and reminded her that it was just a bauble.

It made Jamie wonder how often Dani got into trouble for accidents in her home. A question for a later date.

As they near Main Street, the sound of jovial chatter and the unmistakable carolers grows louder. The shops they pass have festive window displays, elves in stockings of red and green reading storybooks or sledding down white fabric hills. Dani blows right past, determined to reach her carefully preselected place on the sidewalk. In what Jamie is convinced must be sub-zero temperatures, she can’t imagine the winter festival will be a popular destination.

She soon finds she is mistaken, however, when they round the corner and encounter a throng of people. The road has been blocked off at either end, and families drift in and out of the shops. Some skate on the temporary ice rink set up to the side. The lights lining the trees reflect prettily off the storefronts, the branches arching up and over the street. It would be like something out of a fairytale had the weather not been turning Jamie’s hands to icicles.

Dani is very proudly pointing to a square on the sidewalk out in front of the coffeehouse, and before Jamie is entirely sure what’s happened, she’s sitting on their too-small tartan picnic blanket over pavement that is far too cold on her arse. Dani is warm at her side, and they’re pressed close, using the size of their blanket as an excuse to disregard social acceptability.

“How long until this thing starts?”

Dani checks her wristwatch. “Thirty minutes, I think?”

“Fuckin’ freezing.”

The apparent mother of three standing nearby shoots them a glare.

“Jamie…” Dani gives an apologetic look, but the woman is already herding her children off in the direction of an arts and crafts booth.

“You know, if we were home, I’d wager we’d find a proper way to warm up.” She gets a sharp elbow to the ribs for that one and lets out a muffled oomph, though she wryly notes the new flush to Dani’s cheeks.

“Hot chocolate? I’ll go find us hot chocolate. I’m pretty sure there was a table supporting the junior high theatre department.”

“S’long as you’re not making it.” But Dani is already halfway down the block.

Then, Jamie is alone, freezing her arse off while waiting to see a mediocre high school marching band play in ungodly weather to make her partner happy. It’s the kind of domesticity she could never quite envision for herself. She’s come to find she’s, somewhat begrudgingly, fond of it.  

Bells jingle, the sound echoing off of low brick buildings. Red ribbon bows hang from lamp posts and doorknobs and rubbish bins, with tails that swing in the breeze. The air is crisp; it blows down from the mountains and feels like a fresh start.

Dani returns with two styrofoam cups, passing one off to Jamie, and sits with her knees to her chest.

Jamie eyes the pale brown liquid skeptically before taking a cautious sip.

“Dani,” she says, “why have you handed me cocoa-flavoured water?”

Dani grins sheepishly. “The kids may have made it.”

“I should applaud you, really. You’ve managed to find the one demographic worse at brewing than you.”

“Rude.”

Jamie receives another jab to the side, nearly sending her drink sloshing onto her lap.

“Hey, now, keep that up, and we’ll end the night in the emergency ward.”

“Oh, please, you’ve got enough layers on to stop a bullet.”

“You laugh now, but just wait ‘till we’ve been sitting here for hours.”

“Shh,” Dani interrupts, “it’s starting!”

A dozen or so children in leotards and tight buns dance down the street, followed by a horse-drawn vehicle painted cherry red, in which a larger man dressed as Saint Nicholas stands, waving at the assembled crowds.

Dani’s excited grip on Jamie’s bicep silences any snide remarks she might have made about the quality of performance. Dani’s eyes shine with glee, and it’s so lovely, the few silver strands of her hair capturing the twinkling holiday lights, that the words die in Jamie’s throat. She allows herself to fall into the spirit of the thing, content to sit beside Dani in the corner of life they’ve carved out for themselves. Even if that means listening to a rather shoddy trombone rendition of “Jingle Bells.”

Sure enough, though, heading off the band, a handful of students bear a banner proclaiming the high school’s name and the season’s sponsors. There, listed below the bakery, is The Leafling. Jamie feels a flash of pride. Somehow, seeing their little shop represented for the town to see feels real, grounding, in a way she can’t explain. They’ve found a place, a rhythm, to settle. They’ve left their mark on this town tradition and become a part of something. It feels like home.

So, perhaps she cheers a bit louder when the musicians pass them. This earns her an amused smile from Dani, at which she rolls her eyes.

It’s a relatively short parade. There are only so many volunteer organizations, churches, and youth groups in the town, after all. Jamie’s legs are stiff when she finally stands and offers a hand to help Dani up. Her arms are wrapped around herself.

“Cold?”

“No,” Dani says, “Come on, we should look at booths before we head home. Support the other local businesses.”

They wander the various tables, some offering wares, some business cards, some consultations, dipping in and out of shops until a sniffling noise catches Jamie’s attention. Dani not-so-subtly swipes at her nose.

“You alright?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just-- fine.”

Jamie raises an eyebrow, trying to catch Dani’s eye, but she seems determined to look everywhere except Jamie. “You want my jacket?”

“I told you I’m not cold.”

“Right, ‘course not. Just positively shivering from excitement, then, are you?”

“Mhm.”

“No need to be brave on my account, Poppins, I won’t tell the world your secret.”

“And what secret is that?” Dani’s hands are tucked into her sides.

“That Dani Clayton, certified Midwesterner, can’t hash a brisk Vermont evening.” Her voice drops to a whisper, “Isn’t even snowing.”

“Hey,” Dani protests.

“Just take my jacket.”

“I’m fine.”

“Poppins.” Her tone is playful, a warning disguised as a tease.

Dani’s sighs. “Fine.”

“Ah, that’s a girl.” Jamie shrugs out of her top layer, draping it delicately over Dani’s shoulders. “Come on, then, can’t have you turning to ice on my watch.”

“You said something earlier about the proper way to warm up at home…”

“Was talking ‘bout a good cuppa,” Jamie smirks, “Why? D’you think of something else?”

Dani grumbles. “Tease.”

“Mhm,” Jamie murmurs, pressing her cold nose to Dani’s neck the instant they were out of sight, causing a squeal. “You like it.”

“Shut up.”

[adenei]

Remembrance

Now that my Round 1 story has been posted to FFN, here is the story I wrote for The House Cup Competition! 

My Prompts were:

[Character] Minerva McGonagall

[Event] A commemorative ball honoring those lost in the war

Here’s the link to the story on FFN if you’d like to leave a review!

******************

Remembrance

Minerva looked around the Great Hall, inspecting the decorations and making sure they were not too frilly. This was not a ball meant for frivolity and merriment. No, this was to be a solemn event. The look was clean and inviting. White linens adorned the tables, and the silver cutlery stood out as it gleamed in the soft glow of the candlelight. Four brilliant House banners hung proudly behind the head table, flanking either side of the Ministry of Magic banner that hung in the center. The night sky that shone from the enchanted ceiling was clear, with the stars twinkling down. 

She nodded curtly to herself, satisfied that everything met her expectations. Today marked one year since the Battle of Hogwarts, and was proving to be a very emotional day. When the Minister of Magic approached her some three months ago, the Headmistress was insistent that the commemorative Anniversary Ball take place at Hogwarts. She remembered the conversation vividly.

“With all due respect, Minerva, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Kingsley said to her.

“I can’t imagine why not!” she contested. “What better way to honor those who lost their lives than hosting such an event on the grounds where the battle took place?”

“The Ministry is more than capable of hosting the event. I did not come here to contest the location of the ball,” the Minister said sternly.

“And I am merely suggesting that Hogwarts would be a better place to host the event. Or did you forget so quickly how many students and professors here aided in the battle? If this is to be a ball to acknowledge the anniversary of the end of the war, and honor those who gave their lives for the magical world, then it should be here,” Minerva pressed.

“You make a convincing argument, however—”

“Do you really think it’s prudent otherwise?” she asked, cutting him off. “You came here to ask my permission to invite those who were involved in the Battle of Hogwarts to attend the Anniversary Ball, did you not?”

“I did.”

“So, you’d rather the castle be left unguarded as you invite the vast majority of our staff? And what about those students who participated? Under normal circumstances they are not to leave the castle, save for Hogsmeade weekends. Do you truly expect Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood and countless others to simply stay here?” Minerva paused briefly to allow her words to sink in, as any veteran teacher would do. “And what about those students who lost family members in the war? Should they be forced to decline their invitation because they are in school?”

Kingsley held up a hand. “You have made a strong case for your argument. I’m listening.”

“Surely the Ministry would be able to provide security if we were to host the ball here. Any students who do not receive an invitation will be expected to remain in their common rooms and dorms for the evening. I will ensure the proper punishments are given to any students who attempt to break the rules.”

Kingsley nodded slowly. “That would simplify matters of transportation, but what of those attending from outside Hogwarts?”

“We are fully capable of allowing guests in the castle for one evening, including the Creevey family and any other families of our lost Muggleborn students. They may apparate into Hogsmeade, and Hagrid will arrange for the carriages to bring guests up to the castle. I assume they’ll need to present their invitation for entry?”

“Naturally.” Kingsley still looked pensive. “You don’t think it will be too difficult for those who fought to return?”

“Of course it will be difficult,” McGonagall said, her eyes misting ever so slightly as she held her head high, “but necessary, I think. It will be a statement. We will show the whole of Britain that we cannot be broken. That we persevered and rebuilt these walls so that Hogwarts could remain a safe and reputable school for Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Then it’s settled. The Anniversary Ball will be held at Hogwarts.”

Minerva heard someone clear their throat in the distance, bringing her back to the present. “Headmistress, I’m sorry to interrupt, but the guests are beginning to arrive,” one of the guards called to her from the large oak doors. 

Minerva’s eyes swept past the large room once more. The round tables were set immaculately for the arriving guests and the Head table set for the Minister, herself, and the rest of the staff. It was Kingsley’s original intention to have Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger also at the forefront. Minerva chuckled to herself at the recollection of how that went over. She could have told the Minister that Mr. Potter would want nothing to do with that arrangement, and naturally, she was correct. Some things would truly never change, she thought, as the tiniest of smiles crossed her thin lips. 

Turning on her heel, Minerva made her way over to Kingsley by the Entrance Hall as the guests began filing in. She made sure to position herself so she could keep an eye on the students who would no doubt be entering soon from within the castle. The Heads of Houses were tasked with ensuring only those with an invitation were permitted to enter the Great Hall, but she could never be too sure. 

Pleasantries were exchanged as she welcomed so many familiar faces. Minerva remained stoic even as her heart ached for the Creevey family, and Andromeda Tonks, who carried little Teddy in her arms. Infants were not typically invited to such an event, yet Kingsley had deemed it important for Tonks and Lupin’s son to be there. 

Had the event’s mood not been determined by the nature of honor and remembrance, it would have felt more like a reunion of friends. She watched as the Patil twins walked by, followed shortly after by Neville Longbottom and his grandmother. Minerva nodded to the group of recent Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw graduates, who had no doubt chosen to stick together. 

The official start of the Anniversary Ball was inching nearer and nearer, but there were several faces she’d not yet seen. It was a relief when, no sooner had she thought of the red headed clan, they disembarked out of two carriages at the end of the lane, with one dark haired young man in tow.

“Ah, there they are,” Kingsley said quietly beside her. 

“Did you truly think they wouldn’t show?” Minerva asked him.

“Not at all, Minerva. Though, I will not feign ignorance over Harry’s apprehension of the whole ordeal.”

“He never was one for attention,” she agreed. 

Her mind flitted back to memories of Harry’s time at Hogwarts. In retrospect, she understood that all of Harry’s adventures and knack for troublemaking were never entirely his fault. It always came back to Voldemort, and she knew now that Harry was the only one who could have done what he did. Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger always had a choice, and they were loyal to him to a fault. 

Minerva looked on as Kingsley shook hands with each Weasley, and she greeted them with a brief nod and pleasantries. Everyone had gone through an enormous amount over the past year, but this family had overcome so much. Even with the loss of Fred, they’d managed to put their family back together, and had each other to lean on as all the emotional and physical scars healed.

As the final group made their way into the Entrance Hall, she noticed Harry linger behind with Ron at his side. “Minister, may I have a word?” she heard him ask.

“Of course, Harry. What is it?” Kingsley asked him.

“I know I said I didn’t want to speak tonight, but after thinking about it, there is something I’d like to say,” Harry told him.

Kingsley looked surprised at Harry’s change of opinion. “I’m sure we can work that into the schedule of events, can’t we, Minerva?”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed. Minerva looked over at the young man, ensuring it was something he truly wanted to do.

“I was thinking I could go just before the dancing starts,” Harry suggested. He’d clearly thought about this. When neither she nor Kingsley answered right away, Harry continued awkwardly, “Er, there will be dancing, I assume? This is a ball, right?”

Minerva couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her lips at his bluntness while Kingsley beamed. “Yes, Mr. Potter, there will be dancing. I will work in a moment for you to address tonight’s guests as dinner concludes.”

“Thank you, Prof—er, Headmistress.”

“Professor McGonagall is just fine, Mr. Potter. Now, I believe there are two young ladies waiting inside for the two of you,” she said as she smiled knowingly. 

She glanced back at Miss Weasley and Ms. Granger, who were standing just across the hall, as the boys took off to collect their dates. Turning to Kingsley, Minerva asked, “Shall we get started, then?” Kingsley nodded and gestured for her to begin making her way into the Great Hall.

Everyone seemed to have settled at the various tables that had been laid out for the evening. She noticed many quiet conversations as the string quartet played quietly in the background. Minerva’s dress robes swished regally across the floor as she made her way to the head table, closely followed by Kingsley. Anyone who had not previously sat down now made their way to their seats.

Minerva approached the podium in the center of the raised platform to give the opening remarks. The hush of voices immediately quieted as she looked up. She smiled inwardly, pleased with how well she could command attention of a room. 

“Good evening, everyone,” she began. “Thank you for joining us on the anniversary of such an important day in our history. It is hard to believe that only one year ago we prevailed in the fight for wizardkind. We would not be here today without the efforts from so many of you, and from the sacrifices those close to us have made. 

“I understand how difficult it may be to sit here in this hall, the very same where we subsequently counted our fallen and witnessed Voldemort’s demise. It was my hope to help you find peace in returning here when I appealed to the Minister to host the Anniversary Ball at Hogwarts. To show those who still defy our world that we are strong, and that we will not fall to their evil beliefs. It is because of each and every one of you in this room, and even those who are with us in spirit, that we find ourselves in a time of peace for the first time in many years.”

Minerva took a deep breath before continuing. “We are here tonight for many reasons. To reminisce, to celebrate, and most of all, to remember those we lost because of one man’s dreadful hate. While we cannot bring those that we lost back, we can certainly honor them and tell their stories. With that said, I am pleased to announce an endeavor I have been working on for the better part of the year.”

Taking her wand out of her robes, Minerva waved it around and portraits of the fallen appeared on the walls of the Great Hall. She listened as everyone in attendance had gasped in awe. Many had broken out in what she knew to be appreciative tears as the smiling faces of those they’d lost a year ago were looking down on them. 

After the crowd quieted down, the Headmistress continued. “I’d like to thank all of those involved in making these portraits a reality. It is the least we could do here at Hogwarts to honor their memory. Following the Anniversary Ball, the portraits will be moved to the corridor on the third floor, where they will reside for present and future Hogwarts students to see and interact with.” 

Applause broke out at her words, and Minerva smiled graciously at the gesture. When she deemed the applause enough, she held up her hands in a similar fashion as her predecessor. Satisfied that everyone was listening again, she finished her speech.

“As I’ve mentioned before, I hope you are all able to find enjoyment and peace this evening. The feast will begin momentarily, and we will have a few more speakers after we eat. We will end the evening with dancing. Thank you.” Minerva turned to take her seat as applause erupted once more and meals magically appeared on everyone’s plates.

Minerva tucked into her own meal as she quietly began conversing with Kingsley and the other staff members around her. Kingsley expressed his shock and gratitude for the portraits to her, as the other staff members commented on how the reveal was perfectly executed. Her eyes drifted around the room, ensuring that everyone was satisfied and able to enjoy their time. She felt an immense amount of relief when Kingsley congratulated her on a job well done with the planning efforts for the event. Everything seemed to go off without a hitch.

When the plates were cleared after pudding had been served, Kingsley made his way up to the podium and addressed the crowd. His words were the perfect mixture of formal and uplifting. Like Minerva, he thanked everyone for agreeing to attend despite knowing how challenging it may have been. 

“At this time, I would like to welcome one more speaker up to the podium. Without this young man, we would not be here this evening.” Minerva watched as Kingsley nodded to Harry who stood and made his way to the front of the room.

Minerva gave Harry her rapt attention as he spoke. “Er, hi everyone,” he began. “I—” she watched as Harry paused and scratched his head before continuing. “ I wasn’t planning on speaking this evening, but I did think of a couple things I wanted to say.”

Minerva shook her head. Remind me to speak with the other staff members about incorporating more public speaking into our curriculum, she thought to herself. After making her mental note, she refocused on Harry’s words.

“I know how hard it is to be here. I, er, almost didn’t want to attend myself. I’m glad I did, though. Thank you, Professor McGonagall, for making the portraits happen. It’s really great to see all of their faces again, and I know many future students will appreciate being able to see their loved ones.” Minerva knew Harry was speaking particularly of little Teddy.

“Anyways, er, what I wanted to say is, I know we’re here to remember and honor those we lost. And though it seems like that would make this more of a depressing event, I think about the ones I was close to, and what they would think. Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin, Lavender, even Professor Snape…” Harry paused between each name, allowing them to sink in. 

“They wouldn’t want us wallowing over their deaths anymore. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, let’s enjoy the evening by having fun and celebrating a magical world no longer living in fear. It’s what they would have wanted. Well, except maybe Professor Snape, he never was one for fun.” His audience was quiet, save for a few chuckles, when someone broke the silence. 

“Hear, hear!” came a shout from Fred’s portrait.

The attendees were silent for a moment before breaking out in applause and laughter. As Harry’s speech concluded, Minerva didn’t bother to hide the tears that had gathered in her eyes. That young man standing in front of her had risked so much, and lost much more for wizardkind. Her heart swelled with pride, and she thanked Merlin for this moment right here, where so many former and current students were gathered, all who fought bravely in the war.

She raised her wand and cast Sonorous on her throat in order to be heard above the applause. “Let the celebration commence!” she said happily before casting the counter spell. Right on cue, the music began with an upbeat melody as guests made their way to the dance floor.

All in all, Minerva couldn’t be happier with how the event turned out. The mood had shifted from mournful to hopeful as the night carried on. The Anniversary Ball had truly become a special event that was able to offer another form of closure to families. Minerva was honored to be part of planning such an event that would set the precedent of anniversaries for years to come.

[abovethesmokestacks]

Distant Connection (5/7)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 995

Rating: All audiences

Warnings: none. or maybe bad memeing?

| Distant Connection Masterlist |

Ya’ll are really coming for my heart with all these lovely comments. I appreciate them all so, so, SO much. I wish you all had a Bucky to have zoom meetings with and that he’d look just like he does in the banner, nose scrunch and all.

Chapter 5: Toilet Paper Confessionals

“You mind if we wrap up like ten minutes early today?”

The question comes right at the end of another break aerobics session. Or, well, yoga. Bucky, you find out, is almost weirdly limber. Not that you had watched. A lot. 

“Um, sure? I can finish up whatever we’re working on then alone. What’s up?”

Bucky pulls a face, “Grocery run. We’re trying to do big hauls now and shop smart so we won’t have to run to the bodega five times a week because we just realized we’re out of fucking hot sauce.”

You halt your movements, pen frozen just above your notepad, “Hot sauce? People are out there hoarding toilet paper, hand sanitizer and canned food, but you guys… can’t survive without hot sauce?”

“It’s a thing. Mostly it’s Gabe and Junior’s thing, but it’s grown on me. Everything gets better with hot sauce,” Bucky explains with a wry little smile. “And come on, don’t tell me you’re not hoarding something no one else is.”

“Okay, I swear I’m not deflecting, but Junior? You have a roomie named Junior?”

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a nickname. But would you believe he’d rather be called Junior than Jonathan?”

Almost immediately, there’s a muffled voice hollering loud enough to carry through the closed door to Bucky’s room, “Are you talking shit about me, Jimmy?” 

“Literally no one calls me Jimmy, Jonathan!” Bucky calls back, a teasing emphasis on his roomie’s name, and is that a blush creeping up on his cheek?

“Yeah, like literally no one calls me Jonathan!”

Bucky’s face lights up with laughter, nose scrunching up and you’re sure you have to be melting, have to be swooning because it’s so sweet and so nice to see this side of him. Sure, the two of you have gotten more comfortable with each other during these past couple of weeks, more so than if you would have been working on this project at the office. But this… this is a part of his life that you’ve only ever heard of but never seen or experienced. He is Bucky in this moment, but a more private version. He’s a guy who gets lost in an inside joke and teases his friends and laughs like he’s not in the middle of a thing with a co-worker. You kinda wanna know that guy, too.

“Sorry about that. He’s a good guy. Bit of an asshole sometimes, but a good guy.” Bucky’s voice brings you out of your little daydream, and if you flinch, then he doesn’t seem to notice. “So what was that about you hoarding stuff?”

“I never said I was hoarding!” you protest, holding up a finger.

“Yeah, but you are buying something in semi-bulk, am I right? Am I right?”

You let out a mock-exasperated breath, leaning back in your chair. God, you miss your office chair. You miss your tiny office. You even miss the shitty view and the way you’d hear Tony talking at breakneck speed from down the corridor.

“I’m not saying I’m hoarding. But I want to be prepared. So maybe… I have…  a coupla pints of ice cream in my freezer.”

Bucky breaks down into laughter again, his whole face crinkling up. “And you’re judging me for hot sauce? Oh, man, we are the worst preppers in the world. God damn it, hot sauce and ice cream, that’s the hill we’ll die on?”

“I mean, at least we’ll die happy and full of something we like?”

“True that.”

You think the discussion is done with that. And sure, for a while it is. You go back to your project, to running numbers and making spreadsheets and discussing client costs, and when Bucky waves goodbye, it’s with a smile and a teasing jab about buying ice cream. You wrap up what you were working on, shutting down your laptop and getting up with a little grumble and a lot of joint popping. There are leftovers and half-empty takeout boxes in your fridge, but not really anything substantial. Maybe you should do a proper grocery run, too?

You walk around, finding a bodega that is reasonably empty but still well-stocked. You try to shop with purpose. Non-perishables, produce, thinking of dishes you can prepare that won’t take too long, be too complicated and that will last you a couple of days each.

In the pasta aisle, your phone pings, alerting you to a whatsapp message. It’s Bucky. A selfie where his face is only half in the picture while the main focus seems to be on a guy dramatically kneeling in front of an empty shelf.

>>We were too late. Someone else is hoarding hot sauce. Gabe, as you can see, is taking it well.

You had exchanged numbers early on, just in case all other tech would give up. There’s never been any need to use the phone, not for professional reasons at least. Bucky texting you… makes the world seem a little more normal. Texting each other dumb, sweet stuff. Smiling, you find the condiment section, snapping a picture of yourself with all the available hot sauces clearly visible.

>>Oh, what a shame, what a shame poor Gabe isn’t here.

>>Was that a P!ATD reference?

>>Maybe?

There’s no immediate reply, so you carry on, wandering the little bodega trying to figure out if there’s anything else you need. Your phone only pings again when you’re waiting in line. Bucky, doing a cheesy pose and pointing at the length of freezers filled with ice cream

>>Lying on the ice cream freezers is the most fun a guy can have for unprovoked hot sauce taunting though not during a pandemic because that is unhygienic

>>by Panic at the Trader Joe’s

You can’t contain the laugh, making the cashier stare.

>>Oh my god you are such a dork

>>It’s why you like me, right?

Oh. Like him.

You… like him. Bucky.

That’s.

Oh.

[greekgeek21]

Percy Jackson and the Avengers: Convergence - the avengers are humbled

Welcome back! I know it's been awhile but I hope I didn't lose too many of you. I just wanted to say thank you for all of the support I've been getting on all platforms. Honestly, I did not expect this story to take off the way it did.

Now that that's over, I'm gonna clarify something for SOME PEOPLE. I started writing this last October, which means that I have absolutely no interest in going back over already-edited work just to change a minor detail some people seem to find maddening. This chapter, I can say for certain, was written during December, so I don't always remember what happened. Okay?

This chapter is kinda just one big fluffy piece but I love it so no hate pls.

Now please remember to comment, like, follow me, and reblog!

- you author

Ω ♆ Ω

"Okay! Assignments...Annabeth and Piper, go with Widow, Frank with Hawkeye, Hazel and Leo with Tony, and Jason and Percy with Bruce and I. Everyone okay with that?" Steve said.

"Yep."

"Got it, Cap."

"This should be fun..."

The heroes separated into their groups and stood, waiting for more orders from Captain America.

"As I said before, this is just to further evaluate and document your abilities. It shouldn't take long. That's it, get to work," He ordered, turning and walking towards the sparring pads with Jason, Percy, and Dr. Banner.

They were back on the training floor for the evaluations, after an uneventful lunch break. Well, unless you count Frank's disgust with the attempt at proper Chinese food as eventful.

Ω ♆ Ω

Despite them being on the sparring mats, Percy and Jason would not be sparring. Even to someone who doesn't know the full extent of the sons of the Poseidon and Zeus' relationship, it's pretty obvious that they should not be allowed to fight each other. Their personalities are almost exact opposites; Carefree vs Serious.

"Just show us something we haven't seen from you before, and then we'll build from there," Bruce told the teens.

Percy and Jason looked at each other expectantly, waiting for the other to begin. Their powers were similar in the way that they could get out of hand quickly. Neither of them wanted to be the reason that the tower lost power or got flooded. Zeus knows it would be a mess to clean up.

After a whole two minutes of waiting for them to get started, Steve let out a sigh, "Oh, for God's sake! Jason, you go."

"Umm...let's see here," Jason muttered under his breath, looking around the room for inspiration, "Oh! I got it!"

He positioned himself a couple of feet away from a practice dummy and held his hands together in front of him. Taking a deep breath and imagining his goal, he let sparks fly around his hands. He let them grow for a couple of seconds before slowly starting to separate his hands. While doing this, he made sure a line of electricity was stable between his hands. He kept separating his hands until he couldn't anymore, and then he slowly released his grip on the line from his left hand. He made sure to keep feeding the lightning rod so that it held form.

Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Percy, Steve, and Bruce were all watching with equal amounts of shock. Percy had never seen or known Jason could do this, and Steve and Bruce were completely new to all of this. Then, Jason proceeded to shock them further.

He made the line of electricity into a whip. He made a lighting whip.

Percy was so proud of his friend's imagination. It was almost enough to make a grown demigod cry...

Jason readied his whip and struck the practice dummy, slicing it completely in half. Then, he turned to his group, smiling and making the lightning dissipate. It should've been illegal how easy he made it look, in Percy's opinion.

"Dude! That was awesome! I didn't know you could do that!" Percy exclaimed, slapping the son of Zeus on the back with a proud, blinding smile.

No matter what it seemed like sometimes, Percy was the big brother of the Seven.

"Yeah! That was pretty good, son," Steve said, nodding his head in appreciation, "Now we only need to get that process sped-up and it will be an amazing asset in a fight."

"This means you could do so much more with your abilities, including maybe providing infinite power, which we have been searching for for decades! You kids are truly lucky to have these powers," Bruce rattled off.

Percy whispered to Steve, "Does he get like this a lot?"

Steve nodded, "Yeah. I tend to tune-out the sciency rambling and just focus on stuff I can understand. He had Tony if he needs to bounce ideas off of someone, anyway."

"Got it," Percy said, "I guess this means I'm next?"

He had thought about this a lot during lunch, and had decided to go into the exercise with the comfort and ease he had possessed using his powers before Tartarus, and see where he got from there. Like Annabeth said, it was all in his head. He just needed to believe that he had control, and he would get it.

Simple, in theory.

"Yep. I want you to copy Jason, but with water," Steve said.

He gave more specific instructions to Percy because he felt like he needed that. He was a leader, and leaders need to notice and know what their troops need. Percy needed specifics because he was cautious with using his powers, and he wanted to know exactly what was needed of him before going in. That way there is no possibility of him losing control.

Once again, only in theory.

"Okay, Percy... you got this," Percy muttered to himself, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and cracking his neck.

He shook his hands out once before readying himself in a slightly-more relaxed version of Jason's stance. But this time, he did not hold his hands together. Instead, he reached his hands out towards the bucket of water the Avengers had brought to the sparring mats earlier. Taking a deep breath, he felt the barely-there familiar tug in his gut before a tendril of water was rising from the bucket and reaching towards his outstretched hands. Percy willed it to wrap around his arms and hands, and then he slowly put his hands together like he had seen Jason do (he wasn't quite sure how he planned to make the whip yet, so this seemed like the best bet). Taking another deep breath, he started separating his hands, but keeping a solid tendril of water stretched between them.

He tried to move slightly faster than his cousin did, just because of the ever present, unconscious competitiveness ingrained between them.

Finally, he let go with his left hand and let the water form into a whip in his right. It kept shape, but was more flexible than the rod had been. Percy turned to the other practice dummy and whipped it twice, forming two straight slices right through the rubber.

Everyone in their group stood in shock, including Percy after he had deposited the water back in the bucket. He hadn't known he could use a whip.

Must be another natural demigod thing, he thought. Most weaponry came easy to him (except archery, of course).

It took a moment for them to recollect themselves, but Steve shook himself out of his stupor first, "That was...impressive, Percy. I didn't know you had such control over your powers."

The demigod in question shrugged modestly, "Yeah. I didn't really either, to be completely honest."

Jason surged forward and hung an arm around his friend, "Stop being so modest, Kelphead! That was amazing!"

Sure, Jason had done the same thing, but he hadn't gone through literal Hell and come back scarred forever, emotionally and physically. But mentioning that topic wasn't wise, so he stuck with just congratulating his older cousin.

"What else do you want us to do?" Percy asked Steve and Bruce, trying to move the attention off of him.

"Well...I guess just do a couple more small things with your powers and then we can be done. I think you've proved your point of not being newbies," he answered.

Percy and Jason smiled at each other once, then nodded at the Captain.

Ω ♆ Ω

"Okay, Frank, let's see what you got! Any special skills besides turning into animals?" Clint asked.

Frank shifted from foot to foot, "Well, I'm pretty good at archery, I guess. Better than my swordsmanship, anyways."

Clint smirked, "You guess? If you're going to be on this team, you need to be completely sure of your skills. So let's see what you can do."

Frank had grabbed his bow and magical quiver during lunch because he figured he would need it for something during this exercise, so he only had to sling the bow over his shoulder to be ready. The quiver was designed by Leo to never run out of celestial bronze and imperial gold arrows. The celestial bronze ones were normal, and the imperial gold were exploding. A combination of both metals would shoot out hardening foam (also designed by Leo) to stop monsters. Or in this case, people.

He set himself up on the first line on the archery range, and let the arrow fly. It hit the bullseye dead-on. Frank turned to look at Clint to find him raising his eyebrows in appreciation.

"Good. But I'm not impressed until I see you do that from a longer distance and on the move, so let's work our way up there, huh? I'm interested in seeing if we can finally have another good archer on this team," Clint said.

Frank smiled, "I've been doing this practically my whole life, so I'd hope I was pretty good by now. Plus, I've been in battle before, shooting on the move."

There was the newfound confidence that still baffled a certain son of Poseidon after a whole year. You go into the deepest parts of Hades with a shy Canadian Baby Man, and then miraculously you make it out and the kid is taller, buffer, and much more confident.

"Sounds interesting... Any war stories you care to share with the class?" Clint asked, intrigued.

Frank's happy expression steeled over, "I think I'd rather keep those to myself, thank you. Maybe another time."

Clint nodded, but you could see he wasn't going to let that go. Frank had made a mistake saying he had seen battle before. It was pretty obvious that the teens had, but he had just confirmed it, therefore furthering the Avengers' curiosity.

So, basically, he had screwed them over further and faster.

With a great sigh, Frank went aimed and shot another arrow, choosing to ignore the awkwardness that had formed between the two archers.

Ω ♆ Ω

Leo and Hazel were... unsure how to react to Tony's exercise, to say the least. They got over to their part of the room and their eyes immediately tunneled-in on the giant block of metal in the center. Nothing special about it besides the fact that it was black, and about four feet tall, and four feet wide. They weren't sure what to make of it.

Tony was beaming next to them, which was a sure sign of nothing good. It was pretty maniacal, too.

"Mr. Stark... what exactly are we doing with this?" Hazel asked.

Somehow, Stark's grin managed to widen even more before he answered with, "Oh, you know, a simple thing, really. I want to see something unique from both of you, so I brought this out of storage. I designed it years ago, not knowing what the hell I would be using it for, but it turns out my genius brain was just preparing me for this moment where I would evidently be training a bunch of teenagers... but anyway! This will mold to any specifications that I need it to, kinda like the LMDs. Just tell me what you're planning to do, and I'll program it to follow your needs."

Hazel raised her eyebrows at Tony's complete disregard for modesty. The others were not kidding when they said he was an arrogant mortal. She was even considering going all "I am your superior because of my divine blood" on him, but then she remembered that that would make her a huge hypocrite.

Leo, on the other hand, was starstruck. He was convinced that he could never come up with even half the stuff Tony invented. He was a true genius in every right. A role model of many Hephestus kids.

"So... who's going first?" Tony asked.

"I'll go!" Leo exclaimed, like an eager child vying for their father's attention.

"Great! That's the spirit! What're you gonna do?"

Leo thought about it, and then the perfect idea came to mind. It wasn't really using his usual extravagant and fiery powers, but it wasn't any less impressive. He wanted to impress Mr. Stark, and this was the way to do it.

"Make it the hardest safe to crack in the world," he answered, a, well, fire lighting up his eyes.

Tony was intrigued, that's for sure. It was pretty obvious what the kid was planning on attempting, but it would be just that: an attempt. Nobody could crack this safe. It was designed by himself personally to house some of his most secret projects for the Avengers. He was literally the only one in the world that even knew of its existence. There was no way Leo could pull off cracking that type of safe without years of preparation.

But, he still programmed the block to make itself into the safe. If anything, it would show these teens how not to underestimate Tony Stark.

"Okay, kid. Good luck," he said, and then whispered, "You're gonna need it."

Leo didn't comment on Tony's quieter remark, but he did smile wider at the prospect of a real challenge. Sure, he could come off as a little overconfident sometimes, but he really was smart and powerful when he tried. He just wasn't a serious child of Athena, he was a fun son of Hephaestus, and he would act as such.

Still, when the block turned into something he had never seen before, he took a deep breath, focused his mind on the task at hand, and got to work.

Tony was smiling wide over his shoulder, interested in seeing how far the kid could get, but little did he know, Leo had this under control. To someone who didn't know him, what he was doing would seem weird, but he was actually just listening to the machine. Yes, listening to it.

He had his ear pressed up against the safe, both hands pressed flat against it next to his head. Leo was already learning the mechanisms of it, and in no time, he would be able to tell the safe to open itself without even lifting a finger.

He was almost vibrating with excitement over how Tony would react. It was sure to be a show.

Sure enough, a little less than a minute later, there was a series of soft clicking heard before the light on the pad flashed green and the door was open.

Of course, it was empty, but Tony was still in shock. A sixteen year old kid had beaten his strongest security system besides JARVIS. It wasn't possible. There was no way that Leo had just cracked his safe.

"No. Not possible," he insisted, turning with wide eyes to stare at the demigod, who had a proud grin on his face.

"Yep, it is. I just did it. Were you not watching?" Leo said, channeling his inner-Percy for sass.

Tony so wanted to protest more, but he knew it was futile. Plus, having someone almost as smart as him around might be some fun. Bruce was always worrying whenever they worked together, and Leo gave off way different vibes.

"I was watching, still working on believing, though," Tony said, "That was some pretty cool shit there, kid. Care to tell me what it was?"

Leo said, "I just talked to the safe. It was a little harder to crack than some of the other ones I've done before, but I got through to it eventually. It was pretty strong. Good work on that design."

"Thank you... I guess," Tony said.

Tony couldn't remember telling Leo who had created the safe, but he figured he would get the same answer as before if he asked. Believing these kids' powers was a little difficult, especially when all of them defied the laws of any science. Tony was starting to think that they were Asgardians, with how they fought and everything.

"Well, let's move onto Hazel. We don't have all day," he said, turning to the daughter of Pluto, who had stayed to the side during Leo's entire turn, "What are you gonna do? It's gonna be pretty hard to follow up on that performance."

Hazel had had time to figure it out while she was waiting, so she answered right away, "I won't be needing the box for my turn. I just need you."

Tony gave her an incredulous look, "What do you need me for?"

"Just tell me a metal. Any metal in the world, and I'll bring it here," she answered.

Okay, Tony was done. There was NO WAY that was possible, and he knew it. He wasn't stupid. These kids were messing with him now.

"Seriously?! I'm not falling for that! You can't do that!" he exclaimed.

Hazel just gave him a knowing smile, "I get that a lot. But I always seem to prove those people wrong..."

Tony sighed, "Okay, sure. Let's do... Vibranium."

He kept a straight face on the outside, but on the inside he was smiling like a maniac. Vibranium could only be found in Wakanda, and they barely had any left. There was no way she could get it all the way here, even if there was any left.

Hazel nodded and closed her eyes, letting her powers search for the precious metal. She had heard of it before from some people in the Underworld. Apparently, it could only be found in a small country in Africa, so she had to widen her search.

It didn't take long to find some, but that was only because what she found was Steve's shield. She hadn't known that it was made of vibranium, and stored that knowledge away for future use. Then, she kept looking.

Soon, she found some and told a very small piece to come to her. You couldn't ask her how it reached all the way up through the tower, but she always just concluded that it was magic. It's the simplest solution.

When she opened her eyes, a content smile on her face, she looked up at Tony with expectation of a shocked outburst, only to find him looking expectantly at her. So he hadn't figured out what she had done yet, apparently.

"Look down," she instructed.

And Tony did. Only to find that a small rock of Vibranium was poking up from the floor. At first, he wasn't sure how to react, but then, he reached down to touch it, trying to make sure what he was seeing was actually true. But before he could put one finger on it, Hazel shoved him away.

"Don't pick it up! It's cursed, you idiot!" she yelled, but then her own face slacked in shock.

She hadn't meant to say that last part. It was the truth, but her powers could definitely be linked back to the gods. She was not going to be the one to let the secret slip. That was going to be Percy or Leo, if anyone.

"That's amazing," Tony breathed, openly staring in shock at the metal.

But before another second had passed, the rock popped back through the floor and was gone as quickly as it had come.

When Tony looked up at Hazel in question, all he got was a shrug in response. It wasn't safe to keep the metals lying around.

Tony physically shook the shock out of him, and said, "Alright. That was pretty impressive, I'll admit, both of you. We can be done for the day. I'm gonna go check out what some of the others are doing."

"Yeah, I'll do that too," Hazel said, turning to Leo. "What about you? What are you gonna do?"

"I think I'll try to help JARVIS find the bad guys," he responded. "I'm getting nervous just waiting for them to blow something else up."

While Tony was walking away, he yelled to Leo, "Don't break anything! Everything here costs more than everything you own!"

Leo wasn't so sure about that, considering the amount of celestial bronze he owned, but he didn't comment on it.

Ω ♆ Ω

Annabeth and Piper were hard to find an exercise for. Neither of them had very obvious superpowers (one didn't have one at all), in Natasha's opinion. She wanted to see how much the others would have to protect them if it came down to a fight of powers. Sure, she didn't have any abilities, but she had also been training how to make up for that almost her whole life.

So, if anyone could find a weakness in these two girls, it would be her, and Natasha was determined to find it.

"Okay girls, this shouldn't take too long. You're only throwing knives at moving targets. The trick is, you won't know when the targets will pop up. You'll be standing in the middle and holographic targets will form around you at random times, always speeding up. If you're as good as you say you are, you can handle this no problem," Natasha said, eyes piercing into Piper and Annabeth.

"Yeah, we got this," Annabeth shot back, standing proud. "I'll go first."

Natasha was not making it unknown that she didn't trust the demigods, and Annabeth was not going to let that continue. Only the "kids" knew what was really going on, so the adults needed to get in line with their way of doing things before somebody got killed. These people that they were hunting had already killed many people, so they knew they were capable of it. This makeshift group needed to be a well-oiled machine by the time they found the bad guys.

"Okay, just step into that square on the ground, and it'll begin. Piper and I will be stepping out of the range," Natasha said, grabbing Piper's arm and dragging her back about seven yards, "Let's begin!"

It seemingly came out of nowhere, the target. Annabeth had barely been able to grab some of the knives from the table next to her before it formed. It was an orange color, and very pixelated. As soon as she shot the arrow right through the bullseye, it exploded in a shower of orange pixels. She barely had time to let that sink in before another one popped up. They seemed to be stopping the knives, but as soon as they deformed, the weapons just dropped to the ground.

It was rapidly speeding up, but it was nothing to being overrun with monsters trying to kill you. Soon enough, the targets started moving, so she had to adjust her stance to hit them where they would be, not where they were.

It was exhilarating. She hadn't had this much of an adrenaline rush in a year!

Her five minutes of throwing seemed to end all-too-quickly. Soon, the targets stopped popping up, and Natasha was walking towards her with an almost-impressed look on her face.

"Not bad, Chase," she conceded.

"Thanks," Annabeth responded, going and helping Piper pick up the knives lying around their area.

When she got to her, her friend looked up, "That was pretty good, Annabeth. I don't know how I'm supposed to follow that, though."

Annabeth rolled her eyes, "Oh, shut up. I could've done better. And you'll do great, Pipes. I trained you, right?"

She had a light twinkle in her eyes that always came when she was joking around (and that wasn't often). Piper had been trying her very best to see it out as much as possible after Tartarus. Percy and Annabeth put on a strong front, but the Seven could all see they were still recovering, and probably would always be. Nobody just jumped right back into things after something as traumatic as that trip through Hell.

But Piper didn't let it be known how proud she was of Annabeth for making a joke; that would only stop the fun right in its tracks.

"Thanks," Piper said, picking up the last knife before replacing Annabeth in her previous spot in the square.

In her opinion, she wasn't doing as good as Annabeth, or making it look as easy, but it wasn't too difficult. She had been practicing all the time on her fighting skills, and she especially focused on daggers. Knives were balanced a bit differently, but it was the same concept. She just had to compensate for the loss of weight.

Soon enough, Piper found the flow and could slightly anticipate when the next target would pop up.

Annabeth knew Piper would be fine doing this exercise. Sure, it got the blood flowing, but it wasn't the hardest thing they had done. They had fought in actual wars.

Before Piper had known what happened, the targets stopped showing up, and the five minutes were up. She was breathing a little heavily, but a giant grin was taking up her face.

"Not bad, either," Natasha complemented, "You will probably be able to take care of yourselves in a fight."

"Probably?" Annabeth glared.

Natasha returned the glare, "Probably."

Annabeth wanted to say more, but a shout from Leo, who had just sprinted back into the room, interrupted her.

"Guys! Guys! We got a hit!" he screamed, eyes wild with excitement.

Ω ♆ Ω

Everyone but Hazel and Tony stared at Leo in confusion and concern. They didn't know that he had gone to work with JARVIS on tracking the bombers.

Tony ran up to Leo, "What? Where?"

"In Las Vegas," Leo answered.

The rest of the heroes had all formed a group around Leo. Percy and Annabeth had naturally gravitated next to each other. At Leo's answer, they clasped hands and shared a look. They knew why Las Vegas was chosen: The Lotus Hotel and Casino. Flashbacks to zebras and old games flashed through their minds.

"What would they want in Las Vegas?" Steve asked.

"Who cares?! We're going to Vegas baby!" Tony exclaimed, pumping his fist. "JARVIS? Prepare the jet."

Tony was the only one who hadn't noticed the oldest demigods' reaction towards

Las Vegas. He didn't realize how bad this could really be. The demigods didn't have the time to make sure the Avengers didn't get stuck in the casino, if that's where they were going (which it probably was).

"Um, care to share what's bothering you two?" Steve asked Percy and Annabeth.

"We've been to Vegas before. If we're going where we think we might be going, this could be bad. You need to listen to us exactly, okay? It's important," Percy answered.

Tony gave him a confused look. "What are you talking about, kid? We'll be fine. I don't need a teeanger telling me how to do what I'm best at."

Annabeth glared at the billionaire, "And what is that; what you're good at? Because I thought it was being lazy and never taking anything seriously."

"Annabeth, just let it go. We'll just have to watch him closer." Percy said, resting a hand on his girlfriend's shoulder.

With one last glare at Tony, and a warning look to the other Avengers, Annabeth stormed out of the training room, heading back up to her room to prepare without another word. Mortals were so stubborn, she thought, especially when you're trying to protect them. It's literally their birthright to protect mortals, and they never let them!

Storming into her room, Annabeth grabbed a duffle bag and started stuffing supplies into it: weapons, spare clothes, ambrosia and nectar, armor, and a couple other things. She was so distracted by her anger that she didn't see the shadows fluctuating in the corner, or the black snout poking out.

She didn't see it until it was too late.

Ω ♆ Ω

"Are you going to tell us what that was all about back there?" Jason asked Percy as the rest of the demigods were walking back to their rooms.

Percy sighed, exhausted with the day but knowing it was not even close to being over, "Las Vegas is where Annabeth, Grover and I went during our first quest together. We got stuck in the Lotus Hotel and Casino. It's the home of the Lotus-eaters. They trap you in there and you don't feel time passing. We were in there for a week without realizing it. It's dangerous, man."

Piper and Jason shared a worried look, and Piper said, "So... we need to keep a close eye on the mortals on this mission, right?"

"A very close eye," Percy nodded.

When Percy reached Annabeth's door, he decided to go check on her. "Go get your stuff. Let's meet in the living room."

"Okay, Aquaman," Leo said, dashing into his soot-stained room.

Percy wasn't sure what he was expecting to find, maybe Annabeth crying, screaming, or angrily throwing things into a bag (that's the most likely), but he was NOT prepared for nothing. Literally nothing; the room was empty. There was an open duffle on the bed, along with a couple of weapons lying around it, but no Annabeth.

He wasn't getting worried yet, though. She could just be in the bathroom. That was a viable option. He would not allow himself to freak out yet. At least not until he checked the bathroom...

... And the bathroom was empty! Now he allowed himself to freak out. He started storming around the room, tossing things around looking for a clue as to where she went, anything!

"Annabeth! Wise girl!" he called, though he knew it was fruitless.

In their lives, nothing was ever as easy as simply calling for someone and they came back. Annabeth was missing, and he had no idea how to find her.

Unless someone was stupid enough to leave a trail of shadows, that is. Looking in the corner, Percy saw that the shadows in the right corner were moving around unnaturally, a lot like what happened after they were used for shadow travel. He had spent enough time around Nico to understand what it looked like.

So this meant that someone with access to shadow traveling took her, and that wasn't a long list. It was probably a hellhound that took her! Oh, were they going to pay.

Percy could feel his powers slipping, and the walls were giving scary creaks. No matter how much he wanted to just explode, he knew that he had to take a deep breath and focus on recentering himself. He would be no help to Annabeth if he wasn't in control. Some part of his brain was telling him that maybe letting off a little steam WOULD help get his powers under control, but no, he promised Annabeth. And Percy refused to break that promise if he could.

"JARVIS!" he yelled, already rushing out the door, "Call everyone to the living room! Now!"

"Right away, sir," JARVIS responded.

Percy ended up just running to the living room, not wasting any time being careful. Annabeth was missing, and he needed to find her and get her back NOW.

His emotions were running high, so he could sense all the water and liquids around him (it was a lot), and it was becoming distracting.

When he got there, only Steve, Clint, and Natasha were waiting so far. Though Hazel and Frank walked in right after him, probably having heard him scream before JARVIS had even called everyone.

"What's going on?" Steve asked, concern filling his eyes.

Percy paced and said, "Wait until everyone else is here. Then I'll tell you."

His mind kept flashing pictures of all his and Annabeth's enemies. Years and years of fighting monsters and wars were playing on his brain. There were so many possible people, even if it probably was the current gang that they were searching for. He didn't want to let himself believe that mortals could be so messed-up that they worked with monsters, monsters that they couldn't even begin to understand. It was so far-fetched, and yet it was his life!

As these thoughts were going through his head, the rest of the team had finally made it in. They were all sporting confused and concerned glances. Natasha seemed to have figured out that one of them was missing, and that it wasn't normal for that person and Percy to be separated. Annabeth was missing.

"Percy, man. Stop pacing and tell us what's wrong," Jason laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Percy's eyes got a little misty as he told them, "Annabeth is missing. Taken. She's gone, and I don't know where to find her."

Hazel gasped.

Nothing was right with this. Percy without Annabeth was wrong. So wrong. They needed to be reunited soon, and quickly.

Percy started pacing again, absentmindedly twirling Riptide around his fingers. He had decided that it was best to start in Las Vegas and go from there. There was a good chance that it was the gang who had taken her, and that they were holding her there. It was his only idea.

The others had just been sharing worried looks and a few whispered thoughts before Tony suddenly jumped up, holding his phone like it might explode.

"Guys, I think I know who has her..." he said, making a few hand gestures before his phone screen was projected in front of them.

It was a picture. Of Annabeth.

She was hanging from celestial bronze chains, with a leather gag in her mouth, and shackles on her ankles. Her hair was a matted mess, and she was unconscious. Even so, Percy could see that she had a black eye, probably from struggling. She wouldn't go without a fight, that's for sure. But still, this was not the Annabeth they knew. The Annabeth they knew was a strong force to be reckoned with. This...person was not her.

Percy let out an almost animalistic growl at the sight. They were going to pay, whoever had taken her. All of them.

"It has a note," Tony said, throwing up another picture.

It said:

We are The Truth Seekers. We have your blonde bitch, and she will be dead in the next 24 hours unless you reveal yourselves. The world deserves to know! It is our right to know the monstrosities that go unseen, right beneath our noses! 24 hours, or she's dead. We're at the Lotus Hotel and Casino, another one of the hidden monstrosities in our world. Tell the truth!

Percy was going to kill them. He didn't care if they were mortals, they were going to die. They hurt Annabeth, he hurts back. Worse.

"We need to suit-up, and then we can get going and rescue her. But first, we need a plan," Steve started to speak, but before he could, the world flooded in.

Screw control, Percy thought.

He let the pipes and burst and break the windows. Standing on the very edge of the empty window seal, he let out the loudest taxi whistle the Avengers had ever heard. Waiting only a second for a black blur to show up on the horizon, Percy jumped.

Ω ♆ Ω

other chapters :)

[ellewritesathing]

Faith and Forgiveness    I

Summary: Faith was tricky, fickle. When you've been trained your whole life to do awful things, you have to have faith that your misdeeds will be worth it in the end and trust that your faith hasn't been misplaced. The Weeping Monk wasn’t so sure that he was capable of that trust.

Masterlist   Part 1

Word-count: 4.6k+

A/N: hey so originally this was supposed to be a single part fic but it was like 10k words and i needed validation so i split it up!! hope you like it anyway💕

War was a tricky business. The business of making rich men richer and starving the rest, burning the rest. Not the business of honest men; war was the business of liars and thieves, and you had to leave pieces of yourself behind if you wanted to survive. 

You had to survive because you were one of the last ones, even if you were just a watered-down version of the original. The Moon Wings were one of the first clans to be burned, but you were one of the lucky ones to only be taken prisoner, blessed enough to be chosen to be saved from damnation. 

Stubborn enough to escape from the bastards and vow to rescue anyone else who was unlucky enough to be forced into your position. 

But saving people was a tricky business. The business of making righteous men into enemies and prolonging the tragic lives of the rest. Not the business of honorable men; salvation was the business of the broken and the damned, and you had to leave pieces of yourself behind if you wanted to survive. 

Salvation was also very costly, which is why you left Squirrel in the trees and promised to take him to Nemos when you had the money to get him there. The knights of Pendragon were ridiculously oblivious targets, just like their king, so it was supposed to be a quick beating and stealing. 

Unfortunately, a few stray fey folk here and a couple of Red Paladins there had ruined your perfectly good plan. Perhaps none ruined it more so than the Weeping Monk. 

He was good, you had to admit. A truly skilled fighter, even though he was a pain in the ass. Most of the fey had gotten away while you fought with him, but so did your knights and their gold. You didn’t have time to dwell on your loss, though, because the Weeping Monk threw you against a tree and pressed a knife to your throat. 

“Stop talking or I’ll cut out your tongue,” he said under his breath. His words were tinged with danger and mint, and it was the first time he’d spoken during your one-sided verbal and double-edged physical sparring match. 

Ignoring the few drops of blood that trickled down your throat, you moved a few centimeters closer to his face. “If it made you smile, I’d bite it off myself.” He pushed you back into the tree, bits of bark digging into your back as you laughed. 

The knife dug into your throat but not enough to aggravate the wound, but it was enough to cut your laugh into an amused smile. You were about to ask if you’d struck a nerve when the first arrow flew through the air. 

Ordinarily, the Weeping Monk never would have been hit by an arrow like that, but his attention was on you and not the assailant in the dark. The arrow landed in his lower back and was met with an annoyed groan rather than a cry of pain. 

He spun around, pulling the knife off your throat to knock away the next arrow. He stalked further into the woods and your eyes caught on something shiny to the right of him. The knights had circled back and they were hungry. 

Sure, the Weeping Monk could take out an entire banner of knights by himself, but that was when he didn’t have an arrow between one of his kidneys and his liver. 

You knew that if you left him to be killed in the woods that you would probably be saving countless fey lives, but a very annoying voice in your head reminded you of a promise you made to the ashes of your village - a promise to save anyone from an unjust killing. 

To be fair, you hadn’t known you’d be saving the Weeping Monk when you’d made the promise, but Moon Wings weren’t ones to break promises and neither were you. So, against your better judgment, you followed him into the woods. 

He seemed to be doing fine on his own, though you’d expect nothing less from the Weeping Monk. He did, however, have a knight that was about to stab him in the back. The Weeping Monk turned just in time to see you knock the knight out with the hilt of your blade. 

He was about to say something, most probably not thank you, when blood spilled from his lips and he collapsed.

After your brief shock, you dove to check that he was still alive. His pulse was fading but it was, frustratingly, still there. You took your hand off his neck and grabbed a fistful of his cloak to pull him up. Looping your arms underneath his shoulders, you started dragging him somewhere safe. 

The Weeping Monk was heavier than he looked, proper deadweight in his unconscious state, but you managed to get him to the caves in one piece. He was a quick healer, too, considering that he woke up before you’d even applied the salve. 

Feeling venomously playful, you wiped the salve off your knife and moved the blade to his throat. “Don’t talk or I’ll cut out your tongue,” you warned in a rushed whisper. 

Surprisingly, the Weeping Monk didn’t fight you. He looked at you as best as he could from the position on his stomach, and asked in a voice far more venomous than playful, “What are you doing to me?” 

You took your knife off his throat and sat back down with a sigh. “I’m trying to save your life,” you said. “You’ve got a nasty wound on your back but I’ve got something to fix it. It’s going to hurt when I take the arrow out and burn after.” 

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “Just leave me in the woods to bleed out.”

“I didn’t just drag you all the way in here to drag you out there again.” As you spoke, you wrapped one hand around the arrow and grabbed hold of his shirt with your other. “Just lie still and-” 

He moved so quickly that you thought the Weeping Monk was going to kill you, but all he did was catch your wrist. Not rough enough to leave a bruise, but enough to shock you to let go of his shirt. “Don’t.”

“You’ll die if I don’t,” you said. Your voice wasn't necessarily confrontational, but it told whoever was listening that you weren't willing to back down. “You’re one hell of a fighter but it looks like that’s what made it worse.” 

“I don’t care.” Maybe it was the way sound echoed in these caves, but he sounded so resigned to his fate that it tugged at your heartstrings. 

“Well, I care,” you told him. You repositioned your hold on the arrow. “Now hold still.” You tore the arrow out of his back before he could argue.

His screams echoed off the walls. It was painful to hear and even more so to watch his entire body writhe the way it did, but soon it was over and you were pressing a wad of his cloak to stop the bleeding. 

“There,” you murmured, lifting a hand to move some hair off his sweat-soaked forehead. Seeing him covered in sweat and blood did a funny thing to your chest; you’d been stabbed in your chest before but this was something else. “There. The hard part is over.”

“Maybe for you,” the Weeping Monk said quietly. He met your eyes and suddenly you realized what that feeling was: heartbreak. At that moment, all you wanted to do was fix how broken he seemed. 

Slowly, before you could do something stupid like befriending him, you pulled your hand away from his face and let it fall away from him. In a voice small enough to fit how small the cave had become, you said, “This next part will sting.” 

The Weeping Monk clenched his jaw and looked away from you again. If he noticed the sudden lack of air in the cave and space between you, he didn’t mention it. “Just get it over with,” he said. 

You flexed the hand that had touched his face and took a deep breath. Blood seeped through his cloak and onto your other hand, so you moved to focus on the wound instead of the Weeping Monk’s frustratingly imperceptible face. 

The salve was on the edge of your knife and you set the wadded up and bloodied cloak to the side to apply it. You lifted the edge of his shirt with one and hand and folded it up to assess the damage to the Weeping Monk’s lower back. For a moment, the cave lost all its air again as you took in the constellation of scars. New and old crossed over one another, marred by bruises and scabbed over lashes. 

You took a breath and reminded yourself that at least some of these scars had to come from fey that he’d killed. With new-found resolve, you glided your knife over the wound to apply the salve and watched the black smoke rise from the wound. You rubbed the salve into and around the wound as you whispered an old prayer that hadn’t escaped your lips in years and ignored the Weeping Monk’s quiet curses. 

All this work to save a man that you weren’t sure could even be saved. Ironic.

It was quiet for a long time as the two of you sat in the cave, him too busy trying to heal and you too focused on your an internal crisis. You knew he had eventually passed out again when the whimpering stopped. His back still rose and fell with his breathing, so you decided it was safe enough to leave him alone and find something to eat before both of you starved. 

The woods were quiet and dark, but nighttime was when the Moon Wings thrived. After a few careful words to the night birds, you had a small but decent-sized assortment of berries and nuts. One of the birds even stole some roast off someone’s fire. Plenty enough to see you through the night. 

Though you weren't gone for very long, you found the Weeping Monk awake, leaning heavily on the cold stone walls of the cave, and holding a knife in your direction. 

You muttered a curse and tilted your head at him. “This is how you thank the person who saved your life?” 

“Where did you go?” he asked. He looked frantic, still covered in the same cold sweat but his eyes were wild. No, his eyes were determined. The Weeping Monk didn’t drop the knife, but at least he didn’t try to stab you. 

“Getting food.” You lifted your bag and shook it around so he could hear the food bouncing around inside. “If you lower the knife, I might even share.” You moved closer but he waved the knife slightly. You came to a stop and your final footstep echoed. 

“Why are you helping me?” he asked. “It’s not going to help you find salvation.” 

Truth be told, you didn't have a very good reason for saving him, but he didn't need to know that. “I don’t need salvation," you told him instead. "I know I’m damned.” 

You lowered your bag of food and closed the distance between you after you reminded yourself that you could open his wound in a single kick if he tried to stab you. 

“I could kill you.” The Weeping Monk watched your every move, but he lowered the knife. Oddly enough, his eyes were filled with more curiosity than suspicion - only a small trace of the determination to kill you remained.

“Like in the woods?” You set the bag of food down and sat across from him. “I was doing pretty well for myself out there.”

“I had you pinned against a tree with a knife to your throat.” 

“I had a knife under your ribcage. One move and I could have torn open your heart, assuming you have one of those.”

The Weeping Monk gave you the ghost of a bitter smile but he didn’t say anything. Instead of looking at him, you opened your bag and did a quick inventory of the food. Water was dripping somewhere in the cave system and it was the only sound as you divvied up the food, very aware of the Weeping Monk’s eyes on you as you did.

You slid his portion over to him without a word and leaned back against your side of the tunnel wall. After a brief staring contest, you started eating. He ate in silence. You did, too, mostly. Or at least, you did until he cracked a nut under the hilt of his blade and the sound felt too similar to the sound of a snapping bone. 

You took your eyes off the knife to look at his face. “Do you have a name?” 

He looked up for a moment. “No.” 

“Do you have something else I can call you?” 

“No.” 

“Well, the Weeping Monk is a bit of a mouthful so-” you let out a breath and broke up the nut in your hand “-Sunshine it is. Since you’ve got such a chipper personality and stellar conversation skills.”

The Weeping Monk watched you carefully, probably wondering if it was too late to cut your tongue. He chose to return his attention to his share of the food instead of dignifying your taunt with a response. For some reason, his silence bothered you.

Since asking for his name had gone over so well, you decided to try an even heavier topic. “Why do you kill people?” You were careful to keep your voice level as you popped a berry into your mouth in an effort to seem disinterested. 

The Weeping Monk looked up at you again, eyes catching yours over the small fire he’d managed to get going while you were gone. “I don’t kill people,” he said. “I kill fey.” 

“Do you truly think that’s any better?” Your voice betrayed you by sounding too concerned; his face betrayed him by looking too vulnerable. His walls dropped for only a moment, but it was enough for you to see the pain behind them. “Oh, you do, don’t you?”

“I don’t need pity from a fey mercenary.” His words were laced with venom and blood. He threw the mixed nuts he’d been crushing to the side and they clattered against the uneven cave floor. 

“Well, you need it from someone,” you said, determined not to take his jab personally. Still, your hands clenched tightened into fists in your lap. “I don’t see any of your Red Paladins giving a damn about you.” 

“They are my brothers.” 

“Only in name.”

“Don’t,” he said, voice cautionary. It was dangerously soft and full of emotion, but you couldn’t figure out exactly which emotion. Fear? Apprehension? Determination?

You put your hands to the side and leaned in closer to him. “If you’re their brother, then why haven’t they come for you?” 

For a moment, all the two of you did was stare at each other and wait for the other to break. His breath was shaky where yours was calm. Both of you were calculating, you how difficult it would be to subdue him and him how easy it would be to slit your throat in your sleep. 

When minutes passed without either of you breaking, you sighed and leaned back against your wall. “It’s going to take some time for that to heal. Since we both know I’m not going to kill you, you should sleep first. We can go our separate ways in the morning.” 

“I’d like nothing more,” he said bitterly. 

Though he laid down, his hand still clutched his sword and his breathing never deepened. You didn’t speak to him again. It was clear that every word he spoke to you was against his will. Pretending to sleep was easier, and he was probably hoping it would lull you into a false sense of security. 

When he passed out earlier, he looked so full of pain. That pain wasn’t visible now and, even if it was just pretend, he looked peaceful like that. His face was expressionless, his muscles were relaxed. You wondered if he was always pretending or if he actually slept in the camps. Those Paladins might not care about him, but they would never dare harm their precious soldier. 

He didn't sleep around you because you were a threat. Even though you’d probably shown the Weeping Monk more kindness in an evening than the Paladins had in his lifetime, judging by those scars on his back, you were still fey. Still a threat. If Paladins weren’t a threat, did he sleep around them?

“What kind are you?” he asked, snapping you out of your musings. You hadn’t realized that he’d opened his eyes until he spoke. His voice was less angry now, but that didn't mean he wasn't still planning on slitting your throat the first chance he got.

“Moon Wing,” you said, looking up from the blade in your hand. “We were among the first to burn.” 

He watched you carefully as you put the sword to the side. “How did you survive?” 

“It was before the Paladins had a taste for blood. Instead of killing us all, they took a few of us who passed for humans to sell,” you said. His face remained cold and expressionless. “I was the most human-looking, so they kept me as their trophy, their symbol. Their warning.” 

The water punctuated your words. Each drop made your words more sinister. 

“They said terrible things when they cut off my wings and transferred them to some other group of Paladins. I think Father Carden still has them on display somewhere but I’m not sure.” You looked over to your sword again, just to get away from those unflinching hazel eyes of his. You shook your head and finished your story. “That night, I waited until they were asleep and cut out their tongues. Then I ran.” 

Drop. Drop. Drop. 

“They call you the Angel of Mercy,” he said. He’d been watching your sword before but now his eyes were fixed on yours. 

“I didn’t choose the name.” 

“Father Carden says mercy is a virtue we can’t afford.” 

“Father Carden says a lot of things.” You were determined not to look away. “I wonder what he’ll say to God for all his sins.”

“And to which of your gods are you referring?” he asked, angling his face up slightly. Confrontational, but he seemed more curious than venomous.

“Whichever one you’d like, Sunshine,” you said with a smile. His mouth turned up slightly, not in agreement but out of amusement. “It’s not about knowing which one exists, is it? It’s about doing good and trusting that it’ll be worth it later on. That’s faith, isn’t it?” 

He was quiet. He looked away first this time. “I suppose it depends on your definition of doing good.”

Even if he wasn’t looking at you, you were looking at him. “My definition is pretty basic. Good is not killing people when you can help it.” 

The Weeping Monk set his jaw. He was doing his best not to snap at you again - that was progress, at least. Maybe he wasn’t defending them because he knew he could never win you over, but you liked to think that it was because you were getting through to him. 

Converts were a dirty breed, or so you’d been told. Always more righteous than the born-believer. But what did the Weeping Monk believe? Was he born believing it or just trained to? 

You knew you would regret it before you even knew what you were doing, your hands moving on their own as they unclasped a small pouch on your belt. You rolled the quill back and forth between your thumb and forefinger, admiring how bright the feather was even in this darkness. The white reflected in the Weeping Monk’s eyes. 

You leaned forward and placed the feather on his sword, the edge barely touching his hand. It was the closest you’d gotten to him since you touched his face and saw his scars. 

“What’s this?” he asked. 

Your voice was devoid of all confrontation when you spoke again, softness taking the place of anger. “All that’s left of my wings.”

“I don’t want it.” He lost his softness and the venomous defense returned, but his hand still twitched to hold the feather. Progress.

“Then burn it,” you said. You shook your head and leaned back to your side of the cave tunnel. “I can’t keep carrying it around.”

“Why give it to me?” he asked. “You could sell it - you might even get some silver for it.”

You shrugged. “You’re the only one that knows where it comes from.” You watched each other for a second, neither of you saying anything. Then the silence became suffocating and you glanced to the mouth of the cave. “Dawn will break soon. I’m going to sleep, but know that if you kill me then I will come back to haunt you.” 

Without another word, you slid down the wall and curled up. You used your arm as an uncomfortable pillow, more used to sleeping in trees than pretending to sleep in caves, and held onto your knife. 

The Weeping Monk was quiet for a long time after that. He must have thought you were sleeping because his hand curled around the feather and you heard him move. Instinctively, you gripped your knife in your hand and waited. 

More movement muffled with the burning-out fire and dripping cave water, and then something covered you. His bloody cloak, you realized. 

“I get the feeling you’ll be haunting me either way,” he said softly. 

With considerable effort, he made his way back to his side of the cave and winced as he lowered himself back down to the ground. He might have gotten some real sleep after that for all you knew, but you didn’t. You weren’t sure if people like you ever got real sleep anymore. 

You counted down every water droplet until the sunlight started filtering through the cracks in the rock. The Weeping Monk hadn’t moved since he covered you and you stole a look at him with the sunlight on his face. He was pretty like this, not the same way that people were attractive but in the way a like a painting that was alluring as long as it didn't burn. 

Instead of waiting for him to burn, you reminded yourself that he’d need water when he woke up and that you needed to get off the cave floor before your muscles petrified. 

As quietly as you could, you got up and followed the sound of the water droplets. You ran your hand along the mossy rocks and swallowed big gulps of air to wake up.

The water trickled down the moss and dropped onto the floor, only a tiny pothole where the water dropped over the centuries. Every drop splashed out of the miniature pool. You knelt and held your canteen under the moss until there was enough to grace each of you with a few sips. You capped it and started heading back to the Weeping Monk, wondering if he would be awake and threatening you with a knife. 

Your wonderings were unfounded; the Weeping Monk was gone when you got back. He’d taken his cloak and any trace he’d ever been there with him, even the feather. Wherever he went, you knew he wouldn’t be coming back. 

So, you sat down in front of the remnants of his fire, drank his share of the water, and ate what was left of his share of the food from the night before. When that was finished and you’d caught your breath, you set off to meet Squirrel in the trees. 

You’d told him how to get to Nemos and to leave if you didn’t come back the next night, but Squirrel was a stubborn kid. He’d found you in the woods after his village burned and he escaped, babbling about how he had to find Nimue. His sister, you thought, but he didn’t say. All he said was that he needed to find her. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was probably dead, so you told him you’d take him to a place where he might find her. 

Still, Squirrel wouldn’t go there until you came back for him. And he was probably bull-headed enough to come looking for you, too. 

While you were thinking about Squirrel, a twig snapped. You froze, readying yourself for a fight. It might have been an animal, but you doubted it. The only safe animals came out at night while the Red Paladins slept. 

There were more of them than you expected, too many for you to run away from and too many for you to subdue. You were going to start killing them when one of them caught your arms and shoved you into a tree hard enough to crack a few ribs. 

“Stop struggling-” the Weeping Monk pushed you into the tree again when you tried to get out of his hold “-Or I’ll cut out your tongue.” 

“Don’t-” You twisted out of his grip, ignoring the pain in your wrist “-tell me-” you kicked him in the stomach “-what to do.” 

You took a breath in the moment that the two of you stared at one another.

The kick must have hurt, but you both knew that his wound had healed by now so the kick wouldn’t have caused any real damage. The Weeping Monk snapped out of the moment first, and you ducked his blow. You managed to land a few of your own before the other Paladins caught up with you.

They bound your wrists and ankles and threw you in one of their damned carts to rot. The Weeping Monk took your weapons, but he didn’t look at you or speak to you again. You were both thinking the same thing, though: you saved his life only to have him sacrifice you to Father Carden. 

The Paladins may have bound you but they hadn’t gagged you, and you were determined to make it their problem. You cracked inappropriate jokes at their expense and yelled obscenities when that didn’t give you the reaction you wanted while you struggled to undo the binds that held you.

One of the Paladins had a shorter temper than his friends, or perhaps just less afraid of overstepping his boundaries with the Weeping Monk, because he cursed and kicked the bars of your cage. “We didn’t take you for your damned mouth,” he said harshly, “so shut up or I’ll burn you myself.”

“No one is touching the Angel,” the Weeping Monk said over his shoulder. His face was ashen and angry, without a single trace of what happened in the cave - though, for some reason, you still found yourself intrigued by him. He turned to look ahead when the Paladin had drifted from your cage. With his eyes fixed ahead, he added, “Without Father Carden’s consent.”

All the harsh words in the world lay on the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t bring yourself to breathe them to life, not because you weren’t angry enough but because you had to focus on something else instead. Squirrel was stubborn enough to come looking for you, but he wasn’t stupid enough to go straight into the heart of Paladin territory. 

At least, that’s what you hoped. 

Part 2

[bytheangell]

Hey! Can I request something where Raphael is human again, attends the Shadowhunter Academy and then heads to the NY Institute and Izzy just adores seeing him around all the time and they grow even closer. And maybe Raphael asks Maryse for her blessing because that was just how he was raised. Love your works, they're always amazing!

The Life We Choose (Read on AO3)

It only takes a year after turning human for Raphael to admit how much he misses the Shadow World. He knows that the option to become a vampire again is there - both Simon and Lily offered to turn him previously, but he turned them both down with the promise that they’d be the first he comes to if he changes his mind. Even though he misses the Shadow World, he doesn’t want to be immortal again. That isn’t a fate he’ll be spared twice if he goes back to it, and he doesn’t want that for himself.

He has another idea, one that he thinks about long and hard before deciding he’s serious about it, which is when he finds himself in Isabelle’s office at the New York Institute.

“I’d like to apply for ascension,” Raphael says.

“What?” Isabelle asks, blinking rapidly in surprise.

“I’d like to apply for ascension,” Raphael repeats, clear and calm. He’s thought this through and is entirely confident in the request, even if Izzy doesn’t seem to share that certainty.

“You want to be a Shadowhunter?” Izzy questions.

“Yes,” Raphael says. “I’ve thought about this a lot, Isabelle. I want to be part of the Shadow World again, and this is the only way while keeping my mortality intact. I want this.”

Izzy bites down on her lower lip in thought. “It isn’t just like I can sign off on it. You need to study, and get approved, and drink from the-”

“The Mortal Cup, yes. And then take my first runes. I know the risks, I know it’s more dangerous the older you are, and I know I’m well beyond the usual age for this sort of thing. I also know,” he adds confidently. “That adults ascending isn’t unheard of, and that the Clave can, and has, approved them.”

“They’ll look at your history with Camille,” Isabelle points out. “But I’ll vouch for you. And I’m sure Alec and Magnus will, too. We should have enough pull to get it approved… are you sure this is what you want, though?”

Raphael nods. “Positive. And if you’d rather not get involved, I can take it to another Head in another city and work from there,” he adds. This is the first sign of hesitation he’s shown because he doesn’t want to go through strangers in other cities. He’d much rather do this with Isabelle by his side, though he understands if she doesn’t feel the same.

Izzy shakes her head. “Absolutely not! I wouldn’t trust this with anyone else. I’ll help however I can.”

---

Izzy is true to her word. She shows up to the Academy about once a week, claiming she’s only there to offer her assistance since they’re short on staff, but always managing to spend most of her time with Raphael. She checks in on what they’re studying, helps him with whatever he doesn’t already know about Shadowhunter-specific laws, and practices runes with him every chance she gets. When she’s too busy with her own responsibilities Jace manages to suddenly appear in her place, though Raphael can tell it’s mostly because his sister asks him to and less because he actually wants to be doing it.

Raphael’s always been a quick study and knows that as far as the book work is concerned he’s good to go. It helps that he’s older than everyone there, and more familiar with the Shadow World than many of those from Shadowhunter families, though they do have the upper hand on more Shadowhunter-specific knowledge. Fighting while re-adjusting his instincts to more refined tactics than he was used to as a vampire is, honestly, his biggest struggle.

It helps (as far as he’s concerned) that his abrasive personality and history as a vampire leaves him with plenty of time to study and train, as he isn’t exactly winning many of the young Shadowhunters over as friends.

Izzy seems concerned to find him alone all of the time, but Raphael only shrugs.

“I’m not here to make friends,” he points out. “I’m here to learn.”

“And when you all have to work together?” Izzy prompts.

“They don’t have to like me, they just have to trust me,” Raphael points out.

Izzy smiles at that answer. “You’re going to fit right in with the Nephilim,” she says.

He hopes she’s right.

---

The next time he sees Isabelle is the day before his Ascension ceremony. He almost doesn’t agree to meet with her, not sure he can deal with a teary ‘in case you don’t make it’ speech, and only relenting when she swears that isn’t why she’s there.

“I’m glad you came here,” Izzy says “You’re going to be a great Shadowhunter, I can already tell. You’ll be an asset to whatever Institute you end up at. And… and I wanted to make you an offer. You don’t have to take it, and I’ll totally understand if you’d rather take your new life in another direction, but…”

“What is it?” Raphael prompts.

“Look, I really like spending time with you, Raphael. Not just teaching you, but having you around again has been really, really nice. And once you’re ascended-” he notes with a small smile that, true to her word, she isn’t turning this into an ‘if you survive’ moment. “-if you wanted to be stationed in New York, we’d love to have you.”

He isn’t expecting that. “We?” he questions, following a hunch.

“Yeah. Jace and the others... and me,” she says, then folds under his steady gaze. “Alright, mostly me. I’d love to have you there, but only if you want to.”

Raphael smiles. “I do,” he agrees, and it’s nice to know that Izzy wasn’t just helping him because she felt any sense of obligation, but because she genuinely enjoys spending time with him. He’s thrilled that extends to his time as an actual Shadowhunter.

...now he just has to get through the Ascension.

---

He does. At his insistence, Izzy and the others don’t come to the ceremony, because he doesn’t want them there to witness if something does go wrong. Thankfully it does not, and he emerges a full, proper Shadowhunter.

Of course, in true Magnus Bane fashion, there’s a party at the Loft afterward, complete with banners that Magnus made out to say “It’s a Vampire Mundane Shadowhunter!”.

“You’re not funny,” Raphael says, deadpan, only to have Simon walk up immediately after, burst into a fit of laughter, and tell Magnus how hilarious the banners are. Raphael can only glare more pointedly in response.

Wasting no time, his first patrol is the very next day. Isabelle goes out with him herself, and it’s an easy one with no actual reported activity. This gives them a chance to talk a little more about how he’s doing and little things they can do so he adapts into this new role in the Shadow World as easily as possible, starting with a room at the Institute.

“Would you rather I threaten everyone into being nice to you or threaten everyone into avoiding you entirely?” Izzy jokes. At least, he’s relatively certain she’s joking.

“I’m hoping they warm up to me eventually,” Raphael admits. “This isn’t exactly a… what did Simon call it… a single-player game,” Raphael recalls. Shadowhunters have to work together on patrols and missions, they have to be a team. They have to trust each other. He can’t do that if he isolates himself the way he’s used to. “I can take care of myself, but I guess that’s the one thing the Academy managed to drill into me - it’ll rarely be just me out here.”

Izzy’s smile softens. “They will,” she reassures him. “Once they get to know you they’ll love you as much as I do.”

Raphael’s heart skips a beat at her words, and Isabelle suddenly looks very preoccupied with the ground in front of her as she quickens her pace to walk a few steps ahead.

---

It’s better than he ever hoped it would be. Raphael could admit to himself, at the very least, that the idea of becoming a Shadowhunter was more than a little idealistic. He’d accepted it as his only way back into the world he missed, accepted it as a compromise that allowed him back into the Shadow World at all, but the longer he’s here the more suited he finds himself to the lifestyle of the Nephilim.

He’s a good fighter, and he gets better once the others trust him enough to train and spar with him. He’s also a good teammate - he always was, even before he went to the Academy. The number of times he put the good of the Clan before his own wellbeing, the risks he took for them, leave him with the same instincts to use on missions, just for the sake of a different group of people.

Mostly it just feels good to help people. It’s what he always wanted to do, what he tried to do even as a vampire, but now he can make the sort of difference protecting people that he set out to do even as a child, as that teenage boy going after los vampiros to protect his family and friends. His family may be long gone but he has a new family now, new friends, and he can still protect them.

Once he settles and begins to drop his guard, he starts to notice, to really notice, Isabelle. At first, he thought she was just spending time with him to keep an eye on him during his transition, but she seems to genuinely enjoy his company. They find themselves spending their free time together, whether it’s going out and exploring new places to eat or staying in and losing hours to talking, or simply existing in each other’s space.

“Missed you at breakfast this morning,” Izzy says one day after Raphael oversleeps and misses the normally shared mealtime. It’s such a casual statement, but it catches him off-guard. He never imagines himself as a presence that would be missed, but Izzy misses him when he isn’t around.

He can’t help but remember another time, not so long ago when he thought there might be something between them. The timing had been off then, but now…

“What’s that look for?” Izzy asks, breaking his silent, drifting thoughts.

“I don’t have a ‘look’,” he deflects, quickly looking away.

Maybe there’s something there, but he isn’t going to risk ruining the friendship they have, not until he’s certain.

---

The thing about ‘routine’ missions is that there’s nothing routine about their job - anything can happen. It isn’t anyone’s fault when the demon he’s sent to find ends up finding him first, and his small group is descended on by more elapid demons than they expect.

Raphael gets caught not once, but twice, by the venom-laced fangs of the demons, but manages to keep fighting until they’re almost taken care of before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

He awakens in the Infirmary of the Institute, to the red eyes and tense features of a very worried Isabelle Lightwood.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she says, then promptly collapses against his chest in relief, her hand clutched over his own where it rests beside him on the bed.

“I thought… I was so worried…” Isabelle starts, then stops, then starts again, the words mumbled against the sheet draped over him. “Ugh, this is awful, how do Alec and Magnus make these dramatic declarations so flawlessly all the time?”

“I love you too, Isabelle,” Raphael says, and Izzy looks up at him with a smile he never wants to see leave her face again.

---

It takes a little while for word to spread that the two of them are a couple, mostly because of Raphael’s dislike of public displays of affection. Isabelle never pushes him, she never asks for more than he’s willing to give, never expects anything other than his returned feelings for her.

“I know you’re not interested in sex,” she says to him early on. “And I’m not sure what else you are, or aren’t into, but whatever it is, I’m fine with it.”

Raphael raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Izzy nods. “Really. I have you, right here, just as you are. That’s all I need.” It takes him a little while to believe her, but that trust comes the way everything else did with Isabelle - after she proves time and time again to be a woman of her word. She never moves to hold his hand, or wrap him in too-tight hugs, or kiss him on the cheek, or the corner of his mouth, or his lips, until he either does it first or tells her it’s fine.

They figure it out slowly, but they figure it out together. He finds a simple, easy happiness with her that he never expected to find in his life, not even when he had an eternity stretched out before him to seek it.

He knows how lucky he is to have found it here, now, with Isabelle.

Raphael plans to keep this love and joy, to make it as strong and permanent as possible, which is how he arrives on Maryse’s doorstep one night. It isn’t the first time he’s been here - Isabelle’s brought him over for the occasional family dinner or drinks - but it’s the first time he’s been here by himself.

“Come in,” Maryse says, with a small grin tugging at the corners of her lips at the sight of him. He imagines it must be obvious why he’s here, that he could probably skip the theatrics of the small speech he has planned, but if he’s going to do this then he’s going to do it right.

“Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?” Maryse offers, already making her way into the kitchen as Raphael closes the door behind him and toes off his shoes next to it.

“Coffee would be lovely, thank you Mrs. Lightwood,” Raphael calls after her.

“Please, Raphael, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Maryse,” she laughs, returning a minute later with two steaming cups of coffee, handing one over to him as they make their way to the table. They sit in companionable silence while they take their first sips until Raphael works up the nerve to speak.

“I’m head-over-heels in love with your daughter,” he begins.

“I know,” Maryse says. “I can tell every time I see the two of you together - and I can tell that she feels the same, too.”

“I certainly hope so,” Raphael admits with a small smile. “She’s been there for me through so much of my transition into a Shadowhunter, and as much as she’s supported me I want to be there to support her as well, through anything the future may have in store for her. She deserves nothing but happiness in life and I’d like the chance to be the one to bring that happiness to her, as much as I can.”

Raphael is aware that the practice of asking for permission to propose is a bit antiquated, that his speech is too formal, that if Isabelle wanted to marry him he’d do it no matter what her mother said. But that doesn’t change the fact that he wants to do this the right way - he wants to make sure she knows he’s serious about her, that he isn’t taking this lightly just because he already lived one lifetime over.

“I’d like to spend the rest of my life with Isabelle by my side. And it would mean a lot to me to have your blessing first.”

Maryse eyes him critically, and for the first time he feels a moment of fear that she might actually say no - it passes the moment a wide smile spreads across Maryse’s lips. “Of course, Raphael. The two of you are so good together. You’re so good for each other. You have my blessing a million times over.”

Raphael smiles back.

“Of course, we both know that it doesn’t matter what either of us says here tonight. No one makes up Isabelle’s mind besides Isabelle. When are you going to ask her?” Maryse asks. They spend the rest of Raphael’s visit discussing his plans for the following day and end it with a promise from Raphael to call Maryse first after it’s done.

Raphael can only hope it’ll be with good news.

---

The proposal is simple. Raphael asks her in the privacy of her room - a room they share more often than not these days - just after they wake up the next morning.

Raphael turns over and watches Isabelle’s eyes flutter open slowly, her expression still soft and hazy from sleep.

“If I could wake up to this sight for the rest of my life, I’d be a very happy man,” Raphael says quietly, the words barely above a whisper.

Isabelle smiles. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promises.

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Raphael says, reaching an arm behind him to open the drawer on the table next to his side of the bed, pulling out a small box. He shifts to sit up slightly, holding it out to her. “Marry me?”

Isabelle shifts up to half-sit beside him, propped up on her elbow and looking from the ring up to Raphael’s face in surprise. Raphael isn’t a fool - he knows there’s a chance she’ll say no. That dating and even love are one thing, but marriage, to a former Downworlder with nothing to his family name, is another entirely.

“Yes,” Isabelle says, dispelling any worries he has with a single word. He slides the ruby engagement ring onto her finger before bringing his lips down to meet hers.

Raphael doesn’t think he’s ever felt more at peace with his place in life than he does at this moment. Not as a child looking out for his friends and siblings on the rough streets of the city, or as a vampire looking out for his clan, or as a human reconciling the decades he spent in a world of magic and angels and demons. Every one of those things was accidental, a decision made for him, a world he was thrust into unwillingly, even if he did his best to accept his place in it as part of a higher purpose.

He still believes in a higher power and that he’s exactly where he needs to be - whether it be God’s will, or Raziel’s - and he likely always will. But he believes in something else now, too, in a way he hadn’t before all of this, before his ascension, before Isabelle: he believes in himself. He’s here because of himself, because of his own will and motivation and desire. He’s exactly where he needs to be, and for the first time, that’s also exactly where he wants and chooses to be.

“Not regretting asking me already, are you?” Izzy asks, her tone light to show she isn’t serious-serious, but curious at the way she notices him lost in his thoughts just then.

“Not at all,” Raphael replies, moving to lay down again and pulling Izzy beside him, wrapping an arm around her. “Quite the opposite - I don’t regret a single choice I’ve made since the day I first walked into your office.”

Izzy smiles at that, warm and comforting, a smile that feels like home.

“That makes two of us.”

[that-yandere-life]

Ooo what about Bruce Banner on the list?

[Thank you so much for helping me celebrate! I hope that you enjoy, and that this is what you were looking for! PS: I know in canon he isn’t supposed to be able to have sex at all, but I altered it because fuck it, it’s fanfiction.]

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Bruce is a genius in the classroom, and in the bedroom. Already having everything on hand ready to be used at any time. Plus is huge on cuddling afterward, needing to have that skin to skin closeness. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Favorite part of his: Is it too cliche to say his mind? Having the knowledge of what makes you tick, or what kind of new things to try to accomplish the goal at hand. Even the ability to absorb new information if you should want to attempt something specific. 

Favorite part of yours: Without trying to sound creepy, your soft skin. This man is touch starved so he will desperately be wanting to soak up whatever affection you give him. This includes during the act of love making, the sensation of nothing between the two of you makes him feel safer than he ever has.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Unfortunately or fortunately depending upon how you look at it, he can’t have children due to the accident. This however means that he can cum inside of you as much as he wants and it wouldn’t cause you any worry where you might have before. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Really into cockwarming, either inside of you or in your mouth depending on what you will do for him. It’s an intimate act that he truly enjoys as it gives him the feeling like the two of you are one. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Limited to Moderate experience, as he has always been that little nerd boy his whole life. That isn’t to say that it wasn’t someone’s thing, and that he is a virgin either. Knows more about what he is doing for his ability to understand you, and what makes you feel good.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Spooning position with him behind you holding your back to his torso as he ruts up into you. Gripping your hip with his other hand for leverage, while kissing and nipping at the tender flesh on your neck.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on how passionate the moment is, if you are both in it deep it won’t be very silly at all no matter what happens. But if the two of you are engaging in a soft lazy love making session he can break his outward serious demeanor to laugh with you when silly things happen.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Oftentimes he gets too busy to get a haircut, letting his curly locks become overgrown until you force him to go get it tamed. Likely that will be the outcome for his nether regions as well, so don’t expect to always have things prim and proper down there.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Very romantic, wanting you to always hear how much he loves and cares about you. Grew up in an abusive household, so he never wants to treat you the same way his dad treated his mom. He wants to be way better than that, so he will adjust his behavior towards that goal extensively.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Used to do it pretty often as it was a way to work out his frustration in a way that would allow for him not to hulk out. Does it less often as he has definitely mellowed out some as a result of having you in their lives.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Food play, in that he loves incorporating whipped cream, chocolate sauce, strawberries, champagne, or anything like that into some of your more playful experiences. Basically it is his way of worshiping you as he cleans you head to toe. ;)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The lab, especially if it is three am and the two of you are deliriously tired the entire time. The thrill of it being semi public, and the idea that Tony could (and occasionally does) catch you at any moment adds to the pleasure.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You, wearing his lab coat, or his glasses. It will immediately turn him on, and he will need to take care of it sooner rather than later. Especially if you use them to tease him when there are others around, it will be sheer torture.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Bruce isn’t a fan of crowded places in his regular life, so it is not something he would want to deal with in his private life. He would rather it be in a safe and well known place where you can control the circumstances.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers to give first and foremost, loving the feeling of you falling apart due to his actions. Knowing just how to make you see white, making deliberate actions with his tongue. However he also enjoys when you occasionally sneak under his desk in the lab for a little play time, never willing to turn you away.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

More of the slow and sensual kind of guy, he can’t let his heart rate get too high in fear of the other guy making an appearance. If he does start to get too into it, you may have to calm him down before you can continue.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not a fan of them, he wants to be able to take his time with you first of all. Second of all he can’t exert himself too much as it is a risk for the both of you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Will take risks in certain ways, such as trying new toys or positions. Will not take risks that could lead to either of you getting hurt, be by the hulk, or by other means.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He lasts long enough to make you both cum at least once, but after resting can go for multiple rounds. Needing to bring his heart rate back to a resting pace to truly be able to go again.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Likely wouldn’t have owned any toys before meeting you, but is more than willing to try any on you or on himself if that is what you were wanting. Very open to just watching you use them on yourself from time to time.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Bruce isn’t really a teasing kind of guy, he is very literal and says what he means. However teasing will work very well on him, and he will punish you. Whether that means using a toy to overstimulate you, or going so slow during sex that he is constantly edging you until you can’t take it anymore.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Whispering praises to you, or telling you how much he loves you, how lucky he is to have you, etc. Little grunts and groans only really detected audibly right next to your ear as he fucks you from behind. A little louder as he cums inside of you, going as deep as he can every single time. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Wants you to sit on his face as often as you will let him, it is by far his favorite moments with you. Just letting you kick back and watch a show or read while he makes you cum over and over again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Longer than average, average thickness, uncut, and very aesthetically pleasing. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

About average/slightly lower than average, mostly because he tends to get distracted by science over sex. That doesn’t mean he won’t be attentive to your needs, because after all you will always cum first ;)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Wants to cuddle before falling asleep holding you, wanting to hear your heartbeat as it is the most soothing sound to him. It will eventually lull him to sleep, as he knows you will be there in the morning.