#joker drinks brandy

[xxvalkyriesxx]

The Joker and the Queen - Chapter Three

For @emeriethevalkyriegirl 🩷 @acotargiftexchange

Masterlist // Chapter Two // Chapter Four AO3 // read below

Every year, the city of Velaris hosts a week long festival, the Carnival of Stars. It's the biggest event of the year, people from everywhere travel to Night Court County to partake in the special events. Every year, the festival ends on the Winter Solstice, with a performance by the Velaris Ballet Company. And every year they perform the holiday classic, The Nutcracker. However this year, the director of the company has decided to shift gears. This year, the ending performance will be, The Lady and the Fool. A show that follows a royal lady falling in love with a court jester, despite what society says. The director wants to bring a whole new experience to the show. And the twist is that the fool will not be played by a fellow dancer. So instead, they decide to cast a local Winter Solstice tree farmer. What could go wrong? OR Nesta Archeron is the principle ballerina of the Velaris Ballet Company, playing the lead role of The Lady and the Fool, with her counter part, Cassian Pine.

AN: Hello Hello! We're back with the third chapter! I hope you all enjoy, espeically you @emeriethevalkyriegirl. Note: Ester is @emeriethevalkyriegirl's OC. <3

Ten weeks until Winter Solstice.

“He brought his dog!?” Emerie exclaimed.

The dancer took a tiny sip of her drink, careful of the heat steaming from the mug. She ordered it the same way every time: a large dark hot chocolate with whip cream, toasted marshmallows, cinnamon, chocolate drizzle, and extra sprinkles.

“Yes! Can you believe that?” Nesta huffed, taking another small sip of the hot chocolate.

It was October so the mountain air had grown cold over the last few weeks. Winter would be knocking on their front doors soon enough. Nesta smiled softly at the thought of her favorite season as she counted down the days until the predicted first snowfall. There was a widget on her phone that had the snow predictions all year long. 

Most people would shy away from the cold, but Nesta only thrived in it. Perhaps it was the coping mechanism her younger self created as it was the one time of year that her mother would stay inside her townhouse, fearing the snow and icy roads. Any other time of the year, her mother followed her like a shadow and made passive aggressive comments.

Nesta loved the winter season more than just being a barrier from her mother. There was something beautiful in the stillness the cold weather created. A frozen scene laid before her eyes everywhere she turned. And then of course the decorations for winter solstice just made the nights so stunning. The lights and trees and beautifully wrapped presents. The smell of peppermint in the air brought out a small joy in her.

Of course she shared her favorite season with the birth of her youngest sister. While they had their quarrels growing up, Nesta and Feyre had a healthier relationship now as adults. But she wasn’t entirely close with either of her blood-related sisters compared to her found sisters. Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie had all found each other during troubling times in their lives.

“We’re just bonding over the endless amount of fuckery that life gives us.” Gwyn poured all three of them a shot of brandy, laughing at Emerie’s comment. She passed a glass to each sister before she held her own off the counter. “To the trauma that makes sisterhood.” 

“To the shit we still have to deal with.” Nesta mumbled, a small smile upon her lips.

“To the endless amount of therapy bills.” Emerie shouted.

The three found sisters threw back their shots before all of them scrunched up their noses and made faces as the alcohol went down their throats, burning.

Memories of their friendship burned the brightest in Nesta’s mind when she thought of her loved ones. It didn’t mean she didn’t love Elain or Feyre, she did, but Gwyn and Emerie understood in ways that her younger sisters didn’t at all. 

Her parents were a different story when it came to loved ones. Complexiliaty ran its course for Nesta when it came to both of them. She wasn’t particularly close with either of her parents, but eventually her father had apologized for how he was never there for her or his other daughters. 

And barely being twenty then, Nesta assumed her relationship with her father would only improve from there. However life had other plans when Nesta’s father died in a car accident not long after he spoke to her. What goes up must come down eventually, six feet into the ground.

Josephine was solely dependent on her husband, so naturally Nesta was the next one in line. Thankfully their father had drafted a will a year prior after a close family friend’s husband died unexpectedly, leaving that family with nothing. He left his wife his entire estate and majority of his savings. All three daughters were left a decent amount in a trust fund. Their family wasn’t struggling compared to others, but Josephine’s temper had darkened since her husband passed. 

It was common knowledge between Nesta and her sisters that Josephine never wanted to be a mother and then she became a single parent, their only parent. For a while after his death, Nesta would spend an ungodly amount with her mother, wanting to shield her younger sisters away from the shit storms that spiraled. It was a major reason why Nesta chose to attend the local university instead of going abroad. 

Josephine’s behavior was slowly chipping away at Nesta through the years, even after graduation. It wasn’t until Gwyn mentioned to her that she needed to rely on her sisters more. 

“You all grew up in that house together. Maybe you weren’t raised by the same person, but you love them and they love you. It’s okay to rely on people when you need to.”

It gave Nesta a spoonful of courage to speak to her sisters a few years ago, discussing their mother. Nesta was the last one to move out and still was spending time with their mother weekly. The three sisters expressed how awful their childhood was with their parents. Josephine held each of her daughters to different standards; standards they could never reach.

“She wanted me to be an art history professor at the local university. And while I love art history and teaching, I love teaching art classes to all ages at my studio. Especially little ones and older people. They’re my favorite groups to teach. Anyone can be an artist with enough practice.” Feyre mentioned.

“Mother deemed me beautiful enough to settle for any rich man. But that was it. I wasn’t supposed to be smart, let alone a public school biology teacher. I’m the first one in the whole family to have a master’s degree. She didn’t even try to come to my graduation.” Elain spoke softly.

“I was her creation. She wanted me to be as powerful as a queen, but I’ve never enjoyed politics to that degree. I found freedom in dance, where it was me pushing myself to the higher standard, not her. She hates how it’s become my life, but I honestly haven’t been happier than when I'm on stage.” Nesta’s pain laced through her words.

It was there that the three decided to share the dreaded responsibility that was their mother. Each week one of them would spend at least a day with her. She would complain, yell, and gossip about her other daughters. It was driving them all mad, but Josephine played the guilt card over and over again that it became a permanent resident in their minds.

A sigh settled from Nesta’s lips, thinking about her family, when her phone buzzed. Pulling it out of her cardigan pocket, she saw a text message from Feyre.

Traumatic Shitter: Convince me not to get blackout drunk when I get home from mother’s.

Trauma Slut to the group chat, “DSAMA (Daughters Surviving Abusive Mothers Anonymous)”: That bad, huh?

Traumatic Shitter: Alcohol isn’t a good coping mechanism but I fear that’s the only way I can wash out the things mom says. Also, is it rude to say that she needs to get laid?

Traumatized Succulent: Don’t you have an art class to teach tomorrow morning?

Trauma Slut to the group chat, DSAMA: Ew, I don’t want to think of our mother getting laid. 

Traumatic Shitter: What if mom gets laid before you do again?

Trauma Slut: I hope you shit yourself again before you make it to the bathroom

Traumatic Shitter: STOP BRINGING UP MY GI ISSUES!

Traumatized Succulent laughed at “What if mom gets laid before you do again?”

Traumatized Succulent liked “I hope you shit yourself again before you make it to the bathroom”

Traumatic Shitter: YOU’RE NOT HELPING ELAIN

Fighting back a smile, Nesta shook her head before slipping her phone back in her pocket when a flash of red hair caught her eye as the door opened. A wide grin crossed her lips, seeing Gwyn speed walk to the booth before sliding down next to Emerie.

“Sorry I’m late! Azriel and Ester showed up to the store unannounced right as I was closing up.”

“Well good thing the kid was there. Who knows when you would’ve showed up if it was just Azriel.” Emerie observed, giving Gwyn a look over, searching for any stolen kisses that had left their mark.

“Em!” Gwyn scolded before she hit Emerie on the arm, who laughed at her reaction.

Nesta smiled at her two best friends while they bickered back and forth. Eventually a waiter came on by asking for Gwyn’s order.

“I’ll take a cheeseburger with extra pickles, tomatoes, onions, mayo, and no lettuce Oh! And old bay fries!” Gwyn cheerfully said.

The waitress looked bored out of her mind as she wrote down Gwyn’s order before walking away.

“Oh! And can I have a Pepsi Zero Cherry flavor?! I know Delvon has that stocked up somewhere!”

From the kitchen’s open window, a man’s voice called out. “Not a chance, Berdara!”

Gwyn opened her mouth but the man spoke again. “And don’t bring up your police officer boyfriend! That card has been used and is now expired. Get your own.”

She stuck her tongue at the window before she turned her gaze to her friends. “Rude.”

“Delvon makes great food, but that’s the only reason why anyone comes here. The service is terrible.” Emerie mumbled. Nesta nodded in agreement, taking another sip of her hot chocolate. 

Pulling her drink away from her lips, Emerie and Gwyn began to giggle. Gwyn tried to cover her hand over her lips, but the grin peaked through. Emerie threw her head back, her shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“What?” Nesta asked. “What’s so funny?”

Gwyn pointed to her own upper lip, mimicking something on them. Flushing pink, Nesta grabbed a nearby napkin, wiping her mouth. The cream easily came off, although she licked her part of her lips, savoring the peppermint taste. Nesta playfully rolled her eyes as her friends continued to laugh before she joined in.

“This is a restaurant, not a comedy house!” Delvon yelled from the kitchen.

“Bastard.” Nesta mumbled underneath her breath.

“So, you mentioned something about a dog in the group chat?” Gwyn asked Nesta. The waitress returned with a burger and a pepsi, placing it in front of the red head, before walking away. Her friend took a sip then proceeded to pout, probably at the lack of cherry flavoring.

“Apparently at auditions today for the ballet, a guy showed up with his dog.” Emerie chimed in.

Gwyn tilted her head. “Like a service animal?”

“Nope.” Nesta’s lips popped on the ‘p’. She stirred her drink around with a candy cane, wanting to erase everything from those auditions.

“I mean, who does that? That’s an insult to ballet! To art itself.”

“I mean it sounds kinda funny…” Emerie joked.

Nesta glared. “It’s not.”

“How did my cousin take that?” Gwyn asked. The world was small knowing that Nesta’s boss just so happened to be Gwyn’s oldest cousin “He gave the guy the spot, no questions asked!” Nesta said, glaring at her drink, the heat was slowly fading away.

Peering at her, Gwyn asked yet another question. “Are we sure you’re not mad about something else?” 

“What do you mean?”

Gwyn shrugged. “It sounds like it’s more the guy than the dog or my cousin. And if my unofficial detective radar is going off correctly, you know this man.”

Emerie perked up, looking at Nesta. “You didn't say that!”

Nesta waved to her friends, making an “x” motion with her arms. “No! I don’t…I mean…I don’t know him.”

“But?” Her friends pressed.

Sighing, Nesta slumped in her seat. “It’s the guy from last year, the one who gave me his number.”

“You mean the same one who’s number you lost?!” Emerie exclaimed.

Nesta shushed her. “I would rather not have the whole diner know my personal business.”

“Nesta! It’s been a year! You told us he was hot!”

“That’s besides the point!”

Emerie raised a brow. “Then why the cold feet?”

“I don’t know…Maybe my mother’s right…I am too much.” Nesta curled her arms around herself, her mother’s voice sinking through her mind. 

“Do you always have to be so opinionated? It’s not ladylike, you know.”

“Nesta please, you are just too much sometimes. No man will want you if you keep that up.”

There was a soft grip on her arm, making her lift her head from the dreaded thoughts. Gwyn’s eyes eased with a gentleness that Nesta had grown to cherish. Taking a deep breath, Nesta adjusted her position, easing herself from a spiral. Emerie held out a hand for her that Nesta instantly took. Gwyn took Emerie’s other hand, squeezing gently. The three friends shared a look between them all before they leaned in so that their heads were close together.

Gwyn spoke quietly. “It’s easy to fall for the words in your head.” Smiling, Emerie continued. “But when you hear those thoughts.” Finally, Nesta concluded their little mantra. “Tell them to fuck off.” 

Pulling away, the three smiled. It was something they came up with years ago while they discussed their traumas and fears. It wasn’t a cure all for the challenges they faced, but it saved them from drowning too deep.

“So, run that by us one more time.” Gwyn asked, taking a sip of her cold soda.

Nesta pursed her lips. “I guess I was nervous…I still am. I mean the guy is so tall, and he apparently runs the winter solstice tree farm around here.”

Gwyn raised an eyebrow before she coughed, her hand hitting her chest. Nesta sat up, grabbing a few napkins. Emerie hit her back hard, making Gwyn wince. “Fuck you.” She croaked

“Listen, it helped right?” The two glared at one another before laughing.

“Sorry, I guess I never heard those details before about the mystery man.” Gwyn sheepishly said.

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Well I didn’t know until today…Do you know something, Berdara?”

Before Gwyn could respond however, Emerie pulled out a set of cards, placing them on the table. Nesta sighed, rolling her eyes. “Not again, Em.”

“Matilda doesn’t lie! You need to put trust in the deck, Nesta.” Emerie shuffled her tarot deck before spreading them across the table. Gwyn made sure to shift her dinner plate away from the spread. “Let’s see if this guy is even worth being in your life.”

Nesta had her quarrels about Emerie’s tarot card readings. She didn’t necessarily believe in it all, but there were times that Emerie had given them readings that hit too close to be real. “Who even names their deck?” Nesta teased.

“I do, witch. Now choose three cards. These three cards will represent your past, present, and future. We’ll keep it simple and just relate it back to your love life. Do not flip them until I say, okay?”

“Fine.” Nesta’s voice dragged before she glanced down the deck. Her fingers floated above the deck. The cards were black with silver stars painted on the back. Her fingers landed on the first card, near one end of the deck. Gently, Nesta pulled the card away, making sure to keep it facedown. Following suit, Nesta grabbed two more cards from various parts before all three were in front of her.

“Okay great. Now hold on.” Emerie went through her bag before pulling out a book that was close to falling apart. The spine was loose, coffee stains were easily spotted, the pages were doggy-eared. Nesta shutter a little while looking at it. “Alright, go ahead.” 

Picking up the first card, Nesta flipped it over and blinked once then twice. It was death, but upside down. Her gray blue eyes floated to Emerie’s hazel golden ones. “That first card represents your past. Continue to the next one.” Emerie encouraged her. 

The second card Nesta flipped over was the one in the middle. It was The Fool, but right side up this time. Her hands pushed up at her cheeks. What are the odds I get a card of the same name of the damn ballet.

“Okay, cool! This is your present. Now it’s time for your future. Flip the last card.”

Not wanting to keep the suspense, Nesta immediately flipped the last remaining card over. The card happened to be The Lovers, again rightside up. Her stomach flipped uneasily, staring at the final card. 

Emerie glanced at all three cards as her gaze wandered from those to her book. She went back and forth before shutting the book. “Alright, well this is quite interesting.”

“Oh this is going to be good!” Gwyn said before biting into her burger.

“So let's start with your past. You have The Death in reverse. Which means the following, you have a fear of change and you would rather decay away before changing anything first.”

Gwyn whispered low. “Yikes.”

“I don’t need your commentary, peanut gallery.” Nesta glared at Gwyn. The redhead only playfully glared back, knowing that her found sister all too well.

“Is the card referencing Tomas?” Nesta complained to Emerie.

Emerie shrugged. “I mean, was he your last boyfriend?”

“..Yeah.” Nesta sighed.

“And didn’t you swear off anyone after things ended between the two of you?”

“Fuck, Tomas! Fuck relationships. I don’t need that. I have my books, I have you two. I don’t need anything else!” Nesta pursed her lips, refusing to answer. That was about two years ago. Nesta hadn’t been with anyone since.

Emerie got the message, giggling slightly. “Right, well onto the next card. We have The Fool right side up.” She pointed to the middle card. “This means that in your present, there's a sense of new beginnings, free spirited, and perhaps even innocence.”

“I’m hardly innocent, Em.” Nesta huffed.

She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t need to mean the innocence of a virgin, at least not for your case. It could mean that you’ll experience something new.”

“What exact new thing am I going to experience?”

Gwyn held a fry in her hand, a bit of mayo and ketchup on the tip. “Well for starters, you have a dance partner who doesn’t know how to dance, and yet the two of you will perform together.”

Emerie held up her hand to her business partner. “Stop swinging your food around.” She then turned to Nesta. “But Gwyn has a point.”

Nesta groaned. “Please don’t remind me.”

“And lastly.” Emerie said, choosing to ignore her friend. “The lovers. This card represents your future. It was right side up, so your future could hold a partnership or a union with something.”

“So in simple terms, maybe give the guy a chance. You never know what you’ll get out of a guy like that.” 

Gwyn smiled brightly before eating her food.

“You say that as you know Cassian.”

“Is that his name?” Emerie whispered.

Gwyn coughed. “Never met a Cassian in my life.”

Nesta blinked, watching Gwyn try to fight a smile off her face. She rubbed at her freckled covered arm, avoiding Nesta’s gaze. The bookstore owner seemed squeamish the more Nesta stared at her.

“What do you know?” Nesta asked, her nails began to tap against the table.

But before Gwyn could say anything more, her phone rang. Pulling it out of her pocket, the FaceTime ringing tone echoed around the restaurant. A few people looked their way before shrugging off the sound.

“Az–Oh Hi Ester. What’s up?” Gwyn answered.

Ester was Gwyn’s and Azriel’s foster child that had been living with them for a few years. While she was a little trouble maker, the girl was also very sweet.

“Gwyn! Look at the kittens! I dressed them all in matching solstice outfits!” Ester giggled.

The redhead awed at the screen then showed her friends who followed suit. There three black kittens dressed in traditional solstice red hats and sweaters for the winter season. Emerie pouted at the three little animals while Nesta’s cold stare melted into a bright smile. 

Since she was young, Nesta loved cats. However, her mother always forbade the family from getting pets. She thought she could finally get one after she moved out, but since Emerie was allergic to fur, Nesta still wasn’t able to have any pets in her home.

“Emerald, Alice, and Emily are going to get their payback one day, kid.” A deep voice said off screen.

Gwyn’s face blushed slightly, Emerie and Nesta shared a knowing look.

“Hi Azriel!” They shouted.

Gwyn rolled her eyes at them before standing up to continue the call off to the corner for some privacy. The remaining friends laughed quietly before settling into the booth once more.

“So, do you have any questions regarding your cards?” Emerie asked, taking a few of Gwyn’s french fries.

“You’re never gonna let this go, huh.”

“Maltidia doesn’t lie. Whether you choose to believe it or not is a different story.”

Nesta shrugged, pulling her cardigan back on feeling the cool breeze from the evening slip from the door whenever people entered or left. Her index finger wrapped itself in the thread that was loose. The cardigan was older than her, and for whatever reason when she wore it, Nesta felt a bit better no matter the situation. “How do I know I can trust it?” Nesta asked, her voice soft as her gaze remained on the thread.

“You don’t. But that’s life right? You don’t know you’re going to stick every landing when you leap in dance. But you do it anyway.”

“I do it anyway because I know how to protect myself.” Nesta glanced at Emerie.

“But you didn’t always know how to do that.” Emerie responded. She took Nesta’s free hand, squeezing it lightly.

“Love is a lot like that. Sometimes you just have to fall to know.”

Nesta rested her head on Emerie’s shoulder. “When did you get so wise?”

Emerie snorted. “When I have two dumbasses as best friends.”

The two chuckled with wide grins while Gwyn made her way back to the booth.

 “Azriel is about to drop off Ester at home before getting me. Do you guys need rides at all?”

“I think we’ll be okay.” Emerie said. “I mean we are roomies after all, so you can rest assured that I can get the prima ballerina home safely, mam.” She faked saluting Gwyn.

“I’m putting all of my trust into you, madam Emerie.” Gwyn’s voice spoke with a fake elegance.

“You both are trouble.” Nesta said, trying to fight the grin off her face.

“Sure, but you love us.” Emerie teased.

“You are after all, the baby between the three of us.” Gwyn winked.

That was something that took Nesta a while to figure out. With her sisters she was the oldest, but between her two best friends, she was the youngest. The three hugged one another, wrapping their long sleeved arms around their backs. 

“I’ll see you guys later! Give him a chance, Nesta!” Gwyn called out as she went to pay for her dinner at the register.

“Well, ready to go?” Emerie aske, getting up. Gwyn had already left, the trail of long red hair gone.

Nesta nodded. “Let’s get home. I have a very long week ahead of me.”

______________________________________________________

Meanwhile…

“So, why are you not telling Nesta that you know Cassian again?” Azriel asked once more as he pulled into their driveway. Gwyn peered around as the car’s engine stopped.

“She’s in bed, you know.” He said, noticing his wife’s behavior.

“When has that ever stopped her, Az?” Gwyn asked. 

Their foster daughter had been the addition they needed for their family, but they soon learned that Ester could be quite sneaky and often heard too much stuff that she had no business hearing. When questioned about it, she would say she wants to follow in Azriel’s footsteps and become a detective one day.

Azriel rolled his eyes before tilting his head. “Why are you lying to Nesta?”

Gwyn’s jaw dropped. “I’m not lying! I don’t want to influence her relationship with Cassian. It should be completely natural. It’s her first big crush in so long.”

“What relationship? You just told me she hates him.”

“Azriel, keep up! She likes him! Isn’t it obvious?”

“She doesn’t even know him?” He countered.

“Isn’t he the one who proposed to her when he first met her?!” Gwyn said.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That was not his brightest moment.” 

Reaching for his hand, Gwyn rubbed small circles along the burn marks. Watching him smile softly, she leaned over and kissed him gently before pulling her mouth away.

“One of my best friends is experiencing something so new to her. I want to see her thrive again, Azriel. It’s been so long. And I texted Eris about it earlier. He said he hasn’t seen Nesta express that much emotion in so long!” She smiled at the thought of her friend. “I know Cassian can be the man that gets her out of her head. Sure he doesn’t make the wisest decisions, but Nesta doesn’t always either. I mean she practically ruined the rum cake last year when she switched out the rum for tequila.”

Azriel cringed at the memory. “How did she fuck that up again?”

Gwyn shrugged. “All liquor is the same to her. It’s the reason why she isn’t the baker in her family.

“Well, she’s your friend. So I trust that you know what you’re doing.”

“And you promise not to swindle Cassian’s relationship with Nesta?” Gwyn narrowed her eyes.

“Scouts honor.” Azriel held out his hand.

“You were never a scout.” She corrected playfully.

He hummed, pulling her close. “Perhaps…” His kissed cheek, right near her lips. “ I started to read the latest book on your kindle when you left this morning, by the way.”

Gwyn turned as red as her hair. “You did what?!”

“Who knew you were into holiday romances, Gwynth.” Azriel smirked. “It’s time to sit in the lap of High Lord Solstice.” He winked, scooping her into his lap. She laughed while Azriel adjusted the seat, the sound of the backrest slowly moving downward. Leaning over him, Gwyn’s lips practically touched Azriel’s.  “Have I been a naughty girl, Lord Solstice?”

His hand went to cup her backside. “I fear that you have, Baby. And I’ll need to punish you–”

And then someone was knocking on the car window, making Azriel and Gwyn scramble. She leaped out of his arms, trying to climb back into the passenger seat. Gwyn was pretty sure she busted her knee into the gear shift as she moved. Azriell brought the seat back up, although it took a few seconds to have it be up right again. He pulled his hair back before glaring at the person by the window.

Standing by the car, was their foster daughter, holding each of her kittens in her arms. Both of them groaned, getting out of the car.

“You know that can be a criminal offense. Indecent exposure I mean.” Ester said, looking sheepishly between them. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Azriel questioned her. “Shouldn’t you?” Ester asked back.

Gwyn nodded. “She does have a point. We have work.” Then she looked at Ester. “And school.” Her arms wrapped around Ester’s shoulder and Azriel’s, the three of them walking to the front door. “So let’s get inside before High Lord Solstice puts all three of us on the naughty list.”

“Last one has to empty the dishwasher–” Azriel and Ester had already taken off, however. Gwyn yelled as she went to catch up.

~*~

AN: First off, that's as spicey as this gonna get. This is rated T after all lol. Secondly and more importantly, Pepsi Zero Cherry is far by the best soda -- Don't @ me!

Trauma Slut: Nesta Traumatic Shitter: Feyre Traumatized Succulent: Elain

Up next is Cassian's first lesson and possible the fall out D: You'll just have to wait and seeeeee!!!

[cquackity]

cwilbur doing joker dance on the lnv road "WHITE STREAK IN MY HEAR BUT NO STRESS NOW!!!!" cq is watching from the needle

cq tugging on his collar drinking his brandy while it's snowing and he's watching like is anyone else feeling a little hot right now or is it just me...? anyway

[iamtarotbae]

Sun in Aquarius Download

Self-esteem will be healed by drinking water and cleaning your dishes. Clean your fish tank.

You spend a lot of money on finding love. You don’t even like bars and liquor. You were more endearing as a goodie-two shoes. Those people who mocked your joy and happiness may not even have feet anymore more to over emphasis their disconnection from spirit. Pisces being both the feet, the door, and the HDMI cable to god. Aquarius bring the Ankles are very close to the feet. It’s like a fraying phone changer cord.

Speaking to The King of Wands won’t help you overcome your troubles even if they are nice.

It doesn’t feel like magic when it takes so long.

But you are waiting for planets to align.

“The Wheel of Fortune”

Just read your horoscope and wait for your magic to work.

There were things in your past you were totally addicted to and they totally disgust you now.

If you keep thinking about your childhood everyday you’ll repeat it. And how boring to watch the same movie over and over.

You are attracting true financial literacy and no more over spending and facades.

You deserve more than to be some joker no matter how intelligent, mystic, and respectable the fool is.

Bigger purpose than simple jiggle tv.

Kitty and Red, people need parents from the 70s and the 90s or even in their 70s and 90s; they still need to ask their parents questions.

You know how to contact spirit on your own but sometimes your need confirmation.

I see a Sagittarius returning from the figurative grave.

They might be a dog they ran away or presumed dead but they ok.

Use your home as the gym and dog park.

Be strong.

Don’t steal from your friends its a bad vibration.

Fucks up the clothes you are trying to manifest.

Jacob and his dream coat.

Secretly you have already won because they are all drunk on Brandy.

Lion Fish

Angel Fish

Are reminders that success and beauty are possible for you as well.

Small synchronicities can lead to bigger “relocations” revelations.

[dhampiravidi]

DCtober Prompts 22-24

22. Downtime 23. Rescue 24. Laughter

22) When Jayn has a rare several hours of downtime, she'll have a spa or a beach day, accompanied by her siblings and/or her significant other. She doesn't have many "friends" because of the big secret she has to protect, but she does have acquaintances in Gotham who know her as a civilian, while some superheroes are very dear to her, too. At night, she usually has training and then sex, since those tend to comfortably tire her out before bed. Otherwise, she has a busy schedule more often than not.

Rose most commonly looks to drinking and yoga as her recreational activities. Her alcoholic beverage of choice is the Shadow Woman (made with bourbon, pear brandy, honey & Angostura bitters), but she doesn't mind substituting with just peach brandy or some mint tea with honey in it. Yoga helps Rose remember to stretch (sometimes solving mysteries involves running) and how to center herself, as she needs to do when attempting astral projection.

23) Jayn tried looking for her mom once she got over the shock of seeing her get kidnapped. The then-thirteen-year-old went to the Batcomputer and did her own kind of extensive research, but the computer was more for forensics and crime investigation. She would go on to look for her mom after Jayn had run away from Gotham/her father...but she didn't find her. However, Jayn had discovered that she had been taken by the organization CADMUS, an R&D center based in Metropolis. The group is infamous among heroes for its deals with shady people and its horrible experiments performed on superhuman beings. So now Jayn has to figure out which CADMUS building her mom is in, then go get her. She's scared that her mom is already gone.

Rose's stepfather was an investigative journalist, so he had a few stories about being behind enemy lands (all of which she loved). Her mother was an interpreter for both kids and adults who only knew English, French, British Sign Language, and/or Spanish. In this way, her parents inspired her to help people, regardless of where they came from.

24) Like her close friend Jason Todd, Jayn doesn't mind a dirty joke or a belly laugh. But the moment someone starts cackling, they jump to attention, thinking Joker's coming.

Rose has a fairly happy disposition, given that she sees innocent people and animals die all the time. However, she tends to keep her laughs to her small circle of friends. On missions, she's about as grimdark and sarcastic as her father typically.

DCtober Prompts 1&2

Heroic

Friendship

Jayn is based in Gotham City, one of the only cities in the world where cosplay is banned. Even if I’m not RPing a ship w/him, Jayn’s best friend in the DC Universe is almost always going to be Jason Todd.

Rose definitely looks up to Zatanna, John Constantine, and Doctor Fate, but her favorite DC superhero is probably Raven or the Flashes. She had to leave all her friends behind when she lost her parents & John took her to the Tower of Fate to be mentored/protected.

[cursedpinterest]

PINTEREST DICTIONARY

Pinterest is a wild and weird place. Why not have a handy dictionary to guide you through the depths of that cursed website?

Alt- Means alternative people, usually emo. The boogeyman of the whisper girl. They are often shit-talked in whispers, from people criticizing their appearance to their fashion to their mannerisms and personality. Alt is a very vague term, that could encompass many different lifestyles and fashions, but for my own sanity, I’ll only describe it as is oft seen on Pinterest and described in whispers: Alt people wear Demonias and bunny hats (a widely criticized accessory from the whisper girls), have colored hair, like anime and Monster energy drinks, and often reside on TikTok. They have been called out on misusing AAVE. Apparently, they are obsessed with frogs, glorify mental illness, and say “Poggers”.

Brandy Melville- A fashion company that sells clothing for small and/or petite women. A little controversial since they apparently don’t feature many models of color. This company is a favorite of the whisper girls, which is no surprise since those girls love their thinspo.

Core- If you see a word with the suffix ‘core’, it is meant to signify a certain aesthetic. The widespread use of -cores has grown that even words that already portrayed a certain aesthetic (ie: emo, scene) now have ‘-core’ tacked to the end (ie: emocore, scenecore). Every word has the potential to be a ‘-core’, and often when an image has an indiscernible aesthetic, pinterest users will scramble to assign it a ‘-core’. On the aesthetics fandom wiki, there are 142 articles containing the core suffix. You can browse them here. Examples: cottagecore, goblincore, grandmacore, kidcore, weirdcore.

Coquette- Means flirtatious woman. Pretty much the same aesthetic as Waif and Dollette. Thin, dainty young white women in feminine clothes is a key component. Obviously a variation of thinspo. See Waif.

Diet Coke- Soda that is popular amongst the proana crowd because it has low calories. They also like lemon water, due to the low calories as well.

Dollette: Pale and delicate aesthetics, interchangeable with Coquette and Waif. Variations: dollcore

Ed Sheeran- Famous British redheaded singer. Many Pinterest users “hate” Ed Sheeran, and have entire boards and groups dedicated to making memes slandering him. I highly doubt all of the people making anti-Ed Sheeran memes actually hate him, it’s just a weird little trend to hate on him. These memes have died down in the past 2 years, and are often associated with Facebook memes and alts.

Facebook Memes- A type of meme format that was popular around 2017-2020 on Pinterest that involves editing those Facebook statuses posted over a random background to be relatable. Whisper girls claim that they glorify and meme mental illness a lot, but I see just as many whispers romanticizing mental illness so ehh 🤷‍♂️.

Femcel- A variation on incel, which stands for “involuntary celibate”. Incels are super misogynistic men who are unsuccessful in romantic pursuits, so they take it out on every women ever. They often feel entitled to a women’s time or attention, like a leveled up version of a Nice Guy. Think Andrew Tate fanboys. Femcels are basically women that hate men, make jokes about being the Joker, and there’s a lot of overlap between them and the whisper girls. They’re like the edgier version of coquette.

Gatekeeping- Gatekeeping is the act of trying to prohibit people from accessing something. Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss is the motto of the whisper girl. And unironically gatekeeping their interests seems to be a favorite pasttime. Things these girls try to gatekeep: Subliminals (which have millions of views on YouTube), Mitski (who also has millions of views and streams), and Lana Del Rey (whose music gets played on the radio).

Girlblogger- A girlblogger is a girl who blogs. Whisper girls call themselves this even though most of them don’t have blogs. Some people on tumblr use this moniker ironically, while the coquette/waif bloggers use it unironically.

Lana Del Rey- A very famous American singer who gained massive popularity in 2012 amongst the tumblr sad girls, but has seen a resurgence among the whisper girls. They literally worship her, and before whisper girls were a thing, this kind of community could be found on cherry emoji twitter.

Lily Rose Depp- The daughter of Johnny Depp. She’s a model… and that’s about it. But the whisper girls IDOLIZE her for some reason, probably because she’s pretty, definitely because she’s famous. She’s often used as the background of whispers. The ultimate nepo baby.

Moodboard- A moodboard is a collection of images meant to represent a single topic.

My Year of Rest and Relaxation- A novel by Otessa Moshfegh that femcels go gaga for. VERY popular among the white woman crowd. Often included in lists on how to be “That Girl™️”.

Nepotism Baby- Nepotism is described as the act of people in power giving jobs and fame to their friends and family simply because of their familiarity to them. A nepotism baby is a celebrity who’s famous simply because they’re parents were also famous. Coquette girlies love nepotism babies, especially if they’re models, and wish to be them. Notable nepotism babies: Lily Rose Depp, Emma Roberts, Dakota Johnson, Maya Hawke. Variations: Nepotism girls, nepo babies, nepo girls

Neopronouns- Neopronouns are what some people choose to identify with, instead of the traditional she/he/they/it. Examples: xe/xem, ze/zir, fae/faer

Red Scare: A podcast hosted by two random white girls who like to promote disordered eating and make fun of abuse. They’re very popular amongst the femcels

Subliminals: A genre of video on YouTube that claims you can change physically or mentally from watching a video that apparently has subliminal messages in the audio and images that are shown. For example: Weight loss subliminals, attract your crush sublimals, be a better student subliminals. They are VERY popular amongst the Pinterest whisper community, but they are very protected, and even the mere mention of them causes many whisper girls to comment: “Gatekeep!”. Note: This is a FAKE phenomena, akin to those weird tiktok reality shifting videos. You can’t magically lose weight by watching a video and doing nothing else. Variations: sub, subs

Taylor Swift- A heterosexual American singer that people on Pinterest think is gay for some reason. Because why would you want to support actual LGBTQ artists when you can project a sexuality onto your fave.

Thinspo- Images or tips that encourage eating disorders, usually anorexia and bulimia. A lot of people in the whisper community, and in the coquette/waif spaces post their thinspo under the title “waifspo”, since thinspo isn’t allowed on Pinterest. If you or anyone you know is suffering from an eating disorder, you can visit this website.

TikTok- A social media app where people can produce short videos of themselves or anything they want. The whisper girls HATE TikTok, which coincide with their hate for alts, since apparently a lot of alts are on TikTok? Whisper girls also hate popular TikTokers like Charli D’Amelio, and criticize her for being famous for doing nothing, which is funny since they idolize Lily Rose Depp and other nepo models.

Tone Indicators- Tone indicators are shorthand for words used to clearly state the intention of a persons message, usually added to the end of a sentence. They are mainly used for neurodivergent people, since it can difficult to try to discern people’s tone over written text on the internet. If you want to read more, here is a carrd that includes a masterlist of tone indicators. Examples: /s for sarcasm, /j for joke, /g or /gen for genuine.

Tradwife- Tradwives, or trad living/trad aesthetics are rooted in white supremacy. This is seen a lot on other social media sites, including Tumblr. They idealize traditional gender roles, strive to be the perfect housewife, and romanticize the 1950’s. Also, VERY Christian, but like, white Evangelical, although I have seen trad pagans, but that’s a whole other story. This group has infiltrated the cottagecore community on Tumblr, since some of the ideals, such as living off the land and living simply, farming and homesteading, is also shared by the trads. Those blonde chad wojack and blonde woman wojack wearing a blue daisy dress are often used as trad memes, stealthily sharing their conservative values as memes. Of course, they’re homophobic, racist, against modern society and ideals, against any religion that isn’t theirs, very anti-sex, and sometimes against interracial relationships. They’re conservatives. I’ve seen a lot of coquette girls posting about wanting to be a tradwife, but I bet like 70% of them don’t know the racist roots of this “movement”, although recently I have seen a lot of religious whispers. Trads often feel ostracized and that they’re rebelling against modern society since they hold traditional values and they don’t go clubbing or have casual hookups or like anything considered “progressive”, but they’re literally following what white Evangelical Christianity has deemed acceptable.

Waif- Literally means skinny. Kind of like a modern thinspo, as noted in the use of “Waifspo”. People who have waif aesthetic boards typically post delicate, feminine, more often than not white, and skinny imagery. Lots of pink and pastel colors. Very girly. Has spread to tumblr. Variations: waiftwt (waif Twitter), waifspo

Whisper- Whisper is an app where people can post private confessions over random images. It has gone through trends, from people posting earnest confessions (example: I cheated on my boyfriend and didn’t tell him), then making jokes and memes (example: “Can I juul inside?” Over a picture of Barbie), and then… think of 2012-era tumblr thinspo girls who worship Lana Del Rey and made it their entire personality. That’s what is popular on Whisper right now (example: “All my brain knows is Pinterest, calories, and Lana lyrics”). An emerging whisper trend I’ve seen lately is kpop whispers, but they aren’t as popular, and have seen pushback from whisper girls. Variations: whisper meme, whisper girl, whisper pinterest, whisper community

Whisper Girl- See above. Whisper girls are a community who post the newer type of whispers, usually tonally emulating coquette and waif aesthetics, sometimes bragging about themselves, idealizing thinness and youth and attractiveness, or just simply listing things they like. This community can be very judgmental and hostile, in my experience, but there are some nice ones that try to spread positivity. They idolize French culture, and dream about living in Paris or NYC one day. Recently, I’ve seen a trend in Russian aesthetics, which to these girls is white people dressed in furry clothes in the snow. Their icons are usually of a white celebrity or model, like Lana De Rey or Lily Rose Depp.

Feel free to suggest more terms you’ve come across!

[kyratittyfish]

Shiny And New (But I'm Still Me, And You're Still You)

Read on Ao3

‘Please let it be empty’ was the mantra playing in Angela’s head as she stood in front of the door to the port side observation deck, waiting for it to slide open. 

If there was a god of spaceship bars, she must not have been on his good side. Either that, or he was too busy with drunken privateers to answer her pleas for solitude.

She walked in anyway, but the figure slumped in front of the large window didn’t react to the door sliding open or her approaching steps, seemingly lost in thought. 

Angela herself often let her mind roam freely across the stars, forcing herself out of the cold and motionless spaces her brain usually took her to.

Aimless drifting across her mindscape happened without effort here, with the endless blanket of space extending out in front of her. It was almost as easy as actually being out there, floating away like a leaf on a pond. 

Like the body of a spaced woman.

She hoped the imagination of her fellow deck occupant was kinder than her own, but with a start, she realized his daydreams were probably as nightmarish as hers.

“Joker?” she asked.

He turned to face her, and perhaps it was the later hour or the different light, but she didn’t recall him looking so tired earlier that day at the helm. The dark circles under his eyes and unkempt stubble on his cheeks betrayed too many awake hours spent in his chair and a stubborn reliance on caffeine as a stand-in for sleep.

“Commander.”

“Your shift ended three hours ago, shouldn’t you be in your bunk?”

“Yeah, well. You ever heard Donnelly snore? I swear the man’s part combustion engine.”

She suspected this was only half the reason why he was still awake, but pointing out the obvious would’ve written her name in bold letters in the little book of hypocritical jerks, right on the front page. Her shift ended an hour ago too, and yet here she was, roaming around the deserted ship in her off-duty tracksuit, looking like the reanimated zombie she was. She dropped the matter, snorting instead.

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” Angela chuckled, shaking her head.. 

“Well, consider yourself lucky.”

“Fancy a drink?” She offered, propping her elbow on the counter. “It’d be a waste to sit next to the bar without making use of it.”

“Nah, Doc is going to kill me if she figures out I mixed alcohol with my nighttime meds. Last time I did that, she had me sleep in the infirmary for a week. As far as relaxing resorts go, I wouldn’t exactly recommend the Medbay. You go ahead and have yourself a beer or something if you wanna, as long as you drink one on behalf of your favorite pilot, of course.”

“And who might that be?”

He smirked despite his visible exhaustion. “You tell me.”

She ambled towards the bar to examine the array of bottles neatly arranged on the refrigerated shelves. The little bar wasn’t lacking in alien beverages; a surprising fact, given the Cerberus logo eloquently painted on every corner of her ship. She counted a Turian brandy, a couple of bottles of batarian wine, some colorful asari spirit, and even a small flask of ryncol.

She decided against the heavier stuff, grabbing a bottle of red ale and a can of non-alcoholic soda.

“Here,” she said, sliding the can over the smooth surface of the table in the general direction of her pilot. “Suppose Chakwas won’t mind you having a, uh…” she squinted as she deciphered the name written on the label in an overly flourished font, “... a Red Varren Sodalicious with your favorite commander?”

“Eh, she’d probably scold me about the amount of sugar in it, but no complaints about interaction with my meds. I think.”

No quips about who his favorite Commander would be? 

“Only one way to find out,” she said, cracking open her beer. 

One and a half drinks and twenty minutes later, their idle chat had shifted from a discussion about the latest Dog Or Not episode (during which an Elcor contestant had correctly recognised a Shi-tzu and a Corgi, only to mistakenly identify a baboon as a Cocker Spaniel) to a ranking of the various installations of the Blasto franchise.

“Come on, Shep, Blasto IV has a guy biotically controlling a vorcha into flying a Mako through an asteroid belt.” Joker exclaimed, his appalled voice half an octave higher than usual. “You can’t look at that scene and tell me, your pilot, that this isn’t the best Blasto!”

“Alright, I give in,” Angela conceded, “but only because of the improbable use of biotics.”

“Score!” He exclaimed, slapping his can of orangeade onto the tabletop. The carbonated drink didn’t appreciate the sudden impact, though and erupted in a bubbly stream that quickly trickled down the table and onto the pavement. His eyebrows shot up under his hat as he scanned the mess. “Whoops,” he muttered with an apologetic grin as he tentatively poked the sugary volcano. “Just like Therum all over again!”

“Yeah, well, Gardner is not going to be happy about that.” Angela hoped her amusement wasn’t clear in her voice as she played the part of the scolding Commander. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.” she continued, shaking her head. “He’s probably gonna make you lick the floor clean.” 

“I’m in!” he exclaimed overenthusiastically. “I bet it tastes better than that clump of sawdust and hot glue he tries to pass as meatballs anyway.”

“Hey, it wasn’t too bad! Now, the so-called sausages and mashed potatoes he cooked up the other day... That makes me suspect he’s a little too comfortable with mixing his cooking and toilet cleaning duties.”

“That a fancy way of saying it tastes like shit, Commander?”

“Looked like it, too.”

He chuckled, and her alcohol-impaired gaze followed his fingers as he absentmindedly rolled up the right sleeve of his sweatshirt to scratch a spot on his forearm. Her light dizziness turned into the much less pleasant sensation of ice-cold fingers running down her back as she spotted a long surgical-looking scar running along the outer side of his wrist and disappearing under the hem of his hoodie. It looked relatively recent, and she didn't remember ever seeing it on his skin before back on the original Normandy. 

“That looks gnarly.”

Confusion lingered in his eyes for an instant. Then, something different took its place. Something darker, that made his lips twist into a sour grimace and his shoulders drop.

“Uh, that. Yeah.”

“What happened?”

He lowered his gaze again and hastily pulled down the rolled-up sleeve till the hem almost touched his knuckles. 

“I, uh, slipped in the shower. I tried breaking the fall with my hand but ended up breaking my arm instead. It was pretty dramatic. Needed surgery and some shiny new hardware to fix it.”

Joker was many things: a stellar pilot, a surprisingly decent cook, and master of pop culture references, old and new. He wasn't, however, a liar. His gaze was about to burn a hole through the wall next to the bar shelves with how hard he was concentrating on avoiding Angela’s eyes, and the napkin that until a few moments ago had been collecting condensation under his can was now reduced into tiny scraps of balled up paper. 

“It was Alchera?” She asked, her question more of a statement than an inquiry. She was there when he injured his arm. She did it to him. 

He turned towards the window panel, his left hand tightly holding his other arm over his chest and a pained wince painted on the reflection of his face. 

“Yeah.” he nodded, his gaze locked on some distant star.

“How bad?”

“Pretty bad.”

“Shit. Joker, I’m sorry…”

“Yep,” he cut her short, “me too.”

“What happened the two years before I, uh, woke up?” Angela asked when the silence finally got so heavy it was threatening to have its own center of gravity.

“You mean beyond unfathomable levels of suckiness? Like I told you, the Alliance practically disbanded us, everyone went their own way, and they swept everything you did under the rug. Made you out to be crazy! Bastards knew you were right about the Reaper threat, but they would’ve rather kissed a yahg than admit it. So yeah, it sucked balls. Krogan ones. All four of ‘em.”

“Yeah, I figured as much, But… that’s not what I meant. I wanted to know what happened to you.”

He sighed without turning around, and in the drawn-out silence before he finally spoke, Angela’s heartbeat pounded louder than a roaring cannon in her ears.

“Is this some sort of test?” He slurred, narrowing his eyes at his fingers and fiddling with the tab on his coke can.

“Why would it be?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He snapped. “You’re asking the guy who got you killed what he did while you were dead.”

He stood up and staggered towards the bar, grabbing the first bottle he touched. He poured some of the brown liquid into a glass before shuffling back to his stool.

“Shouldn’t you…”

“Fuck the meds,” he declared. Clearly, the kind of pain he was dealing with tonight wasn’t one that could be quieted with a dose or two of analgesics.

He swirled the liquor a few times around his glass, then downed it in a single gulp. He poured some more. 

“695.” He muttered, his knuckles whitening around the glass. “That’s the number of days you were dead. I know ‘cause I counted ‘em. That’s how long I had to live knowing it was my fault. And honestly, Commander, out of the two of us? You had it easier,” he snarled.

“I was dead!” 

“Oh yeah? Well I spent every one of those 695 days wishing it was me instead,” he shot back. All at once, his bent shoulders sank along with his gaze. He looked so small. “And what’s worse… I deserved every second of that hell.”

He stared at the table, reaching for the bill of his hat, trying to hide beneath its shadow. If his gesture was meant to hide the watery glistening at the corner of his eyes, it didn’t work. Angela saw it. Angela felt it, the familiar prickle of incoming tears that made her tear ducts sting and her throat burn. 

Her pilot, her friend, couldn’t stand to look at her. Of all the pain and frustration during the last few weeks, this hurt her the deepest.

“Alright, then. You’ve obviously been thinking about this for a long time.” She stated after a drawn out breath, voice steady despite the growing ache of the black hole that had swallowed her heart whole and taken its place in her chest. “What would you have done different, then? If it really was your fault, if you made a bad call, there must have been a good call, right?”

“I…” His voice caught in his throat as he tried to force the words, but his only confession was a drop of blood falling from his bitten lip. He wiped it away and studied the red stain it left on his finger.

That’s what he sees each time he looks at his hands. Blood. Mine. The black hole between her lungs expanded at the thought, sucking air in until breathing felt like a hot blade piercing through her ribs. 

“There’s nothing you could have done that would have changed the outcome. Nothing that could have kept me from dying. Had you acted differently, we almost certainly would’ve died. Would it have been better? They would’ve brought me back anyway… and I would have been stuck in Cerberus’ hands without you.”

Her voice turned into a brittle whisper as the last words left her lips and the heaviness of her heart felt a little less suffocating. 

“They would’a found someone else to take my place,” he grumbled “Hell, I’m sure Mister Creepy Eyes has dozens of replacements ready for me just in case he wakes up in a bad mood one morning and decides I’m not worth the trouble I cause.”

“Well, can’t say you’re wrong on that,” Angela conceded. She was confident that the Illusive Man had countermeasures in place in the event that the good, righteous Commander Shepard turned out to be a bit too good and a bit too righteous for his plans. Still, the idea of some nameless, mindless Cerberus lackey sitting at the helm felt ten times more terrifying than that knowledge. “But someone else wouldn’t be you. And there’s no way in hell I could do this with anyone else instead of you. And trust me about that, I know a thing or two about the afterlife.”

He chuckled, raspy and low and bitter, and Angela sighed, wishing that he could just believe her, that he would just give up the grief and guilt that had been weighing him down since the day she died. But life can’t just be that simple, can it? 

Joker’s stubbornness was one of the things about him that made him such a fine pilot and a good friend. He never shied away from telling shit as it was. If he believed in something, he fought for it with all he had - teeth, nails, crutches, and Thanix cannons. Now that it was holding him under the muddy water of his own despair, though, it was so damn frustrating.

She’d done the impossible so many times before: she’d saved an entire colony from slavers without losing a single man, she’d granted humanity a place in the Galaxy, she’d protected the Citadel from the attack of a sentient AI older than time itself. Hell, even death had a go at keeping her down, and she showed it her ceramic-plated middle finger. So why couldn’t she do this one simple thing and make things right with the man sitting next to her? 

“Can I ask you a question?” Joker finally asked.

She arched her eyebrow at his words, breaking the silence that had fallen over them like a blanket of snow. 

Snow. Heavy over the debris of my old ship, my old life, my old body.

“Sure,” she replied.

“Why?” He asked, his head bowed down over the glass, his eyes hidden by the shadow of his cap. Was he looking at her, now that she couldn’t return his gaze? Had he been doing that for the whole duration of her new life, watching over her from a distance, torturing himself with the weight of guilt he couldn’t free himself of?

“Why what?”

“Why did you come back for me?” he asked, his voice for once as small and fragile as the rest of him.

And there it was, the question that lingered unspoken between the two of them since the day she died, seeping through the cracks like poison gas. Or like oxygen slipping out of a punctured breathing tube...

“Why wouldn’t I have?”

“I mean, come on, let’s be real here,” he spat as if his words were thresher maw acid burning his lips. “Yeah I was the best pilot in the Fleet, but I’m no Commander Shepard. I’m replaceable. You’re not, and the fact that they literally resurrected you is  pretty damn good proof of that. You are a hero, a leader, the only sliver of hope this galaxy has to live to see another few years. I‘m just a cripple with a bad attitude. It doesn’t take a genius or a philosopher to see which life is worth more.”

Replaceable. 

No.

“And which one would it be?”

“Come on, you wanna hear me say the answer is yours? We both know it's true.”

She took one last sip of her beer- the now warm beverage tasted almost as bitter on her tongue as Joker’s words felt to her ears.

“And yet it was your life I chose to save.”

“Can’t say I follow your logic on that one.”

Angela sighed and rubbed her fingertips over her eyelids. Heavy. It’s all so heavy. For all their cyber tech and medical miracles, Cerberus couldn’t mend fissures that ran soul-deep. 

“Alright,” she began, sitting up straighter. “You look at yourself and you see what? A cripple with a bad attitude, your words… I look at you, and see a skilled professional, with rock solid work ethic, excellent decision-making abilities, and no problem in speaking his mind to let his superiors know when their plans are really just a horrible idea.” 

Angela paused, and bent lower to meet his gaze through the shadow of his hat. No more running away from this, no more running away from you, she thought as she continued. 

“I see a man who is 100% committed to what he does, who never lets bad odds stop him from reaching his objective, and who knows what it means to make sacrifices.” 

She took in a slow breath, catching herself aching just to lay her hand atop his closed fist. “I see somebody I’m lucky to call a good friend, and whom I hope feels the same way towards me.”

“A friend, huh?” He asked tentatively, wide eyes shooting furtive glances at her from underneath the bill of his hat. She held his hesitant gaze with a soft smile.

“Of course.”

“Even after…?”

“Especially even after. You could be safe on the Citadel, or on Arcturus, or back with your family, or at the helm of a different ship… anywhere else but here. Yet, here you are, on a Cerberus vessel, working for a terrorist organization, following your undead commander on what’s most probably a suicide mission. If this isn’t the epitome of loyalty, I don’t know what is.”

Joker nodded slowly and let out a long, deep breath.

“Alright, then. So... friends?” he asked. 

“Friends. If you want to, of course.”

He looked up from his glass with a soft, genuine smile that lit up his eyes and set her heart on fire. 

“Yeah,” he finally responded. “I do.”

It was rare to see him smile. True to his name, he sure laughed a lot, but it was always so guarded. 

This time, with a simple smile, his defenses were down and all the rest of him shone through, naked and true. 

She felt her lips curl up and with a last flick of its tail, the little black hole inside of her twisted and curled before swallowing itself. Her heart, now back where it belonged, felt lighter than solar dust.

“Oh and, Joker, one last thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Permission to hug you?”

As he slowly stood up from his stool, she braced for him to just leave, to walk through the door and abandon her here with a whole bunch of feelings she couldn’t quite make sense of.

But he didn’t.

“Uh, yeah? Uh, granted,” he said, taking an uncertain step towards her.

She walked closer until his breaths tickled her neck. They were almost hesitant; as if one puff of air might blow her away like smoke.

She could almost count the stars reflecting in his eyes.

She never noticed how green they were before.

Carefully, she wrapped one arm around his shoulders, feeling his muscles tense underneath hers for a brief instant. 

She assumed he’d pull away almost immediately - the last time she touched him was the reason why they were having this talk right now, after all. She’d dragged him to safety and traded her life for his. The sickening crack she felt under her fingers when she grabbed him by his arm had been the least painful way she hurt him that day. 

Instead, he took a long, shaky breath, and took her into his own arms, drawing her closer until his chin brushed against her shoulder.

Although his embrace was a gentle one, it took her breath away all the same. 

She laid her free hand on his back, rubbing light circles over his shirt, feeling the tension in his limbs fade away and his breaths slow down, and for a moment, she was at peace.

Special thanks to...

@commander-krios, for being my muse, source of inspiration, and listening ear to my ramblings. @spaced0lphin, for your amazing work as a beta- your precious input made this fic 100x better. @nightmarestudio606, for helping me come up with a title that actually makes sense.

[firesongbard]

Ring Out, Wild Bells

Read it on AO3

December 25, 2178 — Ashley

“Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow:”

Ashley watched the vid again, reconstituted cocoa cold in her hands. Her bunk was decorated in cheap colored lights and a few sticks that promised to smell like pine (if you pinched your nose and breathed through your mouth, maybe). It broke at least 12 regulations, but no one had come to reprimand her yet. Not with her eyes red and puffy. Not after she threw her boot at Whithouse when she asked her if Ash wanted to go get a drink.

Her father had a damn poem for everything.

“The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.”

It wasn’t her first Christmas away from home. She’d missed out her first year of boot. But they pretended it was Christmas again when she came home on leave. The whole family kept the tree up into April just so she could see it.

But it was the first one without her father.

She re-started the video again to see him smile, tell her he was proud, and recite the history and importance of the Tennyson poem he was going to read her tonight.

September 29, 2183 — Shepard

“Hey Skipper, you gonna let us decorate the Normandy for Christmas?”

“I don’t think—Wait. Ash, it’s not even October yet.”

“Never too early to ring in some joy, Shep.”

Ashley had cornered her leaving the Med Bay. She had just managed to talk her way out of another full brain scan with Chakwas, and was fleeing the xenoromantic tension that flooded every conversation with Dr. T’soni. Shepard had no way out.

And Ash knew it.

“I don’t think it’d go over well with the crew.”

“Come on, who doesn’t love Christmas, Shep? Don’t tell me you’re a Scrooge!”

“The Krogan might not get the whole ‘give unto others’ bit, unless you want a severed head under the tree. The Quarian probably has her own holiday. And the Turian might take a little offense if we’re celebrating ‘love to all man’. Plus I think Adams is Jewish.”

“And the Asari will probably find it a fascinating example of human culture to study and catalog.” Ash threw her hands up in mock frustration. She smiled like she knew she had already won. “And who doesn’t love a party? I’ll be sure to get plenty of that Turian brandy shit along with the Champagne.”

“….You want a budget.”

“Can’t have a proper party without refreshments!”

“….Talk to requisitions. Then gear up, would you? Hackett has us investigating some Geth activity out in the Skyllian Verge.”

December 25, 2183 — Shepard

It was the kind of party Ashley would have liked.

Everyone who’d helped stop Saren had piled into the Normandy. Joker set up a bar in the cockpit—which must have broken at least 12 regulations—and was playing bartender. Udina had made an appearance and excused himself early. His schedule indicated he had at least 8 more of these parties to visit. But Anderson had stuck around.

They swapped stories, an insane game of oneupmanship where Shepard didn’t even have to embellish how crazy their last few months had been.

Eventually, as all parties go, someone clamored for the host to make a speech. Shepard hated being the focal point. It was so performative, and fake. But she tossed some words together in her brain that would feel uplifting, and honor the dead.

When you go into war, end with a call to action. When you leave it, end with humor.

“And for those who helped us get here, may their spirits haunt the shit out of us so we don’t fuck up again.”

“That is not how that toast goes.”

“You’re a terrible Turian. I’m gonna have to consult an expert before I believe you.”

Laugher rippled through the crowd, and they drank and told tall tales and made impossible promises to meet again.

At least no one sang. She wasn’t sure she could take that.

In the quiet of the afterparty, Shepard retreated to the observation deck. Wrapped in the cool quiet of the stars, she pulled a book off the shelf. Real, honest to god paper with glue binding, worn with dog-eared pages. She flipped through the collected works of Tennyson to the page Ashley had bookmarked while they were planning the party.

Did she know, then, that she wouldn’t be here for it?

And then she read a poem to the stars.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind.

December 25, 2184 — Garrus

Sidonis slid into the bar stool next to Garrus. The private room of Afterlife was almost never this quiet, but someone had managed to call in a favor with Aria and clear the space. No chance of gang presence meant Sidonis had dragged Archangel’s ass out of his watchtower and sat him down for a drink.

Joy.

“Come on, at least toss one back with Weaver. They’re over there tellin’ stories about some big human holiday today, and how they always shared a drink with Family.”

Garrus snorted. “Weaver’s never said a true thing about their past. I bet the holiday is bullshit, too. An excuse to get me to authorize an open bar.”

Sidonis relaxed on one arm, swirling his amber drink. It smelled warm and spiced. “Butler confirmed it. Some kind of Birthday. Translator’s having a field day with it.”

“I don’t buy it. Hey, Montaegue!” he called over the former alliance soldier. She, in turn, told him to fuck off and went back to a spirited argument with Krul that was likely to end in an arm wrestle. Damn few humans were stupid enough to arm wrestle a Krogan.

He liked her.

Sidonis winced. He, on the other hand, did not like when anyone riled up Krul. It usually ended in property damage. “That’s as close to celebratory as you ever see her.”

Garrus sighed in defeat, and held out a hand. Sidonis slid the drink over to him, and ordered another for himself.

“If you’re gonna sit there and talk my ear off all night, I’ll have a drink to shut you up.” They both laughed, and the sound felt good. The team felt good.

As sad and bitter as he had been when he left C-sec, he had found something like a family here. Something warm in a galaxy full of death and shit. Human holiday or not, it was a good excuse to put aside the darkness of reality, and revel in the warmth of friendship.

And maybe Melenis… if they’d both had enough to drink…

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes But ring the fuller minstrel in.

December 25, 2185 — Kaidan

One of the perks of being a Major, Kaidan didn’t have to fight to get shore leave on Christmas. Not that he was terribly religious, but it was tradition. It was family. It was an excuse for everyone to sit down, shut up, and remember what they were all fighting for.

He broke tradition to take over the cooking this year. His mom threw her back out trying to get the lights up outside and he had to practically tie her to the couch to get her to stop running around and lifting things. He sipped at his beer and traded work gossip with his dad while tending to four pots at a time on the stove. One of his mom’s friends commented what a good boy he was, and he played into it by putting on a frilly yellow apron that proudly proclaimed “Best Mom”.

Someone told him it was good he wasn’t so full of pride he couldn’t make fun of himself.

Guess Kaidan was better at acting than he thought.

Late in the evening, he got a message alert from an unknown sender. He excused himself to stand in the chilly night air to read.

Happy Christmas. I think you said you celebrated. Couldn’t think of what to get you, so I figured I’d just say: I’m alive. Did what we had to do. I’m still working out with the Alliance when I can come home but, well, maybe we could get a drink. -Shepard

God Damnit.

He hadn’t been wrong for leaving her on Horizon. It was the right call. She was in over her head, and someone had to try to talk some sense into her. But why did it always feel like she knew more of the big picture? How was she always right in the end, even when she was so clearly wrong in the moment?

The wind picked up and chilled through his skin. His bones ached, and he realized he’d been standing outside far longer than a few minutes to catch up on messages.

He went in to get a mug of uzvar and warm up. What the hell was Christmas for if not new beginnings? Once the liquor raised his temperature and his courage, he fired off a reply.

Alright. But you’re buying. -Kaidan

Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good.

December 25, 2186 — Shepard

“Hey”

Shepard didn’t turn from her vigil of the stars at the voice. She couldn’t quite pull her mind back from circling around all her failures, all the losses, all the dead she had abandoned…

“Hey Yourself.”

Garrus slipped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressed in the way they had discovered fit best without forcing her to turn from her thoughts. “Did you need to be alone?”

They can’t know the weight of it. If they see the cracks, we lose.

“No, no. It’s fine.” Her voice was thin and broke with the half-whisper of it. Going on three months now, how many had died? How many had she abandoned, running around the galaxy like a kid on her first away mission?

“I got you something.” She felt the thick fingers leave her waist, and heard rustling behind her.

“And it’s not even my birthday.”

“No,” His voice beckoned her, and she turned away from the pull of the void of space. “But I hear it’s someone’s birthday. Read up on it, sounds like a damned confusing holiday. But I like the drinking part.” He held out a small, velvet box, and Shepard’s heart dropped.

A fucking proposal? Now? In the middle of their flight to Horizon? Stars, at least he wasn’t down on one knee.

“That better be one hell of a strong drink, if it fits in that little box.”

He laughed. She didn’t detect nerves in his voice, none of the usual deflection in his humor. Maybe it wasn’t a proposal. She relaxed a little, and took the box to examine it.

“I liked the gift giving part too. Though I have to say, you’re a hard woman to shop for.”

She opened the box and saw an old, black metal ring, sized far too large for any of her fingers. It wasn’t shiny or flashy. In fact, it looked old. Fragile. “Okay, instead of making an ass out of myself, how about you just tell me what this is?”

“It’s a… I guess you could call it a Peace Ring. This one dates back to the Unification Wars. It’s ah…” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. She smiled at the gesture. It made him look soft and young, when he was nervous. “They’re made with the remains of the dead on both sides of a battle. They’re exchanged by Generals at the end of a war to symbolize the cost of peace.”

“I’m holding Turian corpses?”

“Two-thousand year old Turian corpses,” Garrus corrected.

Shepard stalled out on what to ask. General? Peace? Marriage? Theft? She settled on: “Shit, Garrus, doesn’t this belong in a museum?”

“It’s been in my family a very long time.” He shrugged. “And it wasn’t a very important war. Just some local skirmish that eventually lead to Cipritine. I won’t bore you with the details.” He widened his mandibles in an expression that told her exactly how excited he was to bore her with those details, given the invitation.

He won. She laughed. “Alright, I get it. You’re a history nerd too. But why give this to me? It has to be important to your family.”

“I’m not an idiot Shepard. I know what our odds look like. There’s a chance we might not make it to see a happy ending. And I don’t want to make you think about futures when… well.”

“Thank you.” She lifted onto her toes and gave him a very gentle kiss on his scarred mandible. “I love you, too.”

“Remember that, no matter what we’ve lost, someone’s going to be there at the end to forge that Peace Ring.”

He wrapped his arms around her, and exhaled into her hair, holding her in the quiet starlight.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 106

[see-ceci]

Student debt at least. Therapy, however...

I swear to god I hate this city sometimes.

[swaps55]

Little Spoon

Requested by @mallaidhsomo, inspired by @shotce‘s adorable artwork. 

~

Even when they try to celebrate something these days, it turns into something closer to desperate drinking before the end of the night. Most of the time the desperate drinking goes well into the early morning, and not, Garrus thinks, because everyone is that hell bent on getting drunk. More like they don’t want to let go of each other’s company and go to sleep, where the only company is the nightmare scenarios in everyone’s heads.

Tonight is no different, even though it’s supposed to be. Shepard didn’t want to celebrate his birthday in the first place, but once someone – Garrus’ money is on Traynor – let it slip, the entire ship latched onto it.

Which is why the lounge is currently the busiest place on the ship. Kaidan manhandles Garrus, Joker, James, Dr. Chakwas and Cortez at a rousing game of poker. Liara and Tali giggle – Garrus now has recorded proof that Liara can giggle – on the couch as they explain an Earth romance novel series to Traynor and EDI. Shepard, on the other hand, sits at the bar with hunched shoulders, swirling a shot of whiskey with a scowl. It would be more intimidating if a half-eaten slice of cake wasn’t sitting next to him and a party hat Traynor had fabricated from an omnitool wasn’t hanging around his neck.  

Garrus knows when to quit at poker, so when the hand ends he slides into the seat next to Shepard and pours himself a turian brandy.

“Did Kaidan clean you out?” Shepard asks.

“And then some,” Garrus concurs. His brow plates shift. “You’re not drunk enough yet.”

“No kidding.” He holds up the shot and clinks it against Garrus’ carapace, then kicks it back. Garrus drinks his, pours them both another one, then grabs a napkin and dabs the whiskey that’s now on his carapace.

“So why are you anti-birthday? I thought humans loved commemorating their ages.”

Shepard grimaces. “How fucking old am I, Garrus?”

Garrus blinks. “Shepard, I have no idea. I don’t have your file memorized. Ok, I may have your blood pressure memorized. And your typical heart rate, both in and out of combat. Oh, and after that incident on Korlus I got to learn all about human blood sugar. Specifically yours. But not your age.”

Shepard tilts his head. “What’s my blood pressure?”

“Now, or usually?”

“Usually.”

“One fourteen over seventy-six.”

“Well, shit.”

“Drink your whiskey.”

Shepard does, so Garrus does, and then pours them both another. Shepard’s Cerberus metabolism makes the actual ‘drunk’ part a lot harder than it used to be. Through a lot of trial and error, Garrus learned the key is rapid-fire shots and a can-do attitude. Sometimes the can-do attitude has to come from Garrus.

“Ok, so back to your weird hang up with age,” Garrus says.

Shepard finds an empty bottle of beer and starts picking at the label. From the couch, Traynor utters the phrase “that’s not how a strap on works if you’re going for realism,” and Garrus regrets having ears.

“I should be turning 30,” Shepard says, so quietly Garrus almost misses it trying to tune out Traynor. “Thirty’s a big deal for humans. I guess.” He goes back to swirling his whiskey, holding the shot glass up to his eyeline and examining it closely before kicking it back.  

“Ah,” Garrus says wisely. It isn’t hard for him to get drunk, something he always forgets when he starts matching shots with Shepard. “But then you died.”

“Yeah. So how old am I? Am I thirty? Or am I thirty-two? I missed two fucking years of my life, Garrus. Those years were mine. I wanted them.” He turns his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the poker game going on behind them. Or more likely, the biotic major who is kicking everyone’s ass at the poker game.

“Two years of birthday sex would be a shitty thing to miss out on,” Garrus says with a solemn nod.

That earns him a snicker. “Something like that. I’ll be honest, I feel more robbed of the cuddling than the sex. I mean, don’t get me wrong he’s—”

“Shepard, I am gonna stop you right there, because I am not drunk enough to hear about the intimate details of your sex life and I am positive that all of your crewmates on the couch are now listening to every word you say.”

“We are not,” Tali huffs.

Garrus flicks a mandible.

Shepard shrugs, unconcerned.  “The cuddling is fucking stellar.” He shoots the whiskey, slamming the empty glass back on the table.

“I know. So you’ve said.”

Shepard probably doesn’t realize just how much he’s talked about Alenko’s snuggling superpowers. It took Garrus awhile to figure out how spoons factored into it, but eventually he got there. It was a lot less…weird than he’d been picturing. Humans are so endlessly bendy.

“I just…don’t particularly enjoy celebrating the reminder that I’m never getting those two years back.”

Garrus’ mandibles quiver. “Well, you weren’t supposed to come back at all. Dying is pretty permanent for everyone who’s not you. Why not celebrate the fact that when you stop brooding and Alenko gets tired of taking Vega’s money, you’re going to go back up to your cabin and be the little spoon you were born to be?”

Shepard tilts his head. “You might have a point there.”

“Hang on, the universe just provided me with some rather cosmic timing.” Garrus gets unsteadily to his feet, walks unsteadily to the couch and unsteadily leans Tali forward so he can grab a small parcel he’d stuffed behind the cushion.

“Hey,” Tali protests.

“You’re beautiful and I’ll make that up to you,” he informs her before shuffling back to the bar with the package. He clears his throat loud enough for the poker table to hear. He and Alenko had created a code word for this, but fuck if he remembers what it is. Thankfully, Alenko isn’t nearly as dense as Shepard, and figures it out. He lays his cards on the table, gets to his feet, and heads to the bar, pausing to grab another hidden parcel.

“Happy birthday,” Garrus says, handing him the gift. The packaging is just a zipped duffle bag. Garrus figured that having the idea was more important than figuring out how to make taped paper look special.  

Shepard narrows his eyes. “You got me a birthday present.”

Alenko leans a nonchalant elbow on the bar, beer in hand. Shepard, as predicted, hasn’t noticed his costume change.

“Yeah,” Garrus says. “Because I don’t give a damn how old you are. I’m just glad you’re not dead.”

Shepard unzips the bag and pulls out a hoodie. It’s a pullover, just like the one Kaidan now wears, with the word “little” emblazoned on the front, over the silhouette of a spoon.

Shepard blinks at it, brow knitting in confusion, until he looks up and notices Kaidan wearing its twin. Only his says “Big” over the spoon.

The confusion melts into a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He laughs, and looks back at Garrus. “You are such an asshole.”

Garrus holds up his glass. “I learn from the best.”

Kaidan slips the birthday hat still dangling from Shepard’s neck off so he can put the hoodie on. Garrus half expects both of them to bail for the privacy of Shepard’s cabin to practice what their hoodies preach, but the desire for shared company affects Shepard as much as it affects the rest of them. He abandons the bar and switches to the couch, bringing Kaidan with him. Liara moves over to give them room. When they sit, Kaidan draws Shepard into his arms and traps him close.

“To spooning,” Traynor declares, holding up a glass of wine.

“We should add that to our Forbidden Ops story,” Liara says, sipping her martini.

“Way ahead of you,” Tali says.

Shepard smiles, settling deeper into Kaidan’s arms.

Savior of the Galaxy, and Kaidan Alenko’s little spoon. Garrus shakes his head. He has the weirdest fucking friends.

[barbariccia]

it’s the little things that keep your crew loyal... and hell, keeping shepard’s crew happy is probably tantamount to TIM, who needs us at our best at all times. it’s a reflection of how induction to gangs and other unsavoury elements occurs in real life; keep your people sweet, and they’ll die for you.

as for our own...

we picked up the brandy chakwas mentioned in our last conversation from afterlife, and promptly hand it over.

Chakwas: I always regretted no opening that original bottle -- when I still could. I won’t make the same mistake again. Why don’t we open this bottle right here, right now, you and me?

Shepard: You crack open the bottle. I’ll get the glasses.

you DO have the option to turn her down here, but i absolutely have never had the heart for it.

the scene fades out and then back in to shepard and chakwas looking distinctly uncomfortable on the medbay’s chairs, balls deep into a story about a couple of our old crewmen - kaidan and redshirt jenkins.

we’ve never seen chakwas this animated, and i kinda love her for it. an older woman, happier nowhere else than on a warship treating people, finally letting go a little with an old friend. it’s real nice to know that we can talk about them without it being nothing short of an obituary; shepard might not have had the same amount of time to process the death, because in war you get on with the job rather than sink into misery... but it still makes me smile a little, knowing that we can look back on those memories without them needing to be painful.

Chakwas: Ah, Jenkins. Soldiers like him make the Alliance great. Cerberus lacks the same... enthusiasm.

Shepard: With your service record, you could have gotten a tour of duty on any Alliance ship. Why did you really leave?

Chakwas: Maybe it’s less about leaving, and more about staying. As a military doctor, I mostly treat people who are in bad shape. Often, they die. And if I can help them, they move on. Either way, they leave.

Shepard: Don’t you have any friends or family?

Chakwas: No, not lacking friendship -- just stability. Jeff... Joker will always have Vrolik syndrome. He would never admit it, but he needs my help. And he always will. I wish it weren’t, but sadly, it’s true.

Shepard: Treating Joker gives you a kind of stability.

Chakwas: So does this ship, even if it’s a copy. Or, hell, maybe it’s you. Shepard, our immovable center. A place for a person to stop and catch her breath.

Chakwas: ... Or maybe I’m just happily drunk. Would it hurt if it was simple like that for once?

Shepard: Here’s to simply being happily drunk.

Chakwas: I’ll drink to that.

you have the choice throughout this section to propose a toast about any number of things - about friends, about family, about the ship... and if you keep her talking, you get the final choice of toasting her own words. toasting as a concept has been around since at least the 17th century, and in the british navy there’s a loyal toast to a different person or persons every day of the week, but toasts themselves are performed the world over in a manner of honouring the recipient.

chakwas deserves the honours, honestly. she’s hardworking, and she’s very human, stuck in a world that’s unforgiving and unthankful for her endless service. she deserves this, just as she deserves the brandy.

just as she deserves a bit of a nap after getting ripshit with her CO. god bless karen chakwas.

[anubislover]

“A Heart to be Used as Needed” Chapter 2

Of all the things Law hated about being Doflamingo’s right-hand man, dressing the part was near the top of the list. The black feathered jacket was a painful reminder of the man who had tried and failed to save him from his psychotic brother’s clutches. It didn’t matter whether he wore an expensive suit or stark naked underneath, the mantle weighed on his shoulders like Seastone shackles.

Once Joker was dead, he’d take great pleasure in burning the damn thing.

Rolling up the sleeves of his mustard yellow dress shirt, he took a deep, fortifying breath, mentally reminding himself that it would all be over once he crushed the Heavenly Demon’s twisted heart beneath the heel of his boot. Lazy, arrogant smirk firmly in place, he firmly knocked on the throne room door, respectfully waiting for his boss’ leave before sauntering in.

“Doffy,” Law greeted, hand raised in a casual wave, “I hear you had to crush Baby-ya’s dreams of wedded bliss again.”

“Aw, come on, kid,” Doflamingo chuckled, pouring them both a generous glass of brandy. The red glow of the setting sun glinted off his sunglasses, his wide grin full of maniacal humor. “I was doing her a favor! You should have seen her latest ‘groom’; the guy had more wrinkles than Lao G!”

The Dark Doctor laughed, accepting the crystal snifter. As much as he loathed sharing a friendly drink with the man, he could at least appreciate that Joker never compromised on the alcohol’s quality. He made a mental note to pour some into the bastard’s open wounds before he killed him. “I believe you! She really does have horrible taste, doesn’t she?”

“Fuffuffuffuffu, you got that right! It was kind of cute, at first, but’s starting to lose its charm.”

“And here I’d assumed you considered androcide a hobby.”

Flopping backwards into a large, plush chair, Doflamingo crossed his long legs with a shrug, taking a sip of his own drink. The chair would have been a loveseat for an average human, but the former World Noble’s massive frame basically turned it into an armchair. “Eh, killing those guys is too easy to be any real fun, and it just about breaks my heart seeing her cry over it.”

“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t see her earlier; poor thing was an absolute wreck when she came sobbing into my lab. Completely ruined my shirt. Maybe I should remove her tear ducts.”

That earned him a sharp cackle. “While you’re at it, see if you could surgically insert some goddamn standards. I swear, each new ‘boyfriend’ is worse than the last. This time, I actually had to use my powers she was so bent out of shape! She needs to realize that I’m looking out for her best interests. None of those peons deserved her.”

Swirling the amber liquid thoughtfully, Law lounged in the Heart Seat. For all its red velvet cushions, the gaudy throne felt no more comfortable than it had when he’d first been shackled to it at fourteen, but after ten years, it was easier to pretend. “Honestly, I couldn’t agree more. The problem is, she’d got this idea in her head that marriage will make her happy, and with her compulsion to be needed, she jumps at every perceived proposal she hears. After all, what could a man possibly need more than wife?” he asked sarcastically.

“Well, that’s a spot-on diagnosis, doc; you got any suggestions for a cure?”

Taking a swig of brandy, he savored the silken burn as it slid down his throat. It was well-aged and smooth, with a few notes of smoke and sweetness; the perfect drink to accompany his plan. “I do,” Law replied with a grin, setting aside his snifter to lace his fingers together. “Let her get married to a man of your choosing.”

Doflamingo sat up straighter in his seat, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. “Are you fucking kidding me, Law?”

Despite the sharp edge of anger in his boss’ tone, the young Corazon simply smiled. “Not at all. As much as she wants to get married, she desperately craves your approval. If you chose her next beau, she’d be absolutely over the moon and we can put all this nonsense to rest.”

“Well, unfortunately, there’s no one worthy of our little Baby 5,” he said stubbornly, crossing his arms and hunching over in an exaggerated pout like a spoiled child who’d been told to share his toys.

“No, but you could at least pair her with someone you trust,” he coaxed. Though psychotic and selfish, after over a decade working for the man, Law knew how to gently lure him to the conclusion he desired. “Someone who wouldn’t take advantage of her. Someone who could reign her in and ensure her loyalty never strays from the Family. Specifically, someone to keep her in the Family.”

Intrigued, the giant man relaxed in his throne. “Ah, now I get it. Fuffuffuffuffu, you had me worried for a sec! I should have known you’d never try to drive Baby away from us. A sweet, precious little thing like her needs our protection.”

Yes, the woman who can turn into a literal arsenal needs protecting, Law thought sarcastically, though his smile never faltered. “I’d never even consider such a thing. You know I’ve got a soft spot for her, Doffy; we’ve been friends since childhood.”

“A soft spot is right! I’ve seen you rip out Giolla’s heart just for commenting on how tired you look, but when Baby slaps you, at worse she gets dismembered for a few hours. I’ve never even had to order you to put her back together.”

“That’s because unlike Giolla, Baby 5’s disrespectful outbursts come from a place of love, like a mother scolding an uppity child.” Allowing his expression to soften, Law absently gazed out the window as he continued, “On top of that, her compassionate displays bank up enough good karma that I can’t stay mad for long. After all, no one else brings me onigiri or bullies me to get some sleep when I’ve been cooped up in my lab for days. So yeah, if it keeps someone else from getting their filthy hands on her, I’d gladly give her the wedding of her dreams.”

Stretching his long arms before linking the fingers behind his head, Doflamingo sniggered. “How sweet. Ok, I’ll bite; who would you suggest as the groom? Pica? Buffalo?”

Though he kept his expression strategically banal, inside Law was crowing. Joker was reacting exactly as he’d predicted, and he’d already prepared a response for every man he might suggest. “Pica’s too volatile and Buffalo’s almost as impulsive as she is. She needs someone who can handle her violent mood swings and bring her to heel. Besides, I’d hate to waste such a beauty on them.”

“Harsh, but fair. Hate to say it, but that really limits our options. Vergo fits the bill, but he’s a bit preoccupied with the Navy, and I can’t trust that she wouldn’t run off to be with him and blow his cover.” Rubbing his chin, Doflamingo mentally ran down his list of subordinates. “How about Senor Pink? Baby 5 and the guy who dresses like a baby!” he laughed, tongue lolling out.

Internally scowling at the bad joke, Law shook his head. “The man’s dressed like that to honor his late wife for years; remarrying won’t do his mental state any favors, nor hers.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right. Gladius?”

“I don’t trust that he wouldn’t blow her up if they got into an argument. Baby-ya’s feisty, and I doubt he’d show the same restraint I do if she ever slapped him.”

The shichibukai raised an eyebrow at the nickname. It had been an intentional slip, something to lead Joker to the conclusion he needed. “Kid, quit beating around the bush. Fun as it is acting like a pair of matchmaking old biddies, you never would have suggested this if you didn’t already have someone in mind. Out with it.”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Law finally stated, “Me.”

This time, there was no laughter from Doflamingo. No snide comment. Just a tense pause as the two pirates stared each other down.

“You’re serious.”

“I am. I’ll even say it plainly; I want Baby 5.”

Uncrossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees, he scoffed at his Corazon. “Law, you’ve always been a realist; you know you’ve only got so many years left to live, and you’ve acted accordingly.” Recalling the first time he’d taken his young protégée to a gentleman’s club, he chuckled. He’d felt like a proud papa watching the teen saunter off to one of the private rooms with a beautiful woman on each arm and a damn attractive man in tow. By the time they left the next morning, none of Law’s partners had been in any state to move. “When you’re not down in your lab, you’re fucking whoever you please. Hell, even I’m impressed with the number of notches on your belt at your age! So, considering how marriage tends to clash with your lifestyle, what’s got you suddenly looking to settle down?” he asked, blonde eyebrow raised in suspicion.

This was where Law would have to tread carefully. He knew how out-of-character his proposal seemed; on top of regularly inviting scantily dressed partners to his chambers, everyone knew that if Trafalgar Law vanished suddenly, he’d reappear in no more than a week, hungover and reeking of sex, drugs, and blood. In reality, though the sex was a great stress-reliever, those wild benders also gave him the perfect cover whenever he had to disappear for a few days to carry out one of the more clandestine aspects of his plan. A committed relationship, much less marriage, would put a damper on that.

Yet if it led to the Heavenly Demon’s painful and humiliating downfall, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Staring at his glass in contemplation, Law replied, “I’ve been thinking about the future. The Perennial Youth surgery has been difficult to research, and even harder to practice, but I’m confident that I’ll figure it out in due time. After everything you’ve done for me, I owe you that much. But that’s got me wondering; eternal youth isn’t the same as immortality. You could, theoretically, still be killed. Possibly even get sick or poisoned. Unfortunately, I won’t be there to help you, and genius like mine is hard to come by. So, why not pass down my genetics and ensure you’ll still have a medical prodigy even after I’m gone? Maybe even your next Corazon?”

“And you want to have that with Baby 5?”

“She’s gorgeous, biddable, and feisty enough to not bore me. More than that, with her unfortunate childhood, I can guarantee she’ll be a doting and protective mother yet won’t stand in your way when you choose to take the kid under your wing. Really, I couldn’t ask for a better option.”

Law could see the wheels in Doflamingo’s head turning. He’s chosen his words very carefully—fatherhood might potentially give the doomed doctor something to live for, but it just as easily created an exploitable weakness. A baby would give Joker extra leverage, something to hold hostage or threaten should the Surgeon of Death appear to have second thoughts about performing the surgery.

Of course, Law had no intention of producing such an asset. He’d sterilize himself and Baby 5 if need be. No child of his would be twisted in Joker’s sick image.

The Heavenly Demon studied him thoughtfully, his gaze intense even through his sunglasses, chin resting on his entwined fingers. “That’s all true, but I’m surprised; with how long you’ve known each other, I’d assumed you thought of her like a sister or something.”

The Dark Doctor’s grin was lecherous, gold eyes hooded as he replied, “I can assure you, I’d never think of my sister the way I’ve thought about Baby-ya.”

“It’s the maid outfit, isn’t it?” he chortled, tongue lolling out to sweep lewdly across his lips. “And here I’d thought you had a thing for nurses.”

Smug, lecherous grin in place, Law winked. “Oh, those are nice, but my real kink is short uniforms and obedience.”

“And Baby 5 has an abundance of both. That doesn’t mean I’m on board with this. No offense, but you’re not the type of guy I trust to respect the bonds or marriage.” Though he remained smiling, there was little pleasure in the expression—more like a threatening baring of teeth. “If you cheated on her, I’d have to start removing some pretty specific body parts, and don’t think I’d let you reattach them.”

It was a vivid, yet not unexpected threat, so Law didn’t even flinch. Instead, he donned a playful grin. “Oh, come on, Doffy; haven’t I been a good boy? You’ve been dressing her up like a pinup since we hit puberty, parading her around like the most delicious forbidden fruit I could imagine, and I never so much as took a bite because I respected your authority. I mean, with how obsessed you’ve been with keeping her pure as virgin snow, part of me assumed you were saving her for yourself.”

It was a dangerous idea to put in the shichibukai’s head, but one Law didn’t trust Vergo or Trebol not to suggest just to spite their fellow executive. It was no secret that the Club Seat and former Corazon held no shortage of jealousy towards him, and if they had any idea that he coveted Baby 5, whether they knew his ultimate plan or not, they’d do their best to interfere. This way, he could at least nudge Doflamingo away from such thoughts.

As he considered it, his threatening expression relaxed. With a single gulp he finished off his glass of brandy, grabbing the bottle to pour himself a generous refill. “Yeah, I’ve thought about doing her.” Lounging against the couch, his lips stretched into a lecherous grin, long tongue swiping over his gleaming teeth. “Hot little thing like that, all bright eyes and tasty curves…but Baby gets attached too easily. Fucking her means your bachelor lifestyle is dead, since she’d probably kill any other woman you even looked at.”

Pleased that his plan was still on track, Law felt the tension in his spine melt away. “Exactly; I’m not blind to what I’m getting into. Hell, I thought you’d be thrilled—since I won’t be wasting time chasing tail, I’ll be able to devote more of it to my research. No need for week-long benders when I’ve got wifey waiting for me at home.”

Leaning back, Doflamingo threaded his fingers together in thought. “Alright, Law, say I am considering your proposal; I’ve got a few stipulations.”

“Name them.”

“One, if you’re insisting on marrying her, you’re gonna be the best damn husband she could ask for. No cheating, fucking about, or even flirting with men, women, or anyone else. And definitely no more drug-fueled benders—gotta set a good example for the kids, right?”

“Of course.” Much as he did enjoy his bursts of rebellious freedom, he’d easily made peace with giving it up. The drugs had long lost their thrill, barely even having an effect on him anymore. Violence he could still enjoy in the lab or even on missions for Joker. As for the sex…

With how eager to please Baby 5 was, he doubted it would even take long to train her up to be the perfect lover, submissive and pliant, ready for him whenever he desired. On top of having her warm his bed every night, it’d be so easy to call her down to the lab and put that hot little mouth to use, or corner her in a dark hallway for a quickie.

“Two, I’m gonna need your timeline for getting me Law 2.0.”

The request pulled Law from his lustful thoughts, reminding him to focus on the task at hand. “Though I’m sure she’s plenty fertile on her own, I have plans to develop a drug to increase the chance of twins; that way, the odds will be in our favor of getting another medical genius. On top of that, I need to study mine and Baby-ya’s genetic material and physiologies to ensure our Devil Fruit powers won’t cause any unexpected complications. Should her transformations affect her uterus, I’ll have to demand she not be given any assassination missions for the duration of her pregnancies.”

“So how long are you saying you need to knock her up?”

This time the smug, lecherous grin on his face was completely genuine. “I mean, I’m not going to wait to start fucking her—if I’m expected to be faithful, she’s going to do her wifely duties. But I won’t start the fertility treatments until at least a year in, when I’m confident we’ll have the results we want.”

“If you’re in no rush to put a baby in Baby, why do you want to marry her now?”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips softened with the barest hint of affection. “Because it’s Baby 5; we take our eyes off her for a moment, and she might actually wise up and elope. I mean, I’m completely willing to murder whatever shit-stain tricked her into running off, but then she’ll be all pissed and that tends to put a damper on a relationship.”

“Ok, fair point.” He rubbed his chin, looking heavenwards in consideration. “I’m guessing you’ll probably want a few years with the kid before you perform my surgery, right?”

“Just for the sake of being sure I am leaving you with a genius,” he assured, hands up in surrender. “I showed signs of being a medical prodigy by the age of three, and I’m happy to impregnate Baby-ya as many times as necessary to hedge our bets.”

“Fuffuffuffuffu! The way you’re talkin’ I might end up with a whole herd of Trafalgar rug rats running around!”

“Hey, the Family did a good job raising us and Dellinger. I trust you’ll turn my children into fine, upstanding members of society once I’m gone.”

The two glanced at each other, then shared a hearty laugh.

“Ok, ok, fine; I can wait a few years for Corazon Jr.,” Doflamingo chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “And I appreciate you stacking the odds in my favor. You’re good at planning shit, Law, so I trust you to do whatever it takes to get me at least one genius.”

“Happy to hear it,” he responded, linking his hands behind his head and relaxing in his chair. The Heart Seat was still mockingly uncomfortable, but bit by bit he was getting closer to his chance to reduce the damn thing to ash.

Three long fingers were held up as Doflamingo’s grin became more mischievous. “Which brings me to my third stipulation: trust. If you want me to trust that you’re serious about this whole marriage deal, I’m going to need you to prove it.”

“How?” Law asked, curious but unconcerned.

“You propose to Baby 5, and I’ll throw you the wedding of the century. Flowers, music, not a crumb of bread at the reception—you name it and I’ll pay for it. But the engagement will last at least a month. In that entire time, you’re as celibate as a monk—no fucking girls, guys, or even jerking off. And before you get any funny ideas, that also means Baby’s off limits until your wedding night.”

Insulted, Law narrowed his eyes. Sure, he was a degenerate and had deliberately cultivated the image of being a careless fuckboy, but he was also a highly trained surgeon, a ruthless torturer, and his right-hand man; did Doflamingo really think a month without sex would break him? That after all his careful planning, such a stupid stipulation would scare him off? Did he honestly have such a low opinion of him after everything Law’d done for the former noble?

Oh, as if he didn’t already have a thousand reasons to slowly crush his boss’ heart between his fingers.

“Deal,” he ground out through his teeth.

His white-knuckled grip on the chair only tightened when Joker laughed. “You don’t sound very convincing, kid! If you don’t think you can do it, just back out now! I’ll marry her off to Trebol or something and you can knock up a random hooker.”

“I don’t want some prostitute—I want Baby 5!” he snapped, gold eyes glinting dangerously in the fading rays of the sun. Silly as it was to get angry over such a little thing, Law was nearing the edge of his patience, and he hated seeing a carefully crafted plan threatening to fall apart when he was so close to getting what he wanted.

“Hey, don’t give me that scary look!” Doflamingo chortled, his leisurely sip of brandy unable to hide the self-satisfied smirk. “I’m just looking out for everyone’s well-being.”

No, you’re playing with us like puppets, he thought sourly, forcing himself to calm down. This was all just part of the man’s sadistic game, and he’d walked right into it. But Law refused to let himself get jerked around like a marionette. “As am I. We both know my plan works out best for everyone. I get an obedient, healthy wife whom I can trust to carry my legacy. Baby-ya gets her dream of being married, and when I’m dead she’ll still be blissfully needed by our child. And you get both your next Corazon and insurance that your favorite assassin won’t run off with some scumbag looking to use her against you. But if you really feel I need to prove myself, fine—I’ll stay completely celibate until the wedding night.”

“You sure?”

“Doffy, I’m going to make this clear; if you try to marry Baby-ya off to a freak like Trebol, she’s going to become a widow and you’re going to need a new Club Seat.”

“Ok, ok! You’ve made your point.” Sitting back, he gave a mock toast with his snifter. “If you think you can reign her in, I’ll bless your joyous union. I’ve got better things to do than kill idiots trying to separate our family and dodge her angry murder attempts. But marriage had better not turn you soft.”

Pleased that he finally got his way, Law let himself fully relax. “It won’t. Ultimately, it’s just a means to an end, but one that will satisfy all parties.”

“You sure Baby will be able to ‘satisfy’ you?” he asked with a leer. “Pretty sure she’s been waiting for a husband to pop her cherry; virgins can be hot, but that kind of inexperience can be frustrating, too.”

Remembering the way she’d sucked his thumb in the lab, Law wasn’t worried. “She’s biddable and eager to please, so I’m sure she’ll do everything possible to keep me satiated. Hell, a woman like that is practically tailor-made for me, since I can train her up to do what I like instead of having to break any bad habits.”

“Good, because I’m serious about not letting you cheat on her, Law. I want us all to be a big, happy family, and as the patriarch, it’s my job to keep everyone in line.”

Is that why you murdered your own brother? Law sneered quietly. Because he stepped out of line? Because if that’s your biggest concern, then you’ll never see me coming. Careful not to let his thoughts bleed onto his face, he nodded. “Understood.”

Grin shifting into something more easygoing and friendly, he asked, “So, when are you gonna ask her?”

The Corazon finished his warm brandy, taking the opportunity to think it over. “Next week. There’s a full moon, I’ll have time to pick out a ring, and I’m sure I can set up some nice, romantic music or something.”

“Shit, you’re taking this seriously.”

“Of course. I refuse to let anyone mock me and compare my proposal to those other worthless peons’.” Mostly, though, a week would give him time to take care of some loose ends. He expected Joker would be watching him closely during the engagement to ensure he really did hold up his promise to be faithful, and combined with actually putting a wedding together, there’d be little chance to work on his ultimate plan until after the honeymoon.

Though, perhaps he could use his honeymoon as a chance to visit Ceaser’s lab on Punk Hazard, and maybe swing by Sabaody to recruit more men to serve his cause. Considering the number of slaves Doflamingo shipped to those auction houses, surely more than a few would be happy to get some revenge against their captor.

Well, marriage is looking easier already, he thought with a grin.

Mistaking his expression for something else, Joker laughed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were smitten, kid!”

Tattooed hand pressed to his chest, Law sighed dramatically. “Is that really so hard to believe? Just because I’m a heart stealer doesn’t mean I can’t fall in love. Why, maybe all the wanton sex has been my way of coping with the cruel possibility that I’d never get to be with the one woman I truly care for!”

The two men shared a laugh at the absurdity of the idea. Baby 5 may believe in such crap, but her betrothed and boss knew better—the world was cruel, love was more painful than death, and no matter how you dressed them up, people were at their core nothing more than vicious animals looking to rip each other’s throats out.

“Regardless, I trust you’ll be discreet until after I pop the question?” Law asked. “I’d hate for someone to ruin the surprise.”

“You mean sabotage your perfect moment. Monet’ll be heartbroken when she hears.”

“She’ll get over it,” Law scoffed. He’d had a few fun evenings with the harpy, but she was of no importance to his plans. Though it did bring up the concern that she might try to turn Baby 5 against him before he could put her completely under his thrall. He’d have to ask Violet to keep an eye on her. “Maybe she’ll catch the bouquet.”

“And if she’s lucky, Trebol won’t be around for the garter toss!”

XXX

A week later, Baby 5 received orders from a grinning Doflamingo to clean up a mess in the palace garden. Broom and dustpan in hand, she marched out into the moonlight, mood sour despite the beautiful evening. Law had avoided her since he’d promised to talk to Joker; every time she so much as caught a glimpse of him, he’d disappear, using his powers to easily escape. Even when he had no choice but to be in the same room as her, such as dinner or meetings, he refused to meet her gaze, intently preoccupying himself with some other task or simply looking through her as if she were invisible.

Maybe Doffy told him to stay away from me, she thought with a sniffle. Maybe he didn’t approve the match and he now wants Law to stay as far away from me as possible. Or maybe Law decided he didn’t need me as his wife.

There was another painful possibility—that she’d dreamt hers and Law’s entire conversation. There was no hint that he’d spoken to the young master. No hint he even remembered flirting with her in the lab. Had he really held her close, asked if she’d ever been kissed, shared that cigarette with her? Or had she been so distraught by yet another dead fiancé that she’d begun to hallucinate?

Maybe I’m just completely crazy and my useless brain is making shit up because it knows I’ll never get married! God, I’m such an idiot! I never should have gotten my hopes up, she thought as she wiped a stray tear from her eye.

There was no time for feeling sorry for herself now, though; she had a job to do. She was needed in the garden. Once she was done, she could sneak off to her room and indulge in a good cry over her pathetic state.

As she entered the garden she was greeted by the soft sound of smooth jazz, and as she curiously made her way towards it, she wondered if this was the “mess” she was supposed to clean up. Right arm transforming into a pistol, she whirled around a large hedge, ready to blow the musician’s heads off, only to find the barrel of the gun inches from Law’s chest.

“Whoa, easy, Baby-ya!”

Immediately she froze, horrified that she’d nearly shot her superior. “I’m so sorry, Law!” she exclaimed with a deep bow. “Doffy told me there was a mess to clean up, and I assumed—”

“It’s alright; this is Joker’s fault,” he insisted, cupping her chin to make her look at him. His mouth was twisted in annoyance, and she wondered if he’d settle for just scolding her or if she had an evening of dismemberment to look forward to. “He should have just told you I wanted you to meet me out here.”

Law’s greater height forced her to straighten up, otherwise she’d be able to look no further than his chest. She blinked as she realized he was dressed rather nicely; smart black blazer and trousers, yellow dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, freshly polished shoes, and glittering gold earrings and cufflinks. The spicy scent of cologne tickled her nose, and she recognized it as the deep, musky fragrance he wore whenever he went out, and one of the myriad of smells his sexual partners reeked of when they left his room.

Amethyst eyes swept across the little clearing, taking in the small table with its crisp white tablecloth, which she identified as the one she’d ironed not an hour ago but had mysteriously gone missing. A vase of scarlet roses, a bottle of red wine, and two crystal glasses were carefully arranged on top of it, and with the small jazz quartet off to the side and the soft glow of the moon and surrounding lanterns, she finally understood.

The Corazon was out here meeting someone. Someone he was looking to impress. To her knowledge, he never put in this kind of effort for someone he simply intended to fuck, so whoever it was had to be really special.

No wonder he’d been avoiding her all week.

“Was there something you needed?” she asked softly, trying not to let her disappointment show.

In leu of an answer, he strolled over to the table and pulled out a chair, pointing at the seat meaningfully. Frowning, she studied the seat, not seeing any dirt but wiping it down anyway with her apron. An irritated little vein ticked on his forehead at her response, so she quickly tried to figure out what else he could possibly need. Should she fetch a cushion? Was the chair itself unsatisfactory and he wanted her to get a new one?

“I want you to sit in it, Baby-ya,” he finally said with an exasperated little eyeroll.

Red stained her cheeks in embarrassment. Asking her to take a seat was the last thing she expected, but maybe he wanted her to test the strength of the chair? She’d cleaned Law’s room several times after a one-night stand, and broken furniture was not an uncommon sight.

Gingerly sliding into the chair, she was surprised when he pushed it in, taking the seat across from her.

Feminine fingers fiddled nervously with the ruffled hem of her apron. What was she doing here? What did Law need? Shouldn’t she get out of the way before his real date showed up and got the wrong idea?

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he asked, resting his sharp chin on the bridge of his linked fingers, smirking slightly as he took her in. It was the first time he’d really looked at her all week, and she wondered if she was dreaming again.

When she nodded mutely, he continued, “Sorry for the calling you out on such short notice; I wasn’t sure everything would come together in time, and there was a threat of a storm rolling in. Plus, with all the planning I’ve been doing this week, I’ve been so tired I barely knew what day it was. The invitation almost completely slipped my mind.”

The full moon illuminated his face, and she could see the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual. Insomnia had always been a problem for him, but she knew it got worse when he was stressed. And when it got especially bad, his temper was a lot shorter, and he was more likely to take it out on her when she got in his way. Why didn’t he ask her to take care of things? When it came to stuff like this, she was incredibly useful! She could set a table and deliver messages. If it helped, she was even willing to let him cut her into pieces so he could let off steam! Did he think she’d mess it up? Was he so sure he didn’t need her? “You did a good job,” she assured weakly.

His large, tattooed hand plucked one of her own from her lap, his rough thumb rubbing teasing little circles across her knuckles. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll be happy to leave the wedding planning to you and Joker, though; picking out tablecloths and flowers was absolutely mind-numbing.”

“Wedding planning?”

“Of course.” Baby 5’s heart quivered as he linked their fingers. It all felt like a scene from one of those romance novels she sometimes snuck from Giolla’s room. The moment where a pair of lovers confessed their feelings, none but the moon to bear witness.

As he poured a generous amount of wine into her glass, Law placed a butterfly kiss to the tip of her ring finger, followed by a light nip. “I like to think it’ll be a classy affair, but with Doflamingo in charge I’m not holding out hope. Still, so long as I get to see my obedient bride in a beautiful white dress, I can’t complain.”

“That sounds nice,” she managed to say, even though it felt like he was slowly strangling her. Even if his promise in the lab hadn’t been real, could he really be so cruel as to mock her with plans for his wedding when her dream was slowly being bashed to bits?

He raised an eyebrow. “You seem far less excited than I’d imagined.”

“Oh, no, of course I’m excited! I’m sure your wedding will be lovely, and I’m happy to help if you need me!” she said with a pained smile, desperately holding back her tears.

Smile dropping, his gold eyes narrowed. “Ok, this is ridiculous—you take the most innocuous comment from a complete stranger as a proposal, but you honestly can’t tell when I’m trying to ask for your hand in marriage?”

“What?”

Pulling out a small, velvet box, he presented her with a gold ring, a heart-shaped diamond gleaming in the center. He smirked at the way her eyes widened in shock. “Joker gave his approval, and I said when I proposed it’d be far better than what those scumbags had done. Now, are you going to stare at me forever, or are you going to say you’re mine?”

“…am I hallucinating?”

Reaching across the table, he gave a harsh pinch to the soft skin of her wrist.

“Ouch!”

“Proof enough that this is real? It’s been an exhausting week, Baby-ya, and I’d like to spend the rest of the evening drinking a nice glass of wine with my future wife before the hell of wedding planning starts. Though, I suppose if you don’t want me…” he trailed off as he slowly began to close the box.

A stampede of thoughts galloped through her head, barely comprehensive but all arriving at the same conclusion.

Law had asked her to marry him, and she needed to give an answer.

“Y-yes!” she exclaimed, ready to leap over the table, but his upraised hand between them stopped her.

“As much as I’d love to have you in my arms,” he said with a tired but triumphant grin, “I promised Joker I’d be a gentleman until the wedding. That means we’re going to have to keep touching to a minimum.”

“But why?” she asked curiously as he slipped the ring onto her finger. The diamond gleamed in the dim light, and it all finally felt so real.

She was finally going to become a wife!

Overwhelmed with emotion but unable to embrace her betrothed, she settled for grabbing his hand, kissing his fingertips like he had hers, her lips momentarily wrapping around his finger. Surely that counted as keeping touching to a minimum while still letting him see her gratitude, right? And he’d seemed to like it when she sucked his thumb that time…

She gasped as his long fingers wrapped around her wrist, tugging her forward so hard she knocked over her glass of wine, the burgundy liquid seeping into the clean white tablecloth.

Hot lips pressed to her ear as he rasped, “Because you’re too fucking irresistible for your own good, and if I’m going to make it to our wedding night, I need you to be a good girl and not tempt me.”

Liquid fire pooled between her thighs at the way his baritone voice called her a “good girl,” and she couldn’t help but let out a little whimper in response. He seemed to catch her reaction, as his voice became even rougher as he said, “Do you like that, Baby-ya? Does being called a ‘good girl’ turn you on?”

Swallowing hard, she tried to pull away, but his hand was like a shackle, unrelenting in its task of keeping her captive. “Yes,” she practically whispered, a little ashamed. Good girls didn’t get so hot and bothered over a few simple words. A good girl wouldn’t have tempted him. A good girl wouldn’t secretly want their superior—their future husband—to pin her to the table and show her what those romance novels meant when they talked about a man bringing his lover to the peak of pleasure.

She heard him take a deep, steadying breath before finally releasing her wrist, sitting back down and refilling her glass as if nothing had happened. Gold eyes flickered up to meet her breathless and confused gaze, and his wicked smile made her chest tighten and tingles dance through her nervous system.

“Then I’m looking forward to you showing me just how good you can be on our wedding night.”

[brandyxlynn91]

Galaxies Together pt. 9

Garrus was thinking about the events at Virmire when Joker came on his comm.

“Hey, Garrus. Can you go check on the commander? She just told me she didn’t want to be disturbed and a crewmember said they saw her heading to her room with a whole bottle of Asari brandy.”

“But I thought you said she didn’t want to be disturbed?” Garrus asked him.

“I know what I said. Look I know you care about her and I don’t think being alone is what she needs.” He replied.

“What are you-" Garrus started.

“Me and Wrex like to gossip. But that’s not the point. Just please go check on her. Ashley's- it’s really tearing her up and I’m worried.”

“Alright. I’ll go.” Garrus told him. He still didn’t know what to say to comfort her but he knew he had to try.

“Thanks, Garrus. You’re not bad, for a turian.”

Garrus grabbed some of his whiskey and headed towards Jane’s room. Before he got there, Kaidan stopped him.

“Where are you going?” He asked him.

“I’m going to go check up on Jane.” Garrus replied.

“But we were told that she didn’t want to be disturbed. And why are you taking alcohol with you?” Kaidan sounded angry.

“Look Joker asked me to go check on her.” He told him.

“He what? You never answered me about the alcohol. Look you better not touch or take advantage-" Kaidan started.

“I’m going there as a friend cause that’s what she needs. And the whiskey is because Ash's death has taken a hit on me, too. She became friendly with me and Wrex. You would’ve noticed if you thought about anyone but you and decided to pull your head out of your ass once in awhile!” Garrus interrupted him. He was usually calm but he wasn’t in the mood for Kaidan’s accusations and jealousy. Kaidan stood there in silence as Garrus continued to Jane’s room.

He knocked and when she answered, he could see her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet. He wanted to take away her sadness, but didn’t know how. He still thought her eyes reminded him of emeralds and her spots made him think of stars in the galaxy. She told him she wanted to be left alone. He lifted up his bottle and convinced her that she needed a friend and he did too. She reluctantly agreed then sat on the bed and started drinking. She asked him if she did the right thing and he told her neither choice was right or wrong but it was what needed to be done. He also told her that she was the most compassionate and considerate person he knew. He reminded her not to let this bring her down but to use it and make Saren pay. He still wanted to tell her about his feelings but he thought this wasn’t the time or place for that. He sat down next to her and she thanked him then made a toast to Ashley and her sacrifice. He raised his bottle back and toasted to good friends lost too soon. They sat there drinking and sharing memories about Ashley then he felt something on his shoulder. Jane had fallen asleep on him. He looked at her looking peaceful then touched the top of her head.

“Don’t shoulder the galaxy’s problems on yourself, Jane. Share your burdens with me, with all of us once in awhile. You don’t need to be so tough on yourself. I’m always here for you." He whispered softly. “You really are an amazing woman, but even you can’t do everything by yourself.”

He kissed her cheek then laid her down and covered her up before leaving. He and Wrex spent the rest of the night drinking and talking about Ashley. The next morning when they went to the mess hall, they saw Jane and Kaidan.

“Ugh. Do I have to deal with the council today?” Jane asked with her head on the table. Garrus assumed she was nursing a hangover.

“How much did you drink, Shepard?” Kaidan asked, eyeing Garrus.

“I don’t know. I passed out. How much was it, Vakarian?” She looked up at Garrus. She was still in her pajamas and her hair was a mess.

“Well, you finished your whole bottle of brandy then you tried to drink my whiskey. I had to put it up where you couldn’t reach it because you wouldn’t listen when I told you it would kill you.”

“You drank the whole bottle? Jesus, Shepard. That asari stuff is strong.” Kaidan said.

“Ugh! Can we just tell the council to fuck off? They don’t believe me anyways.” She put her head back on the table.

“We’ll be at the citadel in 20 minutes.” Joker said over the comm. “You might want to look like you didn’t get drunk off your ass last night, commander.”

“Here. The doctor gave me this to give to you. It’ll get rid of your hangover.” Kaidan gave Jane some medicine.

“Why didn’t you give this to me earlier?” She snapped.

“Well, you told me my voice was too loud and my walking and my breathing.” Kaidan laughed.

“Come on, Shepard. Let’s go get you dressed.” Tali said, grabbing her arm.

“Ugh. Stupid council. That turian hates me you know.” She groaned, getting up.

“Nah. He hates all humans, not just you.” Garrus teased.

“Not helping. And you still owe me a drink!” She yelled from down the corridor. At that moment, Kaidan looked at Garrus.

“She uh won a bet.” Garrus told him.

“Yep. Kicked his ass in a shooting contest.” Wrex laughed, as he walked away. “Just let me know if you need me to headbutt that turian.”

“Hey, about last night…” Kaidan turned to Garrus.

“Kaidan.” He sighed. “Look. Nothing happened. We talked about Ashley then we drank until Jane passed out then I left. I went there as a friend like I told you I was.”

“No, I didn’t- I mean. You were right.” He stammered out.

“What?” Garrus looked at him in surprise.

“I wasn’t thinking about Shep or her feelings. I was just focused on myself. Then Ashley died and I blamed Shepard for saving me. I didn’t even stop to think how it was affecting her. I’m going to start putting her first.” He told him.

“Oh. Good for you.” Garrus said as he walked away. Sure he could’ve told him about his own feelings towards her but he didn’t even know how she felt and he didn’t want to start any trouble for Jane. She had enough on her plate the way it was. He decided he would just tell her how he felt after the meeting with the council.

Jane, Kaidan, and Garrus made their way to the council chambers. Once there, the council announced they were preparing their fleet to protect the citadel. Jane begged them to let her go to Ilos to stop Saren. They told her they didn’t want to incite a war with the Terminus system. Jane told them she could be discreet and the turian councilor reminded her that she blew up a building on Virmire. She adamantly told them that’s where Saren was going and he was going to the conduit to help the reapers. They told her that Saren was playing mind games and making up reapers to put them in chaos and attack the citadel. Then Udina told her he was grounding the Normandy and he’d assist the council. Jane called him a traitorous bastard and pleaded with the council more but they told her that they made their decision and went on their way.

After returning to the docked Normandy, Garrus decided to look for Jane. He wanted to try to talk to her about what happened and tried to steel his nerves to tell her about his feelings.

“Hey Tali. Have you seen Jane?” He asked as he walked by her.

“Sure. I think I saw her walking towards the locker room. Why?” She replied.

“Oh, uh, I just wanted to talk to her.” He told her and made his way towards the lockers. He had reached the door and could see Jane through the crack in the door. He saw her punch her locker then put her back to it and slowly slump down to the floor, looking defeated. He was about to go in when he saw Kaidan go over to her. Damn, he thought. He’d have to talk to her another time. He didn’t know what he was feeling but he didn’t like the thought of Kaidan being the one to console her. He stood there with his back to the wall for a few minutes trying to put his thoughts together. He wasn’t sure why but he wanted nothing more than for her to be happy and he wanted to be the one to make her feel that way. He wanted to fight beside her and protect her at the same time. He wanted to see her face everyday, the same face that reminded him of the stars in the galaxy. He wanted her to be his galaxy. It was then he realized he didn’t really want to go back to C-sec, he wanted to stay on the Normandy with Jane. His thoughts were interrupted when Jane came flying out of the locker room with Kaidan behind her.

“C’mon, Garrus. We’re going to Flux.” She said as she ran past him. “Anderson wants to talk and if I know him, he’s got a plan.”

“Are you kidding? I’m right behind you.” He replied as he ran after her.

[fanabana]

after only two episodes i already love marcus lopez arguello so much (tbh i loved him from the first episode who am i kidding) (i haven't read the comics so this is only based on the show) i love him because he’s so dumb and yet so smart. dumb like how he fell for maria’s really shitty looking fake black eye. lmao it looked so fake and he was like ‘omg who hurt you i’ll kill them for hurting you even tho i hardly i’ve spoken to you’. and he’s smart like how he was the only one to solve the riddle about the antidote while he was like minutes from dying. 

i also love how sometimes he hesitates and sometimes he springs into action. he hesitated when chico pulls a knife on him, frozen in fear and bad memories. obviously we’ll get more of his tragic backstory as the season progresses. (the joker: ‘do you want to know how i got these scars?’ me: ‘yeah...’) but he sprang into action during the pop quiz and picked the lock on the gate while the other students were still standing around in shock or fruitlessly tying to force the gate open. 

i love him because he’ll kill a bad person (rory), he’ll tear down a bully picking on his friend (lex), he’ll throw a drink in a bigot’s face (brandy), he’ll start a fight and potentially kill an abuser (chico). but he’ll also let willie take the credit for his kill and keep his pacifism a secret, he’ll be nice to shabnam when no one else is, he’ll encourage billy to tell petra how he feels (even tho that didn’t end well marcus was being genuine with his encouragement), he’ll try to to talk comics with other students and make new friends, and he’ll worry that killing someone, even a bad person, will also make him a bad person. 

i love that in only two episodes so far marcus is a fully fleshed character. he’s not a mary sue who is perfect at everything. he’s not a doofus who’s bad at everything either. he is a bit of a hot head who’s always ready to throw down but he’s not an unlikable asshole to everyone all the time, he’s out there being a softie trying to make friends and talk about music and comics with his classmates. he has an existing moral code but now we see him internally struggling to adapt that as he learns to be a killer/assassin. 

this has been mostly incoherent but i just love marcus so much and i appreciate how his character has been written/acted/directed/edited so much.

[kfawkes]

46 shakarian?

[OKAY THIS IS REALLY SHORT AND SILLY. And since I already did an intense one with this quote for Eggsy I figured I’d include the crew and make it fun :) I hope you like!!! Also kinda inspired by that Parks and Rec episode with April and Andy lol. You’ll understand at the end XD ] (gif found on google)

“Look, all I’m saying is that I can totally take you.” Shepard taunted from her seat. Posture relaxed and far too comfortable with one arm propped comfortably to the back of her chair. The table before her was lined in snacks and different bottled alike. The air around her was full of light laughter and her cheeks were flush with excitement. 

It wasn’t exactly a look she liked, so you bet your ass no one said anything about it. She was the Great Commander Shepard after all, and she could absolutely hold her liquor… 

“HA!” Wrex laughed back, leaning forward far too dramatically to be deemed appropriate, as he slam a heavy hand to the table; a rumble of glass rattling to follow, and several droplets of liquid splashing every which way. “I don’t think so Shepard. I am krogan, you may have saved the galaxy, but this time… It will be me that crushes you.” 

The sounds of laugher surrounded them all, taunts and cheers shot every direction but all Shepard could do was smirk all knowing. A second later she raised her hand passively as a roar of cheers escaped; this was her gesture of acceptance. Within seconds Garrus was shaking his head, James was taking bets and Joker was clearing the table of junk. 

The cluster of hands and bottles being cleared while Garrus rubbed Shepards shoulders softly as you would before a match, pressing his mouth to her head in his version of a kiss. 

Jane smiled up at him for a moment, only breaking the death stare she had locked on Wrex as long as she could afford, offering a taloned hand one quick squeeze and kiss before she popped her knuckles and scooted closer to the table. 

“Wrex, don’t you dare lose here, I put 100 credits on your ass.” James tossed, crossing his arms as he bounce softly on the balls of his feet in excitement. 

“There’s your first mistake, Vega.” Garrus laughed, pointing at James with a lazy hand before shaking his head in disbelief. “You never bet against Shepard.” 

James paused a moment, remembering the time he had in fact bet against Shepard during the game during shore leave… His face shifted to one of near regret as Cortez laughed patting his shoulder in pity. But… this was a KROGAN. There was no way Shepard was going to win this one. 

She’d taken down reapers yeah, but arm wrestling a krogan was something else entirely.

“Oh, come on… Lola is tiny. There’s no way she’s gonna bet him.” James spat back, almost as if he believed the words himself. 

“Guess we’ll see won’t we?” Jane smiled, tossing her head back to finish her beer, then propping her elbow to the cool slick surface below it. She gave her fingers several stretching wiggles before raising a brow to one of her oldest friends. 

Another roar of cheers and laughter spat out as Wrex joined her on the table, eyes fierce and at the ready. 

The air grew tense and quiet as they nodded and began their duel. Their arms fluctuated back and forth far too many times for comfort, and there was more than once that it seemed Shepard would lose… her arms dangerously close to the surface as everyone around them jumped and yelled, their drinks splashing left and right when she didn’t lose but pushed his arm up yet again… 

But Garrus was completely calm the entire time. He was leaned lightly against the wall just behind her, slowly drinking his brandy, his arms lightly crossed enjoying the show from the crew far more than the one before him. He smiled that smile of his, mandibles light as he watch her slam that large stoney hand to the table in a loud ear shattering thud. 

Jane shot up from her seat with arms raised high in victory, the yells of excitement and failure spreading through the air as she turned to Garrus; smiling wide and pure. She wrapped her arms around his cowl, pulling him close ready to bask in her victory.

“What did you think? Had him going for a bit, huh?” she laughed into his chest as his hands slid to her waist. 

“The same thing I thought the first time you did that.” he cooed back close to her ear, insinuation seeping off his undertones.

“Yeah? What’s that?” Jane asked back, definitely fishing for a compliment while those behind her exchanged credits where credits were due. 

“’Shit… I’m in love.’ “ he confessed in a voice far too cheesy to be believable. 

Shepard couldn’t help but laugh, whole heartedly and full of affection. “Awe, you love me?” 

“Shepard, we’re married.” 

“Okay good point. Can you just tell me how cool I looked again then?” Jane asked, then looked over her shoulder tossing a reply loud enough for all to hear. “What was that you said about how stroooong I am Garrus?” 

A slur of curse words felt the krogan’s lips as he grumble in his defeat. And when she turned back to Garrus he kissed her, long and hard before offering the reply she so very needed. “You looked really cool, Shepard.”

“Fuck yeah I did.”

[writer59january13]

Caterwauling disrupted peace of mind and jeopardized mine body electric

A couple nights ago

(today being August 4th, 2021)

while walking around the parking lot after dark

over yonder shrieking catcall heard - hark

at first methought, a baby experienced distress,

I immediately scratched that notion

far fetched as sound out the beak of bewailing lark

but Highland Manor apartments

generally quiet as cemetery park.

Truth be told yours truly an overgrown fraidy cat

who naturally sought to turn sharp

on his heels and beat path

for domicile entrance within seconds flat.

Hypothesization generated imagination to conjure fate worse than death

predicated after huffing and puffing (pertaining to above mentioned activity) gasping for my last breath

praying to dog to escape

versus being figurative cooked goose

cowardliness quickly dismissed lame excuse to avoid become laughingstock

with addled pate stuck within noose.

Maybe ferocious feral rabid animal on the loose

oh if only seen courtesy Doctor Seuss

what with me with hair raised straight up

and/or the wild beast

charging faster than lightning greased

impossible mission to call a truce

where creature waggled her/his tail

analogous to derailed caboose

prompting joker within me

to splutter what the deuce,

not wanting to discover vis a vis

common denominator most least

cuz mortal kombat witnessed bloody bloke

pronouncing one lapsed (Aloe there)

spidery legged wandering Jew deceased.

Forsooth

aforementioned scenario fabrication of truth

insipid since contents (reasonably rhyming materiel)

devoid remotely labeled uncouth

fiction employed to entice reading poem

tastefully accomplished akin to wine

knowingly spiked with brandy

infused with herbs and spices

such sweetened drink constitutes one of two varieties regarding

never drinking teetotaler vermouth;

red (sweet), which originally hails from Italy, and white (dry)

which first appeared in France.

[swaps55]

Six Sentence Sunday

Joker had talked Pressly into a glass of brandy when their shift ended, and the navigator is both a lightweight and an emphatic storyteller when he loosens up. Doesn’t matter that everyone at the table was present during the Battle of the Citadel – no one tells it like Pressly does.

Dr. Chakwas, who usually waits until after 19:00 to have a drink, raises a glass of wine when Pressly recounts the speech he gave Admiral Hackett when the Normandy had left Ilos to rally the Fifth Fleet.

That, Kaidan wishes he’d been around to see. Taking a mutinied ship right into the arms of the Alliance without the CO on board and convincing them to come to the Citadel’s aid was a feat on the same level of what Shepard had accomplished on the Citadel, and Pressly had done it without blinking.

Joker actually gets up in his seat and claps when Pressly finishes, and the rest of the table – Chase, Tali, Dr. Chakwas, Grenado and Adams – all break out in cheers.