#see my ao3 for the full extent of my notes on Why This

[traumxrei-archive]

【 i. guest list dilemma 】

summary: the first thing yuu had to tackle to prepare for the debutante was the guest list. that’s why they enlisted the help of their most connection savvy maid: azul ashengrotto

word count: 1.1k

author’s note: azul’s part ^^ when i was writing this, i rewrote it like. 2-3 times until i ended up with this :D (read the prologue for full context !)

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

The first task that Yuu had to tackle, amongst the many in preparation for the Debutante, was the guest list. It was important to determine who was invited first. While their father had told them to invite who they wanted, they couldn’t take it that easy. They had made sure to get up early, knowing that Azul would be here soon. 

And just like clockwork, there was a light knock on the door, followed by a smooth voice, “Master? Are you awake?”

Yuu finished tying their shoelaces, heading for the door. As soon as they opened the door, they were greeted with Azul’s figure, already waiting for them. Yuu couldn’t help but silently admire the maid from behind. Azul really did cut a handsome figure in that dress, the flowy skirt whose fluid movements made it seem like he was walking on water. Not to mention the way the folds of his skirt fell oh-so-perfectly, and how the hairband perfectly framed his silver hair.

As soon as they entered the study, they could see that Azul had arrived earlier. The pillows on their couch looked perfectly plush, and their desk tidied from when they used it yesterday. Azul was always a step ahead of them, even when they were back in NRC.

“Is this the information from the guild?" Yuu asked, finding a manila envelope on the desk. 

"Yes. But Master, I must apologize, the information was more expensive than I anticipated," They looked up in time as Azul bowed his head. "Though I can vouch for the quality of each sentence."

"That's alright," They flipped through the papers leisurely as Azul poured them some tea. "I gave you an estimated budget, not a strict one. Our Duchy is strong, we can afford spending for information.

"And if you vouch for the quality," They smiled as they looked at him, a hand settling around the perfectly warm teacup. "Then it's definitely trustworthy."

Azul inhaled sharply, before his face melted into a pleased smile, "I am glad that you can trust me with these matters, Master." It was a very Azul thing to say. Rather, it would be stupid of them not to ask Azul, considering the other was quite adept at forming connections and researching others. It was something that he revealed he was competent at when they were classmates, after all.

Yuu spent quite some time working after that, flipping through the information that Azul has painstakingly gathered and added to before transferring the information to another piece of paper. The information contained anything from connections to diferent industries that each person was connected to. And Yuu couldn’t help but think about the future of the duchy as he added people to the list.

The mock-guestlist only seemed to grow from there, as inviting someone meant also inviting their close friends and family in order to make sure no one felt left out. Yuu drained yet another cup of Azul’s tea. However, a debutante of the future Duke had to be…special. To some extent, they supposed.

And Duke Crowley had told them to invite who they would like, so Yuu did invite a few people that they were personally curious about, or intended to befriend. However, it wasn’t long before they ran into a problem. They simply weren’t sure whether they were making the right decisions with inviting all these people.

“Azul,” The maid’s head snapped up to look at them. “I wanted to ask if you could give your opinion on the guest list so far.”

"I...don't quite understand, Master." Azul’s brow furrowed, through he drifted closer to their side, “How could I, a lowly maid, speak my opinions on established nobles?" 

And while his response was standard of a maid, Yuu still frowned,  "You're not a lowly maid, Azul. You know how much I value you and the others." It was true that his status was now of a maid, but that didn’t mean that Yuu liked it when he lowered himself  for their sake.

"But Master–"

Yuu held up a hand, "At least take a look at the list, mm? I've seen you read newspapers after cleaning time. I'm sure you're more up to date on high society than I am."

Azul looked stricken by their words, his face going pale. He instantly bowed his head, "M-My apologies, it was impertinent of me to—"

"No, wait," Yuu blurted, grabbing at his hands gently. "Please get up, I didn't...mean it as a bad thing. And I didn't mean to force your hand either. It's just…” They lowered their head, meeting Azul’s eyes. “I can't go to the head butler for every slight question. And I'm sure that since you helped with the information, you would have some insight. If you truly do not feel like it, then it’s alright.” 

"Master," Yuu felt almost bewildered at the soft smile that appeared on Azul’s face. "Thank you for making your intentions clear. This Azul Ashengrotto would be delighted to serve you." They blinked. It was rare for Azul to show such a…soft expression. His hands squeezed theirs lightly, the lace glove doing nothing to stop his warmth from seeping into their own hands before he let go.

“Oh. Well. Then,” Yuu said in a very eloquent manner, definitely befitting of a Duke’s hair. “Could you read over this section? I’m not too sure about this group of people right here, so I would like a second opinion. And…thank you, Azul.” 

Azul’s hands drifted to fix his glasses, though Yuu wasn’t sure what there was to fix, “It’s my pleasure.” Though looking at it closer, Azul did look a bit red. Maybe it was just a trick of light, or the room was a bit warm. There was no way Azul was blushing over such a simple compliment right?

“Now then, shall I critique the list you’ve been making?” Azul said cheerily, and Yuu felt a shudder run down their spine. They had almost forgotten. Azul was a perfectionist. Yuu warily took another swig of tea before mentally preparing themself for what was to come. It was just the start of what seemed like a very long day.

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

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[pedgito]

hey, im a big fan of your writing. I am also a big fan of Javier Peña, Joel and Din lmao. So can I request a story about either one of those (mostly sfw mainly because im in my feelings) that is more of a hurt/comfort angst? Maybe bottled feelings are freed, a near death experience occurs after a heated confession that didn't go well...? idk I leave it up to you if you want to write it of course. Anyways, again, love love your stories, especially the way your portray Javier. Have a nice week <3

pairing | javier pena x fem!reader

content warning | mostly sfw, arguments over commitment/relationships, mention of violence (bombing), descriptions of minor injuries and emotional distress, just lots and lots of angst [2.6k]

author’s note | this screamed javi so hard so i couldn't pass up the opportunity to write some angst for him

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3

You’ve been at it for months now, waiting for Javier to finally give in and confess to you what he’s been holding back for so long—he’s so closed off it’s impossible, his back turned to you as he grips the chair shoved into the small dining table tucked in the corner of his apartment.

This was supposed to be a one off job, spend a couple months down in Bogotá with Steve—play alongside him in the hopes of catching Escobar, settling into a mix between the three of you, realizing fairly quickly that Peña wasn’t the type of nice guy you were used to.

He was brazen, straight-forward and a little bit—scratch that, a lot of an asshole, so full of himself that it oozed out. Still, that didn’t stop you from climbing into his bed a week into your stay, breaking the one rule you had.

Never fucking sleep with your co-workers.

Look where it got you; fighting an emotionless wall of stone.

He wants you, but he can’t have you. He doesn’t want to see you with other people, but he can’t stake his claim and call you his—but god forbid you so much as consider eyeing another person, someone interested in showing you the attention you wanted, that you deserved. His jealousy is unmatched, the curl in his lip when he sees you across the room around them, the short and fleeting touches they gave to your arm in passing—from your perspective, a simple gesture between friends, but to Javier, it's a threat.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t try to show you attention—Javier was more than that, all-consuming in a way, passionate to a fault. But, he was not a lover type guy.

Still, you were naive enough to think you could change that.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” You spoke strongly, watching the tilt of his head as looks down, burning a cigarette held between his fingers, “whatever this is—we can forget about it.”

“Yeah—I’m sure the others will have a fuckin’ field day when they catch wind,” Murphy let it slip once and it’s been the constant topic of conversation, playful teasing toward you but torture on Peña who likes to keep things private, always, “always eye fucking you across the room.”

“Who cares, Javi?” You ask, feeling like you were talking to a ghost as he refused to look at you. “You don’t give a shit what’s going on here, why should I?”

And it hurts because you do.

It was innocent at first, one hookup that should’ve ended that night. But, one turned into several and eventually you were spending most night at Javier’s apartment to the extent of grabbing dinner on the way there—or, for fucks sake, cooking for the man. You knew that he loved breakfast in the mornings despite his constant refusal to eat it, how he couldn’t focus without his first cup of coffee and why he kept his gun at his bedside and the spare under the mattress.

He’s got scars, faint but visible when you lay against his chest at night—some from childhood, some not, but you wouldn’t know had you not spent the time with him and watched the vulnerability he showed when it was just you, just him after a long, stressful day trying to catch a terrifying monster and the both of you itching to burn off steam.

“You can’t ask me on a date, can’t—jesus—you can’t even look at me, Javier.” He hears the break in your voice, how hard you’re struggling to keep things together.

And you’re fuming, furious, aiming to hit him where it really hurts. You want him to feel. Feel anything.

“You like to play house and let me cook you meals, act like I’m yours when it’s convenient for you.” He twitches at that, slamming the burnt end of the cigarette into the ashtray. It’s the only real sign of emotion he’s shown all morning. “That’s all you care about. Egoísta.” (Selfish)

He slams the ashtray down roughly, ashes flying over the table. You don’t jump or flinch, not at all fazed by his outburst. You saw it too often during work when things fucked up or didn’t go his way. When he did show emotion it was intense and full body.

“I told you,” He says slowly, turning toward you now, “I don’t do this,” He punctuates slowly, fingering wagging between the both of you, “I can’t do—this.”

Clearly.

“Can’t or won’t?”

The difference is staggering, truly. You wanted an answer.

“You tell me you never want me to leave your bed, your apartment, that you want to keep me here forever because there’s nothing that makes you feel this close to home—and you can’t do this?”

He speaks it against your lips almost every night when he’s pulling you into his chest, pressing those soft lips of his against your forehead and kissing you with a tenderness reserved only for you.

Javier never answers, gaze growing more intense by the second, bound to retreat from the situation before emotions boil over—but you beat him to it, grabbing your bag and storming out without a word.

He’s never had to beg you to stay and he doesn’t realize how desperately he’d wished to ask you until a few hours later, a phone call from Steve that has his heart dropping into his stomach, the equal worry in Murphy’s voice as he relays the information.

Steve mumbles your name—hurt, bomb, Escobar written all over it, dead, so many dead.

You’re lucky to still be standing—or rather alive, forced onto a gurney lined in the aisle of some rundown Bogota hospital where the workers were running rampant, clearly on edge and scrambling to save lives.

It was minor compared to what could have been. A small concussion, some lacerations to your face and a nasty gash on your side that required some stitching. It wasn’t anything some pain medication and bandages couldn’t fix, but in that commotion you had lost all of your belongings, undoubtedly damaged beyond repair. You had been in the shopping center ten minutes prior to the explosion and you were shaken, admittedly, wondering why your life had been spared over so many others.

And you always hear about your life flashing before your eyes during a near death experience, never really believing it until it happens—and selfishly, you couldn’t think about anything but Javi.

He was a nasty parasite, the kind that sucked the life and energy out of you, took everything and gave nothing in return. You knew how he was going into things, knew he wouldn’t budge or change his ways.

But still, there was a hope that maybe he would change.

The first thing you manage to do when you find a phone is call the embassy—anyone who would answer and let them know what happened, but they were miles ahead and already fifty feet deep into investigating.

Carillo is the first to ask if you’re okay, not that it matters—but then Murphy is scrambling for the phone, a soft commotion in the background as he argues with the man until he finally lets up and hands it over.

“God, we thought you were dead. Please tell me you’re alright?” Murphy pleads, sounding just as strained and worried as you’d expect, “All your limbs, nothing missing?”

You laugh softly into the phone, the first breath of life back into after what has been a terrible day. It’s already evening, the day has come and gone and the sun is setting without a trace of anyone coming to help.

Not that you expected it—Javier wasn’t the type to get over things easily.

“Yep. Head’s still attached and everything.” And Steve can appreciate your way of coping, adding a bit of lightheartedness to a dark situation. You release a shaky breath, squeezing the plastic tighter until cracks under your grip, “Is there—I mean, they just discharged me, but I don’t have a ride.”

“Javier didn’t pick you up?” Murphy asks, sounding confused. “I told him—he should’ve…”

He trails off, cursing away from the phone as he speaks to someone distantly, “Which hospital are you at?”

You look around for any indication, reading off an unfamiliar name to Steve as he repeats it, scribbling it down on a piece of paper.

“Shit—Javi’s probably clear on the other side of town from you.” Murphy runs a tired hand through his hair, over his face. “They told us they sent everyone to the one here close by the embassy.”

Everyone.

Families searching for their missing—you couldn’t even imagine it.

“He—does Javi think I’m—“

“Shit, I don’t know. He’s been on edge since he got here this morning, we’ve been trying to figure something out, anything—he left a few hours ago when we weren’t getting answers and I just—did something happen?”

“I think I pushed him too far this morning,” You say softly, huddling closer to the wall as the halls become more crowded, louder and suffocating in a way that has your curling around yourself slightly, mindful of the pain in your side, “fuck, maybe this is karma, Steve.”

“Hey, no—don’t say that shit,” He stops you in your tracks, “Javi is…Javi, you can’t predict anything he’s gonna do. Dude’s a fuckin’ brick wall half the time.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Steve, I don’t have my phone.” You tell him, “Can you just—call him? Let him know. I need to find a cab or someone willing to drive me back to Bogota if that’s even fucking possible. I don’t even have my wallet or badge with me.”

It’s almost like a divine intervention that you hear Javier on the other end, cutting through the flurry of other voices and busy telephones ringing. He’s wrenching the phone out of Steve’s hand before he can get a word in.

“Querida,” He says soft, voice quivering slightly, “Querida, is that you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will yourself to remember how badly things ended earlier in the day, even if they didn’t feel as important now, they were still important to you.

Emotions were high now, but the fallout could be devastating.

“Yes, I’m—Javi, I’m okay. A little banged up and stuff but I’ll survive,” The silence grows as he absorbs the information, “Look, I need to go. I have to find a ride back to town.”

“Don’t move,” He says briskly, suddenly, “Fuck—I mean stay there, no te vayas. I’m coming for you.” (Do not go)

The line cuts before you have a chance to reply.

You love how well he sticks out in a crowd despite how he likes to blend in and not draw attention to himself, but he’s all tanned skin and shiny with a layer of sweat that tells you he probably ran a few blocks to get here.

You did wait, even if it was closer to a half hour before there was any sign of him, despite how upset you still were, you waited.

Of course you did.

His eyes dart around nervously before they land on you, tucked away in a corner as you cradle your side and he’s barreling toward you, scooping you up before you can protest. The small squeak you release has him pulling back like someone stabbed him with a hot brand, brows furrowed with worry.

“My side,” You mumble, shifting his hand away from the wound, watching as it falls helpless to his side again, his gaze lingering over your body, face, seeing the amount of damage you took, “hey—I’m fine, all things considered.”

Javier blinks slowly, rubbing around the side of your jaw, careful of the small bandage covering a nasty cut, that familiar pout growing on his lips. You saw it earlier, but the implication was different.

This wasn’t anger. It was worry.

“Mi amor,” He murmurs, oblivious to the commotion around you both as he looks at you, almost straight through you, “fuck—I’m so sorry.”

You breathe through your nose deeply, shaking your head as you grip his wrist for leverage, pulling him alongside you until you’re outside, away from the crowd of people and alone.

“No, I’m sorry.”

And for once, Javier is surprised.

He knows you always have a comeback poised on your tongue, the will to fight and work through any argument that surfaces, but this is defeat. It’s clear as day on your face in the way it falls, eyes softened to the point of near tears and your cheek covered in a dark bruise that makes his chest hurt.

“I don’t know why I’m forcing you to answer to something you don’t want,” That something in question was you, but it didn’t matter, “maybe we let things drag on too long. I was just—happy, I liked it. I shouldn’t have expected anything from you since you were clear from the beginning.”

Even with Javier being the first to cross the lines he drew himself, asking you to stay that one night and never going back, making mistake after mistake until it stopped feeling wrong and started to seem, well, normal. But, here you were, taking the blame like he had no wrongdoing in any of this.

“Bebita, no.” His voice is low, thumb rubbing a tender spot in the side of your neck, a soft touch that massages the ache in your muscles, head tilting into the touch as you look at him. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Oh, the irony.

“Now look at you,” He says, scanning over your face briefly, “consumes mi mente, nena.” (You consume my mind, baby)

“I can’t do halfway anymore, Javi.” It’s pure honesty, fingers finding his wrist as they wrap around delicate, using his touch as an anchor. “I need all of you.”

“Then have it,” Javier says mindlessly, without thinking and speaking instinct—it’s real, you can see it in the way his eyes widen and soften in the same instance, that pleasing look that entraps you, “tómalo.” (Take it)

The tears that sting your eyes don’t fall, but they rise, blinking rapidly to will them away and force yourself to keep composed despite hearing those words, knowing how deeply he meant them.

“Fuck, I’ll marry you if that proves anything to you, querida.” He’s being over-dramatic, but it has your insides fluttering like wildfire, “I should’ve never let you leave this morning.”

But, he was scared. Terrified of how deeply he felt for you.

“There’s so much you don’t know,” Javier explains, “so much I need to tell you but I don’t want to scare you away.”

As if he could.

“Javi, I’m with you.” You tell him steadily, “I always have been.”

Javier laughs through a sigh, breathing through his nose as he smiles for the first time that day.

“We can talk. We will.” Javier nods assuredly, “But, I want to get you home first.”

Home. He means his apartment, but it comes out that way without realizing.

He’s tender when he helps you shower, cleans your wounds up with what little first aid he has, but he manages, helping you dress in what has to be the most vulnerable moment you’ve had since meeting him.

Javier holds you for a long while after that, curled up in his lap on the sofa as he smokes away with his head leaned against the back of the cushion, rubbing a hand over your thigh softly.

“Hermosa?”

You’re nearly asleep by then, rousing with a small hum.

“After all of this,” He trails on, “when we put Escobar away and this shit is done,” He pauses, taking a short drag from the cigarette and blowing it out into the air, “I want you to come back with me.”

“To Texas?”

He nods, squeezing your leg for reassurance.

“I'm terrified of losing you here, but home—I would never let you out of my sight, I could keep you close.”

His trepidation will always be his downfall, but he knows he can’t let you go anymore. He needs you here, he’ll need you after.

“Anywhere you want, Javi. I’ll follow.”

He doesn’t have any reason not to believe you.

“Buena.” (Good.)

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[mins-fins]

shining star !

"shining star come into view.."

synopsis: life, in all of it's forms, is beautiful. life created is beautiful, life unknown is beautiful, the calloused hands which carve out the structures of life are beautiful. just don't form an attachment, it'll be harder in the long run.

pairing: nct dream 00z x male!reader

genre: science fiction, near future au, robots and androids, love rectangle??, vaguely space au, fluff, angst, romance but also no one gets the guy at the end, 00z centric pov, sorry no reader pov 😣, relationship studies, ambiguous/open ending, loose frankenstein references, featuring guest star android park jisung

warnings: swearing, space talk, robot talk, fighting, an ending that seems sad, mean sexy boss doyoung, the ethics of getting dangerously emotionally attached to your own invention, sooo much star talk, beware android jisung

word count: 16.2k

notes: me after not posting for ten days straight then just coming out with this 😇 anyway!! experimental ass work wouldve done numbers on ao3 (kidding..), feel like for a work with four love interests the romance seems pretty lacking 😭😭 i missed jeno.. and haechan and jaemin and renjun and im experiencing a wave of sadness bc nct dream were in my city and i didnt even get to see them 😣 also ANDROID JISUNG!! i like writing new things, and this was a challenge because unlike most of my other long works i started writing this before i had the full picture in mind, also i wrote all of this in the span of nine days so um, im not posting anytime soon again 😞 my apologies for fluctuating with my consistency.. also the ending is open!! so you can imagine any outcome you want, good or bad, enough of my rambling now, just enjoy my mess!!

I.                     “ beware: for i am fearless, and therefore powerful “.

the effervescent expanse of space is an enigma, a mystery humans often poke and prod at to draw needless conclusions from. being stranded in a galaxy on a floating rock yet having little to no idea of what the unknown holds is enough to capture fear, being completely oblivious to the true nature of the universe you’re stuck in the middle of is enough to arise panic.

astronauts are brave, yes, but space is much too vast for humans, much too vast for them to survive a day outside of their oxygen filled utopia. rovers usually are feasible, but they’re now outdated, hunks of metal that more than often break down, and if the familiar knitting of doyoung’s eyebrows is any indication, it all frustrates him to an extreme extent.

still, it doesn’t explain why they suddenly have a titular new member joining their team.

jeno has become accustomed to all the nooks and crannies of the laboratory. the hallway splits into two turns reminiscent of a fork in the road, and it’s always the right turn that leads him to his destination, the left turn would put him straight in the arms of donghyuck, who isn’t exactly having the best time reacting to such news, so he’s making sure to keep a safe distance.

maybe catching a glimpse of your face will aid in the erasure of donghyuck’s distinct glare burned into jeno’s mind.

“y/n?”

it’s the usual: a mess. the mechanics of it all is your favorite part. science is beautiful, yes, but your one true love seems to always be robotics. the art of creation using that of metal is.. strange, some would say it’s off putting, nerdy, many more synonyms that would usually make jeno roll his eyes. the barrage of scattered aluminum and steels is as mundane to his eyes as it is mundane to the touch of your fingertips.

but you aren’t exactly visible from the first step into the room.

there’s a muffled sound of reply, a hum? groan? something that jeno can’t decipher with the heaping piles of bioplastics making their home on the ground.

he’s cut off from the second calling of your name when you rise from a pile of metals tucked in the corner, under the window and just barely evading the light attempting to seep through the curtains. you offer him your usual smile, snickering as you remove the clear glasses perched atop your nose and place them on your head. “jeno! do you need something?”

jeno can barely help the upturn of his lips, his hands unconsciously coming to clasp together. “i’m assuming doyoung told you.. right?”

you blink, displayed obliviousness betraying the clear insight behind your eyes. you run your sweaty palms over your pants, the id pinned to your chest seemingly crumpled from your former activities on the floor. “about the new addition to the team?”

his nod is paired with silence.

“and about this new.. project?”

you hum at the sight of his second nod, tucking a strand behind your ear as you then begin whistling into the air. jeno busies himself by zeroing in on the many blueprints you leave rolled open on the nearby tables, robots, robot parts, androids, the usual..

jeno’s eyes flit over to you again, a small kick to all the elastomers littering the floor, he hopes you have no objection to that one. “guess i can see where he’s coming from” your hands place themselves onto your hips, the sound of you kissing your teeth meeting jeno’s ears. “gives me more time for this new prototype though” the sense of your euphoria in your smile can’t seem to be replicated elsewhere, jeno sees your passion for all of this as meritorious, a true sign to how you’ll never change.

“and the new.. member?”

your eyebrows raise, using an eye roll as your response. “well you don’t seem too keen”.

you possess the striking ability to read lee jeno like an open book. you begin rolling up the many blueprints as a silent way of organization, your reverberating hum being the tune of ‘shining star’ by earth wind and fire. jeno scratches behind his ear, a frown tugging at his lips. “guess i just don’t understand what we need someone new for”.

“they just assume i need someone else attached to robotics to make it all go smoother”.

oh, jeno didn’t expect for you to know that one.

“this has always been a staple of our team, it was just you and me for a year, then hyuck joined, then two years later injunie joined us, it’s around that time where someone else is being added simply for the sake of moving us along”.

“it’s been almost three years, do we really need an asset when you already do such great a job yourself?”

you suck your teeth, snapping your fingers in his direction as jeno obeys your silent order by handing over yet another blueprint, it’s the only one with a finished sketch, but jeno can’t make out the drawn out parts for long, as you roll it up and place it with your other ones. “ask doyoung, he clearly has an answer for that one”.

the room isn’t exactly dimly lit, but the lack of light permeating through the satin curtains don’t do your side profile justice. jeno’s eyes drift their naturally, you again sigh as your head leans downward, irises dilating at the sight of your very own work. “did he tell you whose joining?” your tongue prods at the side of your cheek, fist knocking on the wood of the table before you.

“an engineer formerly assigned to siberies”.

a furrowing of eyebrows. “that far? why would there need to be such a drastic move?”

“doyoung does what doyoung does”.

your tooth sinks into your bottom lip, just barely drawing blood, but then, a smile, your usual, soft smile. “anyway, you know how i feel about additions, as long as they care, i don’t mind”.

“you’re too good with people”.

your responding laughter is laced with elation.

with your arms folded over your chest, jeno takes yet another few minutes to observe the room you often spend hours upon hours stuck in. the cognizant urge to zero in on that old picture of you two is always high, you uttered to jeno that you keep it in your room as an ‘encouraging reminder’, him being one of your first real friends and all.

there are other photos too, but jeno pays little to no regard for the stupid photographs of donghyuck which litter the shelves. the photos of you and jeno expand a wide array of your collection, but the one from before you two ended up becoming slaves to this curse of a laboratory is one he cherishes dearly.

it was always just you two before all of this.

“why do you think space?”

jeno ceases his staring, instead intrigued by your sudden inquiry. “you’ll have to specify what you mean”.

you opt to sucking your teeth, a display of your bubbling irritation. “space is so.. well, empty, it’s a void that can barely be explored planet by planet, we’ll never be able to touch the sun, never able to go ourselves for another few decades seeing the pace science is going, we can barely even get a piece of metal near our first planet, so, why exactly space?”

science is about inquiry, science is built on the basis of human curiosity and nature no one can understand, but they long to pick apart. you then tilt your head, face scrunching at your own words. “i guess.. you know— doyoung, i have something he wants, something he deems valuable, i can’t exactly understand why space is so relevant, i don’t get the purpose of pouring my life into an android for something i won’t ever experience”.

and maybe you find it amusing, your silent snickers make sure to spell that out. the question is one that’s drawn out, less of a question and more of a thought vomit, something jeno didn’t exactly expect from a conversation such as this.

jeno stares upward, and for an unknown reason, he longs to feel your fingers intertwined with his. “we’ll never really know enough, but that can be said for anything, science is about questioning the unknown, research for the benefit of those coming after us”.

“human inquiry”.

“hm”.

you seem interested, picking off a piece of cotton sticking to the side of his sweatshirt. “smart ass” you joke, a small snort leaving your lips at the blow.

and really, jeno just smiles, you’re too sweet to genuinely deliver an insult.

II.                     “ he was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance “.

the team is introduced to the new ‘asset’ (jeno loathes such a word) the following monday. a popular robotics engineer by the name of na jaemin, no one is aware of anything other than the fact that he is respected, his name rolls off the tongue well, and the pink hair is much too bright in comparison to the stillness of his expression.

the “team” simply began as a mere duo, which then became a blossoming trio, when then became a.. group. there’s only one member who doesn’t hold the anxiety permeating off of everyone else, and that is you.

fearless, that’s what you are. to the extent that six feet tall mechanical contraptions can’t even earn the hinder of a muscle. maybe being locked in a room as a way of work does that to a man, jeno will have to look into if that is a strategy for toughening up or something.

jeno immediately observes the obvious, jaemin’s hands are dry and calloused. when he reaches for handshakes, donghyuck is the only one who doesn’t make a move, something of a cower in his expression. it’s a bit of a surprise, bright, loud mouthed, brash donghyuck, cowering? jeno finds such a prospect astonishing.

jaemin’s grin is somewhat scary for a first time interaction, his teeth bare in a motion that’s simply.. performed. “it’s nice to meet you, all of you, i’ve heard good things about this.. team”.

you don’t reply with a smile, but there’s satisfaction behind your eyes. “you were not who i was expecting”.

“same here” renjun speaks jeno’s thoughts out into the world, his smile strained.

jaemin’s smile is again unsavory, but jeno keeps his composure so as to not let such a comment slip. for a reason unknown, you show a smile. “well then, let’s work hard together to make sure we succeed”.

donghyuck now physically cowers behind jeno, a grimace perfectly placed on his features as he readies up a sneer. “i don’t like this guy” he says, as if jaemin isn’t standing less than a foot away from him.

“i can hear you” jaemin’s smile twitches, not yet fully faltering.

“good” donghyuck replies, his arm coming to link with your own. he raises a suspicious eyebrow his way, keeping himself close by, as if you’d square up if jaemin decided to make any sort of threat towards him.

you reach behind yourself to squeeze donghyuck’s hand, clear serenity in your expression. “be nice” you whisper. “we’ll be seeing more of each other from now on either way”.

donghyuck grimaces, eyeing jaemin with distrust he isn’t keen on taking back. “hopefully not..” he mutters, eyes casting to the right.

jaemin simply shares another formidable smile.

both you and jaemin are assigned to the northernmost lab, sniō. a cold, isolated world that’s nothing reminiscent of the warmth your regular office holds, jeno’s face twitches at the name alone, how one could even survive in such an atmosphere is beyond him.

you always do the robot stuff, and since jaemin is in the same field, it means the time spent between you two shall grow, just until you create a working prototype.

na jaemin seems to be just as intrigued by you as everyone is when they first meet you, jeno guesses having to work with someone in a below freezing room brings two close.

“i apologize for donghyuck’s.. attitude, he takes a while to warm up to”.

“seems he doesn’t want to warm up at all”.

your eyes remain trained on the screen, jaemin takes note of how your irises seem to void out, nothing but pure, untouched engrossment present in the darkness. you then put on the pair of glasses typically kept at your side, cracking your knuckles. “don’t worry, he’s not that bad”.

“but he’s still somewhat bad?”

jaemin is somewhat drawn to it, you in particular. this is about a partnership after all, meaning you two have to sink into the feeling of knowing each other. the flurry of robot parts earn a grunt, hands now placing themselves onto his hips. “not that bad, he can just have.. an attitude problem”.

the other offers a chuckle in response to your words, an empty blueprint being rolled open onto the metal table. jaemin cops a glance, lips doing an upturn at the focus in your expression. “let’s get this done, yeah?”

a hum is all you’re offered, but it’s not that jaemin doesn’t care, it’s just that he doesn’t want to laser focus on that pretty smile of yours.

III.                     “ what can stop the determined heart and resolved will of man? “.

when you get deep into work, you slip into a certain state of mind. maybe one day you’ll be responsible for androids overthrowing the human race and taking over the world, donghyuck thinks you probably foresee such an outcome with how much you put into pieces of metals.

lee donghyuck first met you in the same manner as jeno, in the crossroads of the laboratory’s mishmash of a hallway.

robot presence at an all time high, donghyuck remembers visibly jumping backward once coming into contact with you, now unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. he blinked, then his eyes narrowed against his will, a clear display of his judgment. “woah”.

exactly, his first words to you were ‘woah’, an exhibit of his surprise, definitely not his last one when it would come to you. he supposes that the whole unpredictability ruse is how you live your life, maybe jeno isn’t all that crazy.

you blinked in a silent reply, then, you laughed into your usual pretty smile as a third hand rose from behind your back. “hello to you too”.

“another hand?”

the intrigue was genuine, a simple judgment still there, but the inquiries were outweighing it all, as he tilted his head as his reply to your own. your nod was, in the strangest way possible, comforting. “i need extra assistance”.

donghyuck immediately knew the next question; “you created it yourself?”

“yep, have control of it and everything”.

he couldn’t even let a snarky lie slip in the moment. “that’s very impressive, do you usually..?”

you sensed his upcoming query, because you again giggled. “yeah, robotics is my passion”.

donghyuck hummed, somehow, the smile you brought was without irritation. “y/n”.

“donghyuck, it’s nice to meet you”.

and really, it was.

doyoung is no longer the monster donghyuck thought he was way back when he was an intern, as he gets older, the other seems to have glares that soften. his scientific curiosity exceeded the earlier fear, though, because he’s been able to stay here for years even with the older looking as if he wants to wrap a hand around his neck and squeeze.

the first time donghyuck meets both you and jeno, he immediately observes the other’s puppy like features. he found your relationship odd, considering you didn’t have to do anything magnificent yet lee jeno would stare with an enraptured gaze as if the individual moles on your face themselves solved world hunger and cured disease.

ah, so you two have that kind of relationship.

(“don’t you think jeno looks like a samoyed?” he recalls uttering to you a week later, there was a gleam in your eye, and it was completely dedicated to the blueprints you had probably gazed upon millions of times before that moment.

your laughter came in a harmonious rhythm, and the sound was so pleasant that donghyuck stared plainly captivated for a mere moment. “at an angle, he kind of does look like a puppy” your hand came to cover your mouth, despite donghyuck being the only person in your company.

donghyuck found a frown tugging at his lips, what are you hiding? don’t you know your laughter is pretty? he opted out of saying that out loud, anxious over something unknown. “sometimes he even acts like one”.

you clicked your tongue, playing with the collar of your shirt. “he’s simply clingy” you replied, straightening your posture as you silently ask for a pen with the motioning of your fingers. when donghyuck hands it over, he relishes in the small moment that your fingers meet, the delicacy of your hands is a feeling he can’t ever shake off.

or maybe lee jeno is simply in love, isn’t that strange y/n?)

donghyuck eventually got acclimated to the aberration of the usual laboratory day. doyoung asks a lot of you, courtesy of your vast knowledge concerning everything robots. you seem to enjoy the proposition of working yourself to the ground, it’s as if you’re trying to meet a goal, see how long you can work before you completely pass out or get choked to death by one of your robot contraptions.

“you’ll die if you keep going like this”.

your response was a scrunch of your facial muscles, an action that made donghyuck assume you’d reply with some snappy rebuttal, that’s what he always does after all. “death can’t catch up to me just yet, i won’t allow for it to”.

“not sure it’ll be glad with that proposal..” donghyuck muttered, but you simply let your eyes avert upward, distinguishing the planet models cascaded on the ceiling. it’s a staple of the laboratory’s main room, a duplicate of our very own solar system, fit with the sun, and the eight titular planets we have become accustomed to (though donghyuck knows you don’t exactly agree with the prospect of pluto being demoted, “poor guy, he probably feels left out..”; that’s what you muttered about it, he finds it funny).

“when the time is right, i’ll have control over how i want to go”.

“we’ll you can’t exactly determine the wavelength of destiny” donghyuck responded, and you snickered, hand again coming up to hide your mouth.

“don’t worry, something so stupid won’t be what takes me out, i promise you”.

you promised him, you promised him.

for a fourth interaction, donghyuck simply found you so.. beautiful. beautiful in a manner reminiscent of the many galaxies which hold worlds in them, tied with the stars, planets, comets, asteroids, all the celestial bodies donghyuck has dedicated so much of his life to studying.

the promise was signed by your pretty smile, signed by the shooting stars present in the night sky.

it’ll be kept, after all, you aren’t one to break them, donghyuck knows that well enough.

IV.                     “ the world was to me a secret which i desired to devine “.

na jaemin isn’t exactly used to such a work ethic reminiscent of his own.

he works better alone, he usually always works alone. he originally got a part in this project because he thought he was the only engineer on this prototype duty, the only one specializing in actually creating this android, but then you came into the picture, and..

it’s safe to say that he’s steadily impressed.

the prototype has nothing of a face, it’s simply a standing piece of metals that don’t exactly allow for it to scrunch it’s face in the manner of a human being just yet. there’s ink painted on jaemin’s shirt, just shy of his usually prim and clear id, but that isn’t his main focus currently.

it�� he opens his eyes for the first time, the eyelids fluttering open in the fashion replicating that of someone waking up in the morning. it stands rock still, the arms haven’t been programmed well enough yet.

your gaze burns through the pre-android, arms folded over your chest as you still in a method implicative of the robotic body before you. it’s pupils dilate, the irises completely black, not the familiar dark brown color of your eyes, simply pitch black. the sclera is a pure, blank white that is nothing of a human’s, jaemin would know.

he glances at his side, your eyes dark and the circles under them even darker. he opens his mouth to speak out a query, but then the android starts;

his pupils dilate, widening to the extent only a human’s pupil can, so lively so early in the process. again, the movements are unnatural, arms remaining pinned at his sides.

his mouth doesn’t curve upward, his eyes convey all there is to convey. good morning, it speaks, voice devoid of anything.. sensation, the only hint of one being behind the pupils which remained wide. i love you.

then, there’s nothing more else to say, and the pre-done android winds up, shoulders slumping as it shuts back down, eyelids fluttering shut, pupils narrowing, all of the color draining from where they previously remained.

jaemin blinks, observing you pinch the bridge of your nose, your teeth kissing one another. “i keep forgetting we programmed that one”.

“think he just does it as a natural instinct now” your arms drop at your sides, glasses being swept off your face and placed onto the nearby table. it is 11:38 pm, not morning, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“he? so it’s a boy?”

you inquire as if you’re attending a gender reveal, something of an amusing look behind your own pupils. “first name idea i got was for a boy.. do you want a change?”

your hum isn’t intelligible enough for jaemin to decipher your inner most thoughts. “no, it’s cute”.

“what?”

“your dedication to this project”.

in a manner that is completely unlike him, a tint of red spreads across jaemin’s cheeks, heat coiling over his face. you didn’t call him cute, why did that even fluster him? he opts to glancing away, he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off you if he again decided to stare.

“is that it for tonight?”

“i want to add on a few tweaks” you reply, you don’t mention anything pertaining to sleep.

“not even a couple of hours?” 

you simply manage a fleeting glance, a tired smile present on your features. his hair is mussed, tousled from the little care he paid to it throughout the day, you reach over and twirl a strand between your fingers, a ministration that brings a specific feeling of solace which comes as a small surprise.

“there’s no need to worry about me, you go get sleep”.

there’s the urge to rebel, to argue until his throat itches and it all hurts, but he keeps it all inside, mouth falling closed with a silent plop. “tomorrow same time?”

you hum in agreement.

jaemin’s face twitches, the freezing atmosphere of sniō now becoming more of a bother than before. your index finger again graces a hair strand, and his eyes flutter closed in a moment of relaxation.

he then chuckles at a sudden thought, glancing upward. “what do you think about the name mouth suction gangster?”

your laughter is irresistible, amusement high in the air despite the late night. “i think we’ll lose our federal funding if you name him such a thing”.

jaemin presents an exaggerated pout, and you ruffle his pink locks. “do you have any name ideas?”

you lean closer, jaemin instinctively leaning backward as you continue to seem bewitched by his pink hair. “it’s a secret”.

jaemin takes the opportunity to admire your features, each of your individual moles could be one of their own galaxies, holding a barrage of stars which simply amplify your beauty. “i’ll find out”.

“sure, good night jaemin”.

jaemin isn’t sure why, but he hopes to see that smile around more. it’s simply.. well, the words won’t come to mind just yet.

“good night y/n”.

when he finds out what the word is, it’ll surely become one of his favorites.

V.                     “ there is something at work in my soul, which i do not understand “.

renjun’s name has a flurry of meanings despite it being a mere six letters, it’s a simple combination of two parts, yet those two parts hold the staple of how he managed things through his eyes for the latter part of his life.

the part “仁” usually means “benevolence”, it’s the meaning most people associate with the first three letters. the other two meanings are “ideal” and “expressing respect”, the adjective being “sensitive”. his parents reiterated to him many times that they had several arguments about the choosing, because naming your child whose future you can’t foresee the word kind is genuinely hilarious, but renjun would ensure that he’d grow up to be the kindest son they could ever have.

the second half “俊” is the typical name which means “handsome; pretty” or “of outstanding talent”, the adjectives being “smart, eminent”, a laughable prospect really, renjun has always been said to get his looks from his mother, he inherited her soft features whilst he got the strong personality (and by proxy, voice) from his father.

he assumes his smarts must be a mix, renjun never thought science, really, he originally wanted to go to school for music, but as his mother said; “music doesn’t pay the bills”.

he was never meant to end up here, not on his own accord anyway, and he was never supposed to be a part of this team in the first place.

but here he is.

don’t name it, he recalls doyoung saying, a booming voice being his go to. it’s only going to survive out in space for a couple of months, naming it will simply make it all harder in the long run.

but of course, you’ve never been one to listen.

to love something is to give it a name, you’ve always had attachments to your projects. heck, most of your caffeine addiction can be attributed to that talking coffee machine you created way back.

it makes enough sense to renjun why both you and jaemin gave the android a name, it’s usual to name a creation of yours, especially if there’s a specific meaning in mind.

renjun’s not a fan of robots, especially not of androids. despite all your fondness, he just can’t get it, and he knows he won’t ever get it, they simply freak him out. androids are too lifelike, androids are so freaky, he just can’t find an ounce of humanity in them that so called creators could find so easily.

the prototype isn’t yet finished, but it already has a couple defining facial features. it has small eyes, tiny heart shaped lips, a splitting smile, and it seems to have a knack for saying “i love you”.. like all the time.

and doyoung specifically said to not name it. naming it means attachment, attachment that’ll interfere with the way doyoung longs for this mission to go.

we can’t have another failure, you know what’ll happen to y/n if this goes wrong.

renjun isn’t quite as taken to this as the others seem to be..

“you gonna give it a name?”

renjun observes as you only let one eye open, arms acting as your makeshift pillow as you allow for your legs to stretch across the couch. you ponder for a moment, renjun senses that you’re contemplating on if you should lie or not, something about information between robotics engineers staying between them.

(and he loathes it, why are you keeping secrets with jaemin?)

“him, and yes, jaemin is very keen on doing so”.

“okay, so what do you have in mind?”

“are you gonna tell donghyuck?”

the question seems a tiny bit accusatory, renjun would feel offended if not for there being some truth behind those words. you know too much for your own good, he’s secretly afraid you’re some crazy mind reading alien, or a time traveler, or you’re just constantly eavesdropping.

he glances away, staring endlessly at the twinkling stars in the night sky. he hasn’t been stargazing in a while, it was a little tradition you two developed after your first dinner together, back when renjun was the newbie who had the least scientific experience. he guesses nerdy constellation knowledge made for a good past time.

(“you have a favorite?” renjun recalls you asking him. it was a spontaneous exchange, going up to the rooftop when you weren’t allowed to gave renjun the full picture of how exactly you were. your smile remains as pretty as it was when renjun first met you in the cold interior of doyoung’s claustrophobic office.

“aquila” he still has the taste of the word on his tongue. “it contains some of my favorite stars, altair, theta aquilae, lambda aquilae.. most of them”.

your intrigue seemed to be contagious, and though the light was minuscule, he could still make out your prettiest features under the dimly shining stars. the light of the shooting stars reflected in the shine of your pupils, a shine that simply seemed so.. perfect. “do you have a favorite?” renjun asked back, hands placed in his lap as he fruitfully avoided your eyes.

you feigned thought, renjun already knows you usually always have the answer on standby. “sagittarius, it consists of the two triple stars, you know i always see pi sagittarius on nights like this..”

of course, pi sagittarius is visible to the naked eye, renjun barely had to squint to capture a glimpse that night. and you? you simply looked enchanted, bewitched, something else that again seemed contagious, as renjun couldn’t help but use the moment to gaze at you with such captivation. you’re captivating, without having even to do anything special, simply talking about the stars is enough.

you scooted closer, knees knocking and shoulders brushing against renjun’s. “if you were a star.. you would be gamma arietis.. it’s apart of aries, one of the brightest”.

it’s a fleeting whisper, an intimate moment that could barely even be deemed ‘intimate’. renjun assumes so, though, who just says that? who compares someone to one of the prettiest stars in the sky? the cool night air did a good job of masking his tinted cheeks, but renjun can never exactly forget it.

in his own sickening mind, huang renjun would’ve taken that as a love confession. gladly as well.)

renjun’s gaze remains fixed on the window, your eyes now again fluttering closed. “am i no longer trustworthy?”

you hum, eyes remaining closed, exhaustion slowly beginning to seep through. “you’ve earned my trust, but it can always be broken”.

renjun is aware. the only person you probably fully trust at this point is jeno, but of course, you’ve known him for the longest. “i have my pinky, i’ll swear”.

you look as if you’re about to slip, but then you suddenly flinch, rising from your spot in an abrupt jerking movement that startles renjun out of his star admiring. “i’m not done yet..”

“y/n, it’s late, are you really going back to sniō?”

“it’s last minute!”

terrible fucking excuse, renjun’s nose crinkles.

it’s less of him being angry, more of him simply wanting your company, attention, just.. something, why should it all be divided between jaemin and this android thing? his stomach curls in an ugly feat of jealousy.

his arms stay dropped at his sides, and he clears his throat. “don’t stay at the laboratory all night again!”

stupid thing to say, he already knows you will, you’ve never been one to listen.

VI.                     “ if i cannot inspire love, i will cause fear! “.

the “team” (jeno doesn’t really think of them as such) is introduced to prototype 205 on a seemingly regular thursday. fortunately for jeno, they don’t have to be in the below freezing environment of sniō, he’d probably faint from such a prospect. no, you guys meet in the space of the main laboratory, the overhead lights shining over you as if you’re an angel.

“his name is jisung” jaemin says, full of pride. your silence is key, there might be no words, but jeno can practically feel your excitement. sometimes, he feels as if your minds must be connected by some invisible wire. your fatigue is clear, jaemin probably hasn’t gotten sleep in weeks, jeno is afraid he might pass out, and you? your exhaustion is now completely usual, the bags under your eyes holding them upward as to not have them flutter shut.

“jisung” your voice is soft as you glance over at i— him, your stare nothing short of proud. “say hi to renjun, jeno, and donghyuck”.

jisung, half hidden behind jaemin’s shoulder, looks up at jaemin, as if for encouragement. it’s cute. jeno has to remind himself that the mannerisms are simply coded into his system. jaemin nods at him, and jisung finally shows out a part of his face, not yet stepping out.

“hi renjun” his eyelids flutter a little too humanely. “hello jeno, donghyuck” his voice is soft, yet it’s deep, clearly deeper than jeno’s, scratch that, probably deeper than everyone’s.

“..i look forward to working with you” donghyuck replies cautiously.

jaemin’s eyes shine as jisung parrots such enthusiasm, your shoulders slumping forward in action of relief. jeno’s eyes form into crescents as he smiles, just watching you be proud of your own work pleases him. despite your unkempt, mad scientist appearance, no one would ever be able to guess you had been awake for about thirty two hours simply trying to get jisung to turn on. the fondness in your expression is more befitting of a proud parent than an inventor.

you’re going to break your own heart at this point, jeno knows it, and judging by renjun’s narrowed eyes, he knows it too.

donghyuck chokes on nothing in the air, a clutch to his chest amplifying the dramatics of it all. “oh my god, he’s so cute” he can barely contain his laughter, pure excitement behind his eyes. “you made him cute”.

“of course i did” jaemin replies, sounding a tad bit offended. “he’s the cutest, all courtesy of y/n’s expertise”.

jeno can’t help the unconscious softening of his gaze as jisung copies your smile. his feigned irritation is barely even sustained, it’s difficult to keep a straight face when he is so adorable.

renjun simply grumbles something he takes as a silent rebuttal, it’ll probably take a while for him to get used to jisung. jeno blinks at jisung, who again smiles as he practically senses jeno’s eyes. “it’s nice to meet you, jisung”.

the name rolls off the tongue rather well.

“why jisung?”

jeno knows you, and by ‘knows’, he means spent full hours with you hiding in storage closets from the mean older kids when they’d trash your inventions, back before all of this, back when jeno was the only one you had to lean on. he hasn’t gotten the full scope when it comes to the full extent of your mind, but you two have history.

and what jeno knows, is that you don’t choose names unless there’s a specific meaning in mind. you like names, you think they’re “simply the prettiest kind of random, meanings can go a long way..”

you blink your eyes up at the ceiling, and somehow, even with the insane lethargy, they don’t close against your own will, you simply keep them open. you motion your hand, beckoning for jeno to give you his.

his hand places into yours in a natural sense of action, and of course, even with the roughness of the metals you spend hours around, your hands remain soft, soothing. jeno wonders if touching a cloud could compare to the pure delicacy of your palm, your fingertips. you give a glance upward, the curves of your eyes mirroring your very own smile.

“jisung means.. devotion” you whisper, slowly tracing the spelling of his name into jeno’s palm. “it can also ironically mean alive, jaemin thought of that one..”

“devotion to who?”

when your eyes flit upward, jeno wonders if that was the wrong question to ask. there’s nothing foreseeable behind your eyes, or maybe there is and it’s successfully overshadowed by your clear lack of sleep. he almost jumps backward, but then you smile again, your eyes forming into crescents as you begin a silent fit of laughter. “everyone really, loyalty, it’s one of his biggest traits”.

you know if this continues your simply going to hurt yourself in the end.

jeno refrains from letting such a thought escape him. “he really is cute”.

jeno leans closer, whispering the words as if they’re some sort of secret, as if doyoung could be around the corner with his watchful eye on you two, as if this is an old sleepover you two are having where you giggle about what the future may bring, fingers intertwined and all. “i know, it’s a very important asset”.

not important to the mission.

again, jeno doesn’t speak such thoughts, you’re so happy, you’re so proud.

he knows better than to ruin such a beautiful thing.

VII.                     “ i ought to be thy adam, but i am rather the fallen angel… “.

doyoung wanted to get rid of you before project apollo and the success of prototype 205.

donghyuck didn’t have to hear it from renjun, he heard it in the way doyoung let each individual word fall from his lips. it’s often deemed a little ‘crazy’ that he hyper fixates on things that don’t seem to matter, but when it comes to you, donghyuck thinks it always matters.

it was a cruel move, to slyly hint it to the three and leave you out of the loop, donghyuck is all for a little cruelty sometimes, but it’s just tip toeing the line of evil. how could he even think of doing something without telling you first?

na jaemin was brought in as a replacement, the choice to keep you was only agreed upon after your teammates’ insistence. project athena went up in flames, which is what caused the distrust, but they pleaded your case either way.

(“don’t you think this is a little too drastic?” worry colored renjun’s usually stoic expression, if donghyuck focused enough, he could hear an upcoming tremble in his voice. “think of what y/n’s done for you already!”

it was two days before the arrival of the new engineer that it happened. in a manner of rarity, you were out that saturday, something only possible because of dejun’s surprisingly intimidating request. you mused that simply one day of rest would be fine, a good move on dejun’s part.

doyoung’s raised eyebrow was a threat that made even renjun tense. “shall i remind you of the mess which was project athena?”

“you can’t let him go over one failure, he’s like.. the only person who actually knows anything about robots!” yes, it got to the point where donghyuck was flailing his arms back and forth in the air. “and besides, we don’t know the other guy like that..”

“this project isn’t designed for your comfortability” god screw doyoung and his paper stacking. his hair is too neat, his eyes are too empty, his facial expressions much too stoic. maybe donghyuck’s childish fear back from his intern days is gone, but there still seems to be another kind of fear left over. “y/n’s become a liability, we’ve taken too many risks”.

jeno and donghyuck got offended on your behalf. jeno’s facial muscles twitched, a clear frown tugging at his lips as he sucked his teeth at the words from doyoung. donghyuck’s hands clenched the material of his pants, a gasp of disbelief leaving his lips. they exchanged a glance of vexation, an irritated snort leaves donghyuck. he had to be kidding.

“just.. this last mission, come on, it’ll go well”.

yes, it was renjun’s words that got a twitch out of doyoung. the older’s eyes examined each of them, renjun, then jeno, then donghyuck. then, he sighed, rolling his eyes. “you three are like children, this is his last chance, if y/n fails, you aren’t coming back here with your bag of excuses..”

donghyuck tutted, crossing his arms in an act of clear defiance. jeno looked the least irritated out of the three, but donghyuck knows it’s only because he was thinking more of you than of doyoung. renjun scowled, stomping his feet and storming out of the room.

“see? like a child”.

donghyuck probably would’ve jumped at him if not for jeno’s hand gracing his shoulder, rubbing his thumb over the blades in a comforting manner. jeno’s anger had quelled by that point, and he allowed himself to relax as best as he could. “thank you doyoung”.

donghyuck didn’t thank him for anything, there wasn’t shit to thank him for.)

the conference doesn’t need many speakers, so someone is clearly going to be left behind. donghyuck knows he’s going, he’s already prepared speeches, presentation note cards, and post it note reminders. to his very own dismay, jaemin has to tag along, and though it was an obvious foreshadowing, he still hates it.

your attendance is obvious, you’re probably much more prepared than donghyuck is, there’s never an event you don’t pre-prepare for, you always say that it’s “just in case”. that leaves it to renjun and jeno, one of them has to stay behind with jisung.

“think jeno should come with..” jaemin utters, your shuffling of papers fills the room, no sound comes from you, no indication of your agreement or disagreement. “don’t you have the coding expertise? we could use that”.

renjun begins picking at his nails, clearly anxious about being left alone with jisung. donghyuck raises an eyebrow at jaemin, lips turning downward. “are you the one calling the shots now?”

“it’s a suggestion, donghyuck, don’t get so uptight”.

donghyuck again scowls, face twisting into a grimace that’s less of disgust and more of indignation. “not uptight..”

“sure you aren’t” jaemin comments loudly, smacking a folder against the table as he wipes the dust from his hands. he glares, and donghyuck decides to glare back, one snap away from completely flipping him off.

you suck your teeth. “stop fighting, i’ll put your seats together if you don’t” your tone of voice indicates that you’re probably going to do it anyway. you pat donghyuck’s shoulder and make your way over to renjun. “are you fine staying with jisung or..?”

you’re much too generous, you are quite literally giving him an option. donghyuck observes renjun tense up momentarily, but if you notice it, you keep silent, patiently awaiting his response. he contemplates for a moment, and donghyuck gives a silent laugh at his clear anxiety. “i..” he looks over at jeno, then he shakes his head. “it’s alright, i can stay with jisung”.

“you sure?”

jeno clears his throat, the decision is done with, he doesn’t want more time for contemplation. “yeah, yeah! it’s alright!”

it’s not. donghyuck can see the way jaemin’s eyebrows furrow peripherally, and he simply clicks his tongue.

your suspicious gaze bores through his skull, but then you sigh, arms dropping at your sides. “okay, that’s good..”

donghyuck glances away, easily avoiding jaemin’s eyes. everyone is so obvious, he questions how renjun even functions around you if he answers your simple questions like that.

maybe he’s giving himself too much credit..

later that night, donghyuck joins you on the couch, your eyes stuck on the window which showcases the darkness of the night. it might be a problem, the fact that no matter how hard you try, you can no longer get a fit of sleep.

his crumpled shirt is a result of his extensive tossing and turning, how jeno ever sleeps is a mystery to him, but knowing what he does know, jeno will only ever get shut eye for a good three hours before he begins his continuous ceiling staring session. “nervous?”

you barely register his words, donghyuck is afraid you don’t hear him, afraid you might be frozen or something. it’s so weird, donghyuck always seems to find a new reason to worry his mind off concerning you, but you then blink, sucking your teeth at the window as if it did something to you personally. “kinda..” you opt to say.

donghyuck scoots closer, the two of you naturally falling together with you both deciding to lean. your eyes close for a second before opening again, as if you fear sleeping. how strange. donghyuck’s head presses against yours, your fingers coming to intertwine in a gentle manner. “do you like jisung?”

the query is whispered, and donghyuck licks his lips, really having to think it over. “he’s adorable”.

“yes or no?”

your insistence draws a tired chuckle. “yeah, i love the little shit”.

you snort, biting into your cheek. “don’t call him that”.

a hum is the response you receive.

VIII.                     “ thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin “.

renjun doesn’t find being left alone all that bad, if he can just perpetually avoid jisung for the fraction of the day he has to work, then it all should be fine.

he holds onto the hug you gave him before you left, a gesture of affection he probably wouldn’t have accepted from anyone else, but let you do because.. well, he supposes it’s obvious.

“don’t get so freaked out, jisung is practically harmless” you told him, hands placed on his shoulders as you stared with your wide pupils full of fondness.

renjun could only respond with the scrunch of his face. what did you mean by ‘practically?’

he didn’t get to question it, jaemin dragged you off before he could even open his mouth, but not before shooting renjun one of his creepy looking grins. if he didn’t know any better, renjun would’ve asked to go as well, if not for the sake of being around you, but also so he could keep an eye on na jaemin.

renjun decides to occupy most of his day in meetings, doing extra work yangyang was much too lazy to do on his own. he hangs around the southernmost laboratory until kun has to usher him out, his excuses quickly defuse, and he has no choice but to trudge his way back to the main floor.

jisung is fixated on the distinguishing features of the model above him when renjun first runs into him that day, a copy of frankenstein left opened to a specific page on his lap. he tilts his head as he observes the unmoving solar system replica, his finger comes to caress the pages of the book, renjun can just barely make out scribbled writing on the individual pages. after a few more seconds of staring, he turns to the side. “hi” he blinks those terrifyingly realistic eyes. “busy day?”

renjun clears his throat, a wave of shame washing over him at such a question. jisung probably didn’t mean it, but he could probably sense that renjun’s avoidance was slightly purposeful. “uh— yeah, sort of, you could say that..”

he again goes to picking at his fingers, feeling the others eyes zero in on the movement. he lets a breath fall, attempting to change the topic, he starts; “what are you looking at?”

his feet seemingly have a mind of their own, as renjun finds himself beside jisung in no time, hands now placed in his lap. his eyes flit downward, ah, he knew it, jisung is reading one of your copies, he notices your straight handwriting right away.

“the solar system model” he whispers, eyes again traveling upward. “all these planets.. which one am i supposed to go to?”

renjun is a bit taken aback by that question, it’s a little unexpected, but he guesses it is what he was programmed for. he blinks, seemingly heating up under his stare. “um.. jupiter, that’s where your mission is dedicated”.

jisung hums, and renjun simply remains freaked out. it’s all too human like, was that on your part or jaemin’s? he’s now insanely curious.

“what are you reading?”

jisung perks up, as if startled by his spontaneous query. “frankenstein, y/n likes reading, he says this is one of his favorites”.

renjun snickers, how nice. “yeah, y/n is obsessed with science fiction in all of it’s forms”.

jisung nods. “i like it, the story is.. a bit ironic but it’s beautifully written”.

renjun’s lips immediately turn downward, while he expected for jisung to be aware of that one, it’s sort of sad to hear the tone of his voice when he says the word ‘ironic’.

jisung’s gaze bores through him, it’s reminiscent of how your eyes seem to burn into literally everyone’s soul, seeing their innermost thoughts with eyes seemingly devoid of anything. “are you alright?” he asks, sensing the mismatched thoughts muddled up in renjun’s mind.

“oh.. um, fine”.

jisung blinks, his eyelids fluttering in a freakishly realistic manner. his expressions have no right to seem so real. “something seems wrong”.

“are you programmed to notice things like that?”

jisung contemplates for a moment, as if genuinely thinking about how he should reply to it. “i’m not sure actually”.

renjun isn’t sure of that answer. “does it have something to do with the conference?”

renjun almost jumps back once again. jisung tilts his head, eyelids curving upward, lips pressed into a thin line. “is your mind stuck on y/n?”

oh, that’s fucking creepy, surely that can’t be programmed right?

unfortunately, no one is around to answer that question for renjun.

he shakes his head though completely wrong. “no..”

renjun is sure that anyone, android or not, could decipher the falsity behind his tone. “what’s wrong? did you two fight?”

“..no”.

“but you seem upset”.

curse this jisung, renjun can barely breathe without him dropping yet another accusation. shit. how obvious is he then? donghyuck must know, then that means jaemin is possibly aware, and that means jeno..

fuck.

“i guess— i don’t know, y/n is just so confusing, he’s complicated, can’t help feeling how i feel”.

oh what is wrong with renjun? he’s pouring his feelings out to this android that was created by the person he has a crush not crush on, surely anyone with a working mind would see that this is pretty much crazy. “you love him”.

renjun’s gasp is immediate, and he has no idea why he seems as offended as he is. “i— what? of course i love him but not like that..”

“he loves you too” jisung’s gaze is reminiscent of yours, stars seemingly dazzling behind his irises in the same manner as yours. how does that happen? did you mold him after you or something? it’s not that you two look alike, it’s more about the specific mannerisms renjun has gotten used to seeing from you. “he loves everybody, jeno, donghyuck, jaeminie, even me, i can’t really believe that”.

“y/n loves everything he creates”.

“no it’s—” he uncharacteristically pauses, weird. “it’s not like that, he loves me like i’m not a project, like i.. as if i’m not just here so you guys can discover more about space, like i’m more than that”.

oh, renjun didn’t think about it like that. he hums, tapping his fingers onto his knee. jisung seems defeated, which again perturbs renjun in the slightest, as he’s assumed all feelings are simply programmed, not that they can change naturally in their own way on their own accord.

you’re driving yourself into a wall, you’re going to hurt yourself in the end, and jisung even knows it himself.

“jaeminie does too, they take care of me”.

renjun doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. jisung again glances upward at the model of the solar system, eyes remaining fixated on the mold of jupiter. that’s where he is going. “i don’t really know how you feel, but y/n is.. he isn’t feeling that different”.

speak for yourself, y/n loves everyone, even doyoung, and the fucker tried to fire him.

renjun decides to keep that one to himself, his cheeks now tinted red, an unknown heat coming out of nowhere.

okay, maybe jisung isn’t that bad.

IX.                     “ life, although it may be only an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and i will defend it “.

over the coming weeks, jisung becomes more of a mundane figure in everyone’s lives.

the attachment both you and jaemin have is clear, as creators of jisung, you pretty much treat him like he’s your kid or something (which jeno supposes he is but that’s only due to the obvious). the proprietary technology is shared between you both, all the other three did was fill you two with the correct knowledge and program the actual useful things. how to collect samples, how to analyze a mass spectrometry reading, how to identify potential life and share data on environmental conditions, not to mention everything that even goes into operating a spacecraft.

“what do you mean?” jaemin tilts his head, feigned resentment behind his eyes with jisung keeping his head laid onto his shoulder. he’s asleep, or.. off, jeno is unsure of how exactly it all works, but jisung’s eyes are closed, so jeno assumes he’s asleep. “you’re implying his skills weren’t useful before, i programmed him to dance, that’s useful”.

jisung’s chest rises and sinks, then it happens again. his lashes flutter, mouth parting as if releasing a sigh. jeno has to hand it to the both you and jaemin, because for all your eccentricism, you two are insanely talented. every part of jisung is painstakingly lifelike, delicately crafted. even jeno forgets when he looks at him, sometimes, that he isn’t alive at all.

“why?” jeno asks, because of course he does. the basis of his career draws from the most intrigued of queries, asking questions is all he knows how to do. “how is that useful?”

jisung shifts for a moment, then he rises, back straightening as he blinks awake, eyelids fluttering as he settles into the air of the room. “it makes people happy” jaemin opts to whisper, nothing but pure endearment behind his eyes as he stares. “isn’t that useful?”

not useful to the mission, not useful to scientific achievement, were hitting a brick wall here.

jisung’s eye flit around the room, unfocused. when he processes jaemin’s face, his lips curve into a smile. when his eyes land on jeno, his smile only widens, which startles the other enough that his replying smile is awkward.

“good morning” jaemin coos, brushing a strand of hair behind jisung’s ear.

“it’s eight twenty seven o’clock” jisung replies, matter of factly. he blinks again at jaemin, observing as the older juts out his lip. he then pauses, mind seemingly re-wiring.

“good morning” he tries again. “i love you”.

jaemin’s resounding laughter is full of so much elation that jeno can even see his teeth, and he squeezes jisung tighter, completely enamored.

jeno guesses he’s pretty adorable.

jisung again blinks his terrifyingly realistic eyes, his pupils holding curiosity. “where is y/n?”

he doesn’t yet give mention to renjun and donghyuck’s absence, but jeno guesses it’s due to jisung being quite used to seeing you around once he wakes up. he tilts his head in jeno’s direction, as if also expecting an answer from him. jaemin clears his throat, ruffling his hair. “y/n had to leave at six for early work, he’ll be back soon”.

jeno scans the look of simply affection at the mention of you, not just from jisung, but also from jaemin. jisung’s face falls in a display of worry, jeno finds that rich. “y/n typically works every single day, do you know why jeno?”

being put on the spot, jeno again startles, his face going pale. he contemplates for a moment, feeling jisung’s eyes seep through him in a burning gaze, it’s a little scary. “i— um..”

“were back!” donghyuck fortunately comes to save his ass, kicking down the door in a bang so loud it cuts jeno off immediately. “and we brought food” renjun continues, he places the bag he holds onto the nearby table, right in front of jisung. he fixates on it, scanning the plastic before him. “and hello you!” donghyuck seems to feel a similar extent of adoration in correlation with both you and jaemin, as he leans downward to press a kiss to his cheek, drawing a small sound from him.

“good morning..” he mutters, shying away from the act of affection. jeno finds donghyuck’s attachment to jisung a little more surprising, renjun definitely took a while to warm up, but donghyuck didn’t really need that much time, the other previously expressed concerns to jeno about using androids when the project began, but it seems that all the worry has since dissipated. he was smitten, he still is.

renjun was much more weary at first, but he’s slowly getting used to his presence, jeno guesses something that had to do with the day they were gone for the conference.

“y/n still not back?” donghyuck inquires, unease hidden by his usually bright smile. he leans onto his own fist, watching jisung seem enraptured by the sight of human food. jisung decides to respond by shaking his head, seemingly sensing the tension between donghyuck and jaemin.

donghyuck clears his throat, keeping silent as he hands jaemin over what he ordered, again avoiding eye contact. oh, they still haven’t attempted to sort a few of the differences, or maybe they talked during the conference, jeno can’t exactly remember.

“he does nothing but work” renjun’s words are muffled by the bits of toast he chews, something of irritation in his pupils. “seriously, never shuts down..”

“i heard that” it isn’t an understatement to say that everyone practically lights up when you walk through the door. jeno likes to think that he displays his adoration the best, with his ‘samoyed likeness’ and all (that’s what you and donghyuck say). there’s a warmth that emanates from your presence, a tired smile clinging to your lips. “not a workaholic, i’m just good at my job”.

“they can go hand in hand”.

jisung showcases his biggest smile of the morning, almost jumping from his seat in an effort to hug you. of course, donghyuck gets there first, squeezing the oxygen out of you. “you got here just in time, breakfast is here, eat, then go nap”.

you snort. “don’t give me demands”.

“are you not tired?” renjun opts to pipe in, it’s a rather idiotic question, everybody knows you’re tired, the bags are about to sink into your skin, but you simply wave a dismissive hand, eyes shining jisung’s way.

“enough of that, how’s my baby?”

jisung just manages a yelp before you wrap your arms around him and they tighten. oh you love him, it hurts jeno’s heart in a sickening way, you’re simply enraptured. jeno can’t help but notice jaemin, who looks equally as so, but not towards jisung, more towards you.

jaemin’s scoff of annoyance is feigned. “our, and he’s good, he was looking for you”.

“why do you work all the time?”

jisung blinks in his regular jisung manner, which jeno finds off putting, he’s beginning to note the androids individual mannerisms. “because i like to work”.

“nobody likes to work, do you have problems?”

donghyuck snorts, hiding his giggles behind his hands when he notices your peripheral glare. jeno whistles as he feigns ignorance, attempting to keep his laughs down in his head. renjun simply blinks, sending an amusing stare jisung’s way.

you raise your eyebrows, jeno guesses it was something you didn’t expect. “no jisung, it’s just when you get used to pulling all nighters as an intern, it bleeds into you pulling all nighters in general”.

“that sounds like a problem” jisung replies in a tone that implies genius. jeno supposes he does know all, but you instead stick out your tongue.

“shhh” you press a finger to his lips, completely shutting him up.

donghyuck is still giggling, maybe the act of an android asking their creator if they have problems is a degree of humor he doesn’t expect. renjun simply finds the display cute, there’s no need for words, jeno knows how he feels.

he decides to turn away, pushing down any other thoughts, he knows your time together is limited, this attachment is only making such a thing worse.

his stomach twists into something ugly, and he swallows down nothing.

X.                     “ nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change “.

it isn’t that difficult to come across you in the dead of night.

that seems to be when your most active, na jaemin only scales the halls at midnight because of the anxiety he feels rising. of course, he won’t divulge to anybody that those worries are present, really renjun doesn’t seem to enjoy talking, jeno is much too sweet for him to handle, and donghyuck.. he’s a character.

you weren’t wrong about the all nighter claim, as his eyes fixate on your figure, flipping through coding documents in a manner that’s simply so entrancing. his hands remain shoved in his pockets, his stare endless as you carry on with your coding admiration. he then smiles, why are you like this?

“rough night?” he finally speaks into the air, startling you suddenly. you settle into a silent chuckle, an empty cup of coffee dormant on the table before you. his gaze softens, and he steps closer to you, shoulders brushing in a brief moment.

“not exactly, just last minute observations, launch is soon..”

when you mutter those words, the air seems to still. it shouldn’t come as a surprise, jisung wasn’t created to be cute and tell you two he loves you, jisung was created to explore a planet uninhabitable to humans, project apollo is supposed to be just that.

jaemin takes in a deep breath. “yep, launch soon”.

the repeated words does nothing but add to the stillness of the air, which only elevates your feelings about the whole thing. you stack the papers on top of one another, sucking your teeth. “you don’t usually work with others, right? i hope i lived up to your expectations”.

it’s much more than that, why do you gaze as if i display constellations over my cheek? why do your eyes dazzle in that way? why are you you?

“you exceeded them, you’re exceptional”.

jaemin mistakens the blush on your cheeks as something other than platonic, but could you blame him? you could simply be flattered.. and na jaemin should be allowed a delusion once in a while. “i have to assume some of those words are exaggerated”.

“take the compliment”.

he doesn’t inherently beg, but the plea is heard as an undertone. you snicker, scratching behind your ear. “i could say the same, i was trying my best to impress you..”

“you didn’t exactly need me, you’re a powerhouse you know?”

you again giggle, flattery high in the air. “couldn’t have done it without you, jisung is dear to me”.

jaemin hums, shoulders again brushing with yours. “he’s basically our son anyway”.

“you’re really trying to sell that”.

“it’s true, isn’t it?”

your smile is soft, yes, it is true, but the words aren’t spoken. you again glance downward at the stack of papers formerly grasping at your attention, urging for jaemin to talk your ear off. “i guess..”

jaemin grabs at the opportunity to admire your side profile, he isn’t all about the star knowledge, but according to the many whispers from you, tonight is when the constellation auriga is present in the night sky. you said that it’s one of your favorites, auriga imitates the shape of a hexagon once all the stars connect in the sky. it’s always around your birthday that it is visible in the sky, your eyes gleam with an intrigue that could also be mistaken for enchantment.

it’s funny.

“i can teach you all there is about constellations”.

jaemin’s smile mirrors the bewitchment hidden in his pupils. “that would be nice”.

he actually doesn’t care, but the act of you talking while jaemin simply listens is his ideal type of date.

you hum, again glancing up as you pause. you blink, your stare endless as jaemin registers the sudden closeness of you two. the stars are aligning in the sky tonight, jaemin can’t help but observe the patterns of your moles and how they replicate the positions of the stars you so dearly love. everything about you is so beautiful, beautiful in a manner reminiscent of the astral cluster he usually pays no mind to.

jaemin’s gaze travels, your lips are very pretty, interesting. he’s listened around, he’s aware that he probably isn’t the only person here with such interests in you specifically, but this is probably the closest anyone has ever gotten in that regard.

you feign ignorance, eyes shifting as you notice where jaemin stares. either you’re nervous, or you simply have no idea what to say.

and really, jaemin wants to, he wants to so bad, it wouldn’t even be that much of a movement, if he just leaned closer just the slightest..

he stops himself before he can get any closer.

“you should get some sleep now, seriously” jaemin opts to say, cutting off his own thoughts with a complete topic switch. “come on.. please?”

there’s a slight whine to his tone, and your lips do an upward turn at the question, a small snicker falling from them. “maybe a few more minutes?”

“do you want for me to use force?”

you again grin at that one, smoothly sliding the stack of papers into a folder. you blow a breath between your lips, clasping your hands together. “fine then, i’ll sleep”.

“you will, i’m going to be watching you the whole entire time”.

“creep”.

jaemin sticks out his tongue as a response.

XI.                     “ how mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life in the excess of misery! “.

on the day of launch, jaemin wears all black, a sentiment to how he must be feeling. donghyuck doesn’t attempt to reach out, the sharp looks he earns are enough to keep him silent. you seem to take it a little better, not exactly wearing all black, but also unable to keep up the fixed smiles you use to erase worry.

everyone looks like they haven’t slept in a week, which, to be fair, they probably haven’t. donghyuck pays little attention to jaemin in his all, but he knows the other is missing a good week of shut eye. jeno was up all night with stomach dropping anxiety, he continuously tossed and turned in his bed, eyes remaining open until the sun rose above the horizon. renjun keeps silent, but he isn’t having a better time either, his eyes continuously fluttering shut on the commute to work.

this is supposed to be the best day of your career, what you’ve been working towards since the start of the stupid internship you all accepted. still, you all just seem the slightest bit miserable, even on the supposed happiest day of your lives.

breakfast is silent, you leave early enough that donghyuck doesn’t catch you until you all gather at the laboratory, listening to the machinery emanating noise from each corner of the room.

jaemin sits down beside him, and while donghyuck wishes to peacefully ignore his presence, it’s rendered difficult with him now right there. the younger seemingly longs to make an effort, but donghyuck still can’t talk to him without thinking of what he last said to him.

(“i almost kissed him, you know” he recalls jaemin speaking into the air five days ago, why jaemin decided to say it to him? donghyuck will never know. donghyuck paused his sorting of documents, blinking as he turned the way of his pink haired acquaintance. his face scrunched inquiringly, as if he had no idea who jaemin was talking to whilst he was the only one in close distance to him.

“who? jeno?” donghyuck’s eyes shifted his way, gaze lingering on your hands, which stayed massaging jeno’s shoulders across the room.

“what? no” jaemin replied, seemingly offended by such a suggestion, even with his insistence that jeno is ‘a pretty good looking guy..’.

donghyuck again blinked, licking his lips as his gaze settled onto jaemin once more. “so.. who?”

jaemin didn’t speak it out, simply motioned his head in the direction donghyuck stared a brief moment prior. donghyuck processed his words slowly, then his eyes widened in a manner he had absolutely no idea they could.

“y/n?” donghyuck couldn’t hide the contempt of his tone, yeah jaemin did say ‘almost’, but does that really matter? jaemin was the new guy, yet he was the only one who managed to get close enough, his jealousy wasn’t exactly unreasonable.

because donghyuck could understand how it is with jeno, he’d gotten much used to it at that point. no, how could na jaemin just.. find the courage so easily? it was an ego bruiser he didn’t expect.

“so why didn’t you then?” donghyuck hid his scorn behind more disdain he tried to use as a weapon, a wall, it didn’t matter. “and why are you telling me about this?”

“i don’t know.. guess i just felt he wouldn’t want it”.

jaemin sounded hurt, how rich. if donghyuck had to guess who you’d be with out of everyone else in the team, it would probably be jaemin, the newbie who’s just as much a robot nerd as you are. it was a match made in heaven.

“i’m not the one he wants”.

donghyuck assumed he was lying at that point, jaemin was playing with him, taunting him with knowledge only he had from the variety of time he spent with you. “sure, and did he tell you that?”

jaemin’s shrug was empty. “he didn’t have to, just.. if you get the opportunity, then you should probably take it”.

what the fuck.

did na jaemin really just tell donghyuck that if he had the opportunity to kiss you, he should take it? the other stared into practically nothing, jaemin finished with what he had to say, there were no more words left for him to utter.

“..alright”.)

donghyuck can’t exactly resist the urge, which is unfortunate for him because he had a good avoiding jaemin track record that’s pretty golden to him. is he really that curious?

“you okay?” donghyuck inquires, an eyebrow raise being his go to add on. jaemin looks one snap away from punching him, his balled up fist frightens donghyuck, who scoots one seat away to ensure his own safety. for all of jaemin’s expressions, donghyuck has never seen him look so unhappy. grumpy, sometimes. irritated, mostly with him, but the grief marring his expression is much too intense.

jaemin’s gaze remains fixated on you, performing regular actions that appear to be much more because of how you do it. “not sure what i was expecting” he whispers so quietly it aches. “jupiter is far away, it’ll take him only seven months, guess i can commend you guys for that one”.

right, any regular journey to jupiter would take six years at best, the architecture of project apollo as a whole is really the saving grace of this mission. donghyuck would probably die having to wait six years for jisung and the spacecraft to even land on jupiter, he can’t imagine how you’d feel.

“god fuck this”.

donghyuck glances your way, eyeing the shine in your irises as you gaze upon a model of jupiter, jisung’s cheek pressed onto your shoulder. jupiter has never been your favorite planet, you often deem it ‘the overrated planet’, because, in your own words; “it’s color scheme isn’t my favorite, all that helium nauseates me”.

you can always find something to focus on, even the things that seem so unimportant. “anything can be unique if you’re open minded enough hyuckie”.

he barely contains his giggles at the recollection of your words, he’s afraid of asking about your feelings, because while you’ve never been one to give snippy responses, there’s still a voice in the back of his mind reminding him of your unpredictability, he shouldn’t be so quick to think that.

“he’ll be fine”.

“jisung is like.. his pride and joy, he won’t take it well”.

and clearly, neither will you.

donghyuck forbids such words from escaping his lips, launch is in an hour, he should focus.

XII.                     “ when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can assure themselves of certain happiness? “.

jisung’s first communication falls on a sunday.

renjun remembers the day of the week because it comes the day after donghyuck’s birthday. he specifically remembered that one because you all spent donghyuck’s birthday at the lab, paired with little to no bickering with jaemin, and a privilege which included being able to kiss you all he wanted. it’s somewhere around four in the morning that renjun jolts awake from where he laid down on his desk to find you staring at the screen in wide-eyed awe.

<<< …happy birthday donghyuck!

<<< good morning, i love you. did i miss it?

it would usually take months, even up to years for messages to travel this far. that was a long while ago, though. now, it only takes a good twenty three hours for messages to be received, which is definitely shorter than the time it takes to travel there. seven months, you now spend much more time at the laboratory than prior, waiting by the screen in the control room for any kind of message.

there isn’t a character limit to the messages, conversations can go on forever, like he never left. sort of like he never left, renjun thinks it’s a bit off in terms of timing, but it’s enough to please both you and jaemin.

renjun scurries closer, face illuminated by the dark blue screen.

jisung takes pictures of a lot of important things, just like he was programmed to do. sometimes, he doesn’t even photograph things that are that important, yet it can still be perceived as such.

jaemin appears out of nowhere, arms folded over his chest as he squints his eyes at the screen right in front of him. renjun has enough energy to produce a lethargic chuckle.

<<< i think this ball of gas kind of looks like a bunny, doesn’t it?

<<< [IMAGE ATTACHED]

“oh, i see it” jaemin breaths, blinking a few times in a pattern of recognition.

donghyuck jolts awake from where he’d been quietly snoring on jeno’s shoulder. “i do too”.

your nose scrunches, just barely registering renjun’s hand coming to hold yours. “yeah, same here”.

<<< the stars are really beautiful right now!

<<< see? it’s aquarius, y/nie said that’s one of his favorites!

<<< remember?

<<< did jaemin lose his ring yet?

right, the ring. it was a request on jisung’s part, everyone got matching rings after he saw snow for the first time. jaemin did lose the ring actually, it slipped down into the cushions of the main room and he lost his mind trying to find it. he seemed so genuinely torn up by it that everyone swore to secrecy, much too afraid of how jisung would react to such news.

“of course not” you’re quick to lie, nudging jaemin with your shoulder. “next time you see the stars like that, make sure to take a picture with you in it okay? i miss seeing your face”.

there’s a hint of anguish in your tone, your eyes a shade of red that’s terrifying to an impossible extent. renjun continues to caress your hands with are still laced together, thumb smoothing over your knuckles as a gesture of fondness. it’ll be okay, i’m here, everyone is here, we get how you feel.

the words aren’t spoken, simply dissolved.

for the next few minutes, you all take turns replying to jisung’s messages, and renjun can tell, all of you needed this. though it’d be hard to reach such words through all your pigheaded attitudes, it’s nice knowing that a message finally came around, there was an anxiety in the air that all of you could feel, yet you simply left unsaid.

it’s hard to be here without him sometimes, because though it won’t be said, everyone feels as if they’re missing a piece of themselves with him gone. renjun never thought he would be able to get to this point, he never thought an attachment was even possible, he guesses he was wrong about that part.

donghyuck again passes out against jeno when it’s all over, jaemin placing a hand on your shoulder which lingers before he again settles on a nearby chair.

you remain stuck on the bright blue light which permeates from the screen, seemingly enraptured. renjun stays beside you, hands still together.

“he’ll be okay” he whispers, not exactly sure of those words but speaking them anyway. he wants to ensure at least a measure of peace for you, anything to result in the anxiety dissipating from your features. “trust yourself, alright?”

you don’t respond, simply blink once again.

it’s your own way of uttering the words; i don’t know if i can.

XIII.                     “ man, i cried, ‘how ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom!’ “.

it isn’t helped by the fact that nine months into project apollo’s first mission, jisung suddenly goes offline.

“what do you mean he’s gone offline?” jaemin reiterates, as if the prospect of that actually being possible is completely off the table.

i told you so, jeno thinks in his mind, his heart sinks into his stomach. of course this was going to happen, i knew this was going to happen.

donghyuck looks helpless, something that is frightening to jeno, not surprising, unnerving. “comms to the ship are still active for now” he explains, voice just barely holding up against an upcoming tremble. “calm down, we’re still trying to reach him, maybe he’s just late to respond, maybe—”

“he’s never late” jaemin cuts in, hair tousled in every direction. jeno is, again, terrified. the room is silent, if you take away the arguing, renjun is tryibg his best to keep himself together, and your own silence is nerve-racking, your eyes trained on the screen before you. “he’s never late donghyuck, so don’t tell me to fucking calm down alright? have you checked the log for any unusual activity?”

jeno is grateful for his ringing ears, the argument bleeding out into uncomfortable background noise. you bite down into your bottom lip, quickly drawing blood with the force you put into your action. jeno almost breaks the silence by inquiring to you about the whole thing, but of course, they can’t shut up.

“this was probably caused by your shitty work, so much for your robotic skills” donghyuck makes sure to mock jaemin’s voice, jabbing a finger in the square of her chest, crowding in his face.

“my fault?” jaemin scoffs, pushing him back with a heavy shove of the shoulder. “my work is fucking flawless, donghyuck, don’t take out your frustrations on me because you miscalculated and caused this mess!”

“oh but that’s exactly what you’re doing now isn’t it? don’t try to act so high and mighty when you’re genuinely being a fucking hypocrite!”

it seems that this fight is about to well out into the physical territory, but you then speak up; “if you two can’t be quiet then you should just get out”.

you pinch the bridge of your nose, grinding your teeth in motions which displays your irritation. no, it isn’t your tone, it’s your actions. your voice is simply soft, a whisper that could barely be heard even in the pin drop silence.

they both long to sneak in one last word, jeno can see it in the twitching of their facial muscles, but as to not upset you, they shut up. donghyuck huffs, storming his way out, unfortunately not taking the awkwardness of it all with him. it’s not long before jaemin exits as well, but not before he glances at you with simply.. grief.

renjun only continues his silence as a form of fear, jeno knows you wouldn’t, but he’s also aware that part of him is afraid to speak in fear of pissing you off.

you kick at the station in front of you, not hard, but it still earns a flinch. you suck your teeth, just barely registering jeno’s presence beside you. “i just need time to think..” you mutter, resting your head against the control panel.

there’s a beat of silence which prolongs. it’s too much of time, it’s as if your fate hangs in the air, something of an unknown future that none of you can control no matter how much you attempt to. there can’t be another failure, renjun and jeno know that enough, the glances they exchange only elevate that point.

“do you really think he’s just late to respond?” you ask, blinking away some sort of devastation behind your eyes. it’s less of saddening and more of terrifying, everyone remembers the mess which was project athena, how much of a terrible state the failure of the mission put you in, this is really your last shot at this, whether you’re aware or not.

“i hope not, i—”

“that’s not what i asked jen, please” you aren’t one to plead. jeno hates it, you’re usual carefree attitude accompanied by pride replaced by pure agony. jeno can’t give you a sure answer, because he doesn’t know, and the fact itself is enough to amplify his own anxiety.

his mouth twists. “..no” it seems you expected that answer, but the disappointment is still clear. “but i don’t know what could’ve possibly gone wrong”.

jeno catches the twitch of your left eye, and he allows for your head to fall onto his shoulder. “what if they were right?” you say, rising from your place, pupils blown out in a frightened manner. “what if it’s my fault and we never get to see him again? what if—”

“y/n” jeno doesn’t let you finish, he grabs your hands and soothes his thumbs over the soft skin. “don’t say that, we’re going to see him again” he hopes his expression conveys the.. truth in his words. “we will, swear”.

renjun opts to rub the back of your shoulder in an attempt to calm your nerves. you take in a deep breath, blinking downward towards the floor. “right, i’m not gonna stop trying..” you mutter, smoothing your hands over your face.

the truth is, the moment jisung left, everyone knew that this was possible, that failure could be on the horizon whenever, no matter your circumstances. it’s the slightest bit comforting to know that, offline or not, jisung is still out there. that means there’s also a possibility of bringing him back too.

jeno knows you’ll take any chance there is, it doesn’t matter how much you have to put into it.

<<< my battery is getting low.

<<< it’s cold, i’m going to sleep. just for a little bit..

XIV.                     “ …the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain “.

that’s unfortunately easier said than done. you’ve been trying to contact jisung for three months, but the government isn’t going to fund a rescue mission to save something they don’t even deem alive, no matter the persuasion or the arguments put up against them.

project apollo was a success, prototype 205 served it’s purpose. there is no reason to organize a mission to rescue the android or the spacecraft it piloted, it’s all said and done.

one official asks jaemin, “can’t you just make a new one?”

he leaves the question without comment.

jaemin heard from fleeting whispers that doyoung decides to keep your position. interesting. he opts to locking himself in his own apartment for two weeks, practically sinking into his feat of isolation until you and renjun have to forcibly drag him out back to work then to your apartment.

he doesn’t verbalize his thanks, he instead decides to cook breakfast for all of you as his own silent appreciation.

sinking into work is mundane for you, and when jaemin slowly slips into similar habits, he can’t help but think of you.

good morning, i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you, i lov—

“seems like you need it” a cup of coffee is placed onto the table before him, and the dragging chair releases a cry as you take a seat. “please drink it” you plead, now much too used to the sight of jaemin’s frown.

he gives a glance, then, he smiles, not too big of a smile, simply a small one. it’s nice to be alone with you for once, just for a little while.. over coffee..

“too much caffeine, i might go crazy”.

“think it’s a little too late to be worrying about that one” you decide to respond, tapping onto the table in a specific pattern. you take jaemin’s hand into yours, examining his bare fingers. “i can get you a new one”.

“it’d be like replacing it” jisung would know.

there’s a certain look of distaste behind your eyes jaemin so wishes he could decipher, because for all his smarts, it feels that you’re specifically difficult to solve. he can’t decode you no matter how hard he tries.

a frown tugs at your lips, as if you’ve been in a difficult spot, you speak; “i’ll pay, just.. think about it”.

i won’t give up on him.

we won’t give up on him.

(“neptune is really your favorite?” jaemin inquired with a clear indication that it was an eye-opener for him. even jisung seemed surprised by such a revelation, his human like eyes blinking once, twice, thrice as you began chuckling at the shared expressions.

“what? did you not expect it or something?” you giggled, head tipping downward as you fixed the placement of your glasses. “it’s the planet i’m most interested in, even before my internship”.

jaemin recalls the manner in which jisung glanced over at him, the intrigue behind his eyes reminiscent of your very own. there was a warmth in his chest that he’s sure could never be replicated, not only due to jisung, but also due to you. he blinked as he ruffled the other’s hair, again staring your way. “it’s always been more about the robotics for me”.

there was a conflict in your expression. “are you telling me you don’t have a favorite planet?”

the playfulness of your expression betrayed the gravitas you attempted to display, because you really couldn’t contain your amusement, jisung blinked up at jaemin, sharing the confusion with you. “even jisung has one, have you really not thought about it?”

jaemin shook his head, now the one under speculation. “space is not a huge interest of mine”.

“that’s boring!” jisung whined, and your hum of agreement earned an eyebrow raise. jaemin’s gasp of offense was most definitely overdramatized, and jisung giggled at the expression. “it doesn’t have to be deep or anything, just pick one, my favorite is saturn..”

jaemin had to resist a coo at jisung’s irresistible charm, he again twirled a strand of jisung’s hair between his finger. “i guess.. venus?”

both you and jisung let out a synonymous groan, drawing a sigh of irritation from jaemin. “of course you picked the boring one” jisung mumbled, jaemin’s resounding gasp full of the vexation he felt.

“what is that supposed to mean!?”

“jisungie is calling you boring nana”.

jaemin allowed for his bottom lip to jut out, his arms folding over his chest in a feigned display of stubbornness as he heard jisung begin snickering.

and you? you were simply enamored. jaemin was too, but for a contrasting reason.)

jaemin looks up at you, your gaze trained on your now empty cup of coffee. the smell remains lingered in the air, jaemin hasn’t touched his yet, much too busy reminiscing on specific memories. you zone out much too easily, he snaps his fingers in front of your face, and you startle out of it. “why’d you dye your hair pink?”

there’s a childish curiosity lacing your tone, nail scratching at the metal surface of the table. jaemin keeps his hum light, his eyes traveling towards the model of the solar system, lasering on jupiter. fucking jupiter. “i like pink”.

you seem to enjoy that answer. “it’s pretty”.

jaemin unconsciously tenses, nails picking at his cuticles. “..thank you”.

he knows the sudden anxiety doesn’t go past you, nothing ever goes past you, it’s just the slightest bit frightening. the upward curve of your eyes imitates your very own smile, and you slide your chair backward, rising from your spot. “don’t worry, alright?”

jaemin isn’t sure it’s that easy, but for you, he’ll be sure to try.

he clears his throat, pulling you into a quick embrace that catches you off guard, if your small yelp is any indication. he can’t help the tightening of his arms, pressing himself against you in a moment of clarity. you chuckle into the air, reciprocating the affectionate gesture with your arms around his waist. “sorry, too surprising?” he mumbles into your shoulder.

he simply needed this.

“no, it’s alright, sometimes everyone needs a hug”.

jaemin squeezes again, taking a deep breath. he keeps silent for a while, remaining stuck to you as he collects his next few words. “i love you” he whispers, lips doing a downturn.

your eyebrow raises, and jaemin is sure you heard those words, because you chuckle again.

XV.                     “ my spirit will sleep in peace; or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus. farewell “.

jisung’s birthday is on february fifth. when jeno inquired as to why, you stated that “he fits much of the aquarius qualities”.

jeno took the initiative to study it. aquarius is the eleventh astrological sign, originating from the eponymous constellation. it’s ruling planet is uranus. aquarius are famously innovative, creative, analytical, spirited, loyal, loyalty, you muttered it to him the first time everyone met jisung, when he asked you about his name, your nails tracing the spelling into the palm of his hand. he finds it nice how things like that come back around.

tonight, aquarius is in the night sky. aquarius is one of your favorite constellations (but now that jeno thinks about it, all of them seem to be your favorite). jisung has never been able to see it, he left for jupiter before the constellation would be present in the sky, but both you and jaemin made sure to inform him of its existence, with him being an aquarius.

jeno disappointedly watches as the hope quickly dissipates from both your and jaemin’s expressions the longer days go without a message from jisung. you haven’t given up just yet, you’ll never give up on jisung, you told jeno that yourself.

project apollo remains running, the spacecraft is all intact, but there hasn’t been an update on jisung at all. the visible unhappiness gracing your features is upsetting, jeno can’t recall the last time you were so down, your usual cheerfulness no longer around to comfort him.

donghyuck tries his best, managing to squeeze a few well deserved giggles out of you. there seems to be something off with jaemin, he avoids eye contact with you in the most not jaemin like way possible, strange. in contrast to him, renjun is much more.. well.. willing to approach.

really, jeno guesses it must be obvious by now, and jeno doesn’t just mean renjun. he means him, donghyuck, jaemin, all of them alike, they don’t have to repeat it for all of them to know how it feels.

donghyuck has slowly hinted to jeno over the years since he’s joined, but he never acts upon it. jeno never knew why, he always thought the headstrong, perverse donghyuck would take up such a challenge, yet he never attempted. he assumed that you and donghyuck would be a pretty good match.

but he only ever thought that because he assumed it would quell his own jealousy.

renjun could never hide it well enough, his easy blushing stuttering words gave it away pretty quickly. it wasn’t even a week after his initial arrival that he probably realized.

jaemin.. jaemin was always the hardest to decode for jeno. maybe the bonding over robots, and by proxy, the creation of jisung, was what caused the enchantment. jeno can’t even find it in himself to be possessive or jealous of any sort, he just.. gets it. jaemin is captivated by every single one of your actions, jeno has never been able to share such a feeling with a person.

renjun’s cheek presses against the window, gaze trained on the barely visible stars in the sky. you hum the familiar tune of ‘shining star’ by earth wind and fire, engrossed in the song you’ve become so accustomed to. jeno knows why, he recalls you uttering; “it’s a classic, got me through university and this stupid internship..”

jeno finds your descriptions of things, even the things that usually don’t matter, to be so beautiful.

“words are just so great, you know? i can call anything pretty, beautiful, amazing, prepossessing, it’s just so.. fitting”.

jeno adores you, adores your heart and your soul and your fondness towards the weirdest of adjectives.

jeno taps in rhythm with your humming, the lyrics aren’t sung, but he can still picture them in his mind.

you’re a shining star

no matter who you are

shining bright to see

what you could truly be

you’re a shining star..

“should we go stargazing?”

instantly donghyuck perks up, his hair all over the place. jeno chuckles at the sight, reaching over to put at least some of the strands back in place. “what time is it?” he mumbles, staring down at his bare wrist, no watch in sight.

“twenty minutes to midnight” jaemin replies, glancing over at the window, squinting in an attempt to get a better view of the constellations. “doesn’t seem like a bad idea”.

“aquarius is in the night sky”.

right, renjun’s constellation knowledge is easily comparative to yours. you slip on a sweater as you tap donghyuck on the shoulder, then intertwining your fingers with jeno’s. “oh don’t tell me we’re going to sneak up?”

there’s a fitting expression of amusement gracing your features, but you don’t respond, simply humming.

jaemin doesn’t put up much of a fight, renjun seems enthralled by such an idea, jeno is aware that he often sneaks up onto the roof to watch the stars from time to time, donghyuck makes brash comments every few minutes, but it’s clear he doesn’t care, sneaking around is probably his favorite past time (jeno knows much more than he wishes to).

“shit, much colder than i thought it would be” jaemin mutters, again avoiding eye contact with you as you give a small chuckle. “jisung would complain”.

“why do you sound annoyed? you’re the one who programmed that!”

“i didn’t! he just naturally does that! he’s like a child..”

you push at jaemin’s shoulder, yelping as you watch him stumble. donghyuck snorts, pointing at the sight with pure amusement. “please don’t die, you know doyoung would be pissed” jeno whispers, jaemin stays glaring (but can it even be called a glare with the love behind his eyes?)

renjun keeps his hands settled in his lap as he stares upward. “really? only because doyoung would be pissed?”

“you know he doesn’t want any bad associated with the lab’s name”.

“if only he knew” donghyuck clicks his tongue, tilting his head as he rubs his eyes.

jeno’s squint, and his lips take an upturn. he can just barely make out the shape of a water bearer in the sky, someone pouring water out of a jug. huh, aquarius really is pretty.

the shine from the stars reflects in your widened pupils. you blink, then you snicker at something unsaid. “think jisung would like this one..”

jeno’s eyebrows furrow, yet he keeps his face still, still enough that you won’t pick up on the falter of his expression. you hum once again, swinging your legs back and forth.

“i miss him”.

it’s an admittedly strange claim. everybody knows already, the honesty shouldn’t be a surprising factor. there’s less of a tremble in your tone and more of a simple scratch, a rasp in your voice which can be attributed to your days spent staring at a control screen with no reply.

jeno leans against you, letting the warmth encapsulate him as he watches you smile peripherally. jaemin merely sighs, clearly sharing such emotions.

jeno’s smile grows when you nudge him, pointing upward at a shooting star.

“pretty huh?”

jeno doesn’t respond, not exactly focused on the stars, just you.

[lonewolfel]

Lightning that makes her Kingdom Fall Chapter 4: Taking Leave

On AO3

Chapter Master List

Notes: Some of the dialogue for Odysseus's section comes from what I have of "I'm not sorry for loving you" and "Dangerous". I have no idea how accurate any of this will be to the actual musical. This will likely be the last time that I use lyrics from the musical. After this chapter there will likely be major differences from Epic and I will be using the Odyssey more for the rest of Odysseus's adventures. I just realized that I forgot to post this here.

Warning: Aftermath of character death, mental breakdown

Apollo plucked the strings of his lyre. It was clear the god was bored.  

“Well?” Apollo asked.  

“I’ve done all I can for now. We’ll have to see the full extent of her injuries when she awakes.” The if wasn’t said but they both knew it.  

“Well, isn’t there anything that you can tell me now?” Apollo asked. 

“You already know about the extensive nerve damage in her arms and sides,” Asclepius said.  

“So are you just going to repeat everything I know or are you going to show me what Chiron taught you?” Apollo asked. 

Asclepius rolled his eyes at his father.  

“Most mortals wouldn't have survived against Zeus's lightning bolt," Asclepius said. "I would think that you had more experience with this."

"I do," Apollo said. "Father usually doesn't hit us with it that hard." 

Asclepius kept his thoughts about that comment to himself. 

"You said that she got hurt after winning a game to release a human," Asclepius said.

"Yeah, over some Trojan War hero…what's his name? Ovy…Ondre…whatever…" Apollo said. 

"Odysseus," Asclepius supplied.

"Yes him. I don't see why Athena or father care so much about him. He's just some mortal. I can kinda understand Hermes as there related but well the others. Athena didn't seem to be someone who cares about anyone besides herself. As for father, he isn't even that attractive sure he did some bad things but honestly I just don't see why he cares as he never insulted Father directly."

"If Athena seemed so awful then why did you help her likely against the God King's will?"

"I enjoyed the fact that little high and mighty Athena got knocked down a few pegs, but I don't exactly want her dead. Besides she begged to Father. I didn't even think Athena could say please let alone beg. She seemed different. Besides what happened to her is kinda my fault."

Asclepius wanted to ask more questions but decided not to. He didn't exactly have a close relationship with his father and he rather not deal with a pissed off Apollo. 

"So what is the plan with her?" Asclepius said.

Apollo's hands froze on his lyre. 

"Not sure, yet, I'll think of something," Apollo said.

"Don't you think the God King would be mad that we healed her?" Asclepius asked.

"Well, we'll just have to make sure that Father never finds out," Apollo said.

"How would we do that?" 

"Oh, it's rather simple. Here in my temple and due to her becoming a mortal her presence can only be felt by me."

"I don't thi…"

"Trust me it's a great plan."

Asclepius doubted that this was a good idea. Apollo didn't necessarily care about humans. Not to mention despite being a healing god he doesn't necessarily understand how fragile humans are and how how would he as he had never been mortal. Granted Athena would need help adjusting to being mortal even if she hadn't been severely injured. 

Asclepius knew that this was a disaster waiting to happen on multiple fronts. He knew that he had to remain and help ensure that the fall out of Apollo's improvised plan doesn't completely ruin Athena or either of them. 

~~~

Odysseus stared at the horizon. Sometimes he had imagined that he could see Ithaca. Sometimes he imagined that he had returned home and was here with his wife and son. He would try to imagine his son, now a full grown man. Did he look more like Penelope or himself? Was he a good man?

He heard footsteps coming towards him. He didn't bother turning around or standing up. If Calypso wants him to do those things he wont have a choice but it was still nice to have that illusion of choice. 

"Someone arrived today. They said their taking you away, that you're not mine," Calypso said.

Odysseus rose and faced her in shock. He didn't believe it after seven years, but Calypso's eyes were red as if she had been crying. Odysseus felt the hope that once had been extinguished him rise in his chest. 

"I came by to say you're not like anyone I have ever met because you're all I have ever known. If you hate me; then I'm sorry my love's too much for you, but I'm not sorry for loving you."

"Calypso…"

"Let me speak. I was banished to this island when I was young all alone. So when you washed ashore I thought for sure that you were my dream come true. I thought… I'm stuck in the moments I swore that we had. I wish you would chase me. For once, I wish you would lie and say you love me."

"I can't," Odysseus broke in. "Not in the way that you want me to."

Calypso let out a scream. "I'm angry and tired and restless and sad. I hate that I fell in love with you. Why in the world won't you love me?" She let out a sob and collapsed onto her knees. 

"Calypso…"

"GO!" Calypso cried. "I know that you want nothing more than to return to your precious wife. Just know that you are going to wish you had stayed on my island. LEAVE ME TO BE ALONE FOREVER!" 

Odysseus knows better than to be around an upset goddess. Instead he decided to follow her orders. He began to work on building a raft and gathering supplies. He was glad now that when he had first arrived Calypso took it upon herself to show him everything. 

While he gathered what he needed he began to about Calypso said to him Someone arrived today. They said their taking you away. Clearly they had to be an Olympian as who else could get Calypso to listen to them. A thought rose in his head and he didn't dare to believe it. Was Athena the one that spoke to Calypso? Did she hear his plea while he was in the depth of despair and decided to have mercy on him? Did he not lose his mentor as completely as he thought?

Odysseus tried to push down the thought but it wouldn't die. He needs to focus on getting off of the island before Calypso changes her mind.

He began to build the raft using some of the trees. They were easy to to use as like everything on this false paradise it is enchanted so that chariot is easier. 

By the time Odysseus had finished everything Helios's chariot had long disappeared below the horizon and Selene's glowed brightly above him. He debated if he should go and get some sleep or even say goodbye to Calypso before he left.

He then heard a laugh. One that he would always be able to recognize. "Hermes?" Odysseus turned to face the god.

"Hello, old friend," Hermes said.

The god was hovering above the ground with his winged sandals.

"So you're the one who talked to Calypso?" Odysseus asked. He felt disappointment that it wasn't Athena. That this wasn't her olive branch. 

"Yes, why, you think it was someone else?" Hermes giggled. Odysseus really shouldn't of.

"No, just, why are you here?" Odysseus said. 

Hermes presence could either be a blessing or a curse. After all, he was the god of travelers. It could mean that he will safely get home, but he was also in charge of taking important souls to the halls of Hades. So Hermes here meant either returning home or dying. 

"You're being given disappointment last chance to make it back home. I can help with that," Hermes said. 

"If your plan is so great then why'd you wait to say it." Maybe Odysseus was being bitter but he has been stuck here for seven years with no hope of reaching his home. He has earned the ability to be bitter with the gods. 

"Well it's a little bit dangerous, my friend," Hermes explained. When he said dangerous he summoned a large pair of what seemed to be glasses with the lens colored black and put them on. "You cannot get away with playing safe for this. If you want to go home put it all on the line. You have to put your whole brain in it and remember every trick you have."

Odysseus thought for only a split second. This could very well get him killed, but it's his only chance. "Alright, I'm in, what do I do?"

Hermes grabbed his shoulders and turned him around so that he was facing the ocean. 

"First go to uncharted waters, follow the north star, no matter what you have to keep rowing. Do whatever you have to do but you have to keep moving," Hermes said. 

"Thank you," Odysseus said.

"We'll see if you survive this. Till then ta ta," Hermes said. With that the god vanished. 

Odysseus took a deep breath. He gathered all of his resolve. He pushed the raft onto the ocean and got on it. 

After everything, he has to get home. He has to see Penelope and Telemachus.

~~~

Antinous was dead and his blood was on Telemachus’ hands. He looked up at the remaining suitors. They seemed to be equally dazed and horrified by what had transpired. There was the sound of footsteps entering the room.  

“What is going on?” Penelope demanded. 

Telemachus didn’t want to turn and face his mother. Though he knew that he needs to.  

“Prince Telemachus has killed Antinous,” Eurymachus said. 

Finally, Telemachus turned to face his mother. Her face was covered by a veil but she rose her hand over her mouth. He could imagine the horror on her face.  

“I...I...” The words wouldn’t leave Telemachus’ throat. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. His eyes stung with tears. He felt a sob growing in the back of his throat. 

He couldn’t deal with this. Telemachus ran out of the room. He ran through the halls until he finally reached his room. He slammed the door shut and leaned on it. He slid down onto the floor. He sobbed.  

“Why are you are crying? He needed to die. The Moirai have foreseen it all I did was speed it along. Besides it’s your duty to protect your mother,” Ares said.  

Telemachus glared at the god through his tear blurred vision.  

“What about Xenia?” Telemachus demanded. 

“He broke it first. My father would agree,” Ares said. 

“What about his father that will demand blood? What about my mother who is barely keeping our kingdom together?” Telemachus cried. “He didn’t have to die...” 

“Yes, he did. His blood had to soak the halls of Ithaca,” Ares said.  

Telemachus shook his head. He didn’t want to deal with the god. He then got up and began to pack his items.  

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m leaving. My mother will either have to order my execution or banishment. I’m going to make it easier for her by banishing myself,” Telemachus said.  

“So what? Are you going to run away like a coward?” Ares asked. 

“No, I’m accepting my punishment,” Telemachus said. “I want nothing to do with you.” 

“Where will you go?” Ares demanded. 

“Don’t know, I don’t care. I’m done with you. Maybe I will even find Athena,” Telemachus said. 

He walked away. In the chaos of the events that had happened he easily slipped away. He had never really been outside of the palace and on the streets of Ithaca. Finally he reached the docks. He was a bit overwhelmed by shear business of the port. He wasn’t sure what to do. He had to secure passage on a ship but he wasn’t sure how exactly to do that.  

“Hey, kid are you just going to stand there.” 

[crayolacolor]

simon infinitytrain?

send me a character and i'll list the below things about them | accepting!

HELLO ANON. i do not know if you'll ever see this because it took me ten years, but here i am, answering you.

FAVORITE THING ABOUT THEM:

fun fact: simon infinity train is the reason i have a disclaimer about me getting attached to tragic antagonists in my pinned post. so you can probably make an educated guess what i like about him.

he's just. such a well written character. i love how his negative character development was contrasted against grace's positive character development. i love how the writers did a really good job of making him infuriating and sympathetic at the same time.

i'll go more into my thoughts on him in a later section, but yeah, the tl:dr is he really just is my character type hahaha.

he's just a really complex character and imo the writers nailed that.

LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT THEM:

okay well, this answer changes depending on if you mean from a writing perspective or a 'him as a person' perspective. from a writing perspective, 100/10, no notes. i can't think of anything i disliked.

from a PERSON perspective. episode 6 makes me want to murder this man <3 i want to put tape over his mouth every time he speaks in that episode. it's somehow WAY worse than when he's just straightup being an over-dramatic anime villain at the end of the season.

FAVORITE LINE:

oh there are many. i need to rewatch again. but the ones that live in my brain rent free are ALL after his downward spiral begins:

"teamwork begins with two people trusting eachother. but you? you're no person." dramatic effect. extremely traumatizing for everybody who's ever watched this show. 10/10

"i liked what we had, but you made me do it! you betrayed the apex. and you betrayed me." again, dramatic effect. really gives you a feel for what's going on in his head, i think. 10/10

"why would i ever want to change if i'm always right!?" iconic. i think this is the one people remember the most from him, along with the one from ep 5.

BROTP & OTP (combining because my answer is the same for both):

grace. lol. full stop. hopefully i don't have to explain that i am VERY AWARE that their relationship was unhealthy in many, MANY ways. that is what i like about it. i'm a huge fan of messy relationships in fiction. i am a self proclaimed angst fiend.

the tragedy of it all is 100% the appeal of it for me, from either a platonic OR romantic standpoint. i love that. and yes, i do ship them to an extent- but NOT in the "i think they should have gotten together in canon" way. again, the angst is the appeal!!

i admit i do also enjoy aus where they fix their relationship, but not INSTEAD of the canon, more so in ADDITION to the canon. i think it's a fun alternate route to explore, but i deeply adore what the infinity train writers did with them in the show and that will not be changing.

NOTP:

literally any of the protags from the previous seasons. y'all, simon and grace are 18. you can't be shipping them with the 13-14 year olds. please stop. (nobody here! i mostly see this on ao3, honestly.)

RANDOM HEADCANON:

i think simon has been back to the cat multiple times in secret.

i really like the theory that he got some of the apex's tech from her. the main thing i have to support this is this line from the episode where he returns to her cabin in book 3:

"i knew you'd have something. you always do."

particularly i think there's a good chance he got the unmodified gravity boots from her (and likely modified them himself) and possibly also the number tracker.

UNPOPULAR OPINION:

oh i'm sure a lot of what i've already said has been an unpopular opinion, haha. i'm one of those people that's so in the middle in a debate that both sides of it have reasons to disagree with me.

i really like simon. he and grace are my favorite characters in the show. there are parts where i feel really bad for him, and parts where i want to yell at him and hit him over the head with a very large stick.

i see his death as a tragedy in universe, but also a really good writing choice on the part of the infinity train crew.

i don't think they secretly had a scheme to make us dislike him. i think it was written in such a way that it makes sense that some people would have a viscerally negative reaction to him, and others wouldn't. he's a very complex character and that's good writing!!!

i think the tragedy was the point, which is something both people who like him and people who hate him seem to completely overlook in a lot of cases. it's either "woohoo! simon died!" or "killing simon was bad writing he should have been redeemed >:/" not "oh this is really sad but i love it from a story perspective."

i don't think he was "irredeemable", per-say. the fact is, he was faced with a pivotal choice in episode five, and he picked the wrong one. he chose to double-down. i love that. i really do. i love the downward spiral. it's painful in the best way. i would not change the canon show for the world. again, 100/10, no notes.

but i can also see a universe where he made the right choice. i was writing a fic about that, once. (which admittedly has some characterization issues which i would fix if i tried it again.) i think it was possible. and i think that's a fun route to explore too. not a better route from a writing standpoint, but a good one.

i have so many more thoughts but this has already gotten really long, and i have two more questions to go, lol. but if you want to hear anymore you're free to send me another ask about it!

but, for now, moving on.

SONG I ASSOCIATE WITH THEM:

someone else on tumblr pointed out that "the moon will sing" by the crane wives is a good fit for simon @ grace and now i can't unhear it.

and, finally, FAVORITE PICTURE OF THEM:

anime villain simon my beloved.

[use-your-telescope]

When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 8: You're Just Business

Summary: Loki confronts Theo about her avoidance of the other Avengers.

Author's Notes: Fun story/trivia about this song: In an interview with the Grammy Museum, it was revealed that some of the phrases in this first verse resulted from producer Tony Berg’s mishearing of Jon Foreman’s original lyrics: “You come ‘round like a prison ship” was misheard as “pirate ship”, and “You got a fist for a lower lip” was misheard as “fish.”  Ultimately, the band decided to record the song with the mondegreens as the song’s final lyrics. I like to think that Theo was aware of this little tidbit and it led to part of why she chose this particular song.

Side note, would anyone be interested if I shared more of these goofy little trivia bits/non-spoiler reasons that certain songs appear at certain times (and maybe even captions that Theo might have posted with the covers)? I’d share them on tumblr as a little “behind the scenes” sort of thing. 

I’m posting this a day early because tomorrow is the last day of helping my parents move, which also means saying farewell to the house I grew up in; I’m sure I’ll be all up in my feelings and distracted, so rather than risk missing my (self-imposed) deadline, I’m doing something wild and posting early.

If you enjoy, please reblog!! I'm a lil' blog and reblogs really help me out <3

Content Warnings: None?

Word Count: 5,314

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

Song: I need you (to be wrong) - Switchfoot

You come 'round like a pirate ship You're just business You got a fish for a lower lip You're just business You're the parentless, nightmare kid You're just business You don't answer for any of this You're just business

The end of onboarding meant the return of lazy days off.

Other than the sound of a sleety-drizzle outside, it was probably quiet enough in the tower to hear a pin drop. Any reprieve from commotion could best be described as blissful, and not needing to peer around every corner so Theo didn’t run into the Avengers brought a different kind of relief. 

In a normal day, Natasha and Steve were always the first to emerge, since they liked early morning training sessions. With how they timed their workouts, Theo typically had to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn just to have 30 minutes to get into the kitchen, make herself a cup of coffee, and then slink back to her corner of the tower or get the hell out, which meant going down to the hospital to get ready for work.

Then again, when Theo got back to her suite at night and heard the commotion and the raucous laughter echoing from down the hall, something painful twisted in Theo’s chest, making her miss her life before the Avengers. It didn’t help that ever since she visited Mémère, Theo caught herself weighing whether it was worth trying to make friends with anyone while she was here.

She hadn’t planned on staying with the group after her favor was done, so on the one hand she didn’t want to grow attached, then ditch them. On the other hand, now that she couldn’t see her other friends, life had become little more than work, which was a lonely way to live. And though she loathed to admit it, Loki’s visits and Julie’s perspective on the Avengers made Theo wonder if her trepidation was truly warranted.

Then again, the Avengers didn’t know the full extent of her history or her powers. Given the reactions from people who knew her sob story, she didn’t anticipate they’d like her very much if they learned the truth. That meant every social interaction felt like it required Theo to put on a show; every word, every action was a calculated risk. She’d been doing it for so long that it felt like second nature, but it didn’t mean she liked it.  

However, none of her concerns around socializing mattered, at least for the time being. According to the side discussions before the most recent debrief,  all of the Avengers had plans for the weekend which took them away from New York, so she had the entire tower to herself. Wanda and Vision snuck out on a weekend getaway to Maine, Tony and Bruce were presenting at some science conference in Switzerland (and Peter tagged along), the super soldiers agreed to help with an event for the US military down in DC, Natasha and Yelena decided to visit Clint and his family out at their farm, Shuri happened to be in Oakland, and Thor had gone to New Asgard for something. Theo assumed that Loki had gone with him, since he was also an Asgardian prince and all. 

Regardless, Theo’s agenda for the day consisted of one thing: reading. A mountain of SHIELD reports loomed on Theo’s desk ever since she started, consisting of both recent and past missions that would hopefully provide the context she needed to offer her expertise on the shadow creatures. Even if she would have rather been marathoning Queer Eye or visiting Mémère, a rainy Saturday morning without anyone around seemed like just as good of a time as any to check the reports of her never-ending list of things to do. 

But even before she dug into the stack of reports, she needed coffee.

Theo padded through the halls of the tower, relishing the echo of her footsteps and the lack of chatter filling the air. Upon entering the kitchen, Theo decided that rather than work her way through the reports in her suite, she’d indulge in a change of scenery and set up shop at the kitchen island.

After starting the coffee, Theo brought out her laptop and the pile of reports, scattering them across the breakfast bar for easy review. She placed her headphones over her ears, cranked up her music, and became so absorbed in reading about the fallout of Ultron and the Sokovia Accords that she forgot about the coffee brewing… 

… She also failed to observe that she wasn’t the only one home. 

A coffee mug appeared next to her out of seemingly thin air, to which Theo yelped and practically flew out of her seat.

“What the – “ she tore her headphones off and whirled around to find Loki standing there, holding his own cup of coffee. “Jesus, Loki, creep around much?”

“I was in no way creeping. Your decision to wear headphones impeded your ability to hear me.” Loki’s tone remained cool and unaffected as he took a sip of his own coffee, leaning back against the counter. “Perhaps you might demonstrate some gratitude toward me; after all, I prepared your coffee for you.” 

“In my defense, I also didn’t realize I wasn’t the only one home – I thought you went back to New Asgard with Thor.” Theo protested, trying to ignore the searing heat that rose on her cheeks. She palmed the mug of coffee in one hand, glancing briefly at the swirls of steam rising from the ceramic cup.

“I’ve no reason to be in New Asgard at present.” He shrugged, before narrowing his eyes at Theo. “If you believed you were alone, why not use Stark’s audio system to listen to your music? It is not as if you would cause a disruption.” 

“It’s a habit,” Theo shrugged casually, allowing her focus to travel to her new teammate. Unlike Theo, whose heart still pounded in her chest from the surprise, Loki's casual posture and amused expression left him looking cool as a cucumber, because of course he would. “Besides, high quality headphones have better sound quality than any stereo system Tony Stark could build – it’s easier to hear the nuance and little details in the recordings.” 

Loki cocked a skeptical brow at her before sauntering over to the refrigerator. As he bent down to rummage through the contents, Theo took advantage of the opportunity to drink in the full sight of Loki in the mornings. 

Loki’s Saturday morning attire was more relaxed than she had ever seen from him. Black joggers slung low on his hips and followed the line of his slim form, while a gray t-shirt clung to his torso and hinted at the toned muscle beneath. He pulled his black curls back into a loose bun, but left one strand hanging down to frame his face, highlighting a jawline that cut like glass. 

For all the jokes Julie made, she wasn’t kidding about Loki’s attractiveness. But that was like saying the sky was blue - no one would question that a god was objectively attractive.

In comparison, he probably thought Theo looked a bit sloppy in her oversized sweatshirt and yoga pants, her own hair tossed up in what looked less like a bun and more like a rat’s nest…

Channeling her inner gremlin, as Max would say.

Loki turned around and caught Theo studying him. 

“Are you enjoying the view?” He smirked.

“I’ve never seen you in anything remotely casual before,” Theo said, mirroring his expression. “Looks good on you.”

Loki hummed, something devilish twitching on his lips to match the glint in his eye. “I should hope so.” 

Theo rolled her eyes. Of the many traits Loki held, humility did not seem to be high on the list. Then again, Theo knew that if she was that attractive, she wouldn’t be humble about it, so it wasn’t like she could hold that against him.

Instead of feeding Loki’s ego, Theo returned her attention to the Sokovia report. She knew herself well enough to know if she didn’t make substantial progress on the reports that day, she would never catch up.

However, Loki either did not get the hint that Theo wanted to be left to work or he chose to ignore it, positioning himself across the island from Theo. With each passing moment, Theo felt his burning stare intensify.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll hit you over the head with a chair.” Theo threatened, not even glancing up from her work.

“Darling, such a temper from you this morning.” Loki practically purred. “I would have expected gratitude - after all, I prepared your morning coffee for you.” 

Theo rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the hint of a smile that quirked up. Of course the prince would make a big deal out of a small gesture. “Well, thank you for the coffee, your highness, now will you leave me alone to work?”

“How are you settling in?”

Ugh. 

He couldn’t have been that dense, right? He must have known Theo did not want to talk to him at that moment. No one became a renowned diplomat if they couldn’t understand basic social cues. 

“Fine,” Theo drawled, “Better if you leave me to read in peace.”

“You never choose to spend time in the common areas like this. Why today?”

A loaded question, delivered with a deceptively light tone, had Theo’s hair standing on the back of her neck. 

No, he wasn’t clueless or dense - Loki wanted something; information, probably.

Something unsettling lurched in Theo’s stomach.

“Because I thought I was going to be alone?” Irritation colored Theo’s response; she gritted her teeth, debating if she should try to divert the conversation or just piss him off so he’d leave her alone.

Her morals leaned towards the former, but her temper leaned towards the latter.

For the moment, she held her tongue.

“Perhaps this will surprise you, but you are allowed to venture into the common areas while others are around to spend your leisure time and… Do whatever it is that you are doing,” Loki casually gestured to the stack of papers scattered between them. “As you previously stated, you are not a princess to be locked away in a tower.”

“Currently, I’m reading reports,” Theo muttered, “And you’re proving to me exactly why I don’t do this in common areas – because you’re distracting me.” 

It took a significant amount of willpower not to slam her computer closed and retreat to her suite; after all, the heavily redacted report about Budapest that was next on her list looked like an enticing read.

“See, that brings me to my next question: why, when you have a beautiful Saturday morning to relax, are you spending your time reading reports and paperwork?” A playful, lighthearted tone graced Loki’s question, but Theo’s patience wore dangerously thin. “If you wish for quality reading material, you only need to ask. I’ve plenty of recommendations.”

“Okay, since apparently you refuse to get the hint, I’m just going to be blunt: I am trying to work. I don’t want to talk right now. Quite frankly, your impromptu interrogation is pissing me off. So for the love of all that is holy, can you leave me alone?” Theo huffed, outright glowering at Loki. 

“You may not be interested in speaking, but I’m certainly interested in answers to my question.” Loki arched a brow at Theo, sipping his coffee as if he could wait all day for a response.

“Because the world isn’t going to save itself and I have a lot of background knowledge to catch up on if I don’t want to fuck up one of these missions and get a bunch of people killed.” Theo’s frustration made its open debut, but amidst her ire she failed to hide the undercurrent of anxiety in her answer. 

Before Theo even finished, Loki’s demeanor shifted from taunting to serious - he must have recognized that he struck a nerve. 

Shit. 

She let her guard down and he latched onto it instantly… Careless mistakes like that could get her killed.

“Are you aware that it is not a requirement to memorize every piece of SHIELD’s history?” Loki leaned in so he could look at Theo over her laptop, face shifting to something unreadable before he continued. “Generally speaking, we have only enough knowledge to complete the individual mission. You need not push yourself to learn everything so that you might recall it at a moment’s notice.”

It wasn’t about knowing everything - it was about assessing the risks. Theo needed to know the history in order to understand the potential risks. If she was in an emergency department, she knew the environment. She knew the variables. She had control over her situation.

But in the field? Knowing anything was a laughable thought.

“It’s not about memorizing, it’s about learning what I got myself into,” Theo flatly replied, hoping to make up for her slip. “I know Fury is fond of leaving out important details in favor of creating a narrative, so I want to make sure I know what he hasn’t told me before I’m sent out into the line of fire.”

“And you believe reports are the way to learn such information?” Skepticism dripped from Loki’s question. 

“I didn’t say I liked it, but this,” Theo gestured to the mess of documents around her, refusing to let her nerves show once more, “is better than letting Fury trot me around like a prize horse or his little puppet.”

It was a half-truth; he didn’t need to know all the details, but perhaps she could spin it to take some of the pressure off.

“I do not believe you’re giving yourself enough credit.” Loki stepped around the island so he stood next to Theo, then shut her laptop so she would look him in the eye. He certainly accomplished the goal, but earned a frustrated groan from Theo in the process. “You’re an immensely sharp and powerful sorcerer – I can feel the magic pouring off you. You easily handle extreme physical duress during training, you effortlessly adapt to any social situation, and it has not escaped my attention that you’re extremely well-studied in a variety of areas.”

Sure, Loki saw Theo spar with Steve, and obviously they’d hung out a few times; they spoke at the party from the first night, and showed up to the soccer game and the bar show…  But a handful of interactions wouldn’t have been enough to draw those conclusions, right?  

Maybe it was a bluff, or an attempt at wooing her with his famed silver tongue so she would give him the information he wanted. 

It wouldn’t be the first time someone lied to her in hopes of gaining her trust. 

“First of all, I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or creeped out that you’ve been watching me so closely,” Theo retorted with a scowl. “Second of all, what’s your point?”

“If you are concerned about your ability to defend yourself on a mission, you need not fret.” Loki sounded cocky, almost arrogant – how would he know what they were up against? “You realize you are not the only one responsible for your safety in the field?”

“You really think that the others, who look at me like I’m a terror, give a shit about my safety?” “They do not believe you are a terror.” 

“Cool, tell that to my grandma when she has to deal with my dead body,” Theo muttered. She attempted to snatch her laptop from Loki, but he held firm.

Loki may have been nicknamed a silvertongue, but the only thing his tongue had done was piss Theo off. 

Enough was enough.

“ I don’t have time for this shit.” With a flick of her wrist, a swirl of shimmering runes encompassed the reports and her laptop, teleporting them back to her quarters. Theo snatched her coffee mug, then offered a final wave and a bratty sneer before transporting herself to her suite.

In the solitude of her suite, Theo let out a sigh.

So much for a peaceful Saturday morning.

I got a body, but I lost my mind I'm just business Placeholder with a bottom line I'm just business Please don't take this personally It's just business

Standing in the kitchen, Loki gaped at the empty seat before him and replayed the events which led to his current predicament.

In some ways, he could have foreseen such an outcome. Initial interactions with Theo had been far more successful than Loki anticipated, to the degree that he almost believed Theo might actually wish to befriend him. Thus, it was inevitable that he would ruin his progress in a truly spectacular manner.

In his defense, walking into the kitchen and finding Theo there had not been something he anticipated. The circumstances practically begged for Loki to engage; when else would he see Theo anywhere besides her workplace or mandatory Avengers engagements? 

Yet, after a handful of occasions spent casually making each other’s acquaintance, Loki expected something with a bit more banter, or at least something more lighthearted. Instead, she met his questions with barbed remarks and vicious glares, culminating in another disappearing act.

The Theo that Loki encountered in the kitchen was vastly different from the Theo he first met, or the one that he spent time with in the research library; that Theo seemed confident and self-assured, sharp-witted and formidable regardless of the circumstances. But when caught off-guard, she became aggressive and downright irascible, to the extent that Loki questioned whether or not it was the same woman who he’d spoken to before.

However, deep within Loki’s chest, something uncomfortable twisted. He recognized the behavior, mostly because he had once acted in such a manner;  if he was entirely honest with himself, he knew exactly what motivated such behavior:

Protecting oneself at all costs.

Seeing Theo in such a state brought to mind his mother’s gardens in Asgard. When flowers were cut and taken from the gardens, they eventually wilted and withered, unable to adapt to their new surroundings. Roses, one of his mother’s favorite flowers, eventually developed thorns all along the stem, which made cutting the blooms a much more challenging task; a defense mechanism that evolved over the course of millennia. 

Like the thorns that protected the roses, Theo’s hostility served as a defense mechanism, an instinct developed to protect herself from something which previously scarred her, something which might have caused her to wither and wilt until nothing more than a shadow of her former self.

In Theo’s behavior, Loki saw himself. There was once a time where he had been so guarded that the other Avengers called him a cactus because of his prickly, sullen demeanor. Though the moniker had become a relic, the instinct remained firmly ingrained upon Loki’s psyche.

Theo was by no means a cactus, but she certainly had some thorns. 

Loki sighed, smoothing calloused fingers over his hair. Ideally, he could remedy the situation with minimal lingering damage to the delicate kinship he struck with Theo; yet the manner in which he could achieve such a feat eluded him.

If he approached too soon, she would only recoil, particularly if she felt cornered. If he waited too long to speak to her, she might suspect his intentions stemmed from less than savory desires - exploitation or a means to an end.

After much dithering, Loki settled upon a plan: if he did not see Theo around lunch, he would knock on her door. If she failed to respond, he would try again at dinner time.

If he still had not heard anything, he would send her a message through his mobile, leaving the onus upon Theo - if she wished to interact she could, however he would not push further.

Any and all confidence Loki held in the plan dwindled when noon came and went with no sign of the silver shadow. Despite the aura of magic radiating from within, Loki’s knocks were met with silence, only dampening his spirits further.

To be on the receiving end of rejection brought a certain discomfort which Loki had not outright encountered in quite some time, and it remained at least as unpleasant as he remembered (if not moreso). Midgardians never outright rejected him - first, they feared him, but over time some came to lust after him. As for the Asgardians, they knew better than to disrespect a crown prince, even if his lineage brought disgrace upon the throne. The more he dwelled on the matter, the clearer it became that he could not remember the last time someone outright turned away from him in such a blatant manner.

Without any sign of Theo in the afternoon, or around the time when the others typically took their evening meal, Loki braced himself for the worst and made the trek down the corridor.

As he approached, the faint sound of music could be heard from inside Theo’s quarters, which combined with her aura confirmed she was present. After pausing for a moment to gather himself, Loki rapped his knuckles upon the door.

Much to his surprise, the music stopped. Footsteps grew louder as Theo approached the door. The noise ceased for a beat, then the lock clicked, and the door swung wide.

Theo stood before him, arms crossed and brows drawn tight as she scrutinized Loki.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or annoyed by your stubbornness.” Theo skipped any formal greeting, leaning against the doorframe as she gave him a once-over. “Then again, I’m the one that answered the door, so maybe your strategy is effective, or I’m a glutton for punishment. Either way, are you here to continue badgering me about work, or is there something else you want?” 

Loki drew in a deep breath. 

“It seems I struck a nerve,” he observed. “For that, I apologize.”

“Is that all?” Theo eyed Loki warily, as if she knew other matters remained on his conscience.

Loki sighed; it seemed as good of a time as any to address what Midgardians often referred to as ‘the elephant in the room.’

“I noticed you’ve not yet made the acquaintance of the others.”

“I socialize with the other hospital staff,” Theo countered.

Loki scoffed. “I am referring to the other Avengers.”

“I know.” Theo answered as if she had no intention of continuing the conversation. Loki raised his eyebrows at her in a silent question; she rolled her eyes and sighed. “Look, I’m sure they’re fine, but I’m not really interested.”

“Dare I inquire as to why?”

“For one thing, the only reason they’re pretending to be interested in me is because Fury gave them the mission of convincing me to stay on as an Avenger.” Theo cocked an eyebrow at Loki as she slouched further into the doorframe. “So it’s not like they’re really trying to be my friend. And besides, most of them were more than quick to jump to conclusions about who, or what kind of person, I was.”

“If that is so, then why have you not shunned my company?” Loki challenged. “How do you know I am not making your acquaintance to win over the director?”

“I don’t,” she admitted, “but you don’t seem like the type of person to crave Nick Fury’s adoration, or like you’d let him make you his bitch. I suppose I could be wrong, though.” 

“Such rousing praise,” Loki drawled. “Truly, the utmost of faith you place upon me—“

“Okay, fine - you really want to know why I’m willing to talk to you?” Theo interrupted, silencing Loki in the process, “Because in that first meeting, you didn’t automatically assume I was the villain.” 

Something painful twisted in Loki’s stomach. Nowhere in the list of potential responses that Loki developed prior to asking the question was Theo’s answer, yet what she described was an experience he knew all too well. The memory of Barton’s initial reaction to Loki’s presence remained painfully vivid to the Asgardian, which only diminished Loki’s confidence in his argument. 

Still, Theo’s perceptions of the situation were not entirely true. “I was not the only Avenger who made no assumptions about your morality—” 

“Not out loud,” Theo agreed, “But you were the only one who didn’t look at me like I was some kind of terror. You actually looked at me as a person.”

If anyone could empathize with Theo’s experience, it would be Loki. Joining the Avengers, a group who he didn’t truly know or trust, and who didn’t know or trust him… For quite some time, Loki believed wholeheartedly that he made a terrible mistake. 

Months passed from when he first relented to Thor’s pleas to become an Avenger to when Loki partook in a movie night, and that only happened because Thor physically dragged Loki from his quarters. He lost count of the number of times he turned Maximoff down before finally relenting to her constant requests to spend time together. 

In the end, it took over a year for Loki to feel remotely comfortable simply existing in the common areas during the day, going on missions without his brother, or speaking to anyone that was not Thor. Even after so long, he still questioned whether the others valued his contributions to the team, or if they simply tolerated his presence.

“I will admit, the others are not always the most… open-minded, shall we say. Not in the beginning, at least.” Loki chose his words carefully, recognizing the delicate nature of the situation at hand. “However, I truly believe they have moved past the false assumptions, and I would highly recommend you use the opportunity to demonstrate that you are not the terror they assumed you to be.”

“And how do you know that they even want to get to know me?” Theo pressed, piercing blue eyes scrutinizing Loki’s every move.

“Because I was once in a similar position.” The answer slipped out before Loki could stop it. He carefully schooled the surprise from his features; meanwhile, Theo made no effort to hide her skepticism.

“I understand that you may not fully trust me yet – I’m the trickster god, I have a history of manipulating people. Quite frankly, it would be in your best interest not to trust me. But!” Loki admitted, then continued before Theo could get a word in edgewise: “You remind me quite a bit of myself, when I first became an Avenger. I believed the others assumed the worst in me. I held no trust in the others, and in turn they placed no trust in me. It remained as such for quite some time – too long, in hindsight. 

“The change in my relationship with my colleagues came when I finally relented to my brother and Maximoff’s incessant attempts to force me to socialize with the others. If it were not them, I would still remain hidden away in my quarters at all hours. 

“Honestly, at the time I desired nothing more than to kill them in a spectacular manner for their belligerent pestering and sickening optimism. But between you and I, it helped me far beyond simply becoming a part of the Avengers – it helped me move on from the past that used to define me.”

To be so genuinely forthcoming was a bold decision. Had it been anyone else, he would not have dared to reveal such information, particularly someone so new. However, Theo had a knack for drawing the unexpected from Loki, even if it often caught him by surprise. Additionally, the mystery surrounding Theo piqued his curiosity, which only grew with the reluctance to socialize with the others. 

Without taking a risk, there would be no reward.

Theo narrowed her eyes at the God of Mischief, chewing the inside of her cheek as she mulled over his words.

“I remind you of… you?” Distrust clung to every word, only amplified by the doubt written across her expression in big, bold letters.

“Well, yes,” Loki replied coyly. “but you are far more charming and engaging. When I first arrived, I was simply full of spite.” He chuckled, earning a hesitant smile at Theo as a faint hint of pink rose on her cheeks from his compliment. “Had there been no consequence, Stark would have gleefully made a spectacle of launching me off the top of the tower.”

Theo’s shoulders bounced as she chuckled at Loki’s remarks. A sense of relief washed over Loki - perhaps he hadn’t made a mess of things after all.

“The winter soldier, the scarlet witch, myself - at one point or another, we were enemies of various factions of the Avengers. Romanoff is a former black widow, as is Belova. If we can be accepted into the Avengers, I’ve no doubt that you can as well.” Loki assured her, his confidence building with every passing moment. “However, you must be willing to engage.”

Before Theo could roll her eyes and offer a snarky dismissal, Loki held up a finger to silence her.

“At least humor Maximoff once,” he bargained. “I’ve listened to her prattle on endlessly about her excitement at your addition to the Avengers ever since she learned the news, and if I have to endure any more of her moping because you’ve rejected her invitations to socialize, I very well might lose my mind.”

After far too long of a pause, Theo finally answered.

“Okay, fine. I will stop turning down the invites to hang out and I’ll try to ‘play nice’ with the others,” she relented, sounding none too pleased as she straightened up. “For the record, I never agreed to any of this. I am here reluctantly, at best.”

“Yes yes, the reluctant Avenger - you’re not the first one. I wrote the book on it.” Loki ribbed, earning a real laugh from Theo. “Now come, it is far too beautiful of a day to spend it reading such dreary reports. Why not spend your time on something you might enjoy?”

“You know it’s raining outside, right?” Theo pointed to a window behind her, where an onslaught of water undoubtedly pounded against the glass.

“Of course I do;” Loki lightly scoffed. “That’s why it is such a beautiful day - it is perfect for settling in with some literature and forgetting about the tomfoolery the rest of this dreadful realm subjects us to.”

Theo didn’t argue with him, but she continued to peer at him rather suspiciously. 

“You have worked non-stop ever since you started here. What is the phrase that you mortals love? All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy? I fear you might become dreadfully dull if you keep this up.”

“Good thing my name isn’t Jack.” Theo winked, her quick-wit making its blessed return. 

“All work and no play makes for a rather wretched existence.” Loki amended his statement, smirking at Theo. “What you ought to do is put those reports away, find a novel that you actually enjoy, and join me in the sitting room to indulge in some reading. We might even listen to some of your music over the speakers, since you seem to be averse to silence yet easily startled when you wear your headphones.”

“I don’t know, this Budapest report looks like a great mystery to crack.” Theo shrugged, though her tone no longer held any trace of the tension or animosity that had previously dominated her replies.

Loki rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t bite back a smile. 

“Okay,” Theo finally agreed, “let me put this stuff away, and then I’ll come join you.”

As she joined him in the corridor, Loki concluded that one thing was certain: he much preferred Theo’s banter to her thorns. 

I need you to be wrong  (All along wе both were wrong) I need you to be wrong  (All along wе both were wrong)

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

Who Made Me a Villain (5)

To the ppl who read my fics only on tumblr, I am sorry. I have been posting a lot on ao3 and I keep forgetting that I have a tumblr acc. I will try to be more mindful in the future.

--------

[Masterlist] [Ao3]

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Here) (Part 6)

-----

“B, what’s all this?” Dick asked during one of his visits to Gotham. He was here for Alfred’s cooking.

Upon seeing the eye bags on Bruce, Dick was understandably worried. “Have you slept at all, Bruce?”

“A few days ago, Rebel brought something serious to my attention.”

Bruce had spent days working on the case Rebel had dropped into his lap. He felt that she had summarised the situation too simply. Or she was unaware of what the full extent of the situation was due to her lack of experience and knowledge.

John Constantine was unhelpful in getting more information on the Miraculous but did confirm their presence in Paris in the same period Rebel had given. Rebel had given more information than him.

Zatanna said that she would sort through her father’s journals to give him a definite answer but told him that it was likely Rebel was telling the truth about Paris. There were surges of the magical equivalent of earthquakes from Paris which her father had gone to check out a few years ago.

Diana had overheard their conversation and talked about how her mother used to wield the Ladybug Miraculous. She promised to talk to her mother for more information. Bruce decided to ask Doctor Fate later if his research wasn’t enough.

However, the thing that had Bruce tearing apart his training dummies like they were paper was the good-for-nothing, sham of a man that Paris had for a mayor.

Mayor André Bourgeois had blocked all news about the akuma from getting out of the city. He didn’t report about it to the Justice League European branch and blocked all attempts to prevent others from reporting it. His reasoning was that the child heroes were enough. That was just the political side of things.

To further make things worse, the heroes who were stationed in France all claimed to have been told to be relocated to other cities by the Justice League Headquarters. They did as they were told under the assumption that someone else would be filling in for them. Just before Hawkmoth struck.

Bruce investigated that lead and it appears that someone had sent out that order but Bruce hadn’t figured out who it was yet or whether it really was sent by one of the Justice League. Either they had a mole or the JL Headquarters needed a new update to their systems.

Then, one of Zatanna’s contacts in Paris had informed her that magic helped in preventing news of akuma reaching outside of Paris.

By the time Dick came to the Manor, Bruce was hours deep into the many footage he had spent the most of the day collecting from the internet. He started with the first akuma where Ladybug and Chat Noir were practically strangers shoved together and forced to rely on each other. He didn’t like that the Parisians were forcing the love narrative between the two of them. Ladybug had the sense to focus on her job and remain professional while Chat Noir tried to enforce the love story. He was not pleased with that interview.

The Ladyblog that was run by a very dedicated teenager was very helpful in getting raw footage of most fights, albeit a bit shaky and blurry. He was currently watching the blog owner’s interview with Ladybug. How she got an interview with the very elusive heroine Batman doesn’t know. There was something about the heroine that caught his attention. It felt like he had met Ladybug before.

Dick skimmed over the notes Batman had taken. He whistled. “This is pretty crazy.”

“Why are you doing all of this research?” Dick asked.

“Hawkmoth. I am trying to track him down.”

“Wait, you are telling me that there is a powerful supervillain in Paris and these kids are heroes? They look like babies. They don’t even know how to properly fight.”

“We are already too late. Hawkmoth has been defeated and stripped of his powers.”

“So what’s the problem? Is he coming back?”

Bruce sighed heavily and showed off his days of research to Dick.

“Rebel had been planning something for months. Something big. I asked the reason behind it all. She asked me to bring him to justice and she would call it all off. Apparently, the leader of the hero team, Ladybug, gave Hawkmoth the equivalent of the slap on the wrist and Rebel doesn’t agree with him being off the hook that easily. He got his wife in exchange for giving back the Miraculous under his possession and didn’t face consequences for his little foray into villainy.”

“How does she know what happened to Hawkmoth?” Dick asked, “It just says that no akumas was seen for a month and then, Ladybug announced that Hawkmoth was defeated before disappearing forever.”

“According to her, Rebel used to be one of the heroes going against Hawkmoth.” Bruce told him.

Dick nearly fumbled the file in his hand due to the surprise.

“Oh. Um. That- That explained a few things. The experience in fighting. Those acrobatic stunts. Former hero, huh.”

It left a bitter taste in his mouth. The thought of somebody who was once a hero turning to the dark side.

Dick changed the subject. “Any luck finding him?”

“I have one suspect. He’s the one that fits the profile.”

Bruce handed Dick a file.

“Gabriel Agreste.”

Dick looked through it. “He’s a fashion designer. That doesn’t exactly scream evil to me.”

“Even without Rebel’s hints. He’s still suspicious.” Bruce said. “I am meeting him in a month to get a feel for him.”

Dick closed the file. “Even if he is Hawkmoth, it’s been a few years since his defeat. We can’t just take him in.”

Bruce suddenly looked very tired.

Tim popped up from where the pile of blankets besides the Batcomputer that Dick hadn’t noticed. Dick’s and Bruce’s voices have woken him up.

Dick definitely did not scream.

“Tim! How long were you there?” Dick asked, putting his escrima sticks away.

“A few hours I think.” Tim replied and yawned.

“Anyhoo,” Tim started, “Rebel had already taken care of that part. She had been using different accounts to sow seeds of conspiracy theories and rumours for people online to find Hawkmoth’s true identity. No mention of Gabriel being Hawkmoth or it won’t be taken seriously if the truth comes out. I think she is trying to spread the idea that Hawkmoth must be taken in to face the legal system.”

“Why is she going that far?”

Bruce was silent for a moment. “Hawkmoth was part of the reason she was framed for murder.”

“Framed? Why do you think that she was framed? Her father is the Joker. The Joker. The one who killed Jason.”

Bruce stiffened. Jason had left Gotham after their last showdown. Last Bruce heard of him, Jason had teamed up with Roy Harper to form his own mercenary team.

“I know. But children are not their parents.”

Bruce handed Dick another file.

“Her case file and the transcript of her trial. Read it and draw your own conclusions.” Bruce instructed.

Dick took it.

“You are not going to like it, Dick.” Tim said.

—--

A day later, Dick came back, storming into the Batcave.

He slammed the file in front of Bruce.

“What the fuck is wrong with people? How did something like this get past you?” Dick demanded furiously.

There was the last thing that was cherry on the icing of the cake that was this whole situation.

-

Rebel was not supposed to be in Arkham Asylum. She was not supposed to get a life sentence. She was not supposed to have fourteen charges of first-degree homicide to her name.

Dick read the trial proceeding.

It was way over exaggerated and very dramatised. He thought that he was reading the script for a courtroom soap opera drama. Dick even went as far as to hack into the French government to get the untranslated copy of the files and it was just as bad but in French. It didn’t take him long to find the blatant amount of bribes that were tossed around. The very obvious abuse of power. Every odds was stacked against Rebel. The unnecessary DNA test that unfortunately brought her to Gotham.

No wonder Marinette Dupain-Cheng turned to a life of crime. Everyone was dead set on labelling her the bad guy.

Then, he read Gabriel Agreste’s involvement in the case. His son was part of Rebel’s old class. Their classmates spoke about Rebel’s stalker tendencies towards him. But Dick kept an open mind, knowing how exaggerated everything was. Gabriel had blacklisted Rebel from every company in the fashion industry he had connections with. That move confused Dick until he found out that Rebel was trying to be an aspiring designer. It was essentially salt in her wounds.

Dick simply couldn’t understand the witch hunt against Rebel. 

-

“Bruce, we have to do something about this.” Dick said.

“The only thing we can do right now is bring Hawkmoth in before Rebel takes it into her own hands.”

“What do you mean by that?” Dick asked.

Tim injected. “You already know that Rebel had been acting suspicious for the past few months. She had been meeting up with several different villains and secret projects we couldn’t figure out until now.”

“We found a warehouse in Washington connected to her that contained these strange stone statues.”

Bruce pulled up a picture of the stone statues in the warehouse.

“Now look at the clip of the first akuma attack.”

Bruce played a clip of Stoneheart attack. The monster looked similar to the stone statues in the photo.

“Going through the akuma fights and her movements in the past few months. It is obvious what she is trying to plan.”

Picture of Rebel talking to many different ice villains with a powerpoint presentation and a clip of the Glaciator attack.

Picture of a machine that could create floods that the Teen Titan had managed to shut down a few years back and picture of Paris being flooded.

Picture of Weather Wizard, next to a picture of Stormy Weather.

“She’s trying to recreate akuma fights.” Dick concluded. “And making it seem like Hawkmoth was back.”

Bruce nodded gravely. “I wouldn’t have figured it out if Rebel didn’t deliberately let me in on her plans. She exposed a great problem we had missed. She is giving us, the League, a chance to rectify our mistake.”

Rebel was not counting on the legal justice system to bring Hawkmoth to justice. She was counting on him as Batman to make sure that Hawkmoth ended up with the same fate as her. His reputation torn apart and dragged through mud. Behind bars for the rest of his life with the supervillain mark following him everywhere.

Or she will forcefully do it by bringing the whole world down to force the Justice League in carrying it out.

“Without Ladybug’s miraculous power, it would be disastrous for us and we would have a lot of civilian casualties.”

“I don’t think she would do that, Bruce.” Tim argued.

“Then, lock her up.” Dick suggested.

“Arkham is currently in no position to take her in.” Bruce said. He looked resigned.

Dick looked at Tim for an explanation which he helpfully provided. “It was being renovated a few months ago to put in a new security system. In the chaos, her records were wiped out from the system and her physical reports went missing. Every copy was gone. So even if we arrest her now, we have to find a pretty good justification to keep her there legally. We only have these copies because Bruce regularly back-ups the Arkham database onto the Batcomputer and the Bat-net.”

Dick cursed. While they could just put it back, it wasn’t worth the headache if it was erased again.

“What about the police? Won’t they have her records?”

“Same thing. We think she did it when Clayface attacked the police a while back.”

“How about her original case that sent her to Arkham?”

“It was erased too. We need to get to Paris in order to access their database or if she erased her case, then we need to get the physical copy and we would have to go through so much legal bullshit to get it. That will take months.”

“She covered everything.” Dick said, amazed.

“She thought of all the possibilities and covered all of her bases. She had been staying under the radar and not getting caught.” Bruce said.

“He means that he got caught in her traps if we try to catch her.” Tim said with a shit eating grin on his face.

Bruce grumbled.

“You? How did you even get caught?” Dick asked.

“Rube Goldberg machines.” Tim answered.

“Rube what?”

“Here.” Tim opened up Youtube and showed Dick a video of a marble rolling down a pipe and then knocking down a row of dominoes in a spiral which continued to set off a chain of reactions that ended with a ball going neatly through a hoop and triggering a banner that said ‘WOW!’ to pop up.

“So that’s what it is called.” Dick commented. “Aren’t these like super complicated to do? She couldn’t have set them up that quick …unless she had them set up beforehand.”

“According to my research, she has at least 50 of these set up in different locations around Gotham. There are videos of people setting these off on purpose. Rebel is always making more. They usually have victims stuck in a net or a hole. Or have water, paint or liquids splashed onto them.”

“She did that? That picture you sent me where Bruce had yellow pain all over him?”

Bruce glared at Tim.

A derisive snort came from the entrance of the Bat cave.

They all turned to look at the newest addition to the house.

Damian Al Ghul. Well, Damian Al Ghul Wayne now.

“I find it hard to believe that this one petty criminal got the better of all of you.” He said mockingly.

“Damian.” Bruce said. “Even if she is just a petty criminal, she cannot be underestimated. You must never underestimate your opponent, no matter how deceiving they look.”

“Perhaps Father, you and Drake aren’t good at doing your jobs.”

“Like you would be any better catching her.” Tim said under his breath.

“If it was up to me, she would be killed on sight.” Damian continued.

“Damian, we do not kill here. People deserve another chance to redeem themselves.” Bruce explained like he had a thousand times before.

Damian scowled. “I don’t need to kill. I have brought in targets alive before.”

The way he said it implied that those targets were in a state where their hearts were the only things that could still move.

“Do you really believe that you can catch Rebel?” Tim asked.

“I don’t have to believe. I know I can.” Damian answered, disdain in his voice that Tim dared to doubt his skills.

“I bet you can’t.” Tim taunted.

Damian lunged but was stopped by Dick who grabbed his shoulder.

“Boys!” Bruce shouted. “Tim, stop antagonising him. Damian, you know you aren’t allowed to go out on patrol.”

“No!” Damian demanded. “Drake has issued me a challenge. I will not back down. I will prove to him and you that I can catch that petty criminal that goes by Rebel.”

His declaration was filled with the determination and stubbornness that all eleven year olds seemed to possess.

Bruce rubbed his head at the oncoming headache.

He knew that despite whatever he gave, Damian would go behind his back and against his orders to fulfil his self-assigned mission of capturing Rebel.

“Tim, this is all your fault. I am blaming you for this. You will be washing the Batmobile for a month.” Bruce said after some thinking.

“Bruce!” Tim complained. “What did I do?”

“You started it. And Damian, I will let you go after Rebel.”

Damian gave Tim a smug grin.

“However,” Bruce continued. “There will be a few conditions.”

Damian stood up straighter and paid attention. “One, Nightwing will be with you.”

“What? Why, Bruce?” It was Dick.

“I am busy with the Hawkmoth case. Tim and Damian shouldn’t be together. Cass and Steph are busy with their own things. I don’t think Jason wants anything to do with me and he’s out of town. Babara has no desire to watch Damian.”

“Thank you, Bruce.” Oracle’s voice came from the Batcomputer.

“Tch. Grayson is an acceptable choice.” Damian said with a sniff.

“Fine. I can stay for a week or two. Give me a few hours to sort some things out.” Dick threw up his hands in defeat.

“However, he will not be helping you. He is going to be monitoring your every move and he will intervene if it was a life and death situation.” Bruce added.

“Fine.” Damian replied.

“Two, when you bring Rebel in, she should not have sustained any life-threatening and fatal injuries. She should also possess all of her limbs intact.”

Damian scowled harder. “I know my limits. Anything else?”

“Three, do not kill anyone to achieve your goals.”

“Got it.”

“Your deadline to bring her in is in three months. You will report to me on your progress every morning. That’s all. Any questions?”

“No. I will not fail you, Father.” Damian said seriously.

“Does anyone else find this funny?” said Dick. “Son of Batman hunting down daughter of Joker. Children of two arch-enemies repeating history.”

“That only means that I am destined to bring her in.” Damian further solidified his mission.

—--

Forty-eight hours later, found Damian, currently going by Redbird, tied up, covered in green paint and dangled upside-down over a vat of something that smelled utterly foul.

Rebel landed near Nightwing and asked, “So what’s the deal with the new kid?”

Nightwing extended a hand dramatically towards Damian, “That’s Batman’s blood son.”

Rebel frowned. “Is this going to be a thing now? Child of Batman versus child of Joker. Because I really don’t want to hurt the kid that much.”

“I AM NOT A CHILD.” Redbird yelled as he struggled against his restraint. “Nightwing, help me get untied and catch the villain!”

“Would a dip in that kill him?” Nightwing asked, pointing at the vat of whatever that was. He wanted to stay more than 20 feet away due to the smell alone.

Rebel shrugged.

“Probably not. It’s just water from the Gotham River with the contents of the nearest dumpster emptied into it.”

Nightwing shivered. He had taken a dip in the icy cold waters of Gotham River before. It was not pleasant. And the amount of showers he had to take to finally get rid of the smell.

“Good news, Redbird.” Nightwing shouted back. “You won’t die if you fall.”

Redbird threw some words in Arabic that sounded a lot like swears.

“So… I ask again. What’s up with the kid?”

“He thinks that Batman would accept him as the one true heir of the Batman title if he catches you.” Nightwing explained. “It has nothing to do with the blood rivalry thing. He’s trying to prove Batman wrong by trying to succeed in catching you when Batman and Robin - especially Robin - couldn’t catch you.”

“It’s there like a deadline for this? Because I really don’t want to play cats and dogs forever with the gremlin.”

“Oh yeah. There is.”

Rebel smirked. “That means I just have to up my game then. Thanks for the heads up, Bluey.”

Nightwing’s smile faded as he realised his slip-up. “Damn it. Baby Bat is going to kill me.”

“Hey, can I use that nickname?”

“Does it matter if I say no?” Nightwing said.

“Nope.” Rebel said with a laugh as she slipped away into the shadows. 

—--

A Bat signal shone in the night sky. Calling Batman to action.

However, it was not Commissioner Gordon who met Batman on the rooftop that night.

“Commissioner-”  Batman immediately went on guard as a petite figure of Rebel greeted him instead of the broad shoulders of the Commissioner.

“What did you do to him, Rebel?” Batman growled out.

“Chill, Mister Bat, he’s dealing with an anonymous tip off for his latest case at the other side of the city. I just flipped the switch to your nightlight to get your attention. Less messy than other methods, don’t you agree?” Rebel explained as she switched the Bat-signal light off.

He glared at her. “What do you want?”

“A week is up. So what are you going to do?”

Batman gave a tired sigh. To be honest, he had forgotten about the deadline. There were so many things he had to take care of. Starting with the possible Justice League breach. An entire city being under attack and no one noticing until the problem was gone. The investigation into who Hawkmoth was. Finally, dealing with a testy Damian who didn’t take his loss against Rebel well.

“My conclusions showed me that you were telling the truth about akumas. I would like to apologise on the behalf of the Justice League for our massive oversight. You were a child that had to fight a war without support.”

“I won that damn war. Without your help.” Rebel said defensively.

“Yes. You did. I am not criticising your achievement, Rebel. I am just pointing out that you were a child fighting those monsters everyday and some of those monsters had been a family or a friend. You shouldn’t have to carry a burden like that on your shoulders. Even Nightwing had me to look after him until he could step out of my shadow to fly on his own.”

“We weren’t alone.”

“You weren’t. You had other people who were as clueless as you about what to do. No one taught you the basics. You had to learn how to fight all on your own. You had to learn to do it right on the first try because a mistake would cause you everything. I am sorry that we weren’t there to provide that guidance.”

“Why are you apologising for that? You didn’t know.”

Batman’s frown became deeper. “That is exactly the problem. Something this big slipped under our radar.”

He went on to explain about how the oversight occurred. If anything, Rebel looked surprised by the news.

“So you're telling me that I could have had help. I wouldn't have to do it all on my own if it wasn’t for a lot of people meddling.”

She sounded angry. The comment about her doing it all on her own confirmed a theory Batman entertained. There was a little evidence that pointed out otherwise but with magic there was no telling if the evidence wasn’t faked.

“We never realised until now. We have failed you.” Batman apologised.

“Kwami. All this time. I thought you were too busy with your own world-saving to pay attention to Paris. Fucking Mayor Bourgeois. Fuck Magic. Fuck whoever mess with your systems. Fuck Hawkmoth.” Rebel screamed. “What else? What else do I have to know that I didn’t know?”

“That’s mostly it. I am here to get your account of what exactly happened during those years.” Batman paused (Dramatic bitch) “I also need you to confirm the identity of Hawkmoth.”

“Well…” Rebel inclined her head for him to continue.

“Gabriel Agreste.”

Rebel smiled from under her mask. “Bingo. As expected of the World’s Greatest Detective.”

She pulled out a flash drive from her pocket and handed it to Batman. “Here’s everything I wrote down from what I remembered.”

“How did you know I would ask for it?” Batman asked as he took it and put it away in his utility belt.

“I didn’t. I was going to send that to every news station when I start my Armengeddon plans.”

Batman stared at Rebel, waiting for her to hand over her Armengeddon plans she had given the other villains.

Rebel stared back at him defiantly.

“Hand them over.” Batman demanded.

“I already gave you what you needed.” Rebel said with a raised eyebrow, pretending to be oblivious about what Batman wanted.

“What about your Armengeddon plans?”

“Oh. Those plans. Yeah. Gimme a minute.” Rebel reached into her jacket inner pocket and took out a slim notebook. She tossed it to Batman who expertly caught it.

He flipped through it and noticed the jagged edges of pages torn out. He also noticed that none of the plans that involved other villains were in the book.

“Where are the missing plans?” Batman asked harshly.

“You thought it was going to be easy?” Rebel said amused. “I want definite proof that you are working on taking him in.”

“How long do I have to get you proof?” Batman asked cautiously.

“When is the deadline for your son to catch me?”

Batman knew that tone. He had heard that tone from the clown before Joker pulled out the punchline.

“In three months.”  He answered.

“That’s around when the plan is supposed to start anyways. Then, if you don’t have it by the time Redbird catches me, you won’t get the plans. However, if he doesn’t catch me by the three month deadline, you will get the plans and I will tell the others that everything is called off.”

Batman had a feeling that if Rebel wasn’t wearing her mask, there would be a smile on her face identical to the one Joker would usually wear for his maniacal plans.

Children aren’t always their parents. But they sometimes inherit their parent's worst traits.

“Deal.”

What other options did he have but to play along with her games.

—-

After Rebel was gone, Redbird came out of the shadows.

“Father, what is the meaning of this?” He demanded. Redbird had been hiding to unleash a surprise attack when Rebel proposed that inane condition to Batman.

Batman sighed. “We will talk more back at the Cave.”

“I want an explanation now.”

“Just hold off trying to catch her for at least a week, Redbird. I am not going to stop you from your task. Maybe use that time to observe her instead.”

Redbird huffed but nonetheless accepted the compromise.

“Fine. It gives me more time to make more well thought out plans.”

“Since she would mostly be at school, you won’t have to do much.”

Batman grappled off the roof and Redbird followed.

When they reached the Batmobile, Redbird turned to his father and said.

“Father, I have been thinking. Perhaps I should infiltrate her school in order to get closer and gain more information on her movements.”

Bruce looked at him in surprise, remembering the first time he suggested Damian going to school and being told that he was never going to step foot into a subpar teaching environment.

“Are you sure, Damian?”

“I am sure.” Damian said firmly.

“I will call the principal in the morning and arrange everything.” 

—

“Come back here, you-” The insult was lost as Redbird comically stepped on the rake. The handle hit his face like those old cartoon gags.

A slew of Arabic curses were unleashed.

"Tick-tock, birdy." Rebel taunted as Redbird held his broken nose. "It's nearly midnight and I am not still not in chains or behind bars."

"I should have your tongue cut out for your insolence." 

"That threat lost its charm about two months ago." Rebel replied in a bored tone.

"Be more creative. Like ‘I will slowly take a small piece of your tongue a day, roast it and force feed it to you’." Rebel declared with an imitation of Redbird’s voice but slightly higher pitch than it actually was.

“I will gladly do so.” The threat probably would have sounded more intimidating if Redbird wasn’t still holding his broken nose and didn’t sound like he had a very bad nasal problem.

Rebel covered her mask with her hand as if trying to hide a smirk.

“Well, little bird, if you are done with your threats, I will be off- WHAT THE FUCK!”

Rebel didn’t look where she was going and had fallen down the hole in the roof that was hidden with a tarp..

Redbird grinned as he peered over the hole where Rebel had fallen into a cage he had set up to work like a bear trap.

“You aren’t the only one skilled with traps in this city.” He boasted.

Nightwing landed, giving Redbird an appreciative whistle and applause.

“Good job, baby Bat.”

“Call the police, Nightwing. Tell them I have the fiend, Rebel, in custody.” Redbird said.

“Sure thing.”

Redbird turned to give Rebel a smug look at his sure victory. It immediately got wiped out as he saw Rebel dangling her legs over the hole she fell down a few minutes ago.

She gave him a cheeky wave.

“HOW?” Damian exploded. “HOW DID YOU ESCAPE MY FOOLPROOF TRAP?!”

“It’s not foolproof if a fool like me could get out of it that easily. Nice setup though. Gave me a few ideas for my next project.”

Redbird growled and launched himself at her. Rebel rolled out of his way.

Landing nimbly, Redbird charged at her and threw a few attacks. Rebel effortlessly dodged every one of them.

Nightwing watched with a bored look on his face as Redbird chased Rebel around the rooftop.

“Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk. I'm a woman's man, no time to talk ....”

Rebel took out her phone and turned off her alarm as she ducked a birdarang.

“It’s midnight! And you know what that means. You just failed your mission.” Rebel announced cheerfully.

Redbird yelled in anger and charged at her.

Nightwing stepped in between the two to restrain Redbird.

“Chill, baby bat. You need to calm down. She won, fair and square.”

“And just as promised, I will send over the plans I made for the other villain to the Big Guy.” Rebel continued as she walked backwards to the edge of the rooftop.

“See ya around, Birdies.” She said as she jumped back off the roof while giving them a finger salute.

Nightwing hurriedly let go of Damian and ran to look over the parapet wall. Rebel appeared to be perfectly fine after a five-storey drop and was calmly putting her helmet on. She got on her bike and drove off.

“Um… guys.” Oracle’s voice came over the comms. “There is actually fifteen minutes left until midnight. She lied.”

The two vigilantes looked at each other and cursed. They grappled off, trying their best to catch the cunning villain.

—

“I am sorry that I failed you, Father.” Damian reported.

Three months should have been more than sufficient for him to complete his assigned task successfully. He even had subjected himself to the establishment called a school in order to catch Rebel.

Each time, he thought that he was close to capturing the most slippery villain in all of Gotham. Something would interfere in his plans and Rebel continued to walk free.

Head down ashamed as he kneeled on the cold floor of the Batcave to receive his punishment. Damnit, why was his vision getting blurry?

The shadow from his father’s cape moved closer and blocked out the light. Damian braced for the pain.

Damian was confused when he felt his Father placed his hand on his head. It felt… odd and comforting.

“It’s alright. You did your best. Even with the restriction I placed on you.” Bruce said.

Damian’s confusion increased.

“But… I failed.”

It did hurt to admit his failure but he was more confused by his father’s actions. Grandfather would have given out some sort of punishment by now. Like going against some of the League’s Finest on his own.

The hand moved from his head to his shoulder.

“Look at me, Damian.”

Damian obeyed and met his father’s blue eyes. The colour reminded him of the flowers his mother would sometimes wear in her hair when Grandfather was out of Nanda Parbat.

“Even if you had failed in your task, you still had helped me.”

Damian was flabbergasted.

“How?”

“In order to capture her, you monitored her every move. Because of you and your reports, I knew her every move. Avoiding your attempts kept Rebel so busy that she wasn’t able to work on her plans as much. Which gives me more time to work on how to bring Hawkmoth in.”

“I still failed.”

“And I am telling you that you still did a good job. You can learn from this experience and learn how to do better.” Bruce said.

“Aren’t you going to punish me?”

“No. I am not going to punish you for this.”

The answer seemed to have shifted Damian’s worldview. It broke Bruce’s heart to know how Damian had been treated. Being punished for failure which made Damian scared to fail.

“How.. how can you…”

Damian didn’t seem to comprehend that there would be no punishments for failing.

“Damian.” Bruce said gently. “I know that this is hard for you to comprehend but we do things differently here. We do not kill. And we do not punish people for simply failing.”

“But Drake… Batmobile.”

Oh right, grounding.

“I will reiterate. I will not physically hurt you as punishment for failing your mission. I do not like raising my hand to people I call family. Yes, you are part of it now, Damian, no matter how unexpected your arrival was. I prefer giving you chores to do instead. Like washing the Batmobile. Giving Ace a bath. Organising the case files. Helping Alfred around the Manor. Even then, it’s only if you misbehave and go against the rules of the Manor. And you may see them as pointless but they were put in place to keep you safe. I don’t want to see any of you hurt. Yes, including you, Damian.”

Bruce hoped that he got through Damian. Made him see that things were different now but they were a good kind of different. Maybe now Damian would let him in and be the better person Bruce knew he could be.

Bruce thought all of this as he hugged the slightly shaking boy in his arms who hid his face with Bruce’s chest.  ------ (Part 6) ----

Taglist:  @toodaloo-kangaroo, @iloontjeboontje, @buginetye, @angelwreckedd, @anoires-blog, @ever-since-i-was-young, @shutupandactuallylisten, @its-maemain, @vel-vee, @kashlyn, @officiallydarkgeek, @jayjayspixiepop, @cmouse, @transheso, @thecrazyfantrolls, @just-a-random-girl-loves-anime, @maddiesupdates, @the-dumber-scaramouche,

[myreia]

Divergence of the Heart

CHAPTER SIX: PROMISES KEPT, PROMISES MADE

Chapter Rating: Mature (full story rating is Explicit) Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 7,625 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3

Aureia sips at her wine, barely cognizant of the smooth, rich flavour flooding her mouth, distracted as she is by Aymeric. Friendship, he proposed, but it is more than that and they both know it. Something better left unnamed for now. She doubts either of them know where this evening will end, but to be frank, she would rather not think on it. She wants nothing more than to enjoy her time here in his company, without distraction or worry.

The food is as good as it smells, featuring dishes she knows and more that she doesn’t. The last time she had a meal this fine Raubahn lost an arm, but she has a feeling the limbs of all attendees to this dinner are safe tonight. She bites her tongue, refraining from making the joke. Even with a glass and a half in her system, she’s not a fool enough to overshadow the evening with memories of the bloody banquet.

Aymeric is more talkative than she has ever seen him. Of course he is habitually loquacious, rivalling only Urianger for the amount of words he can squeeze into a sentence before running out of breath, but the way he relaxes over the course of dinner brings a smile to her face. The politician is always simmering underneath, but the more their conversation wanders, the less present he becomes. So rarely have they had the chance to talk about topics unrelating to war or politics, she knows she is seeing a side of him he rarely shares with others, if at all.

She knows the feeling all too well. Idle chatter about unimportant things isn’t something she’s used to even among friends. Outside of Tataru’s company, that is. Then again, Tataru makes it a point for her to talk about non-world-ending events on pain of death, so maybe that doesn’t count.

This is good. For both of you.

“…would that I could have seen such a momentous event,” he says, his eyes sparkling with interest. “Thank you, truly—”

“Wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t so bloody cold,” she replies with mock sarcasm. “Why is it so cold here? Is it always so cold?”

“Ah.” He pauses, lowering his fork. “It has been this way for some seven years now. Ever since the Calamity overrode the land with frost and fury.”

“Oh.” She flushes, pressing her lips together. She should have known that; or, at the very least, put two and two together. This side of the world was ravaged by horrors she could only imagine from the safety of her post in Ilsabard when Dalamud fell from the sky. “What was it like before?”

A strange expression falls over his face, lost in thought. Whatever memory he is retreading resonates with fondness and loss. “Green valleys and rolling hills, so vibrant in their colours no painting could capture them,” he says quietly. “Lakes clear as glass reflecting skies of pure azure. I remember there were small periwinkle flowers that bloomed in abundance near Whitebrim Font. My mother… the viscountess… She was very fond of them. Now that I come to think of it, I cannot remember their name.”

He pauses and glances across the table at her, the memory subsiding. “I am certain any botanist could tell you the extent of what was lost far more keenly than I,” he continues conversationally. “A whole land irrevocably changed. We cannot return to what we have lost, but perhaps we can look to what we have gained. A new land sprung up beneath our very feet. In time, who knows what will come to call these snowbound highlands home? As destructive as the Calamity was, I would consider it rebirth rather than destruction. For Coerthas was not destroyed. We remain.”

She smiles. “I like that.”

He returns the smile and reaches for the decanter, refilling his glass. “I suspect you will admonish me for this, yet I must admit I have the desire to apologize for our inclement weather, as far outside my control as it is.”

Aureia snorts, unable to hide her laughter. “Don’t,” she says and pushes her glass across the table. Not necessary, perhaps, but why shouldn’t she be indulgent when in the company of friends? “There’s comfort in it. Familiarity. Predictable, if you know what you’re getting into, what to expect, and come prepared. Too many Eorzeans balk at a little snow.”

“Speaking from personal experience, I presume?”

“It’s not exactly a climate the city-states are used to, no. Three years on this continent and I’ve yet to see genuine snowfall outside of Gridania. It’s funny to think I would have had an easier time adjusting had I found my way to Ishgard rather than Ul’dah. Thanalan was unbearable after Ilsabard. I’m used to snow, not heat. The desert was suffocating enough outside the city, but inside? Like being trapped in a hothouse.”

He pauses, gripping the decanter, and a strange look crosses his face. Too late she realizes the implications of what she has said, the conclusion he must have come to. She flinches, mind whirling as she grasps at any explanation that will do, truth be damned. It’s not that she wants to lie to him—of course she doesn’t, she never has, the thought of it makes her sick to her stomach—but that she can’t bring him into her past. It is not a place she is willing to go with him. He doesn’t deserve to suffer in those trenches with her.

“I take it you spent time in northern Ilsabard, then,” he says carefully and tips the decanter, the deep red liquid pouring out in a rush.  

She swallows the lump in her throat, her eyes drawn to his hands. He fills the glass near to the brim and pulls back. A bead of wine bubbles at the lip, clinging to the edge. It falls, the spot splotching the tablecloth. A single crimson spot on a sea of white. Like blood in the snow, Coerthan, Garlean, or otherwise.

Trust him. You have to trust him. If you can’t trust him, you can’t trust anyone.

“I did,” she says finally. “I was there for many years.”

Aymeric sets the decanter down. “The Imperial capital?” he asks.

“Close to it.” Her throat is raw. A lie, of a sorts. Stationed there for a time, but on the outskirts. She never stepped foot in the Imperial palace or the districts that composed the true capital. She may have been born within Garlemald’s borders, but people like her were never considered as such. They would never let a non-native like her, with dangerous magic coursing in her veins, closer than that. “Long enough to adapt. Eorzeans think Garlemald is bitter and unforgiving, but they do not know the half of it. It is far more than the cold and the ice. There is no survival if you are unprepared.”

“I have heard similar when Lucia has seen fit to speak of it. You have all my respect and more, Aureia—” He cuts himself short, laughing awkwardly as he quickly corrects himself. “Of course you always have—I didn’t mean to say that I did not before—but knowing this, even in the smallest capacity, knowing what trials you must have faced on your journey here…”

You don’t know. You have no idea. The bitterness of the thought takes her by surprise and shame flushes her cheeks. How could he know any different? He must be imagining some grand escape by yet another defector with too much good in their heart to endure living in a tyrannical nation. Not an operative with too much blood on her hands, who fled for selfish reasons.

Avoiding his gaze, Aureia reaches for her glass and disappears behind it, taking a long drink. Aymeric exhales a long breath and runs a hand over his chin, lost in thought. If her behaviour is odd to him, he either has not noticed or thinks nothing of it.

“Aureia, may I confess something?” he says after a moment.

She lowers the glass and nods.

“For countless decades Garlemald has been an enemy to all nations upon this star. But oft I have wondered where we would stand had history shown us a gentler hand, one of collaboration and cooperation rather than one of ruthless war. What could we have learned from Garlean expertise had the few not corrupted the many with tyrannical ideals and gluttonous expansionism? What could they have learned from us?”

He leans against the table and holds his gaze to hers, his eyes blazing with passion. How long has he been withholding these thoughts, waiting for the right person to tell? Someone he trusts irrevocably? “Ishgard has its own bloody history, a fanatical fabrication upheld by the very souls charged with her protection while they bled her people dry. As Ishgard recovers, I am left to wonder whether the cycles we have suffered here are not also in play in a land like Garlemald. As our nation has been isolated from the brutality of their war by virtue of being preoccupied by another, I would dare utter this before the Alliance when our coalition is so young and untested. But I believe there is a mirror in our greatest enemy, one that reflects a terrible truth we see in ourselves.”

“I don’t know if many would agree with you,” Aureia replies grimly. “It’s an empire. It’s not a place you can forgive.”

“I do not speak of forgiveness. They have harmed and will continue to harm the world greatly. But to paint every citizen who lives beneath their banners with the same broad stroke does not sit well with me. It would be the height of hypocrisy after what Ishgard herself has partaken in.”

“Perhaps.”

“I am not a faultless man, Aureia, I know this to be true more than anyone. I still have much to learn. But if there is one lesson that has remained with me throughout my time in command, it is that leadership does always speak for the people. Those with power will always have an agenda at play, for good or for ill. I will not condemn civilians for the place of their birth. When they have been shown no other path than one that has led to dogmatic beliefs and unquestioned chauvinism, perhaps they are as much victims of their government’s regime as those who have fallen to Garlemald’s might.”

“And those who are not civilians?” The question is out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “In a future where the Alliance wars with Garlemald and the Empire is brought to its knees, what grace would you extend to those you fought on the battlefield? Would you see them as victims worthy of help or perpetrators deserving of punishment?”

“That is a difficult question. One that has no easy answer.”

What would do you, Aymeric, if you knew? That I was one of those very people.

“I would like to hear it.”

“Then I would say I have none. For war only muddies the waters, never cleanses it. We know all too well how the annals of history are written in the hand of the victor. There are casualties on both sides of any war. If we are to judge our enemies by the harshest laws, then we must look to our own leadership and judge them by the same standards.”

She blinks, uncertain what to say, and looks down, chasing the remnants of her meal across her plate. The evening’s conversation has led them in a direction she didn’t predict. And all from a discussion about the weather…

The again, Aymeric’s sincerity has struck her deeply. She has never known anyone like him, really. His unshaking resolve paired with his unflinching acknowledgement of his own flaws… He has a capacity to see the good in people without excusing terrible actions. What he has told her tonight will stay with her for a long time.

“I apologize.”

His voice interrupts her thoughts. She blinks again, clearing her vision, and finds him staring at her from across the table, concern in his eyes.

“I did not mean to ask you to revisit painful memories,” he continues. “Whatever is in your past you have no obligation to tell me unless you wish to.”

She raises her head and picks up her glass, swirling her wine and fixing him with an arch look. “Did you know you say sorry too much, Aymeric?” she says.

His eyes widen, an embarrassed pink flushing his cheeks. “I—well—perhaps I do, but it is out of respect, is it not? I apologize, I had not realized—” He stops, cutting himself off as he hears the words he has just spoken. Chuckling, he shakes his head at himself and takes his wine in hand. “I am a fool, aren’t I?”

She smiles. “No,” she says, taking a drink. The wine warms her, flushing across her chest. Despite the gravity of their conversation, she feels content. Safe. Happy. “At least, no more than the rest of us.”

“I should strive to do better.”

“You should strive to be no more than yourself.”

Aymeric pauses, once again surprised by her words, and raises his glass to his lips. He drinks deeply, savouring the wine as he regards her from across the table. There’s that look in his face again… The one she can’t place. He seems enchanted and she hasn’t even done anything. Who is she to hold his attention? His friendship? His love? Though she wants to believe differently, she can’t ignore the deep sense of wrong within her. That this is some horrible mistake. That someone like her doesn’t deserve someone like him.  

She drums her fingers against the tabletop, desperately searching for a way out. She thinks back, winding the conversation back to before it slipped into uncomfortable territory. The weather. The snow.

An idea forms.

“You know I don’t mind the cold,” she says, raising her glass to her lips. She nurses her wine, her fingers dancing across the table. She waits, noting how he watches her as she turns her palm upwards. With a breath, she commands the smallest threads of aether, her fingers crackling with frost as ice manifests in her hand. It dances above her palm, reflecting the warm glow of the candlelight in its crystalline heart. “I have a few tricks.”

He smiles and watches enraptured, the remains of his meal forgotten. “Ah, of course,” he replies. “The talents of a black mage are never to be underestimated.”

“Useful in Ul’dah.” She relaxes her fingers as the ice splits into three small shards and rotate in a circle above her palm. Show off. “On scorching days when I could barely think.”

Adrenaline is already coursing through her. Creating ice is a shock to the system, jolting her mana regeneration into overdrive. The font is infinite, regenerative, powerful. To have so much mana flood through her at once makes her head spin, her heart beat faster, every fibre of her being pulsing with untouched power. So simple, yet so addictive.

Aureia exhales and dismisses the ice. It dissipates in a puff of air, snuffing out the nearby candles. “This is more helpful here,” she says, summon a small ball of flame. She splits it into three and lets it play across her fingers. The orb burn brightly and happily, the light warming her skin. Fire-aspected aether is so often deemed the crux of destructive magic, but she knows better. As devastating as its power can be, fire can also soothe. Warm the hearth. Light the way. A spark in the darkness. “I don’t need much when travelling the Coerthan wilds.”

Aymeric watches in rapt silence as she twists her hand and sends the orbs flying, each alighting on a candle’s wick and setting it aflame. “Estinien thought I was quite the idiot last year. Running off into the snows by myself.”

He chuckles. “Estinien has a low opinion of all adventurers. Himself included.”

The pained look on his face does not go unnoticed. “He will return someday, Aymeric,” she says.

“I would like to believe it. But some days I am not so certain.”

“I think he was right to leave—”

“Without informing a soul? Vanishing without a trace? That is true to form. He is gone, and for those who remain, those to whom he extended a rare hand of friendship, are left to only speculate where time and tide will take him. Or how many moons will pass before he sees fit to return.”

She pauses, meeting his eyes. She has never heard him speak in anger about those he holds dear, at least not like this. Estinien was a friend to them both, but Aymeric knows him in a way she never will. Their bond runs deep, one of comradeship and brothers-in-arms. That he gave her no notice before departing doesn’t phase her, nor can she blame him for it. She may have very well done the same thing had she been in his place. But for Aymeric… Forget Ishgard, to walk out on him without a word has stung him.

And of course he is too polite to show much anger.

Without thinking much of it, Aureia reaches across the table and slips her hand into his. “I miss him, too,” she says softly. “Give him the time he needs, he deserves that much. As I said, I think he was right to leave. There can be no recovery in a place that reminds him of everything that was done to him.”

He exhales a long breath and closes his eyes. “You are right, of course. I spoke in haste and ill of a very dear friend who deserves compassion and understanding, not grievance and blame. Forgive me.”

“Aymeric. What did I say about you apologizing too much?”

He chuckles, shaking his head, and opens his eyes. She catches a flash of a smile in the flickering candlelight and he squeezes her hand once before retreating. “What say you to another round, my friend?” he says, raising his cup.

Aureia glances downwards. When did she finish her glass? She can’t remember. “Why not?” she replies and grabs the decanter. Normally she would avoid a third glass except on nights when she’s intent on drinking herself into oblivion, but with Aymeric she feels… Well. It’s not like she has anything to do tomorrow. And he offered.

He rises from his chair as she refills their wine, reaching for the platter of pastries and shifting it down the table. They have yet to taste any of them, distracted by their conversation as they are. He returns to his seat and clears his throat, hovering awkwardly as if he is waiting for her to make the first move.

“You must know we Ishgardians enjoy indulging ourselves,” he says, taking his glass from her. “It would be very poor manners indeed for me to deny you the first taste of dessert. Please, go ahead.”

She pauses, arching an eyebrow. There must be a reason for his hesitance. Why does she have the feeling he is planning something? “All right,” she says suspiciously, reaching outwards. She doesn’t know half the names of the desserts on the plate, but a familiar red pastry catches her eye at once. “Oh gods, tell me you didn’t.”

He chuckles with laughter and takes a long drink of his wine, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I heard whispers that you were fond of such little treats.”

“I was! I am! I—”

“Are you blushing, Aureia?”

“No, I—” She shoots him a dirty look. “It’s just that these are made with snurbleberries. What kind of a name is snurbleberry? The Warrior of Light can’t go around announcing she likes snurbleberry tarts, it would ruin the image—oh don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, I… Fine. Perhaps I should consider this vengeance for all the times I’ve teased you.”

“Perhaps. Though, in the spirit of honest conversation, I would be bereft if you stopped. Your spirited remarks are a reminder that I am not confined to the stoic and stately countenance required to be upheld by the Lord Speaker.”

Warmth floods through her. Or is that the wine? “I used to love these,” she says, plucking a tart from the plate. The red berries stain her fingers. “I haven’t had one since I was exiled from Ul’dah. How did you know?”

“As I said, I heard whispers.”

“Mhm.” She takes a bite. “Whispers. I’m sure.”

“And by that I mean to say that I spoke with Tataru. She was quite keen to spill your most closely guarded secret.”

She laughs, mouth full, and finishes the tart. “She’s a good friend. Knows me better than she lets on. We have been through a lot together. Her, me, and Alphinaud.”

He nods, his smile warm. “You have. It was by terrible circumstances that the three of you sought refuge here, but I am forever gladdened that you did. Our lives would be quite changed had it been different.”

The conversations stills, lulled to comfortable silence by sweets and wine. Aureia sips at her drink, pleasantly full and warm, her gaze passing around the dining room. She can’t remember an evening where she has enjoyed herself so thoroughly and so peacefully. When they are on their own—without the meddling of stuffy butlers—there is something about Aymeric that keeps her grounded. At peace.

She doesn’t want this evening to end. 

“Aureia,” Aymeric’s voice says quietly, interrupting her thoughts.

“Hm?”

She glances across the table to find him risen to his feet, a hand extended. Ever the gentleman.

“Would you join me in the parlour?” he asks with a half-bow.

She arches an eyebrow. “Am I allowed to bring the wine?”

“I don’t believe I could deny you even if I wanted to.”

Glass gripped in one hand, she follows him through the double-doors at the end and across the threshold into the parlour. The room is smaller to the sitting room they occupied before, though similarly decorated in plush furnishings and soft blues. Cozier. More private. Her gaze wanders, taking in the portraits lining the walls and hung above the hearth. Family portraits, hunting scenes, brave knights and fearsome dragoons… Naegling makes an appearance in more than one. These must be the ancestors of House Borel.

Not his family by blood, but his family by choice.

He settles into a couch by the hearth, resting his wine glass idly on the armrest. She joins him and sinks into the cushions, curling her legs beneath her. He looks different here in the comfort of the parlour. Relaxed. More at ease. His proximity sends an excited shiver down her spine. She has seen him countless times, but now she wonders whether she has ever truly seen him. The deep midnight of his hair, the faint flush on his cheeks, the way the light catches his familiar blue and gold earring. The curve of his lips.  

She presses her glass to her mouth, the rich wine heavy on her tongue. She wonders what it would be like to kiss him. She wants to. She imagines it would be nice. He must be good at it. How many lovers has he had, she wonders? He’s so determined, pragmatic, married to his work. It doesn’t seem like he has had the time for that kind of thing. And yet he is far too much of a romantic not to.  

Her stomach twists into a knot. There it is. The familiar embarrassment rushing up within her, the horrid sense of wrong, wrong, wrong. She’s not normal. She knows this. The things that come so easily to others are not easy for her. She hates the judgement, self-inflicted as it is.

Would he think differently of her, if he knew? How incongruent it is—a warrior and a saviour on one hand, capable of striking down primals and stemming the tides of chaos, and a shamefully inexperienced woman on the other, who at over thirty would be considered an unsalvageable old maid by Ishgardian standards. There are girls half her age who are married.  

Not that Aymeric thinks much of Ishgardian standards.

You have got to get over this.  

She hides from the thought by gulping down a mouthful. When she resurfaces, her head feels light and buoyant, buzzing from the drink.

“I think it’s my turn,” Aureia says finally, sinking deeper into the cushions.

Aymeric raises an eyebrow. “For…?”

She nudges him playfully with a foot. “You asked me a personal question. It’s time for me to ask you.”

“Oh?”

“It’s only fair.”

“I won’t argue that. What would like to know?”

She pauses, wetting her lips as she thinks. “Your parents. What were they like?”

He doesn’t answer. The longer they sit in silence, the more her panic grows—perhaps she misspoke, perhaps it was a mistake to go down this path. She told herself she wouldn’t pry into his family history, but her curiosity won out in the end. She wants to know, if only to know him better.  

“My foster parents…” Aymeric speaks quietly, lost in thought. He rests his hands against his knees, his wine glass held loosely in his hands, his eyes lingering on the portraits on the wall, the generations who came before him. “Were I to describe them in a single word, I believe I could choose no other word than resolute. They were elderly when I was born. No heirs. The Borel line would have died with them had they not taken me in.”

She curls up, leaning her head against the back of the couch, and listens with rapt attention. There is as much love in his voice as there is pain.

“They knew there would be talk. That their House’s reputation would be tarnished by adopting a bastard boy. But when it came down to a choice between sacrificing their reputation in the eyes of the nobility or surrendering their house entirely, they chose the former. Too many depended on them. Loyal knights whose fathers served their fathers, and their fathers before them. Servants who had been with the family for generations. They had a right to call this house home as much as my parents did. Had they died without an heir, they would find themself in need of different employment. The knights would be absorbed into the personal guard of rival houses, the servants scattered among the staff of the nobility if they were fortunate or to the Brume if they were not. Benoit and Violette did not wish to condemn those sworn to them and under their care to such instability.”

Aymeric clears his throat and lowers his head. She can barely make out his face in this light. His profile his dark, the lines of his sharp, proud features backlit by the crackling hearth.

“And so they were steadfast in their decision to raise me as their own. The scandal of it haunted them for the rest of their lives, but they cared not. They were upstanding members of high society, the most noble of nobles. For every cruel word spoken about them, they simply smiled and carried on, secure in their decision. And they were happy in their final days. Content to see me grown. Benoit, proud of how I had proven myself in battle and honoured to pass me Naegling, the symbol of his lineage. Violette, proud of the caring and determined soul she believed me to be.”

“How old were you when they passed?”

“Fifteen.”

A lump forms in her throat. Fifteen. So young. Too young. Still a child, though he may not have been considered as such at the time. Ishgard is far from the only nation to send their children off to war, but the unquestioned nature of the status quo does nothing to relieve the pit in her stomach. She was a child once, too. Garlemald crushed it out of her.

Aureia sips slowly, nursing her wine. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.  

He catches her eye. “They loved each other deeply. Trusted each other beyond measure. Their faith in one another saw them through the course of life, both the good and the hard. Some would say they were blessed by the Fury, to live the full lives that they did, for as long as they did. It is not often that Ishgardians reach their old age, even among the Elezen. War, grief, and illness all take many before their time.”

A pause. There is no discomfort in his voice; she knows without a doubt that he is telling her this because he wants to share it with her. Her fears of prying too far into his history dissipate. “A love like theirs was precious. Perhaps it is idealistic of me, but one day I hope to find the same, unlikely as it is given my position.”

“Aymeric…”

He raises his glass to his lips and drinks. “It is the way of the aristocracy. Family is of the highest importance, second only to our war and our faith. The relationship between noble bloodlines is ancient and complex. Marriage is a joint endeavour, a commitment struck between two households with an heir as the prize. I may be the Lord Commander, but I am also a viscount. I know the expectations set before me.”

“That’s hardly fair.”  

“And yet I understand the truth quite plainly. No, Aureia, as long as I hold Ishgard in my heart of hearts, my duty is to her and her people above all else. Personal sacrifices will be demanded, and they are ones I am content to make for the sake of this fledgling republic.”

“It shouldn’t be that way. Can’t you… I don’t know, change their minds? You are the Lord Speaker, aren’t you?”

He throws his head back and laughs, fixing her with a warm smile. “I can certain rouse discussion between the Lords and Commons and guide them as best I can,” he replies. “But no. Enacting reform within a system of governance is a far cry from changing a culture itself. I cannot expect the high and minor houses to change their views overnight. It will be a slow progress, one that I can only hope will benefit our children’s children and their children after them.”

She nods, rubbing her thumb absently against the side of her glass. This talk of love has brought a flush to her cheeks and she is once again thinking what it would be like to kiss him.

Damn it. Maybe he wouldn’t even want to. As he has said himself, there are expectations placed upon him. He will eventually need to marry. Have children. Where in that is there room for someone like her?

“And this is what your parents wanted for you?” she asks.

He glances at her. “Benoit and Violette wished only for my happiness,” he replies. “That I pursue a life worth living, whatever I believed that entailed. But there was a time when my foster mother did confess to me that she wished for me to leave Ishgard and see the world beyond our borders. And I will freely admit there was a time I yearned for that too, only to set it aside when practicality won out. However…” He trails off and he sets down his glass, shifting on the couch to face her. His fingers brush hers, tentatively taking her hand in his. “Truth be told, visiting those sweeping vistas of the Churning Mists with you at my side has reminded me of those days. I do feel the slight pangs of wanderlust, and I think… Someday, perhaps.”

Aureia meets his gaze. A part of her wants nothing more than to keep staring at him, to listen to his steady voice and fall deeper into his eyes. Another, smaller part is screaming at her to excuse herself and flee, escaping back to her miserable existence in the Forgotten Knight and forget all about him. She knows this will never work, this thing between them. Why set herself up for failure and risk hurting them both?

She swallows the panic and shoves it down. “Someday, yes,” she echoes tentatively. “Aymeric, do you think perhaps—”

A warm rumble resounds in her ears. A cat—large, orange with grey streaks, his fur fluffier than any she has ever seen—steals out from under the couch. He rises up and places his paws on the cushions by her legs, his tail swishing back and forth.

She stares at him. He stares back with large, yellow eyes.

“Sylvaine,” Aymeric chides, his tone somehow both fond and irritated. “What are you doing here?”

“Sylvaine?” Aureia asks.

The cat mews and stretches, his claws digging into the cushions and pulling at the fabric.

“My parents’ cat.” He leans forward and scratches the back of the cat’s head. “An old gentleman by any standard now, though Marcel complains he is far too lively for his age. One could say he is as much a symbol of House Borel as I am.”

The cat yawns, showing sharp teeth.

“Be careful. Majestic though he is, do not underestimate him. He has a mean streak the size of Coerthas for anyone he deems troublesome or dangerous. Or—quite frankly—anyone he thinks has looked at him wrong. Once he has judged you unworthy there is no asking for forgiveness.”

She holds back a smile. “Oh? And what counts as troublesome in his little lordship’s mind?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. It changes day to day, week to week, you see. I would never dare to assume what is happening in my dearest feline friend’s mind. Though I do recall quite vividly the day he cornered the fair Lady Hermine de Gervaise in the corner of the second floor library. As the staff could not catch the dastardly creature, a dragoon was called to assist the good lady in climbing out the window and escaping to the safety of the garden below. So great was her fear of Sylvaine that it far outstripped her fear of heights, you see.”

Aureia snorts with laughter. “Poor Hermine.”

“Indeed. Poor Hermine. She never called on me again, despite her family’s insistence.”

Sylvaine mews and leaps into her lap, curling his tail around him. His weight is warm and pleasant. Friendly. Cautiously, she reaches out a hand and runs it down his back. He offers a content purr in return and snuggles deeper into her lap.

“…and the dragoon?” she asks, petting the cat. She’s not used to being around such creatures, especially household pets. The closest thing she has is Filo and her chocobo is such a notorious biter that the Holy Stables refuse to stable him. “What happened to him?”

“Hm? Oh. The lady thanked him for his service, as I recall. And he made every excuse never to see her again.”

Her eyes narrow. “Please don’t tell me that was Estinien.”

“I have indicated nothing of the sort.”

“Oh, you liar. That absolutely was Estinien, wasn’t it.”

He grins. “Old stories aside, Sylvaine is very dear to me and the staff. His temperament may be ferocious at times, but we could not want for a better guardian.” He scratches the cat fondly, watching the way he curls in her lap with amusement. “I am glad he has taken a shine to you.”

She returns his smile. Finishing off her wine, she reaches over and places the glass on the floor. She has no desire to get up and find a table when there is a cat in her lap. “Aymeric,” she begins softly. Her head is buzzing slightly. It is so comfortable here, sitting on this couch with him. Between the warmth of the hearth, the contentedness of the cat, and his company, she has never felt more at ease. “When you said someday earlier…”

“Yes?”

“You spoke of wanderlust.”

“I did. I have no shared this with many, but I have a fervent wish to see more of this world. The lands beyond Ishgard. Beyond Eorzea. It is a yearning I cannot fully explain. My mother once said I had an insatiable curiosity; perhaps it stems from that. We have turned a blind eye to the world beyond our gates for too many years. I once considered myself well-versed in the ways of the world, but your arrival here has shaken that. Indeed, the vivid accounts of your adventures and our exchanges with both the Alliance and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn have been a firm reminder that there is much I do not know.”

She pauses, careful not to jostle Sylvaine as she moves closer. “Then come with me.”

“To where?”

“Anywhere. Beyond Coerthas. Beyond Ishgard.”

“You have no idea how fervently I wish to accept such an invitation. But I cannot. My duties with the House of Lords demand my undivided attention.”

“They ask too much of you.”

“They ask nothing. It is I who must give it to them freely, for the sake of my nation. I cannot abandon them for my personal desires, no matter how much I wish I could.”

Aureia meets his eyes. “Have you considered that perhaps it is not they who do not have faith in you, but you who do not have faith in them?”

He blinks, so shocked by her statement that he is lost for words. “I… well… I…”

“The situation is perilous, I know. This new republic of yours is young and fragile. There are many in Ishgard—and the world beyond—who believe you are the sole reason why it has not fallen apart. That makes you a target.”

“We both know that all too well.” The gravity of his words is not easily missed.

“But if the Lords and the Commons are indeed so volatile that they will fall apart if you disappear for a day, then it will happen one day with or without you. You speak of trust so often, but I think, perhaps, it is you who do not trust them, rather than the other way around. Show them you have faith in them. They will eventually have to learn to govern without you.”

He sighs and bows his head, a faint flush on his cheeks. “Once again you have seen straight through to the heart of the matter,” he says. “How do you do it?”

“Sometimes you care so much you blind yourself. Or put yourself in your own way. I have a fair bit of experience with that latter one.”

Sylvaine mews and sits up. With a long stretch, he gives a great yawn and leaps down onto the floor, skidding across the rug. He prances away, tail held high, and slinks through the open door into the dining room and out of sight.

Aureia watches him go and shifts closer to Aymeric. A distant part of her mind is startled by her newfound confidence. Perhaps it’s the direction of the conversation or the comfort she feels here—or the wine. Most likely the wine. But she will seize this moment before she loses it. She has to.

“So,” she finishes, slipping her hand into his. It would be too easy to curl up against him, her head on his shoulder. “I’m going to ask again. Would you come with me?”

He squeezes her hand, his eyes unable to leave hers. Thancred would likely say something snide about him looking besotted. Her heart thunders in her chest. Between the wine and the way he’s looking at her, the desire to kiss him is overwhelming. Why shouldn’t she? She may never get another chance.

Aymeric smiles gently. “There is nothing that would make me happier—”

She kisses him.

For the briefest of moments, she feels him freeze in shock and surprise. Then he melts, his mouth warm and gentle as he kisses her in return. She trembles, her mind buzzing, giddy with astonishment at her own boldness. Without giving it much thought, she twines her hands at the back of his neck and pulls herself into his lap, straddling him. His breath catches in his throat and she senses his hesitation, his hands resting gently against the small of her back.

But he does not push her away. For a moment, they are caught in time—seconds passing, indecision mounting, as if they are both too hesitant to make the first move.

And now that she is here in his arms, it terrifies her how scared she is of losing this. Losing him.

Head fuzzy with wine and too lost in the moment to think, she does the only thing that make sense. She presses her mouth to his again and kisses him deeply—

He pulls back. “Aureia, wait,” he says.

“Hm? What for?”

Aymeric exhales a long breath. “I… This… A moment, if you would, please?”

Shame flushes her cheeks. Was she too eager? Did she misunderstand him completely? Did she misread every sign? Maybe his interest in her was simply her imagination. Fuck it, maybe those romance chapbooks really did do a number on her. This is all Tataru’s fault.

Fuck. What the hells do I do now?  

Cursing inwardly at her own stupidity, Aureia disentangles herself from Aymeric and slides off him, shifting to the far edge of the couch. Her face burns with embarrassment and she tugs awkwardly at her coat, readjusting it. It’s difficult to forget the feel of his hands on her back or his mouth on hers. For a moment, brief though it was, she was in a fantasy.

Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she rests her elbows on her knees and stares determinedly at the opposite wall. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It was I who—”

“No. It was me—”

“Aureia—”

The door opens.

“Lord Commander, I—”

Aymeric rises to his feet and drops his hands to his sides, standing at attention. “What is it, ser?” he asks, his tone crisp and official. “News from House Fortemps?”

Aureia flushes, doing her best not to fixate on how quickly he has fallen into his professional façade. The messenger is not one she recognizes, but from the shine in his armour and the terseness in his voice, she has a feeling he is one of Artoirel’s men. The Fortemps heir has never liked her much and the distant professional courtesy he extends her has rubbed off on his knights. If he had walked in only a few seconds sooner, he would have caught them in a moment that would no doubt give Artoirel yet more ammunition to disparage her with. Not that he couldn’t put two and two together…

To his credit, the messenger either hasn’t noticed or refuses to acknowledge the empty wine glass on the floor.   

“An urgent message for the Warrior of Light,” he says with a curt bow. “I was instructed to deliver it without delay.”

Well then, spit it out already. She forces a smile on her face and gestures, silently inviting him to continue.

“Master Thancred returned to the manor a short while ago—”

Aureia’s heart drops. Thancred, returned. Thancred, at the manor. She hasn’t given him any thought for a while now. Impressive, considering how difficult it has been to excise him from her mind. So many restless nights of unanswered questions rolling around her head, wondering what went wrong and when, shoving down the hurt of seeing him and Hilda together like that. She was enjoying being free of it.

And now it has coming rushing back.

She would be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t relieved to hear of him. Confirmation that he is safe and sound.

“—bearing an injured maiden.”

Her ears prick up. What’s this?

She exchanges looks with Aymeric. He raises an eyebrow, but she shrugs and spreads her hands. She is as perplexed by the announcement as he is. What maiden? Who could it possibly be? Thancred has a reputation for philandering, but it is, frankly, a farce. This must be something else.

“Master Leveilleur and Mistress Tataru are tending to her wounds, but they do not like her chances. Respectfully, my lord. They have requested the Warrior of Light’s presence immediately.”

Aureia’s eyes widen. If Alphinaud is involved…

It can’t be. Alisaie…?  

His long-lost sister and twin, who diverged from her brother’s path to take matters into her own hands. Aureia doesn’t know her well and has not seen her in years. But if she is back and she is injured, if Thancred saved her… Then she knows where she has to be.

“I will go at once,” Aureia announces and rises from the couch. Blood rushes to her head and she winces, doing her best to keep her expression straight as a headache pulses between her eyes. She is regretting drinking that much wine. She may not be drunk, but from the way she is wobbling she knows she must be tipsy—and it’s going to be a pain to hide it.

Aymeric puts a gentle hand on her elbow, steadying her. Whether it is a gesture of support or to save her from further embarrassment, she doesn’t know. Her stomach twists into a knot. She doesn’t wanted to leave things left open with him like this, but she doesn’t have a choice.  

“And I shall go with you,” he says firmly. “Lead the way, ser. Mistress Malathar and I will follow.”

[ventisettestars]

DannyMay Day 8

Day 8: Electric Core AU [ao3]

Summary: How Vlad learns about Danny having an electric core.

———————————————————————————————————–

After the portal incident, and half death, Danny always seemed to have some form of static electricity. He’d taken to trying to ground himself as often as possible, even trying to conceal an anti-static band around his ankle for day to day interactions.

It worked on his human form, for the most part. Save for his could never get his hair to not fluff up when he was getting emotional, he stopped shocking people like he were an electric eel. 

It wasn’t a problem in his Ghost form. His suit was rubber. 

The trio figured since he died in the portal, it made his cells act like conductors or something? And other than the occasional zap, it didn’t seem to interfere with his day to day life anymore than just suddenly being a half ghost had. It even gave him an advantage against Technus from time to time. 

The other thing which Danny had started calling his ghost sense, was when a ghost was around, he would feel them through air currents. Like how the hairs on the back of your neck raised before a lightning strike. That’s how he felt when a ghost entered his haunt. That too became normal enough to joke about how if Danny were in a Lightning storm, he’d be like his parents and blame a ghost before actual lightning. That got Tucker zapped. 

Not thinking much of it, Danny made a mistake with it. He was frustrated, and while charging his ectoblast, a spark joined in, and when Vlad was hit with the blast, he fell from the sky. 

“Fuck-” Danny didn’t like the fruitloop, but that didn’t mean he wanted him to be a pancake. Catching Vlad and making them go intangible so they didn’t hit the ground with the full force of the fall. Danny got Vlad to the ground safely and set him down, not gently, but close enough. 

The man had shifted to being human, and groaned. 

“Good, didn’t kill ya all the way.” 

“What did you do? When did you gain such a skill?” Vlad sat up, limbs shaking slightly. 

“Oh, um, just sort of, you ever do that thing with your socks on the carpet, then touch someone?”

“I was young once. Of course I did.” 

“Well, it’s like that. But more inside me rather then socks on carpet? And bigger?” 

“Oh. That’s- Why Daniel, you’ve probably got an electric core. Were you aware?”

“Th’ fuck’s a core?”

“That would be a no then. We’ll need to check some things to make sure, but-”

“There is no ‘We’ I’m not going to-”

“So you wish to share what being electrocuted felt like with your loved ones? You enjoyed it so much?” 

Danny growled, Vlad was skirting very close to something he shouldn’t have been. “Keep talking. But watch it.”

“As I was, we’ll need to run some tests to see the extent of it. Most aren’t very dangerous, but you’re powerful, so it’s a cause for concern. Especially if you haven’t been expelling it. For example with myself.” Vlad created a fireball. “I have a fire core. If I don’t let loose from time to time, things will randomly start to combust around me. I can last a few weeks before that happens now, but at the start of my developing powers, it was daily. You might have a shorter or longer period of time.”

“So you want to take me to your lab and what-?”

“Not my lab. I’m certain you are aware of doctors in the zone? Many specialize in this sort of thing and would be far more informed than myself.”

“Oh. I guess that doesn’t sound too bad. I guess lead the way?” 

Vlad summoned his rings, and they flickered just slightly before transforming him. “Shall we take your portal?”

So Danny led the way.

             Notes:        

I struggled so hard with this one, but think I figured it out. Hope it was enjoyable cause ended up with a Part 2 coming tomorrow.

[damienthepious]

DONE. DONE. THIS IS THE ONE THAT’S ACTUALLY FROM THIS WEEK

The Beast In On His Chain (chapter 9)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ao3] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Lord Arum, Rilla, Sir Absolon

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, prisoner/guard dynamic, Dehumanization, (which feels like a weird word to use for a nonhuman person bUT. it’s what i got.), Despair, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (EVENTUALLY!!!! it’ll take a while), Captivity, Suicidal Thoughts, (that will be a theme throughout. inescapable in this particular fic. alas.), Eventual Romance, (Yes the dynamics in this one are fucked. honestly i’m kinda Stretching my limits these days.), (having fun with it. fucking around. it’s fine.), Recovery, (eventually), Self-Reclamation

Chapter Summary: Ongoing attempts at kindness.

Chapter Notes: oh look we're back here again! in my head, rent free, et cetera. Chapter specific warnings for suggestions of torture, suicidal thoughts, ongoing themes of dehydration/malnutrition, arum's general state of mind.... and as usual, let me know if i missed anything i should warn for!

~

"Years," Damien says, and Rilla's heart twists at the way his voice shakes. "Years, Rilla, no one has fed him or given him water in years and still he would not accept- I could see it, in his eyes, how terribly he wanted- but-"

"Breathe."

Damien huffs, sucking in a perfunctory breath and hissing it out between his teeth, and then he shakes his head.

"I don't understand. I don't know what to do. What else to do, besides... you called it courtesy. Basic courtesy. Perhaps so, but- it isn't enough, is it? It is barely anything, and yet it is still, rather obviously, far more than he can believe."

Rilla exhales slowly, wishing that Damien had waited for her to be done with her mixing before he started in, but understanding why he couldn't keep from exploding about this. For now, she keeps whisking over the heat. As soon as the mixture thickens, she can set it aside, but until then-

"He just needs time, Damien," she says, trying to be soothing. "He has no reason to trust your motives, you know that. He's been in there for so, so long, and even before that, I'm sure he had his own part in the war, in some way. Why would he trust a human?"

"I don't understand," Damien hisses again. "Not trusting- not trusting a human, not trusting a knight, not trusting me- that is all well and good, that is to be expected. He would be well served to never trust one of our species for however long he lives, but- but what could I possibly do to him in such a state? How could anyone make that worse? Why deny himself an offering of kindness?"

"Pity," Rilla says, glancing sideways towards Damien to see him flinch again. "He called it pity, you said."

"He... he did," Damien admits, pressing his fist against his sternum and biting his lip for a moment. "He did. I did not mean it as such, truly. I only..."

"I know." She sighs, decides fuck it, and moves the mixture from above the boiling water to set wrong however it pleases so she can move to put her arms around Damien's shoulders instead, pressing her lips to his temple. "Look. He's been hurt . Neither of us know the full extent of it, but it's still pretty obvious. He's been hurt a lot. He's actively in pain. Of course he's going to expect more of the same."

"But water ," Damien says, or- half-whines, if she's being honest. "It was only water! What harm could I possibly do him by offering water? What harm could I even intend to do to him like that? It isn't as if I would poison him; he knows he isn't to be allowed to- to-" he hesitates, swallows awkwardly, and then shakes his head. "I don't see what he could possibly fear, from that. And- pride against perceived pity? Is that truly what kept him from accepting-"

"I'm not in his head, Damien," Rilla says, pulling back. "I don't know for sure what he might be thinking, what might be going on in there. But-" she pauses, worries her lip between her teeth for a moment. "But I think if I were in his shoes-" Damien flinches, badly, but she ignores that and persists, "I think that it would be... hard. To accept pity or kindness. What good would it do?"

"What- what good would it do?!" Damien echoes, incredulous, and then he steps back enough to start pacing, working off some of his keyed-up energy by wringing his hands. "Kindness- the good a kindness does is its own end, what other-"

"He's gone this long without any," she says, more firmly. "Water. Kindness. Whatever you might give him. If he takes it- then what? It's an admission that he's been broken down by this."

"But that isn't-"

"Would you give enemy captors the satisfaction of knowing that they'd made you desperate?" Rilla tries, not really liking this line of thinking any more than Damien does, judging by the way his stance goes stiff. "For anything they might offer you? Or- what if he did take it, and then he gets to-" keep it together, don't tear up about it, c'mon- "to taste fucking water for the first time in years, yeah? He gets that, you give it to him. Okay. And then it becomes just another thing that you could take away from him again afterwards."

Damien pales. "Saint Damien grant me your Tranquility," he murmurs in a breath, and then, "Do you think that's why he... truly, do you think-"

"I'm not in his head, Damien," she says again, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm just... extrapolating. Making educated guesses. Thinking about how I'd feel. Do you think anyone else- anyone else at all has offered him anything close to kindness in the entire time he's been stuck down there?"

Damien pauses, and then his mouth twitches, not quite a smile. "Well. You, I suppose," he murmurs, and Rilla startles into a laugh.

"Fine, fine. I don't feel like I did that much, but... fine."

Damien gives her a look, but doesn't say anything else about it, his expression shifting quickly back to uncertainty and worry.

"I... I don't know what to do," he says, squeezing his eyes closed. "I don't know what's right, anymore. I don't know what to do."

Rilla reaches to brush her fingers against his thumb, and Damien obliges and takes her hand, still frowning, still not looking. She squeezes, then.

"Keep trying?" she says, an odd note of pleading in her own voice. Damien's eyes flutter back open at the sound of it, clearly surprised to hear her uncertain. It isn't something that happens all that often, to be fair. "If it's all we can do for now, to try to be kind... keep trying? Will you?"

His expression softens. "Of course I will. Of course. I... I am rather more stubborn that that, I think you know." He breathes a little more easily, his brow furrowing for a moment with thought. "If he cannot yet see a kindness and believe it... I will simply need to provide him with more examples. Proof, that I will not offer something only to pull it away in cruelty. Such things take time; of course they do. The painful lessons took their own time, I am sure, to bury their claws within him. I will give him the time, the space to see that this will not be the same."

Relief rinses through her, oddly. She hadn't realized that she'd been so worried that this stumbling block would be more that Damien was willing to deal with, that he'd take the opportunity to backtrack to how things used to be. Maybe that wasn't fair of her, but- it's not like she controls the feelings. "I'll keep trying, too." she says. "I don't want to... to draw attention, or anything, that'd be too dangerous, jeopardize anything else we might want to try down the line, but..."

"You can give him things that I cannot," Damien murmurs, looking away. "And perhaps... perhaps it will be easier, for him. To accept that you will not hurt him. You aren't another knight." He pauses, eyes going distant and troubled. "It was a knight that put him there, after all."

Rilla thinks-

Again, she thinks fuck it, and she gives a cautious smile as she says, "Yeah. But- but maybe, someday- maybe someday a knight will get him out of there, too."

Damien shoots her a look, vaguely alarmed- if not terrified, ah- maybe that was too much too early to say, even if she was thinking it, but-

He drops his eyes, brow furrowing thoughtfully, and he doesn't reject the thought.

Maybe, she thinks again. Someday.

~

Arum thought-

(Hoped? Worried? Sat awake thinking about and had at least two dreams about?)

Arum thought, perhaps, that the knight (Sir Damien) might not return, after the last incident. He doesn't know what the creature wants from him, but- if Arum was not going to make it easy, whatever it is, he thought that perhaps he might disappear. Find an easier target.

He returns the next day, however, as if nothing has happened. Or- not quite as if nothing happened. He greets Arum the same as is his current habit, but with a different set to his jaw, a different glint in his eyes. He seems...

Arum is not certain. He doesn't know if he wants to devote the energy to trying to figure it out, either. What does it matter, what Sir Damien intends? The worst he could do is kill Arum, and that would solve the majority of Arum's problems, regardless. There is very little else he could do to hurt Arum in any way he cares about.

(And- perhaps Arum is stupid to think so, but... Damien does not seem the type for torture, either way. Unless he is a remarkably superb actor. In which case, Arum has far more worries than physical pain.)

Near the end of Damien's shift, he approaches again.

"Before I leave," he says in his lilting feather-soft voice. "I thought I should offer, again. Here."

He-

Idiot creature. He lifts out his flask again, offering precisely the same as he had done the day before.

Arum- takes a half second simply to feel baffled. Has this knight been thwacked around the helmet a few too many times? Does he not remember how this went the last time? But- Damien stands steady, hand out, offering. Arum-

Arum glares again, trying to project the feeling of we have been over this with just his eyes and the line of his sneer, and after a few heartbeats wherein Arum decidedly does not lift his hand to take the flask from the knight, Damien exhales. He drops his hand, and he- he shrugs, as if unbothered, and tucks the flask back against his side.

"Very well," he says, and then he nods. "Good evening, then. Until tomorrow."

And he walks away. Finds the door and trades with the next waiting guard. Disappears into the outer world again, leaving Arum alone with some other faceless, uncaring armor-bound oaf.

Which is... fine. Perfectly expected. He returns to the usual, then. Resting and thinking.

When he wakes from a dream of water on his tongue and a warm hand on his face, he does not even cry out.

[justzoni]

The Spaces Between Us, Chapter Five

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji Story Rating: NC-17 Chapter Rating: PG Chapter: 5/12 Chapter Words: 7,525 Story Words: 30,090 Genre: Drama/Romance Pairing(s): Ciel/Sebastian, Ciel/Lizzy Trigger Warnings: Cheating/Infidelity, Explicit Sexual Content, accused of being "very sweet" Notes: I've been plugging away at getting Spaces up and going for a while now and chapter five, Roses, is a favorite. I do rather like Sebastian's monologue if I do say so myself. Story Summary: Three months after his marriage to Elizabeth, Ciel can't stop thinking about what happened the night before the wedding that put distance between himself and Sebastian. Unable to fight himself any longer, he decides to find out why. --- Silence fills the air in the dining room as we finish off the last remnants of breakfast. By all accounts it is a beautiful morning. Sunlight streams through the broad windows of our parlor. The household staff is content and has not caused any trouble. Even Lizzy seems to be feeling the cheer that the day brings. 

No amount of cheer or good weather, however, can change the fact that the tension in the air is so thick that I could cut it with a knife. The atmosphere has been like this since the day that Lizzy returned from visiting her family. Though nothing else has changed in the household, my life has become colored with uneasiness. 

Over the past week, I have tried to smooth it away. To some extent, I have succeeded. Conversation this morning has been pleasant and light as we sip at the delicate teas and full-bodied coffees that Sebastian has prepared. His culinary treats are always the very embodiment of perfection, but the good food does not seem to help matters as our conversation has trailed off. If anything, it makes them worse.

"Would you like more tea, Lady Elizabeth?" Sebastian asks, stepping up to the table from his position by the wall.

"Must you always address me so formally, Sebastian?" Elizabeth asks, smiling politely at him. Indicating her cup, however, she nods. "I will take more tea, please." 

"Indeed, I must," Sebastian replies pleasantly. He returns her smile graciously. "Anything less would be improper."

With that comment, he complies with her request and refills her cup. With a quiet bow to the both of us, he gathers some of the empty plates and returns to the kitchen. As soon as he is gone, Lizzy's eyes dart back to me and meet my gaze. Like what you see? Click here to keep reading on AO3!

[ikesenhell]

A Sun Long Gone

You can find all masterlists at the top of my page (AO3, Genshin Impact, Ikemen Sengoku, and Ikemen Vampire).

MASSIVE FOREWARNING: THIS WORK INVOLVES GRIEF AND MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. While I personally consider it worth it (particularly the epilogue), if you're incredibly averse to sad themes, consider that it may not be the work for you. It also has adult sexual themes and should be considered 18+. Links in the masterpost will bring you to my AO3 as priority, but the Tumblr links do exist on it now! See the end of this chapter for further notes on this chapter/work.

This work mostly takes place before the Cataclysm and should NOT be considered spoiler free!! I cannot even think to list all the things that might be spoiled in this, but chief among them: the ending of the Sumeru Archon Quest (iykyk), Caribert allusions, potentially details about Khaenri'ah and its fall, etc. I am actively choosing to ignore the canon Rukkhadevata appearance in favor of making her more Indian. ---

Further on in life–much, much later, past the Cataclysm and the fall of all he’d ever known, when his memory lay in tatters and all but faded–Dainsleif still remembered that one strange fall. Even in Khaenri’ah, the air was warm and still. The stone surrounding them usually chilled this time of year, bonfires everywhere in the city warming their frigid bones. 

Dainsleif still remembered in perfect detail when he got the missive. He stood panting in the training yard, wiping sweat from his brow. The royal messenger was smiling. 

“Me?” Dainsleif repeated. “Why me?”

The messenger paused. Not many dared to question King Irmin, nor the orders relayed on his behalf. “You were specifically requested. Since this is a long journey and Lord Alberich himself is going to meet with the Dendro Archon, His Highness felt it only made sense for you to attend to him with all pomp. Sumeru is a large and wild land. Your capabilities merited the honor.”

Dainsleif wanted to ask who is being left in charge of the troops, exactly? ‘Capabilities meriting the honor’, his ass. He was the Twilight Sword of Khaenri’ah, not a bodyguard, and certainly no diplomat’s muscle or showpony. Besides, he had precious little respect for Archons. The idea of dressing in full regalia (for three months!) just to bend the knee before another nation's God? He couldn’t stop a quiet, derisive laugh. 

Blinking, the messenger said, “Sir?”

“Nothing,” Dainsleif replied. An order was an order. He had no real grounds to argue. “Tell his Highness I’ll be prepared when the delegation is ready to leave for the surface.”

The messenger bowed and scrabbled away, all but fleeing the training grounds. Mood thoroughly soured, Dainsleif turned back toward the training dummies and drew his sword once more. If he had any luck at all, this Sumeru mission would be quick and without incident.

—

Khaenri’ah’s unseasonable warmth was nothing compared to Sumeru. If it weren’t for the weather, he might’ve even liked the country. Green, green, green stretched out as far as he could see. Flowers exploded in shades of red and yellow and purple and pink and blue. Massive leaves rustled overhead like a song. Dazzlingly plumed birds called between trees larger than he’d ever imagined. 

But the weather? He’d rather go eight rounds against their largest Field Tiller than deal with another hour of this.

Dainsleif knew adjusting to the sunlight would be unpleasant. They’d scheduled that into their itinerary–a moment to stop and allow them all to rest in the shade, eyes shut, blinking against the unnatural bright. It always gave him a headache. And, yes, to an extent, he’d been warned about how much warmer it would be. 

But no one told him about the humidity . Within an hour, the entire diplomatic caravan had stripped to the last layer of clothing. Breathing in felt like swimming. He tied back his hair and pinned up his bangs and even then, everything stuck to his face. Damned Archons. Damned heat. Damned sunlight. He would’ve taken the dry heat of a desert over this a thousand times. The guide Sumeru provided–a ranger with golden hair and golden, long ears, and a long, golden tail–struggled openly against laughter. 

“Don’t forget to drink water,” the guide coaxed. “You’ll need the hydration.”

He couldn’t be too mad at the reminder. Dainsleif uncorked his water bottle for the thousandth time and sighed, “You seem used to dealing with clueless people, miss…?”

She grinned. A fox-like row of razor sharp teeth greeted him. “Takama. The name’s Takama. The Valuka Shuna, my people, have had to adapt rapidly to the rainforest. Our subsequent knowledge makes us well-suited to helping… visitors.”

“Idiots,” Dainsleif corrected. “You mean idiots like us.”

Takama leaned back her head and laughed, a skip in her step. “I’d never say that! Our Lady is the Archon of Wisdom, after all. Learning is a gift at any stage.”

It took all his strength not to snap. Archon of Wisdom? Khaenri’ah had done just fine without one of those. Learning was hardly the property of a random god. But he liked Takama. She was fun, and full of knowledge and laughter, and he didn’t feel like offending someone who’d done him no wrong. He just sighed and picked at his damp, sweaty shirt. 

“It’s only a little bit to the city,” she offered, sensing his thoughts. “And don’t worry. We’ll let you all have a rest, a bath, and an opportunity to change before you get before Her Lordship.”

—

In spite of the miserable air, Sumeru City was a marvel. 

Where did he look first? There were hundreds of stalls with a rainbow of goods; the heady scent of spices and delicious food was thick on the wind; throngs of people in every color imaginable pressed through the market, bartering and bargaining and yelling their greetings. Half a dozen people shouted good tidings to Takama alone. Stained glass cast patterns on the paved streets. Khaenri’ah had technology, certainly, but Dainsleif couldn’t help but gawk at the beauty. 

Their quarters were no less beautiful. Rich wood paneled walls smelled like the forest. Lord Alberich took the larger quarters, but Dainsleif was more than pleased with his. There was a window that overlooked a vast swath of the forest. Gigantic, blue mushrooms glowed in the distance. He could see the peak of Dragonspine and the peaks of Jueyun Karst, tiny in the faraway. Dainsleif took a moment just to stand in the cool air and stare. 

But he wasn’t here to sightsee. He had a duty to perform. Groaning at his uniform (it would be insufferably warm, but there were no alternatives), Dainsleif dressed himself to greet the Archon and exited his room. 

Lord Alberich was already in the hallway. Dainsleif had seen him in the throne room or beside the king, but they’d never spoken. He was an undeniably regal figure. With long, tied back blue hair and icy eyes, Lord Alberich always looked like he was hunting for some invisible quality, evaluating you against some unknown measurement. Now was no exception. He gave Dainsleif a once-over. 

“Have you evaluated the rest of our guards yet?”

“I will once all are assembled. It was only right that I give them a few minutes to wash up.”

The other man nodded. Takama appeared in the hallway, too, a smile on her face. “That’s a lot of layers you’re both wearing.”

Lord Alberich blinked in surprise, unaccustomed to such open critique. Dainsleif just sighed and shrugged, fixing where his cloak lay. “I’ll be sure to go back in time and tell the designers to evaluate our clothes against a different nation’s climate.”

Taking the half-joke in stride, Takama shrugged right back at him, imitating his mannerisms. He nearly laughed. “It looks like the rest of your men gathered outside. Ready to meet the archon?”

Damnable archons , he thought to himself, and said nothing. Lord Alberich nodded. 

“Take us before Lord Rukkhadevata,” he said. “We are more than ready.”

—

For the rest of his life, Dainsleif would never free himself of this moment. 

The Sanctuary of Surasthana was darker than he expected. Green and blue light pulsed gently, ghostly illusions of trees and leaves and vines filling the interior. Ornate glasswork glimmered. And as the Khaenri’ahn delegation entered, Dainsleif behind Lord Alberich’s right shoulder, he had a perfect view of the woman in the center, flanked by a half dozen others in colorful garments.

He didn’t need to hear who she was. He knew . The aura that surrounded her was unmistakable. Bright green eyes nearly glowed against her dark skin and the white hair that ran in wild torrents to her ankles. Henna decorated every bit of her hands and forearms, her feet and even her fingernails. Gold and emerald jewelry adorned her hair and nose and ears and fingers and wrists and legs. She jingled when she moved. Flowers trailed along the hem of her wrapped dress. 

“Lord Alberich,” Lord Rukkhadevata called. Her voice was a song, and the scent of her perfume–a blend of what he later knew as oud and jasmine–surrounded them. “My deepest greetings. Please, come forward to me. I hope your journey from Khaenri’ah was tolerable?”

“Of course,” Lord Alberich replied, granting her a bow. To her credit, Lord Rukkhadevata smiled and bowed right back, matching his depth. “Your city is beautiful, and the guide provided was very knowledgeable.”

“Ah, Takama! She’s lovely.” As if to underscore the point, Lord Rukkhadevata smiled and waved at Takama. “I am pleased you find it so amenable. And as for the rest of your visit…”

The pleasantries buzzed away into white noise. Dainsleif tried to focus, to drag his mind back to a place he knew. But her eyes . Every now and then, the Archon’s eyes would flit over to his and his brain would fizzle into silence. Her whole being was a riot of color and flowers and artwork. One of her palms was decorated with a detailed imitation of the tree Sumeru City sat on; the other, an immaculately detailed pyramid. He tried to focus on that and not the way she kept looking at him.

“I understand you’ll be visiting my ministers tomorrow to discuss trade.”

“Yes. We have a few action items to evaluate. Will you not be joining us, Lord Rukkhadevata?”

“Unfortunately, no. Tomorrow is the Sabzeruz Festival. My people would be very unhappy with me if I didn’t attend.” She laughed, a rich, full sound. “It’s a celebration of my birthday, as it happens.”

“Ah! Well, what a wonderful occasion.”

“It is. I have no doubt the Sages you’ll meet with will bring you to our traditional Haft-Mewa feast once you’re done, and I will certainly be there. But if I could entice some of your retinue you could spare to join me for the tiger’s share of the festival, I’d be more than pleased to be their guide.”

Lord Alberich nodded. “And we would be honored. This is Sir Dainsleif, our Twilight Sword. Dainsleif?”

It was only well-entrenched soldier’s instincts that overrode his inclination to say no . “Sir?”

“Would you mind attending to Lord Rukkhadevata for the Sab… Sub…”

The Archon didn’t laugh. She simply prompted gently, “Sabzeruz.”

“The Sabzeruz Festival,” Lord Alberich finally managed. “I think Khaenri’ah would be honored to represent ourselves during such an important event, and since I will be indisposed…”

It wasn’t a question. Dainsleif knew that. He wasn’t being offered an opportunity to volunteer, he was being volun-told. And as much as he hated every part of this–attending to an archon , being separated from the subject he was supposed to guard, being thrust into a position where he was now unnecessarily close to someone he found unnecessarily beautiful–he had no options. Instead, he supplied the traditional salute: heels together, fist to his chest. “Of course, sir.”

Lord Rukkhadevata shot him a blinding smile. “I’m looking forward to it. Also, Lord Alberich, if you don’t mind terribly, I’d like to provide you all a gift of new clothing. I suspect that our climate will be intolerable to you. Would you mind wearing it tomorrow? I won’t be offended if you say no.”

“We will be honored.”

Dainsleif said nothing. The whole affair irritated him. They were now agreeing to get rid of their clothes, covered in the iconography of their homeland? Sent us here to bend a knee to an archon , he repeated in his head, and even when he was back in the supplied room, tucking into a delicious meal a chef dropped off for them, all he could think of was those bright green eyes and that pretty smile. 

It annoyed him to his core.

—

Takama all but barged into his room at daybreak, new clothes slung over her arms. Dainsleif was already up, mercifully, doing his morning exercises. That didn’t stop him from drawing a sword on her out of reflex. 

“Ooh! That was quick!” She said, tapping it away from her. “Your training pays off.”

“Don’t barge into people’s rooms and you won’t get a weapon pointed at you,” Dainsleif retorted. Damn woman. He was going to miss her; she was fun. “Don’t do that to Lord Alberich.”

“I’m an asshole, not stupid. I handed his clothes to an attendant. I chose to bother you.” Takama offered him that pointy grin and unfurled a navy and bright blue coat, motioning to him. “Come on. I’m here to help you get changed.”

“I can dress myself.”

“Sure, sure, and I can operate one of your big machines.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m sure you could , but it’ll be faster if I help. I’ll show you.”

The long coat was called a sherwani , Takama said. There were thin, comfortable pants to wear with it, a lightweight shirt, and a long, yellow, stole-type-thing she called a dupatta and flung over his left shoulder. It was so finely embroidered that it seemed to float in thin air. Dainsleif marveled at all the details: the Khaenri’ahn star, prominent in the center. Tiny Field Tillers walked along the edges. Geometric patterns delicately wove through the negative space, invoking parts of his homeland he’d never thought too deeply about. 

“Who made these?” He asked, running a thumb along the edges. “They’re beautiful, but it seems like whoever made them–”

“We sent a weaver with our last diplomat to Khaenri’ah,” Takama explained, patting him on the shoulder. “And they were very inspired. It was exciting for him to hear you all were coming; he really wanted to make something you all would like.”

Dainsleif couldn’t help but smile. “I do like it. Thank you. But I hope you realize I’m still bringing my sword–”

She held up a leather strap and snapped it. “Lo and behold, you Lummox. One step ahead of you. We assumed you’d want that. Now turn around and hold up your arms.”

At the end of Takama’s attention, Dainsleif blinked in the mirror. His hair had been tamed back into a sleek ponytail, rings on his fingers. They’d even supplied him with a necklace forged in the symbol of the Khaenri’ahn star. It even complimented his half mask. Takama fixed him with a smug, distinctly foxlike, smile. 

“And you’ll be just on time. Come on. I’m here to take you to Her Lordship. You’ll be spending the day with her.”

Ugh. Damn Archons. Dainsleif took a split second to wish that he’d gotten to enjoy the festival alone, just another person in the streets of Sumeru. But there was nothing for it. He was here as an extension of King Irmin and Lord Alberich, and he needed to behave accordingly. He shoved down his complaints and followed Takama outside. 

The streets of Sumeru City were choked full of people. Flowers and banners hung from every surface. Someone shoved a sack of toasted, spiced nuts into his hands; another person thrust a tall glass of sweet-smelling liquid toward him. Takama laughed when he accepted both. He nearly spilled it on his dupatta twice when they ascended the slopes up to the Akademiya. 

Lord Rukkhadevata was waiting in front of the double doors, barely visible in the rush of well-wishers and civilians clamoring for a glimpse. What a different world. Dainsleif shoved his irritation aside (why did all these good people have to show an archon so much to-do over their birthday?) and followed Takama into the crowd. Come to think of it… the part of him that recognized this was someone’s birthday kicked in. He didn’t have a gift. Did people in Sumeru exchange gifts? Did someone bother giving a gift to an archon? Surely archons had no need for things like that. 

“Our Lordship!” Takama shouted, and shoved someone aside to gain access. “I brought your guest.”

As lovely as she’d been yesterday, she was twice so today. Dainsleif choked back a reverent ‘ oh ’. Her hair was immaculately braided and pinned up. Her jewels had been exchanged for another set, dripping from her wrists and neck and updo. Her white dress–a sari , he learned later–was meticulously embroidered with every flower and tree Sumeru boasted. Her hooked nose and gold skin and bright green eyes and everything, everything about her was needlessly beautiful. Lord Rukkhadevata turned her head and shot him a smile, and Dainsleif shivered in the unnatural warmth. 

“Sir Dainsleif!” She called. “Wonderful to see you here. Happy Sabzeruz Festival. Are the clothes to your liking?”

“Happy Sabzeruz Festival,” he replied. He’d practiced it under his breath three times beforehand and would die before admitting it. “Yes, they’re wonderful. Thank you. Err, do people in Sumeru exchange gifts on birthdays?”

The Archon paused, tilting her head at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Because we do in Khaenri’ah, and it is your birthday, so…” Dainsleif offered her the cup and nuts he’d been handed. “I realized I didn’t come with a gift. So it isn’t much, but hopefully you like these.”

And Lord Rukkhadevata smiled. Taking the offered items, she cracked open the bag and popped some of the snack between her lips. She then leaned her nose into glass, inhaling deeply. “This is Mahua alcohol. Have you ever had it?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“Well then. I’d love to share it with you, my guest. Would you mind splitting a glass with me?”

“If it’s amenable to me, sure. I’d never say no to a good liquor.”

He’d never invoked the Archons for strength before, but the way she laughed had him consider it. “Of course, only if it’s amenable.”

—

Years later, Dainsleif couldn’t say he remembered the entirety of the day. Truthfully it became a blur of color and food and sound and celebration and flower petals. He’d never seen such a crowd and such a lively festival. It was as if the entire country rose up with their Archon. The only parts he remembered clearly–so clearly that he could still lie back and feel it–were the moments when he and Rukkhadevata passed that single glass back and forth, fingers brushing under the canopy litter they rode in. When he arrived back at his room that night, exhausted and full, thoughts of those beautiful eyes followed him into dreamland.

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

Postscript: While Rukkhadevata does technically have a canon design, I am choosing to ignore it! I am a white author myself and I am far from an expert on anything related to India/ME/SWANA or Desi fashion particularly, and since Sumeru is based off a mix of a bunch of different countries and is a fantasy version besides all that, I've tried to take (non offensive) liberties based off my non-exhaustive research. Please let me know if I need to correct something. Many thanks to my friend Naga for directing me toward even more resources and providing feedback.

Additionally: I'm having a lot of fun envisioning Takama as an ancestor of Tighnari's! That feels very correct. Re: Takama's design choices. I did a lot of googling about Amazigh people (because I'd admittedly forgotten that Tighnari is based off them, RIP ME) and did a little bit of alteration to the way Tamaka dresses! A lot of the references involved coin-like objects on the forehead band, but since Mora seems to be the only global currency, I wasn't sure how that would pan out. I swapped the detail to beads because I saw some of the Amazigh forehead bands utilized those, too. Please let me know if this is objectionable.

[writtengalaxies]

hey hey! im down for a little chat <3

-

i only found this blog like, 2 days ago but i can already feel myself getting the urge to go back and reread everything here. content of the highest quality over here <3 /gen

all the fics on AO3 would be really nice as well imo! although i cant say that i use the site that frequently, it could be a good way for others to find your works! at least thats how i see it

i think its due to how much i simp for this man, but i really love love LOVE the memory files. the trope is fairly common (from what ive seen) but the way you write it? chefs kiss. i am patiently but eagerly waiting for the next part mwah <3

the cup god chronicles were also a really fun read. i dont fully really see content (READ: fics) for him regularly so i was immediately intrigued and when i tell you, i was HOOKED. big fan, i love this doofus <3

-

now imma ask you something. who's your fave ego? my guess is engineer lol

also, whats your pronouns? i havent seen them listed anywhere ^^"

if you dont mind me asking, how long have you been writing? just in general. it seems like a basic Q but the answers are fascinating.

-

and as a last little tid bit of me im willing to share for the night, i read most of your works in around 2 hours. what that says about me is irrelevant,, goodnight, i hope this isnt too big of a text wall to answer <3

WAAAH thank you!! Also all of that in two hours?! Oh gosh! (And you're all good! I like big text walls!)

That was more or less my thought with posting them on Ao3! I know a lot of writers do cross-post them, so I figured "hey, why not". I...might end up doing that today, since I managed to pull a muscle in my back real bad in the night and I'm laid up in bed. gfhj

Ooooh, Lost Memory Files does tend to be a fan favorite. XD I'm really happy people like it! It...actually spun out of a similar idea but with Engineer and a Captain who can't remember wormholes and looping...heh. The next part, based on my loose notes, is likely going to continue the hurt.

Cup God Chronicles was really my first attempts at writing Night, the smug bastardass. The reader being a sarcastic little shit is in part I'm a sarcastic little shit, and in part based off of @ghostf1ux. I did notice there aren't a ton of fics for him that aren't...uh. Spicy. I have a couple more fics planned for it!

Favorite ego is 100% Engineer. "The smartest dumbass" was how I saw him described at one point and I'm like "yes. THIS ONE." There's something about like...realizing that even through all the hurt on both sides of that, he still fully trusts the captain? Despite everything. Never knowing the full extent of everything the captain goes through, despite his own misconceptions...

And well, hope is very important to me. So ISWM being very centered around never giving up hope kind of hit real hard, you know?

I DIDN'T REALIZE I DIDN'T PUT PRONOUNS ANYWHERE. ghjk WHOOPS. Honestly, almost anything! (My one exception is it/it's, and that's just because it doesn't feel like me. Big love to everyone who does though! Y'all rock it!)

I'm a genderfluid menace so they're always changing anyway!

How long I've been writing...the first thing I really clearly remember writing was either HP or Yu-Gi-Oh! fanfic waaaaaaaaay back in the day. I must have been about 10 or 11? So...20+ years at this point.

If I had to think about creative writing and doing it more consistently, that's closer to about...16 years? (I had to think about when I graduated high school and I felt like I aged SIGNIFICANTLY in an instant.)

One of my English teachers really drove a lot of confidence in my writing! Shout out to Mr. Craig, who liked some of my original stuff I had written for his class so much, he still has it and checks in from time to time on what I'm up to.

He's a big reason as to why I have an 111k original fiction novel and a novella I self-published for a while. He also did a front-flip off a stage with a lightsaber for a student-written play.

[sofiaottoman]

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My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Thanksvember Day 09

Thanksvember Day 09: maybe we’ll wake up to the silence of shoes at the foot of the bed not going anywhere. by jehans (Batman | JayDick) One-shot  [Rated: Mature] Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: After confirming the truth about "Crispin," losing the fight at the lab, being tortured and nearly killed by KGBeast, and then spilling his emotional guts to his one-time father-figure — all in the same night! — a battered and drained Jason seeks comfort in the only home he has left. He just hopes Dick doesn't mind that he isn't showing up for a booty call this time.

My thoughts: A lovely snap-shot of Jason seeking out what he needs after being hurt. Full of feelings. Very lovely.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40359030

7 notes - Posted November 9, 2022

#4

Thanksvember Day 05

Thanksvember Day 05: Rending Shadows by FicBaal (illbeintheend) (Teen Wolf | Gen) Complete [Rated: Mature] Word Count: 95.1k

Summary: “It’s fortunate for us that those who came before me also had some measure of foresight.” An infuriating smile split Valack's face, “Do you know I nearly had a cell of my own not so long ago?  Instead, events conspired in such a way that I was able to meet personally with the board of directors before any irreversible decisions could be made.” __ Instead of being locked away in the Supernatural Ward, Valack managed to maintain his position as Chief Medical Officer and continue his in-depth study into Beacon Hills' supernatural community.After confronting Noshiko over Rhys' body, the nogitsune is caught at his weakest in the basement of Eichen House, putting both he and Stiles at Valack's mercy.

My thoughts: This is the first part of a series that goes on to become Peter/Stiles. The world building in this (and the series as a whole) is phenomenal. I love how complicated and complex the relationships in this are shown to be - after what happens, it’s only to be expected. The story itself is an interesting canon divergence, well executed in my opinion. I also think Valak is very well done; he’s cruel and detached and sinister, everything you want from a villain. Mind the tags.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31092971/

8 notes - Posted November 5, 2022

#3

Thanksvember Day 22

Thanksvember Day 22: Deus Ex Girlfriend by ninjaboots and thignsandstuff (Hawaii Five-0 | Steve/Danny) One-Shot [Rated: Explicit] Word Count: 36.3k

Summary: “Why are you hungover?” Steve persists, frowning. “Why aren’t you canoodling with your very pretty girlfriend?” Danny asks. Steve seems confused by the non-sequitur but Danny thinks the question is fair since the answer is the same. OR, Steve gets dumped, Danny makes a friend, and they figure it out eventually.

My thoughts: This is a fun read. I really enjoyed that it was mostly from Danny’s pov. I liked the OC and her friendship with Danny. The mis/non-communication between Danny and Steve was brilliantly done.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41260323

10 notes - Posted November 22, 2022

#2

Thanksvember Day 29: Silence ringing inside my head (please carry me, carry me, carry me home) by elareine [Rated: Teen and Up]

Summary:

There's a sharp inhale when Jason sees the extent of the damage. Dick closes his eyes. He knows it's bad. It hurts so fucking much, more than any bruises, more than any fall he's had that hasn't landed him in the hospital.

For some reason, Jason acknowledging that pain makes it worse. Like Dick has shoved the pain down and away and Jason is dragging it back out, just by acting like it matters. Like Dick matters.

Tonight, Dick doesn't think he does.

This is a really interesting fic. It’s beautifully written, I love the way elareine has formatted it - breaking each section up. I really enjoyed that it’s written focusing on Dick, and that we get to follow his journey. The fic itself it an interesting mix of confusion and pain, but also moments that are incredibly sweet.

11 notes - Posted January 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

#thanksvember 2021

14 notes - Posted January 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[chillahead-bridge]

Reunions

Post-canon fic of season 3, length of 4,121 words, contains every spoiler imaginable. Also on AO3 and part of an eventual larger series.

Summary: Months after beginning the establishment of New Trollmarket, the gyre station is finally complete. And Jim isn't the only one who's antsy to see their missing family members returned.

Blinky, no matter how many centuries pass, will always eagerly await a reunion with his bonded partner.

Watching the gyre start up, Blinky puts a hand on Jim’s back. His young charge is practically vibrating; eyes fixed on the machine as it winds up, and- shoots off down the tunnel, blindingly fast and gone in less time than the blink of six eyes.

Blinky is pleased. Not only is the gyre station hopefully now finished, and its tunnel to Arcadia complete, but it didn’t explode even a little during this half of its test run.

The trolls spectating its final stage of installation give a short round of applause and cheer, then moving on to continue their night. It’s just Blinky and Jim within a few moments, with their resident Trollhunter staring down the tunnel intently. As though just by watching, he can make the gyre return faster.

“It works, right? They’ll be here soon?” Jim asks, eyes still not moving from the wide mouth of the gyre station’s tunnel. He’s sinking slowly, almost certainly subconsciously, into a crouch on the balls of his feet; ready to spring forwards at any time, but also ready to watch and wait for his prey however long it takes.

Well, if long-distance friends Jim hasn’t seen in months can be counted as ‘prey’.

“With any luck, yes,” Blinky replies, moving his hand up to pat Jim’s head between his horns. With majority of the passing gawkers uninterested now that the potential explosion has passed, it’s a private enough moment to express the affection. “But it’s like humans say, James. A watched pot never boils. It will be at least another few hours before we’re certain the gyre is completely safe; I’d suggest you find something to occupy your time with until then.”

Jim makes a frustrated huff at that, a quiet growl in his throat. Blinky puts one of his lower arms around Jim’s shoulders, while still petting the top of his head; a bit more than is entirely comfortable to do in public, but Jim very much seems to need it.

“I could’ve gone with them,” Jim says, half to himself, “then I’d…”

“You might have seen Claire and Tobias sooner, yes, but you also might have blown up in a spectacular failure of engineering,” Blinky reminds him. Jim is clearly annoyed by that information, but is still leaning into Blinky’s hands; some of the tenseness in his shoulders easing for the contact. Blinky counts that as an improvement. “Trollmarket needs its Trollhunter hale and healthy, Jim. You might be strong enough to best Gunmar himself, but a gyre crash will wound even you. Best to leave it to the professionals; who are much more heavily armored than you, if I may add.”

Gyre station engineers are of the rarer sorts of trolls. Both big and heavily armored enough to survive the unfortunate crash of a gyre, but also well-learned and educated enough to put the whole thing together. Blinky may have the skill to drive a gyre, but he certainly doesn’t have what it takes to build one.

“I have armor, too,” Jim mutters stubbornly. Blinky smiles, affectionately patting the young troll-boy’s coarse hair.

“Indeed you do,” Blinky agrees. He gives Jim a tight two-armed squeeze, then stepping away; knocking his staff against the stone ground as he walks. “Come, then. Let’s put it to good use on the training grounds why don’t we? I’m sure you will find any number of willing opponents to blow off some steam with.”

Blinky waits a few seconds, flicking an ear backwards to listen for Jim’s following steps. After a few beats, a rather forlorn sigh is heard and Jim does indeed come trailing after him, if reluctantly.

Their Trollhunter does make for a mopey sight, dressed in loose pants and a baggy shirt; the loneliest body language possible as he pads along barefoot. Claire’s presence on and off the past months has been a big part of what kept Jim’s negative moods from being permanent. But with her family needing to see her, and higher education apply for, and her humanity dictating she seeks out her own kind for company… Claire can’t be Jim’s girlfriend constantly. The fiery young sorceress in-training has her own life to live, and sometimes the diverging paths of bonded partners can be a difficult hurdle.

Toby’s absence does nothing to help the state Jim works himself into; quicker to the rise of a conflict and pushed to uncharacteristic snaps, dogging Blinky’s heels even when Blinky has no use for a twitchy warrior in his library, or simply running himself ragged with a hundred different mundane activities in one night. All to keep his mind off the missing persons from his side.

Truly, as Blinky long suspected, the three of them are better kept as a trio. Separations are so very hard for younglings, even when they’re necessary. And for Jim, grappling with troll and human instincts both, it’s been doubly lonely.

Blinky sympathizes greatly. The hulking shadow that should be following his has been gone for months, and while they’ve gone years being apart… Blinky misses Arrrgh more with each rise and set of the moon. He misses the deep bass of Arrrgh’s voice, the unusual and unique perspectives he has of situations, the quiet comfort of them in their cave together, away from the world with only each other for company…

Yes, Blinky understands Jim’s pining loneliness quite well. And as he’s learned over his centuries of life, the only way to cope with it is to keep one’s self busy.

Hence, having his adopted son suit up and spar for the remaining time before their family arrives.

A perk of being Trollmarket’s leader is that when Blinky asks for a spar partner to present themselves, his request is fulfilled promptly. Jim himself holds appeal, given his reputation and prowess, but he is not even an adolescent by troll standards and that sometimes is enough to earn him subtle dismissal.

Thankfully tonight he receives no such slight, and Blinky is pleased to see five volunteers. Two nearly thrice Jim’s size, one of equal stature and svelte musculature, and the latter two in between. A good array of opponents for Jim to further hone his skills against, and more importantly to distract himself with.

Blinky settles himself on the side of the training grounds, sitting on a spectator bench; watching the first spar begin. While Jim says the incantation of his amulet, wrapping himself in the blue glow of it, Blinky takes in the training grounds as a whole.

It’s not as grand or impressive as the ones of Old Trollmarket, but it’s functional and frequented nonetheless. The lost history of the old training grounds will sting for a long few decades yet, but here they are already in the process of building a new Hero’s Forge. A place for future legacies to be born.

As such is why many newcomers to the market gather here, staking their place among their peers and proving their strengths. With the news of Gunmar and Morgana’s defeat travelling through troll communities across the globe, Blinky has been unsurprised to find many making the journey to join the one who can claim hand in that defeat. Trolls are predictable in their attraction to power and reputation, and the collective Blinky is responsible for can boast quite a lot of both.

Add in that the Trollhunter has a permanent residence among them, and the draw is more than tempting. Even if when they arrive… some trolls are not quite so accepting of a hunter than is not fully troll or human.

It has been a hard transition for Jim, with some weeks when Claire is away in the human world leaving him near despondent. With his body’s changes to adjust to, and the peace after a brutal war only just beginning to sink in… Jim has rougher moments than he would ever admit.

Peacetimes after war, as Blinky came to know hundreds of years ago, are not so easily accepted as one would like. Especially when you’re grieving, and in Jim’s case, as young as a troll child.

Jim grieves for his humanity, for the life he gave up, and for the trolls and humans he couldn’t save. He is only just beginning to age by troll standards, but by human… he is old enough to fight and die for his country, and fight he has for the world he gave everything to.

It’s still a heavy weight, the responsibilities and lives Jim has shouldered. Blinky will admit that he himself feels a tad weighed down these days, carrying the leadership of Trollmarket both old and new with all the gravity it deserves.

Between the two of them, coping with every burden they’ve chosen to take on, the presences of their family are a sorely missed feeling.

How glad Blinky is that the tunnel and gyre station are finally complete. He’ll be even gladder once Claire and Tobias return to Jim, and finally calm their Trollhunter. Of course, not that Blinky won’t be extremely happy to have Arrrgh back as well… but Blinky is capable of self-control in Arrrgh’s absence. Jim meanwhile is as unnerved and squirrely as possible.

Younglings, honestly. As endearing as he may be, Blinky does find his patience tried at times by his adopted son.

Not at the moment, though. As Jim is practically yowling with gleeful triumph as he bests one of his opponents- defeating one of the much larger trolls using nimble tricks and sneak attacks. His armor shines in the overhead lights as his broad falchion whirls; the flat of the blade smacking his opponent in his nose at just the right moment, and sending the troll toppling backwards.

Jim dissolves his sword as he flips away, using his bipedal and quadrupedal forms of maneuvering to his advantage; just as the sveltely shaped troll takes up the fight, his crescent blade similar to that of Nomura’s twin ones. Though this is a full-blooded troll, and not one of the Changelings that flit in and out of Trollmarket’s territory.

Blinky claps his upper arm’s hands, calling out, “Good show, young master Jim! Now give us an encore!”

“Working on it!” Jim yelps, scrambling on all fours out of the path of a blade that burns bright green.

“I wouldn’t be so certain of victory, Trollhunter whelp,” taunts his grey skinned opponent, and ah yes, this is one of the newcomers Blinky remembers welcoming a few weeks ago. Taka, Blinky thinks. A gentile fellow until he’s decided to stroke his ego.

Jim is in the process of cutting him down to size again, though, so Blinky chooses not to speak out against the mild insult. It’s nothing Jim hasn’t been called before, and Blinky has gotten practiced at swallowing the defensive growl that bubbles in his throat each time.

Blinky shouldn’t show too much favoritism towards the Trollhunter, given his position as Trollmarket’s elder leader (though he’s not that old yet), but he can’t help the reflex to defend someone he claims as his own. And it’s heartening to know that if someone badmouths his leadership choices within Jim’s hearing, the troll-boy tends to firmly remind them that disrespecting their elders is a real buttsnack thing to do.

Blinky smiles to himself, watching as Taka winds up with Daylight’s edge pressed to his throat. Jim’s smug grin is a welcome sight to see, rather than the pensive curling frown it’s been since Claire’s departure.

A tap on his shoulder, and Blinky turns his six eyes from Jim’s victory to the troll behind him. For a moment, the large size of said troll brings a soft pang to Blinky’s chest.

Soon, Blinky reminds himself.

“Blinkus,” greets the larger troll respectfully. His expression, however, is deeply annoyed. “There’s been another… disagreement over rations.”

Blinky sighs. “Socks or Glug this time?”

“Both, actually. Which is the problem. Not everyone wanted smoothies.”

And once again, Blinky finds his honored position as Trollmarket’s leader being called upon to settle a squabble. He really does understand now why Vendel had been so grumpy all the time.

“Right, then,” Blinky says, and stands from his bench. “Lead the way. Perhaps this time we’ll get matters solved before someone loses a digit or four.”

Blinky gives a brief wave to Jim, who is well and truly occupied by taking on his medium sized opponents both at once. The troll-boy distracts himself for a moment to wave cheerfully- seeming miles better than he’d been earlier, moping in front of the gyre station- and then dives back into the fight with his twin daggers drawn.

Blinky smiles warmly, and then turns to meander to wherever the largest crowd of trolls has gathered. Where there’s a crowd, there’s a fight. It makes tracking the conflict down easier for Blinky and Jim both.

The resolution of the fight turns into the resolution of another, and then a consultation with a different pair of trolls, and then an advisory about a cave’s structural plans, and then a brief assist in locating someone’s errant hatchling (always check the pantry first), and so on and so on and before Blinky knows it-

“Blinky!” someone yells down at him, and Blinky looks up from his work to see a certain youngling racing past. Jim’s fangs are on full display as he bares them in an overjoyed grin, which Blinky nearly misses entirely at Jim’s speed. “They’re here, the gyre is here! C’mon c’mon c’mon-”

And Jim is gone before Blinky hears the rest, as the troll-boy vaults over a food cart and several trolls and drops to all fours; continuing his sprint for the gyre station on the western side of Trollmarket.

Blinky feels a swell of emotion in his chest, and barely contains his own joy. A quick exchange of eye contact with the troll he’d been speaking to, and Blinky is waved off with an exasperated smile.

“Go, follow after the boy,” shoos the elder troll lady he’d been speaking with, and her nearly blind old eyes crinkle as she laughs at him. “Both of your pining is sickening, I can’t stand looking at it any longer.”

“Thank you, but excuse you, Dar,” Blinky snaps without heat. “I distinctly remember you being the same way the last time Tumelt visited her family up east.”

Dar’s many bead and skull accessories clack as she waves him off sharply. “Ach, your memory is failing you already, Blinkus. I’m sure such a thing never happened. Now get on with it! Arrrgh will be waiting.”

Blinky rolls all six of his eyes at her teasing, but does as told.

There’s no hope of him catching up to Jim’s progression- his son is as speedy as any of the troll ilk Nomura hails from- but Blinky does his best to keep up a steady jog until he’s reached his destination. No one bothers him as he goes, no one calling out for assistance with any little problem they’ve created for themselves. Blinky suspects they’re being respectful enough to give him time to reunite with his bonded partner, and for that he is grateful.

After all, with the way his heart is swelling and pulling him back to the one he’s shared it with- Blinky very much doubts he’d stop for anyone at this point, leaderly responsibilities or no.

Getting through the crowds closer to the gyre is aggravating, but all the irritation at being slowed down vanishes once Blinky breaks through and lays his eyes on the individuals clustered around the station.

For a moment, their surroundings are of little consequence to Blinky, and the only thing he can look at is the familiar green-grey hide of Arrrgh.

Arrrgh, who catches Blinky’s scent, and whips his head towards him with a grin so wide it must hurt.

“Blinky!” he bellows, and comes charging forwards. Blinky is forced to drop his staff in order to wrap his four arms around the neck of his partner, but the dull clatter of its fall barely reaches his ears.

The thick bristle of Arrrgh’s neck is an achingly familiar sensation against Blinky’s cheek, and he has missed it more than he thought he had, finally feeling it again now. Arrrgh’s chest is filled with sound as he gives a rumble of a purr, so happy that his words have deserted him and all he can do is hold Blinky tightly.

Blinky accepts the crushing hug happily. He has missed every aspect of Arrrgh, from the part of his scent that reminds him of rocks from deep beneath the earth, to the enormous hugs he gives when overexcited.

Blinky then lets out a startled laugh as Arrrgh lifts him off the ground, bringing him to level and looking Blinky right in the eye. Blinky feels himself smiling as wide as Arrrgh is, and that smile becomes something softer as they put their foreheads together; knocking horns and taking a slow inhale of each other’s scents.

Arrrgh smells like Arcadia, like Toby, like cats and tunnels different from the ones in the new Trollmarket territory, and he smells like Arrrgh. Like the troll Blinky isn’t ever sure how he managed to be without for any period of time.

Every time they have to separate, for whatever reason or for however long, the act of coming back together never ceases to jerk on every single one of Blinky’s heartstrings.

“…missed you,” Arrrgh sighs, words barely making it through his purring.

“And I you, old friend,” Blinky replies without missing a beat, his own quiet purr working its way up his throat. For as long as they can, they stay like that; re-familiarizing themselves with one another and beginning the process of mingling their scents together again. Blinky stopped being able to smell Arrrgh on himself not two months after leaving; it’d been a low night indeed, having discovered that.

But Arrrgh is here now, even if just temporarily, and that erases everything else.

Reluctantly, Blinky remembers his position in society and the dictation of public manners. Arrrgh makes a disappointed noise at the gentle tap for him to put Blinky down, but does as asked. He remains in contact though, even after setting Blinky on his feet. Blinky doesn’t mind in the least that Arrrgh is pressed in close to his shoulder and back; if anything, the looming presence is a great relief to have once again at his side.

Arrrgh picks up Blinky’s staff, offering it to him with a smile that’s always made Blinky’s ears perk in embarrassed happiness. Arrrgh is stronger than nearly every troll in Trollmarket- perhaps even across the whole continent. And of all the other trolls, including those that might equal him in strength, Arrrgh chose Blinky. Blinky, who is capable in a fight, yes, but nowhere near level with some more brutish trolls.

Blinky remembers their friendship started rocky, due to their former divide in allegiances. How far away do those first nights seem now - Blinky coming face to face with the revered, feared traitor champion of the Gum-Gum army, who’d been chained up and wide eyed as he met Blinky’s gaze.

Never had Blinky thought that someone so strong and infamous could be scared of him.            

Blinky’s only regret of their budding friendship back then… has to be that it took him weeks to get over his own suspicions, and just accept Arrrgh’s efforts to change as the sincere attempts they were.

He is so very glad that he did.

Blinky takes his staff from his partner, saying, “Thank you, Arrrgh.”

Arrrgh leans his head down sideways, sneaking another knock of their horns in before straitening up and acting appropriately. After all, they need to set an example for a certain troll-boy, who is clearly in need of one.

Jim has all but wrapped himself around Claire and Toby- Toby perhaps especially, as they haven’t seen each other in person in months. As much as it warms Blinky’s heart to see the trio reunited, it really doesn’t do to have the fearsome and noble Trollhunter letting his instincts get the better of him in public. With strength and size on both his humans, Jim has easily scooped them in close to himself and is very near cuddling right then and there.

Blinky sighs to himself, seeing Jim attempt to knock horns with Toby and realize right after that it isn’t possible. Embarrassment and something like shame flicker across his features, and Jim quickly buries that under a happy grin. Toby just rubs his head, visibly complaining to Jim about bonking his skull.

Arrrgh is laughing about the whole awkward show, and while Blinky does love having the vibrations of that deep laugh at his back once more, they really should go rescue Jim from himself.

“Don’t make fun of the boy,” Blinky chides lightly, tugging on a tuft of Arrrgh’s fur, “he’s practically a hatchling like this.” A few short months of adapting to an entirely different way of life has not been nearly long enough for Jim, and this is yet another example of that. A struggling transition for everyone involved.

But Blinky always did want children, anyway, so it’s not a struggle he’ll ever complain about.

“Jim’s happy,” Arrrgh laughs. “Wingman, Claire, you- us. Very happy.”

Blinky’s mouth turns up in a fond smile, and lets Arrrgh put a huge arm around him. “Yes, that we are, Arrrgh. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Could’ve,” Arrrgh says, and well, Blinky certainly would have chosen different words, and have used twice as many as Arrrgh did, but…

The succinct and straight forward way Arrrgh addresses their happiness is all that’s really needed to be said.

“No, I could not,” Blinky refutes mildly, to which Arrrgh snorts disbelievingly. Blinky simply reaches up to pat the side of Arrrgh’s face, and then steps forwards to get them moving. “Come along, I’m sure Tobias is quite eager to see the market and Jim may very well start nuzzling at this rate.”

Arrrgh laughs loud enough to draw the attention of the trio, and at their approach Jim seems to remember how to reign himself in and release his partners. The way Jim holds himself apart from the two humans right after… it speaks volumes of his discomfort with himself. Blinky knows sooner than later he’ll have to finally force Jim to sit down and listen, and give his adopted youngling an overdue talk about the differences between troll romance and human romance.

But, as trollish as he is now, Jim is still part human teenager. And everyone knows teenagers are deathly allergic to speaking about feelings.

(Not literally, thank goodness, but Blinky did have a momentary fit of panic after hearing that phrase from Jim’s mother.)

“Miss Claire, master Tobias,” Blinky greets, opening his three free arms to them. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Blinky!” they both shout, and transfer their hugs from Jim to Blinky. He catches them both easily, and laughs as Jim practically launches himself at Arrrgh. While the two of them begin wrestling, happy growls and playful snarls starting up immediately, Blinky opts to give a more human friendly welcome.

“Jim and I have missed you fiercely,” Blinky tells Claire and Toby, hugging them close. “Well. Perhaps Jim more than I.”

“Yeah, he kiiinda almost flattened me,” Toby says, but the exasperation is as fond as any Blinky has ever heard.

“Get used to him clinging to you now, because that’s going to happen a lot,” Claire warns with a smile as fond as Toby’s tone.

“Eh… I can deal with that. I missed him, too.”

Blinky pats both of their backs; satisfied that even if Jim’s behaviors get a little out of his control sometimes, his partners will still accept him wholeheartedly. Now if he could ever get the three of them to hold still and let him help them put the actual name to the changes in their relationships… but that’s for later. For now, the time is for their reunion and all the joyous things that come with it.

And as though summoned by that thought, Arrrgh and Jim crash into them all; the two of them wrapping everyone else up in a big hug. Blinky finds himself squished in with Claire and Toby, a little short of breath, but nonetheless laughing along with the rest of his family.

Things have changed greatly in recent months, but at the same time stayed very much the same. Even with their life paths taking them different directions, they still intertwine enough that their connection never breaks.

Blinky more than happy to have his family back together, and for as long as it lasts, he will cherish every moment they have.

[ahdraftingco]

Chapter One: Never Sleep With A Thief | Series: Lesson Learned

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

AO3 Crosspost: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40653303

Rating: Explicit, readers are advised to read the warnings below before proceeding.

Series Warnings (in no particular order): Porn with Plot, Dark!Din Djarin, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, Master/Slave Relationship, Knife Play (Minor Cuts/Blood), BDSM, Rough Sex, Genuine Fear, Sexual Coercion, Power Play, Degradation, Face Slapping, Spanking, Choking, Gagging, Enemies to Lovers, Possessive Behavior, Spit, Forced Orgasms, Hair Pulling, Multiple Orgasms, Threats of Violence, References to Death/Suicide, Book of Boba Fett Spoilers

Chapter Summary: The Mandalorian is tired of your shit. You're nothing but a low-life thief, constantly plucking parts off his ship or stealing weapons off his body or credits from his pack. How do you keep running into him and why have you made him your target for this kind of persistent harassment? Well, your reign of terror ends now. When you're imprisoned in Mos Espa, it's finally time for the Mandalorian to get his revenge.

Word Count: 9.6k+

A/N: Please read through ALL the series warnings before deciding to proceed and note that all of my work is for adults only so minors DNI. 

You can't hear what they're saying. It's all hushed murmurs. All you can assume is that they're making a deal. The Mandalorian wants you, after all. He has been trying to catch you this entire time and yet you've evaded him on every single occasion.

If only you had realized he actually had friends and that one of those friends included the Daimyo of Mos Espa, Lord Fett. There's some regret coursing through your veins, though it mostly involves you cursing yourself over not planning your heist more diligently. Had you known the full extent of the possible consequences of your actions, maybe you wouldn't have gotten greedy and tried to steal more than you needed from Lord Fett.

You watch as the Mandalorian strolls over to your cell and you know he has a smug expression on his face under that helmet of his. You didn't need to see it to know how satisfying it must be for him to see you in chains like this.

"You're mine now, thief." His modulated voice spurs a bit as he spits those words out to you.

Your lips curve into a smile, the kind of smile you put on just to annoy the shit out of him. If he has a smug expression on his face, why can't you too? You deserve to have a little fun, especially considering what's in store for you.

"It doesn't really feel like I'm yours." You take a stab at him with your words. "The truth is, you could never catch me and you're just lucky Lord Fett did. How much did you pay for me?"

"You were on the house." He draws an uncontrollable laugh from your lips. That's funny. Of course, not only can he not capture you on his own, he gets gifted you for free!

What a laughable scenario.

It's obvious he doesn't like that you're laughing at him because the moment he opens the door to your cell, his hand finds its way around your throat, slamming you into the rock wall.

"I don't want to hear another sound out of you." He grips your neck so tight that you're genuinely afraid he might snap it. "You aren't allowed to speak anymore, unless you want your tongue ripped out."

You open your mouth to say something but that slight action is met with a slap in the face. His leather glove lands a blow right across your left cheek and you can already feel it start to swell.

"Don't fucking test me or I'll make it hurt worse than that." The Mandalorian is deadly serious and you squeeze your lips together until they're practically a straight line, not daring to make even the slightest of sounds. "That's better. Now, walk."

He lets go of your neck and you drop back onto your feet, gasping for air. You expect him to give you a second to breathe but you instead feel the barrel of his blaster against your back, making you stiffen up. He bends down to grab a hold of your chains then he presses the barrel harder into you so you know to start moving.

You try not to stumble on the chains but it's hard to walk on the sandy stone floors with bare feet. You were stripped down to nothing but a plain tunic and distressed pants when you were captured. They didn't give you the luxury of shoes. Cheap bastards.

The sun blinds you as you step out from the underground prison and into the hot desert sands of Tatooine. Your feet burn with every step and you realize that's the point. Every breath you take, you taste sand on your tongue. You normally have a mask on but you weren't given that either. You just have to suffer through the sunburns and sand scratches.

It's a long trek until you and the Mandalorian make it to some cave. There's a N-1 starfighter parked outside of the entrance and you're a bit surprised to see that he owns such a nice ship. He used to have this tacky Razor Crest which was all too easy to pick apart. You kind of miss it. It was easy to stow away on. He never checked the storage room.

Your feet are finally freed from the torturously hot sand and you step back onto cold sandstone floors. The cave seems to be a makeshift home of sorts, though a bit dingy. There's just enough stuff for a man like the Mandalorian. Nothing more, nothing less, though you did like the natural oasis. It's a small pool of water but enough to bathe in if needed.

Is that the point of him dragging you all the way here? You wonder as he unlocks all your chains except for your handcuffs. However, he doesn't give you much time to think when he puts his blaster away and pulls out a blade.

"If you don't want me to hurt you, stand still." The Mandalorian walks up to you with the sharp knife and you hold your breath.

He grips the collar of your shirt and ever so slowly, he drags the blade downwards, ripping through the fabric. The tip of the blade grazes your skin so lightly that you don't even realize he pierced some of it until the air hits your newly formed cut. You look down and there's just the tiniest line starting from between your breasts and ending right above your belly button. It starts to ooze tiny specks of blood and you shiver as the Mandalorian drags his gloved finger alongside it. He doesn't touch the cut directly, but it's close enough that you forcibly bite back a whimper not to react to the feeling.

"I like this look on you." His helmet shifts from your chest to your eyes. "Afraid."

You want to tell him to go fuck himself and that you aren't afraid of him. He's nothing but a hunk of walking metal that can easily be pickpocketed. However, you value your life more than insulting him so you keep your mouth shut like he wanted you to.

"Take off your pants." He presses the flat side of his knife against your chin, lifting your face up to look at his helmet. "Keep your eyes on me."

You go to unbutton your pants, wriggling out of them as best as you can while handcuffed. Eventually, they drop to the ground and you step out of them, kicking them aside. Now, you're left in just your underwear and a shirt that's been torn straight down the middle. It's becoming fairly obvious what he intends to do with you now.

"Tell me, thief. Will this be your first time?"

Does he expect you to answer?

After a long stare down, you feign ignorance to ask, "first time doing what?"

If he didn't have the helmet on, you are sure he's smiling menacingly at you as he drags the blade down your body once again, only this time, he held it by the metal, letting you feel the hard shaft until it rested right up against your underwear. He glides it back to front before pressing the hilt where your clit sits and you try your best not to squirm at the feeling. You expected the grip of the blade to be plastic or metal, but it's actually lined with a softer material, possibly the same leather as his gloves, black and rounded at the base. He swirls it in place as he taunts you.

"I can't tell if you're inexperienced or not. It would be more fun to break a virgin but I'll break you either way." The Mandalorian is trying to instill fear into you now.

What does he mean by break?

"I'm not a virgin." You state aloud, answering his question.

"Hmph." He sounds disappointed, which is why you said it. "Then, how many have gotten to use this body of yours?"

That's just fucking demeaning of him to ask like that. However, he's allowing you to speak so you choose your words wisely to make up for it, "are you asking because you want to know or because you're jealous none of them were you?"

The Mandalorian pushes into you with the hilt of the blade and you jolt upwards instinctively. It wasn't a hard shove but it was definitely enough to cause panic to run through every nerve in your body.

"You're going to wish you had just answered me politely." He flips the blade in his hand and you are suddenly brought to a complete freeze.

You can feel the tip of the blade against the fabric of your underwear. Your breathing starts to get uncontrollably erratic. The panic is really setting in now. The genuine fear.

You squeeze your eyes shut the moment you feel the cold steel of the blade sneak beneath the fabric of your underwear. The flat side grazes your skin and you can't breathe anymore. You fear that if you let out even the tiniest breath, the blade will stab you somewhere incredibly unpleasant.

The Mandalorian basks in your terror. "Aww, look at you. A pretty little thief, all shaken up. Not so confident anymore, are we?"

A rip echoes through the silent cave as he pulls the blade through your underwear on one side, tearing it to shreds. The remaining fabric doesn't sit long on your other thigh as he digs the blade through that portion as well. You feel the fabric drop down your legs and now you're exposed completely from the waist down.

Your hands tremble and you don't realize it until you hear it for yourself, the rattling of your handcuffs making your nerves fully apparent. You open your eyes and you're met with the blade staring right at you. You hiccup involuntarily which draws a frightening laugh from the Mandalorian.

"Who knew you were so scared of sharp objects? Maybe if I had tried stabbing you instead of shooting at you, you wouldn't have become such a bother." He moves the blade to brush along your shoulders and you watch him tear into the sleeves of your shirt until both sides are torn apart enough to fall off your body completely.

Now, you're bare in front of the Mandalorian, wearing nothing but the handcuffs you were imprisoned with. You ball your hands into fists, trying to stabilize yourself, while the blade makes rounds along your bare skin. He takes his time, dragging lines across every inch of your skin with the flat side of the blade. It's only when you flinch or move that he pricks you just a tiny bit with the sharp side. Enough to draw blood, but not enough for it to actually hurt. They're all small, superficial cuts. He's marking you in his own way, since he can't use his teeth. The blade does the work for him and you're forced to stand and power through it.

All the while, the Mandalorian degrades you, "what a pathetic girl you are. Always getting on my nerves, always causing me trouble. Look at the way you cower before me at the sight of a tiny blade. Do you want to see something even scarier, little thief?"

He plucks the blade from your skin, leaving a final nick before placing it back in his boot. Then, he pulls out something else and you can't contain your gasp while he activates it.

That's…the DarkSaber.

The Mandalorian is holding it firmly in his hands. It glows that pure black, radiating a kind of power that sends shivers all over your body.

Suddenly, he brings up the blade, as if he's going to slice through you. And, he does. He slices right at you. You let a scream out from the depths of your stomach, filled with pure fear, as you hear metal hit the floor.

Your heart leaps out of your chest as you look down and see that he has broken through your handcuffs and you're now free from them. They sit, melted partially on the floor. You slowly tilt your head up to look back at the Mandalorian, who puts the DarkSaber away.

"You shouldn't have moved. You could've lost your hand." He taunts you and you shudder at his words.

What did you do to deserve this? Yes, you were a nuisance to him. You stole from his ship. You stowed away on his ship. You pocketed his credits and sold some of his weapons. You did a lot of things you're growing to regret now.

You didn't know the Mandalorian was a madman. You assumed he wasn't because he had that child creature thing with him. He was softer, easier to swipe stuff from when the kid was around. Did you happen to piss him off at the wrong time? Did he lose the kid and now he's taking his frustrations out on you?

Fuck, you really shouldn't have been greedy in Mos Espa…

"You're filthy." He shoves you slightly and you have to catch yourself before you land your bare ass on the ground. "Go bathe. You wouldn't want those cuts to get infected."

The Mandalorian says it as if he gives a shit, which you know he doesn't. You have no idea how clean that blade he used was. For all you know, you could already be infected with something.

You manage to walk over to the oasis and get in, submerging yourself in the water. You debate, for just a moment, taking a deep breath underwater, but you know you wouldn't drown that easily. He probably wouldn't let you drown. You're more valuable to him alive right now. He can't fuck with you otherwise.

When you resurface, the Mandalorian is there, knelt beside the pool of water, holding a bar of soap. You take it from him and he nods at you. He watches as you wash up. You hand him back the soap when you're done and he leaves then. You soak for a minute longer until he comes back with a towel. Wow, he's letting you dry off. How courteous. You stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him when you take the towel, helping yourself out of the bath.

You dry yourself off as best as you can, then you give him back the towel, since you know he's not going to let you keep it.

"I guess you are smarter than you look." His praise comes off more as an insult and you hold back the desire to glare at him. "Go sit on the bed."

You glance over at the makeshift bed set up he has. It's just a mattress with several loose sheets on top of it and a larger comforter for the colder nights. He doesn't even have any pillows.

What kind of person doesn't sleep with a pillow? A madman.

You do as you're told because you'd rather not be sliced in half by the DarkSaber. You sit on the mattress on your knees, since it's the only position that lets you hide at least some of yourself. He definitely doesn't like that because he towers over you and snaps his fingers, gesturing for you to open your legs.

"Do I need to say it or are you going to listen to me?" His words have a bite to them and you chew the inside of your cheek in response.

You aren't trying to be defiant. You just need some time to weigh your options. If you listen to him, you'll be giving in and there's no telling what he's going to do. If you don't listen to him, you run the risk of dying by the hands of a Mandalorian.

After deliberating, you lean back on your hands, bending your knees and spreading your legs open for him. You look away because you feel terribly exposed. This is unlike anything you've ever done. There's something about the way you can't see how he's looking at you that lights a fire inside of you. You don't know what this feeling is.

Is it shame? Embarrassment? Arousal?

Are you seriously getting the hots for a man you've never even seen before? You can't say you don't know what he's packing beneath the armor. You've felt him up on multiple occasions in the middle of crowded bazaars to pickpocket him. You know what's under there but do you actually want to know?

You wish he would say something. Or at least do something. It's filling you with such an unbearable heat just laying here like this.

"Interesting." That's the word he says when he finally speaks up again. He doesn't say anything except for that.

Not until he gets on the bed too, filling the space beside you. You turn to him then, looking at him once again, and you're immediately yanked towards him. The Mandalorian isn't holding any of his strength back as he seats you in the space between his legs with your back pressed up against him. He has his back resting on the cave's wall and his hands settle at your thighs, keeping your legs open so he can stare at you.

You know he's staring because his helmet is in the crook of your neck, shifted downwards. It's cold but you strangely don't mind it because your internal temperature is so hot. You feel the beskar plates against your bare skin and all of them are just as cold as his helmet.

There's a shine to them, like he's just polished the beskar. You like shiny things. You have an affinity for stealing them but you've never thought of swiping an armor plate from the Mandalorian. Beskar is rather valuable, but he would track you down too quickly for you to be able to pawn it at a good price.

"Why are you staring at me?" He asks and you can't hold in a small chuckle. You want to ask him the exact same thing.

"I never realized how pretty beskar is up close." You reach up, touching the side of his helmet with your hands. "It sparkles ever so subtly."

"You're sitting naked in my arms and you're thinking about my armor?" He's amused, at least that's what you think his tone is depicting.

"More or less, I was thinking about why I've never stolen a piece of your armor before." You smirk, even though you know you shouldn't.

"If you stole any of my beskar, I would kill you the moment I found you." His words are as icy cold as his chestplate feels against your back.

"Why kill me?" You ask genuinely. "It seems like you're having more fun with me alive."

"You don't seem all that scared of me anymore if you're asking questions. Have you forgotten what I can do?" He snaps at you and you bite back your next set of words, straightening up. "Ah, there she is. Just needed a little reminder of who owns you now."

"Do you own me now?" You know you shouldn't talk back but you want to know what kind of situation you're in. "Did Lord Fett give me away in some kind of slave contract?"

"He gave me two choices: kill you or take you. So, I guess that answers your question."

It would've been equally unpleasant to die in that cell but…to be given away as a slave? You can't live life like that. You value freedom. That's why you're a thief. You liked not depending on anything but raw skill. No attachments. You don't take jobs, you don't deal with people. You just steal from them.

But now? What are you now that you're a slave?

"What do I call you then? Master?" You say it teasingly which you regret instantly because his hand catches your throat, choking you all too quickly.

"You really can't learn your lesson, can you?" He shakes his head in disappointment, tightening his hold on your throat.

The Mandalorian is squeezing so hard that you might actually black out. You gasp for air but the air doesn't make it to your lungs. Your body is flailing, in desperate need of some kind of oxygen to your brain because you're suffocating. Tears start welling up in your eyes and you know you're going to pass out soon.

"Please." You whimper, unable to say anything but that, clawing at his arm with both of your hands. He's so much stronger than you…

"The next time you speak, it better be an apology." The Mandalorian loosens his grip with those words.

You dry heave, trying to suck up as much air into your lungs as you can, tears pouring out of your eyes. You hiccup again, biting back a sob. It's a real one. You actually want to cry. You've been close to death before but you feel more vulnerable now because you're completely naked.

"I-I'm sorry." Your voice is shaky but you manage to get the apology out as sincere as you can. "I won't do anything to upset you again."

"I wish I believed you." His fingers brush along your bruised neck and tingles run through your whole body in reaction to it. "But you can be such a bratty little thief, making promises she can't keep."

Is that what this is about? You already told him it wasn't you. "I didn't steal it."

"Liar." His grip tightens once again and you squeeze your eyes shut, stopping the tears before they threaten to fall. "You're the only one who could have taken it."

"I…didn't…take…the…ch–" You're fighting for your life to stay awake but your body is growing limp from the lack of air. You can't finish your sentence. You don't have the breath left to.

The Mandalorian allows you to breathe again all of a sudden and there's a tinge of something in his voice when he says, "why won't you admit it?"

You try to catch your breath but you're afraid he'll cut the air off again before you can tell him the truth so you explain through raspy breaths, "I promised I wouldn’t steal anything that belonged to your kid. I never broke that promise. I didn't take the chainmail shirt, I swear."

You lean forward, grasping at your neck, and the Mandalorian doesn't stop you. He moves his hand away, giving you the space you need to refill your lungs. Every inhale you take burns a little, every exhale coming out in a huff.

"But you knew of it." He still doubts you. Is this why he's treating you so harshly?

"The last time I saw you, you had it. I didn't take it though. Even if I wanted to, pawning it would've cut into my plans and I didn't have the time. I only had a small window to rob Lord Fett…" You don't know if he'll believe you but what you're saying is the truth.

You don't normally bargain with the people you steal from but you knew the kid meant something to him, so you agreed that while you wouldn't stop bothering him since he always had fun shit to swipe, you wouldn't dare to take the kid's stuff. It's not in your nature to rob a child anyways.

"You don't have to believe me but just…don't kill me over it." You plead for your life. "I'll be whatever you want me to be, I just don't want to die like this."

You turn your head back to face the Mandalorian and you hope he can see that you're not lying. You will do anything as long as it means you aren't going to die while naked and afraid in some cave in the deserts of Tatooine.

"Then, you'll be my thief." He pulls you against his chest once again and his hands settle back on your inner thighs. "I own you now. You don't get to do anything unless I say so. Do you understand?"

"Yes." You say with a nod.

"Address your Master correctly." He demands.

"I understand, Master." You look at him directly as you tell him, "I won't do anything unless you tell me to. I'm your thief. You own me."

"Good girl." You can almost hear the smile in his voice. "For once, I might actually believe you. Shall I reward your obedience so you'll continue being good?"

Oh, there's not a correct answer to this question, is there? A reward is probably better than a punishment though so you nod in response.

"I need to hear you say it." He's practically holding you on a leash right now.

"Please reward me for being good, Master." You find the words you assume he wants to hear and you must have guessed correctly because you can feel something hard pressing up against your back that isn't beskar.

"Open your mouth." He commands as one of his hands lays over your neck again. His fingers hold your chin upwards, so you can't look down anymore.

You obey, parting your lips. The taste of leather fills your mouth as he shoves his fingers in, curling to feel your tongue.

"Bite, little thief. Steal my glove."

You sink your teeth into the leather and tug on it. The Mandalorian slips his hand out and you don't catch a glimpse of it because his other hand is holding your face so firmly. You go to spit out his glove but then his hand moves from your throat to your mouth, stuffing it all the way in. You gag a little on it before it settles in your mouth. You can already feel the drool building up.

"That'll keep you nice and quiet." He couples those words with a pat on the head, like he's proud of you for taking a glove in the mouth. Before you can really react to that, he already moves on to his next demand, "wrap your arms around my neck."

You lift your arms up and do as you're told, clamping your hands together behind his neck. This gives him quite the view of your breasts from the way you're arched against him.

"Eyes up here." His hand goes back to your throat, holding your face in place so you're just staring at his helmet. "Don't you dare linger anywhere else while I do this."

You nod, wondering what he's going to do. Though, you should've guessed when he freed his hand from his glove what he was planning to do. His bare hand starts to roam your skin, touching every inch of exposed flesh. You swallow sharply when his hand drags over your breasts, grazing your nipples with the rough calluses that have built on his fingertips. Your body quivers at the feeling, which only makes him do it more.

"Someone's getting excited." He mocks you and you bite the glove in your mouth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of coaxing a moan out of you. "You're so cute when you try to hold it in. Are you not liking your reward?"

The Mandalorian must be a sadist. There's nothing rewarding about having your nipples pinched and teased only to move away to touch another part of your skin before the feeling amounts to anything. You try not to get turned on by his touch but your body betrays you as his hand dips between your legs, spreading your folds with his fingers.

"Do you know how wet you are? Here, I'll let you feel it." His fingers drag along your inner thigh and…fuck, you are wet. It completely coats his fingers and it takes him a while to smear it all off on your skin. "You must be aching for an orgasm."

You want to tell him to eat shit but there's a glove in your mouth. Being taunted like this is infuriating and you know he's doing it on purpose to piss you off.

"I like this look on your face, all pent up. I like the way you pretend you don't want it." His fingers move back to feel how slick you are again, tracing upwards until the tips of his fingers find your clit.

You chew on the glove in your mouth, refusing to react but fuck, it feels good. He's applying just the right pressure and rubbing only enough to get a rise out of you. If he keeps this up, you might not be able to hold back. The tension is coiling up in your lower stomach and soon, it'll be desperate to burst free.

"This is supposed to be a reward, so just enjoy yourself. Unless you don't like that I'm the one making you feel good. Is that it?" He growls through the modulator and it comes out with a bigger bite than it should. "You can't stand that your Master is the one giving you this pleasure. Well, pretty little thief, get used to it. I'm going to break you, just like I said I would. One orgasm at a time."

You close your eyes then, trying to focus on not coming. You can't come. The moment you do, he'll use it against you. Or worse, he'll make you come again. It's just frustrating when he's touching you like this.

"Aww, you're trying so hard not to come. It's almost admirable." His sadistic voice vibrates in your ear and it gives you the chills.

You grit your teeth against his glove. You're hurtling towards your breaking point. The pressure building in your body is getting so unbearable to the point where your vision is glossy from the tears in your eyes.

"Stop holding it in." The Mandalorian orders you, his fingers rubbing your clit relentlessly. "Come for your Master."

The moment his hand tightens around your throat again, you can't stop it. You can't. He absolutely broke you because your body forcefully releases all the tension when your breath gets taken away. You lean your head against the side of his helmet, crying out as your orgasm slices through you like the DarkSaber did earlier. It's intense and the pleasure surges through every fiber of your being, causing you to spasm. His arm holds you securely in place, making you feel every second of the orgasm he gave you. You can't run from it. Your vision grows hazy and you're lightheaded from the constant waves of bliss.

That was the hardest you've ever came. You edged yourself for far too long and completely bursted under the pressure of getting choked. You can't breathe, not even when he lets go of your throat. Every breath you swallow is strained and you stare up at the Mandalorian with a tear-stained face. He pulls his glove from your mouth, watching as you have to lick up the drool that threatens to escape your lips.

"Now this version of you, I quite enjoy." His gloved hand caresses your face so gently, wiping the tears away. "So beautiful."

The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, "I hate you."

He pinches your cheek in response, tugging you towards him. You're so close to him that your nose is squished up against the visor of his helmet. You glare at him because you know his eyes are in there somewhere.

"I was mistaken." His tone is eerie all of a sudden. "I quite enjoy this version of you much more. Tell me that you hate me again."

"I hate you." You spit on his helmet with every word.

"Then do a better job and don't come this time." His bare hand slides back down your body, finding its way between your thighs yet again. "It would be tragic if the man you hate gave you another full-body orgasm."

You nearly bite your tongue off when he thrusts two fingers inside of you without warning. He chuckles with amusement at your tensed expression.

"You'll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that." His gloved hand stays caressing your face, contrasting so much from his bare hand which is curling inside of you, digging around to find that spot that makes a moan slip from your lips. "Now, that's a better face to make. Am I in the right place?"

You clench your jaw as the Mandalorian starts to drag the tips of his fingers along that spot that you know will shatter your willpower with every thrust. You pinch your eyes shut, the intensity of his movements bringing tears back to your eyes. It's so strange, feeling the leather softly brush away your tears as his fingers fuck you mercilessly.

It's like you're being touched by two different men. Maybe that's the point. He's attacking your vulnerability on both ends. There's no comfort in his gentle touch. If anything, it's lulling you into a false sense of security and you have to battle with your own mind to remind yourself that you cannot come right now.

You can't let him win. You can't…

The Mandalorian's voice lowers and your resolve melts ever so slightly at his words, "you'll feel so much better once you give in to your Master. Don't you want to feel good, my pretty little thief?"

"No." You bite back, your voice strained beyond belief. "I hate you."

"You can hate me all you want and let me give you an orgasm." He's trying to sway you. "There's no rule that states you have to like me in order to come on my hand."

"I don't want to." You push through, sweating like crazy, your skin set aflame.

The tension is excruciating. You're digging your nails into the back of his neck because it's so difficult to contain yourself. You just want the release. You want to come but you shouldn't. You really shouldn't give in to him but fuck, if he keeps fucking you with his fingers just like this–

"If you can hold on for one more minute, I'll let you take a break." He proposes an alternative to your suffering. "But, if you come in that minute, I'm fucking you right here, right now."

One minute.

You can hold it in for one more minute.

At least, that's what you thought. It got much harder when the Mandalorian started to count down from sixty. Every number lingers on his tongue, purposefully lengthening it to torture you.

Fifty-one.

…

Thirty-seven.

…

Twenty-four.

…

Eleven.

…

Three…Two…One…

If only you realized it was a trick all along.

The moment after he said one, your body completely let go as if the countdown was meant for your orgasm. You came harder than you did earlier, moaning uncontrollably now that you were no longer silenced by his glove. His fingers keep a steady rhythm, prolonging the waves of pleasure that are crashing through you. You sob from the relief of finally getting that sweet release and it isn't until you feel his gloved hand wipe the tears away from your face that you understand why he offered what he did.

The Mandalorian forced you to come again, only this time, it was under the guise of giving you a break from the torment. Why did you come? Why did your body writhe against his fingers? And why do you feel so relieved?

You can't hold your arms up anymore so you drop them down to your sides. You can't really hold your body up anymore so you lean back, letting him bear your weight just a bit. He wraps his arms around you for a moment before laying you down flat on the mattress, scooting over so you can rest your head on his lap. You blink a few times, staring right up at him almost in disbelief at everything that just happened.

"Did you know?" You begin to ask what's on your mind. "Did you know I was going to come right when you finished the countdown?"

He brushes the flyaway hairs out of your face with his gloved hand, hiding his bare one behind him as he answers, "I assumed you would but I placed my bet on you coming right as I said one. You held out longer than I thought. Impressive."

For the first time, you actually believe he's genuinely praising you. You don't know why your heart skips a beat. This man just forced you to come twice. You shouldn't be ogling him but it's hard to differentiate feelings when you're winding down from an orgasmic high.

"Break." You breathe out that single word, hoping he'll know what you're trying to say without you needing to spell it out.

"Yes, you're getting your well-deserved break." His words almost fill you with as much euphoria as the orgasm did. "Try to enjoy it."

You watch intently as he keeps brushing his fingers through your hair, his helmet tilted down to look at you. Why is he staring at you like this? Why are you letting him? The way he pats your head is so soft compared to his rather violent previous actions. You almost close your eyes and ease into his touch.

Almost.

The Mandalorian gets up before you can, his bare hand still out of your sight, tucked in his pocket this time. You assume he's going to grab a fresh glove and you're right. He comes back to sit on the edge of the mattress looking completely the same as he always does, as if he didn't just make you into an absolute mess.

Out of compulsion, you ask because you feel way too bare when seeing him so clothed, "can I put on a shirt?"

"Ask properly and I might consider it." His tone is oddly gentle.

"May I please put on a shirt, Master?" You formulate what you believe is the correct response.

"Better." He pats your head softly again and your heart skips a beat once more.

It takes him a while but he eventually brings you a shirt to wear. It surprisingly fit well, which makes you think he took the time to look for something that would suit your body. You shake that thought away. Why would he think anything like that of you?

"Just don't steal it." He tells you and you can't contain your chuckle.

"No promises." You lay back down on the mattress, cuddled up in the new shirt, feeling much more comfortable.

"Always a thief." He shakes his head at you and you smile for some reason.

"You forgot the pretty little part." You jab at him with your words.

"That's not the only part I left out." The Mandalorian nudges you until you're laying on your back and he's on top of you, holding you down with his body weight. "I also omitted the fact that you're mine now. My pretty little thief."

Your heart needs to stop pounding over him. He's your Master now. You need to find a way to escape, not daydream of staying. He really fucked with your head by making you feel so uncontrollably good.

"I still hate you." You remind him of the reality.

"For now." He says it almost like it's a promise that he'll change your mind.

"Forever." You state firmly and he must view that as a challenge because his hand goes back to your neck.

"Such a bratty girl." He shakes his head at you. "When are you going to learn your lesson?"

Your reflection stares back at you in the shine of his helmet. Wow, you really look freshly fucked. That's…something. You don't know what to do with that information. All you know is that the Mandalorian is seeing exactly that too.

"I assume the break is over now." You grab a hold of his arm with your hands, wanting some kind of control in case he starts choking you.

"Your break is over, but I'm not done breaking you." His words make you roll your eyes at him and he welcomes that with a firmer grip around your throat. "I'd really like it if I didn't have to snap your neck today."

"Tragic how we can't always get what we want." You can't help yourself. You were never that good at being submissive.

"First, you're afraid to die and now, you're asking for it. What a strange girl you are." His tone is indecipherable. Was he berating you? Or, is there genuine confusion there?

"Says the strange Mandalorian." You pull a soft chuckle out of him with that.

"What makes me strange?" He wants you to humor him.

"Everything." You glance up and down, observing the way he's settled on top of you right now, fitting himself well in the space provided. "I don't get why you're so fixated on me."

That draws a louder laugh out of him. "Shouldn't I be asking you that same question? You're the nuisance I need to subdue."

"I like shiny things." You reach up, running your fingers along the curves of his helmet like you had done earlier. "You're a walking hunk of very shiny metal. It's almost too good to resist."

"There are other Mandalorians." He rebuttals.

"There are other thieves." You counter.

"None as pretty as you."

You blink when he says that. Did he just say that? His words linger in the air for a moment because you…you don't know what to say back.

Is he being serious? Or is he just fucking with you?

"Is this the part where I act flattered or cuss you out?" You decide to go the comedic route, since it's easier to hide behind humor.

"This is the part where you flip over and I fuck you until our bodies are imprinted into this mattress." He lets go of your neck at that moment, waiting for you to listen.

You don't, obviously, because you feel like pushing the limits a bit more. "What if I say no?"

"Then I'll fuck you until you start screaming yes." A sort of thrill sparks through you when he says that. It shouldn't, but it does.

"Is that your Master plan? Fucking me into submission?" You throw in a little pun, grinning to yourself over it.

"Your Master has a lot of plans for you." His voice deepens into a tone so chilling, you get goosebumps. "This is just one of them."

"You won't break me." You stare up at him, brimming with confidence. "I'm going to hate you no matter what."

"I look forward to you choking on your own words. Now, flip over, or I'll make you." He threatens and an electric shock surges through you.

You shouldn't, but you do. You say, "make me" and that's all it takes for him to flip back to that sadistic side he's been suppressing this whole time.

The leather smacks you immediately, swiping you right across the face like it did earlier. You groan, your jaw aching from the contact. That's going to sting later.

"Flip. Over." He repeats his command.

"Fuck. You." You remain defiant.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" The Mandalorian sounds frustrated now. Did he really think one slap was going to sway you? That's laughable.

"I don't know. Are you trying to be a little bitch?" You smirk at your own response and it's met with yet another slap. You dart your eyes straight to where you believe his are in the helmet and say, "wow, you really are a little bitch. Can't flip over a pretty little thief on your own?"

"Oh, I can. I was just giving you the opportunity to make things easier for you, but if you want to be a fucking brat, I'll treat you like one."

Without a sliver of hesitation, the Mandalorian lifts you both up in one go, before throwing you across his lap. Your chest connects with his thighs rather roughly, winding you in the process. Before you can even catch your breath, his hand collides with your ass and you scream because fuck! That hurt.

"Aww, did I hit you too hard?" He rubs the tender flesh with his hand as the other hand grabs both of your wrists, pinning them to your back so you can't worm your way out. "Should I be a little gentler?"

He's toying with you so you don't dare give him the satisfaction of your scream again. When you end up not answering him, he slaps your ass again. You bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood but you don't scream from the impact this time.

"Are you trying to keep quiet? Well, I can help with that."

You should've seen this coming. The familiar taste of leather invades your mouth as he stuffs his glove in, silencing you once more. You don't know if you feel thankful or not. He won't get to hear you scream but he's the one who gagged you. You chew on the glove in frustration, hoping to tear it to shreds and force him to get new ones.

"It looks like you forgot what my bare hand could do." His fingers press up against your entrance and your eyes widen. "Oh, there she is, remembering."

In a single fluid motion, he thrusts three fingers inside of you and you muffle a scream into the glove. Fuck, his fingers are so thick and they're deep inside of you at this angle. Your mind wanders to how his cock must feel and you have to shove that thought away.

Somehow, the Mandalorian catches you, like he can read your mind. "Are you imagining the way my cock will feel? Because I'll tell you, if you think you feel full now with my fingers, just wait until my cock is buried inside of you."

You muffle another scream into his glove as he starts to curl his fingers again, finding that spot that makes your body quiver. How does he know exactly the right pace to get you to whimper and convulse at his touch?

"Hmm." A pensive sound leaves his helmet. "I realize you're having all the fun. We should change that."

The Mandalorian shifts slightly and you don't understand why until his hand lets go of your wrists. You can, theoretically, push yourself off him right now but your hands have lost all feeling from being squeezed at the wrists. It doesn't matter to him that you can't feel your hands. All he cares about is that you have one of them stroking his hard cock while he fucks you with his fingers.

"Hand out, now." He instructs and you face the hand closest to him with the palm up in front of him. You hear him lift the helmet slightly but you don't dare look back.

The Mandalorian proceeds to spit on your hand and you get the shivers each time he does it, which only compounds with the feeling of his fingers thrusting inside of you.

It feels…degrading.

Once he thinks you've had enough, he drops his helmet back on and guides your hand to his cock, showing you how he wants to be touched. You don't know why you actually obey. You're just too curious, finally feeling his cock between your fingers. You can't see him, not when you're sprawled over his lap like this, but you can gauge the size based on your hand and fuck, he's huge. Not just in length but the girth too. Your hand barely closes around him.

"All you have to do is say please and I'll give you my cock." He tells you in such a low whisper that you have to parse his words out between the wet sounds filling the air.

Over my dead body is what you'd say if you could but you have a glove in your mouth and moans overtaking your every breath. You're getting close to coming again and you know the moment you do, he's ramming his cock inside of you. You hate how secretly excited you are to be fucked by him. You know you shouldn't want it, but your hand is wrapped around him and you can't help wondering what he'll feel like pounding inside of you just like his fingers are right now.

The Mandalorian is going to split you in half and you're desperately trying not to look forward to it, but the closer you get to your orgasm, the more your body craves him. It's instinctual, this innate primal desire. You love how overpowering he is, even if it scares you.

Maybe that's why when you can no longer hold it in and you come all over his fingers, you mumble out the word please in your daze. You're still riding the high of your orgasm when the Mandalorian picks you up and positions you where you're sitting on his lap with your back against his chest and his cock beneath you. He lowers you slowly until you feel his cock line up with your entrance, pushing just the tip in.

Then, he reaches up, pulling the glove from your mouth. You take in a deep breath as he goes, "if you want my cock, do the work yourself."

You let out a laugh at his words and then say, "fuck you."

"Are you being ungrateful? I'm offering for you to take me at your own pace and this is how you act?" He sounds more angry than usual. "You must really want to be fucked into submission."

His hands grip your hips and before you can utter a single word in response, he forces you down onto his cock. Tears spill out of your eyes all of a sudden as he stretches you out, his cock throbbing inside of you. You've never been this full before.

Your hands reach forward, holding onto his thighs for leverage. You can't move. If you do, he's going to move inside of you and you don't think you can handle that.

That doesn't matter to him, though. With your hands clinging onto his thighs, he lifts your hips, pulling you off his cock just a bit before ramming you back down onto his lap. You scream when the tip of his cock hits a spot so deep inside of you that you couldn't believe it actually happened until he did it again.

You're on the cusp of another orgasm and you don't know how. Penetration has never felt this good. There's something about him that makes it different than all the others you've experienced. It must just be being treated harshly by him that has you seeing stars with every stroke of his cock.

After a while, you manage to move on your own. Your body adjusts to him and it starts feeling substantially better, especially since you've been given control. You aren't as demanding as he is, lifting your hips and sinking down onto his cock at a reasonable pace. You don't force yourself on him hard enough to hit that spot but you would rather build slowly to an orgasm.

Again, that doesn't matter to him. He sees the way you're stalling, which is why he goes, "if you don't come in the next minute, I'm pressing you into this mattress and pounding the fuck out of you until you're begging me to stop."

The Mandalorian sets you up for failure and you can't say you didn't see that one coming. He counts down once again starting at sixty, but he doesn't linger on the numbers this time around. He spits them out in rapid succession and no matter what you do, you can't finish before he says one.

A silence washes over the both of you. The calm before the storm. It doesn't last long. He flips you both seamlessly until your whole body is buried as deep in the mattress as his cock is inside of you. You claw at the sheets, biting them as moans ripple through you from how rough he is with you, slamming into you without an ounce of remorse. He knows you love it. You know you love it, even if you refuse to admit it.

You tilt your head to the side because you want to see. You can't see the way his cock is pounding inside of you but you can see the fully-armored Mandalorian that's fucking you. That sight is enough to make you want to burst.

You try your absolute hardest not to come too quickly because you know the moment you have that very first orgasm from being fucked roughly like this, it spirals from there. It'll only get more intense, more frequent, more mind-numbingly good that you'll lose yourself in the feeling. He'll have truly broken you then.

It feels like the Mandalorian has already broken you now.

You can't stop yourself from moaning when his hand finds its way into your hair, tugging it backwards. You tighten around his cock and that's the only signal he needs to connect his other hand to your bare ass. Your body can't keep it together after that. The subtle pain only amplifies the impending pleasure that floods your every sense. He fucks you through the orgasm and your eyes roll back and he can see it happen.

"It feels good being fucked by your Master, doesn't it?" The Mandalorian couples his question with a smack on your ass.

You're too far gone to even realize you said yes. All you can recall is him giving you the tiniest room to breathe before fucking you into the mattress yet again.

Each time you come, he asks you that same question and every time, you say yes. You start saying yes so much that you repeat the word when he's ramming his cock into you.

That's when the praises fill your ears. You hear him call you "good girl" and "my pretty little thief". You hear him tell you how much he loves fucking you and how you're absolutely perfect for him. You hear him claim you over and over again.

"I own you."

"You're mine."

"I'm never letting you go."

You don't know when you started saying yes in response to those words. Did you mean to or were you just so fucked out of your mind that you mumbled whatever felt right? Did he mean any of the words he said or was he just so deep inside of you that they spilled out?

This goes on for…you can't recall. You black out somewhere in between, the immense pleasure too much for your tired body to handle. In the darkness, you remember getting bundled up in a blanket after a while. Did you do that, or did he? You wonder if you're remembering correctly, but you're certain the Mandalorian pat your head until you both fell asleep.

You wake up sore, with so much of him dripping down your inner thighs. How many times did he come inside of you? You couldn't count. You came way too many times to count. How much of the slick between your legs is from you and how much of it is from him?

You turn your head to see that you did indeed fall asleep beside the Mandalorian, who somehow is still fully dressed. He even managed to put on a new glove somewhere in the haze of last night's events. Out of curiosity, you poke him in the shoulder but he does not wake. He's sleeping soundly, as one would after such a lust-filled night.

You crawl your way out of bed and find the strength to stumble into the oasis. You don't even remember when you took off the shirt you were wearing. So much of last night mashed together for you. You can only really remember bits and pieces.

Wait, why did you and the Mandalorian fuck so much? Why…didn't you ever say stop? You just kept wanting more and he delivered.

Why did he…

You splash your face with the cold water, trying to comprehend the whole situation. Doesn't he hate you? Don't you hate him? Was that hate sex? That's the only explanation that makes any sense. You both were pent up in more ways than one and vented out all that frustration in a rather rough fashion.

As much as you hate him, the sex was…well, you'll be wearing this soreness for a while. That says enough about that and you won't give yourself the time to think deeper than that. You might open up a series of thoughts that are more dangerous than the Mandalorian himself and your racing heartbeat isn't something you want to deal with right now.

You do, however, give yourself time to scheme a little. The Mandalorian is fast asleep and it doesn't look like he's going to wake any time soon. Even with his surprisingly impressive stamina, he's probably as wiped out as you are.

Thank the stars you woke up before him. He'll surely live to regret trusting you to stay put.

With a smile on your face, you get up quietly out of the water, finding a towel to dry off with. You sift through more of his stuff, pulling out some clothes that fit you decently. You swipe some credits, rations and other miscellaneous supplies into a spare satchel he had laying around.

Then, you steal the key to his N-1 starfighter off his body and he doesn't sway an inch in reaction, filling you with such joy.

Lesson learned: never sleep with a thief.

The next time you see the Mandalorian, you're certain he's going to do a lot more than just fuck you and you couldn't be more excited about it…

A/N: So, this was supposed to be a oneshot but ngl, after I finished writing it, I was like wow, there is the potential for a very chaotic series here. So, I wrote more since so many people wanted more ~ ♡

If you enjoyed this and want to read more of my work, be sure to check out my oneshots, I’ll Take Care of You, Let Me Help You & A Simple White Lie and/or my series, What Color Am I!

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