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sailoryooons · 1 year ago

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Obsidian | Two | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: You remember everything. The first time you radiated at garnet, feeling the power of the jewel rushing through you. Remember the energy pulsing at your command. And you certainly remember the face of the man who ruined your life. Then there’s Min Yoongi, the Chaotic who is the key to your revenge.

☾ Word Count: 10,945

☾ Genre: Urban fantasy, criminal/syndicate, strangers to lovers, angst, eventual smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, depictions of injuries after being beaten up (a named side character), explicit language, depictions of unhealthy/poor living conditions, mentions of murder, depictions of murder and broken bodies/dismemberment, violent action sequences, references to nightmare and hints at ptsd-adjacent memories/feelings, soci-economic commentary lmao, some confusing world building, mentions of weapons, scenes of a past betrayal/trauma.

☾ Published: June 13, 2023

☾ A/N: This took a little longer than expected to write, but I think I really like how this chapter turned out. It is a little bit heavier on the scene setting and laying the ground work for reader's position in this story and her past, as well as her function withing the Green Dragons. The third chapter is where things kick into high-gear and there's not really a moment with the foot off the gas once its starts, so buckle in besties.

Thank you to @theharrowing for being an amazing beta reader and assuring me that this isn't boring and that the pace is okay thus far, and for pointing out my accidental Dwight Establishing A Pee Corner in the Elevator reference.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

A name is a useful thing. You learn a secret name whispered across a table in a smokey room.

You wonder what you can do with the name.

Jimin is not a fun person when he’s angry. He is plenty of fun when he’s drinking at the bar or spares you a night out on his tab as a motivator and reward, but those nights are few and far between. You would much rather be seeing spinning lights at one of the clubs in the Crimson District than standing behind Montana under the thundering gaze of Jimin Park.

He isn’t mad at you. Well, perhaps he is a little bit for your rude interruption when he was talking to Agust. But right now, he’s mad at Burro, who is being dragged toward the front of the building where you think they’re going to shove him into a car. He isn’t dead, but he certainly no longer looks human. Swells of purple and red distorted his face, blood smeared across his face and in his eyes, blinding him.

It’s the worst you’ve ever seen your manager punished. Jimin has shoved Burro around before, but never like this. Never until he was dripping blood and drool onto the floor, orbital bone cracking under Jimin’s radiated punch and so disfigured that he’s unrecognizable.

The satisfaction is fleeting, scurrying away when Jimin turns that lethal stare toward where you stand in the door of the alleyway, waiting for him to address you. There is blood on his hands, staining his undamaged knuckles. You see the glint of emerald rings and feel his power ebb and flow. He flicks his hand and the blood wicks off, spattering the ground.

Outside, the air is balmy, sticking to you like a second skin. The sounds of slamming doors and the city echo through the mostly empty alleyway. It’s narrow, only wide enough for a single waste truck to back into and haul trash then drive straight out again. It smells like the wet scum that leaks from the air conditioning units rattling in the walls of windows of apartments above and like cat piss.

There’s a dark, Burro-colored stain on the pavement near Jimin’s shoes. He sees you looking at it and sighs, waving a hand casually. “Ignore that. Just another skid mark among many.”

“You’ve never punished him like that before.”

“Well, I’ve also never had a manager let a fucking Circle member kill a man that belongs to the armory, either.” You hum but say nothing, keeping incredibly still. It does not appear that Jimin’s sharp anger is directed at you, but you’re in no mood to risk it. “You’ll be seeing more of the Black Lotus at the bar. And some more security temporarily.”

You think of Agust and his cat eyes. “Why the Black Lotus?”

Jimin reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a silver box. You watch, his small fingers nimble as he flips the lit and slides out a cigarette. You hear the click of the metal container before he slides it back into his pocket and puts the cigarette in his mouth. Carefully, he brings his fingers to the end of the cigarette and you feel the tiniest pulse of energy as he snaps, sparking the end to life while he breathes in the smoke.

The energy used to light it barely registered in the jewels that Jimin wears. The emerald on his ring finger barely lights up - though it could be a trick of the light - but his other jewels remain dull and untouched. You know what it’s like to have that much power at your beck and call and the pull toward Jimin’s emeralds makes your palms itchy.

“There’s some shit going on with the armory.” Jimin blows out smoke slowly. It wafts upward toward the night sky and smells faintly of menthol. He takes a burnt-orange drag, blows it out again and shakes his head. “It’s complicated right now. I am interested in what the Black Lotus can do for us, and this is not a terrible in.”

“The Salib’s will be pissed.”

“The Salib’s weren’t around to witness it, were they? As far as they’re concerned, that man came into the bar and beat my manager within an inch of his life, killed Rollins and only managed to be stopped by a member of the Black Lotus while my light caste bartenders called me for help. Right?”

Lying is so easy. Jimin’s admission that he’s killed one of his own men and beat another one bloody comes easily. He isn’t worried about what you’ll think of him. You know he’s a monster just like the rest of them, but he’s a monster that you trust and that protects you. That protects your secret.

So you nod your head, blowing out a long sigh, accepting this tale that Jimin has told. He smirks around the cigarette in his mouth. “Good girl.” He gestures toward the door behind you. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t interrupt me earlier.”

“I apologize. It was rude and inappropriate.”

“It was. However, seeing as you managed to stop the fight, I’ll let it slide.” He takes a drag. “How did you, by the way?”

“How did I what?”

“Stop the fight.”

Digging around your pocket, you reveal the shatterwave. Jimin holds out his hand, palm upward. You drop the device in his hand, watching as he brings it up to eye level, scrutinizing it. Rolling it between his fingers, he presses the top of the shatterwave, releasing the high-pitched frequency. You both wince and you immediately feel sick as your own frequency is scattered by the sound. He presses it again and turns it off, but the ringing echoes in your ears.

“Clever.” He deposits the shatterwave in your hand. “Why not just radiate like a normal Radiant, hmm?”

“I didn’t need to.”

Jimin tosses the cigarette on the ground and crushes it beneath the toe of his shoe. You hear the crunch of gravel and the hiss of the embers as it dies. “Right,” he laughs. “Still on your little secret weapon bit.” You scowl at him and he raises his hands innocently, eyes full of mirth. “Hey, no judgment here. It helps me too.”

Sometimes, you wonder if you’re making the same mistakes again with Jimin. A powerful man who knows how to use his charm and allure like a weapon, Jimin is the worst kind of dangerous, disarming others with his flirtatious smiles and bedroom eyes.

Jimin isn’t unlike Seokjin. They both use the power of beauty and charm to cut down the competition and to install themselves in positions of power. But Jimin doesn’t have the ability to imitate empathy the way that Seokjin does. Even now, you can never tell what was real and what was imitation with Seokjin, the line between real and mimed emotion too blurred for you to follow.

You never have to worry about that with Jimin. Unlike Seokjin, Jimin’s mask cracks on occasion, the real Jimin bleeding through in moments of anger and desperation.

Still, Jimin has collected you all the same, keeping you safe and cared for like a coveted weapon. He asks you to do favors for him on occasion, trusting you to keep the secrets he doesn’t want his mother to know and to be his garnet knife in the dark.

But at least you know Jimin is using you. It’s a transactional relationship, but for once, you’re in the know instead of being led like a whipped dog on a leash, looking at its owner with nothing but love and devotion.

You never want to be a dog again.

“Come on,” Jimin murmurs, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s close the bar and get you home for the evening.”

Jimin does exactly that. He stands near the front door, arms crossed as he watches his men clean up and lockdown the bar. You close out the register, scribbling the very small sum made for the evening before letting yourself into Burro’s office to lock the normal cash in a safe. When you come out, you offer Jimin the zipped bag of profit for the night and he surprises you by waving his hand.

“Split it with you and the kid. For the trouble.”

For the trouble is another way of Jimin saying as your reward. It also means for your silence and for your continued loyalty. It isn’t hard to understand the multiple meanings of Jimin’s words. Jungkook bows and thanks Jimin numerous times, still wide-eyed and nervous around the Primus of the Green Dragons.

As second in command, Jimin’s power isn’t just in the glittering gems on his fingers and ears. He has influence among the Crown Cities and is a prominent member of the ruling body of the Armory, second only to his mother. The thought of the Green Dragon’s Dominion sends a shiver down your spine. While her son has taken a liking to you, she has not.

Despite protests, Jimin sends one of his men to escort you home. The walk isn’t far and you do it alone for most nights. Sometimes Jungkook is heading in the same direction to meet unnamed friends of his, providing you safety in numbers. You always have the protection of your hidden emerald, though you rarely have to use it.

Living in Market Town has given you enough experience to know what streets to take home and what groups to avoid. The Nulls tend to be more courageous the closer you get to home and farther away from the pockets of stores where Nulls and Radiants alike shop. For the most part, though, you slip through the shadows until you make it home.

Home is a giant, living thing. The Breathing Wall isn’t the real name of the towering complex with thousands of windows and thousands of residents. It was named something official long ago when the building wasn’t sun-bleached concrete and dotted with balconies spilling with life. Towels over railings, clotheslines drifting in the breeze, plants poking through the railing, rainwater catchers. Every porch facing the north was bursting at the seams, the apartment begging to be relieved of the cramped, teeming life inside.

Having an apartment alone in the Breathing Wall is a rarity. Your neighbors hate you for it, whispering snidely as the family of seven packs inside tiny walls, hissing when they pass you on the stairs. You ignore them in favor of keeping your head down and keeping your senses alert.

Murder is no stranger in a place like this. It thrives in the overcrowded halls, neighbors killing each other over too much noise, residents going missing only for their neighbor to knock down their shared walls for more space. The community is the administration in the Breathing Wall, and you know that you’re on borrowed time before someone decides a girl living alone in a building so desperate for space is a worthy target.

Inside your unit, you stand in the darkness. Silver moonlight shines in patches through your grime-encrusted sliding glass door. You’ve welded it shut, not wanting anyone to be able to get through it. It’s a simple home with a single mattress on the floor, a table with uneven legs and a mismatched chair, a fridge that hums loudly, and a tiny bathroom where the water is as likely to come out brown as it is clear.

It isn’t much. In fact, it’s nothing compared to the life that you used to live. You try not to think of the differences, especially knowing that you’re better off on a thin mattress with a lice risk than in bed with the snake that haunts your dreams.

There is no evidence of that life now. None of the fine clothes, none of the crystal glasses. There isn’t even a mirror in the bathroom to look in when you flick the light on, though that had come later, when you couldn’t stomach looking at yourself after.

After.

In a way, it feels like your life is split into two parts: before Seokjin and after Seokjin.

The before is memories that you try to keep under lock and key, stored away only when the information is useful for Jimin’s errands. Thinking about before, when your sheets were softer than clouds and your bed kept warm by rough but gentle hands is too painful. It reminds you of your stupidity, of your willingness to be used.

The after is filled with its own misery. Shadowed by paranoia wherever you go, keeping your head down and trying not to cause too much of a fuss. Becoming the punching bag for people who think you’re a Null or light caste.

At least you’re in control. Or some crude imitation of it.

Dinner is hot and fresh courtesy of Jimin’s guard - Alec - walking home with you. He was more a symbolic presence than anything, his Green Dragon crest turning away anyone whose eyes lingered too long and the sapphires drilled into his knuckles letting others know where he was on the caste. Even with sapphires, you could have sent him through several buildings.

Freezing water douses you in your shower. It reminds you of the water crashing down in the market today after Agust’s sabotage. Eyes closed and letting the metallic-scented water rush over you, you think of Agust. The shape of his eyes, the doll-mouth. He’s still an enigma to you, and you can’t help but roll the words he said to you around and around again.

Call if you need.

Agust’s voice had been like velvet when he offered. Surprisingly, you believe that if you called him, he would answer. It feels a little silly to trust a stranger - and a Dominion of the Black Lotus of all things - but somehow you think that if you told Bolero to call his boss, Agust would show up in a floral shirt and a smirk pasted on his face.

As though you can scrub away the images of him in your mind, you furiously rub your skin with soap. It does nothing but lather poorly and leaves you feeling raw and sensitive when your scratchy sheets scrape over your skin after laying down in bed.

Around you, the world is loud. You can hear the family fighting on the other side of the wall that your bed is pushed against. Mira’s voice is shrill and high-pitched, overpowering her husband's soft, rich timbre. Their kids are silent, trained in the art of their parent’s battles.

Noise echoes out in the hall too. Slamming doors, heavy footsteps, voices rising and falling along with the occasional blare of music as a door opens and shuts. The entire world is awake and bursting at the seams as you lay alone in bed, looking at the cracked ceiling where a tiny spider has built her web.

Falling asleep in a building full of bodies that never stop moving and people that never stop living is hard. You live in the center of the noise, always consumed by the constant hum of the building. And yet tucked into the corner of your mattress with the faint smell of mold and clutching your emerald close to your chest, you manage to drift off, waiting for your alarm to wake you the next day.

A dogwood-scented breeze twists the curtains of the bedroom. You wake up to a loud crash from somewhere in the house, feeling dizzy and disoriented as you fumble out of bed, limbs heavy with sleep. Morning light shines gold through the window, painting the mostly white bedroom in a shower of warmth.

Shouts and thudding footsteps echo on the other side of your closed door. You ease your way toward it, trying to piece together the sounds of chaos and glass shattering. There were four additional people in the house beside you and Seokjin, and by the thudding feet, you know there’s more now.

Seokin is nowhere in the bedroom and you pulse lowly, reaching your energy outward with slow-reaching awareness to map out the house. You feel the shiver of power from the garnet on your ring, bracelet, and jewels encased on your incisors like bloody fangs.

Seokjin is in the living room surrounded by dark caste Radiants. You don’t know why he doesn’t rip them apart and obliterate them with his onyx that’s permanently fused to his ribs. He is a walking skeleton of power that cannot be stolen, and yet you feel no throb of inky, dark power from him.

Your home is full of sapphire, amethyst caste Radiants, and a single emerald caste that you know is Riya. Riya’s energy is flaring as she makes her way toward the silent onyx that is Seokin at the center of the fray. You cannot tell which energy belongs to Dol and Laurent but you taste the crackling vibration of amethyst jewels and you hope it's them.

In your sleep-addled brain, it takes a moment to realize you’re under attack. Your mind races as you bolt for the door, gathering power in your hands as you do. It seems someone has discovered your private home, tucked away in the farthest reach of the Kim territory in Millenia. Few people know about this place, meant to be a safe space for you and Seokjin to hide, to keep away from the violence of your world.

When you step into the hallway, you see the black kraken of the Achilleos family sigil and snarl. So they have made their move on you, seeking the thorn in the side of their family. It’ll mean war, of course. You belong to the Primus of the Kim family, the most powerful lineage of Radiants in the Crown Cities.

You are untouchable.

The woman in the hall runs at you, energy crackling at her fingertips like lightning. You don’t blink, dropping down into the thrumming power of your garnet jewels and pulsing. The throb is deep and you feel the shiver in the hall as your power explodes toward her, catching her hard and sending her backward. She hits the wall with a thick crunch and falls limp, limbs twisted the wrong way and eyes staring, but not seeing.

If you had the power of onyx, you would have blown her apart. The urge to caste drop is always there, the dark jewel nipping at your feet and begging to be used, taunting you: Try it. Try me. Reach for me. See if you can do it.

There are more important things than reaching for power just out of reach, though. Like speeding through the halls, skidding to a halt to peer at a pile of bleeding limbs and shattered bodies. You avert your eyes when you see that Dol has a head, neck, and middle section but nothing else. His blood is on the walls, death on canvas. You vaguely make out Laurent next to him, though there is no face to confirm it’s him. Just a feeling.

Emerald power shivers in the house. You run toward it, a moth to the flame. You cling to the feeling of Riya’s energy, begging her to keep fighting. There are dead men and women belonging to the Achilleos family as you clear the east wing of the house and launch over the railing, landing hard on the first floor.

Wood splinters beneath the weight of your energy. You radiate higher as you approach the living room, two amethysts swiveling to meet you. You barely think about it as you breathe in the weight of the grand foyer behind you, thrusting your hands forward and throwing the entire room at them. Unlike the woman in the hall, they’re ready for you, wood and glass and tile shattering against their shields.

Momentum is everything in a fight between Radiants. You keep your energy flowing like a river, manipulating the power from the garnets as you radiate and turn your energy into hard, red glass that’s sharp as daggers. It’s a trick rudimentary dark caste Radiants learn as children, shaping their energy into solid form.

The red shards rain down on their shields as you approach. You don’t stop your assault, the red daggers forming faster than they can follow. There isn’t much distance between a sapphire and amethyst on the Jewel Caste, but the skill difference between an elite garnet and a decent sapphire is worlds apart.

Radiating feels like nothing else in the world. It is power rushing through your veins, like an uncontrolled dam break, water drowning everything in its path. When you were a child, this breaking of the dam into your power would make you sick - many Radiants get sick from the after-effects until they learn to control it.

Now, you let the power of garnet explode outward. You shatter their shields, red splintering against blue. Panels of wall rip back and fly into the living room with the force of your explosion. This time, the garnet shards you form hit their targets with wet, meaty sounds.

What you find inside the living room makes you stop.

Seokjin stands in the middle, arms linked behind his back. The people surrounding him don’t have him captive. He is surrounded by a mix of the Achilleos Kraken’s and Kim Red Claws, standing in a semi-circle and facing you. He is unharmed and passive, watching you with glittering dark eyes.

Riya is on her knees, head facing the ceiling. Her nose is bleeding and there’s a gash on her forehead, and her lips are parted. Her breathing is ragged and from where you stand, you can hear that there is fluid in her lungs, the phlegmy gasps of air hinting at internal bleeding.

Terror squeezes your heart. Riya is only sixteen years old, face round with youth, shaking as her lungs squeeze out air. Filling with blood and fluid. Not healing. Dark hair sticks to where she bleeds on her forehead and her clothes are damaged and stained.

You look at Seokjin who does nothing to help the girl kneeling on the floor, frozen in place by the thrumming power of an amethyst radiant. Eyes darting back to Riya, you take a single step toward her and Seokjin hisses, making you come up short.

“There she is,” Seokjin announces. His eyes are dead set on you. “There is the woman who killed Chrisoula Achilleos.”

You pause, mouth falling open. “I- what?”

You did kill the Dominion of the Achiellos family, but under Seokjin’s orders. Under instruction from the Kim family and with their consent and love. You - you did it for him. Seokjin looks down his nose at you and suddenly, you feel very much like a roach beneath his shoe, recognizing that look before. It’s the look that the Primus of the Red Claw gives someone before he’s about to put them in their place.

Or send them to their graves.

“Admit your crimes and we’ll let her live,” Seokjin orders you, eyes flicking to Riya. There isn’t a single look of concern on his face for the girl, who is now coughing wetly. Blood-tainted spit comes out of her mouth, frothy. She has minutes. “Confess, traitor.”

“I…” you’re at a loss for words, looking back and forth between the girl you’ve taken under your wing and the man who you love. Who loves you. Who loves Riya like his own blood. “Jin, what are you talking about?”

There is no flicker of emotion there. Seokjin looks at the man standing closest to Riya, and you see the decision on his face before he says the words.

“Kill the girl.”

Your scream shatters a thousand worlds.

Most mornings, you wake up screaming long before your alarm goes off. On the bright side, there are so many people in the Breathing Wall that making a little extra noise isn’t so bad.

Gray light filters in through the glass door. You spent a few minutes laying on your sweat-soaked mattress, heart beating hard enough that you feel it in your stomach, making you sick. A shiver rushes through you, muscles clenching as you try to stop it. Sweat makes the back of your neck and the small of your back sticky, sleep shirt clinging to your skin as you slowly roll over.

Memories turned dreams plague you every time you shut your eyes. Sometimes the memories are out of order or distorted, like watching a holoscreen with a broken transmitter, splitting the image and playing warped images. Sometimes, like this one, they are in perfect order, so real that it feels like you're back there in that house, waking up to an empty bed.

Dreams don’t capture the real horror of it. The brightness of the blood and the sound of bones cracking doesn’t quite translate in dreams, but you remember it nonetheless. Can picture the exact shade of pink the foam in Riya’s mouth was. Can see the sickly pallor to her olive skin. Can recall the exact blank look on Seokjin’s face as her neck cracked, severing her spinal cord.

As long as you never let anyone that close, you know you will never have to scream like that again.

With sore limbs and popping joints, you pull yourself up from the floor. Opening a cabinet in the kitchen, you reveal a small, pitiful wardrobe. Though it isn’t much, you do utilize the laundry mat down the street that the Green Dragons own free of charge, meaning your clothes are nicer and softer than anyone else waiting in the line at the always-packed community laundry on the first, tenth, and twentieth floors.

At the center of the thousands of lives in the complex is a stairwell, hollowing out the middle with a dizzying circle of stair after stair. There are two elevators of course, but you’re as likely to get stuck inside of one for two days as you are to find one working. You remember the time you had to share the cramped space under flickering lights and a neighbor whose name you didn’t know who kept urinating in the corner.

Life in the Breathing Wall is constant. You press yourself to the wall of the staircase as you begin the descent down fifteen flights, rolling the stiffness from your shoulders. It’s a good way to get the blood pumping in the morning and now you’ve done the journey enough times to not get sore, but it’s still a task.

More than once you stop on the stairwell to press out of someone’s way. People carrying furniture, baskets, bags, and groups of kids move in a tangled flow up and down the stairs. When you get to the bottom, the lobby is filled with a line of people watching the arrows above the elevator go up and down, hoping that the car comes down soon.

Stepping over a woman selling crystal bracelets that she asserts will tap into one’s ability to radiate, you end up outside in the hot breeze. The city has not yet made the full turn to autumn, but the wind promises something cool in the future. For now, it kicks up dirt and sand from the dry landscape just outside of the city's edge.

Behind you, the complex is a wall of movement. You leave it behind, starting on the road and narrowly avoiding a rumbling vehicle towing a trailer of junk. Morning sun bakes the top of your head and the pavement as you navigate to the subway, flicking through the text Jimin sent you overnight.

Hoseok is stepping in as manager for Montana. Stop by these places to order replacement furniture for the bar.

Relief that Burro isn’t coming back relaxes your shoulders. You have no idea who Hoseok is, but you hope he is even a third better than Burro when it comes to competency. Still, you’re not overly thrilled to be waiting for the creaking of the subway as it wobbles on tracks, lighting flickering on and off above you.

The train car is only moderately busy today. You manage to find a seat next to an old woman who could be sleeping or dead - you’re not really sure and you don’t want to check. Leaning your head against the metal wall behind you, you let your eyes fall shut as the car rocks back and forth, gaining speed as it heads to its next stop.

Around you, everything fades to dull noise. You’re tired, frowning when you start thinking of your dream. Your memory. It was a particularly vivid one, etched in your mind permanently. You’re unsure if it’s better or worse to dream of things in such detail.

Memories will kill you one day, you think. You were haunted by memories of your early childhood before meeting Seokjin for years, and now you’re plagued with him. The man who takes up the space of most of your life, the face you see when you go to bed, the voice that whispers to you in your dreams.

Above you, the speakers on the train let out a loud chime and declare what station you’re at. Eyes fluttering and adjusting to the light, you squint and lean forward, elbows pressed to the top of your knees to support you as the car slows down.

This stop is cleaner than the last. There are transportation robots patrolling on the landing, stopping and ensuring that people know where they’re going. You see sanitation workers changing trash receptacles and here, there are train schedules and maps displayed across a dozen screens that are hung up over the escalators to the city above.

Aurora is a wealthy district, with cleaner air and better infrastructure. Here, the buildings are all in neat rows and decorated with shining sculptures and gardens with flower arches. Patrol robots roll down the wide sidewalks and cars hum by, moving slowly in traffic.

Sometimes it’s hard not to feel like you’re in another world when you visit the wealthy districts. Even the building style here is different, opting out of tall skyscrapers for white brick villas and single-story shopping malls. Here, people stroll on the streets walking their dogs. Here, there are no overwhelming holographs advertising body modification and simulated sex.

Clean. Curated. Calm.

There are so many worlds within the sprawling city of Diade. Each district looks so entirely different, like they’ve been pulled out of a simulation and dropped onto the map. If you look into the distance, you can see the great towers of Civ looming like knives. Adjacent to them on the other side of Market Town is Pulse.

You choose not to go to Pulse. Ever.

Citizens glance your way when you pass them on the street. Everything here is so pristine and built with neat lines. Even the clothes on those who walk by are geometric and linear, seams pressed, flat stitching in comparison to your pants that don’t fit quite right and have mysterious stains and the shirt that looks like the idea of red more so than the color.

Utopia. The word jumps out at you as you turn down a shopping district filled with clean-looking clothes and stoic art displayed behind glossy windows. It stands right on the edge of Green Dragon territory, rolling to the coast where the sea salt sprays against the cliffs.

Just a little south and you’d be in Viper territory. The thought makes you shiver and move a little faster, keeping your head down. The Manoban family hates you as much as the Kim family and it’s best to keep away from their sneaking eyes and vipers.

At the first shop, you’re nearly denied at the door. You flash the small Green Dragon charm shoved in your pocket and the woman relents and mutters an apology that doesn’t feel very just. Even as Jimin’s envoy, she watches you warily as you point out pieces of tables and stools to replace the old ones. She takes down the order and sends you on your way.

It’s much the same at each place Jimin sends you. A wary are you lost followed by forced tolerance. Jimin might be the refined prince of the Park family but any respect and niceties reserved for people who matter aren’t wasted on you. You don’t mind - you’re not here to rub elbows or ask for any favors, so winning the affections of the elite isn’t at the top of your to do list.

If you had to do it though… you try not to think about it as you skip back to the subway, checking your phone for the time. Your next shift starts soon, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re supposed to do with a bar with bare minimum furniture. Still, Jimin didn’t say that the bar was closed, so you know you’re expected to show up regardless.

A group of people dressed in tight fitted clothing, harnesses and LED accessories get on the train with you. Your eyes ghost over their tattoos and the hint of body modifications, lips twitching. They’re the kind of people that Seokjin liked the least, rich enough to spend their money clubbing and sweating out drugs in underground basements and raves. You always thought it was a bit hypocritical, given it was his clubs and drugs they indulged in.

Such hypocrisy used to be your life, though. The big names of the city, building the perfect little system to keep them at the top while frowning at the bottom for being at the bottom. Jimin is a part of the machine, of course, and so are you. But to try to escape the machine is to die, so you’ve tried to hide yourself in a small part, a useless cog that no one cares about.

When you get off the train to drop yourself back into Market Town, you can’t help but look over your shoulder at the group. They’re giggling at a glittering holo on someone’s phone. Looks like an entertainer of some sort, maybe someone that they’re going to see in Pulse.

The doors shut and cut your vision off. There’s a loud announcement that the subway is leaving as the car rolls back for a second before shooting forward, carrying the strangers away from you where you’ll never see them again.

Setting sun paints Market Town spilled-blood red. It warms your face as you stick your hands in your pocket, moving along the streets flush with people heading toward the shops and stalls and strips of businesses. Anxiety prickles your skin as you get closer to work, the weight of the night before weighing down on you. Surely the Salib family has already burned down the establishment in retaliation. Or perhaps they’re waiting and you’ll die a fiery death on your shift.

Montana is still standing when you turn the corner. The usual members of the Night Sphinxes lean on the cracked walls of their buildings and smoke clove cigarettes. You eye them more than usual as you head up the walk, waiting for one of them to ask you a question. Waiting for them to push off the wall and come across the street.

They don’t. You warily push the door open to Montana, a new sensation tickling the back of your neck. You know Agust is in the bar before you see him sitting on the only stool left in the building. Jungkook looks at you from where he’s leaning on the bar listening to whatever Agust is saying. He nods in greet as you stand at the threshold, staring at Agust’s back.

He’s broader than you remember from the night before. Today he’s in a white t-shirt that he fills out nicely. His shirt is tucked into jeans, showing off a narrow waist that looks dainty compared to a trace of muscle you can see through the shirt.

Slowly, you head toward the bar. You give Agust a wide berth, keeping your eyes trained to him as he speaks softly. You can just barely hear the low notes of his voice as you get closer, the tingling in the back of your neck increasing.

When you enter Agust’s vision, he grins in your direction. His eyes are glittering, his smirk crooked and deadly. There’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you want to shiver. Instead, you clench your muscles, fighting the rippling reaction of whatever his gaze inspires and head to Jungkook.

Ignoring Agust, you ask Jungkook, “So we’re just gonna work with half furniture and…” you look around. It’s just Agust sitting at the bar with his gaze pinned on you. “A single patron.”

“Jimin said the new manager would be in tonight.”

“Great.” You glance at Agust. “What’s he doing here?”

“He is holding up his end of the agreement. I said I would offer protection and damage control for what happened with my man last night.” Agust gestures to the bar. “Services rendered.”

“You’re going to single-handedly stop the Salib’s if they come bursting through that door?”

His lips twitch and he looks down at the amber liquid in his glass. “I’m equipped.”

There is little doubt in your mind that he is. Instead of answering, you throw him a dirty look before heading toward the back, giving some lame excuse about going over finances while you wait for the new manager to arrive. In truth, being near Agust with the static feeling on your skin makes you anxious.

If Jungkook has any qualms about entertaining your new guest, he doesn’t say anything. He goes back to saying something about sports, voice vanishing as you move into the store room and to the office tucked away near the emergency exit.

Water drips from the ceiling in the office, making it smell dank. The air is cloying and you slide a broken cement brick in front of the door to keep it from closing, letting out the stale air. It’s not a well-kept office and there are papers, inventory orders, and cups everywhere. A computer console sits in the corner, orange light blinking to indicate it's in sleep mode.

Instead of powering it on and going straight to trying to weed any of the mess Burro has left behind, you start cleaning up the office. If you’re going to get a new manager, it might do well to start with a clean office, especially if he’s anything like Burro leaving you to manage the bar most nights.

While you clean, you never lose the sense of Agust’s presence in the bar. He sits at the back of your mind and awareness like a candle, flickering and warm as you shove things into a trash bag. You still don’t understand why his existence presses down on you the way it does. Curiosity almost sways you to go out and talk to him. Learning where your curiosity gets you keeps you where he can’t watch you.

After an hour of picking it up, the office looks better. You haul the bag over your shoulder and toss it into the overflowing dumpster in the alleyway. You pause, staring into the night. City sounds echo down the alleyway, reminding you of just yesterday when you stood outside talking to Jimin. Burro’s beaten and bloody face flashes in your mind, a new reminder that as much as you like Jimin, he’s still deadly.

Inside, you sense the arrival of other people. You lock the door, focusing on the shape and feel of their energy for a moment. Two emeralds and something strong but a little scattered, power like a lightbulb. It’s not a common feeling, but you suspect you know the reason for the flickering energy, walking to the front of the bar and slipping through the door.

Jimin is leaning against the bar with a single elbow, grinning lazily as another man you don’t know speaks to Jungkook. Agust is still sitting where you left him, his hand on his glass of whiskey. At your arrival, his ochre eyes settle on you and don’t move. You want to squirm under his gaze. Instead, you wipe your hands on your pants and approach Jimin and this new man, eyes flicking between the two.

The stranger is handsome. That’s the first thing you notice about him. His dark hair is a little long, gelled back elegantly to reveal smooth skin, and a long, narrow face. His ochre eyes are focused on Jungkook, sparked with interest as he stands easily with a hand tucked into his suit pocket. His face is delicate and reminds you of the fresco paintings you’ve seen in Aurora.

When he speaks, his voice is playful and warm, rising and falling with a hypnotizing cadence as he says something to Jungkook that makes the younger tuck his chin to his chest and blush, shaking his head. It puts you on edge, this man who looks at Jungkook with glittering eyes and a hungry smirk.

Jimin turns to look at you and smiles. His eyes crinkle at the edges, his genuine happiness easing your alarm as you lean on the bar, palms pressed flat to the top of the sticky surface.

“Thank you for running all those errands,” Jimin says, reaching into the coat of his jacket. Today he’s in pink silk, a startling color that flushes his face full of color. He looks good, an emerald dragon brooch pinned neatly to the lapel. “Hoseok will be doing that shit from now on and you can return to your duties as expected.”

With nibble fingers, Jimin flicks a neatly folded band of bills at you. You don’t move at first, staring at the wad of money. Jimin sighs and rolls his eyes. “You earned it. Don’t think I don’t know you haven’t been running this fucking place.”

Bowing at the waist you take the offering from him. Your eyes flicker to Hoseok, who regards you with interest. There is something about him that puts you on edge, the flickering energy of a Chaotic crackling against your nerves like electricity.

Hoseok extends a tan hand to you, grinning. It’s a disarming grin but you still feel on edge, reaching over the counter to shake his hand. It’s warm, long fingers gripping firmly. You get the sense of a flickering flame, the feel of the color red. Like you, but broken. Stranger.

Carnelian, you think as he pulls his hand back. He’s a Chaotic who radiates with one of the stones that’s not on the Jewel Caste. You let go of his hand and stare. It’s so unusual to meet someone on the Chaotic Caste, whose energy radiates in unexpected and uncontrolled ways. You only know a single Chaotic and she’s as dangerous as she is helpful, her power uncontrolled.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hoseok says. He seems honest, leaning on the bar. “I’m sorry you had to deal with poor management before me. You can understand Jimin’s predicament, though, having to please Burro’s father. You won’t find the same failures with me.”

“Good to hear.”

Carnelian is a dark color on the Chaotic Caste. It’s hard to decide whether he has the potential to be stronger than you or not, which is the problem with the Chaotics. While Chaotics are technically Radiant, their power is different and manifests in ways that don’t touch the same frequency level as the traditional Jewel Caste.

From your limited understanding of the Chaotic Caste, most Chaotics are relatively weak. It’s difficult to use stones like carnelian and tourmaline, the contents and frequency of them are not as easily accessible as the other gems. But there’s limited science suggesting that those who use the stone on the Chaotic Caste have great ability, manipulating energy and stones that are more unforgivable.

Your eyes drift to Agust who watches with muted interest. Perhaps that’s why he is so hard to read. He doesn’t feel like Hoseok, who sparks with energy. Agust feels like an oppressive buzz, like he is a dam holding back a wave of power unfamiliar and strange. It’s rare to meet one Chaotic, let alone two back-to-back.

Hoseok sits on the stool and peppers you and Jungkook with questions about the establishment and its patrons. They’re easy questions - good questions, even. Your wariness doesn’t quite leave, though Hoseok seems nice enough. It could all be a facade - most likely is a facade - so you remain diligent, answering his question neutrally and watching the way his eyes slide to Jungkook in a way that makes you bristle.

Agust is silent through the exchange, lifting his finger for a refill. Jungkook takes care of him. Agust’s eyes flicker to you again but you don’t meet his gaze, wishing he would stop. You’re unsure why he’s so fascinated with you but his gaze makes you nervous. Makes you pick at a splinter on the bar until Jimin tuts at you, muttering something about destroying his bar further.

Jimin dismisses himself when Hoseok asks Jungkook to give him a tour of the building and walk him through a day in Jungkook’s life as a bartender. It’s an obvious ploy to get Jungkook to himself, turning Jungkook blossom pink as he leads Hoseok toward the back, your eyes zeroed in on them and for any sign that Hoseok means him harm.

The door swings shut and you strain your hearing, listening to Jungkook’s soft voice as he takes Hoseok to the office you just cleaned up. Agust chuckles behind you, low and throaty. You ignore him, letting your energy expand to keep a pulse on the two men out of your line of sight.

“You’re protective over him,” Agust notes. “Cute.”

“Loyalty isn’t cute. It’s the bare minimum.”

“Most don’t know the true value of loyalty.”

You turn over your shoulder, throwing him a cursory glance. He’s leaning on his elbows, hands laced in front of him. It’s hard not to look at his fingers, long and rough, knobby at the knuckles like they’ve been broken a few times. “And you do?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Still unsure why.”

“My man destroyed the bar and put you all in danger. I’m here to ensure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Why you though?”

His lips twitch and he raises a brow. “Why not me? I told you I was equipped.”

“You’re the Dominion of the Black Lotus. Is this not beneath you?”

“A lot of things are beneath me.” You catch the innuendo in his words and look away. “This is not one of them. Consider it an act of good faith on my blossoming friendship with Jimin.”

“So you’re kissing his ass.” He shrugs a shoulder and sips his drink. “If you think he’ll buy it, you’re wrong. Jimin might seem like he’s swayed easily, but he won’t give you whatever it is that you want just because you flatter him a little.”

“You wound me. As charming as I can be, that isn’t what I’m here to do.” He chuckles and begins to trace the rim of his glass. Again, your gaze goes to his long fingers. “You can put the claws away. I can still work for what I want while being genuine.”

Again, you’re reminded of the similarities between this man and Seokjin. Charming, playful. A master with words, revealing truths and intentions only when it suits them. You know that’s how you fell for Seokjin’s machinations for so long, unable to realize that sugared half-truths are more dangerous than lies.

You grab a rag and rub at the sticky counter furiously, as if you could scrub away Seokjin’s grinning face from your memory. “I bet you’re getting used to what you want just like the rest of them, hmm?”

His eyes darken, finger tracing the rim of the glass coming to a stop. You can’t help but admire his hands. There’s something brutal and delicate about them at the same time, made to create art but hardened by the need to create violence.

“I’m not in the Armory,” Agust says darkly. “What I get, I work for.” He lifts his chin a little, eyes zeroed in on you. “Never mistake my motives and intentions for those who belong to the Armory.”

“Then what do you want?”

It takes him a minute to answer. He lifts the glass to his lips and drinks the rest, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. You stare at the smooth canvas of his neck, the urge to bite down on it suddenly taking over.

“I want what I’m owed,” Agust finally answers, setting the glass down on the bar. Again, his eyes are piercing. “You should too.”

Your heart skips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Instead of answering, Agust gives you a meaningful look, a strand of dark hair falling in his face. “I’m heading out for a smoke and a walk. Call me if you need.”

“I don’t even know how I would do that.”

With a satisfied grin, he pulls his phone out and taps on the screen. You feel your pocket vibrate, your hand flying to it and pulling it out. The holograph flashes a message from an unknown number, but it’s obvious who it’s from.

Now you can call.

“Did Jimin give you my number? Why do you have my number?” Agust pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and shrugs, spinning on his heel and walking toward the door. You hear the snap of his fingers and the small pulse of energy as he lights it without a lighter or match. “Can’t you just deal with Hoseok? He’s the manager.”

“I mean it,” Agust says, voice soft. He gives you a final look. “Call me if you need me.”

Questions unanswered, you watch as Agust exits the bar, the door slamming behind him. Behind you, the TV drones about some accident in the Bluffs. You tune it out, mind racing with questions surrounding the one very confusing, dizzying Agust.

He has to be somewhere on the Radiant or Chaotic spectrum. You ponder it when Jungkook and Hoseok come back through the door, talking amicably about art. Jungkook seems enamored, eyes wide and hands moving as he describes something beyond your skill to understand with digital art, but Hoseok is tuned in, umber eyes bright.

Hoseok sits down at the bar, leaning on a hand. His attention turns back to you and you find yourself dodging the usual questions: Do you have family? What did you do before this? What are your hobbies? After his third attempt to get you to open up, Hoseok gives you a bit of a knowing smile tinted with something you think might be sadness before he stops his prying.

“Where’d the troublemaker go?” It takes you a second to realize that Hoseok is talking about Agust. “Out for a smoke?”

You nod. “Are you familiar with one another?”

“Vaguely. He and Jimin are working on some business ventures together but it’s best to keep my nose out of those sorts of things.” Hoseok gives a lop-sided shrug. “He’s dangerous, but I’d prefer him to be the kind of dangerous on my side, you know what I mean?”

You do know what Hoseok means. You were that very danger that the Kim’s liked to keep by their side like a trained hound until they needed a scapegoat. “I suppose,” you offer instead. Your eyes drop to the carnelian bracelet hidden under his jacket sleeves earlier. “Carnelian?”

He smiles. “Chaotic. Does that make you nervous?”

“No,” you answer honestly. “Just surprised. I only know one other Chaotic.”

“Ah, well I’m much better company than Agust, I assure you.”

A pause. Your eyes snap up and you tilt your head. “So he is Chaotic?”

“Is that not who you were talking about?” You shake your head. “Ah, well. Not like it’s a secret exactly. He is a Chaotic, but he keeps whatever he’s radiating at pretty close. I’ve only seen him go down to carnelian, so who is really to say. I saw him use an amethyst once, though.”

“Chaotics can’t use jewels. Can they?”

Hoseok shrugs. “I’ve never been able to grab a hold of a garnet or any of the like colors. But I can certainly feel jewels around me, sort of like a battery that is just out of my reach. Rumor has it that someone strong enough could, though.”

“And you don’t know how strong he is?”

“Strong enough to matter.”

You hum but say nothing else. Strong enough to matter is a good enough answer in this city. Especially among the Armory families and the Circles.

Hoseok is nice and eager to learn. You and Jungkook begin walking him through different drinks after he admits he’s never been a bartender before, but would like to know what to do in the event that either of you are unavailable. It’s different. Good, but different.

Agust returns but sits in the corner of the bar with a tablet, the blue glow on his face making him haunting. A group of young patrons eventually stumbles in, loud and slurring as they head to a booth. You see Agust look up at them, his dark eyes assessing them before catching the dragon tattoos and the green colors. He resumes whatever it is he’s doing, uninterested.

He looks at you occasionally, of course. You sense it when his eyes land on you, making you fidget. You studiously ignore him, refusing to give in to the urge to look up at him. You want to ask him questions, though, about him being a Chaotic and to see what he knows about you.

Over and over his words echo in your head: I want what I’m owed. You should too.

What does this man you’ve known for barely two days think you’re owed? It unsettles you. But tomorrow is an off day and you know just the person to visit for information, though you’re less than enthused to pay her a visit.

Purple smoke and the smell of vanilla and cinnamon cloy the air. The smell clings to the shag carpets and the tapestries hung over the walls, swaths of colors and patterns dizzying in the dim light. You take a seat in a purple crushed velvet chair, the springs creaking in protest under you. The air is thick with the dramatic smoke drifting from the small gap between the curtained hallway, making you dizzy.

Letting a little energy out, you radiate around you, clearing your air and keeping it perfume free. Azi has a flair for the dramatic, keeping the lounge to her little seer den dark, cold and full of incense that smells strong enough to give you a headache for the rest of the day.

A man sits across from you, looking around the room, fingers fiddling in his lap and teeth worrying at his bottom lip. He has no energy signature - a null - and he’s dressed in a wrinkled business suit, forehead slicked with sweat despite how cool it is in the room.

People from all over the city come here to the trenches of Market Town to find Azi’s hole-in-the-wall. It is a haven for fortunes not yet told, and questions that need answering. Thousands of souls cross the threshold to ask her their most coveted questions in exchange for a glimpse into the future, a comforting hand to guide them, a way through the uncertain.

It’s absolute bullshit, but you don’t go to Azi’s for fortunes whispered across jewel scattered tables. The jewels are fake, of course. Azi isn’t as stupid as to allow that much power on the table, but the nulls don’t need to know that, and most of the Radiants who visit the secret-collector of the Green Dragons can’t tell which jewels are real and which aren’t.

The velvet curtain opens, sweet vapor drifting out like fog. Azi sticks her head out, her silver hair braided over a shoulder. Her ice-gray eyes flicker to the man waiting on her and he stands, rubbing his hands against his wrinkled pants. Her attention flickers away from him and lands on you, her brows rising as she assesses you, crows feet intensifying as she squints.

“You wait,” she says to the man who begins to head toward the back. His mouth drops open, crestfallen as she looks at you with a frown. “Come on.”

The man sputters but Azi silences him with a sharp look and he sits down immediately. You don’t blame him, the older woman’s gaze can cut diamond. It’s hard to tell how old Azi really is. Lines by her eyes crinkle in the low light when she scrutinizes you in the hazy backroom where she does her readings, but her skin is otherwise flawless. Her cheekbones are angular, her face all shadows and edges in the low lighting of the room. Some of it is cosmetic, shadow applied to her brow bones to make her seem intimidating.

Azi doesn’t need the dim room, sharp features or fake jewels scattered across a linen-covered table to be intimidating. She fills the room with her energy, letting it radiate around her as she takes a seat and leans back, drinking you in as she taps a ringed finger on the table.

“Well?” she prompts. “I have clients, as you saw.”

Instead of answering her, you lean back in the seat and look around the room. It’s been a few months since you’ve visited Azi but the den looks mostly the same. Deep purples and reds, glittering beads hanging from the ceiling to cast refracted light on the walls, candles that provide very little light flickering atop every covered surface and shelf in the room except the table between you.

Behind her is a swath of crushed velvet curtains. They pull against a hidden, open hallway, the air current sucking them in. You wonder if she knows it gives away where two jeweled guards hide, but you’re unconcerned. Azi works for Jimin and though you’re not her favorite patron, it’s better for her to have the favor of someone Jimin’s fond of.

“You do know I can’t actually see the future, right?” she sighs. “You’ll have to tell me why you’re here if you want an answer.”

“Just taking it in, Azi. It’s been a while.”

“Nothing here changes. Spit it out.”

She’s cagey. Unusual for someone normally cool and unbothered. You file that away for later, intending to find out why your presence has visibly disturbed her.

“The leader of the Black Lotus,” you offer, gauging her reaction as you ask. “What is he?”

Silence. There is a flicker of confusion in her eyes and her mouth twitches before she schools her features and shakes her head, relaxing her shoulders. “I don’t know. I’ve met him once or twice and I know he’s recently had an interest in some Green Dragon business.”

“What Green Dragon business?”

“Ask Jimin.”

“Perhaps I will.”

She smirks. “If you could, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe I just missed your presence,” you sigh. You lean your head to the side, cracking your neck, momentarily distracted by the satisfied pop in your left shoulder. You let your eyes drift shut for a moment, feeling the brief respite in your tight joints before you open them to see her staring at you intently. “I just want to know what kind of Chaotic he is.”

“Don’t know. Keeps it close, I hear. Some say he’s radiated at opal in front of them, others say tourmaline.”

“Chaotics don’t radiate at multiple colors like Radiants.” She lifts a shoulder, hand poking a jewel absently on her table. It’s one of the fakes, but you can feel the buzz of her sapphires on her rings and wrist. It slides under your skin like an itch you can’t get to. “What do you want for it?”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “I don’t have any information to trade.”

You think about seizing the sapphires on her hands. You could do it if you wanted. Could reach out mentally and seize control of her jewels and drag her over the threshold to hell. But Azi thinks you sit at emerald and thinks she holds the power in your Jewel Caste dynamic, so you let her think that, letting your frustration coil like a snake in the grass.

“You have a tell when I offer something you can use.” You reach into your pocket and pull out the wad of cash that Jimin gave you at Montana. It hurts to throw it on the table, thinking of all the things that you could use it for instead of this. “I don’t need change.”

She debates. Looks at the cash and then you before shaking her head. “I’ll give you the single thing I know in exchange for a single favor at my time, place and discretion.”

“No.”

“Then no deal.”

“I’m not pledging myself in service to you without knowing what the deal is or the risk. We aren’t friends, I don’t do you favors. We make even trades. A placement on the caste isn’t equal to any favor any time.”

“I’m not offering you the color of his caste. I don’t know it, but I know something that might lead you there.”

“Take the money.”

“No.”

Fighting the urge to drop into her sapphires and give them a tug is difficult. Your instinct to strong arm her and make it hurt for what you want is so strong that you almost do it. But patience and playing your cards close to your chest is a new, learned instinct. It’s pride that makes you want to show her force. But you know the moment you do it, your secret is hers to sell.

It’s an uneven trade. A piece of information that might help you with no indication before agreeing what it’s actually worth. Your favor at any time and any place is quantifiable as a limitless reward for what she knows. If you agree and she tells you something easily discoverable, you’ll be more the fool for it.

Azi has been nervous, though. Her energy vibrates high, ready to launch if she needs it, and the two men behind the curtain are shifting back and forth, listening. You can’t tell if she’s nervous to see you or nervous to ask you for the favor. It’s possible that it’s both, but the queen of secret selling asking you for an unnamed and undated favor is a desperate ask in her position.

She’s in trouble of some sort, you’re sure. Still, you pick the cash up off the table and shove it back into your pocket, relieved that you can keep a hand on it.

“Limitations,” you tell her and she glowers, opening her mouth to speak but you cut her off. “No murders and nothing that could directly harm Jimin.” You stretch your hand over the table. “Square?”

Azi hesitates, rolling the offer around as she works her jaw. She’s irritated, but she leans forward and grasps your hand. Hers are soft and strong against your callused fingers. “Square.”

Dropping her hand you sit back in the chair. “Spit it out.”

“The leader of the Black Lotus calls himself Agust-”

“Azi, I fucking swear-”

“But it isn’t his real name. His real name is Yoongi.”

Yoongi. A softer name than you expect, yet it somehow fits him. A man hard at the edges and maybe a little sofer on the inside. Pretty, but lethal. It certainly suits him better than Agust, but unless his name is his most prized possession, it doesn’t do you much good.

“How valuable is the name?”

“Jimin doesn’t know it.”

“Has Jimin asked you for it?” A nod. Huh. “And you didn’t ask him for a favor?” A shake of her head, which means Azi is under the assumption she needs a favor out of the regulation of the man who holds her leash in the future. “The person you came by the name from?”

“Died in your bar, I believe. Something about a member of the Black Lotus fucking his wife, which wasn’t true.” Azi smirks. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

Yes, you think. A man turning up dead after knowing Agust - Yoongi’s - name at Jimin’s bar where Yoongi’s bannerman had been drinking is unsettling, but you can’t imagine what the specific motive is. Yoongi made it clear he was keeping on Jimin’s good side for something business related and Azi’s confirmation of them working together reinforces that. But why kill a man who knows his name as his new partner’s bar?

Annoyed at Azi and unsettled by your new puzzle, you walk toward Montana for your shift, footsteps heavy. A dying sun chases you all the way to work and vanishes beyond the horizon as you open the door, entering to see Jungkook and Hoseok working in tandem behind the counter. There are a few patrons enjoying drinks, even. Sitting at the newly delivered furniture you ordered on Jimin’s behalf.

In the back corner of the bar in his newly claimed booth, Agust - Yoongi - looks up at you. He’s dressed in a black t-shirt and ripped jeans, boots kicked up on the bench across from him. He lounges against the back of the side, eyes shining as he grins at you like the two of you share a secret.

Yoongi. You think of the way the pretty name suits the very pretty man as you ignore him once more, heading to the bar to greet a smiling Hoseok and blushing Jungkook.

Yoongi doesn’t take his eyes off of you for the rest of the night.

THE JEWEL CASTE (from least to most powerful)

Light Caste

Diamond Citrine Aquamarine Jade Rose

Mid Caste

Peridot Topaz Turquoise Ruby Smokey

Dark Caste

Emerald Amethyst Sapphire Garnet Onyx

THE CHAOTIC CASTE (in general, from least to most powerful)

Opal Quartz Tourmaline Carnelian Obsidian

GLOSSARY

Circle - Lower gangs who are not in the Armory Chaotic - Those who vibrate at the frequency of stones outside The Jewel Caste. Some Chaotics vibrate at a higher frequency than Radiants. Dark Radiant - Those who vibrate at the low-colors and high frequencies Jewel Caste - The order of least to most powerful vibrational jewel frequencies Light Radiant - Those who vibrate at the lighter colors and lower frequencies Mid Radiant - Those who vibrate at the mid-colors and medium frequencies Null - Those who don’t vibrate at the same frequency as the jewels and cannot radiate Radiant - Those who vibrate at the same frequency as the jewels and thus can radiate Unjeweled - A radiant who doesn’t have any jewels on them to help radiate

#yoongi smut #suga smut #suga fanfic #yoongi fanfic #suga bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fanfic #mafia yoongi #minors do not interact #minors dni

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bananaactivity · 5 days ago

Note

What happens when Kai learns about Marcus being a bionic android? Is it a big reveal, or does Kai shrug it off?

He doesn't learn anytime soon.

Think about FBI agents or like secret service and their families. There is an understanding that they do stuff in that vein but like you don't have all the info.

My version of LRELMM involves a lot more secrecy from the public about the island the bionic students and stuff like that. Adam Bree and Chase are the publics only eye into some of what Davenport industries have going on.

Due to my still WIP Mighty Med AU, Kaz, Oliver, and Skyler's identities are highly secret. No bionic excuse, they have to follow the rules of the super world. They actually get their own team comic made in universe for my hypothetical third MM season before they join the EF. Its called "Frost-Burn" and it ends up being pretty popular. (Oliver is Frost-flare, Kai is Wild-spark or Burn-Out ) That leads to fun stuff with Jordan and Gus noticing things that connect their friends to the comic heroes. And I think its funny if Chase is a Wild-Spark or Burn-Out superfan and is literally shocked when he finds out its Kaz)

Here is a segment of my fic that explains some stuff:

Leo, and Marcus along with Taylor and Logan Krane made up Team Francis pronounced Team Danger for some reason. They had been Mission Creeks B team after the original Daven-kids. But those guys had fucked off to go dick around in Centium City with some characters of who's “identities are highly confidential” a few months back.

This left Team Francis to be the front line and by extension some graduations at the island got pushed up to fill their vacant spot. Spin, Bob and his brother Daniel, made up what Leo referred to as Mission Creeks C team: Team Tots. Leo had been pretty fussy finding out they had to leave the safety of Mission Creek up to the Tots when they left but Marcus was pretty confident in Spin's ability to lead. So off they all went to Seaford…

I think Kai would only be allowed to know all the ins and outs if he and Marcus got married.

Which would not happen unless they both went through immense psychological therapy. They are both so deeply flawed with so much implied trauma there is no way in hell. Like reading my fic even in its draft form you can just feel all the manipulation and lack of emotional vulnerability and sense of healthy boundaries leaking from the both of them. (That's why its called a hate story)

They don't love each other in my fic. They are obsessed and crazy. Just like the originals LMAO.

If Kai found out tho he'd be less interested and more of a bully about it. My interpretation of him is older (21) and " reformed" that just means he blocked off all his violent tendencies behind a wall ,without working through them, that Marcus cracks so hes dealing with a barrage of emotions mentally while keeping a cold and unbothered exterior.

Non-cannon scene:

He'd been thinking about it for a while and he'd finally decided to do it.

“ Hey? Uh…K?”

"What." Kai didn’t even glance up, scrolling through his phone.

"Yeah… I—K, I need to tell you something," Marcus spat out, his voice a little off.

"You’re pregnant? Or are you secretly a wizard?" Kai tossed out, completely nonchalant. "Please tell me you’re a wizard, Davenport. That’d be fuckin’ hilarious."

Marcus sighed "No. I’m a Bionic android. My cousins are Adam, Bree, and Chase. I go on secret missions all the time and that's why I came to Seaford in the first place.” he sped out in one breath.

That made Kai stop scrolling. For a brief moment, his brain didn’t register the words, but then he looked at Marcus, deadpan, still not moving a muscle.

"Wait, what the fuck… Are you shitting me?" Kai raised an eyebrow, staring at him like he'd just said he was allergic to air. "Did you just say you're a robot?"

"An android," Marcus corrected..

Kai snorted. "Whatever, same difference. So, you’re telling me you’re like one of those fancy-ass Roombas but with feelings and… well, you look a hell of a lot better than a Roomba." He gave Marcus a once-over. "You don’t exactly scream ‘I’m a super advanced killing machine.’"

Marcus blinked.

“You’re really not freaking out?” Marcus asked, voice edging on frustration.

Kai shrugged, tossing his phone on the couch beside him.

“Really? I mean.. K?” Marcus crossed his arms, trying to look unimpressed but definitely feeling a little weird inside. “You're not even surprised? No ‘what the hell’ moment? I'm related to the most famous people of modern days?”

Kai looked at him for a long second before his lips curled into a smirk. “I mean, I did wonder why you always avoided using a microwave. Now it makes sense. So, are you, like, a secret government experiment, or did you just get bored one day and decide to live among humans, pretending to be one of us?”

“I'm not pretending, and I don't use the microwave because it's an inferior way of reheating food.” Marcus shot back quickly. “I’m just— Hey! I told you what I'm doing here! And my DAD made me, not the government.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, whatever Daven-dork,” Kai interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Alright, so, you’re an android. Cool. Want me to start calling you 'Siri' or 'C-3PO' or should I go full 'Terminator' and start waiting for you to go rogue and destroy the world? Hasta la vista baby, right?"

Marcus was so flustered now, his usual cocky attitude slipping. “That was just a phase… I'm over that no-!”

“Just a phase? Sure buddy, just think about how good of a kisser I am when you decide to usurp the status quo… ” Kai said, cutting him off with a yawn. “Look, I don’t care if you’re some high-tech toaster. Just don’t start malfunctioning while we’re making out and electrocute me alright?”

“Okay?? I guess,” Marcus muttered, glancing away a little embarrassed.

Kai shifted, half-laying across the couch, his feet now casually resting on Marcus’s lap. “ Don’t start short-circuiting or glitching out either Davenport. I don’t need you flipping into ‘robot rage’ and throwing me through a wall or whatever.”

Marcus glared at him. “I’m not going to ‘short-circuit.` And you say that as if you don't throttle me in the Dojo every chance you get.”

"Please," Kai interrupted with a dramatic roll of his eyes. " All those times we’ve sparred… You were holding out while also beating me and you're just now telling me? That’s rich. Anyway, just don’t start malfunctioning, isn't that simple for your computer brain? I’m already dealing with your constant need for affection—I don’t need you literally shorting out my Wi-Fi.”

Marcus opened his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but instead, all that came out was a frustrated sigh. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you tolerate me, so deal with it, ‘R2-D2.’” Kai grinned, then, as if the revelation of Marcus being an android wasn’t that big of a deal, he leaned over and playfully ruffled Marcus’s hair. “Also, if you’re a robot, can I get an upgrade? Like, one where you don’t constantly annoy me?”

“Maybe upgrade your lip action too. That shits so ass” he muttered

“I’m not a robot!” Marcus groaned, slapping his hand away. “And I kiss great!”

Kai grinned. "Yeah okay buddy sure. You should be more grateful, Marcus. No one else would put up with your roboass. Just don’t go rogue on me or I’ll have to destroy you. I’m not getting a warranty on you anytime soon.”

Marcus shot him a glare “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a bionic android who could probably download a kissing app and you still suck at it. I guess we balance each other out. ”

#lab rats elite force #lab rats #mighty med #oliver mighty med #kaz mighty med #kai brewer #kickin it #leo dooley #douglas davenport #chase davenport #bree davenport #adam davenport #marcus davenport

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monstersdownthepath · 9 months ago

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Monster Spotlight: Tanuki

CR 4

Chaotic Neutral Medium Monstrous Humanoid

Bestiary 3, pg. 259

These mischievous, fun-loving, shapeshifting raccoons are far less violent or angry than the one displayed by the actual art, preferring trickery and music to brawls and battle. Fittingly enough, it's often believed that a Tanuki is born from the proto-soul that comes to inhabit any well-loved and well-used tool or appliance that manages to last a whole 100 years while still being used (an origin story that may be accurate or may yet be refuted when new canon material comes out later this year), so it's very likely that most Tanuki are generally decent folk, depending on which tool they were born from.

small annoyance before we continue: I'm a bit miffed that Paizo didn't give the Tanuki their ability to transform into inanimate objects (though they allude to it in their lore block), but it's an easy enough fix for a DM that wants to let them have one of their more famous features. We will uh. we will not be discussing their most famous feature anywhere on this blog. paizo wisely decided to leave that out.

Anyway, these amusing little raccoons live for the moment, spending their days merry and their nights curled up in the comfiest beds they can find, working to fill their lives and the lives of everyone around them with fun and food. While they can freely shapeshift into the form of a mundane raccoon, they're more likely using their 1/day Veil to masquerade as a humanoid, slipping into civilization to partake in whatever fun and festivities they can find. If they cannot find any, though, by god will they make some, utilizing their 3/day Major Creation to conjure whatever gems and gold they need to pay for it and their 1/day Create Food and Water to whip up some meager but filling fare. That this conjured money disappears an hour or so later is of no consequence to the trickster, who expects to either be long gone or too drunk to care by then. They frequent bars and eateries, exchanging songs and stories for food and drink as they look through the crowds for potential marks.

Not to steal from, mind, but to mess with. Tanuki enjoy humbling braggarts, humiliating bullies, pranking those they've judged as evil, and joking about with the dour and brooding for the entertainment of not only themselves, but whatever friends they've made for the night. Their goal is good times, after all, and anyone who sours the mood can find themselves at the tail end of whatever ridiculous scheme the Tanuki has hatched to maximize the day's joy. Though the book mentions their ability to turn weapons and tools into harmless items like teapots and cutlery, they do not possess this power in the game proper, but what they DO have is Shrink Item 1/day to collapse the first sword brought against them into a toothpick or, even more pettily, transforming the chair or table some stuck-up schmuck is sitting at into a washcloth and watching them tumble to the ground.

Shrink Item obviously has utility beyond this for the Tanuki with its days-long duration, but using it to mess with people is their go-to. Its other primary use is allowing the little raccoon men to hide weapons in unexpected places, typically having their primary weapon--a quarterstaff--masquerading as a straw stuck in their mouth, woven into their hair, or used as one half of a set of chopsticks. It's rarely brought out with the intent to kill, the Tanuki more likely to fight defensively or battle for only a few rounds as an opponent makes a fool of themselves and the little spirit can dance about and drink as it avoids their blows, but they can be startlingly vicious in combat when it comes to it.

Tanuki can wallop someone twice with each end of their staff for 1d6+2 and 1d6+1 damage a round, then quickly spin around and give them an extra slap with their sturdy tails or shoulder-check them for an additional 1d6+1 damage... but it's rarely going to stay at base numbers. Remember what I said about them drinking during battle? They have a reason to. Tanuki carry around special gourds at their side that always seem to be full of delicious sake while in their hands, and as a swift action they can drink from these gourds to gain any one of the following spell effects at will: Haste (for more AC and extra attacks), Rage (for additional damage at the cost of AC), False Life (for a chunk of long-lasting temporary HP; typically they've already done this hours ago), or Divine Favor (for +2 to attack and damage rolls). The book notes that Tanuki with more HD or class levels can gain different or more powerful spells from their sake bottles, essentially handing the DM a blank check to give them literally whatever advantage they want in case Haste + Divine Favor isn't enough to turn the tides.

This isn't without cost, as one may expect. Sake is strong stuff, and though a Tanuki's Sake Affinity blesses them with powerful magic, it also lowers their AC and their Reflex saves by 1 for one minute per drink they take, and these penalties stack with themselves. They trade their defenses for offensive power, and with only 17 AC and +5/+7/+6 as their defenses (no resistances or immunities!), they have to be sure that their offense is as powerful as possible to dissuade their targets from going further. Often, one just needs to reduce a Tanuki to about half or so HP before it cuts its losses and flees, very few willing to fight to the death for any cause, but be wary of turning your back to it once it starts running, because it's got Magic Stone 3/day and a sling to huck the enchanted pebbles to get in a few painful (and dangerous) parting shots once your defenses are down.

Some side notes before we close out: Tanuki have a constant Detect Poison on themselves, which at first seems to be there to combo with their at-will Purify Food and Drink, but PFaD is actually there to keep their travel rations created from Create Food and Water shelf-stable for as long as they need. The TRUE purpose of Detect Poison is to give the Tanuki a beer radar, because all alcohol is classified as a poison in Pathfinder. They're basically bloodhounds for booze!

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #CR 1 to 5 #Pathfinder #dungeons and dragons #tw alcohol

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knowltonsrangers · 1 year ago

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The cutest thing just popped into my head: ben tallmadge x female reader where the reader is from the modern world and is stuck in colonial america so she doesn’t know how to put on a corset and is struggling af. she’s at the continental camp and ben notices out of the flap of her tent that she’s struggling so he walks into her tent and decides to help her lace up her corset and then does her hair in a braid (bc it’s down which was like considered immodest back then) HEHEKSJSJAJWKSJKAS and there’s hella tension n stuff between em and ben can’t help but admire her long hair down and the feel of it ykyk yeah thank u i love ur fics sm <333

TURN!Benjamin Tallmadge x reader

[a/n: aw, this is absolutely adorable! tysm for the request, I hope I did it justice!]

Ben ambled throughout the camp, pacing along the row of tents with his hands clasped behind his back. Every time he heard the flap of a tent open, his blue eyes would bounce to his own tent, hopeful that you would emerge dressed, and yet, it would be another officer going on with their day.

“Oh, for crying out loud—“

His boots meet the dirt in a dramatic manner, storming over to his tent, not quite sure what to be expecting, but it was most certainly not you struggling to lace a corset.

Staring in the entrance, hand pulling the flap back, he’s left stood completely still for a moment, then he clears his throat loudly.

“How long must this take you?”

In return, you yelp, your back to the tent opening. You were never expecting someone to be standing right there.

“Why?! Why did you just do that?”

Your heart clamps over your heart, in an attempt to qualm its fast beating.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry. But, haven’t you ever…?”

Ben notices your hands, and the messy loops, how you’ve been struggling for the past ten minutes trying to figure out the right way to lace the bodice.

“No, why would I? You found me in joggers and t-shirt,”

You deadpan, mirroring Ben’s expression as he sighs, letting the tent close behind him so the two of you are enveloped in complete privacy.

“May I?”

Your cheeks burn red, the tips of your ears as well, but you nod, spinning around once more as the officer approaches, gently undoing all the terrible knots you had made prior.

“You are aware I don’t entirely believe you about your nonsense, right?”

“Please. If this doesn’t prove it, I don’t know what will,”

Ben lifts your hair so it drapes over your right shoulder, out of the way as he begins to lace and weave the ribbon down the bodice.

“Your story is infuriating, but infatuating. I would be lying if I said that I don’t appreciate your story-telling.”

You gasp when he pulls it just too tight, your eyes blinking rapidly as he continues.

“Your stubbornness is infuriating, as well.”

Once he’s satisfied, you spin around, glancing up at the Major as he lets his hands fall to his sides.

“Thank you,”

“Not necessary. Though, you have to do something about that.”

He gestures to your hair, now back over your shoulder as it lays down along your back.

“Can you do it in a cute little braid like yours?”

It was a joke, you had all intentions to put it in a bun atop your head like so many ladies you’d seen around the camp, but Ben sighs, motioning for you to spin around once more.

Your mouth flubs, ready to tell him it was a reflex comment-and yet, the feeling of his calloused palms and soft fingertips running through your hair makes you snap your mouth shut.

“This is a customary hairstyle, I don’t understand why you must make fun of it.”

“It was just a joke, I’ll keep them on the DL from now on.”

Ben makes a face at the ‘DL’ comment, but doesn’t ask what it means.

“May I ask you something?”

“Sure, y/n.”

“If you really don’t believe me, why are you going to all this trouble?”

Ben hums, quickening his motions as the braid begins to descend down your back.

“I’ve determined you are no spy, when you didn’t even know which one was the Lieutenant.”

“I can’t tell all those uniforms apart, who could—“

“Like I said, a portion of me believes you. Maybe you just hit your head too hard and don’t know where you are. Maybe you’re telling the truth.”

“I am, but I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you, Major.”

There’s a bout of silence, and right when you feel him go to tie your hair with a ribbon, you offer him your hair tie over your shoulder.

“I’d like you to use this, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Ben says nothing but it takes him a good minute to figure out how to use it, and tie it securely into your hair.

“Thanks. Maybe it’ll keep me sane for a bit longer.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, y/n. But I am enamored by your…way of doing things.”

The pink color returns to your ears, and you turn slightly, watching the way Ben takes a hesitant step back, admiring his work.

“Best to get you to the General.”

Your stomach flips, palms sweaty as he goes to exit the tent.

“If you don’t believe me, what makes you think the General will?”

“General Washington? He’s…he’s very good at listening.”

Ben misses the way your jaw falls open, mumbling about how on earth any of this was real, your shoes sinking in the soft dirt as you scramble after him.

#sul writes #amc turn #turn amc #turn: washington's spies #turn washington's spies #turn: washington’s spies #benjamin tallmadge imagine #turn benjamin tallmadge #benjamin tallmadge x reader #benjamin tallmadge #benjamin tallmadge headcanons

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rom-e-o · 3 months ago

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So the girls having regular lunch dates with their brother-in-laws because, ya know, we STAN family bonding moments. But like, what if the paparazzi does what it always does and spins its web of rumors and lies and claim the couples are cheating with each other's spouses. And of course it's ridiculous, so Bess and Connie are just like, "... What if we troll them?" And they start a fake feud with each other over their social media and through interviews that they do. But it's never really consistent. Like, 7/10 times they are communicating and posting regularly and they're besties and soul-sisters, but then when a "story" drops about them being "unfaithful" they're making passive aggressive comments to each other on Twitter or "calling each other out" in their interviews.

"Now, Mrs. Scrooge, I don't know if you've been listening to the grapevine lately, but rumor has it your husband has been stepping out on you with, none other than, your sister-in-law."

"Ah. I'm afraid I have heard. And I'm glad you brought it up, because there is a few things I'd like to say about the situation. In fact I'd like to address them to my dear, dear sister-in-law. And, actually, I think I gave your team the most recent picture of them together. Can we pull that up? Because some of the things I'd like to address are in the picture.

"Ah, yes, there we are. Now, first of all, can I just say that this is a lovely picture? It's done very well. Both of them look wonderful in it. And those shoes--do you see those shoes that she's wearing? Yeah, those are mine. I lent them to her a year ago and they've been in her closet since then. Also, that jacket is mine too--, she's had that for about 3 months. And, full disclosure, that hairstyle was my suggestion for her to try. So, I mean, the whole point of being the mistress is offering the man something he's not getting at home, right? Well, he'd HAVE this at home if she just gave me my stuff back. Point is, honey, it's not really you he wants, it's the stuff of mine that you have that he wants."

And certain public spaces FLIP OUT over this little charade. 🤣

Okay, first of all, we ABSOLUTELY stan positive family bonding in this house. The Twins have sisterly figures back in their lives, and they sink back into that brotherly role so easily. The girls also get to enjoy it - Bess gets an older big brother figure to vent to (after years of being THE breadwinner/mother figure) and Connie gets another sibling figure (alongside Bess as a sister) to chat and share interests with. Plus, Wolf is a little more feral as a brother, so that’s fun for a woman who has been a prim little socialite forever.

Secondly, YESSSS. I can absolutely see them having fun trolling these paparazzi for coming up with this fake beef between them. I mean … if that’s what they want, the ladies are more than keen to give it to them. 😏

This interview happens, and they ambush Connie outside the nail salon for a follow-up.

“Mrs. DoGoode-Scrooge, are the rumors true? Are you fraternizing with your brother-in-law?”

“Have you read the recent interview from your sister-in-law? Do you have a response?”

“Cn you confirm her statements, or do you deny them?”

And she’s like, “Oh? Oh! I did. Her little statement about the shoes? It’s true. She does have impeccable style. And my hair as well? Yes, she absolutely recommended the style to me. Do you like it?”

“…it’s very nice, but that was NOT the question.”

“Oh. Well, what are you trying to get me to admit? … That I’m fraternizing with my brother-in-law? Well, how blunt. You know, I’m actually going to meet him for lunch right now. You all should tag along. If you want the scoop, that is.” 🤭

Then they follow her from the nail salon to … a restaurant. With her husband waiting up front. Huh. And he’s waiting with … Ebenezar and his wife Bess? And she gives ALL of them hugs and cheek kisses. HUH? No? NO, that’s not how this is supposed to go! That’s not good drama for the paper! 🤬

#scroogeverse

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alwaysthegeorges · 2 years ago

Text

More Than Friends - Xavier Thrope x Reader

Summary - A game of spin the bottle with your friends goes awry and you end up having to share the space of a very small closet with your crush.

Warnings - kissing and very hard pining

Word Count - 2.7k

a/n - i’m such a whore for xavier omfg

!gif not mine!

You watched patiently as the bottle spun around and around, waiting to take its next victim. Spin the bottle was a common game among your friend group. It of course had its own tweaks and touches to make it either more interesting or less awkward, but the bottle part always stayed the same. This chilly Friday night with your friends had been started early in your dorm room, but you had hung out for so long it was now getting into the deep hours of the night. It was so late in fact that the moon decided to show its bright light through your large, colored window, in which Enid lovingly decorated herself.

You had originally suggested the famous game to your group, and without hesitation, the bottle was brought out. The thing was, your group consisted of a pair of exes, multiple pairs of crushes, and some outliers like Yoko, who couldn’t care less about dating. Therefore, rules had been discussed among you all in order to keep the tension down and morale up. They were simple little rules, actually. The game was a cross between spin the bottle and 7 minutes in heaven, which was very popular amongst the people who wanted a chance to spend time with their crush, “up close and personal”, as Enid would say. The way you play is: a person, doesn’t matter who, spins the bottle in the middle of the circle. Whoever the bottle lands on must go out to the hall and wait until the group calls you back in to go into the closet. Meanwhile, the group deliberates, and together they decide who “the chosen one” will spend 7 minutes with in the closet. Once the person is chosen, they go into the closet first, the chosen joins them, and the 7 minutes begin. Simple! Usually those inside would spend their time joking away just like they would if they were back in the group, so it’s always a party favorite between you all. No hard feelings, no broken hearts, just good ol’ friendly fun.

On this night, having friendly fun wasn’t the only plan in mind. Enid had been flirting with Ajax for months, him reciprocating, and she would always come home with stories of how he brushed her hand in class or how she caught him staring at her over his book. Your friend group was all aware of their mutual crushes on each other, because it was so painfully obvious, and yet neither of them made any moves. This madness went on for months, far too many according to your friends, and so tonight was the night. They needed a small push in the right direction, and surely being stuck in a closet with each other would change things. Your friends all agreed to this plan before meeting up in your dorm earlier today, so everyone was seemingly on board, besides those who needed to think it wasn’t a setup, of course.

Once the bottle started spinning around the circle, there was no going back. You smiled at each of your friends, a mischievous tone taking over the room and they all watched the bottle in unison. To your surprise, when you looked to Xavier, he was staring right back at you. He gave you a subtle wink from across the circle, then returned to watching it. In that moment, your heart dropped. How could you have forgotten? Usually when you all played this, everyone had a turn, and recently, you had spilled to your friends that you had a massive crush on the tall, brown-headed boy across from you. He was oblivious, as boys are, but you knew that when it came to your turn, they would likely force you into the closet with him. Not that you’d complain, per se, but the thought of being close to him in such an intimate space made you have heart palpitations. The reaction your body had when he winked at you gave you proof. It was hard to keep calm around him, and even your cheeks portrayed that. Stupid blushing. You’ll just have to somehow convince your friends to pair you with someone else. Without him knowing. Great.

The plan you made up sounds totally implausible, which makes you panic more than just a little when the bottle slows down and begins to point to you. Thanks to some universal force or something, however, it slinks right past you and lands on Enid. Score! Your friends all exchange looks as she walks out to the hallway, giving you a look on the way out. Once the thick wooden door slammed shut, you all began to deliberate with each other. Though the answer was painfully clear already, something must’ve been in the air that night, because Xavier piped up, volunteering to go in the closet with Enid. He sneaked you another quick wink before you all looked over to Ajax, whose face had turned as red as a watermelon. You could’ve sworn that smoke was coming out of his ears, and if looks could kill, Xavier would’ve been dead 3 times over by now.

“You ok with that, Jax?” Xavier asks, not being able to hold back the smile that begins to spread by the second on his face.

“You’re an ass,” is all Ajax says, crossing his arms and staring at the floor. His reaction resembles a child so badly that you all couldn’t help but giggle, which thankfully lightened the mood a bit.

“You know I’m messing with you, dude. Go get your girl.”

Ajax took that open invitation almost immediately, springing up from the floor like it was on fire. Everyone cackled at the bullshit chaos that errupted and dissipated within the span of 30 seconds, and once Ajax was in the closet with the door safely tucked closed, everyone called Enid back inside. She walked past us, muttering something about this game being stupid, and went into the closet. Once we heard the happy squeak she let out, we knew we had made a good choice and were good to mind our own business until the timer was up. Xavier took this as an opportunity to come over to your side of the circle, successfully shoving Yoko out of her spot in order to sit next to you. You rolled your eyes at him when he smiled at you triumphantly, like bickering with Yoko and taking her place was his greatest achievement in life.

“Dang, impressive. Do you plan on usurping any other spots tonight, or are you planning on staying here and annoying me for the rest of our party?” you asked, feigning annoyance. His smile only grew wider.

“Not sure. Is yours up for grabs?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes again.

“Ha ha. Very funny. Speaking of, what was that back there? Did you somehow fall in love with Enid too, or do you just enjoy taking the piss out of your best friend?”

“Oh, c’mon. Jax knows how to take a joke. Besides, don’t act like you didn’t like it. I saw you smiling,” he teased, bumping your shoulder with his own. You bumped him back, not being able to hold back your smile anymore.

“Okay, fine. It was a little funny. But you gotta give him a break at some point. Dude’s shy.”

“Yes, dear,” Xavier continued to tease, rolling his eyes at you playfully. You turned your head to look at him, and for a split second, time seemed to stop. You noticed how close your faces were, just inches away, and your breath hitched. He’s so close, and you’re doing just fine. No freaking out. It would be so easy to just lean a couple more inches, and…

The timer went off. You were snapped from your daze, feeling a bit out of it for a few more seconds before remembering where you were. You looked over at the closet along with everyone else just in time to see a very smiley Ajax and Enid, holding hands. Your group erupted into whoops and cheers, rejoicing that the pining and late night “do you think he likes me” talks were over. As the newfound couple returned to the group, the cheers died down, and Yoko leaned forward to give the bottle a new spin. Everyone started talking amongst each other again, mostly about how they were glad the two love birds had finally figured their shit out, but when the bottle came to a stop, the room fell deadly silent. It was as if some loud noise had just scared everyone at once, the way they had all abruptly stopped talking. Your attention moved from your conversation with Eugene on the other side of you to the bottle, and your heart immediately dropped into your stomach. It was pointing straight at you.

Your eyes immediately fell on Enid as you got up to leave the room. You tried to portray everything you were feeling and everything you had been worrying about to her through your eyes, and she gave you a solid nod as the door slammed, cutting your view off. What did that mean? Was she going to stall for you so you could fake an illness? Not that you’d have to fake, the way your stomach was twisting itself into knots. Was she going to pair you with Bianca or Eugene so you could just have a nice conversation and not have to worry?

Your curiosity got the better of you, and you tried pressing your ear to the thick wood, attempting to hear anything from the other side of it. Alas, after about a minute of trying, you could still only make out mumbles. You decided to give up and mentally prepare for your fate instead, wrapping your arms around yourself and sinking to the floor up against the wall next to the door. Deep breaths. You’ve got this. After about another minute or two, you heard the door creak open. You took a breath and stood, only to be confronted with a blindfold covering your eyes. Enid wrapped the blindfold around your head and took you by your shoulders, leading you towards what you guessed was the closet door. Before letting you go, she paused, leaned down, and whispered to you.

“You’ll thank me later.”

With that and no other warning, you were shoved into the arms of someone, and the door was shut behind you. You attempted to get your bearings, pulling yourself away from the hold of the stranger who had caught you. For a few seconds, you messed with the blindfold, trying to untie it with little to no success. After a few more seconds, you heard a voice, closer than you’d like the admit to yourself.

“Let me get it.”

Xavier. Of course it was. Just your fucking luck. Breathe, breathe, it’s fine. Just your friend. It’s just your friend, Xavier. Except when he brushed your fingers away with his own to untie the blindfold himself, a spark of electricity went through your body, setting you on fire. Breathe. Everything will be fine! It’s only 7 minutes!

A few more seconds pass, and the noise from the room has subsided. Apparently everyone decided it was time for the party to be over. Dicks. Xavier finally managed to untie the blindfold, and once you were able to see once again, the first thing you’re met with is his big, beautiful green eyes. A chill rushed down your spine involuntarily, continuing to make your brain freak out, but faster. He was so close to you. So close that you could smell that paint smell that seemed to linger on him at all times. You could see every curve of his jaw, every lash on his eyelids. His perfect features, so close to you you could reach out and touch them, and god knows you almost did. Thankfully, he broke the silence.

“You’re ogoling me,” he said quietly, a joking smile pressed on his perfect lips.

“In your dreams,” you shot back, feigning the confidence you didn’t have in that moment.

“Those are the best kinds of dreams,” he said, winking at you. Your heart seemed to skip a beat at his words. Did he actually mean that? Is he fake flirting or real flirting? It was so hard to tell with him. He was one of your closest friends, but having that massive crush on him really didn’t help your critical thinking when it came to his behavior.

“Are you flirting with me, Thorpe? What did we say about flirting?” you teased, hoping your voice wasn’t as shaking as it feels. He pretended to think for a moment, brushing his fingers along his chin and perfect, sharp jawline, before returning his gaze to you.

“Hmm. Don’t remember. Guess you’ll have to remind me,” he retorted, amused by this small little game going on.

“Guess I’ll have to remind you. Freshman year. You had a massive crush on me-”

“Slight crush,” he interrupts.

“You had a massive crush on me and couldn’t handle our play-flirting. Then, from that day forward, the ‘don’t flirt unless you mean it’ act was born. Surely you remember. Such a pity you couldn’t take my jokes. They were good, too,” you finish. The smile on his face only grew wider, and his eyes shifted from going all around your face to shifting between your eyes and your lips. You took a small breath, reminding yourself that he is your friend and he doesn’t think of you that way. Still, a part of your heart still echoed with every beat, what if?

“Ah. I remember now. Good thing I still upheld it, even in my moment of amnesia, then, huh?” he asked smugly. You blink once. Twice. Could you really be hearing this?

“What?” you ask, completely baffled.

“You having hearing troubles?” he asked, smirking at you as your brain ran circles around itself trying to comprehend what was happening.

“I’m just… lost. So to be clear, you weren’t flirting with me, yes?”

“Mmm, try again.”

“So you were flirting with me playfully and lying that you remembered the act?”

“Still not it, love.”

You blinked again. Silence fell upon you, the only sounds being your breaths mixing.

“Need me to spell it out for you?” he asked, a tone of affectionateand playful fake-annoyance lacing his words.

All you could do was look up at his glistening green eyes and wish he really meant what he was insinuating. Before either of you could say another word, you felt Xavier’s hand snake up and rest on your neck, sort of cradling your head ever so slightly and holding you with such a delicate touch it’s as if you could break like porcelain. Slowly, giving you time to back away if you wanted, Xavier dipped his head down, attaching your lips to his. He kissed you so carefully, as to not scare you away, but when you brought your hand into his hair, he sped it up a bit. His kisses were so soft, and you could feel the most gentle and caring intentions flowing through them to you. Fireworks went off in your chest, your heart doing dances and letting your brain finally relax. Your bodies immediately became in tune with one another, dipping yourself into him and allowing him to hold you tightly, yet letting you feel so freed by his touch. It felt like he could kiss you for hours, and god, did you want him to. Every moment you connected was a moment of pure ecstasy rushing through your veins, finally discovering this feeling you had only dreamt about. Heat rushed to your cheeks, your brain finally catching up to what was happening.

When you finally pulled your face away, you both gasped for air desperately. Though you were no longer connected, your bodies still cradled each other so fiercely, it felt as if the world might end if you were to let go. After a small, comfortable silence between you, Xavier finally spoke to you again, this time in a gentle whisper.

“I think we should be more than friends,” he commented, and your smiles both grew wider than ever.

---

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#xavier thorpe #xavier thrope x reader #xavier x reader #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe x y/n #Wednesday #xavier wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Wednesday universe #wednesday headcanons #xavier thorpe fluff #xavier thorpe x reader fluff

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lynxgriffin · 10 months ago

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Hi Lynx! It's the No Sleep O'Clock Comic-Binge Anon again. (I did sleep after sending you that ask. Don't worry.) Hope you're doing well and having a pleasant... uh... whatever time it is when you see this. This ask is a little long but I couldn't stop gushing and couldn't figure where I should trim. I hope you don't mind.

I wound up focusing on Dogs and finished that first in my spare time. I'm a bit of a weirdo who loves cut content and all kinds of tiny obscure details in any setting so when everything hit the ground? Gorgeous. Beautiful. Wonderful. Like, I knew everything would end well because the Tone was very much Canon (goofy and fun, if at times a little hOLY-) but there were definitely some moments throughout the story had Concern. Origins? ...yikes. And the end? I did not see that coming. Or the post-ending stuff; those were very sweet and some more bittersweet. I wanna meet some fictional adults. Just talk, I swear. (pay no attention to the tough glove.)

I'm currently about... still kinda early in Paper Trail. Just hit Ch4. Again it feels strongly in Tone while being its own unique spin on things. It veers in very different territory as it was pre-Ch2 but things are fun and very cool. The Anagram Crayon Gotes are an interesting spin as well as them being... very much their colors. (Also RIP Kris and Susie. Y'all keep "delinquenting" but honestly who in Hometown's gonna believe this Shounen Anime plot?) Did NOT expect that fight; some pieces had me in stitches. This is a very wild ride and I can't wait to see where it goes. Actually all the fights look like they'd be fun encounters in the game proper. Kudos on that.

Thank you for your hard work with both stories. The sheer amount of effort not only in laying out the plot but drawing it all and keeping at it? I am always impressed and delighted.

I hope keeping it vague like this helps prevent spoilers for any latecomers / lapsed readers while still making sense. Good night!

Ahh sheesh, thank you for the very long and detailed ask! Also, I'm glad that you enjoyed DOFP and all the extra content for it, too! :D Especially glad to hear you thought it got the tone down well, I always feel like that's such a tricky thing to get!

Also thank you for the kind words on PT so far! Also glad that you thought the fight scenes worked well!

Thank you again for the long comment, I super appreciate it! :D

#ask lynx stuff #pt ask #DOFP ask

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lumsel · 6 months ago

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Reviews of movies I watched on Qantas flights this week

Poor Things: I expected this one to be more harrowing, actually. I got that vibe from what I heard about it? It's more like a weird fairytale about sex and sexuality though. I am good friends with @utilitymonstergirl of Replacable Parts though so that may be skewing my baseline for what most people consider a shocking lmao. I like how totally blase it is about its own problematic elements, it never blinks or tries to justify itself in any way, it just goes "lmao check this shit out". Refreshing in a moment that feels marked by overbearing didacticism in media. Not to say this movie doesn't have a very clear Point, mind you, which is basically "stop being weird about sexuality", but it tells that Point with a level of focus and confidence that I find satisfying.

Oppenheimer: There's a few seriously eye-rolly moments in here, like the one where he says the I Am Become Death line while his mistress is mid-insertion, but it's like a single digit number in a three hour movie. Very well paced too, it did not at all feel like three hours. I really like how it uses the language of film to get you understanding why Oppenheimer made the seemingly contradictory decisions he did during his career. When Oppenheimer is building a nuke, you're biting your teeth like "oh man, I hope Oppie builds this nuke in time!" And when he's trying to stop them from building more nukes, you're like "oh jeez, I hope Oppie can stop these nukes getting built!" Despite the expansive and star studded cast, this really does feel like a movie primarily interested in getting you to understand this one dude specifically, and I really respect it for that.

That One DnD Movie: Fun!!! It's a little jank, and the exposition can feel clunky, but it was a fun movie overall. God, though... the second act sucks so much ass. I feel like this happens a lot in movies, where the first and third acts are where the substantive parts of the narrative happen, but the second act feels like the plot is spinning its wheels while we set up the climax. This one is particularly bad where the cast just takes a sidequest in the middle of the movie to grab some inconsequential artefact and nothing that happens in that sequence matters particularly much. Anyway, fun as this movie was, I almost forgot entirely to add it to this list of reviews, which probably

Anatomy of a Fall: Yeah this was good. Very good-movie coded, like the foreign films I always see my mum and dad watching when I'm cleaning up after dinner at their place. I feel I don't even have much to say on this one because it basically just executed everything it was trying to execute efficiently and without any jarring mistakes. You can tell from pretty early on that this is gonna be one of those stories where you never find out the Real Truth of what happened, although I found one of the sides to have a broadly weaker case and I'm not sure if that was intended.

Dream Scenario: Ultimately was disappointed by this one. Thought there was gonna be a multilayered metaphor underlying this one but it turned out to be a pretty shallow piece on social media fame framed around some dude who really wants to cheat on his wife. Let down by the synopsis, I spose. I think the constituent parts work at cross purposes and make the movie undermine itself a little: the kafkaesque surreal horror is harder to feel the depth of when the protagonist is so obviously a shithead, but the unsympathetic protagonist is less compelling when the things that happen to him are an inexplicable nightmare scenario rather than his own decisions taking him down a dark path. There'd be a way to make it work but honestly I don't think this movie was pretentious enough to pull it off. It needed to be willing to get weirder and harder to parse with it rather than keep everything so broad and crowd-pleasing.

TMNT Mutant Mayhem: I liked a lot of things about this movie. The pacing is fantastic, and I found the character writing to actually be quite good. I actually found myself quite liking the density of pop culture references, because yeah, that's how teenagers talk. Makes it feel more real. And the animation. I'm glad more animated movies are incorporating actual fight choreography these days because it fucking whips every time. Unfortunately it really fell apart by the end for me because the pacing gets janked up to hell and it starts cramming in way too many unearned character moments. Something about it got kind of unbearable for me personally, I just stopped watching the movie.

Labyrinth: Technically a rewatch, but last time I saw this one I was like single digit aged. Thoroughly it despite it being structurally a mess. It's basically just Jim Henson's Creature Shop coming up with various Situations to put our protagonist into, threaded together in a very loose framework of a plot. The lead is not that good at acting, the jokes rarely made me laugh out loud, and yet! I was smiling the whole time through. There's an interesting contrast to the DnD movie for me, where that one has a fine first act, an awful second act, and a fine third act with divisions between them so sharp you can hear a clunk when the gears shift, Labyrinth is pretty much 80% second act, with a bit of intro at the start and a quick bit at the end to wrap it up. Makes it feel like a very storybook fairytale type of story, and I love that for it! And, unlike the DnD movie... I don't think I'm likely to forget I watched this one a week from now :P

#txt #reviews

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gingerlurk · 1 year ago

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Lovers' Crest | Chapter 2: The Mechanic

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: You get to know the Crest, surprising the hell out of your host.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, canon-typical violence, Reader has hair long enough for a braid. uhhhh please advise if there's more to add here thank you

A/N: Hi! To say again, I am completely new here. I am just a struggling writer with a brittle heart and this little story has lifted me out of a block the size of a small moon (that's no moon). Here on A03, I just got encouraged to share here. And in terms of Star Wars canon and mechanics stuff, I'm just making it up, friends. Hoping it's still a fun story like its inspo.

‘Dank farrik,’ he – Mando – mutters, punching at the pad until it lights up.

The ship had been cruising at sublight for a while, you assume so that your pilot could chart out courses or whatever. Navigation was never your strong suit.

‘I will need to make a stop,’ he says. It’s not apparent whether he’s talking to you or himself. ‘These blast corners are not going to last the journey.’

You sit up. What are you doing? You ask, ‘Do you have the parts?’

‘Yes,’ he says absently. ‘But it is a specialised process. In cases like this, I take the Crest to a dock.’

‘I could replace them.’ Shut up.

He doesn’t register you for a long beat. Then looks over his shoulder. ‘What?’

‘I can replace them for you.’ You can’t stop yourself.

‘And you know,’ your eyes roll around the cockpit. Why are you about to say this? Keep it to yourself. But you’d been noting little things to keep yourself occupied and, for some reason you don’t scrutinise too closely, you want to let this guy see you for who you are.

‘That transition from atmo would go a lot smoother if your power didn’t have to divert through the drag shafts. A little rigging, a simple program, and it can pass straight through the core. Smooth as.’

His whole upper body turns toward you.

‘And,’ you lean forward, ‘I bet those thrusters were last serviced on Navarro?’

A heavy pause.

‘They were.’

You sniff, knowingly. ‘Don’t get me wrong – can’t fault those mechanics much – but for some reason they insist on four cylinders for every row. Is it cultural? I don’t know. But it just gums up the rotation. You only need two.’

Finally, he rotates his chair, facing you. He leans forward on his elbows.

‘How do you know all this?’ You hear what he doesn’t verbalise, You’re a wealthy, spoiled heiress who’s never known a day’s work.

You just keep a level look on your face. ‘I’d rather keep that to myself, if it’s all the same. Cards close to the chest and all that. But I can be more helpful than just sitting here. I can help out around here, show your ship some love.’

He huffs and leans back. ‘Right.’ He turns back to the console.

‘Okay,’ he comes to a decision. ‘I have to pick someone up anyway. We will land and you can make the replacements while I retrieve him.’ You’re wondering to yourself who this ‘him’ is when Mando spins back around, you jump a little. His voice is fierce. ‘But if you mess up my ship, I will leave you on the most backwater planet I can find. And Mandalorians have extensive nav maps.’

He turns.

Mandalorians? Hm.

The sense of relief felt at seeing the child Grogu again is still thrilling to the buttoned up Mandalorian. The kid is cooing in Peli’s embrace, who in turn chatters away. But the moment he clocks Din walking toward him, the child reaches up and – whoosh – is in his arms again.

‘Hi Grogu,’ Din’s smiling behind the mask, ‘were you good?’

‘Total angel!’ Peli shouts. ‘Bye baby!’

When he returns to the ship an hour later, with provisions and a babbling kid, he’s expecting to see you fumbling around an input hatch. But you’re nowhere to be seen.

Din turns to his son. ‘Grogu, there is a person on the ship. I am confident she is no threat to us, so do not worry, but please play nice.’

The baby squints and blows a mischievous little raspberry. Din sighs, oh well.

But where were you? Hells, if he’s lost her already…

He scans the hatches that house the blast corners; they are all neatly clipped in place. Even the one that had always stuck out a bit and would rattle in dodgy atmo entry was sealed flush against the hull.

He frowns.

On entering the ship, he hears the quiet hiss of the fresher. She’s helped herself to his amenities? Damn Maker, he thinks. His resentment lessens considerably though when he drops into his cockpit chair, the child wandering up behind him, and engages the test switch for the blasts. The light flips on instantly. The diagnostic scans green. The diagnostic never scans green.

He’s staring so hard at the panel that your bright ‘Hey!’ from behind makes him jolt.

You’re pulling damp hair into a loose side braid, strolling into his space.

‘Sorry, that was oily work and I figured a wash up was a fair trade,’ you’re saying. You seem like you’ll go on but you trail off when you spot Grogu, who for his part is giving you his most doe-like, glossy-eyed stare. ‘Hi there…’

But Din’s distracted. She’d changed all four corners with enough time to spare for a jet stream? And they were responding better than they ever had? In the whole time he’s owned the Crest?

‘Woooo, hahaha, oh wow you’re a cutie!’

Your voice brings him back to himself and he’s stunned again to see you kneeling by Grogu, the both of you laughing and playful as you swing the bottom of your braid while he tries to catch it. The kid’s giggling.

Grogu catches your braid, you let him, and toys at it tentatively, cooing away. You look up at Din, smiling.

‘This who you had to pick up?’

‘Yes,’ Din barely gets the words out. ‘This is my son, Grogu.’

You look back to the gremlin who has your hair. ‘Hi Grogu, charming name you have.’

Grogu looks up at you with a happy ‘ahh!’ and drops your braid.

Din doesn’t know how to feel about any of this.

The innocuous little light blips in his palm. He glares at the fob while an internal battle rages. It is a bad idea, but Din knows in his gut he probably won’t get a better opportunity than this one. A huge bounty so elusive he’d been carrying the damn – infuriatingly silent – fob with him for an age.

Now here it was, blinking to life. He looks over at you.

You’re snoozing in the flight chair, elbow crooked on the arm rest and knees tucked in. He’s remained perplexed by how at home you’ve looked on his ship. Not only that, you’re a savant with the thing. You’d made good on adjusting the exit power flow already, and the Crest was practically singing for it.

You’re nothing like what he was expecting. But you were still a job he had to finish. No question there.

This bounty though…

As if sensing his fitful inner conflict, you stir. Rolling your head up and rubbing sleep from your eyes, you hum to yourself.

‘Mm, hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to doze off there,’ you say, sitting straight. You take in the ship’s stationary mooring, systems in standby. ‘Where are we?’

‘Nowhere special,’ he says. ‘But…’

You clock the blinking fob he’s holding. ‘Ooh, that a job?’

You seem… all lit up by it, Din thinks. Worlds but you are strange.

Without any real fight left, the war inside him ebbs and he gives in to the pull.

‘It is, a big one,’ he holds out the fob. ‘It’s not far from here, and should not take me long. I will lock down the ship; you will be completely safe.’

You sit forward. ‘I could come with,’ you say, eagerness in your voice.

‘Absolutely not!’ He stands, scandalised by the idea. ‘You will stay here, in the cockpit, until I return.’

He may have laced his tone with too much menace, because you lean back in the chair and drop your gaze.

Regretting it, he sighs and drops back into his flight seat, turning to the controls. ‘Your safety is more important,’ he whispers. You stay quiet on the descent and landing.

It’s only when Din summons Grogu to his side as he readies that you speak up.

‘You’re taking him?’ you exclaim. ‘Your kid?’

‘He is in training,’ Din says, offering no further explanation. Grogu, for his part, wanders over to you, babbling away. He reaches up and touches your knee; you lean down and scratch his ear, mumbling something like ‘keep him out of trouble then, hm?’

Din takes in the scene, something pricking at his chest.

‘Grogu, let’s go.’ He turns and knows the child will follow.

Just this job, he tells himself. Then he’ll take her home.

- -

Listening to the whir and grind of so many locking mechanisms engage and clunk into place settles a weary sense of dread over you. You’ve been here before, stripped of volition and made to stay in place.

You decide to be bored and restless instead of anxious and afraid.

Looking about the tiny space, your eyes land on the code pad by the door. You’d noticed the release switch catches a little, and Mando has to jab at it twice or thrice each time it’s used. You can fix that.

Casting about, you find a little stash of tools under Mando’s seat. Perfect.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take much time and you end up dithering a little, readjusting the light sensor as well so it actually responds to input.

Just as you’re tucking the pad’s cover back into place, a long slick of ice slides down your spine as the ship groans. The lockdown is disengaging.

‘He can’t have been that quick,’ you say aloud.

You move to the front of the ship and spot two gruff and burly henchmen striding toward the Crest. A glance at the ship HUD shows the ramp to the hold gliding open, lowering steadily to let the invaders inside.

‘How’d you get onto this ship,’ you spit a few minutes later, wiping a bound wrist at your bloodied lip.

Your dazed victim grunts and rolls his head from left shoulder to right. From his place crumpled against the wall, he looks over to his unconscious companion and then up at you. ‘Fuck you, bi—’

You slam onto your knees across his hips, lock your hands together and swing them across his face. Gods it hurts, you’re not usually a puncher. But your hackles are raised and you know something is badly wrong.

Lucky for your almost lacerated knuckles he gives up immediately.

Hands fly into the air. ‘It’s a trap!’ he yelps. ‘An- a- an- ambush! Cephlate knew he would come. He hates Mando. Wants- wants to end him. He’s got tech to control the ship and he’s going to lure him into—’

You hit his carotid artery and he’s lights out. Time’s up. You surge to your feet and move.

Everything had been going wrong since the second he’d breached the perimeter. There were more enemies than he was expecting. They had better weapons than he’d anticipated, fucking artillery. He and Grogu had worked as a team as best they could, but the forces were overwhelming.

He hadn’t even had time to zero in on that stupid fucking warlord. Hunched behind a low building, he scans the hacked layout of the base via the holo of his vambrace. He spots a building built like a bunker and, thank the Maker, underground access – a tunnel that barrels off the edge of the plans, presumably out of this hellish place.

It’s fine, he’ll get back to his ship and come back ready for war.

‘Let’s go kid!’ He shouts and he sprints for the doors. Grogu follows, leaping from cover point to cover point.

Wrenching the doors aside just enough for the two of them to slip in, he jams a vambrace against the control pad and programs them to seal. Twisting to lean back against the wall, he surveys the room and his heart stops. He swears he is hallucinating.

Din stalks forward and leans over the rack of servers.

‘What are you doing here?’ he hisses at you, crouched as you are by an open panel bristling with cables and blinking lights. You’re holding some complicated looking motherbank. ‘I told you to stay on the ship.’

You take a handful of wires and reef them from the bank.

‘Yeah, well,’ you say, not looking up. ‘Couple uninvited guests dropped in and told me about this.’ You shake the device in his visored face.

‘Uninvited what?’ He checks behind him, unholsters his blaster.

‘Guests. Couple of your quarry dearest’s goons.’

Din is speechless, then, ‘How’d they get inside the Crest? Ground security was active.’ A massive boom rings against the sealed doors.

‘Because of this.’ You shake the object again, pulling a tiny pair of pliers – his pliers? – from a pocket and poking inside it.

‘What—’

‘Traction lock. Writ large. And I mean large. Look at this place.’ You wave a hand around. ‘Could take total control of like, an Imperial battleship with this setup.’

Din’s in shock, barely taking anything in. Who are you? He gives himself a shake and snaps back into focus, looking at their surroundings and assessing the best way to deal with the incoming ambush.

‘I’m decoupling your ship’s code from his systems,’ you’re saying. ‘Although it would go a lot quicker if,’ you raise your bound wrists. He notices them for the first time and leans down to cut them free.

‘Hss, thank you,’ you say, going back to work and taking a few more moments before dropping the messy bundle of tech to stand.

‘Done,’ you chirp.

‘How did your hands end up…’ Din gestures.

‘Bit of a story on my way in,’ you say. ‘These guys have the weirdest weapons—’ You’re cut off.

- -

The doors separate and the room erupts in screaming red. You gasp as you’re picked up and flung against the wall. A heaviness lands on your chest and your vision is obscured by black and chrome crowding you in. You take in what’s happening.

His body shields you from the pulse probe that had just been tossed into the room. His torso is flush to yours. The helmet tilts up and bumps the crown of your head. You’re completely covered by his broad form. As the pulse fades, boots thunder on the deck toward the opening. For one, barely there fraction of a second, your hips press together as he abruptly shifts and hefts you back behind the bank of servers.

‘Stay down!’ His command sears across every point your bodies had made contact. He moves toward the formation approaching and becomes a force of nature again.

Hands free and blood singing, you think fuck it. You emerge and survey the scene, taking full advantage of the squad failing to consider you part of the fight. You spin between two while they’re focused on your escort and let fly a flurry of interjections into their joints and airways. One yelps and falls to the side, clawing at his neck. The other fares better, but only until you reef his own blaster in his hands, surprising him with his own momentum, forcing it into the open patch below his helmet and firing.

Dropping the weapon and his limp hands, you convert to a crouch and kick out. With toes pointed and bright, two sets of knees twitch the wrong way and the owners give startled shouts as your fingers find homes in significant places.

A rough hand grabs your tender wrist and you cry out. The shock lets the attacker tug you toward him, fist raised to ram into your face. You barely get your feet under yourself to duck. The swing still manages to brush by your ear, causing a burst of pain. But he’s already let his momentum carry him too far and you yank your seized wrist down so he loses centre. You get your shoulders into his groin and straighten in a rush. He topples over you and lands at a very unfortunate angle on his neck. He stills.

You whirl and register the fight is over. Mando’s whipcord snaps back into place at his wrist and he holsters a pistol slowly, shoulders rising and falling only a little. Seven other bodies surround the still and watchful figure.

‘Five against one, huh?’ he echoes you from your first meeting.

You can only shrug.

He saunters toward you. ‘Where did you learn to do that?’

Another shrug. Man, that must be annoying. ‘Woman of mystery. Cards close to the chest. All that,’ you say.

Mando regards you. ‘Hm. I would be interested to know just how many cards you hold there to be honest.’

Would he now.

You’re about to lobby a smartass remark in deflection when his hand rises to your face. You resist the urge to jolt back, letting his palm move to hover within an inch of you. It holds there, making no move to turn into actual touch. Still making your lungs fizzle though.

‘You’re hurt,’ he says. You realise he means your injured mouth.

‘It’s nothing,’ you squeak, cringing at yourself. ‘More story for later. Seriously, I’m fine.’ You think you’re staring into his eyes, as he stares back, but hell if you could really know. He breaks away first and you exhale.

‘Time to go,’ he says, moving to the open grate you had climbed through earlier. The three of you drop into the access tunnels and move out.

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#the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin #grogu #mandalorian and grogu #razor crest #mandalorian fanfic

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