#lift chair manufacturers

[writingstoraes]

sparks 🎇

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine (fluff)

word count: 1.7k, no warnings hehe

notes: once again this is a new idea even though i have a ton of drafts like my mind is a mess so i am not surprised ANYWAY . trying to get out of a writing slump so lmk what u guys think! ALSO apologies for any typos or grammatical errors this is not proofread at all 😆

about:  The few of the many times Charles’ heart skipped a beat because of you.

Movies have always portrayed “real” sparks so well. Sometimes it’s a scene where a guy sees the girl for the very first time during a first date and he freezes for a moment, the apparent electricity between two people when their hands almost touch and they panic for a little while, or the moment of suspense before a first kiss and the exhilaration after.

But Charles taught that was exactly what they were - movie scenes. He lingered on the thought that the moments where sparks flew and one’s heart skips a beat, those moments cannot be manufactured in real life. They stay in movies, books, in the arts; where they belong, somewhere where they were fiction.

Not until he experiences it first-hand, not until he meets you, the woman who held his heart in the palm of her hand.

He felt it the first time your hands ever touched. 

At first, he thought he was going crazy. There was no way he felt a current run through his skin the moment it came in contact with yours, but to this day, it’s a testament he swears on very seriously. 

You had been going out for a few weeks, several dates here and there. It was the exact point where you felt comfortable with each other, but only starting to be, hence why there were still evident boundaries present. The two of you were careful to not cross any, especially Charles. He’s cautious on establishing any physical touch, sure, he’s held your waist to guide you through bustling crowds and had slung his arm over your shoulder, but he hasn’t held your hand. At least, not yet. 

He had invited you to have dinner on his yacht, set at the perfect time where you can be of witness to the beautiful sunset over the sea. He says the food was nearly done, so he set up two comfortable chairs that gave you just the perfect view of the Monaco skies. The sun was setting and the golden sky formed a beautiful gradient with the blue hue that painted it beforehand. 

He turns his head to you, your arm resting on the chair’s handles, a tad bit preoccupied with the view in front of you. He keeps a smile to himself, enjoying the personalized view he had. For some reason, he feels the urge to hold your hand, or at least rest his on top of yours. He was hesitating and second-guessing, lifting his finger once in a while and then putting it back down when he decides not to push through. It didn’t help that there were minimal distance between your chair and his, and so he was fighting the urge to initiate contact and have you flee off. 

But his hesitant hand that kept on moving was something you grew to notice, and thanks to your knowledge of many, many romance movies, you assumed it meant he wanted to hold your hand but was too afraid to do it. You shove the thought of doing it first in the back of your head, overthinking that you might be wrong and he in fact did not want to hold your hand. 

Maybe it was something in the air, the quiet waves of the ocean, or just the fact that he really really liked you. 

He finally lifts his hand so he can reach yours, resting it softly on top of your hand. He lets out a relieved and contented sigh when he feels you ease into his touch. His heart raced faster, like it was screaming for help and begging to be let out of his chest.

As if that was not enough, he feels a current run through his arm and out of his fingertips the moment you grasp his hand and decide to interlock your fingers with his then setting it on top of the chair’s handle.  He swears he saw fireworks when he closed his eyes and his heart finally exploded out of his chest. He vows he can stand up and jump around out of joy, but he chooses to indulge in the moment and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze instead.

He had met you earlier in the season and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want you to see him in his element, doing what truly made him happy. That is, if his team does not proceed to ruin the entire weekend for him and his dedicated fans.

He invited you to watch a grand prix, in a track that he felt most comfortable. He was the perfect gentleman whe he extended the invite, letting you know you could always decline if you didn’t feel like going. You were together, in all terms to be considered, but he didn’t want to pressure you into finally making your appearance only because he knew how harsh it could get. He assures you that he will take care of everything and all you needed to do was come.

You were committed to attend the entire weekend, from free practice until the race itself. Even if Charles was quick to reassure you that you didn’t have to be there for everything, you only return a smile and tell him you wanted to be, which not surprisingly calmed his nerves. 

You knew people were going to stare, fans will take pictures, even the possibility of you making headlines. This was your first paddock appearance as his girlfriend, after all. It was inevitable, so you try to take your mind off of the pressure. Much to your nerves bothering you before you even got on the plane, you had been racking your brain on what to wear. You didn’t want to seem like you were trying too hard or too little. 

You finally settle on an outfit and your lips form a small smile as you looked in the mirror. It was nothing extravagant, only a black one-shoulder top and a black high-waisted pants that you paired with a red leather jacket. It’s not like you wanted what you wore to scream Ferrari, but you wanted to add a little touch, at least for Charles. 

“What do you think? I chose the red jacket for you,” you turn around to see Charles, seeing as you heard his footsteps earlier and knew he entered the room.

If he was being honest, he had seen you put on the outfit. He witnessed how you cocked your head to the side trying to see if it looks good. He sees the outfits laid on the bed, all with a touch of red, and he could feel butterflies swarm his stomach at the thought of you carefully planning out your outfits to include his team’s colors.

There it was again, the stupid sparks that he’s been getting ever since he met you. He curses himself for being a little non-functional when feels them, but he figures he has to get used to being blown away by everything you did. It feels magnetic, like he’s feeling actual static. You make him feel so much by just doing so little. 

He sees you twirling around in front of the mirror, smiling when you finally put on the red leather jacket, looking satisfied. 

He stops at his tracks, at least internally, and fails to respond for at least 10 seconds. 

“Do you not like it? I can always go change-”

“No,” he says, almost out of voice. “You look absolutely beautiful.” 

Where he was standing, he swears he sees fireworks erupt behind you.

Charles stands on the podium, feeling victorious and ecstatic he had clinched another win for his Formula 1 career. He looks fondly at the sea of crowd cheering for him, waving flags of his own country, Ferrari, and Italy. From where he stood he could see Fred’s big smile and the engineers celebrating, jumping up and down. 

The trophies had been awarded and the Monaco national anthem had finally played. He was wearing his Pirelli cap and completely drenched in champagne. He scans the crowd down the podium, hoping to get a glance of you. Earlier, he did tell you you didn’t have to witness the awarding personally should he win, because he didn’t want you to get in between many people and possibly get shoved or pushed. He assumes that you were in the garage, waiting for him, probably with a kiss and a hug. 

He leans over the makeshift railing of the stage, eyes still set on possibly sighting you. When he fails to find you, he finally comes down and there he sees you, just near the stairs going up to the podium with teary eyes and a wide smile. There you stood with hands clasped together, in awe of Charles who was standing in front of you. 

He feels his heart race yet again, having experienced the first time you ever greeted him after he claims P1 in a race. Even just by looking at you he feels his world shift, like its only goal was to pull him towards you, like the fireworks that took the skies earlier weren’t enough and he was having his own show. 

He jogs towards you, exhilirated and filled with adrenaline and pulls you into a tight embrace. His entire body twitches when you plant a soft kiss on his cheek, as if every fiber of his being had turned into putty at your touch. Everytime you engulf him in an embrace, kiss his cheek, or run your hands through his hair, he feels as if he’s inside his car going at least 320 kilometers per hour. He has no clue how you do it, how you possibly make him feel like he’s won a race every time he was with you;  as if you and his heart had a binding agreement. 

“Congratulations, mon champion du monde,” you say slowly and close to Charles so only he could hear, hoping you didn’t mess up the pronunciation, after having practiced it several times on the plane. 

Something tugs at his heartstrings, having been greeted by the knowledge that you sent out his well wishes in French, even though you didn’t speak the language and mentioned you were always scared you were going to say something wrong. But mostly because you called him your world champion, and that just sends him down a spiral.

“Thanks for being here, amour.” he replies, pulling you in again for another hug. 

------------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy

notes: thanks for reading everyone <3 will try to post a 1.4k special soon but firstly thank u so much for all the love hehehe hope u guys r having the nicest day!

[sevikasupremacy]

Disaster - Chapter 14

LOYALTY - Sevika x Reader Series

Warning: slight mention of blood, fighting

Words: 1,029

Previous Chapter

Chapter 15 is Up!

Summary: A confrontation with Vi at The Last Drop resulted in severe injuries for you.

You were glad that the past few days were quite peaceful for the two of you.

Despite Silco’s and Jinx’s efforts to ruin it, you always found ways to lighten up the mood.

Which was what Sevika loves about you.

You were the only thing that’s keeping her sane from all the chaos.

Over time, you started to become familiar with your new routine. Waking up every morning to see the older woman’s beautiful face was enough for you to get excited.

The two of you never forget to exchange kisses with each other before parting ways to work on their duties.

Usually, Silco would assign you tons of paperwork regarding shimmer orders and any other resources needed to build his empire, but sometimes Sevika couldn’t help but take those responsibilities instead.

You insisted on getting the paperwork done at home (since you actually get the job done way faster than her) because of Sevika’s concern of you having to run around all the time without her presence as you try to finish every order.

So it ended up with you correcting the paperwork and her taking those orders from the shimmer dealer the next day.

Some days you would join her during her errands but you made sure to stay in sight.

But you always felt safe with her.

You always observed Sevika’s habit of nudging you to lead the way. Not because she was using you as a human shield but she was guarding you from the back. This arrangement made it much easier since you were directly in front of her.

And everyone in Zaun knew the harsh consequences that would follow if they dared to lay a finger on you.

➵

As you stacked the paperworks and slid it to the corner of the desk, you reached your arms up to stretch.

How long have I been working?

You looked around the empty room before standing up from your chair.

You remembered telling Sevika that you’d join her at The Last Drop after you were done with work.

“I should get going.” You mumbled, heading for the door.

➵

You hummed to yourself as you strolled down the streets of Zaun.

You remembered how paranoid you were whenever you roamed alone. But now with Sevika around, you never felt so powerful in your life.

As you walked closer to The Last Drop, a silhouette made you stop in your tracks.

You assumed it was one of those days where those drunk idiots would think it was a good idea to challenge the Chemguards.

Following the recent incident at Silco’s shimmer manufacturing facility, more protection was much needed. You were shocked after receiving news from Sevika.

Approaching the scene cautiously, you were struck with horror as a familiar face caused you to freeze in place.

Vi…?

You darted your eyes toward the giant, glowing mechanics on her hands as she vigorously dodged and delivered blows to the defeated Chemguards. The reverberating clang of metal filled the city streets.

Your mind raced as you frantically scanned the surroundings for a weapon. That’s when your eyes landed on a nearby giant metal pipe. You grabbed it, your gaze never leaving the scene.

Sevika’s inside.

Sweat trickled down the side of your face as you crept closer, careful not to make any noise that would attract the red-haired woman’s attention.

With her back turned toward you, Vi threw one more punch at the Chemguard with a loud grunt.

Now is your chance.

As you lifted the metal pipe high up in the air, you swung it swiftly, aiming for her head.

But that plan quickly backfired as you found yourself locking eyes with the furious woman, her gauntlet firmly grabbing on the metal pipe before effortlessly crushing it in her grasp.

“Vi…”

You uttered, your hands still gripping on the broken weapon.

“Get out of my way.” She growled, violently flinging the metal pipe aside, causing you to fall back with a loud thud.

“Vi, stop!”

You yelled, attempting to stop her from entering The Last Drop. The red-haired woman glanced back at you as you struggled to your feet, balancing yourself.

“Don’t you dare go in there.”

“Stay away from this.” Vi warned as she approached you, her eyes fixated on you as if they were predatory.

As Vi began to turn back towards the entrance, you grabbed a shard from the broken Chemguard and slashed at her back, cutting yourself in the process.

Pushed to her limit, Vi threw a punch at your left shoulder, sending you flying backward until you collided with the wrecked Chemguard. Shards of glass cut into the side of your arm and kneecap upon impact.

You winced in pain, your hand trembling as you carefully yanked the remaining shards from the side of your arm. The impact from the prior hit left your legs unable to move. Helplessly, you watched as Vi entered The Last Drop before everything faded to black.

➵

Sevika’s eyes remained fixed on the door the moment she heard a commotion from outside. She set her playing cards on the table, clenching her teeth as she continued to keep her gaze locked on the door.

The moment that door swung open, revealing the face of her long-term opponent, her eyes widened in shock.

It wasn’t Vi’s presence that startled her.

But rather the quick glimpse of your helpless, bloody body lying beside a wrecked Chemguard before the door closed.

"Everyone, out.” Sevika's loud, booming voice echoed through the tavern as she stood up, loading her shimmer-infused mechanical arm.

Her heart raced with anger as she stood in front of her opponent, her mechanical arm clenched tightly.

How she wished she could just run out that door and hold you tightly.

How she wished that she could just whisper in your ear that everything was going to be alright.

But she broke her promise.

She promised to protect you. But this time…

She couldn’t.

But she knew she had to be strong. For you.

Before the last customer was about to exit, she put a hand on his shoulder, giving him an order.

“Take care of her for me. I’ll handle this.”

Author’s Note: Did I write this chapter in one sitting? Yes. Yes I did ;)

Honestly I was planning to upload this tomorrow but lucky you, I decided to post two chapters today :D

Final exams are pouring in so please enjoy this chapter while I work on the next one! (And studying too of course— I’m a responsible student I swear)

Taglist: @holysmokesblog @moonknightys @honeyr4ven @im-sidney @meetmeinthervng @uwuttaja @tiptoeingquietly @trashbod @Doc-blu @mayalopxz @pinkiedash101 @gabrielsellesty @rockyroad-is-bomb @jkkwin @idcplss @pinkrose1422 @thesevi0lentdelights

[seramilla]

Okay Vaggies emotional turmoil I 100% understand and I am LIVING for the angst but can we touch on Carmilla, Clara, and Odette? They just learned that their daughter and sister, their BABY sister is not only alive but also a full grown adult at this time.

They missed everything. All of her firsts and all her heart breaks. They weren’t there when she needed advice. Or for any of her awkward questions. They missed getting to grow up with her. Getting to raise her. Getting to know her. I KNOW they want some way to get that family back together.

And she missed having a family. Having anyone. Unless you count the exorcist cause in a way they are her sisters.

Either way more angst for your mind. And if you write about it more content for me to consume.

Carmilla does meet Vaggie at the door to her compound this time, just as she'd promised. When the angel arrives, the district of warehouses and workers loading and unloading trucks is deserted. The street is still empty and eerily quiet. Vaggie suspects Carmilla’s people are still stocking up from the Extermination. Not much manufacturing to be done while fresh angelic weapons are still lining the streets, waiting to be salvaged.

Vaggie doesn’t even need to buzz the door — as soon as she comes within sight of the camera, the door lifts, and Carmilla is standing there. Just as tall and intimidating as ever, especially compared to her, but her eyes communicate the exact opposite of the impatience they had the last time she'd been here. Now, she really seems like she’s trying to see Vaggie, see into her, instead of like the intruder she'd been before. Vaggie shifts between her feet awkwardly.

“Umm, hi, Carmilla,” Vaggie says, making a waving motion with her hand. What was that, idiot?! Vaggie screams at herself. Why are you such a fucking putz?

"Hello, dear," Carmilla greets her, warm and inviting and so unlike that fierce warrior that taught her all that fancy footwork a week prior. Now she's looking at the angel like she has something to prove. "I'm glad to see you again. Would you come in?"

"Yeah." Vaggie agrees, rubbing the back of her head nervously, and following her inside. The warehouse is just as dark and depressing as the last time she'd been here, and just as empty. No one else is around, and Vaggie wonders why Carmilla is here on her own.

They don't go far. A short trip up the elaborate staircase, and Carmilla turns them toward a small office space at the very top. She opens the door, letting the little angel head inside first, before entering herself and turning on a light. It's much more inviting in here, with big windows and lots of natural light. The space is meant to look like a small apartment, maybe one Carmilla stays in when she's overseeing her workers. A futon and coffee table sit in the corner, with an industrial-sized desk on the other side of the room, covered with papers.

"Sit anywhere you'd like, dear," Carmilla instructs. There's really only one place to sit, other than Carmilla's big executive office chair, so Vaggie takes one edge of the futon. Suddenly, Carmilla reappears with two cups of tea in her hand. She gives one to Vaggie. "I made some tea for your arrival. Hope you like chamomile."

"Th-thank you," Vaggie says, taking her cup. She doesn't drink right away, just rubs her fingers against the rough ceramic surface for a moment, before finally taking a sip. Carmilla sits on the opposite end of the futon beside her. Both women just co-exist in the space for a while, letting the silence permeate, unsure of where to begin. Ultimately, it's Vaggie who breaks the silence.

"I was hoping I could talk to you about...the other day," Vaggie admits, still not able to meet Carmilla's gaze. Carmilla doesn't have that problem. She's staring straight at Vaggie, overly hopeful, fighting the urge to reach over to her, and grasp her shoulder. Vaggie notices the subtle shift in her movement, like she's trying to hold herself back. She smiles...it's a sad smile. One that speaks of unspoken feelings rather than genuine happiness. Vaggie wants that to change. Why is this so difficult?

"It's okay," Vaggie says, finally able to look Carmilla in the eye. "I'm not really a touchy-feely person, except with Charlie. But you can hug me, if you want."

Carmilla had gotten so used to doing it that first day in the hospital. Vaggie can tell she wants to do it again. They'd both been so confused, and desperate for one another's affection. Leaning toward Vaggie slowly, so as not to scare her away, Carmilla scooches closer to her on the futon, and puts one arm around the angel.

Like she'd said, Vaggie is not normally a touchy person, except with Charlie. She gets the impression Carmilla isn't either, except with her daughters. Even so, Vaggie turns her small body into the older woman, and falls into her embrace. Carmilla moves in even closer, short of wrapping herself around the girl again, and starts stroking her long hair, like she'd done at the hospital. It had helped calm Vaggie down then.

For some reason, the movement sets Vaggie off this time, and she struggles so badly not to cry. Pushing away slightly, she rubs her good eye with the back of her hand, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," Vaggie says, ashamed at how easily she crumbles in front of this woman. She's normally made of better stuff than this. "I didn't come here to do this again. I really wanted to talk."

Vaggie keeps rubbing at her good eye, and then at her eyepatch, as if it's hurting her. She does so until the skin on her face and arm starts to turn red and raw. Carmilla pulls Vaggie's arm away, placing it between them in her lap.

"Don't." Carmilla says, squeezing Vaggie's hand. "Don't hurt yourself. I've been doing a lot of that the last few days, too. It's okay. You don't have to hide it."

"It's not okay!" Vaggie exclaims, getting frustrated with herself again. "I came here to ask questions, and maybe give you answers, too. This isn't how it was supposed to go."

"We've got time," Carmilla says, pulling her closer again. Vaggie is thankful for it. At least she can hide her embarrassment in Carmilla's chest, where she doesn't have to acknowledge her tears. "We can just sit here, and talk some more. We can do whatever you want."

Then, hesitating, not sure if Vaggie is ready yet, but Carmilla adds the caveat anyway, "My daugh--Odette and Clara will be here shortly. They've been out gathering supplies. You don't have to, but would you...want to meet them?"

Vaggie remembers Carmilla's other girls. They'd delivered Sir Pentious' weapons that day, when he still found everyone at the hotel so untrustworthy. She'd never given the two women much thought before at all, but admittedly, she is very curious now. She doesn't know what they will make of her...but if they're also family, if there's something she can learn about her would-have-been life from before...there's a part of her that really wants to know.

"Would they...be okay with that?" Vaggie asks. "Do they even know about me?"

"They know about you, yes," Carmilla answers. "I can't...say with certainty how they'll react. They are their own people. But if we want to try and make this work...?"

Carmilla leaves the statement open-ended. Vaggie gets it. These one-on-one rendezvous with Carmilla could go on ad nauseam, and a part of her is okay with that...but another part really wants to know all the extended members of her family. She's not unfamiliar with having sisters before. In a sense, all the Exorcists had been her sisters. They worked together, and trained together. Made small talk, and had each other's backs (most of the time). Maybe this wouldn't be much different.

"Yeah," Vaggie says, acknowledging what Carmilla had been trying to convey before. It won't be easy, but...maybe it's another step they can take together. "I am nervous, but...I'd like to meet them. If that's okay with you."

[wooahaeruby]

Chapter 13: Sky Walking

Chapter Word Count: 5,435

TW

1) Mouse has Trauma 2) Use of drugs. Smoke weed everyday. Leafblower Special. 3) Mouse disassociates for a while 4) Mentions of ODing / Childhood Trauma / Cops suck in this story. (read at your own discretion) 5) Mouse and Someone else in SVT trauma bond. 6) At the beginning, Mouse goes through the numb depression motions.

Master List | Prev | Next

You didn’t get a single moment of rest. Each time you closed your eyes, the feeling of dried blood that you knew wasn’t there clung to your hands and the image of Mingyu’s body on the table as you gave him CPR flashed. The continuous beating line on the heart monitor gave you reassurance as the time passed. 

Just as Jeonghan said, Jihoon and him switched off duties of coming to check on Mingyu and change out bags of saline when the previous one was finished. At some point you gave up counting how often they came, staying curled up in your seat, glad to have the blanket wrapped around you in the cold room. Both had asked if you needed anything and each time you shook your head, falling deeper and deeper into your thoughts. 

He was going to be okay, you had a good feeling in your chest about it. He’d wake up and try to play everything off and act like he was fine when he was in a lot of pain. He’d complain that everyone’s cooking was subpar compared to his but would eat every last piece of it to make them happy. Maybe he’d let you cook for him and show off what you thought were pretty good cooking skills to give him well rounded meals during his recovery. Mingyu would need all the rest he could get before even stepping foot out of the house, knowing they’d take him back to the house to recover comfortably in his own bed. 

When the door opened next, you turned, thinking you’d see Jeonghan since Jihoon had checked in last, but Seungcheol stood at the doorway with a paper bag in one hand and a tray with two coffee cups in the other. He had changed from the suit he had on last night into dark jeans and an oversized gray sweater. Sitting up, you gave him a curious look but didn’t voice any question. He lumbered his way to the seats still across the bed from you and slid into one, placing the items he brought on one of the other chairs. 

“It’s six in the morning.” His deep voice was full of fatigue, the bags under his eyes dark. He didn’t look like he slept. “Seokmin grabbed your coffee order and a bagel.” Seungcheol lifted the paper bag and pulled one bagel out before handing the bag to you. Once the bag was in your hand, he took the coffee cup and passed it over. Hesitantly, you released Mingyu’s hand, you didn’t let go of it once throughout the night since you sat down. 

The hot cup felt amazing against your cold fingers. Taking a quick sip, it burned your mouth but it was too good to stop. The warmth spread through your limbs and your shoulders relaxed. 

“Seokmin put in that you both were sick and needed a few days off. Wonwoo manufactured some doctor’s notes.” 

“Thank you.” 

He grunted in response, drinking his own cup, letting his eyes land on Mingyu. “Anything?” 

With a quick shake of your head, you pulled your knees to your chest, using one hand to move the blanket around you. “Nothing. He’s breathing fine, he took two units of blood in total, heart rate hasn’t faltered all night.” 

“Did you get any sleep?” 

Pausing, you were going to answer but closed your mouth, chewing on your bottom lip. “I could ask the same of you.” 

“Touche…”

“Did anyone else?” You asked, sipping from your cup once more. 

Seungcheol sighed out a heavy breath. “Most of them passed out from exhaustion. Seokmin fell asleep in a chair, Soonyoung was curled up on the floor with all the couch pillows with Chan knocked out last I checked. Vernon took Seungkwan back to the penthouse once they left so hopefully they got some sleep. Joshua, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, and Jihoon are all passed out on the couches we have up in the office. I think Minghao and Junhui went back to the penthouse too, but I doubt they got any sleep.” 

“Does this…” You didn’t know how to word it. “Does stuff like this happen often?” 

“What, getting shot? We try not to make it a constant thing.” A smidge of humor was in his tired words. “Last one was Jihoon about a year ago. He was helping break up a fight in Ruby and the asshole had a gun and it misfired in the struggle.”  

Forcing out a breath, you nodded, shaking the mental image away. You thought of Jihoon in a similar situation as Mingyu last night and your already lost appetite was gone tenfold. Trying your best to mask the discomfort, you drank the coffee and focused back on Mingyu’s breathing. It seemed Seungcheol was doing the same, nibbling on a piece of the bagel he got and sipping his coffee. It wasn’t often you two ended up in the same place alone, usually someone was accompanying you at the house. 

“Oh-” You just remember that he literally had you brought over last night to speak with him. Seungcheol perked up. “Why was I needed last night?” 

Blinking a few times, his face contorted, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed together, and a confused look on his face. “Uh- Oh! Right, I was going to inform you about the Gala. It’s in a month. Jeonghan said he had some things planned and would handle everything before you were brought to the house to get dressed before we all leave.” 

“I feel like I should be scared of whatever he has planned.” You snort out a quiet laugh. 

“Personally, I would be scared.” 

You both shared a short laugh that mellowed into silence again. Though you never touched the bagel, you continued with the coffee, hoping it would keep you awake as long as possible. 

Many of the guys visited throughout the day. Seungcheol had left, saying he had a few things to get done upstairs and to call if you needed anything. Jeonghan only came in once to change a saline bag and push a few vitamins to aid in the healing process. He said he’d be back later and ruffled your hair like he did the previous night. 

First it was Chan and Wonwoo who mostly sat with you and brought up stories that Mingyu was in. Chan spoke about him like he was part superhero and Wonwoo played along, making the story out bigger than it probably was. They stayed for a good hour and you enjoyed the company to fill the void that was building inside of you. Chan had given Mingyu’s hand a big squeeze and smiled, but his voice wavered when he asked for him to wake up soon, that it was getting too quiet without his loud, boisterous personality awake. Wonwoo had kept any comments to himself, but you saw him bow his head in prayer before leaving with Chan. 

Seungkwan and Vernon only stopped in for a bit, clearly exhausted but dressed for whatever they needed to get done for the day. These two were relatively quiet in their visit, asking if you got any sleep which you brushed off and they didn’t give that straight of an answer when you asked in return. Vernon made a comment that they’d visit once they were done later in the day. Both had asked you to give them a call if anything was to change regarding Mingyu’s condition, which you easily agreed to. 

The largest horde was Soonyoung barging in in the afternoon, followed by Seokmin, Minghao, Junhui, and Jihoon, but the last man was really coming in for his given task. Junhui had made food for everyone earlier and brought extra for you, saying he heard from Chan that you were staying until Mingyu was awake. Though you took the container of food, you only placed it aside, letting it join the bagel bag from earlier, saying that you’d eat it later when you got hungry. It was the best white lie you could tell at this time, not wanting to worry them too much. Many of them were dressed in what you assumed was their ‘ dark side’ attire, thick boots, dark clothes, all the works.

Seokmin was eyeing you a good majority of the time he was there but he didn’t say anything if you looked bad. You more than likely did look disheveled, your lip was bitten to the point it bled earlier but it dried over and hurt. He only said he’d come back later to keep you company, giving you a side hug before they slipped out one by one. 

Then it was quiet again. You were left alone again to your own devices and thoughts. Truthfully you couldn’t think straight, images and memories bounced around your mind, they were close to sending you into a downward spiral but you willed away the mental torment to the best of your abilities. You didn’t feel hungry, at this point you didn’t even feel tired. Your limbs were numb and no matter if you tucked further in the blanket, you were still cold. 

You didn’t even realize Jeonghan was in the room until he placed his hand on your shoulder and you snapped back to reality, flinching at his touch. 

“Ay- Wow, it’s just me, Mouse.” He pulled his hand back and slid a chair up beside you. “Did you not hear me come in? I said hi.” 

“Sorry- Sorry…” Sighing, you placed a hand over your chest, feeling the fast pace of your heart. “I was zoning out- I- Sorry.” 

Jeonghan leaned in, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear to get a better look at your face. His fingers were warm against your cool skin and you couldn’t help but lean into the feeling. Gently he held your face, watching as your eyes fluttered closed and you sighed out a soft breath.

“You should get some sleep, Mouse. He isn’t going to be gone when you wake up.” 

Those words had your eyes snapping open and you straightened up, shaking your head. “I can’t- No. I can’t fall asleep.” You pushed the words to come out, digging your nails into your palms. You couldn’t fall asleep. You wouldn’t let yourself rest until he was awake and coherent enough to understand what was going on. 

Jeonghan sagged in his seat, stretching his arm over your shoulders to bring you close to his side. “Will you at least eat then? Just a little? I think ‘Gyu would be a little mad knowing that you didn’t eat because you wanted to wait up for him.” 

You whined and rested your head on his shoulder, a pout on your lips. “How dare you use manipulation and guilt tripping on me.” 

“Ah~ But are you going to eat? Junhui makes really good spicy noodles. Even lowered the heat intensity since he doesn’t know your tolerance.” 

“...Fine.” 

Reaching for the container, you pulled it into your lap, glad he provided some utensils, and under Jeonghan’s watch, you ate. It was good, really good and the spice was able to warm your frigid body enough. You let Jeonghan hold onto you, sapping the warmth he provided and listened to his quiet humming. Though at some points it was hard to eat, you swallowed enough down to satisfy the man beside you before closing it and placing the rest aside for later. 

It was nice having Jeonghan beside you. He provided a peaceful lull in the ache in your chest and settled the unruly thoughts that plagued your mind. He didn’t seem like one to judge you, maybe only when teasing you did he feel the need. Though annoying at times, his presence was enjoyable and always entertaining at the end of the day. He was already ready to listen when you complained over text and seemed like a shoulder to cry on when needed. Weird to think, but he was one of the people that felt like home along with Seokmin. 

The two of you sat, side by side, Jeonghan kept you close, letting himself take moments to rest his eyes. For what felt like hours, no one disturbed the stillness here. All that was heard was the sound of Mingyu and Jeonghan’s breathing and the occasional beep from a machine. Jeongahn was definitely asleep on your shoulder - not that you minded, he worked hard last night – and your eyes were getting irritated from no reset. 

Your eyes were focused on a pulled thread from the blanket Mingyu was tucked in with. Pulling it was a dumb idea, but the itch under your skin begged you to just tug it and rip it off. For a second you thought you were going to lose it, it had been too long since you stayed up all night, you weren’t a teenager anymore. 

While staring, you swore you saw Mingyu’s hand twitch. Refocusing your attention on the man, relief flooded through you when you saw his eyebrow twitch. Quickly you started to pat at Jeonghan’s leg, brushing his arm off your shoulder to stand and lean over the bed. Jeonghan was quick to react, bleary eyes blinking away any sleep that he could in case it was an emergency. He groggily voiced some concern but you didn’t hear anything. 

Mingyu’s eyes were starting to peel open, grimacing at the harsh lights of the room bleeding in through his cracked open eyes. You took his hand in both of your own, your heart beating so fast it might have you pass out. 

“Hey…hey, bud…” You said so softly, brushing some hair from his face when he turned his head. Tears were threatening to pour out of your eyes. A sound grumbled out of him and you cooed at him, a wobbly smile spreading across your lips. “It’s okay, ‘Gyu…”

He cursed when he tried to move some more but you quickly soothed him, placing one hand on his clothed chest to settle him. When his eyes fully opened, he took in his surroundings properly, sighing out a complaint of pain through his nose. Jeonghan had gotten up to round the bed and view Mingyu from the other side. 

“What-” His voice was hoarse and he tried to clear his throat but it didn’t help much. “How long have I been out?” 

“Almost twenty-four hours,” Jeonghan’s voice was just as soft when answering, a tight lipped smile was holding back the emotions he wouldn’t let spill over. “You scared us all half to death.” 

“ ‘M sorry.” He murmured out, but you only laughed, pushing his hair back. 

“No need to apologize, as long as you were here, that’s all that matters.” 

You stayed until he was coherent enough to ask for food and complained that beer was the best medicine. Both you and Jeonghan called everyone and they dropped everything they were doing to rush to Mingyu’s bedside. When he was in loving, safe hands, you asked Seungcheol for someone to drive you home, preferably not any of the guys since they wanted to be beside their brother. 

When you entered your apartment, you crashed hard. You couldn’t be bothered to change before crawling into the confines of your blankets and passed out. It was one of the best-worst sleeps of your life, you were happy to be asleep but terrified of the ongoing thoughts that haunt your dreams. You slept for twelve hours, it startled you when you saw the time on your phone. Seokmin and Jeonghan had sent text messages that only increased in volume the longer you didn’t reply. As you stared confused at your phone, a call came in from Jeonghan and you swiped to answer. 

“Hello?” 

“ Jesus, did you just wake up? You left over twelve hours ago, I was worried something happened.” 

Rubbing your eyes with one hand, you curled up on your side, yawning. “Yeah, I passed out once my head hit the pillow. I guess I was more tired than I felt.” 

“ Hmm, well Mingyu wants you back here to keep him company. If nothing changes by tomorrow night, he is begging to go home so we might take him back up to the house.” 

You nodded but remembered he couldn’t see you, and verbalized your ‘ okay’. He went on to say he’d be there in half an hour to pick you up and said goodbye. 

Jeonghan was true to his words in allowing Mingyu to go home. You were thankful he was alright despite the tremendous pain and eager to sleep in his own bed that was big enough for him and his long limbs. That’s how you found yourself seated in the back of Minghao’s SUV with Mingyu’s head on your lap. Seokmin had called shotgun and now it was the four of you hearing the injured man complain each time there was a pothole or bump in the road. Many of the others had work to tend to and would meet up back at the house later. You messaged Wonwoo to let him know you guys were on the way so he was prepared to help lug Mingyu to his room upon arrival. 

Really, getting him into the car was easy somehow, but getting him out of the car? He was whining like a baby and protesting whenever someone moved too fast. It was his stupid idea to lay across the backseats, it would have been easier to drop the backseats and lay him flat in the back with some pillows and padding to make it easier to get him out. When he was finally standing and huffing out tired breaths to compensate for the spent energy, it took Seokmin and Wonwoo to slowly walk him through the house and get him into bed. 

You trailed behind with a bag full of his things slung over your shoulder that another member brought yesterday. Wonwoo pushed Mingyu’s door open and you stopped at the threshold, not wanting to break the barrier of personal quarters. Jeonghan’s room was the only other place outside of the office in the house that was a more private space. The interior was a mix of black and white, medium-light colored wood as accents to the scheme. His bed was huge, probably a King-bed of some type, it wouldn’t surprise you if it was custom made exactly for him. He had a gaming set up in the corner, a few monitors and you would have laughed at the bright blue dog-ear headset. 

“Mouse, you can come in.” Mingyu called from where he sat on his bed, taking a moment before moving any more. 

“Uh- right. Yeah.” Shifting from foot to foot for a moment, you stepped inside and placed his bag at the foot of his bed. “Do you need anything?” 

With a shake of his head, he smiled and his shoulders shook as he laughed silently. “I’ll be okay. And thanks for everything, guys.” He said to Seokmin, Wonwoo, and Minghao but his eyes landed on you once more. “And thank you, Mouse. You helped a lot from what Jihoon and Vernon told me.” 

Mingyu got into bed with more ease than getting him up from the bed back at the warehouse. Wonwoo pulled the covers over him but you fussed a bit, making sure his phone was placed on his nightstand in easy reach and asking one last time if he needed something. He brushed you off and sent you out of the room with the rest, saying to wake him up when food was made. 

You had stepped out onto the back patio after parting from Mingyu and found solace under an umbrella to hide from the sun but enjoy the hot air. Being here at the house was one of the only times you could enjoy the outdoors without the constant noise of the busy city streets bothering you. Oftentimes you wished you could afford a home outside of the concrete jungle you lived in to have solitude and room to breathe truly fresh air. 

“Oh- Mouse, hey.” Vernon’s voice found its way to your ears and you turned to see him exit the back sliding doors. “Mingyu is home then, good.” 

“Mmm, yeah, he is probably knocked out in his room.” The response hummed out of you. “What are your plans?” 

“Ah-” He paused, mouth wide open and averted his gaze, trying to think of a good answer, but it was clear none came. “Honestly…I was going to smoke a bowl and stare at the ceiling for a while.” 

That sounded amazing after the last couple of days…

“Vernon,” You scratched the back of your neck and puffed out a breath. “Can I join you?” 

He didn’t bother hiding the surprise that spread across his features and one eyebrow raised high. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I think I need it.” 

With one more moment of hesitation, he shrugged and walked towards one of the sheds with a little bounce to his step. “If we get in trouble, it’s your idea.” 

Chuckling quietly as you trailed behind, you nodded. “Got it, I’m just ready to get higher than a kite.” 

As Vernon threw the door open to the shed, he spread his arms wide and spun around, walking backwards until his knees hit the back of the blanket covered couch at the far end of the building and sunk into it. “Welcome to DJ Leafblower’s Sanctuary. Very few are allowed in and when they do get invited, they leave relaxed.” 

It was a pretty small space but it was dark and comforting. It smelled strong of weed but that only added to the hippie vibe. He reached over to hit a button and the small area came to life with different types of colored lights and designs moving on the ceiling. Now you could see why he was going to stare at it for a while, it all made sense now.

“You make this sound like something completely different.” You closed the door behind you and crashed on the couch beside him, kicking off your slides and tucking your legs in criss-cross. “Also- DJ Leafblower? Did you name yourself that?” 

“Yes.” He said proudly and you only shook your head, laughing under your breath. 

“Whatever, let's just get this going.” 

If you tried to count on your fingers how many hits you took, you would have ten- wait…no five…everything looked a little funny. 

You don’t know where in between hits you and Vernon ended up on the cushioned, blanket covered floor, laying opposite directions but your heads beside one another. The light designs that shifted around on the ceiling were mesmerizing in your inebriated state, every time you slow-blinked they changed and you were even more fascinated by it. This was the most relaxed you’ve been in a long time and you didn’t want the feeling to end. 

“You know-” The words came out slow from Vernon, “I thought we lost him there for a moment.” 

Processing the sentence had you closing your eyes for a moment, humming back. “I couldn’t let another person die.” 

Vernon turned his head to you and you maneuvered to lay on your side, able to see his face but too unfocused to see his expression. “Another person?” He asked quietly. 

“My parents.” 

Silence filled the shed. The lights continued to move. You swore you could feel the earth move with how high you were. 

“Mouse…” Vernon sounded so…sorrowful if you had to point a word to it. “Is that why you didn’t sleep?” 

“Mhmm.” You don’t know why you were speaking about it, in your relaxed state it was too easy to just let the sob story – well, you thought of it as a sob story – spill out. “They ODed when I was a kid, like six.” 

“Fuck dude.” He sat up and turned to sit and face you. “That’s horrible.” 

You gave a quiet chuckle and shrugged. “When I saw Mingyu on the table, I had flashbacks to my parents on the floor in the living room, minus the blood and all. I kept picturing their faces on him, how lifeless they looked, how pale they looked. There was fucking needles on the ground beside their bodies. I just-” Sighing, you closed your eyes, “I couldn’t have that same feeling. I needed Mingyu to live.”  

You slowly sat up and everything around you spun for a moment. “What makes it worse? Those bastard cops, the ones that came when I called 911, brushed it under the rug because who wants the fact that a cop ODed with his stay at home wife while their daughter was sleeping written all over your police station and the small town news.” 

Vernon looked like he didn’t know how to respond, but the words continued to spill out. “I told them that I saw the guy's face that sold it to them but they never believed me, saying I was just making it up. Who the fuck makes that shit up? I saw the drug dealer that sold them laced stuff and no one cared. My family, god those assholes too, didn’t want the fucked up kid so I went into foster care, which sucked by the way. I tried to reach out to them but they told me never to contact them again. I bounced around from small town to small town for years after that. I got a scholarship to the university here in the city and I never looked back. I’ve had this fucked up sense that it was all my fault, like they turned to drugs because I wasn’t a perfect kid.” 

There was a smile on your face the whole time like the entire story was some kind of joke. You reached out and lit the put out joint, taking a long drag. “I learned later that they blacked out all and any information that my dad reached out to his commanders for help. The entire police report from the day I found them was blacked out too. Sick fucking bastards.” Every word that left you was said with hate. You took another long drag and handed it over to Vernon who gladly accepted it. He met your eyes, the expression he wore soft and in no way filled with pity. “If I ever see the guy that sold those drugs to them, Vernon…I swear I’ll kill him myself…” 

Vernon’s mind was fuzzy but he nodded, seemingly a mutual understanding of the feeling. “My sister and I…our parents were killed in a hit and run when we were young.” Hearing him start, your attention, while slow to focus, was drawn to him, watching as he stared up at the ceiling. “Because it was local gang shit and the cops were lazy as hell, we didn’t get any justice. We were sent off to our grandmother’s but she was old and couldn’t really take care of us. There wasn’t enough money so I stole to get by. Really I wanted to shield my sister from it.” 

“Is she-?” 

“She is going to college this year. When I joined SVT a few years back, I made them promise to help me pay for her education and I’d do what they needed. Mainly blackmail, weed growing and sales, shit like that. I’m not doing stuff like Chan, Minghao, and them. I’m mainly on Wonwoo’s side with work.” 

You nodded, laying back down beside him, letting your eyes follow the lights on the ceiling. 

“If I knew who those gang members were, I’d kill them in a heartbeat right now and I’m not the most coordinated with a gun.” Vernon let out a small huff of a laugh. “But we always have someone with my sister even if she is just being watched, if anything was to happen to her, I’d have justice as quick as I could. I’d raise hell and heaven to make sure she is resting in peace. I hope you find the guy that did it, it's an eye for an eye at that point.” 

“Thanks for not thinking I’m crazy.” 

“Crazy?” Vernon let out a loud laugh, shoulders shaking to the point where his arm knocked against yours. “We are laying in a shed where I smoke a fuck ton of weed on a property that Seungcheol built and prospered with mainly mafia money. Mouse, we are in a fucking action movie and honestly it gets boring.”

“Has anyone seen Vernon?” Seungkwan called through the living room, frowning. “I can’t find him.” 

The sun had set and almost all of the members were back at the house. He had gone in and checked on Mingyu who was knocked out, tucked snuggly under the comforter. Seungkwan had gone to Vernon’s room to hang out but came up short. He didn’t get any text messages that Vernon was leaving the property. 

“I swear you are usually attached to the hip,” Soonyoung shuffled around the kitchen, laughing at him. “Have you checked the shed?” 

Jeonghan entered the living room, looking at the group of members littering the area. “Have any of you seen, Mouse?” 

“No idea. Usually Seokmin knows where she is but he went back to the city for something. I haven’t really seen her since we got Mingyu into bed.” Minghao was lazied on the couch, a book hovering above his head as he scanned the pages. 

“I’m going to check the shed.” Seungkwan huffed, having a feeling that none of them would be of any help. “I’ll let you know if Mouse is in there.” 

Turning on his toes, he jogged out the back door and towards DJ Leafblower’s shed. He couldn’t see anything inside with the blocked out windows but a quick pull of the door gave him his answer. 

Mouse and Vernon were sitting back against the foot of the couch, heads leaned back as they stared at the ceiling. A blanket was thrown over their legs but the cloud of smoke that left the small building gave him a clear answer to the current state they were in. 

“No, all I’m saying is that if you want a really good bowl of soup, you need to let me cook..” Mouse rambled off and Vernon nodded along, “I make amazing soup, Vernon. I’m telling you.” 

“Nah, nah, I believe you, but soup is so…overrated.” 

Mouse gasped and slapped her hand against his arm. “ Take it back .” 

“You both are idiots.” Seungkwan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Vernon high is bad enough.” 

Both Mouse and Vernon lifted their heads and beamed at him. Truthfully his heart melted a little. They looked like little kids when their favorite person came into the room. 

“Seungkwan!” Vernon waved his hand and motioned for him to join them. “Kwan, Kwan, come tell Mouse the thing you were telling me about. About Jeonghan.” 

Seungkwan slapped a hand to his face and sighed once more. Of course he remembers that now. “No, Nonnie, I’m not going to talk about that while both of you are smoking.” 

“Why not?” Mouse questioned, resting her head on Vernon’s shoulder. “I wanna know the tea on Jeonghan.” 

He stepped inside and shut the door, pulling out his phone to send Jeonghan a text that they were in the shed, and sat down across from the two. “Because the tea shouldn’t be talked about when your head is in the clouds.” 

She whined, pouting. “That’s dumb.” 

“No, you are for smoking whatever concoction of weed Vernon had on hand.”

“The Leaf Blower special.” Vernon laughed.

Seungkwan mockingly muttered the words under his breath but leveled them both with a judgemental gaze. “Are you guys hungry? If you come inside, we can get you some of the chicken tenders Mingyu keeps in the freezer.”

“Tendies sound amazing.” Mouse giggled, “Do you have other trash food?” 

He was going to die by the end of the night because of them. “There are probably some pizza rolls and french fries in there. I think Shua brought home two dozen cinnamon rolls too.” 

“Seungkwan, I’d kiss you right now but I feel like jelly.” Mouse was looking at him like he was a literal god among men. 

“Please do not,” He started, continuing to talk under his breath but didn’t realize how loud he actually was, “Jeonghan wouldn’t be happy about that.” 

She frowned, confusion twisting across her face. “Why would he be mad about that?” 

Vernon grinned. “Because Jeonghan like likes you, Mouse.” 

“Oh for fucks sake-” 

“Wait- What?” 

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Tag List:

@unlikelysublimekryptonite @iiaweirdo @aurorajoye

[wizardofrozz]

Learning to Trust

Ordo Skirata x reader, mention of Mereel and Kal Skirata

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: swearing, mention of war, mostly just fluff

A/N: I got punched in the face with this idea and amazed myself with how fast I wrote it lmao hope you enjoy! ❤️

jagyc’kovid: dickhead

shabuir: motherfucker

It was peaceful. The gentle undercurrent of the water rocked the Aay’han, reminding you of a mother rocking her newborn. The co-pilot seat wasn’t the most comfortable but if you sat at an angle, your feet resting on the control panel, you could let your muscles relax enough that you could possibly nap. Your eyes followed the bright, glimmering aquatic life that swam past, watching them shimmer in the sunlight that streamed through the water. The Aay’han was floating off the coast of the capital city, waiting for Sergeant Skirata and Mereel to com for a pickup. 

You had been undercover for the Republic for…a long time, gathering intel about the manufacturing of Separatist droids. Life had been fairly normal, well as normal as it could be for a Republic spy until a certain Mandalorian and his small squad of clones came crashing through your front door. Literally. You glanced at the pilot’s chair, the corner of your lips lifting. 

Ordo was stretched out in the chair beside you, his long legs crossed at the ankles. His arms were folded over his chest, his head tipped forward until his chin nearly touched his chest. His empty Mandalorian helmet sat on the floor beside his chair and every once in a while, you could hear faint, staticky voices floating from inside. The muted shimmer of the water threw a faint glow over his face; Ordo looked peaceful, his usually tense expression slack, his eyes closed. 

He was sleeping. You muffled a chuckle against the back of your hand, carefully lowering your feet to the floor. The co-pilot chair groaned as you stood and you paused, half-standing, to dart your eyes back towards Ordo. He huffed heavily through his nose but otherwise didn’t move. 

It took a few minutes of rustling through cabinets as quietly as possible, having to stop a few times when you made too much noise before you finally found a blanket. It smelled a bit musty but it would do. You unfolded it on your back to the cockpit, smirking at Ordo’s sleeping form before you carefully draped the blanket over him. He shifted lazily, his brow wrinkling for a moment and you stood a little straighter and held your breath. Ordo’s lashes fluttered, his dark glassy eyes taking a moment to focus but they quickly lifted to where you stood over him. 

“Sorry to wake you,” you murmured with an apologetic smile. 

“Wasn’t sleepin’,” Ordo grumbled, dragging himself into a sitting position. The furrow between his brows deepened as he looked down at the blanket pooling in his lap. There was an odd look on his face, one you had seen occasionally in the time you’d spent with him. The innocent, almost confused expression always made your heart ache and it was even worse when he tilted his head back to look up at you. 

“I thought you’d be more uncomfortable,” you explained, gesturing to the blanket as you leaned against the back of his chair. Ordo nodded slowly, absently rubbing the fabric between his gloved fingers. “You can try and go back to sleep if you’d like.”

Ordo somehow looked more tense than usual for a moment, before dropping his eyes to the blanket again. “Alright.” For some reason, it surprised you; accidentally falling asleep was one thing but this showed that he trusted you enough to willingly let himself rest. 

“Hm, you must really trust me,” you teased. Ordo turned in his chair again and you were suddenly aware of how close he was, his face close enough that you could see the faint freckles on his cheeks. Ordo was always intense but the way he looked at you, bright brown eyes smoldering, made your stomach somersault. 

“I do.” He spoke softly like it was a secret but there was no uncertainty in his voice. Your breath caught when he smiled, crooked and boyish, disarmingly charming without even trying. Sometimes you wondered if he was aware of it but based on some of the more…awkward encounters you’d had with him, you were pretty sure it was natural. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, meaning it wholeheartedly. Ordo’s smile started to fade but you didn’t miss the way his eyes darted down to your mouth, his tongue poking out to wet his lips before he forced his gaze elsewhere. He cleared his throat quietly and when his eyes found yours again you caught the muted anxiety that flashed across his face. 

You had no idea where the confidence came from that had you leaning down, bringing your face even closer to his. Ordo tensed but didn’t pull away, letting the strained silence linger. A shiver zipped up your spine when he tilted his head slowly, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. He paused, leaving almost no space between you and him and you could feel his slow, rhythmic breathing against your chin. 

“Can I?” he asked softly. 

“Please.” 

A soft gasp filled the air when he closed the space and you weren’t sure if you made the sound or if he had. The kiss was hesitant, neither of you moving for a moment until one of his large hands closed around your bicep and you melted against him, sighing through your nose. It was clear Ordo didn’t have much experience but he didn’t seem to mind following your lead. He inhaled sharply when your tongue swept over his bottom lip but he quickly caught on, parting his lips. 

The low groan from deep in his chest made you shiver, a hand coming to cup the back of his head, your fingers threading through his soft curls. 

“Ord’ika? You read me?” You and Ordo jumped so hard at the familiar voice that your heads knocked together, each of you quickly reaching up to rub the now-aching spot. Ordo growled through clenched teeth, twisting around to punch a button on the control panel; despite the pain blooming across your forehead, you barely stifled a laugh. 

“What?” he snapped, glaring at the blue hologram that popped up. Mereel tilted his head, arching a brow but there was the hint of a smirk on his face. 

“What’d you do to your head?”

“None of your business, jagyc’kovid. What d’ya want?” 

“Pickup would be nice,” Mereel sighed with a shrug. He glanced over his shoulder with a badly hidden smirk and winked at who you assumed was Kal. 

“Send coordinates,” Ordo grumbled, ending the call without letting Mereel respond. “Shabuir.”

You giggled, biting your lip when Ordo threw a narrow-eyed look in your direction. “Come on, let’s go get them.” 

“Should leave 'em,” Ordo huffed, rubbing his forehead one last time before dropping his hands to the panel again and starting the flight sequence. The smile that spread across your face was fonder than you thought possible and you leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss on his cheek. You settled into the co-pilot chair, glancing over at him again with a smirk.  

Ordo refused to look at you but there was no denying that his cheeks were a little redder than before. 

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[bitterbetabunny]

Hypnovember 2: Reset

Stealing the prompt list @jammed-out is putting together for the month

CW: robot play, talk of memory and personality wipe

When K1T had agreed to let Oakley do some maintenance on it, it had hesitated.

K1T was not made for at-home updates and repair, it was one of many mass-produced bots made to break down just as the new model came down. It had been lucky enough, originally, to be bought by a family that prided themselves on not being wasteful; they had been more interested in maintaining what they had and they were willing to take K1T back to the manufacturer whenever a part broke or they wanted a new update installed.

But that had been a long time ago.

It had been a long time since even the manufacturer stopped working on the K1T model.

It had been a long time since K1T was left to be recycled.

K1T had been lucky to meet Oakley; they met recently, though K1T had trouble remembering the details. Clearly its memory storage needed some updates, or maybe it was some other part acting up.

Oakley had reassured it that they would keep things simple for the first tune up.

Sitting in the service chair, locked into place with most of its motor functions disabled, K1T could feel Oakley’s unscrewing the plate from the back of its neck. It felt the piece lifted and heard metal on metal as it was set aside. The air of the garage immediately cooled its exposed wires; K1T didn’t have any programming to mimic the shivers that human’s felt, but even one plate being removed always made it feel a cold wave run through its body. Before the cold got too far, it felt Oakley’s tools tap at one of its internal consoles.

“I forgot what you were going to fix,” K1T admitted, feeling a bit nervous.

“I mostly wanted to look around and clean things off,” Oakley said, obviously concentrating.. K1T could feel them still poking around. “You’ve still been operating well, so I doubt I’ll need to replace anything, but there’s sure to be a few things that could use some TLC.”

“Are you… going to take off any other plates today?” K1T asked, hoping to get an idea of what all Oakley planned to check. Surely Oakley would get to everything eventually, but that would take more than a day.

“Depends. I definitely want to check some of your processing, sensory, and memory modules. I should be able to do all that from here, though.”

“Oh, but you’re not going to remove anything to actually inspect yet, right?”

K1T felt the tinkering stop. “I wasn’t planning on it today, no. Is that something you’re worried about?” Oakley asked.

K1T saw and felt its lights turn a bright pink. “Oh, I, uh… I wasn’t sure if…”

“You can relax,” Oakley said with a chuckle. Their hands started moving again and they scooted their chair closer so that their leg rested against K1T’s side. The contact did calm it down. “I won’t reset you or anything weird.”

K1T felt a heat in their core and hoped it wouldn’t grow enough to trigger their fans; that might be hard to explain. It forced a little laugh. “Oh, I… Is that even something you know how to do?”

“A factory reset? Of course, there’s nothing simpler. And I would be lying if I said there wasn’t something cute about a blank bot with all their preset bubbliness and need to please.”

K1T let out three beeps in a pleasant chime and saw its lights shift to a darker pink. It couldn’t help but imagine itself standing in the default position the manufacturer had set for it, relying only on the orders given with no mods or set preferences to operate on. The ping of pleasure that came from even the simplest task when its head was so empty.

“There’s nothing simpler,” Oakley said again. “But I don’t do that often. I’m selective on the bots I work on and I only make changes or alterations upon request, I’m a mechanic, not a monster.”

“That’s… That’s good,” K1T said, glad that Oakley seemed to be ignoring their obvious… excitement. They were almost too embarrassed to say anything more, but their curiosity won. “Do you still have the bots you reset? Do you consider yourself a collector?”

“Sometimes, but I don’t have any bots under my full time care right now, but I have three that I do maintenance on at least once a month. I backup my bots before I reset them, so after we have a little fun I merge all the memory files so they can remember what we did while still retaining who they were. I have one bot that I reset fairly often, but that’s just because its girlfriend isn’t confident enough to do it herself and that’s what they like.”

The noise behind K1T indicated that Oakley was switching out their tools.

“Just a heads up, I’m going to use some compressed air,” Oakley warned.

K1T felt the chill of the compressed air, but the gentle tickle of it elicited a hum from its chest. Oakley focused on the nearest components first before angling the can to get at pieces farther up into K1T’s head. Although the module wasn’t programmed for touch sensitivity, K1T felt a bolt of static ran through its body as the air ran over its memory module.

Oakley set the compressed air aside and resumed using their more delicate tools, though now they were cleaning components much closer to K1T’s memory module. There were plenty of delicate parts up there, everything that made it who it was today.

“I would certainly love to do a full reset on you someday, if you’d like,” Oakley whispered.

K1T’s fans kicked on.

Oakley laughed. “I get the feeling that’s something you’d really like,” they teased.

K1T’s lights alternated between a purple and that deep pink and another trilling set of beeps came from them. “I– I would maybe–”

“Sweet bots like you are always so needy to be reminded of your intended purpose.” K1T felt a tool slot into the edge of a panel on its sensory module, causing another bolt of static to course through it. “And I love nothing more than to show a silly, reset bot what it means to be a pleasure bot. Maybe even replace some of that default programming with something more important; no need for some of that critical thinking they give you when I can pre-program you to respond to specific commands and know how I want you to suck my cock, hmm?”

A whining trill came from K1T’s chest. The tools and Oakley’s hand pulled away, but before K1T could complain it felt Oakley’s tongue slip into the open panel and lick the wires. K1T short circuited and when its visuals came back on it could feel its neck panel being screwed back into place.

“Oh, I’m going to have fun with you,” Oakley teased, drawing a whine from K1T.

When the panel was back on, they leaned in and gave K1T one final kiss to the metal.

“That might be enough fun for now, hm? Let’s get you fully back together.”

Oakley thumbed open a port covering and plugged something in. K1T’s lights went blue as the information was downloaded.

Suddenly, they could remember months, years that they had lived with K1T, countless tune-ups and mods and maintenance work. They had toyed with downloading alternate personalities and programs before, but they’d always been interested in trying out different resets. They wanted to save anything more intense for later scenes, so starting with a reset to soon after meeting had been a great place to start. To K1T, the idea of getting to experience its first maintenance again had been too good to pass up.

As soon as Oakley initiated its motor functions again, K1T shot up and spun to wrap its arms around them.

“That was so hot!” they yelled, their lights a bright yellow. “Oh my gods, that was so, so hot!”

Oakley winced slightly at their strong hold. “I’m glad you liked it too, we’ll definitely have to do something like that again.

[breezybangtanbebe]

🐍Chapter Two🐍

✨masterlist✨

While most parts or Luminasia wouldnt be considered the safest, they paled in comparison to Mamba District. The central parts of the neon city were basically an amusement park versus the concentrated grit and shadows that made up the reptilian beings' territory with a crime rate so high, local authorities didn't even flag citizens for speeding through it.

Despite its unsavory reputation, there was always much entertainment to find there. Night clubs, illegal gambling spots, *ahem* nightly solicitors, drugs, cheap liqour, debauchery...

Aaaaand Trouble. Never a shortage of that.

Megan hadnt made it her business to spend much time around these parts in years, finding her fair share of all of those things and more. In the time that she did , however, she obtained a decent lay of the land. Which was useful to her when needing a stealthy way in and out on missions like this.

Her bike purred quietly as it came to a full stop in the grime-coated backstreet alley, and her view of the warehouse was centered several feet ahead of her.

Black and brown bricks soaked in the evening rain, the gaping windows and crumbling architecture gave the abandoned area it's ominous appeal. At some point, the building may have been used for mass manufacturing or packaging. But now it stood as a hiding place for the forsaken or rebellious teens looking for a spot to get high or do who knows what else. An extremely peculiar place for something as valuable as a synstone to be hiding.

"Ok Phor." Megan whispers, nudging the kickstand out before swinging her leg over the bike.

The moment her heels touch the moist pavement, a wave of panic rolls over her, sending goosebumps all over her body. Something about this place had that effect on her, whether it be for good or bad reasons. She doesnt show it in her agile stride though, walking with confidence while keeping to the shadows of the alley until she reached its end.

"Im here. What's it looking like?" She speaks lowly to her trusty pup in the chair, who was already working on scoping the scene.

"Uh give me a sec. Im hacking a PD drone with some infared as we speak."

Seconds later, a buzzing drone zips over Megan's head and she watches as it hovered over the baren warehouse. As it scanned it, greenscale images of the building's interior fill Phor's screens. He types quickly, shifting the filters until he manages to get an unobscured high-resolution view of several hulking figures surround one in the middle of the vast room.

"Oh shit." the canine utters. Megan's eyes widen cautiously.

"Whatchu mean, Oh shit? Who in there?" she whispered harshly. All the while, Phor's toe beans tap frantically.

"Oh just your favorite kind of distant planet natives. Most that were so hostile that the mayor of Lumin gave them their own little hidey hold of hell in the ugliest part of the city...hehehe.." Phor chuckles nervously, zooming in on the exact location where the synstone's signature was the strongest.

"I know aint shit funny over there, Pho. Show me what you see.."

Phor obediently sent a live feed view of what he was seeing to Megan's watch. It blinked with the notification and she lifts her wrist just as the hologram rectangular screen materialized.

"Oh shit..." Megan shared Phor's grim sentiment the moment sees what he's looking at.

A grainy image of the cleared space is pulled into view. Large dangling industial lights hum overhead ans in the center one of their beams was a huddle of tall, slender reptilian figures in dark tailored, their massive tails whipping against the dusted concrete floors.

The Vortarians were a unique group of individuals that made up most of Mamba's population. They were a nasty race that had humanoid bodies covered in thick, mosaic green scales that could shift to blend in with their environments. Their sharp-clawed hands and feet could easily gut a man with one swipe, and they had black beady eyes with gold pupils used for tracking their prey in any light. Not to mention their pharyngeal jaws that opened their mouths wide enough to engulf just about anything  in a bite riddled of razor-sharp fangs that leaked acidic flesh-melting venom.

They were quite intimidating to say the least.

But their presence wasn't even the main cause for Megan's shock. She actually expected some Vortarians to be there since this was their neck of the woods. By her count, there were at least 8 of them. Barrelling through them wouldnt be an issue with what she was packing.

It was was the man that seemed to be in their custody, seated at a table with his hands bound and his lips quirked up in an unphased smirk , that had her second guessing the entire mission.

"Of course its him." she grumbles, followed by Phor's hum of agreement.

"Mmhmm..I knew I detected a Bangtanian signature when I was tracking the stone but I had no clue it would be THEE Bangtanian himself. Sheesh. No wonder theres so many Vorts on him."

Megan was vaguely attuned to Phor's assessment, but her gaze fixed heavily on the dragon-eyed leader of one of the most elite squadrons to come from the Intergalactic Hybe Force, straight out of the mystical planet of Purpura's capital city of Bora.

Who he was to the world was slightly different from who he was to her, however.

And knowing he was most likely after the same synstone that she was, made everything a million times more complicated.

[angstyaches]

Augusnippets Day 8

Prompt: Found family.

OCs: Ryan, Nancy, Elliott, Felix, and Shayne.

Word Count: 438

CW: repressed memories, insecurity, protectiveness, anxiety.

___

Ryan Aldridge didn’t retain many vivid memories of her brother, a phenomenon not born of the passage of time or of poor mental retention, but of persistent, dedicated effort. But that final day – the pity that had replaced the hurt in his eyes – lingered like the outline of a stain that never quite released its grip. 

Have you ever truly cared for anyone else in your life? 

Her presence in the kitchen doorway went undetected for a total of twelve seconds. For twelve seconds, she observed Nancy deftly explaining the premise of a card game from the head of the dining table. Her hair fell in soft, heavy volumes around her shoulders. She rarely let it hang loose like that, save for the bedroom. In the chair to Nancy’s left, Felix was rubbing at his chin while he absorbed the rules. Next to him was Elliott, swirling some whisky in the bottom of a glass.  

He was the first to register Ryan’s presence. He cocked an eyebrow. 

Felix was next, and he broke into a smile. A smile. A friendly gesture not borne of any biological disposition towards servitude. Ryan dutifully responded to this courtesy with an inclination of her head. He turned his attention back towards Nancy, his smile dropping as he realised he was missing her explanation of the game.  

Elliott, however, remained with his arm draped over the back of his chair, angled towards Ryan. “Are you joining us?” he asked, raising his glass to his lips with a smirk. “Mama?” 

That was when Nancy took a double-glance, her fuchsia eyes softening in acknowledgment of her wife. Shayne turned his head to look, too’ until now, he’d been sitting to Nancy’s right, his back entirely turned to Ryan. His pallor was notable and betrayed a continued state of unwellness, but he didn’t quite shrink at the sight of Ryan as he would have just mere weeks ago. Progress.  

If only you could see me now, Si. If only you could see what I am building. 

“We haven’t started yet,” Nancy said softly. She lifted the deck of cards and waved it, her fingers gripping it from all sides like a claw. “I can still deal you in.” 

There was a certain sweetness in the way that every resident of the townhouse was looking at her, waiting for her answer. A sweetness that Ryan knew could rot her like a tooth if she were to indulge in it too much, or too frequently. 

“I... have work which needs doing,” Ryan said. And it was no lie, no manufactured excuse. There was always work which needed doing.  

___

@augusnippets

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 3, Chapter 5

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 (maybe 4??) parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

PART 3

Chapter 5

Calina's next opportunity to see Matt came a few days later.

She was in Manhattan picking up a few extra firearms with Katya. The other Widow had a contact that had sourced the unregistered weapons from the black market. He charged a fortune, but it was worth the additional cost to keep their purchases under the radar.

After stashing the bag of guns in the trunk of their car, Calina handed Katya the keys. “You go on ahead. I have an errand to run.”

Katya rolled her eyes. “I wonder what ‘errand’ you could possibly need to run in this part of the city?”

Calina shrugged and smiled. “I have a delivery to make.”

It was the truth. One of Matt’s favourite Chinese restaurants was around the corner, so she planned to grab him lunch and deliver it to his office.

She was taking a gamble that he would a) be in his office, and b) not be with a client, but she couldn’t pass up the chance to see him again.

Twenty minutes later, arms laden with enough kung pao chicken and Szechuan Beef to feed an army, she skipped up the stairs leading to Nelson, Murdock & Page.

----------

Matt leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out in front of him. He laced his fingers together, twisted his forearms and felt the satisfying crack of his knuckles. The tenant dispute case that Foggy had ‘assigned’ to him had turned into a class action lawsuit against one of the most despicable slumlords in the city, and he’d spent the last three hours reading through pages and pages of evidence.

‘Nightmare’ didn’t even cover it.

The three of them were now spending all their time and efforts trying to win the suit. Time and effort that could have been used to follow up on Calina’s lead and track down the mysterious pheromone manufacturer…

But this cause was just as worthy. Dozens of families had been taken advantage of, and were now trapped in tenancy contracts for mould-invested apartments. They were losing money, and their kids were getting sick. It was exactly the kind of case Nelson, Murdock & Page was created for - getting justice for the most deprived and powerless in the city.

And if they failed the legal way, Matt had a backup plan. Daredevil had been out at night gathering dirt on the landlord and his company, and he wouldn’t hesitate to hand it over to the cops and get the guy put away for decades. But for the families to see some compensation, they needed to win in the courts first. So Matt shook out his tired hands and went back to reading.

But just ten minutes later, his concentration started to wane. He’d been successfully ignoring his hunger pangs all morning - it was his own fault for skipping breakfast and only having a light meal before patrolling last night - but the faint scent of Chinese food filtering in from the street outside was making that task almost impossible.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious aroma of chilli, garlic and ginger, and his stomach let out a loud rumble in response.

He breathed again, and the smell became stronger - it was in the building now, no longer on the street. Matt lifted his head, tracking the scent as it travelled up the stairs, figuring one of the other offices must have ordered takeout.

Which was a very good idea.

Matt took out his phone and started punching in the number to his favourite restaurant, having memorised the contact information years ago. He could blame that on being blind - it was easier to memorise numbers than to search for them - but, really, he just ordered too much takeout.

He’d lived off the stuff for years. Sure, he could cook, and he liked being able to cook for others. But when it was just him, it was easier to order in. He’d only really had consistent home-cooked meals when Calina had lived with him. She used to enjoy finding recipes and trying them out - with him as her willing taste-tester.

“I don’t know why I was so wary of cooking for myself when I came to New York,” she’d told him one night as she diced a carrot and added it to the stew she was preparing. “Its just a lot of knife skills, and the application of physics and chemistry. And I know about all of those things.”

Matt grabbed a left over slice of carrot from the chopping board and popped it in his mouth. “I think a lot of chefs would disagree with you there. They regard it as more of an art than a science.”

“I don’t see the distinction,” she’d argued. “Art and science are too entwined to be separated like that. They’re just two sides to the same coin.”

“How so?” Matt asked, leaning back against the counter top, settling in to enjoy the conversation. He loved to hear Calina’s thoughts on the world, and the surprising way she often viewed it. He wondered whether it was because she’d been so alienated from it for so long, or whether it was just her. Her unique and fascinating brain that gave her these insights.

“People tend to separate art into the creative realm, and science is relegated to the rational,” she explained. “But an artist needs an element of rationality. They can really only succeed if they know the science underpinning their creations - how colours mix together, how perspective informs composition, how language can convey an idea. And scientists use imagination and creativity to explore nature. The greatest discoveries in physics came from someone imagining the world beyond what they could see and feel.”

Matt smiled remembering that conversation. They’d spent all of dinner debating the topic and all the tangential topics that had branched from it. And they’d spent night after night like that, learning about each other over dinner, finding out about their differing opinions and the similar ways they thought, until he became just as infatuated with her mind as he was with her smell and the softness of her skin.

God, he missed talking to her.

The two brief encounters they’d had since Christmas has been just that - brief. Too quick to do more than say hello and goodbye, and assure themselves that the other was whole and unharmed. Too quick to really say anything of substance. 

Matt shook off those thoughts. If he went down that path - of wondering what she was doing, of remembering that kiss on the rooftop last weekend, of imagining a future where they were free to be together and talk for hours on end - he would never get any work done. He’d learned over the past few months that to be effective at anything in his life - being a lawyer, or a vigilante, or even a decent friend - he needed to stash thoughts of Calina to the back of his mind.

He resumed typing in the number for the Chinese restaurant, then called out to Foggy and Karen before pressing the dial button. “Do you guys want Chinese for lunch? I’m gonna order something.”

“Um, I thought you already had,” Foggy responded, sounding confused.

Matt listened to what was happening beyond his desk and realised that while he’d been distracted thinking of Calina, someone had come to the office door - with the Chinese food he’d been smelling.

He got to his feet and ambled out to the main reception area. Foggy was rummaging in his wallet for cash, while Karen was taking bags of food off the delivery person. “Are you sure its for this address?” Foggy asked.

“Yep. Nelson, Murdock and Page. The most prestigious law firm on West 49th street.”

Foggy paused, and Matt could sense his friend frowning. “Right,” he said slowly.

But Matt just smiled and strode forward. Because he recognised that voice. Despite the drop in pitch and the strange accent she was putting on, he recognised Calina’s beautiful voice.

He would know it anywhere.   

He slipped between Karen and Foggy, took Calina’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Calina?” Foggy spluttered.

“Hi, Foggy. Nice to see you again.”

“I- I didn’t recognise you. Sorry. Hi.”

“That’s kind of the point of a disguise.” She smiled up at Matt. “Although I knew I’d never fool this guy.”

“Disguise?” Matt asked. He’d noticed straightaway the ball-cap pulled low over her face, but there must be more to her get-up if Foggy hadn’t recognised her. He plucked the hat from her head and ran his hand through the loose waves of her hair. It felt shorter. And styled differently. “New haircut?” he guessed.

“Yes…”

He rubbed a strand between his fingers, feeling the strange new texture. “And dyed?”

“Very good, Counsellor. Now that I’m spending time in the city again, I thought I should try to be more incognito.

“What colo-” He caught himself before he could finish, remembering the conversation they’d had months ago. The one in which she spoke of her looks and how she liked the fact that he didn’t know anything about the superficial aspects of her beauty.

So as much as he was curious about her new hair colour, he dropped the question. “Nevermind.”

He sensed her smile widening, and she squeezed his hand in gratitude - as if she knew what he wanted to ask, and why he changed his mind.

She probably did. It was proof of the connection they shared - this ability to silently communicate, to be on the same page, thinking the same thoughts…it was proof of how right they were together.

Matt kissed the back of her hand again then stepped back, allowing the real world to intrude on their little bubble.

“Sorry, Foggy, what did you say?” he asked, knowing his friend had asked something while he’d been concentrating on Calina.

“I asked if you guys wanted to be alone. Karen and I can head out for lunch and give you some privacy.”

Calina shook her head before Matt could answer. “No, I brought enough for everyone.”

She took the bags back from Karen and headed for the conference table, where she started unpacking the cartons.

“Any occasion in particular?” Foggy asked, helping her spread out the food. “You got another thumb drive full of revelations to drop off?”

Calina smiled. “Not this time. I just wanted to hang out with you guys for a while. The last time we tried…it didn’t really go to plan.”

Matt winced at the reminder of that night - the night Calina had tried to kiss him, and his stupid fears had ruined it. In a way, it had been the catalyst for everything that had changed between them. But he still hated the way he’d behaved that night.

Matt squeezed Calina’s knee as she sat beside him, a silent apology.

She bumped her shoulder against his, telling him they were all good.

More silent communication.

More connection.

Matt smiled as he reached for the carton of wontons, then paused as he realised his friends were watching him - with matching big, goofy smiles on their faces. “What?”

Karen shrugged. “You two are cute together.”

“All we’ve gotten for months is angst and drama,” Foggy explained. “‘Oh no, she left and won’t pick up her phone’ and ‘Oh no, we have to be apart, how can I possibly survive?’. It’s just refreshing to see the lighter side of the Matt and Calina story.”

Matt rolled his eyes and chucked a spare pair of chopsticks at his friend. “Very funny.”

“Ignore him,” Karen advised Calina. “Tell us what’s been going on with you? Matt said you’re close to bringing down this Volkov guy.”

Calina nodded. “Close, but we’re not there yet. We’re kind of in a holding pattern, just waiting for our moment. So we’ve been spending our time prepping and training.”

Matt brushed his thumb gently over a bruise he could sense across Calina’s upper arm. “Is that how you got this?”

She rolled her shoulder, as if it was stiff. “Yeah. You remember Inessa?”

Matt nodded and held a hand out at shoulder level. “The petite one.”

“She may be petite, but she kicks like a mule.”

Matt laughed. “I learned pretty quickly not to underestimate her.”

Calina laughed. “That’s right - she took you down.”

“Wait, what?” Foggy chimed in. “When did this happen?”

“It was when Yelena kidnapped me to take me to the cabin Calina was staying at. And in my defence, it was Inessa and Katya together, and they had a tranquilliser gun.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Foggy teased.

“Speaking of excuses,” Calina said, resting her fingers against the black eye only partially hidden by his glasses. “What’s yours for this?”

“Just an over-enthusiastic car-jacker who got lucky.”

“Nothing to do with the pheromone case?” she asked. “How’s that going, by the way?”

A collective groan sounded out in the room.

“That good, huh?” 

Karen wiped off her fingers and got to her feet. Then she spun the whiteboard in the corner of the room around to show a complicated collage of documents, photographs and notes. “We’ve been looking into the buyers of Arsonium bromide - who they are, how much they’re purchasing and their stated reasons. Unfortunately, there are a lot of buyers.”

“Its been slow-going and tedious,” Matt growled.

Foggy sighed, used to hearing Matt’s complaints about their chosen methodology. “It’s slow-going and thorough. And for good reason. We’ve had experience investigating rich, powerful and well-connected people before. We need to do this carefully.”

Matt nodded, reluctantly. He understood the reasons for caution - their firm didn’t need to be on the radar of another Wilson Fisk-type character - but it had been months since the explosion in the lab, and weeks since Calina had gifted them with this lead and they were still nowhere.

Calina stroked her thumb against his cheek. “You’re getting frustrated.”

He nodded, cupping her hand against his skin. “Understatement.”

“You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

“Thanks.” He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. “And thanks for lunch.”

He sensed her frown. “I’ll have to do it more often. You look a little thin.”

He shrugged. “It’s just been busy around here.”

“But you’re taking care of yourself?”

He nodded, warming at the concern and caring in her voice. “I miss your cooking though. I miss our evenings together.”

“Me too.”

“And our nights. And the mornings.”

She laughed softly, and tipped forward to rest her forehead against his. “Me too.”

A text alert from her phone broke the quiet intimacy of the moment. Calina sighed as she read the message.

“Time to go?” he guessed.

“Yeah.” She lifted her head to look around the room, and seemed to notice for the first time that they were alone.

“They slipped out to give us some privacy,” Matt explained.

She smiled. “You have good friends.”

“They’re your friends too.”

“I hope so.”

She gathered her stuff then leaned over to kiss him. He held her against him, his hand locked on the back of her head as he tried to prolong the moment.

Then she left.

Again.

He toyed with the fortune cookie in front of him as he listened to her say goodbye to Foggy and Karen. As he heard her jog down the stairs. As she stepped onto the street and started walking away. He crumbled the wafer, crushing the pieces into dust between his fingers as her footsteps receded into the distance, taking her further and further away from him.

“You okay, man?” Foggy asked.

Matt shrugged, getting used to the bittersweet nature of Calina’s brief visits. “I’ll be fine.”

Foggy patted him on the shoulder, then leaned over to pluck the slip of paper out of the destroyed cookie. He read the ‘fortune’ then huffed out a laugh.

“What does it say?” Matt asked.

Foggy didn’t answer, just handed the note to Karen.

She laughed as well.

“Guys?”

“Sorry, Matt. It’s just too on the nose. ‘The love of your life will appear in front of you unexpectedly.’”

Matt joined in the laughter.

------------

The love of his life appeared unexpectedly several more times over the next couple of weeks.

She was in a darkened corner at the back of Josie’s one night. Alerted by her scent, he tracked her through the Happy Hour crowd, then pulled her further into the shadows where they spent several hot, sweaty minutes pressed against each other. She slipped out the back door and he returned to Foggy and Karen with his hair rumpled and his smiling lips stained with her lipstick.

A few days later, she was in the public gallery of the courtroom, watching as he entered a plea for one of his clients. Her gaze was a warm caress on his back as he stood before the judge, and her calm, soothing heartbeat filled his senses. But when he turned to leave at the end of the session she was gone.

There was another sky-high kiss after she summoned him to the roof of a dimly lit multi-storey car lot.  He raced across the city, following the sound of the clanging dashes and dots of his now-familiar code, lured like a sailor by a siren.

And just as he was starting to grow frustrated by those brief encounters - those stolen moments in which they could do little more than kiss - she crept into his bedroom one early morning and they made love for hours. He arrived to work that day bleary-eyed, but languidly sated.

Her unpredictable appearances turned their separation into a game. A secret pastime, where she tried to surprise him, and where he tracked her through crowds and down winding alleyways. Where there were no losers, only winners, and their shared victory was celebrated with passion-filled kisses and tender embraces.

It broke their time apart into days instead of weeks. Manageable fragments of time, spent in anticipation, not loneliness and despair.

It brought much-needed moments of levity to both of their lives…

Until everything went horribly, horribly wrong.

————–

Uh oh...What could this mean?!

Find out in Chapter 6...

Tag list: @hollandorks @chezagnes @stilldreaming666 @yanna-banana @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 4

Part 3 | Part 5

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, (eventual) smut

Word count: 4k

A/N at the end.

Song: Secrets And Lies – Ruelle 

The insistent pounding of your head made you groan. Your eyelids still felt too heavy for you to fully open your eyes. You tried shifting a little on the very thin mattress on which you laid, feeling your body heavily protest. You squinted but it was all a blur, the only thing you could make out was the speck of sunlight coming through a hole in the ceiling in the far left corner of the room. 

What the hell happened? How long have I been out? You thought, your memory failing you.

You wanted to smack yourself across the face — to will your bloody head to clear the fuck up already. But as you tried lifting your right hand, your left arm couldn’t help but follow the same trajectory. 

“What the,” you muttered. 

Immediate alarm surged through you, followed by a hint of panic. Your eyes were wide open now, the fog in your head lifting. You tried tugging on your restraints but to no avail. Following the iron chain connected to the shackles that were secured tightly around your wrists, you sourly noted that they were attached to the wall behind you. Bloody hell.

“Bit Man in the Iron Mask, isn’t it?”

You froze at the sudden sound of another person being in the room with you. 

“I do sincerely apologise, especially for the chains. But I simply couldn’t take any chances.”

That voice… The final moments before you blacked out came rushing back. At last, we finally meet.

“I hadn’t initially planned on meeting like this,” the voice continued conversationally, as if you weren’t still trying to wake up from whatever drug induced state you had been in. 

It seemed to work, though. Your head was still thumping but the haziness finally depleted fully. Slowly you moved into a seating position, throwing off the blanket that was placed over you as you looked into the direction the voice had come from. A figure was lounging on what appeared to be a pretty uncomfortable looking chair. Although that didn’t seem to bother him at all, reclining on it with his legs spread apart and hands clasped together which rested calmly on his crotch. You moved your eyes upwards, your vision now clear as day as you stared at his face. 

A look of surprise, perhaps a little shock, must’ve flitted across your features because he started grinning, moving to sit forward and rest his forearms on his thighs. 

Rhys Montrose. 

Hundreds of questions whirled around in your head. 

How? 

Why? 

What the fuck? 

He was looking straight at you, analysing your reaction, patiently waiting for you to collect your thoughts. You blinked — twice — before settling on a single question now at the centre forefront of your mind. 

“Who are you?”

“Rhys. Nice to make your acquaintance,” he said, before adding, “But I assume that’s not what you meant.” You ignored his feigned pleasantries. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asked, gesturing towards the larger room. You followed it instinctively, taking a moment to scan your surroundings. 

It appeared to be a medieval dungeon of some kind. No windows, only a single usable point of entry — a rather robust looking door that you couldn’t simply kick down. Next to the door, on a rotten side table that had probably been manufactured in 1700, stood an unlit lantern. The only source of light currently came from the one other link to the outside world. A hole in the ceiling you had spotted before. Now that your vision was cleared up, you noted the steel bars, preventing anyone from using it as an entry or, in your case, an exit. 

Not that you were going to be able to reach either the barred window, which was too high to climb, or the door in the first place. You were chained to the fucking wall for Christ’s sake. There was no way you could get out of these shackles without your lock-picks. Perhaps a knife would do. But you had already spotted your knives, along with your gun and other breaking and entering material, laying in a neat pile next to Rhys’ feet. 

It was a prison cell. A murky prison cell in which the stale atmosphere did nothing but provide an excellent environment for the moulds to grow on the walls and ceilings, and you weren’t likely to escape it anytime soon.

"Don't worry, we are still in Hampsie. Well, the secret bowels of the estate, that is."

You redirected your attention back to the man who was supposed to be dead right now. A chill ran through you. You were suddenly painfully reminded exactly why you were here in the countryside, over two hours outside of London, instead of Primrose Hill where the bastard politician lived. Recalling with a growing tension what the reason was those rich assholes had escaped the city in the first place. Or whom.

You knew Rhys clocked the moment it all clicked in your brain as he shot you a cheeky wink. Bastard indeed, you thought.

“I know who you are. I just want to hear you admit it,” you declared, sounding a little hoarse but otherwise successfully keeping the uneasiness you felt out of your voice.

He shot you one of his charming smiles you’d only previously seen on a screen. “What? That I’ve been killing off my friends for my own gain? Is that what you want to hear, Y/N?” 

The sensual way in which he spoke your name made you carelessly want to lean forward as if he’d called on some sort of unspoken bond between you two. Luckily the realisation that this was a killer who somehow knew your name prevented you from doing so. You didn’t know why you all of a sudden felt surprisingly drawn to him in some weird kind of way the moment he had said your name. You'd never actually met the man, so it couldn’t just have been due to the fact you thought him attractive, even though he was apparently a monster the entire city of London was currently hunting. 

Stop it, Y/N. You sternly reminded yourself that this was the Eat the Rich Killer sitting less than twenty feet away from you. And he was very likely to make you his next victim. 

“How do you know my name?” You asked defensively, knowing that you hadn’t had any form of identification on you. So really there was no obvious way he could know.

“I know a lot about you,” Rhys said, trying to briefly gauge your reaction before continuing. “I’ve been watching you from afar for a while now. And I must admit, I’m quite the fan of your work.”

You remained silent. It wasn’t often you were lost for words, but this was one of those very rare occasions that you had quite literally been shut up. The only thing you could do was raise a single eyebrow, eyes searching his face for some type of explanation as to why in god’s name Rhys Montrose — talented writer, ambitious politician, and evidently an aspiring serial killer — knew you and was interested in you. 

Rhys repositioned himself on his not-so-comfortable chair and seemed to settle in. His eyes quickly swept over your physique, wetting his lips before opening his mouth to speak. 

“About three months ago, I started to notice a certain pattern to the people who were going missing. One after the other, they all seemingly stepped off the edge of the earth, never to be seen or heard from again. I knew that this couldn’t simply be a coincidence, all these key figures holding government functions or working for multinationals methodically, or should I say strategically, disappearing,” Rhys paused for a moment. You quietly stared at him, waiting for him to continue. 

“It seemed no one had connected the dots. Not the police, not the media. Just me. You could say I have a nose for these things,” he chuckled. “All those people that had disappeared had no obvious connections to one another. But if one looked a little deeper, beyond the shallow surface, it all became crystal clear that not only were these missing people linked. They were all tied to the same man.” 

He stared back at you as he briefly paused once again. Waiting to see if you’d take the bait. You didn’t though, remaining impassive. Rhys almost imperceptibly shook his head in what could only be described as amusement, smiling a little to himself. 

“I knew this man would never get his own hands dirty. Not because he’s a prominent public figure, I mean look at yours truly,” Rhys quipped, motioning to himself.

He leaned forward a little, acting as if he was about to disclose some grand secret. “No, because I’m positive the man would shit himself if he’d ever come face to face with a corpse. Let alone wrap his own hands around someone’s throat to watch the light go out in their eyes.”

He sat back again as he watched the corner of your mouth quirk up. You couldn’t help but be slightly amused by his dark sense of humour. Somehow you also knew that Rhys had correctly figured out who it had been – your employer. You even suspected that he knew it was the same man who had ordered his hit.  

“So,” Rhys cleared his throat. “I knew it had to be someone else. An employee of his? Risky. The prudent option would be to have someone from the outside do the work. Hence why I started following him — stalker mode officially activated. And that’s when I found you,” Rhys said, his face lighting up a little as if finding you had been the gift he was waiting for. 

“First, I planned on finding out more about you so I could simply use you to get to him. But for some reason, you intrigued me.”

A moment of silence stretched between you, Rhys waiting for that confession to land. 

“After you’d killed that prosecutor with his own tie — rather brilliantly I might add — what’s his name?” Rhys asked, his fingers coming up to his lips contemplatively as he searched his memory.

“Williams,” you supplied. There was really no point in pretending you hadn’t killed him. You saw it in his eyes. Rhys had been there. He had seen you. 

“Williams,” Rhys exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Yes, poor chap Williams. If you ask me, he had it coming. God, the man was an absolute wanker.”

He was. 

“Anyway, after that I followed you home. Now, I know how that sounds, but in all honesty, I just wanted to see how you were doing. To see what murdering someone did to you.”

During the telling of his story on how Rhys had found you and seemingly cared for your well-being after you had murdered another person, you had unconsciously started to relax a little. Getting the distinct feeling you weren’t here to face your own end. At least that’s what you gathered from the way he talked about you. Seeming almost proud? Captivated, even? This whole situation should frighten you, but for some reason it didn’t. It merely piqued your interest.

“I watched you from my car outside. Seeing how you walked into your kitchen in fresh pyjamas, hair wet after your shower. You grabbed a bottle of wine to pour yourself a glass. Then you made yourself comfortable on the couch and I presume watched something on the tele. After the one glass, you turned off all the lights and headed for bed.”

Rhys looked at you, his head tilted to the side as he considered you. 

“You had just killed a man in cold blood, gotten rid of his body and after that had the most mundane evening thinkable before peacefully going to sleep as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.” 

He waited to see if you would say something. You didn’t. Wanting him to continue. Wanting to figure him out as he had evidently tried to figure you out. 

“I was impressed. No, I was more than impressed. I’d never seen another person handle murder like that. It made me feel,” Rhys struggled to find the right words.

“It made me feel drawn to you — connected,” he confessed. 

The admission rocked you a little as it reminded you of your earlier thoughts about him. Thoughts and feelings that were so bizarre you had quickly dismissed them. 

You were both silent for a moment, Rhys picking a stray piece of lint off of his dark green sweater that hugged his body deliciously. You internally scolded yourself and immediately squashed the plain superficial attraction you felt for him. You redirected your focus, needing to switch tracks for a moment because you simply didn’t know how to deal with this.

“Why did you kill all those people?”

“I needed them out of my way.”

“Why? Did they serve as such liabilities for your political ambitions?” You guessed.

“Yes,” he answered, like it was the most reasonable explanation in the world to kill another human being. You weren’t in a position to argue morality, you knew that, having personally killed for far less — money being amongst those reasons.

Truth be told, you hadn’t been paying much attention to those snobs getting chopped up. You simply didn’t care, unlike your sister with her big heart. But you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t secretly admired the brazenness to just off those rich privileged assholes in such a public spectacle, though. 

“Tell me,” Rhys mused. “Why did you kill all those people?”

You opened your mouth but you were quickly cut off by Rhys saying, “And don’t say money. We both know that isn’t the truth.”

“But it is,” you replied, unwavering. 

Rhys made a negative sound as he leaned forward again. “Look me in the eye and tell me you have never, for a single moment, fantasised about the way it would feel to truly take matters into your own hands. To decide for yourself who gets to live and who doesn’t. Tell me that doesn’t make your pulse quicken with anticipation.”

You remained silent, that serving as its own answer. 

“That’s what I thought,” Rhys said, moving his head from side to side, his neck making popping sounds. 

“I love power,” he shared on an exhale. “And I intend to use it to get what I want. Really, because it’d be a complete sin if I didn’t use my strengths on the grandest possible scale. Which brings me to why we’re here having this fun little chat.”

You sat up a little straighter, not being able to stop the slight nervous jitter as you awaited his next words. What was he up to? It somehow involved you, it had to since you were still breathing. 

“Your current employer, Tom Lockwood,” Rhys spoke the name like it was the most vile thing he ever tasted. “The one who paid you to kill all those poor souls. To kill me. The man representing everything we good socialists are taught to despise. Capitalist greed, hypocrisy,” he drawled.

“And on top of all of that, he’s also backing my political opponent. I’d say that’s enough reason to want him out of my way, don’t you think?” 

“What does that have anything to do with me?”

Rhys chuckled darkly. “Oh Y/N, don’t you see it? I want you to help me kill him.”

It gave you pause. The man who had literally caught you red-handed, about to let a bullet crush his skull, asked you to work with him. To become what exactly? Some sort of partner?

“Why do you want me to help you?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was lonely and simply looking for a partner? An equal. Someone who I can finally tell all my secrets to. Someone who won’t run away from me when I do.”

“Let me rephrase my question then — why do you think I would want to help you?”

The look he gave you was dangerous, but something soft lingered underneath it. “Because I can offer you what none of your employers ever could or ever will. Autonomy. Power to decide what you want.”

“Think of all the things we could do together.” Sheer exhilaration at the prospect laced his voice. You shifted slightly on the bed, an involuntary shiver running up your spine as his words hit a little too close to home – echoing exactly how you had felt after accepting Lockwood’s job to kill Rhys. This discontentment with that lacking feeling of autonomy had been slowly building up inside you these past few months – perhaps even years. 

“There’s so much we could accomplish,” he added, clearly relishing at the thought.

Rhys was offering you power. Plain and simple. Power that came hand in hand with a partnership. An equal partnership, your inner voice added. 

Was that what you wanted? What you needed? A solid ‘No’ echoed through you instinctively. But as that echo faded out, you couldn’t help but wonder whether that was really true or not. 

You never had the luxury to even contemplate how the prospect of power influenced your decision-making. This job, it was and always had been primarily to help support the only real family you had left — your sisters. It was your one true focus. 

Now before you sat a man, blatantly offering it to you like he was offering you a slice of some delicious cake. It was conflicting. Somehow not wanting to fully admit to yourself that the lust for power was indeed something that lay dormant somewhere deep inside of you. That killing to feel the spark of that need and desire ignite, grew with every person you brought to their demise. Because what would that make you? An irredeemable monster? Your heart pounded in your chest as you arrived at the core of your inner worries. 

It wouldn’t make you worthy of your sisters’ love for you. It wouldn’t make you worthy of anyone for that matter. 

Accepting the truth within yourself would also mean to accept the fact that your ties to humanity were practically non-existent. That you would be alone forever. The realisation fuelled your anxiety for that ever-expanding gaping hole of loneliness that you had always felt inside of you. Yet, here someone offered you not to be alone. To be monsters together. 

As if Rhys could sense your inner turmoil, he softly urged, “We are alike, you and me. I know, deep down, you want the same thing as I do. To get rid of anyone who dares to stand in our way of getting what we deserve.”

“I’m nothing like you,” you hissed stubbornly, clocking your own unease at the blatant lie.

“Oh, really?” Rhys challenged, growing a little agitated at your continued resistance. “Let’s see then. What about the relationship with your delightful mother? Care to enlighten me on the unconditional love she gives you? Or do you feel the same abandonment as I have felt?” 

You tried keeping your face as impassive as ever. But his taunting comment had stung. It was like he knew everything — like he had learned all of your secrets that you closely guarded, and he unapologetically used them to press where it hurt most. 

“At least my mother is still alive,” you bit back. 

“Right. And is she also aware of that? Because last time I checked it was you taking care of her other two daughters whilst she was drunkenly pub crawling her way through London.” 

You opened your mouth to respond with another snarky remark, but you quickly shut it as you realised what information he had just disclosed. He hadn’t just been watching you — no, he’d also seen you with your sisters. Anger rose inside of you and you got up at once.

“If you touch them, I swear to god,” you roared, the chains clanking as you moved as close to Rhys as possible before the chains stopped you from gaining on him. There was still a solid ten feet between you. 

Rhys looked as relaxed as ever, apparently not rattled by your sudden outburst. Had he expected this reaction from you? Did you just play right into his hands?

“I admire this passion to protect those you love. Truly. I’ve felt it too,” he shared. “It’s an overwhelming and, quite frankly, frightening sensation to know you would burn down the whole world to keep someone safe. Because that’s what you feel, isn’t it?”

Why was he saying these things? How could he possibly understand? Yet, the way he said it made you believe that he did. But someone like him was supposed to be completely depleted of emotion, of feeling. Someone like him — someone like me. 

Feeling defeated, you sat back down on the uncomfortable bed with a huff. The bed creaked and you looked to the side to notice that it was held up by two separate chains connected to the wall. Just like you it seemed. 

“As you clearly seem to know so much about me. Please, do tell me some incredibly personal stuff about yourself,” you replied sarcastically, deflecting and relentlessly ignoring how his words had impacted you.

“I would love to,” he pronounced, glancing down at his wrist to check the time. His demeanour changing as the optimistic lilt in his voice returned. “But I still have some other business I need to take care of. Business in your best interest, really.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You blurted. 

Fuck, you really needed to stop speaking your mind so freely around this man. He was a killer and a politician. He preyed on any sliver of personal information you’d give, not much different from yourself. But Rhys just had something about him that pushed your buttons, making you apparently momentarily forget about the walls you had spent nearly three decades carefully constructing around yourself. He was still holding you captive. You couldn’t forget about that, regardless of those pretty promises.

Rhys abruptly stood up and then bent down to assemble the things he had taken off of your person. “Let it be a surprise,” he called over his shoulder. You exhaled harshly, annoyed with him beyond words. 

He straightened back up and walked your things over to the furthest corner of the room, clearly not taking any chances with how far you could reach in these bloody chains. 

Rhys turned around and sauntered over to you, an amused look on his face. Your eyes tracked his every movement and quickly noted the single item he was still holding in his hands. 

He came to a stand-still not even two feet away from you, forcing you to arch your neck to look up at him. Now in his proximity, what you should’ve been doing was analyse all different avenues of attack. Yet here you were, silently mesmerised as your eyes followed the curvature of his neck, unmistakably distracted as you took notice of a necklace he had hidden underneath his forest green sweater. 

You slowly lifted your gaze up to his face, not without briefly lingering on the fullness of his soft looking lips. His blue eyes were twinkling with amusement, an air of smugness hanging around him like a palpable thing. 

The sudden movement of his right arm shook you out of your stupor. You didn’t have time to mentally scold yourself over your lack of self-restraint when you finally registered what book he was holding on to, and now offered to you.

A Good Man in a Cruel World

You scoffed, looking from the book to him. “You really think this is gonna make us even?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it, perhaps you’ll find something interesting.”

“Ah,” you clicked your tongue. “So, what? Is there like a chapter titled ‘Confessions’?” 

Rhys slowly withdrew his hand that was holding his memoir. “You don’t have to read it. Although it would certainly wound my ego just the tiniest bit,” he admitted jokingly. 

“You can always use this time for a good old meditation session. Perhaps a little inner peace will help you find your way to reconcile with the fact that you and me, Y/N,” the look on his face grew more serious now, his voice deepening with every syllable he spoke as he crouched down to your eye level. 

“We’re inevitable.”

–––– 

A/N: special thanks to Ed Speleers’ pretty voice for inspiring me to write this 4k conversation. Next part we return to Rhys’ pov :)

By the way, I won’t apologise for lowkey making this into a sociopathic soulmates fic. Although that doesn’t mean it will be all peaches and dandelions (just a heads up lol)

[lifewtr]

and the difference is this | M+ | 2/7

After a horrible moment that leaves her befuddled, Katara seeks out the most undesirable route to her problem. For Zutara Week 2023 (@zutaraweek), Day 5 + 6: Respite, Forge.

One long, agonizing hour later, Dr. Microbiology—Dr. Yen—walks back into her hospital room.

“I heard,” she says, wordlessly brandishing a chocolate pudding cup once she’s near, “and I’d’ve come sooner but I was at a rather important conference with legal at the time. How are you feeling, Miss Kyason?”

Katara accepts the pudding cup with greedy, grateful hands. “Like I just had a microbiologist bring me pudding in consolation for crying my eyes out,” she deadpans, busy licking at the peeled top of said consolation without shame. Her eyes close at the sugar-rich thickness of manufactured chocolate, the taste like heaven after only days of ice and neon green jello. “La that’s good,” she sighs, voice still gritty from her breakdown. “Thank you for this, doctor, but to what do I really owe the pleasure?”

Dr. Yen, already having acquired the rolling chair, raises an unimpressed eyebrow as she kicks herself back over.

“In a new mood, are we?”

“Resigned to my apparent fate,” Katara rebuts, licking into the pudding cup, “the crying and all—y’know? You know. But the chocolate is helping. I may yet revert to a reasonable woman by the time I ask for another.”

A bright chuckle lifts the doctor’s shoulders. She reaches into the pocket of her white coat and then promptly drops another pudding cup into Katara’s lap. Quickly, and as abrupt as the smile that pulls at her face, Katara feels a little more like herself.

“Thank you! You are a saint.”

“Not as such,” Dr. Yen’s own smile becomes smaller, her brown eyes both unyielding and empathetic. “Last I saw you, you were gone with heat-sick and dead to the world. Do you remember what happened?”

“I remember being annoyed.” Katara starts to scowl out of reflex, but the insufferably patient look in the doctor’s eye makes her fix her face and focus. She takes a deep breath around the rim of her pudding cup. “It was sudden,” she explains slowly, “like the first time it happened, before I went to the clinic. One moment I was okay and the next I was burning, slipping away from myself. It hurt. I was barely able to see past my nose, barely even able to talk. There was so much venom...”

The doctor hums. “And what did you smell?”

Smell?

“There was—” wood and turned soil, sunshine and sweetgrass. Curiosity and concern, now that she can think; the freshwater bloom of captivation underneath it all. She quiets, mulling over her hazed recollections with a frown.

“There was?” Dr. Yen asks, a gentle prompt. “Was there anything notable about that moment?”

For whatever reason, the doctor’s phrasing makes the realization click into place.

It isn’t about what she could smell—it was about who and the fact that she did—amongst the entrie rotation of nurses and other staff that have come into this space; even now, with her nostrils flaring in concentration, seeking out Dr. Yen’s scent and coming up with nothing but traces of coffee and paper, concrete and flora as if she’d walked briefly through a garden to get here; Katara has not been able to parse a single personal scent, no pheromones, no emotions, no nuance. The surpressants in her system were still working.

And then a soldier had walked into her room, brandishing concern and captivation.

Cherry and smoke.

Alpha...

Katara’s tongue dries even as a faint tingle starts up at the base of her gums. Suddenly she can no longer pretend to think about what she must do, the ebbing of rejection towards the reality of her solution now a ripple of obstinate resignation. It is no less a kick to the chest, as bleak of an acceptance as she’d so brashly stated it to be when the doctor had walked in—and yet, even in the midst of acceptance and the precipice of a verifiable truth...

‘Get it over with,’ she tells herself; reminds herself that there is, will be, no better option available. ‘Don’t dwell, Katara. Move on to the next step and don’t stop there, either.’

With a silent sigh, she nods to herself. No more what-the-fucking. “Did that man leave my things?” She asks, turning the nearly-empty pudding cup in her hands. Dr. Yen’s small smile returns.

“He never left without them, dear.”

...What?

“What?”

read AND THE DIFFERENCE IS THIS in full on AO3! ↬

[kxantares]

What the heck's the deal with tower 6 on the Big Red Express (1997–2022) at Whistler-Blackcomb?

So, on Whistler Mountain, there was this one chairlift, the Big Red Express (due to be replaced in time for the 2022–2023 ski season with a new lift by the same name), which was notable for, mostly, being remarkably miserable to ride on snowy, windy days; being ten minutes long; and:

This is a rare design feature on ropeways, which only really happens when there's a serious elevation differential across the several metres separating each side of the ropeway. Usually, they'll just build a tower tall enough to support both sides of the cable, unless it's way cheaper to not do that. Which, well, it is here.

But there's another thing that's weird about that tower. Like, here, let me show you a basically identical lift built by the same company, Doppelmayr, around the same year:

Check the tower heads on both — the ones on the second picture are normal for that manufacturer in that era. So where did the Big Red get its weird towers from?

The Redline Express, installed in 1992. I'll get into why it only lasted five ski seasons in a bit, but basically, they ended up having to put that little side tower in because that lift was itself replacing the original Red Chair (1965–1992). Which was built, well, very differently from the big, beefy high-speed lifts that started to become the main workhorses of large ski resorts in the '80s, and which also had chairs that didn't require quite the same vertical clearance or other such space:

So, reusing the same alignment, which was the most direct route from "the top of whatever lift comes up from the base at Creekside" to "up a hill from the main lodge on the mountain, so that people can ski down to the ski racks", but with chairs that need way more vertical clearance and can support larger gaps between towers, meant sticking in a little side tower to make sure people's skis wouldn't brush against the snow (or worse!). Speaking of "worse", though, let's get into why the Redline was replaced maybe a sixth of the way into its theoretical service life:

Think about how it works in practice. For clarity, this is a device intended to secure hundreds of kilograms of metal and passengers to a rope, usually in temperatures below freezing, under conditions where forces on the cable, such as those that occur in the event of an emergency stop, can result in reduced or absent gravitational force acting on the chair.

And for more clarity, look at the upper part of the "jaws" on the cable, and where the hinges are relative to the "jaws". Just one more thing: those tension-providing devices aren't lazily drawn metal springs; they're rubber "marshmallow" springs.

Can you see where the problem might be with this setup? Because this guy didn't:

Meet Janek Kunczynski, the founder of Lift Engineering & Manufacturing Co., AKA Yan, who might as well be the Elon Musk of ropeways. Before I get deeper into just how disastrous his detachable grip design was, let me show you another Incredible™ (derogatory) example of his engineering sensibilities:

Allow me to remind you that this is usually operating in sub-zero temperatures, and that this specific lift was often subject to considerable wind and snow. As in, when mechanics were working on this chairlift, they'd have to do that with no protection from the elements. (It's also at least rumoured within the ropeway and ski resort industries that his lifts were routinely welded together in ski resort parking lots.) His whole thing was, basically, making lifts look cool and implementing them cheaply, to undercut his European competitors, which led not just to impractical designs that were hostile to the people maintaining them or prone to breaking down, but to his company's lifts killing at least five people and injuring at least seventy.

Which brings us back to Whistler:

Whistler, at the time in an arms race to outcompete Blackcomb, its neighbour, but lacking the sort of venture capital backing Blackcomb had, wanted to put in some high-speed lifts to be able to match the skiing experience at Blackcomb, which had already bought several such lifts from Doppelmayr (after buying several low-speed lifts from Yan). So they figured they'd take the cheap route, and get three high-speed lifts, of a fairly unproven design, installed. These were to replace three ancient lifts that were, at that point, constraining the resort's capacity.

While the Redline and Green both served through their five years of operation without any serious issues, the same can't be said for the Quicksilver Express, which was the only chairlift Yan ever built with "bubbles" on it — which required a slightly enhanced grip, to handle the additional weight.

It wasn't enhanced enough, though. On December 23rd, 1995…

The Quicksilver, specifically, was an unmitigated dumpster fire, even before any accidents happened. It was designed such that, in wind, grips could smack against towers, taking on damage in the process. It had a faulty brake system that would apply maximum braking force via the emergency brake when a normal stop is what the operator pressed the button for. At least a few empty chairs had straight up fallen off the cable before the accident. And then there were the grips.

These grips received multiple retrofits and rebuilds throughout the few years the lift was operating, which never seemed to help — they slipped so often that operators on the lift just stuffed paper into the grip force alarm to muffle it. The clearance between grips and towers was known to be below code, and Whistler stated that they simply couldn't fix it. Upon testing the grips after the accident, of 29 tested, every single one failed to perform adequately.

Furthermore, there was the whole thing with the rubber and the claws. Rubber springs lose performance at much less extreme temperatures than metal springs, and the way the grips were designed, a lot of their grip force relied on the chair applying force via gravity. Take away gravity, and the grip can slip. Take away gravity on a particularly steep section of the lift line, and you've got a cascade of chairs knocking each other off of the cable until they ram into a tower and fall to the ground.

So it was 1997, and Whistler, on the edge of going bankrupt from lawsuits and lost business, had to get rid of the other Yan high speed lifts, which were likely safer, but not safe enough. Some resorts retrofitted theirs to use a better grip design, but Whistler just got rid of them…

…other than the towers.

[anonymousfoz]

Herbert & Co. 2

Taglist: @vite-poh, @theoracleofgiana, @writeblr-of-my-own, @mfpipecat, @the-mindless

You awake tied up to a chair. It was becoming a more frequent occurrence since you began dating Herbert. You were blindfolded as all you saw was darkness yet you could sense there the room was currently bright. Your hands were handcuffed behind the chair, they were done badly and weren't tight enough. With some brute force, you managed to get the cuffs up. You walked around hearing the shackle of chains around your feet. You could only go a certain extent. The blindfold was tightly wrapped, you could not take it off. You waited for a bit, going quiet until you heard a crackle and a pop. Glass fell to the floor and footsteps began to pick up. A light bulb must had broken but this gave you a potential chance to escape. The footsteps got closer and then the door slammed open.

"You aren't suppose to be here." The voice said, a sense of disdain in their voice.

"I didn't choose to be here". You remark as you hear the chains break open. You get off the floor and follow the footsteps of the voice. "Who are you?"

"There is no time for introductions yet. If you want to live you must be quiet and follow my lead." And from then on the walk was quiet. You could feel the uneasiness with the stranger but you were out of options for help. And then, you were outside. Where? Unknown. But you were free yet the voice remained silent and ever moving. It was once you were near what must had been a steam of water your chains were lifted. "You are something that is unnatural and thought to been extinct."

"Like the dodo?"

"Not the analogy I would had used but, yes. You appear to be a blood angel, the last of your kind. Manufactured in heaven, blood angels were a result of experimentation but rebelled with Lucifer during the Great War. They were slaughtered but you remain." He continued to mutter by the stream of flowing water. You seemed to tune out half way through. "You have a large target on your back. We must get you to safety. But where?"

"We can go to Lucifer's castle. That's where I stay." The voice went silent and quickly shot down the idea. You figured you were still down in Hell but away from the castle or the nearby towns. "Why can we not go there?"

"Lucifer would send me to get executed for-"

"Assisting in the mutilation and experimentation of other beings, including the blood angels." The voice went silent. "You talked too much, I know what I am. I know who made me and why. I'm going back to the castle. You do your own thing. Please point me in the direction of the castle and I will be on my way." You waited for a sign but heard the footsteps going away from you. You took a sigh and reached down in the flowing water, confused and lost. You could not travel blindfolded and had to find an object to cut it off with.

Hours went by as you had just awoken from slumber. You were in a different area from before as the rush of water was replaced with the scorch of fire. Your blindfold was yanked off, and for the first time today, you could see.

"We have brought you what you asked for. Please extend your part of the deal as they were a hassle to hunt down." One figure said. Were you being sold? A large wolf came from out the shadows, his red eyes and black fur gave you all you needed to know. He did a quick wave to you before focusing to the stranger.

"The deal was a pardon, what more do you want-"

"Money?" The wolf looked frustrated and the figure began to sweat. "I'm a single parent, please." The wolf sighed and pulled out his wallet. He handed a few bills of paper before the stranger headed off. You got up and hugged the large wolf.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay." You had the largest smile on your face as had quite the story to tell. The two of you started walking back to the castle while you began to talk. You had stretched out your angel wings for a few minutes. They were dark red currently, a few months ago they were just black. Knowing that you were a blood angel made things easier yet always let more questions than answers, but that was for another time.

[whisker-biscuit]

The Lines We Cross - Chapter 7

Bentley Comes Through

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See you met me at an interesting time And if my past is any sign of your future You should be warned before I let you inside

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The pit stop turned out to be a tiny store in Nebraska an eight-hour car drive away, sandwiched between a tattoo parlor and a private attorney's office on a quiet street in a quiet town. “Wiseturtle Tech” was emblazoned over the front. Sly stared up at the blocky, faded lettering and was thoroughly unimpressed.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just ask your boss for a new weapon,” he said for the hundredth time since they’d started the impromptu detour. “Seems a lot easier than going out of your way to a podunk place like this.”

“Shock pistols aren’t manufactured en-masse,” the cop admitted. “They’re custom weaponry that only higher ranks like inspectors can have. I didn’t want to ask Barkley for a new one right after he gave me so much expensive equipment already, and it would have taken a while for them to ship a new one, anyway.”

“What about a regular gun, then? Doesn’t Interpol have those?”

“They do…” Her lips thinned. “I just don’t like using them.”

“...Right.” He gave the storefront another once-over, then turned to look at her holster where her broken pistol was tucked safely away. “So, what makes you think some random tech guy can salvage a mess like that?”

“You'll see.”

Inspector Fox pushed open the door to let them both inside. A little bell overhead chimed in response, but no one was actually at the desk to greet them. The counters behind the desk were covered in dismantled machinery – phones, laptops, kitchen appliances, and a million other things Sly couldn’t identify. The one intact computer sitting on the desk had a screensaver of a little green turtle head bouncing aimlessly off the edges of the screen.

There was a wall offering various tech and accessories, so the raccoon wandered over that way. “Great customer service. Really selling me on this place.”

“Oh, shush.” She stepped up to the counter and rang the service bell. “Hello? Anyone home?”

A large pink hippo in a gray uniform shirt poked his head out of one of the back doorways. His eyes widened and a big goofy grin grew on his face as he recognized the person who had called for him.

“Hi Miss Fox!”

“Hi, Murray,” she greeted him with a warm smile. “Is Bentley here? I could really use his help.”

The hippo nodded emphatically. “Yeah! I’ll go get him right now for you!”

He disappeared from sight again, and she gave Sly a smug look, who only shrugged and went back to studying the wall of stuff. It was a bizarre mix, really – half of what was on sale looked brand new, state of the art and built for the latest tech trends, while the other half looked like it had been lifted from a RadioShack in the eighties. Even if the single camera he’d noted in one ceiling corner was just for show, nothing here was really worth taking. Not for his needs, anyway.

There was a clatter as Murray bounded back out from his hiding place, followed by a tiny turtle with giant spectacles and a little red bowtie over his shirt that matched his coworker’s. He climbed onto the chair across the desk from where the cop stood and only gave Sly a brief glance.

“Hello, Inspector Fox. It’s been a while,” he said in the most nasally voice the raccoon had ever heard. “Is your computer having issues again?”

“No. I’m here for something else today.” She lifted her ruined shock pistol and placed it carefully onto the counter.

Bentley’s mouth fell open. “What did you do to it?”

“Work-related. It was overloaded with electricity, but I can’t really share any more details than that,” she hurriedly dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Do you think you can fix it?”

“I can…certainly try.” The turtle picked it up by the handle between two fingers, as if afraid it might explode. “You know, every time I think I’ve seen every way someone can destroy their tech, you always manage to surprise me.”

“I will take that as a compliment!” She shot a glare at Sly when he snorted. “So, how long will you need?”

“A few hours at least. And that’s if I already have all the parts to replace anything damaged beyond repair. Otherwise, it could be anywhere between a few days to a few weeks.”

The inspector grimaced and shook her head. “If you can’t fix it within the day, don’t bother. It would be faster to get a new one.”

“Alright.” His gaze flickered over to the raccoon, who stared back impassively. “I’ll, uh, give you a call when I know for sure what the time estimate will be.”

“Thanks, Bentley.”

As they left the store together, Sly met Murray’s curious gaze. The hippo gave him a smile as wide as he had Inspector Fox, and Sly couldn’t help but give an awkward attempt at one back.

“Well, it looks like we have some time to kill,” he said the moment the doors swung closed behind them. “What’s the plan while we wait?”

She chewed her lip. “I need to figure out which member of the Five to go after first. And you still haven’t given me that evidence yet, Ringtail.”

“I will, don’t worry. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t high-tail it out of that apartment and leave me stranded.”

The two of them got back in her car, and the fox gave him a long, searching stare. “You’re really going through with this, huh.”

It wasn’t entirely a question. He’d let his emotions slip a little more than he’d wanted the other night, and she had seen his conviction because of it. Even so, he’d had a day and a half since then to think over his decision to rub shoulders with a cop – one from Interpol, no less – and although he had plenty of misgivings, Sly still believed it was his best option for now.

He might know where most of the Five were holed up these days, but that would only get him so far on his own. She had resources, and a seemingly genuine interest in seeing justice served, and it would be so much easier to let her blaze through their hideouts and move stealthily in the chaos she created than trying to break in by himself – especially once they realized he hadn’t been arrested like the rest of Muggshot’s goons. The last place they would ever expect to find him was at the side of the cop who was out to bust them all.

And, after seeing how she had miraculously won a one-on-one battle against the bulldog, he almost dared to believe that he’d be safe with her even if they did find him.

“Yeah, I am,” he answered, honest for once in his life, before pulling out the precious information she so desperately wanted. “Here. For your peace of mind.”

The cop grabbed them and began reading immediately. Her lips moved without sound as she did so; it was a small, almost endearing detail that made his mouth twitch just a little bit upwards.

“These are emails,” she finally said in hushed excitement. “Emails between some of the Five. Muggshot, Sir Raleigh, and Mz. Ruby. But…why would he print them out?”

Because they always wipe their communications but Muggshot has the memory of a gnat, he didn’t say out loud. “Probably because he doesn’t know how to tell the difference between print’ and ‘delete’. You’ve met the guy.”

Inspector Fox hummed, only half listening. Her nose was buried in papers. Sly had already read them while waiting on the roof of her motel, and he knew what she was going to find. He pulled the car seat back until it was nearly horizontal, flipped his hood up over his eyes, and laid his linked hands behind his head like he was going to take a nap.

“The most recent communications are between Muggshot and Mz. Ruby,” she mumbled to herself, “from the same day that I busted him. And the ones between him and Sir Raleigh are from two weeks ago. That’s interesting.”

“Mhm.”

“They all seem to be talking about the same thing,” the fox continued, in a slow, thoughtful tone. “Some kind of special package they’d been ferrying back and forth. Raleigh to Muggshot, and then Muggshot to Mz. Ruby.”

Sly stared at the tiny threadbare stitching of the inside of his hood.

“But…” She tapped a line on the page. “It looks like the latter two settled on a transfer date that’s still another week away. Whatever they were smuggling between them, it never made it to the alligator before Muggshot was arrested.”

He was so still he was barely breathing. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“I wonder what that package was. These emails are so vague, all I can really tell is that it was probably fragile and priceless, and with all the stolen stuff we found in his penthouse, almost anything could fall under those categories.”

“Well, no use getting our tails in a twist over something they’re never going to get their hands on again,” Sly said, a little curter than he meant to.

She shifted next to him, obviously surprised by his blunt brush off, but then went back to reading without saying anything about it. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, the cop straightened in her seat.

“We’ve got locations!” She exclaimed. “The last transfer point was in Wales, and the next scheduled one is supposed to be in Haiti. That must be where Raleigh and Mz. Ruby are hiding out right now. I wonder what kind of awful schemes they’re involved in. Everyone had been speculating that the Five had gone into hiding in some kind of criminal retirement, but these clearly indicate otherwise.”

“I dunno a single thing about any of that, but between Wales and Haiti, I vote we go to Haiti first.”

“Why Haiti?”

The raccoon finally lifted the fabric from his eyes to look sideways at her. “Two reasons. Number one is that Haiti is way closer to the States than Wales is, and if Mz. Ruby hasn’t heard about Muggshot’s arrest by next week, then you have a chance to catch her at the exact time and place she’s planning to make that exchange with him.”

An exact time and place he was going to avoid like the plague if he could help it.

“Number two is that Mz. Ruby has premonition. The longer you leave her out there, the more likely she’ll look into the future, see her own arrest and disappear, or see her partners’ arrests and warn them to disappear. Then you’re screwed either way.”

“That’s true, but –” she paused suddenly, and narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. “Wait. How do you know about Mz. Ruby’s powers?”

“Are you kidding? It’s one of the things she’s most famous for besides literally summoning the undead. Just because Interpol has its special top-secret info doesn’t mean some stuff doesn’t reach public knowledge.”

Sly held her gaze without blinking until she backed down with an acknowledging nod. Her wariness was frustrating but understandable, especially because of how she wasn’t wrong to have it.

Just for all the wrong reasons.

“Okay. Haiti, then.” Inspector Fox pulled out a tiny notebook from her jacket’s front pocket and began scribbling down notes as she scanned the printed emails again. “That’s going to be about a long flight, so I need to book plane tickets for the earliest possible flight I can find for two people.”

He must have let something show on his face about that, because she huffed and gave him an impatient look.

“What now?”

“Nothing. I just – I didn’t think we’d be flying.” As soon as it left his mouth, he regretted it. She stared at him like he was an idiot.

“How else are we supposed to get there, Ringtail?” She asked sarcastically. “By car?”

“No. I just…I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. You don’t have to be crappy about it.”

The cop began to open her mouth again, and he just knew she was going to pry into things she had no business knowing. With an irritated sigh, Sly readjusted his seat into something actually vertical again so he could be level with her in more ways than one.

“I’m just not the biggest fan of flying, alright?”

The sharp retort prepared on her tongue vanished in the wake of confusion. “You’re not? How come?”

“Consider it a phobia. It paralyzes me.”

She squinted at him. He met her eyes without hiding anything. The truth was the truth, and he could see her defensiveness easing away as she realized it.

“Oh. Well, I’m sure we can get you something to help. Over the counter anxiety meds, maybe.”

The raccoon let out an audible snort. “Nothing short of Klonopin is going to help me with that. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

Before the inspector could respond to that, her cell phone suddenly went off. She answered it immediately albeit with a sharp glance his way, as if to say their conversation was far from over.

“Hello? Oh! Bentley, thanks for calling back, I – okay. Okay. But you – you can? Great! Thank you so much! Yes, we’ll come back later.”

Sly picked at the seams of his gloves, waiting patiently until the fox ended the call.

“He says most of the damage was in the charge port, and he has the spare parts for it,” she told him the moment she hung up. “But it’s going to take the rest of the day even if he skips the other projects that were in line before mine.”

“All day, huh? Pretty sure we’ll have figured out a route to Haiti way before then. That’s a lot of time to kill.”

To his surprise, she shook her head. “Not for me. I have to check in with my superiors about my plan to go after Mz. Ruby first, and get an update on the evidence they’ve been sorting through from the bust on Muggshot. If there’s any new information about his cohorts, I need to know as soon as possible.”

“Sounds…fun.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” The cop gave him a particular look that he decidedly didn’t like. “But it’s all confidential, and I can’t risk you eavesdropping on my phone calls again.”

“I thought we’d already established that it wasn’t actually eavesdropping if your boss was yelling so loud I could hear him across the room.”

“Regardless,” she continued, irritation seeping into her voice, “you can’t be around me for that. I’m not risking it happening again.”

Sly sat up straighter in his seat, not liking at all where this was going. “What, so you’re just going to kick me out of the car for the next six, seven hours ‘til you’re done? What am I supposed to do – sit on the curb with my chin in my hands all day?”

Inspector Fox began working her jaw; a tic he was starting to notice meant she was deep in thought instead of merely frustrated. Her eyes drifted up and down his hoodie.

“How prepared are you for a long-term trip?”

And that was how Sly found himself standing in front of a general merchandise store, watching his cop companion drive away, with the two-hundred US dollars she’d handed him in his pocket and explicit instructions to buy everything he needed for travel.

It didn’t bother him that she could tell he didn’t have many belongings to his name – the fact that he was still wearing the same clothes nearly two days after they’d first met had probably clued her in – but it did bother him that she seemed to think he didn’t have any money. It made sense, because to her he was just a civilian who’d probably been robbed and then captured by Muggshot’s men, but it still smarted his ego as a thief.

With a huff, the raccoon entered the store, grabbed a shopping cart, and made a beeline for the aisle with portable suitcases. Then he made a beeline for the clothing section.

It had been a long time since he’d been able to pick out things for himself. Clothes were always a necessity provided for him by the Five, and only when his previous stuff was starting to get threadbare. A few new shirts, and pants, and a pair of shoes if they were feeling generous. The hoodie he was wearing was courtesy of being stuck in stormy Wales for nearly a month before he’d come to Mesa, because as much as Raleigh hated spending money on the “orphan waif”, he hated having to deal with a sick orphan waif even more.

Even with his newfound freedom, Sly found himself following the same patterns he’d been forced to follow for over half his life; three shirts, three pairs of pants, and a single new pair of shoes were all he put in his cart. He only realized what he was doing when he compared the amount of clothes to the size of the suitcase he’d chosen. There was still far too much space left even if he added his backpack and what he was wearing.

That realization prickled his fur and made his cheeks burn, and so he doubled back and forced himself to pick another two of each despite the voice in his head screaming that he was being greedy for it.

Next up were toiletries.

The raccoon’s toothbrush was already safely tucked away in a side pocket on his backpack, something he’d always done just in case there was ever a chance for him to make a break for it, but everything else had been left behind when he’d been unexpectedly forced out of his room. He began pulling things off the shelves at random as he saw them – toothpaste, shampoo, a fur brush, nail clippers, a pack of razors, and so on and so forth. At one point he passed a jumbo first aid kit and added that to the growing pile as well, knowing that if he got hurt, he would have to rely on himself instead of the cop. She probably didn’t even know how to properly pack a stab wound; much less reset a broken bone or build a makeshift splint.

After that…Sly wasn’t really sure what came after that.

Inspector Fox had promised to be back to pick him up in a few hours, but he still had quite a lot of time to kill. He’d already gotten all the essentials he needed, and there was really nothing else to get that wasn’t wasting space and money.

For a brief minute he toyed with the idea of swinging by the pharmacy and swiping someone’s anxiety prescription meds if he could find something strong enough to last him the upcoming plane ride he was already dreading, but quickly nixed the thought. That was a particularly scummy thing to do even with his skewed ideals. He’d just have to suck it up.

He ended up wandering store aisles, looking at things that held no interest or use to him. So many frivolous, stupid things that people bought. Why buy a toaster and a toaster oven? Why get more than one bed spread unless you absolutely needed a new one? Why spend money on three different kinds of the same food?

Muggshot and Raleigh both loved to do things like that. Sly had lost count of how many times he’d watched the frog import wine worth thousands of Pounds a bottle, or the bulldog order glitzy chandeliers to hang from the ceiling of every room he spent more than an hour in. As a kid who had lived middle class until the night his world was shattered, it had confused him. As an adult who had spent the last eleven years surviving off what little he could get, it infuriated him.

At least Inspector Fox didn’t seem to be like that. Her accommodations were cramped, and a little dingy, but he would take it over glittering fakeness any day of the week. Well, except for maybe that shiny red convertible. That thing stuck out like a sore thumb and he very much hoped she’d ditch it before getting any further in this case.

Something caught his eye in the electronics section.

It was a digital camera, small enough to fit in his hoodie’s front pocket, advertised for taking quality pictures for scrapbooking needs and family vacations. SD card and charger port sold separately but at a bargain, it claimed, and the raccoon didn’t realize how long he’d been looking at it until he noticed an employee approaching him from the corner of his eye.

“That’s a really nice camera,” the deer said, giving him a smile perfected for customer service. “Are you interested? I can take it out of the case for you.”

Sly looked at them, then at the price tag. Two-hundred dollars with all the added accessories. He had nearly four-thousand from what he’d swiped from Muggshot. This would barely put a dent in that. But it still made him hesitate.

Greedy little thing, hissed the voice in his head, a familiar croak with a British accent. Always asking for more than you deserve.

“Yeah, actually, I am interested,” he said louder than necessary, ignoring the weird look the employee gave him as a result. “I’d love to buy it.”

What was he even going to use a camera for? No idea. But it shut up the stupid voice in his head for the time being and that was all that mattered.

When Inspector Fox pulled up to the sidewalk twenty minutes later in her dumb fancy car, Sly was waiting for her with a mostly-full suitcase, turning the camera over and over in his hands. She helped him load his luggage into the trunk alongside her own and all the strange cop stuff she had – was that a jetpack? – and appeared to be distracted by something that she didn't share.

“Why don’t we get something to eat?” She suggested.

“Sounds good to me.”

They ordered takeout and ate in her car instead of inside, at her request. It was quiet for a few minutes as she seemed to be lost in her thoughts.

“How’d your check-in go?” He asked after a while, surprising them both that he was the one to break the silence first.

“Good. It was good.” She hesitated. “They haven’t found anything useful for my case, though. Just stuff to help put Muggshot away for a very long time. That’s as much as I can tell you.”

“’S fine. I’m not really interested in all that cop mumbo-jumbo, anyway.”

“I figured you wouldn’t be.” There was another heavy pause as she studied him.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Sly…” The use of his first name made him tense. “Did you…”

The inspector stopped, took a deep breath, and steepled her fingers together. The look on her face was pinched and intense.

“I think we need to clear the air before this goes any further.”

Sly slowly brought his fork down from his mouth and eyed her cautiously. There were only a few things that would warrant a statement like that, and all of them made him nervous. “Uh, okay. You have something specific in mind?”

“A few questions.”

“Ask away,” he said, leaning back in his seat as nonchalantly as he could manage. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Okay. First question, then – you said you didn’t live in Mesa. Where do you live?” Before he could open his mouth, she gave him a sharp look. “Honest answer, Sly. I want to know.”

The raccoon tapped one finger against his thigh, thinking for a moment. “Honest answer? I don’t have a place.”

Her brows furrowed together in an expression he couldn’t read. “You’re homeless?”

“I mean, I’d personally describe it as ‘between homes’ right now, but…yeah. Essentially.”

The strange look morphed into something that he definitely recognized as pity. He would have challenged it if not for wanting very much to keep his cool as she worked through…whatever it was on her mind.

“But you don’t live in Mesa.”

“Nope. Was just passing through. Really unlucky timing on my part, I guess.”

“Fair enough. Second question – do you have any family you could go back to?”

Sly blinked. “No. I don’t.”

“Any living relatives at all?” She pressed. “People who will worry about where you are or what happens to you?”

“Does it look like I do?” He snapped, tail curling around his ankle. “What’s with the twenty questions all of a sudden, huh? Having second thoughts about this whole thing?”

The cop held up her hands placatingly. “I didn’t mean to dredge up anything! I just wanted to make sure this is really something you want to do.”

“I’ve already told you twice that it was.”

“You did,” she conceded. “You’re right, you did.”

“What’s this really about, Inspector? You were just fine this morning and now it sounds more like you’re trying to come up with an excuse to get me off your back. Did –”

A thought occurred to him.

“…Did you tell your boss about this deal of ours? Did he tell you to ditch me, or persuade me to quit?”

She shifted uncomfortably, clearly called out, and a spike of icy fear shot straight through Sly’s heart.

“What did you say?” He demanded. “What did you say about me?”

“Nothing specific,” she was quick to say, watching him in that very peculiar way again. “I told Bar – my superior that I had found a civilian consultant who could help me get to my next target faster than expected. I didn’t tell him your name, or your species, or anything else. But I had to tell him I was traveling with someone, Sly!”

“Why? Is he your dad? Got a curfew you gotta follow, too?”

“He’s my boss, Ringtail. I have to be transparent in this profession or else no one would trust me. I know you have a weird – thing about the police, but I promise you I didn’t share anything that you didn’t consent to.”

He had most certainly not consented to being put on Interpol’s radar, but he kept that rebuke clamped down under an angry locked jaw. He should have expected this from someone like her; of course she would be as by-the-book as possible. The raccoon folded his arms and pointedly stared out the front windshield.

“What did he have to say about your little escort?”

“To do a background check on you and make sure you knew the danger you were getting into,” she told him. “So here I am, trying to do both before dragging you out of the country on a wild goose chase.”

He wondered if she’d tried to do a formal search on any raccoons named Sly. If she had, he knew without a single doubt that she would not have found anything.

“You want a background check? I’ll give you a background check.”

“That’s not –” she started to say, but he cut her off hard.

“I have no living relatives. My parents died when I was young and I’ve been on my own ever since.” He pulled his forged passport out of his backpack and flashed it just enough so she could see what it was but not the full name on it. “I can travel globally anywhere I want. You can do a search on me but you won’t find anything because I don’t have a criminal record. I don’t have any ties to any family, or friends, or anything in this country, so you don’t have to feel bad about ‘dragging’ me along.”

“Sly –”

“And since you’re wondering how I got those emails – because I know you’re wondering – I got them well before you saved me. I went snooping around in Muggshot’s casino while he was clearing out the locals and stumbled onto them right before those mutts you met came across me. They decided that I needed a full tour of their handiwork of the city since I obviously wasn’t scared enough of them and they were too fucking stupid to actually search my backpack because I gave them all the money I had on me when they demanded it.”

Inspector Fox was staring at him with wide eyes. He kept his chin held high.

“Well?” The raccoon challenged. “What do you have to say to that, Inspector?”

Her body seemed to catch up to her brain, because she suddenly leaned forward and locked her gaze with his, searching for deception. He didn’t even flinch.

“…Okay,” she finally conceded, backing down both physically and mentally. “Okay. Thank you, Sly. I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that, but I appreciate the honesty. Honesty is important if we’re going to work together for the foreseeable future.”

It was a foreseeable future he was already starting to regret, but he wasn’t ever going to let her know that.

“Yeah, well…I’m just glad you’re satisfied. It’s not every day I spill my guts like that, especially to –”

“To cops. I know.” She finished for him, and there wasn’t as much annoyance over the barb as he would have expected. “You’re starting to get predictable, Ringtail.”

“Am not,” he grumbled, without quite as much bite in his voice. The confrontation had drained all his energy and left him tired more than anything else. “So did you get a flight planned out, or were you too busy gossiping about me?”

“Yes and no. I was mostly setting up hotel accommodations and making contact with the local Haitian police so we could jump right into work once we get there.” She checked her phone. “We’ve still got another hour to kill before Bentley estimated he’d be done, so there’s plenty of time to look at flights.”

“Great. I can’t think of anything more fun than that.”

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At 5 PM on the dot, with a route established and a flight to catch the next day – which Sly was pointedly not going to think about until he absolutely had to – the two of them reentered Wiseturtle Tech to see Bentley putting the finishing touches on the now-fixed shock pistol. Murray was sitting on a stool nearby to watch him work, idly swinging his legs and making the seat rotate back and forth.

Both employees looked up at the jingle of the doorbell, and both waved. Inspector Fox returned the greeting while Sly just nodded his head.

“I’m almost done, I swear,” the turtle mumbled as he went right back to crossing wires. “I just want to be sure I’m not missing anything.”

“Take your time,” she replied. “I’d rather you triple-check everything than rush a job.”

Her eyes trailed over to the wall of tech, then to Sly, then back. She grabbed his hand very suddenly, startling him.

“Come over here,” the fox said, leading him towards a row of simple flip phones. When he looked between them and her with a raised eyebrow, she sighed as if greatly inconvenienced. “Pick out a burner phone.”

“Why?”

“Since it’s clear we’re doing this together, we’ll need a way to communicate in case we ever get separated, and something tells me you don’t already have one of these.”

He gave her a flat stare, but she carefully avoided looking at him or any aspect of his appearance by gesturing to the electronics instead.

“Go on. It’d make me feel a lot better if I’m going to take you with me.”

Rolling his eyes without any heat behind it, the raccoon picked the cheapest one he could find. The thought of picking a more expensive one since she was paying for it popped up for about half a second, but he squashed it right away. There wasn’t any point in taking advantage of her generosity and potentially making her resent him.

Greedy, hissed Raleigh.

Sly gritted his teeth and practically slammed the phone onto the counter, making Bentley jump and Inspector Fox give him a disapproving look.

“I’ll take this one, please,” he said to the hippo, who had scampered back to his post as an actual employee so he could ring them up for their charges.

“Is this your first ever phone?” Murray asked, sounding strangely excited about the concept.

“Maybe,” he answered warily, watching out of the corner of his eye as Inspector Fox pulled her wallet out while Bentley handed her the fixed shock pistol. “Why?”

“Can I be your first phone number?”

Sly swiveled to look at him, confused. “Uh…why? I’m a stranger to you.”

“Well, sure, but – I mean, the first number in your phone should be someone you can rely on, right? And you can always rely on us to help, no matter the problem!” The hippo started playing with his hands, gaze dropping to the ground. “And – and it’s just…you seem like a really cool guy, too.”

That was…not anything he’d expected to hear at all. Sly blinked, completely caught off guard by the compliment and its sincerity, and didn’t immediately respond.

“...Sure,” he finally said, if only because Murray was starting to wilt like a dying flower as the seconds ticked by without an answer. “I don’t see why not.”

He doubted he’d ever call the guy, or even remember he had his number, but there really wasn’t any harm in letting him plug it in, was there?

The hippo beamed at him, wasting no time in doing so, and then passed the phone along to Inspector Fox, who deftly did the same thing with her own number.

“There.” She handed it to him with a smile. “Now we’re both all set.”

Sly watched her set her fixed weapon back into its holster, and thumbed the new device that was now hiding in his hoodie pocket right next to the camera. “Guess we are.”

“Thanks again, Bentley! And you too, Murray.” The fox waved goodbye to them, and this time the raccoon did the same.

“Bye! Don’t be a stranger!” Murray called after them enthusiastically. His turtle coworker watched them go with a pinched, pensive brow.

The moment they were outside, Inspector Fox pulled her pistol out to weigh it in her hands. She seemed satisfied by whatever she felt, because it went right back where it was supposed to without any further fanfare.

Sly watched her, still feeling the weight of the phone on his person. He’d never had a phone before. He’d never needed one before.

“Okay,” she said, turning to him, and all the levity she’d shown in the tech shop disappeared under determination and anticipation. “Next stop: Haiti.”

“Right.” He could do this. He was ready for this.

“Right after a six-hour flight.”

“.......Right.”

Or maybe not.

---------------------------------   

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A/N: Transitional chapter is important but still a transition. Hopefully a cameo by our favorite boys makes up for it!

A few notes on this one: 1) I did not mean for Sly to get so hostile near the end there. It was just supposed to be Carmelita questioning him to put her many misgivings to rest, but he apparently decided to take it personally and I wasn't about to tell him otherwise lol.

2) I've always had the headcanon that Sly enjoys photography either because of or separately from doing so much recon. It's such a neat hobby and I feel like it fits his introverted nature. We'll just have to see whether he uses the camera in this verse.

3) It was very fun (and kinda sad) to think up what life might have been like for Bentley and Murray if they had never crossed paths with Sly. While I do think he's the glue that pushed them all together, it's still very likely that the more "mundane" versions of them may have still built lives working with each other. Here specifically, Bentley is the tech guy and Murray helps him with deliveries and heavy lifting. Even so, they've both always felt like something was still missing...

Once again, thank you for reading!

[moosethren]

Moments before silence

My Carrd for character information.

Last encounter Ash has with the Bad Batch before Order 66 happens.

Rating: Fluff, Tech x OC, Crosshair x OC.

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In the cockpit, Ash could be heard clicking away at something; occasionally cursing in her native tongue under her breath. The blasted thing was lagging and not cooperating at all, making her angrier by the second.    “It’s not… that’s not what I want you to do! Just… work! Argh, dammit!” Shaking the datapad in her hand, her fingers clenched around it to the point it started to creak before she stood up from the chair and turned to throw it away from her. At the same time Tech was approaching the cockpit, about to grab the back of her seat.

He instinctively ducked as the datapad came flying by his head, looking over his shoulder where it clattered to the floor before turning back to Ash. Her eyes were wide, mouth agape in shock and horror all at once. Tech merely raised an eyebrow.

“Problems?”

“Ah, shit, I’m sorry,” she groaned then, looking mortified before dragging her hand over her face. She really needed to control her temper but when technological things just didn't work, her patience flew out the window.

“Do not worry. You are not the first one to throw things around in this ship.” He took a few steps back, picking up the datapad and adjusting his goggles as he took a closer look at it, not missing the cracks in it.

“Don’t bother, Tech. It’s not working anyway. Poor thing’s been through too much over the years now.”

“More than a few years. It is a K7-model. I have only ever heard of them, never actually seen one up close.”

“That old, huh…?”

“Quite. I am surprised it has worked this long. Especially with your tendency to veer towards Wrecker’s temper when it comes to technological things.” Tech was smirking this time, before he started to click away on the datapad. It gave no response and he hummed thoughtfully, picking up one of his tools instead and pried open the backside of the datapad. He seemed quite content like this. Fixing things, he was good at. 

“Ah. I found the cause of your frustrations.” He held up a black circular chip that he had plucked out of it. “Fried, I am afraid. And they have not been manufactured for years by now. Replacing it with a current model is not going to work either, the power connections will not fit.” 

“So it’s pretty much useless then? I guess Crosshair can use it as target practice.”

“I would like to keep it, if you do not mind.” Ash shrugged; it wasn’t as if she would have any use for it anymore. Though she wondered what he could possibly want it for too.

“Go ahead. I suppose there’s no saving the data on it?”

“You had important data on it? No, that chip controls the hard drive. What did you save on it?”

“I like collecting old musical sheets I’ve found on my travels. It’s a fun challenge trying to convert them into violin music. Didn’t use that old thing for much else though. It couldn’t do much else.”

“I see.”

“No worries though. Thanks for taking a look at it, despite nearly being beheaded by it.” She smiled faintly at him, not missing his brow furrowing.

“Getting beheaded by it would be quite extreme…” Ash stifled an actual laugh this time, as he looked back at her puzzled.

“Well, still, thank you. Now, I’m afraid I need to take another look at my gear before the mission I think.” He watched her depart the cockpit; his focus quickly falling back to the datapad though. Lifting it up, he tapped it thoughtfully against his chin.

A successful mission later and safely back on Cardulia again, Ash bid the Batch goodbye for now. The more missions she did with them, the more difficult it became each time to leave. She was quite fond of their company, especially Tech’s. Even when not on the ship with them, her thoughts often strayed to him. For several reasons.

That she was fond of him was quite clear, if not to him, then the rest of the squad. Their teasing could be near unbearable these days, to the point that even Tech noticed it from time to time. They never spoke about it though, as if there was a silent agreement on pretending nothing was there. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she imagined it all. Even if she wasn’t, she enjoyed their friendship too much to put it at risk. 

She just knew her heart was never steady when near him, and how much her mood lit up when she did see him. Which meant her blasted ears usually gave away everything, tilting down low along her skull.

With all that in mind, she felt a bit sad that he wasn’t present when she stepped off the Marauder’s ramp, with Wrecker waving enthusiastically to her; Hunter leaning on the frame of the hatch, with his arms across his chest, Crosshair accompanying him. Echo was outside, looking over one of the ship’s panels from the outside but raised his hand in farewell when he realised Ash was leaving.

“Can’t wait to see you again, Ash!” Wrecker called out over Crosshair’s head, who winced at the loud volume near his ears, nearly dropping the toothpick from his mouth. He did drop it when Tech suddenly shoved his way between him and Hunter, with the latter forced to step outside of the ramp, barely catching himself against the doorway. Almost hanging from the doorway, his fingers tightly clutched around the frame, he gave Crosshair a deadpan who chuckled before catching his wrist to help pull the sergeant back up.

“Ash, wait!” She paused when she heard Tech’s voice, masking the relief in her face for a whole two seconds before smiling at him, ears tilting down a bit. Behind them and the landing platforms, the city of Tovor was sprawling with life, carduls, humans and other aliens marching back and forth; busy with accepting deliveries and sending them off to their numerous trade routes. Cardulia was flourishing, their trades one of the most important ones in this sector of the galaxy. Despite the dangerous areas near their system.

Tech stopped in front of her, holding out a datapad for her to take. “I wanted to give you this. It is one of my spare datapads.”

“Spare? How many do you have?” She accepted it, turning it around in her hand to study it closer. It was certainly newer than her own. Which meant more complicated, undoubtedly. Oh no, and holonet access too. 

“Four at the moment. I can do without a fifth. And -” he sided up with her to show her something on it, putting his hand over hers where she held the datapad for extra support, the other clicking at the buttons.

“It has quite a lot more functions than your K7 model did. Comlink, audio and recording functions, orientation access, several text programs. I have not yet customised this one for hacking or other such functions. I do not think… you will use those much. I have also downloaded a few music sheets for you to look over. I cannot recover the ones you lost, but I managed to find a few cardulian ones. On top of a few classics and one of my favourites.”

“You have favourites?” she almost stuttered, somewhat distracted by his close proximity and his gentle hand over hers. It was far from the first time he huddled up against her side to show her something but he never touched her while at it.

“Of course. Classical music is very stimulating to the mind. I had no idea you could convert sheets yourself though. Do you play?”

“Tech. We need to get going,” Hunter called out by the ship, wincing as Crosshair smacked him across his shoulder before the sergeant stepped inside the ship.

“I’ll tell you next time,” Ash chuckled after having glanced over at the ship, as Tech looked torn between leaving and staying now, obviously struggling with moving his thoughts from the music back to action. “Thank you. Again.” She squeezed his hand over the datapad before tucking it into her bag. She’d almost stood on her toes to place a kiss to his cheek; with how endearing he was and how close he had been standing but she had caught herself in time, realising how very much inappropriate that would have been. The squeeze had sufficed.

“Alright,” he nodded then, offering her a brisk smile, his hands bending a little before his chest as he had nothing to occupy them with now, as he watched her walk off the landing platform and down towards the city itself. He stood there for a few moments, contemplating how much he wanted to follow her, before heading back to the ship, spotting Crosshair’s arched eyebrow as he stepped inside.

“What?” the pilot finally asked.

“Adorable,” the sniper retorted with a smirk. “Gonna start counting down the days until we work with her again?”

“Those will probably be short,” Tech replied, missing the tease entirely. “According to the latest data, the war is going very much in the Republic’s favour. We might see an end to it soon.”

“Oh, goodie.” Crosshair paused, not sure he liked those implications. An end to the war? While the idea was nice, it put one question in his mind most of all. What would happen then? It was such an unknown, that not even all of Tech’s data could prepare them for it. He looked upwards, watching the city busy itself away.

“Things will surely get interesting once the war ends,” he voiced out loud, making Tech pause on his way to the cockpit.

“I cannot imagine they will change too much. A celebration, followed by months or even years of political strife between the Republic and the Separatist’s remains. Rogue criminal elements will always be a constant in the galaxy, so most likely soldiers like us will be utilised to deal with them or any Separatist insurgents, while the regs will continue to serve as the backbone of the Republic's military. But that is just one hypothesis. I would not worry too much about sizable differences.” 

Crosshair wasn’t surprised to hear that his brother had already thought about the implications of the war ending. What didn’t that man think of? At least in some matters.

“Perhaps you will be visiting Cardulia more often? And Ash?” he suggested out loud, as Tech offered the city a brief glance. His brow furrowed. Their free time would not increase just because the Republic won. And now he did realise one terrible change that might occur.

“With the war ending, the Jedi will return to their previous duties. They will no longer be generals and thus any squads under their care will be diverted to other tasks. Most likely, Ash and Hide’s partnership will end. Where that leaves her, I do not know yet.” That one he hadn’t even considered. It was as if he hadn’t dared to touch that possibility yet. The notion of seeing her even less… it stirred something unpleasant in his chest and mind, something he didn’t want to consider. Or could put into word even if he tried.

“Ask her then,” Crosshair looked back at his brother, though Tech’s sudden concern was infectious. None of them liked change. Yet the war would end eventually and it’d drag all kinds of change with it, despite Tech’s previous assurance. 

“I will,” Tech offered a firm nod. The next time he saw her, it’d be the first question on his mind. He took another step forward, before pausing.

“What about you, Crosshair?”

“What?” 

“Are you counting the days until you see Varga?” The sniper bit down on his toothpick, looking dead ahead over the city rather than his brother’s face. He couldn’t even tell if Tech was joking or not. Judging by his tone, it had been a genuine question.

“I like the surprise,” Crosshair shrugged, stepping away from the door, to shut the hatch. “Go on then, before Hunter drags you to the cockpit.” Tech gave him a nod, walking off and leaving his brother alone with his thoughts.

He was never counting the days until he saw Varga again. But he was counting how many it had been since he’d last seen her. And right now, they had been more than he liked.