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viennen · 1 year ago

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Catching Up

This was initially written on Discord with @tiredassmage, whom the lovable idiot Leo belongs to. This is the final edited version. Happy Reading!

Liv and Leo haven't seen each other since before Leo got sent to Bergeren as a punishment by Vorza for embarrassing him on an earlier mission. This was about 5-6 years ago, shortly before Liv entered the Imperial Academy. They also haven't talked to each other in that long, save for the occasional letter, while Leo was on Begeren.

Now, she is working for Intelligence and has just received her own ship. She decides to take a risk and contacts her brother via Holo.

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Olivia Ashold, newly designated Cipher Nine, made her way to the Holo terminal on the bridge of her new X-70B Phantom. She quickly made sure that any recording devices active on the ship, if there were any, were momentarily deactivated, and would not trace or record her next holo call. She then entered the encryption code before entering the designation of the ship she wanted to contact. She was alone on the bridge, hoping that her new 'friend' Kaliyo and her new protocol droid didn't come snooping too much at the moment. The last thing she needed right now was for either of them to know she was contacting a Republic ship. She waits patiently for the call to go through.

Meanwhile, on The Daredevil, Leo and Risha were on the bridge, and Risha saw that there was a holo call coming through.

“My, my, seems I've made a popular friend in you, Captain,” Risha stated. Leo frowned and raised a brow at Risha as she eyed the holo. “You've got a call coming in. Seems it's... encrypted. Can't say I recognize the pattern, either.” she stated.

“Encrypted?” Leo's frown set a bit further as he hauled himself out of his seat. “Let me take a look.” Getting hailed wasn't what drew his attention so much as the encryption. Very few people generally bothered with such security measures, at least with him, so that narrowed down the potential suspects rather dramatically. Leo typed some buttons on the console to bring up the encryption, and almost immediately realized why Risha didn’t recognize it. She wouldn’t, or rather, couldn’t, be able to break it, at least not without some serious help. He had created it with someone from his past, specially designed to be unbreakable, as much as one could be, at least. It was one of the only things he had ever been grateful about his family’s wealth for: giving them enough free time to work on the encryption code.

“I'll handle this one,” he says, hoping she doesn’t try to decrypt it.

“Oh?” Risha asks, raising an inquiring brow at him. He gruffly waved a hand at her.

“It's just an old business partner, don't get your pants twisted,” he muttered, not wanting anyone to know about this just yet. They may be his crew, but he didn’t trust them enough yet. Risha rolled her eyes.

“You're the one barking about trust, Captain,” she stated, referencing their earlier conversations.

“Some of us prefer to keep our client's wishes,” Leo counters with a slight bow. “So, please? If you don’t mind? I’d like some privacy for this one.” he asked.

“I’m not babysitting,” she said with a dismissive shrug of one shoulder as she turned to clear from the bridge.

“Captain?” He heard Corso inquire from the hall.

“Busy, kid!” Leo called back. “Go uh…” He shook his head. What would keep the kid busy long enough? “Recheck the cargo for me, would you? I need a while for a call,” he asked, unsure what else might occupy the kid long enough for the call.

“Thought you already did?” Corso called back, unsure why Leo was asking him to check it again.

“Corso,” Leo groaned and levelled a pointed stare at him. “Please? Pick something and entertain yourself, alright? I’ll come find you when I’m done and make sure you’re all acquainted, yea?” he asked, hoping Corso would take the hint.

“Alright,” Corso said, holding up placating hands. “Whatever, just holler if you need me,” he said, then started walking away.

“Mmmhmm,” Leo hummed. He waited until Corso was down the hall before he finally turned back to answer the call. There was only one person this encryption could be coming from.

And for everything that had just gone sideways on Ord Mantell, it put a lopsided smile on his face. “Long time, no holo, stranger,” he teased as his sister appeared. “I’d almost thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“It’s good to see you too, Leo,” Liv stated. “I see you’ve dropped your accent,” she commented. “Or at least changed it.” It was a piece of advice she had given him when they were first talking about and planning his eventual defection. If anyone else was listening, hers was obvious. She was happy to see he had followed at least some of her advice. “And how could I possibly forget about you? I’m the only one in the family you still talk to.” Liv playfully asked her brother.

“Hey, I don't ignore all advice by default,” Leo fired back about the accent as he leaned back in his seat. He flashed an amused smile. “There are benefits to being half a galaxy away,” he said. “Though I'm sure Father could still raise his voice enough to be heard,” he huffed. But that wasn't of interest. The rest of the lot could stuff their annoyance.

“Well, it's not like it's easy to make an encrypted holo call during Intelligence training. Everything you do is watched. Granted, doing that is part of training, but I'm not gonna risk calling you for that. I don't need to get you arrested again.” Liv stated, referencing some of the trouble the two of them had gotten into when they were teens.

“Oi,” Leo mocked offence, laying a hand over his chest. “I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself!” he protested. They. . . didn't need to go over that 'taking care of himself' had involved... going into debt with the Black Sun and getting roped into their smuggling operations. And 'I'm perfectly capable of getting myself arrested' had flown way better in his head. Even if it was true.

“Well, then, since you're callin' me, I take it everything worked out,” he said instead. He was glad she'd found something, at least, even if it was Intelligence and... the ever-present risk he'd never hear from her again. “Guess all that sneakin' out when we were kids paid off for something, huh?” he teased, recalling some of their adventures.

“It would seem so,” Liv replied. “And you're definitely right about Father,” Liv replied. Their father, Vorza Ashold, could make himself heard whenever and wherever he wanted to be. The only time he didn't try it was when someone with a higher rank or status than him was present. “And I know you can take care of yourself, Leo, but I'd rather not accidentally give the Imperial Death Squads your location, regardless of how good you are,” she explained. “I need someone to complain to about Father.” she said amusingly. Leo's expression softened briefly as Liv explained. She... gave him too much credit. Even now.

“Technically, you're already complaining to a dead man,” he said. Dash's story had held up with the Republic brass, and his SIS contacts had come through, in addition to Liv's vigilance... if the lack of Imperial Death Squads were anything to go by. “Still, I appreciate the thought.”

“You're welcome,” Liv said. “And anyway,” she began, “complaining about Father wasn't the only reason I called,” she stated, changing the subject. Leo smiled lightly when she opted to change the subject. A change of subject away from family matters was always a good move in his books.

“I'd sure hope not. What if I'd been having a perfectly good day?” he teased. Their father had always been particularly talented at ruining those. Generally, with his mere presence in a room. He couldn't quite say he remembered the last time he remembered that bastard genuinely smiling at any of them. Or maybe he was just bitter. Leo paused for a moment to think about it.

Their Father was definitely bitter. But it probably wasn't just that. Asshole.

“I've got my own ship now,” Liv said, pulling Leo out of his trance about why he hated their Father, and pressed some keys, so the holo changed from her, to showing Leo the Phantom.

“Well, look at that neat little thing.” He eyed the overview of the Phantom on her holo. “Slick ride. Guess you Intel types get all the fancy toys, don’t ya?” The beast looked more like it’d be at home among some noble elite than in a firefight, but appearances were deceptive - particularly with spies. Fitting, he supposed. “Unless you’re plannin’ on starting your own ‘shipping’ business. Didn’t happen to call me fishin’ for tips, did you?” he teased.

“Unfortunately not.” Liv teased back. She changed the holo back to her from the Phantom. “And, thank you,” she said a moment later about his comment on her ship. “It kind of reminds me of the shuttles we used to take between Ziost and Dromund Kaas,” she commented, remembering the times they would travel for some family function with their aunts, uncles, and cousins, or some corporate thing that their parents had to go to, and for whatever reason had decided to bring the kids. “Just with better firepower,” she stated.

“Well, you know who to call if you ever change your mind about the biz’,” Leo jested with a playful smirk and a light toss of his head. He puffed out a breath briefly as his bangs fell across his eyes. If he’d pull it back better, it probably wouldn’t nearly be as much of a pain, but nah. He shoved the errant lock back behind his ear.

Liv smiled in reply to his comment, then paused a moment, deciding how to answer his other remark. “I’m well aware that technically, you’re dead, Leo,” she began, “It’s the first thing Father says if and when anyone asks about you,” she explained. As far as Liv knew, she was the only family member who knew that Leo was still alive. “But if you’re caught in Imperial Space, I’m fairly certain they’ll shoot you on sight as soon as anyone recognizes you,” she stated. “Or arrest you, then shoot you.” she added, “Then I’ll have no one to talk to,” Liv said, a hint of sadness in her tone, but it quickly faded. “Well, I guess I could talk to Kaliyo,” she stated, more to herself than Leo, “But she doesn’t know about you or Father, so that would be an interesting conversation to start with.” she finished. “Not sure what she’d think of it, though.” she added. She was quiet for a few moments as she thought about how that conversation might go. She paused over how to continue the covnersation.

“Intelligence has been . . . interesting, to say the least,” she stated. There was a few moments of silence, as neither of them said anything. Leo’s features twisted briefly in mild annoyance again. Of course, Father would've been all too pleased he was dead. He'd told Dash not to worry about that part. He'd already been a nuisance in the old bastard's backside for some twenty-odd years. It was easier for him to be dead than to have to deal with the disappointment of a son who was insubordinate to him and his military superiors.

And Liv didn't need to know how many close calls there'd been on his jobs with the Black Sun. Nor that he'd. . . incidentally pissed off Rogun the Butcher, it seemed. Not yet, anyway. The frown that'd started on his lips because of their father lingered for a moment longer as he considered his sister was a spy now. Call it protective older brother instincts. Or just. . . She didn't need to worry about his problems.

“Kaliyo?” he asked, curiously tilting his head. That’d be easier to talk about than any of his worries, though it did little to soothe the pang of anxiety that twisted through his stomach when she called it interesting. He supposed that was about all it could be called, all. . . secretive and that, but. “Liv,” he said quietly. She didn't need him to protect her. She was probably way better at that herself than he'd be now, anyway. But he was her brother. “Just uh... You're takin' care of yourself, right? It's... a lot. I... wouldn't know, of course, but…” I worry about you. He hoped that much went unsaid.

Liv laughed lightly as Leo’s hair fell across his face, before he fixed it. “Need some styling tips?” she teased, before answering his question. Leo snorted in reply. “Kaliyo’s. . .” she paused for a moment, deciding how to describe her new shipmate, “a friend, that I made, on a mission on Hutta.” She stated. She'd heard what Leo hadn’t actually said, and was grateful for it. He was her big brother, after all; he would always be that, and the only one of her siblings she had ever really gotten along with. “Yes, I’m taking care of myself. As best I can anyway. . .” Liv trailed off momentarily, “And I know you do; I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” she said, answering his unsaid statement. I worry about me too sometimes, she thought to herself, as she thought about what to tell him, and what she could say to him about what had all happened to her in recent weeks. She knew the channel was secure, but others could still be listening.

“Cute,” he said, briefly sticking out his tongue. This was one of the few things that could make his chest ache with a mostly unfamiliar feeling - something like nostalgia. The life he'd made in Republic space wasn't exactly classy, and it was far from easy more often than not, but it was free. Freer than he'd ever been on Ziost or in Imperial uniform, at any rate. It just did little to lessen the blow that he'd left the one person that'd ever bothered to understand him, behind. He tried not to linger too often on if he should've tried harder or done more - snuck her out with him somehow like they had when they were kids, but... Maybe it wasn't his place, anyway. Liv was a big girl now. She made her own life. At least he could be thankful for that much.

Hutta, though? Leo made a noise of distaste.

“There are far better cantinas, I promise.” But of course, a fair drink would be the smallest problem of an agent of the Empire. Or Hutts. At least you could swindle an average Hutt for some credits. Liv stuck her tongue out back at him. It may be childish, but it was fun. And she missed her brother, so she would take whatever she could.

“The last few weeks, have certainly been . . . eventful, just months out of training,” Liv stated. “I’ve somewhat convinced a Hutt to side with the Empire, got praised by a Sith Lord for what happened with that, and had to deal with some terrorists.” she explained, not sure if Leo knew anything about Darth Jadus or not. “It’s certainly better than whatever Father would have had me doing.” she added, not really knowing what he would have her doing as a job, if anything.

This time, Leo couldn’t mask the concerned frown. “Emperor’s tits, Liv…” He could reconsider if the man had those at some other time. Terrorists? He ran a hand along his jaw contemplatively. “I’d heard some chatter about travel restrictions gettin’ tight further in, but hell...” Sith spats were nothing new, sure, but that?

“ ‘Interesting’s’... one helluva word for it,” he said. Perhaps there was one thing him and the old man might've agreed on: Intelligence was dangerous. A bunch of spooks. Probably half of 'em had heard ghost stories in the military about their recruitment, but... it was. Different. To hear it first-hand. He shook his head. “The Empire in business with the Hutt Cartel though... Can't say I'm entirely surprised. Gotta get all those credits from somewhere, I suppose.”

“It's only one Hutt for now, but you're not wrong.” Liv replied, knowing that dealing with Hutts wasn't always the best idea. But she also knew that if they hadn't gotten Nem'ro's help via stealth and espionage, they wouldn't have gotten the Hutts help at all, because she also knew that the Hutts could withstand an Imperial planetary assault for quite some time, if the Empire actually decided to attack them.

Leo hummed in acknowledgement. Even dealing with the Cartel as a whole “officially” was a bit of a dice-throw when it came to honouring agreements. They weren't particularly cohesive at times, either, though their power plays tended to involve less Force Lightning. Generally, at any rate.

“One small step or all that,” he muttered. Besides, if it was resources they were after, he doubted the Empire would want to 'sully their hands' in something as base as a war with the Cartel. He doubted it'd be so ‘civilized’ enough for their tastes.

They both paused for a moment; then Liv smiled at his jest about Hutta’s cantina.

“Perhaps you can take me to some of them in future.” she said, momentarily changing the subject and teasing at his 'better cantinas' comment.

“Perhaps,” he mused elusively with a light smirk. Of course, he would in a heartbeat, given the opportunity. “Maybe something out in the Rim territories…” It was an almost wishful musing that drifted through his eyes for a moment. It'd be nice to see her again - and not just through the holo-processors. It'd... been years, at this point, hadn't it? “So long as ya don't mind some bolt holes in the walls. A good cantina brawl's good for the soul sometimes.” Or at least maybe some free drinks. If you could keep your fingers in the process.

They were both silent for a few moments, before Liv spoke, changing the subject back to what it had been before.

“Well, you can thank the terrorists for the restrictions.” among other things, she thought as she looked over at her navicomputer, with the coordinates set for Korriban, so she could go see Jadus' daughter. She thought about Leo’s comment, calling Intelligence 'interesting.’

“And do you have a better word for it?” she asked, then realized there had been a touch of bite in that comment. “Sorry,” she said quickly, before Leo could reply. “I didn't mean for that to sound so . . cross.” Leo didn't flinch from the sharpness in her response, though his eyes dropped briefly.

“No, I suppose I don't,” he agreed. But he shook his head at her apology. “Don't worry about it. It's nothin'.” Except... his sister fighting terrorists of the Empire was... a lot. He almost didn't want to think about it, and he almost didn't want to know. At least then, he couldn't be too much more of an added risk for her. “C'mon, kid, you know it takes more than a few sharp words to take me on by now, don't ya?” A bit of bluster to try to keep the mood lighter - and keep himself from worrying too much about her, far out of his control and any meaningful ways to support or protect her anymore.

Liv smiled lightly at his jest to lighten the mood. “I’m well aware of what taking you on requires, Leo.” she said playfully, “Or at least I used to.” She said, then paused for a moment, musing over his cantina offer. She really did miss him, and she had lost count of how long it had actually been since she had seen her brother in person. “I don’t mind a bar brawl every now and then; I’m sure Kaliyo would have some fun, too.” she teased at his suggestion. “Have anywhere particular in mind?” she asked, wondering what his answer would be. “Not many places neutral enough that they don’t really care if Republic and Imperial are seen talking to each other,” she added. She thought about his comment for a moment. “You’re right, though; Rim’s probably a better place for us to meet right now. Most of it is Hutt controlled, and as far as I know, most Hutts won’t do anything about being told by either side that there’s a possible traitor on their planet without some sort of incentive.” she stated, trying to make sure that wherever they met wouldn’t get him accidentally recognized and killed on sight.

Leo mulled over the question for a moment, twisting a stray loose lock of hair around his fingers. “Rishi’s a bit out of the way,” he said, “Ain’t nothin’ there but a bunch of pirates and smugglin’ types.” A wry smile briefly drifts across his lips. “I could probably even make some money off the trip.”

Aside from that? He frowned thoughtfully as he leaned back in his seat. He'd consider Nar Shadaa, given its distinct lack of direct alliance with either side, but even he already knew both galactic powers had interests moving around on there. It was a haven for the kind he associated with these days - gunslingers, mercenaries, thieves, gangs, and smugglers, but the lack of official rules aside from no disrupting the Cartel's business was as much a boon as it was a potential loophole for their enemies. “I'd consider Nar Shadaa. I've got a few uh... deliveries I need to make there soon, anyway,” he offered the thought anyway. “Cartel doesn't like fights on its turf, and there's a few boltholes there off the more beaten path.” he stated. Liv mentally debated with herself for a moment about what to say first. She’d answer his question, but she decided she needed to say something else first.

“I . .” she hesitated, “I miss you, Leo,” she said, the sincerity obvious and clear. “But I'm doing what I said I would when you left,” she stated. “Trying to 'break' some things from inside, before I come join you. And Intelligence seemed the best place to do that.” she explained. Her only other options for a job, or life, were joining the military, or going home to their Father and waiting for him to marry her off to some other aristocratic ass. Their elder sister Vivian might be fine with that and adore all the extra status and praise that went with it, but Liv didn't. She hated the idea of someone else almost completely dictating her life. That was part of why she had wanted to go with Leo when they were talking about him leaving the Empire, but they knew how much trouble it would cause if just one of them left; it would have been much worse if they both had.

The smile Leo offered next was tinged with more regret than he'd probably like to admit. “I miss you, too, kid.” They weren't more than a couple of years apart, but... It was hard not to feel responsible for her, given everything they'd gotten into together. He nodded along to what she said - still planning to run off with him one last time. “I'm…” He cleared his throat as his gaze dropped for a moment, unsure how to say... Maybe even if he should. “I'm proud of you, Liv. I... know what it means to you.” And I'm sorry I didn't take you with me. Not that he could've... Not without a helluva lot more planning. Hell, he'd barely intended to leave when he did, or exactly in that way.

Dash had just been... too good an opportunity at the right time. And he barely deserved that, either. “I'd like to think I know a thing or two 'bout disappearing these days... Maybe still not as good as you, though."

Liv smiled lightly when Leo said that he missed her too. She knew it wasn't something that was easy for him to admit. It brightened a little more when he said he was proud of her. “Thanks, Leo,” she stated. “Not sure I'd get that from anyone else,” she added, knowing she was probably right. Leo was the only one of her siblings that she had ever really felt close to. When they were kids, there had been times when he had told her to stay home, even though there wasn't much of an age difference between them. He knew she didn't always listen, but he never complained when she suddenly decided to join him during many of his 'expeditions' that Father still didn't know about. There had even been times when Leo had asked her to tag along.

Her relationships with her other siblings, . . . weren't the best. Vivian was always trying to keep Liv away from Leo and his 'bad influences,' trying to turn her into some form of acceptable 'Lady,' but Liv usually managed to sneak away and get out of her 'etiquette' lessons. Lysander was always asking Leo if he could help him with whatever job their father had given him, and even when Leo didn't want to, their mother was usually able to convince him to do it, because Xander was the baby, and mom gave him everything he wanted. Being the only other girl, Liv had been able to convince her father to let her have a lot of things that she had wanted, at least when she was younger. When it had started to become more obvious that she wanted to do something else, Father had started paying closer attention to her activities, and it became harder for her to sneak away.

If Leo had one regret, it was that he hadn't ever quite been wild enough to deck their father on the jaw. Oh, he'd thought about it plenty - and certainly still did. But for all that talk of family, the man had always been shit about seeing the real one right in front of him. There was... a reason Leo had tuned out most of his droning history lessons - at home and in school. What good was a legacy if you never lived in the moment of it?

“Their loss,” he said mildly. There was a time when he would've given everything to have their father's eye - much as Xander had. But it'd never been good enough, and Leo had grown tired of the charades of being something he wasn't.

She thought about his comment about her being better at knowing how to disappear. She laughed. “Well, maybe I can give you some tips when I see you.” she teased. “So long as you tell me how you've managed to stay out of trouble,” she added. “Even I know smuggling isn't always a one-sided faction," she stated.

“As for which planet . . .” she trailed for a moment, thinking. “I'm good either way,” she stated. “Haven't been to Nar Shadaa in a while, and I've never actually been to Rishi, just heard stories. . .” she explained. “If it's just pirates and smugglers, I'm sure I can find a way to blend in if I need to,” she stated, smiling at the idea of seeing Leo in person.

She paused for a moment, thinking of anything else she needed or wanted to say. "Since it's been so long since I've seen you, is there anyone, or anything else I should know about?" She asked. She hadn't seen him since before he defected, so she knew that she didn't know as much about her brother as she used to.

Leo shrugged a shoulder. “You tell me where.” And he'd make it happen, even if he had to remap hyperlanes to pull it off. Anything for her. “I suppose I... might have better luck offloading the crew on Nar Shadaa,” he mused with a glance over his shoulder. The hall was still blessedly silent. “I... picked up some... kid on Ord Mantell. He seems... alright.” A little too naive for Leo's taste and a little more friendly than Leo was yet willing to be. “And I've got some... business partner that's arranged a few jobs - that's the cargo I'm haulin' for now. She mentioned Nar Shadaa's already on our stops. I won't have to come up with too big a reason to slip off there for a while, I suppose.” Even if he had trusted more easily, he hadn't seen Liv in years, and he wasn't ready to rehash the whole story for people he'd all but just met.

As for how he'd stayed out of trouble? A lot of dumb luck, he reckoned. "C'mon, Liv, you know 'trouble's my middle name," he said instead. "If you can't beat 'em, be faster than 'em." Or... something like that.

His gaze dropped rather than admit it: he was in... a lot of trouble, actually. Nothing... exactly new, but. Rogun was... a bit bigger than his usual 'smart-mouthed the wrong person' deal. And less likely to conveniently forget his dues.

“I am well aware of your relationship with trouble, Leo. There’s at least half a dozen things we did that I'm pretty sure Father still doesn't know about,” she stated knowingly. She paused a moment. “ But I agree with you there,” Liv replied. Like Leo, there used to be times when she got along with her other siblings, but that had changed as she had gotten older. “I still get holo calls from Viv sometimes, almost begging me to leave where I am and come home. That if I did, I'd have a better life. . .” Liv trailed off. “Only Vivian would think that kind of life is better,” she stated. She didn't need to elaborate; she knew Leo would understand what she meant.

Leo snorted, leaning against an elbow as he idly toyed with the fit of his gloves. “Viv's never wanted for a damn thing,” he muttered. Daddy's perfect little princess, that one, and their mother's utter pride and joy. She'd always been 'too good' for him, and she had been one of the many standards against which Leo had been judged for obedience and performance. Viv was polite and knew her place and had listened to their tutors and- He rolled his eyes. “She'd break a precious nail if she ever left that lap of luxury.”

Liv laughed, agreeing with Leo's statements. “I agree with you there. Viv wouldn't last a day out here, not without some sort of help,” she stated. She smiled as she listened to Leo's explanation about his new crew. “Look at you making friends,” Liv stated, almost sounding sarcastic, but, really, she was happy Leo at least had someone to look out for him. “And, I'm good with either one. I'm sure Kaliyo will be able to find something to occupy herself,” she replied. “If you want to do Nar Shadaa, I can meet you there; just give me a location. Rishi, I may need some more instructions, having never been there.” she explained.

She knew Kaliyo would want to come with her, to make sure who she was going to talk to didn't pull anything on her, but she also hadn't told her anything about her family before Intelligence. Until she did or needed to, she wasn't sure how Kaliyo would react to Leo. And if, on the off chance, they did get caught, Leo would be in more trouble than she would. If whoever caught them, didn't know who they were, she could claim undercover. She didn't know what Leo could do to get out, depending on which side caught them.

Leo squinted at Liv with a mild frown at her comment. “Yea, yea, laugh it up,” he muttered with a shake of his head. 'Friends' weren't exactly easy for him to make these days. It'd been a lot simpler sneaking around with the other cadets from Basics, getting into tussles and snowball fights and daring each other to spraypaint the CO's speeder. But they'd been younger and... 'freer' wasn't exactly it, but... They hadn't had to have it all figured out yet. They hadn't been on the front lines.

They hadn't lost anyone yet.

“I'm only teasing,” Liv stated. “Aren't I allowed to tease you about your friends?” She asked, sounding a little sarcastic. She paused a moment. “Honestly, Leo, I'm just glad you've made friends. I wasn't sure if you'd find any, after . . . everything that happened, that last mission, before Bergeren.” She explained, knowing Leo would understand what she meant. She had still been at home when they had gotten the news of Leo's ‘death’ during a prisoner riot on Bergeren. Liv learned later that he wasn’t dead, as he’d found a way to contact her. She’s been able to hide it from the rest of her family. She listened to Leo talk some more about his new crew to get her mind off those memories.

“The kid's... alright, I guess. Name's Corso,” he relented. “I... might have given him a bit of a hard time.” Leo rubbed at the back of his neck. “My associate's got some deal with one of the Hutts, I think. She can finalize that and... let's say the Promenade?” Easy enough to get lost in the crowds there. “Slippery Slopes cantina's a popular little bolthole there.”

“You giving people and friends a hard time is nothing new,” Liv replied. “Just don't be so hard that you drive them away.” She added. She thought about what she remembered about Nar Shadaa. “Think I remember where the place is.” She stated when he mentioned the cantina.

Leo tried to smile, but it ended up more strained than he'd like. He'd always been a shit liar to people he actually cared about, and if Risha could hear about what went down on Ord, it'd be no problem for an Intelligence agent.

Liv looked concerned when she saw his strained smile. “Leo, what is it?” she asked, then listened to what he said.

“Look, Liv, I... don't want you to worry.” Always a great start. “But I'm uh... My last job didn't go so well. I'm workin' on clearin' it, but... it might come up, if we're out. I play out these next deals right though; everything should work out. Just... thought you should know before... in case, y'know…” Right. That was convincing.

“You always did know how to get into the worst situations,” she stated. “But I'm glad you told me beforehand,” she added. “Want me to look anything up?” she offered.

Leo shook his head and puffed out a chuckle. “What else are siblings for?” he jested. To love despite your flaws, even if you still gave them shit about it. That's what Liv had always been good at.

Liv smiled at his comment. “Who else is going to call you out on stupid things? And complain about other family members?” she added.

Leo rolled his eyes. “That's my job, y'know?” To complain. To be a nuisance. To just as likely be the reason the rest of the family was complaining. Perhaps not as much now, if they'd taken the story that he'd probably been killed, but still.

“I know it's your job, Leo.” Liv began, “But who's gonna call you out on that stuff? You gonna do it yourself?” she teased. She knew Leo had always been the troublemaker in the family; gods knew Father scolded him for it enough when they were younger. She knew he still complained about him, or at least when she had last seen him, he had been. She hadn't seen or talked to their father in some time. But that was a matter for another day.

“Nonsense,” Leo muttered, nose screwing up briefly. He narrowly resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her again. They both knew if Leo was better at calling himself out... Well, no. He might be just as prone to trouble. Or maybe he'd avoid some of it. Neither here nor there, though.

“Nonsense, really?” Liv replied, sarcastically, her tone playful. She missed the banter with Leo. Sometimes it was the only fun thing she did when they were both still at home.

But any facade of Leo smiling cracked at Liv's concern. She'd been one of the few who'd ever cared enough to come close to cutting down to his core like that. “Half of this one, at least, wasn't my fault. At least half,” he said half-heartedly. “Some... bastard at pickup double-crossed me.” And stole his ship for a while. But, Details.

Tempting to have her aide, though... Skavak couldn't outrun him and Intelligence forever, right? “The snake's name is Skavak,” he offered. “Mind he doesn't steal whatever ain't bolted down, if you ever run into him.” He shook his head. “I uh... owe a bit of a big timer based on what he stole, so... if I can find him, I can probably work the rest of this out.”

She saw his smile falter and gave a lightly concerned look while she waited for his reply. “Can't say I recognize the name,” she began, when he explained about Skavak. “But I'll let you know if I find anything in the database,” she promised. “And thanks for the warning,” she added.

He grunted. “Lucky you,” he commented. “Hopefully, it'll stay that way. Spare yourself some trouble.” Skavak was just a nuisance; he'd seen plenty of his big-mouthed type even in his relatively short stint as a smuggler so far. It was Rogun he'd be concerned about, but he was... hoping that issue wouldn't be quite as big. Yet. At least. Leo scratched at the back of his neck. “It's... the boss of the job he stole cargo from that I'm... more worried about. Some big-shot 'Rogun the Butcher' or some such.” He shrugged a shoulder, trying to play that off lighter than it... probably was.

“Is he that bad?” Liv asked, at his comment about her being lucky that she didn’t know this person. She listened as he talked about the other name. “I'll see if I can find anything on either one. If I do, I'll let you know.”

“Trust me,” he puffed out a breath, “I've yet to find anyone who was really happy dealin' with the bastard.” Corso didn't really count. In hindsight, the kid had ceded that he wasn't the most trustworthy snake in the grass, and he was... a little naive if Leo was gonna be honest. “'Preciate it, though.”

“Interesting,” she stated about his comment about people working for Skavak. “Not a problem,” she replied.

As for the matter of 'friends'... His teeth sank into the inside of his lip and fought the urge - unsuccessfully - to let his gaze drop again, left hand rubbing up his right arm. “Yeah, uh. . . Begeren . . .That was. . . something.” he sighed. The turnaround between those last two deployments had been tight, and kolto could only do so much to ease the scarring. He'd... tried to settle back in when they'd shipped him out to Begeren, but losing almost an entire unit... That changed you.

Just don't be so hard that you drive them away. Advice he was still having a hard time taking. “Well.” He cleared his throat a bit roughly. "There is this one I just can't seem to get rid of." A smile finally appeared back on his lips. “Dash, uh... took me in, I guess. Been helping me out since the move. He's a soldier, too.” He hesitated to get into too much detail. Dash had made Havoc Squad now, and that'd make him a high target for Imperials. He trusted Liv, but... that wasn't a gamble he was willing to take.

“Maybe I'll have the chance to introduce you two sometime.” Leo stated.

“Dash?” she asked at the name. “Interesting name. How'd you meet?” she asked. “And if he's up for a meet, let me know when and where, I'll see what I can do,” she stated. “I'm just glad someone was able to help you,” she added, lightly smiling. She hesitated a moment before continuing.

Leo stalled over Dash for a moment. His fingers twisted idly into loose strands of hair at the nape of his neck as he weighed... just how much he was willing to give. If anyone put the story together... It could get them all in a lot of trouble. Lying was safer. “He's a... neighbour.” A man that'd saved his life, more like. Funny how they'd nearly died for each other while barely knowing each other's names. And, hey, it wasn't a... complete lie. They lived together, when they were both on Coruscant. That counted, right?

She could tell he had hesitated before he said Dash was his neighbour. Liv guessed there was more she wasn't telling him, which was fine, as long as Leo trusted them, and she didn't hear anything about him getting caught and killed. “Must be a really nice neighbour,” she stated, not sure what else to say about it.

He released a quiet breath he hadn't quite realized he'd held when Liv didn't press further about Dash. “Yea... He's uh... somthin' else.” Way too good for him, for one. Dash had put up with... a lot since picking him up. “I owe him a lot. He's been... real great.”

“At least you have someone to help look out for you.” She stated, after Leo commented more on Dash. “Maybe they can help you stay out of trouble.” Liv teased. She knew anyone who tried to keep Leo out of trouble, usually ended up following him into it for a while.

“Leo, speaking of names, I'm guessing you changed yours, yes? So no one can guess your ties from that, as I'm sure there are at least some Republic officials who know of Father,” she asked. “And I can try and make sure no one connects things if anything with your 'new' identity comes up on this end,” she stated. She knew of a lot of people who would sell information if it could help them in any way, so the less chance there was of Leo's name coming up in any intelligence files, the better. “But only if you want me to.”

Leo sucked in a breath at her next question. “Yea, somehow doubt tryna get through Customs woulda been fun otherwise,” he mused. “Relos.” Something one of Dash's contacts had put down on his forged papers when she'd smuggled him into Coruscant. Something he probably still owed her for, knowing her... Ideally, there'd maybe be a few brushes with Coruscant Security on that record - but nothing major. Nothing proven, anyway.

“That is at least part of the point of a new identity,” she replied, a hint or sarcasm in her voice. “Just don't get into too much trouble.” When they were younger, Leo and Viv had always been the ones to go with Father on some of his business trips. Leo had stopped going when he had gotten scolded for fooling around too much, either in the Spaceport, or while Father was in a meeting. “I'll see what I can do on my end to try to keep it low profile. So long as you don't do anything too major. That, I may not be able to stop.” she said.

“Thanks, kid. I owe you one.” He glanced over his shoulder. One of the crew was... liable to get antsy.

“You're welcome, Leo,” she replied and watched him glance behind him. She did the same, wondering if Kaliyo was still at the other end of the ship, or if she had wandered up and was listening in.

“I'll send you anything I can find on either name, and see if I can lock your file. Then no one should be able to find it without a bit of digging,” she explained. “Provided you don't do anything too drastic,” she added. “I'd hate for you to get killed for real.”

“Hey, uh... I should probably... wrap up. Long flight and all. But... it was good to see you.” he said, not wanting to admit how much he actually missed her.

'Don't get into too much trouble.' Leo rolled his eyes and hummed half-hearted acknowledgement. That was like tellin' a rancor to behave in a pottery shop, and they both knew it. Especially since it seemed Skavak was keen to keep 'friends' of all stripes. Least he could promise he wasn't daft enough to try to rob the Dark Council or somethin' insanely stupid.

Just... a little stupid. Maybe. Depended on the mood. And the pay.

“Of course,” she replied, when he suggested they wrap things up. “It was good to see you, too,” she added. She looked over at the computer, again, the coordinates still set for Korriban. It wasn't that she hadn't dealt with Sith before but, . . . Korriban was something else. “I've got some things to do, but let me know when you want to meet on Nar Shadaa.” she stated.

A smile eased back across his lips as they started to wrap up. “You know I will, kid,” he said fondly. “Take care of yourself, alright? I'll be seein' you again soon enough.”

“I know,” she replied. “I will,” she added. She could take care of herself alright, but she wasn’t sure what else was going to happen with Intelligence. She knew the stories that they had heard when they were younger about people who went into Intelligence. She didn’t want Leo to worry more than she already knew he was. “See you soon, Leo.” Liv said, then ended the call. She re-enabled anything she had disabled, then set the ship to head for Korriban.

Back on Daredevil, Leo sat there for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. It had been good to see Liv again, even if it was only through a holo. It would be better when he could see her in person, risk or not. He got up from his chair, and left the bridge, deciding to check on Corso first; Risha wasn’t as naive as the kid.

#ch: leo ashold #ch: liv ashold #siblings #swtor #swtor oc

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thevindicativevordan · 3 years ago

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On Livewire

You know Leslie is probably the most popular and well known female Superman Rogue mainly because they use her so heavily in outside media.

Which makes sense given her debut in Superman: The Animated Series, but it still kind of fascinates me. They didn't bring her into comics continuity until 2006 apparently, with Gail Simone and John Byrne (Byrne of all the creators!) being the ones to finally fold her in. Even after they brought her in, they still have never given her that much attention or focus which is a disappointment for me frankly, because Livewire is honestly fantastic in Scott McCloud and later Mark Millar's Superman Adventures runs, and I would say with complete sincerity that those two are probably her best writers. "Millar writing a female character well?" you scoff at in disbelief. I know, I was shocked too! But she's funny, clever, and a huge pain in the ass for Supes. Reading how she was used there, and rewatching her STAS incarnation recently, really made a big realization for the character hit me like a lightning bolt (couldn't resist):

She's basically an evil superpowered Lois Lane! I know I can't have been the first one to realize that, although I haven't seen anyone else actually outright state it anywhere, but c'mon it's so obvious! She's a reporter of a sorts as well thanks to being a disc jockey, her debut in STAS even has her interviewing Lois and Clark! She's got strong opinions on Superman that conflict with the general opinion about him (Lois being pro-Superman when everyone else is more hostile towards him at first, Livewire being anti-Superman when everyone else has embraced him as their hero). She's rude and abrasive, and doesn't care if her opinions offend people, which sure does remind me of Lois at her meanest.

Livewire to me is an examination of what Lois would be like if she abandoned her morals or never really had them in the first place. Leslie doesn't care about the "truth" which is the big difference between her and Lois. Lois can be headstrong, willful, and outright rude, but it's all in service of her pursuit of higher ideals. Livewire doesn't care about that, she carries about getting people to pay attention to her, and getting the recognition and wealth she believes she's owed.

What I'd Do With Livewire

It wasn't until I had that big realization about Leslie that I figured out what role she should play with regards to Clark: She should be Clark's old college ex who was the one who got him into journalism in the first place.

Clark's college years are unexplored territory narratively, typically we jump from his childhood in Smallville right into his debut in Metropolis. Now I know Clark dated Lori that mermaid back in Pre-Crisis during his college years, and while that's a fun bit of trivia, it doesn't really add anything meaningful in the same way that I think Leslie and Clark dating could. So I'd rather go with Leslie because I think she makes for a better foil for Clark and because the two of them would benefit from having a deeper connection established, plus Leslie could get fleshed out as a character more.

I like the explanation that Clark chose journalism in part because it challenges him in ways his powers can't, but in the comics they've rarely bothered to explain how he chose that field in the first place. I would have meeting Leslie at college be that big moment where he starts to figure himself out. She's assertive and confident, and Clark is attracted to that for similar reasons he's attracted to Lois. Leslie would start out as an optimist and idealist in the same way Clark is, and the two would bond and go into journalism together, with Leslie being the one who really believes in the field initially. They'd both be big believers in the duty of the press to inform and the presses ability to shape public opinion, with Clark attracted to investigative journalism and Leslie attracted more to broadcast and digital journalism. They start to date and for a moment, Clark seriously wonders if this is the one.

The big break between them comes when Clark and Leslie go on a trip around the world during their senior year of college. That trip would be where both of them learn how crappy the world is. Clark always had some idea of how bad things were because of his powers, but the trip is where he really starts to realize that there is a real need for someone of his powers to step up, and that there are hard limits to just how much he can accomplish as a member of the press. That same realization is what shatters Leslie's idealism and optimism. She loses faith in the ability to make a difference, to punch through the wall of public indifference, and as a result she gives up that dream. Instead she decides that if you can't beat them, join them: she switches instead to telling the masses what the powers that be want them to hear in exchange for money, to saying whatever the masses will give her attention and prestige for, embracing tabloid journalism that prioritizes clicks and engagement over information. Ultimately it destroys the relationship between Leslie and Clark with her viewing him as a sap and him viewing her as a sellout.

I think that origin really would help flesh out her worldview and motivation a lot more. She's a former idealist who has been broken by the world in a similar way to Poison Ivy. Leslie thus acts as a foil to Clark and Lois in that she's someone who let the world rob her of her idealism and sold out on the truth in exchange for material success. She's what Clark or Lois could've been if they took Lex's offer to work for him, and they should recognize that to some degree. Clark should have conflicting feelings for her, not romantically that relationship is dead, but in terms of sometimes he wonders if he's just wasting his life trying to fight for truth and justice. So few people seem to care about those principles, why hold on so tight to them? Why not just look out for his own self-interest the way everyone else seems to? It's the refusal to give up even when it looks pointless that makes the two of them different, and makes Clark a hero and Livewire a villain.

How I'd Like Livewire To Operate

There's a lack of imagination in how Livewire is used on the comic side as I see it.

Like most Superman Rogues the typical Superman writer doesn't seem to have a clue what to do with her beyond generic "villain" stuff, but that does a disservice to what Livewire brings to the table. Livewire does want to fry Superman to a crisp, but that's not what her daily goal is to accomplish. More importantly, she wants respect and she wants money, and the way she gets both is not by trying to rob banks, it's by leaning into her background as a media personality combined with her new powers. Unleashing electric bolts is honestly the least impressive part of her powerset in terms of her ability to manipulate anything and everything technology.

The Internet? Livewire can crash the entire thing with ease, or restrict access to portions of it. She can do the reverse and smash through firewalls and encryption like it's made of paper. Imagine Livewire shutting off the power grid or causing it to explode, secretly using your "smart" tech to record your every move, uploading ransomware to every piece of technology in Metropolis, emptying the bank accounts of anyone who annoys her, or bringing Metropolis to it's knees thanks to the "City of Tomorrow" being a test ground for the Internet of Things, so everything is connected and thus easily manipulated. Smart cars crash into each other, elevators randomly drop, trains are unable to stop and simply accelerate onward unceasingly, plans attempting to land find their instruments on the fritz, anything and everything is Livewire's to control. But terrorism, while entertaining and occasionally profitable, isn't Livewire's main focus either.

One of my favorite Superman Adventures stories with her had Livewire manipulating TV broadcast signals so that any time there was a male news reporter on screen, the signal wouldn't come through. Stuff like that, where Livewire is making life hell for people in a way that isn't immediately life-threatening is what I envision as her day to day operations, but her bread and butter is fake news. What Livewire is REALLY good at doing is manipulating the public due to her journalism background plus her powers. She can make fake videos that look totally authentic, fake articles that seem to come from credible sources, fake voice recordings, she can make anyone appear to do or say anything through the Internet, and then she can upload that to the devices of every single person in Metropolis.

You can get stories about the mayor being framed for taking bribes, local activists cast as grifters, and supposed upstanding citizens such as Lois Lane and Clark Kent appearing to take orders from criminals like Intergang on what stories to run. Basically you lean into the journalism aspect for Livewire stories where Clark and Lois have to investigate to see whether what Livewire is putting out there is fake or legit, with peoples lives and reputations at stake (including frequently their own).

And when Superman and Livewire actually do clash physically? I don't care how it gets justified, Livewire simply being that powerful, her lightning being "special", she has the ability to manipulate Superman's bioelectric field, whatever: she can hurt him. When she hits Supes with lightning, it burns. It's painful as all hell. Livewire needs to be a threat and I'd like her to be treated as a powerhouse since I don't see a reason why that shouldn't be the case. Livewire is a really cool Rogue, there's a reason she's managed to keep getting used long after the DCAU ended. I hope the comics creators start utilizing her to her full potential.

#superman #livewire #lois lane #dc comics

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ginjointsintheworld · 2 years ago

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I'm trying to get into Leyla's head, seeing as the writers are allergic to diving deep. Beware, These are ramblings😩

When Leyla moved in with Lauren and their relationship got going, I wonder if then Leyla thought about the imbalance of the r/ship or if she thought it was transactional in any way or if she actually thought of the power imbalance, but her deep need and desire to be able to have a place to rest and study with no worries overshadowed that. I mean she did say "I went along with it, and that's on me". (she still needs to take back that "you tried to own me. You bought me" 😒)

When she became a resident again, while she did have hesitation about how it would look sleeping with the boss, was that (Lauren being her boss) less of a problem or no problem at all because they were able to create clear boundaries and were just deeply in love so the power imbalance was insignificant or never came to mind? Or because she started paying rent then all was forgotten?

We have seen from Leyla over thinking a simple cup of coffee from a lover for that matter,- something Lauren didn't think twice about and honestly no one would - that perhaps Lauren going behind her back and breaking her trust that one time is still not even the cause of this mentality . And it makes it all the more frustrating. Colleagues buy each other coffee ever so often because it's just want colleagues do without anyone thinking they have to pay back in some way. that Leyla for a minute was hesitant is equally sad and disturbing.

What and who can deliver Leyla? She wants to be with Lauren, loves her alot, is in love with her, knows that Lauren is sorry and isn't giving all this help just so she can keep her in her arms , and yet this monkey won't just get off her back.

We can sit here and say when she finishes paying her debt and the immigration woes are over, they will be even but that's not true. Lauren will always be wealthy, and Leyla will never be able to match Lauren's salary plus her wealth, and then what? The love will be enough? Will she keep thinking that she can't match up when her gf spoils her silly? Will it then become a silent one sided competition of who can out-gift the other?

Again, who or what will deliver Leyla?

This is not lashing out on Leyla, just intrigued, amused and a tad bit frustrated lol

Thank you for allowing me ramble. Okay bye.

you know my askbox is always to open to all ramblings!

the way i personally look at it and the measuring stick i use to gauge any potential power imbalance is, was leyla able and knew she was able to exit the relationship whenever was wanted? was there any pressure for her to change/alter her behavior out of fear of something or someone? i think in their situation pre-visa, i could whole heartedly say that yes, leyla could've left whenever she wanted and she was always her most authentic self. for example post first kiss when leyla thought that she had misread the signals and kissed lauren. she was ultimately ready to pack up and leave had lauren not come home and found her first. then when they broke up, leyla did leave. but this time leyla has much more at stake and if she did anything to get her visa appeal denied, she'd be deported. that's beyond another level of threat to her safety. where as before she'd maybe go back to living in her car worse case scenario, maybe crash with a friend or coworker, hell even temporarily stay in a hotel. leyla, right now, is fighting for her life. that's what i'm interpreting (though it'd be nice if we could get some more detailed backstory to confirm ahem) that visa situation as. she's fighting for her literal life because i don't think she would've willingly left her family, career, behind to come to a country starting over personally and professional, on a refugee visa if there wasn't present danger back home.

but when it comes to the authority and dynamic between them... i don't know i just never saw any reason to believe or think that they didn't view each other as equals. personally, we've seen multiple times that lol lauren does not hold any authority or power over leyla. poor woman shuffled home and tried to break up with her once and got told no. when they first lived together, leyla even clarified it, she viewed them as roommates. they shared and took care of that space together and both contributed to it to make it a home. professionally, even if we look beyond that fact that lauren holds the utmost respect for leyla as a doctor, they could've disclosed their relationship to HR (most likely did given how they were openly showing affection around the hospital and lauren announced it to everyone lmao). how is it any different than max dating helen when they both worked at NA? or even during their weird in between will they won't they time? he's the medical director. there's no power greater than him aside from the board. plus, yes, lauren and leyla made very conscious efforts to establish boundaries for when they're dr. bloom and dr. shinwari during work and lauren and leyla outside of it.

the money side of things.... sometimes i feel like that gets misinterpreted with regards to what leyla's struggle is with that. don't get me wrong, part of that is because of the writers being unclear at times. but overall, i think it boils down to leyla having complex and very deep rooted mentalities with success needing to be accomplished through your own grit to be worthy. because if we look at all the times that leyla has brought up money or material things, it's been in association with the perception of earning the situation she's currently in, "i won't let you pay for me to stay somewhere. i'm not a charity case," "now all these fancy things, you. make me feel like that's the reason i'm successful. like i didn't earn it" and "but the one thing i thought i earned was just paid for like everything else." leyla didn't have a problem when she thought lauren was going to use her money to buy textbooks and new equipment for the other residents. it was only when the residents spun their little sob story and she thought it gave her an "unfair" advantage over everyone else. also no offense to the bloom family wealthy but the occasional uber black ride to work, food, clothes, an ipad, those are all very normal affordable things that a doctor and chair of a department could afford. it's canon that lauren is one of the top paid doctors at NA. and leyla very well could be chair of a department one day and make the same kind of money. where lauren's wealth played an actual factor was making the donation, which she's knows was a massive mistake, and the lawyer fees. also when leyla brought up the food and clothes before, she owned that discomfort that came from that because she didn't voice to lauren that she didn't need her to buy these things and i think she knows if lauren knew how it made leyla felt, she would've backed off. when she mentioned that, it was likely more referring to the earlier days when she wasn't a resident yet. cause leyla was okay with the ride to work and lauren brought leyla a bagel and coffee when they were working opposite shifts. she didn't have a problem with those things then and i would say it was because she was making legitimate money as a resident, settled and happy in her career and yeah coffee then was just a coffee. and leyla probably bought lauren a coffee and her favorite pastry on occasions because that's just a thing you do. just like leyla probably took lauren to romantic dinners and paid for those.

but i've mentioned it before, i didn't view the coffee situation as being just about the coffee. like lauren said, it's that the overthinking with the coffee was a symptom of their current complex situation with the visa. leyla is borrowing $10k/month from lauren for a currently unknown amount of time. that's an insane burn rate and leyla is trying to pay back what she can as they go along because she knows it. like if this case takes a year to resolve, that's $130k which is more than the donation lauren paid for leyla's residency spot. yes, lauren is rich and that money in the grand scheme of things isn't a blip for her and that is an amount leyla can pay back. hell people borrow that much money for medical school. but it's the principle of lauren being willing to lend that much, combine that with the fact that she's also opened up her apartment to leyla again when she needed a stable address and her previous concern about lauren feeling like her feelings are being taken advantage of. i can understand why leyla would start to get caught up in wondering how much is taking too much? even with something as small as a coffee, even if the limit does not exist to lauren, it matters to leyla.

and of course, as you and i both acknowledged before, this is tv so there's always going to be a melodramatic element that in reality would be simpler to work out lol. but anyways, always fun to read your thoughts and hope you didn't mind my word soup reply LOL

#teevibess #asks

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watery-melon-baller · 4 years ago

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I think that, overall, only four good things came out of Danny Phantom season three:

1) Frostbite. I like that he can serve as another ghostly mentor figure to Danny, even if he is coming pretty late in the game, and he adds some decent worldbuilding.

2) Danny’s ice powers and ice core. There area lot of fun things to be done with these, especially in fanon, but even in the show they can make fights more interesting and dynamic. It’s a new element to play around with without it being too overly obtrusive. It does come a little out of nowhere, and just adds to Danny being absolutely OP, but I can look past that and see it as a net positive.

3) The episode Forever Phantom. This and the episode I’m going to discuss in point four are the only two episodes I feel truly hold up and are genuinely good in this season. There are some others that can be fun to watch, but they’re overall pretty mediocre. That’s not to mention the fair share of flops that just completely missed the mark. Forever Phantom works because it pulls its focus back in to grounded problems. A lot of season three has the issue of being all action, no breaks; the writers try to up the stakes, but it doesn’t work because there’s nothing to tie it back, and therefore it has little meaning. It’s just spectacle. What Forever Phantom does is give us a conflict with stakes that are much lower, but at the same time have a very pointed effect on Danny’s life. That’s able to keep viewers invested. The tone, also, just works a bit better for me than a lot of other season three episodes; some of the humor really works. Finally, we get Amorpho. He’s a very interesting antagonist; his morally gray motivations and general presence make him interesting to watch, and his direct goal to screw with people (and Danny specifically) brings up some good situations.

4) The episode D-Stabilized. This one holds up, and even excels, in a different way than Forever Phantom. Forever Phantom was an excellent example of how this show does a low-stakes, humor-driven episode. D-Stabilized shows off the potential for more plot-driven dramatic storytelling. One thing of the episode’s major strengths is its use of the characters. It was a good decision to take Valerie, Danny, and Danielle as a focus. They in particular did a good job with Danielle; while she definitely didn’t get enough screen time in the overall series to be fully realized as a character, this episode was a good step in the right direction, making use of the limited time they had. Through the focus the episode puts on her, the writers do a good job of fleshing her out into more of her own character (seperate from Danny), but keeping her familiar as well. As for Valerie, she was criminally underutilized in season 3. Nevertheless, her inclusion in the episode definitely improved it. She’s one of Danny Phantom’s strongest characters. To be perfectly honest, she’s probably a more developed and realized character than Tucker or Sam, despite the fact that the latter two are part of the core cast. She has a level of depth those two simply don’t have, with more thought-out motivations and traits that make her more belivable and three-dimensional. As such, D-Stablized took advantage of her strong character and arc to further it, staying true to her motivations and personality. And, critically, the characters are in character. This was an issue that season three had a lot more than the previous seasons of the show. D-Stabilized being able to succeed in this was critical to making it a good episode. Another thing D-Stablized handles well is its narrative. As I mentioned earlier, it gives us a strong and continuity-driven plot which helps to push many of the series’ ongoing points. It continues the thread begun by Kindred Spirits, bringing back Danielle and Vlad’s cloning plan. This is a compelling choice, as for much of season three Vlad has been exaggerated and his motivations twisted out of proportion. His previous motivations, to get rid of Jack and take his family, and more than that his critical trait of wanting love above all but not realizing that one needs to give back to get it, has been largely dropped in favor of a more generic set. His main goals are now shown to be world domination, power, and wealth, which makes little sense for his character. But that is beside the point; to bring us back on topic, the choice to bring back Vlad’s cloning plot demonstrates that he still does hold the desires he was shown to have previously: he wants a ‘perfect son’. It brings his character more in line with earlier seasons, bringing back that more compelling scenario. Another thread it continues is Valerie’s arc. I touched on this briefly earlier when I discussed characters, but to go into more depth, this episode gives us excellent insight into her life and motivations, wholly building off of what we already know about her. It fits in with what we’ve learned, but the events of the episode’s narrative also push Valerie into growing. It makes excellent use of her established anti-hero tendancies, showing how despite her prejudices she still has morals, and it trying to good even if it is somewhat misguided with regards to Danny and her unwavering hatred of ghosts. Especially considering how we’ve seen virtually nothing of her over season 3, the inclusion of Valerie and ties to her storyline certainly helped this episode exceed the rest. The action was dramatic, the development was logical and satisfying, and the characters and interactions are well handled and compelling. This is not even to mention the episode’s ending, where Valerie figures out about Vlad. This was clearly setting up more, but the arc got cut off before it could reach its completion. It is a real shame that we didn’t get a conclusion to this storyline, as it would have been really interesting to see how Valerie would handle the shift to her worldview, and how that could affect Danny and Amity Park.

#whoops this got really long #Danny Phantom #Writing #Season 3 #Analysis #(maybe?)#Let's be honest this mostly just turned out to be a critical analysis of D-Stabilized because that's the episode I rewatched before writing

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pascalispretty · 4 years ago

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dial ‘n’ for narcos - one

The Colombian Correspondent

Javier Peña x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Adult themes, references to death, references to violent crime, references to sex, swearing, smoking, drinking

Summary: A Narcos Film Noir AU. Javier Peña has returned to Colombia, and is determined to see justice handed down to the Godfathers of Cali. On his way, he meets a fresh-off-the-plane journalist with a tip burning her hole in her pocket that might just help him crack the Cali racket. (ao3)

¡Al Fin Cayó! The headline of El Tiempo declared, the blocky type seeping slightly into the thin paper where it had been exposed to the humidity.

Or perhaps it had gotten damp in transit. The papers could take days to arrive at best; the Argentine headlines were almost always weeks out of date by the time they reached the office.

With a sigh, you spread out the paper on your narrow desk, trying not to smudge the ink any further. Below the headline, with all the subtlety and grace of a sledgehammer, was a photo of Escobar laid out on a slab, his mother at his head.

It was nice to know that the news game was a crass one wherever you were in the world.

The reports of Pablo Escobar’s death had crackled over the airwaves well over a week ago, though stories were conflicting.

The police shot him. An American did it. He shot himself.

Either way, Escobar was dead.

To your annoyance, the article was also scanty on the details, barely more than four paragraphs long. Even the cables that Sierra had managed to get through had been sparse, especially on what would happen now that he was dead.

You rapped your knuckles on the walnut wood of the desk before yanking the drawer open. There’s a mess of paper inside, scraps of telegrams and envelopes, unsent memos, and unused stamps.

Somewhere in there was your ticket out of here.

Buried somewhere in there is a letter from Sierra, prematurely aged by how often you’ve looked it over in the last few days.

You found it underneath a receipt for a cab and pored over it once more. Sierra Nimri had been The Telegraph’s Colombian correspondent ever since Pablo Escobar had become an international news story.

Now that he was dead, Teddy James wanted to pull her out of Colombia and rotate her into Cuba, to replace Harry Johnson there. Officially, Harry was getting bumped up to the Brussels gig; unofficially, the higher-ups were getting twitched about how much time he was spending with the commies.

Either way, Teddy James, Latin American Editor and nephew of the publisher, wanted Sierra in Cuba, and so she was going to Cuba. To his mind, her gig in Colombia was over.

You disagreed.

Sierra wrote to you from time to time, handwritten letters accompanying the typed manuscript pages of her latest article. Usually, it was just trivial; notes asking for more of an allowance for bribes or passing on gossip that didn’t have a place in the paper proper.

You’d been working for the Latin American desk of The Telegraph for almost two years now, and nothing had made you sit bolt upright in your rickety chair the way the last paragraph of Sierra’s last letter had.

At the start of the missive, she’d acknowledged Teddy’s request to ship her off to Cuba, but she was adamant that she be replaced in Colombia by another reporter.

Cocaine shipments were up, she argued. The Godfathers of Cali were the new big racket in town, and the paper needed a newshawk on the ground to keep an eye on things.

There was also the sensational tip she had been given.

She had been told by Andrés Pastrana that he had listened to a series of tapes that he called ‘narco-cassettes’. She had been told that what was on them was explosive.

And then, before Pastrana could detonate whatever bombshell he had been about to drop, he’d vanished.

His left index finger had washed up in the Cauca river, where the rest of him had doubtless been tossed. Now he was having his bones bleached by the water, his secret gone into the river along with him.

Still, it was the break you had been waiting for. You had spent years, first in school and then in various news offices, working your way up the totem pole. You were tired of covering congressional campaign breakfasts and pet pageants.

Your time working the Latin American desk at The Telegraph had entailed little more than writing occasional updates on stories broken by the correspondents on the ground. From your tiny, cramped office by the stairs, you had read about assassinations and coups, about guerrillas in the jungles and juntas in the pampas.

You were determined to get the Colombian gig, no matter what Teddy thought about it being a waste of money.

With a long sigh, you ran your finger along the edge of the letter. Sierra’s writing looked like a spider had danced a jig in some ink, but you’re used to it by now. Holding the worn paper close to your heart, you pushed your chair back and stood up.

Teddy usually strolled back in from his liquid lunch with the sports editor around two; it was ten past now, and the best time you could think of to argue your case. Hoping the alcohol has done its job on your boss, you took a deep, steadying breath, and stepped out of the office.

Pastrana had been an important guy, a presidential candidate. Escobar was dead, and all of his men were either pinched or offed; it had to mean Pastrana had found out something serious about Cali. They were more or less the only narco game left in town, certainly the only ones with enough pull to murder a potential president.

There was a story in there somewhere, you could feel it. You needed to see for yourself if you could shake anything loose, and you were past positive that you could talk Teddy into letting you replace Sierra.

You just had to hope you didn’t end up dumped in the river yourself for your troubles.

* * *

Javier Peña tugged at the collar of his shirt with one hand as he drove, trying to loosen it slightly. Before starting his new job as the DEA attaché in Colombia, he had bought fresh clothes. It had seemed like a gig that required a little more formality than his usual jeans and short-sleeved shirts offered.

So, before he had left Laredo, he’d done a little shopping, feeling ridiculous as he trailed around the store and dodged men whose wives had clearly dragged them inside for fresh duds.

Still, he was glad to be back in Colombia. The idea of a few weeks at home had seemed tempting at first, especially after his brush with the DEA brass.

The wedding was what had made him come back to Colombia early. It had been a painfully awkward affair, people that Javi hadn’t seen in years rushing to shake his hand and call him a hero for helping win the War on Drugs.

They’d been wrong on both counts.

It almost felt like a relief to pull into the parking lot of the grey hunk of concrete that housed the US Embassy in Bogotá, where people were a little more in touch with the reality of what the US was doing in Colombia.

Stoddard, his new deputy, met him at the door and quickly shattered any hope Javier had that his staff was savvier than the general public. It was like being right back at the wedding; people were practically lining up to shake his hand and ask him about Escobar.

He got rid of them as quickly as he could without being openly rude, sending the kid off to find the boxes of files kept on the Cali cartel.

It was only when he was ensconced in his office, away from the whispers and stares of the new blood that had been rotated into his department, that he felt more at home. Once the door was closed, and the blinds were down, he was free to surround himself with paper, slip off his jacket, and settle down to work.

The glass of scotch he’d liberally poured for himself helped too.

From among the paper and photographs, a better image of the Cali cartel started to emerge.

They were a bunch of slick bastards, with carefully maintained fronts.

Gilberto and Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela were businessmen of renown in Cali, and Colombia more broadly. Gilberto had graduated from being chairman of the board for Banco de Trabajadores to setting up his own bank, First InterAmericas Bank.

Together, they also ran a chain of drugstores, donated handsomely to their favourite football team, owned a phone company based out of Cali, and still found the time to run the largest drug cartel in history.

They were slightly less brazen than Pablo Escobar had been; Pablo had claimed his immense wealth had originated in a firm that loaned out bicycles before he graduated up to a taxi firm. At least the brothers had more obvious sources of wealth

The brothers had two business partners; Chepe Santacruz Londoño, who handled New York operations, and Pacho Herrera, who officially helped run the drugstores, and unofficially ran security for the brothers. He also apparently owned nightclubs and bars all over, a gunsel who was drawn irrepressibly to the nightlife.

There was an op running in Cali tonight; they’d found a brother of a cartel dealer who’d been willing to cut a deal. Two agents had fitted him up for surveillance and sent him in as a waiter to some shindig the cartel was throwing.

It felt strange to Javier to not be there overseeing it personally. He was used to being on the ground, not up in some fancy, newly renovated office made almost entirely of glass.

“Stoddard!” Javi called, rubbing his eyes. The words were starting to swim on the pages, and he wasn’t entirely sure if that was down to the lateness of the hour or the amount of scotch he’d consumed.

When there was no answer, he stood and pulled the glass door of his office open, the blinds swinging violently at the motion.

“Stoddard?” He asked, but it was an empty gesture. The hallways beyond his office were dark; his staff had all left him for the night.

With a look back over his shoulder, Javi decided to call it a night as well. His new office was a mess of paperwork and boxes already, and now that he was up and shaking the stiffness from his legs, he couldn’t imagine sitting at the low, unforgiving couch in his office again. He itched for a cigarette, but he did his best to fight the urge.

Instead, he decided to indulge in his only remaining vice and headed for the nearest bar.

Not far from the embassy was La Social, its name broadcast in bright neon blue above the door. It was a frequent haunt of embassy staff; Javi could remember many hours spent in here with Murphy, talking theories over a cold beer.

Javier slipped the noose of the tie from around his throat as he walked in, and almost instantly wanted to walk back out. Clustered around a table by the window were his new team, Stoddard holding court at the head of the table.

Before Javi could make good his escape, Stoddard noticed him, and the cute brunette Javi had clocked earlier. Time was, Javi would have tried to get her into bed. But he was older now, and his run-in with Lorraine in Laredo had thrown him off his game.

Besides, too many of his mistakes in Colombia had been caused by his weakness for women. Better to avoid that temptation entirely than to risk another Helena, another Elisa, another Maritza. He didn’t need some pretty twist clouding his judgment this time around.

Instead, Javi shrugged his jacket off and took a seat at the bar. Whiskey would see him through, his most reliable partner.

“Hey, boss. Do you mind if we buy you a drink?” He offers, with an earnestness that Javi hasn’t seen in a long time. Was Murphy ever like that? Had Javi been, when he’d first stepped off the plane in Bogotá? The bartender set down the glass of whiskey Javi had ordered, and he took it gratefully.

“No, thanks.” They’re all too green; he wondered what Ivy League criminology course the DEA had recruited Stoddard from. The kid seemed a little deflated by Javi’s rejection. Perhaps he had hoped for stories of dramatic gunfights with Escobar’s men, of foiled car bombings and cocaine raids.

If Stoddard was going to survive down here, he had to get used to disappointment.

Javi finished his first whiskey and ordered another. That itch to smoke was back; he’d spent so many nights in here, with Murphy or Carrillo, smoking until his throat hurt and talking about La Catedral or how to force Escobar out of his hole.

Murphy was gone, playing happy families with Connie and Olivia in Miami.

Carrillo was dead, his widow back in Madrid with her son.

So Javier drank alone, and tried to ignore the desire for nicotine. A glance over his shoulder told him that the cute brunette from earlier was still sneaking peeks at him, and he tried to talk himself out of it. Sleeping with his staff would be a bad look for the new DEA attaché on his first day.

Just as he was about to slip off his barstool and talk to her, he found the seat beside him being pulled out and occupied.

Not by a cute brunette; by an overweight, balding man who looked fresh out of the jungle, still in khaki pants and heavy boots.

“Pretty girl. Poor taste in men though.” Stechner said, making himself comfortable in the seat beside Javier. “It’s nice to see you back, Agent Peña.” Javi very much doubted that. Ever since Stechner’s appointment as the CIA station chief down here, he’d rubbed Javi up the wrong way, and the feeling had apparently been mutual.

“Heard you signed off on me coming back.” Javi said, trying not to let his surprise show. It had taken him by surprise to hear it, especially after the CIA man had put the skids under Messina. Not that Javi had liked Messina, but there was something that rankled about the CIA being able to dispense with his former boss.

“Did indeed. You’re no sap, Peña; you know what the deal is down here. You know Escobar wasn’t a win, no matter how much the brass back home said it was. The same, please.” Stechner ordered his drink with the same casual tone as he spoke to Javi.

It was the tone of a man confident that he was always seven steps ahead of whoever he was talking to, and it made Javi grit his teeth.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Javi would get into incalculable trouble for starting a barfight with the CIA station chief, but it was an enjoyable thought nevertheless. His steady calm was in direct opposition to the rising annoyance that was trying to crawl its way up Javi’s throat.

He almost missed the days when Steve had been the loose cannon; it had forced him to be more measured.

“What was accomplished, Javier? Thousands of Colombians died, and coke’s still flooding American streets by the ton.” Stechner took his drink from the bartender and took a slow sip.

“Oh, come on. You don’t care about American streets or dead Colombians.” Point of fact, Javi doubted Stechner cared much about anything. At that, Stechner gave a mirthless little chuckle.

“Point being, Peña, we can’t afford another bloodbath. No swallowing the spider to catch the fly this time. America has plans for Colombia; blood in the water will just gum up the works.” Stechner said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world, that somehow Javier had been responsible for the bloodbath and it had now fallen to William J. Stechner to tidy up after him.

“So what’s the play?”

“Surrender. The negotiations are all silk so far, and has the seal of approval from those muckety-mucks in DC.”

“And these fucking guys just breeze?”

“After handing over the keys to the biggest coke racket in history. Hell, the biggest racked in history full stop. Far as I’m concerned, the DEA can even take the credit.” As gestures go, it’s as hollow as a log, and it’s all Javier can do to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“So what do you need me for?”

“The dashing DEA agent who took down Escobar? Helps to have a hero along for the ride. The godfathers’ will serve some time, most likely.” There was that word again, hero. Coming from Stechner, it just sounds like an insult, and Javi isn’t sure if that’s worse.

“And that’s enough for you? Sending them up the river for a spell?”

“If there were any justice in this world, Javier, you’d be in jail. That op your guys are running in Cali tonight? It’ll come up snake eyes. All you’ll get for the trouble of going after Cali are more stiffs.” With that, Stechner drained what was left of his drink and left, with a pat of Javi’s shoulder that smacked with condescension.

Javier had every intention of making tracks, the bar no longer feeling so welcoming. He truly meant to, finishing his own drink and tucking a few bills under the empty glass. But then, as he stood, he caught the eye of the cute brunette.

Fuck.

* * *

It had been a struggle for you not to press your nose up against the window of the cab as you were driven through Bogotá that first night that you arrived. On its high plateau in the Andes, Bogotá was cooler than you had anticipated, a look of rain in some of the clouds up above.

Part of you wanted to send the cab ahead with your luggage so you could roam the streets for yourself. Neon lights glittered everywhere, people spilled out of bars and night markets and onto the pavements, the whole city so vibrantly alive in front of you.

You had only read about it in Sierra’s dispatches; seeing it for yourself was another experience entirely, and you didn’t want to waste a single second of it.

The car paused in traffic, and you stared out of your window at the bar directly across from you. A neon blue sign flickering above the door revealed it as La Social. You wanted to climb out, to go to the bar and order yourself a drink and start exploring immediately.

But before you could work up the courage to jump out of the car, the traffic started moving again, carrying you closer to your destination.

The Telegraph had leased an apartment for Sierra not far from the US Embassy, a two-bedroom affair that sounded far nicer than your own tiny apartment that you barely afforded on your meagre salary. Still, the paper was footing the bills, so you were happy to take advantage while you could.

From the bag next to you, you pulled out the new leather notebook you had bought and squinted at the notes you had made in the light of the streetlamps you passed.

What was on the tapes worth killing Pastrana for?

Who has them now?

Why?

It wasn’t much. But it was a start.

Taglist: @lannister-slings-and-arrows, @zeldasayer, @coffeeandtodd, @lokiaddicted, @yespolkadotkitty, @steeeeeeeviebb, @pascalisthepunkest, @pascalesque . Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

#javier pena #javier pena fanfiction #narcos #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #dial n for narcos

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jetaime-jespere · 4 years ago

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Prompt #15

#15: Don’t Tempt Me

Smut.

A special thank you to @sweetsecretskeptinside for the inspo pic (and the 3:30 AM conversation that led to this little thing)

In 7.21, Emily says, No, I don't have a fear of owning stuff. Turn me loose in a shoe store, I'll prove that. So, we know she loves a good pair of shoes. Well, what would happen if Emily were in fact turned loose in a shoe store, only to come home to a curious Aaron?

Aaron is about three quarters of the way through a basketball game on TV when he hears the door open, announcing her arrival. “I’m back,” Emily calls through the narrow hallway, keys jingling from her wrist as she closes the door behind her. “Aaron? Where are you?”

He hears the thump of her shoes coming off, the soft swish of her jacket being hung up. He smiles, because even though it’s only been a few hours, he’s much happier now that she’s back. “In here,” he calls over the hum of the game as he finishes the last of the beer on the end table. “Watching the game.” Not that he actually cares too much - but there isn’t much else on at the moment, and it’s been just a little too quiet.

“Someone had a busy day,” Emily says in jest when she takes in the sight of him sprawled across the couch, while taking note of the spotless living room with appreciation. All the toys normally strewn about are cleaned up and tucked away, blankets neatly folded on the back of the couch. There’s a bag dangling from each of her slender wrists - two long white handles, brown and nondescript, with elegant white lettering across the side. Emily sets both down next to the couch, coming up next to him and looping her arms around his neck. “Hi,” she murmurs, kissing the sharp ridge of his jaw. “I’m sorry I’m so late getting back. Traffic outside McLean was awful.”

“That’s Northern Virginia at rush hour for you,” He quips, looking slightly amused, because she was supposed to be home almost an hour ago. “Did you have fun shopping at least?”

“Yeah,” she says casually, settling on the couch beside him, draping her legs over his lap. “It was crowded though. You’d think it was a holiday.”

“Get anything good?” Aaron massages her ankles, trying to appear interested in whatever she’d purchased. She’d gone out with JJ and Penelope a few hours before, giving him a few hours to run some desperately needed errands. There’s hardly any food in his fridge - they’ve been slammed with cases one right after the other for the last two weeks - and his place was in dire need of a cleaning. With Jack at a friend’s house for the afternoon it was perfect timing, but he’s expected back home at any time. There are dinner plans to figure out; Aaron promised his son the three of them would watch a movie, one that Jack gets to pick.

“You could say so,” Emily says coyly, reaching for the magazine in his hands. She flips through a few pages, even if her attention isn’t on it at all. Instead, Aaron feels her stare from across the couch, the subtle shift of the weight of her legs in his lap. The smile on her face and the lift of her eyebrows tells him she wants him to ask just what she got.

He relents, because her insistence has his interest piqued, and he wonders just what could be so fascinating about a standard day of shopping with JJ and Penelope. It’s something they do fairly often, sometimes coupled with drinks and dinner, or sometimes with brunch. Those trips usually end with her slightly tipsy, something he finds endearingly adorable. And while he still isn’t completely comfortable with the fact this his name most definitely comes up more than once, he looks past it now. “What did you get?”

“Some shoes.” Emily says casually, with a slight shrug. “I didn’t see much else.” But she’s reaching for the bags on the floor, the brown paper crinkling under her fingers. “Want to see? You think you can tear yourself away from the TV for a few minutes?”

There are two boxes in Emily’s lap. Both are brown, matching the bag, with the same logo embossed in the middle. Each box is wrapped with a red ribbon on the ends, and he frowns, thinking the whole presentation is a little … ostentatious.

But she’s already undoing the ribbons, popping the lids off the boxes. The first box contains a pair of high heels, black, with high sharp heels and an unnatural looking arch. They look ridiculously uncomfortable, yet something tells him she’d pull them off without question. The other pair are even less than practical - a pair of slingbacks with bows on the back, with even higher heels. They look like the kind of shoes that could break an ankle. And yet she’s watching him intently, gauging his reaction with an expression that he might label as pleased.

Where the hell would she ever wear those? His mind starts to wander with possibilities, and it dawns on him they’re not supposed to be practical. They’re fuck me shoes. “Are they supposed to …” Aaron blinks with confusion as he studies the ridiculously impractical pairs of shoes, nestled in wrapping paper, both with red painted soles. “Are the bottoms supposed to be red?”

Emily laughs lightly, and Aaron can’t help but wonder if this is one of those things he’s just somehow supposed to magically know - not that he knows remotely anything about womens’ fashion. Haley’s taste in clothes had always been relatively practical, and given their line of work, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Emily actually dressed up, much to his chagrin. “It’s the designer’s trademark, Aaron.”

He narrows his eyes with confusion. “Red soles?”

“Mmhm.”

“But no one sees the soles of your shoes,” he points out logically. “Besides, don’t you have a few other ones that look just like this?” He isn’t quite sure he sees the need for multiple pairs of black high heels that basically all look the same, even though the more he stares at the shoes, the more he can’t help but think about what she’d look like wearing these particular pairs.

“So? Emily looks very pleased with herself. “They’re an investment piece, Aaron. Christian Louboutin is timeless and classic.”

“Christian Lou - what?” He completely butchers the word Louboutin, struggling with the French pronunciation that seems to roll off her tongue so easily. Emily laughs softly, patiently pronouncing the word again, and then again. Something about hearing her speak French makes his mouth go dry, and he swallows thickly as she neatly wraps the shoes back up in the boxes.

Something else catches his eye - the pricetag - and he makes a conscious effort to keep his jaw firmly closed. “Emily,” he says evenly, even though he’s certain he’s seeing an extra zero he shouldn’t. “Tell me those shoes were not seven hundred dollars.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with disbelief, a slight shake of his head. “You bought two pairs.”

“Actually,” she says with an air of indifference. “The ones with the bows were seven hundred. The others were on sale for six.”

“Six hundred dollars for a pair of shoes?” He sounds incredulous, probably because he is. He’s no stranger to the fact that Emily was raised with an abundance of wealth and with that, probably comes some appreciation for the finer things. And not that he cares one bit about how she spends her money, but the thought just seems completely absurd to him.

“You know,” she begins slowly, batting her eyelashes with a mere shake of her head. “I’m sure you’d appreciate them more if you saw them on me.” And then her fingers drop to her shirt, beginning to undo the top button, then the next. “What do you think?”

It’s his turn to smirk, the slightest lick of his lips with his tongue as he meets her gaze with a look in his eyes that matches her own. “What are you -”

“Daddy?” The excited voice coming from the foyer tears them out of the moment completely, and Emily practically bolts off the couch in surprise, as if they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Shit. She hurriedly buttons her shirt, taking a few precautionary steps away from Aaron out of habit. Jack is still hanging up his coat, chattering animatedly about his afternoon, running through a rather long list of potential movie options. Aaron gets up from the couch, pecking Emily on the cheek with a slightly apologetic look. “Next time?”

“Next time,” she agrees, practically purrs in his ear, pressing her body up against his. She stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, letting her teeth scrape against his earlobe as she disappears with the boxes in her hands, putting an extra sway in her hips along the way.

…

“Not here,” Aaron tells her for the third time, this time more firmly. They’re milking drinks at a roundtop table in the middle of an ALS Benefit a few days later. They’re there for Dave, like every year, and for some reason, he’s just not feeling it tonight. It’s warm in the room, he doesn’t feel like dancing, and not to mention, Emily has been goading him since they arrived.

“Come on,” Emily coaxes him with a wink from across the table, a glass of red wine in her hand. “You’re no fun, you know.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, our colleagues happen to be in or around the vicinity of this room.” Aaron takes a sip of his drink, this time downing most of the glass. The drinks are a little too strong, the music is a little too loud, and he’s already having trouble concentrating on anything, thanks to the fact that Emily has stayed within his line of sight almost all evening. It’s intentional, that much he knows. The rest of the team has dissipated, spread out amongst the crowd, mingling with the other guests. He knows they should probably do the same. After this drink, he tells himself.

“But I’m wearing the shoes.” It’s the way she says it, locking her eyes with his. But he already knows - he’d noticed as they walked into the hotel two hours before.

“Don’t tempt me,” he hisses just a little more forcefully, wishing he had a fresh drink to occupy his hands. “We’ve got another two hours at this thing.” He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes forward instead of staring at her, but that’s getting harder. She’d decided on the black dress after a careful deliberation, showing him the various options she’d pulled from the depths of her closet. They’d barely made it out the door on time.

“There’s plenty of open rooms,” she tries again. “Nobody will notice we’re gone.” As if to prove her point, Emily tips her head in the direction of the band, where Strauss and Dave are all but tearing up the dance floor. “Look at them.”

Aaron nods, stifling a laugh in his fist. “Sometimes I still can’t believe they’re together.”

“It’s been going on for years,” Emily snickers. “Dave used to think he was subtle about it. He wasn’t. But good for him.” She tips her head back, exposing the side of her neck. Something inside of him snaps, his mind made up, because before he can stop himself, he’s wrapping his hand around her elbow, giving her a gentle shove through the crowd of people.

“Aaron, what are you -”

“Let’s go,” he growls in her ear, pressing a hand into the small of her back to lead her closer to the door. It’s risky at best and a bad idea at the worst, but what the hell? He thinks, leaning forward to get a trace of her perfume on the back of her neck.

Emily grins to herself, her eyes locked on the door just ahead of them, and she’s grateful for the dimmed lights in the ballroom - no one will even notice they’re gone. The hallway is hushed quiet compared to the booming of the music on the other side of the door, and they stare at each other for a brief moment. “Here,” he says, taking her hand. There are multiple closed doors that lead to empty conference rooms; Aaron leads her to the one at the far end of the hall.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to tempt you.” Emily flutters her eyelashes, her fingers lingering on his face as she slips past him through the doors. This is a bad idea, they both think, not for the first time, and yet, neither of them are about to put an end to it.

“Too late.” Aaron closes the door and adds the lock for good measure, spinning on his heel to face her. Emily licks her lips, backs up until her back is against the wall, all but cornering herself as he nearly rips his own suit jacket off, throwing it against the table. He’s eying her almost ferally, staring at her legs and the damn shoes. His jaw is set in determination as he moves toward her. “I’m going to take you apart.”

Damn, Emily thinks, her eyes widening as Aaron gets a hand around her waist, pulling her into him. He bypasses her mouth entirely, going right for her neck. She gasps as his teeth drag over her skin, his hands impatient as he goes for the zipper at the back of her dress.

“Don’t rip it,” she breathes, arching her back as his fingers dance down her spine, pulling the little metal tab down to the small of her back. “It was expen-”

“Shhh.” He covers her lips with his own, smiling a little when she moans into his mouth, her body bowing into his. Aaron gets his hands around her hips, walks them back and around until he can lean her against the large credenza in the corner, pulling the dress down over her shoulders. Her breath hitches as the cool air hits her skin; it pebbles as his hands slide around to work the clasp; it snaps free in one go.

“I’m impressed,” Emily drawls with a grin as it falls away.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.” He leans her back even further, going with her as her back hits the top of the table. He takes one breast in his mouth, alternating the pressure of his mouth until she keens into the air, her hands pulling at the fabric of his expensive dress shirt. Emily gets a hand in his hair, urging him to keep going. He switches to the other breast, repeating the same pattern with his mouth. “You’re perfect,” he breathes, cupping his hands around her jaw when he stands straight to kiss her again. “So perfect.”

Emily smiles, already starting to work the buttons of his dress shirt. “There’s lipstick on this,” she murmurs, finding the imprints of her lips on the collar. “I guess we weren’t very subtle earlier.”

“I don’t care.” He gets the shirt off his shoulders, then lifts her up just enough to get the dress past her hips and over her head. She’s left in nothing but those damn shoes that make her legs look endless, and some impractical, lacy underwear that matches the bra that’s now discarded on the floor. He stands back to look at her, an equal mix of adoration and lust. It takes little effort to lift her up, setting her on the top of the credenza, coming to stand between her legs. He runs his hands over her thighs, down her calves, closing around her ankles, admiring her, smirking when he sees the shoes again. Emily rests on her elbows, watching as he kisses the insides of her knees, her stomach quivering with effort to remain semi-upright.

“The shoes,” he says as he props her legs on his shoulders, watching her for a few moments. “Stay on.”

All she can do is nod, her heart fluttering in her chest as he tugs on either side of the lace at her hips, dragging it down over her legs. On the pile it goes, and when she’s finally completely bare before him save for a ridiculously expensive pair of high heels, her legs bent around his shoulders, does she seemingly realize where they are, her eyes sparkling. “If anyone hears us,” Emily breathes, “I’m blaming you.”

“Then keep quiet,” he says with a wink, spreading her thighs even further open with his shoulders. He kisses each thigh, taking his time to build her up until Emily presses the spikes of her heels into his shoulders. He only smiles against her, one long, slow lick of his tongue follows a moment later. Emily whines as he drags her closer to his mouth.

“Hurry up,” she pants with anticipation, and as if on cue, he touches his lips to her clit just enough to make her back arch and her eyes fall shut. “Fuck,” she groans, tugging at his hair with both hands, and when his tongue becomes an insistent pulsing rhythm, Emily lets out a loud whimper, one that reverberates through the conference room. Aaron pushes her over once; she comes against his mouth hard, her legs shaking on his shoulders as the heels nearly pierce his skin. He rears back, encircling her ankles with gentle fingers, staring down at her.

“So much for keeping quiet, Sweetheart.” He’s taunting her, loosening his hold on one ankle as he pulls at his belt. Emily’ head rolls back against the table, biting her lip when his pants are added to the pile. He palms himself in his hand, lining himself up with her as Emily wraps her legs around his waist. Aaron smiles when he feels the spikes of her heels dig into his lower back; he kisses her in tandem with the initial thrust inside of her. Emily whimpers into his mouth, bringing a hand to grip his shoulder for leverage as he pushes all the way in one smooth press of his hips.

“Oh fuck,” she whines, and he runs a finger over her lips to remind her of volume. She’s making these little noises, clenching around him, tilting her hips forward to meet his shallow thrusts. “Harder.” She tightens her legs around his back, bringing him impossibly close, and he’s more than happy to appease her. And he does, driving into her deliberately and forcefully as she hums in pleasure around him. Her nails scrape down his back, he winds an arm around her waist to keep her steady as those damn shoes remind him of how tightly her legs are locked around his hips.

Jesus Christ. “Emily.” Each drive of his hips sends the table into the wall. “Come for me.” He gets a hand between them, swipes his thumb over her clit a few times and it’s all it takes to send her over again, the near scream in his ear. She clenches around him like a vice, her moans muffled by the seal of his mouth around hers. He kisses her through her second climax, his own coming quickly, and one final push of his hips and the rasp of her name on his lips. It takes more strength than he anticipated to keep himself upright, and his arms shake with effort as he cleans her up with a tissue from his pocket. Aaron helps her down, making sure her legs don’t give out beneath her in the unforgiving shoes, beginning the now arduous task of searching for their clothes. Even with the closed door they hear the boom of music, indicating the party is still going strong.

“We should make this a yearly thing,” Emily says with a wicked grin, tossing his jacket in his direction. “No one even missed us.”

He pretends to consider it, wondering if there’s any truth to her words. They’ve been gone awhile; certainly by now someone might be wondering. His jaw flexes as he watches her rearrange her bra, getting the dress over her head and past her hips. And as his eyes wander down her legs to the expensive shoes, the ones with the name he still can’t pronounce, he knows he’ll never be able to deny her. “Fine. But only if you wear those again.”

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #smut #writing smut at 5 am what else is new #i'm making myself late for work with this one but oh well

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silvanable · 4 years ago

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OMG I'M SO HAPPY I SEE U AGAIN ON MY FEED AND NOW YOU ALSO TAKE REQUESTS FOR TWST💞💗💕💓❤️❣️🧡💙💚💗💕💕💞💘💝Uhmm... i need to calm down🥺. Can i ask for a hc for Leona, Jamil and Ruggie with a gn s/o who is basically the twst version of mulan? Sorry if i ask for too much🥺 Love you and take care of yourself❤️

bless you, you wonderful doll! please don’t calm down. i found twst right before halloween and by the following morning it had consumed what remained of my soul.

i’m so glad you’re coming with requests and i absolutely adore this idea. mulan was one of my favorite disney ‘princesses’ as a kid because she was absolutely badass.

i’m literally taking this as is, so the boys’ s/o is mulan 2.0 with a twist wink wonk.

and a bonus at the very end for all you lovelies about twst mulan!

↪ GUIDELINES

— JAMIL VIPER

jamil never honestly paid them much mind in the beginning, mostly because he was babysitting watching over kalim.

he probably started to notice them more when they started participating in club sports and the magishift tournaments.

the reason they start interacting because one of their lizards, their asian water monitor to be exact, ended up getting out and saving jamil from a beetle.

queue them running up, heaving a massive lizard in their arms, and apologize for starting jamil mistaking his yell of fear for the beetle for their fear of their scaly baby.

the two strike up a conversation and sort of hit it off after that point, more or less because they constantly come up to him when they see him and start talking afterwards.

jamil has the underlying inferiority after constantly having to put himself below kalim, therefore doesn’t do well with those who look down on him or challenge his worth.

with his s/o, they understand that feeling because everything they have done in life was to fight and prove themselves of being someone worthy.

knowing about each other’s pasts and how each of them has to fight to be even glanced at as someone worrying is part of what brings them together.

the both of them have a lot of untapped or unrecognized potential but it would get better.

the two of them compliment each other in many ways and tend to be the leverage the other can use to bring out the best of themselves.

jamil is the type to actually train with his s/o, while he might not be trained in the same swordsmanship art as them, it’s an enjoyable moment for him because it’s just him and his s/o.

most time it happens he just stumbles upon his s/o practicing and joins in, as much as he loves watching it feels far more intimate to participate in their training because it’s almost like a dance between opponents.

jamil braids his own hair with magic and having a s/o who also has long hair, he would offer to do their hair for them rather happily, be it with or without magic, but he does enjoy running his fingers through their dark hair.

if his s/o asks him if they can braid his hair, he might just pass on to the next life right then and there. catch his s/o decorating his hair with unique trinkets from their home too.

jamil has grown up at the constant service of other people, so his s/o offering to do something for him is not only surprising but extremely heartwarming.

and sharing similar backgrounds he and his s/o would do small services for each other as a sort of show of their affection for one another.

as a person who keeps lots of reptiles, they introduce all of their scaly babies to jamil rather early on, if only to say they have a special fondness for even their beloved viper.

— LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

of course he found them annoying at first but it’s also not every day someone dares to square up with him. he’s used to submission and compliance from others out of fear.

he finds them overly annoying but they always seemed to run into each other until one day they actually got to talking.

turns out they were quite dedicated to their family.

leona has never had a great relationship with his family, so he doesn’t quite understand how someone could be so devoted to their family to put themselves in harm’s way for them.

is not always the most respectful of his dearest s/o but when he steps too far out of line you can bet they’re setting him straight again.

leona is extremely impressed with his s/o skills, particularly their swordsmanship.

these two are literally yin and yang when it comes down to it, opposites but they perfectly balance each other out to keep each other in check.

he likes to watch them practice on the ground after classes when he’s lounging and napping. they always have such an adorably serious expression and appear almost as if they’re dancing.

absolutely will drag his s/o from their practice to nap with him in the gardens.

other times he just plops in their lap while they’re reading or studying.

is actually very impressed, if not a little jealous, of their defensive magically abilities.

leona’s specialty is ancient curses. his s/o specialty is defensive magic, particularly against curses.

not that he would ever throw a curse at them but his s/o has already proven to break more than a few of his little testers for them.

learns about their background somewhere down the line of being together.

his s/o was very reluctant to talk about it given that he was a prince, so trying to explain the work and hardships they had to endure to support and protect their family, particularly their father, seemed like a bad conversation.

leona is actually very attentive when they finally open up and it makes more sense to him the more he hears.

he understands to a degree, but again he never had to struggle with wealth or safety, nor did he have the same dedication to his family due to childhood complications.

— RUGGIE BUCCHI

found them interesting right off the bat. they were peculiar in ways he couldn’t quite place.

really started to like them when they told leona off one time. ruggie expected them to back down from the savanaclaw dorm leader when he started growling but they did not.

much like leona and his s/o— these two are a balance of each other, yin and yang, and his s/o often likes to remark.

his laid back and carefree nature does clash with their dedicated nature though. it’s a problem sometimes, especially when it comes to why his s/o works so hard.

it’s times like those that ruggie finds he doesn’t know a lot about his s/o, particularly their past. which he understands, as he’s sensitive about his own too, but still his s/o is a mystery to him.

it does take a lot for his s/o to open up about what they’re so focused and determined to become a great mage. and it turns out it’s all for their family, particularly their father.

that brings a new side of them to light for ruggie, brings him to admire them that much more because all their goals were never really for them.

genuinely sees a lot of similarity between him and his s/o’s pasts, sure they’re different but both of them had to learn and adapt to survive—whether it be for themselves or for those around them.

loves his s/o unique magic, being quite a prankster himself, ruggie has thought of 101 uses for his s/o magic that does not involve its usual purpose like roasting marshmallows.

however he does not like being in it’s path as he has been singed by it before ( of no fault of his s/o since they did warning him ).

in awe at his s/o swordsmanship and talent at defensive magic but doesn’t admit it.

he likes to watch but tries to be sneaky about it. getting caught causes his cheeks to tint pink and he will absolutely brush any and everything his s/o says about him staring off.

his s/o culture is vastly different from the one he knows from the afterglow savanna. so he’s curious.

will absolutely ask his s/o to prepare him tea or cook a dish from their home, whether or not they are a decent cook he will eat whatever the offer.

— HEADCANONS ABOUT THIS TWST!MULAN

dresses rather ambiguously leaning masculine but can absolutely slay a skirt and heals.

everyone at night raven college actually thought they were a guy for the longest time until a conversation struck up and they mentioned they were actually nonbinary.

everyone swears their unique magic is shapeshifting because they change their presentation, style, and outfits so beautifully but literally everyone never knows what they’ll look like next.

luxurious, soft hair that’s darker than a starless night. often tied up to keep it out of their face.

red is their signature color.

their father is very frail and was deemed medically unfit to preform his job, so his dear child took his place to support their family.

the only reason they’re even a nrc is because their family persuaded them to go & eventually they agreed if just to have a way to support their family and make them proud.

from an ancient line of warriors in the war against dark magic, users were renowned for their skill with a blade and their magic against curses.

best class is obviously defense magic, more grounded in combat against curses, but no one has beat them on the defense yet anyways.

also exceptionally skilled with a sword. practices daily before or after classes to keep those skills sharp.

floyd calls them “sea dragon” ( shīdoragon-chan ) after the leafy sea dragon.

reptiles freaking love them. is constantly being stalked by some scaly friends. and yes, they absolutely do talk to them all.

on that note they also have so many reptiles in their room. whoever their poor dorm leader is, better pray for them, because it’s not uncommon for a scaly friend to get out of their enclosures and wander around looking for their master.

is a member of the horse riding club.

unique magic would be called dragon’s guidance and it’s incantation is: “ancestors hear my plea, bring honor to my family and watch over me. dragon’s guidance.”

the magic brings to life a chinese dragon made from the sparks of fireworks from their hands. ( if you’ve ever seen the fellowship of the rings, imagine the firework dragon merry and pippin set off. or a similar firework dragon george & fred weasley from harry potter set off in the fifth movie ).

it acts as a sort of ‘guide’ towards their goal ( for example, finding the way out of the woods if they are lost ).

however their unique magic also has other purposes, as it can act like a signal flair, works well for parting thick crowds ( no one wants to get burned after all ), or a light source briefly before the sparks fizzle out.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst leona #twst ruggie #twst jamil #jamil viper #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #twisted wonderland leona #twisted wonderland jamil #twisted wonderland ruggie #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #headcanons #disney mulan #mulan #gender neutral

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everydayescapeartist · 3 years ago

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JB Fic Exchange Recs - AU Oneshots

Well, I’ve gotten through about half of the @jaime-brienne-fic-exchange fics at this point, which is both not nearly enough for my liking and also pretty impressive for me, lol. I wanted to get some recs out ahead of the reveal because the wealth of talent in this fandom should be celebrated and shouted from every rooftop...and here we are down to the wire. Haha! Obviously, there are SO many more awesome fics available, so take this as just a lovely sampling. Thank you dear authors for sharing your talents with us all!

Bug Juice: Jaime and Brienne's Summer at Camp - THIS IS MY GIFT FIC! READ IT NOW! Okay, even if this wasn't my gift fic, I would absolutely love this fun romp of a fic. My prompt was basically summer camp with JB flair and my author took that to such a level of creativity and snark, it was just beyond perfect! This one is in Myrcella's POV...I didn't even know I needed this, but I really did! She's watching the season finale of a reality tv show that's set at summer camp. Everyone is riveted by Jaime and Brienne's will-they-won't-they, enemies-to-lovers subplot, Myrcella included, even though she does have a bit of insider knowledge naturally. I love the way this is written like reality show segments, with Myrcella's brilliant reactions/commentary/texting of her uncle from her couch. There are commercial breaks that will crack you up. A very serious discussion about Capture the Flag is had. The GoT show digs are fantastic. Really, this is the fic you need to read if you like smiling for long periods of time and laughing potentially so hard you spew your drink. Oh, and also if you enjoy a good ole reality show HEA. Excerpt 1: “When Daenerys took over as Camp Director mid-session, I was worried,” Jaime says to the camera, running his good hand through his hair. “I have a complicated history with her father and she doesn’t trust me. The young Starks don’t exactly either, but Brienne has fought for me. She insisted that I am good at my job—good with the kids. She said that I am a good man.” Jaime’s eye twitches just a touch as he stares straight ahead, his face otherwise a mask of calculated neutrality. Myrcella picks up her phone, about to text her uncle to make fun of how sappy he is when the scene switches to Brienne. Excerpt 2: Brienne takes a long sip, eyeing Jaime skeptically over the rim as she lowers her cup. OMG, when are they going to make out? Just kiss him! Ugh, they better kiss or I’m going to lose my damned mind. “You keep it warm enough in here,” he complains with a sigh, brushing past Brienne, who slowly sets her cup down and turns to him. She wipes her wide palms on her shorts and watches his back as he struggles to shed his hooded sweatshirt. Excerpt 3:

“Nooooo!” Myrcella screams and falls off the couch. She lands on the ground with a thud. She scrambles to untangle herself from her blanket and clamour back up onto the couch to grab her phone. She sends Jaime a shouty text.

Score - Jaime, Brienne, and bar trivia! Also, face-sitting goodness...what's not to love?!

Excerpt: “And because I was right and you were wrong, I demand you two go on a date.”

“Excuse me,” Brienne squeaked. Was Tyrion trying to humiliate her? How could he suggest something so absurd without a cruel intention?

To Jaime’s credit, he had the decency to look mildly embarrassed. He even blushed. “Stop it, Tyrion,” he said, annoyed.

“I’m serious,” his brother replied. “You two have been flirting all night. Do something about it or this trivia arrangement will not work out in the long run.” Privilege - Jaime coming up with ridiculous lawsuits so he can keep spending time with his lawyer, Brienne (and a couple not-so-ridiculous ones too). This one is hilarious and clever and also very sweet. Do yourself a favor and read it!

Excerpt: “Jaime. At this point, I have known you for eighteen months—”

As their drinks appeared, he tapped his mochaccino against her tea. “Cheers!”

“—we have never not been in court! Seven Hells, Jaime, last month you had me sue Stoneheart Press because you didn’t like the representation of Goldenhand the Just in their line of historical fiction novels.”

He took a sip of his coffee. Anyone else would look ridiculous drinking what was essentially a dessert in a three-piece suit. But not Jaime. Jaime just…looked good. “And you won all those cases, Tarth. You’re good. Occasionally graceless while dealing with opposing counsel, but good all the same.

I hope our paths will croissant again - the way to my heart is baked goods...no, really, my hubby's a good and generous baker. So, any story where Jaime has baking skills is going to appeal to me. That said, this one is sweet and funny and has some pining and dare I say it was delicious? Go enjoy it!

Excerpt 1: “She didn’t hire me,” Jaime says. “She’s holding me hostage, actually.”

She stares at him for a moment, and then realizes he’s joking, and he laughs uproariously at the look on her face.

“I’m good at my job. Why’d she hire you? ”

Excerpt 2:

When Jaime comes back to work, he teases her again, though lightly, and she assures herself that whatever she felt in his apartment that evening is something that he can’t possibly reciprocate and nothing is ever going to come of it, so they can just be coworkers and it will be fine. She scrubs the kitchen countertop very aggressively when he comes to help her with a batch of coconut cake and hopes he doesn’t see her blushing. Thankfully, he then spills coconut flakes all over the kitchen floor and she has to get the broom and by the time she comes back her heartbeat has slowed down properly. She tells herself she’s being very, very stupid. The stupidest, really. Absolutely top tier stupidity.

On Paper - Addam is wingman extraordinaire, guiding is best friend through some unintentional sandwich wrapper flirting.

Excerpt:

He knew better than to bring a date to Tarth’s. It was a surefire way to ruin a good thing in case of nasty break up.

Bringing his best friend along should have been safer. Less risky.

It would have been if his best friend wasn’t Jaime Lannister, that’s for damn sure.

Meet Me Cute - J & B are bodyguards to Sansa and Margaery and are forced to be around each other following their charges’ meet cute and all that follows. This is told through multiple POVs and is so fun!

Excerpt:

“Margaery, can you tell Jaime to stop using ‘our’ when referring to me,” Brienne replied, opting not to engage with him directly.

Margaery sighed and turned towards her girlfriend’s bodyguard. “Jaime… why does Brienne hate your guts?”

“Not what I said.”

Jaime shrugged, “Don’t know.”

“Don’t know?” Brienne exclaimed, snapping her head up to glare at him. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t have a clue,” Sansa chimed in. “And Jaime has told me a lot about you.”

“You shush,” Jaime said. Sansa simply laughed.

vellichor - This mesmerizing story of a world-renowned violinist and a used-bookstore owner is told via before & after segments that reveal the development of the characters and of this beautiful relationship.

Excerpt:

So he does not let himself falter as he surveys the audience, sketching out a half-bow before lifting the violin and settling it against his shoulder. His bow is still loose in his right hand, and it trembles when he goes to raise it, the scars protesting a motion he has done a million times.

Those watching will see his hesitation as part of the show, the spectacle—a prolonging of his grand return is what the articles will say tomorrow morning. They will not see the terror that jolts through his body, the fingers of his left hand pressing harder against the strings. They will not see his eyes wandering over to a box on the left side of the hall, the box where a few people he has carefully chosen sit, leaning forward along with the rest.

They will not see how he searches for a tall woman sitting among them, nor will they see the ache that takes hold of his heart when the spotlight blinds him and he is unable to push through the curtain of brilliance to see if she is there.

#jaime x brienne fic exchange 2021 #jaime-brienne-fic-exchange #braime fic recs #braime AUs #jb fic recs #braime fic reccs #jb fic reccs #jaime x brienne

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eqt-95 · 3 years ago

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One Night in Gotham

Summary | On the eve of taking over as the CEO of L-Corp, Lena Luthor makes a trip across the bay to Gotham to see an old friend.

-----

"Now what is a delicate flower like you doing all alone at the bar?"

Lena stifled a sigh of annoyance at the brazenness of strangers. This kind of thing wouldn't happen in Metropolis.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Lena silently lifted her glass, indicating none was required.

Her eyes flitted up toward the bartender distracted by another patron, and she wondered for a moment how this man had been allowed into the private hotel bar. This was interrupted by the sound of the high-back chair next to her scraping against the marble flooring followed by the creak of the stranger posting up next to her. He reeked of booze and sounded winded by the exertion of the simple gesture.

"Well then perhaps I'll just buy myself a drink and enjoy the view," he smiled, exposing yellow-stained teeth behind the grizzly shag that covered his cheeks and chin.

No, this kind of thing would never happen in Metropolis.

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Free country, honey," he chuckled into a cough that echoed with the wetness of two packs a day.

Lena was used to all kinds of people. Although few and far between some were genuinely kind. Some were naive fools who could be talked out of house and home. Others were snake-oil salesmen, hiding behind earnestness. And then there were those who lacked any sort of self-awareness, boldly trying to claim what wasn't theirs in the process. These were the kind of people she'd spent the last few weeks battling, and she was exhausted from it.

She opened her mouth to articulate how unwelcome his presence was when a warm hand landed on her shoulder.

"Hey babe," came a voice behind her, and Lena smirked.

"Darling, you made it," Lena replied, turning in her seat toward the tall figure clad in leather with a helmet dangling from one hand.

"Sorry I'm late," came an apology.

Before Lena could play it off, she was caught by the feel of lips were pressed against her own. She peripherally heard the clatter of the helmet land on the bar before two warm hands slid up, cupping her face and turning the quick kiss into something more entirely. Initial surprise faded into confusion which then faded into the warm, flush lips on hers and the tongue greedily fighting for something more. She gave in on instinct, and was rewarded with the slight nip against her bottom lip and the unfamiliar taste of Kate Kane.

Whether time had suspended or continued to tick away, Lena wasn't certain, but when Kate finally pulled back and their eyes met she felt an unexpected warmth at the mischief glowing back at her.

"Can I help you?" Kate asked, finally breaking from Lena and turning to the stranger.

His face had frozen, stuck in a contorted look of envy and disgust. "N-no."

"No? Great," Kate continued smoothly. "Do you mind though? Because you're in my seat."

Lena glanced back at her half-empty drink trying to contain the smile that threatened to break at the man's discomfort. A few begrudging seconds passed before the figure folded and heaved himself out of the chair, sauntering off toward the far, empty end of the bar.

The long fingers that had just sent Lena's cheeks flush slid around her glass, lifting it to her nose before smirking and tossing the rest back.

"You have good taste," Kate remarked, setting the empty glass back down and waving over the bartender.

"Do you normally use that much tongue?"

"I was trying to make a point."

"I think a hug would have sufficed plenty."

"This is Gotham. We're more animalistic here; nothing like your fancy Metropolis folk," Kate smirked, ordering another pair of Scotches. "You can't mince words otherwise you leave them with deranged hope."

"That's not my problem."

"It isn't until you're leaving at the end of the night and get yanked into a dark alley because he's been lingering for hours taking that last remaining thread of hope and weaving it into some deep-seeded, confounding belief that you were meant for him."

"Speaking from experience?"

Kate shrugged.

"So instead you go for a full make-out session in the middle of a very public hotel bar."

"You're a quick study, Luthor."

Lena hummed impatiently.

"Besides, now I've got something to strike off my bucket list."

"What's that?"

"Lena Kieran Luthor kissed me."

"I'd hardly say that. I believe you instigated, and I was struck in a moment of surprise."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'wooed'. I wooed you."

A stoic look with a hint of skepticism stared back at Kate.

"How long have we known each other?"

"I think that depends on what you mean by 'known'."

"And in all those years," Kate continued, ignoring Lena's analytical response, "how many times have you been floored by my charm?"

"Never once. Not even in the slightest," Lena deadpanned.

Kate scoffed in exaggerated disbelief. "You have, you're just too uptight to have any fun. What about that time I punched Lex?"

"I was eight."

"Your point?"

"Mostly I was mortified."

"I bet that's even the word you used to describe it. Did you walk out of the womb a genius?"

"You joke, but Mother was outraged. To this day she practically spits whenever she hears the Kane name."

"Is she still alive?" Kate smirked into her glass. "It's not my fault she raised such an egotistical snob. Beth told him 'no' a dozen times. If he couldn't hear words, I figured he could hear a fist crushing his nose."

"That's not how he tells it."

"Because he can point to so much precedent for honesty," Kate replied dryly. Lena felt herself flinch, and Kate's demeanor softened. "Sorry."

"He wasn't always an ass."

"Sometimes people just… spiral."

"Speaking of, are you back for good?"

Kate shook her head. "Just passing through."

"Special occasion?"

"A wedding," she answered, quickly draining the rest of her drink.

"Was it nice?"

"Don't know." The empty glass was lifted toward the bartender. "Just leave the bottle."

This was the part of Kate that Lena loved and hated. They were both raised in over-sized homes with curated lifestyles and a litany of archaic topics they could talk endlessly about, but the concept of speaking about their personal lives was a loss to both of them. It was a familiar feeling that echoed deep into Lena's core, and she took no offense to Kate's aloofness - she was cut from the same cloth.

"Where to next?"

"France," she answered.

"Sounds romantic."

"Sure," Kate chuckled at some unspoken joke.

"Does anyone else actually know you're in town?"

Kate shook her head again.

"You've been away for a while."

"Miss me?" Kate smirked, and Lena saw the telltale signs of deflection through humor. Yes, they were practically carbon copies of each other. Different around the edges, but traces of the same upbringing formed matching foundations.

"Haven't had the time."

It was honesty that would seem cryptic to anyone else, but Kate nodded in understanding.

They sat in silence for a moment, Kate shuffling the glass across the smooth, lacquered finish of the bar.

"When do you-"

"Next week," Lena interrupted with a practiced tone.

"Nervous?"

"I am excited about the potential of-" Lena began before catching Kate's unamused expression. It was enough to silence the curated response she'd spouted for weeks to reporters, board members, and potential funders. "Yes."

It was a single word, but it was an admission she'd kept contained in a tiny box under the mountain of to-dos that guided her days and late nights. She glanced down at the dwindling drink in front of her, suddenly appreciative Kate had the foresight to keep the bottle.

"Good," Kate replied, now swirling the glass between her fingers.

"Good?"

"I'd be worried if you weren't."

"That's not how some would see it."

"Lillian doesn't really get a say."

"Mother isn't the only resistance. God knows I've stopped trying to prove anything to her, but it's more than just her now. It's board members. It's the public. It's the very people employed by the company. I am… I am not ready for this."

Lena didn't know where the admission was coming from, but now it felt like a spigot had been pulled open, and every reservation she had about becoming the youngest CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

"I'm 22," she said, and it felt like a confession - like no one had uncovered this hidden truth about Lena, and she was one big headline away from the rug being pulled from under her.

"You know what I was doing when I was 22?" Kate asked, preemptively refilling Lena's drink. "I was getting kicked out of school and spending my nights bouncing from one dive bar to another."

"I'm not sure what your point is, but I think it serves my argument better than yours," Lena scowled. "22 year-olds shouldn't be in charge of anything."

"My point is, you're not normal," Kate clarified. "If I was asked to run a company at 22, I'd be an idiot not to run in the opposite direction. But that's because I was a normal 22 year-old. One hundred percent of the world was a normal 22 year-old."

"Again, I'm not sure your argument is-"

"The reason it's one hundred percent is because I'm rounding. I'd need to rattle off, like, a hundred nines to make my point. You're the one in seven billion meant to do this."

"Seven."

"What?"

"Seven nines. After the decimal."

Kate stared dumbly for a moment before breaking in laughter. "You really are a freak. And you've just made my point for me."

"Mental math isn't a reason."

"No, but your persistence is."

"Haven't you heard? I'm a Luthor; can't be trusted."

Kate sighed, and Lena watched her mentally struggle to find the words to say. It was different than other times Lena had met Kate. Granted, they weren't close. After Lex's nose was bloodied and Lillian's disdain made known, the Kanes and Luthors rarely interacted. From that point on, the majority of their interactions were limited to formal galas and parties of similarly rich families, bouncing from one side of the bay to the other in their efforts to impress the extents of their wealth onto others. Kate always had a knack for slipping out and getting into some sort of trouble while Lena was petrified at the thought of disappointing Lillian.

When Kate's sister and mother died, Lena 'had the audacity' to ask if they would attend the funerals. Lillian refused, but Lex persuaded her otherwise, suggesting that it would be politically good to show sympathy for the Kane family. It was perverse but worked, and Lena was eternally grateful. It was that dark day that struck up an uncanny relationship between the Kane and the Luthor.

It had been nearly three years since their paths had crossed - the longest stretch of time since Kate was thirteen and Lena ten. Lena knew Kate's absence was due to world-traveling, but the details were sparse. Whispers at the latest galas spoke of general disappointment for the Kane daughter. Like Lena, Kate was the black sheep. Unlike Lena, Kate didn't seem to care.

"You're a Luthor, yes," Kate began. "You're honestly from a pretty shitty family. I have first-hand experience, and even without that the headlines have done a damn good job at making the average person aware of it. The company is in shatters, Lex is going to prison, and Lillian isn't human. I mean, she's really truly terrible. Like… is she human? Because when we were kids, I half wondered."

"That's not really-"

"Hang on, I'm getting off topic," Kate waved away. "Yes, you're a Luthor. Yes, the world is against you. Yes, it'll be hard; I won't even pretend to know how you'll do it, but you will. I also know I'm not saying anything you can't deduce on your own. I won't waste our time with talk of your talent, your genius, your raw determination, or the sacrifices you're making to turn Lex's sins into something good. Those reassurances mean nothing to you because you aren't ready to see it yet, and I'm not the person who can help you hear it."

"That's not even remotely close to advice, not to mention helpful advice."

"I didn't say it would be advice or helpful. If it was, I'd charge you for it."

"Are you offering?"

"Are you paying?"

"Depends on the advice."

"Clever. We'll make a decent CEO out of you yet."

Conversation flowed more easily from there. The edges were softened and the curated exteriors peeled back as the bottle slowly dwindled into nothing. The void of years spent apart was slowly filled in with stories of failures, happy accidents, lovers, and reminiscing.

There was an easy comfort with Kate that always took hold; she wasn't trying to pretend to be anything special and there were never any expectations. It made for a breath of fresh air when Lena's world revolved around accuracy, planning ahead, and keeping face. Kate lived life like a game of casual checkers. Lena lived her's for the chess match it was. But for one night, on the eve of her formally stepping into her new life, she played checkers.

Lena should have known better than to assume the interaction would end after a single drink, and she was only slightly surprised when the bartender came by with the bill. She looked around realizing the bar had emptied; for how long it had been just the two of them she didn't know. She also didn't care.

They paid the tab but lingered a while longer, fighting off the real world for a few precious moments until finally, the staff politely advised that, while they didn't have to go home, they couldn't stay here.

"You aren't driving, right?" Lena asked, gesturing at the helmet left forgotten on the bar.

"No, 'here' is home tonight," Kate replied lightly, albeit with a slight slur.

"I'm sure your dad would like to see you."

"Jacob would like a lot of things."

Lena nodded, recognizing the window had closed.

"Any chance I can woo you again, Ms. Luthor?" Kate asked with a cheesy smirk. "I've got a fancy suite with a bed and stuff."

Yes, the light-heartedness was still there but it fell into their respective roles.

"That's your pick-up line? I expected more from you."

Kate pondered for a moment. "Ok, how about this: I wasn't sure if you were a beautiful angel or a sexy devil, but now that I'm close, I see heaven in your eyes."

"Does that actually work?"

"Fifty-fifty? A guy used it on me once."

"And?"

"Well, obviously it didn't work with him, but I tried it a few nights later… and, yea," Kate smirked, "it worked."

"Years at Military school, and you didn't lose an ounce of confidence," Lena sighed, tossing back the rest of her own drink and grabbing her jacket.

The entrance came far too quickly, and the door swung open to reveal the murkiness of the city night beyond.

"Huh, it's raining," Kate said, gesturing for Lena to exit ahead of her.

"It's pouring."

"It's Gotham."

"It never rains this much in Metropolis." Lena mumbled it in frustration, trying to excuse her lack of preparedness to the foreignness of her surroundings.

The sound of a soft click and thwoop came, followed by an invisible shield deflecting the incoming rain drops. Lena glanced up and saw the city was blocked out by a stretch of black fabric.

"How are you getting back?" Kate asked, holding the handle of the umbrella suspended over them.

"My driver should be here in a minute."

Kate whistled softly, muted by the avalanche of raining falling around them. "Fancy CEO privileges."

Lena forced a smile, feeling the familiar pull of stress and weight of worry return to her shoulders. She glanced back at the hotel lobby; the warm light, the soft chairs, the comforting sting of alcohol, and the laughter. For a moment she had forgotten, and in this moment she wanted to forget again.

"You'll be great. And I hope one day you'll find someone who can get you to see who you are Lena. You're a Luthor, yes, but you're so much more than a name."

Lena's eyes were pulled back to the voice next to her, and she found herself staring into Kate's piercing green eyes. Even through the haze of alcohol they were focused and confident. Focused was something Lena was very familiar with; confidence though? Hardly. Years of Lillian's cutting words had stripped her of that. But in depriving her of it, she'd acquired something better: persistence.

Kate's gaze didn't waver. Instead something else appeared, and it took all of Lena's brain to comprehend what it was: it was admiration. It was unfamiliar, and if it weren't for years of being trained as a Luthor, she'd have averted her eyes to the nearest distraction.

"If you're ever in National City, give me a ring."

"And if you're ever back in Gotham-"

"Unlikely."

"-immediately turn around and leave," Kate finished, and Lena felt her lips fight against her facade to curl into a smile at the deprecating humor. "Besides, I won't be around so who is there to see?"

"I'm sure any one of the millions of Gothamites would be a suitable substitute for Kate Kane."

"At least you didn't include the entire world."

"Only because you didn't offer," Lena shot back, and for a moment the masks fell back off, and they let laughter be swallowed into the city around them.

It settled when a black car slowed to a stop in front of them, and Lena felt the tug of life return.

"As usual, you've gotten me tipsier than I'd planned, Kate Kane."

"It was my pleasure Lena Luthor," Kate smiled, reaching for the car door and swinging it open.

Lena hesitated, feeling the wash of new car smell and air conditioning waft from the car and mix with the city and humidity. Her fingers gripped the edge of the door, feeling the drips of water mix with the dirt that had accumulated.

She didn't know the words to say to express her appreciation. Kindness wasn't something she'd been exposed to and so never quite knew how to articulate the swirling, changing web of emotions that fought to be seen. A life of compartmentalizing had cast these feelings off into the tiniest of boxes in the shadow of her mind, and she knew that a week from now the warmth and friendship she felt tonight would be a distant memory. It wasn't enough to change her, but it was enough to remind her that she could.

"Thank you," she said before stretching up on her toes to close the gap between her lips and Kate's cheek, leaving a soft kiss and silencing Kate before she could cast back a signature sarcastic response. "Now you can strike it off your bucket list."

- eqt_95 on ao3

#Batwoman #supergirl #kate kane #lena luthor #kate & lena #fanfic #oneshot #crossover

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years ago

Text

The Idiot ~ Fyodor Dostoevsky

In which the reader is the last Russian princess from our contemporary times and Fyodor is there to watch, observe, analyse and write a novel while being the reader’s sort of guardian/mentor, all while reader finds herself in an impossible, almost-Anna Karenina-like situation that drives her to desperate decisions.

And yes, I’m very much basing this story Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot” novel, Tolstyi’s “Anna Karenina” and Katyusha, both the Russian song, and the “Resurrection” novel from Tolstoy that has Katyusha as an unfortunate, yet important character.

Also, a little nod to our dear Ana Lesko for her song “Anicyka Maya”, which will serve as a cute little nickname for our dear reader, although the song is Romanian, and it’s about a seductive woman.

Other nicknames will include: Kiska ( kitten ), Zaika ( bunny ), Kroshka ( little one ), Krasotka ( gorgeous ).

I’m not Russian, I don’t know about Russia’s culture, history and language as much as I know about my own, obviously, but as ex-commie & ex-USSR, we still have a shit ton of similarities. Nevertheless, I will try not to get into too many details that will compromise authenticity.

Luxury, glamour, wealth, gold, jewellery, diamonds, class, facades, masks, masquerades, social gatherings, lies, marriages, politics, horses, deals, gambling... These represent some of the few words people from everywhere around would describe the royal family.

Why do some still exist, anyway? Shouldn’t they have just completely disappeared at the same time with the Romanov family? ...Stupid cartoon movies and their resurrection of Anastasia...

Nobody truly cares about these rich rats who worked naught for their wealth, and would never understand the struggle and poverty of the normal citizens of Russia...They just live in their abnormally huge palace, having more servants than the population of Moscow and eat at one meal more than normal people do in one week altogether.

How utterly ridiculous.

Their lives are all perfect, they marry themselves to keep that ridiculous purity and their infinite wealth in the family...How atrocious! What about charity? Kindness? Altruism? Helping out the common folk?

All these thoughts, and you’d think a very bitter and vindictive, very poor and malicious person came up with, and yet, the reality was rather distorted.

From the top stair of the palace, in a dark room, sitting on the windowpane, a gorgeous young woman cast her dull eyes over the snowy city and the people hurrying down the roads, hoping to go home before it got too late and cold.

Maybe they were poor and hateful, and rightfully so, she’d say, but perhaps they can also be deemed happier, if they can take into account their freedom...As much as the government provides them, at least - Yet even so, even the poorest person held more freedom than this caged bird, forever trapped and shackled by fate from the second she was born...As if she had any choice, that is.

Perhaps she deserves this treatment, this hatred, this...Manipulation from her own family, who only see her as a political and financial pawn, planning her marriage from the second she first cried into this world... Like a martyr, she will accept all torture and live on, never knowing what ‘living’ truly means, only imagining it by reading all day and all night long, or when she plays the piano one of the many songs she learnt.

As the grandfather clock rang to 7 times to announce dinner time, Y/N dressed in a simple, yet elegant dress, put on a pair of classy black stiletto shoes, and went down to the luxurious dining room, sitting in her usual seat, only for a brunet stranger dressed in white to grace the sight with his unexpected presence.

She didn’t dare speak to him, yet her eyes couldn’t leave his form, no matter how her meek demeanour made her hung her head to avoid showing anything other than her demure expression.

Thankfully, her parents arrived, along with the waiters that served the food, so it saved some of the awkwardness of the unknown.

“Y/N, darling, this man here is Fyodor Dostoevsky. He is here as a writer, wanting to learn more about us and about people in general. As a compromise, he agreed to be your personal guard...Considering the other one was a sacrilege to our dear daughter...What a lecherous man, making advances on you...But, anyway, let us toast to the success of this young man’s writing career!” the mother raised her champagne, and the four of them clinked glasses. “I thank you for the unique opportunity to learn and understand society and people better. May you live a long and prosperous life.” this new stranger held a charming smile on his face, trying to impress and buy everyone’s trust. “Do you have yet any idea about the theme of your novel? Or, perhaps an idea for a title?” the father asked, making the brunet shake his head softly. “No, not yet, unfortunately. I prefer to study hard, and only then, when I am educated enough, to allow the flow of creation to take over me.” this Fyodor nodded in acknowledgement, while the girl kept completely silent for the duration of the dinner, waiting for everything to be over so she could escape back to the little faux haven she created and called ‘safe’. “Y/N, show Mr. Fyodor to your room, he will be sleeping there for now on. The butlers already brought a spare bed there, so it’s alright.” the mother waved her hand dismissively, and the girl could only bow quickly and go back to her room, making sure to point out what each of the rooms represent, before reluctantly inviting him to her bedroom. “Please, make yourself at home, Mr. Dostoevsky. I hope it will be comfortable and to your liking. Should you need anything, please do not hesitate to tell me so we can make your stay as great as possible.” she spoke to him in a soft, meek voice, not daring to make eye contact in any way. “Call me Fyodor, no need for formalities. We are going to room together, might as well become friendly. What don’t you tell me about yourself? Your hobbies, your interests, your dreams, your aspirations.” the brunet paced around the room, observing all of her personal objects, which, turned out, except for jewellery, books, a small, pink Gloxinia, and a pickup with 1920s British vinyls, there was nothing to represent her...Which was, in its own way, an intriguing peculiarity. “I...Like reading, flowers, music...And I wish I could get a dog and learn how to play the violin too. There aren’t many interesting things about me...I’m not special or anything out of the ordinary. I am not allowed to put myself out there in any way, so this is the little I could do to express who I am.” so tried to be as vague as possible, fidgeting on her feet uncomfortably, knowing that the punishment for embarrassing the family would be grave, should it be known. “Hmmm...I see, I see...Ah, you’re a Tolstoy reader, I see. Anna Karenina...Very interesting, yet tragic, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, picking up a book that was supposed to be hidden. “N-No! Don’t take that out of there...Nobody can know I have it. I was strictly forbidden from reading it...Please don’t tell anyone I have this book.” the princess snatched the book from his hands, hiding it further back in the bookshelf. “Ohh~? Why would you not be allowed to read a Russian book? You’d think the Russian princess would be urged to read Russian literature.” he stepped in front of her, picking her chin and raising her head slightly to allow him to look deep into her fawn-like eyes. “Because of the ending...And the controversial decisions Anna made, some of them even contradictory to her own beliefs, and yet, she made her own decisions, at some point in her life. When your fate is decided from before you are born, having opinions is the worst enemy of a puppeteer...Wouldn’t you agree?” she muttered, walking away from him, taking her nightgown and walking towards her bathroom.

This made the man think more about how dysfunctional this supposed perfect royal family actually was. The illusion of a flawless individual, living together, forming a flawless family, a flawless life, in a flawless palace.

Perhaps facades aren’t as obvious to see through, or understand, for while the parents are completely bland...This girl...So much potential locked away in a timid chest of massive oak wood, embellished with overly expensive jewellery, clearly unwanted. She could be a genius, shining in her happiness, glowing like her dazzling smile, and yet, there she is, eclipsed by chaff, when she could be burning brighter than the morning Sun.

Those parents of hers think he wants to be here and get dazzled by the infinite stream of diamonds that keep flowing around the whole place - And yet, perhaps they are the ones living in mental poverty, considering they believe financial wealth and fame is the sole reason for being alive - To uphold a certain kind of status that they worked naught for, but received hereditary, from one lazy deadbeat to yet another generation of useless people for this society.

They truly are like the plague, incredibly rare nowadays, but completely fatal once you fall grasp to their dark claws that drag you to hell to succumb to their completely fictional utopian world that they create only amongst themselves, as if whatever lives beyond these golden walls is putrid and deserves to rot to pieces.

As his mind wandered farther and farther away down the country, snowy roads he created with his own imagination of thoughts, he heard the bathroom door softly open, and the angelic creature garbed in a thin - Possibly silk, snow white nightgown - Stepped back into their now shared room, and just as before, her demeanour resembled that of a small, frightened fawn, or a bunny.

When you have to deal with such a pure being that could completely shatter, it’s difficult not to impulsively break down all walls around and snatch her away - It’s close to impossible not to attempt to test all existing boundaries and see the limits where she would break...Or, almost, at least.

However, abstinence makes for a great suspense and greed...You want more...And more...And the more you wait, the harder it is to resist, but the satisfaction you get when the frail creature trusts you enough to eat from your own palm, and you finally claim it as yours...

It’s Heavenly.

“Sweet Dreams, Fyodor.” she spoke softly, putting on a Tchaikovsky vinyl and picking up a book, getting in bed and reading it, the only light still open being a dim lantern on her nightstand. “How would you like to show me around the city tomorrow?” the brunet asked so casually that it shocked the girl enough to drop her book on her lap. “O-Oh...U-Uhmm...I’m not exactly to go out of this place unless it’s for Christmas shopping...I’m sorry I can’t properly do as you wish...” she quickly took her book back, hiding her face to hide her embarrassment and disappointment. “Well, then, what a gorgeous coincidence, isn’t it? In barely two months, Christmas shall come, and then, you can properly show me around, correct?” the man mused, the ghost of a smirk playing on his face. “..You’re right! My, you’ll get to see the beautiful fairy light and Christmas decorations all around the city! I can’t believe it, you truly chose the perfect time to come here. Oh, and, the ballet, the opera and the national orchestra are going to perform...I believe The Nutcracker is going to play this year...And Traviata. It should be beautiful, don’t you agree?” Y/N asked with a soft smile on her face, sparks gleaming in her eyes, and for the first time since he’s met her, it felt like she was finally alive. “Yes, yes, I would have to agree. And if you are there with me, the experience will be even better.” he hummed, teasing the poor girl who had no idea what else to say to such bold affirmations. “O-Oh...W-Well...Th-Thank you...I-I think...Your presence there will also make the going out more interesting...And nice.” she offered a comeback that pleased the man well enough. “Good night to you as well, Printsessa.”

What a lovely young woman, he thought, as he closed his eyes and let his mind fly at different aspects of life and of humanity, trying to decipher each and every person he met that day and wondering if his assumptions were correct, as they always are.

Morning came by faster than expected as a shy ray of of Sun creeped inside the room through the window, but Fyodor was already awake, writing at the desk rather rapidly - Most likely, he had some inspiration hitting him, so he proceeded to pour out his conflicting thoughts on the paper, all while stealing a peek from time to time at the girl sleeping peacefully, almost as if she was a Disney Princess.

The way the soft light caressed her face had him take the stray streak of h/c hair and pull it back so it won’t tickle her awake, while also being allowed to watch her peacefully inhale and exhale, a small smile on her face...Perhaps she was having a beautiful dream? Was that why she told him to have sweet dreams? Were her dreams her only lovely escape from this horrible reality she was forced to live in?

There were so many mysteries yet to be unveiled, but all in due time, as Fyodor noticed the gentle flutter of her lashes, and with a grace only reserved to a Swan Princess, she raised and stretched with a sweet hum, and the brunet man watched as his eyes felt absolutely blessed seeing such a beauty...

If people complained that Disney Princesses weren’t relatable, since they have messy hair when they wake up, just like Anna, they clearly haven’t seen how perfect Y/N looks, even as she blinks her sleepiness away.

“I see you slept well, Printsessa. Good morning.” she heard him speak, and she noticed it wasn’t as en garde and...It almost seemed...Pleased to see her. “Fyodor...You woke up before me. You should have woke me up. Please wake me up next time, I wouldn’t want you to feel lonely or upset. This place is like a piranha tank...Thread carefully, otherwise, you’re like a little animal who fell in.” she quickly got up, rushing through her daily routine so she could be by his side, not only because her parents assigned her to that, but also because this Dostoevsky man is the only little thing that could rip her out of her completely dull routine and show her a little bit of insight into what could be something out of her imagination entirely. “Aww, the little songbird wishes to spend time with me, how adorable. Very well, Printsessa, what is it that you want to do today? My job here is to observe and write, after all.” he asked, crossing one leg over the other, resting his chin on his fist, watching her with intense interest. “Oh, well, I have to practice the piano today, but other than that, I have nothing in my schedule.” she explained, guiding him to the music room that very much resembled a whole orchestra surrounding a place - Not too small, yet not too big either - Meant for ballroom dancing. “I bet the national orchestra isn’t as fancy as this place is.” he mused, walking up to the cello and tracing his fingertips across the chords. “...Do you know how to play it?” she asked, walking up to him, having the curiosity of a baby fawn exploring the world. “Would you like to hear?” he asked, sitting on the chair and expertly hugging the cello, he grabbed the bow and teased the girl with a mischievous look in his gleaming purple eyes. “Oh, yes, please, if it’s not too much to ask! It would be absolutely splendid.” Y/N clasped her hands together, grinning widely as she stepped a few feet away to give him enough space so he could start playing. “It would be my pleasure, Printsessa.” and with the nod of his head, he started playing the famous Sugar plum fairy song, making the girl gasp in surprise at how gorgeous it sounded.

She crouched to reach the perfect eye view of the bow gliding along the chords, her mouth slightly agape and she gazed with absolute wonder, not even realising when the song was over, for she was much too mesmerised.

“Well, Printsessa, how did you like it?” he rested his arms on the curves of the cello, leaning forwards for a better look at her. “That was better than even our national cello player! It was absolutely stunning, woaw...Just...You left me speechless! You’re...You’re...You are...Perfectly splendid!” she clapped for him rapidly and incredibly enthusiastic, making him chuckle in amusement at her cuteness. “Why, thank you, Printsessa. How about you entertain me now, little Anicyka Maya?” he carefully put the Cello in its place, stepping in front of her and caressing her porcelain skin, quenching his thirst for discovery by seeing her rosy cheeks. “Well...I can’t say I’m anywhere as great as you are...But, sure. I hope you will like it.” she looked down, fidgeting with her fingers as she hurried timidly to the piano, and taking a deep breath, cracking her fingers, she liter her fingers skillfully dance over the keys, as her voice followed every word of the song called “Katyusha”. However, she wasn’t expecting him to applaud and whistle to her, congratulating her for being such a beautiful nightingale. “You clearly underestimate your hard work and talent. Perhaps we should play together one day. I’m sure it would put a smile on your parents’ faces.” Fyodor bowed to kiss Y/N’s hand, only to hear the door opening. “Yes, Mr. Fyodor, we would quite like to hear the two of you dueting together. Since Y/N will have to perform both dance and a song at the piano, as a Christmas tradition, it will show how much she’s improved...If at all. I have to tell you the truth, Mr. Fyodor, over the past few years, she has been exceptionally disappointing...Well, perhaps you coming here will prove to give her a jolt in the right direction.” Y/N’s mother came out of nowhere in the music room, almost as if she was stalking the pair, and Fyodor could see how the Princess’ behaviour changed 180 degrees, and from the excitable and lively young girl, she went back to hide in her guarded shell, trying to protect herself from the numerous blows everyone throws her way.

And just as he expected, once they started playing, despite throwing in one or two intentional mistakes, while she had none of her own, the mother reprimanded her daughter, while praising him. He thought, at first, this was going to be some kind of tough love encouragement and determination she was trying to give the girl, but truly, it was nothing more than unrealistic dreams of an already flawless performance.

This family was nowhere close to being the perfect, or the most loving one, that was without a doubt. But being so horrible to your own daughter, humiliating her in front of a complete stranger, making her tremble softly while trying her best to keep herself from bursting into sobbing fits, was a whole different kind of cruel and unnecessary malice.

For some reason, Fyodor felt a certain kind of warmth in his chest...But not the same kind of warmth he feels when he is around Y/N, but something...Similar to fury. To rage. He was sure he never felt such a personal sort of offense, despite not being him that was belittled.

A terrifying sort of justice bubbled inside him, and he smirked, thinking about just one sole thing.

Crime and Punishment.

Fyodor hoped dearly that it would be only the maternal figure that was the problem, yet it seemed to be much worse, and the toxicity levels that kept vibing all over the place seemed to be equivalent to that of Chernobyl at the time of the explosion.

All throughout the week, he noticed the dirty looks all the staff was giving the Princess, possibly because she was being a shy and quiet pushover...But it went completely beyond his understanding how these servants would even dare be so rude to her, considering she is always so sweet to them, always forgives their mistakes and shares her whole allowance with them in equal parts...

But they complain it’s not enough. They complain others get more, or less, but clearly, they don’t care about that, they just want more and more money...They are greedy jackals who don’t care about the life or soul of a poor little lady who just wants to be happy...

But perhaps happiness isn’t meant for royalty.

A week until Christmas, and Fyodor was ready with the quick draft, and he left it on the desk for Y/N to read, and he couldn’t help but admire and drink in each and every emotion she would express on her lovely face with every word she read, every action, every chapter that stirred more and more conflicting feelings and thoughts battling together - Conflicts that she was trying so hard to hide, no doubt feeling his burning, hawk-like stare on her, analysing her as if she was a new specimen under a microscope.

She was great at hiding what she truly felt, yet her eyes betrayed her inner self, the sparkling of nostalgia and sadness crawling out, shrieking at the top of her lungs to be discovered and taken out of this well of darkness she was drowning in - She wanted to be saved, she was at her breaking point, and clearly, she was afraid.

Afraid of life. Afraid of people. Afraid of her family. Afraid of this society. Afraid her own self. Afraid of her actions.

And most of all.

She was afraid of spiritual, mental and emotional imprisonment.

As Christmas approached with rapid footsteps, Fyodor could notice how Y/N stiffer, more silent, flinching more, keeping herself in check, alone, barely speaking to anyone...Clearly, she was being stressed out and afraid of the consequences of screwing up anything.

Perhaps, the problem here was the fatalist and completely out of her control destiny she was thrown in, and she knew from the very beginning that, no matter how flawless her performance was, she would still be reprimanded and punished, so she resigned herself to this kind of treatment...The same as every year.

“It’s so beautiful outside...And it’s snowing...! So soft and cold...It’s almost numbing you entirely, but the beauty of Christmas still melts down even the most frozen of hearts.” she spoke with such sadness dripping from her tongue, that Fyodor felt the need to take his fur hat and put it on her head before taking a hold of both of her hands, rubbing them together and kissing her knuckles. “It’s not the day or the decorations that are supposed to move a person, but the kindness and altruism of people. From what I’ve seen in the past weeks, the only consistency in this place is the beauty of your heart and the cruelty of everyone else that keep eclipsing you. You deserve better than this, kroshka.” the man spoke simply, waiting to see the way she’d react. “...I didn’t choose this life, nor did it choose me, yet here I am, trying to keep my head above the water in a whirlpool. I have all my life planned and written ahead of me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. From the very beginning, since before I was even born, they knew they will sell me out to some old, rich man, just so they could benefit, but they cared naught about my well-being, as long as I could keep him entertained in any way possible. The least I can do is try to enjoy the little things...Even if they are nothing more than just that...Little things.” she admits to him, taking away her hands and holding them to her chest, too afraid to trust her own heart. “You let the servants make a mockery out of your kindness. You let your family humiliate you in front of everyone. You let common folk bash you, even if you tip them greatly...Tell me, krasotka, have you read the draft to my book yet?” they continued to stroll down the cobbled streets, looking up at the snowflakes gently dancing in the light of the lamposts, as Fyodor carried most of her shopping bags that held Christmas gifts for everyone but herself. “Yes...I did...But I did not finish it. I was much too afraid to read the ending of it.” she nodded to him, biting her lip nervously. “Afraid? Why ever would you be afraid of reading some words made of ink on a piece of paper?” the man frowned in confusion and interest, hearing such a peculiarity of an answer. “Because...Because I know that Prince Myshkin actually represents me...And how life treats me...So I’m afraid the ending will hint to Anna Karenina’s ending...And I don’t want that. I don’t...That’s why I’m afraid...I’m scared that...I’m scared that I won’t be able to endure this madness anymore, and sooner, rather than later, I will shatter into an unrecognisable version of myself that not even I will decipher...And I will do scary things that I would otherwise be afraid of even thinking about. You know I read the book, I wouldn’t put it past you to tease me like that.” she smiled ironically, shaking her head to stop herself from shuddering at such a dreadful thought. “Congratulations, Printsessa, you are surely insightful. However, I must advise you to read it, and keep in mind that you are not entirely wrong in your thinking. While the ending isn’t identical to Tolstoy’s novel, it isn’t on the complete opposite spectrum either. What you read is one of the possible outcomes of your life, should you choose to remain a passive onlooker and let everyone control you, like a little, pretty doll. Should you, however, choose to take fate into your own hands and finally make your first choice of your life...I can promise you, you are going to be much happier.” Fyodor kissed her forehead before leading her back to the palace so she could take the day off...For tomorrow, she must perform.

But the author wasn’t lying, Y/N realised as she spent the last hours past curfew to finish the book, and she realised that while Myshkin didn’t kill himself, he was still dead inside, and just like the catatonic state he was stuck into, she has been living a life of complete comatose herself. Fyodor was right all along - A life without choices is not a life, nor is it one without freedom and happiness - And maybe, for the first time in her life, she would make the most difficult decision the universe threw at her, and that was to choose between Duty and Happiness, something every royal member, especially women all over the world, who were seen as nothing more than political and decorative objects meant to create heirs and nothing more, had to pick, and dutifully chose to sacrifice themselves to keep the family and the nobility going.

But not anymore....

“You look beautiful today, my little zaika. This velvet colour of your dress, the way it highlights you stunning silhouette...And this jewellery...And your hair and make up...You are above and beyond the most beautiful person to ever grace this life. How are you going to enchant us today?” Fyodor pat down his white suit so he would look completely impeccable...Or, perfectly splendid, as Y/N would say. “Does it truly matter, in the end? Nobody but you will pay attention, and at the end of the day, I will only hear critiques. It’s the same every year, so there is no point in bothering to stand out, have any particularity or give a name. It just...Is. So...Let me get this over with so I can go to my room and pretend this day never happened...Again.” she muttered, hooking her arm to his, entering the big ballroom together.

A ton of people were there, not only family, but enough family ‘friends’, all of them incredibly rich, with a combined fortune great enough to buy the whole Russia somehow...And all eyes were on her. She didn’t mind. She was used to the nervousness and the either critical or lustful stares she received - But only during these kinds of events, and because she was a Princess, otherwise nobody would have cared about her existence or her feelings...

Nobody...Except for Fyodor.

Until the time of his arrival, nobody cared about her, nor did they bother trying to understand or talk to her, and yet, here he was, always by her side, and frankly, she fell in love with him. She, for the first time in her life, cared naught about everything surrounding her, and she thought solely about him and their time spent together. That is all that mattered to her.

So, with that in mind, and a warm heart, she performed the Waltz of Flowers flawlessly at the piano, along with a few other songs, adding some festive ones. Fyodor was absolutely captivated by the spells she put on people whenever she radiated with such pure gentleness, just like Christmas’ true angel.

Her fingers glided so gracefully over the keys, as she hummed along the music, not even bothering to look at the sheet, for she new everything by heart - But somehow, it all sounded even more magical than before, and nobody could tell why.

But Fyodor knew, and he smiled, figuring out her trick. And he was going to call her out for that when this whole charade was over. But for now, he allowed himself to enjoy bathing in her radiating warmth, for she was shining brighter than the Sun itself.

By the time she finished her little repertoire, she did a pretty courtesy and walked to the man in the white suit, taking a glass of red wine and sipping from it, that gentle smile never leaving her face.

They exchanged no words, but there was no need for that, as the look in their eyes spoke more than anything else, and they danced the night away, together, in graceful and intimate waltzes, or swaying together, keeping their hearts glued together, beating in sync and feeling each other’s heat.

She might not have wanted to end up like Karenina, but she wasn’t too far away from her situation, and she knew very well, should she leave with this man, she was going to break down every rule, and find an identity for herself, after all these years.

But happiness is emphemeral in the life of a Princess, and just before the Christmas Ball ended, her parents dragged her to the table of this old man, so they would share gifts. This old man, who so happened to be the man chosen to be her future husband, and had fewer hairs on his head and teeth in his mouth than her age.

Most of the gifts were pretty basic - Jewellery for women, cigars, fedoras, watches for men...But for her...She received some of he oddest gifts so far - And yet, she thought life couldn’t surprise her anymore.

Several little outfits, fit for babies, were neatly folded in all boxes, sans one - The sole box being a small, velvet box, which revealed a sapphire ring that expressed the definite bond of marriage that must be officiated very soon, through papers and a church ceremony.

Frozen was the clock, frozen was the time, and frozen was life itself, for the shock was great - Being put on the spot is scarier than the anticipation and fear of venturing into the unknown - Yet here she was, with her supposed fossil of a husband, with several babies promised to be born, and a very angry author, watching the disgusting exchange of pleasantries between the elder people.

He noticed Y/N doing a little courtesy, excusing herself with a nervous smile, and rushing out of the ballroom, the clicks of her elegant heels giving away her location at all time. Following her, he saw her on the edge of the rood, barefoot, her back to the empty space, as she hummed, looking up at the clouds pouring snow, and swaying to her tippy toes occasionally.

“You sure like the feeling of being alive, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be staying there after being faced with such a disgusting situation.” he pointed out, clasping his hands behind his back and carefully stepped towards her. “Life is full of surprises. But it is not called life, unless you have a say in the paths that you go down by. Today, I realised what I have to do in order to achieve true bliss and happiness...Something ethereal, although utopian in its quintessence. I have to make a choice. And right now, I’m making it.” she smiled, extending her arms to the side, resembling a Goddess, as a few stray tears streamed down her face - But they were tears of relief, not of fear, anxiety of depression. She was happy. “You said you didn’t want to choose the path of Karenina, nor of Myshkin, and yet, there you are, on the brink of death, as the way to show that you are no longer a caged bird. Is it truly worth it, in the end?” Fyodor asked, frowning at the delusional words she was spewing. “Death is but the beginning of a new adventure, and with me falling, I will find out what freedom is, unlike all the other Princesses before me. It is not death I’m choosing, nor will I regret it as soon as I step into this free fall hazard, like Karenina, and, as you can see, I chose to wake up from my catatonic state, unlike Myshkin. I know what awaits me as soon as I reach the ground...But do you?” Y/N hummed in amusement, watching the conflict painted all over his face - And it was for the first time that Fyodor showed such confusion and inner turmoil, that much was obvious to her. “Stop this, Y/N, I don’t understand your reasoning, but don’t kill yourse- “ but he couldn’t finish his sentence, for the girl uttered just a few words - Words that changed even the rotation of the Earth around the Sun - And as she pushed herself on the tips of her toes, she embraced the cold wind of Winter being her guide down to the ground, as she watched the snowflakes following her down.

And she smiled.

Because love won, and life won, and she knew she chose correct - These weren’t the times to choose everyone else over herself anymore, and nor is she a saint, a martyr, an angel, or some perfect Christian role model. She was just a woman thirsting for happiness and for the tangible sensation of life and of flying, and with this jump, she got completely wasted.

The secure embrace of a white angel made sure she lived for another day, but not quite, for her guardian angel jumped to save her, yet had no idea himself that he wasn’t the only special one, after all, and just as they were going to reach the ground, time seemed to stop, and they reached the ground gracefully and softly, like two linked feathers.

She lay down on the crystal blanket of snow, laughing mirthfully, almost with a childlike charm, as her long hair was sprawled all over her, and Fyodor’s arms were fiercely holding her, and he looked down at her, his eyes wide in understanding.

“I didn’t choose death. I chose life. I chose love...I chose you, and I chose me. I knew you had an ability too, and that you were confident in it, so I was sure that, should you choose to, you could jump from the roof of the palace to save me - Which you did. I never really have the opportunity to use my ability, but it’s rather useful in some situations, if I can say so myself. So, by the way you’d respond to my feelings and actions, I’d know whether I chose right or not...I think we both know the answer now, don’t we?” she grinned mischievously, extending a hand to his face to caress it gently. “That’s the most idiotic, most reckless thing anyone has ever one...And yet, you strategised everything, as if we were pieces in a game of chess. How did you get the courage to reach such a conclusion?” his voice was low, like a murmur, trying to understand her impossible, labyrinthine mind. “Life offered me a Christmas gift today, and that was serendipity, so, I used it. Everything else was a perfect strategy of a game of chess I played myself - The White King versus the Black King - And, was far as my luck and the universe brought about, I believe I won. But you must still answer back, otherwise, the magic will vanish.” Fyodor noticed a smirk growing on her face - One that somehow resembled his, and he almost felt conflicted seeing her mimicking him in his demeanour, in a way...But he also felt incredibly proud. “I cannot take you with me, Y/N. The part I walk is dangerous, it could even be fatal, and I would rather you not walk down a boulevard of broken dreams. You just now achieved happiness, don’t throw it out of the window. It a world full of crimes, I choose to be both the justiciar and the executioner of the unworthy. In a world of crime, I shall inflict punishment upon the evil-doers and paint this world red with the blood of the guilty.” he wanted her, he truly didn’t want to leave without her, nor did he want to leave her alone, here, with these hyenas, but could he really have it in his heart to endanger her so? “Fyodor, my darling, it matters naught for me whether I live or die, as long as the journey is by your side, and I’m not shackled anymore. I want to see, I want to hear, I want to touch, I want to taste, I want to smell, I want to learn. Everything. Without exception. There is a whole world out there, open, waiting to be explored and unveiled, and I shall be its explorer. As long as I have you by my side, I will surely be fearless. Being a hero, being a villain, or anything in between is of no concern for me...However, I cannot deny that I would be rather...Interested in seeing you deliver the sentence down to...Some specific people.” she giggled, winking at him, as she obviously hinted towards her kin and the unlimited amount of gossips she has heard about so many people, over the years.

With a wide smirk on his face, Fyodor Dostoevsky helped Princess Y/N on her feet and gave her a passionate, fire-like kiss, before picking her up bridal style and making their way to her room, so she would start packing and leave at the earliest convenience.

There may still be a bit of official work to do at the palace, and as his ability is called, there is no crime without punishment, he was going to make sure of that. Until then, there was one thing certain, and one alone, that was going to guide the both of them to a path of exciting uncertainty and thrill.

“I love you, my dear Y/N.”

#bsd fyodor #bsd anime #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd imagine #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs imagine #bungou stray dogs #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor dostoevsky imagine #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor x reader

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thevindicativevordan · 3 years ago

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On Maxima

Every time DC wants to put Supes in a relationship with someone other than Lois, I always wonder why they don't just go with Maxima.

Especially since she's basically what they turn Diana into every time they try to hook the two of them up. Why not just go with the actual Superman Rogue/supporting character who is also a warrior-queen? Who is already almost as violent as she is horny, forcing Clark to try to get her to chill out, even as he's tempted to join her? If it isn't already clear, I like Maxima. Her character archetype, the supervillainess who tempts the hero with sex appeal, is one that's pretty damn popular for obvious reasons. Also for obvious reasons, this kind of character can provoke a backlash nowadays.

Personally I think she can still work just fine, she just needs some revamp. The basics of her character and backstory are still solid and offer storytelling potential. She's the Queen of the alien Empire of Almerac. Maxima is drawn to Superman because of his power. The real big fix is changing why she's attracted to his power, and why she came to Earth in the first place, shifting it away from eugenics to something else.

What I'd Do With Maxima

So I'm going to take some cues from the DCAU incarnation of Maxima in that the reason she seeks Superman out is because she's been deposed.

DCAU Maxima got deposed after she met Superman, but she lost her throne because her people judged her too self-absorbed and immature to lead them. Which she totally was, and changing that formed the crux of her character development over the course of the episode. I'd take a similar route with reworking comics Maxima's backstory.

Maxima has just taken the throne when the Interstellar Empire of Almerac comes under the assault of Mongul of Warworld. Crushing Almerac's defenses, Mongul gives the world an ultimatum: Turn over a selection of their greatest fighters to fight for Almerac's continued right to exist in Mongul's gladiator arenas or he'll reduce the entire planet to ashes. He also demands a sizeable portion of the population be turned over as slaves tasked with keeping Warworld running, and he wants Maxima to be among those slaves as a symbol of Mongul's authority over Almerac. Maxima angrily refuses, but her people don't trust in her leadership on account of her youth and immaturity, and Maxima is overthrown. She's handed over for transport to Warworld, but while en route she breaks free and seizes control of the transport. Alone and without allies, Maxima sets a course for Earth to seek out the one person she's heard is a match for the Lord of Warworld: Superman.

Only interested at first in his power, and planning to use and dispose of him afterwards, Maxima at first presents herself to Clark as a potential mate. Her hope is that will entice him to support her on what could be a suicide mission, and that offering power and wealth via marriage will cement his loyalty. Being betrayed by her subjects still stings her though she takes great pains to pretend otherwise. Superman turns down the marriage offer, but agrees to follow her to take down Mongul and free Almerac. The two travel back to Almerac which is in the midst of choosing who will fight on Warworld. Clark pretends to be a native of Almerac and is chosen as one of the champions. Initially planning to stay on Almerac and purge those who betrayed her while Clark fights on Warworld, Maxima chooses to give herself up to Mongul, after he announces that he will be vaporizing an entire continent as punishment for the Almeracans failure to turn her over to him. Amused at her compassion for those who betrayed her, Mongul adds Maxima to the roster of gladiators, and she departs with Clark to the arenas.

Over the course of a series of battles, Maxima and Clark butt heads, watch each other's backs, and gradually fall in love with each other. Maxima admires Clark's resolve, restraint, and maturity, traits she's forced to admit she lacked. She's skeptical of his idealism however, seeing it as a flaw that undermines his effectiveness, particularly when it comes to killing. Clark admires Maxima's passion, bravery, and refusal to settle for anything less than the best in anyone including herself. All traits that make him ponder if perhaps she does have it in her to be a good leader. He dislikes her arrogance and entitlement however, particularly when it comes to her royal right to rule. A frequent source of fights between the two is whether the common person should have any voice in government with Maxima scoffing at that and point at how the mob gave in to Mongul, with Clark countering that Almeracans had long felt unheard and cut off from their rulers. Obviously that they're both super hot doesn't hurt as part of why they end up sleeping together.

Ultimately through a series of events Superman and Maxima succeed in freeing Almerac and driving Mongul away. Then everything promptly goes to hell. Having fallen for Clark for real over the course of their adventure, Maxima repeats her offer to him of marriage, except genuinely this time.

The two have had sex a couple times already, and Clark is genuinely tempted at the prospect of sticking with Maxima. He's grown to enjoy her company (having sex tends to do that), he enjoys the freedom to be himself without having to hide his powers, the Almeracans embrace him as their champion, and as Maxima's consort he could take an active hand in shaping society. At the point in Clark's career where I'd want to do this story, he's growing out of his youthful rage, but he's still not at peace with his lot in life. Earth's inability to meaningfully change at the pace he wants frustrates him, and leaving behind the restrictions of life there does entice him. My point is that I think the appeal of Maxima to Superman should and can be more than just breeding little Clarks as has been the case in the past.

However Clark ultimately rejects the offer. He can't bring himself to cut ties with Earth, Maxima's unwillingness to cede some of her power to her people isn't something Clark can accept, and Clark is also concerned that taking up her offer would compromise his ability to be a hero. As you would expect, Maxima is pissed at his refusal, treating it as another stab in the back. Due to his help in freeing her people and reclaiming her throne, she spares his life but exiles him from Almerac, declaring him persona non grata throughout the Empire.

Unbeknownst to Clark, who leaves after it's made clear the Almeracans don't want a civil war, Maxima is pregnant with his child. The child allows her to avoid entering into a political marriage, maintaining her independence since she now has a heir. This daughter will be groomed in hidden to take over the Empire, which Maxima now has plans to expand. The humiliation Mongul visited upon Almerac has had a big impact on her mindset. Now she's focused on eliminating any potential threats to her people, and she wants to transform Almerac into the greatest Interstellar Empire in the Milky Way. Then it will never be at the mercy of a foreign power ever again.

For stories, Superman and Maxima are clearly going to clash given she's become an imperialist herself, no better than Mongul. You can tell stories about Clark foiling Maxima's attempts to conquer other worlds, or Earth itself. Maxima would occasionally dispatch assassins or go personally to attack Clark, for the purpose of preventing him from getting "soft". The public reason for this is that he's become a roadblock to her aims, and needs to be eliminated. Secretly, her goal is to constantly push him to be stronger because she wants him to meet his daughter one day. Not for any sentimental reasons mind you, Maxima wants Superman to teach their daughter to be his equal in ability and resourcefulness. After learning everything she can from Clark, said daughter will be charged with leading the invasion of Earth. Conquering Earth, and defeating Superman, will be the girl's rite of passage into cementing herself as Maxima's heir. The world of her father, Superman, is destined to be her own Throneworld as Almerac's is Maxima's.

Think you could have a lot of fun in giving Clark a "Damian" of his own to deal with. Personally I'd have it so that the "daughter" would be akin to the New 52 Maxima who I thought had some potential. You could have Maxima and Maxima Jr. argue about the morality of Almerac's expansion, with MJ ultimately taking her father's side which causes enormous problems for her mother since she can't disown her daughter without a replacement heir. I think that could be a fun family dynamic to explore.

Wondering where Maxima will show up next. Part of me was hoping Almerac was that part of underdeveloped Superman lore PKJ talked about fleshing out, but that seems to be either Warworld or the Phantom Zone. I still think Maxima and Almerac have a lot of potential to be major players in Superman's world, but it's going to take someone being interested in fleshing them out. Maybe the upcoming Superman cartoon will accomplish that? If not I'll just have to hope someone will down the line.

#superman #maxima #mongul #dc comics

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otverzhennyy · 3 years ago

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Viktor on every Harbingers.

As stated before, Viktor’s loyalty tend to be more to the people of Snezhnaya and the Harbingers than the Tsaritsa, who he sees more as a faceless tradition despite, yes, believing in the cryo archon’s mission. However, when it comes to his daily life, it is actually the Harbingers who possess his devotion.

Viktor is implied to have, at the very least, witnessed the harbingers which I imagine are during Fatui events, speeches and such, and is knowledgeable of both their way of work, their abilities, the personality they present, quirks and what the other Fatui think of them in general. This is a post based on the information we got so far in canon, the Commedia dell’arte and of course liberal interpretations to flesh out Viktor’s relation towards the harbingers, it is HEAVILY subject to change.

This list goes from who Viktor would like to work for the LEAST to the MOST. Viktor admires all Harbingers and see how incredible they are to the Fatui cause, but this is purely him speaking selfishly in terms of working under them.

SCARAMOUCHE Scaramouche is implied by Viktor to be pretty much universally disliked by the Fatui, which is supported by his shown temper. Scaramouche is one to belittle and not respect underlings, even potentially harming them physically through electro, and lead them with fear. Scaramouche throws emotional, gratuitous tantrums.

This is something Viktor cannot respect when strictly speaking of ways to run the chain of commands. This is no way to be a leader, not when you do not have reasons to apply this kind of authority. Scaramouche’s devastating power, however, is no joke, and given that the Tsaritsa has had her own reason to choose him, there is no question that Viktor would answer the man’s call and orders, but would he enjoy his daily working life under such a self-centered man with no respect for the lives he is responsible for but his own ? Not really. He’d sooner ask for a transfer... which is, unfortunately, not really possible within the Fatui, as you are to believe that where you are stationed is where you should be.

PIERRO Pierro’s crazed antics constantly have one question his state of mind, and his chaotic mockery and obvious bitterness are made for a sour association, where one can never really rest as the man is too unpredictable. Underlings unable to guess what his plans are, given he never tell anyone anything.

Pierro doesn’t care what happens when his subordinates are sent on assignments, not caring if they are casualties or not. As someone who values his life, even if he is loyal and swore an oath to the chain of command, Viktor much rather stay alive. The man is... devastating.

SANDRONE Sandrone uses underhanded tricks and manipulates people to get what he wants, hiding behind a face of kindness to the people. Although Viktor is one to recognize the grey areas of politics, which is, politics is everywhere in any social interactions, Sandrone stands out because he is not influencing people’s judgements, he is a hypocrite who takes advantage of commoners when they meet their lowest points.

This, alongside his eerie puppets... is absolutely terrifying. Viktor cannot help but, unlike Scaramouche where he sees the immaturity and lack of professionalism of one man, feel genuine fear... and fascination. The things he could learn from this man, he cannot even start to comprehend.

PULCINELLA Pulcinella is the harbinger in charge of the Fatui’s military and, alternatively, its recruits camp. Viktor would be more than happy to give his body for the nation if needed, even if the battlefield is not his ideal position.

Technically, all Fatui receives a form of military training. The difference with Pulcinella is mainly that the Skirmishers are constantly enhanced through the Fatui technology, modified as their body belongs to the nation. Viktor personally has no interest in being cut open and changed, as he spent a significant amount of time perfecting his form and knowing his own body. Not everyone has the mental fortitude to be more than happy to be pumped with drugged and have their brain reconstructed to be a better martial weapon.

PANTALONE As the one gathering all funds related to Snezhnaya and the Fatui, working for Pantalone is about contributing to the wealth of the nation, an absolute vital part which, however, comes with a ruthless environment. Whereas politics and influence are more subjective, wealth is about cold, hard numbers in an unsure, competitive scene.

Although Viktor is the first one to tell that there is no bad way to gather money and actually admire the length the man goes for the nation’s mission, what is more of a desk job with very little flexibility (the way political debates and diplomatic exchanges do) is bound to bore him out, thinking like his wits could be used elsewhere.

TARTAGLIA When there is need for intimidation, Tartaglia Childe is the one sent by her Lady Tsaritsa. When there is need for muscles on the field, Tartaglia Childe is also the one sent. Although Viktor’s hunting background would technically make his skills appropriate for the task, Viktor is still not one who actually enjoys applying, let’s say, physical matters, especially unconventional ones Tartaglia Childe is sent into : it is not a straightforward army VS army combat. It is something which require finesse... a dangerous game which doesn’t necessarily fit Viktor.

As for the young lord himself, although he is one of the most respectable harbinger, Tartaglia’s impulsiveness and free spirit is known to suddenly put operations into chaos, without him going through the proper channels. This, honestly sounds both thrilling, rewarding and amazing... which is not Viktor’s cup of tea. However, Tartaglia has been proven to be the harbinger who respects underlings the most as individuals, despite his casual attitude giving some rookies the false impression that he is a softie... it just makes getting a disciplinary action from him harder.

SIGNORA La Signora is her majesty’s most direct representative in the manners of political and courtly presence. Although working for Signora is a door to open many opportunities to political events for one’s ascension in their career, Signora knows the game... and plays it dirty. Many threats are given under technically diplomatic moves, and as someone who hates losing time on something else than her goals, she has no olive branch to any subordinate, who are pawns for her to be at her service like a mighty mistress... but her ways are always so bloody efficient, the results speak for her manners. Always ahead of the whole court. A queen in any place she walks in.

Technically, Viktor cannot complain about his position, although he is very disgruntled about being that low in the food chain... and extremely neglected. Sigh. Even if he is one to not bother about a pause to his advancements, Viktor cannot get, at least, the satisfaction of doing something for his home... because he’s not doing anything and he’s denying the fact that he’s been forgotten.

DOTTORE Dottore is the most cerebral and knowledgeable of the harbingers, with actual results and hard work to show. As someone in need of mental stimulation, Viktor cannot help but be mesmerized at the constant studying opportunity, under a man who knows exactly what he is doing, what he wants, and makes it clear.

The practical application of skills and sense of professionalism make Dottore both a harbinger Viktor personally admire greatly and would like to work under : with such talent which shouldn’t, for Viktor, be wasted for a single second, he is no scientist, but would gladly do anything to remotely be useful to him. Dottore is actually one of the three harginers where Viktor’s respect, for various reasons, actually cancel part of the fear he would normally get from a man doing such harsh experiments.

CAPITANO The first time Viktor laid his eyes on Capitano, he’d never forget. For whatever reason the man was in his region, probably some undisclosed assignments, he had never seen a man breathing so much charisma by merely existing. Amidst the men who’d try to appear strong and tall, Capitano didn’t have to be the tallest or largest to be absolutely mesmerizing. A man who commanded authority by presence alone.

He needed to be like him. And this is when a young Viktor decided to join the Fatui, not telling a single word that a single man triggered it all. Viktor doesn’t see himself as someone with particular talent, drive or patience to change the world... but if he could be half the man his idol was, that would be enough... but did he want to be the man, or solely be by his side, even if it meant potentially never working under him ? ... both.

As a recruit, Viktor would always run to the pavilion up the Fatui base to see Capitano entering the premises whenever his arrival was announced, watching from afar, get information on what the man had been up to. The stories of the man’s conquests, exploring uncharted territories while keeping such a solemn expression, an inspiring leader who’d run his affairs with the most unforgiving grip, to the perfection, with every bit of professionalism and no break in his composure.

If Viktor was to work under this man, he wouldn’t care a single bit about the treatment on his person. If he can be the slightest bit not indirectly, but directly useful to such a man, he would gladly serve him with every bit of devotion he has. Travelling at his side with the most powerful assets to the Fatui, each challenge only one exciting puzzle after one another.

If Viktor sees the holy Tsaritsa as the Fatui’s queen, Capitano is his King.

#.otverzhennyy ( headcanon )#insert simp jokes here #this took me waaaay too long and it is SO confusing but I needed t oat least have something done for this

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

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On This Night and in This Light (1/3)

Emma Swan knows she's pretty good at what she does.

Helping the magically afflicted and affected find jobs in this realm isn't the most glamorous thing in the world, and, sure, there's a lot of paperwork, but she figures she's helping people and that's the important thing. It's structured. Calm, even.

Until. It's always until.

Killian Jones shows up with his stupid smirk and his tendency to lean against the door frame in Emma's office and his distinct lack of magic. Or knowledge of what they're really doing at Mills Personnel. Everything kind of goes off the rails after that.

----

Rating: Teen, but I’m me, so kissing is guaranteed Word Count: About 6.5K this chapter AN: About a week ago @shireness-says sent me this post, about a job agency that specifically helped people with supernatural abilities or supernatural problems find a job. I believe my exact response was “Don’t do this to me” and then Devon probably laughed or something and over the course of the last three days I wrote about 19-thousand words. Nonsense is guaranteed, as is the kissing, hopefully some banter and a bunch of magic. The next two chapters probably Tuesday and Thursday of next week?

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

----

“So, that’s basically it. The guy was cursed, super greedy and—” “—Babe c’mon, that’s my dad.”

The guy shrugs.

Which Emma figures is pretty fair, all things considered. Although she also can’t remember his name, so maybe she’s a quasi-villain in this story. She’s fairly certain it’s in the paperwork. The guy’s name, not her potential villain status.

In her defense, that one lightbulb above her head is very distracting. Flickering on and off, she’s going to have to tell Graham about it, which will probably somehow alert Regina and Emma isn’t sure she’s capable of dealing with Regina right now. It’s been a very long morning.

At— she glances at the tiny string of numbers in the bottom corner of her computer monitor, nine twenty-six in the morning.

“Jeez,” Emma mumbles, drawing the attention of both of the people sitting in front of her. Not very often that a pair comes in. She supposes that’s nice.

In an overwhelmingly, romantic kind of way.

God, maybe she’s bitter.

She’s totally bitter. Thinking anything else is ridiculous.

And if Emma doesn’t get some coffee soon, she’s going to fall asleep at her desk and inevitably offend this nameless, albeit nice-looking guy who until recently was spending his days as a solid-gold statue in front of an antiques store on Broome Street.

“Not—not you guys,” Emma says quickly, and the girlfriend’s eyes widen. Her name is Abigail. Emma’s, like, forty-six percent positive.

“You know he didn’t mean it,” maybe-Abigail says. “It was...well, Freddie was very heroic about it. Protecting my dad and—he was head of security at the building. Kids thought it’d be funny to try and break in, but Freddie was—” “—Courageous?” “Very. The kids wanted my dad’s gift, but Freddie wouldn’t let them near him. Of course that made sure he was close to my dad and he...well, he got touched by accident and....”

Humming noncommittally, Emma lets the rest of the details float into the back of her mind. She doesn’t particularly want to hear this story. Most of them are the same, anyway. Heroic deeds beget undeserved rewards, and there’s always some sort of deus ex machina fix that’s inevitably magical, and she figures that’s part of the deal at this place, but that bitterness of hers runs far deeper than she’s willing to admit. “And you didn’t want to go back to work at the cursed dad’s office?” Freddie shakes his head. “Not really all that interested in security anymore. Ya get frozen for three years and it kinda loses its shine, y’know?” “Makes sense,” Emma replies, and she hates to admit it takes her that long to realize what he just said. Maybe she should have read the paperwork closer. She didn’t have time. “Wait, wait did you say three years?” “And, uh, like fourteen days. That’s right, right babe?” Abigail smiles. That must be the answer. “We’re just looking for a fresh start. My dad is—well, maybe greedy is the right word. He doesn’t view this as a curse, it's...I called it a gift before, didn't I?” Emma nods, trying desperately to ignore the state of that light bulb. “Nothing we do is going to change his mind. He’s going to keep it, and he tries to be careful, but—one wrong move and there’s a golden something right in front of you. We don’t want to risk it again. That’s why we came here. It’s supposed to be the best placement service in the city.”

Biting back the immediate retort of it’s the only placement service like this in the city, Emma plasters what she can only hope is an encouraging smile on her face. The lightbulb stops flickering.

It dies. Completely.

She hopes that’s not a sign.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” she stammers, before turning back to her keyboard and a monitor with time that must be going backwards. “So, three years removed from any interaction with society and that’s—” Her smile is making her cheek muscles ache. “What kind of skills do you have, Mr. Greyston? Any specific interests or ideas about what you want to do?”

Freddie does not have any ideas. Or interests. Or concerns besides Abigail, it seems. Who is not just his girlfriend, but his fiancée, and a rather vocal wealth of both ideas and interests, none of which fit any of the potential jobs Emma spends the next forty-seven minutes finding.

Something is wrong with each and every one. Wrong location. Too far a commute. Weird hours. Requires a uniform and—“Have you seen the width of Freddie’s shoulders? There’s no way he’d be able to wear a mass-produced jacket like that.”

Emma hasn’t been paying much attention to the width of Freddie’s shoulders, honestly.

She’s far more preoccupied with the pain blooming behind her left eye and, somehow, at the base of her skull and she’s a few seconds away from turning both Freddie and Abigail into frogs when she hears footsteps approaching her half-open office door and he actually has the gall to cross his feet at the ankle when he leans against the frame.

“What about personal training?”

Both Abigail and Freddie freeze. One of them tilts their head. Presumably in thought. Emma can’t be bothered figuring out which one.

Not with her fingers hovering over her keys, the pop of her lips as they fall open sounding far louder than it should and the stranger leaning against her door frame smiles at her.

Smirks, really. One side of mouth tugs up, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms. It’s offensive, that’s what it is.

As is the overall shade of blue in his eyes.

“Can I help you?” Emma asks. Demands, honestly. One word comes out sharper than the last, drawing a soft chuckle from the questionably good-looking stranger and that’s—

No. No compliments. Just insults. Of the sharp-tongued variety.

Most curses require a sharp tongue, in Emma’s experience. And she suddenly finds herself fantasizing about the several different ways she could curse this self-assured bastard to the other side of the office.

“I think, love,” he says, leaning forward like that’s allowed, “I might be able to help you. Couldn’t help but overhear—” “—Because you were eavesdropping?” “Inevitable when your voice carries the way it does.”

Her mouth is already hanging open, so Emma can only imagine what she looks like when it feels as if her eyes are also intent on falling out of her face. Not great, if the increased smirk'ness of the smirk is any indication.

Smirk'ness is not a word.

“Personal training could be kind of cool,” Freddie muses with interest. Abigail beams. Emma comes up with twenty-nine different curse possibilities. “Don’t you need something for that, though? Like a certificate or something?” Blue-eyed bastard, fuckface chuckles again. “You do, in fact. ‘Fraid you can’t simply approach strangers and start training them. But the requirements aren’t hard to complete and there’s always a fairly high demand for trainers. People want to get in shape, y’know?” Suggesting that there’s no way this guy with his stupid sleeves could know the exact tone Freddie had used to a voice very similar question not even an hour earlier is as stupid as his sleeves, but Emma cannot rationalize any of this and she should have known he was out there.

Lurking in the hallway, as it were.

There’s always some sort of—signal. A smell. A flicker of familiarity that ripples up her spine and latches to the back of her brain and she assumes the migraine that now seems pretty inevitable is not that. It’s just painful.

Nothing else. She didn’t feel anything. She should have felt something, unless—

“No,” she gasps, and she’s got to get a handle on her audible reactions. “I, uh—I mean, no, no, that’s a great idea, actually. What do you think Mr. Greyston?”

Freddie narrows his eyes. “I...I just said it sounded cool.” “He did,” the wanker with that one piece of wayward hair hanging across his forehead says, “I heard it. Didn’t you hear it?” Nodding emphatically, Abigail is far too quickly swayed by all of this. “I did and that’s—Emma, why didn’t you think of that before?” Anger curls low in Emma’s gut. Rises in the back of her throat and threatens to scorch every inch of her tongue, like that’s something an emotion is capable of. Fisting her hands under her desk, the edges of her nails leave crescent-moon shaped cuts on her palm, but she doesn’t have another outlet for the energy running through her.

Especially if she’s right.

She’s seventy-two percent positive she’s right. Which is better than how she felt about Abigail’s name, and she was totally right about that, so.

Math, or whatever.

“Didn’t even cross my mind,” Emma admits through clenched teeth. “But thankfully we’re a collaborative effort here at Mills Personnel, and it’s always good to get multiple opinions, including some from our newest—” Swallowing her tongue isn’t the most embarrassing thing Emma can do in a moment like this, but it’s starting to feel somewhere in the top five and if this guy doesn’t stop staring at her like that she’s going to scream.

Or self combust with magic.

Her magic appears to be running on overdrive.

“Killian Jones,” he says, answering a question she hadn’t actually gotten around to asking. “It’s my first day,”

“Is it just?” His answering hum isn’t as sarcastic as Emma’s was. She supposes that’s another failure of hers today. Her brain’s already started making a list. “Did you know they have an espresso machine in the break room?” “I work here,” Emma answers.

“As I can see. Just—” “—Trying to tell me about espresso?” The other side of his mouth moves. That suggests Emma is staring at his mouth, which she might be, honestly. When she isn’t wholly preoccupied with his eyes or that one strand of hair, and she can’t believe that one strand of hair exists, but she’s also a witch and Freddie was made of gold and she never did ask how they managed to fix that.

Emma’s starting to wonder if she actually sucks at her job.

“Make conversation,” Killian says. “And maybe help a little bit. That’s the gig, isn’t it?” None of the muscles in Emma’s neck are particularly interested in nodding, but her hair moves so that must mean she accomplishes at least some sort of movement and the two pairs of eyes sitting in wholly uncomfortable chairs opposite her are watching the scene with open interest. “Alright,” she says brusquely, certain Killian’s eyes get brighter, “Mr. Greyston, let’s start working on a plan for getting your certification and then we can set up some contacts with area gyms.”

She’s not sure when Killian leaves, exactly.

Only that he doesn’t try closing the door behind him and when Emma walks into the breakroom thirty-one minutes later, there’s a post-it with ridiculously swirly handwriting clinging to the espresso machine. Try this one, it says.

And that doesn’t really make sense. It’s an espresso machine, there aren’t a ton of different options. Emma’s almost charmed all the same.

It wasn’t True Love’s Kiss.

Frederik Greyston wasn’t released from his gilded prison by the most sweepingly romantic bit of magic in the world. It was water from Nostos, which Emma knows is expensive and hard to come by, but knowing the little she does about Abigail’s father, it makes sense and she’s disappointed all the same.

Six years working at Mills Personnel and still not a single person has been saved by the power of True Love’s supposed Kiss.

She’s starting to think it doesn’t even exist.

Honestly, the whole thing is Mary Margaret’s fault.

She’s the one who got Emma the job after all, and maybe that’s more a commentary on Emma’s disinterest in joining the traditional workforce or being a functioning member of society, but she’s also quick to argue that society hasn’t really done much for her lately. Not a ton of professional options for someone with a record and the tendency to glow every now and then.

So, Emma had agreed to the interview.

On a Thursday at two in the afternoon, at the office tucked into the bottom floor of a building on 62nd Street, with etched letters on the door.

Mills Personnel, it said.

And still does, really. Not much has changed since Emma first walked into Regina’s office, least of all the lettering on her door, but she’d like to believe she’s maybe a bit more confident than she was that time and—

“Regina, is this a joke?” Emma asks, not able to sit in one of the chairs. Pacing seems entirely more reasonable, even as the muscles in her calves start to ache. “Because it can’t—none of this makes any sense.” “Why not?” “Repeating myself is redundant.” Making a noise Emma can only assume is an agreement, Regina doesn’t bother looking up from the paperwork in her hands. Another client. Another problem. Something else Killian Jones can probably solve.

Nearly a week after the incident in Emma’s office, the new guy is apparently some kind of job placement wunderkind, able to match any person with their dream position while also boasting a wealth of contacts across the city. Yelp reviews have appeared in droves — sent to Emma nearly every morning because apparently Ruby has some sort of sick sense of humor, and only a few of them mention Killian’s rolled-up sleeves.

That’s insane.

Emma can’t imagine not mentioning his rolled-up sleeves.

Maybe she’s part of the problem, actually. Just like—with society, as a whole.

“You want to repeat yourself, don’t you?” Regina asks knowingly, drawing a strangled sound out of Emma that nearly makes her trip mid-pace. One should not affect the other. And yet. Everything seems to be falling apart in rather quick succession, the kind of worry that’s already taken root in the center of her and wrapped its way around every single one of her ribs, and she’s got no idea how many ribs she’s currently in possession, but she figures it’s got to be a lot.

Based almost entirely on the constant tightness in her chest.

“How are you not freaking out about this?” Regina shrugs. “Nothing’s going to happen. People love him.” “People think he’s got a good-looking face.” “You think that and—” Sputtering on her own inevitably witty retort, if only she could get it out, Emma can’t do much more than dramatically exhale as soon as Regina does lift her eyes. Leveling her with that same look she’d used during Emma’s initial interview, like she’s got all the answers in the world and will be willing to share them.

Eventually. At her leisure.

“He doesn't have magic,” Emma hisses, feeling as if she’s lost her last tether to reality. No one else is worried about this. Ruby has at least eighty-four opinions on Killian’s face. David’s not totally swayed, but thinks the guy’s at least doing a good job so far. Mary Margaret wants to invite him to game night next week.

To play goddamn Settlers of Catan. Like they’re normal people. And not witches, or some other unnecessarily gendered description of magic-users.

“He—he,” Emma continues, and now her hands have joined the fray. Waving them around her head only makes her feel more insane. “How can you think that he’ll be able to place people in jobs when he doesn’t know why they really need jobs?” Her voice cracking on the question can’t help her cause much.

But Emma needs this to stay the same. She needs consistency and maybe not comfort, but comfort-adjacent and the fucking Settlers of Catan. At some point, she’s going to win that dumb game, she’s positive.

And Killian Jones poses a very real threat to all of those alliterative sentiments.

Because Mills Personnel is not a normal job placement organization. Emma’s not even sure it’s an organization, technically. Maybe an LLC.

She’s not a lawyer.

The point is, it caters to—a slightly different sort of clientele. The kind that’s been affected by magic. Whether that’s because they’re in possession of it, or have been cursed by it, or are only spending some time in this realm while hiding from a revenge-prone dragon in their homeland, who also happened to be their mother, and need a job while they wait it out.

That last one has always been Emma’s personal favorite. Lily spent three years working for an appraiser on Park Avenue.

She was really good at it.

And Emma is good at this. At helping. At providing people with their own plan, and their own possibilities and she has got to get off this alliterative kick because—

“Hey,” Regina mutters, nodding towards Emma’s hands. Both of which are dangerously close to phosphorescent “Reign it in for me, huh?” “Seriously, how can you be so calm about this?”

“He needed a job.” “What? How did you even find him?” Squeezing one eye shut, Regina clicks her tongue thoughtfully and it’s almost enough to make her seem like a normal person. Instead of a person who can regularly summon fireballs from her palms. “Friend of Robin’s. I think you met him last solstice party, but—that’s not the important part. Anyway, we worked with Scarlet once. Or David did, helped him get a job in Brooklyn after he’d been stoned in Wonderland.” “I’m sorry, stoned in Wonderland?” “Mmhm, literally. Anyway, his girlfriend’s known Killian for years and he just moved to New York and one thing led to another and here we are.” “Here we are,” Emma echoes. “The repeating thing isn’t just redundant, it’s obnoxious,” Regina sighs, finally moving the papers. It’s not a victory for Emma. Not when it only ensures Regina can also lean back in her chair, cross her arms over her chest and tilt her head at that very specific angle that practically radiates judgment. “He just needs some money for a couple of months. He’ll be out of here before anyone will have a chance to enlighten him on what he’s actually doing.” “Giving jobs to magical people.” “Not all of them are magical,” Regina argues, “some of them have just been impacted by magical forces.” “Yuh huh. And how exactly are we hiding all of these magical forces from Killian Jones, totally mortal human being?” The head tilt’s at nearly forty-five degrees now. “You are mortal, you know that right? It’s important that you know that.”

“I know that,” Emma snaps, flickers of light falling from her fingertips for good measure. “I just—when you hired me, you made it very clear that the line between magic and the rest of the world was tenuous at best. We just...we exist and hope no one burns us at the stake, but now you’re totally cool with some inherently normal guy being here. Everything we do is going to freak him out.” “It hasn’t already. And so long as you stop sparking at regular intervals, I think you’ll be fine.” “I’m not worried about me.”

Widening her eyes, Regina's judgment reaches across the questionably originate mahogany desk, hangs in the air for all of fourteen seconds and then smacks Emma squarely across the face. In a magical sort of way that makes her skin tingle.

“Not cool,” she mumbles, but Regina doesn’t do much more than sneer. “Alright, fine, fine, you think this is a totally great idea—” “—I didn’t say it was great. I said it wasn’t going to be as bad as you thought it was going to be, and we’re doing some old customers a favor.” “Sounds suspiciously like nepotism.” “Or good business.”

Emma rolls her eyes. She’s getting another migraine. “Tell all your friends about Mills Personnel, the only option for the magical and magic-damaged to ensure they can keep paying their rent.” “Not as catchy as I’d like, but I accept that it’s a work in progress.”

“Yeah, yeah, something like that.” Having never sat down, it’s easy for Emma to make a quick and relatively drama-free exit from Regina’s office, swinging open the door and marching into the hallway and—

“Ah, fuck,” she grunts, slamming into something far too solid to be anything except another human being. Who smells suspiciously like laundry detergent and salt water.

“Swan.”

She blinks. Once. Twice. Tries to remember that she is in fact mortal, and that requires a consistent stream of oxygen in her lungs. But breathing is something of a challenge now, and he’s smirking at her when she finally lifts her head. “What are you doing?” “Walking,” Killian answers easily, but there’s a hint of laughter clinging to the word that manages to frustrate Emma and do the exact opposite all at once. “Do you have somewhere especially important to go?” “No, no, that’s—why do you say that?” “Seems you’re in something of a rush.” “Or you take up way too much of the hallway.” Full-blown laughter is at least twenty-thousand times better than the clinging variety or whatever sound Emma’s managed to imagine he makes in the last week or so. She hasn’t imagined it that much. She’s a God awful liar, actually.

“That might be true,” Killian admits, taking a step back, and there’s a pile of papers resting on his hip. A pen barely stays behind his ear, that same wayward strand of hair taking up residence across his forehead and the rolled-up sleeves of this shirt appear to have some sort of floral pattern on them.

“What are—” Emma swallows. Licks her lips, Tries not to spend too long thinking about the undeniable way Killian’s eyes fall to her lips. “Where are you going?” “Back to my office. Woman in there who claims her only talent is singing, but she’s not too keen on performing. Says she doesn’t want to draw a spotlight. So, trying to come up with some other options for her.” Mind racing, Emma tries to figure out what the woman actually is or who she’s hiding from, but explaining any of that is impossible and she’s admittedly having some trouble forming sentences when Killian keeps doing that thing with his face. Having one.

“Any suggestions?” he asks, and there’s no sarcasm. No joke. Just blatant interest and possibly some veiled hope, which is not a word Emma’s all that familiar with.

That’s more Mary Margaret’s schtick, and at least this is passably cyclical. Somehow this has to be Mary Margaret’s fault too.

“What about working for a promoter or something?” Emma ventures. “You know—backstage sort of stuff. Keep her in the industry, let her work with other talent, but none of that pesky spotlight. Probably plenty of people looking for an assistant or something.”

Stunned surprise could be very insulting, as far as expression-based responses go. Luckily for Killian and his face, it’s a pretty fantastic look. Particularly when it’s directed at Emma. And mixed in with something that feels suspiciously like awe.

She’s not especially concerned with the adjectives. All she knows is it makes her magic roar in her ears, threatening to knock her knees together.

“Wow,” he mutters, “that’s genius.” “Happens from time to time.” “More often if breakroom information is anything to go by.”

On second thought, embarrassed regret is her new unexpected favorite. Color dots Killian’s cheeks, a red tinge to the tip of his ears and it really says far more about him than Emma’s powers of observation that it’s only now she realizes he’s missing his left hand.

“I, uh—” Killian stutters, and Emma can’t help the stretch of her smile, “well it’s not that I’m gossiping about you per se, just...making conversation.” “And I’m a hot topic of conversation?” “No, no, you’re just—” His inability to finish sentences is also oddly endearing, the muscles in his throat moving as he swallows back what Emma can only hope would be a slightly twisted compliment. Regarding her and the word hot. “Well, I appreciate the help. Sometimes it feels like it’s impossible to get a straight answer out of these people. None of them know what they want to do.” Cold sweeps over Emma, in the form of crushing realization and a return to a reality with starkly-lit hallways. He doesn’t know. Can’t know. About this place, or what it really does, and Regina’s surprisingly cavalier attitude aside, non-magic users finding themselves in the entirely magical world never ends well.

Someone always gets hurt.

“Yeah, no problem,” Emma says as she takes her own step back, and that shouldn’t be as difficult as it is. “If—I mean if you ever get another hard one or…”

Her face is on fire, she’s sure. Spontaneous combustion would be a small miracle, giving her a legitimate out of this conversation and the latest expression that’s now standing several feet away from her. Self-satisfied, that’s the word.

Or phrase, as the case may be.

“If you need some more ideas,” she clarifies, “I’m around. You helped me with that Greyston case, after all.” It’s not a cease fire or metaphorical hatchet buried under Regina’s questionable taste in carpet, but it’s something and if this is going to happen, then Emma reasons she might as well try and keep it all in check. Helping Killian helps everyone, really.

She’ll repeat that on mental loop for several hours if necessary.

Right after she stops obsessing over the precise way he leans forward, ducks into her eye line and says, “thanks, Swan.”

It isn’t until she’s managed to plug her phone in, exhaustion creeping up her spine and fluttering behind half-closed eyelids that Emma realizes she never once told Killian her name.

When she was twelve years old, she lit up. Like, her whole body. Light hung from the ends of her hair and circled her right wrist, wrapped its way up her arms and settled on either one of her shoulders until it was difficult for anyone to spend too long looking at Emma.

None of it was on purpose.

Magic’s always been something almost instinctual, at least for Emma, and the yelling from the living room of the latest foster home she’d only recently been shipped to had been grating on her ears long enough that she didn’t know what else to do. She reacted. Power rippled off her in perfect cadence with her frustration, and she hadn’t known all those words when she was twelve, but she’d known exactly how everyone would respond and Emma was not disappointed.

At least not like that.

Standing halfway down the steps, she’d glowed. Bright and determined, like being strong enough would protect the rest of the kids in that house, and that was never really Emma’s job, but she always felt like she could do something more, or should do something else and—

They’d sent her back the next day.

Something about a bad fit and just not right and that second thing could have been the sub-headline of Emma’s entire life.

Just not right.

Nothing about her was right. Her magic was often untempered and prone to outbursts, flashes that Emma couldn’t always control and inevitably led to lingering glances and confused stares that rather quickly morphed into fear when they looked too long.

Sometimes people pretend they’re not totally freaked out. Sometimes they tell her that she’s ok, every lie settling under her skin like it’s something she should believe in, and it’s been awhile since Emma’s allowed something like that to happen, but she imagines there’s a cliché about scars and the way they don’t always disappear and—

That’s not important.

History is just that and Emma’s not one to make the same mistake twice. Or at least make it more than twice, and she might be intrigued by Killian Jones, with his smirk and his stupid sleeves, but she doesn’t entirely trust him yet.

She can’t imagine that changing any time soon.

She nearly runs into whoever is opening the Mills Personnel front door at five-oh-four on a Friday evening.

It’s a habit Emma would like to break sooner rather than later, this trend of not looking where she’s going — although, if she’s being honest it’s also because she’s distracted, and has been since the game night announcement, and the phone in her pocket hasn't stopped buzzing for the last hour, the most recent texts regarding pre-game night plottings and alliances for Settlers of Catan or whatever else they decide to play.

She has respond to Mary Margaret soon.

Presumably after she apologizes to the woman she very nearly plowed over, and it’s almost the end of business, but this woman doesn’t look like she operates on traditional schedules and—

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma says, backing up quickly. Partially because of good manners. And the rest because of the look on the woman’s face.

Furious. A little threatening. Decidedly magical.

“I’m looking for Ms. Mills.” “Right, yeah, of course. She’s, uh—” Emma’s phone buzzes again, and she knows it’s another message about games. What she can figure out is why that particular thought leaves her feeling frozen and a little threatened and the woman’s eyes narrow at the first shift of Emma’s magic. “Still in her office, I think. I can let her know you’re here, if…” The woman doesn’t nod. Doesn’t move, really. And all Emma wants is to sprint out of that office and maybe to her couch, but she can’t seem to move any of her limbs and the clack of Regina’s heels is strangely hypnotic.

“Zelena. What are you doing here?” Rolling her shoulders back, the woman Emma assumes is Zelena only looks passably annoyed at being addressed by her first name. “We have some things to talk about.”

“That so?” “Several, I’d say. You have a few minutes?” It doesn’t sound like an actual request, hackles that are more likely part of Ruby’s genetic makeup than Emma’s rising as Zelena breezes by her. Glancing over her shoulder, she notices a muscle in Regina’s temple jumping.

“You want me to stick around?” Regina shakes her head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Ok, but—” “—Go, Emma,” Regina finishes, and there’s no mistaking the command in those words. She nods once, not running into anyone else on her way out and hoping the sense of dread currently twisting itself around one of her kidneys is only those pessimistic tendencies of hers, instead of the warning she’s worried it actually is.

The problem is, she likes him.

Like, as a human being. Mortal or otherwise. No other reason. Nothing to do with his hair or his eyes or that dim, but still visible scar on his left cheek.

She just—

They might be friends. Emma hopes they’re friends.

Over the next two weeks she comes to realize that Killian is not only very good at his job — the siren who was certain her only talent was singing in dimly lit clubs and inevitably luring grown men to their doom, but wanted to turn over a new leaf, without telling him any of that, of course, sent a gift basket to thank him for all the help — but he’s funny, and more than capable of working the espresso machine so it doesn’t produce its usual bitter swill, and, Emma realizes, one Wednesday afternoon, a little lonely.

“Trying to find somewhere to live in this city is impossible,” he announces, slumped in one of the breakroom chairs with a stack of files splayed in front of him. “Like a needle in a haystack.” “Try finding somewhere with laundry on site,” Emma grins, “and then talk to me.” “Sounds like a palace, and that’s far too mythical for me to believe a place like that exists.”

Stomach flying into her mouth, Emma bites the side of her tongue so she doesn’t do something stupid like list all the clients of hers who, at one point, lived in a vaguely mythical palace. She can think of at least a dozen off the top of her head. “No palatial experience wherever you are now? Where are you now, actually?” “Scarlet’s couch.” “Ah, so decidedly non-palatial, then.” Killian grins. “Not as such, no. Although if you could not mention that to him, that would be great. Bastard won’t ever say it, but I've vastly overstayed my welcome and I’m pretty positive he and Belle spend their nights plotting ways to kick me to the curb.” “Metaphorical or…” “Absolutely literally,” he says, and that smile is nearly blinding in a way that isn’t quite like Emma’s magic, but feels as powerful. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I’m pretty positive they want to have a family soon.” “You think I gossip about Will Scarlet way more than I do.”

His ears do that thing again. That blushing thing, that apparently only Killian’s ears are capable of, but it’s also entirely possible that Emma is just far more aware of Killian’s ears than anyone else’s. She’s also perfectly aware what a psychopath she sounds like.

“Did I apologize for that?”

“For?” “Not necessarily gossiping,” Killian says, “because it wasn’t entirely that, but—getting information on you, I guess.”

Tensing, Emma’s jaw clenches hard enough that she’s briefly worried about what it will do to her teeth. And it takes her a few moments to school her features — more than enough time for Killian’s eyebrows to lift, and the ends of his mouth to tilt down, but she’s almost confident she doesn’t look like she’s totally freaking out when she opens her mouth.

“What did you find out?” Ah, so not freaking out was a total lie, then.

Killian’s lips twist as he stares at her, like he’s considering the exact tone of her voice and how to properly proceed from there. Leaning forward, his hand inches towards hers and for one genuinely blissful second Emma is certain he’s going to cover her fingers with his. He doesn’t. He pulls away at the last moment, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter and that’s fine. It’s fine, everything is fine and great and—

“You’re very popular here,” he replies, “good track record of even better work, which is why If we’re also keeping track of required apologies, I should mention I’m sorry for butting in on the Greyston case. Was an absolute dick of a move.” “Would you use of in that situation?” “I mean, I just did so—” “—You were kind of a dick,” Emma agrees, “but that was mostly because you were showing off and it totally worked.”

His eyebrows get higher. Pointier. It’s absolutely absurd. “That so?” “Don’t sound so amazed, you know it did. Freddie the former—” She’s about to say statute. The word sits on the tip of Emma’s tongue, waiting to be said because if she was talking to anyone else she’d be able to say it, but she’s not talking to anyone else and doesn’t really want to and she can’t imagine it’s very comfortable sleeping on someone’s couch for the better part of a month. “Former security guard,” Emma exhales, “is reportedly doing really well at the new gig. Ruby said she saw a bunch of social media posts advertising his recently-certified personal trainer services.” “An ambitious start for Freddie.” “Eh, you know how it is when you get psyched about something. Full-speed ahead and all that.”

“I believe that is the appropriate cliché, yes. So what do you think?”

“About?”

“Accepting my apology for being something of a dick, and because Ruby is the absolute worst gossip in this office who told me in no uncertain terms that she thought our prospective children would be very attractive.”

Emma’s not drinking anything, so the choking sound she makes at that bit of information is not really correct for the situation, but she can’t stop herself. Laughter bubbles out of her, mixing with something that isn’t quite stunned surprise, but might be a hint of put-upon frustration and the overall width of Killian’s smile is in the realm of overwhelming.

“How did you end up here?” Emma asks, and she’ll blame the state of her teeth on her inability to censor her own questions.

His smile falters. For just a moment, before it’s back and a little less legitimate than it was a moment earlier. “Worked with Belle at the Central Library in Boston. For years, actually. And you know how it is when you meet someone who...well, they’ll go to bat for you?” “Another good cliché. And yeah, I do.” “It was like that for us. She’s—it’s pedantic to suggest she’s my best friend, but that’s what it is and what it’s been and we’ve always helped each other. So, couple months ago when they cut staff, she told me to come to New York.” “She was already in New York?”

Killian nods. “Has been for a while, ever since she met Will.” “And how did she meet Will?”

If he’s put-off by her twenty question approach, Killian doesn’t show it. He just keeps leaning into her space, like there are magnets involved or several other words and feelings Emma’s wholly incapable of dealing with right now. “Strictly happenstance as far as I know. She was in New York for a library conference—” “—They have those?” “Mmhm, whole bunch of nerds losing their minds over recently stocked books and stories that fascist governments said we should burn.” “Do those normally go together?” “More often than you’d think,” Killian laughs. “Anyway, Will was working at the bar he owns now and—” “—He owns it?”

“If you keep interrupting, I’m never going to get to the interesting part of the story, love.”

Goosebumps explode on her skin. Her heart threatens to explode out of her chest. Magic rushes from the top of her hairs to the toes of sneakers that are now emitting a faint gleam, and maybe Emma should trim her nails.

So as not to keep cutting up her palm.

“Took him some time to save up the money to buy the bar,” Killian continues, “but if you know Scarlet, you’ll know he’s something of a stubborn asshole. Which also circles us right back around to the romance of the story. Suffice it to say, there were conversations, requests for phone numbers, a refusal to let time or distance damper their connection and—” He clicks his tongue. “—Two years ago, I gave a very impassioned speech regarding the power of love at a wedding that made several people cry.“

“You included?”

He winks at her. Not very well, but it’s the thought that counts or something and Emma’s starting to have several thoughts about Killian.

None of which are going to make it any easier to keep her magic a secret.

And part of her isn’t even sure she wants to. The other part of her wants to stretch across this wobbly table, some of which is deceptively sticky, grab the front of Killian’s floral-printed shirt and kiss him until neither one of them think about anything except how fantastic they are at kissing. One another, specifically.

So, really, she’s absolutely and monumentally fucked.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #on this night and in this light #not the originally advertised spooky fic #but spooky all the same #everything i write is really just devon's fault at this point

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