#not acknowledging his subordinate when he's in the same room and yet later said subordinate opens the door to

[skunkes]

crinch

[outarizaki]

Lovesick. — Levi Ackerman.

SYNOPSIS: In a world infested with mindless, horrendous human-chomping titans, you’d never expected that Levi taking care of you was how you’d go out.

WC: 2.3k

PAIRING: Levi Ackerman x Reader

GENRE: Fluff

A/N: this is my first time writing for levi/aot in general and just overall my first time in a long time from doing creative writing i hope you guys like it!

In truth, Winter has never been your most favorite time of the year.

After all, those delicious hot meals, thick blankets, and cozy naps by the fireplace always came with a price for you every single year, wherein the same chilly weather that granted you those several pleasures only betrayed you and bit you in the ass annually, reeling you in again and again for recurring nightmarish sicknesses.

For as long as you remember, you’ve never fared well with such drastic change in weather. Ever since you were a little girl, your fevers were sky high enough to make your mother lose at least a year off her life with every time they checked your temperature around the dreaded season.

Thus even now, as a distinguished and mighty cadet in the Scout Regiment, there you lay, thrashing in wrinkled sheets with a spiking fever of 103° Fahrenheit.

It was quite an unraveling series of events. Perhaps you should have let it be known much earlier to your squad and superiors.

Maybe they would have taken your sudden, voracious collapse against a blushing Jean in the mess hall a little less seriously.

You could still recall those same goofy shrieks of surprise from your squad members with a grin. The look on Connie’s face was absolutely priceless.

But as you stared up at the ceiling, sweat beading at your hairline and mouth clammy with dehydration, your mind could only render and wring out the possible reactions that could have emitted from your Captain Levi.

Ever since you joined the squad, you’d been naturally drawn and fond of him. His cold demeanor seemed to be just a thin layer between a complex personality, and as much as you hated to admit, you desperately, secretly wanted to claw underneath that sheen.

It started with one sleepless night in which you brought yourself to the kitchen to rid yourself of your heavy mind with a book, only to find your captain sitting idly with a cup of tea.

You remembered the first encounter, how you babbled apologies like some sort of nitwit and he scowled and waved you off, uttering an, “it’s not like I own the damn room, quit being an idiot and do what you need,” before you dejectedly nodded and took a seat with a book just some feet away from him.

The insomnia seemed to grow only more and more, and a few more awkward nightly greetings later, it became a routine. He slowly began to acknowledge you, humming short replies and holding small talks every now and then.

Then on the field and during training he mindlessly complimented you. In his own way, of course.

A grumble of, “you didn’t get killed,” or, “you didn’t look like complete shit out there,” were some hearty examples of that.

Time went on as you began to loosen up even more around the squad, shamelessly poking fun at your members and joking around with them constantly. Even berating the Captain every now and then with snarky remarks that earned hesitant chuckles and gasps from your team, and even sometimes, if you looked really closely, a smirk from the Captain himself.

So with your poor little heart, ready to yearn, there was a spark of fondness towards him. One you wish would smother before it fanned out even more.

Damn him.

You wondered what he had thought when he saw you faint atop of Jean, that poor boy. How ridiculous you must have looked. How humiliating it must have been.

“God, I could die,” you groan aloud and fling your body on your side, hands coming to grasp at the roots of your scalp.

“That is quite an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

That voice. Speak of the devil.

Instantly, you spring up to meet his gunmetal gaze, hissing at the speed that caused your brain to seemingly rattle in your head with fatigue.

He tsks his tongue, brows furrowing together in an unamused manner as he walks towards the table across your bed. You swallow gently, gaze averting to the tray he holds with a small teapot, one teacup, and liquid medicine. You grimace.

“Oi...” Levi begins without looking back at you. You look to his stature expectantly. “You look like shit,” he says, finally twisting his torso to lock with your gaze.

A breathy, sarcastic laugh escapes your lips.

“Gee, you have such a way with words, Captain Suave,” you croak out with a roll of your eyes before easing your posture, allowing yourself to slouch.

“Don’t call me that.”

With his back faced to you once more, Levi feigns an aggravated grumble, yet the ghost of a grin still resides on his face. You watch in silence as he begins to move around the things on the tray.

You take your time to drink in the sight. His raven undercut, bangs slightly covering his handsome face, his white button-up rolled up at the sleeves showing off his veiny forearms, his black pants and leather shoes, the look of faint concentration on his sculpted face as he pours the contents of the teapot into the cup... and God, his hands. So slender and delicate, his fingers nice and long and—

Shit. What are you doing?

You take a deep breath and compose yourself in time before he turns at you again, bored look on his face as he approaches you with a cup of tea and the tiny bottle of medicine.

“Never thought I’d have to babysit one of my most promising Cadets,” Levi drawls out, handing you the teacup. Your fingers graze against his as you accept it, breath hitching in your throat slightly.

You fight off the gooey feeling by occupying yourself with his crude words.

Scoffing, you take a small sip of your tea, only to frown at the feeling of hotness. Levi’s brow arches in question.

“Who said you had to, Captain?” You say softly. “You’re busy. Why didn’t you ask Sasha to come instead? She would have brought me some good food, too.”

“Stolen you food, you mean. And what? You don’t like my tea?” He husks out, to which you perk up in realization.

Quickly, you shake your head to deny his question. “The tea is lovely. But I’m pretty sure my body is hotter than that teapot, and quite frankly the warmth feels suffocating,” you preach.

“Plus, you’re busy. And I look — indecent. You said it yourself,” you whisper the last part shyly, gulping down another sip of tea.

Levi feels taken aback. Surely you hadn’t taken offense to his comment, right? Brat, he thinks to himself.

“Tea is good for when you’re sick. You’re nauseated. Did you expect us to give you some sweet or cold crap while you have a fever?” He says sharply, squinting slightly.

You chuckle a bit at that.

Waving your hand, you grumble. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” you roll your eyes.

“Quit rolling your eyes at me.”

“Quit giving me a reason to.”

“Oh, you want me to give you a reason to roll your eyes back, Cadet?”

Your gaze widens and you feel yourself choke on your tea.

Your arm bolts to set your cup onto the nightstand and you glare up at him. You swear you see the faintest hint of amusement glint in those stupid grey eyes of his.

Suddenly, you’re feeling a little too hot. And you’re sure it’s not your fever.

Levi raises his brows, unimpressed as he leans forward. Slowly, he brings his hand to your forehead and presses his cold fingers against you. You feel your heart stutter in your chest, holding in your breath.

“You’re burning up.”

Wow, I wonder why.

“Yea? Tell me about it. I’m literally feeling all of it as we speak, old man.”

He clicks his tongue in irritation, straightening his back before jolting his arm at you with the bottle expectantly. “You’re better off holding your tongue, Cadet. Now take your medicine.”

Your face scrunches up. He narrows his eyes as you cross your arms and look elsewhere.

“L/N.”

“No.”

“Now.”

“No! It tastes gross.”

His eye twitches at your defiance.

“God, this is like talking to a little kid. Take it or I swear-“

“No.”

“Take the damn medicine. And that’s an order, Cadet.”

You look up at him with a scowl. Hesitantly, you take the bottle before unscrewing it, taking your sweet time until finally you down it reluctantly.

Meanwhile, your Captain stands with his arms crossed, albeit satisfied that you finally listened.

Once it goes down your throat, you gag slightly.

“God, this shit is vile-“

“Language.”

“It’s worse than what we usually take! What is this?”

“Higher grade medicine. I had to ask Erwin and a few of the nurses for even just that small dosage, you damn brat. I need you back on your feet ASAP.”

You blink. He went through trouble just to get you medicine? A fond grin starts to stretch on your lips.

“Thank y-“

“Don’t thank me. It’s my job to keep my Cadets at their best,” he practically half-lies through his teeth.

Oh. Right.

You nod, that fluttery feeling slightly dampening at his words. Of course. You’re just a young woman in his squad. His subordinate.

Levi notices. He doesn’t say anything.

“Now get some rest. I’ll clean up your room. It’s filth in here,” He scrunches his nose.

“Maybe ‘cause I’m sick, smarta- I mean, Captain,” you slur drowsily as you plop down onto the pillows. Whatever you took, it was strong.

The look on his face affirms he didn’t take lightly to your potential word vomit, though he allows to let it slide, much to your favor.

Levi groans, tidying up the teacups and the pile of clothes by the baskets, as well as the used bedsheets. He stops to think what in the hell he’s doing, going out of his way to care for one soldier.

He chalks it up to it simply being a better option than the inevitable mountains of paperwork he has to face later. That was it. Right?

A moderate amount of time had passed until he was satisfied with what he’d done. Levi’s eyes avert to your tiny figure on the bed. Laying flat on your back, arms sprawled beside your head, a dreamy smile on your lips.

The man walks up beside your bed. When you suddenly shift your head towards him, he startles a bit.

A breathy, twinkly giggle leaves your mouth as you look up at him. Levi swears he can feel his heartbeat in his ears.

You pout playfully, pointing an accusatory finger up at him. “Stalker. Are you here to watch me sleep?” You say almost so incoherently, Levi isn’t sure you’re speaking a language.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips at your change of demeanor. So out of character, even for you.

The pout on your lips soon curves into a sleepy grin of your own, and your eyes gloss over with something that makes your Captain’s breath hitch in his throat.

Such gentle, comforting fondness.

When you urge him to get closer, he obliges, slightly bending over your figure despite the rouge in his cheeks. Levi holds his breath as you reach up, fingers threading through his bangs to pull them back.

“You’re pretty when you smile, you know?” You whisper gently, the smile never fading from your obviously far-gone face. “Such a handsome boy.”

Heat rises even more to Levi’s face and he gulps thickly as he watches your arms begin to drop, eyelids following soon after.

A delighted, snoozing hum releases from your throat, and only then does Levi allow himself to breathe.

His eyes glance over you once more.

Soft cheeks, pretty eyes, long eyelashes. The tank top on your torso still allowing you to look like the most stunning thing he’s ever seen. The unruly bed-head hair that sat messily, yet still appearing soft to the touch, making him want to rake his fingers through. Your soft lips, still stuck in that smile. Your flushed face.

Levi sighs dreamily and defeatedly. He brings his hand up to pat at the top of your head.

“Shitty girl,” he says underneath his breath, voice cracking like that of a young boy with an unwavering crush. “You look — decent.”

His brows knit together even more as he thinks it over, finally sighing gently.

“You’re much prettier, Y/N,” he whispers, mostly to himself.

Levi then exits your room, his face still hot with fluster, hands shoved into his pockets, and the giddy feeling in his heart still reigning supreme.

And at the corner of the hall reside the Levi Squad members, spying from afar.

“You owe me your next lunch, Connie. I told you they liked each other!”

“Shut up before he hears you!” Jean scolds quietly.

“Oi,” a voice sounds from behind them unexpectedly.

They all freeze. Their blood turns cold. Armin is sure he’s as good as dead.

“Give me fifty laps outside. All of you. Now.”

“Not bad after feeling shitty for so long,” Levi nods at you as you return from combat training for the day.

You smile brightly, eyes twinkling as you catch your breath.

“Mhm. All because of you. Thanks for-“

“Don’t thank me.”

“I said,” you say firmly. “Thank you for taking care of me. You didn’t have to.”

Levi can only sigh and nod. “Sure.”

You beam at that, beginning to stride past him, before stopping midway.

“Oh, and Captain?” You begin.

He grunts in response, slightly turning your way with that same stoic expression.

“For the record,” you hum sweetly. “I think you’re the prettiest.”

And with that you walk away with a proud smirk, leaving Humanity’s Strongest with a pounding heart and the reddest cheeks mankind has ever seen.

[theredsuzuran]

Yandere Muzan x Reader

I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors, also for my crappy writing I hope It does not bore you lol. Slight mention of gore

It was the time of summer

A multitude of people hovering over one another in the vast space of the lively Asakusa city occupying the streets like tiny ants. Unfortunately it was same monotonous sight for kibutsuji Muzan progenitor of the morbid demon race, who seems to be roaming around uninterestingly looking for a suitable prey to hunt. The fleeting lives of mortals, their compassion, happiness, sorrow, pain held no value to him. They are pests who belong in the dirt or beneath his feet, inferior compare to a perfect being like himself. Nothing more than a tool that he won't hesitate to discard after his desires are fulfilled. All of a sudden his gaze felt upon a petite figure near a tailor shop, a large number of people gathering around her.

What's the matter, mister? Muzan inquired to a man next to him.

"if you are new definitely try her kimonos, now make way" the man said quickly as he rushed to the shop pushing all the people away. He was interested to know what the deal was about so he decided to stay for a while hoping it's worth the wait.

After a long delay muzan finally got the chance to view the women. As their eyes locked the dazzling city lights broader than the day itself felt dull in comparison for a moment, the once monochromatic world seems to change vibrantly with her luminous presence, As if goddess Amaterasu, the diety of sun herself have ascended from the heaven into the mortal realm. The demon lord stood there mesmerized by her breathtaking beauty, how can someone so close to perfection exist alongside those barbarians.

"How can I help you mister?" She questioned politely with her soft vocal. His endless thoughts were interrupted breaking the silence.

"Show me your kimonos"

And so his obsession started..

Days passed since his last encounter with the woman. He have come across numerous marvelous humans in everlasting lengthy life but never have his ruby eyes caught a glimpse of someone as alluring as her. The girl possesses an unique aura that differentiated her from the rest of the crowd, able to draw attention from the cold hearted creator of cannibalistic demons. At first muzan was just curious to know about that woman, possibly persuade her to become one of his underling because of the potentials she may carry. He frequently begun to visit her shop to but or sew different fabrics. Gaining basic information, like her name, likes and dislikes, etc. Her grandfather owned the tailor shop which sold finest quality garments from the beginning and were highly respected for their excellent tailoring. Continued by (y/n) at her family's will, who runs the shop with equal undying devotion.

She treated him with such kindness even though he was a ruthless demon not that she knew about it or let alone the existence of demons. The deepest corner of his dark heart illuminated with pure light whenever she was around and he came to the conclusion that she was the ray of sunshine he desires to perceive. Eversince he was cured from his fatal illness the only goal in his life was to conquer the sun which prevents him to achieve absolute perfection, in order to live an eternal and indestructible life or so he thought until that very day his eyes laid upon you. It would be stupid to think that demons are capable of experiencing love, concepts of feelings are completely foreign in their conciousness, it was more like obsession. His megalomania makes him believe he needs you no he wants you.

Alas, if only it was a fairytale. The king does not always gets what he desires and same goes for the demon lord when he finds out that his beloved darling already has a lover. As he witnessed the sight of you hugging your partner with passion. The way her eyes flutter infront of him when he caresses her cheeks making her turn away bashfully and how she hold his hand with her delicate ones while exchanging vows of love and loyalty towards each other made his blood boiled with fury. If anyone who can hold her fragile frame is none other but the demon lord himself yet there she was sharing intimacy with some filthy creature. His narcissistic self was put down with a lowlife, he cannot accept that his (y/n) was claimed someone else's. It was something he would never allow to happen.

"Kibutsuji san would you like to buy something today as well?" The women who now acknowledge his presence asked him cheerfully.

"Should I visit you later" a force smile graced on his pale features.

"Oh no, it's fine, let me introduce you to my fiancee" she said excitedly.

"Nice to meet you kibutsuji san" your fiancee said

"Pleasure to meet you as well" The demon scoffed under his breath but Kibutsuji was quite adamant he knew it was not hard to turn the tables anytime sooner as with a blink of an eye he can get rid of him by simply ordering his underlings without even hesitating to dirty his hands exclusive for his precious darling. But that was not what muzan was planning to do at all as his mind was engulfed with much sinister thoughts.

To insanity?

"You have been restless for a long time, what's wrong my child?" A man asked with a look of concern written all over his face looking straight at the figure of an anxious woman roaming around impatiently within the house.

"Its been a week father since he last wrote a letter to him" she mumbled softly disappointment painted across her features. The father could not help but laugh a little by her daughter's remark.

"Father please it is serious"

"I am sorry sweetheart but it might be that your fiancee is busy with wedding preparation" which made sense because the wedding would be taking place after three day and it was obvious that he was caught up with the arrangement. However there was a strange feeling inside her stomach which made her believe otherwise.

As the days passed the wedding day came close, with (y/n) still not receiving any message from her lover. Worried her to the core at this point all she wanted was to make sure of his safety as something constantly felt off. The guests came in one by one for the wedding ceremony but there was no sign of the groom.

It was getting unbearable for her to remain confined. Ignoring her father's request to stay inside she went outside in hope to check whether or not her lover was approaching but once again she was greeted with emptiness. Her eyes swell up with tears forming on both corners allowing her body to slowly hit the surface as she convinced herself that her lover will never come. The worst was yet to happen and before she could make any movement the ground beneath her feet started shaking and a shoji door opened consuming her into the darkness.

It was just the start of her miserable life under the demon's control.

"So you are finally awake", a sudden voice came echoing into her eyes as she slowly opened her eyes after regaining her consciousness. She moved her hands upwards in order to ease the headache only to find her hands tied up with shackles, a chilling sensation of overwhelming fear filled her entire senses as she remembered what happened prior.

"Where am I? Why am I chained?" Who are you?" she demanded furiously at the mysterious figure infront her which was now advancing at her direction from the dark corner of the dimly litted room.

"You are quite an impatient one?" The man gripped her chin roughly as her eyes protruded out with bewilderment.

"Can't even remember your daily customer?" A wicked smile curved across his countenance.

"K..Kibutsuji san" she parted her lips. Tears forming in her eyes once again. This made muzan even more irritated as he tightened his grip on her chin. (Y/n) whimpered with pain crying out loud.

"Your shouting won't help dear nobody apart from me can hear you scream" he said bluntly with his cold apathetic voice.

"Why?" (Y/n) lowered her head down holding his hand with her delicate ones trying her best to get a hold of him.

"Pardon?" Muzan inquired as he stared at your quivering form with his souless eyes there was no empathy in them or whatsoever although he felt pity. He cannot deny the fact that he was indeed attracted to her that's the reason why he put her into so much hassles.

"Where is my lover?" She asked sternly with her voice shaking a bit.

"Oh" muzan responded his hand still holding her chin tightly. This made her even more anxious she was unaware of the power he might possess and definitely she didn't had any intentions to risk her life.

"Why can't you humans move on and accept circumstances given before you?" it startled her as she cannot process what he meant.

"I don't.. u..understand" she said.

"Then you have to learn to accept me as your partner" muzan replied coldly (y/n) sat there looking at him with disbelief her heart and soul belonged to someone else and for a long time they have been together it's absolutely impossible to change the reality she was accustomed with just because some maniac wants to make her his partner.

"I can never" she murmured with disgust hinted in her voice. "I love him" throwing daggers in his direction not ready to submit her futile attempts of protest should pissed the demon lord even more but to her surprise she saw him smiling menacingly and in the corner of her eyes she saw the figure of her debilitate lover.

"Start from his fingers" muzan ordered one of his subordinate as they began chopping one of his finger making him scream in pain.

"No! please don't hurt him" trying to break free from the shackles she was tied with realizing it was fruitless she fell on the demon's knee begging with all the strength left within her in a last desperate attempt.

"You left me with no other choice, dear" he explained playing his sick games of manipulation on her. This was exactly what he needed to break her mind and she cannot help but rely on him pleading for his forgiveness feeding on his massive ego providing him ultimate satisfaction to witness the quivering frame of his darling clinging onto his knee in pure submission.

"Please I will do anything you say" she requested shaking like crazy.

"Anything?" Muzan questioned raising his eyebrow

"Yes" she replied without any hesitation.

"Be mine"

She already knew that he wanted this and she readily obliged in order to save her beloved, sacrificing her own life. Her only purpose was now to satisfy the demon lord, he was successful until the very end and it won't take long to make her completely his.

[primasveraas-writing]

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 1

Kallus' leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4 5

1. Bahryn

The cold is, perhaps, worse than the searing pain in Kallus’ leg. At this point, the numbness is a welcome sensation. Alexsandr cannot feel his fingers or his toes, and he hopes that the chill will spread to his leg soon enough.

He glances towards the transponder, still blinking faithfully, and exhales, watching the plume of air swirl in the wind before him.

It’s been- an hour- two? since the Ghost arrived to save Garazeb. Kallus looks to the spot in the snow where the ship had landed, but flurries have already covered the indentation. Good. Perhaps, then, the Empire will have no clue that he was trapped here with another, that he’s only made it this far because of the mercy of a rebel.

A traitorous thought sends a shiver down his spine- maybe if he were wiser, he would have taken Zeb’s offer to go with the Lasat and his crew.

No. Kallus wraps his arms tighter around himself, nesting the meteorite against his chest, pressing it against his pounding heart. He has no doubt that the rebels would treat their prisoners more kindly than the Empire- but Alexsandr is still their enemy. He has chased them across the galaxy promising their demise, has tortured one of them. The singular act of neglecting opportunities to murder Garazeb Orrelios when his back was turned is not enough to grant him forgiveness. Stars know that the Empire- that Kallus himself- would not show Zeb any mercy for saving Kallus were their positions reversed.

Kallus shudders involuntarily, leaning against the alcove. The tip of his nose is exposed to the wind, which is the most miserable part of this experience. He wonders how long it takes for frostbite to set in, then considers how he would move forward if his nose froze off. Or, even, if he lost his leg, first to the break then to the freezing cold.

Despite himself, he snorts. The ISB would likely give little concern to his injuries. Perhaps it would even be better if he were mechanically enhanced. He could be stronger, faster, less puny and breakable. This, of course, is more optimal than Agent Kallus with a limp, Agent Kallus who needs time to recover and heal. Just cut the damn thing off and move on. Maximum efficiency, minimal time and cost.

Maybe that’s why it’s taken so long for the Empire to rescue him. Maybe that’s why they may not come at all. One man isn’t worth the fuel, the effort it takes to track a foreign signal to some remote moon.

Would it be better to die here, a man so faithful to the Empire that he wastes away waiting for them to save him? Or to spend the rest of his life a prisoner of the Rebels, hated by his captors but at the very least, alive?

He seems to have made that decision long ago, when he was just a boy, not yet a man. A cadet, not an officer. He made the same choice again and again since then. To serve the Empire, to give his life to the cause long before it ever killed him.

This is what his loyalty has earned him. A broken leg and slow death, alone after rejecting the mercy of his sworn enemy.

There are worse ways to die. Less honorable ones, slower, more torturous ones. Lonelier ones, unkinder ones, because at least Zeb was there, in the beginning. He could have perished because of that beast in the cavern, he thinks, and chuckles at the memory of their near escape.

If the Empire does not come, Zeb will be the only one who understands Kallus’ fate. When Kallus disappears, when he is not there to try and foil the rebels again and again, Zeb will realize that the Empire never cared to pick up their agent, that the fool who rejected Zeb’s offer died alone on the ice moon. He doubts the Lasat would share this information with anyone else, and he dismisses the notion that Zeb would ever go back to check, to see if Kallus’ remains lay beneath the snow.

His mother would not be surprised, Kallus thinks dryly. Alexsandr Kallus, missing in action. Declared dead however many months later. It is the fate he knows she expected for him, ever since he announced his plans to serve Imperial Intelligence. His father extended approval with a small nod, but his mother had stared at him, lips pursed, and said nothing. Kallus doesn’t remember when he talked to her last. Perhaps her birthday or anniversary, half a cycle ago. He hadn’t answered her call on his own birthday. A new insurgent cell had popped up, and he spent the entire rotation arranging a task force to address the threat.

They are all going about their expected roles, then. Kallus, dying in service to the cause, the Empire, allowing his death as to not divert from more important matters, and his mother, mourning quietly and quickly because her only child was not strong enough to survive.

He hates surprises, so it is just as well. There’s nothing wrong with something steady and predictable, even if that includes a slow, stupid death alone on a moon nobody in the galaxy cares about.

Kallus sighs, closing his eyes and leaning back against the rock. The wind howls, louder than ever before, and another chill rips through him. He presses his eyes shut, but he cannot make himself any more compact, cannot shelter himself from the climate. He’s tired, aching- he will sleep, for now, he decides. Someone will rescue him and he will wake, or he will go quietly in his sleep.

The exhaustion fogs his mind, depriving him of sense and reason. As he nods off, he imagines a warmth next to him, the strong frame of a Lasat leaning against him. It is the only comfort he can fathom, but it brings him peace in his last seconds of consciousness.

-

The mechanical whir of a ship disturbs him. Kallus blinks his eyes open with some difficulty- there are snowflakes in his hair and on his eyelashes, sticking them together. He can’t feel anything, which is mostly a relief.

His first comprehensible thought is that the Ghost has come back for him. This conclusion makes the most sense, but as his vision focuses, he realizes that the ship is too large to be the little rebel freighter.

He straightens, suddenly at attention. The Empire is here for him. With some difficulty, he stands, staggering to his feet unsteadily. A fresh wave of pain spikes in his leg but he grits his teeth, tucking the meteorite under his arm, dragging himself forward and into sight.

Two Stormtroopers are making their way towards him- regular troopers, not Snowtroopers, their armor hardly discernible against the snow. They spot him quickly enough, but Kallus does little to acknowledge this, biting down hard on his lip and forcing a neutral expression.

“Sir,” one of them says. “Is there anyone else with you?”

“No,” Kallus bites out, trying not to let his teeth chatter. He pushes past the two troopers without looking at them, making his way up the ramp. Each step is agony, but he forces himself to put weight on the broken leg.

“Do you need medical treatment, sir?”

Damn. He must be limping. Kallus pauses for a fraction of a second, then continues as if he never heard anything. He finds a seat in a lonely corner of the shuttle and remains there in silence. He hears the pilot confirm they’ve made contact, that they’ve rescued Agent Kallus, and the shuttle takes off.

Thawing out is miserable. His leg sears with pain, his fingers throb, yet Kallus stares straight ahead, each second passing in silence. He’s the first to depart when the shuttle arrives on the cruiser, again without a word of thanks to his rescuers.

The trek back to his quarters is slow and agonizing. It’s as if he’s invisible, aside from the occasional bow of the head or sir muttered lowly as he passes his subordinates. Even Konstantine doesn’t care so much as to look up from his datapad. Nor should he. The detour is over; the inconvenience addressed.

He makes it back to his small room, unable to help his limp as he staggers through the door. Even when he’s alone, Kallus maintains his composure until he’s sitting, the meteorite placed safely on the shelf behind him. It’s then he lets out a short gasp of pain, reaching towards the splint on his leg.

His hands are shaking- the pain is blinding, and his vision wavers. Any numbness and adrenaline are gone, and he has lost all barriers between him and the pain. Kallus groans, ripping the splint off messily. It comes off in pieces, first the makeshift bandage unraveling, then the brace clatters to the floor. He chokes back a sob as he brushes against the broken bone and fresh hurt spikes through him.

He debates how to proceed- he cannot now go to the infirmary and be whispered about more. In his quarters, he has meager medical supplies, in addition to those he just arrived with. At beginning of the night shift, perhaps he will be able to retrieve more- get some bacta, make a neater splint.

Kallus starts now by ripping away his pants, grasping the fabric firmly, and tearing it in two. From there, he sheds his armor, casting it aside on the cot. He stands slowly, leaning heavily against the wall and staggers forward, but his leg gives after the first step.

On his hands and good knee, Kallus drags himself forward, pulling himself towards the refresher. It is arduous and subhuman, but there is no weight on his leg and this relief alone is worth the crawl.

It is in this position that he dry-swallows the pain medication, that he washes off the blood and grime. As the water pours over him, stinging the wound, he lets the shameful tears fall, disguised by the fall of the shower. He can think of little more than the agony erupting in every fiber of his being, and he is more tired than ever more.

But the medication- of which he took far more than the advised dose- does its job. Kallus can stand, mostly, an hour later, when the makeshift splint is redone under a fresh uniform. Scuffling in the hall signifies the change to night guard, and once the noise fades away, Kallus steals away to the medbay, taking the least populated route he can think of.

Only a few meddroids are there, all of which he dismisses. He rummages through the drawers of supplies on his own, grabbing what he can and stuffing it into pockets.

The bacta will bide him. The injury will heal, in time. And tomorrow, Agent Kallus will resume his duties, loyal and at the service of the Empire once more.

[aricazorel]

10. An alternate ending to an episode or scene?

Thank you for the ask! Sorry it took me a while to get to it...

This is from a meme about things you might have done differently from a movie/series/video game you like. I can't find the original meme because my timeline ate it but anyway...

This is for Mass Effect 1. Kaidan Alenko x Rebecca Shepard. 2933 words. The scene is the part of the debriefing after the Virmire mission if you choose to save Kaidan. I don't necessarily like the dialogue choices during the debrief or the conversation you can have right after. To me it didn't deal with the consequences of the choice made on Virmire very well, especially if Kaidan and Shepard were together. Here's my version:

"Why me?"

“I can’t believe Ash didn’t make. How could we just leave her down there?” Kaidan said in quiet shock during the debriefing after the Virmire mission. His words giving voice to everyone’s thoughts. While a success, that victory had come with a price. A high price.

“Williams knew the risks going in. She gave her life to save the rest of us,” Commander Rebecca Shepard said evenly, honestly. The Lt. knew what she said was true. They all did, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“Why me?” Alenko pushed, his expression one of incomprehension. Everyone knew the bomb would have gone off regardless of whether he had been saved or not. No one had questions the command decision Shepard had made on Virmire. Everyone knew the stakes and supported the call that had been made, placing no blame on their commanding officer.

“We had to leave her behind. Saren has to be stopped. At anycost,” Shepard explained, pushing aside her own regret and guilt to help her Lt. deal with his own.

“Why not her?” he asked with soulful eyes. The very eyes she had come to know so well. The ones she looked to for reassurance and sometimes guidance. Something she had never done before with anyone, not since becoming an N7. Now they looked for a reason for the outcome of the mission, someone or something to blame.

“There was no time. I couldn’t save you both.” She admitted the awful truth in a quieter tone, knowing full well the rest of the group could still hear her. This wasn’t a conversation they should have in front of others, but he needed something, and she couldn’t deny him that. “I’m sorry, Kaidan. I wish there had been another way. But there wasn’t. You know that.”

“I know. And I am grateful,” Kaidan replied, his expression softening. That did not stop him from stating the exact cause of her own guilt whether it was true or not. “But Ash died because of me. Because of us.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault,” the Commander stated firmly, in her most even command voice. Willing herself, Kaidan, and everyone else in the room to believe it. Hoping simply saying it was enough. “The only one to blame here is Saren.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m—We’ll get it done.” Kaidan resumed his professional demeanor as he swiveled in his chair back to the center of the room. It was typical Alenko behavior and totally appropriate for what they had just gone through. The minor outburst however was not characteristic of the Lt. and she was sure he would insist on forgetting about it later. Maybe even apologize for it. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t unwarranted.

The rest of the debrief proceeded as all the others had except for the somber mood and the empty chair beside Kaidan. Everyone filed out of the room when it concluded except Shepard who walked over to the consoles to update the Council on current events. As she did, the N7 noted Alenko waiting near the door as she punched up the comm channel for the Council. She turned just enough to see his face, his expression stoic. But his whiskey-colored eyes longing for something. What that was she wasn’t sure and until the next part of her job was completed…

She nodded at him even though he appeared to want to say something. She turned from him before he could as the Council appeared before her. Whatever he wanted to say would have to wait. It always had to wait…

~ ~ ~

After the praise and reprimand from the Council, Shepard checked in with Pressley before descending to the crew deck, fully intending to retreat to her quarters. Of course, that had been before she’d seen Kaidan checking over the auxiliary ops panel right beside the door to her quarters. She had suspected for a long time that he checked the panel more than necessary so that he’d have a legitimate excuse to catch her attention and talk to her. Normally she did not mind it. In fact, she enjoyed their impromptu conversations. She enjoyed being around him period but right then…

The Commander paused a few feet from her quarters, staring at the dark colored metal of the doors. She closed her eyes. She could avoid it. Call everything off. No longer acknowledge the growing relationship between himself and the Lt. After Virmire she should but…

The memory of pleading whiskey brown eyes flashed in her mind. Damn it. She couldn’t leave it the way things were. He deserved more. Ash deserved more.

She opened her eyes and walked the few steps required to reach the console…and Kaidan. She stood silently beside it, waiting for him to say something. She didn’t trust herself to start the conversation, waiting to know his state of mind first.

She watched him take a breath and then wipe his brow. He slowly turned towards her as he asked, “Anything you need, Commander?”

His tone was formal, just like it had been at the beginning of their mission. Fine. She could start out that way, though she knew that’s not how this would end. But she needed to be straight with him. For both of them. For Ashley. “I wanted to see how you are dealing with Ash’s death.”

“Dealing…ma’am,” Alenko replied slowly. His tone even, professional still. Maintaining eye contact. All the signs of a good officer. But that wasn’t what she wanted but maybe that’s what he did. “Sorry for anything I said back there. Adrenaline.”

She nodded. She had expected him to apologize, to downplay what had occurred. She doubted anyone else would actually mention it either. Everything was still too fresh but this—the guilt and blame needed to be addressed before anything else happened. Before it adversely affected the mission. Before it came between them…if there was a them. “I understand. I don’t like losing people either.”

“I’ve served for years but never lost a soldier under my command. Not to hostile action anyway,” Alenko admitted. Even though he had not been directly in charge of the mission, he still outranked Ashley. He had survived while a subordinate hadn’t either because of luck or personal relations. Maybe both.

Regardless the personal question the Lt. asked next was not the one she had anticipated. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you deal with the loses on Elysium?”

It wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. It wasn’t what would help her deal with Ash’s death. Not really, but maybe it would help him. If that was the case, she would indulge his question. “It was my job to get everyone out safe. I failed. I vowed not to let that happen again. Same here. I’ll remember her, and I’ll do better for her.”

“Yeah. I guess that is all we can do. Thanks for the advice, ma’am.” He responded with respect and professionalism. She expected no less from the Lt. she had come to know and rely on. What bothered her was the fact he wasn’t questioning her further about why she had made the call. Sure. What she had said back in the conference room made sense and was true but didn’t he want to know more?

She had come to accept that Kaidan kept his emotions in check partially because he saw it as being professional. But more importantly it helped ensure his biotics remained in check. But would this really cause him to lose control?

When she didn’t move to leave, he asked, “Is there something else, Commander?”

She frowned. “Yes. I thought you might need to talk to me.”

“Isn’t that what we just did?” he asked, his tone almost sounding flippant. Maybe he was trying to lighten the mood, maybe he was trying to act normal. Either way she wasn’t buying it.

“Kaidan, that’s not what I meant,” she said as evenly as possible, dropping rank and protocol. Maybe she needed to confront what had happened more for her benefit instead of his. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t help him too.

“Then what did you mean, Commander?” the Canadian officer asked as he crossed his arms, his stance becoming silently defensive. His whiskey-colored eyes boring into her, not pleading with her like before.

He had apologized for the outburst. He had accepted her explanation to his questions. He said he understood that it was Saren to blame and not either of them. He had thanked her for sharing how she had coped with Elysium. He remained calm, rational, professional. Yet in that moment that was not what she needed.

Maybe she needed someone to feel the way she did. To question her. To not just accept her decision. To acknowledge that she had lost a friend too…

The great Commander Shepard needed more than just the acknowledgement of her subordinates, a pat on the back from her superiors, the thanks of the masses for doing her duty. Rebecca Shepard needed to know that she hadn’t crossed a line. That she hadn’t sacrificed a good soldier, a friend for selfish reasons. That she wasn’t turning into the monster she was supposed to fight.

Her confidence faltering as her Lt.’s eyes continued to bore into her, she began turning away. “I—Forget it, Kaidan. I—I won’t take up anymore of your time.”

The Commander façade she wore for others, for her own sanity sometimes, was fading quickly. She couldn’t let anyone see the cracks, to chance someone seeing what laid beneath. That she was not what everyone thought she was. She couldn’t let Kaidan see that part of her, not when he might actually blame her for Ash’s death.

Maybe she was to blame. Maybe she had been selfish. Maybe there had been a way to save Ash or a way to save them both. If she had only tried harder, if she had been quicker, smarter, more determined—

“Commander?” Alenko’s voice called out to her as she faced the door to her cabin. Was that concern she heard?

It didn’t matter. She was responsible for those under her command, and she’d just lost one more. A friend, and she wasn’t sure if it had been because of her personal relationship with a subordinate.

“I—I should leave you to—I have reports to file—I—”

“Rebecca.”

Her name. Her given name. The utterance of it was like a slap in the face. She wasn’t Rebecca to anyone on the Normandy. She was the Commander or Shepard. Only one person had called her that…

Her head turned of its own volition to the source of the voice. Whiskey brown eyes no longer bored into her. Instead, they studied her with concern and worry. She shook her head. “I can’t.”

She rushed into her quarters without further explanation. As the doors shut behind her, she stood in the middle of her room. The emotions from the Virmire mission breaking through the carefully constructed barriers she had erected. Very few times since becoming an N7 had she had those walls break but this time…This time was different. She was solely in charge of the mission, her own crew, her friends, her enemy. If Saren won, if she allowed the loses Saren inflicted on them to wear her down then it would all be for nothing.

Ash’s death would be for nothing. But did she have to die? Had it been a needed sacrifice? Was it the right choice? Was choosing who lived and died ever a right choice? He was right to blame her. It was all on her. She was the Commander. That’s all she was—

“Rebecca,” an all too familiar voice called from behind her as the doors to her cabin hissed shut.

She closed her eyes. He wasn’t supposed to be there. It was her fault. He blamed her.

“Rebecca, talk to me.”

“No.” How had he gotten in? Had he actually used the door code she’d given him? It would have been the first time then…

“Please talk to me. I’m—”

Shepard turned around, glaring at him. “How can you want to talk to me? I’m responsible for what happened! For what—For what happened to Ash! I—”

“That’s not what you said in the briefing,” Alenko said, taking a step towards her. He stood with his arms spread wide, showing he was not a threat. “You said Saren was to blame.”

“Of course I did!,” she all but screamed. “The bastard is responsible but so am I! I’m the one in command. I made the command decision that killed Ash!”

“The Geth killed Ash not you,” Alenko corrected as he bridged the remaining space between them. “Ashley would not want you to do this to yourself.”

“What does it matter? She’s gone, and she’d not coming back. What difference does it make? Why do you care?”

“Because I care about you! Because you aren’t to blame! Because you aren’t alone!” he said loudly, nearly nose to nose with her.

Shepard didn’t flinch. Instead, she stared blankly at him, saying barely above a whisper, “I’m always alone. I have to be…”

Strong arms suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into a tight embrace. A hand cradled her head as the other rested securely around her waist. A quiet voice murmured into her ear, “You are not alone. Not anymore.”

She wanted to protest, to tell him he was wrong, to order him to leave but no words came out. Instead, she went limp against him, relying totally on his strength for support. Kaidan accepted her dead weight without complaint as she began crying, her sobs muffled by his shoulder.

As Alenko held onto her tighter, he said with raw emotion, “You aren’t to blame. You were right. Saren is responsible. Ash knew what could happen. We all did. She went out the way she wanted to. With honor. Saving those she served with. Saving those she called friend…We didn’t kill her.”

Shepard threw her arms around Alenko as he sunk to the floor with her, both resting on their knees as she shook her head. “I tried…I tried to think of something. Anything. I didn’t want her to die…I—”

“I know, Rebecca. I believe you,” the Lt. soothed as he ran his hand through her red hair. “She trusted you to make the right call and you did. Remember? She said she didn’t regret a thing. You can’t either.”

She pulled at the back of his shirt as she fisted the material. “How can you believe that? I’m the Commander and she died on my watch.”

Kaidan pulled back just enough to see her face. He smiled down at her tenderly. “Because I know that you are more than the Commander. I know that you are human just like the rest of us. And I know you feel her death just like the rest of us.”

“But why—”

“Because I know the woman behind the Commander,” he said gently as he cupped her cheek. “I know Rebecca.”

“Kaidan,” was all the N7 could say as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. He didn’t blame her after all. He understood what she was going through. He didn’t see her as just a soldier or commander or CO. He recognized that she was human too. That she felt the weight of every decision she made and its consequences—good or bad.

“I’m right here, Rebecca,” he soothed as he moved them to sit on the deck plates. “And I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

She held onto his shirt tightly, refusing to give up her anchor. She knew he would stay. He would always do the right thing, say the right thing, be the good man that he was. He wouldn’t judge her because of the actions of another. He understood both the burden of command and the human emotions beneath.

He understood her.

Drawing strength from Kaidan, she knew nothing could bring Ashely back. At the same time a part of her recognized that the words he had repeated back to her were also true. Neither of them was to blame and if she had made a different decision more people may have perished.

They would do better next time. They would do better for Ash. They would end Saren, and she would make sure the galaxy knew a Williams had made that victory possible. Ashley did not die in vain. She was a hero and a friend.

And for those reasons, Rebecca Shepard would continue to fight the good fight with the continued support of those she had come to call more than comrades in arms. Those that she called friends.

Why me he had asked. But it wasn’t just a question he asked in that the one instance. It was a question she asked herself every day. Even with the knowledge that Kaidan knew the real Shepard and that Ashely both knew and accepted her fate, the question remained.

Why me?

And the answer was always the same.

Because she was the only who could. But this time it would be with the knowledge she had people who believed in her not just because she was bound by duty.

Kaidan believed in her.

Ash had believed in her.

Why me?

Because she wanted to, she had a personal stake in it now. Not just because she could.

Why me?

Because she chose to. To honor those lost. To honor Ash.

[countessofbiscuit]

all this devotion

Shaak Ti/Rancor Squad, Mature, 2600 words, 1/2 chapters . . .

Three things are certain in life: death, the Force, and the insistence of a togruta’s heat. Stationed on Kamino, Shaak Ti can now add rain and the dedication of ARC troopers to that list. 

View all tags/warnings and read on Ao3 or find chapter 1 below the cut.

“Are you alright, General?”

The map on the viewscreen expanded. Shaak Ti stared at the dispersal of the Second Army, pointedly, more bothered than she cared to admit by how closely Blitz had chosen to stand. “Yes, Commander, quite,” she lied.

Blitz was one of the more solicitous Alphas, all of whom married intuition with professional pride in a way that said they wouldn’t want the Force even were it offered. He did not accept this untruth. “Lama Su called you mistress three times. You didn’t correct him.”

“There are battles enough, some days,” Shaak Ti said. Tackling the Prime Minister’s insistence on outdated titles was not one for today.

“And you never shy from any.” Blitz hadn’t moved, but somehow his presence grew with his confidence in being right. “You’re very hot.”

The bottom of Shaak Ti’s stomach puddled into her groin. Her stripes flushed. It was the worst thing he could have said. “Excuse me?” she demanded, finally turning to face him.

“Infrared doesn’t lie, sir.”

Shaak Ti felt incredibly exposed. Unfairly observed. She swallowed the impulse to tell him not to flag her with his senors, just as Commander Colt had firmly requested her not to flag them with the Force. Blitz was trying to be helpful. Kamino was their home, their area of responsibility. And although she was trying to be helpful, too, she was an interloper, a stranger whose character and peculiarities needed to be roundly understood in order for them to do their jobs.

And her body was candid.

It was determined to make an honest togruta out of Shaak Ti. She was more than warm. The burn was beginning. The kindling was there, dry and licked into flame by pheromones. The best air-scrubbers in the galaxy couldn’t hide some things from a predatory plains species. She’d smelt the lust on them for weeks, here in this bleached city where sterility was an art form, where nature was scoured clean. But where virility could not be controlled. Her arrival had caused a flurry of activity among the clone staff that had nothing to do with the presence of a Jedi or an outsider in their midst. It was in the unreserved awe of their deep eyes. In the damp patches on their training blacks. In the lingering ache in their wrists. Shaak Ti’s many senses had discerned it all.

Her heat was upon her, and it was inflamed. And she wasn’t in the Temple, anymore.

“Alright. I will own it.” She lowered her voice. “I’m not well, and I'll be even worse for the next day or two.”

Blitz’s helmet canted slightly to the left. He stepped even closer. “What’s wrong?”

How much I want to bite you. “That’s personal, Commander.”

“With respect, sir, we’re in a heightened state of readiness, and anything that may compromise your health — ”

“Command devolves the same.”

“If you expect to be incapacitated in any way, Commander Colt should be informed.”

Oh, please don’t name him, too. An idea was germinating in Shaak Ti’s mind, rooted in biology and matriarchal instincts — and in the kindness the command cadre had shown her when she’d stepped off that shuttle, Geonosian dust still clinging to her robes. Commanders Colt, Blitz, and Havoc had removed their helmets unbidden, in unison. They were the first fresh clone faces she’d seen, not bloodied or twisted in agony. And they were very handsome.

On Shili, she would’ve had a harem to protect and cherish and serve. And who would have served her in turn —

She banished the thought before she flared whiter in Blitz’s HUD.

The Council had sent her here that she might grow confident in her ability to teach and nurture success once again. To oversee a programme she feared rife with ethical abuse. To counsel the Kaminoans on sapient integrity and encourage them to regard the clones as something more than product. She was not here to satisfy herself with her subordinates, singly or otherwise.

She was a Jedi Master. If she couldn’t master herself in this, after all these years, how could she claim mastery of the Force that flowed through her? A Jedi had to rise above base needs — and be humble enough to admit problems and devise solutions with peers. Historically, the solution to this issue involved much meditation and a temporary relocation to a sealed chamber at the distant end of the itinerants’ hall.

Shaak Ti returned her attention to the commander still lingering with unnerving focus. “Fine. I will inform him.”

“Fine,” clipped Blitz. “Thank you, Mistress Ti.” He turned heel and left her gaping at his nerve.

And at the sway of his patterned kama below his belt. And the subtle smell of rain-damp wood he left behind him.

Later, when the ache between her legs gnawed at her brain, Shaak Ti hurried to the medbay to beg soporifics from a droid. A familiar lightness had set into her limbs, as her inguinal organs sponged up blood. Her awareness tunnelled. It became harder to hold onto the serenity of the Force — it was sensitive and slippery like that, like trying to grip a current of water. Existing in the moment, too, demanded great effort. She had to concentrate on exchanging a cold nod with Hina Me, on acknowledging the waist-high salutes of a cadet company, their backs straight against the bowed walls.

Shaak Ti finally reached her room. Tipoca City wasn’t warm, and still she blasted the air cooler in the colorless, compact space, made larger by the transparisteel wall that overlooked the ocean; a meditation stool, Fe’s beads, some cacti from the Temple Gardens — a reminder of rain’s blessing, not its ubiquity — formed the sum of its personal effects. She began to strip with trembling hands.

Maturation brought much relief. Her biannual cycles weren’t as long, nor dangerous; she’d been in the habit of meditating her way through them, though she always crashed afterwards, bandwidth of mind and body maxed out. When that failed, downers, a device, and some do-not-disturb instructions could set her right after a day or three. That would be her method here, where the Force flowed thinly and the air was thick with androgens.

Commander Colt was not told. Not explicitly. As her tool warmed in the nanowave, Shaak Ti fired off a simple message to him: she was seriously unwell, and he was to consider himself in temporary command of the Grand Army stationed on Kamino, along with its reserves and training facilities. She was on comms for emergencies, but was not to be physically disturbed for love or credits.

Alphas were headstrong. They were never satisfied when they’d found the end of a problem; they had to pull it up by the roots with both hands and ask the grass why it grew. She had come to appreciate this about them. Her respect had been earned three, four, five times over by their blistering competence that ran circles around her own sluggish climb up the learning curve.

But when they knocked on her door just as the nanowave dinged, Shaak Ti wished she’d never met them at all.

There were two of them. They had moved in step down the quiet hall, but her montrals weren’t fooled, picking up the mass of their footfalls. The Force practically shouted their signatures. Blitz she knew best: cool and supple, yet columnar, like the limb of some great, unseen god; and Havoc, gritty and shifting, the scree slope of a mountain. Shaak Ti had the disconcerting feeling that they could smell her — not in any conscious way, like she could smell them. Just enough that it reinforced a need to roam in pairs, which they never did. It was Havoc’s shift now. But it wasn’t her place to question their duty rostering, just as it wasn’t his place to come here as shift commander and order her from her quarters. Only the Prime Minister could do that.

“Sir, Commander Colt insists we escort you to the medbay.” Blitz’s voice was full and clear, without the canniness of a helmet.

Shaak Ti frowned. “My compliments to the Commander, but that’s not necessary,” she said, affecting an authority she didn’t feel. She felt drunk. It was a heavy intoxication that sagged in her lekku, not the giddiness that bubbled in her tips after one too many passes at the punchbowl.

The silence was mighty. If they were discussing next steps, it was in handsign.

“We know,” Blitz finally replied. “We’re here to help.”

Shaak Ti stood stunned, keeping her distance from the door. She would not open it. But she called her shimmersilk robe to hand, all the same.

Jango Fett, the Clone Template, their progenitor, had ordered the Alphas to obey and serve the Jedi. That was their prime directive. Shaak Ti wasn’t even sure what oath they’d taken, if any. But she was bound by many things; she’d spent nights committing the Republic Code of Military Justice to memory. Ill-treatment of subordinates and misapplication of service property came presently to mind. If she accepted their help, they would ask all manner of questions and seek her direction and would be bound to comply. It would not be right.

She gathered herself against the want clamoring in her body. “I’ve made myself clear, gentlemen. No assistance is needed. Medical or otherwise. Goodnight.”

Blitz spoke up again. “With respect, sir, we know about your condition — ”

“We may be Alpha planks, sir,” Havoc cut in, “but we can read. And you’re a textbook example of a togruta in estrus.”

Shaak Ti stifled a mewl in her fist. She hadn’t made a noise like that since her feral teenage years. She sagged against the wall. How did they ... ? It wasn’t a secret phenomenon, true — as mundane as any bodily function, really. But they had conspired! They had bored a peephole into her life. For the second time that day, she felt rudely observed.

It was, however, rather rich to be affronted by that, when she’d come here to oversee, monitor, inspect and otherwise snoop.

“Let us help you, sir. Isn’t it better that way?” Blitz offered.

So much better: gorged on pleasure, in throbbing harmony with all life, magnified by her own gifts. She’d done it once, with a clan on Shili during her maturation rites. It’d been almost enough to sway her from a different kind of service, as she’d lain there, an open vessel for every feeling, carnal and uncomplicated.

These men were under no duress, not in this moment. They were consenting, volunteering freely. Outside of Shili, no one had done that for her before, not even fellow knights; certainly no masters, even when she’d reached their ranks. Was it not a honor to the Force, to offer a kindness unbidden to someone in need? It would be over sooner, too: just a standard day, if they kept up the pace. She was well-matured and no longer in the prime of reproductive life. And there was more of them, in every sense ...

Shaak Ti’s hand had slithered between her legs, fingering into her wetness. She didn’t have to imagine how big they’d be. With the height of scientific pride and the depths of indelicacy, Hina Me had paraded four naked clones before her, one of each patented Fett type, bemoaning that she had no sample from their first test batch, for though deranged, the viable half had been remarkable specimens of human physicality. Their statures differed subtly, but Shaak Ti couldn’t help noticing that they were uniformly well-endowed. All eyes front, but only the Alpha clone had met hers, deliberate and defiant. Asking his name seemed inappropriate, and her embarrassment had only compounded with time, to still not know which officer had been made to endure that humiliation.

Had it been one of hers who thickened before her, until he hung heavy in her peripheral — ?

Shaak Ti squeezed her eyes shut. She skirted around her bed to the far corner of her room, under the cooling air duct, and stared out at the roiling deep. The silk glued to her, dampening with her heat. It would be fouled. So much the better, perhaps: it was a strange and shameful gift from Halle Burtoni.

“You cannot help,” she said, more to her reflection than to the men in the hall. What would her peers say? The opinion of the Kaminoans didn’t concern her, but they would surely go red in the fin and sniff at her. “I am responsible for you. As a — ” She didn’t want to say Jedi. It seemed unfair. A brevetship of chance, when they were more capable in many respects. “A representative of the Republic.”

“An administrative detail,” Blitz countered. “We were no one’s responsibility until you came along.”

Heat surged down her lekku. The primal excitement of a threat. “You question my authority?” Her white brow scowled back at her in the pane. Fett might have ordered them to obey, but had clearly said nothing about holding their tongues; they took grumbling and constructive criticism as an act of religion.

“No, sir. We respect it,” said Blitz. “Just as we respect your ability to act responsibly towards us when this is all over. Do you think we can’t do the same?”

Surely this constituted some form of entrapment. But Shaak Ti couldn’t find the logic to argue. Not when she felt like a besh with a body attached. “I cannot ask this of you,” she said. When the silence stretched, she realized she’d whispered it to the waves. She repeated herself, louder. “I cannot ask this of you.”

“You aren’t,” Blitz clarified for the record. “We’re offering.”

Havoc spoke up. “Honestly, sir, you’d be doing Blitz a favor. He’s been rutting into his cod ever since you got here.”

Shaak Ti wheeled round, lekku spinning, feeling the pressure wave of something imminent.

Then came the thunderclap of armor against the door. A scuffling ensued. They were fighting. Something absolutely unheard of in togruta males, and it was not attractive. At the same time, it was also potentially embarrassing for everyone involved in this bizarre negotiation.

If only her door had been locked from without, too. It was altogether too easy for Shaak Ti to slide it open with a flick of her wrist, allowing two clone officers to stumble into her room and out of sight.

Blitz and Havoc clipped halfway to attention in their confusion, shuffling their helmets under their arms. Their pauldrons kissing, their eyes not diverted. They looked surprised — youthful, like two Padawans whose Force antics had granted them access to the larder.

Or maybe that was her.

The room was suddenly so much smaller. Suffused with their scent, too: musky, undisguised, and mouthwatering.

Shaak Ti's loneliness burst its buried dam. She worked in separation, she lived in isolation. Nala Se was courteous, as welcoming as any Kaminoan could be, but she was not a fellow master. There was no community here that she might join. There were the troops and there were the natives with their rigid caste system. She understood a cadre of off-world trainers had lived here alongside the Prime Clone, but his death and the outbreak of the war apparently ended their contracts; a handful remained in the Special Operations wing, but they were Mandalorians — they made the Kaminoans look friendly.

These persistent men had changed everything. They’d just shifted the center of gravity. Shaak Ti’s every thought rolled down into her besh, hungrily. She needed to consume and be consumed.

She let her robe slip, giving in, only if for a night.

[little-miss-kitti]

Your scent

*Ahem* *Ahem* Hello, I tried writing something long...

Not sure if I got Victor’s characterisation correct, so plz feel free to leave feedback <3 I kind of wanted to explore how he would handle the advances of Chik (who we know has made advances on him in the past) after realising he’d fallen in love with MC. Just a lil scenario my brain cooked up ehehe~ hope you like it x

Disclaimer: ITS A LIL BIT NSFW(ish)

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

Victor could say with great confidence that being CEO never got easier. Thankfully the board meeting that afternoon had gone pretty much according to his expectations, due in part to the preparation he’d done overtime. What he hadn’t expected was to find Chik relaxing leisurely his couch when he entered his penthouse late in the evening, clothed in a tight black dress that exposed too much skin to be comfortable on a chill winter evening. A sly, teasing smile, that had no doubt seduced many men, had crept across her lips at his obvious confusion.

“So, this is what a CEO’s home looks like?” She commented in a pensive tone, eyes wandering around casually. “Your penthouse is quite beautiful.”

“Yes, I’m very fortunate.” Victor said curtly, irritation sparking in his chest. “May I ask what you are doing in it?”

Chik wasn’t fazed by his tone and replied lightly, “Waiting for you, of course.”

Victor was the only one who knew the door code to the penthouse, aside from you and Goldman when you needed to drop files off. But neither of you had reason to tell her. The building manager must have been persuaded to give her the key. He’d settle that problem later.

Deciding that it was important he keep his composure, Victor loosened his tie slightly and went to sit on the sofa opposite, maintaining his air of business.

“Is there something you would like to discuss?” He asked, using the level tone that usually reminded everyone in the room who had the authority. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

“Why so formal? You can relax with me.” Chik said silkily. “I’m not here for my agency. I’m here for…personal reasons.” The obvious point in her tone left no mystery to her objective, and Victor tried not to show his disgust when she leaned forward deliberately onto her crossed legs to give him a not-so-subtle view of her cleavage.

He didn’t find it difficult to show his disinterest. “Is it personal funding you’re after? With the popularity of your last series I find it hard to believe you’re in need of financial support—”

He was cut off by an indignant scoff. “Jesus, Victor.” Chik rolled her eyes and pushed herself to her feet.

The clicking of her heels on the marble floor as she made her way towards him grated on his already frayed nerves, and he clamped his jaw to keep himself from saying something that might affect his relationship with the agency.

“I know you make it a point not to play around with women, but,” she slid her knees onto the couch on either side of his thighs, straddling his lap. The stench of her perfume was sickeningly overpowering. Wetting her lips, she gazed down at him under long lashes. “Don’t you think you’ve kept me hanging a little too long?”

Victor looked up at her in his unaffected way, attempting to identify what it was that made her so decidedly unattractive to him. Was it that arrogant confidence in the curl of her lip that said she could get whomever she wanted whenever she wanted? Was it the shameless way she’d let herself into his apartment – without removing her shoes – on the assumption that he would give her the attention she so obviously craved? Or was it simply the fact that he was in love with another so completely different to the woman straddling his lap, that he found himself comparing her every move to the one he wanted on top of him.

Victor had seen a lot of confidence throughout his career; most of which unfortunately seemed to stem from the arrogance of constant success with the absence of hard work. Maybe that was one of the reasons you had managed to pique his interest. You’d shown him there was innocence in the confidence of knowing you had the ability to excel, and your unwavering determination to give it your all to make it so. He’d thought your determination to challenge him naïve at first, but humoured your attempt for his own entertainment. When you rose to the challenge, he reluctantly acknowledged your work-ethic and competence as a manager, though noted there was still much room for improvement. It was as he spent more time with you, Victor began to realise why your subordinates loved and respected you so much. It was different to the fearful respect and distant admiration his subordinates had towards him. Rather, yours bantered and laughed with you easily, but respected your decisions and authority as a superior they relied on and looked up to. Your patience and kindness spoke volumes that his curt tone and sharp criticism never could.

After a while it began to affect him too.

Many women had pined for his attention over the years, using their beauty and expected corporate inheritance to flaunt themselves like peacocks in a futile attempt to catch his eye. But you he could read like an open book, so it had been easy to see you had no ulterior motives from the start. In that sense there was something refreshing about the innocence of the friendship that blossomed naturally between you. And the more you revealed of herself, the more he wanted to know. 

He’d quickly realised just how fun you were to tease and found great amusement in the vast expanse of your reactions to his playful banter. Sometimes you snapped back with a witty response that had him smiling for the rest of the day, and other times (much to his delight) you could be so lost for words and do nothing but turn your face away with an indignant huff to hide your hot blush. It was in those times that Victor found himself most in danger of acting unpredictably. Even his display of physical affection towards you had become increasingly daring. It started with a gentle pat on your head, then the affectionate tucking of a strand of hair behind your ear, then the graze of his lips against your forehead or eyelids in a way that left you both unsure whether or not it could be defined as a kiss; and one time, you were being so cute that he only just managed to catch himself before he’d taken your face in his hands and kissed you full on the mouth.

And yet at the same time you seemed so oblivious to his affections that Victor felt like he was driving himself into a hole. Surely, he’d made his feelings obvious enough. But then again, even Victor hadn’t realised just how gentle he’d become with you until recently. And you were a dummy, after all.

He was recalled abruptly to the current situation when Chik, tired of waiting for a reaction, ducked her head impatiently and began to press firm kisses to his neck. Disgusted, Victor quickly debated whether it would be ruder to push her off, wipe his neck with a tissue and call security; or just tell her straight that he was not remotely attracted to her or her body. As he decided, Chik’s hand snaked its way down his chest to rest on the crotch of his suit pants. The contact sent a wave of revulsion coursing through Victor’s body, and he grabbed her wrist with ungentlemanly strength. Thinking she’d achieved something, Chik lifted her head victoriously and cast him a smug smile.

“You’re turned on, aren’t you?” she purred against his ear. “Let me help. No one will be able to satisfy you like I can.”

Victor was very much turned off, and if he’d let her continue her aimless palming of his crotch, she would have soon realised he was as limp as a dead fish. The only hands he wanted on him were yours. More than he cared to admit, he allowed his thoughts to stray to the ways he could please you, the way he’d dreamed of hearing you moan his name, and he’d realised his longing to feel the warmth of your body against his. But you weren’t his yet. Perhaps you would never be his, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let another woman fill the position he’d reserved solely for you. Deciding his relationship with the agency could go to hell if they encouraged this manner of behaviour, Victor stood up abruptly, throwing Chik from his lap. She stumbled to catch her footing on the floor and looked at him apprehensively, apparently not quite sure whether to feel confident or concerned.

“There is and will only ever be one woman permitted to sneak into my house uninvited.” Victor said coolly, his voice dangerously low. “And you aren’t her. I will see you to the door.”

Astounded by the silent ire she saw simmering in his dark eyes, Chik realised quickly that he wasn’t just being thoughtlessly dismissive like before. The space in Victor’s heart was now truly taken.

He’d fallen in love.

Accepting her defeat with grace, Chik followed the direction of his extended arm towards the hallway. She paused at the door, slipped a hand in her purse and held up the penthouse key card between her index and middle finger. “You might want to leave this in the hands of someone you trust.”

Victor took it. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He said as he opened the door.

Once Chik was gone, Victor went straight to the laundry room. The overpowering stench of her perfume still clung to his clothes, and knowing it was the scent of another woman repulsed him. Unbuttoning his shirt, Victor tore it from his body, wiped the side of his neck with it, and tossed it straight into the washing machine. The immediate pang of loneliness that stabbed at his heart was unwelcome, and Victor realised just how much he missed the subtle sweetness of your scent. The way he would catch it on the breeze when you walked past, hanging lightly in the air for only a moment and then gone before he could relish it. Or the way the smell of your shampoo made him achingly aware of how close you were. It was then that Victor found himself dialling your number.

You picked up on the third ring. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Just making sure a certain dummy remembers that she has a report due in three days.”

There was a lengthy pause. “Crap.”

All previous notion for the call was forgotten as a deep frown furrowed across Victor’s brow. “Don’t tell me you completely forgot about it.”

“Then I won’t say a thing.” You replied quickly. “I’ll hang up and get straight onto it— bye!”

The line went dead before Victor had time to reply. Dropping his arm, he looked down at his phone in disbelief. Why, oh why, of all women on this earth, did he fall for a dummy?

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AHHHH thank you so much for reading <3 It’s my first time writing something so long so I apologise if it got a lil messy ehe

[lady-of-all-cards]

Ikemen Revolution: Headcanon - When the Black Army Officers Fall Ill

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Characters: Ray Blackwell, Sirius Oswald, Luka Clemence, Seth Hyde, Fenrir Godspeed Pairings: N/A  Summary: One day, an officer falls ill with a terrible cold. Will they suffer through their work? Or hide away in their blankets until the sickness passes?

Notes: After two more Tragic Endings, another little happy times post! They’ll be one about the Black Army and one last one about the Neutals, so you have that to look forward to? Another thing however: for those readng the tragic endings, next week there will be only one post for Kyle so I can start the BA on a new week, and to give me a break from constant writing. But I hope you enjoy all the same ^-^

1. The King of Spades - Ray Blackwell

The Black Army was more like a family then the Red Army, so anyone in their ranks who fell ill was supported unconditionally until they were better.

But that didn’t stop the King’s workload...

Knowing this, and knowing his Queen would stack the work with his own, Ray tried to hide his illness, and soldier on through his duties.

However, this meant trying to avoid the ever-perceptive Sirius Oswald and the parental concern he had for the entire army, which was far easier said than done.

When Sirius tried to catch him that morning, Ray darted off, saying he needed to ‘freshen up’ despite being already dressed and ready to go.

Ray at all four of the daily meals opted to fill his plate high and leave before anyone noticed him, eating the delicious homecooked food from the comfort of his own bedroom.

During training. Sirius didn’t confront Ray, but subtly divided his attention between his King, his soldiers and his flowers, slowly and carefully assessing Ray’s condition.

Then, out of the blue, Sirius cancelled the afternoon meeting, claiming he had business to attend to in the Central Quarter, but specifically mentioned Luka being in charge.

He wasn’t seen until the meal that night, and didn’t once mention where he had been or what he had been doing.

And no on probed him about it.

Later that evening, Ray had left his room’s comfort, unaware of the gentle giant that snuck n his room just after he left.

However, he returned to find his desk ridden of the paperwork previously littering it, the bed covers neatly pulled back and the room heated to a comforting temperature.

Ray didn’t need to acknowledge the medicine or note on his desk to know he was bed bound for the next few days...

2. The Queen of Spades - Sirius Oswald

The Queen of Spades was more than fully aware of the limitations of his own body, and for the most part rested when he needed rest, ate when he needed to eat and drank when he needed to drink, and even sought warmth when he needed warmth

For the most part.

See, Sirius was aware of the consequences of a weakened link in the ranks of the army, but that was never his main concern. His concern lay with his king, his subordinates and his dear family on the edge of the Black Territory.

So, although he didn’t dare cook the food, he cleaned up the kitchen in the Jack’s stead.

And he cleaned the officer’s rooms, feeding and tending to their variety of pets.

He cleaned the halls and convening areas until Seth gushed about his fair and beautiful reflection in the floors.

Then he moved onto his darling Chutney and thriving flowerbeds.

It wasn’t that much different from what he usually did on his days off.

However, today he took the afternoon to see his family.

The plan had been made weeks ago when he last went to see them, and he had no inkling as to when he’d get to see them again. He was just about to leave the Headquarters when Luka came bouncing up to him in a shy, chipper mood.

The Jack apologized for the inconvenience, but asked him to grab some documents from his room.

However, when he arrived, he got a shock...

His family surrounded his bed and desk. Flowers and get well soon cards filled every surface, and a steaming bowl of soup was set on his desk.

Turns out, his dear brats were for more perceptive than he originally took them for.

3. The Jack of Spades - Luka Clemence

Headaches, and even migraines, were common for the determined Jack of Spades, and never truly bothered him of hindered his ability to do his job.

But the flu? Nuh-uh.

It was probably the most annoying thing to him, excluding his brother, but God save them if Jonah ever found out he was ill.

Luka would bed his life’s wages on Jonah storming over to the Black Army Headquarters with an arsenal of materialistic presents and medicinal herbs snatched from the Seven of Hearts.

So, he tried to go about his normal, everyday life as he usually did day in, day out.

But today, he was much more weary than he was days prior...

He stumbled more with his words, the taste of some of the foods he served up was off- under seasoned, and the grip on his sword was weak, and he seemed to falter and hesitate during his training.

At supper, Sirius and two other almost had to rush to prepare and cook the food, since non had been prepared and the Jack was mysteriously absent from the kitchen.

Once things had settled and everyone was happily eating, Sirius sought out Luka, and eventually found him in his room.

He was curled up on the floor, still fully dressed, but passed out cold. The covers were crinkled, half-hanging off the bed from where Luka’s body had slipped off.

Sirius got to work tidying the bed and settling Luka into it, removing his jacket and boots before closing the curtains and leaving quietly.

Luka woke the next afternoon to a room messed up from loads pf presents and cards, and his gaze snapped to his calendar when he picked up and read the nearest one, only to have his suspicions confirmed.

‘Happy Birthday, Luka!’

4. The Ten of Spades - Seth Hyde

When the Ten of Spades is ill, there’s only two things that could possible occur: you either don’t hear the end of it, or you never hear it at all.

The first instance was usually reserved for his minor ailments, used to quiet a room, or skip out on trainings or meetings, or even get the day off.

Usually it didn’t work too well. The Queen of Spades let him off only when he wither got too annoying, which was rare for such a patient man, or if Sirius decided that Seth was truly unfit to continue his daily duties.

However, it is the second instance that worries the members of the Black Army...

Seth with normally wake up terribly late, skipping on breakfast, which was rare for anyone when Luka or Sirius was on duty.

When he did finally drag himself from his bed and down to grab some leftover, he had to force his head up with the fist of one hand while the other hand pulled food into his awaiting mouth.

And there was a clear drop in the atmosphere of the Headquarters.

Although Fenrir’s happy, chirpy self, without Seth bring up to bicker with him put a down on his mood, because Ray wouldn’t laugh at their silliness, Sirius wouldn’t shake his head at them disapprovingly, and Luka wouldn’t give them that sweet, gentle yet mischievous smile.

And so he took matters into his own two hands:

He went to Sirius and got an official excusal for Seth, and made Luka whip up a steaming pot of Earl Grey and soup, and set up Seth’s room so that he could finally rest and recover.

Least to say, Seth never let Fenrir live the sappy moment down.

5. The Ace of Spades - Fenrir Godspeed

Being an inconvenience to anyone was something Fenrir hated being, and being ill could be a great inconvenience to so many people he didn’t even try to count, so he tried to hide it with coffee and sugar and warmth to adapt his pale skin and drowsy look.

He also shot off a few practice shots that morning to shock his body into the conscious world.

To say he was awake was an overstatement, but he was dealing with it.

However, in his focus to try and be his normal perky self, he didn’t realise that people began to notice something was off, and began to worry.

Luka noticed that Fenrir ate his food slower, and didn’t eat nearly as much as he usually did.

Seth began to notice that every time he bickered with Fenrir, the Ace would occasionally wince in pain and instinctively raise a palm to his forehead.

During one of their strategy meetings, Ray picked up on Fenrir making small mistakes, stumbling over his words and making bad decisions.

Sirius noticed Fenrir spending his free time outside or washing the dishes from mealtimes to avoid the hustle and bustle  of the rest of the Headquarters.

All the small details worried their witnesses, who came together in secret to share information and decide what to do to help Fenrir get better as soon as possible to get his happy, chirpy self back.

The action plan began with a large ‘get well soon’ card being passes around the army, being signed by everyone with small messages and smiley faces.

Then, Seth gathered medicinal herbs to give to Luka to put in a nice, easy on the stomach soup, which was, of course, taste tested by Seth.

Ray and Sirius worked to split Fenrir’s paperwork, and wrote out an official excusal for him.

And finally, Fenrir went back to his room to feed his dear Shu Shu when he sae the set up, making him smile and finally rest.

Being ill brought more trouble that what it was worth, but it brought out the best in companions.

[dearcat1]

Boss’ Responsibilities

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Relationship: Sawada Tsunayoshi & Vongola Tenth Generation, Sawada Tsunayoshi & Xanxus

.

To be honest, Tsuna’s sense of personal boundaries died a painful but slow death at the hands of Reborn, who has yet to stop randomly showing up to sleep in his bedroom, and the rest of Tsuna’s guardians. All of them seem to believe that whatever belongs to Tsuna, including Tsuna himself, is theirs too by default.

Dino has the same problem.

So when Timoteo puts Tsuna under Xanxus’ command for a year (”to strengthen bonds, my boy”), Tsuna takes the same attitude with him to the Varia castle. Which means that one day when he’s cold as hell and discovers all of his hoodies stolen, he sees nothing wrong in going right ahead and stealing one of Xanxus’ in turn. Xanxus is his boss right now, isn’t he? Tsuna is entitled to this.

It’s way too big on him but it’s also warm and nice and smells likes Tsuna’s temporary boss. Tsuna loves it, he thinks he might understand now why his guardians are so set on stealing his things. By this point, Tsuna has already been under Xanxus’ command for about three months and, as a result, has learned to associate this smell with safety and warmth and grumpy looking-after.

He falls asleep with his nose buried inside the fabric of his stolen hoodie under his mountain of equally stolen blankets. It’s nice, he decides, when he wakes up, all warm and refreshed and somehow relaxed even as the Varia dissolves in chaos around him. Not that it’s very different of the chaos his own house had been turning into but it’s still mostly startling to wake up to screams and death threats. 

Not this time, though. This is Tsuna’s free day and Tsuna plans on enjoying it fully, so he burrows deeper into his bed, most of his face hidden under the hood, and tries his hardest to go back to sleep. 

Waking up hours later, dangling from Xanxus’ grip with a red-eyed glare aimed his way, would be scarier if he wasn’t so used to it by this point. Xanxus takes in the hoodie, Tsuna’s entirely unrepentant look and the mess of blankets on the bed and then snorts. “Wake up, baby-trash. Training.”

Tsuna doesn’t bother complaining, he’s learned by now that Xanxus’ idea of a free day is sleeping in a couple of hours more before work. He does, however, carefully hide his stolen hoodie so nobody steals it from him. He also leaves a sticky note with a warning because sometimes those work better. 

Somehow, it becomes a habit after that. It’s like having stolen the first one opened the dam, now Tsuna feels absolutely no shame in doing so time and again. Even when he doesn’t really need to because he somehow has far more hoodies, blankets and pillows than he remembers ever buying. 

He has never had blankets and hoodies coming in faster than his guardians can steal them, it leaves Tsuna with a strange thrill and a sort of appreciation for Xanxus’ budget. He vaguely wonders under what category this expense is under. 

Luckily for everybody (Tsuna has a temper even if he refuses to lose it at every little thing), nobody steals from Tsuna’s somewhat rotating stash of stolen Xanxus’ hoodies. He just… likes the smell, ok? Sue him. And he knows the pain of being left with no hoodies at all, so he just returns some as he steals others. It’s a working system. 

Xanxus keeps sending him looks but Tsuna refuses to acknowledge them. Reborn said that a boss has to take care of the needs of his subordinates and Tsuna needs these hoodies, ok? They’re good for his stress levels and overall comfort. Say anything you want about Xanxus, he takes care of his people and right now Tsuna is one of his.

So, hoodies.

The day Chrome simply shows up in his room is a day like any other. Tsuna is just back from a mission he had with Lussuria, to whom he had gracefully lent one of his stolen hoodies because the usually enthusiastic man seemed to need the comfort. 

Chrome herself looks ready to burst into tears, so Tsuna nods to himself and changes gears. He can’t be subordinate-Tsuna right now, he needs to be boss-Tsuna. He takes a good look around and decides that he needs more space than this. With Chrome here, it’s just a matter of time before Mukuro shows up.

With both guardians here and Takeshi already slanted to show up at some point during the day, the rest of them will sooner or later be attracted back to them. Whatever boss radar they have going is crazy accurate. Tsuna has stopped questioning it a long time ago. 

Having decided that, Tsuna takes Chrome by the hand and guides her to the living room. There will be enough space there. All of the Varia are already in the room, watching some sort of show but Tsuna ignores them other than noting that they should stay away from blocking the TV. 

He builds a bastard child of a pillow-fort mixed in with a bed, pulls Chrome into it and pulls his worn hoodie over his shoulders to offer to her. She takes it and sniffles as Tsuna rearranges the blankets around them both, spotting Xanxus’ uniform jacket on the couch, he steals it for himself. Tsuna thinks he might have heard a whispered “what” but it was too low to really tell. 

Tsuna is in the middle of murmuring comfort to her, ignoring the weight of Mukuro on his back, by the time Takeshi finally arrives.

“Heey Tsuna! Squalo!” As cheerful as ever, Takeshi strides into the room, “oh? are we puppy piling?” Without waiting for an answer, he leaves and comes back with an armful of pillows. 

The brand new pillows that Tsuna kind of adores. Tsuna groans, “I liked those, too.”

Takeshi ignores him, of course, flops on the bed by Tsuna’s right side and drops an arm over the entire pile of them. At some point, Tsuna falls asleep, warm under all the bodies and with Chrome’s soft breath warming his neck. He wakes up hours later by some sort of Reborn-instilled paranoia to find the Varia looking at them and a pleased-with-himself Reborn.

It’s better not to question it.

Little by little, his guardians start waking up too. The first ones to leave are Chrome and Mukuro, who are probably off to create chaos and mayhem in the name of revenge. Tsuna can’t be bothered to care as long as it doesn’t come back to bite any of them in the ass.

Gokudera is next, surprisingly, and he drags Ryohei with him. Tsuna doesn’t lift a finger until Lambo reaches for Xanxus’ stolen coat. Most of the pillows and blankets are gone already. Chrome took Tsuna's hoodie with her.

Tsuna bares his teeth then and snatches the coat back.

“Big brother Tsuna!” The brat has the gall to complain but Tsuna is not moved.

“My boss, not yours.”

Thankfully, Lambo doesn’t push it and Tsuna busies himself with cleaning up the mess left in the living room, carefully working around Takeshi’s still sleeping form. 

“What.” Xanxus repeats louder once all the awake brats are gone from the living room, Tsunayoshi still holding on to Xanxus’ coat.

“I,” Reborn informs them smugly, “am running a social experiment. It seems to be working.”

“What the fuck.”

[itoshit]

Everyone was connected with headsets as we navigated into the building. Gun shots quickly reached my ear but strangely enough, I haven't met anybody yet. My knife and my gun in my hand, I was on guard, ready to shoot. A door opened quickly behind me, and turning around, I saw her. Natalie. She hasn't realised I was here yet so i kept silent, ready jump on her. Looking behind her frantically, she sighted and finally, walked ahead, right on me. Head connecting with my chest, she raised her eyes, and I could see it. The fear. Smirking at her, I just gave her enough time to do a 180°. Giving her the impression of being able to escape, I waited. But soon after I took a fistful of her hair, and forcefully banged her head against the nearest wall. I didn't care anymore, I was mad.

Please I-

Shut. Up.

Pinning her against the wall, arm choking her, I approached my face and observed the blood running from her nose. Pouting, I patted her cheek.

Did I hit too hard? My bad baby.

Hearing some loud noise from my headset, I listened attentively.

Manjiro? We found your girl. Our sniper shot the fucker right in time, he was ready to blow her brains out. The guys are gathering now, where are you?

Hiding my relief from Natalie, I answered quickly.

Will come later. Take care of her.

Don't do anything stupid yeah?

Taking the headset off and tossing it away, I smiled smugly.

You're gonna come with me Nat. Have some surprises for you.

Dragging her by the hair to the empty room she came from, I pulled my gun out and pointed it at her.

Sit on the ground

Leaving her no room for discussion, i watched her kneeling.

You wanna know where you fucked up? I'm gonna explain it to you briefly. Your father died months ago, his body was found in Tokyo's Bay. Well, more like parts of his body. Then...

Tapping the tip of the gun on my chin, feigning reflexion, I snapped my fingers.

Then you assumed I would fall for your trap, giving me Vee. That would have been convenient for you yeah? I'm sure you didn't even know I would come that early. Lemme tell you something sweetheart, I want Venus. And not only for her body. What you failed to acknowledge is the fact that I could get attached. Unfortunately for you, it happened. So now, what I'm gonna do, is bring you back. Vee will decide what to do with you, you were one of her best friends after all, weren't you?

Why didn't you... didn't you tell me for my father...?

We were going to, but only after destroying Yamaguchi-gumi. If you would have waited a bit more, you could have had opportunities to buy yourself a dignity. I was gonna play nice, not telling you the state we found your father in. But no. You were so impatient.

Crouching at her level, I tugged at her hair harshly, making her head go backwards.

You're lucky Vee is still alive. I would have feed you to my dogs if she wasn't. Stand up.

Hearing her sobs made me want to throw up. Now she was playing the victim?

Stop crying, you're the one who took all the bad decisions. Don't make me laugh with your acting.

Pressing the knife on her throat and restraining her wrists, I exited the room. Directing myself to the exterior, I was cut by rapid footsteps behind me. Throwing Natalie on the ground violently, I drew my gun from my holster, turning off the safety.

I was wondering when you would show yourself, Yami.

Eyes focused on him, I pressed the gun on his forehead. Raising his hands in abandon, Yami smiled at me.

Oi oi oi Sano! You should relax. Why couldn't we-

I knew it. It was expected. Bending his arm and hitting my hand with his elbow, Yami picked up my gun in the air. But before he could aim at me, I took my knife and stabbing if strongly in his palm, I took his head and kicked him with my knee. Blood staining my black pants, I smirked at him.

Don't fuck with Bonten, traitor.

Shooting him in both of his knees, I slammed my foot on his face, surely breaking his nose in the process. Hitting him until making him faint, I was panting, a maniac smile on my face. I was enjoying the cracking noises and the whimpers. Red splashing all over my body, I stopped when I assured he was out.

Turning back to Natalie, I dragged her by her hair, ready to finish it. After a long walk in the dark hallways, I eventually found the exit. Opening the door, I was met with my men, Dante and his subordinates.

Sanzu, go find Yami. He's laying somewhere in the corridor. You'll deal with the interrogation.

No one commented on my physical state. I assumed I had blood all over my body and face. My hands were all red so I figured it was the same for the rest.

Now, where's Venus?

-Mikey

I was so slow I couldn't find the right words so I might have made grammar mistakes with verbs and stuff 😭 how are you today ?♡

i’m good, actually have to go out later tonight so I have to get ready for that but how are you?? and ps you’re fine!!! this was so good!!

My eyes were shut tight, not wanting to stare my certain death in the face. I waited for it, breath held and head foggy.

Say goodnight! Koda laughed madly, then there was a bang so loud it rattled my head. Something thick and viscous splattered around my face, making me feel dirty as it dried on my skin. My hearing went in and out, ringing in loud blares. Is this what death was?

Clearly it wasn’t, because the next thing I felt was being untied. I slowly peeled my eyes open to a a heterochromatic man with a scar across his face, gazing at me with equal worry and relief. My heart raced. Mikey’s men were here.

…alright? His voice came in and out as I tried to regain my senses. Venus, are you with me?

I let out a loud groan that must’ve pleased him. The second I was free I was hoisted into his arms, carried out to where the rest of them were. In and out of it, I saw many unfamiliar faces, but they all more or less exuded the same amount of power. The same authority. Bonten executives, perhaps.

Where’s the medic? My savior gruffly asked. Perhaps they pointed, because I didn’t hear an answer, lightly bouncing around in his arm with every brisk step he took. He lowered me on a table that was metal and cold; I shivered the moment my skin made contact with it. The doctors immediately got to work on me, combing through my hair and shouting things like concussion and head injury from the car accident.

But something was happening to me that I couldn’t quite speak on. All I knew was that I was cold, freezing even, but I could also feel the sweat soaking through my clothes. My head was dizzy. My body felt like it weighed tons.

A doctor noticed my state, and went to patch up my thigh, thinking the wound was responsible for it. I could barely feel as they patched it up, but I sent what I hoped was a grateful smile toward them. Then I heard them talking again, speaking about how my condition wasn’t stabilizing.

It doesn’t make any sense, we cut off the blood loss, one said. Other than her head and minor scratches on her face, she’s without injury. She should be showing signs of bettering.

The other one questioned the person who took me out of the room. What was in that room? Any gas? liquids?

Nothing but the corpse, a gun he didn’t get to use, Venus and the knife in her thigh.

I could hear the frown in the doctor’s voice. She was in that torture room for atleast two hours and they only used a knife? That’s absurd why would they… shit. Poison. Check if the dagger is poisoned!

There was silence, a pretty bad one I supposed. The doctors started spewing orders rapidly. Get Mikey! Quick!

Mikey? I raised my head at the name, smiling loopy. I like Mikey, I muttered mindlessly. I could barely see now, black dots swimming in my vision. I waved a hand toward where I think scarface was, pulling him down to meet my lips. Tell Mikey, t-tell him that I—

I’m glad to have met him. I can’t wait to see him. I-

My body fell limp right before I could finish the thought.

[itsnothingofinterest]

PLF Advisor Headcanons (’cause why not)

So I’ve been thinking a lot about the PLF advisors, probably more than I should be about characters we barely have faces of. All of this stuff’s probably gonna get flushed down the drain sooner rather than later, and I have been meaning to start actually posting stuff on this site. Might as well share, am I right?

I’m sure I shouldn’t need to tell anyone this at present, but just to be safe, or in case of future readers: the latest chapter was 276 & we know next to nothing about any of these guys except Slidin’ Go, so most of is baseless conjecture. Most of it mine, but I’ll source where I’ve borrowed some ideas. The closest thing to a basis for any of these is “this is probably the kind of quirk I could see someone in this position having” & “these motives and backgrounds sound like what Horikoshi would give to a long-term ally of Shigaraki”. We clear? Everybody got their proper expectations in place? Cool, now let’s get to the fun bits.

Black (Tactics)

Twice Advisor #3 (PLF Granny)

I won’t lie, I’m organizing this list this way to talk about her first.

Contrary to her appearance, PLF Granny actually used to be a super dangerous criminal and wanted hero killer, before disappearing off the face of the country (see Spinner Advisor #3 for more on that).

Now she’s the PLF’s resident mother/grandmother figure (depending on how old you are).

(She’s secretly not that old though.)

Always willing to help a fellow PLF soldier out of a problem no matter how minor, but would also lecture them for the smallest misbehavior.

Greatly appreciated because not a lot of high ranking PLF members have the greatest motherly figures in their lives rn.

Her quirk is something like Overhaul’s, but a bit weaker and a bit more gruesome. She can fully manipulate any human body she’s touching besides her own; allowing her to close up wounds, lock up muscles, contort limbs, or even just blow you up.

Illegally experimenting with her quirk caused her to accidentally kill someone in her youth, and she’s been on the run ever since.

She’s working with the PLF to improve quirk counseling, believing a society more accepting of quirks would allow kids with dangerous quirks to understand them better & know how to use them safely, so none of them will end up like herself.

Twice Advisor # 2 (Scary Canadian)

“Scary Canadian” really sums up his personality. He’s actually quite nice and polite to hid friends & allies, or otherwise in his downtime. But also you really don’t want to mess with him. Or else.

Needless to say, he and Twice got a long real quick once the underlying tension of their 2 groups going to war had (mostly) passed.

His quirk (along with a funky entire-upper-torso) allows him to energize himself with stored up energy, making him a bit strong, faster, and tougher.

He can also use a lot of energy at once for laser eyes. A useful skill, but it usually puts him out of the fight afterwords.

The energy stores up during sleep, which means he sleeps for an extra few hours each night and leaves him uncharacteristically grumpy in the morning.

He can also build up energy while awake, but it leaves him lethargic so he doesn’t do it while he has paper work to do.

He never wanted to be a hero as a kid, but as he grew older he found that meant people didn't like him using his quirk so much.

He joined the MLA for the simple reason of his experiences making him feel quirks should just be treated as a normal part of a person, instead of an aspect only heroes should be allowed to use/acknowledge.

Twice Advisor # 1 (King Bradly looking guy)

You remember in chapter 258, they mentioned a guy named Sanctum; oldest member in the MLA and believing all the League members are just in puppet positions? This is him.

He doesn’t really mean to come across as that unapproachable & rude, but he finds making sure everyone takes their jobs seriously is more important than being friendly.

As a result, while he & Twice come at odds quite often, they actually work quite well together. He keeps Twice on track and Twice appreciates that.

Much like Yotsubashi, his family has been in the Liberation Army for generations. Their cause is all he’s even known, but he has no regrets, especially now that Shigaraki’s livened the cause up.

I used to headcanon this guy’s quirk as making portals, but that might be someone else’s quirk no so...Earthbending, his quirk is earthbending.

He’s pretty good with it to, what with training with it since he was a little kid. The amount he can move is between that of Pixie-Bob & Gigantomachia, but he outshines them both in control.

He could make a perfectly square, finely-detailed hall a foot underground and no one above it would even feel the earth shifting.

Violet (Guerrilla Warfare)

Dabi Advisor # 3 (Ana)

So most of this is borrowed from @possessedfuzzybear

To catch everyone up: he’s named Ana (which means ‘hole’), he’s Dabi’s emo friend, and his hair is neon green.

See their blog for more info, but be warned: Fuzzy is horny AF. 18+ only, understand children?

His quirk has already been shown: It’s either making holes in stuff, or possibly making portals.

Needless to say, he and Dabi combo well together.

When he was a kid, one of his parents were arrested by heroes and he ended up running away from home before he got put in the system. He ended up meeting PLF Granny and some other runaways, and when she joined the MLA, he followed along.

He wasn’t originally a very active member, but when he saw the perks PLF Granny was getting for her hard work, and more importantly that she was spending those perks on himself and the other runaways; he started going above and beyond to earn his room & board.

Dabi Advisor # 2 (Tube Face)

Another emo of the PLF, which is probably why he’s with Dabi. That said, he’s less close to Dabi because he’s the exact same kind of loner as Dabi was before he got put in charge of stuff. So they resonate with each other, but they don’t exactly talk.

This guy’s quirk is that he has a snake for a tongue; full-sized and it talks in place of his normal mouth.

That’s actually what the tube is for, it’s snake armor.

(2nd guess, and this probably more likely if I’m honest, is some kind of gas quirk. if that’s true though, he’s related to Mustard.)

His story is a typical one; ostracized for having a particularly freaky mutant quirk that, while impressive, went unappreciated outside of heroics. Perhaps he even tried to become a hero, but dropped out, and the Japanese school system is yet another harsh mistress of society.

Either way, he then joined the biggest game in town that’s trying to make quirks more accepted, so he and kids like him can be appreciated instead of ridiculed.

Dabi Advisor # 1 (Happy with his piercings)

This guy’s something like Muscular without quite so many murders; generally just happy to be here doing whatever we’re doing as long as he gets to use his quirk to do it.

Dabi puts on airs of hating him, but really he...mostly doesn’t.

His quirk is actually super speed, which he combos with his impressive muscles to be quite the lightning bruiser.

That said, he’s not that fast. Like, he is to the flash, what Sato Rikido is to All Might. Probably somewhere between Iida before and after Recipro Burst.

His motivations are, as stated, pretty similar to why Muscular joined the League, except this guy looked into a slightly more legitimate organization because we was looking to legalize the freedom he was after, rather than simply ignoring legality in general.

He’s not exactly opposed to Shigaraki’s methods though.

Geten Advisor #3 (Pointy Head)

My first though looking at this guy is “His color is Blue”.

Generally, the suit and mouth armor make me think he either has or had ties to big business or heroics. Let’s go with the latter.

He was a humble but fairly accomplished hero, or maybe even just a sidekick, when he took down some socially powerful villain the HC didn't exactly want him taking down.

He and his entire Agency were indirectly ruined, and so joined the MLA in hopes of continuing to help people in their own way. Happily for him, that turned out to be fighting against the HC.

His quirk is a simple one: enhanced sight, hearing, and basically all his senses, as well as the ability to process it all very quickly.

To combos this with his swordsmanship to deadly effect.

Having the title of “advisor”, he tends to give lots of advise to Geten (regardless of if it’s wanted), looks out for him, and generally ignores that fact that Geten is his superior, not subordinate.

Geten Advisor # 2 (Sweater Lady)

The PLF Wine Aunt. And she introduces herself like that to people too.

She’s brash but wise, tends to look out for everyone in the PLF when she can, but also shares just a few of Geten’s more worrying views on quirks.

So guys like Dabi & Spinner think there might be hope for her if they can get her to knock that prejudice stuff out, and actually have good reason to think they can, but generally steer clear of her when possible.

Her quirk is something powerful, but disfiguring to her face. My current favorite idea being breathing out a gaseous neurotoxin or something to that effect that makes her mouth look weird. 

Her sweater actually hides a series of soft but sturdy tubes that expel the neurotoxin from her arms, because she can aim her arms better than her head.

Her reasons for being in the MLA are basically that with a lack of social changes in the advent of quirks, standards of beauty are as BS as ever for women, even as women like her get weird mutations to their bodies, and especially to the head.

She believes a society more accepting of quirks would be more willing to accept mutations as beautiful, although this has eventually developed into a complex about powerful quirks being beautiful in order to convince herself of her own worth.

Hence everyone’s belief that maybe they can fix that complex of hers once they build a more accepting society. (That and, y’know, they have to work with her anyway.)

Geten Advisor # 1 (Stressed Baldy)

Probably one of the most welcoming advisors to the League because due to this quirk, this man generally ties to say cheerful at all times.

You see: his quirk is tied to his emotions. All of his emotions. Only by not feeling anything in particular, like in the picture above, does it not activate.

That’s actually why he’s in the PLF, he finds in unreasonable that those with hair trigger quirks like himself be forced to not use those quirks in public or face criminal charges.

Well actually, he’s also from an MLA family like Yotsubashi, but his ancestor joined for the same reason; so he’s probably the person born into the MLA with the best reason for still being there.

Ah, but I didn’t explain the quirk itself, what he does depends on what emotions he’s currently feeling.

When Happy, or otherwise feeling positively towards himself: a barrier forms around him right above his skin & clothing. While in this barrier, hits to him are diminished, and his own hits hit harder.

When sad, fearful, or other such emotions: that barrier disappears from around him and instead forms around his allies.

When angry, or otherwise directing negative emotions outward: the barriers appear around his enemies, and then lock in place so they cannot move. They also can’t be hurt in this state, but he can work around that.

Carmine (Intelligence)

Toga Advisor # 3 (Muscular tank top guy)

The reason he’s in the Intelligence regiment has little to do with his quirk, and a lot to do with his charismatic and friendly personalty. He get’s a lot done just going out and talking to people, and he teaches his subordinates how to do the same.

His quirk is simple x-ray vision. Nothing all that special, but he has learned to use it well in a fight, seeing how the opponent moves like a certain Jojo stand from part 6.

He was also a part of PLF Granny’s group of runaways who joined the MLA when she did. No particularly dramatic reason why, he was just broke & unlucky and she was just nice.

Before they joined the MLA, he did stuff like convince bakeries to give their left over product to the kids at the end of the day.

They ended up joining shortly before the MLA really started making it’s resurgence, so he made a name for himself helping out the new guys. And since everyone was already looking up to him, the higher-ups gave him a good position to keep doing that.

That’s his job with Toga too, introducing her to the ins and outs of the PLF. They also tend to talk romance and cute things (like I said above, he’s good at talking to people), so they get along pretty well despite underlying tension.

He finds her crushes on multiple enemies worrisome though, for multiple reasons, and is trying to build up the nerve to talk to her about that.

Toga Advisor # 2 (R2D2 Expy)

Little can we tell from the above picture, that’s just his head (and extremely long neck). He has a torso and such below.

His quirk is actually being a cyborg, and most of his body is augmentable.

He has multiple weapons he can attach and detach from himself and automatically control like any other limb.

It wares on him to attach to much to himself though, so he won’t be augmenting himself with any large equipment.

The R2D2 head is a disguise he wears to PLF meetings, and he intends for it to be his official villain outfit once he hits the field.

It’s not his only look though. He has numerous faces and various identities to go with them. It’s how he joined the Intelligence division.

He’s a Star Was fan (obvs).

Toga doesn’t talk to him much, what with him not being very cute. He mostly takes care of managerial tasks with his underlings, and organizes reports for her.

He also works at Feel Good Inc., & only really joined the MLA because he was invited by his boss, Skeptic. He got a promotion out of it and still feels like he’s on the winning side though, so he’s not complaining.

Toga Advisor # 1 (Beautiful Woman)

The advisor Toga most depends on, this woman tends to do all the work Toga’s less than qualified to handle as a 17-year old.

Frankly, Toga kind of looks up to her as a powerful feminine figure in her life, especially since she’s largely not quirkiest (like Sweater Lady), and her past is pretty similar to Toga’s but she managed to bounce back into a powerful position.

Her quirk is the ability to read minds in short snippets by making eye contact with people, usually whatever they’re thinking of in that moment..

It’s not perfect because people can sort of feel ‘something’ when she reads their minds, so people who know what she’s doing can just look away. It’s pretty easy to not look someone in the eye.

Giran caught on pretty quick when he was being held hostage.

She pretended to be quirkless to her friends and repressed it well into adulthood, until her quirk was discovered. At that point, not only did people stop trusting her, she was accused of illegal quirk usage and pursued by the police. This was when she found and joined the MLA.

Skeptic Advisor # 3 (Toad Man)

This guy radiates the best and worst of redneck culture, kinda gross, more than a bit judgy; but also inventive, Integrous, and always willing to throw down with corrupt authority figures.

(That said, he’s toned down the prejudice stuff working with so many different people and also Toga threatening him with knives.)

He’s also good at talking to the marginalized and those out in the boonies, which essentially means he’s got an underworld information network all his own, which is half of how he got his position in the Intelligence regiment. In fact, for better or worse, he’s the one who found Giran.

The other half is his quirk; which is, along with general toad-like characteristics, the ability to temporarily eat anything he can fit in that big ol’ gullet of his and analyze it down the the barest physical detail. (”physical” meaning he could find a finger print on a gun and draw it out, but couldn’t read the data on a memory stick.)

His reasons for being in the PLF are simple: like I said, he’s just always willing to throw down with authority figures. He doesn’t care that his quirk isn’t for fighting, he’ll just punch every HC member in the face.

Actually, he’s even more invested now that Shigaraki’s in charge. He wasn’t really feeling the MLA before, but now he’s gung ho about the cause like few others.

Skeptic Advisor # 2 (Ugh...Slidin’ Go)

Being a well known character, there’s not that much to say.

Hmm...

His reasoning for joining the MLA is surprisingly simple: he feels society’s view on quirks is too simple; praising flashy quirks while also forbidding non-heroes from using them where possible, all for the convenience of heroes and the hero industry.

Being so attached to his quirk, he entered into heroics in order to get a quirk licence, but still felt this thought process was backwards and joined the MLA to turn it around.

He’s responsible for a lot of the heroes in the MLA, having found a lot of like minded people in his industry and got them into the Army. A lot of them were actually old classmates of his.

Skeptic Advisor # 1 (Beautiful Man)

The half-brother of Beautiful Woman, he joined because she invited him and he wanted to help her. Not only because she was family, but because he was responsible for her quirk being discovered & he feels he needs to make up for accidentally making her a wanted woman.

He’s not a wanted criminal, so he got a job at Feel Good Inc. and works closely with Skeptic as a sort of secretary that reminds him of his personal affairs.

(In reality though, he manages contact with the MLA/PLF while Skeptic is running his company.)

He gets along with Skeptic as well as anyone can with that personality. Way better than Slidin’ Go anyway.

This quirk is a form of telepathy like Mandalay. There are 3 differences though. 1) he or a part of him must be touching the person to communicate, which he gets around by making bracelets & other accessories with strands of his hair that can be pressed against the wearer’s skin. On the other hand, 2) it’s got no range limit and 3) allows for 2 way communication. 

And on one last note: he can always tell who he’s talking too, as well as who might be trying (& failing) to listen in.

Essentially, he’s a hack-proof human communications network, able to pass along information from key PLF members to each other and Skeptic, who can relay the information to other members through more mundane means. 

It’s a good back-up for if heroes try jamming or otherwise interfering with those mundane communication methods.

Brown (Support)

Mr. Compress Advisor # 3 (Compress Cosplayer)

The mask is actually new, and actually kind of is Compress cosplay. when he met Compress they just kind of resonated with each other, and Compress decided to make him his apprentice.

It’s only been a few months, but he took to showmanship quite well. And now everyone else around him hates him. Dude just can’t win.

His quirk is basically being living hammer space; he can store things in his body like Momo in reverse & pull them out like Momo in forward.

The catch is that his whole body looks something like an astral CGI monstrosity; his skin is this gelatinous looking goop patterned like space that caused him to be bullied growing up.

Though his past is similar to Sweater lady, his motives are actually more like Spinner’s: living a lonely life, he kind of just joined the first cause that resonated with him in the hope of finding meaning.

He has yet to really find that yet, but at least he found a hobby & a good number of good friends.

Mr. Compress Advisor # 2 (Natsuo’s happier doppelganger)

A popular base commander, this guy has made a name for himself in the PLF for his managerial skills. He takes care of his people, completes his jobs promptly, and is generally pretty intelligent when it comes to resource management.

His job as an advisor is less stellar though. Except for reports, he tends to leave Compress to himself and/or his other advisors. Compress has tried to talk to him but he made fun of the magician act once and now they keep their distance.

He probably has one of the peatiest reasons for being in the PLF among the advisors & lieutenants.

You see, his quirk is that he’s able to make or dismiss a kind of wooden golem to do what he wants, and he often had it do menial labor for him.

That said, while it’s legal for him to do that in private settings, it’s actually illegal in public, and people have gotten on his case about that since he was a kid. What’s more, the reprimands got worse & worse the older he got, so eventually he got sick of it and joined the MLA.

Yeah, he’s part of a terrorist group because it’s illegal to use his quirk to carry his groceries for him.

Mr. Compress Advisor # 1 (Electric Scar Face)

Another descendant of a mainstay family in the MLA, he was actually a friend of Yotsubashi growing up. They’ve drifted a bit in adulthood since he isn’t exactly the business type, but they still work closely enough and keep in touch.

That’s actually most of the reason he’s not exactly on board with Shigaraki being in charge now. He only really heard 2nd hand about what happened in Daika, and he’s pretty biased in favor of the old boss.

All that said, he & Compress probably have one of the most stable lieutenant/advisor relationships; agreeable enough, healthy but minimal disagreements, actually pretty similar humor & they’ve both got good heads on their shoulders with just more than a hint of eccentricity.

We already know his quirk, absorbing and discharging Electricity.

Spinner Advisor # 3 (Cementos’ long lost cousin)

While not actually related to Cementos (probably), I’ve actually grown attached to the idea that he went to UA himself, so here’ the continuation of PLF Granny’s story I promised.

So one day, while working on his internship, he ended up pursuing a wanted hero killer, who he found out was just an old lady who lost control of her quirk and has been panicking ever since. He realized she needed help, but for her crimes she’d surely be sent to Tartarus for life (which is a redundant statement), so he decided to leave professional heroism behind to help her disappear, as well as help her in general.

In the process, they came across a good number of other runaways, and when the MLA agreed to shelter them in exchange for labor and generally joining the cause, they agreed.

As an advisor, he has a good professional relationship with Spinner, and they often discuss what they believe heroes should really be like and the failings of their current iterations. As such, he’s ended up growing to the idea of Shigaraki as presented to him by Spinner.

His quirk is the ability to turn into a large whale like creature that’s able to move large numbers of forces in it’s mouth through the water. I think it’d be cool if it could move through the ground too, but that might overlap with Machia.

He’s also able to produce and shoot spikes from his skin in either form to defend himself. 

He’d probably get along with/relate to Kurogiri if he’s ended up getting some of Shirakumo’s memories by the time he escapes.

Spinner Advisor # 2 (Edgy Spider Guy)

(Just a reminder for those who only remember this guy from the above picture, he was shown to have spider legs in a later chapter.)

Spinner’s gamer buddy among the advisors, as well as the main supporter for his crusade of eliminating mutation prejudice.

Having a spider quirk, no surprise he was bullied in school only to be harassed and marginalized in adulthood. He eventually got a job at Detnarat, and was personally invited into the MLA by Yotsubashi himself.

Along with the extra spider limbs, he can also produce especially strong spider silk, which he can then telekinetically control while close to it. He does’t produce it at a very quick rate, but he’s been able to sew it into his cloak to move it, letting him increase his speed and pull off a few other neat tricks.

The main downside though is a particularly freaky face, which he’s developed a complex about. Thus why he hides his face. He’s got friends working with him about it though.

That said, he’ll probably still keep the cloak after he overcomes this complex because it’s cool.

Spinner Advisor # 1 (Cute Bug Girl)

The last of PLF Granny’s old runaway gang among the advisors.

(there are still others, but they have much smaller rolls, if any.) 

She joined after losing her parents to an altercation with the CRC. (Y’know, the Klan looking freaks.)

Her personality is something like a transitioning point between a high school alpha bitch and a wine aunt. Mainly because she looks to sweater lady from Geten’s group as something of a roll model (unfortunately).

Her relationship with her boss, Spinner, is rather tense as a result. She looks down on him for his quirk (though she’s tactful enough to not mention this), but relates to his hardships as a Mutant. As a result, she looks out for him more than she looks down on him, but she’s still kind of waiting for him to prove himself.

Her quirk is the ability to create & control tiny insects about the size of fairy flies (<3mm in length) in vast swarms.

These bugs move pretty silently, so they can act as a fog, fly into people’s mouths and attack them there, or fly into wounds to either stitch them closed or make them worse.

While she doesn’t have an actual PHD, she was trained by several doctors hired by the MLA for many years to make the best of her quirk, and is now the director of the PLF’s medical units, except for small, personal medial units in the other regiments.

General stuff

Just to be clear, though I describe most of these guys & gals relatively nicely, most all of these guys probably have more confirmed kills under their belt than Twice.

(Granted, that’s partially because Twice doesn’t really confirm his kills. We only know of 2, including the guy he murdered after he was himself murdered. But that still means everyone here has killed several people.)

Each of these guys have their own base to watch over, you’ll remember, and part of their responsibilities is either recruiting or eliminating people who learn too much.

Each of them has the job of easing their subordinates into going along with the new leadership, especially the people who weren’t there for Daika. This is kind of tricky because they were also not there for Daika, so they’ve been required to talk with the League members a lot.

It’s helped encourage them to get to know the new management relatively well.

Side note: I’m also willing to bet Trumpet & Redestro have their own regiment; probably an undercover or public relations regiment, and probably have 6 advisors for themselves too. I’m excited to meet them.

And despite how much work I put into all this, I’m also excited to see just how much of it is wrong as we meet these guys for real.

[evabellasworld]

I Give You My Heart

Chapter 2

AO3 Link

13+ and above for cursing and mild violence

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Summary:  When Riyo Chuchi’s life was threatened, Commander Fox and Jedi Knight Ava Lira and Eva Bella Young are assigned to bring the senator back to her home planet Pantora, where she will be safe from harm. But when the assassin knows her whereabouts, it’s up to Fox, Lira, Eva, and Riyo to work together and stop the assassin.

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A trooper with red-painted armour rushed through the corridors of the medbay, filled with nurses and doctors going in and out, pushing their patients to another room for further treatment. She tries to be more patient as she has a lot of things on her mind right now, such as reporting to Commander Fox about the current status of the Senate building and the paperwork that she was due next week.

Chae took a deep breath underneath her helmet and pushed herself through the crowd, searching for the hospital ward that her superior officer had told her to meet up at. She had a lot of things to do, but since Fox insisted on meeting her at the hospital, she doesn't have that much of a choice anyways since she has to follow orders that are given to her.

Arriving at room number 1296, she knocked on the door. One of the nurses, who had brown eyes and brown skin, opened the door for her, her checklist in her hand. “Can I help you?” she asked. 

“I was told that a friend of mine is getting her treatment in this room,” Chae told her nurse. “Her name is Senator Chuchi.”

“Ah, yes, she’s in this room right now,” she smiled. “Please, have a seat first. We can only have one visitor at a time.”

“Of course, miss,” Chase nodded, as she sat down and took off her helmet, revealing her black, curly hair with white streaks. She leaned against the wall and placed her left leg on her right knee, her eyes closed. 

For a moment, she found herself floating in space, with only her armour and her hair flowing in gravity. She glided her eyes around her new surroundings, wondering whether she’s actually in space or not. Taking a deep breath, Chae flew upwards and felt the thousand stars within her fingertips. She soon found herself floating in the sea of colourful smokes, staining her armour.

She doesn’t mind, though, since she never got a chance to choose her own colours. As a Coruscant Guard, she didn’t have any choice on having her own interest and hobbies outside her duty. Chae was able to hold her paintbrush correctly and analyze the meaning behind every painting in the art museum and the hallways of the Senate building, but she never got to utilize them when she had to pain her brand-new set of Phase 2 armour.

Chae wonders about the galaxy and how they get their colours, but because the Chancellor always insisted on how her armour is painted, she lost the opportunity to paint the nebulas and supernovas and even the black hole. She had the chance to colour them on the walls of the barracks and her own bunk, since she sleeps there after duty.

“Chae,” she heard someone shaking her shoulder. The black-haired clone gasps and opens her eyes, only to find Commander Fox standing in front of her. 

“Commander,” she sprung from her seat, giving him a salute. “I was told that I have to meet you here, sir.”

“Yeah, I did,” he answered. “I called you here to give me an update about the situation in Cantham House. Have you had anything so far, trooper?”

“From our investigations, we found traces of tripwires that were attached to the entrance, which was what triggered the bomb in the first place.”

“Tripwires, eh? That is surprising, to say the least.”

“I agree, commander. Someone must have thought this through and attached tripwires all over the door, which is difficult to do so, actually.”

“That is true,” he sighed, his hands on his hips. “Whoever done this must have known about the senator’s meeting.”

“But who could have done such a thing, commander?” Chae asked, confused. “Senator Organa, Senator Amidala and Senator Chuchi were friendly to everyone they met, including clones as well.”

“I suspect one of their rivals,” Fox could only guess. “For all I’m aware, most politicians are always scheming and would do anything to gain more power, even to the point of eliminating their opponents.”

“But why, sir? They served the Republic and their people, so shouldn’t they be working together to make things better for the public?”

That is the biggest lie that Fox had ever heard as the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. “Unfortunately, Chae, not everyone is selfless in their duty. Some made the decision to ignore the people they represent and instead pursue something that is only temporary, such as credits.”

Chae could only frown by his remarks, but she admitted that he has a good point. “But I know not all senators are like that,” she tried to be optimistic. “I mean, Senator Chuchi always defends us whenever someone is picking on us clones.”

His heart flutters whenever one of his vods mentions her name and yet, he remains unemotional on the outside. “In her case, I would make it an exception. She’s one of  the senators that held tight on her principles and her morals, and in this age, that is admirable.”

“It is, sir,” Chae gave a nod. “Oh, there’s one more thing. Jay and Eren have checked the security footage and so far, we’ve found nothing.”

“Well, that is unfortunate but I’m sure we’ll find something eventually,” he answered, before turning his back towards the door. “You may return to your duty, trooper. Let me know if something comes up, alright?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Chae acknowledged, as she walked away from her superior in what seems to be a half-empty hallway, with only nurses and staff pacing back and forth, with a datapad in their hands. Fox went inside room 1296, where Riyo was sitting on the hospital bed, her forehead covered in bandages and there was a small cut underneath her golden eyes.

“Anything so far?” she asked, as Fox sat beside her, taking off his helmet, revealing his looks. Like his brothers, he had dark brown eyes and tanned skin, along with black, curly hair, with white streaks beside his ears, which he didn’t dye them, unlike Chae. He also had eye bags from filling up paperwork late at night in his small office, which he’s used to it.

“My troops found some tripwires attached to the door,” he told her the truth. “But so far, we didn’t find who was responsible for the bombing.”

“I don’t believe it,” her eyes widened. “Who would have the right mind to place tripwires in front of Senator Organa’s office?”

“I’m also asking the same question to myself as well. How is it possible that there were tripwires when there was no sight of the suspect.”

“Well, I’m glad the rest were okay,” Riyo changed the subject. “Except for Bibi, though. I heard that she’s still unconscious.”

“I’m sorry for your friend,” Fox expressed his sympathy. “I know what it’s like seeing your friend getting hurt and not being able to do anything about it. Sorry if I’m rambling something out of topic.”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” she assured him. “I’m just grateful that you understood what I’m going through right now.”

He let out a soft snicker, much to Riyo’s confusion. “Did I say something strange?”

“No, of course not,” Fox denied, waving both his hands. “It’s just that you said that I understood what you were going through right now.”

“Is there something wrong with what I said, Fox?”

“No, nothing wrong, Riyo,” he stuttered a little. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

Riyo’s lips tightened at his harsh words about himself. “Has anyone ever told you about your soft side?”

“Only my brothers and sisters, and even then, they had to try hard enough to let me out of my shell.”

“That sounds like a typical sibling relationship, don’t you think?” she giggled politely. Fox curled his lips upwards as he recalled the antics that Tori would pull on him whenever he’s occupied with his assignments, from purposely mispronouncing his names to roasting him until it makes his tongue-tied. Despite that, he misses her occasionally and would take the chance to spend some time with her if she’s on shore leave, of course.

“Yeah, that’s what siblings do,” he shrugged. “Do you have any siblings, Riyo?”

Before she could answer him, Fox’s comlink went off, leaving him groaning for his life. “Commander Fox here,” he replied. 

“Sir, the Chancellor would like to meet with you,” one of his subordinates informed him. “It’s regarding the bombings in Cantham House.”

“Roger that, Robin. Commander Fox out.”

Riyo frowned as he stood up and grabbed his helmet, putting it on his head. She didn’t want to see him go, but at the same time, she didn’t want to stop him from doing his duty to protect Coruscant from more harm. “I’ll see you later,” she stared at him, longing for Fox to stay for a while.

“I hope so,” he replied, as he left her hospital room, leaving Riyo in a quiet, blank room, which was devoid of colours and warmth.

[elmidol]

Error: Program Not Found - Four

Summary:  You are in charge of programming the droids that work most closely with both General Hux and Kylo Ren. Unbeknownst to you, each of these two men have it in their heads that your relationship extends beyond the workplace. This causes things to escalate quickly when your two apparently secret boyfriends compare notes on their respective partner who is far too similar for their liking.

Read on AO3

“Gossip is the opiate of the oppressed.” - Erica Jong

 Four: Gossip

Millicent did not take long to adjust to Eddard’s presence. She curled up three feet away from him on the ground. Startling twice in the first ten minutes that he was in the quarters, the feline opted to follow him with her eyes then determined he was not a threat. It was at this point that she fell asleep whilst purring up a storm. Eddard, after this occurred, seemed to feel freer to move about as needed to map out the room. It was this that provided him insight as to how large the TIE-shaped droid would need to be. You already had your own idea and measurements, however a second opinion on this front was not unwise. To top it off, there would be necessary adjustments should the suggestion of the droid doubling as a cat bed be utilized.

 Basic knowledge of droid engineering was required for your career and current position. That hardly made you an expert, which was why your designs often met with modifications by those on your team. Experience was an excellent teacher. The ability to choose members of your team proved an asset when you took this into consideration rather than become insulted should any subordinates correct you. Where this had the potential of becoming an issue was during optional modifications and alterations to blueprints that you did not accept for the final project; there were engineers and technicians

 Gossip and arrogance were what you worked hard to avoid in the workplace. Thus far Eddard did not seem the kind to start gossip. As to whether or not he would believe gossip, this was not anything you could determine in the short amount of time that you had known him. There had been nothing to set off alarm bells in your head regarding these matters.

 Eddard sketched out his own tentative design for the TIE-shaped droid on the datapad that he had brought with him. It was a model older than the one you possessed, and one you recognized as being assigned to newer workers within the First Order. He might have been given the datapad after a transfer from a different base. In the end, this was not important enough for you to spend more time thinking about it. You instead asked that he link you to the project in order for you to pull up the hologram on your own device. Eddard complied, and you changed the settings on your datapad so that you were able to display both blueprints side by side.

 Merging the two versions together, you worked through which portions of the droid were superfluous. The bed idea was one that you were growing fond of. This rang more true as you came to realize that one of the toys you had scrapped before was perfect for this altered version of the droid. It would be capable of deploying a fuzzy ball attached to a string for Millicent to chase. The droid when in bed form could continue to dangle the ball, giving the cat the option to play while in a more relaxed state. You kept the hover setting along with the light beam that Millicent would chase. Reducing the altitude that the droid could reach was a necessity; the added bulk of the bed feature would otherwise be a danger to the cat.

 The revised blueprint was not yet completed when Eddard was set to go off duty for the remainder of the cycle. You informed him that you would finish the fine details for General Hux to look over. Anything more would be minor, and Eddard would receive a chance to look over the project along with the lead engineer that would begin construction. Most work left revolved around programming as well as ensuring the droid had the necessary components to carry out the instructions you wished to give it. In the end, the remaining work rested on your shoulders anyway. Eddard exited the quarters with a wave of farewell.

 Millicent slunk forward to climb into your lap. She nudged your datapad with her head until you lifted it a fraction higher. The new position was awkward on your arms. The muscles in your limbs cramped, prompting you to push your elbows outwards. It was not a large improvement, however you had worked in worse conditions.

 “TeeArr should be repaired soon,” you said under your breath. Your fingers were in constant motion typing in commands for the program to display. Examples of what cushions could rest within the droid without becoming a fire hazard. “I don’t know how soon General Hux wants me to alter his programming, do you?”You dipped your chin. Two bright eyes stared up at you in reply. They were similar to those of her owner’s. This was nothing you had made much of a note of before.

 The door to General Hux’s quarters opened not a quarter of an hour later. You did not bother to turn around to greet the one who entered. This was not to be taken as unprofessional behavior by the man; he had always been upfront that he preferred that his presence not interrupt the flow of work. You were right then hitting the finalize command for the program. This set the blueprint as read-only and would allow you to send it to General Hux then later the engineer to work with without either being forced to run the program that you had been using. It would lessen the strain on their datapads as well as prevent accidental edits. Millicent, unlike you, happily raced towards her owner and greeted him.

 Feet shuffling spoke of how General Hux altered his stance to lift up his beloved cat. As for the rustle of a bag, that did draw your attention away from the image displayed on your datapad. You spared a brief glance over your shoulder. He was carrying with him a cloth bag that had a logo you recognized from the lotion that he had been ordering.

 That was fast, you thought, fighting off the urge to scowl. It was one thing for him to purchase a high end product. Another to pay the exuberant price for same-day delivery. You held in these thoughts despite the bubbling urge to protest so that such behavior was not repeated. That in itself would have been presumptuous. He had not promised to give you anything beyond this single bottle.

 You wiggled your toes in your slippers. General Hux had set the bag down on the ground next to you. Next he sat on the couch, drew a blanket over his lap, and placed Millicent atop it. He would not cover his uniform in fur. Not that he didn’t own several lint brushes for the occasions that her fur did stick to his clothing.

 “I’ll have the blueprint sent in just a moment,” you said. You straightened your posture and watched the movement of his hand. He stroked Millicent head to tail. She purred at his touch while nuzzling him through the blanket. “Eddard had several suggestions that helped. I appreciate you giving approval.”

 “I look forward to seeing the results.” General Hux paused in stroking the top of Millicent’s head. “I overheard how Kylo Ren damaged TeeArr. Is this something you would like me to address with him?”

 It was a kind offer even without the animosity that existed between the two men. You declined, albeit not without thanking him for the offer. General Hux continued with surprising you. He stated that you need not wait to use the lotion. He had caught a glimpse of the forming blisters again when he had walked into the room. Treating them as soon as possible was wise. This time you took him up on the offer. You stretched out your legs, removed the slippers from your feet, and opened the bottle of lotion. Using one hand, you applied some to your right foot simultaneous to attaching the blueprint to a message that you sent to General Hux.

 “You can sit on the couch if you would like,” he offered, tilting his head a little to the left to indicate the cushion beside him. His words elicited a stutter from your heart as blood pooled into your cheeks. This, in your opinion, entirely intimate behavior was worrying you. He had been sleeping even less than usual. That had to be it, you reasoned. Otherwise there was a chance he was feverish. You were not about to request the chance to feel his forehead to check. Likewise, you could think of no way to ask if he felt alright without insulting him.

 You reached for the bottle of lotion again to apply some to your other foot. “Uhm…” A thought entered your mind: it will be easier to discuss the project if you are sitting next to him. “Thank you. Just one moment.”

 General Hux nodded acknowledgement. He resumed petting Millicent with one hand, and with the other he grabbed his datapad to review the work that you had sent to him. You finished rubbing and massaging the lotion into your foot. Already there was a light tingling sensation as the product soothed some of the discomfort. You lifted the bottle to eye level and read its name. Smiled a little to yourself. Finally you replaced the bottle in the bag that you would later take, and stood to join him on the couch. He did not react as you sat down beside him.

 He did, however, lean into the back of the couch. Lounged rather than sat rigid as he normally did. Your eyebrows rose. Averting your face in the hopes that he had not caught your expression, you began to speak of the alterations that you and Eddard had made. The cat bed drew from him an interest hmm and he expanded the image to zoom in on the design.

 “It is a much different project compared with training and assassination droids.” So conversational, you thought. You were already nodding in agreement when you were reminded of the project that you had mentioned to Kylo Ren. “If I may, there is another project I wish to discuss once this is submitted to the engineering team.” His green-blue eyes left the image to search your face. The close proximity allowed you the ability to appreciate how soft his features could be and how young he was given his rank. “Physical training droids for wounded officers and stormtroopers.” You wondered for a second if you should have held off giving a pitch until later.

 That second passed. General Hux offered something of a smile; not quite a grin, not a smirk. “Your mind is rather remarkable.” If he was aiming to give you a heart attack or kill you with praise, he was close to succeeding. “I will arrange time for your official proposal.” He turned back to the blueprint. Maker, you were grateful that he did. It was the one thing that allowed you to regather yourself as you worked through the shock and pleasure of being complimented in such a forthcoming manner by General Hux.

 You again began to verbally outline your thoughts on the TIE droid. You focused on the reduced altitude and the complications that might arise for the engineer while the individual decided which material would best serve as cushion for the bed. You imagined that this would require additional testing by the engineer, and those tests might include your presence to work on the programming. This, you acknowledged, might push back the time for when you were prepared to officially propose the new project to the board. It would not be an issue, and General Hux was prepared for potential delays.

 More might have been said had you not received a summons from the maintenance lead you had no fond feelings for. The issue was not with the training droids, however, but with TeeArr. General Hux gave his approval for you to dismiss yourself. You grabbed the bag that he had brought for you and carried it along with your datapad out of the room. Your mind was already proposing numerous possibilities as to what had gone wrong with TeeArr. The vagueness of the message irritated you. It served as yet another reason why you hoped to not have many projects with the man in the future.

 On the way to the maintenance room that TeeArr had been taken to, you walked past a group of three stormtroopers. Their postures were rather lax in comparison with what you knew was expected of them. One was playing the role of lookout. His visor tracked your movements before returning to stare at the other end of the hallway. The other two were speaking. You generally did not make a point to eavesdrop, but when your mind registered the name General Hux, you couldn’t help but listen while you walked.

 “I hear he’s going to be spending some time with his girl,” one stormtrooper theatrically whispered conspiratorially to the other. You had two thoughts on this; the first was how childish it was to gossip, and the second was wondering how much General Hux spoiled the woman he was romantically involved with. Unless, you continued, it was nothing more than a political arrangement. His strange behavior suddenly made more sense to you. It was better that it was due to romance than that he was falling ill.

[aradias-crypt]

Sinful Symphonies

{pt.2}

A disc leisurely floats to the phonograph in the corner of the room. Filling the chamber with music.

It wasn’t his normal choice, but it would do for today.

Black Hat leans back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment of rest. He didn’t require sleep or breaks, his body never tired like the mortals around him. He was always conscious of everything around him.

But to have a moment with just his glorious self was quite nice..

The melody drifts on.

The world quiets.

Just as bruises form on his body.

And as a dull throb reverberates in his head.

Damn it.

He growls and opens his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed as he cuts off the music with a snap of his fingers. With the moment gone, Black Hat examines his new injuries, though he knows they will fade soon.

The concept of a “soulmate” was not new to him, nor was the affect the bond could have on a pair.

It was quite the revelation when he discovered even he could have one. And for a while, he fancied the idea of having someone all to himself; someone only he could have for the rest of time and then some. But as his intended died and reincarnated he grew annoyed with the drawbacks.

They filled his mind with childish rhymes and songs, giving him scrapes and stupid little paper cuts. They interrupted his plans with out of sync humming. As they grew they went through constant phases and would repeat songs over and over! In one reincarnation, they even fell victim to poisoning and trampling in the same week!

How dare they interrupt his schedule with such pitiful mortal afflictions! He couldn’t even enjoy watching them suffer!

How could his soulmate- his equal! Be so vulnerable?!

A small squeak of gears and doors unlatching catches his attention as he digs his claws into the arms of his chair, green drool dripping from his clenched teeth. Releasing his grip of the chair, he leans back and crosses his legs. Once again under the guise of his “gentlemanly” persona.

“The doctor must be back.” His eye turns red as he connects his consciousness to a portrait downstairs, surveying the room for his lackeys. It was only recently that he acquired this minion, and while he showed some.. promise, the scientist still had yet to truly prove himself. Not that he could ever hope to reach his standards of perfection of course. He doubted if anyone could.

Strangely, there is no movement inside the manor.

He scowls,”Where are those imbeciles.”

Fully immersing himself into the portrait, Black Hat slips out of the canvas and saunters through the house in search of the source of the disturbance. It was likely the gates to the underground garage.

But unloading parcels was no excuse for checking in late!

A familiar melody fills his head causing him to stop walking for a second.

Fondu au noir, he believes. A humming accompanies the lyrics, faint, but enough to be noticed.

They were in sync this time, he thinks with a flutter of amusement.

.

.

.

He grunts, a deep scowl once again on his face as he continues his trek downstairs. Of course they would have bad timing once again, filling his mind with nonsense.

Standing before the doors, he slips through into the garage. Black Hat is greeted by the sight of his subordinates hog tied atop of the car. The bots in the front seats are either dismantled or completely decimated with scorch marks on their plating. The merchandise however, is all in one piece.

‘Lucky doctor.’ Black Hat lifts a brow, his face unamused.

Flug gulps, sweat dripping down the paper bag covering his head,”H-Hello m-my lord!”

Demencia squeals,”Sweetie!”

A twitch of his eye.

The merchandise was there, but his reputation was stained.

Failure.

Absolute. Failure.

“S-Sir..?”

“Its all under control, you said,” Black Hat chuckles, his shadow climbing the wall and expanding,”Its as good as done.” Membranous wings snap from his back as Black Hat roars; his flesh peels back, exposing his gums and fluorescent green teeth, the smell of rot fills the air.

“Ŵ̨̥̞̭͇͉͖̠̑̀̑̉͊͠͠A̡̘͙͓̞͈̐̍̌̍̋͘Ŝ̛͕̫͖͖͞͝ ̦̻̱̤̓̈̋͝Ṯ̛̹͈͔̖̘̗̼̲̃̐̋̆̽̈́͘̚H̢̡͍̼͖̱̯̳̗̝̀͒̅̄̎͋̂̇̃̚Ã̡̢̧̻͍̝̖̠͊̉͊̽̃́͝T͙͛ ̧̜͎̠̹͎̪̀̽͑̌̑̃̎̇͜Ṅ͉̼̝̽͝Ơ̩T̨̬͑̋͜͝ ̥̳̎͋͘͜W̛̬̜̭̟̰̘͕̥̺̽̀̍̅͒͛͑̕͜͠Ĥ̼̟̆͜͞Ą̛̭̮̝͕̫̖̗̞̦̾̃̅͊̑́̓͝͠T̛̼̟̰͖̋̓̇͘ͅ ̨̬̣̳̹̀͛͛̾͡Y̨̧͕̻̝̳̞̝̯͐͑̃͂̀̂̈̒̕͠ͅO̲̦̬͕͍͆̐͌̓͞U ̨̻̺̯̖̟̣̰͂̆̀̓̊͋́͗͛͜T̢̹̼̖̩̞̙͙͐͛̓̓̽̏̔̏͜͠Ò̢̮̙͑͞L͔̖̜̑͛͗D͙̕ ̤̿M͕͉̹̑̓̐̃͟Ê̬̠̺̈͌?̹͈͕͈͙̣͙̅̄̀͐̄̋͂̕͢!̟̜̘́̍͡”

Flug whimpers, curling in on himself as much as he could with his limbs bound,”Y-Yes but you s-see Lord Black Hat-“

“W̡̮̣̼̰͙̾̀̈̏͆̽͢͝H̩͒́͢AT̢̫̖̐̈͐!”

“Avillaingotinourway!”

He snarls,”They are like any other enemy doctor, you take them down!”

“It was a Horseman, sir! They took us down after destroying the Hat-Bots!”

Black Hat pauses.

Flug trembles, waiting for his masters response while Demencia watches adoringly.

.

.

.

“A little Horseman you say?”

“Y-Yes sir.”

Black Hat chuckles and swipes a clawed finger to release the two from their bonds. Leaning closer to Flug he drags a sharp digit across the scientist’s goggles,”I will give you one chance to remedy your little SLIP UP!”

Flug flinches.

Black Hat grins, embracing his flair for the theatrical as the lights die out. Leaving his sickening grin and piercing eye the only light sources in the room.

”Bring them to me.”

———————

Once you got home, you immediately turned on your radio and fell asleep. Sleep means you don’t have to acknowledge the aching in your body.

Pain, or dreams of fireplaces, cats, and fresh bread?

Dreams of course.

But a harsh rapping at the door not hours later, pulls you from your sleep.

You stretch your arms above your head, sighing in pleasure as your sore joints pop. You lay back down to continue sleeping. Screw whoever’s at the door, you want your sleep.

The knocking grows louder, soon turning into insistent banging.

You groan, sitting back up,“I’m going!” You huff,”No need to be so pushy.” Grabbing a pair of brass knuckles from a ceramic vase on the small table by your couch, you stuff your hand into your pocket before unlocking the door and removing the deadbolt.

Swinging open the door, you are met with the sight of Pestilence leaning on the doorway with wide eyes. Death looks everywhere but you and War cradles a fallen potted tree in his arms. Conquest is the only normal one with his hands in his suit pockets.

They’re all dressed nicely, you realize with a small hum.

Conquest smiles softly and waves,”Hey sorella.”

You smile back, waving with the brass knuckles on,”Hey Connie.” Quirking a brow at War, you look to the rest of your siblings,”So. You came to vandalize my plant or my fridge?”

Death grins, signing rapidly,”Wine cellar. War can have the tree.”

“Proceed,” you motion to War as you sign to Death,”This is Why I can't have nice things.” You roll your eyes.

War rightens the tree as the three siblings walk inside, each one giving you a kiss on the cheek or small pat on the shoulder. In the family, a normal hello would work like when you were all kids. But in the family, respect was to be shown when entering the house of any member of the clan. even siblings.

Either way, you really missed these guys. Often they were back at the home base in Calamni with the matriarch and a good chunk of the family. While you weren’t shunned from returning after choosing to enroll in college full time rather than villainy, neither side could visit the other frequently.

“Sooo whatcha up to punk?” Pesty plops herself onto the couch, grinning at Death who heads straight to the kitchen.

You lean on the wall,”Well I was finishing up my art degree but seeing as how the building was destroyed that plan is on hiatus for now.”

“So you were at the collapse.” Conquest sits on the loveseat by the window, he taps his fingers uneasily,”Nonna said you might’ve been the one spotted in the area.”

“I was,” You confess,”But I dealt with the problem, I didn’t start it.”

War let’s out a booming laugh,”No need to defend yourself half pint, we’re not here to accuse you.”

“So you’re really just here for my food?”

Oh don’t you feel loved.

Death walks out from around the corner, a platter of cheese in his hands while wine glasses float behind him,”We come with invitations.” He smiles smugly as you squint to read the label on the bottle of wine behind him.

“I was saving that!” You shriek.

The cork pops from the bottle as Death sings,”Not anymore~!”

Pestilence eagerly rubs her hands together,”Pass the loot Videl!”

Death puts down the tray before filling the glasses. Leaving you glaring at them all as the bottle is soon left half empty.

“This better be good.” You sit by Pestilence and are soon boxed in by Death who places his legs on yours and Pestilence’s lap.

War swirls the wine in his glass, a grin gradually forming,”It's pretty exciting.”

“Your exciting or my exciting?” You plop a small block of cheese into Death’s mouth.

“Bit of both” he shrugs.

“Alright, what is it?”

War looks to Conquest who pulls out a small envelope, passing it along to his brother. Opening the envelope, War clears his throat and says,

“The Black Hat Organization cordially invites the House of Horsemen and select members of Death Inc. to our decennial gala to celebrate the achievements of current and past villains. The gala will begin at sundown and end at sunrise. There will be a live auction, dead auction, music and dance then some sort of groveling over Black Hats achievements I guess.” War rambles on,”It mentions pops also getting recognized but we haven’t told him yet.”

“Why not?” You ask.

“Because of mom.” Pestilence floats her glass in front of her, eyes glassy as she listens to the viruses and bacteria that linger around her around her. “She’s definitely not invited, and the old man probably won’t want to go without her.”

“Yeah.. so you guys are taking me?”

“Of course, you’re part of the clan. Unless you want us to take Belladonna and Pluto without you and make you look like the third wheel.” Conquest stifles a smile.

You huff,”After you drank my wine I deserve an invitation.”

“Good! We’re going then, time to get dressed!” Pestilence darts up the stairs.

Your eyes widen,”Wait you never said it was-!” Death slips behind the couch and lifts you from under your arms, carrying you up the stairs with ease.

“Bell’s already in the car!” War cups his hands over his mouth to be heard over your thrashing,”Dress nice this time okay!”

“FUCK YOU!” You let out one last scream before Death tosses you into your room with Pestilence.

Death holds onto the door as you bang on it, calling out to your siblings as your sister takes it upon herself to prepare you for the gala. He smiles nervously at his older brothers, motioning a swift,”Phew!”

War chuckles before looking to Conquest,”This should be fun.”

Conquest simply downs his wine silently.

———————

Black Hat prowls the area, watching as guests begin to enter. He vaguely recalls faces, with most villains not being worth his notice whatsoever. But tonight he searches for a specific kind of company.

A Horseman.

“Lord Black Hat.”

A voice behind him calls. He turns around and finds the Four Horsemen and a few others in their party. Lucky him, he grins to himself.

Conquest bows,”It's an honor to be invited once more, my lord.” The others follow suit but rise before their leader does.

Black Hat hums, looking down at the younger man,”It has been some time hasn’t it?” He scans the group, temporarily pausing on.. one.

“Part of the company?” He asks, referring to Death Inc. which like his own company, was multifaceted. Perhaps they were from the lower ranks.

Conquest looks up, turning to his side,”No sir, she is from our clan. My sister in fact.”

You look up at the tall “man” before you, feeling your pulse quickening as he assesses you silently. His eyes roam from your head to your toes before landing on your face, his eye shining with what you could only describe as something predatory. You were a bit terrified, knowing who he was and what he was capable of- remembering seeing it on the battlefield long ago.

But at the same time, you felt elated. Excited. As if a murky glass was wiped clean. It felt new.

Your group steps to the side as Black Hat approaches you. Their bodies tense, knowing they could step in to attack but ultimately would be nothing more than flies for him to swat away. They could do nothing but watch and wait.

Stopping a foot away, Black Hat removes his top hat and holds it to his chest as he performs a small bow. A bowler hat is in place of the one he took off.

“A pleasure to meet you.” He purrs and looks up at you, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine.

You slowly smile.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

[diceyfall]

[fic; love endures]

m!de sardet x vasco, soulmate au with spoilers for vasco’s and petrus’ questlines, 2162 words, chapter 1 💘

The name first emerged on the inner side of his wrist when he was twelve years old.

He remembers running to his mother’s bedroom in the middle of the night, all aflutter with excitement as he leaped onto her bed, shaking her awake to show her the black lines that had appeared right atop his veins.

“Léandre d’Arcy?” Princess De Sardet read out loud, her brows furrowing as she looked at her son with bewilderment.

The d’Arcy family that she knew of, she told him, had only one son. His name was not Léandre, but Bastien.

“Don’t fret, Tristan,” she shushed him as his face fell, caressing the black curls of his hair soothingly. “We’ll find your Léandre, I promise.”

But, as it turned out, Léandre could not be found.

His family had given him away to the Nauts.

Were Tristan not the nephew of a merchant prince, these circumstances might have been overlooked, but as it was his uncle told him in no uncertain terms that under no circumstances was he to seek out his soulmate.

It would be a scandal; the son of a noble house, bonded to a mere sailor’s boy? Admitting this would be no different than to personally hand the Nauts leverage over one of the most powerful families on the continent, and so Tristan and his mother were both sworn to secrecy.

“I’m so sorry, my darling.” His mother held him in her embrace that same night, trying to gather up the pieces of his broken heart as he cried against her shoulder. “Have faith. No matter what your uncle tells you, I’m certain you will find him some day.”

Tristan did not believe her then, doesn’t think he believes her now, thirteen years later as he walks the port of Sérène to meet the captain of the ship meant to carry him to Teer Fradee, yet fate has a strange way of working itself out.

“Lively there, lads and lasses!”

The voice pierces through him like an arrow lodged through his chest, pinning him in place as he stands and stares at the captain’s back, pulse pounding in his wrist right above where the name burns in his skin as if set aflame.

“Green blood?” Kurt, standing right by his side, somehow sounds distant and far away, as if speaking to him through a wall of glass. “What’s the matter?”

Tristan takes an unsteady step forward, toward the silhouette of the man barking orders at his subordinates.

“You, man! Carry that properly!”

His name… what was his name?

Someone drops their cargo and the sound of porcelain shattering startles Tristan from his trance.

Vasco. Captain Vasco, not Léandre. But if he happened to be seagiven, the Nauts would’ve changed his name. Then, perhaps—

Tristan breathes in deep, trying to calm his heart hammering against his ribs as if to break through the bone, his hands shaking slightly at his sides as he clears his throat and calls out.

“Captain Vasco?”

The man freezes and Tristan knows at once that he feels it, too. Tristan can see it in his shoulders, in his back as he is like a statue among the bustle of the other Nauts around him, hurrying along to make the last preparations for the voyage while their captain is motionless.

Seconds seem to stretch into hours before he finally moves, turning around ever so slowly, and the moment their eyes meet hope blossoms in Tristan’s chest for the first time in years.

The captain’s lips are parted slightly and his amber eyes are wide when they meet Tristan’s darker ones, gazing at him in mute astonishment and something inside Tristan sings, like everything has finally been put right in the world.

His face, Tristan thinks, is perfect. He’s perfect.

“Okay, what am I missing, here?” Kurt startles both him and the captain as he glances between the two of them with a confused frown. “Do you two know each other?”

Tristan almost laughs, but when he looks back at the captain his expression is shuttered as he eyes Tristan up and down, a hard line in his mouth as he shakes his head as if to shake something off of him.

“No,” he answers curtly, averting his gaze from Tristan to look at Kurt. “We’ve never met.”

What? But…

Tristan takes another step forward with urgency. “Tristan! My name- it’s Tristan De Sardet.”  

Captain Vasco nods in acknowledgment, but there’s nothing in his expression that speaks of recognition. Tristan’s name has no effect on him whatsoever. “The prince’s nephew, I presume?”

The warmth of hope that filled Tristan before hollows out, his shoulders sagging as a familiar bitterness fouls the taste in his mouth. He was mistaken, of course. It was his own fault for being naïve enough to believe his soulmate would appear before him so suddenly, after all this time.

He should’ve given up on the idea a long time ago, thought he had let it go when his uncle told him to, yet apparently the desire within him is still there.

A dying ember, perhaps, that refuses to blow out.

With how the captain reacted when Tristan called his name, he almost thought… but no matter. He won’t make that mistake twice.

“Yes,” Tristan says, forcing a smile onto his face. “The prince’s nephew.” 

Neither of them speak of it to each other once they embark on their long voyage to Teer Fradee, but Tristan does confide in Constantin afterwards.

“Have you asked him?” Constantin suggests, sighing with his elbows hanging over the ship’s railing when Tristan answers that he hasn’t. “Why ever not? If there is even the slightest chance that he’s your soulmate—”

“He didn’t recognize my name,” Tristan replies, lower back leaning against the wooden edge and his arms crossed over his chest as he watches a few cabin boys scrub the deck. He recognizes Jonas, remembers what happened with his parents back in Sérène, but dismisses the thought as soon as it arises.

“There may be a reason for that,” Constantin argues, pushing off from the railing and turning to face him. “You know how secretive the Nauts are; it’s rare for them to be bonded to someone who’s not one of them. Perhaps he’s struggling with the revelation? Or something else is going on? My point is that you won’t know until you ask!”

Tristan thinks about his cousin’s words in the days that follow, but whenever he finds a chance to speak to Vasco privately the captain always seems to find some new chore to do, orders to give or subordinates to supervise and it is torture.

Every time Tristan looks at Vasco he feels a sense of belonging he’s never experienced before, yet Vasco seems to have no problem shutting him out. Their conversations are cordial at best and frosty at worst, which doesn’t give Tristan much in the way of confidence when he finally works up the courage to ask.

He finds Vasco alone in his captain’s quarters for a rare moment, seated at his desk and writing something down in a journal, and takes advantage of the opportunity as he steps inside with a knock against the open door. “Captain?”

Vasco freezes again--an effect Tristan seems to have on him often--his pen motionless on the page before he carefully puts it down beside the journal and looks up at Tristan.

His tone is neutral and businesslike, giving nothing away. “Can I help you?”

“I was wondering,” Tristan starts, eyes tracing the tattoos lining Vasco’s brows, fully visible now that he has his hat off. “Have you per chance ever heard of… of a man named Léandre d’Arcy?”

Nothing. Vasco simply stares at him in thought, reclining back into his chair. “Can’t say that I have. Why?”

Tristan smiles wanly, a preferable alternative to pulling his hair out like he truly wants to do. “No reason. Forget I said anything.”

He feels Vasco’s gaze on his back as he turns around to leave the room, heavy between his shoulder blades.

“Is he your soulmate?”

Tristan halts, hand clutching at the side of the doorway to steady himself. He inhales a quiet breath, composure shaky at best when he eventually finds the strength to face Vasco once more. He finds the captain staring at him with an inscrutable expression, elbows on the table and hands folded in front of his face, hiding his mouth.

Going against his better judgment, Tristan approaches the desk and rolls up the sleeve of his right arm, revealing the bare skin of his wrist and the black name marked upon it in sharp and rough letters, right below his hand.

Vasco goes very still when he sees it, saying nothing for a while and betraying none of his emotions in his blank expression. He reaches out and lightly grips Tristan’s wrist with his fingers, eyes fixated on the name as Tristan’s breath hitches in his throat at the touch.

It is feather-light, inducing a shiver down his spine when Vasco’s thumb brushes over the name and Tristan doesn’t understand, could cry out in sheer frustration.

If Vasco is not his soulmate, then why does his body react like this? Why is his heart pounding, why is his skin burning, why does he feel so utterly and perfectly whole when he’s around him?

“He was given to the Nauts a short while after he was born,” Tristan explains weakly, which seems to snap Vasco out of wherever his mind drifted off to while caressing Tristan’s skin, yanking his hand back as if he’d been burned. “I thought… perhaps—"

“Sorry,” Vasco interrupts him abruptly as he leans back into his chair again and folds his arms in front of him, not meeting Tristan’s eyes. “Wish I could help.”

Tristan’s heart drops. “Right. Of course.” No reason to embarrass himself any further than he already has.

Although, just as he makes to turn around and head out the room, he pauses.

“Forgive me, this may be a personal question,” he starts, thinking that if he doesn’t find out it’ll drive him mad until the end of time. “But, do you have a soulmate, Captain Vasco?”

Vasco picks up his pen again, returning to his writing. “I do.”

“What’s their name?”

He’s silent for a moment, the tip of his pen hovering over the page before he lets out a deep sigh.

“Drust,” he answers, looking up at Tristan with his gaze aloof and cold. “A male name native to Teer Fradee, I’ve been told.”

“I see.” Tristan swallows thickly, and something must be lodged into his throat as he suddenly finds it hard to breathe. “Well, I hope you find him.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Vasco watches De Sardet leave, and as soon as the door closes shut behind him all the tension drains out of Vasco at once as he sags back against his chair with a weary breath.

His hand instinctively reaches down to his hipbone where the name is written in a graceful hand, contradictory and nonsensical if his soulmate is a native like he was lead to believe. He thumbs at it through his trousers, always feeling it burn whenever De Sardet is near, and his thoughts linger on the mark on De Sardet’s cheek, but it all seems so absurd.

Everything inside him is telling him that he already found his soulmate weeks ago when he first met him in the port of Sérène, standing there and staring at him in awe and wonder, a rapture that had overtaken them both.

Yet his name is not Drust, just as Vasco’s name is not Léandre.

He has no idea what to think. The handwriting on De Sardet’s wrist was so eerily similar to his own--could Léandre be the name given to him by his parents, before he became a Naut? But even if that’s true, De Sardet’s name is clearly not Drust and, by his own accounts, he has never stepped foot on Teer Fradee before.

Even if Vasco were to suppose that De Sardet is in truth a native who somehow ended up the nephew of a merchant prince, the timeline makes no sense. If De Sardet was stolen as a child young enough to have no memories of the island, considering his age he would’ve had to be taken… what, twenty, twenty-five years ago? No one from the continent knew about the island back then. Hikmet, its oldest city, is only fifteen years old.  

It’s impossible for him and Sardet to be bonded to each other, no matter how he looks at it. In the end, Vasco's soulmate must be a native on the island, while De Sardet’s soulmate is probably another Naut.  

Vasco closes his eyes and resolves to think of it no more.

His name is not, and never will be, Léandre.

[ read the rest on ao3 ]

[vintyvanora]

||A Hard Decision||

So, I was trying to get back into writing and I thought “hey, why don’t you look up writing prompts?” Because I’m lazy and don’t want to think for myself. I found one that said, “write a scene or story that includes a character confronting the decision to make a big change in their life.” And I knew exactly what I wanted to write about. So I started and two days later I have this thing. 

I haven’t proofread it, I haven’t even really read it through start to finish. I just wrote. And I kinda liked it? It’s not perfect, it might not even be good, but hey. It got me writing and I was excited to finish it. So here. Have this almost obnoxiously long post about Vanora’s life. Letters, angst, and a bunch of First World Altus problems.

It’s early in the day when Vanora leaves her rooms. Although she had slept peacefully through the night she woke before sunrise. She had tried to fall back to sleep, curling up against Maretus under the blankets, but sleep eluded her. Carefully she’d slipped out of bed, Maretus still sleeping peacefully, and left the bedroom. For a while, she sat on the balcony, an embroidered dressing gown wrapped around one of Maretus’ tunics that she had worn to bed. It was early enough that the stars were still out, dimming slightly with the approach of dawn. The world was quiet, and for a while, she thought she might doze off on the chaise. Now, as the tiniest sliver of dawn begins to creep up to the horizon, she returns to her rooms to change into something more appropriate for the world beyond their suite. When she is finished dressing she peers back into the bedroom. Maretus is still fast asleep and she does her best to resist the urge to slip back into bed and try to sleep once again. Satisfied that her activities haven’t disturbed Maretus’ sleep she exits their suite and heads downstairs.

With dawn approaching, there are a few slaves roaming the halls, en route to the kitchens for breakfast or heading to start their tasks for the day. They acknowledge her with a bow as she passes through, headed for her formal study on the main floor of the estate. The room is dark when she arrives, the hints of sunrise not bright enough to illuminate the study. With a wave of her hand the candles light, bathing the room in a warm glow. There are letters stacked on her desk, a few stray ones near one of the comfortable reading chairs, and she sets to reading through those first. The first few letters are benign salutations welcoming her back to Tevinter. Nothing particularly exciting. Those are set aside to be discarded later. Towards the bottom of the small stack, however, is an invitation to tea from none other than Silvia.

Her reunion with Octavian, and Lavinia after him, had been a surprisingly emotional one. She had missed them terribly, but with so many things to do the longing for home and her friends had abated and faded into the background. It made her feel guilty not to think of them more, but she knows that they had not spent the last 10 years mourning her daily. Life went on and old hurts turned to aches. But when she’d finally seen them again the old hurt and the longing for her dearest friends hit her full force. Tears had not been expected, but there were plenty of them between the three of them.

Silvia, however, was another matter entirely.

They had never been particularly close. Silvia had been a part of their group of companions during their time in the Circle of Minrathos, but she had never been what Vanora would consider a friend. In all honesty, Silvia had been more of a burden to Vanora than anything else. It was a constant game with her. One day she was friendly, the next day she was gossiping about them. Vanora had learned early on not to trust her but always kept her near enough to keep an eye on.

Turning the letter over to look at the seals affixed, Vanora sets the invitation aside, separate from the pile of letters to be disposed of. She supposes that eventually, she’ll need to accept. It would be rude not to acknowledge Silvia. She was, after all, supposedly a friend. But for now, Vanora has no interest in entertaining the woman and dealing with feigned niceties and whatever mundane gossip she wished to share.

The sun has risen by the time she is finished reading through the pile of letters next to her armchair. Vanora blows out the candles and pulls open the curtains, allowing the sun to light the room. From her study, she can hear the voices of the slaves outside and the smell of baking bread in the kitchens wafting through the window. She expects that Julia will turn up soon with tea and something to eat once she discovers that Vanora had begun her day so early. Maretus too is bound to show up once he wakes up. It is, after all, a routine of theirs to check in with one another if the day has started early for one of them.

It is Julia who finds her first, and Vanora suspects that Maretus is still asleep, or only just getting ready for the day. Sure enough, she has breakfast in hand, a tray filled with food and tea for Vanora.

     “Good morning, domna,” she greets, the door closing behind her, “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” Vanora replies, moving her next stack of letters to the other side of the desk, “I woke early and thought it prudent to finish reading through my mail.”

Julia smiles, the gesture almost sarcastic, as if to say “of course you started working early.”

     “Don’t give me that look.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, domna.”

The tray is set down in the center of the desk, Julia gesturing to the food.

“The bread is fresh from the oven, so you better eat it while it’s still warm,” she informs Vanora, pouring a preemptive cup of tea.

“Shall I let the Captain of the Guard know where you are when he comes downstairs?”

Vanora settles into the chair at her desk and takes a sip of tea, one eyebrow raised at Julia’s question. The woman takes her meaning and laughs.

“Very well. Do let me know if you need anything else. I will return to take the dishes away when you finish.”

With a bow she heads from the room, leaving Vanora to her breakfast and letters. She isn’t alone for long, a knock on the door drawing her attention away from her tea.

     “You know you don’t have to knock, love.”

The door opens, Maretus standing at the threshold with a hint of a smile on his lips. Vanora ushers him in, gesturing to one of the armchairs closest to the desk.

     “Julia brought breakfast. There’s an extra teacup for you.”

He sits down and pours himself a cup, eyeing the stack of letters at the corner of her desk.

     “Did you sleep well? I thought I heard you leaving before dawn.”

“I slept fine,” she assures him, tearing off a chunk of warm bread, “I woke early and couldn’t fall back to sleep, so I sat and watched the stars a while.”

     “And then decided to go downstairs do work?”

Vanora gives him a pointed look. They both know that he’d done the very same thing several times before. Why sit around and waste the day when you could get a head start on work and have more time to relax in the evening? He hides a guilty smile by taking a sip of tea. They chat while they eat, the tea finished off well before any of the food. Eventually, Maretus leaves to start his workday and Julia returns to take away the remnants of breakfast.

Alone once more, Vanora sets to work on the stack of letters waiting on her desk. They are, on the whole, somewhat more interesting than the letters she had read earlier in the morning. Only a few are set aside to be discarded, nothing more than a polite welcome home. The rest are invitations. Some to informal events, teas and the like, others are to larger formal events. A friend of Octavian is hosting a ball in a fortnight and she would hate to pass up a party of that scale.

Midway through her pile of letters she freezes, the familiar crest of House Valerius embossed into black wax. It was only a matter of time before Lucius managed to corner her into some social event. She had done all she could to dodge him in her first weeks back, a desperate attempt to avoid him leading to her first kiss with Maretus, but just like Silvia, she would need to deal with him sooner or later. And with his impatience and a well-concealed temper, it was better to deal with it sooner. Sighing, she sets it aside, unread, to deal with when she’s finished reading all her other letters.

Unfortunately, the next letter is no better than Lucius’. It takes a moment for Vanora to recognize the seal on the letter, that of House Darinus. When the seal finally registers in her mind, she leans back in her seat and stares at it. A quiet voice in the back of her mind whispers what she already knows what the letter is for, but she cannot bring herself to open it. Not yet.

So instead, she gets up from her desk and exits her study. The sun has fully risen now and the entire estate is awake and going about their day. Despite the hustle and bustle beyond Vanora’s study, the garden is quiet and peaceful. It’s too early for mid-day tea with Maretus, so he is doubtlessly hard at work doing...well, whatever it was he did on a daily basis. Writing reports or training or something of that ilk. For a while, she is completely alone, laying on a chaise in the sun, only just resisting the urge to fall asleep. The only thing that keeps her from dozing off is the threat of sunburn as it nears noontime. It would be a pity to have sunburnt skin with so many social engagements to attend.

Julia inevitably finds her in the garden with another tray of tea and fruit in hand. Setting the tray down on the nearest table, she sets to work pouring tea.

“Don’t you have something more interesting to do than track me down with tea?” Vanora asks, one brow arched as she straightens up in the chaise.

“You’re right...it would be much more interesting to wash that gown of yours from high tea with Lavinia yesterday.”

Her tone is sarcastic, she and Felix the only subordinates in the household that would dare talk like that to one of the Tiberius’, but Vanora laughs.

“A fair point. Why don’t you sit and have some tea with me? I’m tired of reading letters and invitations.”

“Such a burden you bear,” Julia teases, sitting down near Vanora, “I’ll sit a moment, but I do have to deal with that gown. Anyone else might ruin it.”

They chat for a few minutes before Julia leaves, Vanora alone in the gardens once more. She isn’t disturbed again until after the tea has gone cold. One of the slaves approaches her with a deep bow.

“Forgive the intrusion domna Tiberius,” he says, eyes cast downwards, “but the Captain of the Guard wished me to inform you that he has been held up by work and requests you do not wait for him to eat.”

It isn’t entirely surprising to hear that Maretus has gotten caught up in work, it’s happened to her plenty of times, but it means that she really should head back to her study and finish up her tasks before evening falls. Thanking the slave and sending him away, Vanora departs the gardens.

When she returns to her study she heads straight for her desk and the letters left unopened from that morning. The letter from Lucius begins as a welcome home but quickly turns into thinly veiled irritation that they have yet to spend time together. He has the decency to at least mention that he is married before inviting her to lunch with him at the Valerius estate. The response she writes out is polite, if not a little brief. An apology that she has been so terribly busy and not able to meet with everyone, followed by an acceptance of his invitation and a pointed declaration of how she is looking forward to meeting his lovely wife. Knowing Lucius, Vanora suspects that his wife will conveniently be away that afternoon. People could certainly change, but nobody changed that much.

With Lucius’ letter written and sealed Vanora can no longer avoid the correspondence from House Darinus. Taking a deep breath she breaks the seal and opens it up. It is, predictably, from Magnus, an Altus and magister, as well as the head of House Darinus. Theirs was an ancient house, older even than those of her friends. They could trace their ancestry back to the formal founding of the Tevinter Imperium. Even Lucius couldn’t deny the power and influence of their house. So when Aurelia had reached out to as many single men from worthy houses as possible Vanora had been shocked when Magnus had responded and come to the Tiberius estate.

There had been several men, or suitors as her mother like to call them, who had visited the Tiberius estate in the weeks following Vanora’s return. Though it had been awkward initially, knowing that Maretus was very likely not too far away and knew full well what Aurelia’s intentions were, it had turned into a source of amusement for the two of them. Maretus found the suitors’ peacocking distasteful but was equally prone to laugh at them with Vanora once they’d left.

She was grateful that on the day Magnus had come to visit Maretus had been too busy to see her until night had fallen and she was in bed. Even now she isn’t entirely sure what to make of the man. He is the epitome of what a Tevinter Altus should be, calm and composed, holding himself as if he owned the world. In some ways he did. There’s something beautiful about him with his high cheekbones and full lips, a far cry from the rugged handsomeness of Maretus. She decides later on, once he’s gone, that he is beautiful. Smooth skin, features that are somehow both masculine and feminine, and long, ink-black hair pulled out of his face with golden combs. It’s almost alarming.

The afternoon he had visited was mundane enough. They exchanged pleasantries over tea, Marcus even turning up to greet the young man. Aurelia had managed to, of course, slip in a few subtle references to marriage, which both Magnus and Vanora had both ignore. Though her mother was driven to get her married, Vanora found the whole ordeal rather distasteful. It made her feel more like a slave for sale in the markets than anything else.

Still, it had gone well enough that he had visited again a few days later, Aurelia conveniently forgetting she had plans and leaving the two of them alone. Despite feeling vaguely uncomfortable with the situation having her mother out of the picture proved to be something of a blessing. The conversation felt less restricted and overly polite. And then he’d brought up the topic of marriage. Vanora thought she’d be ill just thinking about it, but she’d smiled and answered his questions. The conversation turned to a different topic quickly and Vanora put the discomfort to rest.

But now he’s sent her a letter and based solely on appearance it looks like a long one. With her stomach in anxious knots and a heart heavy with no small measure of dread, she opens the letter. It is two pages long, front and back, written in immaculate, flowing script. Before she reads anything else she flips to the end, double-checking that it is in fact from Magnus and not some other member of House Darinus. Of course, it is and so, with a sigh, she starts reading.

Admittedly, it isn’t quite what she’d expected. Although it isn’t exactly a proposal it’s clear that he is inclined to marry her. Vanora’s stomach churns at the very sudden realness of the situation she finds herself in. It was all well and good to talk about the expectation of marriage, but it is another thing entirely to find herself in the thick of an almost-proposal. At the very least there is absolutely no talk of love or feelings, just the language of a business deal made between two powerful Altus.

She almost can’t believe it, that someone from such an ancient and powerful family would actually think of marrying her. Not that she was by any means unworthy but after a decades-long absence it made sense for people to be wary of how capable she was. And yet here she is, alone in her study with an almost-proposal sitting in front of her. At first, all she can do is stare at the letter, brain processing what exactly she’s just read. It’s surreal, and she almost pinches herself to make sure this isn’t some strange dream.

A hundred questions are swimming through her head. What would he expect of her if she did marry him? Beautiful as he is it still makes Vanora nauseous to think about consummating their marriage and having his children. Which is, of course, what would be expected. It was the entire point of marriage. Political alliances and perfect children.

It would get her family to leave her alone, to free her from the near-constant nagging of her mother. The fact that he was so powerful, so influential in society and politics, would instantly make reclaiming her station in life much easier. Nobody would dare turn away or snub the wife of Magnus Darinus. Every door would be open to her with a few simple words. If she was being brutally honest, there were a hundred reasons why she should marry him. Ten years ago it would have been a non-issue, she would have said yes immediately.

But now things are different.

At the end of the day, even with a hundred reasons to marry Magnus, there is one reason not to.

Maretus.

If their roles were reversed, if he married someone else, even if there were no feelings involved...well, Vanora would certainly be crestfallen at best. It already has to be hard, spending their spare time with one another, sharing her suite, and then pretending not to be romantically involved outside the estate.

     What if he left?

The thought sends a lance right through her heart and she drops her head into her hands. What if this engagement, this eventual marriage, political or otherwise, was the last straw. Maretus was resilient, level headed, logical. Things never seemed to get to him easily, but this very well might. Would he feel betrayed? Angry? Sad? Disgusted? Maybe it would prove to him just how far people in power would go to maintain that power. He’s always known that she intended to come back, to take back her place in Tevinter society and replace her father as a magister. But he’s never had a particularly favorable view of Altus, of the lengths they go to in order to climb the social ladder. He might have been able to get past those feelings with her, probably solely because he’d gotten to know her so far from home, but marrying someone solely for political gain and respite from her family might push him over the edge. Maybe it would prove to him that she wasn’t actually any different from people like Lucius, willing to do whatever it took to get what she wanted.

Maybe it would be just enough to make him stop loving her.

A lump forms in her throat and she can feel the telltale sting of tears in her eyes. Vanora takes a shaky breath and straightens up. She stares up at the ceiling, blinking several times until the feeling passes. Despite the fact that it would be much easier to force down all the feelings that have bubbled up due to the simple letter on her desk she resists. For once in her life she lets herself feel the anxiety, the sadness, the guilt.

Because, ultimately, she already knows what she has to do, what she’s going to do.

And so, heart heavy with all her fears, she picks up her quill and starts to write.