#like i know i would have verbally fought this lady already if i was in that house

[ashlynbuggy]

all of Lisa's little intricacies like the glitter and the oils would be fine and charming even if she just kept it to herself or offered it to people. doing it without saying anything is where it gets wildly disrespectful imo

[deejadabbles]

The Handmaiden's Fox (Fox x Fem!Reader) Chapter One

Summary: You have been by Amidala’s side since she was the queen of Naboo and no one will shake you from your duty. Not even a handsome, red-clad commander who seems quite taken with the friendship you’ve forged. Commander Fox x fem handmaiden reader. Slow burn, friends to lovers. Rating: Mature A.N: So for those of you who don't know: all of Padmé's handmaidens take new names ending with " é " as a sign of loyalty to her. I never mentioned the reader's é name as I want that to be personal, but I wanted to mention it since it comes into play in the story <3

I've also made a playlist for this series, in case you want to set the mood with tunes. Word Count: 6,284 Warnings: just some blaster fire and canon typical danger Masterlist /// Tag List Sign Up  /// AO3

Prologue /// Part One /// Part Two /// [part three coming soon]

Chapter one

The roaring of the senate chamber was deafening. You had thought that years of exposure to it would harden your hearing, but no petty debate between dozens of senators could have prepared you for the screaming of the last two weeks. Two weeks. Not even fourteen rotations had passed since the battle of Geonosis. Since the start of the Clone War. Every day more and more planets were leaving to join the Separatists, and the destruction of chaos was spreading fast. So, you supposed it was little surprise that every single debate in the Senate was automatically a vibrant verbal brawl now.

And here you had hoped that fewer senators in the hall would lessen the noise.

As always, you stood sentry behind your lady, your Amidala, who had fought in the first battle of the war. Who had been thrown into a pit for execution, and blasted her way out like a warrior. Now, she was in a whole new type of pit, instead of fighting starved beasts, she was now fighting numerous senators who seemed content to throw out any shred of decency in favor of war.

You watched as the senator from Corellia made their argument, that they needed to cut off relief aid funding in favor of the cloning facilities. Just two weeks in, and the need for more clones was already apparent. In the seat in front of you, you watched Padmé stiffen at the way the other senator implied that ‘lesser’ worlds needed to help themselves before asking the Republic for aid. She was raring for a fight, and fight she did.

You never got tired of watching Padmé put someone in place with a few carefully chosen words. Never tired of the way she fought for others…even if it didn’t always work in the end.

“Motion passed,” came Chancellor Palpatine’s voice. 

You closed your eyes with the smallest sigh, knowing that even more suffering would come to pass now. At least this was only a motion to start talking about cutting funding. Padmé would do everything she could to make sure the next bill was as fair as she could manage.

When the sound that indicated the end of the day’s session rang through the chamber, you almost slumped with relief. You didn’t of course, no handmaiden ever lost her composure under the watchful eye of the senate. But you were glad that it was finally time to return to your lady’s office. A headache was coming on strong.

Padmé had more grace than to storm out of the chamber like a woman on a war path, but your trained eye could see she was exactly that as she walked calmly out into the hall. She didn’t try to hide her expressions nearly as much now, her queen persona having faded quite a lot in the passing years, but she still knew the value of looking calm to her colleagues.

The hallways were a buzz with activity, aids and senators alike calling for associates and running here and there for their next task. That, and it was filled with the sounds of armored boots. 

As you and the Naboo guards followed Padmé, several groups of the new clone trooper units passed by. All of it was still a little disconcerting, having such heavily armed men tramping around. It brought back memories, wounds a decade old still felt fresh as the sound of marching feet reminded you of droids taking over Theed. 

You were proud that you had fought for your home world all those years ago, fought the Trade Federation (who now were now ironically a head of the Separatists) and took back your planet and your people. But that didn’t mean the battle was easy. 

And these men, these soldiers bred for war, would see far worse in the coming days. 

It might be easy, to look at their identical armor and expressionless helmets, and see them as something akin to droids, but they weren’t. They were flesh and blood under all that plastoid and, while their new and overbearing presence may be unsettling for now, you refused to dehumanize them in your mind like that.

A call of your name drew your attention back to the present, just as Padmé reached the door to her office.

“I have that meeting with Bail and Mon in about an hour, but there’s still so much work to do,” she sighed as the door closed behind her, “I hate to ask, but-”

“I will stay here and file anything you need, my lady.” You had anticipated this, things were still adjusting to the new war-time normal, and Padmé’s workload was more overwhelming than ever, and that was saying something. To ensure she got any rest at all right now, you had to do much of the paperwork she would see to personally while the committees and meeting ate up her time.

She sighed with relief and gave you that small smile that always held her deepest affection. “Thank you, I’ll get a head start on it for you at least, since I still need you to research the Chabrill and Cordia incidences.”

And so the two of you got to work. Your first tasks were easy enough, you’d lost count of the number of info packs you’d written for her on import events over the years, and they were done by the time she and the guards left for that meeting. You stayed behind in the office, her atmosphere controlls set to play your favorite soothing sounds for white noise as you worked.

Padmé trusted you to answer most of her mail and requests the way she would and save the dire ones for her personal attention. You polished up and filed her pending motions, and a dozen other mundane things that made you want to pull your hair out despite your never waving composure. God, you hated politics sometimes. More or less than paperwork, you couldn’t say, but it was always a close running between the two.

You were just answering a far too flirtatious message from Senator Dobo and almost, almost, missed the way the sound of armored feet got louder just outside the door.

Eyes flashed up to the entrance, just as it was slid open without so much as a knock.

Three clone troopers came charging in as you jumped to your feet behind the desk.

“What is the meaning of this?” you demanded in a cool tone, hands slipping into the sleeves of your tunic in a neutral dignified posture. “Troopers are not permitted in here without permission.”

“Are you Senator Amidala?” The one in front asked, tone clipped, not the monotone you had heard a few clones use over the past weeks.

“I am her aid, and I demand you answer my question, trooper.” 

You saw it, the barely-there way his shoulders stiffen, before he clasped his hands behind his back, and feel the eyes behind the visor bore into you.

“We need to see the senator immediately, we’ve received intelligence that there’s been a threat made on her life.”

…Oh, was that all? You almost laughed. Though you did appreciate the man’s obvious dedication to his job.

Your eyes took in the freshly painted red on the white armor, having heard that the higher ranks of clones had adopted the marking to indicate their legions and ranks. This one had the vaguely sword-like symbol of Coruscant emblazoned boldly on his chest, while the two at attention behind him had simpler red markings.

“You must be the new Commander of the Coruscant Guard,” you said.

“I am.”

“Then, Commander, you will soon learn that there is always a threat made on Senator Amidala’s life. It comes hand in hand with her tendency to put dangerous people in their place.”

Again your keen eyes picked up on the tightening of his arms, so subtle under the armor even you almost missed it. One talent you’d learned in the Naboo royal court, was reading body language, especially the body language of those who always hid theirs. It was an even more useful skill in your new position, though you’d never thought to use it on these men. The clone was either shocked at the candor in which you spoke about the danger, or annoyed with how you were talking to him. Maybe both.

“All the same,” his tone was measured now, but you heard the hint of gritted teeth behind the polite words, “I must speak with Amidala about the threat. Personally.”

Had you not been schooling your expression like you always did here, you would have raised your eyebrows at him. You weren’t annoyed, not really, in fact, you found the way he stood his ground almost admirable. He cared about his job but…maybe it was more than that. Maybe he cared about the safety of others on a more personal level. You weren’t sure yet, but, the commander had made his way onto your list of potential allies, one you may pursue in the future.

If he was annoyed with you, there was no need to vex him further. You gave a small, respectful incline of your head. “Very well, Commander. I will escort you to her.” 

He did not thank you as you made your way around the desk and walked past them through the door, but he fell in step behind you without protest. You sent a quick message from your small wrist unit, using a code phrase that would warn Padmé to be alert.

You could practically feel the tension in the troopers behind you and normally, you would ignore it, but, if you were being honest, you liked the opportunity this gave you. To learn more about the men who were now protecting the senate.

“I did not catch your name, Commander,” you said, keeping your eyes forward.

“CC-1010.”

You actually faltered a little at that, “Excuse me?” This time you actually looked over your shoulder at him, and let your brow lift up in question. You didn’t miss the way his body shifted under your gaze.

“It’s the only name they gave me, ma’am.” His tone was just a notch lower now, another thing of note.

A number. A number, like a droid. 

That didn’t sit well with you, not one bit, but, you supposed it was none of your business, for now. “I see,” you said after a moment, then turned your eyes back in front of you. “Well, Commander, if you ever decide to take another name, please do let me know.”

“I didn’t get your name either.”

You almost smiled at that, and gave him the name you had taken when you took on the role of handmaiden all those years ago. Very few people here on Coruscant knew your birth name, and none used it. The commander would have to become an extremely close friend to ever earn that honor.

A few minutes of silent walking passed before you finally reached Bail Organa’s office. To his credit, CC-10- ugh, no, you were not calling him that, even in your head, unless he asked you to. To his credit, the Commander listened to your advice when you asked him to ring the doorbell before barging in on a private meeting.

You graciously gave an apology for the interruption when the four of you entered, then swept out of the way as the clones gave their report to Amidala. Admittedly, the threat was not quite as laughable as you had first thought it was, but it was hardly the worst one Padmé had faced, even just in the last year. Apparently a small-time thug in the mid-rim thought he might ingratiate himself to the Trade Federation by ‘taking out’ their most hated senator. He couldn’t afford the prices of the Bounty Hunter Guild and  so, had posted smaller sums of money for anyone to take should they manage the job.

Considering Padmé had survived actual guild level assassin’s for a few years now, you weren’t that concerned.

Still, you admired the troops doing their jobs to the letter, and your lady accepted the Commander’s advice of a personal Corrie Guard escort as a precaution for the coming days. It was hardly needed. You, Dormé, and Captain Typho had always been more than enough security, but, it made the clone Commander feel better, than it couldn’t hurt.

All in all the conversation was somewhat short, and soon enough the man took his leave, ordering the other two clones to stay behind with Amidala. After that, Bail, who was amused at Padmé collecting yet another enemy, said that the rest of their meeting could wait until next time. The senators bade each other a good night and you followed your lady out of the office along with the new red painted guards.

Neither of them had said a word this whole time, but you supposed that was their right. That didn’t stop Typho from giving the clones a run down of how his guard details worked, and how he wanted the clones to integrate into that routine. 

As they talked, Padmé fell back to meet your steps. “So, you’ve met the Commander of the new Coruscant Guard,” she started, tone quiet so no one would overhear you. “Did you talk to him at all while escorting him?”

“A little, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist.”

“And? What’s your opinion of him so far? Besides his lack of extroverted tendencies, that is.”

You felt the urge to bite your lip. Overall, you hadn’t spent enough time to get a decent read on him yet, but it was still odd how much of a blank slate you were drawing when thinking up your opinion. Maybe it was his armor and helmet, how not seeing his face made it harder to gauge his reactions and thoughts. Or maybe, he was almost as good as the handmaidens when it came to hiding himself through stoicism. 

The fact that you couldn’t decide which was more likely annoyed you a little.

“Honestly? I’m…not sure what I think of him yet.”

That sentiment continued over the following week. You hadn’t expected to see the man in red quite so soon, after scheduling shifts for his men to rotate in and out of Padmé’s service, you had assumed he would move on to other tasks and concerns. 

So, imagine your surprise when you found yourself once again in the Commander’s company without Padmé. 

Once again you were in her office, working on her latest project while she and Dormé attended a charity dinner, when there was a chime indicating someone at the door. Your eyes needed a break in any case, so you pulled yourself out of your favorite armchair and rubbed your eyes as you walked to the door. Then, you felt your interest piqued when you checked the security cam and saw that red and white helmet staring expectantly at the lens. Well, at least he knocked this time. He should be glad of that for his own sake, as you were in no mood for rudeness tonight.

After straightening your back and putting on that stoic mask, you opened the door. “Good evening, Commander, what may I help you with?”

“May I speak with the Senator?”

“I’m afraid she’s out for the evening, but I should be able to help with whatever you need.”

“Very well,” He reached behind him and slid a datapad from a pouch on his belt. “I’ve reviewed the Senator’s security details based on reports my men have given me. I have some changes I’d like to make.”

A sarcastic, ‘oh you do, do you?’ almost left your mouth, but you held it in, you really must be well past tired now. He held the data pad out to you and you began reading it before you even took it in hand.

“Please, come in,” you offered with a wave, “take a seat if you’d like.” You had a feeling this was going to be a long back and forth.

He said a polite “Thank you, ma’am,” as he stepped in, but did not even glance at the various chairs in the room, opting instead to stand at attention in the center of it all.

“She won’t agree to this,” you concluded after a moment, not having even scrolled halfway through the document. “She would be appalled by the mere idea of you searching her staff’s rooms without probable cause.” Another tap on the screen. “She’d also deny the proposal to lengthen guard shifts, she tries to keep them down to 7 hours to avoid stress and,” you almost laughed at this one, “and she has never allowed guards to stay in her room at night.”

“My men would never do anything inappropriate-”

“I did not say they would,” you assured with a raise of your hand, “Amidala doesn’t even let handmaidens such as myself stay in her room anymore, it’s nothing personal.” The last thing anyone needed was a corrie guard to shoot Skywalker the next time he thought he was sneaking into her room unnoticed.

The clone was silent for just a moment, his unreadable visor trained on you as you stared back. “Are there any of my suggestions that meet your approval?”

You didn’t know if he meant to say ‘her’ and mentioned you by mistake, or if he thought that you were making it your personal mission to thwart him at every turn. He meant well, you knew that, but you could picture exactly how the conversation would go if you gave this over for her to review, and you respected his time too much to waste it.

“How about this, Commander, would you allow me to tweak these suggestions into ones my lady will consider? I will try my best to keep the heart of them intact for you.”

He shifted on his feet a little, before clasping his hands behind his back. A faint crackle of his vocator said that he might have been holding in a sigh. “I suppose that’s an agreeable compromise.”

A part of you had hoped for a thank you, after all, you were taking time out of your already heavy workload to help, but you supposed the polite nod of his helmet would do. You knew you wouldn’t be able to get comfortable in your oversized chair with him standing there like a tall armored gargoyle, so instead you sat at Padmé’s desk and began typing.

Looking back, you probably should have read the whole proposal through the first time, if you had, the last bit of it wouldn't have come as such a shock.

“I’m a subject of one of your new plans?” you asked, looking up at him and allowing just a sprinkle of incredulity onto your expression.

“Yes.”

“Care to explain why I need a clone guard of my own?”

A slight roll of his shoulders, arms still behind his back. “I researched you. You’ve been in the Senator’s employ since before she came here.”

“I have.”

“And you don’t live in the senatorial apartments like the other staff. You live alone.”

“I do.”

He was silent, which only made your annoyance flare.

“And?” it came out far more snapping than you’d meant it to, and immediately you reeled the annoyance back in. Then, much more kindly, you added, “Please, Commander, speak your mind with me.”

At that, you noticed his shoulders actually lower just a bit, a controlled version of relaxing. “Isn’t it obvious? Your close relationship with the Senator makes you a target. If any of these thugs realized how close you are to her, they’d use you to get to her. I’ll have one of my troops escort you home every night and stand guard at your apartment to ensure your safety.”

Well, wasn’t that sweet. 

In truth, his suggestion actually took you by surprise. You hadn’t thought much about what living alone for the first time in a decade might mean. The condo was a new gift from Padmé, a token of her ‘thanks’ for all your years of service, a chance to have something of your own since you had lived with her since the day you stepped foot in her palace. In truth, you knew it was a peace offering, she had to change so much of her life to accommodate that tempestuous young Jedi of hers now. 

It didn’t matter that you knew the basics of their relationship, Padmé still couldn’t hold her handmaidens as close as she once did, or the secret of her marriage might be jeopardized. So she offered you your own space, your own home while she had to push you away. It had hurt, it still hurt a little, but you understood, and loved her too much to complain. She loved that Jedi and, if putting space between you and her was what she needed, then you would give it to her without question.

You hadn’t even had time to think about what living away from her might mean regarding safety.

“I’m very impressed with your work, Commander,” you admitted eventually. “You obviously take your role to heart and Amidala herself would appreciate your thoroughness. But, I promise you, there isn’t any need to waste one of your men on me. I can take care of myself.”

“I disagree.”

The annoyance came back with a vengeance- how dare he assume that-!

“Disagree about there not being a need, ma’am,” he quickly amended, and you realized your anger must have flashed across your face. “I don’t know what your personal training has been like, but all the same, my men are trained to protect and serve. Let them do their jobs.”

You allowed yourself a calming sigh. For all his stiffness, he really was trying to be polite and you supposed you could tap into your inner politician for him. 

“Please take a seat, Commander, I see no reason for you not to be comfortable while we hash this out.”

It had been nearly a month since he, the head of the Coruscant Guard, warned that senator about the threat on her life, and the way she made no changes to her daily routine was, frankly, starting to piss him off.

“What do you mean she’s still going to attend that rally!?” He hadn’t meant to yell, especially at the brother who had just gotten off a twelve hour watch shift outside Amidala’s residence. But damn it, was he annoyed.

At least the trooper didn’t seem shaken, “Sir, I expressed my concern, but she just reiterated that-”

“That ‘no one is going to scare me into hiding’ right right, so she’s said,” the Commander finished, having heard that same line several times from the woman- and her bossy little handmaiden, over the last month. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, mind wandering over the dozens of security weaknesses this rally was sure to have. Why was it so damn important that she make some speech at a gathering for- kriff, he didn’t even remember what the topic was. Not that it mattered in the end. He was quickly realizing that this willful senator was going to give him endless migraines.

“Perhaps, assigning more troops to her will help, sir?” the shinny offered, obviously trying his best to help.

“No, we’re already stretched thin, even if I hadn’t made up the schedules for the week.” At least he managed to sound less grumpy that time, it wasn’t the kid’s fault that his new job wasn’t what he’d expected. He thought he’d be out putting blaster holes in droids right now, freeing innocent civies from seppie control in a blaze of glory. Instead, he was bowing to the simpering pleas of the chancellor and corralling feral senators like cadets in their first shooting lesson.

Alright, maybe ‘feral’ was a little harsh for Amidala, and her bossy aid. Truthfully, despite their tendencies to brush off his concerns, they at least showed some respect to him and his men, more than a lot of the politicians in the building. Not that it was his place to care about said things in the first place, he had to follow orders no matter who treated him in whatever way.

He let out a sigh. “I’ll escort her personally,” he eventually concluded. 

It was the best answer, he could put off reports or the couple of hours the rally took, and his skills were more finely honed than a majority of his men, meaning he’d more than enough. 

“Dismissed, trooper, you’re off duty.”

An attentive ‘yes, sir!’ followed that, with the familiar sound of armored feet marching out his office door. The Commander rolled his shoulders and picked up his personal data pad to double check Amidala’s schedule. He’d have to let Thorn know he wasn’t going to be in during that time slot, and ask him to take on any in-house emergencies, but, other than that, it shouldn’t be an issue.

This was going to be an interesting day.

About two hours later, his shuttle was landing on the platform outside Amidala’s residence. Always vigilant, he was greeted by her personal guard dressed in traditional Naboo attire- how nat-borns felt safe wearing nothing but cloth, he’d never know.

“Commander,” Typho, the captain of her guard, greeted, “what brings you here this time?”

“I was informed of the Senator’s plans to attend that rally,” despite my warnings and advice, “I’m here as extra security,” since, apparently, I care more about her safety than she does!

Typho smirked, the skin near his roguish eye patch crinkling, “If you insist, though, if you have more important duties to tend to, I assure you, we have everything under control.”

“If my other duties were an issue, I wouldn't be here.” The words came out more flatly than he’d intended, but Typho didn’t seem bothered as he led him through the transparisteel doors into the apartment proper.

As always there were aids and household staff running about, along with that gold protocol droid who seemed to find something to fret and cry about at all hours, according to his men. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in the residence himself in the last month and, just when a particular handmaiden came striding out of the bedroom chamber with that cool collected expression, the memory of the previous time came flooding back. 

Not many people stood their ground against a man like him, but you seemed to do it as if it were nothing. He had been demanding to see Amidala, to update her on his latest information regarding the mercenaries, but you had planted yourself between him and her door like a statue. He still remembered that blank stare you gave him, that told him everything and nothing at the same time- that somehow said a rude ‘take a hike, boy’ and a polite ‘the senator will answer your concerns at a later date’ simultaneously. It was only when he had made to shove past you a third time that you told him why he couldn’t go inside yet. Honestly, if you had just said that Amidala was undressed in the first place, he would have understood! He wasn’t that unfamiliar with nat-borns and their boundaries.

Standing in the same room again now, he felt his face get a little warm at the memory, especially when you approached him.

“Good evening, Commander,” you greeted in that smooth, even tone of yours. “Senator Amidala is getting ready for the evening’s events, and wants me to thank you for your offer of extra security.”

How did she- how would you- how could either of you possibly know why he was here already? He recovered quickly enough, clasping his hands behind his back. “Just, doing my job, ma’am.”

“Would you like anything while you wait? Something to drink perhaps? Or…a lengthy report on the event hall and its security weaknesses?”

He blinked behind his helmet, unable to tell if you were joking. Ever since that late night of debating security in Amidala’s office, you seemed a little less careful with your words when talking to him. Even if he still couldn’t always discern their actual meaning.

That was another thing about you that he noticed, his own inability to puzzle you out sometimes. One moment you were all bossy, demanding answers and actions out of him in a cooler tone than most of his COs, the next you were rather pleasant, all respectful nods and considerate questions. Like asking about his name. His name, you were the first nat-born to ever ask him if he even had one.

Even after these little encounters, he still couldn’t quite figure you out, and it was honestly starting to annoy him a little.

“I already did thorough research on the venue, so there’s no need for that,” was the answer he finally settled on.

There was that polite bow of your head again, “Of course, Commander.”

“Fox.”

He almost saw your face twitch in confusion as you looked back up at him. “Pardon?”

“You said that if I ever chose another name, to tell you. I’m Commander Fox now.”

There was the smallest little lift at the corner of your mouth. “Then, I am pleased to reacquaint myself with your name, Commander Fox.”

Fox wasn’t sure if that was some particular Naboo saying or not, but he didn’t have time to wonder as Amidala came striding out of the bedchamber. Fox snapped back to attention fast, and put everything except for protocol out of his thoughts as the evening went on.

All in all, the rally had gone… well. 

Fox stood on the sidelines, scanning the perimeter, repeatedly checking the entry points, and when Amidala gave her speech he made sure no one got even an arm’s length from the podium. You and the other handmaidens were at the woman’s side the whole time, never wavering, always at attention, always watching. Seeing all four women together for the first time, and noting how they positioned themselves around the Senator, made him realize something. 

When the handmaidens moved together, they used a formation that he and his men often did. A military formation. He’d recognize it anywhere, even if the bodies were swathed in velvety cloth instead of hard armor and the hands were tucked into sleeves instead of gripping blasters. Maybe he had more to learn about the training nat-borns went through on various planets.

Oh and…had he said the rally went well? There was an amendment to that: it went well until it all went to shit.

The meeting was over and Fox waved for the senator’s group to follow him through the back room of the venue, to where the transport was waiting outside. His eyes were keen, as always, watching, searching, but even when he didn’t spot anything, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

His fingers were just about to open the door to the outside landing pad, when your voice called out behind him. He turned and saw your brows pinched together as you pressed your finger to your ear.

“I’m not getting a response from our driver,” you said, “I think somethi-” 

He saw your eyes go wide in shock before he registered the door sliding open behind him. Fox’s body was turning on instinct, but he thought he saw a flash of silver being pulled from the velvet of your sleeve before he came face to face with a thug lifting a rifle.

Hands went to his pistols a second before the goon fired, but it was still too slow- until the thug got hit square in the chest from shot fired somewhere behind Fox. That left the Commander free to fire at the two others who where closing in on the door. The second they fell he slammed his elbow on the control panel, eyes darting across the platform to assess, even as the door slid shut.

Another punch with his hand and the door resealed itself, but it wouldn’t hold them for long. 

“I counted five,” there was your voice again, as you crouched opposite him of the entrance, holding a elegant silver blaster at the ready, “five, besides the ones we already stunned.”

“Obviously they thought they could overwhelm us with numbers instead of skill,” he heard Amidala say, completely surrounded by her guards and other handmaidens, all with blasters in hand. 

“This door won’t hold them for long,” Fox could already hear shouts and feet closing in.

That’s when he saw a mischievous kind of determination glimmer in your eyes. “Commander, if they want to trap themselves on that small platform while we hold a choke point, I say: let them.”

Despite himself, Fox smirked behind his helmet. He liked the way you thought.

“We’ll watch your back,” Typho offered, signaling his own guards to cover the only other door in the room.

“I take the left, you right?” you asked, face set, ready.

Fox gave you a second’s long look, and nodded, before he opened the door. 

The moment it hissed open there was chaos. Thankfully, the idiots on the other side couldn’t aim worth a shit. Fox had to trust that you could cover the left, which was, admittedly, not easy for him, but you had been quick enough to shoot the first gunman over his shoulder, and that gave him a little confidence.

Instead, Fox made himself focus on the two who had been trying to get the door open, their closeness making them easy pickings. Later, he might actually laugh at the sheer lack of skill and coordination the group had. He couldn't laugh, though, idiots with guns were their own kind of dangerous and he shouldn't underestimate that.

“Fox, straight ahead!” he heard you shout over the blasterfire, just as his second target fell. 

He looked up and saw a mountain sized lassat, charging at the door with a riot shield in hand, taking all their blaster shot. With barely enough time to dive out of the way, Fox didn’t even see that you had jumped up to grab a shelving unit beside the door.

Your timing was perfect.

The lassat had just barely cleared the door as you pulled on the shelf and sent it slamming into his side, the shield falling useless from his grasp. It wasn’t quite enough to fell the large man, though, and Fox- as well as the other handmaidens in the room, opened fire as the enemy rounded on you with a shout. You ducked under his large fist as the first volley of stun bolts hit him.

By Fox’s count, it took 17 shots to bring him down, and when he fell it was with a resounding thud.

Everyone held their breath for a moment, heart beat thudding in his ears. Not another shot sounded, even as you moved to sweep the doorway one last time. When you confirmed that all was clear, the room breathed again.

Fox was just about to clamber to his feet, when you walked up and extended your hand. “Are you alright, Commander?”

He grunted in reply, taking your offered hand, and felt a jolt of surprise when you hauled him up with almost no effort. A quick scan of your body assured him that you hadn’t been hit, so he turned to the room at large.

“Is everyone else alright?” Fox asked, just as he heard sirens closing in.

“We’re fine,” Amidala announced with pride, “it takes far more than a few would-be bandits to shake us, Fox.” 

“Our driver was finally able to reach us,” Typho interjected, “she managed to escape their ambush and call for back up.”

That explained the sirens. Fox pulled out the wrist binders from his belt pouch and knelt to cuff the lassat. He would have to give his report to the others when they landed, but, before they did, he had one other duty to tend to.

He straightened up, standing practically chest to chest with you as you finally relaxed and lowered your blaster. Fox liked your fire, and hadn’t misplaced his trust when he let you help him. Honestly, if today was any indicator, he’d be proud to fight beside you any day. But, rules were rules.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” his hand shot out to snatch your blaster before you could react, “but you’re in violation of code 187-24.”

“E-excuse me?!”

Fox had never seen a strong emotion on your face to date, so the look of completely anger and incredulity that crossed your face almost made him laugh.

He pushed the thought away as he waved his hands at the other handmaidens, “Neither you, or any of them are registered as personal guards in our records. Under the new Coruscant Guard Regulations, aids are not permitted to carry firearms. Now, given the newness of the codes, I can let all of you off with a warning, but this is a serious violation and further investigation may be needed.”

“Now wait just a moment, Commander!” Amidala said through her teeth as she rushed forward.

Quite a bit of squabbling now mixed with the sounds of sirens, all of it giving Fox a headache. He sighed through he helmet, honestly, he was just doing his job.

And, it was only because he was nice that he wasn’t forcing you into cuffs right there. But no one thought of that while he cleaned up this mess- the mess that also could have been avoid, had everyone just listened to him in the first place!

No one ever listened to Fox.

You should definitely be thanking him for not arresting you.

.

Tag list: @blueink-bluesoul @anxiouspineapple99 @starrylothcat @lightwise

[applesontheground]

road dog 🕯️

something really short and with minimal editing because i missed my murder mechanic and both @hersweetrevenge and @early20sfailingplenty got me all in my feelings about him today. sorry if it’s too soft, you know how i get u-u

SFW | Word Count: 1,270 | Bo Sinclair x GN Reader

🎼: just pick a pearl jam song that makes you cry if you have one

When you’d first seen Bo’s truck, you didn’t think you could ever get used to riding around in it. Luckily, there wasn’t a lot of need to – let alone for you to come along unless he was fishing for the company.

He had seen the way you looked at it, tracing the chipping paint job or flinching at the way one headlight sometimes came on without being turned on. He’d play it off, call it a fluke that even he couldn’t figure out in an attempt to take your eyes off of the little things. Climbing inside was another battle in itself between Bo laughing at your inability to get up without clinging for dear life, and hearing the way the old metal creaked underneath your shoes at the slightest nudge.

Once it started going, though, you felt secure enough to at least trust that the damn thing wouldn’t bite you. Being inside was much more stable than standing on the outside. So secure that you had sank against the car door during the night’s drive, listening to the simultaneous noise of the vehicle rumbling under your feet and the man in the driver’s seat until the first stars began poking through the foggy, smudged windows.

“So then he tells me ‘I’ve never paid forty dollars for some goddamn hubcaps.’ Doesn’t really matter when I’m the one who messed ‘em up for him, but still. Who raised the boy?” You smirked at the question, Bo going on from pausing just to hear the quiet laugh and his voice taking on an easier tone despite the gripe, “That’s how much I fuckin’ pay for ‘em. It’s not a bad price, I’ve seen more expensive.”

“It’s believable.” You yawned. He grumbled in affirmation and turned the radio up a few notches, but maybe sat like that for a few seconds and one slight road bump before rolling his neck and opening his mouth again “And another thing that didn’t sit right about ‘em. He didn’t even hold the damn door open for his friends. Don’t think he looked at ‘em once while he was talking to me neither. Wouldn’t have even known they were friends, he was s’posed to be engaged to the one lady.”

Your eyes fought to open again from a blink, head knocking against the window as you hummed back because you were too tired to verbalize it. Another pause only solidified what was already in motion, you slowly slinking to grab something off the floor as Bo continued to ramble about the tourists that had come in the day before. He liked to mull over details, even long after they had passed him. Things that shouldn’t be important, but soon realized were things he would keep in mind for the next time visitors stopped in.

“What kinda man doesn’t know how to check the oil every once and awhile if he needs to, huh?” When Bo didn’t hear you answer, he finally glanced away from the road, brow furrowing slightly. It immediately released when he saw your eyes well past closed under a passing streetlight as the truck continued down the road. Any thought he might’ve had before slid out the half-cracked window at the way your head was tilting down, ready to topple forward should he hit the brake too hard. The passing thought made him smirk, but soon the full smile as he finally shut up for your sake.

You couldn’t have looked any smaller, finding his jacket from the floor just to pull over yourself in between being awake and passing out. He had asked you if it had been too cold, but of course you had said you were fine. Still, all the excuse to do this, he then realized. The quiet roll of the static in between the song playing made a sullen feeling settle in, and he finally had to slowly roll his hand over the knee closest to him. You lifted your head, eyes barely open to glance over at him. “Where are we?” You asked groggily, and he almost chuckled at the way you immediately shifted from the window towards him, eyes still half closed. Watching you slide over the bench slowly, pulling on the edge of the seat for your own support, Bo replied, “Just ten minutes away. You tired?”

“I look tired?” You squinted at him harder, making him laugh a little louder as you settled your temple against his shoulder, pulling the jacket over your mouth and the tip of your nose as you sighed, “Wake me up when we get there.”

His arm went around your shoulders, hand securing your opposite arm to keep you upright. Your body was so warm from the sleep, immediately snuggling against his side and pressing against him with a tired but comfortable slouch. Your hand slithered out from under the jacket to sit on his thigh loosely. Bo slowly relaxed under the light weight on his ribcage, and when he was sure you were out again and the lull of the radio would drown out anything he said under his breath, he let his low voice hum, “Well, what am I gonna do with you, [Y/N]?”

The resounding silence, your head rubbing slightly to readjust against his chest, only made him clear his throat to choke down the wobbly feeling threatening to show itself. He knew that for one, he wasn’t going to let anything tear you away from him. It had been awhile since that was even on the table, you good at staying out of the way and him more than willing to lay down a bit of work to keep it that way, but he now knew that this hold between you and him -- this weight against his hip -- was going to be taken away over his dead fucking body.

Pulling up to the house, Bo murmured into the top of your head, pressing a kiss there before he spoke, “C’mon, we’re home. Get up.” He tried not to break out into that soft laughter when you jolted at his gentle shaking. You inhaled sharply in waking, rolling your shoulders in a stretch, and that was when Bo had briefly wished he had just carried you in without disturbing that peaceful expression.

Still, you glanced up at him, and that same lazy smile was back on your face that was impossible not to mirror. “A��right.” You rasped. He only got out when he was sure you weren’t leaning so heavily on him and would very well fall out after him, watching you have control in your fumble and laughing at the haphazard stumble to the ground.

You grinned, inhaling deeply to prepare for the cold surrounding you. You took your time before starting to hold your arms out to him with the jacket, hesitantly pull it off your body. Bo took one look at how you stiffened before taking the garment in his own hands, but instead pulling it back up to your shoulders. You only stared up at him as he asked, “I look like I need it?”

You only blinked at that, and he turned to walk with a smirk trying to hide itself. You followed his shadow like a puppy, and murmured, “You’re too good to me.”

Bo held his arm out, letting you duck underneath and settle against his side again. Warmth flooding over, he replied in a dry voice that only served as a wall for the softness that wanted to break through, “As good as you’ll ever need, darling.”

He only hoped that he could mean that one day.

[kiegotakami]

A Shining Light For Everyone: A Study on Purpose, Moving Forward, and Unity Explored Through Hawks and His Relationships

For reasons that can only be found in my love for this character, I was inspired to write this essay after receiving this ask. I’ve been writing for a few months, the majority of it having been written prior to Chapter 354 being released, and all of it written before the release of Chapter 356. It matters as far as predictions go, but this is an analysis of more than that.

One of the clearest lessons in the story is of the effect that unity can have. From the rescue of Bakugo, to the Yakuza, to the Meta Liberation Army, to the League of Villains, and to One For All. It's Hawks himself who said, "One For All... is a network of power that links people's hearts. It tied All Might... to Midoriya. Then Class A kept Midoriya in the game. And Uravity... linked these people to Midoriya. If everyone... if all of us... are even a little bit capable... of seeing each other as united as one, then... I see a future where heroes have time to kill." They have to unite in order for them to win, for the future to be better. Such understanding is interesting coming from someone who has been avoiding all contact with the person who saved his life, right? It's not like it's a moot point in the story since we see Tokoyami complain about being ignored by Hawks multiple times, which is also a running theme in their relationship. So what is that about? And why is it significant that Hawks is ignoring this kid he happened to mentor while he’s much too busy helping in any way he can after Japan was devastated by destruction?

Hawks did make a joke and tell Tokoyami he chose him in order to gather intel on the LOV. However, Hawks later explained during the work study that while he wasn’t “much for training the next generation, or whatever,” he also wanted to see Tokoyami reach his potential because he could relate to him.

In a similar vein, as Endeavor fought the High End, Hawks thought amid the action, “I was watching you this whole time. I get it. There was nobody else out there... really trying to surpass [All Might]. Only you! You were the one working to surpass him!” He understood and admired Endeavor’s drive.

Even when Hawks was infiltrating the PLF, he understood that Twice had been dealt bad hand after bad hand, that he was a genuinely good person who wanted to be helpful. He was another person Hawks built a relationship with and could relate to.

So what makes Hawks extend a hand toward these people? What shaped him into the kind of hero he’s become?

Keigo Takami was born to broken people. They considered him a burden and let him know it. However, one act of reluctant kindness from his mother gave him something to hold onto: hope. Through every verbal and physical attack from his father. Through being forced to live in a shack, forced to stay hidden. Through homelessness. Through his mother questioning his worth... he had hope.

When his father was arrested by Endeavor, Keigo finally saw proof that things could change for the better. His father couldn’t hurt him or his mother anymore. And it didn’t stop there! The HPSC ended up finding him on the street, giving him a chance to avoid his parent’s fate. He wouldn’t be broken. He wouldn’t be worthless. He could help people. He could become a hero.

They named him Hawks, and Hawks would be fast enough to save anyone in need before it was too late, just like how he was saved. Heroes could enjoy freedom because everyone would already be saved.

Hawks sees potential in everyone. His optimism is born of the hope he had to maintain for himself in order to survive, in order to not follow in his parent’s footsteps. Not everyone can manage that. Like Lady Nagant said to him, “My soul couldn’t take any more... so how... do you still have that look in your eye?” He truly believes that things can get better, that people can do better if they want to, and that they should be given the chance to do so. When he sees that desire—that drive—in others, he lifts them up.

Hawks knew that Tokoyami was capable of greater things, but he needed Tokoyami to show him that he had the determination to keep up and learn. Once he did that, Hawks made more of an effort to show Tokoyami that he could see his potential.

Hawks and Twice kindled a friendship despite Hawks being a spy. Hawks failed at getting Twice to back down for several reasons, but a major one was that Twice had finally found a place to belong with people who accepted and even depended on him. As someone who found his purpose through helping others, Hawks could understand the kind of drive that could give someone after being alone and made to feel like they were a burden.

Endeavor is the embodiment of his hope, so Hawks projects that idea on him even now. He wants to help Endeavor—as a hero and as a father—as long as Endeavor is willing to try. Hawks feels guilty about breaking ties with his family, but after seeing how the Todoroki children are facing their past and their parents, he realizes he can help make a difference for another family.

Hawks has spent his life trying to answer why he was born with his wings. His sense of worth being tied to what he can do for others was perfect for the HPSC to mold him into a hero who’s willing to do anything if he thinks good can come from it. Under their direction—the same direction that threatened Lady Nagant’s life and put her in prison so she wouldn’t talk—he ignored injustice, killed someone he said he would help, and was nearly killed himself in order to get information to the heroes about the PLF and ensure they could be stopped.

Hawks feels a significant amount of personal responsibility to make their society a safe one as fast as possible. It’s a promise he’s determined to keep, no matter how badly he’s injured, and even if he needs to dirty his hands to do it.

There are other heroes with a savior complex. The greatest example is All Might, who “was the act to follow, and everybody cheered him on! But along the way... people forgot about the heart and soul that made the man. The stage is gone now. The theater’s knocked down [...] Think about it. Those ones who’re still left, still fighting... whaddaya think they’re fighting for?” All Might lost all of his power in Kamino fighting AFO, but his lowest moment finally came when he couldn’t help Deku, who had become his whole reason for living. When All Might was convinced that he could only get in the way of others, Stain—a fanatic though he was—forced him to realize that heroes and citizens still looked to him for guidance, still believed in him.

All Might “couldn’t sit back” as people suffered, and neither can Hawks. They both determine their worth by their ability to help people. And Hawks, finally free from the power of the HPSC, given back his name and the burden of judgement that comes with it, is at a crossroad of destiny. He no longer has to hide his true identity nor his true feelings. There’s no need to work around the requirements of the HPSC. And at the end of it, he’s the same man, who wants to make society safe as fast as he can, at any cost.

Hawks just wants to make a difference, and since losing significant credibility among citizens, he resigned himself to keep working toward his goal regardless of whether he had their support. Now, Hawks has nothing to lose except his life, to put it bluntly. While his mother was caring enough in the letter she left him, that tie was severed long ago. He doesn’t have loved ones or a support system (particularly one who doesn’t base all of his worth on whether he’s useful to them). No one even knew his real name until Dabi broadcasted that and more. There is one person, however, who has shown particular concern for Hawks since the war.

Tokoyami, while typically serious and reserved, is defined by his heart. As a hero-in-training, he’s strategic and dependable, and as a friend, he’s fiercely caring and loyal. When Shoji was injured by a villain at the training camp as a result of protecting Tokoyami, “...he just couldn’t take it... the quirk he struggled to contain... started to rampage.”

His quirk becomes more powerful in darkness, but it’s also connected with his emotions. So when he sees his friends get hurt—particularly when it’s because of him—it can become overwhelming, allowing Dark Shadow to go into a frenzy.

The disingenuous façade Hawks masked himself with made it difficult for Tokoyami to like his mentor after his internship. However, once Hawks began to recognize the effort Tokoyami was putting in to keep up with him as well as acknowledge that he hadn’t actually been looking down on him, they started to form a bond. Despite them having starkly different ways of expressing themselves, Tokoyami looks up to his mentor and Hawks cares about his student. After a complicated start, they went on to build sincere respect for each other. So when Tokoyami realized that Hawks might be in danger at Gunga Villa, he didn’t hesitate to help him.

Tokoyami found Hawks in a burning heap on the ground, proving his suspicion of true. Despite Dabi attempting to use psychological warfare in order to distract Tokoyami, if heroes were supposed to save, then Tokoyami had a job to do. When Dabi asked him, “Who is it who really needs saving?” Tokoyami shielded Hawks as Dabi blasted flames at them, making a run for it.

Emotions welled up in Tokoyami as he expressed his steadfast belief in Hawks during their escape, willing his mentor to live through his severe injuries. He intended to help Hawks through whatever came next.

When Hawks woke up less than two days later, he immediately went back to work despite his burns, heavily bandaged and barely able to speak. And through the coming weeks, he avoided all attempts made by Tokoyami to reach him.

Other heroes went right back to work as well, but each hero’s sense of duty was driven by their own motives, accumulating toward one goal. There were also heroes who quit, like Death Arms, who said “...I’ve never felt like this before. I thought I was different. Better. I’m sure we all did once. But nah, I’m no hero. Only human.” And while we can think less of this character for his choice during such an intense time for everyone, his statement echoes the tragedy that affects everyone in their society: Heroes are put on a pedestal. That means an assortment of things, and there are a plethora of reactions to this reality in the series, but I specifically want to focus on how this places great expectations on heroes.

Let’s consider when Deku returned to UA after his solo villain hunt. When Uravity pleaded from the rooftops for the citizens sheltering at UA to understand why Deku should be allowed to rest, there was hesitancy. Could they afford to let such a huge target in a safe haven? Could they trust someone so different from them?

Deku was exhausted, covered in filth from weeks of fighting alone while searching for AFO, but he’s only human. With significant convincing, Uravity opened the door for citizens to recognize Deku as their neighbor, as just a high school kid, as someone just like them.

Deku hadn’t intended to return to UA for rest, nor had he intended to work with his friends, because he feared that would put them in more danger. However, they managed to save him just when he had burned out, and convinced him to stay while a plan was formed for defeating AFO and the rest.

This incredible act by Uravity made Hawks realize that the future they sought could be possible. He saw it in front of him! But Hawks as a hero is different. Groomed as a soldier rather than a typical hero, he doesn’t take the luxury of rest. Hawks is driven by the seed of a savior complex that’s been watered by the adults around him since his childhood, and it has grown strong roots in him.

If evidence in the writing weren’t enough, the truth can be found in the art. Hawks was often drawn with a trait familiar to those afflicted with particular sadness or exhaustion: visible bags under his eyes. Not every panel included them in his design, particularly those in which he was smiling or putting on an act. However, they could often be seen in more detailed panels. This trait has become significantly more visible post-war. Moreover, Hawks is now being drawn almost exclusively from his left side where his burn is visible. However (as I initially saw this pointed out by @/svrcererspidey on Twitter), when this is the case the burn itself is often hidden. One moment it wasn’t was when Hawks jumped to help Deku save Lady Nagant from falling to her death, where his burn could be seen as he affirmed his belief that she still had the heart of a hero.

Hawks has had a significant amount of dialogue lately but his ability to work was hindered greatly by the damage done to his wings. He focused on being support for the other heroes. When a moment came to jump into action, he did so without being certain that his wings could help him, his burn appearing just as he exhibited the hope he has become well known for. Hawks has stopped masking his feelings, but he’s ignoring his own pain and exhaustion. His decisions, however noble his intentions, are reckless to himself. He is ready to die. This behavior is not unlike Deku when he left UA, and later left All Might.

Deku was—and is—stronger than his peers. As long as he was near them, or All Might, they would be in danger. It didn’t matter what state he was in because he had a mission that needed to be completed as soon as possible. He wore a threatening mask that hid the exhaustion and fear he truly felt. Deku and Hawks are similar in this way.

When All Might called Hawks to update him on the hunt for villains, Hawks identified with Deku’s strategy. He understands the responsibility Deku feels and the pressure to get the job done as fast as possible. Tokoyami may have rescued his mentor from being burned alive, but Hawks hasn’t truly been saved yet.

Endeavor was the catalyst that set Hawks and Dabi on their paths toward heroism and rejection of it, respectively. As they used and fought each other in order to secure the futures they sought, the story revealed how Endeavor’s actions as a hero gave young Keigo hope while his actions as a father isolated his eldest son, Toya.

Where Hawks focused on giving back to a society that had saved him from abuse and poverty, Dabi focused on tearing down the same system, which had rewarded Endeavor’s arrogance and showed Dabi that he wasn’t enough, whether he was alive or dead.

Both of them have spent their lives searching for purpose to the detriment of their own needs because of how they were taught to understand their worth. Their paths, though in opposition, reflect the other.

But is it too late? Can they be saved, or have they been destined to fall as hero society falls, representing two extreme ends of its failures?

Endeavor lit the fire in Toya that made him want to surpass All Might. By teaching Toya that he was born for a specific purpose and later withholding his love and attention in an attempt to stop him from hurting himself, Endeavor showed Toya that he would have to prove himself as worthy in order for his father to love him, to be proud of him, to see him.

Dabi made it his purpose to make Endeavor pay for that by taking away everything “that thing holds near and dear.” He’s willing to die for it. However, the way to save him can be found in the words he repeats over and over.

Shoto didn’t have a relationship with his eldest brother, but he understands him. Toya was isolated, given a purpose, told to give that purpose up as the affection he’d come to know through that purpose was withheld, then left to fester in his anger. But what had devastated Toya the most was believing he was left behind by his family.

The struggles of the Todoroki family won’t end by defeating Dabi in battle nor with his death because those things alone won’t bring the Todorokis closure over how their family came to be. By stopping Dabi from sacrificing his life to get revenge on Endeavor, by showing him that his worth isn’t up to Endeavor’s expectations but rather that he has unconditional worth regardless of him—something he should’ve always been made to feel—and the love of his family, they can come together to save Toya. He can be saved.

Endeavor became a shining light for Keigo, giving him hope that he could avoid ending up like his parents. However, the behaviors they exhibited and how they’ve treated him still have an effect on how he understands and manages relationships. Keigo’s father demanded the obedience of his partner and child in order to avoid capture. Representing the paranoia of their household, Keigo and his mother had quirks suitable for surveillance, of which were made necessary for monitoring the man they needed for survival—as Tomie did not have the wherewithal to survive in society—and for avoiding his violence.

When his father kicked him aside for turning his back, Keigo instinctively apologized. It was a strategy he developed with the knowledge that his parents were wrong but, as he was blamed over and over for things he wasn’t responsible for, he learned to take responsibility anyway.

When the Takami Thief was captured, Tomie Takami was left with minimal prospects for survival and a child to care for on her own. Reasoning that the authorities could come after her as well for harboring a fugitive, she chose the only logical option she could find for them: “Gotta run away.” When Hawks went to investigate how Dabi came to know the secrets of the Takami family, he found that his mother had been confronted for the information. Tomie left him the letter in which she apologized and stated that she was once again leaving.

The first time, Tomie had meant to avoid confrontation with the authorities, but having potentially cost Hawks so much that his life as a hero had afforded him, her decision to leave this time had a different motive. Tomie knew she couldn’t provide for Keigo and she even threw the blame of their suffering on him when at their lowest. Broken. Now, having been provided for, separated long enough from both poverty and her son, she could see. Hawks was better off without her, he didn’t need her—if she was there, she would cause him trouble—and if she wanted him to be safe, she’d need to go. It was based in selflessness. It was the only way she knew how to do right by her son. But that lesson is a dangerous one. By leaving, Tomie reinforced the idea that running away—or being faster than everyone else who might want to catch up with you—is the right choice to avoid getting other people hurt. Unfortunately for Hawks, Tokoyami would never abandon a friend who is in danger, particularly one who is a danger to themself.

Keigo’s desperation to have value was exploited by the HPSC. Having grown up without the love of his parents, dedicating his life to public service through which he could give something to the world brought him the closest he could to feeling like he could make up for the absence of it. Helping people was the only thing that made sense, and like many things in his life, the quickest and cleverest choices were the ones he used to achieve that.

As someone whose quirk comes at a great risk to those around him if he can’t control it, Tokoyami could easily understand Hawks’ motivation to keep people at a distance who may get caught in the crossfire with his ventures. However, someone as loyal as Tokoyami would never allow Hawks to face danger alone if he could still help him.

The war against the PLF was the first time we saw Hawks nearly die. Guilt flooded through him as he desperately uttered instructions to his mentee to flee. As he came to see it, Tokoyami nearly became a victim of his inability to fulfill his life’s purpose. He nearly caused the death of the one person who he allowed close enough to teach and try to inspire. It was this sense of failure that moved Hawks to detach himself from Tokoyami.

Hawks is the man who’s a bit too fast. He’s used to working alone, used to dirtying his hands so no one else has to, prepared to sacrifice himself for the greater good. So when the students, especially Tokoyami, showed up to help in the fight against AFO, the guilt Hawks harbored rose in him again.

Hawks fears failing Tokoyami again... feels like he owed it to his student to leave him behind. Tokoyami made him realize that this isn’t the case. He still believes in his mentor. He still values everything he taught him. He knows people are not all black and white. He understands now that even his mentor, whose cleverness was always apparent, is capable of great weakness and darkness. But he also knows Hawks is capable of warmth and empathy.

When Hawks heard that Tokoyami still wanted to work together with him, Hawks was snapped out of his fear. “Am I really... that pathetic?” He knows what Tokoyami is capable of. It’s why he chose him out of everyone in his class.

Hawks accepting the help offered to him is a huge step toward moving on from his propulsion for self-sacrifice. When he rescued Hawks from Dabi, Tokoyami told the smiling villain that, amidst the turmoil, he was “just... concerned about [his] mentor.” While he values Hawks as a hero, no one else knows him better for who he might be without the title. He has known his kindness and his friendship. He values Hawks outside of his quirk, outside of what he can do for society. This isn’t to say at all that Hawks’ well-being should fall on Tokoyami’s shoulders now, but that bit of acknowledgement and understanding—the kind Hawks has never known even from the people who should’ve always given it to him without condition—is a significant step toward healing from his desire to dedicate his life to heroism over living for himself at all. Making Hawks see himself as someone worthy of unconditional acceptance is how he can be saved.

Tokoyami believes in Hawks. Endeavor may be down, but Hawks doesn’t feel like he’s alone right now. There’s a lot to lose in this fight, including their lives, but for the first time he feels the support he’s always giving to others... the unity he believes wholeheartedly they need to win. And in that way... maybe he’s already changed for the better.

[san-fics]

Imposter And Imposition

PV Felinette

(Ao3 / Wattpad)

[day 1] [day 2] [day 3] [day 4] [day 5]

Felinette November Prompt Week, Day 5, Fri. (Nov 25): Imposter & Imposition

Hey guys! Some Multivegse shenanigans - for @felinettenovember week and for you!

______________________

Ladybug stamped her foot. “Chat!” She exclaimed irritably, tired of listening to the verbal skirmish.

The two men stopped arguing and both turned their heads towards her.

“Yes, my lady!” They spoke in one voice, and again turned to face each other – obvious annoyance and anger on their faces.

“She’s not your lady!” Exclaimed Chat Noir, whom she had by this point mentally labeled as ‘hers’, – he was slightly taller and didn’t have a staff, like the other had.

“She’s Ladybug!” The second Chat Noir objected. “And I call her the way I used to!” He had softer features that made him look younger – although from a distance Marinette would hardly be able to distinguish the two of them.

Something weird – even for Paris – has been going on in the city since early morning. People, who duplicated other people – sometimes so accurately, down to their clothes, that they couldn’t be distinguished from the originals, started appearing everywhere. For example, when Marinette hugged her best friend at school, Chloe almost hissed at her, cursing and calling her by her last name with anger and disgust.

Marinette just stared at her in surprise, blinking silently, until HER Chloe came from the toilet and explained that the impudent one broke into her room at her father’s hotel and claimed that this was her room. And since even the parents couldn’t decide who their real daughter was, they sent both of them to school...

But when, after the first lesson, Marinette ran away from school, pretending to be sick in order to find an Akuma, responsible for the chaos, –there was none. No one chased her around the city in a strange costume and demanded to give them magical jewelry, no one shot at passers-by with ridiculous weapons - nothing.

Marinette was about to detransform and return to school when Chat Noir materialized out of thin air on one of the rooftops not far from her. Or rather, then she thought that it was her partner, but judging by what he managed to explain to her before HER Chat Noir joined them and a heated argument ensued between the men, – he fought with an Akuma and got hit by them.

The Akuma called themselves Imposition and threatened to force everyone who behaved inappropriately (namely, simply got in their way or refused to give up their miraculous – in case of superheroes) to be sent to where they would be taught to live differently. What that meant they didn’t know, – the second Chat Noir (or, as her partner stubbornly kept calling him, Imposter) explained, but people just disappeared from view. And, as logically followed from what they could observe around, – those people moved to this Paris, – the same, but different.

“You have no right to call her your lady, Imposter!” Chat Noir snorted, or rather, HER Chat Noir, – Marinette herself was already starting to get angry from all this confusion, and most importantly from the fact that from all these conversations it turned out that the Akuma remained there, in that Paris, where another Ladybug was to fight with them. And she – local Ladybug – couldn’t do anything about it.

“So your Ladybug is completely alone now?” The heroine managed to insert in between their arguments.

Both men turned to her again.

“Not completely alone, of course,” The not-her Chat Noir admitted. “But without me, it will be hard for them to cope…”

“Them?” The local Chat Noir asked suspiciously.

This time, Marinette could agree with his wary tone. There were two heroes in their Paris, and she could hardly imagine how she would have coped without her partner if he would disappear.

“Well, the other miraculous holders, obviously.” Chat-Imposter replied. “Don’t you have those here as well? Rena Rouge? Carapace?” He looked from her to her partner and back again. “Not even Queen Bee?”

Ladybug crossed her arms over her chest in a protective gesture, – the names that didn’t mean anything annoyed her, as if someone was discussing a movie that she hadn’t yet seen, and this made her feel uncomfortable. As if sensing her distress, Chat Noir, who was her real partner, took a step towards her and stood beside the heroine, as if opposing the two of them to their unexpected guest.

“And you never met the person who gave you your miraculous?” The Imposter clarified, – to which both local heroes shook their heads. “I see. Well, have you at least swapped miraculous between yourselves?” He asked hopefully. “I’ve had to work with Tikki a couple of times and it was a great break from Plagg’s constant grumbling, – although he makes me feel much more like myself and I missed the guy.”

Ladybug turned to her partner, slightly taken aback by this statement, and found that he was looking at her with the same expression. Arguing over whether his curse of bad luck should be removed by her kiss was a frequent pastime during their first months of working together...

Chat Noir cleared his throat and turned back to their guest. “You can take off your ring.” He more stated than asked. “And Plagg, doesn’t he bring you bad luck?” He took a quick glance at Ladybug and looked back at the other boy. “I mean, even if I could take off the ring, I wouldn’t exchange our miraculous. She doesn’t deserve to wear that curse on herself.”

Marinette felt her shoulders twitch with some kind of unpleasant sensation, and a shiver ran down her back.

They stopped arguing about the kiss and the ring long ago, but probably out of habit, she didn’t stop taking his feelings for pretend ones – from when they just met and she didn’t trust him yet. And this fleeting remark was like a slap in the face of her inattention, her inability to see the changes, or maybe to see something real that has always been there.

It was as if Chat Noir said everything she wanted to hear, – that he will always be there and want to protect her. But it wasn’t with these words that he said it, she realized, but she simply failed to notice that he had already told her this many times before – with his actions, comforting her after a difficult Akuma, replacing her on patrols if she was sick, being next to her in every fight and not giving any reason to doubt him.

She was still holding the barriers between them out of habit – ever since she thought he was a liar seeking her kiss just to get rid of the ring and run away. And not only was he not going to leave her if he had such an opportunity, but he wouldn’t allow her to take on a heavy burden, from which she didn’t allow him to get rid of...

“...and I got a mirror, just like I wanted!” The guest continued, and Marinette realized that he had been saying something for some time, and she was immersed in her thoughts and didn’t hear a word. “Of course, reflecting the beam coming from the sentimonsder wasn’t the right idea.” The foreign hero said with a nervous, bashful laugh. “But then we figured out how to use it!”

“So, there are two villains in your world and the other one creates these monsters?” Chat Noir asked – her Chat Noir that is, – who was listening intently to the story. “And more heroes to call on when you’re struggling, right?”

“Well, we had two villains, now he alone uses both miraculous.” The Imposter sighed. “But we will defeat him anyway!”

Her Chat took a small step closer to her, moving a little behind Ladybug’s back, as if trying to protect her rear. “We’ll defeat him too. The two of us are enough for it.” He said quietly, but firmly, as if not even for a guest, but for her, or for himself.

Or for the two of them.

And how hadn’t she realized before how much strength his calm confidence gave her?

Probably having this more cheerful Chat also had its advantages, but Marinette felt that she wouldn’t change her serious, sometimes even gloomy partner for anyone.

She leaned back a little, pressing her shoulder to his chest – not sure if she needed support or if she wanted to give it to her partner. But the way his hand fell on her shoulder and gently squeezed it told her that her gesture was right, and probably they both needed it.

“So…” Ladybug began after clearing her throat. “Your Ladybug, she... and you... you two are…” Marinette didn’t know herself what she wanted to ask and how to do it, and who needed the answer, – but the guest somehow understood her question nonetheless.

“My lady and I…” He began, but was interrupted as a red whirlwind swept over the city and the Imposter-Chat vanished into thin air just as he had appeared.

For a while, they stood silently looking at the space he had just occupied.

It was strange for Marinette to see magical powers that were exactly like hers, but definitely not caused by her, and she thought deeply about how many such worlds exist in the universe, and that if not for this Imposition-Akuma, they would never know about their existence...

Chat Noir, the only Chat Noir (and how could it be otherwise?) gently squeezed her shoulder again and Ladybug came to her senses and turned to him. The realization of how long ago she should have corrected her mistake poured into her with new strength and she opened her mouth to say about it when her partner spoke first.

“We don’t need their hints, you know.” He spoke softly, and she realized that he meant her last question, which she herself didn’t fully understand. “We’ll sort out our relationship ourselves.” He continued, and slid his hand up and down her shoulder as if to reassure her.

“You’re probably right…” Ladybug replied, wondering how she could ever mistake his soft, deep gaze for anything other than sincerity. “Listen, Chat,” She began and swallowed nervously. “I should’ve done this a long time ago and I want to apologize for taking so long to realize this. But I... I want to break your curse.”

The man looked at her with an attentive gaze, examining her face, as if trying to understand her motives. Then he sighed, took her hand and bent down to touch her knuckles with his lips. “I have nothing to forgive you for, my lady.” He said softly, straightening up. “And I’d rather get that kiss when it’s not a partner’s gesture of trust, but when it means to you what it means to me.”

He took a step back and briefly bowed only with his head. “See you on patrol.” He said, turned around and jumped to the next roof, quickly disappearing from sight.

Ladybug stood looking after him and feeling her heart pounding wildly.

With all these Akumas, Imposters and Impositions, she completely missed the moment when she started wanting this kiss for the same reasons he wanted it.

_____________

Felinette Tag list (ask me to join)

@mochegato

@thepapillonnoir

@snow-leopard-777

@loves-books

@turiankitty

@toodaloo-kangaroo

@readingismyoxygen

@aespades

@starlightshield

@jessigurl-design

@trippingovermyfeet

@apasponsor

@avs17

@fangirlingfanatic

@psychicdelusionwerewolf

@ur-beautiful-when-u-smile

@spicemallow

@kking13

@frieddonutsweets

@miraculous-panic

@ateneagirasol

@its-maemain

@unoriginalmess

@achaoticmess1

@starfire21

@peachayim

@starling218

@iloontjeboontje

@jennifer-rose123

@a-slytherinish-gryffindor

@wegetitethan

@jacimari

@hammalammadamdam

[not-tallytals]

LMK SEASON 3 SPOILERS

Alright since Flying Bark obviously wants me to go insane over Wukong and Macaque (their huge fallout specifically) the rest of you have to suffer with me :p

Okay so my hot take on their fallout is that it was all a hallucination. Never happened. There was no fight to the death. Just- just bear with me because things are gonna get

Wukong and Macaque had a very intense verbal argument right around the time Wukong got kicked from the jttw group after their encounter(s) with the White Bone Spirit. There wasn’t some huge battle, just a lot of yelling. They never once laid a physically violent hand on each other.

We’ve all seen Shadow Play, right? Wukong is wearing the golden circlet (a cursed headband) throughout the entire play. Including when he supposedly abandons Macaque. Further proving that this fallout between them happened during the Journey.

Wukong was in an impossible situation. He had to choose between his closest friends and what he knew he had to do, which was to go back and continue the westward journey. Also during this time, Wukong is trying to become a better person. He’s been treated like a volatile monster pretty much his entire life up until this point, which is something that has deeply upset him repeatedly. So factor that in with the obligation he feels to the jttw crew, and yeah. Difficult situation indeed.

In the end Lady Bone Demon sees two powerful demons who could and totally would end her entire existence should they recover from their fight, so to make sure that doesn’t happen, she shoves Macaque—who’s in a Not So Good headspace—right into his villian arc. She doesn’t put anything in his head that wasn’t already there (yet). She really just hypes him up and pushes his growing resentment towards Wukong into full blown rage, taking “Wukong had to leave” and turning it into “Wukong choose to leave.”

So, now that everything is set up, here’s where shit gets real. That epic battle between Wukong and Macaque? Completely staged by yours truly, LBD. Wukong and Macaque haven’t mention any huge battle between them, which is odd because it seems like a big deal. So as far as we know there was just that previously stated argument and a general lack of communication. Lady Bone Demon is the one who showed us the flashbacks of their battle.

LBD is known for her mind games, so who’s to say this fight actually happened in the Monkie Kid timeline? Macaque only thinks that Wukong killed him. He thinks that Wukong left him without a second thought. He thinks that Wukong is the enemy. Macaque was never fighting Wukong in that scene, he was fighting Lady Bone Demon, who is also notorious for her shapeshifting and use of disguises to trick others.

I honestly just think it’s fishy that LBD shows up like this, out of no where, and “rescues” Macaque. Especially when the chains that were brining him down looked suspicious like they were made by her. Also, she shows up right where Wukong was, like he wasn’t even there in the first place.

Not sure how to end this, or if anything made sense, but yeah! That’s my stupidly detailed theory that sounded a lot more put together in my head. It really just boils down to the fact that no one besides LBD has mentioned a physical fight between Wukong and Macaque. Sure, there’s Shadow Play and that one frame where Macaque mistakes MK attacking him for Wukong, but that episode covers Wukong leaving Macaque, not their battle.

Of course, this also sets up some pretty funny scenarios, because Macaque swears up and down that he fought Wukong and Wukong is just standing there like “….n-no? you didn’t? are you okay???”

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

The Viscount’s fiancee [Anthony Bridgerton x Reader]

Title: The Viscount’s fiancee Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female!Reader Word count: 3k Published: 7 March, 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: [x] Being engaged to the eldest Bridgerton brother makes you the happiest person alive, occasionally so much so that it makes you act as though you were a foolish child. But all that giddiness is about to disappear upon your findings.

Bridgerton Masterlist | Masterlists

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Viscount, Anthony Bridgerton was known for many reasons. The Bridgerton family was wealthy and highly respected in the ton. Many mothers wanted to marry off their daughters to one of the Bridgerton brothers, but of all Anthony had the worst standing. He was dashingly handsome, very prominent and certainly well educated, but his reputation as a rake preceded him.

When the news of your engagement surfaced, even Lady Whistledown wrote of you with a great deal of respect namely as the woman who tamed one of the wildest Bridgertons. You just laughed it off, but deep down you felt somewhat proud. You have been friends from a very young age and since your families have had a long and close relationship, it was inevitable to grow close to the siblings. In your teenage years, however, you fell for the man’s charm and humour, even his brooding moments. Although his proposal came as a surprise, knowing your relationship was always stranded at the stage of a friendship, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked for your hand in marriage, the amount of pure happiness you felt made you feel like you were walking above the clouds.

Hurrying down the stairs, you held onto the side of your dress before attempting to fall face down, but your clumsiness seemed to be greater as you accidentally let your dress fall on one side. Your own foot tangled up in the hem of your dress and the weight of your body pulled you dangerously close to the ground. In fear, you closed your eyes, heart pumping dangerously against your chest, anticipating a painful and loud landing, However, before you could have encountered the most embarrassing moment of your life, a strong arm locked around your waist, pulling your back against a hard chest. At first you didn’t dare to open your eyes, you squeezed them shut, afraid of your saviour’s identity, but the significant cologne reminded you of one very important person.

Turning around in his arms, you opened only one eye, peeking up at your hero. He wore an adoring, lopsided smile as he shook his head disapprovingly. You scrunched your nose as you opened your other eye and rearranged your expression into an innocent smile, trying to mask your embarrassment.

“I take it you were in a haste to see me?” he asked, his deep voice holding a humorous tone. Indeed, his arrival sparked such curiosity in you that you couldn’t possibly wait a second more to slow your steps and descend down the stairs as though a lady should. You have barely spent a couple of hours apart, but there you were missing him endlessly, involuntarily bringing out a giddy little child within you. The love you felt for him couldn’t have been more obvious and whilst you attempted to act less transparent, it never seemed to work. Anthony wasn’t an oblivious man, nor were you the best actress of the ton.

“I was simply heading to the drawing room,” you replied nonchalantly, trying to convince him that for once his presence didn’t affect you as deeply as he already knew.

“I’m quite certain the drawing room is upstairs,” he huffed playfully. Indeed, the previously mentioned room was upstairs and making yourself look as though you were a fool didn’t seem to help your case.

“I was thirsty,” you quickly added, hoping to stop Anthony from questioning you any further.

“Should you have called the maid, she would have brought the drink to your room,” he added, his smirk growing slightly, enjoying your foolishness.

“Anthony Bridgerton,” you called his name in a warning tone, earning a heartfelt laughter from the man, knowing you have reached your patience. Although you have not been married yet and only announced your engagement a week or so ago, you were very close to one another, hence the reason his arm around you for longer than appropriate didn’t seem to bother you nor him. Your father loved the eldest Bridgerton brother greatly even though he knew of his reputation, therefore he didn’t mind finding you alone with him, but he never failed to mention keeping a distance until you were married.

“I apologise, but you were never a good liar,” he chuckled at your failed attempt to mask your love for him.

“I know, I’m well aware of it. But exposing me is very unfair,” you pouted in the least lady-like manner. Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you steadied yourself on the stairs, Anthony’s arms leaving your body cold after his warm embrace.

“Why is it unfair?” he furrowed, slightly confused about your words.

“Because you know I love you. You know I love you very much,” you replied with a saddened expression as you started heading down the stairs. “It’s not funny when I clearly know I am making a fool out of myself in front of you,” you shook your head, disappointed in your own behaviour. Whilst you knew Anthony cared for you dearly, you always felt as though your feelings were deeper, stronger. Sometimes foolish thoughts ran across your mind, ones that tried to convince you Anthony didn’t love you the way you wished he did, that he might have only loved you as a friend from his childhood, someone he was used to being around.

Anthony quickly headed after you, grabbing your wrist as gently as he could, halting your steps as he turned you around to face him. “What are you talking about? I love that foolish, careless personality of yours,” he said, his tone slightly confused. “Have I done something to you?”

“I know being straightforward about such a subject is meant to be rude, but you have known me for years, Anthony. I need to know something, and I would like you to answer honestly, please,” you almost begged the man as he stood in front of you, his eyes wide in surprise, your seriousness unfamiliar to him.

“I’m always honest with you,” he added.

“Thank you,” you let a small faux smile spread across your face as you heaved a deep sigh, collecting the courage to ask your question. “Are you marrying me because my father asked you to or was it you who asked him for my hand?” you questioned, knowing he never talked about the arrangements between him and your father. You always felt safe and secure around him and falling for him happened from one day to another, it was inevitable for you. But for him, you couldn’t decide when and what changed. At once, he appeared in the drawing room with a bouquet of red roses and kneeled down in front of you, proposing to you, promising happiness forever. You were too happy to question his intentions then, but as the days passed as though your insecurities resurfaced, you couldn’t possibly think about anything else, but the reasons behind his sudden interest in you.

You furrowed at the long silence, tears collecting in your eyes at the realisation, chest weighing a ton. Anthony didn’t speak, he didn’t confirm it verbally, but you understood. The engagement wasn’t his idea to begin with and it all started to make sense. He never tried to kiss you, touch you in secret, he never tried to act as though you were lovers. Knowing it was inappropriate shouldn’t have stopped him, his time as a rake wasn’t a secret after all, he was a passionate man.

Gulping loudly, you took a step back, removing your wrist from his hold. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he spoke up finally, his voice filled with guilt.

“Should you have told me, I would have understood and stopped making a fool out of myself,” you replied, your unshed tears finally escaping down your cheeks. Heavy weight settled in your chest, your air seemingly stuck in your lungs, suddenly the mere thought of Anthony caused you tremendous amounts of physical and emotional pain.

“You misunderstand, I-” he tried to explain himself, but you didn’t give him the chance to and cut him off.

“But do I?” you asked with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes as you fought against the loud sobs trying to escape your lungs. “You have accepted my father’s request to marry me! I never wanted to feel pitied, I never wanted to feel as though I could only marry out of an arrangement. I confessed my feelings for you, Anthony,” you sobbed loudly. Anthony reached for you to hold you, but you pushed his arms away and took a step back. “Do you understand how terrible it is to realise that the man you love pretended to be interested in you because of a mere agreement? Anthony do you realise?” you emphasised your words, but instead of speaking his mind, he stood in front of you gaping silently as though he wanted to say something, but not a word nor a sound left his lips. “Please, I’m begging you, leave now,” you whispered in a weak tone. Attempting to look less of a pitiful woman than you already felt as you walked around Anthony’s stunned figure towards the garden.

“I can’t leave. Please listen to me,” he turned around, calling you after a moment of silence, but you pretended to be deaf to his words. “Please!” he hurried after you as you exited the mansion, the warm rays of the sun warming up your body. The door closed behind you loudly, but within a second Anthony followed you out to the garden. “You must listen to me. It’s a misunderstanding,” he tried to convince you.

“No, it isn’t,” you replied in a firm tone, not wanting to hear any excuses from the man you made a fool out of yourself for.

“You completely misunderstand,” he tried to explain himself once again, but you didn’t let him continue. His excuses were more painful than the thought of him having no feelings for you.

You stopped in your spot, turning towards the eldest Bridgerton brother with a stern look on your face. Anthony hasn’t seen much anger from you throughout the years, but the pain you were harbouring in that moment scared him. He never meant to hurt you, he wanted a chance to explain his side to you, but the look across your usually happily glowing eyes now held darkness.

“Talk to my father, Mr. Bridgerton. I wish not to marry you anymore,” you clenched your jaw, your tone holding pure disappointment against the man who you loved so dearly. “Should you want to continue with the marriage, I will make your days miserable from your very first, to you very last,” you whispered the last part of your sentence, warning the man of your wrath.

“I will not break the contract!” he replied firmly without hesitation in his voice. “I need you to listen to me carefully,” you were about to stop him, his words angering you even further, but he didn’t let you interrupt him. He was determined to explain himself. “I’m quite certain I had a choice in the matter, I could have very well said no. You have been my friend for as long as I can remember, and I treasure our friendship. Do you really take me for a man who would want to hurt those he loves intentionally? I don’t love you as a mere friend I grew up with. I love you as a man loves a woman, as a husband loves a wife. I intended to ask for your hand in marriage, but your father seemed to be quicker than I could have even asked.”

“Why should I believe you?” you asked, voice softer, heart filling with hope. You wanted to believe him, his words made you hope, feeling foolish once again, but words didn’t mean as much as actions.

“Would I ever lie to you? I certainly didn’t mention the agreement, but regardless of that detail, my feelings are genuine,” he hesitantly stepped closer to you, hoping you wouldn’t turn and run away from him. As you stayed still, he dared to continue. “I have never lied to you and I don’t intend to start now. Should you question my intentions, I understand, but that will not change my feelings for you,” he took another step closer, your firm stance lighting a slight hope within him, but the fear across your face made him cautious.

“I wish nothing more than to believe you, but I confessed my feelings for you, and you have said nothing,” your voice hitched as you tried to stop your loud sobs from escaping. “I was a fool for you, but not once did you try to hold me, kiss me, make me feel as though I meant more than a mere friend, as though I was a woman in your eyes,” you replied as your eyes filled up with tears, glistening as you gazed at Anthony. His scoff surprised you, his unexpected reaction making you confused.

“I wanted to. I want to. I want to hold you, kiss you, touch you, I want to wake up beside you,” he heaved a heavy sigh, biting his bottom lip. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, but you are not helping my situation. Do you think it’s easy for me to sit beside you, hold onto your hand and smile as though I was an angel? I’m not an angel,” he groaned almost painfully. “I wish nothing but to pull you against me, pamper your neck with kisses, ran my hands across your body and taste your lips on mine” the passion behind his words, the low, dangerous tone he used to speak to you left your cheeks flushed, your lips parted in surprise. His eyes were dark, determined, his whole posture dominant. “I wish I could turn it off and on, because it makes me mad how much I want you,” he added as he took another step closer, forcing your back against the cold wall of the mansion. You couldn’t possibly focus on anything, but the feeling of his chest flush against yours, his darkening eyes watching you eagerly, his irregular breathing slightly tickling your lips, your stomach twisting into a knot.

Shaky breaths left your lungs, voice nowhere to be found. You wanted to stand on your tiptoes and attach your lips to his. You wanted to know the feeling of his mouth against yours, the taste of his lips. Those couple of inches between you never felt more unnecessary.

“My lord,” you spoke in an uncertain tone, whispering those words you barely ever said to him. “Show me how much,” he swallowed heavily as the words left your lips, his jaw tightened as though he was in physical pain from trying to control himself. Involuntarily, but he leaned closer, his hot breath lingering above your parted lips. “Please,” you added in a whisper, placing a hand on his cheek, caressing his skin with the tip of your thumb as you licked across your lips in anticipation.

As though that was the last piece of thread holding him back, he broke under your spell, wrapping his arms around your waist and closing the gap between your longing lips. There was no hesitation in his movements, he leaned down to meet your lips as though his life depended on your kiss.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, he deepened the kiss, awakening thousands of butterflies in the deepest part of your stomach, fluttering, flapping their wings, sending your heartbeat into a dangerous speed, weakening your knees. You couldn’t possibly imagine the feeling of being kissed, you weren’t experienced in that matter, but your body reacted involuntarily to Anthony as though you have been craving for something you have not known.

Anthony’s hand wandered up to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, even though you didn’t realise it was possible. His lips felt soft against yours, addictive, completely capturing your whole being. He didn’t need words to convey his feelings. The way he held you in his arms, his body engulfing yours, keeping you safe from anything or anyone who could possibly hurt you, his actions spoke for themselves.

He hinted a small peck on your swollen lips, before he left another and another, making you smile in content.

“Should you question my intentions again, I will have to repeat that,” he chuckled, slightly out of breath. Your eyes wandered to his lips, eagerly wishing for him to repeat his actions, wanting to feel his inviting lips on yours.

“I’m unsure of the right answer,” you breathed, attention completely captured by his plump lips. The dazed look across your face made him laugh loudly, throwing his head back, not being able to contain his happiness. His laughter brought a content smile across your face as you watched the man you loved in a blissful moment, his mere laughter filling your chest with a warm feeling.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked as his laughter died down, however, his lopsided grin didn’t disappear.

“I wish to say that I do, but-” once again your gaze found his lips, vivid memories of them attached to yours clouding your mind. “then you would not repeat- that,” you breathed in uncertainty, cheeks feeling hot in your embarrassed state.

“Would you like us to repeat that?” he chuckled with a mischievous smile. “Would you like me to kiss you once again?” he asked, slowly running a hand down your arm, leaving goosebumps after his trail, before linking his fingers with yours. No words could possibly leave your lips, an uncertain nod was the only sign of your agreement. He smirked proudly at your stunned expression as he started off in haste towards the back of the mansion, lightly pulling you after himself. You frowned at his actions, feeling oblivious as to what he was planning, before he gently shoved your back against a hidden wall, wrapping an arm around your waist, stopping his movements for a second. “I love you and I want you,” he whispered against your lips with shaky breaths, but a loving and warm smile on his face. “I will show you how much on our wedding night, but until then,” he smirked, before meeting your lips half-way, stunning you for a second, before you melted your body with his, wanting to feel him as much as you could for now.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and/or reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Taglist: (If you would like to be added, let me know)

@shelby-love @breadqueen95​ @keithseabrook27 @nuttytani-reblogs @aspiringsloth20 @marvel-ousnesss​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @janelongxox​

[serendipious]

AM I GOING INSANE OR ARE THERE PARALLELS WITH C!TECHNO AND C!QUACKITY

hear me out ladies and gentlemen. c!quackity felt betrayed by the people he cared about, namely the whole fiasco with kinoko kingdom and it’s all. based on some sort of misunderstanding and lack of communication. c!quackity felt betrayed because c!karl c!sapnap and c!george went and built a country without him, and yet again, this is built from a misunderstanding. c!karl was supposed to invite him. c!karl forgot. and it wasn’t c!karl’s fault for forgetting. and now, we have c!quackity, creating his own nation, recruiting people for his nation, but he won’t let any of them get too close. keep your friends close, after all, but keep your enemies closer. it would hurt less when they left him eventually. 

c!techno, on the other hand, also felt betrayed. first in pogtopia, again with c!tommy. now obviously they weren’t “betrayals” so much as lack of communication and everyone deciding to “cross the bridges when they get there,” which caused a lot of problems. but again, here we have a supposed betrayal built on miscommunication and misunderstanding. and it’s always been difficult to gain c!techno’s trust, but after c!tommy went back to l’manburg, it was perhaps even harder. when he agreed to give c!ranboo shelter after doomsday, he was wary and tried to remain emotionally neutral. after all, in his mind, he didn’t want a repeat of the last time he took someone in. but then, he recruits the syndicate. 

c!quackity still cares about his friends. he still made an effort to reconnect even if he thought it would go poorly. he still wanted to make c!sapnap happy. 

c!techno still cares about c!tommy. why else, then, would he put him in his will, even if doesn’t completely understand him? 

c!quackity meets c!slime, and c!quackity fails at what he promised himself not to do. he gets attached. and he knows this is a problem, but he mentors c!slime anyways. he teaches him how to be a leader anyways. he tries to tell c!slime “don’t get attached, everything you love gets destroyed anyways,” but he’s already failed again. So, when he thinks he’s going to die, he tries to prepare c!slime. 

c!techno spends time with c!ranboo, and at first, is intrigued by his endermen-like abilities. he wants to see what c!ranboo can do. and somewhere along the way, he dubs himself c!ranboo’s mentor. and though he may not verbally say it, he cares about c!ranboo, perhaps in the same way he cared about c!tommy. he would have, in his words, “fought the world” for c!tommy. in very much the same way we see c!techno defend c!ranboo from the whole c!bad and the egg fiasco. and now, he’s grown attached, as c!ranboo’s mentor, his sensei, jokingly saying he’ll probably end up dying at some point because the mentor always dies.

and then, tragedy strikes. just as c!quackity thought it would. once again, someone he loves is taken away from him, and this time, he’s forced to watch as c!slime dies, as a result of a betrayal from his own las nevadas, and then becomes a shell of himself. 

and similarly, c!ranboo, the kid c!techno has begrudgingly taken under his wing, is killed because the man c!techno was returning a favor for, let him die. even after c!techno set the terms of the jailbreak (leaving c!ranboo was not an option). so while this wasn’t a betrayal like c!purpled, c!techno and c!dream were briefly on the same side, and since c!dream didn’t care about c!ranboo, he let him die. and now we have ghostboo, a completely different person than who c!techno originally mentored. 

c!quackity learned from c!slime how to trust again. he’s trying to be in c!tommy’s corner. 

c!techno also learned how to trust people again because of the syndicate, because of c!ranboo. he went to check in on c!tubbo and michael. 

anyways maybe these are unhinged ramblings but i think it’s really interesting how narratively, c!quackity and c!techno went through similar character arcs. the situations were different, but there was a lot of the same feelings. and even though they hate each other, they’re perhaps very similar in the way they value friendships and handle falling-outs. 

but uh, maybe i’ve lost it who knows 

[astridthevalkyrie]

summer rain: chapter 1

Your days in the Training Corp aren’t too out of the ordinary. You make friends, you train hard, and you eat dinner every day.

Oh, and you’re also hellbent on getting revenge against Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. 

Chapter 2

Read on FF.net or AO3.

Helloooo, beautiful people. I’m so excited about this story! This is now the official first part of the series, so it’s a prequel to the three oneshots I’ve already posted. If you haven’t read them, no worries, you can read this just fine. If you want to, just know they all have an established relationship and will reference the past, so you may possibly get spoiled. 

I plan for this to have five or so chapters, so buckle up, and as always, happy reading!

You’ve been expecting more.

Maybe that’s the wrong perspective to have. It’s still the military, and it’s still your first day and sure, that’s exciting and all, but you’ve heard stories. People always describe their first day of training as absolutely terrifying, but life-changing. They say that the first day is the day all the baby-faced cadets realize they’re in over their heads. It’s an introduction to the rest of their lives. At least, that’s the case for the people who stay. If one can’t handle a verbal beating, how can they stand any chance against the titans? The first day changes everything.

This, however, isn’t life-changing. It’s not terrifying. It’s rather...dull.

To be fair, the man in front doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it either.

You’ve heard of him, of course you have. Even back within Sina, people talk. A newcomer, a gift from the walls, humanity’s savior. Recently joined the Survey Corp and yet already a lieutenant, a definite shoe-in for the next available section commander position. Apparently his origins are a bit of a mystery, but he’s either the long lost son of a rich merchant or he’s come from outside the walls themselves because it’s just impossible that any common person can possess the skills he’s rumored to have. You’re not sure you believe all of it - apparently he’s so fast that the titans can’t even see him coming? yeah, sure - and yet there’s just something about him that gives off a truly well-earned confident aura. That’s been the most exciting part so far, the chance to see him up close, to see that he’s actually real.

Still, since he began talking, Lieutenant Levi hasn’t once raised his voice. He hasn’t screamed at them all for being the weakest pieces of shit he’s ever seen. He hasn’t even told them about how they’re going to train to become snacks for the titans. It’s disappointing. You’ve been ready to stand your ground, to show you’re made of some tough stuff. That can’t happen when your trainer won’t even bother to strike fear into your heart. Where other people may be relieved, you are mourning this loss of the traditional military experience.

At the very least, he’s not the actual trainer. He started his speech with a complaint that their actual instructor was sick for the day so now he had the absolute pleasure to welcome dozens of new fucking brats to their new home and occupation. His words drip with venom and boredom - clearly, he didn’t join to do any of this. It’s beneath him. All in all, Lieutenant Levi seems rather...arrogant. Maybe it’s well-deserved. But you don’t have to like it.

As he walks up to people at random who shout out their bare identities, the lieutenant snaps out comments that seem like they’re meant to bully rather than to frighten.

“Your posture is shit.”

“Oh wow, I bet the titans will be real scared of your noodle arms.”

“And here I thought these villages would send their best and brightest. Instead they sent you.”

But you’re not one to let things get to you so easily. You have your fist balled to your chest proudly, ready to serve humanity. You’ve fought to get where you are, and now you’re really, actually standing here, with your new comrades besides you, and you couldn’t be more proud. A bright smile settles on your face. You will make the best out of this, no matter your humanity-saving trainer’s dour mood. 

Unfortunately, said humanity-saving trainer takes notice of your smile, and with his gaze locked on his new target, he walks up to you, eyes narrowed in irritation.

“What’s your deal?”

You straighten your back, snap to attention, and look directly ahead as you know is appropriate. “Cadet (F/N) (L/N), sir, from Stohess District!”

His expression doesn’t throw you off, despite it looking like he’s never been so irritated in his life. You know you haven’t done anything wrong (at least not yet), so him looking that pissed off must be an internal issue, nothing to do with you. You’re not any different than any of the other cadets that have introduced themselves.

“Cadet (F/N) (L/N),” he says as though he’s testing out a brand new curse word, with just a hint of mockery in his voice. “I didn’t ask for your name or where you were from. I asked what your deal was.”

Well what in the holy hells is that supposed to mean?

Is what you want to say, but instead you simply furrow your brows and ask curly. “Sir?”

“What the fuck are you so happy about?” he clarifies, annoyance displayed clearly on his face.

Well damn, no need to be so edgy. You aren’t necessarily required to be as serious as everyone else here, and smiling isn’t a crime last time you checked. But this is obviously Lieutenant Levi’s thing, to be snarky and mean, and the sooner you answer, the sooner he’ll move on and find a new victim. “Just happy to be here, sir.”

Your smile stays right where it is.

“Oh, is that it?” He stares at you, deadpan. “You like the thought of being eaten? Does the idea just make your day? Do you fantasize about it at night? Let it lull you to sleep?”

Your smile grows a little strained.

Passion aggression is nothing new. You grew up in Stohess, you’re used to your fair share of cattiness. The lieutenant must take lessons from the tea-sipping high class ladies you’d basically grown up with, because he reminds you of them vividly. Ironic, considering you thought the military would be an escape to a life that was real and included less passive bullshit. It’s that frustration at the similarity that makes your polite mask crack.

The response slips through your lips before you can stop yourself. “No, sir, but last night I did happen to dream of a trainer that was tough enough to handle one of his subordinates smiling.”

You can be catty too. 

The grounds become more silent than they already were. It’s as though everyone is suddenly holding their breath at this new confrontation, just waiting to see what the newly dubbed hope of humanity will do if someone matches his sass. The loud silence is what finally makes you just a smidge nervous - surely, they won’t kick you out on your very first day just because of a smart comment, right?

Impatient and a bit anxious, you finally allow yourself to look directly in his eyes, and you’re suddenly stricken by how grey they are. You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone with grey eyes. They’re damn gorgeous. And there’s a hint of...something in them, and to your surprise it’s not rage. He looks calculatingly gleeful, as though he’s just been waiting for someone to say something back to him. He appears cruel and delighted all at once, and the contrast of it along with the striking silver hue is more personality than you’ve ever seen in someone’s eyes before.

It’s a breathtaking sight. You move in just a millionth of a centimeter to get a closer look -

And then he moves, lightning fast, reeling back and swinging his leg around to sweep your legs from under you. With a gasp, you hit the ground hard, head ringing and vision blurring for a few seconds. Your hair, which was loose around your shoulders, flies across your face, some of it entering your mouth. From above you, grey eyes are triumphant, looking down on you as though to ask whether or not that’s tough enough for you. You’d love to answer, but your head is throbbing and you can only let out a pathetic, confused noise that causes titters to spread throughout the room.

What the hell just happened?

You move to get up, but he’s quicker, slamming his foot down on your leg and holding you right where you are. For someone with such a short stature, he looks pretty damn tall from down here. Maybe this is the sight that the titans barely get to see before he slices through them. 

Everyone is watching, even if they’re not turning their hands. This is their entertainment today, and the fool has just made its move. The fool being you, of course. They’re all hungry to see how this will play out.

Your cheeks glow bright with embarrassment, but you are not going to waver. Not on the first day. This is what you wanted, right? You wanted someone who’d be a hardass, who’d strike fear in you and make this a day you’d never forget. Well, Lieutenant Levi is your wish come true.

“Please remove your foot, sir,” you muster as politely as you can, looking up at him icily.

He digs the heel of his shoe into your thigh to make a point, and maybe to see if you’ll cry out in pain. But you look him in his strange grey eyes and you only blink, a small smile returning to your face. Will he kick someone who’s already down?

The moment seems to last forever, and you briefly entertain the fantasy that time is freezing for him as much as it is for you.

And then it’s all broken - he takes his foot off and walks right by you, and the only words you’re spared after being humiliated are, “Tie your hair up, you look ridiculous.”

Thus goes your first meeting with Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

____________________

Dinner that night is filled with chatter. It seems people have found their loyal companions pretty fast, and cliques are forming faster than a speeding bullet. 

Luckily, you don’t need to worry about making friends. Besides the fact that you’re charming and perfect (according to everyone else and definitely not just you), you joined the military with your best friend from childhood. Millie Shackel is every bit the Stohess lady you are, the Rose to your Maria, the jelly to your butter. It’s amazing how much two girls can bond over a shared hate for the lack of activity happening within their stuffy town.

You gnaw at the bread on your plate, squeezing your eyes shut in pain after a particularly hard bite makes the back of your head throb. Not for the first time, you place your hand gingerly on the back of your skull, confirming that there’s no blood pouring out.

“Shouldn’t have mouthed off,” Millie quips from across the table, looking at you amusedly.

“Thanks,” you mutter bitterly, abandoning the bread for now until the soreness goes away. “Didn’t think one stupid comment was going to make him go berserk on me.”

She laughs, confirming you sound every bit as stupid as you feel. “I don’t think that classifies as berserk. That was a superior putting you in your place.”

“Suck-up,” you accuse, eyes narrowed. She only rolls her eyes, and you bring the cup of water to your lips and begin simply guzzling it down when someone claps you on the back, making you choke.

You turn to glare, still coughing up water, at two guys behind you. The one who nearly killed you is tall, with hair the color of bananas, and he’s grinning with no regrets, the shameful bastard. The other one behind him looks apologetic, red-haired with pretty green eyes. He whacks his friend on the arm. “You idiot, you nearly sent her to the infirmary!”

“Oh, come on.” The tall guy slides next to you without permission, slinging an arm around you as though you’re the closest of chums. Back in Stohess, you’d have called for his execution or some shit. “Surely the girl who talked back to Lieutenant Levi can handle some water going down the wrong way.”

Millie does not look pleased at the intruder, and looks even more grouchy when his friend sits down next to her, albeit keeping a much more respectful distance. When you finally stop coughing violently, you shove the guy’s arm away.

“A-asshole, what the hell’s your problem?” 

“There’s no problem, kid.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “I just wanted to see the balls on you. Guess it was overexaggerated.”

“Obviously,” you snap, “I just talked back, I didn’t hop over the wall and kill a titan.”

“Regardless, good job with the way you handled it. The others are talking about you.”

Millie gives you a stern look. “Hear that? Now we’re the troublemakers.”

You shrug apologetically, and decide to take another crack at eating your bread. This time, it goes down easier, with only a light sting to remind you of the lieutenant’s cruelty. 

“I’m Stephen,” the redhead says with a shy smile, extending his hand. You shake it, then turn your gaze questioningly to the one next to you. He grins cockily, waiting for you to ask. You don’t.

“This is Ricky.” Stephen spoils his fun, sounding exasperated. 

“I assume you two are close.” Millie wrinkles her nose distastefully. You bite back a laugh - there’s that Stohess bitchiness that you love about her.

“We met this morning,” Ricky responds, and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

The two of you warm up to the boys soon enough. Ricky is rather friendly when he’s not trying to steal your food thinking you won’t notice, and Stephen is downright sweet, his emerald eyes brightening when you ask him where he’s from. He goes off on a ramble about his village which is somewhere smack dab in the middle of the land within Wall Rose. Apparently their local stew is the best there is. You privately disagree; nothing quite tastes like the stew they make in the Orvud District, least of all this bland loaf of bread in your hand.

Ricky, on the other hand, is from Shiganshina, which is apparently an outer city of Wall Maria (so the two boys really had just met that morning). 

“So, I’m guessing it’s the MP for you two?” Ricky says. Millie looks offended.

“That’s not right for you to assume!” She deflates a little. “But yes, it is.”

“Hey.” You shoot her a scowl. “It’s the MP for you. I don’t have any intention of hurrying back to precious Sina.”

Millie gazes at you with her we’ll talk about this later look like she has every time you’ve brought up that you have no intention of returning to fucking Stohess where nothing ever happens. Before she can say anything, Ricky ruffles your hair fondly. 

“Should’ve known you were made of tougher shit than that. So what, you like playing hero?”

You shrug. “No, I just have a sob story. Dead old Dad was a Scout, and then he was titan chowder.”

Stephen looks disturbed at how bluntly you say it, and even Ricky is a bit thrown off. You chuckle at their expressions, waving a hand nonchalantly. “It’s fine, it happened a while ago. I barely remember him. But you know, what better way to connect with your dead dad than to align yourself with the people who let him die, right?”

Ricky’s mouth hangs open as Millie snorts. “You can laugh, she’s making a joke. Get used to her sense of humor, it’s always this bad.”

“I resent that.”

“So you don’t care about getting into the top ten?” Stephen asks carefully - scoping out the competition, you realize.

“Couldn’t give less of a shit,” you answer coolly, “but Millie obviously does.”

“I’ll get into the top ten, it’s not about that.” Millie says confidently, shaking her head as though it’s ridiculous to even imagine that she wouldn’t. After all, you two were raised to be perfect. “The real goal is to be first.”

Ignoring the madly ambitious look in her eyes, you focus on Stephen. “So what is it for you? The Scouts?”

He winces bashfully. “I’m...undecided.”

You laugh out loud, a bit meanly. “What, undecided like you’re going to some top university in Mitras? This is the Training Corp, Stephen, you’re not gonna get to try out a bit of everything. Just choose whether or not you wanna be shipped off to a pointless death, and then you’ve made your decision.”

Stephen frowns, shaking his head. “If it was that simple, then what would be the point of choosing?”

Who in the holy hells asked for his philosophical wisdom, that’s what you want to know. Rolling your eyes, you turn to Ricky, who is chewing on your bread, abandoned after your taste buds just wouldn’t adjust without the butter you were used to. With his mouth full, he answers easily. “Scouts.”

You nod. At least he’s sure.

____________________

“That wasn’t right,” Millie says later, right as you’re about to lie down on a scratchy-looking bed.

“What?”

“What you said to him. He can take his time deciding if he wants to. And it’s just rich, coming from you.”

Your eye twitches in irritation. “You’re just pissed because I don’t wanna take on the most boring job in the world.”

“Grow up,” Millie hisses, venom laced in her voice. “Not everything’s about your entertainment.”

Turning around, you see your best friend with arms crossed, giving you a disapproving look that reminds you of your mother. How odd. What’s that old saying about people becoming what they most hate?

“You’re gonna lecture me now too? Hit me with some philosophy, maybe?” You raise your brow, daring her to say more. “Or do you wanna knock me over again? Maybe I’ll get a concussion this time.”

Millie scoffs, sitting down on the bed she’s claimed. “You know what, it was nice. Seeing someone put you in your place like that.” Her lips quirk under your hard gaze. “Maybe he’ll teach you a thing or two about taking things seriously. Give you some actual goals to achieve.”

The only thing Lieutenant Levi will teach you is to never get distracted by something like how beautiful someone’s eyes look ever again. Even now, you can still picture him, the way he stood in front of you, startled you, threw you off. The way his eyes were filled with more duality than you’d ever expected to see in a person.

Pretending like you didn’t just fantasize about his pretty grey irises, you roll your eyes and flop down on the bed next to her’s. “He’s not gonna teach me jack shit. He’s not even our trainer.”

Millie hums, whether it’s to you or to herself you don’t know, and when you look at her again she’s closed her eyes, clearly wanting to end what was a very long day. It’s not long before you join her.

“(F/N).”

“Yeah?”

“I miss home.”

You don’t, but you keep it to yourself.

The last thing you think of before you fall asleep is how cold the lieutenant had looked when he humiliated you, and your cheeks burn angrily.

____________________

Two weeks pass by in a blur. Once training starts, there’s not much time to think about something like goals, because everyone’s goal is simply living until dinner each night. Avoid getting yelled at, attend classes, study hard, and for the love of all things holy don’t fall on your face when you’re balancing in the practice ODM gear. 

It’s a rush, and you actually find yourself enjoying it. The food still tastes stale and the bed is still too hard to be comfortable, but there’s an easy routine that’s so much more than sit still and look pretty. While you’ve never been a fan of routine, this is different. There’s a purpose to this, even if everyone has different things they’re working towards. Whether they’re trying their best to show what they’re made of and get into the top ten like Millie, or pushing themselves because they get starry-eyed at the thought of saving humanity like Rashad, or simply staying out of trouble to avoid getting meal privileges taken away like Clara, everyone is working towards something, and it’s thrilling to be in the midst of it, to be a part of something meaningful.

You and Ricky are fast friends - he’s surprisingly not too insufferable and he shares your enthusiasm for not taking things so seriously. He also seems like he’s looking for a partner in crime, someone to partake in the oh-so delightful task of slacking off with. Millie is throwing herself into perfecting everything, and Stephen, while not as crazy as she is, is more nervous about losing respectability in front of their trainers and comrades. So the two of you naturally gravitate towards each other, because jeez, at least a few people here need to remember that life still exists outside of all of the training and military drama. 

Today is the first time they’re letting you practice hand-to-hand combat, and while that’s obviously ridiculous since you’re training to fight titans (or just bully people, if you’re joining the MP, but Millie didn’t appreciate you voicing that out loud), it’s also a chance for you to show off a natural talent. 

You’re flexible. And fairly fast too.

Sure, you’re no fighter, but back home you were put into dancing lessons since you were a wee young thing, so you have a much higher tolerance than most of these chumps. You can take a few hard punches here and there, and you’re fluid with your movements, so you’re giving as good as you get. Even combat is a dance in a certain way, it has all the same elements at any rate. Everything comes down to the placement of the feet, and every other body is an accessory that has to be utilized perfectly to do any damage. 

Unfortunately, Ricky’s fought, like actually fought - fucking peasants from Maria and their street fights - and so as much as you put up a damn good fight, he eventually gets you in a hold from behind. You squirm in his grasp as he laughs, digging his fingers in your side. You try to protest, but it’s hard when he’s tickling you so hard.

“H-hey, hey!” Your giggling only gets two octaves louder when Ricky doesn’t let up. “Stop!” Ricky’s laugh mixes in with yours, until he’s lifting you off the ground. Your breathing becomes painful as you struggle against his grip, clawing at his hands. “Ricky! Let go!”

Finally, he decides to show mercy, dropping you. He regrets it pretty soon, though, because then you’re on him quickly, throwing a hard punch against his shoulder. He groans, letting out a pained, “What the hell, (F/N)?” but you’re not done. You grab the collar of his uniform, and tug it forward briefly to give yourself some momentum to shove him back as hard as you can.

Ricky stumbles on his feet, catching himself before he falls at the last second. There’s a determined expression in his eyes, not quite competitive but suddenly eager to show off.

“So, think your dainty dancing is gonna give you the advantage here?” he challenges, balling his fists in front of his chest. You do the same. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but that’s not how that works.”

“Beat me, then. Properly.” You smirk, planting your feet firmly. Let him throw the first punch, you decide. “I have to be on the ground for you to win.”

Ricky’s clever too, knowing you intend to use his size against him. He lowers his arms, extending them as though he’s going to let you take a free shot. Yeah, you’re not that stupid. You stay right where you are, raising an unimpressed brow. The two of you stare each other down, trying your best not to break into smiles. 

“Hit me.”

“Hard pass.”

“Because you know your punch will be too weak?”

“How’s your shoulder, Ricky? Should be feeling fine, since my punch was so weak.”

He barks out a laugh, rolling his shoulder back experimentally. “Like getting hit by a feather.”

Okay, trash talk isn’t part of the combat training that the trainer, Instructor Grumman, has assigned. But it’s still fun, and it’s about a thousand times more preferable than actually fighting. Fighting is painful and pointless. Trash talk is entertaining and doable. 

Still, you hunch your shoulders. If Ricky really won’t move, you’ll come at him with full force. Digging your heel into the ground, you give yourself a boost and run towards him with a burst of speed. His eyes widen, and his first instinct is to hold out his hands to keep you at bay. But with the close proximity and his lanky figure, it won’t be enough. You’ll have him on his back within seconds if you ram into him in one, two -

You don’t make it.

You don’t make it because you’re suddenly flung into the air. You let out a frantic shriek and bring your arms up to shield your face. The ground approaches with dizzying speed and you hit it with a sickening thud. Your hands are suddenly covered in scratches and you open your mouth to furiously ask Ricky what the fuck he was thinking and how did he even do that and did he have to throw you so high -

But when you look up, it’s cold grey eyes that meet you.

Fuck.

The glare that was supposed to be for Ricky is now aimed at him, unadulterated hate coursing through your veins. This is the first time you’ve seen him since that day. Just what in the actual fuck is his problem, and just what had you done to deserve being thrown over his shoulder and up into the sky like a fucking ragdoll? You hadn’t mouthed off this time. Hell, you didn’t even know he was there, so just what the fuck was he punishing you for?

“People who don’t take their training seriously usually end up looking up like this,” he hisses. His glare matches yours, which is ridiculous, because he’s the one who knocked you down. Why is he pissed off? “‘Course, they’re usually looking up at a titan, but we don’t have any of those on hand for me to demonstrate.”

Yeah, he’s far from a titan. Fucking shrimp.

“I was taking my training very seriously, sir,” you say with gritted teeth. “In fact, I would have defeated my opponent had you not stepped in and shot me up in the air.” Your hands would also have significantly fewer bruises. 

He snorts, actually snorts, like you’ve just told a hilarious joke. “A real opponent isn’t going to let you run that mouth of yours before they come at you. You’d be dead in two fucking seconds.”

People are looking now. Everyone remembers that first day, and they all look as though their favorite stage actors have come to town to perform a show. They’re all waiting to see just what the girl who talked back to Lieutenant Levi will do now. A circus trick, perhaps? They don’t know what you’re made of - no one is going to see you crack. And definitely not because of this insufferable man.

“You don’t know that, sir.” You say it with a poisonous smile, wanting him to know that it’s not meant to be respectful. “I might just make it. Maybe I’ll even make it longer than you.”

There are hushed gasps all around you, but the lieutenant pays them no mind. He looks amused, as if you’re just a stupid little girl, an arrogant brat who somehow thinks she’s somehow stronger than him. You’re not an idiot, you know that he’s an excellent soldier who will probably make captain soon, and you’re a lowly cadet who doesn’t even know the basics yet. But once you’re trained up, once you have experience, you think you could take him on, and you could possibly win.

Lieutenant Levi leans down, crouching on his legs before leaning in. He grabs your shoulder harshly, and leans in to whisper in your ear. “I’ll be waiting, (L/N).”

You almost feel respected until he adds, “Waiting to see the day that fucking smile gets wiped off your face.”

With that, he stands up and turns. Turns to walk away. Turns as though you’re not still on the ground. Turns as though your comrades aren’t snickering around you, convinced that he just put you in your place a second time. Turns as though he didn’t just single you out for no damn reason - who even fucking asked him to watch? Who asked him to interfere in your business? Why didn’t anyone else demand his attention? You weren’t the only one goofing off. Hell, there were some people who were actually just lazing around! Where was their punishment?

Furiously, you speak before your brain can catch up.

“Why don’t you fight me, Lieutenant?” you say loudly as you get to your feet.

He stops.

Ricky, who is safely standing a few feet away now, gives you a wide-eyed look, silently asking if you’re brain damaged. But you pay him no mind, your eyes focused on the back of Lieutenant Levi’s head, probably burning a hole in him with your gaze by now. Immediately, the crowd changes sides again, hushed oohs spreading around. It’s not enthusiastic, no one actually believes you’ll triumph, but they are enthusiastic that you have the balls to try.

He turns, giving you the driest expression you’ve ever seen, and you half expect to be dismissed. To be told that you’re too weak to even think about fighting him.

Instead, his stance changes, his fists are raised, and he’s accepted your challenge.

You know you can’t win. That’s not the point. The point is to hold out. For a whole minute, at least. Half a minute. Was twenty seconds too generous?

There’s a small part of you that regrets mouthing off this time.

Lieutenant Levi doesn’t have to waste any time staring you down. He has no need to debate in his head about who should throw the first punch, and nor does he grant you the courtesy of devising a strategy in your head first. In half a second, he’s approaching you with dizzying speed, fist reeled back, about to knock you over for the second time today.

But you’re sick and tired of these fast maneuvers. 

You duck down just as he closes the gap between you, and you go for his legs. He grunts in surprise as you make contact, clutching tightly. It may look pathetic. Your arms are wrapped around his thighs, which you basically just dived into. Your face is squished against his hip. Your feet have left the ground, as you’ve thrown your entire body at him. At this moment, you look absolutely ridiculous.

But it’s worth it.

The lieutenant loses his balance as his feet slip from under him. You can feel him falling down, down, down, with a gasp that is just fucking music to your ears. This is turning out better than you’ve ever hoped for. You’ve proved everyone wrong, even yourself. He’s going to hit the floor, and you’re going to win. You’ll win.

Or at least, you would have.

You’re both hurtling through the air for one glorious moment. Then, recovering from his shock in an instant, Lieutenant Levi spins the two of you in midair, and despite all your efforts and quick calculations, it’s your back that hits the floor again with a loud crack, air knocked clean out of your lungs. You gasp for breath. His knees are digging into your neck, you’re going to choke -

He takes no time to recover. He’s up and on his feet in a second, brushing the nonexistent dirt off his pants, and you’re left panting with your hand on your throat, trying to recover what little dignity you have left as laughter erupts around you. Dizziness and confusion overwhelms you, as does something else. Just a few minutes ago, you’d been looking at him hatefully. Well, you from five minutes ago had no idea what hate was. You could kill him right now, this arrogant, pompous, cruel jerk. 

How dare he look so unperturbed? Like this is just a normal weekday for him?

A hand yanks you up by your hair, nails digging in your scalp painfully. You’re brought to your knees with a heaving gasp. He tugs your head up until you’re looking at him properly, and he has the nerve to smirk. It’s slight - perhaps he knows a full blown smile would look creepy on him - but it’s there, mocking you.

When he speaks, it’s just a little louder than a murmur. “I thought I told you to tie your hair up.”

Then he releases you, and your buckle over in pain. The position literally has you bowing down to him. White hot anger seeps through you. Consumes you. When he starts walking away, his every step thunders in your head, echoing a million times. He had no right. 

No right at all.

It seems like Millie’s wish has come true. You have a goal now. A goal that Lieutenant Levi has so graciously given you.

You’ve decided. No matter what happens, you’re going to get revenge on Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. He’s going to fucking pay.

____________________

You’re pacing out in the field later that day, muttering under your breath, the events from earlier replaying in your head on loop. Millie’s decided to give up on getting you to come study with her, and she’s blatantly refused to participate in your little quest for revenge, citing it as “pointless and foolhardy.” Well, this whole thing is pointless and foolhardy. The Training Corp is just a way to produce more dead bodies every year. But Millie didn’t agree with your line of logic and has left you to brood on your own.

Realistically, what are your options? It’s not an easy task to take on. Humiliating a man who is now so respected and admired will be difficult when his ego soars sky high. Something heavy will be needed to bring it down. Now you have no intention of ruining him for life, nothing major or extremely dangerous. If you did have such an intent, it would’ve been rather simple, just a letter back home to your mother to spread the word of what humanity’s hero was really like. Not that she’s inclined to listen to your demands nowadays, but it’s a doable plan that would work one way or another. But you want to embarrass Lieutenant Levi the exact same way he embarrassed you. You want to knock him flat on his back, while everyone watches, and you want to stand triumphantly as he kneels down to you.

Someone listening to your thoughts right about now would think you were having a vivid sexual fantasy. You groan, slumping down against the bark of a tree. It’s going to be dark soon. You have a curfew that you’re inclined to obey. But you simply can’t go back without thinking of a plan. He deserves it. He deserves to be utterly humiliated. Punishing you is one thing. Beating you in a fight is only natural. 

But holding you up by your hair like you’re one of the fucking spoils of war only to have you kneel to him - that’s sick. He’s sick, and probably perverted. You wonder if he’s always been like that, or if the glory has gone to his head. And you wonder why he’s chosen you to play this game with. Because of a smile and some cheek? That’s no excuse. 

Maybe you’re just the prettiest one here, and he has a crush.

Even the cocky thought can’t distract you enough from your frustration. You can’t possibly beat him. There’s a reason he’s getting so much attention. It’s because he can fight like no other, and it’s all natural talent too. Frankly, you call bullshit, no one is just that good without any practice, but whatever, not the point right now. Who could possibly make you capable enough to beat the lieutenant in a fight? Who could possibly know all his weaknesses? 

Probably only him.

Your eyes widen.

____________________

The sun shines brightly the next day. You feel the warm breeze from the open windows kissing your cheek as you run through the base. Most people passing by pay you no mind, although a few give you questioning looks. But they don’t say anything, probably figuring you’re just a lost newbie who’s inevitably going to get yelled at when you show up late for class. But they’re mistaken, you’re not lost at all. You’re running with purpose. And well, you might be late for class, but it’ll be fine, you know Stephen takes detailed notes that he’s willing to share, and even if he feels like being mean, this is much more important.

Originally, the plan was to go all the way to his office, the path pieced together from directions you’d gotten from Instructor Grumman who believed you were going to apologize (for what?). Hopefully, he won’t actually double check if you went through with it, because you have no intention of apologizing for a single damn thing. Your aim is far more sinister than that. Today is the first step of a plan that will take you a long while, but it’ll pay off eventually. You’re going to achieve your goal. 

That is, if he agrees.

The universe is on your side, because you don’t even need to go all the way to his office. There he is, in the flesh, talking to a blonde man you recognize as Captain Erwin Smith and a woman who you haven’t seen before. Maybe if he hadn’t been so callous yesterday, you’d have waited until he was away from his comrades before approaching him. It’s too late to care about appearances now.

You step up to the three of them and salute, clearing your throat.

He looks at you, and his eyes harden when he sees a smile plastered on your face yet again. 

“Can we help you?” Captain Erwin says gently, but there’s just the slightest edge in his tone. Clearly one is not supposed to just approach this dream team. Your bad.

You open your mouth to answer him, but Lieutenant Levi beats you to it, looking bored as he does. “She’s lost, Erwin. Classes are on the other side of the base,” he says dismissively, waving a hand like he’s swatting away a fly.

“I am not lost. Sir.” Your spine is still straightened and your fist is still balled against your heart. You’re not sacrificing it just yet, but you’re certainly sacrificing your pride here. “I have a request for you. After you pointed out my obvious flaws yesterday, I realized that if I don’t get help, I’m going to fall seriously behind.”

Captain Erwin shoots him an exasperated look, already having figured that his best friend (or whatever they are to each other) must have done something to you. Meanwhile, the woman cackles, nudging the lieutenant’s shoulder. 

“She’s being proactive! You appreciate that, don’t you, Levi?”

He doesn’t answer. His attention is now exclusively on you - you nearly feel special. 

“So what do you need from me, Cadet?” You ignore the way your stomach flip-flops violently from the way he stares at you, the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a light smirk. Something in him clearly enjoys the idea of you needing him for something. Something else to lord over your head, something else for him to be cocky about. “You want me to find someone to give you private lessons?”

“Close,” you say, mustering the brightest and happiest fucking expression you can, “I’d like you to give me private lessons. I want you to train me.”

The lieutenant’s eyes flash upwards. 

Your hair is neatly tied up in a tight bun.

Y’all have no idea how weird it is to write “Lieutenant Levi.” I loathe it.

Also, this is my first time writing in second person. Lots of firsts here, folks.

Please review, your comments are my source of life.

[theright-sideofme]

Mate. C. San. [Part 1]

Werewolf!San x fem!reader WC: 3.7k Warnings: arranged marriage, mentions of past verbal abuse.let me know if i missed anything

series masterlist | main masterlist Next Part

As a child you were told stories about what lurked in the woods and why you were never to go in them alone. After all, “a young girl like you wouldn’t be able to protect yourself.” Those belittling words made you sick. You were very much capable of protecting yourself, you were just never allowed to. Your father made sure you stayed at home with your mother, learning how to become a “good wife” so he could wed you off as soon as possible. The old man was absolutely insufferable. Always commenting on how you were going to die alone if you kept up your stubborn antics, which only made you act up more. You didn’t want to be just someone's wife, you wanted to be your own person, with opinions that mattered and a voice that was heard, but that’s just not the life you were born into.

You remember the first time your father told you about the woods, it was around the same time you were beginning to realize your parents were utterly shit people. “Father, why can’t I go play in the woods?” “Those woods aren’t meant for little girls Y/n, it’s filled with all sorts of horrible monsters,” and that should’ve been enough to scare you, but it only intrigued you more. What type of monsters? What did they look like? Would they want to play with you? You were ready to bombard your father with all those questions, but the loud, whining howl cutting through the crisp morning air cut you off and had your father scrambling to get you inside. Ever since then you had felt drawn to the woods, a longing you felt in every fiber of you being. It was almost as if you were longing for a home you had never been to.

You sat outside, letting the sun warm skin as you leaned against the old oak tree in the garden, you felt at peace. This week had been hectic, lots of running around doing errands, getting ready for the arrival of a very well respected family. You were probably the least excited for their arrival, which was ironic seeing as you were probably going to be leaving with them. Their son had taken an interest in you at the king's annual Winter Ball and insisted that you be his wife. Even after turning him down on the spot, he was persistent. Eventually his father contacted yours and now they were on their way for a week of business talk regarding the arrangement of your soon to be engagement. You were sick, absolutely revolted at the thought of marrying this spoiled brat of a man who simply couldn’t take no for an answer.

Looking over to the woods, you sighed, wishing you could just run and just never stop. Run until you're so deep in the woods no one would ever be able to find you. What was really stopping you other than your father? Your own fears? No, it wasn’t that, you had more to fear at home than in the woods. The longer you thought about it, the more you realized nothing was holding you back other than the belief you couldn’t. Your entire life you were told you not to so you just believed you couldn’t, but in actuality there was nothing stoping you from standing up and walking right into the woods.

“Y/n!”--

-- Except your mothers shrieking scream of your names.

“Y/n where the hell are you! They’re going to be here any moment!” And your peace was broken. All thoughts of running off into the woods being pushed aside, deemed a silly escape fantasy as you stood up to go put your mothers worrying to rest.

--

“Where were you” Hongjoong asked, even though he already knew the answer. San had a bad habit of getting too close to town, almost being caught more times than the pack could count. But there was one manor in particular San loved visiting, the Y/l/n manor. A huge, beautiful house surrounded by acres of land that belonged to the most well respected family in the country. Hongjoong believed San had a death wish to be getting so close to a house that belonged to a family of that status. San’s excuse was he liked the thrill, which was partly true, but not the reason he visits said house almost everyday.

“Out” San shrugged his alpha off, walking right past him and into the kitchen. Hongjoong didn’t leave it at that, not this time. He was worried about San and what would happen to not only him but the rest of the pack if he got caught.

“You can’t keep going out there,” San scoffed, not even sparing Hongjoong a glance as he got himself some water. “I’m serious, you’re putting all of our lives in danger by going out there so often” “I know what I’m doing” “do you? Then enlighten me because I have no fucking clue why you would actively put your life at risk just to get a peak at that stupid house!” Hongjoong’s voiced boomed through the entire house, which caught the attention of the rest of their packmates who quickly came to the kitchen to see what was going on.

“You wouldn’t understand” San mumbled, feeling a bit more humbled after Hongjoong had used his alpha voice. Hongjoong very rarely used his alpha voice and when he did, it was terrifying. Everyone in the house could feel the fear in their bones when he did, along with an overwhelming urge to back off and obey their alpha. San was no different, feeling the immediate need to tuck tail and run after pissing Hongjoong off so much.

Hongjoong hated using his alpha voice. He never wanted any of his packmates to feel like he was ever unfairly using his alpha status against them, but he just couldn’t help it when it came to matters that involved the whole pack's safety. At first he was fine with letting San look around, sneak peaks at the town and the manor. He thought if he let him get all his curiosity out he would be fine and he wouldn’t need to go back again, but he was wrong. After his first time visiting the manor he immediately went back the next day, and the day after that and almost every day for the past three months, and Hongjoong was more than worried for what it meant for the pack if he was caught.

“Try me” the alpha offered, so angry but also so desperate to understand San’s apparent need to go back to the manor so often. He wanted to help out the younger boy while also keeping him safe. San averted his eyes to the ground as he took in a shaky breath. “I saw my mate.” His voice was so quiet anyone with normal hearing would’ve missed it, but in the house full of werewolves, everyone heard it.

Absolute chaos broke out among the pack, everyone shouting questions at San about how he knew and what it was like. Words jumbled up together as everyone fought to get their question answered and to understand what having a mate was like. They all knew they had mates, every werewolf did, but San was the first in the pack to actually meet- well, see, his. Hongjoong stood with an indecipherable look on his face that made San uneasy.

“I-I know it’s dangerous for me to keep going there so often. I’ll start going less! I just- I need to see her, it’s the best thing I have since I can’t be with her.” San felt his heart break at his own words. He’d never admitted that to himself out loud and hearing those words leave his lips made him want to crawl into a hole and die, but it was the truth. San knew there was no way he was going to be able to be with you, you were the daughter of a highly respected lord, and from what he heard from the servants today, you were soon to be engaged. It was a cruel joke fate had decided to play on him.

“What do you mean you can’t be with her'' Mingi asked from behind Hongjoong, him and the rest of the pack slowly making their way fully into the kitchen. “She’s lady Y/l’n, daughter of the highly respected Lord Y/l/n” San’s words left his lips with a certain type of sadness that made the rest of his pack members feel for him. They couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to find your mate and know you can’t be with them.

“San-” “please, no pity. I’ll be good, I promise” and despite his airy tone, the look in his eyes gave away how much he was really hurt. “Just, be careful when you go” was all Hongjoong said, not wanting to press him anymore.

--

It was another day of trying desperately to avoid every living soul who currently resided inside your families manor. You felt overwhelmed these past couple of days with everyone talking so warmly about the now settled engagement. Your father was more than happy to wed you off and your intolerable fiance just wouldn’t leave you alone. You could never find a moment alone, and moment to breath. But now, alone in your garden under your oak tree, you were calm. There was no one trying to remind you to keep up your perfect little image, no fiance rambling on about how excited he was to get you into bed on your wedding night, no father reminding you how lucky you were someone actually wanted to deal with you for once, it was just you and your tree.

Not too far away from you in the woods, unbeknownst to you, stood San. He kept an attentive eye on you, admiring you effortless beauty with total awe. There was a pang in his chest as he remembered his words from a few days prior, “- since I can’t be with her.” God it hurt. All he wanted was to hold you in his arms and protect you from everything evil and bad in this world. He wanted to shower you with affection and feel pride in his chest just from knowing you were all his, but you weren’t.

Almost as if you could feel his longing gaze on you, you looked up into the woods, head cocked to the side in thought. San was ready to duck down and hide, but then your eyes locked with his, and he was frozen, both of you were. You knew you should’ve been scared, you should’ve ran inside screaming for your guards, but you didn’t, you simply stared. You didn’t feel off put or uneasy by his presence, you almost felt comforted, as weird as it sounds.

San on the other hand was a total wreck, his heart beating out of his chest, sweat building up on the bone of his brow. He had no idea what to do, if he should do anything at all. And despite how scared he was of getting caught and potentially putting his whole pack at risk, he was happy to be able to see your face clearly. The calling of your name snapped both of you out of your little trances, San quickly ducking down, and you turning to see who was calling you. “There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you” you fiance said as he quickly made his way over to you. “Your mother wanted me to come get you for dinner” you simply nodded, pushing yourself up off the ground, not expecting your fiance to pull you up by your waist. The sudden action had San growling from behind his tree, watching the man with absolute hatred in his eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing” you asked, quickly pushing his hands off of you. “I was helping you up” “I don’t need your help” “Stop being so stubborn, we’re going to be married soon, you’re going to need to get used to me touching you” “touching me?” “Yes, last time I checked sex involves-” A loud smack echoed through the garden. He stood there for several moments, shocked, trying to assess if that really just happened. “Our engagement gives you no right to touch or talk to me however you so please, do I make myself clear.” Your fiance looked back at you with a darkness you’ve only ever seen from your father. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I am the man in this relationship. You are the woman. My women, my bitch-”

Your fiancé was cut off by a large, sandy wolf jumping in between the two of you. Startled you jumped back, your back now firmly against the tree as you watch the wolf snap and snarl at your fiancé.

You were more shocked than anything, looking at where the sandy colored wolf came from, realizing it was the same place you had just seen that man standing not too long ago. You quickly turned your head back to the wolf and stared in awe. It was huge, much larger than any house dog you had seen before.

Your fiance was soon calling out for the guards which promptly broke you out of your awestruck state. “You have to go, now!” You yelled at the wolf, gently tugging on its fur, which in any other case would’ve gotten your hand bit off. The sound of boots pounding against the floor started getting louder and you were getting more anxious. Not having time to think about why you wanted to save this wolf so badly, you quickly made your way in front of it and started pushing it back. “Go, now!”

San looked up at you, his the red fading from his vision as he stared at your face. However, he didn’t get to look long as the sound of boots soon reached his ears as well. Sparing you one last glance, he turned around and sprinted back into the woods.

“What is it, what happened my lord?” One of the guards asked as soon as they had reached the two of you. “W-Wolf! There was a wolf right there! It nearly tore me to shreds!” Your fiance began to ramble on, the longer he went on, the more the guards looked unsure of his words. “My lady, did you see the wolf?” “Of course she did, it was-” “no, I never saw a wolf.” Your fiance looked at you in total disbelief, but you remained with the same stoic face. The guards simply told our fiance there was nothing they could do since the wolf wasn’t there and led the two of you inside.

The entire diner your thoughts were full of that strange man, who you were certain turned into that wolf. It had to be him, there was no other explanation as to how that wolf got there that fast. Why was he there? Why did he protect you? Why did he make you feel so safe? Those questions lingered in your brain the entire night.

--

San thought it would be best to stay away for a while after the incident. He didn’t want to risk getting caught in case they were on high alert. So he stayed home, pacing in his room, running circles around the house, roughhousing with his pack mates, pretty much anything to keep him mind off you. It was harder than he thought, especially after being the closest he’s ever been to you, he longed to be that close again.

“San, you need to slow down-” “I’m fine” he responded in a short yell right before turning into his wolf form to go for a run. Seonghwa let out an exasperated sigh as he watched San disappear off into the trees that surrounded their house. “Is he gonna be okay” Wooyoung asked from behind Seonghwa, both of their eyes trained on where the sandy wolf just disappeared. “He’ll be fine” Seonghwa tried to reassure, but it was obvious that even he didn’t know.

You, however, were handling things differently. You had left your family's manor. Year after year you longed to leave and disappear into the woods and all it took was a strange man who you felt oddly connected to for you to actually do it. Why were you so drawn to this man? You didn’t know, all you knew was you needed to find him.

You were running as fast as you could to get as far as possible from your family’s manor. They were going to come looking for you, you knew that much. So the more distance you could put in between you and them the better. As you were running you could barely feel the burning in your lungs or ache of your legs, but rather the wind against your skin and the overwhelming feeling of being free.

You were free.

You weren’t tied down to your wretched family who only cared about selling you like cattle or the rules all of the entailed. No, not anymore. It was like the chains had broken and your cell door was left wide open, and you were free.

--

San felt different. He was more anxious than he had been the past couple of days, but in a good way. He had no idea what had changed or why he was feeling this way. He didn’t care. All he knew was if he didn’t get out his pent up energy he was going to explode. So out the door he went, ignoring the calls of his packmates and disappearing into the trees.

He ran and ran, enjoying the rush of the wind flowing freely through his fur as he let this light hearted feeling wash over him. He was so caught up in the feeling of running, he hadn't noticed his body had gone in auto pilot, leading him astray from his normal path and deeper into the woods to a place he had never been- a clearing.

There was a crystal blue lake shining like a glittering star in the moonlight. Lily pads were scattered across the smooth surface and flowers bloomed beautifully all around the edges. San hadn’t noticed any of it though. As soon as he entered the clearing his eyes were drawn to a figure sitting on the edge of the lake. And as if you sensed his presence, you looked up and smiled.

“Well hello there.” San’s heart swelled at the sound of your voice and he could’ve sworn his eyes were the personification literal of heart eyes. Your smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, it was warm and inviting and everything he imagined home would feel like. One half of him wanted to scold you for being out here alone where you could get hurt, the other half wanted to run up to you and nuzzle into your side and let you run your fingers through his fur. He opted for the unspoken third option, slowly approaching you, watching you closely for any fear or discomfort, but he saw none. You looked oddly calm for someone who was now face to face with a giant werewolf.

“Why do I feel so connected to you?” You mused aloud with a cocked head as you scanned his face before staring into his eyes. The raw curiosity in your eyes was something of mirrored pure innocence.

San couldn’t answer, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was in his wolf form and he would rather not shift back in front of you. He figured this would be a conversation better with clothes on. So instead of answering, he nudged you till you were next to his back and then lowered himself to the ground, urging you to get on, and you did.

--

When you reached San’s house, you didn’t feel uncomfortable or out of place. You felt oddly calm, and it was starting to annoy you with how okay you were when it came to anything relating to this strange man. You should be running for the hills, calling the guards and wanting nothing to do with him. San lowered himself enough so you could get off his back and led you to the front door.

“San! I swear to- oh.” The man who was just yelling froze and just stared at you in shock, all of his prior thoughts gone. San noticed how you moved closer to him when Seonghwa had come out, your hands subconsciously reaching out for him and he felt like his heart could burst.

San simply looked up at the elder boy who seemed to understand what San wanted from him.“Um, hi. I’m Seonghwa. Let me get you something to drink while San gets changed.” You looked at San who simply nudged you forward. “That would be nice, thank you.”

You and Seonghwa sat in the kitchen just talking. You thought there would be some sort of awkward silence between the two of you, but in all honesty he was very easy to get along with. He asked you about your family and never pushed you to answer when you were feeling uncomfortable. He even made you a sweet honey rose tea that you fell in love with.

The two of you didn’t talk long though because San had rushed to shift back and get dressed so he could talk to you. San all but bursted into the kitchen, his lovestruck eyes landing on you in an instant. “I- wow, hi.” You couldn’t help but giggle at how cute he was. “Hi.”

Seonghwa sat there for a moment longer, watching as his younger friend looked at you with absolute adoration and how you met his gaze back with a sweet, caring smile. He thought the two of you looked like little lovesick puppies and you barely knew each other. Shaking his head with a smile, he made his way out of the kitchen to give you two some privacy, patting San on the back as he left.

“So, I’m a werewolf” “nice to meet you werewolf” “I- what no! I’m San! My name is San. Sorry, I’m kinda nervous.” You let out a soft laugh, the sound putting all San’s nerves at ease. You stood up so that you were now in front of him, holding your hand out for him to take. “Nice to meet you San, I’m Y/n.”

—

taglist: @itsyaapollochild

[mandoalorian]

Sugar and Spice [Max Lord x F!Reader] — Chapter 12

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter: food mention, tooth rotting fluff. Our story comes full circle.

Author’s note: Here it is. The final chapter of Sugar and Spice. The Epilogue should be coming soon. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did, and I'd like to thank you all for supporting me and my writing. This was my first ever series and the love I got for it was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I love you all so much. (PS— i’m still sick with COVID so I am really really sorry if this is a poor chapter. I tried my hardest. Happy valentines day.)

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER TWELVE - EPILOGUE [coming soon!]

The second Maxwell engulfed himself amongst the soft satin blankets of his bed, he knew he was glad to be home. You climbed in beside him, and his eyes raked your body as he took in the sight of your baby pink slip on silk nightgown that you were wearing. He swallowed, and reached over to grab your waist and pull you on top of him. So there you were, straddling your sugar daddy after not seeing him for over a month. You pressed your palms against his bare chest and looked him in the eyes.

"There's something I need to tell you." Maxwell announced, knowing it had to be now or never. He couldn't keep hiding it. After the month in London and Alistair being brought back into his life, a lot had changed for him. He wasn't the same man he was back in December.

"About Ali?" you asked, tracing circles into his skin.

"Well, yeah. But— something else." Maxwell replied, shuffling around slightly. You sensed it was serious due to his tone of voice and your movements paused as you stared dead into his eyes.

"You don't have another secret child, do you?" you deadpanned.

"No!" Maxwell said defensively and you smiled softly. "It's about us."

You braced yourself. He'd been gone for a month, come back with a kid, and you were certain he was going to break the arrangement off with you. You pulled your hands off him and went to crawl off his lap, but his large hands landed on your thighs to hold you down.

"That night after the annual Black Gold Christmas gala… I saw you with Bruce and I got drunk and— my mom— and… I told you… I told you everything. About my father and having absent parents and. I said— I said— I said I was in love with you," Maxwell gulped and it took him every ounce of strength to not break his eye contact with you. He wanted to remain strong. You remembered the night like it was yesterday; clear as day. Of course, how could you forget the moment he said those words? And he hadn't spoken of it since, until now. Between you being held hostage by Tristan and Maxwell being whisked away to London, there'd hardly been an appropriate time to bring it up. "I swore that once I returned from the UK we would talk about this. So, Y/N, I have to tell you that my feelings haven't changed. It's been months, we've been together and apart. We've argued and fought but we've laughed and made love too. We've had distance— hell, I've been on the other side of the world for the past month but not a second has gone by where I haven't thought about you. About loving you, and kissing you, and even if you don't feel the same way, I hope you can forgive me."

"Forgive you?" You asked after a brief silence. You'd been waiting for what felt like a lifetime to hear these words, and yet you were struggling to comprehend them. It didn't feel real.

"For not doing anything or saying anything sooner. I should've said something sooner. I wish I had. I wish… I wish…" Maxwell rambled but you placed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"No," you told him sternly. "No wishing. You don't need to make a wish because— everything is fine just the way it is," Maxwell's heart sank at your words and you watched as his chest deflated. "No!" you cried before trying to clarify. You didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "You have a successful business, and a son, and Max, you have me. You'll always have me. Because I love you too. I'm in love with you Maxwell Lord."

Max's chocolate coloured eyes widened at your confession as disbelief bolted through his body. Never in a million years would Maxwell expect that you would truly love him back. How could he expect anyone to love a man like him? Kitty hadn't. His mother hadn't. But you…

"I love you so much Max," you sighed before pressing a kiss into his lips. You caught a tear slip down his cheek and you quickly wiped it away. "Don't ever apologise for being you. Our story has been a whirlwind so far but it's not over. It's not over Max. I love you."

"I love you too." he whispered, wrapping his arms tight around your body when you kissed him again.

By the time Valentines Day rolled around, you swore it was like Maxwell and Alistair had never spent any time apart. The six year old boy was the spitting double of his father— personality and all.

He dived into your bed and jumped up and down.

"I got a card! Look daddy! I got a card!" Alistair beamed. Maxwell groaned and rolled over, holding a pillow over his head. You smiled tiredly and pulled the little boy into your arms.

"Good morning Ali, where did you get that?" you asked.

"It was on the kitchen table! Look mama, it's for me!" He squealed, pointing at the name that was inked in perfect calligraphy. Your perfect calligraphy. Your heart melted slightly at the little name he'd given you. "Mama". You figured it was something Maxwell had pushed, but he swore he hadn't, and that Alistair had decided that you'd be his mama from now on anyway. Kitty was out of the picture for good now, and you were nicer to him in the past two weeks than Kitty had been to him his whole life. That was the sad truth.

"Oh, so it is." you giggled, pressing a kiss into Alistair's forehead. You rolled over slightly and pat the middle of the bed, gesturing for Alistair to come and lay down in between you and his father.

"I only ever get cards like this on my birthday and Christmas. And today is neither of those days." Alistair pondered out loud, tapping his index finger against his chin as he thought. Just like his daddy.

"Do you know what day it is, Ali?" you beckoned.

You realised Maxwell must've finally woken himself up when his hand reached over to hold yours, his thumb circling your skin. You glanced over to him and saw that his big brown eyes were watching his son.

"Ummm…"

"It's the only day of the year where I can do this," Maxwell interrupted, pressing his lips against yours and kissing you. His sudden action was enough to take your breath away and Alistair went to make a noise of disgust. But Maxwell pulled away from your lips and placed a hand over his son's mouth. "And you, mister, can't do that!" he chastised, wiggling his finger with a chuckle.

"But daddy, kissing is yucky!" Alistair frowned, sticking his tongue out in dismay. You rolled your eyes, pulled the little boy on top of you and pressed another kiss into his forehead. Since you had a hold of him, Maxwell took the opportunity to tickle Alistair, erupting a scream of laughter. "Dad-daddy! Aaah daddy please!" Alistair laughed, kicking his legs and flailing his arms around.

"Have you worked out what day it is yet?" you asked the little boy once he'd settled back down. A small blush crept upon his cheeks.

"Va-valentines day?" Alistair asked, his voice timid.

"Are you telling me that my son Alistair has a valentine?" Maxwell gasped jokingly and Alistair's grin only grew wider with excitement.

"Can I open it?" Alistair giggled happily.

"Go on!" you laughed, giving him a small nudge.

You and Max both watched intently as Alistair opened the card. Of course, you had purchased the card and wrote it out. But seeing the excitement on Alistair's face when he read ‘love from your secret admirer’ was undefeatable. It was magical, and it filled your heart with so much love and joy. Alistair was new to your life, just as new as he was to Maxwell's, but if one thing was for sure, it was that you loved him just as much as you'd love your own child. And that wasn't lost on Maxwell.

He honestly expected you might have left him. Or grown distant upon learning that he had a son. But once again, you had proven Maxwell Lord IV wrong. You were unlike any other woman he'd ever met, and now that he had the two most important people in his life, he felt like he could accomplish anything. Nothing else mattered anymore. Just you and Alistair.

"My son, only six years old and already has a secret admirer!" Maxwell chuckled, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around Alistair. "But you'll always be my boy, won't you Ali?"

"Yes daddy." Alistair smiled a toothy grin.

"Us Lord men… we always get the ladies." Maxwell told his son, causing you to belly laugh. Maxwell shot you a joking glare and you tried to stifle any more of your giggles.

"On that note," you rolled your eyes and slid out of bed. "How does pancakes for breakfast sound?"

Both Maxwell and his son cheered with joy at the thought of pancakes. You remembered you even had some strawberries and cream left over from the night before which would go well with it. You pulled your silk robe over you and padded to the kitchen.

"Do you remember the plan?" Maxwell whispered quietly once you'd left the room, cradling his son.

"I do." Alistair beamed snuggling into his father's chest. Maxwell smiled a little.

"Tonight, yeah? After dinner." Maxwell reminded his son.

"Do you love her?" Alistair quizzed further, and Max's smile grew even more.

"I do," Max confessed. "More than anything."

"I think she loves you too." Alistair said softly.

"Yeah?"

"I see the way she looks at you," Alistair mumbled. "Like how Ariel looks at Prince Eric."

"Wh-who?" Max furrowed his eyebrows together and Alistair's jaw dropped slightly.

"Okay daddy. We're all watching The Little Mermaid after dinner." Alistair decided in that moment, his tone of voice leaving no room for question.

Maxwell quirked an eyebrow. "Really? And who put you in charge?"

"I'm a Lord," Alistair said proudly. "Besides, someone has to watch over you two lovebirds. Make sure you don't get yourself in trouble."

Maxwell couldn't believe the six year old boy. Alistair was definitely Maxwell's son, that's for sure.

Just as you were finishing up frying the last pancake, the kitchen phone began to ring. You answered it, surprised to hear the voice of your lawyer— or more accurately, Maxwell's lawyer. You had been using him to defend yourself on the case between you and Tristan. He had told you that Tristan was going to be locked away for a very long time, and that you'd won the case. A wash of relief flooded over you, and finally, things were beginning to look up for you and your little family.

You called down Alistair and Maxwell once breakfast was ready, and you served the heart shaped pancakes at the table. Maxwell came down a few minutes later than Alistair and he was holding on envelope. When he sat down opposite you, he passed you the envelope with a smug grin on his face.

"What's this?" you asked curiously, and Maxwell shrugged his shoulders casually as he sipped on his black coffee. He hadn't stopped smirking though. "Maxie, we agreed on no gifts this year?" you sighed, already feeling bad for not getting him anything.

"Baby, it's not exactly a gift. I mean, it's something for both of us. Something that's important to you and well… just open it, please." he urged.

You hesitated, exchanging a glance between Max and Alistair (who was already neck deep in pancakes), before sighing and opening the envelope. Inside was a letter from a retail agent? As you read the letter, your heart began to slam against your chest. No way.

"Max… you bought my old apartment building? The whole building?" you gasped, slamming your hand over your mouth in disbelief. "You bought it in both of our names?"

"Because I knew how much it meant to you. And how much your neighbours meant to you. They were all mistreated by Tristan, and that isn't okay. I bought the property from the council so we're the rightful owners now. And we won't overcharge rent like Tristan did. We don't need to. We'll refurbish the whole place. We'll give the families who live there a safe place that they can call home, and they won't have to worry about any abuse from Tristan, or their utilities falling apart, or bills… it'll be wonderful."

"Maxwell I- I don't know what to say I…" you were utterly speechless, tears filling your eyes. Obviously this was going to cost him a lot of money and a lot to upkeep, but for the first time, it felt like it wasn't even about money. It was a grand gesture, sure, but it was also the most thoughtful and unexpected thing he'd ever done for you.

"I love you." Max revelled and you smiled.

"I love you too." you replied, leaning over the table and pressing a kiss into his lips. You glanced back down at the letter, admiring the way your surname and Max's surname looked together on the sheet of paper.

At the start of December you didn't even own a car. You couldn't even pay rent. Now you were living in a suburban manor with your perfect little family. Amongst a little bit of sugar and a little bit of spice, you had found love, meaning and purpose. You'd found your soulmate.

Just as you thought your life was good and couldn't get any better, you didn't realise what Maxwell Lord had in store for you this evening. Your whole world was about to change.

---

Sugar and Spice taglist: @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-wayson @this-cat-is-dea @blonde2bomshell @maiyaaaa0130 @autumnleaves1991-blog @justanotherblonde23 @softly-sad @laaadygisbooornex3 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @drinkingwhileblogging @kesskirata @honestlystop ​ @promiscuoussatan

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @martellthemandalor

[gentlemancrow]

Written in the Stars Will Have to Do

OK so I saw @hey-there-hunter ‘s JMart Wedding Challenge and I pretty much fan ficced immediately??  Like it was an instantaneous plot bunny that stabbed me in the brain and would not let me free until I made it exist.  SO HERE YOU GO!  Read it here or head on over to AO3 below!  And enjoy some unapologetically aggressive fluff with weddings!  Also subtitled someday Crow will stop abusing excessive astral imagery and symbolism for extended metaphors, but today is not that day.

Read on AO3 instead!

Written in the Stars Will Have to Do

Jonathan Sims always thought of himself as a man with a deep appreciation for the great literature of the world.  A passionate turn of phrase, crystalline motes of clear imagery like snowflakes reflecting light in his mental scape, a devastating contemplation on the nature of good and evil in the hearts of all mankind, everything that could express the beauty and tragedy of the world in ways he never could.  Prose was a bright paintbrush on a ragged canvas of the universe he had known from an early age was swathed in shadow and pain and evil, and those words on those pages, for at least a moment, were another world he could hold in his hands, could cradle and protect, could mourn.  He liked the power of them as well, of the tinkling brightness of alliteration, the oaky sophistication of a well-aged metaphor, the evocativeness of the idiosyncrasy in a simple simile, laying bare truths in ways he never could have articulated for himself.

There was one thing he could not abide by in language, however, one cardinal sin liable to besmirch any piece of lush and sparkling verse or prose and taint it forever.  And that was idioms.

Jon loathed idioms and their dismally quirky cliches dressed in familiarity’s tacky clothing almost as much as he hated spiders.  Perhaps it was something about their reliance on common knowledge and repetition.  He couldn’t bear reading the same book twice, or even a book that felt too familiar, it only made sense that hearing a hackneyed phrase repeated in that awful singsong sardonic tone of someone who knows full well they’re saying something asinine that has been repeated ad nauseum for millennia would scrape at the back of his skull and down his spine.  They were too whimsical and blasé, crutch words for when one’s limited lexicon came up empty, or worse, for ill comedic effect.  They reinforced that staunchly English notion of skirting about the true depth and breadth of emotion for clipped niceties and unfeeling banalities.  Idioms to him were mere verbal window boxes, colorful and meaningless, dressings for untold disasters behind the shining windows they peacocked before.  

He hated them all with vaguely equal rancor, but there was one he could definitely single out as the one he hated the most, and that was the one about hanging the moon.  Such and such thinks you hung the moon, to me you hung the moon, and so on.  This particular rhetorical felony attracted his wrath only marginally because any moon symbolism never failed to feel outlandish and infantile, a mawkish image of love and care rampant in nursery rhymes and cheap commercialized slogans for t-shirts and wall art.  That was the least of it.  He hated the idea of hanging the moon mostly because once, another lifetime ago now it seemed, Tim Stoker had lobbed it in his face in a fit of smoldering rage and he had been completely, complacently, ignorant of its magnitude.  

Funny thing was, he couldn’t even remember what the actual fight had been about any longer.  Though he could remember exactly where he was standing, cornered next to the file cabinet for the year 1985, January through February, and the label had been peeling up on the upper left-hand corner.  He remembered he’d discovered a hole in the elbow of his jumper that morning and he had been obsessing over it all day, fussing with the dangling green thread and tugging at the knit as if it might magically close the wound.  He’d put his finger clean through it with his arms crossed haughtily over his chest without even realizing he’d been fiddling with it when something flippant about Martin came out of his mouth.  It hadn’t even been cruel, he couldn’t even remember how Martin had come up in the argument in the first place, he could only remember Tim’s mouth moving like he wanted to say something else, then him forcibly stopping himself before he snarled.

“Yeah well, god knows why, but he thinks you hung the moon, so you might try treating him at the very least like a human being once in a while.”

It was such a small thing.  Small words for a small feeling cloaked in a chintzy veneer of idiomatic dismissal.  A trembling little bird cupped in his scarred and battered hands and smothered.  Or so he thought.  Sometimes trembling little birds turn out to be phoenixes, and those who looked to someone else to hang the comfort of a wise, silvery moon in the sky already have the hammer and the picture wire at the ready.

As far as Jon was concerned, the moon only rose on their Somewhere Else because Martin deigned to pull the strings every night, not him.

It was Martin who brought him tea every morning, set it down on the breakfast table with that little flip of the tag and the deft, one-fingered turn of the handle toward him.  It was Martin who scolded him because whites are a separate load, Jon, were you raised in a barn?  Martin who talked him through every episode of the Doctor Who reruns that were the only thing their ancient aerial could pick up.  Martin who planted flowers in the garden and brought muffins from the sweet old lady at the grocers because they traded baking recipes.  Martin who still looked at him with diaphanous pools of ethereal moonlight in his eyes and his smile like he alone hung it in the sky over his head to wash him in its radiance.

Even after everything.

Even after it had been Martin who had to hold the knife buried in his chest as he lay gasping wetly for breath in an alleyway in Another Chelsea to keep the hemorrhaging at bay.  Martin who had cupped his face in his bloody hands with tears streaming down his and forced him to focus, furious love blazing in his sea mist eyes as they locked with his, screaming at him and him only, heedless of anything else.

“Look at me.  LOOK at me, Jon!  Stay with me!  Stay with me, DAMN YOU!”

Stay with me had not been a plea, it had been a command.  He had never once said please because it was never an option.  Shivering, breathing blood through his teeth, the streetlights a fading, star studded halo in Martin’s strawberry blond curls be damned, he was right.  Against every tangled thread of fate twisted deep into his flesh, or perhaps because they had been the only thing that held his torn innards together, he made it to the part where he awoke a few fractured times to nothingness, and then to fingers he knew every inch of inextricably bound up in his and a fierce whisper in his ear.

“I’m here, Jon.  I’m still here.  I’ve got you.  I’m going to fix this.  I’m going to get us out of here.  We’re going to be okay.”

It had been Martin who orchestrated their clandestine escape from the hospital the moment they both agreed he was well enough to survive under his rudimentary medical care and before the authorities got too invested in an urban ghost story of two men who didn’t exist.  Not to mention one of which should, by all medical and logical law, be dead.  It had been Martin who had stolen the necessary antibiotics, drugs, and wound care supplies, Martin who had picked enough pockets to buy passage on a midnight train to the only place they could think to go, and expressly told Jon not to ask where he learned how, even though he knew full well he would later.  Martin who had fought for everything and kept him hidden and safe while he lay in a dingy hotel room somewhere in Scotland, drifting in and out of consciousness between kisses, cold compresses, spoonfuls of whatever he could get him to swallow and keep down, and desperate ‘I love you’s.

Martin had been the one who hung the moon even on the nights Jon couldn’t see it, just so he knew it was there, that the light might finally guide him home.  Not him.  He could have never done something so selfless and simple and beautiful.  No not him.  Not The Archivist.  How could he have ever known that?  Stupid, myopic, pedantic, all-seeing and blind.  A blustering, sanctimonious Tiresias in a sweater vest and half-moon glasses.  And how important was the moon, anyway that he was expected to hang it too?  Would not night still come and the stars still shine?  The stupid, vapid saying should have been about the sun anyway.  Something that nourished and guided and warmed.  Not the moon.  Not the thing of night and hungry wolves and quiet loneliness.  Not a thing of the darkness they fought and still not won, not exactly, not in a way that mattered.  How could he have known the weight of such a thoughtless, frivolous, meaningless phrase and how far and how long Martin had borne it for him to protect he who hung his moon?  

He could see the weight of it so clearly now.  He could see it especially on the darkest days, which came, in grotesque mockery, the moment they found something like their safehouse and rest at last.  Jon had conned his way into a job at the village library with an ancient head librarian who didn’t care much for too many questions, or background or credit checks, and was more than happy to pay in cash.  With Martin’s help of course.  Martin himself had taken up stocking at the village grocers, and their life had teetered onto something so close to quaint and normal it suddenly laid bare the gravity of the depths of darkness they had escaped.

No longer did they have to run, no longer did they have to fight, they could finally lay down the chase and curl in upon each other to lick their wounds in quiet.  But without the driving, primal instinct to live, to survive, that ushered in the days where all the hurt came back to roost and brood and fester.  The days where he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, or the days Martin couldn’t bear the sound of his voice, or the days they shouted themselves hoarse, stormed apart for hours then came back, silent and broken, red-eyed and exhausted to hold each other and weep into the spaces between neck and shoulder where it still smelled like love and home.

He could see so painfully clearly the toll following him to the ends of the cosmos and back had etched its marks into his goodness, his body and soul, see how often he would walk down the road from their cabin, just a little ways, to stand on the heather spotted hills and gaze out into the frigid infinity of the gray sea.  Cold terror would grip him then, incite a desperate want to run after him, to throw his arms around him and bring him home, but also the fear it would only be to have him turn to mist and slip through his fingers forever.  He always had a cup of steaming tea waiting for him when he came back, just in case.

But again, and always.  It was Martin who would pick up Jon’s hands, kiss every slender, scarred finger through his tears and be the first one to utter ‘I’m sorry.’  Martin who told him with just a single scathing flash of stern blue eyes and not a single word uttered that he was certainly coming to bed and not banishing himself to the couch like an idiot.  Martin who wrapped him in his arms and warmth and boundless love and reminded him, “One way or another.  Together.  That was the deal, right?  You don’t get to back out now.  No returns, refunds, or exchanges, I’m afraid.”

And even through the deepest sobs he would find the laugh Jon didn’t think was in him.  Martin sifted through the mire and the muck and held fast to the tiny, shining things so easy to lose in the darkness.  Things Jon was certain were lost forever, only to be reignited and hung in the brightening sky of their story.  Even if they weren’t quite the moon yet.

It had also been Martin who, on a perfectly ordinary day, on a simple walk through the local farmers market, stopped to peruse one of the usual unremarkable stalls filled with crystals and oils and trinkets.  Jon had wandered off to procure the parsnips and the strawberries, unrelated recipes Martin swore, he had been tasked with finding.  When he returned he found him, a radiant monument tall among the faceless locals, rusty curls caressing his face in the salty breeze, carved of marble and rose quartz and gazing down at a pair of hematite rings on a velvet display box.  His eyes were distant, but not in the enthralled, disembodied way they were when he looked at the sea, or the broken way when they weren’t speaking, but in the contemplative, regarding of puzzle pieces way when he would look into the fire during their talks and turn his words in his mind over and over again like a rock tumbler until they were polished just right.

“Getting into crystals now, are we?” Jon had joked, “Surely I’m not so dull to be around that that’s becoming an attractive hobby.”

Martin snorted and shook his head.

“Supposed to mean healing, or grounding, or something.  Aligning your meridians, I think the lady said?  Whatever that means,” he elaborated, reaching out to touch.

They clinked weightily together, thick and glossy and the dark astral gray of a moonless night.  Martin turned over the card that went with them and read.

“’A grounding stone that belongs to the planet Mars.  It strengthens our connections to the earth and aids the warrior on their journey.  It is a stone of invincibility, but also fragility.  It balances yin and yang energies with its magnetic properties for the perfect reflection upon one’s own soul, astral, physical, and spiritual.’”

“Hematite, is it?” Jon asked, “Also more commonly called bloodstone.  You know if you scratch it, it leaves a red mark.  Like it’s bleeding.  Watch.”

He picked up one of the rings and firmly ran it down the corner of the card Martin had been reading from.  Sure enough, the black stone had left a faint, but starkly crimson mark on the yellowed paper.

“It BLEEDS?” Martin exclaimed in horror.

“It’s just a kind of iron oxide, so, rust, basically,” Jon explained with a chuckle, “Kind of weirdly romantic if you think about it?  This intimidating shiny black stone like armor, made of iron to boot, but with a bleeding heart at its core.”

“I just thought it was pretty, I didn’t know it bleeds,” Martin had laughed in that incredulous way he always did when Jon was telling him something he didn’t actually want to know, but appreciated anyway.

“I find that the strongest, prettiest things often do,” Jon had said in reply.  He remembered saying that particularly clearly, waxing poetic, feeling a swell of affection for the hugely beautiful man he leaned against and was adorably aghast at bleeding rocks.

“Yeah, I reckon they do,” Martin murmured back.

And then his cheeks had flushed bright red under his freckles and the stone steps of his shoulders crumbled a bit under the crushing ancientness and vastness of what he had originally been pondering.

“So, I mean, before you spoiled it with the blood thing.  I was thinking… Well, I was just having a browse and I saw these and I thought they were quite fetching, and then the lady told me they meant grounding and healing and a journey, like on the card.  A-And there were two of them, all by themselves, and everything else was so colorful and flashy these were just so… Um.  Maybe the blood and rusty iron thing makes it more poetic now, actually?  I don’t know.  Sorry I-  This sounded so much better in my head.”

It wasn’t his fault, Jon remembered thinking.  Martin couldn’t find the words because there weren’t any.  Not in this universe or any other.  Not for what they’d gone through, and especially not for what they meant to each other.

“I guess I was just thinking.  If… I bought one.  And wore it.  Sort of like.  Um.  You know.  Would… Would you-?” he had asked, his voice trembling.

Jon had never said yes, yes of course he would, faster or with more conviction in his life.  And there was that look again, rising from the ashes, that flooding of golden, unbound love and light, of eyes turned sky blue, of looking at the man who hung his moon in the sky come back to him.  He could still hang Martin’s moon all over again after so many nights of black clouds and darkness, even if it was only paper.  They’d paid for the rings in rumpled bills, exchanged them right then and there, and kissed each other as the crowd of oblivious people in a world they did not belong in flowed like a river around them.  Jon forgot the bag with the parsnips and strawberries.

But it didn’t matter.  It didn’t even matter that Martin’s fit nicely on his ring finger, but Jon had to wear his on his thumb, and even then sometimes on a chain around his neck for fear of losing it.  It didn’t matter that it was the closest thing they were ever going to get to a proposal and a wedding, consigned now forever to the shadows in a borrowed reality with only each other.  Because it was theirs, and they could begin to figure out how their broken pieces fit back together again.

But like most things that don’t matter, it didn’t until it did.

It began as simple things.  Seeing a wedding on some program they weren’t actually paying much attention to and Martin making a flippant, innocuous comment as he combed his fingers lovingly through Jon’s long and silvered chestnut hair in his lap about how he would have loved to have a cake that had a different flavor on every tier at their wedding.  Just so everyone could have something they liked.  And Jon woke up from his half catlike stupor and looked up at him with such aching regret as those words settled into the pit of his heart alongside ‘he thinks you hung the moon.’  

And soon they began to gather a collection of completely innocent remarks that ran the gamut from ‘would they have worn black or white?  Or one of each?  I don’t know… does it really matter?  And were these engagement rings or wedding rings?  I don’t know.  Neither?  both?  And do we say husband instead of boyfriend now?  Fiancé?  Whatever you want, Martin…’ To the heavier, cancerous weights that sank to the bottom of his gut, even below hanging the moon, like ‘I know Tim would have thrown the most amazing bachelor party for both of us, and his mum had always talked about him getting married someday like it was a farfetched pipe dream, but she would be happy for them, he thinks.’

He could never answer those questions.  There was too much at stake, too much finality and familiarity in them, a strange weightlessness in a world that weighed far too much.  The sun and moon continued their eternal dance of time, ignorant, unbothered, but Jon kept collecting those silent debts of normal life, secreting them away in a hidden singularity in his heart that only grew heavier and metastasized farther the more times Martin walked out at night, not him, beaming starlight from his eyes and his fingertips, to hang the moon again.  So soft, so full of wooly cows and pink heather and the smell of tea and sea salt and Martin’s shampoo on the pillow next to him did it become, that it was almost inevitable that one morning Jon awoke absolutely convinced none of it could be real.  

The moment he decided that, everything made so much more sense.  He could breathe again.  There was a reason he could never sit still, never just feel at ease or talk about the future like it was a real thing that could still happen.  He knew why the silence made his brain itch and why he still glanced around corners and glowered at anyone who dared let their gaze linger on his Martin too long.  Why Martin’s ring fit and his didn’t.  There was too much debt to the universe to be paid, too many broken promises, too many corpses in his wake, he had done nothing to deserve this idyllic life of love and peace and smallness and Martin.  It had to be Her doing, It’s doing, some carefully woven torture chamber that would lure them to the apex of their joy, the center of the web, where they would just be devoured over and over to empty husks and set up like chess pieces to fill with love and light just to knock down again.  He wasn’t free after all.

Jon had been halfway into his coat and halfway out the door to do, he didn’t know, something, anything, to go to the library to use their computer and research something he didn’t know he was looking for when Martin had seized his hand and whirled him around.

“Jon.  STOP.  It’s over.”

And he’d stopped.  He’d looked into those baleful blue eyes, fallen into their depths, landed on the precipice of madness, and broken.  It wasn’t over.  Not for him.  He finally understood.  It was still there.  The Eye.  It always had been.  Though not really, he understood slowly as he wept on his knees in their doorway into Martin’s chest, it had indeed closed forever on him, but it lingered as distant static, like a phantom limb, a metaphysical itch that could never be scratched.  Martin had cradled him close and listened, listened so patiently as he ripped the jagged black fear from the deepest, ugliest part of his heart, hauled it up bloody and messy from his throat and finally laid it bare for both of them to see.  And when it was done and he couldn’t cry anymore Martin had locked eyes with him in a way that made him forget any others could have ever existed outside of crystalline blue and filled with moonlight.

“Listen to me.  I know you think you have some cosmic burden to bear.  That you’re still wearing some… some fucked up crown and sitting on a throne of skulls and death and eyeballs or whatever image you want to put there, and that you have to sit and hurt and watch over everything so it doesn’t happen again, but...  Sorry, Jon, but that’s bullshit.  It’s just a scar now.  That’s all.  Just like the rest of them.  Ugly and beautiful and proof that you —Jonathan Sims— are still alive.  And you are not The Archivist anymore.  You’re just mine.  My Jon.”

He’d held his Jon’s stunned face in his hands and peppered kisses over the pock marks in his skin, over the slash on his throat, the burnt fingers that still couldn’t bend quite right, even the one on his chest, the one almost always hidden by fabric but the one he didn’t need to see to find.  His heart and fingers would always remember exactly where it was.  And he’d kept his lips there a moment, then turned his ear to his chest and wrapped his arms around his waist to listen to his heartbeat like a trembling little bird.

“If I can hear it and feel it.  So can you,” he whispered.

Unsteady fingers curled desperately into Martin’s silky locks, hematite loop cool against his scalp, “Thank you…”

Martin stayed for the kiss on top of his head he knew was coming and smiled.

“Okay, so it’s simple to fix if you think about it,” he murmured into Jon’s chest, “We just need that thing, you know?  The thing that makes you feel like you’re still doing the thing, but you’re not.  What was the word for it again?  A placeholder?  Like when you quit smoking and you hold a pencil or a straw or something that’s not actually a cigarette so you can wean yourself off the ritual?”

Jon blinked owlishly down at him as he dried his eyes.

“A… placebo?  Are you talking about a placebo?”

“Yeah!  That’s it!  We just need to find you a placebo for Knowing things!  That’s all.  Like… reality shows, or-or zoo cams or something!  We’ll figure it out together.  Alright, love?  I promise you.  It’ll be okay.”

Jon was skeptical, so very skeptical, but if Martin was determined to find a balm to soothe his jagged, ontological scars he would happily play the part of lab rat for him.  They’d tried a myriad things to replicate the feeling of Knowing and looking something deep within him still craved.  The zoo and animal livestreams were a bust, cute and entertaining as they were, but animals weren’t ever the purview of The Eye and the camera itself was barely a scrap.  Reality shows came closer, the more salacious the better, but even that temporary fix wore off when Jon’s disgust with the overall content and participants outweighed any benefit.  Martin was just happy to have finally converted him to Bake Off, at least.  They tried people watching in the square in the village, but it made Jon far too self-conscious and guilty.  He used the binoculars exactly once, and that was to look at the cows in the fields, and the choose-your-own-adventure books Martin had been certain would strike a sagacious chord wound up in the donation bin at the library.  But that was when he was struck with a bolt of genius.

Unbeknownst to Jon, which brought him no small measure of glee, Martin ordered, received, and then set up with a literal bow in their back garden the finest telescope he could afford on his meager savings.  He’d researched for days, asked on every amateur astronomer forum he could find, and had it delivered to the grocers so he could make it a proper surprise.  He’d even gone so far as to attack and blindfold a hapless Jon the moment he made it home from work on the day it was ready, and stood behind him giddily bouncing as he tore the tea towel away from his eyes.

“A… Telescope?” he’d blurted dumbly.

“Yes!  It’s perfect, right?  I asked around to find the one that had all the best features, and this one has the best overall magnification and the most lenses, but it doesn’t have the little satellite positioning thing?  I figured you wouldn’t want that anyway, you always like figuring things out and finding things on your own better.”

Martin had been positively radiant.  Jon had just stared at the gawping black tube and chewed the inside of his cheek as he processed what to say.

“I mean… thank you, Martin, really.  It was a sweet thought, but if the binoculars didn’t-“

“Screw the binoculars!  This is different!” Martin happily insisted, “You can look at so much more!  Stars and planets and galaxies and what have you, and it can maybe be sort of like you’re looking for other worlds?  Wormholes or whatever?  Or signs of The Fears and where they’ve gone?  Or even if the stars are the same here as they were back before?  Space literally has so many things to LOOK at we can’t even count them!  This has got to be it!”

Jon tried to smile and laugh and agree to try it out, at the very least, if only because Martin was beaming so sweetly with pride and hope.  Though that first night he didn’t, ushering them back in with promises of tomorrow, Martin, I promise tomorrow.  Tomorrow had been a lie.  As had been the next night.  In fact, it took Jon a full week to even remember they even had a telescope, and that was only after getting the smuggest, Cheshire grin out of Martin after casually mentioning there would be a visible, if partial, lunar eclipse that night.  He’d relented, only because he’d entrapped himself, and they’d both bundled up, looked in the manual for the best size lens to view the moon with, poured a few glasses of wine, and turned their eyes to the stars.

Martin had gone first, gripping the eyepiece and adjusting the focus all the while gasping in awe.  It was so beautiful he’d burst into poetry with a crooked grin.

“Art thou pale for weariness?  Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, wandering companionless among the stars that have a different birth, and ever changing, like a joyless eye that finds no object worth its constancy?  Sounds a little familiar, eh?” he joked, casting a wry look over his shoulder.

Jon rolled his eyes fondly.

“Gross.  Keats again?”

“Nope, Shelley this time, and even he thinks you ought to have a look at the moon.  I think you’ll find you have a lot in common.”

Jon had sighed obligingly and shuffled to the telescope, fully expecting to look at something bright and round with a bit of a shadow on it that was distinctly unremarkable, have another glass of wine, and then go back inside to snuggle by the fire.  What he saw in that tiny pinhole of light pierced straight through the hazel brown of his eye and plunged him into another world entirely.

The sands of the moon glowed the purest white in the refracted light of the distant sun with which it waltzed.  He could see in crisp, shadowy relief the innumerable scars she bore, the depth and breadth of Ptolemaeus, the boundless lonely flatness of the maria, named for the oceans they were once thought to be, an insult to the rock plains forged a millennia ago in birth by cataclysmic fire.  Every crater remained wrought in perfect, frozen detail with no erosion or foliage to slowly heal them over, and she beamed them proudly, ostentatiously in her heavenly light.  A hulking, ancient protectorate, hung by the hands of creation at the dawn of time for a fledgling planet, hundreds of thousands of miles away, and yet so crystal clear and unafraid as he perused her millions of years of cosmic sentinel through a lens.  It was dwarfing, humbling, viscerally awe inspiring in a way he dared not voice for fear of snuffing out the fragile glow of wonder and excitement welling in his chest he had been so certain was gone forever.

Astronomy had never been something that had particularly interested Jon, back when his entire reality from the moment his childish hands had touched a single book was spent peering into shadows and watching his own back.  There was no point in wondering what lay among the stars when danger and death lurked so close behind with slavering jaws ever poised at his throat on terra firma, but now.  Now, he had been living in an alternate world, dimension, reality, somewhere, he couldn’t even say for sure.  He’d been hurled potentially through the very stars that twinkled coquettishly above, flashed through their nebulous veils and curtains under their indifferent gaseous gazes, but seen nothing.  Here was a vast expanse of complete chaotic indefiniteness inviting him in to see what few had ever seen, to guess and hypothesize and gesture wildly at secrets only the stars could keep.  To Know.

Jon had jerked back so suddenly from the telescope to survey the entirety of the astral dome above them that Martin had choked on his wine.

“Jon?  Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, I…” he’d murmured, only even half hearing that Martin had said anything at all, stars reflected in his wondering dark eyes, “I’m fine, I just… How… How much more can this see?  How deep does it go?”

Jon hadn’t seen the victorious smirk on Martin’s face as he set down his wine glass and picked up the instruction manual and lens guide.  They’d watched the rest of the eclipse, of course, marveling through the lens at the inky trickle of shadow over craggy white, but then they’d changed the lens to the strongest one, according to the guide, and spent the rest of the evening triangulating their position beneath their slice of the universe and plotting out the various stars, planets, and constellations above.  Jon had even dashed inside to grab a mostly blank notebook and had filled several pages with notes and observations and things to research later, all while Martin held back tears watching him come so alive over a project he didn’t even know he needed.  Eventually though, sleepiness and cold claimed him, and he kissed his beloved goodnight and left him, more than gladly, to ride out the intellectual flare up until it burnt both him and itself out.  

Martin had no clue what time it was when he finally returned, and it didn’t even matter.  All that mattered was at some point, a practically frozen Jon had climbed into bed, snuggled up close behind and wrapped his arms around him to kiss the back of his neck so softly like the wings of a butterfly and whisper.

“Thank you.”

Another victorious smirk and a loving murmur.

“Told you so.”

Where there had been nothing but an Eye shaped hole in him, scarred around the edges and aching in its vacuum, Jon had filled it with the names of nebulas and quasars, of the myth of Andromeda, and Orion, and Castor and Pollux, or Hercules, and why they had all been hung in the stars for eternity.  The stories were much the same as he remembered, but he’d found slight eccentricities, tiny irregularities in the sky which fascinated him even more so.  Night after night he would look at a different astral body, chart it down in his notebook, then come bounding in with starlight beaming from his eyes and his fingertips with some cry of eureka.

“Martin!  Did you know here Polaris is in the south and Sirius is in the north?”

“Martin!  Did you know the Andromeda Galaxy is actually a little closer to the Milky Way here?”

“Martin, you have to come see this!  Oh, no it’s not weird this time, it’s just I finally got Saturn in the telescope and you can actually see the rings!”

His nightly herald would always be different, but Martin would always rise from the comfort of the couch, put his slippers on, and let Jon talk as long as he needed to about his latest discovery, watching him smile again while he, too, watched the matching smile it never failed to ignite illuminate Martin’s face and they lit each other up in the fused brilliance of a binary star.

Martin no longer hung the moon for Jon, he’d finally just up and quite literally given it to him, and there was no mortal way to repay him for that.  Or so he’d thought.  It came to him, as most flashes of brilliance do, on a night he hadn’t even been thinking about it at all.  All he had been doing was sitting in a lawn chair with his telescope long after Martin had gone to bed, chewing his pencil idly, vaguely missing a cigarette and pondering notes on Vega and Lyra between watching it through his lens.  He’d been stuck for days on Vega and its potentiality for another solar system and what that could imply for their new Earth and their new sun, as well as Lyra and the tragic tale of Orpheus and his doomed love.  Even in their new reality he still turned back at the end of the story, still could not contain the roiling, effusive adoration to his own downfall.

Bitterness had risen like bile in the back of Jon’s throat as he replayed the myth again in his head, unsure why it was vexing him and rewinding in his brain so torturously.  “Stupid, stupid man, if he’d only just…” he’d thought again and again, each time giving the star-crossed musician a different decision, a different choice, urging him down another path somewhere, anywhere along his journey, but in the end, he’d always looped back around to the original.  It was the point of the story, after all.  Not so much the love itself or even the loss of it, but the power of it over one man and the creation born from his mourning and eventual destruction.  Patently Greek.  But the chorus would always begin again in Jon’s head.  If he’d kept his Eurydice, if his songs had been happy, if he hadn’t spent the rest of his life mourning so intensely he was eventually destroyed for it, would he have become the paragon of healing he was, the oracle, the lynchpin of the fate of the world he had eventually become?  Which of them was the stupider man?

Jon was only mortal now, he was no longer all-seeing oracle and dark savior, he had no authority to say, but it was a trifle easier to ponder the hubris of Orpheus instead of his own.  He couldn’t help but think, achingly, sometimes the heroes just deserved to pull their beloved from the pit of Tartarus, promise to love them for eternity, and then simply get married, ride off into the sunset, and live happily ever after.  A story wasn’t a story if it didn’t write itself upon the very bones and sinews of its heroes, that was the law of the universe, but when the story was done and the cracks and fissures in their tissues had faded to myth and legend, what became of the heroes who did not die a tragic or heroic death and were not hung in the stars?  What happened to heroes left behind?  Twisting his bloodstone ring on his thumb idly as it caught the shivering fire of those stars in its dark mirrored surface, the musical arrow of the muses pierced his heart, wide-eyed in wonder.  He’d asked the universe, but he already knew the answer.  He’d always known.  He knew, and he knew it with such clarion joy as he had never known anything before.

He could no longer be the man who hung Martin’s moon, he hadn’t been for a long time.  That much was clear to him, but he could certainly do something else.  Perhaps they had grown past the need for moon hangings in the first place.  He knew how their story ended.

It took months of saving, secreting, preparation, and then finally just simply waiting for the perfect, clear night.  The moment it came, the moment he knew it was the night, Jon struck without hesitation.  Poor Martin wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the couch, into Jon, when he returned from a late shift at the grocers, but found himself instead stuffed right back into his coat with a picnic basket in hand and hauled out into the frigid night in a flurry of Jon with little time to protest.  He bounded up the hill behind their little cottage beneath a perfect blanket of stars flaming coldly overhead, trailing Martin’s hand in his behind with his breath coming in silvery puffs of clouds, and paying no heed to the whining.

“Jon, whatever it is, does it have to be NOW?” Martin panted, “I am absolutely knackered and it’s beyond freezing and wouldn’t it be nicer just to curl up with a cuppa and fall asleep in front of Star Wars or something?  Doesn’t that have enough stars and space in it?”

Dauntless, Jon only tugged harder.

“There’s tea in the basket, and I’ve seen Star Wars.  And yes, it has to be tonight, it’s really important, I promise.”

“Look.  I love you.  So much.  You know this, and please know it is with the utmost love and deepest affection in my heart that I point out that you say that every time, and you’ve still shown me Pluto like, a hundred separate times.  While I quite like it, and I still feel sorry for it being bumped out of the solar system and all, it’s just a dot?  How many times can you look at a dot?” Martin sighed.

His words finally threw a caltrop into Jon’s warpath, and he paused, turning over his shoulder woundedly.

“What?  No, it’s not Pluto, I swear just- Please, Martin?  I’ll never ask again if you don’t want to, but just for tonight, please?” he pleaded.

Martin winced, and immediately folded under the onslaught of doleful honeyed brown eyes under a nimbus of stars.

“Oh, lord there you go with the puppy dog eyes.  Okay, okay fine, but there better be a nip of whiskey in this,” he chided lovingly with a gesture at the thermos in the basket.

The smile flared back to life brightly on Jon’s face as he turned back up the craggy little footpath to the top of the hill.

“Of course, hot toddy with tea.”

“Ooh, lovely, you do know me.”

The rest of the way was trivially short to the small, flat hilltop surrounded by heather where Jon had already set up a blanket and the telescope over a pristine vista of the dark line where the stars sank into the sea.  He ushered Martin to sit down first, then perched on his hip beside him and poured him a generous helping of tea and whiskey from the thermos before pouring his own.

“Thanks, much.  Right then, what exactly are we up here to look at that we couldn’t see from our garden?” Martin asked, accepting his cup of potent hot toddy and sipping it gratefully around the lemony steam that billowed up.

Taken aback by the sudden logic lobbed into the center of his romantic posturing, Jon looked momentarily stunned, as if someone had slapped him upside the head.

“Oh!  Oh, um, well-!  Ahah, that is to say- Uh.  There is a reason for all this.  It’s not that we couldn’t see it from our garden, we very much could have.  B-But it’s so beautiful up here, and you can kind of hear the sea?  And it’s nice and peaceful, and the heather is still blooming a bit and um…” he trailed off, cheeks burning.

“Okay…?” Martin probed, frowning a little.

“Er, actually...  It’s less about the stars than it is- W-Well it is about the stars.  Let’s get that clear.  But to be completely honest I mostly just… I-I well.  There’s something I need to tell you?”

Jon was ill-prepared for the look of abject horror on Martin’s face as he went paler than the moon overhead.

“Shit, what is it?  Did you find something?  You saw something?  There’s been a sign of The Fears?  Oh god it’s not HER is it?” he asked frantically, nearly slopping hot toddy all over his lap.

“What?  No!  No, none of that!” Jon spluttered, aghast.

Martin regained a modicum of color in his face and breathed in measuredly.

“Okay, so then what is it?  Oh god, you’re not… Jon you’re not ill, or something, are you?  Please, you can just tell me if-“

“No, I am not ill either, damn it, Martin!  If you would just listen to me!  I-!” Jon moaned exasperatedly, “I just wanted to do something… nice.  Something nice for you.  And nicer than I normally would because I am apparently much worse at crafting romantic moments than I thought and-“

“Wait…” Martin cut in, eyes gleaming with realization, “Jonathan Sims… Are you grand gesturing?”

“Well I am certainly trying but you are making it exceedingly difficult!” he retorted, red in the face and breathless.

“Oh my god, you are!  I’m so sorry!” Martin laughed brightly, “Oh god Jon you poor thing I’m so sorry, I’m awful, I’m the absolute worst!  No please!  Don’t let me spoil it.  Please go on.”

Grinding the heel of his palm into his forehead, Jon tried to summon the words again, only for Martin’s strong, warm hands to take it from him and tip his chin up to gaze into his eyes.

“Hey.  Hey, Jon.  Look at me,” he breathed, looking into his eyes idolatrously, “I’m sorry.  I love you.  You can tell me.”

Taking the steadiness from those clear blue depths he needed, Jon focused on them, on the strawberry blond curls tossing in the icy breeze, of the kiss of chilled pink under his freckles, and that eternal, sunshine smile.

“Okay,” he finally answered, smiling softly.

With a deep, shuddering breath, and a long swig of whiskey laced tea for good measure, Jon drew himself up and fished deep in his soul for the words he had waited a millennium to say.

“Okay… So here it is.  Um… I’ve um, I’ve had a lot of time alone lately with my new hobby, as it were.  So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.  A lot of it is overly complicated and ridiculous and doesn’t deserve to live outside of my head but… a lot of it has been about you, about us.  And I know we don’t need to-to put a label on us or put us into a… a box or anything like that.  But every time I look at this ring on my finger, I can’t help but remember we never actually talked about what they meant,” he began, holding out his left hand and fidgeting with the loose band around his thumb.

“Oh Jon, don’t worry about that.  It was just me being a big sappy, sentimental dork.  And if I recall correctly, we’d had a pretty awful row a night or two before, and I just wanted to feel close to you again, I guess?  We both know what they mean to us.  It doesn’t matter,” Martin assured him sweetly.

“Except that it does!” Jon insisted passionately, “That’s the point!  You are a big sappy, sentimental dork, Martin.  I bet you were the kid that had a dream wedding all planned in a notebook with pictures cut out of magazines and everything.  I adore that about you, but big sappy sentimental dorks should have big sappy, sentimental moments like huge, expensive seaside weddings with three-flavor cakes and all your friends and family and rose petals and dove releases and whatever else your heart could dream up.”

Martin snickered and shook his head, charmed at least by the mental image of kissing Jon on a seaside cliff at sunset while doves flew in glorious formation around them and everyone they had ever known and loved cheered.

“Pfft, I don’t need a grand wedding and all that, I just need-”

“Me.  I know,” Jon finished for him with a smirk, “I knew you’d say that.  Maybe not.  But you deserve one.  And I know I don’t use that word lightly, but it’s necessary in this case.  You deserve it.  All of it.  Me on one knee with a ring in a box, you deserve us picking out flowers and tuxedos and arguing over the font on the invitations.  You deserve Tim’s awful bachelor party and laughing at me at the altar because I had to read my vows off a card and they’re still so stiff and awkward and they pale in comparison to the beautiful poem you wrote about me.  You deserve smiling so hard your cheeks hurt and crying as we exchange rings.  All of it.”

Martin weighed his words carefully on his tongue with a sip of his boozy tea to chase away ghosts of things that never even were.

“I mean, sure, not going to say I never wanted that.  And I did have that stupid wedding notebook, by the way.  But all that became a pipe dream the minute we wound up here, right?  No use being upset about something that can never be.”

“That may be so, but the crux of it is… you also contented yourself with the idea of it never coming true not because we’re here, but because you didn’t think I wanted it,” Jon answered, his unspoken truth hanging heavy in the chill night air between them, “Every time you tried to tell me you wanted to be with me forever, I brushed it off and painted it gray and tucked it away and carried on the way we always were like nothing happened and it didn’t matter.  Because it was alright, really, you were just so happy to have what we have, that I didn’t die in your arms that night, that we were still together after everything.  That I at least kept that promise after I’d broken so many.  You were so grateful just for what you were gifted after we thought we would end with nothing you didn’t dare think to ask the universe for more and I am so, so sorry it took me so long to see that, Martin.  I’m so sorry.”

His voice broke.  The breath caught in Martin’s chest as he reached out to touch his wrist comfortingly.

“Jon, I-“

“No, please.  Please let me finish I… I can’t give you any of those things.  I can’t give you our friends back, I can’t give you cake and doves and the sunset and crying through vows in front of the vicar.  I can’t even give you an elopement at the register office because we still don’t legally exist.  And I guess for a long time I resented myself for that.  For all of it.  For stealing that from you, for dragging you through literal hell only to give you a shadow of a life stuck here with me because I betrayed you.  But- no stop, don’t say anything yet I’m not done.  B-But now I finally realize.  You’re right, Martin.  You were always right.  It doesn’t matter.  Those things are all just… things.  I said to you once, a long time ago, and I’m still not even sure if you really heard me, that I didn’t want to just survive.  It was true then, and maybe it wasn’t true for a while, but it’s certainly true again.  We did not fight tooth and nail to just survive.  We fought to live, and live together.  So what I’m saying is… I know now I don’t have to give you tuxedos and white roses as long as I give you something… Something to prove to you that you are my everything, my entire world, something to show you that I love you more than I have loved anything in my entire life.  That I want forever with you.  S-So I…” he trailed off, sucking in his breath to give his gesture of undying love the ardor and grandeur it deserved, “I bought us a star.”

The proclamation rang out like the toll of a bell, its gravity sonorous and quaking.  Martin blinked.

“You… I’m sorry?” he squeaked.

Jon set his empty thermos cup aside, flailed his hands in the air and shook his head frantically

“I-I know, I know it sounds mental just hear me out!” he protested, “Technically I didn’t buy the star, if we want to get picky about it.  I mean obviously no one can own a star.  Just the rights to name it?  It’s a thing you can do online.  I was a bit gobsmacked it was real to be honest.  I just had this silly idea when I was out looking at the stars.  I was looking at Lyra and thinking about you and Orpheus, and I… W-Well I just typed it in, ‘can you name a star?’ and it came right up.  Right then and there.  It um… comes with… hold on.”

Remembrance placed a gentle bookmark down on Jon’s fluttering thoughts, and he rummaged in the picnic basket for a moment before pulling out a navy-blue manila folder covered in stars and full of the paperwork and certificates that had come with registering theirs.  He handed it to Martin, who took it in place of his own empty cup, numb, muscles quivering under his jaw, and opened it to the glittering gold typeface that proclaimed ‘Congratulations!’.

“It comes with paperwork, too!  See?  So, it’s official, at least?  The Jon-Martin star.  Not a marriage license I know, but at least our names are together on something legal?  Our real names?  I figured even if we manage the fake identity thing we’d have to get married as not us.  Not really.  So…  I-It could be like our marriage certificate?” Jon explained, chewing his lower lip.

Martin said nothing as his hand turned the pages of the documentation, his eyes distant in a way Jon had never seen before.  Not disembodied and enthralled, not broken, not even regarding puzzle pieces.

“Oh!  Um, also I-I got us a binary star.  I forgot to mention that bit,” he went on, filling the sudden void, “It’s, ah- What a binary star is- It’s technically two?  But they’re caught up in each other’s gravity and they orbit each other so tightly they look like one star together, one that just shines a little brighter.  They’re bound together forever by the most powerful cosmic force in the universe.  Just like us.”

Only silence answered, punctuated by one last crisp whisper of paper, and then the folder closing with Martin’s spread fingers atop it, bloodstone gleaming in the vivid pale light of the night.  Jon’s heart pitched frantically in his chest, and desperate, stranded tears pricked at his eyes.

“I uh… I would have rather gotten us a whole constellation.  Heh, you know?  But they don’t do that, obviously,” he tried softly, his fingers barely brushing Martin’s knuckles, “They record heroes in constellations, after all.  Great deeds, doomed romances, lovers who can be together no other way… That would have been a better way to honor us, I think.  Our story.  A-And who knows?  Maybe back on our world there are a few new stars to remember what we did, to mark the place we left it, so that everyone we left behind can look up and remember us.  They don’t know how the story really ended, and they probably never will, but we do.  We do, and I want to end it right here, right now.  With our star shining above us ‘and they lived happily ever after.’”

Martin still said nothing, but his head bowed, casting a slice of shadow over his eyes, and his shoulders quivered as a thin, bright line of wet silver trickled down his cheek.  Jon felt the very sky shatter above and begin to crumble around him.

“Please… M-Make no mistake, Martin.  P-Perhaps the gesture is silly and meaningless, but it was all I could think to do to go with everything I’ve said tonight.  Martin… Martin, don’t you see?  These are my wedding vows to you.  This is me saying ‘I do’ and also ‘Martin K. Blackwood would you do me the honor of making me the happiest man in the universe?’  All at once.  This is me saying I swear to you I will be yours, through everything, until the end of time.  M-Maybe I wasn’t before.  Maybe I was still punishing myself, but I’m telling you, I’m ready now to have my happily ever after.  With you, Martin.  If you’ll have me.  If I haven’t-“

He would never finish.  In a dizzying blur of blue folder, flashing hematite, and a wreath of golden curls, Martin kissed the words off his lips.  He kissed him so hard and so fierce, through wracking sobs with his hands woven so raptly into his long, wavy locks he thought his lips would bruise and his fragile soul would finally shatter to pieces in Martin’s arms.  Undone, all Jon could do was surrender and kiss him back with equal passion, thumbing away the hot tears as they spilled freely down his cheeks and anointed them both with their cleansing, hoary heat.  Their lips parted and they panted softly against each other in the space between, each afraid to break the sacred, pulsing silence.

“You’re crying,” Jon whispered at length, “I’ve said something wrong. Martin, darling I’m so sorry.  I never meant to-”

Martin laughed, raspy with tears, but ethereal, sparkling, like stardust floating on the breeze.

“People are allowed to cry when they’re happy you stupid, silly man,” he murmured in between kissing him again, and again.

“Oh.  Oh.”

He kissed him one last time, that idiot man who always burnt the toast and always knew the facts but never knew what to say, who finally figured it out and bought him a star, and threw his arms around him, enveloping his slight, fragile form protectively in his embrace.

“I love you.  I love you so much.”

Jon sank into that warm, familiar comfort and buried his face in his shoulder.

“I love you, too, Martin.  I want to be yours for the rest of my life.  I want to be me, I want to be us.”

“I know.  I’ve always known.  Oh god, you do know that right?  I know that you love me, it’s written in everything you do and say.  I have never, ever once doubted you love me with everything you are.  Even in the moments I was afraid that… that maybe we just weren’t meant to be together, I still knew it wouldn’t be because you didn’t love me.  Never because you didn’t love me.  Just maybe that we didn’t fit together anymore,” Martin replied in a small voice through his tears as they spilled down his cheeks.

As much as he wanted to vehemently deny there was ever a chance they might have not fit back together again after they had both been so shattered, to kiss him and tell him not in a million years would there ever have been a future where they weren’t Jon and Martin against the world, Jon knew it to be inescapably true.

“I’m so sorry you ever had to be afraid of that,” he swore, digging his fingers into Martin’s back pointedly, “After everything.  After we fought so hard to escape fear itself.  That I almost let it truly win in the end.  That I couldn’t just let go… Because… Because this was never about The Eye, was it?”

A heave of breath and its shuddering exhale shook Martin’s body free of lifetimes of grief, and fear, of ugliness carried far beyond the borders of their souls.  His fingers curled tighter in unspoken reply.

“No Jon, no it wasn’t, but I’m so very glad you finally figured that out.”

“Me, too…” he whispered.

They held each other in the quiet wake of being a moment and let the astral plane wheel calmly overhead.  An impatient star twinkled.

“Wait… you never answered me,” Jon finally said as he pulled back, sliding his elegant fingers down Martin’s strong arms.

“Huh?” Martin blurted, scrubbing under his eyes with the sleeve of his coat.

“About marrying me tonight.  You never actually said yes, so…”

A twinkle in his eye and a slight mischief to his grin, Jon dove back into the picnic basket and emerged with a velvet ring box.  Martin’s hands flew to his mouth.

“You didn’t.”

“Of course I did!  Nothing fancy, but I thought it was high time to retire the blood rings,” he explained rising from his former perch on his hip to kneel properly.

The box cracked neatly open, and inside lay a simple, white gold band with a tiny circle of milky moonstone embedded in it on a midnight-blue satin cushion, blindingly bright against the dark.  Martin sobbed joyfully all over again.

“So, uh… I suppose if it had just been us, if we’d just been together, without everything, and we’d arrived at this moment.  I would have done much the same.  I would have brought you somewhere beautiful, somewhere I could teach you some inane fact you didn’t actually care about, but liked because it came from me.  Emulsifiers in ice cream and rum raisin…” they both snickered, “And I would have tried my best to make it into some sort of romantic metaphor but completely bunged it up and you would be laughing as I got down on one knee, just like this.  And it would have just been simple.  To the point.  Just… Will you marry me?  So…”

Jon assumed the traditional position, on one knee, arms outstretched, his every slender point a star in a perfect constellation of love.

“Will you marry me?”

Their eyes met, across a thousand different realities, across a thousand different worlds, carried on celestial winds to fall hopelessly, inexorably, into each other’s orbit.

“Yes, yes I do believe I will.”

With one last farewell kiss upon it for what it had meant for them both, Jon slipped the bloodstone ring from Martin’s finger and replaced it with the delicate band made of starlight.  It took its place radiantly, and shone as Martin drew his hand back to admire it with an equally radiant grin before it dimmed with concern.

“But what about you?” he asked worriedly as he watched the old ring entombed lovingly in the box.

Jon only smirked and produced a second box from the basket, which he offered on his open palm out to Martin.

“Naturally, I got one for myself.  Couldn’t pass up a chance to get a wedding ring that actually fits, could I?  It’s just… Don’t you think you deserve to give it to me the way you would want?” he urged.

Martin took the box eagerly, biting his lower lip in thought.

“Not sure you want to give me that freedom.  I had about five different ways of asking you in my head and all of them you would have hated so, so much.  But I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t kind of the point,” he answered wryly.

Jon chortled.

“Sorry I, the unromantic one, sprung this on you, the romantic one.  But I did want to surprise you.  I-I mean you can still write me a vows poem later?  If you want to, of course.  I’d love to have it, even if I don’t actually get to hear it at our wedding.”

Martin’s face flushed immediate crimson and his eyes darted coyly away as he toyed with the wedding band box in his lap.

“Oh that?  A-Actually I… I have it memorized, i-if you really wanted to hear it.”

“You- WHAT?” gasped Jon, his cheeks flushing in tandem.

“Oh yeah, I wrote my vows poem for you ages ago and I’ve gone over it so many times I know it by heart.  It was comforting, okay?  I-I’d read it again when times were good and I thought maybe you’d actually- um… a-and when times were not so good, when you were gone, in your own head, when I was afraid we were broken for good, whenever I needed it.  I’ve read it over a thousand times and never changed a thing from the first time I penned it.  Never needed to.  I’m surprised I haven’t recited it in my sleep at this point,” Martin admitted sheepishly.

Jon’s entire body flushed with a solar heat that melted his joints and his heart into a swirling flare of adulation.

“I can think of no better way, then, to receive my ring,” he breathed, reaching out to cup Martin’s cheek in his hand, “I’ve had my turn, now it’s yours.”

In mirror ballets of love exchanges, Martin cradled Jon’s hand against his cheek as he spoke the first lines of the vows etched ever on his being softly into his palm.

“Let he who, shadow dwelling, must In paper, pen, and book be bound Shake off the chains of dark and rust And chart his own bright fate unfound.

Let he with lifelong burdens borne Cut paper wings with thread of gold And hand in hand, the sky forsworn Flit clouds and sun in laughter bold.

Let he whose blood and soldier’s ken The world did shield from dark and fear Heal fast those wounds, be whole again And sleep at last, held close and dear.

Bring him to me with spirit free With stars in eyes and music sung From lips a joyful promise be One soul conjoined, one fate’s thread strung.

Two hearts rejoice in love renowned. We lift our heads, alive, uncrowned.”

He waited until the last couplet to pull the ring from the box and slide it onto Jon’s finger where it too, fit perfectly, like it had always been there, and shone defiantly bright in the moonlight.  Jon wept.  He had been weeping since the first words of verse left his beloved’s lips, but seeing that ring like a piece of his missing soul returned to him undammed the tears effusively.

“God that was… Martin, I don’t have words.  I-It was… so beautiful.  You’re so beautiful.  Thank you,” he cried fervently, “I wish I could tell you properly how much that meant, but I just-“

“Hey… That’s alright.  I’m the words guy.  You’re the emulsifiers guy.  Making you cry is all I need to see to know how you feel,” Martin assured him warmly, reaching out to brush his tears away as he chuckled.

“Yeah… add this one to the running tally.”

“Oh, I have,” Martin snickered, “Speaking of!  Now we’ve done the crying through vows bit.  Shouldn’t we say the ‘I do’ bit, as well?”

Jon pursed his lips with a shrug as he reached out with his left hand to take Martin’s left as well, twining their fingers together

“Yes, I suppose we should.  I don’t see why not.  Well then, Martin, do you?”

“I do.  And Jon, do you?”

“I do.”

“You may now soundly snog the groom.”

“Martin…”

The emphatic drawl of his name the way Jon only called it when he was frustratingly enamored of him perished gently against Martin’s velvet lips as they caressed his.  They kissed slowly and reverently, sealing a pact ordained by the heavens long before either of them had seen the stars in the other’s eyes, lighting with white flame the torch to guide them for the first time, forward.  They broke it only to punctuate it with two more featherlight kisses and a breathless laugh, bowing their foreheads together in deference to the forces of fate and the universe.

“I know this isn’t the wedding either of us ever dreamed of, but as far as I’m concerned, it was perfect,” Jon murmured, nuzzling closer into his husband, swaddling the new, fledgling and beautiful word in his heart.

“Well, hey, what is a wedding really other than just a formal declaration that this is it?  This is us, we’re forever, no matter what.  We did it.  And you did it for me, in the STARS, Jon… Can we just remember that again?  You put us in the actual stars.  I am so writing a ballad for our constellation later, you do know this.”

“Oh lord.  Of course you are.  But really, it was the least I could do, after you’ve done so much for me, sacrificed everything for me.  Waited for me for so long.”

“And you came back to me,” Martin reminded him passionately, “And I don’t just mean back to life, here, in this world.  I mean you came back, Jon, MY Jon, the Jon I was in love with the moment I laid eyes on him.  The fidgety and obstinate Jon who can’t make a decent cup of tea to save his life, who puts on two different socks in the morning because his nose is already in the paper or a book, who teaches me about bleeding rocks and binary stars and still reacts to the simplest acts of kindness like a warm cranberry orange scone without asking for one like they’re divine miracles he is undeserving of, who looks at me like I hung the moon or something every time.  Even when I thought I was a complete and total waste of a human being, you, Jonathan Sims, the most beautiful, amazing, brilliant man to ever walk the Earth, looked at me like I hung the moon.  And that was… Still is… everything to me.”

The heavens shifted, the stars wheeled, the last piece clicked smartly, smugly into place.

“W-What did you say…?” Jon asked with such urgency, grabbing his hands so fiercely, Martin startled.

“Wh-I-I don’t-?  Which part?  The moon hanging part?” he stuttered, rolling his eyes fondly as he realized mid-sentence, “Oh, right.  Ugh, Jon are you seriously going to get after me about your weird vendetta against idioms at our wedding?  Because if you are that would be annoyingly adorable and so intensely you and kind of perfect, but also can you not on THIS particular occasion?”

The laugh that tore from Jon’s throat was half mad, half euphoric as the weight of the moon lifted from his shoulders and became naught but an indifferent sentinel disc in the sky once more.

“No no no, it’s just… It’s funny, I had more than a few things very, very wrong for a very, very long time.  That’s all.  Don’t worry about it,” he explained, leaning in and pressing a delicate kiss to Martin’s forehead, “If you’re the one who hung the moon after all, then I suppose ‘written in the stars’ will have to do for me.”

Martin lit up with literary glee.

“Oh ho!  Two space related idioms in one go?  What a rare treat!  Maybe this is your gateway drug into puns…” he teased impishly.

“Absolutely no chance in hell.”

They both laughed, laughed with the billowing icy breath that reached with victorious fingers up to the heavens.  They laughed, messily sniffing back the pesky drip of tears and cold.  They laughed with lightness of the encumbrance of hematite armor shed, its bloody protections no longer needed to cage wounded hearts and keep them safe and close.  They laughed in breath and also in the dancing points of light in their eyes as they fell into one another free from gravity.

“So uh… Do I get to see my star tonight, or don’t I?” Martin finally remembered, relishing the utterly horrified yelp from Jon.

“Oh god I completely-!  Y-Yes!  Yes of course, it’s already set up at the proper coordinates!” he had already sprung to his feet, “Oh, though, hang on, it took longer to get to the star viewing part than I anticipated, so I might need to adjust it a bit.  Oh!  And I have a little strawberries and champagne, if you like?”

“I do like, please and thank you!”

Jon set to readjusting the telescope to the proper ascension and declination while Martin poured them two glasses of crisply bubbling champagne.  They twined their arms to drink a toast from each other’s glass, ‘to us’ or ‘to happily ever afters’, or to several other messily rambled toast worthy sentiments.  They couldn’t decide and toasted to all of it.  They ate plump red strawberries and licked the juice from each other’s fingers as they looked at their star, which was, after everything, just a dot, just like Pluto, but Martin had to admit that he rather liked looking at dots after all.  And that one was their dot.  The warm intoxication of love and champagne begged for music, and someone fumbled in the cold for a wedding playlist on some app, somewhere, it didn’t matter, just as long as they could join hands, gaze into each other’s eyes and dance inelegantly, stepping on each other’s toes, under the umbrella of stars in a gentle rain of moonlight.

“I don’t see your problem with cliches, idioms and all that, really…” Martin mused at length, laying his head on Jon’s shoulder as they slowly spun to the rhythm of a longing ballad and the song of the sea, “Like this stupid, great song.  They’re familiar and cozy and everyone knows them.  They’re like… like old friends.  Always there to rely on when we can’t come up with the words ourselves, because sometimes we can’t.  And if something trite and silly sums up the way you feel, why not just let it be?  Sometimes things are said over and over again because some truths are universal, you know?  They’re just… human.”

Jon pressed a kiss into the mop of curls that tickled his nose and smelled faintly of toasted sugar and lavender and mused on all of the romantic cliches that had just passed through his mind unbidden.  Who was he to deny he was but one star in the sky, a single gear in the grand mortal mechanism of the universe.  If he had handed himself over to the humanity of it all instead of rusting, stopping, looking outside where there was never anything to see, perhaps he could have had this dance much sooner.  It didn’t matter though, until it did, because that night Martin took his breath away, made his world go round, he was head over heels for his match made in heaven, and better than heaven, they were written in the stars.

“You know what, Martin?” Jon laughed in reply, “Tonight, being what it is, I am willing to concede.  You are absolutely right.”

“I’m glad…” came the tender acceptance, followed by a distinctly puckish beat of silence, “Then does this mean I can I start saying love you to the moon and back?”

“Don’t push your luck...”

[onelastbreath-writes]

I Spy

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales/Fem!Reader (AFAB, no y/n)

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: Brief mention of bad(abusive/manipulative) parents, general adult topics, swearing.

Summary: You meet a cute guy at a bar, you date, you fall in love, and oops, it turns out you’ve both been lying about your careers. Classified only stays classified until you get assigned a mission together. (SpecOps&Spies, with Young!Frankie)

A/N: Hey guys, I was bad and started another fic. Whoops. This one is for Triple Frontier because I love that soft boi Francisco. The flavour of this fic, the vibe if you will, is basically the spiderman pointing meme. I’ve vaguely set the timeline to like mid-2000s? so I’ll be trying my best to stay true to technology and aesthetic of the era. There was so much denim. Anyways, that means I’m trying to write for about a 27-33 year old Frankie and a similarly aged reader. I don’t see this series being more than a couple chapters at best, so it’ll be short and sweet. Also, like, very little angst if I can help it; I just want this one to be a good, cute, fun read. Hope y’all enjoy! Xoxo

[AO3][Masterlist]

“So, you’re coming out tonight, right? You’re not busy or anything?”

“Please don’t say it like that, you know how busy work actually is. And I’m a grown woman; if I didn’t want to go to a shady dive bar with you and your very loud friends from the office, I’d say so,” You loved your best friend, and you missed spending time together, but you really couldn’t say the same for her co-workers.

You had nothing against the women she worked with, and you found that they were all perfectly lovely and usually quite fun to be around… it was just that when the alcohol came out, the volume control and verbal filters disappeared.

You wouldn’t say that barhopping was what you’d prefer to be doing tonight, along with more or less babysitting your friend and her friends, but you didn’t know when you’d next be able to squeeze in a night off to just hang out and have fun, so this was happening. You would laugh and smile and keep the drunk secretaries from going home with questionable people, and then you would look back on your ladies’ night with fond memories until you could eventually attend another.

You had known when you picked your career that it would be an around-the-clock, all-day, every-day sort of thing. You never deluded yourself into thinking you would have much of a social life or long-term relationships. Most partners, hell even most friends, would have a problem with you jetting off for weekends, or disappearing for days at a time under mountains of paperwork and appointments.

It just made your best friend that much more important to you. You’d met as kids, went through years of school beside each other, hung out, did stupid teenager things and then stupid young adult things together. You’d cried and laughed and fought and made up a million times, you’d gone to different colleges and still kept in touch, moved away, moved back, and you were still going strong. She was your ride-or-die, your anchor and your parachute and everything in between, so if you could use some of your precious, hoarded, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it time off to see her, that’s just what you’d do.

“You should take some of that fire, and direct it at your boss. Tell him no for a change. I’d love to see his face at that!” She meant well, always trying to look out for you and your health when it came to your beyond demanding job. You weren’t even allowed to tell her a fraction of what you were doing in your professional life, and she knew it, but that didn’t stop her from being ready to throw fists at your employer at a moment’s notice.

“One does not simply tell the über-rich that they don’t need to fly to Paris, again. Being a PA is a full-time nannying gig, except your charge is an adult who can argue when you say no, and you cannot put them on timeout when they’re being a brat. Where he goes, I go, and unless something drastic happens, it will probably continue on like that for a while.” She laughed at your jokes, and your heart hurt a little less at her glee. You knew she would never give up on you or blame you for your work being unpredictable, but that didn’t make the sting of last-minute cancels and missed outings hurt any less, for either of you.

“But it must be nice, just getting on a plane and going somewhere amazing at the drop of a hat. Travelling the world like a superstar, meeting people, having amazing adventures with mysterious strangers…”

“Easy there, Mamma Mia, your wanderlust is showing. And I’d take you with me in a heartbeat if I could. You were born to be a jetsetter, not to be stuck in this town with nothing but the office cubicle beside you to stare at. And I still think you should apply for one of those immersive culture grants you keep mooning over. They’d be fools not to fund your writing expedition!” She was an incredible person, three full degrees to her name in the time it took a normal student to get one, and a brain that could run miles around the rest of the professionals in her field. But she was tethered to this quiet backwater town, and she wasn’t free to fly like she deserved.

“You know I can’t just… go, like you can. My mom, it’d just break her heart… I don’t want to leave her alone, not after Dad,” You honestly doubted that you’d ever meet a woman more horrible and undeserving of her own daughter’s kindness. Helen was a parasite full of lies and manipulations and greed, and she had attached herself like a bad rash to your friend after she’d chased away the rest of her family members.

Your friend searched for the good in everyone, but you wished she’d stop looking for it at that home.

“You deserve your own happiness and freedom, and she should be encouraging you to spread your wings if and when you’re ready.” Politicking your friend was never something you enjoyed. She was the last person you wanted to use your negotiating credentials and sly subterfuge tactics against, but you wanted, needed, her safety and health more. You considered it almost bribery; dangling her dream future in front of her in exchange of being rid of the garbage in her life.

“Hey now, we’re getting way too deep into sad-drunk night conversations, and this is strictly a happy-fun-drunk night. Please leave all baggage and woes at the door, thank you!” You admitted your defeat and surrendered your verbal power point on Why Helen Needs to Disappear. You would get her next time for sure, give her the accelerant to burn down that bridge. “Anyways, the reason I called was to remind you of our haunt for the night. One of the girls, Kelly, you remember Kelly, found this adorable little hole in the wall. A total boys’ club apparently: darts, pool, sports games on the TV, but Kelly’s sister’s friend’s brother Tyler said the place was a favourite of the local army guys. So, if nothing else, we’ll at least have some hunks to look at for a while. It’ll be great!”

You jotted down the directions to the bar as she listed them, and the time you were expected to arrive there.

“Oh! And wear that cute little blue number you bought last spring; I know you still have it so don’t you dare lie. It makes your ass and legs look divine, and I think you could stand to make a new acquaintance tonight.” That Little Blue Number was buried in the back of your closet where you had hoped it would remain forever, but luck was not on your side tonight it seemed. But it did make you look, and feel, fantastic.  It was just so… breezy. “And heels! Real ones, not your cute little personal assistant kitten heels. Those black strappy ones would work like a dream!” You just sighed dramatically into the receiver and agreed to her demands.

“I’ll let you go now, and yes, I suppose I can be presentable tonight, dress and all. See-ya later!”

---

Hole in the wall was right. This place was basically underground it was so on the D.L. It was warm inside though, and in the middle of autumn with so much skin on display, you could not be more pleased to get away from the chilled outside air.

You would describe the interior as comfortable with a hint of rustic; lots of warm dark wood and low lights, mixed with the soft Latin music crooning in the background and the few patrons’ conversations adding to the ambience.

All in all, it was probably the nicest dive bar you’d been to in your hometown.

Your party was easy to spot where they had claimed a group of pushed together tables towards the far side of the establishment, and you carefully made your way over to them in your tricky high heels.

You said your hellos to returning faces and introduced yourself to the new additions, and accepted the chair you were pointed to and the drink pressed into your hand.

And so, the hours rolled.

You had enjoyed two fruity cocktails and a flaming shot before you called it quits on the alcohol for the night. You still had a few hours to sober up enough to drive home safely, and you would be able to help the girls get to their rides and ways home too. You appreciated having a social drink or two, but you didn’t care for hangovers and would happily take slightly tipsy over party-hard drunk anytime. Plus, your contract stated you were on-call, always, and you could be required to navigate high-stress negotiations at the drop of a hat. It was just better to cut yourself off, then reap the consequences of your actions later.

You tapped your friend’s shoulder as you walked past and leaned over to talk into her ear. “I’m getting some water for the table; do you want anything else?”

“Mmmm, no I think we’re good for now, thanks!” She was plastered already, but she had a huge grin on her face and was laughing at her co-workers’ stories, so you considered it a win of a night. You gave her a pat goodbye and swayed your way to the bar.

But you just were not accounting for the uneven floorboards, or how much your heels affected your currently less than steady equilibrium, and before you could blink you were teetering over into a nasty fall.

“Whoa there, easy does it, muñequita” Arms wrapped around you and pulled you back into a warm chest. “Careful now, don’t go twisting an ankle in those fancy shoes.”

You certainly did not account for the man you turned around to face. Wow.

His hands glided respectfully from where he had caught you around the waist to your still bent and held out elbows, steadying you as you swayed dangerously again.

Warm brown eyes, soft brown curls, and the sweetest smile you’d ever seen. It felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest, and you knew that it wasn’t left over adrenaline from your near wipeout. He was gorgeous and handling you so gently, and you wanted to spend forever in that moment.

“Hey there, palomita, I’m Frankie, can I buy you a drink?”

[Next Part]

[moonflower-31]

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist 

Part 17  

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader 

Warnings: Wounds, Blaming ones self, etc. 

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner, @egg-boy03, @helena-way07, @l0ve-0f-my-life~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The car stopped a few moments later, not giving any sort of indication as to where they were. Derek cursed softly, unable to tell where they were only by sight. He only knew they were somewhere in rural West Virginia. He had seen a sign near a fork in the road that showed him a town name he knew to be in West Virginia. So at least he knew there was civilization. 

"Out, both of you. And don't even think 'bout running." Peter scolded you. You had been silent the entire car ride, knowing what Peter planned to do with you before he could announce it. 

You got out of the car slowly, unable to convince your body to move any faster. Unfortunately, this message wasn't broadcasted to your captor, who put a stop to your 'laziness' quickly.  

Peter’s hand collided with your back and a fist gripped your hair by the roots, pulling your head back harshly. You would've normally loved having your hair pulled by a partner. But not him. Never him. 

"Faster, dammit! I don't have all damn day!" Peter scolded. You felt exhausted just from the verbal abuse. He finally let go, shoving you forward. Your door had already been open, so when he pushed you you fell from the car and landed in the gravel. A few stones dug into your palms and a few others into your arms and shins. 

"Great, see this is why you're such a damn cunt. You're useless unless it involves putting out. Such a damn whore." Peter gritted his teeth. 

Derek felt nauseous and disgusted by Peter’s actions, hurrying as fast as his knee would let him to your side once he was out of the car. 

A hand shoved him away, causing him to stumble. "Stay the fuck away from her. You aren't to touch her. Ever. Understand?" Peter hissed. Morgan felt bile building in his stomach. He had always dealt with guys like this in cases, but he'd never been a victim. He could completely empathize with the fear that they felt now. 

"L-leave him alone, Peter." You cough, spitting out a pebble that had entered your mouth. Peter growled and gripped Morgan’s shoulder tightly.  

"Or what? You fight back, I'll dislocate his shoulder. You run away, I kill him. I thought we went over the rules, pet?"

Peter sauntered over to you, and kicked your stomach, causing you to cough violently. "You shouldn't have left, pet. Then just maybe your brother would still be alive. Maybe you wouldn't be in pain right now. You'd have little ones to keep you company. But you left." Peter sneered, delivering another harsh kick to your abdomen, stepping on your chest when you landed on your back. You had blood on your cheeks and in the corner of your mouth from the abuse, feeling weaker with each kick. 

"Come on, (Y/N)! Don't worry about me dammit! Fight back!" Morgan called, finally freeing his hands from the knot he had been working to get off of his wrists. 

"Why don't you tell him why you won't fight back, hm? Tell him why even after learning to defend yourself in many different ways, you won't fight me?" Peter gritted his teeth, smirking down at your helpless form. 

You already had tears in your eyes. You knew he had to be lying about your brother. But even then, he was still in danger. Everyone you knew was in danger if you fought back. You coughed and looked over at Morgan weakly. 

"Because, everyone would get hurt. N-not just you. E-everyone…" you sputter. Morgan straightened his lips into a strained line, watching you helplessly. If he pursued Peter, he'd get another injury. Then what help would he be to you? 

"That's right. Now, mr. Derek Morgan. Why aren't you playing hero and knocking me out? Isn't that what ladies love? The hero?" Peter asks evilly. 

"D‐don't… don't answer… D-derek please-" you beg. Peter growled and pressed harder with his foot on your chest. 

"You don't speak unless spoken to, bitch." 

Peter turned his head and looked towards Morgan. He smirked and tossed him a ring of keys. "Since you have open hands, unlock that door over there. The dark wooden one." He demanded. 

Derek gripped the metal ring in his hands, glaring at Peter. "And say I don't?" He asks. 

Peter rolled his eyes and pulled out a gun from his back. "She dies. And then you do." Peter threatens, putting the gun barrel against your temple. You swallow and stare at Morgan, shaking your head gently. 

Morgan sighed and gripped the keys in his hands. He then wandered over to the cellar-like door and unlocked it once he found the right key. 

"There." Morgan deadpans, tossing them back to Peter in an attempt to avoid yet another conflict. 

Peter catches them in his hand, a dirty smile on his face. "Finally learning your place. It's about time, D." 

Derek fought off a growl. He hated that nickname. Anything Garcia came up with was fine. Hell, he'd accept Der. But not that. Never that. 

Peter pulled you up by your hair and shoved you forward. "Get inside. Now." 

Your head was tender now with how harshly he was gripping your hair. It almost felt like he was pulling your hair out. You bit back a whimper and got to your feet, barely able to see in front of you from all the previous abuse you endured. 

You entered the small cellar cut out of the mountain, finding the smell to be revolting. Whatever had been in here before you had died. And knowing Peter? They probably did. 

You entered and stood still, waiting for your next instruction. Morgan watched you with pity in his eyes, trying to refrain from speaking. 

"Go put those chains on her. Then put the other set on yourself." Peter growled into Morgan’s ear. Morgan felt his anger boiling hotter in his veins, but after what he had caused before, he wasn't going to risk it. 

Morgan entered the cellar and gripped your wrists. You gave him a reassuring look, and laid yourself onto the ground. You propped up against the rock, holding out your wrists for him. Morgan gritted his teeth and clamped the first shackle around your left wrist, soon repeating it with your right. 

"Good, now you do it yourself. I can't have you open to touching her." Peter sneered, pushing Morgan towards the right wall of the cellar. He was to your right, and you were to his left. But just far enough away that you could only reach up to his knee. His restraints were much tighter than yours, making you feel terrible. He didn't deserve to be involved in this because of you. 

Peter twirled the keys with his finger a few times before he put them on a hook. "I'll be back. Can't have the mother of my children starving, now can I?" He asks, glaring at you expectantly. You felt the pit in your stomach grow, but you didn't say anything. 

Peter turned around and exited the cellar, slamming the cellar door behind him. You jumped slightly and squeezed your eyes shut. 

Both of you stayed quiet for a good few minutes. The silence was unbearable, knowing so much about yourself was just revealed. You pulled your knees close and took a heavy sigh, knowing Derek would be asking questions soon. 

"Go ahead… ask away." You murmured, feeling exhausted and tired of staying awake. 

He took a few moments, but eventually asked "Are you okay?" 

You chuckle weakly, leaning your aching head against the harsh stone wall of the cellar. "That wasn't what I meant." 

"Well too bad, kid. But really, are you okay? He didn't hurt you too bad, did he?" Derek asked. You shook your head, never looking down from the ceiling as you let out a sarcastic and tired laugh. 

"My stalker just took you along with me when you have nothing to do with this. He just made you lock me up to try and get me to hate you, and he plans on trying to get me pregnant. Whether I want it or not. And knowing him he'll do it in front of you t-too." You whimper, your voice cracking as you squeeze your eyes shut and let yourself cry. 

"Kid… don't think like that. Without me you'd have to deal with this asshole all on your own. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna let him hurt you like that. I don't care if both of my legs get shot up." Morgan huffs. 

You let a small smile come onto your face. He was such a good friend. For him to not regret walking you to your car. For him to not want to leave you here. 

"Speaking of which, I should probably get that bullet out." 

"What? (Y/N) you heard him, kid. If I touch you he-" Morgan began. 

"He said if you touch me. He never said if I touched you." You insist and allow yourself to pull him slightly closer so you could treat his wound. 

Morgan stayed silent as he watched you, bracing himself for the pain. You looked up at him pitifully before you dug into his leg gently and pulled out the bullet that had thankfully not gone in too far. 

You looked up again, seeing Morgan’s grimace as he held his head against the wall. "There, I'm sorry. It was gonna hurt no matter what." 

"Don't apologize, dammit. It's that son of a bitch's fault for shooting me in the first place." He groaned in slight relief of his wound being empty. 

You shrugged off your jacket, ripping the sleeves to get it completely off of you. Morgan raised an eyebrow at you, but soon figured out what you were doing once you tore a sleeve off and wrapped it around his knee. 

"There. Just don't move it a ton." You advise, sighing gently as you backed yourself against the wall again. 

"Kid… we're gonna get out of here. Hotch, Prentiss, Reid, they're gonna find us. You know that pretty boy won't let you stay missing." Morgan chuckles somewhat. You appreciated the attempt at cheering you up, but at that moment, all you wanted was to sleep. Pass time until the devil came back and made you eat something probably packed with nutrition for a pregnant woman. 

"Derek… even then. He's gonna try in a couple days. A week at most. And he's gonna figure out I got an implant. Any pregnancy won't be viable." You alert him. "And once he does, he'll dig it out of me. And try again." 

Morgan stared at you in disbelief, unable to believe you'd know all of this was going to happen. "Wha-how-?" He began to ask. 

"You forget that I was 'engaged' to him for a year. I know him because he made me stay by his side almost 24/7. So I know how he thinks. How he behaves. And that he rarely ever lies." 

You sighed and laid a hand on your stomach. "And if he ever does, we're screwed."

○●♡●○ 

A few days later, they thankfully were getting somewhere. 

 "Hotch, do you have that list of his properties? I wanna go over them and put them in the geographical profile." Spencer urged. 

Hotch raised an eyebrow at the mention of his name and nodded. "Sure, I'll have Garcia print them out for you. Anything else you need?" 

"No, I plan on analyzing the letter again, trying to see if I can gather something from the way he writes, his grammar, how hard he presses on the paper-" 

"Understood, Reid. Get to it as soon as you can. But please, don't overwork yourself. You've been here since 4 this morning." Hotch warned. 

"I'm fine Hotch. Just trying to find them." He quickly answers, walking away from him and quickly heading towards Garcia's cave. 

If he were to tell the truth, he hadn't truly let himself rest. He hadn't so that he wouldn't wallow in the guilt he felt for your kidnapping. No matter how much JJ, Prentiss, Garcia, or even Hotch tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that had he not left without you, you would still be here. 

Spencer knocked on Garcia's door, taking a deep breath as he braced himself to face a very upset Garcia. 

The door swung open almost as soon as his first knock completed. Garcia looked up at him with worried eyes, almost on the brink of tears. "Please tell me you guys have a lead, because I am losing hope here and when I lose hope I eat ice cream and I can't do that here." 

"We don't know yet. But I was asking if you could print me that list of properties. And any clients of his that tried to sue him." Spencer asked. 

"What would that be for? He took (Y/N)!" Garcia asks. 

"I want to get a better understanding of what he's like. How he'll react to us going after him. I can't risk him hurting her because we made it overt that we were pursuing him." 

Garcia sighed and nodded. "Okay… I can get that for you. Just watch the printer and you'll find it." 

Spencer nodded and began to leave, turning around once more for a moment. 

"Garcia," he started. 

"Yes, Genius?" She asks with an exhausted sigh. 

"Do you… do you think you could open up her file?" 

"What do you mean?" Garcia asks. 

"I-I mean, maybe there's something there she… she forgot to tell me. Maybe I can find something there that tells me something about him." Spencer expressed. Garcia smiled gently at him and nodded. 

"I'll just add that to the print list and I'll get it to you as soon as I can. Godspeed. Now out before I cry at how pitiful you look." She says with a sad tone to her voice. She gestures and almost pushes him out, making him chuckle gently. 

Spencer shook his head and headed towards the printer to wait for his papers. 

○●♡●○ 

Spencer connected the properties, finding no real apparent pattern. He had already scoured over the letter a few dozen times, but was still waiting on your file. He circled an area in the middle of the map where Peter's main property was. That was the only thing he could find. None of these properties contained any sort of cellar or basement. Which was weird, considering the amount of money spent making these homes. Not even his own property had one. So none of the properties were viable to search. And they were all in a separate city and state entirely. Spencer realized he should have had Garcia narrow it down to Virginia properties. Or at the very least the tri state area. It had been a few days, and they had only received a location from Morgan’s phone once, and it proved them to be somewhere in-between Virginia and West Virginia. 

Spencer turned around and walked back over to the letter and tried to look over it again. Most of the language was possessive. He used plenty of 'me, my, mine,' and plenty of future tense. And the graphite was pressed into the paper pretty hard. So he was angry when he wrote this. 

Then his phone rang. Spencer widened his eyes and immediately answered it, hoping it to be one of the clients he had called. 

"Spencer?" 

Spencer was suddenly taken aback and found his concentration fall apart. "Mom?" He asks. 

"Spencer, how are you? I didn't expect you to answer my call this late." Diana asked. 

Spencer rubbed his face and felt an ache in his chest add to the rest of the weight he was carrying. "I… I'm fine Mom. Just… we have a really stressful case and I'm stuck on finding an answer." Spencer explained in as simple terms as he could. He suddenly realized why his mother was calling, and felt immediately guilty. 

"I'm so sorry about the letters. I would have sent them had this case not gotten so… personal." Spencer rubbed his forehead, suddenly feeling the weight of the bags of his eyes. 

"I can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you that she wouldn't want you blaming yourself." Diana replied. 

Spencer widened his eyes for a moment and blinked a few times. "H-how did-" 

"Crash, you've never acted like this before, unless it was about a girl you said you liked. Which was rare. But I still remember when you said you liked that…What exactly was her name?" Diana asked. 

"I don't want to remember, Mom. She…" Spencer sighed. "There's just a lot of things I have to figure out. They're all relying on me. She's relying on me to find her. I just…" 

"Don't want to let her down?" Diana finishes. 

Spencer sighs. "Yeah." 

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, failing at his attempt not to cry. He wiped his eyes and inhaled sharply as he looked up. 

"Mom, I love her." 

Garcia walked into the room soon after, a grim look on her face. Spencer narrowed his eyebrows and looked up at her, mouthing 'What is it?' 

Garcia gave him a warning, uneasy look. Spencer sighed. 

"I actually gotta go. I'll call you when I get home." Spencer promised, letting his mother say goodbye before he hung up.  

"Did you get her file?" He asks, standing up and facing her. Garcia nodded wordlessly. Spencer tilted his head and looked at Garcia unsure. 

"Is there something in it I didn't know about?" He asks, looking at the manila folder in her hands. He stared at it, wondering what could be inside it that would make Garcia act like this. What terrible thing in your history would be that bad? He already knew the bad and the ugly, right?

Garcia took a deep breath. "Let's just say there's a lot to unpack in here. Like, a truckload. And not one bit of it is good." 

[alrighttevans]

evermore

but if the world was ending you’d hold me, right?

inspired by this prompt 

Ao3 link

The tight grip over her heart was no stranger to Ladybug.

In fact, as much as she loathed the fact, it had grown into a very much familiar sensation for her. When she was Marinette, she felt it when she was on the verge of an anxiety crisis. When she was Ladybug, she felt it every time she watched an akuma take her partner from her right before her eyes.

On a few occasions, it was a spell she could manage to break. More often than not, it was some kind of possession that would turn him against her until she managed to capture the akuma. Yet, sometimes — too many times, for her displeasure —, it was murder, what took Chat Noir from her.

She felt deeply distressed every single time she lost her Chaton in battle, even though it had happened several times already — the stupid cat always had to put himself between her and any dangerous threat, being the great foolish hero that he was —, it always brought a sharp and incessant pain into her chest, like it was the first. At the pace that a little corner on her mind that archived the multiple occasions in which Chat had heroically and selflessly and kindly sacrificed himself for her had only grown larger, so had the hurt that each event left on her. She was not ready, when Timebreaker had taken him from her, back when they were still very young. She was not ready, when he had jumped from the gameboard, back at the time they fought against Gamer for a second time. She was not ready now, when the Polished Avenger had erased him from existence, so she could now control who was anybody and who wasn’t. 

When Ladybug hadn’t been quick enough to dodge the akuma’s attack and Chat Noir refused to let her pay the price for that mistake.

She was not ready.

Ladybug still found herself shaking, as she ran for her life, unwilling to allow her partner’s sacrifice to go to waste. She still felt her whole person being filled with a mixture of both fear and despair, as she gasped for air, leaning back on one of the walls of the narrow alley she had converted into her current hiding spot. She still had a growing overwhelming need inside her telling her to sit in a corner and cry, as she attempted to stop the tears that threatened to fall off her bluebell hurt eyes.

It was not supposed to happen, him being taken. 

They were Ladybug and Chat Noir! They were complements of each other! There was no creation without destruction! She became unbalanced without him; lost, even, to a certain extent — even though you wouldn’t hear her admitting to that —, because she wasn’t supposed to do this without him! She didn’t want to do this without him, but she had to, if she ever wished to see him again.            

No, Ladybug couldn’t allow herself to drown in the sorrowful taste that rose through her throat. She couldn’t give herself the benefit of the doubt; Paris depended on her, her sanity depended on her, her kitty depended on her and she had only one chance to capture the akuma and make things right again — one misstep and she would be doomed.

So she ordered herself to stop stalling and do her fucking job, because the clock was ticking and she couldn’t fail. Keep yourself together, she chastised, as she wiped her tears away and blinked a few times, trying to regain the focus she needed to think clearly and win this battle — and bring him back —, even if the weight over her shoulders kept pulling her from her objective.

Just… Why did he keep doing that? Didn’t he realise what a mess she became once he was gone? She loved him for all the qualities that made Chat Noir who he was, yet she still hated him for it, since those same qualities were the ones driving him into taking a hit for her again and again. Had he no sense of self preservation? Honestly. The boy could use some.   

She tugged her pigtails, sliding her fingers through her long dark locks. 

Focus, Ladybug. 

Throwing her hand upwards, she called for her lucky charm, hoping her luck wouldn't abandon her, and a red and black candy apple fell into her hands.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” She frowned, before carefully poking her head out of her safe area to see if she could find something that would snap the solution to all of her problems in her mind. Ladybug’s eyes ran through the perimeter and she was able to see the Polished Avenger searching for her, calling for that “pesky bug”, as the akuma so kindly nicknamed her; an idea forming in her head.

Feeling the ever so familiar adrenaline of a risky fight taking charge of her, Ladybug dashed back to the battlefield, only daring to go as close to the akuma as her plan demanded to. “Looking for me?” She called, before a frown took place in her face. Polished Avenger wasn’t there. Where had she gone to? Oh, no. Her frown was replaced by wide eyes at the realisation; it was a trap. 

Panic ran through her veins, as she looked around her, alarmed to find her opponent coming from only God knows where and jumping on her. She gave a last minute back flip, that prevented her from disappearing right that second and quickly occupied herself with putting as much distance as she could from the akuma. She couldn’t afford sloppy tactics, otherwise she would lose, lose him. She couldn’t let his faith in her to be misplaced.    

As she watched the Polished Avenger getting closer and closer from the corner of her eye, trying to touch her with her bloody duster, she threw her yoyo on the balcony of a nearby building and pulled herself out of the akuma’s way. 

“You can’t run forever, you annoying little pest.” The akumatized woman snarled, watching her carefully.

“Trust me, I don’t plan to.” Ladybug replied, more to herself than to her opponent, and threw her yoyo onto a farther building, one in which would give her enough time to land on the ground without being hit at the pace that the akuma chased her on foot.  

The Polished Avenger was just a few yards away when Ladybug prayed that her aim wouldn’t betray her and threw the candy apple in her opponent’s direction, as she held her breath. The akuma caught the sweet in the air, before it could hit her, and stretched her hand open to toss off the candy as she followed her way, only to stop when she noticed the apple candy was still on her hand. The woman tried to shake her hand like a loon, glaring at the offending sweet and sneer in frustration, but she couldn’t get rid of the apple candy. Lastly, she let go of the duster to try and remove it with her other hand, and Ladybug wasted no time and snatched the duster with her yoyo. When the akuma realised what she was doing, it was already too late; she broke the object and freed the familiar black butterfly from it. Quicky, Ladybug captured the akuma and cleansed it. 

“Bye-bye, little butterfly.” She said, as she dashed to the very confused woman standing before her and took the apple candy from her hands, without either a ‘please’ or a comforting comment to her; Ladybug was yet too exhausted, too shaken, too anxious to think about anybody else. She had won, it would have to do for now. “Miraculous Ladybug!” She called while she threw the candy into the air, feeling the bittersweet taste of her victory on her tongue.  

Chat Noir blinked, feeling the familiar sensation of time loss and confusion after an akuma possession flow through him, trying to evaluate as much as he could from his surroundings, however, he couldn’t assess much, for the first thing he put his eyes on was the red and black blur that was Ladybug running in his direction and throwing herself in his arms. 

Even though his eyes widened, his arms immediately found her back and held her, just as tight as she pressed herself to him. It took Chat a second to realise the soft, subtle sound of his lady sobbing, as he felt shock run through his body. 

 “My lady?” He called, as quietly as he could when he was full with concern.

She didn’t answer, at first, but buried her head in the crook of his neck and kept shedding her tears, and the only thing Chat could do was to hug her close, as she took her time and his heart filled with fright with whatever had got Ladybug this distressed. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” Her question came as a whisper, one in which he wouldn’t have caught, if it wasn’t for his heightened senses, causing his brows to meet in a frown.

“That what?” 

“Dying for me.” Ladybug’s voice broke with her answer, and his jaw dropped. 

She was crying because of him?

He was the mindless prat that had made her cry?

“I… I can’t help it. The thought of you—” Chat shook his head, refusing to verbalize that dreadful thought that haunted him every time his lady was caught in imminent danger, and it was his duty to prevent it from happening. “The world doesn’t end when I get hit by an akuma.” 

“Mine does.” He felt his heart break as she pulled her face away from his neck, allowing him to see the painful watery gaze on her pale blue eyes. He was hurting her, and he couldn’t bear to see her heart break. 

“It’s okay.” His hands found her face, as he cupped her cheeks, and Chat, touching her softly, carefully wiped her falling tears, that led a melancholic thread behind them. “I’m okay. It’s just temporary, everything always goes back into place.” 

“What if someday I can’t fix everything?” Ladybug prodded, “What if I lose you forever?” She whispered, as if she was afraid that, if she spoke too loud, some superior force would listen and shape her nightmare into reality. 

It was like having a knife being continuously stabbed into his chest, to watch Ladybug drowning herself in the ocean of guilt about his safety. She shouldn’t have the weight of his actions making her sink faster. Couldn’t she see that it was all for the best? For if she was the one that was gone, Chat Noir would break. He wouldn’t be able to think clearly and come up with a smart solution, as she did every time. He wouldn’t be able to focus on studying the akuma’s weaknesses, but instead he would fall into a deep cliff of despair and nothing and no-one would have the power to bring him back. Paris would be doomed; stuck with a hero too unstable to do his job. However, even if he managed to overcome his distress, he didn’t have a Miraculous Ladybug Cure to make it all right again — he would never be able to recover from losing her forever. How could she fathom the idea of him not preventing this catastrophe from happening?

Well, he wasn’t the one that was going to ask her that. 

One task at the time, and the present worry was to take that sorrowful expression off of her lovely features. 

“Do you really think you can get rid of me that easily?” He inquired, with a cocky smile, hoping his light comment would bring a smile to her lips. “I’ve told you, my lady, you have a life sentence to serve for stealing my heart.” 

“Chat! This is serious!” She chastised, hesitantly removing her arms from his neck to cross them over her chest. She still was a bit worried he’d vanish again if she ever let go of him.“You-you have to stop it. I can't watch you disappear before me, because of me ever again.”

“It's okay, Ladybug. It'll always be okay.”

“No, it’s not! Promise me you won't do it again.” She was inflexible; Ladybug had always been stubborn, but this, oh, she definitely was not backing down from this argument. He could see it on her eyes — they burnt with determination and fury. In usual circumstances, he would be intimidated by the glare she was throwing his way. Normally, he would soon agree with her, for she generally was right, especially concerning serious matters. She was a brilliant girl, after all. He would be a fool not to listen to her. But this? This wasn’t something he could give her. He would rather be forever gone than to live in a world where she didn’t. “Please.” Her tone was somewhere between demanding and begging. 

“I can't, my lady. I'm sorry.” 

“Stupid cat.” She scolded, before burying herself on his chest again and his arms immediately wrapped her close — it seemed that they never were close enough, even though the space between their bodies was none. 

They remained there, in silence, longing for more of something they couldn’t name, until the sound of her earrings beeping was what broke them apart and both their eyes grew wide with the realisation of what that meant. Chat Noir sighed, feeling a sudden exhaustion and all the weight that came with his duty settling over his shoulders. They could stay hours, days, years, there, in each other's arms, if it wasn’t for the alarm that dreadly announced the end of their timed moment together — the curse of desire and responsibility that kept chasing Chat, despite his best efforts. 

He was the first to let go, knowing all too well that if he dared to wait for a few more minutes, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to do so. As soon as she felt the absence of his hands on the small of her back, Ladybug slowly untangled herself from him. Her pale blue eyes shone with the words that were stuck on her throat, as she raised her fist to him, with a bittersweet smile on her face.

Chat bumped into her fist with his own, without ever taking his gaze away from hers, as he wondered if she could read the I love you he tried to communicate to her with his cat-like eyes. 

However, “Pound it.” was the only thing they both said, in unison, before forcibly parting ways.   

[o-wise-corvid]

Okay so there’s some mentions of children in pain and going through some severe physical stuff. Dark Side torture to build their hatred type stuff. DONT read if that’s too much.

People who were wanting more: @captainrexisboo @clonetrooperrights @koskareevesismyqueen @gospelofme @jgvfhl @ct-27-fives

WARNINGS: mild mentions of torture/ broken bones/ character in pain

Chapter 1: Two, Three, Four, Five

“Get your elbow up! Block with your shins and forearms... Use your points! There you go!”

To be possessed of such a small frame, Gaia never failed to impress Cody with the way she could change direction. She could run full tilt at a training droid, her whole body leaning into the sprint, then check herself, pivoting on a dime to swing up behind it. One firm kick and there was a clanker head lying at his feet.

She ran with what he could only define as commitment, pushing her entire being into a single goal. That wasn’t something he’d taught her to do, but something she’d brought herself; Cody encouraged her natural talents as often as he encouraged the practiced techniques he’d been showing her for over a year.

Gaia rode the toppling chassis to the floor, crouching on its back with a triumphant smile on her face. “How was that?”

Cody grinned at her. “Very nice. Those reinforced gauntlets really help with the punches, don’t they?”

Gaia inspected the new armor that sheathed her arms from knuckles to elbow, matte black instead of shiny. Which was a good choice given the wear the things had already gotten after one day. “Yes. No more broken knuckles.”

“No more broken knuckles,” he agreed, scooping her up. Gaia laughed and rested her small hands on his chest plate. Cody could swear she’d grown since the day before, her weight already not so easy to manage as it had once been. “But what did Papa tell you about broken bones?”

“They grow back stronger,” Gaia recited dutifully, dark eyes serious. Too serious for one so young. “Did you ever break your knuckles, Papa?”

Cody opened his mouth to answer, smiling at a memory of another brother, Kix, belligerently scolding him about his frequent visits due to how he fought droids. But another voice interjected.

“Captain.” Sixthree wobbled over anxiously, arms lifting in manufactured excitement. “You are being summoned by Lord Vader. He wishes you to bring the young lady along.”

Icy tendrils of fear shuffled their way through his body and he tightened his grip on Gaia reflexively. “Bring her with me? You’re certain about that?” he tried, despite knowing the droid would have relayed the message accurately.

“Yes sir.”

“Papa.” Gaia pulled his face around to look right at him. She touched her forehead to his. “I know what to do. Let’s go.”

He couldn’t help but smile. Her accent had changed, picking up the thicker vowels and light r’s that Jango Fett had passed down to all his Clones. In such a clear, delicate voice, it sounded especially sweet.

“I know you do,” Cody told her, lowering her to her feet. “What do you call me?”

“ ‘Sir’ if I speak at all, sir,” Gaia snapped, spine straightening like a flagpole.

“Do you look at me if you’re asked a question?”

“No sir.”

“Do you fear me?” He put a little edge in his voice, looming to his full height as he paced a tight circle around her.

“Yes sir.” Gaia didn’t track him with her eyes, didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. She was good, he had to admit. She’d picked up on what survival meant so quickly and she’d practiced everything to the point that she performed without thinking.

“Do you fear Vader?”

“Even more.”

“How do you address him?”

“My Lord.”

“Alright,” Cody finally murmured, as satisfied as he was bound to get. He touched Gaia on the top of her head, feeling the tight pattern of her braided hair under his glove, then sheathed his face in his helmet.

They stalked through the ship as one. Gaia had assumed a posture and cadence to her steps that mirrored his own, which carried a menace that even ranking officers knew to give room. She had figured out an expression of intensity that looked positively chilling on a little girl and wore it whenever she was in public. Cody admired the girl’s drive and grasp of her circumstances, even though their routine was beyond familiar.

Vader was awaiting Cody in the hangar bay, just as imposing as he’d ever been. Gaia didn’t react to his presence as they entered the long, mostly empty expanse. He wondered how she perceived him in the Force, what he felt like to the other senses that she was gifted with. From the outside, she looked inscrutable, her boots clicking in time with Cody’s as they approached the hulking figure. When Cody stopped, so did she and they both snapped a salute.

“Captain,” Vader rumbled. His sloping helmet shifted so that his attention was obviously fixed on Gaia. “Cadet.”

“My Lord,” Cody and Gaia said together and they both gave a short bow.

Vader stepped over to Gaia, sinking down on one knee until he was more level with the girl. She stared stoically ahead. “I see your training is progressing well, young one. Tell me, what do you sense in this room?”

Gaia frowned a little, but her expression was one of concentration rather than concern. “You, my Lord. The Dark Side is strong with you. The Captain. And... two others.”

Vader actually chuckled and the sound made the buzzed hair on the back of Cody’s neck stand on end. “Well done, little one. Your training has indeed progressed.” Rising, he affixed Cody with his soulless stare. “You are being tasked with the training of two others, Captain. Your success with this one is evident. I am leaving these in your command.”

Two Stormtroopers came hurrying up, each gripping a squirming person in their arms the way someone holding a feral animal would. Cody could see that they were children due to their size but because they were thrashing so wildly, there wasn’t much he could tell about them apart from the fact that they were both Zabraks.

Vader nodded to the Stormtroopers to set their burdens down, which they did, and then hurriedly backed away. Which Cody almost snorted at because it wasn’t like the kids could bite them through their armor. But then he noticed the scrapes and gouges in the white helmets; one of the eyes was shattered.

“Mind the horns, sir,” one of them offered nervously.

One of the Zabrak children twisted around, flailing a little with bound hands and legs, and actually growled at Cody. His blue eyes burned against his dusky skin, bits of plastoid shavings and visor glass stuck in the crown of amber horns along the boy’s scalp.

“I’ll have them tamed in a month, my Lord,” Cody said confidently though he had to admit that both boys looked fierce enough to take on Wookies.

“We shall see, Captain.”

Cody and Gaia glanced at each other, as Vader turned, the Stormtroopers sweeping into his wake. “Can you help me get them to our quarters?” he asked quietly. “I can get one; two might be a lot.”

Gaia grinned and stretched out a hand toward the boys. The other, green-eyed one shot up, dangling by his ankles. Cody almost laughed. Gaia wasn’t one to overdo it if she didn’t have to. Lifting the boy by his binders was easier than trying to just lift his entire body.

Cody snatched up the blue-eyed one in much the same way, keeping him at arm’s length as much as he could. The Zabrak swayed and snarled nonetheless, trying to reach Cody with his horns. Once, Cody was sure he felt the Force flutter weakly at his armored side.

Gaia had a worse time of it. Her size was the biggest problem. Green eyes squinted furiously at her and her legs flew sideways as if she’d walked over an oil slick. Gaia caught herself without dropping the Zabrak on his head and glared hotly at the boy. “Do it again and I’ll break your ankles.”

Cody looked at her worriedly, glad for the concealment of his helmet. He’d never heard such a deadly note in the girl’s voice and it chilled him. He knew she was under the charge of a slightly Forceful woman who visited the ship once a month, but what exactly happened during the hours Gaia would be away from him there, he could never say. He knew how she returned, though; it was usually hours before she finally responded to him verbally. She always crawled into his bunk on those nights, clinging to him like her sanity depended on it.

When they were finally inside his quarters, Cody flipped the blue-eyed boy as gently as he could onto the bunk, carefully righting him so he was sitting up. Gaia did the same with the other and then threw her arms around his neck. The boy’s eyes flew open wide.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” she hurried. “I promise. You have to make everyone out there feel like you would though. If they don’t think you’re bad, they won’t trust you. Do you understand?”

A wave of fierce pride seemed to bubble up from somewhere near Cody’s feet, thawing the frost of Vader’s presence out of his veins. That was his ad’ika, his Gaia. If she could keep that moral core, that goodness, and survive what could be a very horrible existence with it in tact... What a warrior she could be.

Both boys were listening now, glancing between Gaia, who knelt between them on the skinny mattress, and Cody. He took off his helmet and set it on the Gaia’s bunk. Guess he’d be needing to add two more. His quarters were starting to get really cramped now that he thought about it. He felt his lips tug to the side; Fives would’ve loved it, though, wouldn’t he? Fives always did prefer to keep everyone close, within arms reach if need be.

“You’re... wait...” The one Cody had hauled in was frowning, trying to make this new information make sense. He stared at Gaia as if he’d never seen anything so perplexing in his entire life and then his gaze shifted over to Cody. “You’re a Clone.”

“Yeah.” He knelt down and Gaia scrambled off the bed, looping her arms around his neck from behind. He patted her clasped hands and locked eyes with both boys. “I won’t lie to you. This place is dangerous. For all of us. Clones aren’t supposed to be like me. They’re all under the control of the Empire, in here,” Cody tapped his temple for emphasis. “Gaia, here? If she was what they wanted, she really would have broken your ankles. It’s not easy, being us and being here. But together, we can make it. Think you can find it in yourselves to trust us?”

“How long have you been here?” It was the blue-eyed Zabrak who spoke. His accent was as sharp as his canines.

“Over a year,” Gaia replied with a tightening of her arms around Cody’s neck. He wasn’t sure, but it felt like she was somehow guarding him, like she was prepared to launch herself over his shoulder if one of the boys tried anything. “Papa Cody helped me. He’ll help you, too. And when they start teaching you how to... do things, it won’t be easy. But he makes it better.”

The boys looked at each other and then both sighed. “Okay... what should we do?”

“Pick your names.” Gaia beamed at them both. “You can pick anything.”

Cody chuckled, Gaia’s excitement tangible as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “My brothers, the other Clones, all chose their own names before the Empire happened. It was something we all looked forward to.”

“Soren,” bubble the green-eyed boy. He beamed at his brother. “Like that pilot.”

The other boy rolled his eyes indulgently. “I know.” He looked down in his lap as Cody gently unfastened the binders around his wrists. “Who was your favorite?”

Cody frowned. “Favorite...?”

“Brother.”

Gaia was looking at him now, too. She knew, Cody suspected. He’d told her so many stories about his little brother, the one who’d earned Jaig eyes his first tour. The brother who’d walked out of the barracks fresher one morning with bleached, barely-there hair and a strut like some sort of Coruscanti model. The brother who’d stood up to a rogue Jedi, defying orders despite the knowledge that doing so might’ve meant his own life.

“Rex,” he said in a tight voice.

“Can I have it, too?”

Cody swallowed, which was difficult, but nodded. “Sure. I think... I think the other Rex would be happy to share his name with you.”

The next six months skipped by very quickly. Gaia went through a growth spurt, shooting up to only an inch or so less than Cody. Soren and Rex took to their combat training like they were born for it. Their physiology leant itself to acrobatics and the boys both favored using their own heads as weapons whenever they could.

Cody finally took the leap and shaved his head, actually feeling pleased at the result. The kids all took turns helping him, giggling and getting into a shaving gel fight before everything was said and done. Then they took turns “buffing” his smooth scalp to make him “shiny like Sixthree”.

Gaia took to guarding her new brothers like they were her own flesh and blood. She talked gently but firmly to them prior to their first session with the woman Gaia called The Teacher, and while both boys looked markedly frightened, she promised them vehemently that she would be there the entire time.

Cody tried not to think about the way all three had looked upon returning for their sleep cycle. Acid burns had peppered the left arm of each child, and Gaia sported an angry red and purple slap mark on her left cheek. He’d arrived back at their jammed quarters after a day spent forcing himself not to think about what was happening with... with his children, only to find them huddled together on his bed while Sixthree tried to soothe them while he applied bacta to their blistered skin. Gaia had thrown herself into front of the door when Cody had turned on his heel with murder in his heart, barring his way and begging him to just stay.

“Papa, what happens if you do kill her?” Gaia had demanded quietly. “They’d kill you. And then what about us?”

His awe of the girl never seemed to lessen, but only expanded more and more every day. She was so strong and so smart, protective to a fault, even of him. He adored her in a way that was no more or less than the boys, but was something different. The boys were like shadows of his childhood, ghosts of little brother cadets possessing different bodies. They felt familiar and like parts of himself that he’d lost. Gaia was more like a miniature, not quite realized version of something that Cody had never actually experienced: a mother. But this would have to be how mothers were. Right?

Two more kids were brought to the ship a week after the head shaving event. Both were just as feral and unwieldy as Soren and Rex had been, especially the youngest one to date, who was only nine. He was the most difficult of them all. And Kali was the one who had tried to Force choke him the second she’d laid eyes on him.

Shriek, the boy, had done exactly that the second that Vader and the kid’s handlers had departed. To say that the boy had a pair of lungs on him was an understatement, but it wasn’t the volume that sent Cody to his knees. Images of his brothers screaming in agony seared his brain like hot knives. Rex, falling and tumbling, the fear in his voice split Cody’s skull. Kix taking blaster bolt after blaster bolt, toppling to his knees with lifeless eyes before anther brother took his place. Wolffe stretched with his limbs pulled taught, Grievous placing a lightsaber at the junction of his shoulder and arm as he unsheathed it. The screams layered, the same but different faces bleeding over and around each other in an unending torrent of pure misery until... the varactyl scream.

Soren surged into action, clapping a dark hand over Shriek’s mouth so hard that it made tears spring into the boy’s dark hazel eyes. Rex tackled Kali, who had flown to her feet and was running away like a frightened animal. Gaia planted herself between the boy who would be called Shriek, arms raised defensively, face taught with concentration.

“Get... out... of his head,” she struggled to say, sinking down on one knee as if some huge weight was pressing her into the plastisteel floor. She whooped in a breath and then growled through gritted teeth, arms trembling furiously. Cody had relied on later recounts of the event to fill in the gaps in his memory but that moment, the relief as... it withdrew from him, was one that remained crystal clear.

No one had moved for a long while after that, all five just breathing loudly. Shriek lay stiff and shivering in Soren’s arms. Kali had allowed Rex to turn her loose, her purple lekku draped over each shoulder as she slumped to her knees. Gaia had collapsed to her hands and knees, but not before knocking her foot against his arm. Are you okay?

He started to tell her he was okay, but he knew he wasn’t, so he didn’t say anything. Such tenderness also wouldn’t have looked good to outside eyes. Instead, Cody straightened out of the curled ball he’d been reduced to by a child and tried to get to one knee. A lancing stab of white hot fire shot through his head, cracking over his right temple and behind his eye. The noise that tore out of him was startling even to him.

“I’ve got to get him to medical,” Gaia said quietly, glancing at Soren and Rex. “Take them to our quarters. Gag that one.”

Kali didn’t resist and instead benignly followed Rex and Soren as they hefted Shriek between them, careful not to glance worriedly back at Gaia as she struggled to get Cody standing again.

“Come on, Papa,” she whispered, fitting her shoulders under his arm. “Help me.”

Energized a little by the girl’s plea, Cody got his feet under him, live blaster round loose in his skull and all, and kept himself righted long enough for Gaia to half drag him to medical. How she did it other than through the Force, he was never able to really comprehend afterward. It was only the next morning, after he came to with five small faces watching him intently did he realize that he’d been unconscious.

“Captain, sir,” Gaia roused the group with a sharp salute and they all lined up beside his bed. Each was dressed in matching simple black body glove, kama, and black vambraces, their faces ghostly in the too bright lights of the medbay.

“At... at ease,” he said, groaning quietly at the sensation of light in his eyes as he slowly pushed himself up on the bed. The five children obeyed in flawless, unnerving synchronization.

“Cadets Kali and Shriek have made a change of opinion since last you spoke, sir.” Gaia intoned in what he could only describe as a menacing voice. But the names... that was promising, he hoped.

She broke rank and placed behind the line, her recent gains in height very evident amongst the others. “Haven’t you?” she snapped pointedly, glaring into the faces of the vibrantly purple Twi’Lek and pale young human as she gave each of them a healthy smack on the shoulder that was anything but friendly.

Again, Cody felt the gnaw of worry mixed with shock at how good Gaia was at this.

“Yes sir,” they both answered, addressing Gaia. That was a nice touch.

She turned to Cody, betraying not announce of emotion other than agitation. “We will leave you to your rest, sir. I would like to put the newbies through their paces, sir, with your permission.”

“Permission granted,” Cody said in as flat and hard a voice as he could muster.

Waiting until the kids had trooped out in single file, he reached over to the pile of discarded armor that someone had removed from his body and grabbed his communicator. “Sixthree?”

There was a pause and then the too chipper voice of the protocol droid responded. “Captain. Oh, I do hope you are sufficiently recovered?”

“I... yeah, I’m okay. Listen. We’re gonna need a bigger room. Six beds. A master suite for myself, a group room for the... squad.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Maybe room for a proper kitchen and place to eat. See what you can do about that, yeah?”