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fancyfade · 3 years

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so ive been debating editing chapter 3 on my fanfic to make 1 scene line up more from canon. (chapter 3 is this one, where the characters deal with the aftermath of battle for the cowl, Tim finds out Damian’s Robin, and Dick and Damian move to the penthouse)

I’m debating making the Tim finding out Damian’s Robin scene a little more canon compliant along what happened in Red Robin (link) for a few reasons, the main of which is in the scenes that I’m writing next (like... chapter 47 lol), Tim and Dick do have to talk about what transpired when Dick made Damian Robin. Potential reasons for change

In my fic Tim kind of just left on his own without a push, but I’m not sure if Tim would have left on such bad terms if there wasn’t the complication of Damian antagonizing him and him feeling as if Dick was picking Damian over him (even though in the comic we saw Dick trying to de-escalate and get Tim’s back, it still felt that way to Tim)

I dislike the way some of this was handled in the comic and I can’t really comment on it in my fic if I just retcon it out

it seems fair-er I guess if Tim is allowed to have flaws just like Cass and Damian and Dick all have flaws in this fic. i know many tim stans think otherwise, but punching a ten-year-old victim of child abuse in the face out of anger is wrong.

the con side is obviously this involves Damian getting hit and that kid has been through so much already. I’m really trying to figure out how it works with character dynamics vs like. give the poor kid a break-ness.

anyway if I did decide to replace the current chapter 3, this is what it would be replaced with (only the first scene, the second would be the same). If you are a reader of the fic feel free to leave your comments. I would do an “oh and I edited chapter 3″ note before the relevant stuff was mentioned if I go through with this, I wouldn’t like expect everyone to know what happened. Some of the dialogue is not like exactly like in canon (cuz thats boring and also to match with what I wrote the first time) but the feeling/ beats should be similar

Gotham’s finally had a bit of lull in the violence, and Dick is just wondering how he’s going to do this.

He’s accepted that Damian’s his responsibility – seeing the kid shot in the chest made that perfectly clear, as much as he would’ve liked it to be otherwise. He felt like he was way too young to be watching out for a kid in any capacity other than cool older brother, especially a kid who’s as difficult to get along with as Damian. He was a great fighter, of course, and he knew it – Dick’s not sure he’s ever heard the kid be humble about anything. To make things worse, Dick feels like he’s constantly stuck in the middle between Damian and the kid he actually views as his younger brother – Tim, who Damian tried to kill. Evidence in point:

“Robin?!” Tim asks once he’s gotten back on his feet and Dick's explained his plan – away from Damian, who's still recovering from surgery.

“You made Damian Robin?!” Tim asks again.

Dick sighs. He’s in the cave, in a Batman costume he feels doesn’t fit right at all with the cowl off, and Tim’s still in his regular clothes. He has no idea how to explain this to Tim – no idea how to make him feel like he’s not being replaced. Dick never wanted to be the one doing the replacing – he remembers how much it hurt to find out that Jason was Robin from the papers, and that was after he officially stopped being Robin. Tim never quit – and Dick’s not about to make him – but he has to come home to the guy who tried to kill him getting his name.

“Tim, I know this looks bad, but Damian needs this.”

“Remember when we thought Bruce was going to retire after Crisis?” Tim asks. “Batman and Robin was supposed to be us. You and me. Not you and the psychopath that tried to kill me.”

“Tim, you’re not my sidekick, you’re my partner – ” Dick takes a step towards Tim with his hand out, prepared to offer sympathy, but Tim shakes him off angrily.

“Obviously not!”

“And Damian needs me way more than you do. If we don’t keep an eye on him, he’s going to kill again.”

Tim scowls intensely. “That should really not be an endorsement for being Robin, Dick! He’s a killer! He belongs in jail!” Tim swallows a little and then lowers his voice out of shouting range. “Dick, he didn’t try to kill me because he for some reason thought it was the only way to stop me from doing something bad, as far as I can tell he just wanted to replace me. We’re talking about someone with absolutely no sense of right or wrong.”

“Of course he doesn’t have a sense of right or wrong. He’s a ten-year-old child who was raised as an assassin from birth!”

“Lots of our villains have really sad or sympathetic reasons for doing crime, that doesn’t mean we team up with them.”

“Are you serious?” Dick asks. “This isn’t the same, Tim.”

“How not?”

“Well for one,” calls Damian's voice from the stairs, and Dick can't help but cringe and think not now – “I'm a lot better than them.”

Dick's cringe only intensifies when he turns around to see what Damian is wearing. His new Robin costume.

Tim's hands clench into fists the instant he sees Damian. Dick knows he has to de-escalate things quick before Tim and Damian have another fight.

“Damian,” Dick says, trying to keep himself carefully neutral-sounding. “Shouldn't you be resting?”

Damian lifts his head up slightly so his nose is in the air, and walks down the stairs almost normally. There's only a little hesitation in the twist of his torso, a little stiffness of his right arm.

Either he's zoned out of his mind on painkillers or depressingly good at masking his pain for a ten-year-old.

“Please,” Damian says. “I was trained in the League of Shadows. Do you really think an over-the-hill ex-Robin could put me down?”

Tim's fist clenches further, and so Dick says, letting a bit more urgency slip into his voice, “Damian, shut up. Now.”

Damian puts his left hand on his hips and looks intentionally at Tim. He adds, “I'm not Drake – ”

He's barely got the word out before Tim leaps forward and punches him in the face. Dick's out of his seat, grabbing Tim to hold him back, who is still distressingly struggling against him, like he wants to keep up the assault despite the fact that Damian fell to the floor.

“My name is Tim Wayne!” Tim shouts as Dick is still holding him back.

Damian gingerly sits up. Dick prepares to release Tim, prepares to stop Damian if he has to, if he decides to get revenge. But he doesn't. He just briefly braces his right side with his left hand before wiping the blood off his face.

“I let you get that shot in, Drake,” Damian says, again dropping intentional emphasis on Tim's original last name.

As he does, Tim struggles forward.

“Tim, back off!” Dick says, because Tim still isn't cooling down –

“I want you to feel good about yourself,” Damian continues.

Tim seems to relax his stance slightly, so Dick, possibly in an error of judgment, lets Tim go. But Tim doesn't try to attack Damian again, he just shakes Dick off and starts stomping away. “You want me to back off? Fine.”

He's going for the exit.

If he leaves –

Dick can't chase him. He's not sure that he can leave Damian alone –

“Tim, wait!” Dick says, taking a step forward. “Bruce is gone. But I still need you.”

“For what?” asks Damian and damn it is there anything this kid isn't going to try to ruin?

“Shut up, Damian,” Dick says again, even though as far as he knows he's just going to wind up pushing Damian away too –

And Tim leaves.

Dick turns to look at Damian. The kid's already back to his feet, like nothing happened, and Dick takes a step forward to inspect the injury – though he's really more worried about the gunshot wound than Tim's punch. Both Tim and Damian had wound up injured pretty badly during the chaos that gripped Gotham in the rumors of Batman’s death. As his new and not-improved version of Batman, Jason had tried to kill them both, which Dick is way less than pleased about. He’d been kind of hoping that they could talk Jason down, but this seems like a line he doesn’t know if Jason can ever un-cross. He shot a ten year old in the chest.

Damian grabs Dick's wrist as he reaches out.

“Are you all right?” Dick asks.

Damian scoffs. “You're worried about Drake? I've been hit harder sparring my mother.”

“I was thinking about the gunshot.” Alfred had said the primary damage was blood loss and a punctured lung (well, traumatic pneumothorax, but Dick knew what he meant) and given the kid a minimum of four weeks downtime to heal.

It's hard to tell due to the domino mask, but Damian adopts the position of a kid who's rolling their eyes, head slightly tilted to the side with a loll. “It's not enough to impersonate Batman, now you want to impersonate my mother?”

Dick doesn't know how to approach the mother thing, so he doesn't even try. He just explains the logic for being Batman – (and there is logic behind it. It's not like he wanted this). “Someone has to step up and convince Gotham things can get back to normal,” Dick says. “And serial killer Batman wasn't going to cut it.”

“Did you at least take care of him?” Damian asks.

Dick knows that Damian isn't actually worried about Jason's wellbeing, so he says, “Do you mean 'did I kill him'?”

“Tt. Obviously.”

“Obviously not.”

Damian presses his lips together in a thin line.

Dick might as well get this out of the way now. He's going to have to sometime. “Alfred wants you out of the field for four weeks.”

“That's preposterous!” Damian shouts, and as he shouts, he coughs. He rubs his chest quickly and then glowers at Dick when he sees him staring.

“Damian, you could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

Jeez, doesn’t this kid have any sense of his own mortality? Though, Dick supposes, growing up around Lazarus Pits and a centuries old grandfather might make that impossible.

“I’m not a fool, Grayson, I know I’m not capable of healing instantaneously. I’ll take a break for one week,” he offers, like it’s a huge concession on his part.

“Four weeks,” Dick says.

“What about you?” Damian asks. “Didn’t you get injured?”

“Not as badly.”

“Are you taking a break?”

“Someone needs to convince Gotham that Batman’s not dead,” Dick says. Also, he doesn’t want to take a break. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Losing Bruce. Failing Tim.

“Tt. Then I don’t need one either. I’m younger. I heal faster.”

Dick actually has no clue whether that’s true, because he’s not a doctor, but he knows that people usually say kids heal faster.

Dick swings his arms a little, trying to feel them out. They’re still stiff, and as they move, a jolt of pain shoots through him. Even when he’s not moving, his shoulder is still sore. He knows that he might get injured going into the field like this and that it’s not a smart decision – last time he went into the field while still healing, he wound up blowing his secret identity to Blockbuster.

He decides that at least if he’s going into the field, he won’t tell Barbara and Alfred about it. Okay, so that’s probably not the smartest of his plans. Most plans that you have to hide from people who care about you aren't smart.

“I’ll take a week long break with you,” Dick concedes. “And we can see how fast you’re healing.” The second part is a lie, of course. He's not going to supersede Alfred's orders on medical matters.

Dick sighs a little. He figures that while they’re both on bed-rest duty, though, he can try to figure out how to set things up so they can operate effectively once they get a clean bill of health.

“How do you feel about not living in the manor?” Dick asks.

“Kicking me out already?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I wouldn’t be living here either,” Dick says. It’s true. He’d rather not feel like he’s living in all of Bruce’s old places, wearing Bruce’s old costume, … replacing him, essentially. He needs a place he can clear his head.

“Where would you live then?” Damian asks skeptically.

Dick shrugs. “The penthouse, maybe. Bruce already made a bunker nearby, so we could operate out of there pretty easily.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “Why do you keep saying ‘we’?”

Because you are ten and not ready to live on your own. But Dick just says, “Well, you’re Robin now, right? That means you’re pretty much obligated to team up with Batman.”

“Batman isn’t here, Grayson. He never will be again, no matter how much you play dress-up.”

Charming kid. Like Dick didn’t already know that.

“You know I operate effectively alone, right?” Damian continues. “I don’t need to be hand-held and babysat like all of Father’s previous partners.”

Dick figures that it’d be a jerk move to remind Damian he just almost died and therefore really shouldn’t be on his own. Instead, he says, “Well, Alfred’s staying with me, so unless you want to get all your food and clean the house by yourself, you have to put up with me.”

“Tt . I don’t need a servant. I’ll just eat at restaurants.”

“On who’s money?”

“In the event of his death, my father’s assets should have transferred to me. His blood son.”

Oh boy. Dick rubs his face. “Does this have to be a thing, Damian? No one’s doubting your capacity to take care of yourself but I think it’d really be easier if we were operating out of the same building. “

A long silence on Damian’s part. “Fine,” he says eventually. “I’ll allow you to stay at my penthouse.”

My penthouse. Of course. But Dick takes it. “All right,” he says. “Let’s move in.”

#idk even #to my followers #my fanfic #dc comics #dc fanfic #tim drake #damian wayne #dick grayson

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mell-bell · 5 years

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Fight so dirty (but your love so sweet) - Part IV

The Mandalorian x Reader

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8

Words: 5436

Series Summary: You are sent to hunt down a Mandalorian, the odds aren’t exactly in your favor

Chapter: 4/8

Author’s notes: Seriously you guys are still the best I love every single one of you!!! All of your comments make my day. I bumped up the chapter count to 7 chapters now because that’s what I have outlined, but it may go up farther in the future depending on my storyline! I had a few issues writing this chapter mostly because my brain kept arguing with my thought process so hopefully, it turned out well. Also, I think I tagged everyone who asked, if not please just drop me a message! Hope you guys enjoy!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What about this?” You motioned to a small brown coat.

The little green child chittered softly, his ears tilting downward as he turned waddling off toward the next cart.

You sighed, quickly wishing the owner of the cart a good day before taking off after the child, who had somehow already waddled five carts down.

It had been two weeks since you won the Competition. And all was going well. The money you had won from the bounty was more than you knew what to do with.

You had put the majority of it aside for a rainy day. But the rest you decided to use to make life on the run a little more comfortable.

The Mandalorian had landed the ship on this planet a few days ago, claiming it was a good place to find mechanics and parts for the ship. With the money you had now, he wanted to update and fortify it since bounty hunters were coming after you left and right.

Just last week a ship had jumped out of hyperspace and began shooting before you even knew he was there. You had strapped yourself and the child into your seats as the Mandalorian chased the hunter down and killed him.

So, while the Mandalorian remained with the ship, you took the little one out to buy some clothes for him, the Mandalorian and yourself.

You had been in the market place for hours. You had managed to buy a few things for yourself and the Mandalorian, but when it came to the little, he disliked everything. You pointed things out and let him decide if he liked it or not. But so far he hadn’t liked anything.

He toddled around, bringing smiles to people’s faces when he reached his little hand out to greet them. He was becoming less reserved with strangers and you smiled every time his ears flicked up and he chittered happily.

He had grown since you met him five months ago and he seemed to be able to communicate more. He had even grown stronger in his powers. Training with him every day seemed to help. Even if it was just as simple as a game of catch with his favorite ball.

It was nearing dusk when the child eventually pulled on a red cape, much like your own. You turned to the woman at the cart and asked her if she could make one about his size. When she nodded you pressed the credits into her hand with a warm smile.

When you made it back to the ship, you placed the little green child on the ground and he took off toward the Mandalorian babbling happily. The man looked down, nodding back as if he understood what the child was saying.

Stepping up next to him, you sat down beside where he was working, leaning your head back against the cold metal of the ship.

“There are some helpers available for hire in the market. I was thinking of hiring a few to help you finish the ship.”

The man stood, brushing off the sand from his pants, “I can go scout them out.”

He went to walk past you, but you shot up stepping in his way, placing your hand on his beskar armor, pushing him back gently.

“You know you need to stay hidden. You can’t blend in here. I can.”

“I can do more.” His voice was deeper than normal.

Your hand patted his armor, “You’re doing enough. You can relax now.”

“I just want to protect you.” He said.

You froze and he cleared his throat, “And him.” He gestured to the little one who was chasing after a rodent looking creature.

You smiled, “I know but I need you safe and that means you need to stay in here. I’m gonna feel them out and pick up some things I bought earlier. Stay here.”

His gaze remained on you as you left the hangar, only moving when he lost sight of you.

The green child next to him cooed and he glanced down, “Stop it.” He said.

When you made it back into town you stopped to grab some other necessities. This was a nice planet. The people were kind. And there was an abundance of crops and materials for sale.

Sometimes you wished you could settle down again, in a place like this. But somehow you figured it just wasn’t in the cards for you.

You couldn’t imagine life without your Mandalorian now. He had somehow become your family. You couldn’t leave him. Even for the chance at a normal life.

After you picked up the tiny red cape and other clothes the woman had made, you stopped by the cantina to grab some food. As you sat in the back corner, enjoying your food, the table next to you began to talk in hushed whispers. Your ears strained and when you heard the word “Empire” you stiffened.

You hunched over pulling up your hood to hide your face as listened. It wasn’t much longer before they left and when they did, you threw credits on the table, before taking off out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late when you arrived back at the hangar. The Mandalorian had long since stopped working because of the darkness that had fallen over the planet. You stormed up the ramp of the ship, startling the little green child who had been levitating a tool to the Mandalorian, the tool falling on the man’s head.

“You won’t believe what I just heard.”

The Mandalorian sat up fast, his helmet hitting the bottom of the ship.

You motioned, “Meet me inside.”

When he came storming through the door, the little green child in his arms, you began to tell him what you had heard.

But instead of being excited like you had expected, his body was tense.

“This is what we’ve been waiting for!” You exclaimed.

The man sighed, “I don’t know if we’re ready.”

“Something is brewing we’re gonna need help. You said it’s time to fight back. So let’s fight back.”

His voice was gruff, “What if it’s a setup?”

“What if it isn’t?” You shot back, “I think we should take the chance. We could finally get the intel we need.”

You stood and began to pace and the man looked at you worried.

You began to mumble, “We’re going to need help, maybe I could call one of my old contacts, but I don’t know if Commander Trax put a track on them. I don’t know if I want to get anybody involved in this.”

The Mandalorian stepped up, placing his hand on your shoulder, taking your comm out of your hand, “I have somebody.”

“You have friends?” You teased.

“Acquaintance.”

He quickly typed in a message and waited just a minute before it beeped back. He handed it to you.

“She’s on her way.”

“Just like that?” You questioned.

“Just like that.”

As you gathered what you needed in the carbo bay, you heard boots echoed on the ramp of the ship. You weren’t expecting anyone to arrive so fast, so when a strange woman entered the cargo bay, your blaster was out and aimed at her head.

In your defense, she attacked first.

Having the higher ground, you managed to knock her down quickly, flinging her blaster out of the ship. With a grunt, she swung out her leg trying to knock your feet out from beneath you. But as her leg rose, you grabbed it, flipping her over and pinning her to the ground.

You had been sparring more and more with the Mandalorian every morning to strengthen yourself. And it was working.

You smiled as you held her down as she struggled.

The Mandalorian stepped out from the main room, his head swiveling between the two of you.

He sighed, before walking over to you. Kicking your side lightly, you looked up at him before your gaze swung back to the woman beneath you.

“This is your friend isn’t it?”

“Acquaintance.” They both said at the same time.

You stood, holding out a hand to help her up.

The woman took it, pulling herself up.

Looking you up and down she smiled, “I like this one.”

Your eyes narrowed as you held out your hand. She took it.

“I’m Cara.”

The Mandalorian sighed.

The woman stretched as she walked around the ship, looking at the supplies you had been pulling out, “So what am I helping with?”

“I’m going to infiltrate an Empire gala.”

The Mandalorian’s head swiveled to yours fast, “That is not what we decided.”

“It’s the only possible option. You definitely can’t go. Pretty sure she can’t go either. So it’s on me.” You shrugged.

“But you just-”

You held up your hand, cutting him off, “I’ll be fine. I’m back in fighting shape. I won the Competition. I’m doing fine.”

“You’re barely fully healed, you need to give your body a break.”

“This is only an intel mission, there shouldn’t even be any fighting.” You argued back.

Cara tsked, “Hey no parental fighting in front of the child.”

The green child babbled as he walked up to the warrior woman, who bent down to say hello.

“I’ll do as I damn well please.” You said glaring at the Mandalorian, “I’m going.”

“Fine.” He turned on his heel and stalked off the ship.

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You tugged nervously at your clothes as you peered out of the alley at the building across the street.

Your hands shook as you made sure your panic button was in place and hidden. You sighed, balling your hands tight. He had gotten into your head. You knew it was just because he was worried. But you couldn’t infiltrate this Gala feeling insecure.

You took a deep breath running through the plan in your head one more time.

Stepping out from the alley, you lifted your head high as you weaved in and out of the townspeople. One guard stood at the entrance, but you could tell that there were others hidden amongst the normal citizens, their clothes just a little too expensive, their gazes following you as you strode up to the door.

Up close, you could see through the stained glass window. Dozens of people, drowning in glittering jewels and beautiful dresses and suits. You knew your outfit would help you fit in, but you hoped, your lack of knowledge of high society affairs wouldn’t make you stand out too much.

You walked up to the door your steps hesitating slightly as your heart started beating, unsure if you were prepared for this, not paying attention until the guard at the door barked at you.

Eyes wide you stepped up to him and you were about to walk in when the man stopped you, his arm outstretched.

You panicked, not knowing what he was expecting when a voice sounded behind you.

“They’re with me.”

You nodded at the guard, before turning to the man now beside you, “Thank you.”

The man before you was impeccably dressed. And though he had a smile on his face, his eyes were cold.

“No, thank you. You look like the most interesting person here.” He looked you up and down, “What is your connection to the Empire? Your father?”

As you made it past the foyer and into the ballroom, your eyes grew wide at the strands of lights, the soft music playing, and the abundance of people. Turning back to the man beside you, you realized you hadn’t answered his question.

“Sorry, yes. He was murdered by the rebellion.”

He nodded solemnly, motioning for you to continue following him, weaving the two of you farther into the room.

“Ah, don’t worry they will all be eradicated one day soon.” He waved his hand absent-mindedly as his other grabbed two drinks off of one of the waiter's trays, handing one to you.

You hid your grimace behind your glass, “And you are?”

“Oh, I am Governor Moff Gideon, at your service. Well... former Governor according to those rebel scums who took down our Empire.”

You swallowed heavily your eyes wide and you stopped yourself from taking an instinctive step back.

“I take it you know of me.” The smile that graced his face was twisted.

You bowed your head slightly trying to hide the fear crossing your face, “Of course, I am so sorry to impose, I will leave you alone.”

“No please.” He motioned, “Join me.”

As he led you deeper into the room, you glanced one more time behind you losing sight of the entrance, hoping that your Mandalorian was still keeping an eye on you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Mandalorian laid perched on the roof across the street, his macrobinoculars following your every move.

“Everything will be fine, you don’t have to keep such a close eye.” Cara drawled, she was stretched out beside him, resting back against the wall, her eyes closed.

“Something might go wrong.” He mumbled, watching as you made your way inside the building. His eyes focusing in on the man at your side.

“You mean something might happen to your precious crewmember.” She goaded.

“What?” He growled.

She chuckled, her legs bouncing restlessly, “Oh, nothing. Just wondering when that’s going to become a thing.”

“Nothing’s going on.” He snapped.

“Sure. But you might want to make a move before someone else does.”

He stiffened as he saw you continue to walk through the room, the man who had been beside you when you entered still at your side. He watched as you stopped, holding out your hand to people in front of you.

He whistled to get Cara’s attention and held out his binoculars to her.

“Who is that?”

She took them with a roll of her eyes, putting the binoculars up to her eyes, “Ah, old governor Gideon. That man is a piece of work. Killed more people than he saved. He’s the one that’s been gathering Empire supporters.”

The Mandalorian pushed to get up, but Cara kicked out, knocking him back down.

“Stop, if you rush in there there’s a better chance of everything going to shit. Stay here and watch. It’ll be fine.”

He ripped the binoculars from her hands and looked through them once again, more tense than usual.

As the minutes passed, he began to relax. You seemed calm as you maneuvered your way through the ballroom. However, when he recognized a familiar face walk past the window, his heart stopped. He jumped up and was down onto the street before Cara could even move an inch.

Before he reached the front door, Cara tackled him, shoving him into the alley adjacent to the building.

“Are you insane?” She hissed.

He pointed toward the ballroom, “Fennec Shand is in there.”

“The assassin?” Cara sounded impressed.

“We need to abort.” He started forward again, but she pushed him back against the wall.

Voices echoed down the alley as two imperial guards walked past where they were hidden. The two held their breaths, sighing in relief when they continued past clueless of what lurked in the shadows.

Cara turned back to the Mandalorian.

“No,” She growled, “We wait for the signal.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t easy getting away from the former Governor. You weren’t sure why he had put his sights on you.

He introduced you to many people and you mentally tried to keep track of them all. Names were flying in one ear and out the other. Most were wealthy citizens from across the galaxy. People who figured putting their stock in the Empire would help them make more money.

But they weren’t important in the long run.

The people you had to pay attention to were the Imperial generals and the ever rarer rebels turned Imperials.

Every so often you would peek a glance out the window, knowing that your Mandalorian was watching. But you were here alone, even if he was just a step away.

The first time somebody asked you why you hated the rebels, you froze. Before you could stop yourself the words spilled from your mouth tasting like poison on your tongue. As you spewed obscenities about the rebellion and how wonderful it would be to reinstate the Empire to its glory, the wealthy men and women fervently nodded in agreement.

A few even asked if you were available for hire for they needed reliable people to work for them. With a feigned smile, you just waved your hand saying you already had employment that paid well.

As the music swelled and the former Governor finally turned his attention from you, you managed to slip away, weaving in and out of the men and women, catching pieces of conversations here and there.

“Did you hear how he died? Apparently, his building collapsed on him.”

“Well, I heard he was murdered by a Mandalorian.”

Your heart pounded as you slipped into a side hallway, the music and loud conversations fading away to nothing.

You leaned against the wall for a second longer than necessary to pull yourself together.

Pulling out a tiny device, you placed it on the wall near the ground before you continued down the hallway.

You walked down the hall nonchalantly, waiting for a guard to make his appearance. When you rounded the corner, you came face to face with one.

The guard startled, reaching out, grabbing onto you, “Excuse me. No one is allowed back here.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” You turned, allowing him to walk you back to the door you had slipped through.

When you reached the door, you turned to look down to see the guard standing next to the device you had placed on the wall. With a smile, you pressed the button on the remote in your hand. The device beeped rapidly, and before he could move, an electric shock shooting out from the device hitting the guard where he stood.

He fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Peering around making sure that no one had heard, you took off down the hallway. When you finally reached the locked door at the end of the hall you dropped to your knees. Pulling out your kit and began picking the lock.

“Come on. Come on.” You mumbled to yourself.

“Hey!”

A guard at the end of the hall started running towards you and you quickly pushed the panic button the Mandalorian had slipped you earlier.

You stood, putting your hands up and smiled. The guard’s brows furrowed as he made his way down the hall, his blaster aimed at you. And then the world exploded.

You dropped to the ground, the wall at the far end of the hall blowing out. The guard flying.

Quickly getting back up you went back to working on the door.

With a trained ear, you listened as your friends made their appearance.

“I am looking for someone.” His voice was loud as he shouted over the frenzied screaming of the elite.

You smiled as the handle finally gave way under your hand and you slipped through the door.

Closing the door slowly and quietly, you turned around and quickly scanned the room. You only had a few minutes. You looked under the desk, in the cabinets, between the couch cushions. For a hidden hatch beneath the carpet. It wasn’t until you made it to the bookshelf when you finally saw a button poking out slightly behind one of the books.

Smiling, you pushed it and a hidden compartment popped out, a folder of papers there. You grabbed them, closing the compartment quietly. Just as you took a step toward the door, the handle turned and you froze. Just before the door opened you stepped to hide behind the bookshelf.

A mirror on the back wall allowed you to watch as the Governor walked into the room, a woman following closely behind him.

“Sir, that was the Mandalorian I encountered on Tatooine.”

“I figured as much.” He fumed.

“I can go kill –“

“Later. We need to get the paperwork to the Supreme.” You clutched the papers tighter to your chest.

You listened as he walked toward the bookshelf, just a foot away from you.

When you heard the compartment click open, you squeezed yourself tighter against the wall. His hand slammed against the bookshelf, the whole thing rattling, objects collapsing to the ground.

“Nobody leaves this building! Find it!”

You breathed a sigh of relief when the man stalked out of the room and the woman began to follow. But as if she could hear your breathing, she turned, her gaze scanning the room. You could hear her footsteps grow closer to your hiding spot. You pulled yourself tighter against the wall.

You could just see her shoulder when a shout came from down the hall and the woman turned on her heel and left.

Collapsing to the ground in relief, you quickly shoved the files you had stolen beneath your clothes. Rushing quietly toward the door, you opened it slightly, slipping out into the hall. Your head swung left and right, not sure which way. Taking off toward the left, you rounded the corner, coming face to face with the backs of four Stormtroopers. Your eyes went wide as you slowly backed up.

“Hey! You!”

You turned around feigning surprise.

A Stormtrooper motioned toward you, “Let’s go. The Gala is under lockdown.”

Entering back into the main hall, you saw the Governor directing Stormtroopers to break up guests into different groups.

You were shoved into a with a bunch of other people and soon later placed alone in an empty white room.

When the door slammed open, a man walked in.

“Good evening. I’m sure you want to get out of here as soon as I do.”

You nodded, you didn’t have to feign the fear on your face.

The man droned on and on but you could barely pay attention, your ears were buzzing and the bright white light in the room seemed to drown out your vision, “Did you break into an office? Did you still paperwork? Are you a rebel sympathizer?”

You said no to all and the man nodded before getting up to leave.

He turned his brows furrowing, “Do I know you?”

You shook your head.

“Hm. You look like someone who used to work for me many years ago. But it can’t be”

You didn’t recognize him, so why were your hands shaking so hard?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you for walking me back to my transport.” You said tersely as Governor Moff walked beside you.

The man had been waiting for you outside the door after you had been questioned. He had apologized for making you go through questioning knowing that you couldn’t have stolen anything.

“If you ever need for anything.” He handed you his card.

You took it with a shaking hand, “I will let you know.”

You nodded at him watching as he turned walking down the street. You kept your eyes on him until you could no longer see his dusty black cape.

Taking a deep breath, you walked around the block a few more times before walking into the hangar. When you saw the Mandalorian’s ship you sighed in relief.

You climbed the lowered ramp, waving at the mechanic’s you had hired who were working on the side of the ship.

Neither the Mandalorian or Cara was back yet. While you waited for their return, you decided to change. Entering the lower level of the ship, you opened the closet to grab one of the Mandalorian’s shirts when your hand hit something hard.

Grabbing hold of it, you brought it up. A picture frame.

As you traced your finger over the face in the photo, loud footsteps above echoed through the ship.

The modulated voice yelled your name and you walked out into the cargo bay, the picture still in your hand.

“Where did you get this?”

The Mandalorian stepped up to you, gently taking it from your hand, “It was in your old house.”

“And you took it?” Your brows furrowed.

“You looked happy.”

“I’m happy now too.” You breathed as you looked from the photo to him.

Cara nudged him and his head shot towards her, glaring at her through his mask.

She turned to you, “Did you get it?”

“Mhm? Oh, yes.” You pulled out the file and passed it over to the Mandalorian. But instead of looking down at it he was looking at you.

“Do you want to get food?” He stumbled over the words.

You hesitated, looking from the tense man to the widely grinning woman beside him, “Sure... Cara?”

“No!” He barked.

You froze, your eyebrows raising.

He cleared his throat, “No, I mean she already has plans?” He turned toward the woman.

She shrugged with a chuckle, “Um, yeah I guess I do.”

You frowned but stepped up to her offering her your arm, “Stay close. Hopefully, we’ll be making a move soon.”

She nodded, saluting the two of you, before vanishing down the ramp of the ship.

You motioned nervously down the ramp, “I’ll go grab some food.”

The man nodded.

You raced down the street to the cantina, grabbing some food before hurrying back out the door. On your way out, you slammed into someone.

“Oh! So sorry.”

The man steadied you, “No worries, you look like you’re in a hurry.”

“I am! Have a good night.”

You hurried off down the road, missing the beeping fob in the man’s hand.

Something was different tonight.

When you arrived back at the ship, the Mandalorian had set up a makeshift table for the two of you.

The food was good and as you ate you tried to make small talk. However, the man only seemed to nod or shake his head.

You cleared your throat, “Are you alright?”

“Yes? Why?” He stuttered.

“You haven’t spoken in fifteen minutes.”

“I am enjoying the food.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that he hadn’t eaten anything but before you could reply, he cut you off, “Are you?”

“Yes.” You chuckled.

“Good.”

You smiled as you continued to eat, both missing the glances you were throwing each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were hunched over the desk flipping through the plans you had stolen when you heard the door creak open behind you.

It was late at night, the only light shining from the candles littered around the room.

“You’ve been gone a while.”

The Mandalorian had left early that afternoon to scout out some new planets to bunker down on. He had been acting weird since the dinner you shared last night. You weren’t sure why.

And when he hadn’t been back after a few hours, you had almost left to find him. But with the little green child still on the ship with you, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him alone or bring him with you. Especially not on a plant infested with imperials.

You scribbled a few more things onto the paper in front of you before turning around, as the man behind you still hadn’t spoken.

Squinting through the dark you tried to make out the usual shape of his armor, but when he stepped forward you could see that he wasn’t wearing it. Or his helmet.

You spun around with a squeak, placing your back toward him.

“Hey! Sorry, I took over your room but this was the only place that had a desk.”

The man behind you remained silent and your heart was in your throat as you heard his quiet footsteps on the metal floor.

A hand reached out to your arm, grasping you gently, turning you around, the bare skin of his hand brushing along your own. But before he turned you fully, you closed your eyes hard.

You could feel his body step up close to yours, his breath warm on your face. Your heart was pounding. And you could feel that his was too.

You swallowed hard as his hand ran from your hand up your arm until it reached your face. His thumb rubbed against your cheek, his hands softer than you had imagined, the warmth of his skin burning against your own.

“Open your eyes.” His voice was still gruff even without the voice modulator from his helmet. You almost melted at the sound.

You shook your head aggressively and you could hear him let out a little sigh as his fingers teased around your lips. Involuntarily, your tongue darted out to wet them accidentally brushing against his thumb.

Your face reddened and you went to take a step back, but he just followed.

“Look at me, please.”

“But...”

“No talking for once,” he said, “just- look.”

You froze unsure what to do. But after a beat, you opened your eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat when you were finally face-to-face with the man you had spent almost half a year with. His hair dark unruly curls, his deep black eyes glistening in the candlelight.

You slowly raised your hand to his face running your fingers over his forehead, his cheeks, his stubble. The man smiled, and your fingers moved toward the laugh lines next to his eyes and the dimple on his cheek.

“Why?”

“I wanted you to see me.”

“I’ve always seen you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his mouth curled up into a smile.

He leaned forward toward you, so your lips were just touching, but stopped there as if he was waiting for you to make the decision.

You shot forward, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him down, his mouth coming down hard on yours.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you pressed back. His lips were soft but unyielding against yours. A soft sigh tore from your mouth as he deepened the kiss, his arm coming up to wrap tightly around you, the other weaving through your hair to pull you even closer.

It was a rough kiss, but you expected nothing less from the two of you. You had been dancing around these feelings for too long.

You took a step back, him following as you both stumbled through the room your lips locked together.

The Mandalorian’s hands moved, scrambling for purchase on your body, settling on your hips yanking you flush against him. Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders steadying yourself and when you ensured you wouldn’t tumble over, you raised up onto your toes wrapping your arms around his neck.

He turned you and you felt his hand reach around you trying to shut the door, but when he couldn’t reach it, he shoved you back against it, finally slamming it shut.

He pushed you flat against the door, his hands tight around your waist while your nails scratched through his hair, eliciting a deep moan from him.

You pulled your face away with a gasp and tilted your head back, your eyes snapping closed with a moan when you felt him pepper kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your hand grabbed the back of his head, and you pulled him toward you until your foreheads were touching, “You are never going to lose me.”

And once again you pulled him down until his lips met yours. This time the kiss was softer, slower. And you savored the feeling of his lips on yours.

As your hands ran through his hair, his slipped under the back of your shirt, his hands burning like fire against your skin.

You pulled away with a gasp and he pulled back his eyes searching your face. With a smile, he reached up, his fingers dancing across your cheek before he brushed a piece of hair back behind your ear.

You leaned over and gently pressed a kiss to his cheek. And then his forehead. And then his dimple.

He pulled back and smiled at you. That smile was becoming your new favorite sight in the world.

And you replied with one of your own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night you found yourself sitting at the desk in the corner, while the Mandalorian slept peacefully in the bed.

Your eyes were heavy and you couldn’t seem to focus on the words in front of you. Your eyes kept slipping shut, but you couldn’t give in until you found out what they were planning for the little green child.

You flipped one more page with a sigh when you started. Sitting up straighter you flipped back to the previous page and read.

“They’re trying to clone him...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagged: @sargesbestgirl @abysswhiskey11 @yourfavoritearchangel @pedro-pascal-online @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8 @damnittjim @trickei @countessren @fun-sized-widow-bites@thefandomzoneisdangerous @ichigomiluku @bakerstreethound @clonesdeservelovetoo@bananyaaa @loveleah @javert-delacour @zoogrl05 @live-the-beautiful-game @maryan028@ignimbritetcax @kaidad @kaimoar @yana-versio @peitromoximaff @alittleraincloud @fuckhead-writer @dottie-witch @nowheredreamer @pandalandalopalis @loveharrington @sw0rd-girlfriend@lex0h @piquantbarnes @go-commander-kim @finefangirl @lmao5sosimagines @bandofmarvels@nayploonthedoon @tchallaudakux @allthosepacheeks @i-think-of-dean-moriarty @otherthingsinhead @songofcosplay @cloudykooks @spooky-nob @takemebillyhargrove@flyingowls @funkygreensucculent @andromeda-sighs @audiblesmirk @out-worn @lessthancooljay@whtvrwhizzer @banana-batman @panic-monsters @vamprlestat @clevervast @ghelp0 @just-another-fangirls-posts @jinthusiastsss @c1996 @maldo559 @yelenasnatashas @chewymoustachio@heyo–its–mo @hexqueensupreme @ozzy-bozzy @spideydobrik @t-rexmoreliket-flex @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @teenagememetonight @salted-barbed-wire @kitosauras @heyitsjaybird @turnaroundbeautiful @whosmorales @asstiel-barnes @vintagecaptainspidey @swagaliciouspupper @ghost-brocolli @jacobs-judge @cmburgos @lamnothome @no-goddamn-cilantro @chill-4-dayz @lafy-taffy

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #mando #mando ff #star wars #Star Wars ff #fanfiction #my fanfic #mando fanfiction #dyn jarren #dyn jarren x reader #x reader #the mandalorian spoilers

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aurallyaddison · 3 years

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☕️ dimitri :)

sharp inhale

after a little bit of deliberation, i chose the blue lions at first. there were three main reasons, two of which related to dimitri which is why i mention this:

- i thought faerghus was the coolest-sounding power at the time and considering ive yet to finish AM- my first route of course- i still kinda do out of not knowing enough.

- dimitri’s description seemed promising. not to mention he seemed the least insufferable of the three at first glance MFNXJDH

- i am gay and i thought he was pretty, alright

all through playing part i i just absolutely fell in love with the class, and dimitri was no exception of course. not to mention he like Cannot be killed

he was just,, a nice guy, and of course the quotes ive posted here were like. “straight” suuure bud

and also, his voice acting is on point and i will never shut up about voice acting in anything ever

and then,, oh boy

my first reaction to the end of chapter 11 was. well it was actually me realizing a youtuber i like used part of the cutscene in a video lmao

but after that.. well i kinda thought long and hard on it, listened to his dialogue. i nearly cried, just at the thought of all of… That.

and then, in chapter 13 and mostly 14, i just. i could barely focus for how awful i felt, for him and for the rest of the characters. hearing felix’s dialogue about him got me angry. after one scene i checked discord, saw something vaguely related, and broke down crying. i won’t go into detail as it’s frankly a bit silly and tied to fandom drama, but i will say- it did have a lot to do with me associating certain people and comments with the demonizing and denying of mental illness, hence why i connected it to what was going on in game.

i suppose i do connect with him, on some level. at the very least i empathize with him greatly.

this has gotten kinda heavy, but those are my opinions ig gjhdh. still gay too <3 Big Soft Cape

and i still have yet to finish chapter 15.

#&asks #monikalesbian #fe3h #dear lord that’s a lot to unpack im sorry fmdbeje

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xadoheandterra · 4 years

Text

Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Jak forgot something kind of important. At least it gave Torn time enough to get him presentable.

Daxter ducked between legs and strangers alike, scurrying along the ground on all four paws. He dashed quick from the port and used all of the little known side alleys that only three years in Haven could teach an ottsel. Two of those three years he’d worked hard to unearth and learn the layout by himself despite Haven’s insane size. It’d taken him the better part of the first year to just learn how to traverse the city at barely two feet tall; after all the distance Jak could travel at a dead run in an hour Daxter could barely achieve in three.

And he wants this damn thing pronto, Daxter grimaced to himself. Really buddy? It ain’t easy getting’ around by myself and it ain’t like I could ask anyone! I can’t even jack a damn zoomer, sheesh.

Sometimes Daxter felt like Jak could be so inconsiderate, taking his willingness to help a pal out for granted. Still Daxter persevered, and yeah maybe he realized after he’d finally reached the beginning of Main Town that he could’ve asked Tess for a ride but damn if Daxter weren’t determined to do this one his own by that point. Even still Daxter had a limit, and one that rapidly began to approach given how much his chest burned and his legs and arms hurt.

Jak’s just gonna hafta deal with me bein’ a bit late, Daxter reasoned to himself. I’ll make it up t’him later. He skittered to a halt over by the nearest bridge. His chest heaved as he flopped down against one of the rails supports, the small backpack that Tess had scrounged up for him to carry the key in thunked heavily against the ground. Exhaustedly Daxter brushed along the fringe of what would have once been his bangs to wipe away the sweat that had gathered. He grimaced at the feel of slick fur and resisted the urge to growl out of annoyance.

Sometimes he really hated being an Ottsel. The fur and two feet tall were prime reasons to resent the transformation, no matter how used to it he’d gotten. Daxter puffed out a breath and pressed his head back against the rail and closed his eyes.

“Ugh, why s’it gotta be so far?” Daxter grumbled to himself bitterly. He didn’t see the glances from the others who meandered around Main Town, going about their business, but he knew they were there. He’d gotten stares like that all the time, although the ones that he and Jak got together where by far the most hilarious of the lot.

“I think I found him.”

“Really? That small thing?”

“Well Commander Torn did say an orange rat, right?”

“I thought he was joking.”

Daxter opened one eye to look for the voices the minute he heard ‘Torn,’ a snarl on his lips. He wasn’t a rat Precursors damn it all! His gaze found a small trio of slightly armored teens that he vaguely recognized from the few times he and Jak spent more than a night at the Underground barracks.

“Oi!” Daxter yelled. He jumped to his feet, quite suddenly energized, hands on his hips. “It’s ottsel. O! T! T! S! E! L! Get it right, ya jerks!”

The three teens turned and shared a look before they seemed to nod in agreement. One of them approached and Daxter noted he wore some sort of half-KG mask. He vaguely remembered Tess had mentioned something about the Underground’s members were now forced to be recognizable since the metal head invasion.

“You Daxter?” the one on the left said. Her voice rang with the tinny quality that Daxter associated with the KG.

“Ya work for the Tattooed Wonder?” Daxter shot back, eyes narrowed and lips pulled down.

“Yeah it’s definitely him,” the one on the right said. He shot a side glance to the girl. The one in the middle, closest to Daxter, snorted disdainfully.

“This job sucks,” the middle one grumbled and turned his gaze away from Daxter to look instead at his companions. The one on the right’s eyes crinkled in the amused way and the one on the left looked like she was hiding a smile under that mask.

“What job? Searchin’ out the good ol’ Orange Lightning?” Daxter didn’t quite leer, but he did drawl out the words. At least two of them seemed decent.

The girl on the left laughed. “Definitely him. Come on, orange lightning. Commander Torn’s asked us to pick you up.”

“Said something about it taking too long,” the one on the right said.

“I still don’t get why we’re stuck with carrying this pet,” the middle one huffed.

“You can carry me anytime you like, gorgeous,” Daxter winked to the girl, who laughed good naturedly with the guy on the left while the middle one growled. “I’ve been lookin’ for a cute ride like you. I got one mean delivery I gotta get over pronto, y’know?”

“I might have heard,” she replied as she reached out a hand for Daxter. He quickly scurried over and then up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Damn is this what it feels like to be him?” she said almost reverently.

“All th’ time, babe,” Daxter nodded. “Now c’mon! I’ve wasted enough time huffin’ it by myself. Ol’ gravelly shoulda sent someone sooner.”

“We should just shoot it,” the middle one hissed.

“Aw, I like you too grumpy!” Daxter cooed back, face twisted into a sickly sweet grin.

“I’m gonna shoot it,” ‘grumpy’ snapped and reached for his gun.

The one on the right grasped his wrist before he could do anything and hissed, “Do you want to get on Commander Torn’s bad side?”

“But it’s annoying.”

“It,” Daxter said sharply, “is a he, and he happens to be the one who saved all your asses with his trusty sidekick Jak who just happens to be his best fuckin’ friend and can, y’know, get growly.”

Grumpy swallowed heavily and backed off at the look he received from his two partners.

“Told you,” the one on the right mumbled. “Bad idea, man.”

“Yeah,” Daxter agreed. “Listen to your conscience over here.”

“Fuck you,” grumpy spat.

‘Conscience,’ snorted a laugh in response.

“Funny,” Daxter’s current shoulder seat laughed softly. “Come on, we best hurry. We’re gathering a crowd.”

Grumpy and conscience exchanged glances, paled, and quickly began ushering their female compatriot onwards.

“Weren’t we supposed to not draw a crowd?” conscience uttered.

“Your fault,” grumpy spat.

“Oh hush,” Daxter interrupted, “and get movin’!”

All three started to run at that. Daxter relaxed against the gentle lull of a shoulder at full run, a wide grin across his face. Now he’d get there in a decent amount of time. He’d have to thank the Tattooed Wonder for giving him such a lovely ride, too. Daxter paused, then frowned, then wanted to cry at the realization he actually had to thank the asshole who called him a rat.

Torn stared at his communicator in faint horror, although Jak figured a good majority of that actually was for show. Torn had to be acutely aware of how uncomfortable this entire situation made the teen, give that Jak practically gouged his legs throughout a good chunk of the process. The act did serve to put Jak into a more comfortable mindset, comfortable enough that his eyes were black with dark eco—just tinged purple instead. His skin looked a bit paler than normal, but that could be associated to nerves rather than eco.

“Why is your rat insisting on riding one of my men up the elevator?” Torn’s voice practically squeaked at the end he wheezed so hard.

Jak scrubbed a hand through his now groomed, wrapped, and braided hair. It hung in twisted, braided dreadlocks that suited the young teen and at the same time felt like a punch to the gut. If Torn didn’t know that Jak happened to be the young kid he’d once looked after—and thus had to be related to the late King Damas—then the resemblance sure as hell would have told him as much. Granted Damas never did quite wear the locks as well as Jak could.

“Mar you have to have some Wastlander in you,” Torn muttered as he flopped onto the couch.

“What does that mean?” Jak blinked at the sudden non-sequitor.

“Your hair,” Torn waved a hand. “No Havenite can wear it like that so easily. You see it more on Wastelander’s than anything.”

Jak’s brow furrowed in confusion, but before he could get a word in about it Torn shifted and spoke up again.

“Seriously though what does that rodent think he’s doing anyway? He could put her at risk!”

“His name is Daxter,” Jak pointed out, “and he’s probably exhausted. I forgot how far Main Town is from the bar.” Jak leaned forward from his spot on the bed and scrubbed at his face. “He’s probably pissed about that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Do you like him nagging you or something?” Torn quarried. When Jak didn’t answer at first the commander shifted to stare at the teen, concerned.

Jak sighed. “…sort of.” He licked his lips. “It’s…I didn’t speak for a long time, Torn. Dax talking…it’s normal.” He smiled fondly. “He spoke for the both of us.”

“He still does,” Torn grumbled.

“Yeah.”

Despite being an ottsel Daxter at his core didn’t change. Jak relished in that, relished in how much his friend still remained his friend because damn if he didn’t regret that accident so much. He opened his mouth to speak some more when a sharp rap at the door sounded throughout the room. Torn got to his feet and Jak likewise pulled himself up.

They shared a glance—looks like it was showtime. Jak got to his feet, Torn shortly behind him. Jak wanted to get the door, but Torn motioned for him to stay—they’d gone over, repeatedly, in the wait for Daxter to show up and in the time that Torn worked on his hair, how the people around Jak were expected to act. How Jak would be expected to act. While it sat wrong with him to hang back, he still let Torn take the lead and open the door.

This whole insane plane hinged on Jak, after all, and if he didn’t show the right response at the right time then any credibility as being the last heir to the House of Mar wouldn’t matter. It grated to act like some damned nobleman when first and foremost Jak was anything but; still he waited, anxiously as evidenced by the slight shift from foot to foot. Torn slipped the door open, took one look out into the hallway, and sighed in relief.

“Ashelin,” Torn greeted sharply, and stepped back.

“Commander,” Ashelin responded in kind. She stepped into the room first, behind her followed an Underground fighter with Daxter perched precariously on her shoulder. Jak zeroed in on his best friend, and a small nervous smile flittered across his face.

No one said anything at first, or at least no one but Daxter and Jak. Jak’s little twitches—almost completely unnoticeable—clued Daxter into the bigger picture within a minute. The conversation went on much longer than that though, with an ever growing darker expression on Daxter’s face. The ottsel glanced between Jak, Torn, and Ashelin with a scowl until Ashelin couldn’t take it anymore.

“What!?” the young Praxis heiress snapped out. She looked to Torn for back up, but Torn refused to respond. He’d seen the silent communication in action too much to even attempt to counteract it.

“Nothin’,” Daxter said eventually after a pleading look from Jak and a slightly pulled face. “We’ve got a show to get on the road, right?”

“What do you mean we?” Ashelin demanded. “You were just delivery—”

“I ain’t leavin’ Jak to deal with just you,” Daxter shot back, “and my ride here ain’t either. We’re both goin’ an’ you’ll just hafta deal there princess. You roped Jak into this thing and ya better handle the consequences. We’re a pair an’ that is that.”

Jak smiled.

“Dax’s always had my back, Ashelin,” he said softly. “Besides, as I understand it if I just walk in with the Ruby Key they’re going to demand how a priceless artifact integral to this city’s history just so happened to disappear and then reappear with the House of Mar.”

Torn smiled, and nodded once in approval when Jak glanced his way. He spoke up to catch Ashelin’s attention. “Look at that Ashe, the kid has a knack for this,” he teased for a second before he added seriously, “He has a point and you know it. Especially when you know it was this very council that ousted the last King we had.”

“That was my father—” Ashelin counteracted, only to be cut off with a look.

“It might have been your father,” Torn said carefully, “but even your father can’t intimidate the other sage lines. At least three quarters of them had to be in agreement. Not to mention the other minor noble houses.”

Ashelin bit her lip, frustrated, but she had to admit Torn was right. Although neither of them had been there for the original banishment of the House of Mar, they both knew the aftermath intimately enough. Still—Ashelin turned toward Daxter and with a sharp look assessed the situation.

“You can’t just waltz in with the Ruby Key, either,” Ashelin pointed out. “You’re too involved with Jak.”

“Ah, but I’m involved officially as of this past year,” Daxter pointed out slyly. Jak didn’t bother to fight down his smile as Ashelin blinked in slight surprise and Daxter continued barreling on, head held high. “In fact I was quite the respected bug hunter up until the business went up in smoke; I merely stumbled across this here puppy,” Daxter patted his bag, “without knowin’ what it was. I’m just a poor ottsel—we’re not taught Haven’s history.”

“If anything Dax only realized what the Ruby Key was after he and I got involved,” Jak added softly, and completely convincingly. Any protest left Ashelin.

Torn glanced at them, then asked, “How will you explain your closeness?”

“How do you explain a soul brother?” Daxter shot back full of complete self-confidence.

“We click,” Jak shrugged, and it was the honest truth—he and Daxter had always just clicked like that.

Torn appraised them for a second more—and almost let out an amused snort when he realized the soldier before him was still star-struck and drooling; kids these days—before he nodded sharply. He turned to Ashelin and said, “They’re good.”

Ashelin looked ready to protest, so Torn stepped up to her and grabbed her shoulders. “They’re good, Ashe,” he said sharply. “Trust me.” It took a second longer before Ashelin let out an explosive breath. They’d wasted enough time already on this whole mess, and so with a sharp turn she motioned for the group to follow.

“Look alive soldier,” Torn said under his breath to the young girl. She jerked, flushed, and then straightened her back and fell into step just behind Jak.

#fic: patriciate #fanfic #fic: semblance #jak and daxter #accidentally king of haven #canon divergence #crossposted

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ohblackdiamond · 5 years

Text

the end of the world tour (kiss/endgame crossover, r) (part 3/4)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

In this chapter: Training continues, sans Rocky montage. Peter gets some answers courtesy Gene and, maybe, Ace. Prepare the preparations.

Or, four washed-up former rockstar superheroes don the spandex of old in a last-ditch effort to save an already half-gone world. They just need a little support from a billionaire who’s not too keen on KISS interrupting his private life. Somewhat Endgame compliant.

Two days later, the visitors started to arrive.

Peter couldn’t exactly call them fans. He didn’t think they were fans, exactly—he didn’t think more than half of the younger ones even exactly knew who KISS was. But they started to creep up to the yard, phones in hand, eager for even the barest hint of superheroism.

The other guys were eating it up. Even Ace, who wasn’t quite as introverted as Paul but still relished his time alone, started showing the visitors around the backyard like it was some kind of grand tour (unsurprisingly, the only sacrosanct portion was his spaceship, roped off as if it were the Venus de Milo—“’m sorry, you can’t touch it, but if you wanna stand over there and take a picture, you can”). He only looked mildly taken aback when a couple of the visitors got brave enough to go from sneaking around the yard to actually knocking at the front door.

“Don’t let them in,” Pete snapped, watching Ace get up on automatic to answer. Ace only offered him a lazy shrug.

“Why not?”

“You know why not. We’ll never get rid of them.”

“They ain’t gonna stay, Peter,” Ace started, interrupted by Paul hurriedly half-tripping down the stairs, having to grab onto the railing. The six-inch, star-encrusted heels of his Alive outfit seemed to be giving him trouble.

“Don’t answer it yet!” he called out, looking from Ace to Peter. “Don’t answer until you’re in costume!”

“Paul, you vain bastard—”

“I’m not being vain! You’ll ruin the mystique!”

“What’s the point? They all know we’re old!”

“That’s not what I mean! Ace, how the hell is anyone gonna have any faith in us saving the world if you answer the door like that ?”

Ace shot a brief, amused look Peter’s way just before a puff of blue smoke obscured him from sight. A second later, Ace emerged, in the facepaint and a purple, velvet onesie.

Paul looked as if he were about to have an aneurysm.

“ No ! That’s not even one of our outfits! How did you—”

“Don’t have to be. You can do any outfit you wanna.” Ace paused. “C’mon, Paulie, you didn’t just think we were stuck with the tour shit, did you? What kinda superhero only gets six costumes?”

The rapping from the other side of the door continued.

“Oh, come on, are you telling me if I want my black leather overalls back, all I have to do is—”

“I dunno if I’d recommend ’em, Paulie, but—” Ace stopped again, yanking open the door. “Hey, how you doing?”

The kid at the door—he couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, by Peter’s reckoning—seemed to mostly be his dwarfed by his own mass of curly red hair, his face plastered with freckles. He just stared at the three of them, mouth a small round o of surprise.

“I didn’t think you’d open it!”

Paul was mumbling under his breath, gesticulating to Peter with about as much subtlety as a conductor during Handel’s “Messiah.” Transform , he was mouthing. Peter ignored him.

“Well, we don’t always, but…” Ace trailed, grinning. “How’d you hear about us, huh?”

The redheaded kid shrugged.

“Somebody at school said you were supposed to be fixing everything.”

“Yeah?” Ace’s expression didn’t shift a single centimeter.

“Uh-huh. They said you were gonna be the Avengers’ secret weapon and they’d pulled you out of the freezer like Captain America.”

Peter glanced over at Paul, who was still standing halfway down the staircase. From Paul’s expression, it was patently clear that the sheer amount of interviews, meet and greets, and impromptu hobknobbing he’d endured over the last forty years was all that was keeping him straight-faced.

“We didn’t get pulled out of the freezer,” Paul managed after a moment.

“I guess he didn’t,” said the kid, pointing to Peter. Before Peter could respond, but not before Paul and Ace started to snort, he continued. “Are you, though? Are you guys really gonna do it?”

“We—”

“I got a sister,” and the kid wasn’t looking at either of them now. Peter waited, expectant, a rock forming somewhere in his gut. He knew the story before the kid could tell it. He was sure of it. Just as sure of it, just as uselessly sure of it as he ever had been during their cancer ward visits. The kids all hoping just because KISS had come by, that maybe everything was going to be all right, even as they lay there hooked up to IVs and a half-dozen machines. Even as they lay there dying. The kid swallowed. “She… wouldn’t be coming back even if you did save everybody.”

“I’m sorry.” It was Paul. He’d said it before Peter could. He wasn’t looking the kid in the eye, either, Peter noticed. Just staring at the door directly behind him. Peter’s gut was lurching. He’d been wrong. She hadn’t disappeared from existence. She’d died before.

The kid didn’t say anything for a few seconds that seemed to stretch and pull like taffy. Ace’s lips were pursed so tight the black of his lipstick seemed barely-there. The cloistered existences they’d led the last five years, trying so hard to avoid pain when it enveloped everything around them. Everything past them. Consumed in their own grief, unable or unwilling or both to really acknowledge the real human toll of it for fear it would break them. Everyone on Earth had lost someone. Some had lost everyone. And some just watched as the ones left behind followed after.

Peter was almost starting to get it. Some of it. For Gene and Paul and Ace, FER probably hadn’t only been an exercise in talisman abuse and easy lays. Stupid as it was, hedonistic and disastrous as it was, trying to make a life in a dying world… it must have warmed them. It must have made them feel good for more than just the afterglow.

“I’m gonna see her again someday.” The kid finally glanced up from the floor. “Not for a long time. But I will.” An exhale. “You’re gonna try, right? You’re gonna try to fix everything.”

“We’re gonna try,” Peter said, throat feeling warm and thick and too-heavy.

“Okay.” And he was starting to smile, dimples pushing into the freckles on his face. “That’s good.” He hesitated. “Oh, uh…”

“Yeah?”

And he pushed his phone forward.

“Could I get a selfie? The kids at school won’t believe me unless I get a selfie.”

It might have been the most questionable selfie Peter had been a part of in his life.

“I told you to get in costume,” Paul mumbled as he held up the phone for the picture, putting his free arm behind Peter’s shoulder on idle default, “but no —”

Begrudgingly, with that utterly inevitable puff of green smoke signaling everything, Peter got into costume. Well. He got into the cat-embroidered jacket and cutout leotard he’d worn when it was too cold to go sleeveless. The kid’s eyes went buggy. Paul looked deeply offended. Ace just snickered.

“None of us match at all,” Paul said flatly.

“I don’t care. Take the picture.”

“Fine.” Paul was still fiddling with the angle, unsurprisingly, tilting his head as he stared at the camera. Peter waited for about fifteen seconds—fifteen seconds too long for Ace, who snatched the phone from Paul and snapped the picture before he could grab it back. Paul looked as if he were about to snag it back, or at least argue, but instead he just let Ace hand the phone back to the kid—after leaning over to inspect the selfie first.

“It pass inspection, Paul?” Ace lilted.

“It’s good enough,” Paul muttered, before turning his attention back to the visitor. “Anything else you’d like? Autographs? Posters?”

The kid nodded shyly, and Paul immediately scrambled for merchandise. For once, Peter was profoundly grateful Gene was gone on an errand run. The man might have tried to sell the poor kid some of those KISS-branded air guitar strings he still had in the basement.

Things quieted down faster than Peter had expected them to. A few weeks of buzzing activity, a few weeks of impromptu, free meet-and-greets, and then the visitors retreated again. Fickle. No attention span. No second tidal wave of KISSteria overwhelming their half-gone world. Peter found he didn’t really mind. Workouts and training were a lot easier to focus on without being stared at or recorded.

He’d spent an hour or so downstairs, fiddling absentmindedly at the piano, digging through old memorabilia and guitars, before coming back up to the main floor to start on dinner. His assigned day again. Gene was the only one hanging around the kitchen by the time Peter got there.

“Where’re Ace and Paul?”

“Trying to fix the spaceship.”

“They getting anywhere with it?”

“I doubt it. Ace didn’t get out the blowtorch.”

Peter snorted in reply.

“Three more months, he said. S’like how he used to say his next album was coming out in the spring. Only it was ten springs in a row, the lazy bastard.”

Gene shrugged.

“I can’t remember the last time he asked one of us to help with it.”

“I wouldn’t want us helping with it. C’mon, Gene, none of us have any business fooling with that shit when we barely know how to top off the oil tank in the car.”

“What’s gotten you so pissed-off this late in the afternoon?”

“You know what.”

“Peter, I really don’t—”

“Things are getting screwed-up again,” Peter said dryly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The connection bullshit’s back just like it used to be. Don’t you feel it?”

It was a moot question. Of course Gene could feel it. That weird bleeding in of everyone’s emotional states into a messy, almost indistinguishable puddle. Getting so in-tune it got creepy, borderline empathic. It was the one thing about their crimefighting days that Peter hadn’t missed much at all.

“I’m feeling it.”

“Somebody’s keyed-up as hell. And it’s not me, so it’s got to be either you or Paul or Ace…”

“It’s probably Paul.”

“Paul’s always anxious! What’s he got to be so nerved-out about?” Peter groused, yanking the trash bag out of the garbage can, tying it off, and setting it down on the floor. “Shit, I thought he might be feeling better these days.”

Gene shrugged.

“He’s sensitive.”

“Ace is, too, the big difference is he has a sense of humor about it,” Peter grumbled, heading outside with the trash bag in tow, still calling out to Gene as he toted it out. “I don’t like feeling antsy just because someone else is antsy. I’ll tell them both that as soon as they get in.”

“Don’t do that. There’s probably a reason.”

“Reason, my ass. My blood pressure’s high enough without Paulie dialing it up with all his fucking feelings.” Peter returned, only to find Gene had, surprisingly, replaced the trash bag while he was out. “What’d you want for dinner?”

“Do we still have any of that steak left?”

“Yeah. Probably enough for a stir-fry.” Peter opened up one of the cabinets by the stove, taking out a cutting board and a frying pan. Wok , he could almost hear Paul correcting. If it got the job done, the proper terminology didn’t matter. Mentally, he started to tally the vegetables they had on hand to toss in. Onions, peppers… maybe some mushrooms. He wasn’t after authenticity so much as getting rid of as much produce as possible. Boil up some rice, and it wouldn’t be a bad meal.

“Brownies would be good, too.”

“I didn’t buy any mix.”

“I did.” Gene dug it out of the pantry, along with a bottle of oil. Peter rolled his eyes.

“You know none of the workouts we do in costume do a damn thing for any of us out of costume, right?”

“I know. I just don’t care.” Gene was already taking the egg carton out of the refrigerator, absolutely shameless. Peter shook his head slowly, watching Gene set the ingredients out on the counter. “Figure we’ve earned it.”

“You’re gonna get diabetes, man.”

“I’ll live to be a hundred. I’ve got great… genes.” Gene said it with his usual dry, obnoxious self-assurance, familiar enough that Peter had long stopped minding it. He expected Gene to get out a bowl next, but instead, he went and plugged in the record player on the other side of the kitchen. Peter could hear him cross over into the living room, and knew he was probably pilfering through their records. “This’ll help your blood pressure. What album do you want?”

“Anything that isn’t us.”

Gene nodded, walking back into the kitchen with a ratty copy of the Beatles’ Yesterday and Today . Peter winced.

“Okay, anything that isn’t us or the fucking Beatles.”

“Best two names in rock and roll.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Gene set the album down on the kitchen table, still looking at Peter, which was a bit of a surprise. Peter had expected him to dig out another album and put it on the player, regardless of his opinion on the matter. But no, he was waiting on Peter to pick.

“One of the Krupa records is fine.”

“All right.”

Gene crossed back over to the living room, got another album out, and put it on the turntable. Peter recognized it after the first few bars as Burnin’ Beat. He sighed and retrieved the leftover steak and vegetables from the fridge, started to chop the steak into strips while Gene began mixing up the brownie batter. Peter’s arthritis wasn’t treating him half so badly this evening.

It was always a different kind of silence with Gene than it was with Ace or Paul. Strangely easier to handle. Gene wasn’t off in an avoidant, self-inflicted orbit like Ace, or stuck chronically ruminating like Paul. Gene was always thinking ahead. Always moving forward. Sometimes it aggravated the shit out of Peter, and sometimes it was just what he needed to be around.

“The talismans expose the true selves of the holders,” Gene said finally, as he poured a frankly disastrous amount of mini M&Ms and broken-up Hershey bars into the batter. “Did you ever give that any thought?”

“No. Not until the last couple months.” Peter shrugged. “I didn’t think about it back then. We’d been doing the makeup before we got the talismans.”

Nothing Gene didn’t already know. They’d mapped out rough designs themselves in a desperate bid for a gimmick. Something to get them noticed. The regular genderbending schtick they’d tried before, with the four of them in heavy blush and eyeliner and lipstick, hadn’t suited anyone but Ace. They hadn’t looked like they were tearing down the establishment, blurring the lines between male and female, any of that—they’d just looked sad. Putting on the white greasepaint had been the turning point they needed. The talismans just sealed the deal.

“I’ve thought about it a long time.” Gene’s voice, always quiet and deceptively even, got a little lower, as if there was any likelihood Ace and Paul could hear him from out in the backyard. “It’s a great origin story. Struggling band gets magic powers, becomes successful superhero musicians. But…”

“But what?”

“When your true self wears more makeup and higher heels than Frank-n-Furter, that’s concerning.”

“Like Stark’s Iron Man crap is any better.” Peter crooked a smile. “He doesn’t even have a codpiece.”

Gene snorted. He only looked marginally more at ease.

“That’s not exactly it.” He paused. “We were still wearing the outfits and makeup five years ago. Paul and Eric and Tommy and I.”

“Yeah, I know.” God, did he know. Peter didn’t even remember—or didn’t want to remember—when he’d signed over his makeup rights. He hadn’t been thinking about crimefighting then. None of them had. He just remembered disgust roiling in his stomach as he’d watched the band go on without him for the second and then the third time in a fucking row.

“It was getting to me. Getting to all of us—Paul won’t admit it, but…” Gene trailed uncharacteristically. “It was starting to feel like a parody.”

“ Starting to?” Peter snorted. Gene, surprisingly, didn’t look too ruffled.

“Yeah. At first, I thought I was fine with that. We’d been running off nostalgia since the nineties. If people were still paying to see us, who the fuck cared if I wasn’t stomping around anymore? If Paul wasn’t jumping all over the stage? Who—”

“Gene, the only reason either of you stopped that was because wasn’t turned into couldn’t .” Peter tossed the steak into the frying pan, started to chop the mushrooms, just dropping them into the pan, not bothering with the cutting board. “Didn’t matter how many tickets you sold. You couldn’t buy your way back to ’76.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Gene’s eyes, always so appallingly focused, weren’t on Peter for once. “Fuck, if dignity was in KISS’ vocabulary, we would have folded our first concert in drag. I didn’t care about getting old and looking like crap onstage. I didn’t want to buy my way back to ’76.”

“Then what did you want?”

“Shit, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“I wanted to hang it up.” Gene was pouring the batter into the pan now, smoothing it over more than he needed to with the back of a spoon, his mouth pursed tightly. He hadn’t even taken a taste of it yet. Peter knew exactly how poor a sign that was.

“You’ve wanted to hang it up before. You even said you would. Remember the Farewell Tour?”

“ Really hang it up. No more KISS, no more concerts—I was tired of it. Maybe Mick Jagger can keep on croaking ‘Satisfaction,’ but—”

“But Paul can’t get through ‘Detroit Rock City.’”

“Don’t tell him that. It’d kill him.”

“He already knows it.” Peter paused. Started chopping up the peppers and onions and dropping them into the wok, which was hissing with every new addition. A thought had come to him, one he’d mulled over for ages, but hadn’t dared mention until now. “Gene?”

“Yeah?” Gene had finally put the brownie pan into the oven.

“Was that the real reason for all the Hall of Fame crap? Was that why we didn’t play?”

“Peter,” Gene started.

“It was, wasn’t it? Why the hell didn’t you say so? I thought it was just the usual bullshit. Don’t let me and Ace play with you and Paul or everyone’ll be begging for another Reunion Tour. If I’d known—”

“That—”

“You should’ve said ! Did we really hate each other that bad? Was Paul that fucking scared of what we’d say? Were you?”

“Peter, at this point—”

“If you’d said, I might’ve understood. But Christ, Gene, just refusing without a reason was fucking awful. I didn’t wanna see any of the rest of you outside of a funeral home ever again.”

“I’m pretty sure we were all thinking that.” Gene sounded as if he were trying to force out a snort. “Even Paul and I didn’t coordinate suits.”

“The hell did you two have to be sore about? Did you insult one of his paintings?”

Gene just shrugged.

“We’re basically brothers, we have our disagreements.”

“Cut the crap, Gene, Paul ain’t ever been your brother. He’s your princess.”

“Fine, whatever.” The Krupa record slowed to a stop. Peter peered over as Gene turned it over and set the needle back down. “What happened at the Hall of Fame was a mistake.”

“You’re damn right it was.”

“But I didn’t get to dwell on it. We were in the middle of touring when…” Gene swallowed thickly. Peter knew he wasn’t about to detail him and Paul’s falling out. When without a specification always meant five years ago. Another four-letter-word for half of humanity disappearing in front of them. “But I figured it out before then. I’m serious, I really did. I was out there doing the fucking ‘God of Thunder’ routine and all of a sudden…” Gene shook his head, looking almost bewildered. “I realized I could not give less of a shit.”

“You? Are you serious?” Peter did snort. “C’mon, you’ve gone onstage sick as a dog before, don’t tell me you—”

“I’m serious. It was terrifying. You don’t—” Another shake of his head. “The audience wasn’t feeding me anymore. I wasn’t feeding them. I realized that the show didn’t really become a show until we stopped believing in it. I’d stopped believing in it.”

“So what changed your mind?” Peter turned down the heat on the stovetop, absently pushing a spatula through the stir-fry. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Gene had gotten out the soy sauce for him. “What made you believe in it enough to get the talismans back out?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Gene hesitated. Rare to see him hesitate. He looked as if he were about to deliver another practiced interview sermon, and Peter prepared himself for it, but it didn’t happen.

“I wanted to see for myself. Prove there might still be some magic there.” His lip was twitching. Peter shifted closer as Gene continued. “After everything, I needed it. But I didn’t want to get them out alone, I don’t know why. I suppose I was just afraid of nothing happening.”

“You really thought nothing would happen?”

Gene raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing had happened since ’80.”

“Nothing at all?”

“They’d just glow a little sometimes. I didn’t expect that much, but I was hoping for it. So I asked Paul to come up to the attic with me. I said I was wanting to look through some old pictures, maybe get something together for a KISS coffee table book—”

“And he believed you?”

“Of course not, but he came up there. Once I pulled out the box, he didn’t hesitate. He told me to go ahead and open it up.” Gene’s mouth twitched. “They were glowing, all right. They hadn’t been that bright in years. I’m not sure which one of us reached in and grabbed his talisman first.”

“Then you decided after that to join FER?”

Gene didn’t look too abashed.

“Yeah, I found an article on it a few days later. I showed it to Paul, then we told Ace, put in our applications and started in, then you found out, and the rest is—”

“If you say KISStory, you’re not getting dinner.’

“That’s fine. I’ll just eat the brownies.”

Ace and Paul returned a few minutes later, after the stir-fry was done but before the brownies were ready. They both looked weirdly drained, almost down, Paul stiffly pulling out his chair and sitting at the table without a word.

“How’s the spaceship?” Gene asked.

“Outlook not so good, Curly,” Ace mumbled, walking over on automatic to the sink, retrieving the bowl Gene had used to mix the brownie batter in. He started scraping a spoon up the sides, seemingly unaware that Gene had, for once, actually half-filled the bowl with water and dish soap, even if he hadn’t washed it. Paul threw him an acrid look. “But we’ll see, y’know?”

Peter didn’t bother to plate the stir fry, just put the wok itself on top of an oven mitt on the table. He did the same with the rice bowl a moment later. No need to clean more dishes than he had to.

“We’ll see,” Gene agreed, glancing Peter’s way. “Look, if you want us all to help, just let us know.”

“Nah, Geno, it’s—” Ace had put that first absentminded spoonful of water, batter, and suds in his mouth, and immediately spat it out. “ Shit! ”

Gene barely suppressed a laugh.

“Sorry—”

“Jesus,” Ace mumbled. “You usually just leave it in the sink and don’t fill it up…” he trailed, dropping the spoon back into the bowl and heading over to sit at the kitchen table across from Paul.

“If you didn’t get anywhere with the ship, what were you doing in there?”

Paul looked like he was about to say something, but then he just reached over and spooned out some of the stir-fry from the wok, staring at the vegetables like they had personally offended him. Peter had to swallow back a spiteful comment—God, Paul probably thought he’d overcooked the onions or some stupid shit like that—but then Ace piped up again.

“Well, we talked about flying. ’S kind of the one thing we still haven’t tried yet.”

Gene nodded, checked the brownies, and then got his plate, scooping up rice and the stir-fry in generous portions. Peter followed suit, a little warily, taking his usual spot next to Ace.

“Flying would give us one over half the Avengers.” Peter glanced over at Gene, trying to gauge his reaction first. For all his fear of heights, Gene barely flinched. Consummate professional. Or maybe he was just thinking about the brownies.

“Yeah. We’ve been putting it off too long.” Gene stuck a forkful of rice in his mouth. “Let’s review the tapes after dinner and start practicing tomorrow.”

“Review the tapes? C’mon, Gene, we’ve been doing that for ages! You just don’t wanna—"

“I do want to. First thing tomorrow.” Gene took a swig of water. Peter’s gaze went from Gene to Paul and then over to Ace, and he shook his head.

“You mean it?”

“I mean it. I’ve even got the equipment ready.”

---

“Gene, when you said equipment, I thought you meant a bungee cord.”

Gene just grinned widely. Gene’s idea of equipment had been a whole lot more useless.

Gene’s idea of equipment had been lugging the trampoline out of the garage.

And as good as it was to get an excuse to peel off their six-inch heels, and as entertaining as it was to jump on the trampoline, Peter had to admit it wasn’t getting either of them airborne. But it was giving them an excellent vantage point to watch the other two.

“We could be trying it up there.” Peter gestured, maybe unnecessarily, to Paul and Ace, who were perched, and arguing, on top of the third story roof. “You hear them, right?”

“How could I not fucking hear them,” Gene mumbled.

“Pauuuulieee. C’mon. You trust me?”

“We’re almost fifty feet off the ground!”

“It’s like with a baby! You put ’em in the pool and they’ll have to swim!”

“Ace, how the fuck did you ever have a kid—”

“Same way you did. Well, sorta.” Ace started laughing, shaking his head. “Relax, man. Just relax. You’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine. Look, if we’re about to crash I’ll teleport us both back down, okay?” Peter couldn’t see it from where he was, but deep down he was sure Ace was winking.

“I don’t see how he talked Paul into this,” Gene said.

“They’ve been hanging out more lately.” Peter wasn’t sure why. They hadn’t made another room switch or anything. Then again, Paul and Ace hadn’t ever had any major row between them, either. He managed a backflip, to his own surprise. “And they knew you were going to wuss out.”

“You’re not up there, either.”

“I will be once they get it,” Peter retorted. Right now, the scene on the roof was too entertaining to miss. Paul was wobbling slightly on the roof, grabbing onto Ace’s arm in an attempt to steady himself. Unfortunately, and predictably, Ace was wobbling, too.

“Ace, c’mon, this was a bad idea, let’s—c’mon, man, just teleport us back do—”

“Uh-uh, Paulie. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“You do know I’ve had my hip replaced twice, don’t you?”

“I thought it was three times.” Ace was laughing. Worse, he was swaying. Paul hanging onto him was only making them both more off-balance, teetering towards the edge of the rooftop. But Ace was talking just as easily as if they were safely on the ground. “Two makes more sense. I always wondered how the hell you could break a titanium one—"

“I didn— fuck !” Paul screamed, clutching Ace with both arms as they fell off the roof together. Peter and Gene scrambled off the trampoline, running out to catch them—stupidly, neither of them had thought they’d need to—only to watch them swoop down, and then hover, six or seven feet from the ground.

By that time, Peter was pretty sure that Paul’s face at least had probably gone almost as pale as the greasepaint. He watched as Paul slowly loosened his grip on Ace and then let go entirely, eyes wide, smile spreading even wider as he realized he was still in the air. They both were.

“Ace, we—I—”

“See? I told you!” Ace was letting himself sink down further, barely hovering more than a few inches from the ground before landing in front of Peter and Gene. “I told you, just like a baby.”

“Gene! Gene, look, I’m doing it!”

Gene still had his arms out, hovering half-remembered, as if part of him still thought Paul was about to fall. He didn’t get a single word out before Paul dove down straight toward him, gathering Gene up in his arms and lifting him into the air with him, gradually higher and higher, laughing softly, excitedly. Peter half-expected Gene to start screaming, or at least be clutching Paul for dear life, but he wasn’t. The higher up Paul took him, the more relaxed Gene seemed to get. The looser their grip on each other became. Gene’s arms went from around Paul’s waist to up around his shoulders—then, finally, just as it was getting harder for Peter to get a detailed look, Gene caught Paul’s hands in his own.

Both of them flying now.

Peter watched them, shaking his head a little, for a few seconds more. They’d land eventually. It took him a bit—it took Ace tugging at his sleeve—before he looked down again. There was a weird winsomeness to Ace’s expression, almost a longing, that made something in Peter itch and ache all at once. But then it faded nearly as soon as it appeared, and Ace’s old, sleepy-eyed grin was back on his face.

“Your turn, Cat. Get your heels on.” He winked. “Don’t worry, I got a whole other rooftop for us to jump off of.”

Ace had teleported him as soon as he'd yanked on his boots. Peter knew where they were almost before he’d opened his eyes. Almost like a bottom of the barrel sense. Or maybe it was just the connection bullshit, letting him dig into Ace’s mind without even wanting to. But Peter didn’t think that was all of it. He could recognize this place anywhere. Anytime. The oldest of their stomping grounds as a band. Jimi Hendrix’s old studio in Greenwich Village. The Electric Lady .

They’d never done a photoshoot on the roof or anything. There wasn’t even much physical evidence left that they’d been there at all, besides the records themselves. Just a couple photos from their own albums, mostly, that had gotten scattered like confetti across the internet. Photos from those early, early recording sessions, when they were four nobodies that occasionally drove cabs and taught school and fought petty crime. When they weren’t much better than four kids.

The memories themselves were so intoxicating they were painful. It wasn’t just where they’d first recorded. It was where Peter had first met up with Gene and Paul, before he’d even auditioned for KISS. That made the Electric Lady almost sacrosanct even when he felt most embittered about the band, about the guys. And he wasn’t alone in his sentimentality. Gene and Paul had continued to record there occasionally in the early eighties, too, unable to avoid their own nostalgia.

Peter sat down on the roof, letting his legs dangle off the edge. Ace did, too, swinging them back and forth over the side like a little kid. They sat there in silence at first, watching the people, the traffic. The old, harried energy of Greenwich Village was gone. The weirdness, the newness. The hope.

“It’s not like it was,” Peter said finally.

“You think it was gonna be?”

“No, but I wanted it to be.”

Ace crooked a small smile.

“Y’know, back… aw, hell, it was probably five, six years after the Reunion tour… I was talking to Bobby.”

“You made up with him after that shitty book he wrote?”

“Kind of. It went sour again, dunno.” Ace paused. “Anyway, I was talking to him, and he said to me, he said, ‘Paul, you won’t believe it, I climbed a telephone pole the other day.’”

“The fuck did he do that for?”

“That’s exactly what I asked him. Word for fucking word.” A short, eerie laugh. “He said, ‘to prove I still could.’ He had to’ve been at least fifty then… fifty and climbing telephone poles. I thought it was stupid. But here I am, sixty-eight and—”

“Sixty-eight and flying is pretty good, Ace, I gotta say.”

Ace laughed a little longer.

“Yeah, well. S’like with anything else, all I need is a little motivation.” He was starting to lean his shoulder against Peter’s, just a bit, casual and easy. Pointing at the people going by, the cars going by. “It could be the same. You just gotta squint pretty hard. Get rid of the gentrification and shit… stick the kids in bell bottoms…”

“Can’t do it.”

“Sure, you can.”

“It’s gone, Ace. Can’t bring it back.”

“You can try.”

“Nah. Don’t it make you wanna go home, now,” Peter half-sang under his breath, “don’t it make you wanna go home—”

“All God’s children get weary when they roam,” Ace kept on with the old Joe South chorus, tuneless as always, “God, how I wanna go home… didja have that record, Pete? I had the 45 way back …”

“Lydia’d only give me a three-buck allowance, Ace, what do you think?” Peter laughed quietly.

“Three bucks? You told me it was a dollar-fifty, man!” Ace shook his head. “Shit, and poor Paulie always bringing you by sandwiches back then ’cause he thought you really were a starving fucking musician—”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for those—"

“I know. He was real sweet. Still is, you just gotta give him a minute to relax.”

“Or five years.” It came out more aggressively than Peter meant it to, and he glanced away, staring at the streets beneath them. Half-full like all the rest of the world. Even the cars looked dismal. None of that toked-up brightness he remembered, none of that hope. The part-time cabbies replaced by Uber drivers, the flowerchildren turned geriatric and bitter with the passage of time. He shook his head.

“Don’t take that long. Just takes being gentle. Gene’s always been real gentle with Paul.” Ace said it without any real rancor. Just matter-of-fact.

“Gentle, my ass. You mean he lets Paul do whatever the fuck he wants. Fucking bends over for him anytime, every time—”

Ace snickered.

“Didn’t used to—”

“Jesus, Ace, don’t remind me.” Peter winced as if the memory of it was really so awful. Or awful at all. He’d never actually witnessed that much out of Paul and Gene back in the seventies. They’d been about as exclusive as rabbits in heat, anyway. What they’d had, what they still had, Peter didn’t envy. “Doesn’t it piss you off?”

“Nah.” Ace shrugged. “Wouldn’t know what to do if somebody treated me like that. I used to think Gene was trying to make up for something, y’know?”

“He is.”

Ace shrugged again. Peter let the silence hang in the air for a moment or two before changing the subject.

“Hey, Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s say this all works out and we bring everybody back. What’re we really gonna do after? Where are we gonna go?”

“Jen—”

“No, really.” Peter paused. His throat felt sticky. “Where are we going to live?”

“Pete, we both got a couple million in the bank, we ain’t gonna be homeless—”

“I know we ain’t gonna be homeless, but we ain’t all gonna be living under the same roof anymore, either.”

Ace’s brow started to furrow up.

“I dunno.”

“What if Paul and Gene want to move back to Beverly Hills with their families? We couldn’t afford it out there.” The disparity between their incomes hadn’t been a big deal in five years, with all their relatively communal living. Especially at first, Gene had taken it upon himself to cover most of the expenditures. Then, once Paul had his bearings back enough to at least glance at legal documents long enough to scribble his signature on them, the two of them had mostly split everything in half. Everything but groceries and gas, really. To Peter, it hadn’t felt like they were living off of someone else’s charity, not at all. But in the real world, in a world back to the way it was… “What we’ve got here is gonna go away.”

“Nah, it won’t.” Ace sounded more self-assured than Peter could readily believe. “You think all it’ll take is us not living together to split us up? Shit, Peter, before the last couple years, we only lived together on the road, and—”

“That’s different, though!”

“’S not.” Stretching out, Ace looked over at Peter, brown eyes focused laser-sharp on his face. “We don’t all got a bond because we’re all in the same house. We don’t got a bond because of the talismans, either. We got a bond because—”

“I know.”

Ace’s lips pursed.

“I—”

Peter reached a hand out, catching Ace’s before he could finish. Ace’s expression tensed, then started to soften, slowly, almost imperceptibly. He nodded, and before long, they both stood up, there on the roof of the Electric Lady , there in six-inch heels and leather, hands still clasped.

“You ready, Cat?” Ace started to smile. “I got you no matter what.”

“’M not afraid of heights,” Peter muttered. “You wanna do a countdown?”

“Nah, you make the time—”

“One, two—three—”

Peter felt the brief, awful lurch of falling for hardly a second at best. Then he was hovering, buoyed up by—he didn’t even know. All he knew was the sharpness of the breeze searing through his skin, blowing back his hair. All he felt was that wonderful weightlessness, that ease, trickling down his spine, heady as a glass of champagne. Unreal.

Ace’s hand tightened around his.

“You gonna fly, Peter, or are we just gonna hang around here?”

Peter only yanked him up with him. Ace’s cackles seemed to soar to the heavens, up and up as they flew higher. Story after story. The people below, and then the buildings, got dimmer and dimmer, blurring out beneath them into pavement gray, each skyscraper like a glittering stalagmite pushing up to the surface as the afternoon sun shot through.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #peter criss #ace frehley #paul stanley #gene simmons

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the-writing-dump-bin · 5 years

Text

Whirlpool (pt3)

Hello! Here is part 3, I left it a little short because what I have to write next, I would get carried away and it would have been too long. This chapter is SFW but I am warning now, part 4 will be N*SF*W. Thanks for reading! (Chapter inspired by the song Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood)

"Welcome, Professor Kujo. My name is Aaron, I am excited to work with you." The blonde haired man greeted. "This is Jessica and Ethan, they are my student assistants."

The two students looked to be about the same age as you and Jotaro.

Jotaro shook Aaron's hand and introduced you. "This is Y/N. She's my assistant." You blushed and gave a small wave. "Hello."

Aaron smiled and greeted you as well. "Right this way, we'll get started." He took you on a small tour of the marine department and showed you where you all would be working the next two weeks.

The place was massive. Tanks and pools with ocean creatures surrounded you; you had to be careful not to fall in.

Aaron stopped at one of the tanks which housed a large sea turtle. "We found this guy with plastic wrapped around his neck on the beach a few months ago. We saved him and brought him here for rehabilitation. We plan on releasing him back into the ocean before you two leave."

Your heart ached for the turtle, but you were relieved it was going to be okay and live its long life. "We really need to find a way to clean the ocean." You muttered to yourself, thinking no one heard you.

Jotaro heard you.

Ridding the entire ocean of waste was an almost impossible task. He felt a warmth in his chest when he saw your genuine concern for the mammal.

---

One week came and went. You were having a lot of fun and learning quite a bit with the hands on work. This was definitely helping with your interest in working with animals.

Jotaro was extremely helpful. He showed you the different types of coral and how to even identify the genders of fish; which you still had a hard time doing. He was patient with you when it came to things you didn't understand.

Walking into the room, Aaron announced that today you all were heading to the beach. "We're going to study the creatures in the tide pools just off of the main beaches, away from the general public. Its also where we'll release Terrence next week before you two leave." He gave you a smile.

You had gotten really close with the turtle and worked with it almost every day, giving him the name 'Terrence'.

No clouds could be seen in the sky; a beautiful, clear day. Perfect for outdoor work.

With nothing covering the sun, the heat was immense. Good thing you had your bathing suit.

You pulled your shirt over your head and disguarded your pants, revealing the purchase you made. The suit you bought covered your chest, almost like a sports bra. The bottom half was cut like boy shorts. It wasn't anything to flaunt, you bought it to do work, not attract attention. Which seemed to be a lost cause with the other female assistant, Jessica. She was barely wearing anything in just her skimpy bikini.

The last few days, she had basically been hanging off of Jotaro; flirting whenever she had the chance.

Why would you care? He's a grown man, he could do want he wanted. But every time you seen her touch him, you felt a tinge of jealousy. And now here she was, showing damn near all her skin on the beach.

"A little under dressed for work, wouldn't you say?" Your tone came out a little snappy.

Jessica pulled her hair into a ponytail. "I dont know how they do it where you're from, but here it's acceptable." Her gaze drifted to the large man, posing as she tied her hair up.

You rolled your eyes and walked to one of the tide pools you came to observe.

Jotaro took one pool a few yards away from yours, examining a starfish he found. Or at least that's what he wanted everyone to think.

Really, his eyes were on you. The way you were looking in that black swimsuit made his heart race. He watched you pick up a seashell and look it over; your eyes so intent.

"Jotaro!" Jessica's sing-song voice chimed. "I'm finished on my pool, would it be okay if we shared this one?"

Jotaro never even looked at her. "I dont care." What he did notice, was a small crab scurrying across the sand towards you.

You were still examining your shell, unaware of the aggravated crustation.

Jotaro jumped up and rushed to your side as fast as he could, but he was too late.

"Owwww!" You shrieked. Jumping up, you noticed the crab, still pinched onto your bottom. "Get off, you son of a bitch!"

"Hold still."

You stopped flailing when Jotaro came up to you. He knelt down and pried tye crabs pinchers off your rear.

It felt like your heart had stopped when you felt your boss's fingers touch you on such a personal area, but you were thankful for his help. "Th-Thank you."

"You sat on its home." Jotaro informed, pointing to a patch of sand that was built up. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, unable to say anything.

A few hours passed and Aaron called it a day; sending everyone home early.

Jessica bounced up to Jotaro and asked if he wanted to join her for dinner, in which he declined with a hard 'no' and you and him went back to the hotel.

Jotaro walked you to your door. "Are you okay? That crab had a good grip on you."

Subconsciously, you rubbed where it had pinched you. "Still a little sore, but I'm fine, thanks."

"Would you like to get dinner?"

You blinked, taken with his question. When he rejected Jessica's offer, you figured he wasn't hungry. But back when it was just you and him, he was the one to offer dinner.

He asked you almost every night actually, if you wanted to eat with him. There were a couple times when you wanted to stay in, so he went by himself.

When you had taken too long to answer, Jotaro took it as you didn't want to and started towards his room.

"Wait! We...we can go eat."

---

"This seems bitter sweet." Ethan, the other student assistant said.

Carefully, you all transported the large tank the turtle was in to the beach; today he would be going back home.

"He improved so much. He belongs back in the wild." Aaron parked the truck and him and Jotaro carried the tank towards the water.

Setting it down, Jotaro shoved his arms in the water and picked him up. You were sad, but also happy the turtle recovered and was going back where he belonged. "Goodbye, Terrence." You gave him a small peck on his head.

Jotaro smiled at your kindness for the animal. He was impressed with your work the last two weeks and was proud of the dedication you shown. When your eyes met his, he nodded and made his way to the water.

Aaron stood between his students, each arm wrapped around their shoulders and watched Terrence make his way home.

You stood next to your boss, a tear falling down your cheek.

Jotaro's thumb wiped it away. "He'll be fine, thanks to you."

A chuckle escaped from your mouth. "Thanks to all of us, Jotaro. I merely just helped."

The sun almost touched the water; night taking the place of day.

"Professor Kujo, Y/N, thank you for your help. The work you two did was outstanding; you guys make a great team."

A team? You blushed. "Thank you, Aaron. This was a great trip and I learned a lot."

Aaron smiled, looking back at Ethan, who was returning from the truck with a bundle of logs. "I know your flight back home is tomorrow, but I hope you two would join us in a celebratory bon fire?"

You and Jotaro looked at each other, almost waiting to see who's answer would come first. It was Jotaro who spoke.

"That sounds fun. We'll stay for a few hours."

Jessica looked ecstatic that Jotaro was going to join them, having complained all day that he was leaving the next day.

---

Aaron and Ethan had provided beers and coolers for the event.

After a few drinks, everyone started to get a little loose and talk about their interests and some life stories.

You were having a great time, but you couldn't stop eyeing at how Jessica was putting herself out there next to your crush. Jotaro's face was nuetral, as always, but didn't move away from her.

You wish you didn't feel this way.

Getting up, you excused yourself and walked to the shoreline and out of sight behind large rocks. Stopping, you stared out at the water, the moon shining off of it.

You were in complete silence for fifteen minutes before you heard a familiar deep voice.

"What are you doing?"

You didn't want to tell him why you left, so you to just said "I just went for a walk."

He stopped at your side, looking out with you. "You did amazing on this trip. I'm really glad you came."

You smiled, bashfully shifting the sand with your bare foot. "I'm glad I did too. It was a great learning experience. Oh, that reminds me. You kept all the receipts from the places we ate at, right? Mr. Westin wants them for records on the corporate card use."

Jotaro inhaled sharply. He did keep the receipts, but they weren't from the corporate card. He hadn't used it the entire trip. Only using his own when the two of you went to dinner or when you guys went shopping. "Y-Yeah. Ive got them."

A chilly breeze from the ocean hit you and you shivered. You would have been better prepared for the night if you've known you'd be staying past sundown. Your shorts and cropped sweater wasn't keeping you warm.

Jotaro noticed your shiver. He gently grabbed your wrists, turning you to face him and pulled you closer, wrapping you in his jacket.

It felt like time stood still. Like the air was taken from your lungs. You could feel how hard his torso was, he smelt incredible. Wait, what was happening? "Sir?"

Both of you felt like your heads were in the clouds but feet planted to the ground. Your heart pounded so hard, you were sure Jotaro could feel it. Deep in the dark part of your mind, you wanted this mountain of a man, but always brushed it aside, knowing it was wrong to be in a relationship with your boss. But with him making the first move, you seen that it looked like he was having the same feelings.

Your hand rose slowly, tracing his neck. He did the same to you, except his other hand hooked a finger in the waistband of your shorts.

Goosebumps raised on your skin when his left hand rested on your waist.

You tried to catch your breath. Those beautiful eyes staring at you in new light.

It looked like Jotaro was coming closer to your face; gaze focused on your lips.

Finally, you came back to your senses. This was the work of the alcohol. It had to be. You didn't know what to do or how to feel, so you stepped back a little. Jotaro did the same.

"I, um... Maybe... Maybe we should just call it a night..." You couldn't look at him, feeling a little embarrassed.

Jotaro couldn't find words, he was feeling the same as you; his face turning a little red. He nodded with agreement.

The two of you returned to the others and said your goodbyes, thanking them for their generosity and help the last two weeks. Jotaro called a cab and him and you went back to the hotel.

#jotaro x reader #jotaro #jotaro kujo #my writing #writing #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo #whirlpool

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dryasiulia · 7 years

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August 21st: Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day

This idea is fantastic and I want to support it as best I can. I’m constantly amazed that you guys take your free time to provide this for us; so this is quite literally the least I can do! There’s a lot more below~~~~~~

I wish I had the time today to reread everyone’s work; AND to read everything I haven’t yet. You all deserve pages and pages of praise; I’m sorry this is all I can do today. In roughly the order in which they were originally consumed:

@claudeng80 Even if it hadn’t been my fanfic introduction (If you don’t count watching GoT), Noble AU would still hold a special place in my heart. Honestly everything you’ve done is amazing. I still haven’t made it through the RIDICULOUS amount of happy you made for us during bingo. And that’s not even considering the ones I DID get to that I want to reread ASAP (omg that fairytale obi dragon one). And of course Snowdrop~~~ No words~~~~ I even enjoy the stuff you do that is outside my wheelhouse *cough* star trek. Plus, Akagami on the Bayou is literally perfection.

@sabraeal It’s lovely to see someone who is so talented spend so much time appreciating and supporting others. The comments/reviews that you (and Joanna and Andi) leave in the community are literally as entertaining as the stories. That said, obviously now I’m going to mention Seven Suitors because duh. It is Canon But Better and I hope there isn't a sekrit counter somewhere that shows how many times Ive read it....maybe even with the Haki B-sides inserted timeline appropriately~~~~ And I don’t have enough time to get into Truth In Masquerade (Or In Which There Will be Ascots; yup, I’m pretty sure that was promised, even if it was just in my head it still counts), modern AU, OFC fae AU (why am I capitalizing AU?), high school, daemons, the kiss of life (I may think about randomly at times) all the bb obi backstory stuff, the amazing haki stuff, and the one shots! Your 100 prompts was frankly, astonishing, and during a Very Bad Time for me. It was so amazing to have something like that to escape to. This workings of this site remain a bit of a mystery to me; things that are original and amazing frequently get missed or ignored; and a picture of a shoe with a cat in it like breaks the internet?

@superhappybubbleslove again with the “someone who is so talented spends so much time appreciating and supporting others” For me, watchtower is like “Uncomfortable RL Canon but Won’t Ever be Canon Because Shoujo” You do such an astonishing job of like Easter Egg Multi Level Pains. As if the over-arching pain isn’t enough; there are little poison barbs expertly sprinkled in specially designed for the utmost torment. Of all the pains (main story pains; not touching the B-SIDE pains because I’m still recovering from Friday) the little ones stick with me the most. Ugh, that part where he drops the spoons is honestly like the worst for me…..I’ve just upset myself again. And likewise with the I REALLY REALLY don’t want to know my reread count xD I don’t have the time to even get started on what Melt, the Mountain Lion au, and everything else deserves. (Like, I’m still kind of angry about how much I enjoy the ballet au - I mean wut?!)

@infinitelystrangemachinex your commentary is ALWAYS +100~ Automation Heart……I love your Shirayuki so much. She’s always a science badass. And the chemistry with Obi, LITERALLY no matter what the set up, is ALWAYS perfect. I’m not comfortable admitting 1. how many times I have read Analysand 2. how many times I then REREread it when you did Overflow — also rereading Overflow obviously and 3. How many times I read St Elmos Fire once I finally realized I hadn’t read it. Let’s just leave it at….a lot…. There are still a few things from last year I haven’t gotten to; someone might point out that I MAYBE would’ve had more than enough time to read those I had I skipped a rererereread or two….don’t pester me with your logics~ I’m sure they are equally amazing; I can’t wait to get to them!

@nebluus Apparently I’ve missed a few things on the classic “you must read” obiyuki lists. However, I have at least read Blizzard. ~~~~A FEW times. It most definitely belongs on the list. Everything about it is perfect. Ugggh….the part about how he would be a great father… “Are you the fire Obi?” Dead. Even though no true relationship stuffs happens it literally kills me every time.

@xaphrin sometimes I worry from your tumblrs you don’t understand how awesome you are; but then I think surely you see how many people tell you your awesome….right?!?! I can be a little bit of a cinnamon bun when it comes to reading sexy times, but I feel like you always try (nay succeed) to include it as part of the Whole Relationship. AND AND AND can we talk about how phone sex AU obi is. the. hottest. obi. Which is so weird…I mean if someone would’ve told me I’d love “phone sex” au I would’ve rolled my eyes. BUT ITS SO GREAT. And obviously diplomacy. OBVIOUSLY.

@ruleofexception for me you are like a box of cakes. (real talk, some chocolates are gross, all cake is delicious) “dead obi with oxygen shirayuki” nuuu please don’t do that….omg that was amazing. Hunger games?!?!?….moar pls all of the hunger games. Disembodied voices??…..amazing yes please (I loved Knowing You so much!!!). Whew and there are many things I haven’t yet said about Fall of the Crown….but I super love it’s gothic feels and I am super excite~~ (The knife naming/giving?!?!!) And you have more I haven’t even gotten to yet; I can’t wait~

@akai-vampire you take the bare-bones of canon and breath life into it~ When the smallest obiyuki bit happens, my initial reaction is “oh god nina will make me pay for this shortly” Late at Night is so lovely; I feel like “what happened if Shirayuki didn’t make it out” isn’t explored much~ And omg that blurted confession in Dreams….. And honestly, if you seriously SERIOUSLY get to 50 in “The Fifty Times You Stole My Heart” you WILL kill me. It’s only at 6 and I can barely make it now~~~ Srs. All of it.

@vivianwisteria okay, the “how Obi and Shirayuki met as kids” canon mystery is ongoing… However, the way you handled it in Adagio Appassionato is my absolute favorite~ (Canon needs to retcon Violin Shirayuki if Sorata ever actually gives us the backstory there.) I love it so much that when you dropped that bomb chapter I MAY have put off a serious work assignment to go reread everything IMMEDIATELY. I LOVE all of Conductor Obi with Issues so much~ Okay, and Love and Other Monstrosities I mean WUT. There are no other words for that…just WUT WUT WUT!!! Whew, and Impasse, the Damon Lindelof (but better) bad guys here are very mysterious and exciting. And OF COURSE I love found in translation…. And obviously I am SO VERY EXCITE about Ex Gratia~

@jaygirl987 The “worldbuilding” for Neighbors is astounding. For srs, you have fleshed out Bruce, THE CAT, more than most fiction manages to with human side characters. I literally can not wait to see where this goes; everyone’s been established so beautifully. I adore your obiyuki relationship one-shots as well. I can’t wait to catch up on the bingo stories I missed!!!!

@meibemeibelline I haven’t finished all of Apple Red and Gold yet…I REALLY need to make a obiyuki “to read” list post it note. However, I did get to Counting Coins and Motel on the Hill during Bingo. I LOVE your storytelling. Your descriptions and atmosphere are wonderful. Counting Coins was adorable, plus Obi as a hot teacher yes please. Motel on the Hill is so lovely~~~ It’s beautifully melancholy. I can’t wait to read the rest; I’m sorry it’s taken me this long!!

@codango obviously the road to Clarines is gravel is amazing. You succeeded where 18 years of my real life experience did not…you made the cowboy aesthetic attractive~ I adore your characterization of EVERYONE in this and I’ve been super excited for every chapter. Seriously, the individual elements should not appeal to me, but your skill and ability made them in to something I love.

@glitter-and-golden Okay, I never knew that I needed a mithra obi, BUT I DID. If I Walk It's With You Beside Me is a pleasure to read~ SO, I’m also a sucker for fictional food; and after I read this the first time I totally had to eat breakfast for dinner~ I love everything about this, Ryuu, their cottage, Zen, sassy mithra Obi. I am so excite!

OMG this was supposed to be faster… -.- I’m past out of time, so please forgive my abbreviated loves:

@onoheiwa - both your kiss stories were absolutely adorable~~ And I loved the amusement park; Obi’s disappointment when the park was closed was perfect. I can’t wait to read the rest of your stuff!!

@krispy-kream - I loved haki as the amyrlin and izana as forsaken SO MUCH. My memories of early WoT are mixed to say the least….If you want to go ahead and redo all the early books I’d be %100 on board with that.

@another-miracle - your intermissions are beautiful~ your prose is also lovely in general, I’m so sorry I’m behind!!! I’m VERY MUCH looking forward to reading everything you’ve given us~

@littleaverill - your role reversal au was great~~~ I love the idea of obi growing up in the shop~ I can only imagine how he’d be different. I REALLY love your style; there’s an element of the unknown and the implied that always leaves me like I just had a piece of cake that was EVER SO SLIGHTLY smaller that I would’ve cut myself — super delicious but if you even want to send me another slice I’d be okay with it! xD

@nonstopdoodle - The Spice of Life was so cute! Ryuu as AI was perfect~~ There was something very nostalgically Firefly about it that I loved so much~ And just ftr, your ponies are SO SO SO CUTE

@rebeccaravenroth - okay, the balcony-plants story for bingo was so adorable. I am fluent in passive aggressive post it notes. I adore your writing style and storytelling~

I’m sorry I left out a few AO3 people that I don’t know their Tumblr blog name or may not be on Tumblr!!!

#fanfic appreciation day #obiyuki #thank you all so much for what you give us #I wish there was more I could do to appreciate you~~~#<3 <3 <3

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future-rp · 6 years

Photo

solar’s lead vocal 2, lead dance aeri

eclipse’s main vocal, center mobius entertainment; music, modeling 12 vocal / 00 rap / 08 dance

i. “ aeri, get dressed for church. ”

sometimes she feels like her parents bask in her miserable glory every sunday morning, on display for anyone to watch. when she complains about the early hour she is being awaken at, they pretend like they can’t hear her. when she dozes off during mass, they pretend like they can’t see her.

“ those shoes are so uncomfortable, they give me blisters. ”

a sharp mind, always observing, analysing, criticizing, looking to improve things. it’s what she is best at, nothing fits her standard, nothing is just good enough for her. she is meant for greater things, there is an obscure calling to greatness within her. even with the seemingly innocent mind of a nine year old she can feel it with every step she takes and yet she cannot exactly pinpoint what it is.

“ if you hadn’t run off after the last mass and gotten the other shoes irreversibly dirty, you wouldn’t be wearing those today. ”

her mother straightens out her dress before admiring her creation. a picture perfect girl, for a split second. within minutes her unforgiving brows would be furrowed, feet jumping into puddles and tearing holes into her new black tights, asking why exactly that guy names jesus died for all of us. a litany of sighs lays heavy over the kang household when sparks of her disobedience start to fly. she swears she can catch a light, swallow a cloud and sometimes she is so determined and convincing that even her parents have to look twice.

ii. “ i’ll see you at church tomorrow, right? ”

now she is seventeen and she is a colt in a bright room, unable to keep still. her sheets are never cold. a carousel of fooling around, in-between empty bookshelves and yellow curtains. the smell of detergent and her mothers’ last wish. she has cut into all of them, sharpening her body, wavering into the limbs in front of her.

“ maybe. don’t know. i’ve got singing practice. and i’m not in the mood anyway. ”

truth is, she is full of dark sobbing and salt. things didn’t go the way she wanted, she realized that when she stared down at her mothers’ coffin being lowered into the cold, wet earth. she is shameful of her hunger, unable to translate the terrible heaviness of her desire to be seen. clumsy and full, a heart and mind wide open, ready to break out of the mundane.

“ you never are. ”

the hypocrisy of her parents parting despite their holy bond makes her sick. then god claiming her mother. despicable. a fraud. she turns to the only thing she knows, the only thing that comes natural to her. nimble fingers rush over the cheap keyboard in her room and the lyrics of baek jiyoung and cho youngpil escape her lips. a young aeri lurks through life like it is an old house, teasing the wallpaper until it falls down. layer by layer, story by story. motions to people with the edge of her voice, with a change of her expression. a handful of videos uploaded onto cyworld grant her a pass to the dingbat audition. she embraces the acceptance like a refuge, an escape from the apathy that has laid claim over her father and household.

“ true. ”

lately she has been trying to dream of something more, but how could it be any different? she negotiates with her quiet, she wanders, she bleeds. but no matter where aeri goes, she returns to the practice room. and dreams of the big stages of this world. aeri seeks to be present. like, really present. feeling every chill crisp morning running through her spine and the sore movement of her legs carrying her forward after another long night of dance practice. the prickly nights lost with the vocal coach as she drags herself through the endless pit that school is at the age of seventeen. cold fingers reaching for a scarf that smells like that place she used to call home. maybe this point was the closest she would ever come to the truth - souls barely laid bare.

iii. “ aeri-ah. i’ve got a message from president ong for you … ”

a handful of girls sitting together around the phone aeri is holding, fingers intertwined and shaky, a slight tremble in their knees. in the middle, aeri, a pillar. she radiates a calm, reassurance. funnily enough, nights ago, a terrible numbness consumed her and she wished to be swallowed up by the dark earth. too many vowels in her mouth, too many crumpled up receipts in her pockets. her mouth twisted into rivers, pouring into too many oceans at once. at times, she says quite a lot and then nothing at all. she always gives too much and takes too little. reaches for people and finds salvation in the gaps of their words. her maturity is admirable, her calm cool exemplary. but, just today the urge to express her own tension lingers within her. have the exterior match the inner racing heartbeat.

“ you’ve been accepted. expect to make your debut soon. ”

everything happens quickly. squeals from her peers, congratulatory pats on her back, whispers and smiles thrown towards her, maybe even a glistening eye here and there. in another universe, she would be telling the truth. tell the manager on the other side of the line how incredibly hard it was. tell them about the sleepless nights spent in agony over tomorrow’s weight monitoring, tell them that the thirty minute bus naps on the way from school to the company were often the best part of her day. tell them that last night she cheated and ate an apple when she wasn’t supposed to, that she wasn’t deserving, that they must pick another girl. instead, she gives the girls around her a gentle smile and puts the phone back to her ear.

“ thank you, manager. you won’t regret it. ”

iv. folks of the entertainment industry speak in idioms and empty platitudes. she feels far away, as if she could go on and plagiarize identities for a while and no one would notice - it is an odd pretending and profoundly unsettling. but at its core is the yearning to begin this chapter of history. it is now that she realized she is terrified of nothing but failure. she is a hungry girl. a woman in love with the humming of the fridge. forever pacing the moonlight, loving in all directions. sometimes she thinks believing in some kind of manufactured god again would be better because she wouldn’t put so much stock in people’s words, in their love. maybe she is a liminal space. an in-between. a gas station on a longer journey. not quite sad. but blurry, dreamlike. a threshold. an exhilarating parenthesis. like a book you’ve read before. when the bitter truth is that she is simply someone searching for savagery. a phrase, a light, a fire. the signs along the way, the spotlight in the middle. and by the end of it all, she has renounced her own name and become more of a sinner than a saint, the almond moon as witness.

#ft. accepted #ft. solar bio #ft. eclipse bio

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originaldetectivesheep · 7 years

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A Life of Riley Part 2: The Building That Had A Grudge Against Furniture Or Something ch 4

Chapter 3

I settled the bottle of wine back on the shelf where it came from, taking a deep breath to stay calm, and running my hand along the rack as I browsed through this rack of overpriced California grape juice for lack of something better to do while Remy was getting his game on across the street. I wanted to stay up by the window, somewhere that I could at least try and keep an eye on the coffee shop, but since Carolína was over there being small and inconspicuous, I didn't have to – and I did have to keep moving if I didn't want to pull clerk aggro in here. As long as I kept my hands in up where the guy behind the counter could see them, though, I ought to be fine: a desi girl in a long coat might be looking to shoplift, and she'd get watched with an eagle eye, but she definitely didn't have a hacked nail-throwing Uzi under that coat and didn't need to get called in to the police as an armed-robbery risk, no sir.

My phone buzzed in my pocket as I came to the end of the rack, where fortified wines started to bleed over into scuzzy liqueurs. I turned around so I'd have both hands between me and the counter; Carolína in our group chat.

>they're paying >well ofc Remy's paying

I snorted and reached over for the smallest bottle of Jägermeister they were willing to leave out where someone might boost it, then made for the counter. I didn't need the fortification, but it'd look sketchy to walk out of here without buying anything, and if I was still feeling the Jäger hit, I'd be more careful and not actually shoot Sandra in the stomach if I didn't absolutely absolutely have to. My phone buzzed again as I put the bottle across by the register.

>she is so DARLING in those glasses I can't even >and girl's finger-along-the-arm-muscles game is elite >dying over here b/c can't squee

I gritted my teeth and took the Jäger, not bothering with whatever my change was (like hell I was going to use a card and prove I'd been in here) as I headed for the door. I cracked the cap, took a deep swallow of the vicious medical sludge, then capped it up again and hummed the nearly-full bottle over at a trash can, weird roots and spices still twisting through my nose as I stepped out into the street. I had to get over, and probably somewhere out of the way, before they came out of the shop, and then had to hold them there with the nail gun until Leo could get over with Carolína's truck. He ought to be coming, but he wasn't here yet – if he got stuck at a red light or something, someone might see me mugging people with a mutant blaster pistol right outside a hipster coffee shop and yell or call the cops or something, and then the whole plan would be in the shit. All I could control was my own part; I unbuttoned my coat one-handed as I hustled across the street, keeping the other hand down in my pocket to keep the gun on that side covered up.

I could already see Remy and Sandra coming around towards the doors as I came up; I ducked in next to a bush over to the side of the entrance, getting my right hand onto the grip of the nailgun, running through in my mind how the damned thing worked even, and how I was going to pull it out. By the corner of my eye, I flicked a look inside; Remy was holding the door back for her and she was coming out, smiling, bright eyes behind exactly like Carolína said a pair of glasses so darling they should be illegal, and then she was turning inside his body, taking his hand again as they came through the door – they hadn't seen me yet, or maybe just not noticed me because I wasn't shooting pink hearts out of my eyes like they were, and over behind them was a black blur that had to be Carolína's Bronco turning around the corner. I looked back and forth quickly, looking for other witnesses, thinking about how I should stand, and then stepped up on them, rocking the gun out of its loop to hold it with both hands, low at my waist, in front of my body so no one inside the shop would see.

"Remy Villeneuve? Sandra Khee?" I asked, almost surprised at how chill I was keeping it, "Can you please just stand where you are. No noise, don't move. Please." Sandra's eyes bugged out at the gun – maybe confusion, because it was pretty obviously a construction implement instead of a normal firearm, and that also opened up a lot of really bad-weird torture possibilities – and looked like she was about to scream. I bobbed the muzzle at her again. "No. No noise. You want to scream, bite your thumb or something. Just stay where you are." The Bronco rolled up next to them, and I nodded at it. "Remy, open the door. Both of you, in the car; in the back seat." Remy opened the door, a hand on her shoulder, and she was confused or shocked enough that he was cooperating that she didn't resist.

I pushed up into the back seat bench after them, Remy unhelpfully between me and her, his arm over her shoulders, and pulled the door shut behind me. So far so good. Now to get gone and de-escalate the situation before someone hit us with a kidnapping charge. The front door banged as Carolína hopped up into the passenger seat, and Leo put the truck back in gear, slowly rolling off the curb and down the street. "All right," said Leo, head-checking as he moved out into the center lane, "so we got her. So now what? Where to?"

"Same place," Carolína said, "same place we planned. I already called my cousin, he has the back room at his restaurant clear, and we can go up there and have our discussion." She turned around in her seat, looking over at Sandra, sunken back like she was trying to disappear into the seat and/or Remy's armpit. "I'm sorry about the gun and things, but we had to be sure you come along, where we can all talk in private. If you want, you can tell your friends where you are: you are going to have a business discussion at Narcos Chivito up on North Campus; if they call there, someone will let you talk when we get up." Sandra nodded, but didn't speak; she seemed to be coming a little more back to herself, but she was still in a car that she'd been forced into at almost-a-gun-point, still on the way to a 'private discussion' in the back room of a Colombian restaurant. It was going to take a little more for her to come out of her shell and answer our questions.

Sandra was definitely still scared, and not super-cooperative, even after we got up to the restaurant, but at least she didn't need to be frog-marched through the main dining room with the nailgun in her back; she came quietly and followed Carolína by the lead of Remy's hand along through the aisle between the tables, and then around through the darkened doorway into the place's private back dining room. She seemed to brighten up a little when Alberto turned on the lights, showing us to a normal set-up table, and when Remy pulled out a chair for her closest to the door. We weren't going to give her the third degree, and if she wanted to run, she could have a head start. I sat down at the other corner, letting Remy and Leo and Carolína fill in around her, both my hands up on the table; the gun was still out in the car, but she didn't have to know that, just that I wasn't holding it on her while we were talking and eating.

In another minute, barely after we'd gotten seated, Alberto was back with a tray of water glasses and a big platter of aborrajados, and that was the ice broken good: it is impossible to think poorly of someone who sets you up with a plate full of gooey cheese-filled plantain fritters. It even got to me; one bite, and I could stop thinking about how she was still, even still, clinging to Remy for support what the hell. Well, two bites, two bites, maybe. I licked my fingers and picked up another one as Leo took a deep breath and leaned in.

"I know people have apologized already, but I want to make sure I do, and the rest of us do. We like you, Sandra; you've been real fun every time we've met you without Sajitha putting a gun on you" – he nodded over at me and I tried to look embarrassed and apologetic with half an aborrajado in my face – "and you've been really, really good to us at the Renfield Arms. But we've heard rumors from the other tenants, and last week, it happened to us, too: our microwave disappeared from nowhere, for no reason. The other tenants haven't been able to get a straight answer out of anyone in the management, and now it's turned into our problem too: we had to do something to make sure that we could all sit down together, that everyone could ask and answer questions; and I'm sorry that it turned out like this. It must have been mad scary for you, and I'm sorry for putting you through that."

"Listen," I said, rolling my water glass between my hands as I put my oar in, "I know, that you know, that maybe probably we can't be cool cool right now because… because of reasons" – reasons that I could see that she definitely understood without me having to say it, and with Carolína grinning at me like that goddamned if I was going to say it out loud if front of the boys – "but I know I was over the line. I shouldn't've pulled out a gun on you, and I'm not going to blame you if you have beef with me because of it. I'm sorry. It was scary and awful and unnecessary, and it was my fault. It wasn't necessary to threaten you to get you to come here; none of this whole big stupid cloak-and-dagger production was necessary, because we, like all of us, we're cool, right? If we'd just asked you over to the apartment, without the truck and the nailgun and the spying, you would have come over and we could have talked this out, right?" I held up another aborrajado. "Well, maybe not over Colombian appetizers, but you get the picture. Actually, yeah, maybe it is better like this." She half-smiled at that, cracking a little; if she could laugh at me, maybe the rest of us would be able to tease some answers out of her.

"Yeah," Sandra said, shaking her head but smiling still, "maybe it is better. If – I – I didn't want this to happen to you, but if it did, then it's better to talk about it out here – if you'd made a lunch date" – she was looking up at Remy with an expression that made me wish the nailgun wasn't still out in the car – "up here, I'd've come, and then you could have surprised me with this and the rest of you." I hadn't thought of that – we hadn't thought of that – maybe because North Campus was kind of far, and maybe because most of the chivitos that this place served from the Uruguayan side of their lunch menu were physically larger than she was.

"So… wait," Leo said, trying to gather facts. "Out here… would be better than the condo? Why? Is there something wrong there?"

Sandra sighed, her eyes flicking from side to side. "I – it's – well, this place, it's just better – the same reason you picked it. It's private – it's away from things – you don't need to worry about being overheard."

"What?" Remy leaned back, almost shocked. "Overheard? Like if you came by the apartment other tenants might be like leaning over listening through the air ducts and stuff? What the hell?"

"No," Sandra said, looking nervously over her shoulder at the door, as if she was scared that someone out there might hear what was coming next. "Not tenants – someone else. Maybe something else." She bit her lip and looked down at her napkin; I elbowed Leo, nodding at the door, and he stood up, craning around to make sure that there wasn't anyone eavesdropping.

He sat down with a huff and a sigh. "Okay. Okay, I get it, that there's something real weird going on, and you don't want to talk about it because you think we'll laugh at you, or there's someone in the door who's going to record it and expose you later. There isn't. You're cool. We're alone here – and the four of us, we're in with the Applied Physics lab, so I promise you, no matter how weird your story is or how dumb it sounds, trust me, we have seen and done and gotten involved with stuff that is much weirder and much dumber." We were all nodding along at that, and Sandra seemed to be perking up a little.

Carolína reached across the table, putting her hand over Sandra's. "Can you please tell us the whole story, from the start, as much as you can? I don' know, if we could do anything about it, but it's got to help to be able to tell somebody. We just want to know, as much as we can, what's going on with the place we're living."

"That, and where in the heck our microwave got to," I said, picking up another fritter. Carolína shot me a look like I wasn't helping, but Sandra didn't seem to notice, and, still looking down, she started in on her story.

"There – even here, even still, I don't feel comfortable just talking about this – there is a ghost in the building. It's haunted." She looked up, looking back and forth across us looking for raised eyebrows, scorn, disbelief, getting mostly just people eating fried banana chunks. Ghosts were kind of a little out there, but we'd all been through some pretty weird stuff, and there had to be more to this story than 'house is lol haunted lol'. "I – I don't know too much about it; I think there was a curse on the developers, someone they evicted when they were buying the land to put the buildings up. It was before I joined the office – I just needed a job and I thought it'd be nice to sell real estate to people who were looking for a good place to live and I could make some money, and I didn't find out about this awful ghost until after I'd already signed a term contract. I – I'm kind of stuck in this; maybe not as stuck as you are, but I'm stuck too.

"The ghost, or maybe the demon – I don't know what its deal is – has some rules, rules about sacrifices. It can't hurt people, but it takes their possessions – maybe that was a thing from the curse, like the tenants' stuff would be stolen, the same way that the witch or priest or whoever that made it had their house stolen. They just… go; it's like they shift planes to another dimension – I don't know if the demon or ghost or whatever bad thing eats them, or if it's just hiding them; I know it's there, and I see what it does, but I don't know anything about it at all." I had a brief and terrible vision of dozens of apartments' worth of shitty student furniture stacked up in some kind of Bed & Bath of the Beyond, a Lost Ark warehouse full of stinky porch couches and ugly rattan tables stretching off infinitely into an elemental plane of housewares; just for a moment, though, because Sandra kept going.

"It seems like it takes a little at a time – on a kind of a schedule, like it's eating for nutrition – and where and what it takes is random. That's why I'm working so hard – that's why I was able to get you such a deal on the condo. The more tenants there are, the less chance that it's any one apartment that has something missing, the next time something disappears. But of course, it's hard – people get afraid, or they get sick of their stuff going missing, and they leave, and then it gets worse for who'sever's left. So I have to be out all the time – always getting new people in." She sighed, shoulders slumped; the strain of keeping ahead of the grind of this job was obviously taking its toll on her.

"So there's that – and also I'm trying to fix it." Sandra folded her hands on the table, looking forward at Leo, committed. "The thing, the demon, is bound to the building: it's stuck there and doesn't get out and haunt the developers, the ones that made the building get cursed. So if it can get through to our world only there, then that means that if it gets pushed out there, it can't come back to our world anywhere – problem solved. So days, I'm always trying to find more tenants, and nights, I'm looking around for exorcists or ghostbusters or stuff – but I'm getting stuck there, too, and I'm running out of options. That was what those guys were, the other night with the fire: they said they were ghost hunters, but they were more like Bill Murray cosplayers with radon meters they scribbled on – I'm in real estate, I know what a radon detector is, you can't fool me." Her voice raised a little, like she was sick of being given the runaround by paranormal bullshitters and glad of the chance to unload on them to some scientists.

"But they're all that's left – I went to the churches first, and they threw me out. The Protestants I tried were weird and started asking me questions about abortions and how many gays lived here; the Catholics wanted a recommendation from my parish priest and eight forms in triplicate and a notarized investigation report from the city before they could even call their exorcism branch. I don't have a parish priest! I'm not even Catholic! I talked to my mom about this and she told me to call the Buddhist temple, but they gave me a five-figure quote and couldn't promise anything – it was too expensive, I couldn't expense it, I'd've had to pay it up front myself and I can't do that, I have student loans still, and they wouldn't come down or only agree to payment if the ghost was banished or whatever.

"So I was left with really nothing, like I found a couple weeks ago these shamans – well, they said they were shamans, maybe just hippies – who said they would smudge for spirits and cleanse the place and I paid them and then when I went to check on them they were still just sitting on the floor of one of the empty condos stoned as hell – they said they were 'smudging', but they were really just smoking all of the weed for five hours straight, and I wasted eight hundred dollars on that and the property office cut my expense authorization back to five hundred, and now the last ghostbusters I wouldn't have to pay travel for are worthless and another tenant canceled their lease yesterday and I don't know what I'm going to do." She took a deep breath, knuckles white as she squeezed her hands together.

"Well, you've come to the right place, then," Riley said from the next table over, and Leo dropped his water glass with a clunk, spilling ice cubes all over the table because seriously jesus hell what the shit was Riley even doing here, "because now probably the only people competent to deal with your 'paranormal' problem have the whole story, and since they're living at your place anyway, we can get right to work."

Carolína was scuttled in next to Sandra, posted up in case she flipped out, and Remy and Leo were frantically trying to dam up the water from Leo's glass with their napkins before it spilled on anybody: it was on me to react. "Riley," I said, still trying to process it myself, "Riley, what the hell are you even doing here?"

Riley snorted angrily and waved a handful of high-piled meat stack at me. "I was having a chivito! Jesus crap, you guys all take the whole afternoon off and play mafia, and I can't go out and have a chivito if I want? What the hell?" I squinted down, trying to keep my cool; that wasn't any kind of rational answer, and super avoided the part where Riley was posted up in what should have been our private room, but it was all the answer we were going to get, and it wasn't productive to fight about it any further.

I rubbed my forehead with my hand. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. Whatever works. Sandra, this is Riley – Riley Kannacheskis, the head of the Applied Physics lab, the person who can always solve your problem, after you've exhausted all the options that make sense or won't set things on fire. Riley, this is Sandra Khee, the agent who rented us our new apartment – and like you heard when you were eavesdropping, she thinks we've got couch-eating ghosts."

"And – it's just like Sajitha said," Sandra said, looking up at Riley with more hope than anybody who'd ever been in contact with the AP lab before could see as reasonable, "I am out of other options. What you said – you mean that your lab, your friends here, could get rid of the demon?"

Riley took another hinge-jaw bite of chivito and swaggered around the divider partition that had allowed us to believe we were alone here when we came in. "I don't know that you've got a 'demon'; I don't put a lot of stock in religion or parallel worlds. But you look at the facts: physical objects move from their place, or get dislocated. That happens. That's a thing. These are real objects with real mass; whatever's doing them answers to the real laws of physics – and so do we.

"These things that 'disappear', they've got to go somewhere. There's a little thing called the conservation of matter and energy that means that if they were really popping out of existence, you'd have a really deep and really radioactive hole about where you've got your condo complex. So they're being moved, and the best guess at why and how is that someone's manipulating their coherence to the broad-scale quantum state space: they're displacing themselves, or these random bits of furniture, in a directed random walk that arrives in a coherent state where the microwave or whatever dislocates itself out of the apartment into somewhere else. I won't bore you with how the math behind this works, but basically, every particle in the universe can translocate itself hell of far essentially at random: the reason classical physics works is that doing this at all with particles, let alone at the macro scale with stuff we can see, is so unlikely it's practically impossible. Nearly all of a given particle's potential adjacent spaces on the q axis, time, the fourth dimension, are also right next to its prior position in x-y-z, the physical three-dimensional space we can perceive. But it's not all of them, and you can work the corners on this stuff."

Riley took another bite, and swallowed, and went on. "And in another quantum coincidence, this physics lab you're renting to is probably more knowledgeable about deliberately manipulating quantum frames of reference than anybody this side of the Large Hadron Collider. We've got the know-how, we've got the equipment, and we've got the guts to not just look at unlikely parallel parts of the state space, but to go and do something about it. You get us and our equipment over in your building, under the right conditions, and maybe we won't like 'exorcise' your 'demon', but we'll definitely make sure of what the hell's going on, and we might even be able to do something about it."

"Really? Really? Do you think you could? If it's not too expensive – really, could you? I'm not sure that I follow the science, but – I – I kind of get it, and it definitely sounds better than middle-aged men with radon detectors and caution tape. Could – could I ask you to try?"

"Sandra – if, if you're like attached to this development or the idea of it not having flaming holes in it, could you maybe not?" Remy asked, but Sandra wasn't listening, and if she wasn't listening to Remy nobody was going to be able to talk her out of it, and I didn't know how I felt about that.

"Certainly," Riley said, smiling wide, ignoring how the rest of us were trying to not make this deal, "step over into my office, over the other side where I've got my phone and the rest of my french fries, and we'll see what we can do. I probably won't need a retainer up front, but we will need detailed blueprints of the whole complex, and if you can get me unfettered access to a machine room or something, anywhere with 240-volt main plugs, I'll take it as soon as you can give it over. How about it?" Riley gestured back over the partition, and Sandra stood up, walking around Carolína's chair, nervous, excited. Leo slumped down onto the table, head in his hands, as they started to chatter away about specs and price quotes.

"Great," he said, "just awesome. I'm going to make history – two apartments burned down in the same month. What are we going to do? It was skin of my teeth to catch up on notes after the last place burned down – if I lose all my books again I'm gonna fail out for sure."

I patted him on the head, faint sympathy and the least little bit of a jealous flash from Remy. "I didn't sublet my old place on Morgan," I said, "so you all can go and throw your books or notes in there. And stop feeling so bad for yourself," I went on. "I mean, when this one goes up in smoke, we're all going to be sleeping under our workbenches this time."

"God, I wish I had enough hope to correct you and say 'if', not 'when'." Leo rolled his head over to get out of the water he'd spilled, and Carolína stood up to yell at her cousin to get us some aguardiente already.

Chapter 5

#nanowrimo #alifeofriley #fiction #chivito places need to also be a thing outside of uruguay

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