#maybe i should ship tag this its like adjacent enough

[hauntedhayderide]

Happy New Year! Crawling out of my hole to post some fan art,,, I watched the fishing anime and I really liked it,,,,

[ghostly-cabbage]

Party In The Graveyard (Shiptember 2021 : Drunk)

It’s a day late but heres the Danny x Wes fic I wrote for @ghostgothgeek ‘s Ship Event!! Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Language, Underage Drinking, Mild Suggestive Themes Additional Tags: Post-Reveal, Aged Up Characters, Mutual Pining, Flirting, Getting Together

Summary: So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay? This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea. Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class. And it's just getting better and better. Why? Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.

--

Or a fic in which Wes sees Danny getting shitfaced and says, "Is anyone else gonna take care of him, or?" and then doesn't wait for an answer.

Words: 6,233

Ao3

“I take back all my poor words. Talk is cheap, but my mind is rich When I close my eyes You grab my wrist, And pull me in to your cold dead lips”

So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay? 

This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea. 

Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class. 

And it's just getting better and better. 

Why?

Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in. 

He walked in like he owned the goddamn place and the reaction went through everyone like a Whoop—like some kind of synchronized celebration of a miracle. 

What, just ‘cause everyone knows he’s Phantom now? 

Give him a fuckin’ break. 

Currently, Wes is standing adjacent to the fridge, nursing a god-awful drink Kyle shoved into his hands before disappearing back into the throng. 

Lighten up, bro, he’d said. 

Yeah. 

Sure. 

The music pounds through the house—a heart beat—a fucking jack-hammer. 

People talk and yell and spill their drinks on just about every surface that can stain. 

A cheer goes up from the dining room and he rolls his eyes. 

He slams his drink and focuses on the outdated calendar on the side of the fridge to keep from shuddering. It makes his mouth water, burns the whole way down and Jesus, seriously, what the fuck did Kyle put in this? 

He throws his cup at the overflowing trash can. 

His cheeks feel warm, but not even a buzz touches the wound up feeling in his chest. 

He passes through the dining room, stops to watch Danny and Dash shotgunning sixteen ounce Mike’s Harder cans. From the looks of the table, they've already gone a few rounds.

Danny finishes five whole seconds before Dash. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and crushes his can. 

“Slowing down already, Baxter?” he says, a smug grin plastered across his face. His shoulders are slumped and he talks just a bit too loud.

Dash finishes his and tosses it over his shoulder, which—cool. Fucking nice, what, does he think they have a fucking maid? 

“In your dreams, Fenton. We're just getting warmed up. No way I'm getting out-drank by a twig like you, half-ghost or not.” 

“Guess we’ll see.” Danny shrugs. He talks like he’s one of those people, has always been one of those people. 

Wes rolls his eyes and is just about to slip out of the room when— 

“Ohhh shit! If it isn’t the one and only Wesley Weston!” 

Fucking hell. 

He turns and levels as unimpressed of a look as he can manage at Danny. 

“Imagine that. It’s almost like I fucking live here.” 

Danny swipes up a plastic cup and then proceeds to walk through the table towards him. People act like they’re finding out all over again. 

“Oh come on, Wes. You’re not still mad are you?” He comes up to him and slouches against the archway’s frame. 

Wes scrapes his tongue along his teeth. “Mad? What could I possibly be mad about?”

Danny looks at him like a puzzle. 

When he talks his voice is quiet, hard to hear over the music. “I dunno, the fact that you knew all along but no one ever listened? They thought you were crazy and you weren’t but no one's even said sorry?” His lips quirk up at the corner and Wes can smell the artificial black cherry dancing on the top of the alcohol in his breath. 

He wrinkles his nose and it has nothing to do with the smell. 

“I was being facetious, prick.” 

Danny smiles bigger, and his eyes glitter, something doe-eyed.  

“Right. So you are still mad?” 

He pushes air through his teeth. 

“Not like it matters,” he says, looking away from Danny, drifting over the room. “Where’s your chaperones? Weird to see you anywhere alone.” 

Danny just stares at him for a few seconds before understanding sparks. 

“Ah. Sam’s got a family thing. Tuck took a closing shift.” He waves a hand and his head lolls against the wall with a thunk. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a swig. 

Everything about him looks heavy. It’s weird for Danny.  

“Have you tried the jungle juice your brother made?” he says. “It sucks. You’ve gotta try it.” 

Wes lifts a brow and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“How many’ve you had?” 

Danny looks down into his cup, swirls its contents. It’s silent for several seconds too long. 

“I’m not really sure, honestly. Didn’t know I was supposed to keep count.” 

Wes slides a hand down his face. 

Jesus Christ. 

“Listen, maybe you should slow down—”

“Yo! Fenton! Stop flirting with Wes and fucking get over here, we’re not done.” Dash calls across the room and— 

Flirting?! 

They weren’t fucking flirting. 

What the fuck.

Wes’s face heats up far beyond the liquor in his veins. 

Danny looks up and flashes Dash a thumbs up. And then Danny is even closer—grabbing his arm. The chill of his hand goes right through to his stomach. 

“Hey,” he breathes, “come watch me outdrink Dash.”

“Why would I wanna do that?” He ignores the way his breath flutters in his lungs, the way he feels light all the way to his toes.

Danny smiles like what he’s about to say is a secret—like it’s just for him, and all of a sudden Wes wants to be as far from Danny as humanly possible.

“Isn’t watching Dash lose at something for once reason enough?” 

Wes forces himself to keep breathing and he swallows. 

“Fine,” is all he can force out and then Danny is dragging him towards the table. He ignores all the people looking at them. 

The fragmented group of A-listers cheer again and Dash slams a bottle of Fireball onto the table, making people's drinks jump and slosh. 

“Let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” he says, grin just shy of evil. 

“Where’d you get that?” Wes asks. 

Dash cocks a brow. “Paulina found it? Duh.” 

God, Kyle really wasn’t joking about getting people fucked up. 

Wes is not going to clean up anyone’s puke this time. This shit is all on Kyle. 

“Dude, is it even cold?” Danny asks. 

“No, it wasn’t in the freezer long enough,” Paulina says. She’s drinking from a champagne flute for some fucking reason. He didn’t even know they had those. 

“Gimme that,” Danny says, swiping it from Dash. “No way in hell I’m drinking warm whiskey.” 

His eyes glow blue, and when he breathes out its a thin vapor. Frost creeps over the glass and Wes can’t help but shiver.

“Dude, fucking wicked. I’m still not over this,” Dash breathes, clapping his hands together. 

How could Wes forget that Dash is Phantom’s number one fanboy after all?

But Danny isn’t looking at Dash—he’s looking at him. 

Only it’s different this time. Because before it was always a taunt, blatantly rubbing it in Wes’ face when he used his powers and no one else noticed.

But the way Danny is looking at him now… like he’s waiting for something, thinking about something.

Danny hands back the Fireball and his eyes slip away from Wes and he feels like a fish wrenched from water. 

What the hell was that? 

“Fuck yeah, Fenton.” Dash unscrews the whiskey, flicks the cap off the mouth with a finger, sending it flying. He pours directly into their cups, the liquid glugging through the frosted neck of the bottle.

“Two shots of vodka,” someone says and everyone laughs.

“No chasers?” Danny asks, eyeing his cup. 

Dash puts down the Fireball. “What’s the matter, you scared of the burn?” 

“Not a chance,” he says, and holds out his cup to Dash. They cheers each other and then they’re throwing it back. 

It sinks in his stomach like a rock. There’s no way this ends well. 

.

It’s on the sixth round of Fireball that Dash starts to look green. He sets down his cup and leans on the table. He stares at the clear storage container of jungle juice and Kwan comes up beside him, pats his arm. 

“Dude, maybe you should call it.” 

“I’m fine, ‘s fine…” His words slur together. He tries to stand up straight and Kwan and Paulina both have to keep him up right. 

Danny laughs. “Not lookin’ great, Baxter,” he says, his own words falling sluggishly from his mouth. Danny goes to lift his cup to his lips again and Wes puts his hand over it. 

“Nope. You two are done.” 

“Come on, Wes. Don’t be a buzzkill. I’m good!” Danny says. “Dash is the one that lost!” He flings his hand towards Dash and knocks the Fireball over, spilling it all over the table.

The group all crows at once, a choir of “oh shit” “nice one” and “duuuude noooo”’s. A few people rush to grab their phones from harm's way.

Danny blinks at the table. “Oops,” he says. 

A smile splits his face and he starts chuckling. It builds from him, a laugh, something outside of him—beyond him. 

He laughs until he’s doubled over, holding onto Wes to keep himself stable. 

“Yeah, that’s it. You’ve had more than enough.” He grabs Danny’s cup from him before he can spill that too and drinks it himself. The cinnamon burns through his sinuses and he shudders. Ugh. 

Danny straightens and sways just a bit, stumbling into him—their faces inches apart.

“Hey, that was mine,” he says, voice twisted in a pout. “Not cool.” His breath is cold, thick with the smell of whiskey. 

Wes feels frozen, feels like he can’t breathe. 

His heart pounds in his chest and he prays Danny isn’t so close he can feel it. 

Around them the choir starts again, a chorus of suggestive “ooo”’s. He can feel their eyes on him and it makes his skin crawl. 

Fucking dammit, this is all Fenton’s fault. 

He pushes Danny away from him. Not fast or rough, just to arms length. He coughs. 

“Star, you should go to the kitchen and get them both some water,” he says. 

She gives him an annoyed look. 

“I don’t see you doing anything else,” he snaps. 

“I’m drunk too, you know,” she says, but gets up and leaves towards the kitchen. 

Paulina and Kwan coax Dash into a chair, and he puts his head down on the table, groaning. A few others are sopping up the Fireball with paper towels. 

Danny sags in his grip, goofy smile still plastered all over his face. 

“I’ve never been drunk before, this is awesome,” he says. 

Wes rolls his eyes, and maneuvers Danny into a chair. His head lolls back and he stares at the ceiling for a second before perking back up and trying to go for someone else's cup. 

“Dude, I’m serious.” Wes moves the cup out of his reach. “Quit while you’re ahead.” 

Danny groans, sinking down in his chair like he’s boneless. 

“Come on, Wes,” he says. “You think I don’t know my own limits?” 

“You just said this is your first time being drunk.” 

Danny blows a raspberry. 

Star walks back into the room and hands Wes a glass of water and then slides one across the table at Dash. 

“Here. Wanna drink? Drink this.” 

“Ugh, fine,” he says. 

He’s a few swigs into it when he stops. 

“God, it’s hot in here. Is anyone else hot?” And before anyone can answer his eyes glow that bright blue and a chill works through the air, plummets the temperature. 

“Danny—” Goosebumps rise over Wes’ skin and his breath fogs from his mouth. 

At varying levels of exasperation, the people around cry out. 

“Dude, cut that out,” he says, smacking Danny’s arm. 

“Ow, why are you hitting me?” 

“Because you’re being a pain in the ass.” 

Danny looks at him, blinks heavy eyelids. He smiles. 

“What.” 

“Nothing, you just… You’re cute when you’re all annoyed sometimes.” 

The ground feels like it opens up underneath him. 

His thoughts screech to a stop. It smells like burnt rubber, like cinnamon and black cherry. 

It’s just the alcohol. No fucking way Danny of all people would say that to him. 

“You really are drunk,” he says, but his voice sounds off kilter. 

Across the house the last song fades out and Usher’s Yeah comes on. People scream and cheer. 

“Holy shit, I love this song,” Danny says and stands up. He sways and catches himself on the edge of the table, starts laughing again. “Whew, that was close. The spinning is normal, right?” 

Fucking Christ, how did he end up on babysitting duty again? He rubs his temples. 

Is he really about to do this? 

“You should lay down.” He heaves a sigh. “Come on.” 

“Jeez, Wes, that's pretty forward,” Danny says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Heat flashes through him. 

“Would you just shut up,” he hisses. “And stop making it cold. Jesus.” 

Danny snorts and when he moves from the table he wobbles. Wes grabs him before he topples and slings Danny’s arm over his shoulder to keep him up. 

Danny leans into him, almost unbalances them.

“You got a problem with the cold, Wes?” he says, this time his cold breath is against the side of his neck. It sends chills down his spine. 

“I don’t have to help you, you know,” he says, voice thick. “You can get alcohol poisoning for all I care.” 

“You’re a bad liar, Wes.” 

Wes yanks Danny along beside him and out of the dining room. 

“Shut up, Danny. You’re drunk.” 

He hauls Danny past the living room and the knot of people dancing and singing. A few call out to them, ask them to come have fun. He steers them away before Danny can pull away and join them. 

“But I wanna have fun, Wes,” he whines. 

“Dude, you can’t even stand without my help right now, you really wanna try dancing?” 

“Dance with me, then.” 

Wes stops. He looks over at Danny and… 

He— 

He blinks, shakes his head.

“No, not—not right now,” he mumbles. 

“There’s a whole reason I came alone, you know,” Danny says. 

“What, so you could get fucked up and no one would stop you?” 

“Yeah! I mean… well, that’s part of it.” 

Wes guides them towards the stairs, ignoring the looks. 

“Your house is bigger than it looks from the outside,” Danny says. 

“Thanks?” 

“Mmhm.”

God. This is so not what he thought tonight was going to be like. 

“Where are we going?” Danny asks. 

“Somewhere you can lay down and sober up.” 

“Tha’s not vague.” 

Wes starts pulling Danny up the staircase. The second floor is dark, and he gropes around to hit the light. 

The first few steps are fine, which is to say the next steps aren’t fine. 

What he’s saying is that Danny says, “oh shit.” 

And then he’s falling—pulling Wes down with him. 

More accurately, Danny trips and pulls Wes down on top of him. 

They end up in a heap and Danny groans like someone does when they fall on the fucking stairs.

“Ow.” He reaches for the back of his head. Then he’s laughing, like it's the funniest goddamn thing in the world, what just happened. His face screws up, the face of someone who doesn’t know he’s in pain, just pretending.

“Seriously?” Wes snaps. His shin smarts—must have hit it on the stairs. 

“Sorry, sorry.” He laughs each syllable. “You good?” 

“No, I’m not—” And he looks down and he realizes how close they are. Realizes the way Danny’s hair falls into his face, the light catching the slope of his jaw. 

Danny quiets at the same time and it’s like they get stuck there. Like nothing else exists other than this staircase and this moment and the way Danny feels cool and solid like a summer night underneath him. 

“Hey,” Danny says—sounds almost breathless. “Come here often?” 

Wes rolls his eyes and just like that the moment is over. 

“Ugh.” He pushes himself up, detangles himself from Danny. 

Danny reaches for him, that stupid smile back on his face.

“Oh come on, Wes,” he says. 

“Quit messing around, dude.” 

Danny pushes himself up, runs a hand through his hair and Wes tracks the motion with his eyes against his best wishes. 

“You’re so mean. I could have a concussion and this is how you treat me?” 

Wes stands up and straightens his clothes. “You’re fine.” 

Danny gives him a look and then something sparks in his eyes. “I’m going to text Sam and Tucker and tell them how mean you are to me.” 

Psh. He says that like they don’t already hate him. 

“Would you just get up?” 

“These stairs are actually kinda comfy,” he says, head rolling back, sinking back down and closing his eyes. “I think I’ll just stay here.” 

Wes kicks his leg. 

“You can lay down in the room. Get up.” 

Danny heaves a sigh, throws an arm over his eyes. 

“Fiiinnneee.” He pulls himself up by the handrail, stops in a sitting position. “Jesus,” he says, voice just above a whisper. His breathing gets weird. It makes Wes pause. 

“You okay?” 

“...Spinning,” Danny breathes. He’s quiet for a bit, and Wes just lets him sit there. Danny holds his head in his hands for a while.  

Worry creeps into the back of his mind. Maybe Danny wasn’t kidding about the concussion thing. Maybe he should get someone— 

Then Danny is standing up and Wes steadys his other arm. 

“I got you,” he says. “Feeling okay?” 

Danny sends him a weak smile. “Yeah. Laying down does sound good though," he mumbles.  

They make it up the rest of the stairs, and Danny leans against the wall as Wes opens the door to his room. 

It’s dark and quiet inside and he flips on the light. 

He helps Danny in, and he flops face first onto his bed. He groans and rolls over. 

“I’m thinking those last few shots of Fireball were a bad idea…” 

Wes snorts and closes the door softly behind him. 

“Oh, just the last few, huh?” 

“I was havin’ fun, smartass,” Danny grumbles. 

Wes leans back against his dresser and crosses his arms. “I said you should have stopped but noooo, no one listens to Wes.” 

It gets quiet and he can feel the heaviness in the air. He clears his throat. “If you throw up in my bed, I’m kicking you out the window.” 

“I’m not going to throw up.” 

“Famous last words, Fenton.” 

“Shaddup,” Danny says, and it gets quiet. 

Wes can feel the bass from the music through the floor, the muffled sound of singing, laughing, talking. He’s used to ducking out at parties early. He’s used to laying in bed and listening to the songs through the walls until the voices slowly fade and the house is empty again. He listens to Kyle stumble up to bed and knock into the walls and yell “I’m okay” when he does.

He’s not used to having… company. 

Danny sits up like a puppet on too few strings. He makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s still hot,” he sighs. 

“It’s the alcohol, dude.” 

Danny runs his hands over his face, and then reaches back and starts pulling his hoodie off. It drags his shirt up with it and Wes can’t help but look. He looks at the multitude of scars staining Danny’s skin and the way his muscles move over his ribs and—he pulls his gaze away and studies the floor instead. 

“This is your bedroom, huh?” 

“Yep.” 

“Doesn’t look how I thought it would.” 

Wes wrinkles his nose. “How'd you think it would look?”

Danny takes his time looking around the room, hoodie pooled in his lap, before he looks at Wes and gives a boneless shrug. 

“I dunno. More,” he holds his hands up, splays his fingers, “raah!” 

“I… don’t know what that means.” 

“You know! Like… newspaper-clipping red-web on all the walls,” Danny says, smile creeping back. 

Wes squints at Danny. He pushes off his dresser. 

“That’s still all you think of me?” He picks a pillow from his bed and throws it at Danny’s face. Danny lets out a yelp. 

“Besides, I took all that shit down when the truth came out anyway,” he says, trying and failing to keep the inkling of a smile from his voice. 

Danny looks at him blankly for a second before he starts to smile again. 

“Wait, was that… Did you just make a joke?” 

Wes snorts. 

“You did! Holy shit, Wes has a sense of humor, this is bigger news than my shit. I gotta tell everyone.” 

Danny looks soft, sitting like this in the middle of his bed, eyes warm in a way Wes didn’t realize they could be. 

Something in him loosens. 

“Good luck getting people to believe you…” he says. 

“Oh, how the turn tables,” Danny says, and for a bit all they do is smile at each other. 

Danny looks away first, he glances up at the light and squints. 

“You got a light that isn’t so fuckin’ bright?” 

“I thought the light sensitivity was supposed to happen the morning after drinking.” 

“You’re full of jokes tonight.” 

Wes rolls his eyes and flips on the bedside lamp and then shuts off the overhead light. 

Danny hums and flops back down. “Better,” he says.

It’s silent for a few beats and Danny lifts his head to look at him. He smacks the comforter a few times with a flat hand. 

Wes blanches; he’s all too aware of himself, of Danny and the dim light and the closed door. 

“Dude, chill,” Danny says, like he can read his mind—wait, he can’t actually do that, right? Ghosts can’t do that? 

“Sit down or something. You just standing there watching me is creepy,” Danny says. 

Wes swallows his own heartbeat, shakes his head. “Seriously, between the two of us, I’m not the creepy one.” 

“Says the stalker.” 

“I didn’t stalk you.” 

Danny gives him a look, with raised eyebrows and everything. 

Wes sits on the side of the bed, scoots back so he’s leaned against the headboard. 

“I was… investigating.” 

Danny laughs. “Sure, dude. Whatever you say,” and his voice is like smoke—hickory and rough but winding through the air like silk.  

They fall into an amiable silence, cotton soft, but cold. Danny has an arm over his eyes again, and his breathing is so slow it’s hard to pick out from the music downstairs. 

He rakes a hand through his hair and takes out his phone. He unlocks it and scrolls mindlessly for a while. 

He can’t focus. 

Not with Danny so close like this. Not when everything is different now. His mind drifts off and he tries to keep track of every breath, wonders if he’s fallen asleep— 

“Hey, Wes.” 

He jumps. Just a little bit. 

“Y-yeah?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He puts his phone down. 

“...For what?”

“For making everyone think you were crazy.” 

Wes twists his hand in his comforter. Why the hell is Danny apologizing to him? After everything he’s done to him… tried to do to him. It gets stuck in his throat. 

“It’s… You don’t have to—” he wishes he’d had a few more drinks. 

“Nah. I do. Looking back, I didn’t handle you knowing very well.” 

He chews on his lip. He’s never felt so out of place. 

“Danny…” 

Danny moves his arm and looks up at him and his courage almost shrivels. 

“I’m the one who should apologize. Not you. I—” He balls his hands into fists. “What I did, trying to basically out you, that wasn’t… that wasn’t okay.” 

“You didn’t know the whole situation.” 

“Did I need to? It was still fucked up and. I’m sorry. I was so wrapped up in wanting to be right that I didn’t care what it could have done to you.” 

It feels like glass coming up from his throat. 

He’s lost sleep, engraved in the ceiling all the ways he fucked up, all the times he's glad now that no one listened to him. His eyes feel hot and there’s no way in hell he’s going to fucking get emotional in front of Danny. 

“It all worked out in the end,” Danny says. He says it easy, gentle. “You were still technically right, though, so… There’s that.” 

Wes huffs. “Yeah. I guess.” He fights through all the mess. “I don’t know how this didn’t happen sooner though. You were terrible at hiding it.” 

Danny props himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude, I'm a great liar.” 

Wes leans his head back on the headboard. “Sure, but you’re reckless as hell. How many times did you stick your arm through your locker in front of God and everyone?” 

Danny smiles wide and bright. 

“Honestly, after a while, it was just fun to see how far I could go before anyone noticed.” 

Wes can’t help but chuckle. “Pretty far, obviously.”  

“No kidding.” 

Wes runs his palms over his jeans. 

“You’re good though, right?” Wes looks anywhere but Danny. “At home and all that.” 

“Oh. Yeah. It was, uhm, a lot for my parents. But we’re getting there.” 

“Good… That’s good.” The words feel sharp and blocky, and he doesn’t know what else to say. What else can he say? 

His buzz pulls away from him, pulls him down, makes his lids heavy. 

“How do you think Dash is doing?” Danny says. 

“Pf. If he isn’t hugging a trashcan right now, I’ll be shocked.” 

Danny laughs. 

Wes leans over onto some of his pillows. 

“How are you this okay after drinking all that?” 

Danny shrugs. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m feeling it. My guess is something to do with the healing factor ghost shit.” 

“Right, makes sense.” 

He feels tired and heavy and the darkness at the corners of the room get fuzzier. 

“Paulina brought her own champagne glass,” Danny tells him. And he laughs because, who does that? 

He rolls onto his back and they stare at the ceiling.

“Are you kidding? Paulina does that, it’s Paulina,” Danny says. 

They stare at the ceiling like it’s not a ceiling, like it might become more than just ceiling. Wes imagines it disappearing completely.

Danny likes stars, doesn’t he? 

When Danny talks again it’s like he’s far away. An arms length, an atmosphere’s length… he doesn’t know. 

Danny says, “sucks that I’m missing the Super Smash Tournament.” 

Wes tries to keep his eyes from slipping shut. The bed pulls him like quicksand, the smell of sleep. “Trust me, dude, Kyle always wins anyway.” 

Danny says something, something about who he mains or doesn’t main. It becomes all the same, the sluggish rise and fall. 

At some point between light and dark Wes decides that he likes the sound of Danny’s voice. He somehow likes that the room is colder than it usually is. 

And maybe somewhere between all that he decides some other stuff too. 

— 

Wes wakes up before Danny. The sun streams in through a gap in his curtains, pooling on the wall and floor.

He doesn’t have a headache, but his neck hurts like hell. 

Danny is lying on his side faced away from him and, fuck, thank God. He thinks about last night, about Danny in his arms and he— 

He sits up and rubs his hands over his warm cheeks. 

Water. He should get some water. 

He slips out of his room and goes downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet. 

Well. 

Mostly. 

He can hear the sink running and the clink of glass. When he comes around the corner he sees Kyle washing dishes. The house is only half as trashed as he thought it’d be. 

Kyle looks up at him as he walks in. 

“Morning.” 

He grunts, going to pluck a clean glass from the drying rack. 

“Hangover?” 

“Nah. Slept wrong.” He fills his glass at the fridge and downs it all at once. The water helps wash the sour taste from his mouth. Ugh, he should still brush his teeth. 

He fills the glass again and heads back upstairs. He pushes back into his room and when the door creaks he sees Danny jump. 

He walks around the bed and offers the glass to a squinting Danny. 

“Awake?” he asks. 

Danny groans and pushes himself up. His hair is messy, hanging in his eyes. It's infuriating. 

He rubs the side of his face and when he takes the cup their fingers brush. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs. 

“We have pop-tarts and cereal and shit downstairs.” 

Danny gives him a thumbs up while he drinks. 

He wants to ask if he’s okay... He decides to leave it for later. 

Wes leaves his room and goes back to the kitchen. When he gets there, he pulls the pop-tarts down from the cabinet. 

“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Kyle says, “if you wanna clean the dining room, I’ll clean the living room.” 

“Nope, no. This was your thing, dude. You threw the party.” 

“But Wes,” he whines, “Dad’s gonna be home tonight.” 

“Then you should probably get started,” he says and claps him on the shoulder on his way to the toaster.

“Dude, cold blooded. You’re just gonna watch me slave away for hours and not even help your own brother?” 

“Uh... yeah.” He slots the pop-tarts into the toaster. He turns towards Kyle and leans against the counter, grinning at him. 

Kyle gives him a look. 

“How much.” 

“No. No, I’m not gonna be bought this time.” 

“Twenty bucks.” 

“Kyle.”

“Fine, you drive a hard bargain. Forty.” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

“‘This time?’ What happened last time?” 

They jump and look at Danny as he comes down the stairs. He has his hoodie slung over a shoulder and the half empty water glass in his hand. 

“Holy shit,” Kyle says. 

“It’s not important,” he says, sending a glare at the back of Kyle’s head. 

Danny walks up to the counter and sets the glass down to pull his hoodie on. 

“No fucking way,” Kyle says, voice pitched up. “I didn’t believe it when everyone was talking about it last night, holy shit.” 

Danny tugs the hem of his hoodie down and gives Kyle a confused look that he moves over to Wes.

He returns the look, just as lost.

“Dude, what the hell are you talking about?” 

“You two hooking up last night,” Kyle says, like it’s obvious.

It feels like for a second time stops—  

Hooking up?

Hooking up?! 

His heart skips in his chest and heat rushes to his face and the tips of his ears. He feels like he’s been slapped across the face.

Danny looks like a deer in the headlights. 

“Uh—” 

The toaster pops. 

“Which, can I just say, I totally called it. I knew there had to be another reason Wes was so obsessed with yo—” 

“Kyle!” he snaps, his voice higher than he anticipated. “Kyle, oh my fucking god, shut up. We didn’t— Nothing happened last night, we just—”  

His breath feels tight in his throat and he wants to lock himself in his room forever. He can’t make himself look at Danny. 

“Who the hell told you that-that we—” 

“Uh, dude, a bunch of people saw you guys go into your room together. You know Pualina was telling me that Danny was all over yo—”

“Okay! Thank you, Kyle!” he cuts in. “Jesus fucking—” He buries his face in his hands. 

This is it, this is how he’s going to die. 

“I’m just glad for you two! I mean, like, jeez, finally!” 

“Kyle, I’ll help you clean if you shut up right now and never bring this up ever again.” 

Kyle stops, face lighting up. “Dude, deal.” 

“Cool. Now please leave.” 

“What?” 

Wes grabs him by the arm and starts dragging him out of the kitchen. “Leave. Go get the cleaning shit from the garage or some shit, I don’t know.” 

“Oh. Ohhhh, I see. I get you. I’ll leave you two kids alone to enjoy your breakfast together,” he says with a wink and holy fuck, he’s going to kill his fucking brother.

Kyle heads for the stairs and calls down, “Lemme know when it’s safe to come back down!” 

Wes drags his hands down his face. He lets out a slow breath and he tries to ignore his pounding heart. 

Wes goes to the nearest counter and puts his head down. The surface is cold against his burning skin. He groans like an injured animal and at this point he really wishes someone would put him out of his misery. 

“Well…” Danny says from behind him.

 He hears Danny moving and the sound of the fridge being opened. He looks up, watches as Danny takes orange juice from the fridge. When he turns around he sees his face is red too. 

“I mean… hardly the worst rumor to get spread around about us,” he says. That stupid smile makes its way onto Danny’s face. 

“I once had this dude tell everyone at school that I was a ghost. It was super weird.” 

Wes shakes his head. “Dude, shut up.” But he can’t help the grin that pulls at his lips. 

Danny laughs, a quieter thing today than it was last night. 

“I can have some, right?” he asks, lifting the OJ. 

“Yeah, it’s fine.” 

They fall into silence while Danny pours a glass and Wes goes to numbly retrieve his pop-tarts. 

“It’s probably spread through all of Casper now, huh.” 

Danny glances at him. Something dances through his expression. He hums as he takes a drink of his juice. 

“Uh. Probably further than that, now that everyone knows I'm… you know.” Danny shoots him an uneasy look.

Right. Right. 

This was just getting better and better. 

He takes a bite of his pop-tart. It crumbles in his mouth like sand. 

“Are you… okay?” Danny asks. He reaches back and rubs his neck, and dammit, now he’s just adding insult to injury. 

He looks at him, and he sees the nerves in the way he holds himself, stitched into the way the light hits him. He’s not asking just one question.

Wes swallows. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I mean, like you said. There could be way worse rumors,” he says. He looks at Danny like he’s too far away, like he enjoyed last night way more than he should have. And he sees it in Danny too, some sort of mirror. 

“I think so too,” Danny says, heavy the way he exhales it. 

They break eye contact and Wes doesn’t really know what to do, what to say. 

“Well, uh. You have cleaning to do, I guess. I should probably get home before my parents get too freaked out.” 

Wes nods. “Yeah, probably.” He wonders if Danny knows what’s in his voice. The dark from last night is clouding his mind, pulling him, begging him to just say it.   

“Yeah… I’ll, uh, see you at school?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool.” 

But Danny doesn't move. 

He lingers like a shadow. He looks like he wants to go. He looks like he wants to stay. 

“Wes,” he says. 

Wes looks at him.  

He worries at his bottom lip and moves along the counter towards him. 

“Thanks. For last night.” 

He lets out a puff. “Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t die the rest of the way from alcohol poisoning.” 

Danny rolls his eyes. 

“I wasn’t that bad.” 

“You were pretty bad.” 

“Not even.” Danny smiles.

And they’re close again, sharing each other's space. 

“It wasn’t… awful, I guess,” he says before he can stop himself. “Even with you being a pain in the ass the entire time.” 

“Maybe we could do it again sometime,” Danny murmurs.

“What, me looking after your drunk ass the whole night?” 

Danny snorts. “No, I was thinking more like I match you drink for drink instead,” he says. 

“At least then you’d last till the Smash tournament.” 

Danny glances away. 

“I didn’t mind missing it too much, actually.” 

Wes’s breath gets stuck and his heart beats like a drum in his ribcage. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah…” 

In some ways it’s just like last night; Danny’s close enough he can feel the movement of his breath between them. 

“It’s way more fun, bothering you.” 

It’s a slow motion sort of thing, a hair raising thing. 

“Well you’re an expert at it by now.” 

Wes thinks about theme parks. Sitting at the top of the sky and just before his stomach drops—

“Always room for improvement. I could get better at it if you want me to.” 

And what if he does? What if he wants to see Danny in all the ways he can? What if he wants to know Danny for real this time?  

Maybe he wants pictures, proof that it’s real. 

Maybe it’s always been leading to this. 

Maybe it’s fucked up. 

Wes having the power to hurt him all over again. 

“Drink for drink?” he says, barely a whisper. 

“Drink for drink,” Danny says—closer, closer, breath against his lips. 

Danny gives him time to pull away. But Wes doesn’t. Something to do with what he decided last night.  

“Prove it.”

[trillgutterbug]

Fic Writer Questions!

tagged by @palamedessextus 😊 thanks friend!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

64! only five more to the magic number ayyyyy and then i’m legally obligated to never post another one.

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

289,575 apparently??? which seems way way way higher than i ever would have guessed, wow. who knew!

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

31 on ao3, although that’s lumping, eg, all marvel subfandoms together. but i have a ridiculous amount of wips in all kinds of other fandoms that i haven’t/won’t post, soooo.... more than that! and i don’t want to list them all bc that’d be a long boring read!

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

it serenely disdains to destroy us, a magnus archives fic that, i somewhat vainly note, has been orbiting in the top few top kudosed fics in the tag since i posted it womp womp.

concerning flight, because we all thirsty for thor/loki+gender and i for one support us.

untitled porny snippet (yes that’s actually what it’s called), because same as above. (i see u, kudos-to-comment ratio and i aint mad but.... i see u. all you dirty birds out there shamefully yet silently jerking it. kudos to YOU.)

an experiment in posthumous subsistence, a batman/joker zombie au i wrote fucking TEN YEARS AGO ALMOST. why???? why is this fic so popular?? i’m barely a good writer now and i sure as shit wasn’t one a decade ago! the terrible title alone should disqualify it from being read, but i guess the people want what they want. and what they want is batman and joker handcuffed together, trying to escape the zombie apocalypse  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

all good things, some stucky hydra trash party-adjacent smut regarding piercings. i stand by this one 100%, it deserves every kudo(s?) tbh.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i do, depending on the comment! i don’t think comments like “loved this!” / “thanks for writing!” are written with the intent to receive a response (or at least, when i write them on other people’s fics, i certainly don’t expect one). they’re like an extra kudo(s?), and i appreciate them a lot, but they’re not really an invitation to Discuss. whereas if someone clearly has put a lot of thought into a comment, or asked a question, or made some observations that i jive with, or just seems like they want to engage, then hell yeah i jump in there. love that shit. 

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

i guess arguably thine own self, which is some hydra husbands abo. laugh all you want, it’s one of my fave of all my fics lmao. probably specifically bc of the unpleasant/open ending.

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

probably moderation is a memory! since it, unlike 99% of all my other stuff, isn’t just total smut, and the whole point of writing it was to wallow as deep as possible in the sauce of giddy teenage infatuation, it got the opportunity to have an actual emotional arc (more or less). furthermore i could not possibly bring myself to break johnny lawrence’s tender little heart ever, that would hurt me far more than it would hurt him.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

i only realised while answering this question that apparently.... no i don’t write crossovers! which is not at all a deliberate choice, i guess a compelling enough one just hasn’t occurred to me yet! 

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

shockingly no! by some accidental miracle i’ve managed to fly under the radar so far, despite some of the really buckwild stuff i’ve posted. however, considering some of the stuff i’m probably ABOUT to post.... that clean track record might soon come to an end lmao.

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

lmao. uhhhh. almost exclusively, and i guess??? all kinds? this is clearly a question composed by someone who does not write smut.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of, and i wouldn’t really care if i did. 

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

yeah i think a few....? a number of people have asked anyway and i always say yes, so probably there’s at least one floating around out there somewhere.

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have! just once, and we really made it count. it’s called a reptile dysfunction, which should tell you all you need to know. 

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

thorki, probably. i always have and always will come back to it, no matter what. it’s got such a ferociously timeless staying power and so much potential variation, i don’t think i could ever get bored of it, regardless of what level of marvel-exhaustion i might feel at a given time, or what tropes, kinks, or stage of literary pretension i’m at. truly the oh tee pee. 

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

ohhhhh all 836575927 of them, but. there’s this one thorki fic i started almost ten years ago as an experiment with a new-to-me style, which turned out over the intervening years to become my main style, and looking back on that fic, which for many years was a touchstone of writing-to-aspire to for me, it’s actually Not Very Good lol. but i still love the core concept, which is a canon divergence berserker thor au, but not only is it a somewhat inaccessible (admittedly less so since the deadpool movies came out, which was a hilarious pipe dream back when i started writing it) x-force comics crossover, but i wrote myself into a bunch of corners and have yet to dig up the energy to write myself back out of them! i go and reread it every year or so and think “hmm... maybe now...” but tbh it’s just not really good enough to bother! perhaps someday i’ll repurpose the best elements of it into something new.

16) What are your writing strengths?

man, it’s so hard to say. in much the same way that you can spend hours every day staring at yourself in a mirror, yet be utterly incapable of picking yourself out of a lineup, i spend a lot of time eyeballing my writing, but stepping back it seems like a chaotic mass of nonsense with few cohesive throughlines. i’m good at writing smut, i know that much! and in that vein, i think i am good at smut bc i am very good at committing to the bit, as it were. getting into the nitty gritty of experience and sensation (physical or emotional) and rendering largely abstract internal concepts in fairly comprehensible ways. i think my prose is quite decent on a sentence level too.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

utterly incapable of finishing anything! or plotting anything! can’t mange a cohesive emotional arc! write myself into overly structured corners or out onto a vast plain with no structure in sight! all the macro elements of storytelling totally elude me, which is very frustrating when i have all this tasty fleshed out micro-level character stuff, but no narrative skeleton upon which to drape it.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?   don’t! unless you are very sure you know what you’re doing, and the other language bits are a) very few, b) easily contextually understood, and c) actually adding something other than a weird flex that you know google translate exists.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

11yo me wrote spock/kirk/janice rand and thought she invented the concept of a threesome. brand been stronk since day one 🤘. (the vulcan salute is right next to the devil horns in my emoji list, so....)

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

i love the (ongoing) better with you series very much, not least because i’m still absolutely flabbergasted that i wrote something that long. i think it’s actually pretty good all things considered and it’s very dear to me on many many levels. but the fic that i just viscerally adore, that i love the style of, and that i had such a transcendent, invigorating, organic Experience writing, is temper its strength, adding honey until quite cold, which is a terror fic with the inexplicable pairing of edward little/hartnell, featuring crossdressing and gender stuff. it just burst out of me fully formed one day and i don’t think i’ve managed to top it yet! 

lowkey tagging @lingua-mortua @pitcherplant @kaasknot @froggy-babyy @deputychairman @nomercyonlytears @clockheartedcrocodile

[what-the--curtains]

Alliance

Chapter 9 – The Hunt

(Mando x f!reader)

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

Summary: After recovering you set off to find the man who tried to kill you. Killing him proves to be more difficult than expected when the ones you love are threatened, and on the other side of the choice, your own future.

Authors note: One more chapter to go!! Some angst at the end here! Hope y’all enjoy ❤️❤️❤️! (I also did some very average fan art if y’all haven’t seen it yet!)

Tw: sex is alluded to (not depicted), decapitation, force choke

Word count: 4.9k

Tagged list: @crazycookiecrumbles, @seninjakitey

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

The planet proved harder to find than expected, despite Anya's best efforts, something was fogging up her tracking causing your coordinates to be constantly in flux. She’d easily lead you past the outer rim, but since then it had been akin to a wild goose chase.

“Any idea who tried to kill you.” Din asks, he'd been exceptionally patient throughout the journey thus far. Never questioning your methods just typing in the new location coordinates calmly and re aligning the ship on its new course.

“Did kill me” you correct, as your hand moves absentmindedly over the healed wound. “but no, I dont. They had a lightsaber though”

“Was it a Jedi?” he asks earnestly.

“Well based on the context clues, I'd definitely say at least Jedi adjacent” you laugh, for a savvy strategist who knew multiple languages you sometimes found yourself questioning if his brain was in fact functioning.

“Why would a Jedi try and kill you?”

“Your guess is as good as mine”

“How do they decide on colors?” He asks after a somewhat awkward silence

“Hmmm” you hum out in confusion, only half paying attention to what he had said.

“The light swords? Ashoka's are blue, yours is purple and the figures, well there's was red” your heart stops.

“It was red?” you ask, sitting up in your seat giving him your undivided attention.

“Ya does that mean something?” He watches your eyes slowly piecing together what he'd just told you.

“That’s impossible, the Sith were defeated. They died with the emperor.” you affirm, your sure red was a common colour used by Jedi nowadays, sure no one had ever seen one before, but there was a first time for everything right?

“So were the Jedi.” he points out.

“Do you always have to be right?” you ask slightly irritated for a reason you couldn’t quite explain. He doesn't respond; he knows a rhetorical question when he hears one but unsure what he had done to upset you. An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air, a sensation you'd never experienced with the Mandalorian before. Not wanting to stew in the quiet you head down to the lower levels and try and calm your frazzled mind. Sitting down you cross your legs, one over the other, as you close your eyes.

On the best of days meditating was a chore, but under the current situation it had become an impossible task. It wasn’t the threat of being ambushed that had you distracted, no something else was playing heavily on your mind. It was what was causing the punctuated silences, forced conversation and overall awkwardness in the atmosphere. It was your own doing. Seriously, who kisses a man whose face they've never seen! Idiots that's who and now it was stuck on your mind. In your defense you thought you wouldn't have to deal with the fallout so quickly. You should have known he’d have insisted on going with you, but you hadn't thought that far ahead, or at all and now you had to sit with the fact that you’d possibly ruined your comfortable friendship by planting one on him. Technically it wasn’t a real kiss,or maybe it was, how did Mandalorians kiss anyways? There you were down the rabbit hole again, this is why you couldn't focus, you curse yourself. Shaking your head you remind yourself it was only done in an attempt to get around him, a strategic move to protect the group, nothing more, nothing less. Keeping that in mind you manage to focus and you feel the galaxy's pulse emitting throughout the ship, inhaling and exhaling with the undulations around you.

Din, bored and missing the usually witty banter you offered him, decided it was time for him to clear the air in regards to the kiss. He hopes by telling you that he knew it was only done to get around him, you’d become more relaxed. The last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable around him. He knew you'd never want to be with someone like him, at least in that way. As he turns around he sees you cross legged floating in the air, not wanting to interrupt he heads back up. Anya lifts her head as he re-enters, looking at him as if she knew what he was thinking. He’ll clear the air with you later, the two of you had plenty of time to talk.

You curse as your journey gets rerouted for what had to be the twelfth time in the past two days. Whoever was hunting you did not want to be found and no amount of swearing or whacking the console would change that. The closer you got to your destination the more you felt the malevolent presence grow. You found yourself wondering if it had always been with you, finding it hard to remember a time when it wasn't gnawing at your conscience. Each time you feel it scratching at your doors you remember Ashoka's words “be careful who you let into your head.” You'd made that mistake once with devastating consequences. You would not be making it again. Your energy was now primarily being spent keeping the presence at bay, not allowing it to penetrate any deeper than it already had. Sleeping only acted as an open invitation for the figure to torture you so you opted to forgo it altogether. Perhaps not the wisest decision, but what other choice did you have.

“The planet’s still a few days away.” Din says, noting the unraveled look in your eyes as you take your place next to him.

“Anything to do on this ship.” You ask, fidgeting in your seat. “like games or something” he doesn't respond “Hey beskar head! You awake under that helmet?”. You ask partially joking, partially annoyed that he wasn't talking to you.

“Yes.”

“Yes to games or yes to being awake?”

“To games” you smile, you never knew if he was actually making jokes or if you were just reading into it. The finer details of his personality artfully hidden beneath the metal exterior.

“Got Dejarik, you know how to play?” he asks, glad that you were back to yourself for the time being.

“I'm alright” you say smiling, you were better than alright, at least you think. To be fair you'd only ever played against one person and she was family and probably inclined to letting you win.

“You're cheating!” he exclaims, his annoyance apparent even through the modulator. Your skills were better than you expected especially after all those years, well either that or the Mandalorian was just that bad.

“How?” you ask, laughing at how frustrated he was getting. It was funny when you beat him the second time, but by gods it was even funnier when you beat him the seventh time.

“The force!” He says clenching his hand as he stares down at the board.

“I don't think the force bothers itself with helping me beat you at Dejarik.” you point out, as he grumbles something indistinguishable.

“Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are.” You tease pointing your finger at him eyebrows raised and a smirk plastered on your face.

“That’s not what I’ve been told,” he responds.

“About Dejarik or?” he laughs it off, but you seriously wanted to know the answer. After Cara told you he was allowed to have sex it was a question that you’d thought about a lot, more than you probably should have, but hey you were curious. Realizing the Mandalorian was now turning the game board over to see if it was rigged, you decide to change games.

“You still got that indestructible spear. The beskar one?” you ask nonchalantly.

“Yes, not something i'm planning on losing” he nods

“Fancy a match?” you offer you needed to work on your fighting skills, practicing on the air only went so far.

“Only if you promise not to slice through my ship.” He says, standing up.

“Only if you promise not to cry when I beat you.” you return causing him to scoff

“Oh im not going to be the one crying” he assures.

You stand in the ship's far corner across from Din who haphazardly twirls the spear in his hand as you open up your saber, raising it waiting for him to make the first move. He stays his ground, you and him were both defensive fighters and you knew he was far too stubborn to change his routine. Leaping forward you land in front of him, your saber making contact with the spear. After a few seconds spent testing his strength you know there's no feasible way for you to out muscle him. You'd have to out maneuver him. He’d seen you fight stronger opponents before so you’d have to think outside the box on this one. You move out from under the spear the release of your counter force causing Din to stumble forward. You turn aiming for his shin, but his arm reaches back the spear stopping your hit from connecting with his armour. You circle round him so you're once again face to face giving him enough time to stand back up. He turns quickly, swinging the spear as he does, aiming for your waist. You jump over the swipe landing behind him, hitting him in the back.

“Point to me.” you say

“No using the force” he says, turning to look down at you, his presence suddenly looming.

“I wasn't, I can just jump really high!” You lie.

“Likely story” he says brushing past you as he moves back to his starting spot

“What was that I said about crying earlier?” you question.

He's got you talking too long and he sweeps your feet out from under you knocking you on your ass and gently tapping you on the head with the spear.

“Point me” he says, offering you his hand.

“That was dirty” you say as he hoists you up.

“Who says we're playing clean sweetheart?” The term catches both of you off guard, but he's flustered himself more than you, allowing you to land the next two points.

“Hope your ego isn't too hurt darling.” you mock back at him as metal and light collide once again.

“It’s not over yet” he says, using all his strength to march you back towards the wall pinning you against it with his spear.

“You need to work on your attack, you leave a lot open” he says, breathing heavily.

“You need to work on a codpiece, it leaves a lot open” you retort, kneeing him in the groin, hard enough for him to drop you, but not so hard that it kept him down for long.

“Not enough beskar” he murmurs, hoping to get the last word in.

“Oh big brag for a man who just lost several games of Dejarik in a row and” your sentence is cut short as the spear taps the small of your back giving him the winning point

“And what?”

“Oh real classy Din, can’t win a fair fight” you say hand on your hip.

“It was fair considering I wasn't going 100%”

‘Oh you weren't” you mock, the smile telling him you were amused and not upset by his antics, the gentle slap on his arm further verifying this. The moments like this were nice, but as you continue to gain on your target they became fleeting. The Mandalorian watches as your ability to focus waivers, your frustration becoming increasingly evident in your training. Miraculously, you hadn't sliced through anything important, but the ship’s interior was constantly needing to be patched up. At least it kept him occupied and out of your hair. You looked like you were fighting a hidden battle, one he would gladly fight with you, if you'd let him. He didn’t know the full extent of your struggle, but he knew the anger he felt simmering inside you wasn't being aided by your refusal to sleep.

Your irritability, although caused by exerting tremendous energy keeping the figure at bay, was no excuse for the times you had lashed out at the Mandalorian. The most recent outburst occurred when he'd stepped on your foot after you had explicitly told him to watch out. In hindsight, threatening to melt his beskar down and turn it into a hearing aid for him so he could stop being such a nerf herder was a touch harsh. Alright, incredibly harsh especially considering he'd attempted to apologize before you went off on him.

“Sorry I threatened the beskar” you murmur sitting down next to him

“Are you going to tell me what's going on?” he asks

“Going on where” you ask

“Well it can't just be air in your head” he jokes, causing you to laugh for the first time in a few days.

“Seriously though , I'm sorry Ive been out of line, and it's not fair on you, you’ve been so understanding.”

“You know what might help with the outbursts?”

“A lecture?” you remark, your tone harsher than intended

“No, sleep, you should try it sometime”

“I'm fine without it” you say, the yawn escaping your lips contradicting your words.

“You should sleep.”

“ You don’t.” you remark hoping to catch him off guard, but he's obviously rehearsed this conversation a few times.

“ I don’t need to.”

“Neither do I.” You lie, almost a year later and you still had no idea how he slept so little, though your current working theory was that he would just take naps under the helmet when he thought he could get away with it.

“No, you can't sleep, there's a distinct difference.”

Not wanting to lash out at him for the third time that day and knowing he was right, you make a swift exit. You push the button that opens up to the tight sleeping quarters where you'd spent many hours lying awake. You were hoping that you'd reached an exhaustion point where your body would just shut down. You lay back on the bed not bothering with the covers, you weren't expecting to get comfortable. Anya had stopped trying to sleep in the same bed as you, usually getting inadvertently kicked or shoved out the bed by your constant movements. Your eyes can’t have been closed for more than a minute when they snap open. Despite their alertness your body's gone limp. What fresh hell was this? As your eyes adjust to the darkness you can only just make out the hauntingly familiar shape sitting at the edge of your bed. You go to call out for the Mandalorian, but no sound is emitted, nothing comes out at all not even air. You watch helplessly as the figure's arm extends ensnaring you in a choke hold, the yellow iris shining out beneath the hood, confirming your worst fear. A Sith. You scream yourself awake, the force causing items to fly to the ground, no doubt alerting the Mandalorian. You bring your knees to your chest grabbing at your scalp telling yourself it wasn’t real, but it didn't matter what you said. The truth was you couldn’t tell anymore all lines had blurred together. You get up off the bed looking around the room already exhausted at having to clean up yet another mess you had made. You lean over picking up the weapons that had fallen off the armoury hanging them back up when you hear the Mandalorian drop down the sound startling you.

“I'm sorry” you mutter embarrassed, not looking up as you move to grab the few dishes currently lying on the floor.

“What did I say about breaking the ship?” he says, chuckling slightly in an attempt to lighten the mood. He bends down to help you but you grab his arm stopping him.

“I made the mess. I'll clean it up.” You say gathering up the utensil and placing them back on the table absentmindedly stroking your throat as you turn to pick up the rest. As you reach for the chess board he grabs your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours, leading you back over to the bed.

“Get some rest, I'll clean up,” he says softly, sitting you down on the bed.

“Stop telling me what to do Din, besides it's not working.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I can’t and unless you can think up a way to make me then were shit out of luck.”

“I can think of a few ways.” he mumbles hoping it was loud enough for you to hear.

“Like what? Knocking me out with a blaster?” you scoff

“ A less violent way,” The words leave his mouth before he can fully assess the pros and cons of what he was offering to do.

“Reciting the entire code of conduct of the mandalore race to me?” Gods, how were you still not getting this.

“A less boring way.” He prays that you either catch on or he passes away suddenly so as to save him from any further embarrassment.

“Oh” you punctuate, lips parted slightly suddenly realizing exactly what was being offered to you “you think you can tire me out?”

“Only if you want.” he says, more confident now you hadn't outright rejected him

“Well I have been dying to see what’s under that armour”

“ You’ve seen it before”, and you couldn't wait to see it again.

“Not all of it”

“The helmet stays on,” he asserts.

“Not what I was referring to.” He stands there for a moment unsure how to proceed, not wanting to have misread the situation. “Well are you just going to stand there or are you not a man of your word?” That’s all the encouragement he needs.

“You want me to stop at any time, you just say so cyar’ika”

Once again the Mandalorian was right ; he was able to tire you out. Neither of you say anything after both at a loss for words, and not wanting to ruin the moment by saying the wrong thing. You fall asleep with his arm wrapped securely around your waist, as the other runs up and down your back. His heartbeat lulling you into a deep sleep, his presence managing to stay off any nightmares, at least for now.

He stays with you long after you’ve dozed off watching your back rise and fall in time with your breathing, he thanks the gods you were finally resting. He intently studies the faint purple markings covering your body, wondering how long they'd been there. His hand then tracing over the scars on your back, he wants to know how you got them. He wanted to know everything. Once this was all a distant memory he’d ask, if you chose to stick around that is. Knowing you won't want to find him in your bed when you wake up, he slides his arm from your waist and quietly, so as not to wake you, he puts his clothes back on. Re-donning his armour he heads back upstairs to check on the ship.

Your body shivers inadvertently at the loss of heat and your eyes slowly open. The room’s still dark, but the Mandalorian had gone. He must have left sometime in the night presumably his way of telling you it was a one off. Knowing Din to be a man of few words you knew talking about what had just happened was fully off the table. You sit up and stretch out, allowing your elbows to pop and your shoulders to crack as you roll them out, feeling a way that you hadn't felt in months. Well rested. Making your way over to the fresher you allow the water to wash over you removing any remaining scent attributed to the Mandalorian. After dressing you head up to the cockpit, slightly bow legged from the night before. You’d had your fair share of lovers and for a human, he was very well endowed and very eager to please.

“How far” you ask brushing any thoughts about last night from your head as you shoo Anya off your seat.

“You’re up sooner than I thought.” He says looking at you. He’d noticed the slight stagger in your walk causing him to smirk under the helmet, but the smile fades when you don’t look down.

“How far are we?” you ask again, picking up Anya who’s refused to move of her own volition.

“Close. About last night” he starts, wanting to make sure everything was okay, and that you weren’t regretting what had happened.

“ Look, we don’t have to talk about it. I know it wasn’t a big deal.” You say.

“It may not be a big deal for you.” you don't know why, but you take that tone as being pointed, referring specifically to your time spent in the rings.

“Why? because I've slept with half the galaxy? Something I did in order to survive an environment let’s not forget you put me in?” you spit out

“ No, I-I didn’t mean,” he starts. It's the first time you've ever heard him stumble over his words.

“ You never do.” You say, shutting him up for the remainder of the trip.

“Dropping out now.’ He says, 5 days, that's how long it had taken to get to where you were going, whoever was on the planet was committed to not being found, or at least committed to having you as sleep deprived as possible.

You step out with the Mandalorian close behind you, the planet's surface reflecting the ship's underlights back into its metal exterior. The mirrored rock had sprouted out into various forms and sharp geometric shapes, resulting in a beautiful, but sinister skyline.

“You sure this is the place? Doesn't look like any living thing could survive here.”

“Yes, I can sense a disturbance. You stay here with Anya.” you say placing a hand on his chest plate.

“No way.” Din responds

“I have to do this alone. It's too dangerous for you.”

“For me?” he says in disbelief.

“Wait here if i'm not back within the hour, leave.” You state ignoring his last question.

“ I'll give you two for good measure” he offers, holding out a blaster for you to take.

“It won't help.” You say pushing it back towards him before pulling up your hood and setting off into the unknown. Once he's sure you're out of sight, he follows you.

You close your eyes, letting your senses lead you through the sharpened planet careful not to cut yourself on the dark obsidian refelcting blurred images of the stars. A rock snaps under your foot and your eyes open. A voice calls out to you, uttering your name.

“Who are you.” you ask aloud, turning to face the cloaked figure who stands before you.

“ That is not important” he answers, lips not moving. Telepathy. So that’s how he'd gotten into your head.

“You tried to kill me I think it's at least relevant.” You return in thought.

“You came alone.” he asks, yellow eyes darting from side to side, despite the power this figure held you send a nervousness harboured deep within him, perhaps you should have brought the Mandalorian along with you.

“ Yes” you lie, hoping your force was strong enough to shield the bounty hunter.

“Good.” he snarled.

“Why did you kill me.” you ask not wanting to beat around the bush

“To see if I could. I needed to see your abilities, you’re stronger than I thought if you brought yourself back to life. The empire is rebuilding”, he offers not clearing the situation up in the least

“The empire died with Palpatine, they’re nothing but warmongering desolates now” you say shaking your head, not believing you had flown halfway across the galaxy for this.

“That’s what they have told you. We have been growing an army, led by the spirit of the emperor. We are seeking those with your abilities to help us rebuild.”

“You’ve lost your mind. The Sith were defeated long ago, the Jedi with them.” You turn to leave, no longer fearing this man, he holds no power over you.

“No” he shrieks, the sound drawing your gaze back to him, the noise frightening you slightly “You cannot leave. You cannot go. You will join us and rebuild a stronger galaxy.”

“I have no interest in joing a cult of fear and genocide.” you state calmly.

“It is more than a cult I offer you, something much better, power.” he was getting desperate, a few more days without sleep and you may have fallen for it.

“Power to what? Give you all the blood in my body so you can commit futile experiments on innocent people. You cannot create force sensitivity nor can you push it on someone who it has not chosen. Join you? No, I'll have to pass. Death and destruction will not be my path.”

“Not yet, but it will be. I see it in you, the pain, the sadness, the loneliness, that will all disappear once you join us.”

“Over my dead body” You say drawing your sabre. A violent clash of red and purple ricochet off the mirrored rock, lighting up the shadowed planets.

“Your grandmother trained you well.” He exclaims.

“ If you knew her then you should know that i'd never turn” You continue the fight. Managing to back him into a rock wall. Holding saber at his throat the light purple hue gleaning in the yellow irises beneath his hood.

“I understand why you ambushed me, not much of a fighter are you.” you snarl, pushing the saber into the robe, the scent of burning fabric filling the air. Then you feel it, the pulse of the fibers interwoven throughout the galaxy, something’s amiss. Something else appears under the glow of you saber, yellowed teeth, smiling under the light. You release him pushing yourself back, he wants you to kill him.

“ Do not fear it, I have seen this moment. It is what begins your reign”

“No” you say aloud to yourself, “No” you repeat turning off the saber and turning to leave.

“If you let me live, I kill the man with you.”

The Mandalorian whose been watching from afar hasn’t heard a word spoken in a while, watching you move towards him he thinks it must be over, whoever this person was, Sith or not, you must have come to an agreement. He almost walks out from his hiding spot when you stop dead in your tracks. He sees you look up, your eyes meeting his but only for a moment, before you pivot back to face the man.

“There’s…” you start.

“Don’t play me for a fool child, I have been playing this game long before you were even a thought in your mothers pretty little head. I know he is here. I know what you feel for him. You kill me and in time you will betray him, but you’d rather that, than lose him altogether.”

There's no thought process, no decision to make. With a flick of your wrist you throw the saber. You watch as it slices through the Siths neck before returning to your hand. You close it as his head tumbles to the ground. If Ashoka's words were a warning this, this was an omen. You had made a choice and now a path of irredeemably evil was laid before you. A path you were not prepared to drag anyone else down.

“I know you're there” you say after composing yourself. “I told you not to follow me.” You say making your way to the Mandalorians hiding spot.

“Are you alright? What did he say to you?” he asks, reaching a hand out for your arm.

“Nothing.” You say dodging him. The less he knew the safer he'd be. You weighed your options in your head on the walk back, but you knew there was only one way to avoid harming anyone. You had to hide away, become anonymous. Fall back into legend, never to be seen again. It was the only way Grogu would be safe, it was the only way Cara would be safe, it was the only way Din would be safe. As the ship takes off you say three words that would change everything.

“Take me home.”

“We're on route to Hoth now,” he says reassuringly.

“No, take me to my home. Grogu is back and safe. Our deal is done. Our alliance is over” You say, eyes plastered to the windshield.

“What did he say to you?” Din stresses, but you don’t answer. Silence was the only way to stop him from convincing you to stay.

“Don’t shut me out” he says slamming his hand on the panel. You don’t flinch, you don’t even look up. “We can figure this out together.” He says softly, if you hadn’t known any better you would have thought he was pleading with you.

“You’ve done enough. Take me home. If you don’t the force will.” He resets the GPS coordinates before standing up and dropping downstairs. Anya muzzles into you as you let out a sigh blinking back the tears you felt forming.

[purplehairedwonder]

Hearts With(out) Chains Prologue

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 2178 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Penguin, Shachi, Bepo Note: I'm taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won't leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

The story title is based on the Ellie Goulding song "Hearts Without Chains."

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law can't help but resent Monkey D. Luffy for offering a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

Law meandered down the street, the docked Polar Tang and the setting sun at his back and his hands stuffed in his pockets, to meet Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin for dinner. The island they’d docked at to refuel and restock wasn’t a major port by any means, but it had enough of a commercial district that the four teens had been able to find the food and supplies that they needed.

They had split up into pairs to tackle their supply lists, with Law and Bepo tackling food and medical supplies while Shachi and Penguin had stayed in the small port to secure fuel and have a mechanic give the Tang a once-over. Once the necessities had been procured and dropped off at the ship, the four went their separate ways for a few hours of shore leave before planning to meet for dinner.

Law, for his part, had spent most of his time in the local bookstore, browsing for new medical texts to add to his growing collection as he continued his education as ship’s doctor. After making a few purchases, he’d ended up staying on the Tang, reading one of his new books until it was time to meet the other three.

Since leaving Swallow Island a year earlier—officially the Heart Pirates, complete with Jolly Roger and everything—Law had been unable to shake the feeling of eyes between his shoulder blades whenever the Tang surfaced or docked. Though Doflamingo had been named a Warlord and had recently taken over the throne of a kingdom in the New World while Law’s crew remained in the North Blue, he knew his old boss had eyes everywhere. When they weren’t submerged, he couldn’t help looking to the sky or over his shoulder for a telltale flash of pink. The other three knew some of the history there—they’d witnessed enough of his nightmares that he’d eventually filled in some of the gaps—but they could never fully understand Law’s anxiousness at surfacing when sailing underwater provided the safest passage.

Law shook his head, his shoulders slumping further as he walked. The source of his nightmares was four years buried in the snow and halfway across the world. His friends were constantly trying to get him to lighten up and drop his paranoia—and Law supposed they had a point, not that he’d admit that to them. Though those three years on Swallow Island had provided a measure of stability Law hadn’t felt since before Lami had collapsed at the festival, he hadn’t been able to shake the restlessness under his skin, the feeling of unfinished business that haunted him, so had jumped at the chance to set sail.

Once he reached the town, Law headed right for the inn they'd decided to meet at, having noted its location earlier when he’d gone to the bookstore. He opened the door and stepped inside, looking around to see if any of the other three had arrived yet. He froze, immediately sensing that something was off. There were diners at about half the tables, but it took Law a moment to realize that none of them were eating or drinking. In fact, none of them were talking or moving at all. A heavy silence weighed the room down.

Swallowing, Law scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest on Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo at a table in the center of the room—odd, as they usually opted for corner tables to avoid notice. And they were all sitting on the same side of the table, facing the door.

Facing Law.

Alarm bells rang in Law’s head as he noticed Shachi’s and Penguin’s pale features and wide eyes as they met Law’s gaze. Bepo’s hackles were up. None of them had moved as Law entered. Law opened his mouth, but words died ashy on his tongue as the figure sitting across from them rose to his impossibly tall height and turned, pink feather coat swishing with the movement.

No…

Doflamingo grinned. “Law,” he crooned, throwing his arms out wide. “It’s so good to see you, my boy.”

Law was frozen to the spot, terror warring with rage as his heart pounded in his chest. His throat constricted. He couldn’t be here. He was supposed to be in Dressrosa in the New World, not at a small-town inn on a no-name island in the North Blue.

Law wasn’t ready to face him yet.

“What, no greeting for your boss after all this time?” Doflamingo lifted a finger, and strings wrapped around Law’s arms and chest, pulling him forward into the arms of his nightmare. Law stiffened as Doflamingo’s arms surrounded him.

After an agonizingly long moment, Doflamingo let Law go and stepped back, hands still on Law’s shoulders as he looked the teen up and down, drinking him in. Law fought the urge to fidget.

“It does my heart good to see you alive and healthy, Law.” A large hand cupped his chin and turned his face so Doflamingo could examine him. “No spots. You truly cured yourself of the incurable.”

Law swallowed as the hand dropped from his face. “W-why are you here?” he finally managed, hating the shakiness to his voice.

Doflamingo looked surprised at the question. “For you, of course.” He gestured back towards Law’s friends. “I was just getting acquainted with the rest of your crew. Come, sit.”

Law was given no choice in the matter, as the strings around his upper body pulled him to the free chair adjacent to both Doflamingo and the other three. Law awkwardly sat, and the strings fell away once he’d settled himself. Law blinked in surprise. A show of good faith?

He glanced at Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo and saw the naked fear in their eyes. The man in front of them was a Warlord and far more powerful than any of them. It was one thing to hear Law talk about Doflamingo; it was another entirely to face the man in person. He nodded minutely to them before turning his attention back to Doflamingo.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked, pleased that his voice had steadied. He tried not to think about the other people in the room who would overhear the entire conversation since they were being prevented from speaking. He could only concentrate on the danger directly in front of him.

Doflamingo waved a hand toward the bar before leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground for any news of the Ope Ope no Mi since you disappeared, Law. Imagine my surprise when, about a year ago, rumors started spreading about a young pirate in the North Blue using that very Fruit.”

That was exactly what Law had been worried about. He’d just hoped Doflamingo’s new status as Warlord and king would keep him too busy to come back to the North Blue.

The bartender came forward jerkily, clearly controlled by strings, with a decanter of wine. She poured a glass for Doflamingo and set the bottle down on the table before retreating. The clang of the glass on the wooden table echoed through the eerily quiet dining room.

“I confess, it was difficult getting eyes on that intriguing ship of yours,” Doflamingo went on, unconcerned with—or, more likely, enjoying—the room’s mood, “but I have my ways.”

“And you came personally?”

“Of course.” Doflamingo leaned forward, his large frame encroaching on Law’s space without even trying. He picked up the glass and took a long draught of wine before speaking once more. “After four years, don’t you think it’s time to come home, Law? It’s time to take your rightful place back with the Family.”

Law wanted to snarl that he knew how Doflamingo treated his family, that he knew what the man really wanted him for, that he’d never return to the Family after Minion Island—but the presence of his friends stayed his tongue. Doflamingo didn’t know that Law had heard his exchange with Cora-san that night, and something told Law it should stay that way, so he kept his features neutral.

“Why now?”

Doflamingo’s grin turned sharp. “I need the best at my side to rule. It was no idle promise to train you to become my second-in-command. The Heart seat waits for you, Law.”

Law’s breath hitched at the reference to the seat Cora-san had held. The seat that was empty because Doflamingo had killed Cora-san for saving Law. The seat that Cora-san tried to protect Law from taking, though Law hadn’t realized exactly what Cora-san was protecting him from until it was too late. If Law went back to the Family now, Cora-san’s sacrifice would have been for nothing.

Doflamingo was eyeing Law, and Law realized he’d clenched his hands into fists. He dropped them into his lap, and when he opened his hands, they revealed bloody, crescent-shaped wounds on his palms.

“And,” Law asked slowly, “if I were to say no?”

The atmosphere at the table, already tense, curdled at Law’s words. It was as though the temperature had suddenly dropped as Doflamingo replied, “That would be… unwise.” The man’s grip on his wine glass tightened dangerously.

Law clenched his jaw but said nothing, eyes boring a hole into the table in front of him. He could feel his friends practically vibrating in their anxiety next to him.

“Why,” the low voice continued, “would you refuse to return to your Family, Law?”

“Maybe there’s a reason I never came back,” Law ground out.

Law jumped in spite of himself at the sound of shattering glass. He whipped his gaze over to see wine spilled over Doflamingo’s hand and glass shards scattered across the table and floor.

“My brother,” Doflamingo growled, flicking wine from his fingers. “It seems I was right to worry that he poisoned your mind.”

“Cora-san saved me,” Law hissed, long-held rage uncurling in his chest and refusing to be suppressed when faced with its target. “I am alive today because of him.”

“He was a traitor, and he took you from where you belong,” Doflamingo retorted coldly as the bartender returned with rags and a broom and dustpan. She was shaking as she cleaned up the spilled wine around the tense gathering at the center of the captive room. Once the mess was cleaned up, Doflamingo dismissed her with a wave of his hand, never once looking at her.

“It’s time to come home, Law.”

His frigid tone brooked no argument, but Law had never been particularly good at taking orders. He opened his mouth, but Doflamingo cut him off with a lifted finger and three gasps. Law’s gaze flew to his friends, and his eyes widened. Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo each had a single string looped around his neck.

Fuck. Law knew that string could kill his friends before he could form a Room to protect them. Doflamingo would follow through with his threat, too. Law had seen it happen many times in his time with the Family.

“I told you, defying me would be unwise, Law.”

“They have nothing to do with this.”

“You were the one to bring them into this,” Doflamingo countered. “When you made them part of your crew.”

Law’s mind spun, running through one scenario after another but not coming up with one that didn’t end with his friends dead or him reclaimed by the Family—or both. After several tense moments, Law’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“If I return with you, they will be unharmed?”

“Law, n—” Penguin’s objection was cut off by the tightening of the string, drawing blood. He grimaced, and Law shook his head. The danger his friends were in now was entirely Law’s fault. If going back to the Family could save them, then he’d do what he had to.

“If you do as you are told, they will be unharmed,” Doflamingo agreed.

Law took a breath, eyes shutting briefly as the fight went out of him. “Fine.”

“What’s that?” Now the bastard was just gloating.

“I’ll come,” Law gritted out. “Now let them go.”

The strings fell away from Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo’s throats, and they let out relieved breaths. The tightness in Law’s chest loosened the tiniest bit at the sight, though mostly he just felt hollow as what he’d agreed to started to sink in.

“Excellent. We leave for Dressrosa in the morning.” Doflamingo’s lips twitched. “I have an eternal pose for Dressrosa you four can use.”

Law jerked his gaze back to Doflamingo. “What? No. That wasn’t the agreement. I agreed to come back to the Family, so let them go.”

“The agreement,” Doflamingo corrected, “was that as long as you do what you’re told, Law, your friends will be unharmed.”

Law’s stomach sank as he realized the trap he’d walked into in his emotional state. He’d just damned Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo along with himself.

“Consider their lives collateral for your good behavior.” He turned to the other three, who were watching the exchange in shock. “Welcome to the Donquixote Pirates.”

Next Chapter

[queerchoicesblog]

A Secret Unveiled (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele Series, Ch.9)

It took me ages -sorry folks!- but here’s the continuation of Zetta x Adele Series. I am also happy to announce that for a lucky coincidence the next chapter about the party will be released a week from now on April 14, that is...on Zetta’s birthday!

Little disclaimer-favor: if you do enjoy it, please consider supporting the author & sharing this. A little gesture that means a lot!

Word Count: 3000+

Zetta x Adele Tag: @storyscaped @storyscapefanficarchive @marmolady @animus-and-anima  @hayley-carter19 @escako @everlastingchoices @andrxrneda @aestheticsayeed @indescribablechoices @ahrielstuff @bornonawdnsday @nazario-sayeed  @h-doodles @adele-serda @marlcasters @brightpinkpeppercorn @nightwhite13 @ramenwithaspoon @michelleconnoly @charliejane-blog @ghost-of-yuri @choicesgremlin @shadeofangelus @mistressofspiesxenia @orange-elephants​

Zetta x Adele Series Tag: @eternal-langdon @nydeiri

➡️ Ch. 1, Ch. 2/1, Ch. 2/2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8/1, Ch. 8/2

_____________________

I wake up thinking of Adele. With my eyes closed, I can trick my mind into believing we never parted since last night. She could be sleeping in my arms, her curls gently tickling my skin and her breath soft and calming against the crook of my neck. Her calloused fingers entwined with mine as I hold her close, afraid she might fly away like a dream or a fantasy. I know there is no sense in pretending things are different than they are. I'm perfectly and painfully aware that my love is not here with me but you can't breathe if you're constantly underwater, right? Adele is my safe harbour, a gentle hand preventing me from drowning in my own sorrows and troubles. I can hear Sabine setting up the table in the adjacent room. My little Napoleon...she never forgets to arrange a private breakfast on my birthday morning. My favorite treats, good coffee, my books or some company if I feel like to have a chat. And well, today is the day, my day. Time to say goodbye to Adele's ghost for now: luckily enough I'll be reunited with my love later today.

Despite the weight of my birthday and the decision I made in the middle of a sleepless night, I am in a good mood. I ask Sabine to join me at the breakfast table and we chat and gossip like old friends. It's nice to be reminded I have friends even if we never pronounced that word aloud. When she leaves to add the finishing touches to the venue of tonight's party, I sigh contently, taking one last sip of coffee. My eyes accidentally fall on one the boxes piled up on the couch. I reach for it: it's my pearl necklace with my initials engraved on it. A foolish thought crosses my mind. I decide to indulge in it for once and before I can think twice I take my leave and hand it to the first stewardess I come across, asking to deliver it to Miss Carrem. As I head to the first class deck to catch some fresh air, a smile lingers on my lips. I try to picture Adele's reaction to my necklace. Will she blush, understanding its true meaning? Will she wear my token of affection tonight? The thought distracts me from the more urgent matter I need to discuss with her. A gust of wind greets me as I stand at the railing, the Ship of Dreams gently vibrating underneath my fingertips. Yes, I made up my mind. I know what I have to do, what I want to do. Jamie dear will never take that from me. Yet it makes this no easier. I won't back down though. I sigh and stare out to the vast azure ocean in front of me. It's so calm today: gentle waves stroke the side of the ship as the salty breeze makes a kite waltz into the late morning sky. The little owner is standing a few steps away. Well, standing is a strong word: he's jumping up and down, his chubby cheeks red with excitement, and I'm pretty sure he's not hearing a single word his father -I wager- squatted down by his side is saying to him to help him manoeuvre his colourful device. So sweet and pure. Only kids can experience that absolute unconditioned happiness, I consider, smiling at the kite taking a gracious turn up there, far away from us. A gleeful squeal of the little boy soon follows. I hear steps approaching behind me. I don't even need to turn, I perfectly know who's there. I bumped into Matteo on my way to the first class promenade and sent him to look for Adele. It took him more than I would have expected but for once I don't care. I won't give him a scolding. Not for this, at least: his complicity with James's scheme will get him one when time comes. One he will remember, I'm pretty sure of that. "Leave us, Matteo" I say, still looking out to the sea. He quietly steps away. As soft taps approach I wonder if he bowed before leaving, it would be typical of him. Adele joins me at the railing, standing by my side. I turn my head slightly to look at her. The soft features of her visage never left my mind since our encounter but she's radiant. Her skin is glowing in the late morning sun and I can't help but notice that her delicate curls are now graciously fastened with a cloth. Is my love dressing up for my birthday party tonight? A sudden urge to caress her rosy cheek and untie that lovely cloth to gently run my fingers through her hair takes hold of me but I suppress it. I must. We're in public, people would stare. People would murmur and disapprove. The loving father nearby would probably drag the little kite runner away to prevent him the sight of us. That is why I lower my voice as I say: "Our fun last night must have done you some good. You're glowing" My love turns and a soft smile forms on her lips, mirroring mine, as she beams at the warmth behind my words. She opens her mouth to say something but...nothing comes. Too soon a shadow crosses her face and she diverts her eyes. Was I too straightforward? Or is the thought of the people around us accidentally catching our veiled words of love? "Me? I'm the same as always. Ready to carry out my duties" she says, clearing her throat in a professional tone that doesn't fool me for a second. "Oh Lord. 'Same as always', she says" I roll my eye, barely refraining myself from groaning. "We can play it like that, if you want" "Like what?" Adele turns towards me again, visibly taken aback. "Like last night didn't happen" My voice may still be low but the meaning of my words is unmistakable. Sweet Adele, haven't I told you that I don't beat around the bush? You should know it. And I have no intention to pretend a thing like that! Adele looks at loss of words: I start wondering if I'm seriously too direct for my British love. She searches my eyes staring back at her before lowering them as a flush of red color her cheeks. "I'm very...aware last night happened I just thought you'd want-" she whispers but without ending the sentence. Oh, honey, you thought I wanted you or both of us to bury our sweet time at the Turkish Baths deep inside our mind and forget about that? Never speak about it ever again as if it was a dirty secret between the two of us? It is a secret, but not half as dirty as most people would claim or want us to believe. I don't think you share that sentiment too: you weren't afraid to show your true feelings last night and you're too rebellious and free to let anyone tell you who to love, despite all the insults or threats. Or both. Have you ever gotten in trouble because of that, my love? Adele, were you trying to...protect me and my reputation? I'm hiding my true self but I'm tired of pretending. I don't want to, not with you. When I speak again, my voice is softer. I can only hope it will convey how I wish I could take her into my arms and cradle her, easing her mind. "Darling, I'm forty today, I don't have time to pretend." Then I sigh as I remind myself why I sent Teo to call her. The weight of the unpleasantries to come washes over me and I barely hold back a wince. Why there must be always nasty hurtful things to discuss with her when all I want is her happiness, to see her gorgeous smile light up my whole world? "Which brings me to my point..." I continue, my voice shifting to a more somber tone. "I told you I'd think about your little deal with James." I sigh, holding a bit tighter to the railing as if I were to lose balance. "You brought me proof. You brought me...trust. And now I know what I have to do. What I want to do." I sense Adele tensing up at my side, taking in the gravity of the moment. "I'm here. I'm listening. My life is in your hands" she notes grimly, bracing herself for whatever I have to say. "I certainly hope so, considering I've become a sleep-deprived wreck because of it" I snap, but my angry witticism is not meant for Adele. No, how could it be? I turn to face her: I want to look at her when I uncover my decision. A decision I took not only out of fairness, to correct the wrongs of James but also for you, my love. "So here it is. The 'dirt', I suppose they call it, that James is seeking. I was already married once. Long ago. And, in fact...I'm still married." I pause and let my confession sink. It takes a moment to Adele to realise the full implications of my words. When she does, she frantically searches my eyes and gapes. "Zetta, no! I want your help with James, not to give him what he-" she starts, trying to stop me but I interrupt her. "Shut your mouth and listen, Adele. I heard you out before - now you'll hear me" I should have known better that she would have tried to oppose my decision out of ethics and for the sake of the bond we share now. But no, I'm sorry, my sweet chivalrous love, you can't stop me this time. I made a decision. I can tell Adele is running all the options to protect my secret in her head -running away, covering her ears like a child maybe or even arguing with me- but in the end she grimaces and nod sombrely. I can continue. "I was very young. He was my manager. Plucked me right out of Tristan and Isolde at the Vienna Playhouse. He had this way about him, this confidence. Confidence which I lacked, if you'll believe it" I close my eyes as I turn to look out to the sea again and I can still see him. Myself, leaving the theatre late at night exhausted and frowning. Herr Direktor was kind enough to gave me my start but he certainly wasn't a kind man: never a praise, only harsh 'constructive' criticism. He always wanted more and more, your best was never enough, just 'tolerable' if you were lucky. It was no secret that he made an effort to be twice as hard with me to test my motivation and see if I had "what it takes". "Is that all you've got, fraulein? Oh good Lord", "you said you had talent, please introduce it to all of us because so far I can't see none", "Wolfgang, do you have an understudy for fraulein Zetta's role? I don't want to jeopardise the whole play". I was barely sixteen and his shoutings and scoldings got to me somehow. He didn't seem to notice how the press was pleasantly impressed by my performance of Isolde's maid: Theresa saved for me a copy of a newspaper where a famous critic noted that "we might also be witnessing the rise of a new talent, raw but vivid as it suits the young age of its beholder. A new star is born on the stage of Vienna Playhouse? Only time will tell". I can see now why Herr Direktor was so demanding and harsh with me but back then it only made me feel miserable and angry. I took an hazard pursuing that career when my family was struggling in a poorhouse and I started second guessing myself, doubting myself. He must have sensed it too when he approached me that night. He introduced himself as an admirer simply wishing to praise my performance and soon started flattering me with all the words he knew I wanted or needed to hear. When he had stroked my ego just enough for me to accept an invitation for a private meeting at one of the most exclusive cafè in town, he straightened his dashing tuxedo and leaned to kiss my hand like a romantic hero of a cheap novel. I wasn't smitten with him but it stupidly drew a smile on my face. That's how I met Franz. "Anyway, he's dropping names of directors and theatres over tea at Zum Roten Igel..." He performed with great flair the role of artistic entrepreneur he claimed to be. He knew everyone, treated me with the finest treats I had ever tasted and repeated how impressed, no touched -he said- by the talent he could see burning inside me. He confessed to have great plans in store for me, us: "dear Zetta, allow me the honor to join you in this adventure as your manager. Let us show the world what bright light shines inside you". He squeezed my hand with a practised display of deep affection and enthusiasm when he whispered "let us take on the world, sweetheart!". "...and next thing you know, we're married and on a train to the nearest port" I add, grazing my fingers over my old wedding ring at my ring hand, a testament of my foolish naivety. It wasn't love what I felt for him and what led me to accept his proposal. Maybe I thought it was, for a moment, being so young and clueless about this yet unknown feeling. But it was soon clear it wasn't love: I didn't shiver underneath his kisses nor feel the urge to hold his hand or be held in his strong arms. None of those gestures so very often described in novels and plays came natural. He just fed my hunger for more, my ambition. I soon regretted dearly leaving my family and Vienna with him but it was too late. "I would have twenty offers for twenty shows by the time we hit New York, he told me. Of course, there were no parts. We were turned away at every stage door in Manhattan" It was humiliating. His bundle of lies uncovered and our fights in the streets followed. We accused each other of our failures but I knew I was right. Such awareness did little to soothe my heartbreak: I was young, an ocean away from my family and my only mentor, and tied by law to a miserable liar. I'd never felt so lonely and lost in my whole life. "I let his lies go on a year, then I left him. I couldn't divorce him, even if I wanted to. I didn't know how." I wince as I see my younger self summoning up every ounce of courage and dropping a letter on our kitchen table with too many glasses of whiskey and unpaid bills. Then she would walk out of the door without a second glance, a lump in her throat and a suitcase filled with hope and her few belongings spared from the pawn shop down the street. She had nowhere to go and knew no one who could help her get out of that marriage, a young foreign girl in the big city. Even if she had known, she couldn't have afforded the price. So she focused on starting a new life where she could be victorious. But just like now, when she thought she was done with my past, her past wasn't done with her. "Then there I was, years later, my name on marquees, and he's cornering me outside of the Algonquin Hotel" I remember that day. I'd made it: I'd crawled back from my own ashes and now I was the next big thing. Producers were fighting over me, to get me in their pictures and please crowds of adoring fans. They started calling me "American Aphrodite" after one of my first main role and worshipping me like a goddess. I was walking in on my way back from a stroll down Central Park when I heard a way too familiar voice behind my back. "Can I have a moment, Miss Zetta?". Blood ran cold in my veins as I froze. "Please, fraulein, I'm just an humble admirer" he continued in German, repeating the words of our first encounter. When I turned, he looked so different from the charming prince who spoiled me in Vienna and blinded me with empty promises. His hair showed the first signs of silver and his overall look was messy, a hint of dust over his coat. What never changed was the wolfish twinkle in his eyes when he flashed me a sarcastic smirk, running his fingers over our ring. "You seem surprised to see me. Why don't we take a seat and have a lovely chat, my love?". Honeyed words in a foreign language, the premise of a vile threat. "I didn't need the scandal. I've been paying him to stay quiet ever since" I conclude and silence falls between us. Adele speaks again after a moment. "It couldn't have been all bad, if you agreed to marry him. Was there...love?" she asks, her voice flickering between encouragement and grief or sympathy for my sorrow. "No" I answers sharply, without hesitation. "But he promised me he'd help me act. He swore it!" "He was a liar" When I meet her gaze again, Adele is wincing at the simple hurtful truth. "All men are liars. Just some of them are useful. My husband wasn't. Isn't" Husband...what a curious and cursed word. "Isn't the whole thing absurd? I forget I'm a married woman most of the time" I mock myself but Adele doesn't laugh. No, there's little humor in it, you're right. "But Richard would hardly have me if it got out. I can't imagine what the press would do" I add. Actually I know. They would feast above my ruin like vultures. The thought makes me shrug but Adele's voice bring me back to her. "With all due respect - why are you trusting me?" I chuckle deep in my throat: to be honest, it's quite absurd. I'm handing the key to my downfall to the person hired to destroy me. Ironically, she's also the only person I would ever trust with my secret. My love. I face my secretary and, uncaring of prying eyes, I reach for her hand. "I don't have an answer to this trouble with James" I frown before searching her gorgeous eyes again. "But I'm not going to let him pit us against each other, and besides...when you confessed about jumping bail and the rest, you told me everything I'd need to destroy your life" You foolish, brave love of mine... My gaze softens as well as my voice as a I say, gently squeezing her hand: "If we're going to handle what's coming, I want us to be equals" I take a deep breath and look her right in the eye before adding: "You trust me with your life, I trust you with mine" I feel Adele's hand squeezing mine back and warmth spreads through my veins. "I'm...I'm honoured, Zetta. Truly" "There's not much honor in it, but I appreciate the sympathetic ear all the same" I smile grimly. She mirrors my smile. The salty breeze from the ocean plays with our hair as we keep quiet. "Where do we go from here?" she asks after a moment. I can't tell if she refers to the final decision she needs to make in a few hours or if she's talking about us. I don't realise immediately how wickedly connected the two issues are. I decide to give her an honest answer: she deserves nothing less. "I don't know exactly. I hate to say it, but it's on you as much as me. I can give you support. I can give you lawyers. And I'll give it thought...but when it comes to the party tonight - well, do what your heart tells you" I know I'm probably out of my mind for exposing myself to this hazard, but I want to give you what James stripped away from you, my love: choice, freedom. I want you to be my equal, and God knows more than that. I squeeze her hand one last time and give my love a look filled with all the tenderness and affection I feel for her and can't express here before walking away. It's almost lunchtime, she needs space now and I have a lovely family reunion to attend.

[something-tofightfor]

Hands to Yourself (2 of 2)

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader

Word Count: 5750

Rating: M (Language, mention of sex, some steamy moments)

Author’s Note: THE END (maybe.) Thank you all for reading. 

Summary: The end of the bet is coming, but will you and Logan make it the last few days? What’s going to happen at Jim’s party?

Tag List: @banditthewriter @breanime @obscurilicious  @madamrogersstorytelling @suchatinyinfinity @chibiyanai @songtoyou @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @drinix @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @ymariejp @mr-robot-x @rageshots @shinebrightlikeafanbase @littlemermaidprobz  @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @likeorions @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @luminex3 @malik-payne @lexxierave @lynne1993 @elanor-of-imladris @bucky-is-my-precious @traeumerinwitzhelden @mfackenthal @weallhaveadestiny @ladyblablabla @sweetybuzz25 @dreamwritesimagines @thesumofmychoices @audreychaz @tc-elliot @dreams-with-thoughts @kind-wolf @ms-delos @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @the-blind-assassin-12@benbarnestongue @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @captainblackeyes @hanoi15 @gollyderek @honeyydippaa @thesandbeneathmytoes @geeksareunique

The next two days passed by agonizingly slowly, and you were never sure who was going to be frustrated between you and Logan. There were moments when it seemed that he had it together, that he was going to make it, and then you’d get a text from him, telling you all of the things he was thinking of doing to you, of the things he wanted you to do to him - telling you to come to his office, to fuck the bet and finally fuck him again… but you held firm, even though it killed you to do so with each straightforward denial. He countered these denials with pictures of his hand on his desk, a picture of him smirking at you, a picture of him in the mirror that was in the bathroom adjacent to his office; top button of his shirt undone, the jacket of his suit fitting his body like a glove - and so you figured that it was time to play dirty, too. 

 You pretended like it was the ‘between’ time, when you’d lived in California, but hadn’t been with Logan, when you were getting to know each other better outside of bed; you sent him flirty pictures - nothing overly sexual, because you knew that he liked those messages better, the teasing - you toeing the line. You’d ask him what he was doing, calling him just to speak to him in a low voice, to whisper his name, elongating the n, calling him Mr. Delos. It wasn’t something that you were entirely proud of,  but knowing that he was just as frustrated as you helped. A little. 

 Thursday, the night that you were shopping for your dress, you hadn’t even gone home after work, opting to head straight to the boutique. Logan had walked out of the bathroom in a towel that morning - you were sleeping in the same bed again, but on opposite sides, since both of your bodies were wound so tight that even the slightest thing would end the bet - and you both knew it without saying it. At the sight of his bare skin, glistening with water droplets, you’d let out a quiet yelp, closing your eyes and covering them with your hands. You’d felt him moving closer, then one hand on your shoulder before his breath hit your cheek, lips pressing against the skin briefly. “This is why we’re never havin’ kids,” Logan breathed. “We’re both about to jump out of our skins after a week… imagine a month… six weeks… fuck that.” 

 Though you’d laughed, you knew he was right - neither of you would make it that long. But we’ll make it two more days. Back straight and head held high, you’d walked past the paparazzi gathered outside of  the store, offering them smiles and being sure to flash the rings on your left hand at them as you pulled the door open, ignoring the shouted questions about Logan’s fidelity, the inquiries about the state of your marriage. As the salesperson had rushed forward, asking if you wanted anything to drink or to eat, you’d pulled out your phone, checking to see if Logan had messaged you. He had, and his message was all of the desperation that both of you felt summed up into eight words: Pick something I can peel off of you. You laughed as you read it, putting your phone back into your bag and accepting the drink the saleswoman handed you as she gently pulled you toward the racks of clothing scattered around  the store, her excited voice rattling off information about the pieces she was going to show you. 

 An hour and a half - and more than 10 dresses tried on later - you’d settled on the one that you wanted to wear, along with another one that you knew Logan would love, and were waiting for a second employee to bring over jewelry for you to choose from. As you sat on a plush chair, legs crossed at the knee, you looked around the store, eyes settling on something hanging from a display across the room. Oh. You stood, walking over to it, the saleswoman trailing behind you. “I want this, too.” Logan will love this. You reached out, touching the jewelry with a smile on your lips. It’s perfect. 

 “We just got that in.” The woman sounded amused, and you looked over, watching as she winked at you. “The leather is really soft, and it comes in brown, too… might go better with your dress, if that’s…” You grinned, nodding. “Black or brown? The chain is gold on both of them, so that doesn’t matter much.” 

 “Do you know who I’m married to?” You stuck your tongue out between your teeth for a moment and she laughed, nodding. “I’ll take the black one, but it really doesn’t… the color’s not important, I don’t think… he’s not going to care either way.” He sure won’t. The woman carefully removed the piece you’d chosen from the display with a smile on her face. As she turned to her assistant, who had walked over to the two of you with a tray of other jewelry in hand, the first woman winked. She gets it. 

 You picked out a few additional pieces - two rings, a necklace, a pair of earrings - but you knew that the only thing you’d be wearing to the party was the item you picked out, which was why you’d insisted on paying for everything in full, even after the option to engrave the jewelry was presented to you. “We can do it here, and then ship the piece to you.” The salesgirl held up a finger. “Or, have it delivered to your house tomorrow evening, Mrs. Delos. I understand that you need this for Saturday?” You nodded, trying to figure out whether or not you thought you could get the delivery in without Logan’s curiosity getting the better of him and decided the risk was worth it - as always. 

 Though the woman had insisted, instead of allowing them to give you the jewelry and the clothes for free in exchange for the opportunity to get the exposure that would come from you being seen in them, you’d swiped your credit card happily, promising to return soon if they’d have you back.  A year previously, the total would have been enough to make your eyes pop out of your head, but you simply took the receipt, signing your name at the bottom without speaking. Logan constantly told you to treat yourself, to spoil yourself so he didn’t feel the need to do it himself all the time, but you were hesitant - and with the way that the headlines were, you didn’t want to fuel anything else. 

 The photographers were still waiting on the sidewalk as you left and you were careful to keep your face as blank as possible as you passed them, the flashes making your heart race. He’s dealt with this for years, it’s nuts. Once you’d settled back into the front seat of your car, shopping bags carefully tucked into the trunk, you pulled your phone out, shooting a quick message to Logan. As your fingers flew over the screen, you bit down on your lower lip, fighting back a smile. Hey, Lo. Guess what? You just bought me a piece of jewelry.

 --- 

 That night while you were shopping, Logan had hit his breaking point. He knew you were trying on clothing, picking things out that would look as if they’d been made especially for you, and he couldn’t focus. All I want is to touch her. He groaned every time he thought of walking in on you, of stopping you from touching yourself as you held his shirt and cursed his newly discovered conscience. You’d never have forgiven yourself for giving in in a moment of weakness, and Logan knew that he couldn’t let you get sidetracked when you were so close to the end. But the look on your face? The pout of your lips and the flush on your cheeks as your hand had moved lower? He’d considered not interrupting for longer than he should have, and the old Logan would have stayed quiet as he tackled you into bed, his own hand moving beneath your shorts without pause. 

 Fuck. Logan rubbed his hands over his face, hitting his head against the headrest of his car three times, swearing under his breath. The end of that memory was when he’d sent you the text, another breath hissing out of his mouth as he imagined the way you’d finally feel when he got his hands on you again after he rid you of the dress you decided to wear to the party. He could still picture every inch of your body clearly in his mind, but the memories weren’t enough - and since he couldn’t put those memories to good use and take care of himself, he needed to find a release in some other way. 

 Time to go shoot some shit. He put his phone into the bag he carried, zipping it shut before he headed into the shooting range’s office, a determined set to his lips. Won’t be the same as shooting the Hosts, but it’s gotta help. 

 And two hours, four different paper targets, two cardboard targets and a bunch of  clay targets later, Logan felt less stressed, but no less frustrated. In Westworld, the instant gratification of shooting a Host directly or being involved in a shootout or heist was magnified by his ability to immediately (or almost immediately) grab one of them and fuck them until he couldn’t think straight. Unfortunately for Logan, that wasn’t an option in the real world, and the only woman he wanted in his bed was going to spend the next two nights finishing out the dumbest fucking bet he’d ever made in his life - meaning that things weren’t going to get better for another few days. He climbed back into his car, glancing in the rear view mirror at himself. Logan was unsurprised to see that his hair was out of place and his eyes were slightly unfocused, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. Never again. I don’t care what she promises me.

 Before he drove home, he checked his phone. Seeing the message from you - despite his increasingly sour mood, Logan grinned. She wouldn’t have told me unless it was something special. Though focused on the road, Logan let his mind wander, trying to figure out what it was that he’d purchased. Six months in, you were still hesitant to use the black American Express card stamped with your name and attached to his account, and while Logan understood - it was never about the money for you - it was frustrating. As a Delos, you were entitled to the same things he was, yet you never took advantage of them, never wanted to flaunt your status or your position, and it was one of the things he loved most about you. You let him spoil you when he chose to, but you were also perfectly content with the simplest parts of life, and even two and a half years after meeting you, Logan found it one of the most irresistible things about you. 

 He’d never admit it to you, but he read the tabloids too, focused on the stories and the pictures. He kept up on the gossip, wanting to stay a step ahead of any potential issues - and to ensure that nothing truly damaging was ever published about you. He didn’t care what people said about him; Logan had been through the ringer for years, and he deserved much of what was released. But you didn’t - and you never would, even though you’d agreed to marry him and knew what many people thought of him. Despite the fact that he knew that you believed in him, that you knew nothing recent was true, seeing the hurt in your eyes killed him every time you read a new story or saw a new picture, and seeing your reaction to the assumption that you were using him for his name and his money had damn near destroyed him the first time it happened. 

 It surprised him that what seemed to hurt you more was the fact that people thought you were using him. He’d been prepared for the inevitable fights about his prior lifestyle, about the men and women he’d tumbled into bed with at  breakneck speed, or the stints in rehab. He thought you’d be done with him when you found out that he’d had multiple court cases dealing with stalkers and faked pregnancy scares, with accusations that he’d taken advantage of people by using his name and drugs to get people into bed. Sure, they’d all been proven false - because if there was one thing Logan Delos was not, it was a liar. Sure he’d told white lies before, simple misdirections, but when it was important, when it mattered, even at his lowest, Logan had never taken advantage of anyone, never used who he was to get something out of someone else. You’d accepted this about him, told him that it didn’t matter what he’d done because he was a different person when he met you, and even though he didn’t believe it at first, you’d never done anything to make him discredit the words - and so it killed him when people assumed the worst, simply because your bank account had fewer commas than his did and your last name wasn’t a household one. 

 As he drove back toward the house, Logan lost himself in thought - about you, about himself and about the two of you together. He parked in the garage and walked into the kitchen, expecting to see you sitting on one of the stools at the bar or on the couch - but the room was silent. You weren’t in the pool or the hot tub, and the rec room was dark, too. Where are you? He moved through the house quietly, listening for any indication that you were there - even though your car was - but he heard nothing, at least until he opened the door to your office, finding you curled into the bench seat in front of the large window, a tablet in your hands and dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and one of his t shirts. The room was the closest one to the ocean in the house, jutting out just slightly, and Logan knew you loved it because you could smell the air as well as hear the ocean. After watching silently from the doorway for a few minutes, Logan cleared his throat, but you didn’t respond, ducking your head lower. Oh. Headphones. 

 Rather than disturbing you, Logan shook his head and smiled at the sight of you before retreating back down the hallway and to the master bathroom where he jumped in the shower, ridding himself of the smell of gunpowder. By the time he was finished, you’d come out of the office and were sitting at the bar, takeout bags in front of you. “Logan, please put a shirt on.” You cocked your head to the side, eyes locked on his. “It’s not fair. We’re so close and you…” Without another word, he went back into the bedroom and pulled a shirt on before returning to the kitchen, where you were piling noodles and vegetables on a plate. “I ordered Thai, Lo. I didn’t feel like cooking.” 

 “You went shopping?” He moved next to you, his hand resting on your hip for a minute before he leaned forward, pressing his lips to your cheek. “Buy anything good?” You slid his plate toward Logan, turning your head to look at him. Though he couldn’t fully read the expression in your eyes, he saw genuine amusement there, an upward tilt to your lips. 

 “I did. You’ll see Saturday.” Dammit.  You shrugged. “Julliet’s going to love this place when she’s not pregnant anymore, they’re really helpful, and they have a lot of interesting clothes.” You paused, raising an eyebrow. “And jewelry.” Waiting, you looked at Logan for long seconds and he watched you struggle between saying something or keeping it to yourself; teeth biting down hard onto your lower lip. Finally closing your eyes, you shook your head once, focusing. “So.” You finally spoke again, reaching down for your own plate and then stepping toward the dining room table. “That black card, Logan… people really look at you differently when you pull it out.” They sure do. As both of you settled in to eat, Logan felt the tension drain away, calmed by your presence. These days are horrible, but they’re worth it. She’s worth it. 

 --- 

 The day of the party, Logan left before you did, needing to head over to his father’s house to help Juliet with the final party prep. Though you could have gone with him, getting dressed in one of the many extra bedrooms, both of you had (without speaking) agreed to separate before you tackled each other into bed. Though the bet was technically over and you’d made it the ten days, Logan didn’t trust himself to let you out of his sight - or from beneath him - if you’d given in before the party. We did it. I can’t believe we did it. He was stubborn, but he also was a very tactile man, and if you’d asked him to be honest, he’d admit that the only reason he’d ever agreed to the bet was because he didn’t think you’d be able to keep your hands off of him for the duration of it. 

 Sure, it had been difficult to put it mildly, but Logan was glad that the bet had been made. He’d learned more about you in the ten days than he’d thought possible, since he’d already known you for years. He appreciated you more - all of the little things that you did, the way you carried yourself, the way you interacted with him. If Logan had had any doubt that you were only with him because of the way he was in bed, those thoughts had been completely banished; the sex was important, but your relationship was about much more than that. Who would have thought? He parked the car in Jim’s garage, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head as he made his way into the house where he immediately ran into Juliet, who looked more frazzled and stressed than she had during the entirety of her divorce from William. “Jules, come on, calm down.” Logan grinned, his thoughts flipping immediately from you to his sister, focused on the dark haired woman in front of him. “I’m here, what do you need?” 

 “What I need,” Juliet seethed, pointing at the atrium. “Is for these people to get their shit done and finish setting this up so that we can start hanging the pictures.” Logan took a breath, shaking his head. Another five months of this? Poor Mark. “We’re paying them good money and they were supposed to be done fifteen minutes ago, and -”

 “Juliet.” He said the one word firmly, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. “Juliet, it’s not even noon. We have six hours. There’s plenty of time.” He shook his head. “I’m here. Just tell me what you need me to do.” Juliet set her shoulders, blowing air out between her lips and then reached up, tugging her hands through the curls on her head. 

 “Can you go help Mark? He’s outside doing the chairs, and…” Logan nodded as he listened to his sister, following her as she moved deeper into the house. Anything for you, Jules. 

 --- 

 Opting to call for a car to take you to the Delos mansion, you settled in against the back seat, legs crossed at the knee and your heels resting next to you. Though you knew that Logan didn’t care what you had on your feet, you wanted to make a good impression on the other guests - and you’d been daydreaming about Logan standing behind you as you wore only the shoes and the jewelry that had been delivered to you as promised before he’d even gotten home from work, his hands gripping your hips and his teeth digging into your shoulder - “Mrs. Delos?” You were pulled from your daydream by the driver’s voice, his eyes in the mirror. “We’re here.” Thanking him and feeling a flush rising in your cheeks, you stepped out of the car after slipping your heels on, taking a deep breath as you stepped toward the door. 

 Someone offered to take your bag when you entered, but you waved the young woman off, instead pointing up the stairs. “I’m going to go put it in one of the guest rooms, I’ll be right back.” The girl shook her head, reminding you that the upper floor of the house was off limits to guests, but a booming voice carried down the staircase, heavily accented words loud in your ears. 

 “That’s my daughter in law, she can go wherever she’d like.” You smiled up at the man, nodding your head as he made his way down the final few steps and opened his arms to hug you. “Great to see you, Logan’s been here all day workin’ like a dog.” I know. When you and Logan had first started dating, you’d been intimidated by Jim; not because of the way that he treated you - he’d been nothing but respectful, but because of what you knew of the way that he’d treated Logan in the past. It took you months to warm up to the man, but you’d realized that when Juliet’s team had come up with a cure for the sickness that was slowly killing him from the inside out, things had changed for James Delos. 

William trying to fuck him over and destroy his legacy hadn’t helped either, but Jim was nothing if not adaptable, and the fact that he was still moving around easily on his 70th birthday when all signs pointed to him not even surviving past his 65th was a true testament to the power of science - and the benefits of having the money to fund research. He’d gotten a second chance at life the day Juliet had begun giving him the injections in the Mesa medical lab, and though the damage had certainly been done, one of the things that Jim focused on as he became stronger and less temperamental was repairing the relationship with his son. 

 You hurried up the stairs after wishing Jim a happy birthday and typed the code into the panel beside the door of Logan’s childhood room, stepping inside and taking a deep breath. Being in the house was always an interesting experience for you, but this time was different. You weren’t anxious about the party or the other guests; not all of them. Sure, there were some people that would be there that Logan had been acquainted with previously. Sure, some of those people would be well-versed on the latest gossip, the rumors that your marriage was on the rocks, meaning that it was essentially open season for Logan Delos. And sure, some of them would likely try to act on it. But it wasn’t any of that that you felt anxious about; it was knowing that Logan was somewhere in the house - dressed in a red shirt with the top buttons undone and a black jacket, his hair slicked back - that was making you nervous. It had only been ten days, but it felt like a lifetime to you, and you couldn’t wait to get your hands on your husband. 

 Putting your purse down on Logan’s dresser after pulling a small piece of metal from inside, you checked your reflection in the mirror and smiled at it before you tucked the flat item into the side of your heel, next to the arch of your foot. The navy blue dress you’d chosen had one shoulder, a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that hit just above the knee, and because you weren’t wearing jewelry - aside from your wedding rings and the piece you’d chosen, you hair was down around your shoulders. You knew that at some point, it would likely end up twisted at the nape of your neck, (and hopefully around Logan’s fist, too) but you had a long time to go before that could happen. “Ready, Mrs. Delos?” You grinned, reaching up to tap at the corner of your mouth with a pinkie finger before you turned away, ready to go downstairs. 

 You didn’t see Logan when you entered the atrium, where most of the party guests were located, but you found Juliet and Mark almost immediately, the man with his arm around his wife’s shoulders and Juliet looking put together and excited. “You’re here!” She surged forward, hugging you tightly. “Have you seen Logan? I think he might combust before dinner.” Mark nodded in agreement and you shook your head. 

 “I haven’t, I just walked in. Is he in here?” You glanced around, looking for Logan’s head but didn’t see him, though a few people gave you appraising looks. “Why is everyone staring at me?” Mark sighed, shaking his head as you looked at him. Oh. 

 “They’ve all seen the rumors, and since you came here later, without him… and haven’t seen him yet, it’s not helping.” Raising your hand to rub at your face, you sighed. Of course. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, you felt hands at your waist from behind and breath on your neck, followed by two words. 

 “Hey, you.” Juliet winked at you and turned, followed by Mark, who placed his hand on her back and pushed her away from you and toward the appetizer table gently. You didn’t speak, but leaned backwards, feeling Logan’s body pressed against you from your shoulders to your waist. Finally. “You look amazing.” His lips pressed against your neck, Logan sighed, flexing his fingers and you cleared your throat, spinning to look at him. 

 “Oh, Logan.” You felt your breath catch as you locked eyes with your husband, pleased to see that he paused, too. “Logan, I -” But he didn’t wait to let you speak, bringing his hand up to your jaw and pulling you in for a kiss, no matter the fact that there were fifty people in the room with you. He pulled you closer so that the front of your body was flush with his, and continued to kiss you, the hand that wasn’t on your face pressed against your lower back, hip to hip. He could fuck me right here and I don’t think I’d tell him no. Your hands were grasping the lapels of his jacket - no doubt wrinkling them - but neither of you cared, and the low moan that escaped his throat was enough to make your knees weak.

 Just at the point you were confident he was going to kiss you until you passed out, Logan pulled back, taking a  deep breath. “Balcony? We have some things to talk about.” You nodded, and Logan leaned in again, lips finding the corner of your mouth as he took your left hand in his right, tugging you toward the sliding glass door. Your cheeks were red but it wasn’t from embarrassment, you were so aroused by a simple kiss from Logan that you couldn’t think straight, and luckily for you, as soon as you were outside, Logan pushed you backwards and against the wall, mouth on your neck. “I could fuckin’ kiss you forever,” he growled, the coarse hair of his beard leaving a tingling trail against your skin. “I plan on it later tonight. We might have to stay in this house for a couple days, because I’m not gonna stop.” 

 Your hands were at his hips, fingers digging into his skin even as you felt the bite of brick against your bare shoulders, Logan’s hands roaming your body. You whispered his name against his ear, teeth closing around the lobe and sighed happily as his hands skimmed up your sides and then began moving down your arms, pushing you back against the wall at the same time that you pulled him against you. Ok, right here, Logan it’s been too long, I want you here and now and - 

 “What’s this?” Logan’s chest was heaving, but he’d stepped back, his left hand holding your right, arm raised into the air. Oh, yeah. “This is new.” You nodded, watching and catching your breath as he turned your wrist back and forth, the lights from down by the pool illuminating the golden chain that stretched between the two leather bands stacked on your wrist. “Is this…” He looked at you, eyes wide. “This what you bought the other day?” Sure is. Logan linked his fingers with yours, flipping your arm so that he could see the inside of the bracelet, where a small keyhole was present on each of the golden panels; one per cuff. “You locked these on you?” You nodded once, feeling his sharp intake of breath as his free hand traced over the cool metal. “You’re wearing fucking… bondage bracelets to my dad’s 70th birthday party?”

 “I sure am, Delos.” You leaned back, head gently hitting the bricks. “I saw it and figured you’d like it.” He glanced up at you and you pressed your lips together shrugging. “But I mean, they’re more than that, Lo.” He raised one eyebrow, eyes flicking back and forth between your face and your wrist. “The chain and the panels are solid gold, and so are the keys. And the leather is so goddamn soft that…” You trailed off as you realized that he’d seen the engraving on the panels, so small that it wouldn’t have been noticeable. “Oh, yeah, that’s there too.”

 “My initials?” He looked back up at you and even in the dark, you could tell that Logan’s pupils were blown, his breath coming quickly. “You got a pair of fucking… with my initials on them?” This is going better than I thought. “Where’s the key?” He leaned back in, thumb swiping over the leather and gold and your wrist at the same time. “Who gets the key?” He kissed your jaw and you pulled your hand away from his, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair, not caring that he’d probably taken a good deal of time doing it earlier. It feels so good to touch him. “Give me the key.” You laughed, knowing that he could feel it since his lips were firmly latched on your neck, and lifted your foot off of the ground, pointing. 

 “Get it yourself.” He dropped to his knees immediately, hands gently working down your bare legs before he looked up at you, a smirk on his face. “Oh, Lo. I can’t wait to have you…” You sucked in a breath as Logan averted his eyes, looking down at your feet. He closed his fingers around your ankle, using the other hand to hold your shoe in place as he lifted your foot, plucking the key out of it and then settling your foot back in place. It wasn’t anything special, but because of the way that he was touching you, it felt like your entire body was on fire. You whined his name out, one hand again going through his hair, tugging to urge him back into a standing position. Let’s leave this party, go upstairs, no one will miss us, no one will… But Logan just smiled at you, tucking the key into his pocket before he leaned in again, this kiss much more gentle than the previous ones. 

 “I’m going to keep these keys.” He stood up straight. “And at some point tonight, during this party, I’m going to walk up to you, and I’m going to tap my pocket, and then you are going to follow me wherever I tell you to, and we are going to use them.” We sure are. “But first,” Logan breathed the words into your ear, closing his teeth against the skin of your cheek. “But first, I want to watch you walk around this house wearing those fucking things with my initials on them.” You nodded, rolling your hips against him because there was nothing else you could do. “Because that is the sexiest goddamn thing I have ever seen in my entire life.” You whispered his name, unable to keep your hands off of him and grabbed his face, pulling his mouth back to yours and kissing him hungrily, his words hitting you hard. 

 “Is that your request, Lo?” You swallowed, fighting the urge to untuck his shirt and rake your nails against his abdomen. “For lasting the full ten days?” He laughed, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders back. 

 “No, but I’ve thought about that too. I know what I want, but we can talk about that later.” He shook his head at your expression. “Not tonight later, don’t worry.” You let out a breath, closing your eyes. “I love you so much, you know that, right?” Your eyes opened again, and you stared at Logan, who’d already smoothed down his shirt and was working on fixing his hair. “These days didn’t prove that to me, but… I do.” He touched your face again, eyes moving down to your waist, where your arms were hanging. “You know that I don’t think you belong to me, right?” Of course not, Logan. Why would you… “The engraving is incredible and I fucking love it but…”

 “No, Lo.” You leaned forward, forehead against his. “I don’t think you think that.” Lips moving across his cheek, you whispered your next words. “But I’m yours anyway.” Before he could respond, you stepped away from him, looking backwards and over your shoulder. “Coming? It’s probably almost time for dinner.” He grinned, reaching out to take your hand, and by the time you’d made it back inside the atrium, you felt a gentle tug as Logan’s thumb slipped into the looped chain, pressing the cold metal against the warm skin of your hand. Game on. 

 He didn’t say anything else as you made your way toward the formal dining room, but you knew that Logan only had so much in the way of patience… and after ten full days, he was just about out of it - as were you.

---

[ca1e70-deactivated]

a list of my entirely way too niche headcanons ive actually implemented for everyones imagination:

name options ive used and refuse to retire: david elizabeth strider (sometimes i dont feel like being a douche to others and saying thats not his name), harley davidson strider, and david james strider for the sake of simplicity

im not gonna tell yall the like. oc exes ive given him bc thatll take eighteen years. 

i dont rlly have an explanation on the ghost thing besides the fact he just can? ive occasionally pulled from family ghost stories and experiences bc i somehow got landed with family members who lived in a haunted house for a decade and enjoy scaring me with all the stories (including the time my cousin literally died on the kitchen floor from a bronchial spasm and one of the friends that was over asked my aunt later what was up with the old man she saw in the corner of the room that night - my cousin is fine btw shes just a huge bitch and a third grade teacher and i dont like her)

whether or not hes done drugs is based on absolutely nothing besides how im feeling in that moment. either hes the designated driver and sober friend forever or he got fired from his job after doing a line at work during graveyard with some random customers theres no inbetween (this absolutely happened @ waho. if dave works at waho hes a mess of a person and thats on the diner itself.)

ok look i hc dave w/schizophrenia besides when i was 14 i had a hyperfixation with learning about it and then at 16 was prescribed a medication and had side effects so wack my therapist genuinely thought 14 yr old me was onto something and its a weird way to cope with the idea that lady put in my head that i might “develop it in my twenties” which i turn 20 this year and i havent been able to stop obsessing and panicking over the prospect so PLEASE dont come in my inbox calling me ableist im not out here all harley quinn in suicide squad with the voices ok hes medicated, he goes to therapy, the hard fast delusion that lil cal was nearly sentient and informed bro of every single thing dave did no matter how asinine it was is no longer a debilitatingly affecting him ANYWAYS

i actually use the chicken/egg farming family pretty often just because its hilarious to me to give dave like. an actual mom and dad. hes literally an uncle to like three different kids he just never visits because they make fun of his skinny jeans and he hates one of his (incredibly bare-bones ocs all of them) brothers who threatened to bash his head in with a little league bat after dave broke his star wars lego set apart on accident (but not rlly) so their parents were like “why dont you stay with your brother in the big city for a lil while champ” and then they just never picked him back up? and thats on favoritism 

the other one is that his name is actually david reed and hes the middle child of a family of three who literally live the standard golden retriever white middle class life only they went to disney land or something equally as dumb one year when dave was like 6 and he wandered off so bro literally just went “huh free game” because frankly he was an idiot who thought maybe i should take this kid home because its real dangerous in parking lots and then it was too late to NOT have it seem like a kidnapping and thats why daves never had a summer job, seen his birth certificate, or gone to school. but vaguely remembers what kindergarten was like and having a pet dog and calling someone mom as a kid. 

im not making a bullet point about his sex life headcanons just use your imagination and acknowledge the fact bro essentially worked within the sex industry and i enjoy putting dave through trauma as a catharsis 

i stopped doing this one usually but if he did go to school hes been in percussion since fifth grade and played the drums in his high schools jazz band as well as various edgy teenager garage bands he likes to pretend dont have a youtube presence and that hes absolutely never been shirtless in front of plenty of his classmates because he wore a hoodie to a show like an idiot. idk occasionally ill put him in an actual band he doesnt hate but keeps separate from his lil turntechGodhead internet persona (which i will ALSO touch upon in a sec) until they wind up getting looped into a tour with some bigger named band that has a show in *insert beta kid here*’s city and hes gotta come clean solely so he can visit his online friend. sorry derseasterous thats the one time weve ever run into each other and i made him have a crush on one of his bandmates i was in my anti-daverose phase where i made dave a hoe and also didnt want to admit i still loved the ship all these years later 

i hate it so much but you know the whole vr loli trap voice shit that was popular a while ago? hes fucking baller at it for some reason. he did it as a joke while talking to bro and they both about shat their pants. if im feeling real ambitious, hes got a separate soundcloud solely dedicated to doing dumbass rap covers or making his own but in the voice under the pseudonym elizabeth “beth” davids that he will never admit is his. well, he will, but hes gonna be really fucking embarrassed about it. irony or not.

talking abt seperate soundclouds and stuff ive always had it where turntechGodhead was his like. essentially internet fucking persona facade shit he used because we all had that phase where we wanted memorable urls and stuff but also didnt want to totally ignore the nagging fear of people finding you in real life, until it turned into real life ppl finding you on the internet. so he also has basically an adjacent set of social media under the same name but its just a boring username i havent decided on so everyone he knows irl doesnt mix up with what hes made for himself as TG and the people he knows as TG dont know what highschool he goes to. (this occasionally comes with the territory of ppl on parp being pissed that daves “lying” or “hiding things” from his friends as if he was doing it out of spite instead of just keeping embarrassing tagged photos and videos from football games or when he ate shit at the skatepark from fucking with his “rap career”)

every once in a while i get on a kick where hes just german. like, i just replace houston texas with hamburg germany and have him apply to a university in whatever state is applicable for whoever im chatting with and it goes from there? sometimes he moved when he was little and went through the whole visa thing, sometimes he didnt go through the visa thing, sometimes hes a dual citizen because of family and shit, its all dependent on what suits the situation best. 

one that ive been fucking with for a while but hardly break out (until recently with like 5 roses in the span of one day hell yeah) is that he has a neighbor at the end of the hall who is like a thousand year old witch lady that hes basically adopted as his mother figure in lieu of not having one and shes totally cool with it, especially bc when she kicks the bucket she fully plans on giving dave all her occult stuff so her figure-skating coach and realtor daughter doesnt sell it at a garage sale and lets it all go to waste. she also once brought rose up by name in a conversation without any prompting of her existence which dave didnt realize for days, and then one time cryptically stopped and stared at an empty space in the wall, went “she has potential, you know.” then looked at him sitting on her kitchen counter with a smile “lots of it” and hes thought about that weekly ever since. (it is important to note one of the occult items he leaves her is literally her own personal book of shadows shes been filling out for decades its like a 600 page leatherbound book dave has no idea what its used for but the sheer amount of homemade spells and etc in it is like. gonna murder rose the second this chick gets her hands on it i promise you.)

theres the standard strife shit? im not rlly gonna get into those theyre all basically cookie cutter bullshit. its just standard bro and dave abuse talk. i like to inclulde the whole 24hr live cam up in the apartment that definitely watches dave in every room besides his own and the bathroom, but that quickly delves into the prospect of middle-aged men stalking him online and basically sexually harassing him in his own god damn home by talking about how they can see him just trying to take his shoes off in the living room after getting home and frankly? its not one of my best takes! but once you throw it into the headcanon bin, its there forever. 

he actually really does do something with his photography but not enough to warrant anything exciting, but he has his own branding for it and regularly takes pictures of his friends or anything else he thinks is moderately interesting enough to take pictures of, but those are just thrown into shoeboxes under his bed in favor of posting genuine shots because he wants to keep his image intact and blurry photos of jade smiling in the tree they climbed up together while bec paws at the base of it while whining isnt exactly something he wants the whole world to see.

i also pretty often but him into either paleontology OR i put him down as trying to become a mortician because he thinks handing roadkill once he graduated from museum giftshop specimens to doing his own taxidermy on the side has prepared him enough to perform an occasional autopsy and start embalming real human corpses. (sometimes i put my own desires in and make them his bc i have to project at some point and put him through the same EMT course i dropped out of bc it was one semester and he already has pretty decent first aid skills, but he definitely didnt expect it to be as fucking wild at times as it is, but whats he gonna do? get a job back at waffle house? the company hes working for just offered to pay like half his associates in paramedicine tuition and hes already got all his pre-recs done when he started for paleo. at least its a stable job and hes got the ability to be compassionate in the moment) 

im running out of things that ive done to the poor kid. OH 

hes not a virgin he had a girlfriend all four years of high school (shes also one of his optional and designated exes plz keep up) and their relationship ends in one of two ways: she dies in a car accident a week before their high school graduation, or she stops talking to him entirely a week after their high school graduation until a couple years later she gets into (guess what) a car accident with her current wife/girlfriend and dies which leaves behind their daughter. who just so happens to also be daves daughter. her name is hannah and i love her like my own but no one ever likes her and thats on the conditioning of dirk. does dave end up taking her in? yes. shes awesome and the first time he takes her to the park to like run off some fucking steam she disappears for two minutes and dave is moderately terrified until she comes back holding a dead baby squirrel and thats the moment he realizes huh maybe things really do be genetic.

ok at the bottom of the list im gonna add the couple of times hes been a camboy which usually coincides with the live apartment cam thing and the amount of people in his dms calling him hot or whatever, but typically its more of a started the day he turned 18 and basically dipped around 20 in favor of showing up randomly with no warning to complain about a video game dick in hand because it gives him an outlet that wont annoy his friends bc this is the fifteenth time hes had a lot to say this week about a certain boss battle and also the comments fuel his ego and daddy issues.

the last one wasnt the bottom but literally unless its explicitly proven otherwise every time anyone rps with me there is the underlying fact dave strider was a goalie on his high school lacrosse teams all four years and (shocker another one) definitely had the hots for one of his teammates like major hots like first gay experience hots. like it was painfully obvious that teammate also liked him back hots. like one night at a team sleepover one of the other guys was like can yall just makeout and get it over with were fucking tired and dave really had the balls to be offended and ask what the fuck they were talking about while literally sitting halfway in the mans lap bc for some reason they had to share the same chair. 

he is also guilty until proven innocent of being the worlds biggest loner outside of that sports team and even though hes literally a jock he still opts to eat his lunch alone in the hallway or something like that and has a tendency to leave girls on read, but bc hes got an in with the rest of the jocks hes basically drug around to plenty of parties and since hes conventionally attractive enough and popular in the aloof way that he is, hes got plenty of tagged insta posts and twitter directs and snapchat streaks going. 

THESE WERE ALL NO GAME AND DONT INVOLVE SHIPS BC I LIKE TO KEEP MY OPTIONS OPEN AND THEYRE LITERALLY ALL BASED OFF RPS IVE DONE I HOPE YALL JUDGE ME ACCORDINGLY

[rose-gold-romantic]

Whatever It Takes: Chapter Two

A Loki x Reader based in the Tesseract fic universe! Avengers: Infinity War follow-up fic. Next in the Tesseract fic series. Links to Tesseract, Lokasenna, What Heroes Do, and Fidelity. Also to my AU Feel You.

I WOULD LOVE FEEDBACK! Want to be tagged in updates? Let me know!

@malignentmac @fandomsfanman @i-am-supermerwholoked221b @markusstraya @sincereleygmg @pandaqua​ @person-born-winchester

Just a forewarning, this one has a major POV shift from the past entries, since Reader was Dusted at the end of Fidelity! Keeping with my recent trend in fic titles, it’s named after a track on the official soundtrack. I also constantly watch this Video, and recommend it to hype you up!

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Banner groaned, running a hand down his face, “You’re telling me that not only is Tony still gone, but Fury disappeared too?”

“It would seem that way.” Striker mumbled. “The only thing we’ve found at Fury’s last known location is some sort of pager. We fear the battery might run out soon though.”

“Send it here.” Steve said, “We will find a way to keep it running. If that’s all Fury cared about when he started dusting, that means it must be extremely important. Is the pager flashing any words or coordinates?”

“We’ll send it to the Avengers Compound now.” Striker confirmed, handing the object off to someone outside of the projection’s range. “You should receive it within an hour. And as far as any clues on the pager, the only thing the screen is showing is a strange symbol with a star of sorts at the center. At first we thought it was an older design of your suit, Cap, but after some research we found that to be inaccurate.”

“So you have no idea who this device is calling?” I asked, “Or if whoever at the other end is even around after all that happened?”

“Listen here,” Striker snapped, “We don’t exactly have much to go on at this point, and if it was important to Fury, it’s worth a shot at keeping around. You are on some THIN ice, and if it wasn’t for Roger’s steadfast defence of you and your apparently “changed” character, you’d be on your way to the Raft right now.”

“That’s enough.” Steve said, stepping between myself and the projection of Striker, “Thank you, sir. We’ll get that thing hooked up to a generator of sorts ASAP and let you know if we hear anything back.”

Steve shut off the projection, taking a heavy sigh as the blue light fizzled out.

“Thank you.” I said, surprised that he would have defended me in any capacity. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” he replied, a smile briefly flashing on his face, “But you really have changed. I think that deserves a second chance alone, notwithstanding that I don’t like it when people bully others. I’m also not Striker’s biggest fan, so it made the whole ordeal easier for me to begin with.”

Steve leaned closer to me, lowering his voice to a hushed tone, “And Thor needs you here, not locked away somewhere leaving him all alone.”

Thor sat in an adjacent room, his brooding features the only external indication of the trauma that had occurred days prior. A bowl of rolls sat in front of him, untouched but waiting should he change his mind.

“I want to make sure he doesn’t start self-destructing with guilt after the way things happened.” Steve said, “If there’s anything you think will help, we could really use your insight.”

I paused, taken aback with Steve’s sudden complete trust, and his reaching out for my help. While the experiences of the past few days had been nothing short of devastating, I had a hard time comprehending that someone who once viewed me (and perhaps rightly so) as an enemy was treating me with such empathy and compassion... almost as a friend.

“If there’s anything we can do to monitor where half of our remaining people might be, that would be a good place to start.” I said, gesturing to some of the readouts that were projected along the walls. “One of us was able to get a group of our people away from Thanos’ ship and should be heading this way. If they send out a distress signal, we will need to be able to assist them in their journey here.”

“On it.” Natasha said, “Would you guys send out a distress signal in whatever language it is that you guys normally speak, or is it english?”

“It would be in Allspeak, so you’ll be able to understand it.” I clarified, “I don’t know where they ran to though, so it would be best to scan in a general radius outwards from earth to ensure we pick up any signal they send.”

As Natasha and I set up the monitoring frequencies that we would need, Banner went about producing a generator for the pager that would soon arrive.

“I hope that whatever Fury had in mind with this pager, it works.” Steve said, sitting in one of the nearby office chairs.

“For everyone’s sake, I agree.” Bruce mumbled.

We all sat around the conference room days later, watching the global missing persons count steadily ascend as the pager beeped away in its container down the hall.

“This is a nightmare.” Steve signed, his eyes trained on the growing number projected in front of us.

“I’ve had better nightmares.” Natasha replied, sighing.

Rhodey walked in moments later, breaking our attention away from the screens.

“Hey.” he said, leaning against the door frame. “So that thing just stopped doing whatever the hell it was doing.”

We all followed Rhodes into the other room, where Bruce stood by the pager, its screen dead and blank behind the glass.

“What have we got?” Natasha asked.

“Whatever signal it was sending finally crapped out.” Bruce responded.

“I thought we bypassed the battery?” Steve countered.

“Oh, we did, it’s still plugged in.” Rhodes answered, “It just stopped.”

“Is there no way to turn it on again?” I asked, “Surely there’s a power switch.”

“Reboot it, send the signal again.” Steve agreed.

“We don’t even know what this is!” Banner said, irritation lacing his voice.

“Fury did.” Natasha said quietly. “Just do it please. You tell me the second you get a signal, I want to know who’s on the other end of that thing.”

The second Natasha had finished her statement, my blood ran cold. Something powerful was closeby, and we were nearly defenseless…

Natasha and I turned at the same time, but I was the only one holding a knife up in response.

A woman stood before us, her appearance seemingly completely human, but an energy radiated from her the likes of which I had only seen once before. There was something extremely familiar about the power, but it was also different in a way that I could not yet discern. Whatever it might be, she was most definitely a force to be reckoned with.

“Where’s Fury?” She said, staring all of us down.

“You’re the one he called for?” Steve questioned, and pointed to the symbol on her suit. “That’s the symbol that was on the pager.”

I lowered my knife slowly, “Fury has met the same unfortunate demise as half of this universe.” I said, “Not before sending the message that has undoubtedly brought you here.”

“Do you know what happened?” she asked, her stance relaxing slightly. “And my name is Carol Danvers. I’ve known Fury for a very long time.”

Bruce interjected, “You ever heard of a guy named Thanos?”

“Can’t say that I have, the universe is a big place.” She quipped, irritated with how long it was taking to get the information she desired.

“Well he’s the reason everything’s happened.” Bruce responded, “He took all the infinity stones, the power stone, the mind stone, the tesseract-”

“The tesseract?” she interrupted. “I thought Fury had that safely tucked away.”

“A lot has changed since you were with Fury.” Steve said, sighing. “I know all too well how fast things move when you’re not around to see them. We’re trying to formulate a plan to find him and bring him to justice, whatever justice we can manage. To find out where he is, we need to find out if Tony Stark is still alive, and if he is, we need to bring him home.”

“Where was he headed last?��� She said, “I’ll find him.”

“He was last seen following a giant donut spaceship out of the atmosphere.” Rhodey said, “He followed because some squid looking thing had taken Doctor Strange and the time stone, but we don’t really have a heading.”

“If that’s the case, he’ll be on Titan.” I said, sighing. “Maw was doubtless trying to bring that stone back to Thanos so he could pursue the other that remained on earth.”

“Titan it is.” Danver said, marching outside quickly before shooting into the atmosphere and out of sight.

“Who the hell is she?” Rhodes snarked.

“Whoever she is, she has nearly the full force of the Tesseract’s power within her.” I said, turning to face the rest of the Avengers. “Yet it’s in a different form than the kind that resided in (Y/N).”

My heart sank and was pulled at by another wave of anger and heartache merely mentioning her name again. Before I could control it, my face flickered with the emotions that I did not want to deal with in front of anyone. I had dealt with grief many times before, of course, but this time I couldn’t simply run away and be alone. I saw the appeal of Thor’s choice to seclude himself even in the Avengers compound.

“Let’s just be glad she’s on our side, then.” Steve said, gripping my shoulder in support. “Maybe there’s a chance she can help us find him and make him bring everyone back.”

[starfaring-princelotor]

Future Sight

Summary: Prince Lotor, prefect of the Slytherin house, has interesting adventures with his Ravenclaw friend. 

Pairings: Lotor x F!Reader

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I kindly ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. Thank you. ★

Warnings: N/a. 

Future Sight___Historic Significance___ No Time Like the Present___Thinking Ahead___Best Friends

Green and silver.

Lotor didn't like the green color of his house scarf. He always thought it stuck out too much, clashed too much with his skin tone, and made him an eyesore to look at. Of course, fashion wasn’t the reason why he was sorted into Slytherin house. Nor was it the reason why he even attended this school in the first place. He was here to learn all he could and if he had to wear this horrendous color, then so be it.

He rubbed his hands together to try and maintain their warmth, despite thick, wool mittens already keeping his fingers well-insulated. Snowflakes were kissing his nose, his freckled cheeks, and even dusting his eyelashes in a white, soft veil. Just down the brick road, he would finally be in Madam Puddifoot’s shop enjoying a warm cup of his favorite tea. He could sit in his comfy corner and catch up on some reading, maybe even enjoy a sweet biscuit, too.

Green. Such an ugly color. Silver was not bad, silver was much more to his liking, but if he had to pick his favorite, it would be…

With a shove, he pushed open the wooden door as the tell-tale sound of a bell jingling announced his arrival. Nebulous eyes spotted the typical late-night owls. Sendak, Shiro and, what was his name? The short angry one. Keith? Yes. A few other patrons were chatting amicably amongst themselves as he took his usual vacant seat. Perfect view of the exit plus two walls against his back. Old habits die hard, even when thousands of miles away from danger.

The cup on the table filled to the brim with piping hot tea and he could already smell the fresh floral scent of lavender. Madam Puddifoot was a blessing, already knowing his order by heart. The Prince unraveled his stifling scarf from his neck, nose crinkling a bit at that distasteful color again. Green. Ugh. It was such a disgusting color, was such a loud shade of green, that it painted him as an obvious target. After he folded and placed it by his side, Lotor removed his mittens then glanced up to study the people.

If he had to pick his favorite, it would be...blue.

His gaze landed on you, sitting adjacent to his corner and adorning the Ravenclaw scarf around your neck. Blue was nice, it suited you. It suited him. Blue and purple? Come now, that was a perfect combination of colors. Lotor’s cold hands greedily wrapped around his tea cup as he brought it up to his lips, the heat melting any trace of winter on his sharp features. Still, he was staring at you, staring at that nice shade of deep, navy blue covering the lower-half of your face. If he squinted hard enough, he could see your lips moving against your scarf while you read off a piece of parchment.

“You’re late. Five points from Ravenclaw.”

Already, you could feel the heated stares aimed at your back as you hunched your shoulders in a bit of shame. Sheepishly, you smiled at your professor then took your seat besides a stoic Prince Lotor. His book was open, cauldron already simmering with ripe ingredients, and he was completely focused on the task at hand. Or, at least, so you thought. Once the professor had passed by, he sent you a piercing side-glance.

“I thought you Ravenclaws were intelligent,” there was no malice behind his tone, but a light snark that almost made you snort in response, “Class started 15 minutes ago.”

With a quick wave of your wand, all your materials laid out in an orderly fashion on your side of the table, “I was, uh, reading. Lost track of time. It happens to everyone.”

“Is that the excuse you tell your fellow housemates?” Lotor nodded his head to the table to your left, a playful grin spreading on his lips “You do realize you are a terrible, terrible liar.”

“I’ll be sure to study up on how to lie properly in the future,” a joke, a smirk, and soon a small chuckle emitted from him, “But right now, I really should catch up on...what are we making today?”

“Page 78.”

Once you flipped to the correct page, you blinked as a certain eager light flicked on behind your eyes. One of the forbidden potions. The Love Potion. Ashwinder eggs, peppermint, pearl dust. Yes, yes, good, you had the ingredients so far. Except two. Immediately, your nose wrinkled in annoyance, seeing that you were missing powdered moondust and rose thorns. Rose thorns were easy to acquire. The other…

“You are missing two ingredients.”

“Hey, hey, I know that,” as luck would have it, you did not need them immediately until the brewing period was close to ending, “I know exactly where to get them, too.”

“Really now?” that amused tone again, the bastard, “Like how you knew exactly what time class started?”

This time, it was you who chuckled in mirthful humor. He had a certain charm to him, you’ll admit.

Lotor never really expected anything once the owl’s came flying in. Gift deliveries from family and distant friends was not something he grew up with, so over time, he learned to keep his wishful thinking low. Or rather, non-existent at this stage in his life. Though, he still couldn't help but watch the birds flutter and drop presents rather majestically in front of their partner’s table. It wasn’t until he saw you did his attention switch from boredom to mild curiosity.

You weren't smiling, but you there was hope shimmering oh so brightly behind your eyes. Lotor could see it even from a few tables over. Expecting, you were expecting something, and even after all the deliveries were finished and no more owls filtered in, you were still looking up. While everyone else eagerly shredded their packaged presents open with little “Oh, yes! A new broom!” or “Yay, they really sent me a warmer cloak!” you finally caved in and heaved a sigh with shoulders slumping in defeat.

Disappointment. It was a bad color on you.

It wasn't his business to pry. It really wasn't, but his determination to know why you had such a forlorn look on your face was strong. Lotor crossed paths with you on his way back to the dorm rooms, or rather, you almost walked into him. Head down, eyes on the floor, you only stopped an inch away when you saw those toed-boots coming into your vision. Slowly looking up, you could read the inquisitive nature written all over his face.

One brow raised, head tilted just the slightest, lips set in a line but eager to speak a question. He was calculating something in that head of his, something he had to dance around before outright asking you. No, he may be housed in Slytherin, but he was raised with proper etiquette, proper mannerisms. After a few blinks, Lotor leaned on one leg and crossed his arms over his chest, tucking the end of his scarf in the process.

“I see your head is in the clouds today,” he was mocking, but it certainly did not come off as poking fun at you.

Either you got used to him or he was losing his touch.

“I was thinking. I do it all the time. It’s a normal thing, you know,” you replied with a somewhat firm tone, but his pointed ears could pick up the buried feelings.

Lotor, ever the dutiful prefect, began walking towards the Ravenclaw dorm wings with two things settled in his mind. One, he needed this walk, this time to reflect on the day and, to put it bluntly, speak to you. And two? Well, he won’t admit this out loud and he would gladly pin this on his gentlemanly nature, but he also wanted to make sure you wouldn't get hurt wandering back to your room. Of course he knew you weren’t purposely being an airhead. This time, his gut told him you were telling the truth.

You were thinking too much.

“A knut for your thoughts?”

“It’s gonna cost more than a knut.”

Finally, a joke out of you. Flat, but it was something, if that small smile tugging at the corner of your lips was anything to go by. Had Lotor been in a more impish mood, more eager to pick on you, he would have made some flippant comment back. Something along the lines of “Best I can do is two knuts” or “A knut and I will not tell your house prefect you were wandering in the wrong corridors.” Instead, he folded his hands behind his back and waited for you to speak.

He could handle silence. He was a patient man. 

“I...was hoping I’d get something in the mail today, that’s all,” you shrugged one shoulder as if brushing off the creeping sadness, “I mean, Christmas is nice and all but I - eh...it’s not really - the whole family time together thing just - did you get anything?”

Ah, yes. The classic diversion when speaking about something uncomfortable.

“No, I did not,” he admitted, “I do not celebrate Christmas.”

The two of you stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning to face each other. It was unfair how much taller he was compared to you, towering over you by simply standing there. A hand came up to rub at your neck, that blue hue of the scarf appealing to him more and more, then you discreetly scanned the empty hallways. No one else was around and yet you still kept your voice hushed, like you were about to tell him a dirty little secret.

Instead, what you asked made him raise both of his brows in surprise.

“Do you - I don't know - do you wanna try celebrating it with me? I mean, like a gift exchange, not the whole...Since, well, seeing we both didn't get…?”

Palm reading was, in your honest opinion, a bunch of bull-fuckery.

Although it was a requirement under the class curriculum, the idea that your future could be read by lines on your hand just did not sit well with you. Logically, it didn’t make sense, either. You can tell the age of a tree by its rings, but determining the unknown from looking at a hand? Part of you wondered if you could actually learn this magical teaching passed down from the witches and wizards of old.

Maybe they could see something you couldn’t.

“Okay, let’s see here…” you gently held Allura’s hand in yours, palm up of course, “This is your life line and it’s long so that means you’ll have a...long life.”

Meekly, you grinned at her, hoping she bought it.

“And that is your head line. It’s, mm...medium length, but kinda forked at the end so…” your brows knitted in confusion, turning to your open book for translation, “You’re brave and protective, but have an...insecure heart?”

She tilted her head and sent you a doubtful but encouraging smile, “Are you sure that’s correct? It seems a bit contradicting, doesn’t it?”

Dropping her hand, you leaned back into your seat then rubbed your cheek, grumbling to yourself for this failed reading, “I mean, technically, isn’t all of this contradicting? Aren’t bodies always changing? So, like, your skin too? I don’t know, this lesson seems...bah.”

Allura flipped through a few pages, reading what was written to understand a bit more before she tries reading your palm. Every student had a different capacity for magic and, as luck would have it, she was more attuned with it than most. She motioned for your hand and you gladly offered it, open and all.

“Hm, I am not quite sure if I can do a proper reading on your palm. There’s this white line here I am unfamiliar with - “

Immediately, you pulled your hand back, laughing nervously at your moment of forgetfulness, “Ah, ha ha, no, that’s just, uh, that’s just an old scar. Here, try this hand instead.”

Allura decided not to bring it up, but her curiosity was piqued, and that scar did look quite jagged, “Very well, now, hold still. Mm hm...life line is a bit of a wiggle and it crosses past your ring finger, so that’s a good sign. Oh, but this crease, do you see these two lines? Right here, they’re very close to one another.”

You leaned over and squinted, trying to see what she was talking about.

“This line, the thicker it is, the more intelligent you are,” her fingertip trailed over the shorter one, “But this one that runs parallel besides it? It means you have a hard time accepting it.”

Well, that was way more accurate than you expected. As a Ravenclaw, there was always the stigma that intelligence was a critical trait among your peers. But you didn’t want that. You wanted something more, something more worthwhile than being known as that one smart Ravenclaw chick. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you excelled in the knowledgeable areas, but book smarts was not why you attended Hogwarts. Never.

There was more out there and you would die before accepting the magical world as it was on the surface.

“Huh,” you scratched your cheek, eyes flicking to a certain dark purple classmate sitting on the other side of the room, “Hey, does it say anything about cool friends in my future?”

It was a full moon tonight, something Lotor appreciated even more now that the day was winding down to an end. Between Divination and Astronomy, he finally had time to put his knowledge to the test. Professor Trelawney seemed out of her mind and maybe part of him didn’t believe in the whole bit about being able to see into the future, but it still fascinated him to at least try. From the Slytherin balcony, he gazed up at the moon, at the stars and planets and the never-ending deep space, then closed his eyes.

Darkness.

Was he supposed to feel something? Or...see something? Before he closed his eyes, he saw the constellations of old. He saw the glow of the moon. Perhaps he was supposed to hear something instead? But no, nothing but the faint hoot of wild owls reached his ears. This was ridiculous and part of him did feel foolish for trying this...this...this spell! Maybe if he focused harder, tried to feel the magic drift down from the stars -

A scarf. A familiar blue scarf faintly faded into his vision, but it was too dark to see it clearly. It was floating, neatly folded just as he first remembered seeing it from across the tea shop. The Raven emblem was stitched meticulously three squares from the bottom of the wool fabric, centered as a testament to the house name. Ravenclaw, the intelligent, the creative, the wise house.

Then, he heard the sudden sound of shredding. Tearing. Invisible, sharp claws tore at the scarf like paper, ripping it and ruining what was once pristine and perfect. Something was fiercely pulling it at the ends, tugging as if fighting over the last piece of meat. Dark, it was too dark to see anything but the scarf, until the sounds stopped as soon as they started. It was in tatters, unfixable and laying on the ground in an ugly heap of rags. It all happened in a matter of mere seconds.

Lotor snapped his eyes open and took in a shuddering breath. His heart was pounding in his chest at how real, how raw it felt when his senses witnessed the decapitation of that clothing. Calm, he had to calm his heart and take deep, steady breaths. Clawed hands gripped the stone railing as an anchor, as a way to support his shaking knees from buckling under his weight. That was so damn vivid. Real. The Prince's wide-eyed gaze drifted from his nails to the snow-covered land then...to a figure wearing a blue scarf sneaking close to the Forbidden Forest.

It was a full moon tonight. You needed powdered moonstone. The man instantly connected two and two together. A scowl marred his lips and he turned to rush out of the Slytherin chambers. So much for an intelligent Ravenclaw, recklessly traversing where no student should this late at night. Sneaking off the grounds was easy, especially with Kova being his guide, but once the tall, dark trees came into sight, the cat left him alone.

You fool. You absolute fool.

The sound of a twig snapping caught your attention and you quickly swiveled around, tip of your wand lit low enough just to illuminate the calm water at the bank of the lake. A familiar tall figure stepped into the light and, although you were relieved it wasn’t anything scary bumping in the night, his stone-cold expression still surprised you. A cross of his arms, as if waiting for an explanation, and you lowered your wand slightly.

“Are you mad? What are you doing out here?” you bluntly asked and, oh geez, those were the wrong words if his glowering eyes were anything to go by.

“What do you mean ‘What am I doing out here?' You must be bloody daft!" he spit back, shoulders raised in defense, “If you wanted powdered moonstone so badly, you could have just asked to borrow some from me instead idiotically risking your life.”

“That’s not it, I didn’t want to ask,” you weren’t stubborn, you were just curious, “I wanted to see...Look, the full moon is out tonight and I wanted to see the moonstone myself -”

Lotor shook his head in disapproval then stepped closer to you when you shied away from him, “We are leaving. Right now.”

“No! Just give me a minute, please? I just want one, that’s it!”

The Prince scowled at your stubbornness and he was just about to use force if you kept rebelling against him, but the second the clouds parted and moonlight filtered through the trees, both of your attention switched to the serene waters. One by one, bland rocks began glowing in a faint hue of yellow, until they were just as bright as the light coming from your wand. A soft “Ooh…” left your lips while the argument faded in the back of your mind, eyes now wide with pure wonder.

Now that...that was a good look on you. Beautiful, even.

“Hurry up,” he commanded just as a wolf howled in the distance, much too close for his comfort, “We must return at once.”

“Thanks, Lotor! I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Snapping out of your moment of awe, you quickly gathered at least a pound of moonstone into your satchel. Once you stood next to him, stupidly proud of your accomplishment for the night, he guided you out of the bleak forest with a hand on your lower back. Now that both of you were out of immediate danger, his mind was able to relax and really consider the one question nagging at his skull.

What exactly was he doing out here?

Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop always had the finest of bindings in their book spines. Lotor’s fingertips drifted over the expertly tanned leather, skin enjoying the smoothness of the etchings on the cover. Yes, this one was nice, perfect even. At least, in his eyes. But was this the right one for you? This is why he didn't celebrate Christmas. Having to think, truly think, about what to gift others was a hassle and he knew what he liked did not always apply to others.

Especially you.

After that fiasco with the forest and sneaking the both of you back into the castle, he was still feeling bitter. Lotor scolded you for potentially risking yourself, yes, but he couldn't blame YOU that he was out there by his own free will. He could’ve left you alone, could’ve trusted that you knew how to defend yourself, but part of him started to wonder why he even spent more than a few minutes thinking about the what-ifs.

He knew why. It was that damn vision that spooked him.

Of course, the ever eloquent Prince he is, avoided such confessions. No, no, it was better to just punish you for being too eccentric in your quest for knowledge. Too dedicated to water your thirsty mind by letting your curiosity take its course. He can’t lie to himself, it really was a sight to behold at the lake, but was it worth the danger? Was it truly worth risking being killed? To you, yes. But to him? Absolutely not.

Lotor knew how to get you to listen to his words.

You could’ve gotten expelled. Then where would you learn about magic?

The logic was sound to you, oddly enough.

“Hey Lotor, filled up your dream journal already?”

It was Shiro, prefect of the Gryffindor house, who pulled the Prince out of his lingering thoughts. In all truth, his dream journal was not even past the first page. Professor Trelawney will not approve of that at all. Shiro peered down at the journal, the blue-dyed leather with the insignia of a wave imprinted across the front.

“Oh, no, you are mistaken,” Lotor nonchalantly flipped through the blank pages as if testing to make sure it was, indeed, a book, “This is not for me.”

“Mmhm,” Shiro nodded in thought then placed a hand on his chin, “Is it for that Ravenclaw - “

“No.”

Cue the smug grin on that damn Gryffindor’s face. A catty grin, a knowing grin, and if they weren’t close friends, the Prince would’ve turned around and left him standing there all by his goofy self. Lotor frowned then sighed in defeat, knowing that Shiro would never let it go if he didn’t come clean now that he outed himself.

“Yes. Yes, it is for her,” he admitted and his friend nodded as if he knew all along, “She asked if I would...participate in celebrating Christmas with her.”

“Christmas? I thought you don't like Christmas?”

“I do not.”

“Huh.”

If Lotor relied on anyone’s opinion, it might as well be his close friend, “Is this a worthy gift?”

Shiro’s eyes softened when he asked that one question, knowing that his friend was actually seeking his advice over something quite important, “Lotor, the Prince who could get half the school on their knees with his presence alone, is now hesitant in the face of a journal.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, ”Do not mock me.”

“I’m not, honest!” Shiro shrugged with his hands up in surrender, “It’s the truth. You could get anyone, but you don't. You’re picky. Not because it’s a bad trait or anything, but it’s because you’re clever. You know what you want, you’re an observer.”

Lotor clapped the book shut with one hand.

“You don’t need my advice, Lotor. You know that,” Shiro patted his friend’s back, trying to give him an ounce of confidence in his choices, “...But, if you’re looking to court her, I heard from Pidge that she likes the color green.”

“- and an ounce of powdered moonstone. Fresh, potent powdered moonstone.”

You read the instructions to yourself as Lotor stirred his cauldron. The potion was not nearly ready and he knew it would take another few days to finish it. The professor graded on quality, not quantity, so he took his time trying to perfect it. Though, he will admit, without your potent moonstone, he may not have had the chance to create such a refined potion in the first place.

“Hey, Lotor?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks for not ratting me out,” you grinded the stone in your bowl, working it to a find dust, “I, uh, really appreciate it. I thought you’d turn me over like an omelette. And you’re right. About the...reckless thing.”

“Of course I was right.”

“Oh, c'mon, I’m trying to apologize.”

“Well? I am waiting.”

You purse your lips, knowing he was picking on your again, even if he was trying his best to suppress that haughty smirk on his face. Willingly giving him a moonstone gem for this love potion was just the start of your apology. You knew you messed up and, unfortunately, it was in your nature to venture into the unknown to discover. To learn. Surely he could understand such a thing? But dragging him in danger was never your intention.

“I’m sorry. There.”

“Apology not accepted.”

“Buh - !”

There was a smug twinkle in his eye when you scoffed in surprise.

“Okay, okay, I am sorry for being A Big Stupid,” you paused, “And for putting us at risk.”

Now, Lotor turned to face you.

“And?”

“And I won't do it again, geez,” you couldn't help but let out a small laugh because, well, you were actually enjoying this weird banter, “...Not unless you want to come with me next time.”

“I believe that night was enough fun for me, thank you.”

“I heard Mothman lives in the forest.”

“Mothman does not exist.”

“How do you know? Did you see him?”

Now, you were just egging him on. With a shake of his head, Lotor pulled out the next ingredient needed for the potion: rose thorns. He could have simply bought thorns at Dervish and Banges shop, but something convinced him to ask Professor Sprout for a fresh rose instead. Not just any rose, either. Not a red one, but rather, a black one. She had questioned him about it, explaining that if he was to give it to someone he likes, red was more of a romantic gesture. A sign of blooming love interest. Better chances of wooing someone for the Yule Ball.

One by one, he carefully clipped the thorns off and left half in your bowl. You didn't ask him, but he knew you didn't have any thorns, unless you once again traveled into the forest for a mere plant. If giving you a few rose thorns prevents another catastrophe like that night, then he would gladly throw a few your way. A honest, thankful smile from you had Lotor’s stomach stir in...odd feelings.

“Do you smell anything in yours?” you leaned closer to the lip of your cauldron then wafted your hand over it, bringing the scent to your nose, “I don’t have anything on my end.”

Lotor followed suit, but alas, he did not recognize any scent coming from his potion. Part of him was slightly worried he did something wrong, mixed in the wrong ingredient at the improper time, but he made sure he was meticulous in his work. No way, maybe it just was not done yet. Maybe this smell would come by closer to the end of the brewing period. That had to be the answer.

“No, nothing over here, unfortunately.”

“Huh. Well, it is still a few days until it is finished,” you closed your book, packing away your supplies, “Love potions are hard to make, after all. Anyways, see you in Divination later?”

A nod from his end while he quickly scanned over the instructions once more, just to make sure he didn’t mess up somewhere along the way. But, unknown to you, he had another reason for avoiding your eye contact. Shiro’s words echoed in his mind, If you’re looking to court her, and the black rose was right there. Lotor planned this from the very beginning, but why was he hesitating?

He can lie to others, but he can’t lie that there was something he wanted to explore with you. However, while he was teetering between his thoughts, you were already walking away from him. Nebulous eyes watched forlornly while his mind admonished him for keeping his tongue caged. That would have been a perfect moment! A perfect time to ask if you would permit him to learn more about you on a deeper, intimate level.

And, well, he wasted it. You were gone and the rose was mocking him.

“You think he’ll like it?”

Silence.

“I think he’ll like it.”

Again, no response, except a flick of Kova’s tail while she perched on Narti’s shoulders.

You were sitting across from her in the library, hand garnishing a smooth, round black orb. Normally, no one would bother to look twice at this thing, but you made it. You poured your soul and hard work into polishing this blue sandstone until its magical properties took form. Finding a gift for Lotor was harder than you thought simply because, well, it was difficult to even know what he liked. The only thing you heard from his close friend, Acxa, was that he likes to hold things.

Hold things. How vague was that?

So you sought out to find this gemstone. Within it, it was almost pitch black with speckles of white imitating galaxial stars. But, depending on who holds it, a different nature takes form. Right now, the interior of the stone was sloshing in deep, azure waves, toiling and circulating to imitate your emotions rather clearly. Your mind was unsure, going back and forth on your decision whether this ball was worthy for the Prince Lotor. Acceptance was always a weird trait for you.

The orb was just as chilly as if you were touching ocean water with your bare fingertips.

Kova’s paw landed on top of the gift and you took that as a good sign.

Or the cat wanted to playfully bat at the round toy.

[dragonotaku-justineverything]

On the Fence (Dragonslayer Fanfic)

This is my entry for @perfilles-studio ’s Dragonslayer (Yang x Jaune) fanfic contest on Tumblr. This Fanfic is based on his drawing (see below, it’s great!). I’ve never posted much of what I’ve written anywhere, so I’m kinda (very) nervous. Honestly, I love the dragonslayer ship in RWBY, so I hope I can do it justice. Please give me some feedback, how else could I get better! Anyway, enough ramblings, let’s get started!

Mistral was a beautiful kingdom. It had large, architecturally outstanding buildings, wonderful food, and lush gardens and parks that people can walk through. So it seems odd that at an inn in the clear evening on a Friday night, that there were two blonde teens that were just sitting around doing nothing.

“This place so boooring” groaned out Yang as she leaned back in her chair. Jaune only sighed in agreement, sitting in an armchair adjacent to Yang.

Ruby and Weiss were off restocking on everyone's munitions and dust for the upcoming trip to Atlas. Blake was at a meeting with Sun, Ilia, Ghira, and Kali to discuss what to do with all the Faunus troops they brought to fight as well as spending some more time with her parents before she’d have to leave again. Nora and Ren were on their actual first date, and Ozpin/Oscar was passed out sleeping with Qrow watching over him. That left only Yang and Jaune at the in inn’s lobby...alone...together.

Jaune awkwardly rubbed the back of his head “Yeah, it is. Although after everything that happened yesterday, not much can compare to that amount of excitement.”

“I guess. Still, would have been nice if someone invited us along on one of their outings.”

“Would you really have wanted to tag along on Ren and Nora’s first date?”

“Heheh, you got a point. Okay, anyone but those two. They definitely deserve some quality alone time.”

Jaune let out a soft chuckle. “Without a doubt. You’re right though, it’s pretty boring here. Wish we went with Weiss and Rubes. At least we would be doing something.”

“Hmmmm,” was hummed from Yang, showing her agreement. A few beats later she jumped up and startled backward and knocking over his chair. “Why don’t we just go out then!?”

Standing back up and picking up his toppled armchair, Jaune was blushing at what he just heard. “W-what do you mean Yang! What’s with all the sudden excitement?”

Yang was only getting more hyped and her smile was growing brighter. “I just realized I’ve never been to Mistral before! I’ve never seen this place in person or been to any of its shops, restaurants, or anything! So let’s go!” before she was done she had already started moving towards the door.

Sighing in relief, he started to follow her before he realized what he was doing. “Wait you want me to come with you?”

Stopping at the door she turned around, bright smile still on her face. “Yeah! Unless you’d rather stay here by yourself?”

“Well, okay then, if you want to. I’ll try not to cramp your style.”

“Please, like you could! I got more than enough “style” for both of us.”

Walking through the door, he turned around and started walking backward slowly to face her. “Good to know. So Yang, where do you want to go?”

Yang jogged up right next to him. “No idea Jaune. Like I said, I’ve never been to Mistral before. So let's just go out there and wing it! We’ll definitely find something that’ll make this night rock!” Yang finished her sentence with a fist into the air, sure that the night would be filled with awesome!

—————————————————————

“‘Let’s just go out there’ you said.”

“Shut up.”

“‘Let’s wing it’ you said.”

“Shut up Jaune.”

“‘We’ll definitely find something to make th-”

“Shut up! Okay, I get it, it wasn’t a good idea after all! I was wrong! Now, will you please stop patronizing me!?”

Jaune still had the courage to give a light smile. “What? After all the teasing you’ve done to me? I am not passing this small chance up. When will I ever get a chance to tease you for a change?”

As it turns out going into a brand new city doesn’t yield great results. They basically walked around half of Mistral for a few hours. It only took a half hour to realize they really did have no idea where to go. They tried to find a bar or club to go to, requested by Yang, but they were denied entry either because they were too young, being only 17 each, or because they were already packed and had a waiting line several hours long.

When that failed they decided to try to find shops or places to go eat but ended up walking into quite a large residential area...which they got lost in. Yup, not a proud moment for the teens asking an elderly couple how to get back to the main city.

After they got back they just wandered some more, but the two started having a good conversation, all night they’d just been saying a few sentences every now and then and then walked in silence. They talked about, goals, hobbies, and stories about the pasts. Yang told Jaune about her first trip to a club and Jaune told her about his family going to the nearby lake for family days every week.

They actually stopped paying attention to where they were walking. They ended up in one of Mistrals greatest parks. It had a web of trails to hike through a large forested section of Mistral, the best spot was the trail that was along a small cliff, overlooking most of Mistral.  The only thing separating the cliff edge and the people on the trail was an eight foot, chain link fence. This was also the place the two blondes ended up.

“Well, aren’t you mister confidence right now.” Yang bitterly grumbled.

Jaune flinched at her tone. It was a rare sight to see Yang Xiao-Long down in the dumps. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you so much.”

Yang sighed heavily before looking at Jaune. “It’s not that Jaune. I just wanted this night to be great, fun, or hell, even just okay and peaceful. We’re off to Atlas in a few days. Who knows what will happen there.” Yang walk over to the fence that separates the trail from the cliff. “It’s probably only going to get worse right? I mean, we are pretty much at war with Salem. We’ve already had to fight for our lives just a few days ago. We’ll probably have to it again.”

Jaune stared at Yang in shock. He would have never thought Yang was thinking stuff like this. “Yang, why are you thinking like that? We have to stay positive. If we don’t then they’ll already have won.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk. Didn’t you say ‘They’re the ones that matter’ to Cinder?”

“I was angry!”

“And so am I.”

Jaune stared at Yang, baffled. Yang never doubted herself before, why now? What was different?! The answer came when Yang put her hand on the fence in front of her. Her right hand. The one she lost.

Jaune swallowed, knowing he had to be blunt. “It’s because if your arm isn’t it?”

Yang spun to face him, glare already set. Red eyes and all. “What was that?” The danger layered in her question was also blunt.

He pushed through though“ The reason you’re scared now, the reason you’re questioning yourself and us. It was because of you losing your arm at Beacon.”

Yang’s right hand clenched. Then she released it and a sigh. “Since when are you so smart VB?”

Jaune chuckled. “I guess about the time as you. So, what’s wrong?”

Yang turned back around, hand going back to the fence. “I always thought I was unkillable. Sure, I’d get hurt in a fight or spar, but I never thought I’d be hurt to the point. Then The Fall happened. Adam happened.” The creak from the fence being crushed under Yang’s hand made Jaune flinched. “Everything went to hell. I guess it’s just all the reality hit me down hard. I’m still trying to stand back up.”

A hand on her shoulder got her to turn around. Jaune was their, with a pitying look in his eyes. No, not pity, sympathy. “Will you let me try to help you up?”

Yang threw a questioning look his way. It was answered by Jaune walking past her and the up the fence.

“Jaune!? What are you doing?!”

“Well, you’ll see if you follow me!”

Yang looked around, and seeing only a hand full of people farther down the trail, she started climbing up. When she got the top, Jaune was sitting down on the top bar, legs dangling his legs off facing the cliff and Mistral. Yang decided to mirror his position. “Sooooo what now?” She drawled out.

Jaune only said one word “Look” before pointing. Yang followed his finger to see a breathtaking sunset over the kingdom of Mistral. “I wanted to remind you that the sun's still shining and that the world is still beautiful. We all went through The Fall. It was a dark time for all of us. We can’t live in that darkness though, otherwise, they’ll have won before we even start fighting.”

Yang looked over at him to see a serious expression, but it was also hopeful and warm. It honestly made her heart skip.

“W-wow Vomit Boy, I didn’t know you could be so romantic. If I had, we might be dating right now.”

Jaune blushed like she knew he would. What he said next surprised her though. “Could you honestly see yourself dating me?”

Yang thought about it for a few seconds, then something came to mind. “I dunno...you could say I’m…” the smug grin on her face was the only warning Jaune had before Yang let loose “on the fence!” Eh, eh?”

The only response Yang received was a groan from the knight, but there was a laugh mixed in with it! The only one to ever laugh at here puns were her dad and Ruby when she was little. “There’s the good old Yang we know and love! Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

Yang was feeling better! It’s been so long since she’s made a good pun and for someone to actually laugh at it too?! “Hahaha, thanks Jaune.” Yang flipped around her seating on the fence. “Maybe we should get going though. The sunset is beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but it also means it’s almost dark. Everyone is probably going to be back now.”

She was about to hop down, but something stopped her. Jaune grabbed her hand and squeezed it. A feeling of warmth and security rushed to her chest, it’s origin the hand Jaune currently had in his grasp. “As long as you promise to have hope. For everything.”

Yang closed her eyes, she liked the feeling of his hand holding hers. “Sure Jaune. I promise.” She pulled his hand free and punched Jaune in the shoulder.

“WOAH!” Although the punch was apparently harder than she meant to because Jaune was knocked off the fence, luckily not off the cliff though. Jaune landed on the dirt trail with a thud.

Yang was down next to him a second later, leaning down to help pick him up. “Jaune! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?!”

Jaune groaned. “I don’t know. I guess I feel kinda, down in the dirt? How’s that?”

Yang paused, before “Hahahahahahaha!” laughing so hard she nearly fell over. “That was great Jaune! I didn’t know you had it in you!” She calmed down and offered a hand to him. An offer Jaune took, being pulled up and dusting himself off.

“You sure you okay Jaune?”

Jaune rolled his shoulders a few times. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can easily take more than that little fall.”

“Good. So you think we should head back to the inn? The gangs probably waiting for us.”

“Sure Yang.”

“Well, I guess we should get walking.”

With that the blonde duo started walking back down the trail they came on. As they walked, Yang looked down at Jaune’s hand, recalling the feeling of him holding hers with it. Before she knew it, she had grabbed it, holding it with hers. It was Jaune that alerted her to what she did. “Yang? Why are you holding my hand?”

Yang didn’t know herself, but that wasn’t going to make her let go. It made her feel warm. “Just go with it Vomit Boy.”

Jaune sighed in annoyance. “Are you ever going to drop that nickname?”

Yang let out a mocking hum. “Hmmmmm. Nope!”

Jaune just sighed again, getting Yang to laugh. Jaune decided to do as Yang said and just went with it, wasn’t like he was really complaining. It did feel nice. That’s how they continued to walk, holding hands, into an unsure, but definitely brighter, future.

“Hey Yang, how do we get back to the inn from here?”

His question was met with silence from both parties until they spoke together.

“Crap.”

[ilosttrackofthings]

I was tagged by @gettothestabbing

Tag up to 10 people

1. What are the pettiest things you do on the internet?

Thanks to my shipping habits I’ve been blocked by a fair number of people and every so often I’ll like a post only to stop and wonder if the OP’s name seems familiar because they’re one of those. I’ll then check my likes in another tab and if the post isn’t there, I’ll unlike it on my dash. Even though technically the liking never went through in the first place.

2. Do you watch reality TV?

Amazing Race and Survivor are our family night shows, but I can’t handle much else, too much second-hand embarrassment.

3. Do you think it’s fair to not hire people with tattoos or body mods or who dress differently?

It honestly depends. That’s definitely a topic that would have to be brought up at an interview if it was something dramatic; a big arm or neck tattoo might be balanced out by professional clothing, for example. At the same time it isn’t up to the company to accommodate what was ultimately a decision that this person made. That’s on the (potential) employee. They’re the one who wants a job and, while on the job, it will be their responsibility to represent the company in whatever way the company expects. If that means covering up or, sadly, that whatever they’ve done to their body takes them out of the running, them’s the breaks. 

As for dressing “differently” there are employee dress codes for a reason. As long as you abide by them, HR’s not gonna have a problem with you.

4. Would you ever tell stories about famous people you know to the tabloids for money?

If there was some story they wanted out there, I might help them by ~leaking it, but I also might pass the buck to another friend. The pressure of being friends with a famous person would be bad enough but I imagine once you slip up and spill to the reporters once, they’ll be constantly coming back.

5. Do you think modern-day royal families that have a limited or nonexistent role in actual government should keep existing?

I don’t really see any harm in it, at this point aren’t they basically just born celebrities? But I’ve never lived in a country with any sort of monarchy, so I really couldn’t say what damage that might do. (But also how are you gonna get rid of them? These are actual people. Are we gonna forcibly castrate them to put an end to the line or something?)

6. Do you think music keeps getting worse as years go by?

As an art form I think music hit its peak a good while ago, but that doesn’t mean what there is now isn’t worthwhile. In every generation you’re gonna find completely empty songs - I mean I’ve got “lollipop” by the Chordettes open in another tab, there’s really not much to that song, but there were plenty of good, meaningful songs written in the 50s. 

7. What caused the worst physical pain you’ve ever felt?

A few weeks after we got Rover, it was raining and I let him out into the back yard. He started sniffing around the pool gate and he was still small enough then to fit through the bars, and also we hadn’t had him in summertime yet so I didn’t know there was no force on this earth that would compel that dog into a giant pool of water, so I was worried he’d go out there. He hadn’t learned to come when called so I went out to get him. Two steps down, the water from the rain plus my worn down crocs saw me sitting hard on the brick steps. 

I cried for hours. I kept telling my family it didn’t hurt that bad anymore, I just couldn’t stop crying. Also it did still hurt, just not nearly as much as that initial pain had been. It was very likely a broken tail bone and the weeks of recovery were not fun.

8. Do you give money or food to homeless people?

No. Maybe it’s because I’m terrified of social interactions that don’t come with a script. Maybe it’s because of that time my grandma was volunteering feeding the homeless and left me at a table with the expectation that I, a very small child, would somehow entertain a bunch of homeless men through their meal. Who’s to say?

9. Who do you think should run against Trump in 2020?

I honestly have no idea. Nothing makes sense anymore, predictions are meaningless.

10. Do you think humanity will survive to explore the universe?

Maybe? I think humanity will survive, surely, but I don’t know how far we’ll go. All that beauty isn’t there for us. If we’re meant to enjoy it that’ll be amazing.

11. What do you think of society’s attitude towards animals?

Well that’s ... a question. There’s honestly too many possible attitudes to tackle them all. But l do think it’s important we remember that animals are not people. A human is more important than an animal, full stop.

12. Do you think a person can truly be happy without close relationships?

No. We were made for relationship. A life without that is empty.

13. What do you think are the ideal times to go to sleep and to wake up?

I’d love to go to bed at ten and wake up at six but wow that does not work for me. Here’s hoping tonight I can pull off nine and six doesn’t come too early.

14. Top three worst “classic” or very popular songs?

“Happy” by Pharrell Williams; “Let It Go” - it’s not the song’s fault but Frozen is the worst so there you go; aaaaaand “Do You Hear What I Hear” which makes NO SENSE in any context (suggestion: let’s stop singing dyhwih in church and start singing “God Bless America” on appropriate holiday-adjacent Sundays again. Much better. Everyone is happier.)

15. Do you think “follow your dreams” is good advice?

Yes, but I think the problem is in the idea that a dream has to be outlandish in some way. When we tell people to follow their dreams it’s always something big, even something reckless. Small dreams are good too.

I tag...

@safelycapricious, @shineyma, @sapphireglyphs, @batsonthebrain, @daisyfitz, @meghan84, @duxbelisarius, and ... and ... I DON’T KNOW DO IT IF YOU WANT TO I’M ALREADY FAILING AT NUMBER 13

[gottaorganizemycanonsomehow]

VII – Amaya

Amaya is standing on the deck of her ship, looking out towards the unattainable horizon and how beautifully the ocean glitters under the sun as it stretches towards it. She’s already accounted for all the preparations for the journey the night before. Supplies and cargo have been stocked and double checked. Their route and tight schedule were planned well in advance. Each member of her crew knew their duties and her expectations, as captain, of them well. It would be another smooth trip, like countless others. With all of her responsibilities fulfilled, Amaya takes the time to lean against the railing and take in this sight she never tires of. She glances at her wristwatch, keeping an eye on the time. She doesn’t intend to wait on her colleague; if he chooses to be late, he’ll have to chase after them in a rowboat or something equally humiliating.

She’s almost disappointed when she sees a familiar figure lean against the railing with her. They say nothing for a moment. He doesn’t bother asking if everything is set, knowing and trusting that there is no need to insult her like that. Instead, they enjoy the last few quiet moments of the day before they set to work. He likely has paperwork to sort through, contracts to prepare, and other business things she doesn’t care for. She will be busy with the crew as they leave the harbour. Afterwards, there’ll almost certainly be numbers for her to run before she can shove the rest of the accounting details and shit to him. Her day will be a busy, productive one and the fact pleases her.

It is, of course, this happy thought he chooses to interrupt.

“Could you perhaps be a little gentler with my wife?”

“Not married yet. Maybe I’ll consider it after the wedding.”

“Jealous?”

Amaya laughs, wholly amused and unbothered, when she says, “You wish.”

She pushes herself away from the railing and shifts to walk away when she sees him turns towards her. His hands hover in the air for a moment and she nods, allowing him to snag her waist and tug her closer. He looks at her critically, eyes narrowed against the sun and the sea like the rest of them. Already, she can see the refined grease he oils himself in washing away. Jerking his chin towards the shore, he asks, “How’s that old bastard?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Anyone see you?”

“I’m not stupid.”

He pauses before responding, heavy intent pooling into his eyes and tone, “I know.”

Amaya rolls her eyes. He should know better than to think flattery would move her, unless huffing that much perfume is actually rotting away his common sense. “Wish I could say the same.”

His upper lip rises in a snarl, eyes spitting, before he leans into her space, ready to lash out. Her lips quirk. He sees and catches himself rising to her bait as he always does. For a woman who still has a lingering wariness of the violence that follows enraged men, Amaya has always enjoyed agitating him up close, guard down. She thinks she will never tire of it, so long as she can provoke a reaction like the first one.

They reach their destination soon enough. Taman slows to a stop in front of yet another large, white house, with yet another sloping, beautiful lawn, and yet another bubbling, cheerful fountain. He spares her a glance but remains impassive; she remains where she is, watchful, a few steps away. It isn’t very long before a man, no older than she is, strolls out of the house, trampling over the lawn as he stumbles towards them. He is pale as he is blonde, his smile flashes, roughish and cheeky, on his soft face in the flow of the lights from the house. By the time he reaches them, his face is shadowed by the dim lights and she catches a whiff of alcohol beneath his cologne. She is unsteady enough to think about walking away but is too prideful to do nothing but stare threateningly at the stranger.

“Tom!” he calls out, exuberant and pose, “You’re late, my good fellow.”

Amaya arches an eyebrow at the name and endearment. It doesn’t stop Taman from smiling genially, apologetically at the man. It’s only then does Amaya notice the clean, fitted clothes Taman is wearing, his sleeves rolled up to let a silver bracelet and gold ring glint in the distant light, his slouched, casual posture. “I’m so sorry Mr. MacKay. I was unfortunately help up getting your order; I wanted to make sure it was correct.” The man, Mr. MacKay, doesn’t seem to notice the oil dripping off of Taman’s deferential words and stance, seems to preen in the face of it.

“No worries, no worries. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.” The wink he gives does not underlay the authority in his words.

The arrogance she knows is pitted, deep and ugly, in Taman’s chest remains hidden as he hands over the package, still smiling, all while exclaiming, “Of course not sir!”

The man’s round face lights up at the package, grasping it as he fumbles out money in his other hand. “Excellent, here you are then.” His fingers are digging greedily into the plain brown paper wrapping, his feet already turning back towards the house when he seems to remember something. “Tom! You should come in and join the party; we’ve missed your company.” It’s only then that he catches her eye. He looks at her with distant, boyish interest as he tags on, “And of course, your friend is welcome as well. Is she a sister or something of yours? I know quite a few ladies and gentlemen inside that would be disappointed to know otherwise.”

Taman responds with a filthy grin when he says, “Let them know I miss them too. We gotta get going but thanks.” Amaya knows as surely as she knows the ebb and flow of the tide that Taman gives nothing freely, even if he might take pleasure in the transaction. For a moment, she wonders at these people, at why they might be willing to pay to fall into bed and subject themselves to this grimy, fake persona. She wonders if anyone in that house might be able to pick up on Taman’s deceit and simply care not, if they’re at all disgusted by the grease he lathers himself in for them. She thinks, perhaps, that they’ve all been swimming in that thick, cloying oil since birth and know no better.

The man laughs jovially as he eyes her. “Alright. I’ll let them know they might have some competition, lest someone else can steal her from you.”

Amaya’s skin prickles. Her panic is in an arm’s reach and so she turns and walks away before it can pull her under for the second time that night. She trains her attention on her steps, keeping them measured and punctuated by the clip of her heel meeting the smooth pavement. She hears distant chuckling from both men and a few words she no longer cares to listen to. That there is no snarl accompanying her lack of subservience helps soothe the itching of her skin. She feels Taman walking adjacent to her before too long and is bitter that he snaps at her before she can.

“Couldn’t handle one more minute before storming off like a child?” His tone is hard and sour as an unripe lemon.

“Who is that to me? Don’t take me again.”

“Can’t take the ribbing of a man that pathetic?”

“Shut the fuck up. Not all of us rely on the whims of addicts and sex starved whores.”

He cuts in front of her and leans into her space, a sneer painted on his lips. His ego has finally reared its ugly head. “I am not reliant. I have the foresight to get so much father than any of you near-sighted asshats. I’m playing the long game. What will you do other than run to the sea to escape every miserable part of your life?”

She shoves him away and spits, “Be free and happy.”

He scoffs. “Really? As free and happy as you are now?” he asks, haughty as ever. She wants so badly to break his nose.

Instead, she turns and continues walking. She thinks about what he says and she is bitter with the realization that she is not steady and solid as she needs to be. She’s too skittish and unstable now; there is no living independently as a woman with this kind of blatant fear. Long minutes pass with nothing but the sound of their footsteps falling together. Finally, she sighs and says, “What are you then? A dealer, a prostitute?”

She watches his lips purse, enjoying that she can get this rise out of him, even as he knows it. “A businessman.”

It’s so petulant and defensive, she almost smiles. “Do tell, what are your wares?”

“If you want any, you could just let me know. I wouldn’t have you pay for at least some of it.”

The suggestion is clear in his voice and it makes her stiffen. She catches his eye and knows his intention. She scowls. “You’re disgusting when you act like that.” He knows precisely what she means. “One day, I will be wealthy enough not to be so pliant. I will be a legitimate and real, a merchant.”

“You’ll have to behave like that, like them, always then.”

He shrugs. “If that’s the price to be paid to finally be treated as a I should, I’ll be happy to pay it.”

“Won’t they remember your days as a businessman?”

He shifts his gaze sideways to her and smiles, shark-like. “Not if they don’t want to be known as addicts and sex-starved whores. I know things they can’t risk getting out; it’s why they try so hard to stay in my good favour, even as I am now with no prestige attached.” She’s nodding in response but is stopped short when he says, “You cannot live your life like that, reacting to any man leering at you. It’ll make you run into an early grave. I didn’t slit his throat just so that you can join him in the ground so quickly.”

She sighs, tired and not angry like she wants to be. She has nothing to say for there is nothing to be done.

The rest of the walk passes in silence, comfortable instead of charged now. It’s the early hours of the morning by the time they reach her hut, not a soul to see them return. Her hand is on the door when she turns back and looks at Taman. “Let me come with you sometimes. I’ll play nice as you want and get used to it.”

He arches an eyebrow and says, “Sure.”

Amaya gives him a smug smile, one that shows off her gleaming teeth and amusement. “Never change Taman.”

He pulls her closer, letting her keep that smile for only a moment before kissing her hard and fast. “No use in changing when there’s nothing left to improve on.”

[hannahindie]

Of the Sea

Characters: Sam Winchester x Reader Word Count: 1,248 Warnings: A ridiculous amount of metaphors and barely there, brief smut-adjacent-esque descriptions. A/N: Heyo! I wrote this for my 800 follower, Han’s Sing It With Me! Challenge, in which you, lovely readers, prompted me with some fantastic songs. Though it’s taking me slightly longer than I had anticipated, I’d rather be slow and give you the good stuff rather than rush it. The lovely @there-must-be-a-lock requested a Sam x Reader using Ocean by John Butler (and although it’s beautiful regardless, I’m specifically linking the Live at Red Rocks version, because it is fantastic. You can listen to/watch it HERE. You can also find it on Spotify, but seriously, you should probably watch him play it if you get a chance. It’s mesmerizing, so if you’ve got the time...I highly suggest it.) This was a lot of fun to write, and I have to say, the aesthetic has been one of my favorites to make so far. I hope you enjoy!

As usual, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know. :)

Beta’d by my dear, sweet @trexrambling: “ I'm just happy sighing over all these metaphors. They make my soul happy. “ and @pinknerdpanda: “Don't mind me.....I'm just too busy picking my jaw up off the ground. *slow clap*”. May they rest in peace since I murdered them with that picture of Jared.

The first time Sam sees her, she reminds him of the ocean.

Her hair falls in wild, untamed waves, swirling and changing each time she shifts in her seat. She is chewing on her thumbnail, deep in concentration as she reads the book spread out in front of her. She looks up and it’s like staring into the most beautiful tide pools he has ever seen; deep and color changing and full of life. He feels himself getting lost as he watches her and she smiles; oh God, she smiles, and despite being inside a dark library, it’s like the sun is dancing on her lips. They’re full of fire and light, and he wonders what it would be like to kiss her. Would it be soft and warm and safe? Or would it be sharp edges and red hot curves designed to consume him with just the very thought of their skin touching? He isn’t meant to find out that day, but it doesn’t keep him from thinking about her as he and Dean work their newfound case. He may be physically present, but all Sam can think about is messy waves and ocean colored eyes.

The next time he sees her, she's a tempest; violent and dark, her eyes the color of an angry sea as she beats against the vampires trying to kill her. She's beautiful and fearless, a whirlpool of energy as she spins and whirls around them. Sam isn't sure how she's doing it, if she even realizes what she's fighting, but it's mesmerizing. She's like a riptide, strong and dangerous and unexpected. He wonders what it would feel like to be pulled under by her. If he's not careful it will be the end of him, which is almost proven when one of the vampires goes for his throat. Dean jumps in with a clean slice to its neck and looks at him like he's crazy. Maybe he is. But when Sam looks up, he catches her eye and she smiles. This time, though, the sun is replaced by the full moon, bright and distant and beckoning, and it pulls him in like the tide.

As it turns out, she does know what she's doing. She's brilliant and strong; she can dish it out like Dean, she researches like Sam, and she can fight like both. She's a force to be reckoned with, a hurricane of energy and passion and kindness. Sam is surprised when she accepts moving in with them, but thankful. She’s like a lighthouse, a beacon home after difficult hunts, warm and welcoming, and enough to keep him from crashing into himself when there's nowhere else to turn. He feels free with her, like a ship on calm water, and for the first time in his life he can see for miles. He isn't trapped in the moment, or in a musty bunker, or surrounded by dusty tomes looking for some answer that may or may not be there. No, he's free...free to sail from place to place without question, without limitations. It just...is. And she's there, her smile like a sunrise right after it rains; bright and colorful and a constant reminder that there is always a tomorrow.

Sam is driving down an empty road, the windows in the old truck they'd taken from the bunker rolled down, and he can't help but smile as he watches her. Her eyes are shut, and her barefeet are propped on the dash as the wind rushes through her messy hair. There's a ghost of a grin playing on her lips, and Sam wonders what she's thinking about. She's a perfect storm, unpredictable and dangerous, a phenomenon that could have only been made by the kind of life they lead. Sam believes that even without being a hunter, she would be a cyclone, an unstoppable force that would do whatever she wanted. He sighs happily, breathing in the salty, ocean air, and relishes the fact that for once...they are normal. No hunts, no research, no saving the world.

She opens her eyes when Sam parks the truck at an overlook, and she smiles when she realizes where they are. It’s just them, the perfect view, and the warm blanket that Sam pulls from behind the seat. Neither of them say a word, and it’s one of the things that Sam appreciates the most; they could spend hours in comfortable silence, and both of them would just know what the other was thinking. She moves across the worn bench seat and curls into Sam’s side, and he pulls the blanket around both of them.

Sam is sure that Dean didn't come on this trip because he knew what it meant, and he appreciates it as he looks down at her; it’s time that she knew exactly how much she means to him. She looks up at him, her eyes like the fiery ocean as the sun sets into it, and he does the one thing he should have done a long time ago. Slowly, carefully, he presses his lips to hers and it's like he's gripped by a current. She moves with him, her arms finding their way from under the blanket to around his neck and that's when he realizes how deep he has sunk.

She’s a siren, but instead of leading him to the rocks to be smashed to pieces, she's pulling him into her, saving him, keeping him whole. He runs his fingers across her soft skin, every movement like an electric shock, and he can't get enough of it. The way she moves as she slips quietly into his lap is mesmerizing, and the ease in which she slowly pulls off first his shirt then hers in such fluid motion…he can't take his eyes off of her. She's beautiful, a statue carved out of the finest marble to pay tribute to the mythical creature that lures so many to shore.

Their bodies are like the tide, moving in and rushing back out, pushing and pulling, giving and taking. It's fast and then slow, patient yet rushed. It has taken them far too long to get to this place, and now it's frantic but also somehow methodical. Searching hands and grazing teeth, seeking tongues and pleading cries...they're everywhere and nowhere, alone yet surrounded. The setting sun paints her in reds and oranges, and all Sam wants is to disappear in her, be consumed by her crashing waves, swept out to sea and lost if it meant he could stay with her forever.

It's as if the world stops for them both at the same time and she laughs; it’s like a ship's bell ringing across the miles separating them from land, soft and bright, a perfect song as she presses her forehead to his. He kisses her deeply again, can taste the salt on her lips, and he smiles against her. She places a shaking hand on his cheek and he leans into it, his eyes closed and chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. When he opens his eyes, she's watching him. She's the sunset to a perfect day, the rising moon reflected on a black ocean, the sound of waves crashing into worn cliffs and echoing through hidden caverns.

She is wild, and untamed, and beautiful.

She is home.

Like what you see? Would you like to see more? My Masterlist is here!

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[pendragonfics]

This Wallpaper Is Dreadful, One of Us Will Have to Go

Paring: Bruce Banner/Reader

Tags: female reader, university/college AU, university professors, plants, fluff.

Summary: Reader is a temp at the local university. Dr. Banner is a professor, and at first sight, he can't help but fall, and fall hard for you.

Word Count: 1,563

Posting Date:  2016-12-25

Current Date: 2017-05-31

Perhaps falling in love was something you did on a whim. In love with the coffee at Sandro's, it is to die for. In love with the hardcover book with the pretty end papers and the binding that smelt like heaven. In love with the idea of love, since everyone who came your way with interest in falling in love felt put off at the saturation of your emotions, at the amounts of joy you felt. In short, you believed that maybe because of your life as a naturalist, and a romanticist, that you saw too much good in everything for anyone to see good in you.

Perhaps.

But that was until you happened upon the fourth room from the stairs in the history sector of the professor's lounge. It was a normal day; you wore flats and a bow in your hair, and drank dollar coffee from a paper cup, and were moving your things into an office. It was your first day as a casual assistant, well, as a casual temping for the natural history professor at the university downtown. But it was on the fourth room, with the door ajar, you baulked.

Maybe it was because the door revealed a swathe of dirty carpet, bookshelves in disarray in the unlit room, or maybe that the number on the door itself matched that the front office gave you as your office to share with another historian.

Maybe both.

Slowly, you pushed the door open, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. The posters on the walls were mall-bought, framed with glass to give the idea that they were worth more than they truly were. The wallpaper was peeling at odd places, the glue beneath it finished its time, past its prime, and was a hideous shade of brown and blue pinstripes that reminded you of hideous old men's pyjama pants. Plants were on the windowsill, dying, their leaves turning to sludge from perhaps over-watering and lack of sunlight.

Your heart fell through your shoes. How could you last here?

"You're not Dr. Rogers," a male voice noticed, and rightly so. You were most certainly not Dr. Steven Rogers, married to Margaret Carter, the dietitian and world-renowned athlete. "Oh! Shit. You're – uh, the – the –,"

"The temp," you finish. You turn to see a head of brown curls, barely managing to not tumble from the top of the man's head, and away in the breeze. His glasses are pushed high upon the bridge of his nose, and wears a tweed suit that looks as uncomfortable as it is unstylish.

"Here for his paternity leave." You free one hand of the nearly-empty coffee cup, and hold it out to shake. "I'm __________, and you are...?"

His face flushes, and upon shaking your hand, he stammers, "Dr, Banner. Leading professor of the history of anthropology here." His palms are sweaty, and as he releases your hand, you wipe yours upon your trouser leg. "I suppose you want a place to shack up before running off to class."

"I suppose I do," you glance at the plant on the sill, and add, "Please tell me that's not Dr. Roger's plant, it looks very nearly dead."

Dr. Banner chuckles. "It's not his, that's my desk. My, uh, wife, I mean, ex-wife gave me that when we were, well, still living together. I'm not the greatest with things outside of my head," he confesses, leading the way over the messes on the floor to the adjacent room. You can tell. "This is where you'll be."

You thank him, place your folders down, and checking the clock on the wall, note the fact that you should be at the study hall you're filling in for in ten minutes, and are on your way. It isn't until you're in the room that you realise that the man you had been disgusted by was the Dr. Banner, the historical anthropologist you'd read books and whole webpages dedicated to his methods and discoveries about humankind. But that was just the fangirl side of you, who lived for knowledge and a nice scone every now and again. You loved nature, how it was the prime force on earth.

"All right! I know you're wondering who I am – I'm not Dr. Rogers; call me Miss ________. I know it's midterm, and the testing is behind us, but guys, you've made it this far, and hey, I get it, you're tired, but we're all fans of nature here, and let's get learning," you announce. "Any questions?"

A small voice piped up from the front, "How long will he be gone again?"

You picked up the textbook and the notes he left, and glancing above them to the one who asked the query, you beam, "Two weeks. Now, before we veer off-topic, the notes here say you were on chapter eleven's subject of the Graeco-Roman wildlife and diet..."

---

In the staff room, Bruce Banner eats an egg and lettuce sandwich by himself on the table closest to the window. It isn't the neatest of sandwiches, going by how much has spilled onto his vest, and it isn't the nicest, going by how this is the two hundredth day of eating egg and lettuce sandwiches. From the boiler, the killer hot lecturer Natasha Romanov (who used to date Dr. Banner in high school, until she came to her senses and fell for the American-born Russian-speaking fitness trainer James Barnes) pours water into her tea. 

She'd much rather be drinking coffee spiked with enough vodka to drown out the frat boys and whinging youths who complain that college is nothing like high school, and their trust funds that follow suite. But Nat is three years sober, and now thanks to Pilates and a solid diet, can run a marathon alongside her husband Bucky without any complications. She sighs, blowing steam from her Styrofoam cup, watching the wildly unkempt and newly-made cuckolded bachelor fail at life once more. 

"You're a mess, Bruce Banner," she notes, and not in a nice way. Nat is a razor-like woman; she is smooth, shiny, petite; but catch her on another way, and she'd slice you to smithereens. "I hear you're into the temp filling in for Rogers."

Bruce would have fallen off his chair if he hadn't had it parked carefully under the table, and scooting back to regard the fiery red-head, he felt a blush rush across his face. "How - how do you know? She only just came in four days ago!" He protested, trying to swipe the egg from the front of his shirt. "Don't tell me you're spying on me, Natasha."

She scoffs. "You? Never. That ship sailed fifteen years ago, Banner, but as for Little Miss Dryad here...I think I know a thing or two that can get you a date. Maybe, maybe not. Depends if you can take my shift for study hall." Nat manipulates. "I loathe that Bishop girl, and Chavez. They talk too much."

Bruce rolls his eyes. He knows Nat is only slagging them to get him to agree to whatever she has planned. But it has been a long two hundred days, and many more long days before he discovered egg and lettuce sandwiches after the divorce, and while there was no more Betty Ross in his life, there was the smiling new temp whose eyes would turn sad at the appearance of his office, his pot plant, and well, Bruce couldn't help it. He was like any other reasonable, single man out there; he wanted to be liked. Even if he was too shy to initiate it. 

"Deal." He stretches his hand out, but she isn't near him to shake it. Instead, she nods, and beckons him forward, to forfeit his sandwich and listen to her plan. It's common knowledge: Nat Romanov always has a plan. 

---

Two weeks pass like leaves falling in autumn. Before you know it, you're welcoming Dr. Rogers back into his office, holding a box of your few things in your arms. But before you can jump out and back to the studio apartment downtown above the pizza joint, there's a figure haunting the doorway. 

"Do you have to go?" he asks you. 

He's wearing a suit, a new suit, rather than the one which made him look like an outdated Professor Moriarty paper-cutout, and his glasses look cleaned, without fingerprint smudges and there isn't a thing out of place on the floor. When had his office transformed? You'd been too busy teaching to notice. Even the plant had been replaced, with a fresher, greener pot. 

For a moment, you aren't lusting after greasy pizza and the next job that comes after the never-ending process of writing your own soon-to-be-published pictorial naturalist dictionary. For a moment, you aren't seeing the prestigious Dr. Banner, but just a guy, who's just doing his best, and probably, most likely, has as much trouble as you do making friends.

"I don't really want to," you murmur, shuffling the box in your arms. "But, ah, it's the wallpaper, Dr. Banner, not you, or the fact Dr. Rogers is a new dad; this wallpaper is dreadful. One of us will have to go." You quote, glancing to the hideous walls.

He crosses his arms. "I think that can be arranged. But, how about a date first?" Bruce suggests. 

You smile. "I'd love that."