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medea10 · 2 years ago

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My Review of Shikimori Isn’t Just a Cutie

How did I get into this anime? I added this just for the hell of it in the middle of its run on TV. That’s it! On with the synopsis!

Yuu Izumi is a second-year high school student. He is one of the unluckiest people to walk the earth. Just about anything can trip him up like rocks, bird droppings, truck exhaust fumes, and other random things. But there’s one thing in his life that makes all the unlucky things that happen even out and that’s his girlfriend, Shikimori. No first name given, she’s just Shikimori. She’s cute, bubbly, popular, all of the girls love her and all the boys are jealous that she’s taken…

And all I can see is that pink hair! Call it a prejudice, but due to certain animes I have a massive distrust of girl anime characters with pink hair. What’s this girl’s deal?

Like a light switch, Shikimori’s demeanor can change. One minute, she’s the sweetest thing ever and the next, I have a twinge of fear and can’t help but think Izumi is going to be dead next to her. Whenever this happens, Izumi’s heart skips a beat. He sees this as her cool side peeking out and makes him love her even more. Whatever bro! Let’s just see how you are 12 episodes later and if you still have your head attached.

BETWEEN THE SUB AND DUB: Crunchyroll is the one streaming, pimping, and dubbing this bitch. I ended up watching most of the anime dubbed. The dub is okay. I really can’t criticize the main cast and haven’t really heard them up to this point. The minor characters on the other hand I’m well familiar with.

Legit query here! Is Inuzuka a screaming maniac? I ask because BOTH voice actors did Bakugo and…you know! It’s not essential to the plot, but Crunchyroll added a few commentary episodes to the roster. If you’re interested in hearing the commentary from the Japanese cast, might check that out. They all seemed to have a blast recording this anime. Here’s what you might recognize these folks from.

JAPANESE CAST: *Izumi is played by Shuuichirou Umeda

*Shikimori is played by Saori Oonishi (known for Hisako on Food Wars, Muramasa on Eromanga Sensei, Doppel on Monster Musume, and Non on Keijo!!!!!!!!)

ENGLISH CAST: *Izumi is played by Bryson Baugus (known for Falco on Attack on Titan, Takumi on Food Wars, Natsuo on Domestic Girlfriend, Darling on Monster Musume, and Minato on Tsurune)

*Shikimori is played by Macy Ann Johnson (known for Emile on Spy x Family and Chie on Higurashi Gou)

SHIPPING: I think the question that’s on most of our minds is this, how did this relationship between Shikimori and Izumi start? Izumi has got to be one of the unluckiest characters in anime history. I feel like Touma from the Index series and Seita from Tenchi Muyo GXP got him beat, but damn this guy is cursed! Give these boys some credit, these unlucky characters can get quite lucky when it comes to women (some of the time). It’s been a while since I’ve seen it in a non-harem setting. Good on Izumi as he only has one girl. When it comes to Izumi and Shikimori, they both really do like each other. When they first hooked up, they were both aware of each other’s existence. It’s just that a matchmaking game at the culture festival during their first year in high school kinda fueled things for a relationship. That’s how we got Izumi x Shikimori.

Izumi loves his girlfriend’s cute moments and her ‘cooler’ moments. Ah yes, those moments! Shikimori has cool moments like when she’s shielding Izumi from some kind of misfortune. But there are these other moments where jealousy arises. She gets jealous!

And the person she gets jealous over is Izumi’s guy-friend Inuzuka. Really?! Her jealousy is towards this butt-for-brains?

She’s not even jealous when someone like Kamiya comes along. Kamiya knew Izumi before going out with Shikimori, she’s pretty, and has a lot of pent-up feelings for Izumi. Instead, Shikimori was understanding and Kamiya puts her feelings on hold. Who does this?! But I did feel a little bit sorry for Kamiya due to her being friend-zoned. I’ve been in that position before and it never gets easier to deal with.

ENDING: So, we’ve covered the culture festival, the sports festival, one of the main character’s birthdays, and an anniversary. That’s most things an anime would do for a finale and we’re not even close to the Christmas holiday. Actually, we’re ending the season with Izumi and Shikimori planning on going to an amusement park for a date. Shikimori is especially excited for this as she was taken in by a cute commercial featuring a bunch of couples. We then proceed to the best episode this series has to offer. This episode consisted of flashbacks of Izumi and Shikimori prior to both meeting each other.

In his early days, Izumi felt so cursed by his bad luck that he sacrificed going on a field trip he was looking forward to due to his fear of bringing bad luck to his friends. With Shikimori’s past we saw that she really didn’t have a personality of her own as she would always follow what her brother or mother would do. It wasn’t until the end of her middle school days that she changed things up and did things her own way. At the high school entrance exam and the result day, Izumi and Shikimori met. Shikimori helped Izumi and Izumi thought she was so cool and cute. Now that wasn’t the start of their relationship as it came later that school year at the culture festival! This was more of the spark that started the fire.

Moving on to the big date, Izumi’s bad luck didn’t seem to ruin much of the day as one would anticipate. Despite having to wait 90 minutes for a popular ride, Izumi and Shikimori enjoyed each other’s company throughout the wait. And even though their reservations at the restaurant went bust, they were upgraded to a fancy, upstairs table with a four-course meal. And even though Shikimori’s chances of kissing Izumi were dashed during the Sleeping Beauty ride, she got something unexpected on the gondola that night.

I know it was just a kiss on the cheek, but it was cute.

You know what? Most of this anime did bore me a bit. I don’t know, I got tired of seeing Izumi get struck with bad luck throughout the majority of the series. It dragged on and you’re just saying to yourself, “no one is that unlucky”. I mean, this guy’s bad luck is inching closer to Touma from the Index/Railgun series and Seina from Tenchi Muyo GXP. But then you get these moments in the anime that kinda bring you back. Episodes 11 & 12 were definitely the best ones, but I also like the side stuff with Kamiya. I just think there are many other romcoms out there you could be watching instead of this one. But that’s just me. If you want to check out an unlucky dip and his super-woman, pink-haired girlfriend, be my guest.

Crunchyroll has all of the episodes subbed and dubbed, plus several episodes with commentary from the Japanese cast.

#anime review #shikimori's not just a cutie #kawaii dake ja nai shikimori san #yuu izumi #shuu inuzuka #kamiya

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whiskeysmulti · 17 days ago

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Lucky Charm (A KHR Fanfic)

Fandom: KHR Word Count: 1,035 Prompt: Lucky Charm Ship: 1827 Characters: Hibari Kyouya/Sawada Tsunayoshi Event Host: @flufftober

Tsuna never thought he had a lucky charm until he gained three of them, the ring from Lancia, the lucky charm from Kyoko and Haru, and his own Cloud Guardian. Though all three were physical, one was even more precious to him than the others.

The ring had saved his life in the battle with Byakuran, the lucky charm brought him a victory he didn't think would be possible without the girls and their support, and then that left Hibari. Tsuna had never considered his friends to be a possession like a lucky charm, but there was something about Hibari that made him feel much safer when the Cloud did finally arrive at the battlefield.

Strong, stoic and more than capable of taking on an entire army himself, Hibari always brought a sense of safety and serenity to the chaos of Tsuna's life. As long as he was around, they had nothing to fear as Tsuna had witnessed firsthand the determination and will to live within his own Cloud. Not even an army could stop him when he was in the right mood and none of the other Vongola dared to stand in the way of him and a target when he was angry enough. Hard headed, strong willed and not afraid of death itself, Hibari was the Vongola's wild card in combat and in many cases, their saving grace and last hope when things looked the darkest.

The ever stoic, ever aloof drifting Cloud was not someone to be messed with, not someone to waste time and not someone you wanted to get in the way of when he was in a fight. None dared to interrupt his nap time or damage the school lest they wanted to face an infuriated skylark. Wild and untamable it took the strength of an allied boss to train him and he rarely faced defeat, when he did it only fueled his drive to train more and get stronger before facing the enemy again. Able to take on an army single handedly, and known for being the strongest guardian in the family for a reason, Hibari was the last of Tsuna's guardians you'd ever want to piss off.

The ever drifting Cloud whom nothing could bind was not just a precious bond to Tsuna, but also an asset to the family altogether. The strongest for a reason, the solitary Cloud was often the one called at the last minute when things looked the most grim, a beacon of hope in their darkest hour. Not once in his life had Hibari ever thought he would be someone's ray of hope, but right now that was exactly what he was.

Tsuna's life had been nothing but chaotic and there were many times he was forced by Reborn to become the hero he never wanted to be. The unluckiest of the unlucky, a loser from the start, Tsuna often wondered if he'd ever find peace in his life.

No good Tsuna, the guy that no one wanted, the loser who was always picked last for everything and who couldn't even get decent grades had nothing going for him in his life and no luck whatsoever.

Hibari Kyouya, the Namimori delinquent head prefect and the strongest fighter in the school had wanted nothing to do with the mafia and didn't care for fraternizing with those weaker than him, until he met Tsuna. Immediately deeming him a coward and a herbivore had never thought of him as anything more than another weakling he had to protect until things got really bad and he witnessed the tenth Vongola boss in action.

Many times Tsuna had protected him and many other times Hibari had backed Tsuna up and saved them in their darkest hour, this was one of those times. "Hibari-san, thanks." Tsuna smiled, as his Cloud had once again stepped in when things looked the worst and Tsuna thought he was going to die, it was Hibari that took the lead and protected him and Tsuna never felt safer if he was being perfectly honest. "How can I repay you?" He honestly would have done anything to make it up to Hibari for the countless time he stepped in for the family, a living lucky charm to them all, often taking a victory when things were at their worst.

But if anyone were to ask Tsuna at school, he'd tell them Hibari was scary and untamable. And if anyone were to ask Hibari, he'd tell them he didn't have time to waste on associating with herbivores like Sawada Tsunayoshi. Both boys were closer than either of them realized, but neither of them would ever admit it. Too proud and too scared to claim they were actually friends, Hibari went about his days as the terrifying Namimori head prefect, and Tsuna as the loser of the entire school. But when no one else was looking there were those long glances, there were those moments Tsuna should have been in trouble but Hibari let it slide, there were those moments when Tsuna could have died but made it out unscathed because some much stronger and much braver took the hit for him. There were those moments when Tsuna should have gotten his ass beaten by the enemy, but the mere mention of Hibari's name sent them running in the other direction like a complete and total coward.

Whether it was good luck, strength, or something more between the two, Tsuna knew deep down even as scary as his Cloud was, Hibari was a beacon of hope, a good luck charm for him, and someone he secretly admired from afar. It wasn't quite love, but he knew he felt something a little more than admiration when Hibari was around. A friend, a guardian, the strongest in the family, and a living, breathing good luck charm, Hibari embodied something the family needed desperately and not even a genius like Gokudera could really put it into words. Though deep in his heart, Tsuna knew it had a name. Hibari was his hope, but he'd wait to tell him that one day when they were older and he was finally ready to talk about his feelings for his own Cloud.

#flufftober2024 #KHR fanfic #ship; 1827 #day 28 #prompt; lucky charm

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thepurplewombat · 2 years ago

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Okay, so. Beefleaf

When you first meet Shi Qingxuan, they're accompanied by Ming Yi, often referred to as his/her best friend. Every time they say it, Ming Yi is like 'who's that' and you're like AWWW, It's Grumpy and Sunshine! So cute!

And then!

AND THEN (spoilers for Volme...3? of TGCF? Look, if you're read the Blackwater arc, you'd know, so if you haven't, just vote beefleaf and trust me on this one) under the cut

it turns out that when he was born SQX was cursed by a Reverend of Empty Words, who is a kind of monster that like, follows people around and tells them all the bad shit that's gonna happen, which then comes true! So SXQ's brother Shi Wudu, and their family, pretended SQX was a girl and there was a whole complicated thing, but after several years the Reverend found them again.

And it was driving SQX insane. He was too afraid to go out, it was awful.

So then Shi Wudu decides that what he needs to do is to a: ascend to godhood, and b: switch SXQ's fate with someone else.

Which he then proceeded to do. He Xuan went from lucky - beloved by his family, wonderful fiancee, gifted etc - to the unluckiest man in the world.

His fiancee was kidnapped and killed herself to avoid being forced to become some asshole's concubine, his sister was murdered, he was jailed, his mother died while he was in jail, and then he got out of jail and built a business but people kept commandeering his ships and cheating him, so he kept being broke, and then his dad died and nobody wanted to help bury him, and He Xuan was like 'okay you know what, fuck everyone and everything' and went on an axe-murder rampage and killed the clan that had killed his sister and ruined his life. And then he fell into the ocean and died.

And became a ghost, and eventually a Calamity (long story, but they're also called Ghost Kings, they are Very Bad News) and then he found out about the fate switching. He took that about as well as you'd expect. So what he did was kidnapped Ming Yi, impersonated him, and moved into Heaven as the Earth Master, where he was promptly befriended by...drum roll please...Shi Qingxuan!

They're friends for several years - I'm vague on the timeline but like, maybe 20 years., maybe 100?

And then shit starts happening, and He Xuan (Also known as Black Water Sinking Ships, all the calamities have really cool names) starts on his revenge plan.

And SQX thinks that the Reverend has found her again (look, SQX's gender is complicated, so I'm just going with how they were presenting as far as I can remember when the events in question happened) and runs to Xie Lian, the main character, for help. With Ming Yi in tow.

there's a lot of drama that culminates in Shi Wudu's heavenly calamity (basically levelling up, but for gods) and eventually All is Revealed! And SXQ is heartbroken because she didn't even know about the fate-switching, and it's all super tragic.

I definitely think that this one should win

Iconic Homoerotic Betrayal: Round 1

Round 1 Directory

Context for TWEWY below. Beefleaf fans, drop your summary in the reblogs.

You play as Neku Sakuraba in this video game, who is in the Reapers' Game, fighting for survival and partnering up and with amnesia. Turns out you're dead! He doesn't remember how he died. His first partner gets taken from him so he ends up partnered with Joshua for week two. He's an asshole and rude but also has hidden depth to him, and really connects with Neku (who remembers everything EXCEPT how he died, now).

At the end of week 2! Joshua dies for you! Takes a blow to save Neku's life!

And then at the end of the game he shows up a-okay and says HEY IM THE ONE WHO KILLED YOU, I PUT YOU IN THE GAME, YOU HAVE TO SHOOT AND KILL ME OR IM GOING TO DESTROY THIS CITY YOU'VE COME TO LOVE, AND ALL YOUR FRIENDS TOO, KILL ME OR I WILL RUIN EVERYTHING

(AND NEKU DOESN'T SHOOT, AND NEKU DOESN'T KILL HIM, AND JOSH CHANGES HIS MIND BECAUSE NEKU CARED ABOUT HIM ENOUGH TO SAVE *HIM* TOO)

Josh is also very flamboyant and teases neku gayly. I love them your honor

Extended summary for Josh/Neku. Excellent read:

Okay, buckle in, because we are going on a ride. Player One: Neku Sakuraba. Dead kid extraordinaire. He woke up in the Reaper's Game, a game hosted in Shibuya's Underground, or UG (essentially the afterlife, it's a plane of existence on top of the Realground, or RG, which is the plane of the living), where freshly-dead souls partner up and compete for a second chance at life, with no absolutely no memories of who or where he was, much less how he died. Still, together with his first partner, he managed to win the Reaper's Game... but was denied a second chance.

The Conductor, who runs the Game, told them that the Composer, essentially the god of the Underground, had decided only one of them could return to life, and that was his partner, so Neku re-entered the Game for a second week in a row. Enter Player Two: Yoshiya Kiryu, but Mother and Father call him Joshua and, well, he supposes Neku can call him Joshua, too, seeing as he's his dear, dear partner. Joshua is annoying, grating, the manifestation of all of Neku's worst traits, the thing he could be if he refuses to grow, and he's constantly giggling and flirting with Neku. He's definitely hiding something, and eventually admits that he's still alive, playing the Game of his own accord. His ultimate goal is to become the Composer, as whoever defeats the current one takes their place and Joshua's status as a living Player makes him significantly more powerful. Plus there's the issue of the current Game Master, who seems to have taken an interest in Neku and causes headaches whenever he's around.

Partway through the week, Neku receives a flash of memory, the memory of his death. He was shot, and Joshua was behind the trigger. This information leaves Neku in a difficult position, as he can't win the Reaper's Game without a partner, and in fact, if his partner is erased, so is he. And he needs to win because his partner the previous week was taken as his entry fee, he's playing for her and he doesn't know what will happen to her if he loses. So he has to get along with his murderer for the rest of the week. Joshua, meanwhile, gleefully dances around the subject, never quite confirming or denying whether he killed Neku, even when confronted.

On the final day, they have to defeat the Game Master in order to win, and just before the fight, Neku receives the same flash of memory as before... but this time, it continues. Joshua pulled the trigger, but Neku didn't die. He didn't shoot Neku; just behind him lurked the Game Master, holding up a gun of his own. Joshua never killed him, Neku realized. He had spent all week distrusting his partner, when all along, he had been trying to protect him. And after they defeat the Game Master in the present, he releases one last attack, one that would certainly erase both of them. But Joshua pushes Neku out of danger, taking on the full force of the attack himself, leaving Neku alone with the guilt, of his distrust having pushed Joshua to figuratively take the bullet for him.

And once again, Neku is forced to play the Game again, but this time, he teams up with his new partner to use the clues Joshua left them with to find the Composer themself and bring an end to all this. And they do! As the city falls into chaos around them, denizens of both the UG and RG falling victim to mind control that must be the Composer's doing, Neku and his partner fight until the last day, until the only thing standing between them and the Composer Himself is the Conductor. And just as the fight is about to begin, Neku hears that familiar giggle. Joshua is alive. He calls the Conductor by name. But Neku barely has time to process this, because the Conductor fuses with Joshua for one final battle. And in the rubble of that, as the Conductor teeters at the edge of erasure, he asks Joshua what will become of the city. It turns out, one month prior, the Conductor made a deal with the Composer, who thought Shibuya had become stagnant and needed to be destroyed before its negative influence spread elsewhere. The Conductor had a month to prove that the city wasn't worthless, to turn the people into something more suitable - thus the mind control. To make it fair, the Composer decided that He was going to play with a hand-picked proxy in His place. But the Conductor failed. As he dissolves, erased, Neku finally gets to ask Joshua what's going on. "Hee hee... It was me, Neku," Joshua says. "I'm Shibuya's Composer." And Neku was his proxy. Finally, he returns Neku's memory of his death in full - the Game Master raised his gun, but he wasn't aiming at Neku, he was aiming at Joshua. And every bullet he fired was frozen mid-air, until he was turned to turn tail and flee. Then Joshua turned his gun on Neku once more, and shot him.

And now, Joshua, the Composer of Shibuya, decides to give Neku one last chance. They'll have a duel, and whoever wins gets to decide the fate of Shibuya. Neku doesn't get the chance to agree or disagree; Joshua gives him a gun, and the countdown begins. 10... 9.... Joshua raises his gun, smirking. Like he doesn't care. Like their time as partners meant nothing. 8... 7... Neku cries. He just stares at the ground, gun in his hand, and cries. 6... The sorrow turns to rage, and Neku raises the gun, aiming at Joshua with shaking hands. His eyes squeezed shut. 5... 4... He can't do it. 3... 2... Despite everything Joshua has done, despite killing Neku, lying to him, manipulating him and forcing him to play his sick Game, faking his own death, forcing Neku into this situation, planning to erase the entire city... Neku can't shoot him. Joshua is his partner. And Neku trusts him. 1. He lowers the gun. BANG. A single gunshot rings out, and Neku falls to the floor. The last thing he sees as his eyes close is Joshua's smiling face.

If you got here, know that I was very tempted to put joshneku in a threeway duel with komahina and akeshu but decided to split things up a bit.

#tian guan ci fu #tgcf #beefleaf #vote vote vote

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incorrect-azur-lane · 2 years ago

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Prince of Wales, [to Prinz Eugen]: When I said I wanted you to make noise during sex, I didn’t mean mocking ones.

#prinz eugen #unluckiest lucky ship #kreuzer prinz eugen #hms prince of wales #prince of wales #lady in the streets lady in the sheets #denmark not straights #rivalry is a fun game #azur lane #incorrect azur lane quotes #incorrect azur lane quote #incorrect azur lane #incorrect quote #incorrect quotes #source: unknown

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years ago

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Sugar, Spice, and a Heart to Entice

AKA: Jango Fett speedruns a romance with someone who should be his enemy. (It's okay. We know he makes bad choices.)

Note: Ahsoka uses the pseudonym "Ashla" in this fic. Warnings: slavery, references to drug use, crude sex jokes, undressing of an unconscious person (for medical reasons)

----

The girl that they shove into the chains next to him is... worrying.

(Well, probably a girl--he'll adjust later if it turns out he's wrong.)

She's not that much younger than him, he thinks. It's hard to tell, with the way her skin is taut over muscle and bone, too little water and too little sleep, and probably not enough food for whatever labor she's been doing. He's also, admittedly, not great at gauging ages in the first place, and certainly not for Togruta. Still, he thinks it's safe to say that they're close in age, and that she's probably younger than him.

She's lucky, by some measure. The spice ship is terrible, but it's probably better than the fate tog girls are usually subject to in this industry. They're hazardous conditions, and violent ones, but Jango's yet to see a slave here stripped of their clothing for anything other than a whipping.

He thinks it's probably a matter of money. That kind of violation lowers the profit margins, he imagines. Spice is more lucrative than anything, and pain is a better motivator than... well.

So she's lucky, by that measure, and that measure alone.

They clap her in bindings before he even sees her, even though she's unconscious, and bring her sometime in the night cycle. Jango doesn't have a lot of pity left in him, but some goes out to her. He won't say she's too young for this, because nobody is ever old enough for slavery, nor do slavers have any compunctions about selling babes in arms, but Jango would wager she's already led a hard life.

She's fairly covered, but what little is visible shows enough old battle wounds that he can't imagine she's stayed off of battlefields. He knows how to read a Togruta's markings for stress history, too, and hers tell a story. Her facial marks are thin and delicate, and he'd say they're certainly more complex than the average; the striation on her lekku and montrals is thin and jagged, like marble. It's pretty enough, but it's also a sign of the fact that her life has likely been anything but easy. Some of it might be genetics, and he hopes it is, but with the scars he can see... he doubts it's much.

"Keep that one alive," the overseer orders, eyes on Jango and hand gesturing at the tog girl.

He leaves.

Jango isn't sure what they're hoping to get out of putting her with him. The room is built for four, yes, but they usually don't try to have anyone share with Jango. Maybe they ran out of room, or just assumed Jango was the most likely to know field medicine, or just figured there wouldn't be any trouble until she woke.

As he gets closer, his confusion grows. The tog's got burns all over, ugly ones that aren't going to heal cleanly without bacta. They're going to get infected, as likely as not. He hasn't got much besides water in here, but the overseer's left behind a box of what looks like bandages. If he's lucky, there's burn cream in there.

(He's not lucky.)

He works slowly, careful of every movement. He builds up a story in his head as he does, based on the wounds he finds and what he starts to notice of the clothing. He can't see all the details, not in what little light he has, but there's plenty to notice.

He hadn't realized, with how dim it is, but most of what she's got on as an outer layer is hardened leather, real leather, not synth. There are attachment points for armor at the shoulders and hips, and he thinks he sees signs of wear for vambraces and greaves. She's no Mando'verde, not with how he can see that the fabric at her torso and upper legs is intended to stay light and flexible and uncovered, but the crafting of the leather layers is familiar. He thinks she might have contacts among Mando armorers.

She might even wear beskar, if she's impressed the right person.

The wounds are recent, and unfamiliar, and he thinks she was probably fought into chains, rather than bought in them. She's a captive, not a purchase, or maybe... maybe they just found an unconscious woman, and decided that she was worth keeping.

He thinks she lost a fight, or won but with great injuries, and just... stumbled off and collapsed. He gets the feeling no one on board the ship could have fought this woman, except for himself. It's not based on much, not until he can see her move, but he's got good instincts for that sort of thing.

Jango keeps his assessment of her torso quick and clinical, not even bothering to mentally apologize for stripping her bare. This is medical, and he's not a doctor, not even a field medic, but he's professional nonetheless. Even though there's nothing in the box but bandages, not even the burn cream he'd hoped for, he'd still rather know if there's a broken rib to worry about. He doesn't want to wait for her to wake up and then find out she's got a punctured lung, even if he can't do anything about it. He finds bruising, but... he thinks that if anything is broken, it's hairline at most.

Lucky, he thinks again, in the unluckiest situations.

She doesn't wake that cycle. It's all he can do to get some water in her, dripped into her mouth in a trickle, but it's something.

----

When the Togruta girl wakes up, it's sudden. Jango is wiping down her lekku with a wet cloth in hopes of staving off a fever, kneeling next to the bunk. She opens her eyes, stiffens with a sharp breath, and then twists off the bed. Before he's fully processed this, her legs are up and around his neck, and then he's being wrenched to the side and onto the filthy ground, cheek grinding down into the grit. He feels a bony knee press into his spine, and the growl of a predator.

"Where am I?" the tog girl demands.

"Spice ship," he says, and oh but this place has ruined him for fights; he's having trouble breathing from whatever she's done to him, and she doesn't even have the use of her hands. "Deep space. You're in the slave cells. Don't mess with the collar, it'll explode if you try to remove it."

"Spice refinery?" she repeats, sounding completely baffled. He gives her a second to process, but she blindsides him. "Someone got me in their hands and they went for spice slavery?"

"As opposed to..." he really hopes she gets off soon.

She doesn't answer him immediately, and he can't get a look at her face. He gets his arms out to the sides, plants them to the floor, and shoves back. She doesn't fall off, but she does slide to the side to sit on the floor.

The expression she's got is best described as 'shell-shocked,' he thinks.

"You don't know me," she says, faint and confused. He shakes his head; he's pretty sure he'd have recognized her if he'd known her at all, given the time he's spent cleaning her wounds and trying to keep her alive. She laughs, breathless and a tad hysterical. "You don't--fuck. You don't know me. That's... great. Okay. Okay, I can work with that. Don't know how they missed it, but okay."

"Bounty on your head?" he guesses.

She smiles, thin and unpleasant. "Something like that."

"Thought as much. You're built like a fighter." He intends it as a compliment, but he doesn't think she takes it as one.

"I've never had a choice otherwise," she says, and when she next looks around, it's to find a place to sit. She pushes herself up to the thin mattress of the cot behind her, and Jango mirrors her on the cot across the room. It's not his bed, technically, but it's not like there's anyone to complain. She frowns at him; it's not a rude look, he thinks, but an attempt to put something unfamiliar in place. "What legion were you with?"

He blinks at her. He's been part of an army, but never one that big. "Legion?"

"Were you with special forces?" she tries again. "Or--wait, did you even get off Kamino before--"

"I'm not whoever you think I am," he tells her. "None of that means anything to me. I know what a legion is, but I've never had reason to be part of one."

"But you're..." she trails off, brow furrowed. "I guess just a similar face, then."

"To who?"

"The clones?" she hazards, as if that clears anything at all up. "I have no idea where we are; maybe the war holos never made it out far enough for you to know what they looked like..."

"Which war?" he asks, because he feels like he'd probably have heard of a war that used clones, especially one that had enough holos spread around for this woman to expect him to know what the clones in question look like.

"The... the clone war," she says hesitantly. "With the Separatists?"

None of that means anything to him.

It must show in his face, because her brow furrows, and her eyes go wide in a way he doesn't like. He can't tell if her skin's losing color or anything, but he's pretty sure the curl at the tip of one lek is a sign of anxiety. He's not sure how to help, but part of him already decided he liked this woman, just on the suspicion that she was friendly to Mandalorians.

(It's been a solid year and a half since Jango has had anything approaching a friend. He may be, subconsciously, a little desperate.)

"What's your name?" she asks, voice pitching in discomfort, and tight as a garotte.

"Jango Fett."

She closes her eyes, clenches her jaw, and... he can't see, can't know if she's trembling, but he thinks she is. She lets her head fall back against the wall, and breathes in sharply. It's a shaky breath, and he doesn't like that much, either.

"Fuck," she repeats. "No wonder--fuck."

He gives her a few seconds, but she doesn't elaborate. He asks another question instead. "Do I get to know your name?"

Her eyes crack open, and then she sits up straight and looks him over. Her lips purse, and she comes to some decision, though he's at a loss for what. "Call me Ashla. She/her, if you'd rather stick to Basic."

Fake name. Alright. She mentioned a bounty, so it's probably about that.

"Well met, Ashla."

She laughs, empty and painful. She swears in a mix of Huttese and Mando'a, and a few languages he doesn't even recognize. The Core accent on her Mando'a is strong, but he thinks whoever taught her might have been from Concord Dawn.

"How old are you, if you don't--"

"I'm twenty-one," she says. He was right; she's only two years younger than him. "At least... fuck, okay. What's the date?"

He tells her, and she screws up her brow and mouths something to herself. He's not entirely sure what.

"How long ago was..." she trails off.

"Was what?"

She presses a hand over her eyes. "I don't know what year it is."

Ah. Well, he can help with that much. He tells her that, too.

Ashla drops her hand. She visibly mulls it over, eyes on the underside of the bunk above her. He has no idea what she's thinking.

"Why aren't there other people in this room?"

"Weak ones couldn't sleep because I'm 'too intimidating,' and the rest kept trying to throw their weight around." He shrugs at the look she points his way. "I'm not dumb enough to start a fight with a bomb around my neck, but I'm not letting someone knock me around so they can earn a reputation."

She purses her lips, but lets it lie. "You let me take you down, then?"

"You had the advantage of surprise," he says, and doesn't bother to list every other advantage. She's better fed than he is, has spent less time in spice-suffused air, was unconscious and resting while he was awake to keep an eye on her fever. He's got the feeling she already knows.

When she speaks again, it's low and in fluent Mando'a, heavily accented though it may be.

"You'd get out of here eventually," she tells him, eyes half shut. "But you'll get out faster with my help, Mand'alor."

His stomach twists.

----

"They are either very stupid, or very cheap," Ashla mutters a day later, when he's supposedly helping her change some bandages. It gives him the excuse of leaning in close.

"Probably the former," he says.

She grins, and then stiffens and hisses out a low breath as he pours some of the stolen whiskey over one of the burns. It's not a real disinfectant, but it's the best they've got at the moment. Jango still isn't sure how she managed to get it from the overseers without them noticing, but he's quickly gotten the gist that she's a fair shot sneakier than he is.

"What did they do?" he asks, and she huffs out a laugh.

"I need you to promise you won't try to kill me," she says, and he stills.

She seems to be waiting on his response. Great. "That's not an auspicious start, Ashla."

"Eh, I've survived more than my fair share of people trying to kill me. No offense, bro, but I could take you," she says.

She's probably right in their current circumstances. "Let's hear it."

"I left the Jedi Order when I was seventeen."

The whiskey bottle slips from his fingers.

An invisible hand catches it, and it settles quietly on the floor of their cell. No guards will come running. It's a damning sight, for him.

A Jedi.

A Jedi who--who left.

Jedi committed Galidraan, but she left three years before that, but she was--was--

She has her back to him, trusting.

Or just arrogant.

She phrased it that way on purpose, phrased it so he'd know she left before he--before--

"I was framed by my friend for a terrorist attack," she says, and he can't find his voice to tell her to stop talking. "And sentenced to death by a non-Jedi military tribunal for it. By the time they figured out I wasn't guilty, I'd already been kicked out."

He forces his hands to his knees, grips at the bones that are too close to the skin, and orders himself to breathe.

Ashla turns on the spot, blinks at him. "I'm telling you this because it's how we're going to get out."

"Your people killed mine."

"I wasn't a Jedi when Galidraan happened," she says. There's more she wants to say, he's sure, but she keeps the words locked behind her teeth. That might be a good thing.

"And I'm just supposed to trust you?"

"Only for long enough to get out of here," she tells him. She shrugs, easy as anything. She's done this before, maybe. "Trust me, I have plenty of reasons to hate you, too, but I'm a little more concerned about getting this ship taken into custody, and having all the slaves freed."

"And you can just... make that happen."

"I told you, they're either stupid or skint," she says, with that same disarming grin. "I had lightsabers on me, and they kept them on the ship. They haven't drugged me since I woke up. They put me in normal cuffs, Jango."

He hates the way his name sounds on her tongue.

He hates the fact that he sees her plan already.

"You don't even need me," he points out, resisting the urge to try to kill her here and now. He doesn't have his armor. He doesn't have weapons. He's good, but she's got the Force and thighs that can crush a bantha skull.

"I'm not exactly... legit," she admits with a grimace. "Once you're back in Mandalorian space, you at least have an identity. People that will give you a place to stay. A chain code."

"And you don't."

She smiles, brittle. "Give me a week to scope out what I need and get us out of here, and maybe I'll explain."

A week. Fine.

And once they're out of here, and he has a blaster and a meal and a good night's sleep, he'll handle her.

----

He hates the fact that he likes her, still. People had already noticed, even just one day in. The first time someone notices he's giving Ashla the cold shoulder in the workroom, they joke at him about her not putting out. He's known her one day, and they think--

He stops the thought in its tracks.

Jango doesn't start fights here, but he is tempted.

"Oh, he wouldn't dare," Ashla simpers, sweet as spun sugar. "I bite."

She smiles, every pearly white tooth on display. The fangs near glint in the light. She eyes the speaker, squeezes the tool in her hand. Her tendons strain, but the metal bends with a creak.

The overseer shouts for them to get back to work.

Jango steps closer to her, lets his elbows brush against hers, and glares off anyone that tries to get too close.

"I don't need protection," she mutters to him from the corner of her mouth.

"I keep my word," he replies, hating himself for it.

He said he'd have her back. He may hate what she is, but... she left the Order. She's not a Jedi anymore. If he thinks it enough, he can believe it.

----

There's always a camaraderie in shared suffering. Jango is aware of this, and he feels his fondness for Ashla grow against his better judgment. They're both slaves on a spice ship, and he can't change that. It makes him tolerate her more than he sensibly should.

She acts like a Mando soldier, sometimes. She's not at all like Haat Mando'ade, but she knows some of the jokes that Mandalorians grow up with. She walks like a woman used to beskar'gam. She knows a drinking song or two.

(They don't waste the whiskey. It's for injuries, not intoxication.)

"I had brothers, once," she tells him, late at night. "A lot of them. They had a Mandalorian parent, sort of, but he'd never seen fit to really... let them have the culture. I lost them all, mostly to slave chips, and a few to just normal deaths, but... I learned what I could about Mandalore, after, for their sake. In their memory."

It's not a terrible reason, he thinks.

"Irony for you to end up in chains, then," he mumbles, and she barks out a sharp laugh.

"Tradition, more like," she says, and explains before he can ask for her to keep talking. "My... teacher was born a slave, and I... have a suspicion he ended up back in chains after we lost contact. His teacher was enslaved at least twice that I know of."

"Shitty tradition," he says, because there's nothing else he can think of.

"Could be worse," she tells him. This time, she doesn't elaborate.

----

He likes her more than he should.

----

He likes her so, so, so much more than he should.

----

She steals datachips when nobody's looking, using the Force instead of her fingers. She wraps dismissal around her like a cloak to access computer terminals without anyone but Jango noticing. She slips spice into the drinks held by guards and overseers.

She moves through the ship like smoke, in the dim lights of the false night.

Someone notices. Someone always notices, in Jango's experience, but they have no idea who's doing it. They lock down the cells for the sleep cycle, turn down the temperature, leave all the slaves shivering in their beds.

He pulls Ashla into his cot without hesitation, fits their bodies together to conserve heat, and ignores the rest. They're both soldiers; there's no shame in survival for those like them. The lekku at her back drapes over his neck like a scarf, and he almost wants to laugh.

He's pathetic. His men would be so damn disappointed in him, sharing bunk with a Jedi.

"You're thinking too loud," she mumbles, shifting somehow closer. The chill clings, creeping in through the thin clothes and thinner blanket, but he feels like it's bearable with Ashla here.

----

When they enact the plan, it's so much quieter than Jango would have run it. Ashla holds his hands in the early morning, before anyone is awake, and smiles. When she closes her eyes, sinking into a light meditation, the collar around her neck just... comes apart. Nuts and bolts and curves of metal float about her like a wretched parody of the mobile hanging above an infant's crib, and then land quietly on the nearest cot. When she opens her eyes, hazy and distant, she looks at his throat, and frees him with a thought.

It's a heady thing, freedom.

"Come along, Fett," she goads, almost crooning the words, backing out of the cell with his hands in hers. Nobody is awake yet, or at least they shouldn't be. Her words curl in the air like something cloyingly too-sweet, and he's sure it's her way of trying to piss him off. It's only working a little. "We've work to do."

Said work involves slipping past guards with a Jedi's timing, commanding them to sleep with a whisper and a poke to the forehead, and drugging the ones that she claims are resistant to Jedi tricks. The work is, as such, mostly hers to do. They hide the bodies, but the alarm goes off by the time they get to the weapons locker.

That's fine, because the weapons locker is where they were headed.

"Oh, hell yes," she hisses through a grit-tooth grin, and a matched pair of lightsabers float to her. Jango turns off the energy field by the time they reach her, and she hooks them onto her belt. Beskar plating follows, exactly the pieces that Jango had guessed from wear and tear. It's real beskar, too, not even an alloy, and Jango doesn't ask the questions on the tip of his tongue. She straps it on in practiced movements, without hesitation and almost without thought.

"See anything better than what you got off the guards?" she asks him. "Or did they all take the best blasters for themselves?"

"The latter," he says.

(His eyes trace over the armor she wears, and while she does wear it well... he's jealous.)

(He misses his armor.)

(Envy is unbecoming of anyone, but he thinks he can be afforded a little leeway.)

There are people in the hall by the time they exit, a dozen blasters at the ready.

The people in the hall are... not a problem.

Ashla had called it the Sword and Shield maneuver, when walking him through her experiences working in a Mando/Jetii team. He'd laughed, because the saber was the shield. She'd smiled at him, and he'd cursed himself for it.

If he'd had his armor, they'd have been able to move forward as a pair of unstoppable monsters. As it stands, they're... still doing that, really, just a tad slower.

"You're a Jedi!" one of them shouts. "You're supposed to be diplomats! You're not supposed to kill!"

Jango could laugh at that horrible, horrible lie.

"I am no Jedi," Ashla says, and the words cut through the air like something she's said a million times, and will say a million more.

Jango could do a lot with that line, tucked away in his memories for later.

There's a moment, though, where they're stuck at one end of a hallway, and the door to the bridge is just on the other side, and Ashla grins at him, a challenge in every inch of her body, and asks, "You wanna see something cool?"

He can't help it.

"You planning to show off, Jedi?" He can say the word without flinching, and it's... absurd. It's absurd. What in all the hells is she doing to him?

(He's been told that war makes for strange bedfellows, but he's long known that trauma does the same.)

He takes cover when she moves, and oh, does she move.

Ashla's a whirlwind, dangerous as anything and beautiful in her careful, precise violence. She knocks people out, more often than not, but there's more then one dead body left in her wake. It appeals to something in him. She flips and twists and throws people with the Force. She slices and kicks, and smacks people across the face with the blasters she lifts of their comrades. She headbutts at least two people, and then jumps to bounce off the ceiling and back down so she can land feet first on an enemy.

He hopes he'll get his common sense back when he's had time to put himself together, because the sight of those sabers doesn't make him flinch. After all he's been through, after all his nightmares, it really should. The sound alone should have him shivery and shooting.

Maybe there's just too much spice in the air.

A head drops to the floor in a different direction from the body it had previously been attached to. Jango's throat goes dry in response.

When Ashla stands at the end of the hall, a saber in each hand and the floor behind her littered in both bodies breathing and bodies bereft of life, she looks back at him over her shoulder. She deactivates her swords, and smirks. She's smug, and she makes smug look very, very good.

"So," she says. "Verdict?"

Fuck.

----

The bridge is easy enough to handle. They land the ship on a Republic planet, one with relevant authorities and at least some reputation for actually handling things with a degree of kindness and transparency. Ashla does the talking, letting Jango lurk behind her. She lies.

"Half-truths," she later tells him, in a low voice. The smile she wears is amused and self-assured, just a twist at the corner, and the slightest of pouts. He can't see it, when she leans in to murmur in his ear. "I certainly used to be a Jedi. They don't need to know this wasn't an officially-sanctioned infiltration."

Her breath hits lightly against his ear, and he wants--he wants--

"Have a comm code for any old friends?" Ashla asks, stepping away. Her face twists unpleasantly. Frustration, he's sure. "I've got credits, but no contacts."

He eyes the little pack she's got around her waist. "Stole that from the slavers?"

"We'll consider it payment for services rendered," she tells him, with an impish grin Jango wants to kiss off of her face, because apparently he's kriffing suicidal and wants to bed a Jedi. "I'll give you most of it, if you want. Call it the two years of backpay they owed you."

He snorts before he can stop himself. "Just one year, sorry."

"Oh, it's hazard pay," she insists, blinking innocently. "Dangerous conditions having been what they were, of course."

She presses a comm--probably also stolen--and a few credits into his hand, then loops her arm through his. She sets off at a lazy walk, ignoring the people who stare at them with distaste and disgust. "We'll find a hotel. We'll shower, with real water, and fancy soaps, and a little sonic just for the clothes. I'll run out and get you a basic outfit, and then we can go shopping, and once that's done, and you've had a chance to comm a companion, we can reunite you with your buddies, and you can go hunting for your armor, and I'll split and--"

"Stay."

She tilts her head at him, though she doesn't stop walking, and he feels his face burn. He hopes it's not visible. She hums lowly. He can't learn anything from it. "You hate Jedi, though, and I might not really be one anymore, but I'm still more Jedi than not."

"You wear beskar and speak Mando'a," he says. "You helped the Mand'alor. You're halfway to being one of mine already."

"One of yours, huh?" she mutters, eyes somewhere distant. He doesn't know what it is that she's seeing, but he's gotten used to it. "Alright, let's have this conversation again after you've had some sleep and clothes and a good meal, yeah?"

He can take that compromise.

----

"What do you mean, you're from the future?!"

#Jangosoka #time travel #Jango Fett #Ahsoka Tano #slavery tw #drugs tw #Phoenix Posts #I wrote this on a whim a few days ago but didn't get it edited until today #anyway have a nonsense

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pentecostwaite · 4 years ago

Text

The Death and Resurrection of Pentecost Waite

The Afterlife of an Unrepentant Sinner, a somewhat fictional Account.

-----------------------

It is night, and Pentecost Waite waits. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to in the 300-odd years since his death.

Living men have no idea how haunted they are, how myriad the phantoms that swirl about them. This surprised Pentecost when he became a phantom himself. Looking back, it would have been most useful if Reverend Fiske had but once mentioned this from his creaking pulpit, instead of droning ever on about witches. In near three centuries, Pentecost has not encountered a single witch, but he has seen ghosts galore. The truth is, the dead are everywhere.

When he considers it, he cannot help but think bitterly of his own death as the farcical end of a life barely begun. Twenty-five years of unspeakable longing. A single passionate but deeply unwise encounter in the Wenham Common Wood. And in the end, his handsome dalliance, Flee-Fornication Waldron, belatedly lived up to his name and, guilt-ridden, whispered of their sin to another. How swiftly a whisper travels in a community of the godly! Three days later, as his sister answered the door to the dark visages of the Deacon and Constable, Pentecost slipped out the back ell and began to run.

He didn’t stop until he reached York, on the northern frontier of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. There, he wagered, his sins could not follow. But in the greatest irony of all, just as he tasted freedom from the stifling press of his former community, a chance to live out his days undisturbed, if not entirely fulfilled, Death came for him--as it so often does when man is least prepared.

The tavern where Pentecost had planned to spend his first night in York was full to bursting at an hour past sundown, as was his bladder on account of the plentiful cheap ale. He’d packed his clay pipe with borrowed tobacco, drew a rushlight from the fire and headed outside to heed nature’s insistence. In the gloaming, as Pentecost lit his pipe, the traitorous ale weakened his knees and he lost his footing. He hadn’t noticed the embankment there, and fell backwards down the slope, striking his head on a large stone. Blinding pain, and then nothing.

After death, lucky souls are immediately ascendant, or so Pentecost assumes. The unlucky linger on the earth. And the unluckiest, by force or circumstance become trapped, attached to some meaningless object: a kid-skin glove, an oak aumbry, a cocked beaver hat, or in Pentecost’s case, the stem of his clay smoking pipe. The best he can discern, he must have bitten it into pieces when his head struck the rock, and his soul rushed in. He is tethered to this clay piece like a ship to an anchor. He is not alone. More tethered souls dot the landscape around him, just out of reach. A garden of ghosts.

In death, the monotony is pervasive. Through the decades, Pentecost has watched the tavern become a home, watched children grow and die. Clothing and speech change, but people remain the same. He expected to go on like this, a silent shipwrecked observer, as the pipe stem crumbled to dust.

That is, until HE came.

People tour the former tavern now in eager groups. They cluster in the back on the spot where the drunken taverners once pissed and speak loftily of The History Of The Place. Sometimes, one of the group hangs back when the rest have moved on. They gaze at the building, peruse the ground, pocket a sherd of broken pottery. And that is how Pentecost came to be found.

How the young man spotted the artifact in the shadow of the embankment, Pentecost will never know. In a moment, the pipe stem was plucked from the ground by nimble, curious fingers, and Pentecost with it. Gently pushed into a darkened pocket, he was free.

How to describe the whirlwind journey to the young man’s home later that day? Impossibly fast, a hurricane of color and speed in one of the horseless carriages Pentecost had observed for years with curiosity and trepidation. The young man’s rooms were small, simple, bright with windows. He emptied his pockets on a table by his bedstead, and examined the pipe stem again. Pentecost stood awkwardly in the corner, a guest without an invitation.

The young man, brown of hair and eye, was disarmingly handsome in a boyish way, polite and soft-spoken as he greeted his neighbors earlier on the doorstep. And he smelled divine. Something stirred within Pentecost.

That night, when the young man retired to bed, and with nothing preventing him, Pentecost slid beneath the covers. He lay awake all night, intoxicated by their proximity, memorizing every crease and curve of the young man’s face, the sound of his breath, the slow beat of his heart. That such exquisite intimacy unavailable in life could be so easily come by in death was both an amazement and a grief in turns.

In the morning, the young man arose and left the house. By night he returned. And so Pentecost slipped into a new and wondrous routine: nights spent pressed close beside the young man, and days spent exploring his rooms.

The young man was an avid reader, Pentecost quickly discovered, and half-opened books lay on nearly every surface. Through experimentation Pentecost learned to turn the pages, and once he did, he read everything in sight. At last, he felt like he could face eternity.

It is night, and Pentecost Waite waits.

The young man is late this evening. When he arrives home, he looks weary from work. He has a quiet supper. He washes the dishes and spends a long while looking out the kitchen window towards the rising moon. When he makes his way to the bedroom, Pentecost follows.

The young man empties his pockets on the bedside table, as he does every night. Tonight he picks up the pipe stem there and turns it over and over between his fingers. Time seems to slow.

“I know you’re here,” he says at last. He raises his head to look around the room.

Pentecost freezes.

“You’re the one who’s been reading all my books, aren’t you? I see the shape of your head on the pillow every morning.”

The young man holds up the pipe stem, eyes still searching the room.

“You came in on this, and now you’re here with me.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

Silence hangs thick as a curtain. After a moment, the young man opens a drawer in the bedside table and slides the pipe stem in gently, reverently, as if it were Pentecost’s immortal soul itself.

“So you don’t get lost ever again,” the young man murmurs.

Pentecost realizes he is quivering.

Slowly, slowly, the young man raises his arms, pulls his shirt off over his head. He’s beautiful in the half-light, achingly so. They face each other in the deep stillness that follows. Then the young man holds out his hand.

“Come to bed,” he says, and smiles.

Pentecost doesn’t wait, not one single minute more.

(Apocrypha)

#pentecost waite #18th century fiction #original writing #queer ghosts #lgbtq fiction

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forever-alone-su-au · 4 years ago

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Chapter 1 The Wait (The Wake)

I, Steven Quartz Cutie Pie Demayo Universe, found myself alone in a strange, featureless room. There were no doors or windows or any indication of where I should go next. I wanted to know where I should go, so I could do what I came here to do. Face the music for my mother’s war crimes. Determined, I declared to the world, “I know my mom did something bad. Whatever Homeworld has in store for me... I'm ready!” There was a slight echoing in the room, but other than the sound of my voice, nothing.

“I said, I’m ready! It’s me, Rose Quartz!” The floors and walls were bright and uniform, and distantly reminded me of fluorescent lighting. All of the corners were perfectly rounded, and I didn’t think there was anyway out. Unnerved, I started to look around, and explore the room. Perhaps there was something to push or somewhere to place my hand, so a door would open up?

“Hello? Anybody?” I called out, despite knowing that no one was likely to answer me. “Lars? You there?” I didn’t even know what happened to Lars since we were separated. Was he taken to the zoo, after all? Or somewhere even worse?

Personally, I couldn’t think of anything worse than this, however. Trapped in a room with nothing to do, and nobody else to talk to? Was this it then? “Is this the punishment?” But it couldn’t be! “Come on! I know it's going to be worse than this!” Rose Quartz, mom, had shattered Pink Diamond. Wouldn’t the consequences be greater than this!?

I had no other choice at the time, there wasn’t any other way to save everybody from my own past mistakes, but now that I had the time to think… I didn’t want to pay for my mother’s crimes. But how was I ever going to get back home? Back to dad and the Gems? Back to Connie? “So whatever you're going to do…” Or was this how I tempted fate? In the entire place, there was only one wall with a bit of color on it. It was pink, and I slumped against it for the comfort of having my face squished against something. “Would you just do it already?” I couldn’t help but sound defeated.

Despite facing the other way, immediately, I knew what that ridiculous sound meant, and almost couldn’t believe my ears. It couldn’t be as easy as a door magically opening, could it? Of course, the door didn’t just magically appear by itself, but opened at the appearance of a blue Homeworld Gem, one I’d never met the type of before. She looked kind of like Pinocchio, but with a crescent hood, sort of like a crescent moon really, and surrounded by a multitude of screens suspended mid-air, which followed wherever she went. Also, she was sweating quite profusely; the Gem seemingly preoccupied with the digital panel floating directly in front of her. I don’t think she even noticed I was there, she was so nervous, practically muttering to herself the whole time. “This is ridiculous!” Well, that was fine. I almost didn’t notice her either, if she hadn’t just come in through the new door in the wall. The door that closed just before I could escape through it, too.

“4,000 years of loyal service to the court, and this is what I get? Oh, I'm the unluckiest Zircon in the galaxy!”

Thoroughly disappointed at this turn of events, I turn towards the apparent Zircon, who gasps as she realizes I was there all along.

“Wait, are you…” Zircon starts, looking back to where she’d just come through, as if she came through the wrong door, and was checking to see if she was where she was supposed to be. “Rose Quartz?”

Reluctantly I answered her, because it was true in a way. “Yeah…” I might’ve been a hybrid, and I wasn’t actually my mom, but I was still a Rose Quartz… More importantly, I ‘was’ the infamous Rose Quartz, leader of the Gem Rebellion, or at least, I did possess her Gem. Even if I didn’t have her memories. “...Really.” Zircon drawled, sounding more than a little doubtful. Well, I was Rose’s son, but I didn’t think Homeworld Gems even knew what a son even was, so I didn’t even try.

“It’s a long story,” I told her. It felt like I’ve had to try and explain myself every time I met a new Homeworld Gem. Usually this was the part where I gear up to tell the new Homeworld Gem my backstory, but it didn’t seem like she wanted to hear it either.

“Don’t. Ugh! I’ve read the case files. Let’s just use this time to prepare your case.”

“Case?” I repeated, turning it into a question in the hopes that she’d answer me, however. She ignored this, and started ranting instead. It was familiar in a fashion, she was getting to be almost as neurotic as Pearl tended to be. “Ugh! What’s the point? This case is a sham! We’ve all heard rumors of Pink Diamond’s demise, but I can’t believe these case files—” Zircon frantically scrolls though the front most screens. “Shattered by one of her own Quartz soldiers- Ugh! In front of her own entourage!? If it weren’t for all of these official documents meticulously filed and carefully collected reports from multiple eyewitnesses, I’d say someone must be tumbling my rocks with these absurd claims.”

Unsure of how to respond to her rant, I kept my mouth shut. Y��know just in case. It could all turn out that mom wasn’t a war criminal, after all. And that I could just go home… Now if only that were true, or if I even knew what was going on.

“You know,” Zircon pointed at me, looking me in the eyes. “You’re lucky you have a character eyewitness willing to take the stand for you, ‘Rose Quartz.’”

“Eyewitness? Take the stand? What does that mean- What’s going to happen!?” What did all of this have to do with my looming punishment?

“What did you think was going to happen, ‘Rose Quartz!’” Why does she keep doing that? I could practically hear the quotes around Rose Quartz. Does she actually believe that I’m not my mom? “As soon as that door opens, you’re going on trial!” Mouthing the word, hoping to make the concept of going to trial make any sort of sense, but before I could even begin to process it, I’m rocked to the core by the next words out of her mouth.

“And then there’s the claim that the Gem calling herself Rose Quartz, leader of the rebellion, isn’t even Rose Quartz.” My eyes turned as large as saucers, and my mouth fell open. “Or even a Rose Quartz for that matter.

“What!?” That couldn’t be right! I am Rose Quartz! ...Right? Maybe it was a clerical error? I know I have a Rose Quartz Gem since I’ve seen what other Rose Quartz Gems are supposed to look like. Or, at least, I’ve seen them before, briefly, in Pink Diamond’s old bubble room on the Zoo ship.

“I know I don’t look like a,” and here, Steven lifted up his shirt to reveal what was most assuredly a “Rose Quartz—” “Even ignoring your ridiculous disguise-” Zircon folded over to get a closer look at my Gem, peering at it with squinted eyes. “Yes, just as reported and corroborated by two Rubies assigned to the Jasper retrieval mission- Your Gem is more of a pinkish red than the reddish pink of a true Rose Quartz.” Or am I wrong? Did the bubbles I saw Rose Quartz Gems through only make them look similar to my own?

A flash of bright light stuns my sight for a brief moment, “Wha—” and then when my sight clears, I realize Zircon, using her monocle, had just taken a picture of my Gem without asking my permission. Rude.

Making a little whooshing motion, I guess she filed it away into her monocle.

Ah. “Wait! I’ve told Navy my Gem looks like this, because my body isn’t made out of hard light, so—” Zircon turns towards me to speak, giving me her full attention, instead of continue fiddling with one of her screens.

“Yes,” Zircon elucidates, articulating clearly, without a slight lisp for the first time since I met her. “Who hasn’t heard of what happens to a Gem when she doesn’t get enough solar power?” Zircon asks me rhetorically. “The dimming of a Gem isn’t unheard of, but it doesn’t change a Gem’s hue. Now dim lighting is a whole nother situation.” Turning away, Zircon briefly glances back to her files on the screens suspended mid-air, skimming the text in front of her before turning her attention back to me. Pointer finger pointed upwards, Zircon affected a familiar and nostalgic lecturing tone. “Lighting and other environmental factors can affect the cast of a Gem, and can make her temporarily look a different color, but take her out of such an environment, and the problem is solved.”

“For example, blue lighting can make a yellow Gem look green, but it’s purely superficial.” Still facing the screen in front of her, finger posed in front of the screen, she glances back to look me in the face. “Yet a yellow Gem is still a yellow Gem, no matter what it looks like, in certain lighting. And a reddish pink Gem shouldn’t look pinkish red.” Spreading her arms out, Zircon indicated the wider room, the room which reminded me of fluorescent lighting with it’s walls emitting bright white light. “Especially in the light of this waiting room where there’s no red light to give your Gem a reddish cast.”

Just as Zircon looked about to speak up, to ask me what kind of Quartz I really was perhaps, I accidentally spoke over her. “Well, if I’m not a Rose Quartz than what am I!?” Too impatient to glean the answer from her, and acting rude, I could feel myself adopt a blush.

Expressing just how ridiculous she thought I was being, Zircon gave my face a hard search, expecting me to be ‘tumbling her rocks’ maybe. “Are you being serious right now?” My face must have been communicating how Serious Steven I was being, because she looked to finally be taking me seriously. Which could only be good, because by this point, I was completely lost. “Of course you are.” Plus she sighed after looking at me again. “Just… don’t expect me to know either! I’m a Zircon, not a Kindergartener. It’s my job to defend your case in Court, not find out whatever cut and facet you could possibly be.” “Just-” Here, Zircon closed her eyes, looking weathered, and rubbed her tired eyes. “Tell me what you’re going to say in Court, so I can help you make your case.”

Going over what I planned to say in court seemed perfectly reasonable, so I started to tell my new friend what exactly it was that I planned to say… “I’m-” Looking to my right, I suddenly felt embarrassed, but I was going to be determined, I reminded myself, comfortingly. “I’m guilty! Everything you guys said I did, I did. And I did it by myself. And I'm sorry. I'll accept any punishment you want to give me.”

“Whoa! Stop, stop!” Frantically, Zircon made a crossed out gesture with her arms. “Don’t say that! That’s the worst possible thing you could say in Court.” Zircon thought to herself that it also sounded absolutely ridiculous! “But I am guilty! So what if my mom- So what if I’m not a Rose Quartz!? I’m still guilty!” Opening her mouth, it looked like Zircon wanted to refute what I’d just said, but suddenly decided against it. Did she change her mind? Squinting her eyes at me, Zircon leaned into my personal space a little bit, which made me feel extra nervous, and lean backwards a tad. After a moment, she asked me, “Than how?” In the sanctity of her own mind, Zircon was starting to have her own suspicions about this strange, erratic Gem.

Not expecting the question, I could only let out a confused, “Huh?” Real smooth Steven. At least, this was just a practice run and not the actual trial.

“You can’t expect to say all of that, and not be questioned on how you did it. This is a trial, after all.” Zircon didn’t repeat what she’d said earlier about how much of a sham this trial really was, however.

“Um… Okay. It was in front of Pink Diamond’s palanquin. I was probably like, "Stop!" and she was all like, "No!", so we fought, I think. And she probably did some cool moves. I probably did some cool moves too, some jump kicks and stuff.”

“Stop, stop, stop!” Zircon made an abortive motion with her hands. “What are you saying!? "Like" this, "probably" that! Oh, what are you thinking going "I think"!?” The more heated Zircon became, the more her hands waved about. It looked like Zircon was at risk of having a stroke. …Or a caffeine overdose.

But Zircon couldn’t help herself, she found the Gem in front of her beyond frustrating.

“Some jump kicks and stuff!?” Exasperated, Zircon lifted her head back, and raised her hands imploringly. “Please work with me here.” She could only hope for the ground to open up and just take her now.

“What do you think this is? An imperial trial or some back alley reenactment!?” Zircon placed her hands on my shoulders, and squeezed, just a little bit. “Please choose your words more carefully, both our Gems are on the line here!” Okay. Her words made me feel a little guilty, but I could tell it wasn’t on purpose. She really thought she might be shattered if she didn’t do well. “Look I... I just don't know how it actually happened, okay!?” …At least, her hands didn’t hurt, and instead felt sort of comforting to the touch.

“You don’t know!?” Zircon gripped the front of my shirt again, lifting me up more easily to her eye level this time. “Don’t tumble my rocks! Did you do this or not?” Seeing the look on the other’s face, Zircon lowered the other back down, but didn’t let go of the shirt. “Why are you so insistent on pleading guilty if you don’t actually know how it went down?” Did she want to die? “I’m not her, okay? But I’ve got her Gem, and she doesn’t exist anymore, so. In the end, I’m the one who’s got to pay for this!” It was so frustrating, having to explain myself like this. It often made me want to tear up. I looked away, so I didn’t have to look Zircon in the eyes, so she didn’t have to see my face. “She made me for this, to fix the problems she didn’t want to deal with.” “Oh,” Zircon’s breath left her, her mouth forming a little o. That, that was a lot to unpack right there. “Yeah, ‘oh,’” I mutter, ignoring the way my throat hurt, instead focusing on the floor. I wish I could see dad.

At first, Zircon had thought the weird little Gem in front of her was some sort of patsy. Her words had a certain polished quality to it, as if since her emergence, she’d been coached on what to say for just this sort of situation. It’d just made sense to Zircon. Some sort of neo-rebellion seeking legitimacy through a scapegoat Rose Quartz, ill-disguised to make her look guilty, and to cover up the fact that the Gem wasn’t a Rose Quartz. Stir up Homeworld and the rest of the Empire with rumors of the trial and summary execution of Rose Quartz, leader of the rebellion. Immortalizing her in stone, a martyr. The perfect conclusion to such suspicious circumstances. After all, Zircon had read the reports on how exactly the rebellion ended. How could there have been any survivors? But this? The more time Zircon spent talking to this Gem, the more—

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense?” I felt too emotionally drained for anymore of this back and forth, but it always seemed like there was something more. “It just doesn’t make sense! That’s not how it works.” Zircon waved her arms around, trying to emphasize what she meant. “Only Diamonds can make—” Zircon was interrupted by the ridiculous sound of a door opening, causing the both of them to look towards the now looming, open door way. “...more Gems.” Zircon belatedly finishes, the two of us sharing a look. It was finally time to face the music. I, Steven Quartz Cutie Pie Demayo Universe, was going to trial… as daunting as that sounded.

#steven universe #steven universe au #blue zircon #yellow zircon #blue diamond #yellow diamond #fanfiction #chapter 1 #Forever Alone SU AU

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bemyhero-academia · 6 years ago

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Hiya I just thought of this prompt and am surprised I didn't think of it earlier but could you do headcannons for 1-A (or just some favs if you dont wanna do the full class) playing monopoly together,,, I can just imagine the chaos lmfao

I just picked out a couple of my favourites, I hope that's okay nonnie!! I hope you see this ~gem

Bakugo

He just has to win

He'll throw a fit if he doesn't win.

But he's the unluckiest person on the planet when it comes to monopoly

Someone's in prison? It's Bakugo. Someone's just landed on the one space with a hotel put on it? That's Bakugo.

He never does win, if anything he's usually the first to go bankrupt.

Will yell at people when he lands on their properties

His favourite property set are the orange ones

Would actually fight someone for the t-rex token

"Fuck you! Shitty face!!"

Midoriya

Sits there quietly, slowly gaining money as the turns add up

No one realises how well he's doing until the very end where there's only 2 people left playing

It's always him and Todoroki

His favourite property set is the yellow one.

The top hat is his lucky token, he has never won if he's used something else.

Todoroki

This boy is a monopoly genius

Nearly always wins

He actually has so much dominance over the board it's scary

Bye bye nice Todoroki

No one lets him play anymore because he just wins all the time and it's not fun when he's playing.

Favourite property set is the green set.

The cat token is his

Iida

Real stickler for the rules, as expected.

He pretends to not mind when he's getting absolutely destroyed by everyone, but you can see it's bothering him.

The game wouldn't run smoothly if he wasn't there though because he keeps everyone in order and make sure everyone plays properly.

Always draws shitty chance cards

He likes to collect all the railway stations

He's favourite piece is the car.

Kaminari

This boy is so bad at monopoly it's comical.

Doesn't even understand the rules to be honest he's just playing it for fun

He thinks the brown properties are the best because they're cheaper

Pays for everything in 1s

Favourite set is the brown one

His favourite piece is the battle ship

Mina

She's quite good, she's one of the really annoying players who owns over half of the things on the board so you're always giving her money

She honestly doesn't mind if she wins or loses, it's all in good fun

She loves winding up Bakugo about how bad he is

She doesn't really have a strategy, just buy whatever you can tbh.

Her favourite set is the yellow one

Her favourite piece is the battleship so she always fights Kaminari for it.

Kirishima

Like Mina, Kiri isn't bothered about whether he wins or loses.

He loves playing with everyone!

He's not amazing at it though, sometimes he'll do really well and sometimes he'll do really badly, it's a bit hit and miss I guess they never miss huh?

He collects the get out of jail free cards and tries to sell them to Bakugo when he's stuck in jail.

Iida doesn't let him though

Favourite propety set is the red set (obviously)

Doesn't know why, but he really likes the wheelbarrow token

Uraraka

She's a little monopoly demon tbh

Always making deals with people

They somehow don't notice that she's getting a much better deal out of it than they are

Owns at least 3 sets

This is not just fun and games alright?

Smiles smugly when people have to pay her

This game changes people guys

Her favourite token is the dog

She doesn't have a favourite set she just owns them all.

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7-wonders · 5 years ago

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I have an Spideychrist concept: Still after months of dating and having a cute relationship. Michael stills brings the apocalypse to earth. Peter lose everything he ever love, he hate his boyfriend for that. He was one of the luckiest (or for him one of the unluckiest) people who get to be saved be the Cooperative and he goes to the Outpost 3 and then he gets the visit of Michael, but the boy has a lot of thinga to say him.

Spideychrist I love it! That’s what I’m tagging this ship as for the rest of time.

////////////////////

He thought that it would be enough. If Peter were able to show Michael the good parts of humanity, the parts that he gets to see while saving New York (and the world), he assumed that the Antichrist would change his plans. Indeed, it seemed for a time that Michael was actually putting a halt to the end of the world. His talks of the apocalypse had ceased, and it appeared that he was actually starting to enjoy the times that Peter would swing the two of them high above the city, or to an impromptu Avengers meeting, or even to a hangout with MJ and Ned. He thought that it would be enough.

And it was, until Peter was dragged away by two large men in black suits and thrown into a black SUV, kicking and screaming the entire time. The complete annihilation of the world that Peter Parker knew had occurred less than an hour after he was thrown into an underground prison cell. Everything that he cared for, that he loved, was gone.

Mr. Stark.

Pepper Potts.

Aunt May.

Morgan.

Bruce Banner.

Happy.

Ned.

MJ.

Even such things like his comics, Star Wars, afternoons spent shooting the breeze in Queens. It was all just gone, vanished from his life like dust slipping through his fingers. Even worse, the man responsible, the man that Peter fucking loved, was also gone from his life.

Since the fall of the bombs eighteen months ago, Peter’s been told time and time again how lucky he is. After all, “the Cooperative had handpicked” him to be an elite in this new society. He was shepherded into some rich apocalyptic bunker called Outpost 3, rationed to three gelatin cubes a day, and forced to wear gaudy Victorian clothes in various shades of purple. He’s miserable, and has spent many nights crying in bed, wishing he had died with his friends and family.

The fates surely must be toying with him now, some sick joke played on him by higher powers, when the alarms go off to alert the residents of an intruder on the premises. Maybe it’s his long-dormant “spidey-sense,” or maybe he’s still a lovesick sap, but he can sense that it’s Michael. He’d know the feeling of that presence anywhere: that dark, lingering sensation that manages to seep into every crevice of your being until all that you can feel is him.

Anger tints Peter’s vision red as Michael stalks around the library of Outpost 3, terrifying everyone else into submission. Peter’s not a man of violence, choosing to web his adversaries and allow the proper authorities to deal with them, but he wouldn’t mind beating the shit out of Michael right now. It’s thick, heavy anger, and he’s sure that Michael can sense it, the tapping of his fingers against the opposite wrist as they’re clasped tightly behind his back a sign that he’s trying desperately to maintain the intimidating facade he’s adopted. Peter can hardly even stand to look at him right now, this man that he gave everything to.

Gallant (that bleach-blond creep) volunteers to go first, Michael allowing it and commencing with the so-called “interviews” that will determine who gets to go to the illustrious Sanctuary. Peter won’t let him have the upper hand this time, won’t allow himself to be anxiously waiting until Michael’s had his laughs about his nervousness and finally decides to grace him with his presence. So, he waits, sneaking out of his room after curfew and waiting until Gallant saunters out of the office that Michael has taken over. He waits just long enough to make sure no one will see him before barging in.

“I can’t say I’m surprised that you snuck in here,” Michael comments with a smirk, barely glancing up from whatever he’s writing about to greet him. “I’ve missed you, Peter. I would have had you with me from the very beginning, but the situation was too unstable for the time being. No matter, you’re here now, and-”

“Shut up!” Peter snaps, Michael’s pen skidding to a halt at the sudden interruption. “Just–you don’t get to waltz in here and act like everything’s fine. You…you ruined my life.”

“Did I now?” Michael scoffs, shaking his head in disdain. “I didn’t ruin anything, I purified the world.”

“You killed billions of people! And for what? Because your father, who you’ve never met, supposedly told you?”

“You would do well to remember who you’re speaking about.”

“Were we not enough? I-I brought you into my life, let you meet my friends, and the Avengers, just for you to go and blow it all up? I thought you loved me, Michael.” Peter’s voice cracks; the one weakness that all of the spider powers in the world couldn’t heal. It seems to work in his favor this time, as Michael’s eyes flash with sadness and he stands from his desk.

“No, my love, do not ever doubt my feelings for you. It was merely my divine purpose to cleanse this world. Nothing could have stopped these plans.”

Peter clenches his hands into tight fists at his sides, seething at Michael’s nonchalance towards everything that he’s done. Perhaps it’s his own fault, his ignorance and belief that he could somehow reform the Antichrist with the mere power of love. Nevertheless, Peter’s pissed, pounding his fists on the desk in anger. It’s enough of an unexpected fit of rage to have the normally-stoic Michael jumping from surprise.

The young brunette, face hardened from the innumerable horrors he’s experienced in such a short amount of time, can’t even bare to look at his former lover’s face. He’s not a man of violence, and he won’t resort to violence now. He strides towards the door, determined to not break his promise to Mr. Stark and harm someone. Reaching the door, Peter whirls around quickly when he thinks of one last thing to say.

“Go to hell, Michael,” he spits, the door slamming shut behind him.

#spideychrist #peter parker #peter parker imagine #spiderman #spiderman au #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine

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cryptidsandcatacombs · 6 years ago

Text

If I Can’t Love Her

Summary: In this tale of the Beauty and the Beast, a certain Waylon Jones laments on his thoughts on a certain beauty in his life. All of them angsty and he needs a hug someone help wait why are you crying I SAID HELP HIM

Ship: Waylon Jones/Xeena

A/N: This is a surprise gift for @xeensbin as a product of weaponized angst and the fluff Waylon fucking deserves. I hope you like it cause the mob with the torch and pitch forks outside my house with ominous glares and an aura of shadowy nightmares wouldn’t stop glaring at him reciting chants that may or may not be able to summon a hellspawn that will come and make my house smell like wet socks for all eternity until I wrote this.

The title is based off this song enjoy the sads: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6BiSTFRJlw

Xeena was out like a light. She didn’t know what happened. One minute, she’s out and about minding her own damn business and the next men are coming at her waving guns around.

“Where’s Croc,” is all she could hear. Xeena knew who these men were. Well, not in a particular manner, but in a general way. Croc was, well, popular in certain circles. Not in a good way either. It was because everyone from here to the edge of Gotham wanted a piece of Croc. Whether it was because they were ballsy and had a death wish or was getting paid and exuberant amount to do so, people came for his head.

For that Xeena stared at them shocked at first, but her resolve swept her up overcoming it. Xeena wasn’t going to let them have him.

“Tch kiss my ass,” she said.

Suddenly, one of the more well muscled men came out and grabbed her by the throat. Oh sweet mama this man had a grip. “I’ll ask you again you stupid broad,” he said in a tone that indicated a heaping healthy sack of sexist asshole, “Where’s the Croc?”

The man drew his knife illustrating his next point. “Or...” the knife drew closer to Xeena’s face glinting off the moonlight,”Are we going to have to call him here ourselves? I heard crocs love human blood.”

While there was many things that could be said about that assumption, there’s two more things about Waylon that these men in question should have remembered and assumed instead: Waylon’s excellent scent and his excellent hearing. With this he could smell Xeena’s fear and hear who was causing it.

“Let’s just dump her body into the sewer and wait,” one of them said bringing a blunt object over.

“Nighty night,” one of them said bringing it down over her head.

Hoo you shouldn’t have done that. Whose gonna build all these graves now?

Soon enough, the entire gang in question turned sharply because of two things: the sound of the sewer man hole opening and the sound of predatory growling. A single yellow eye was the first thing they saw. Slitted and absolutely livid. The sight of bared teeth and scraping claws really brought home the aura he was trying to give off: That he was pissed and ready to kill.

“You know, I regret not getting here fast enough, but you know,” Waylon said stomping towards them, “You’re right about one thing.”

These men had their guns ready, but what stopped them? Was it the fact he was 9 foot 8 and made of pure muscle? Was it the predatory sounds he was making? No. It was the overwhelming sense they were in way over their heads and now they have to pay for their hubris.

Before they knew it, their guns were being snatched from them with one swipe. Waylon got too close. So close, in fact, that they could feel his breath on their face. He grabbed three of them by their shirts without a problem. What he said next near their face sent shivers down their spine and made them go ghostly white.

“I do love the taste of human blood. I wonder how yours is tonight..”

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

Waylon had carried Xeena’s unconscious body into his small lair in the sewer. Away from the world and into safety she went.

Waylon gently set her down in the couch, gently running his fingers across her face. He was just relieved she was ok, but not so much that she was endangered because of him,.

He sat down by the couch she was laying on, leaning his back against it. He gave a deep contemplative sigh at his next words.

“You know, you gotta be the unluckiest son of a bitch to ever come into my world,” Waylon said claws clenched against his arms, eyebrows furrowed in an agitated manner.

“Sometimes....” he grunted in frustration,”I wonder why you even stick around.”

His foot claws scraped against the floor as he continued to lament his thoughts aloud. “I guess God isn’t so forgiving. First, I turn into a horrible monster and now he gives me you only to...”

He snarled in contempt at this next thought. “Why would anyone give me you only to take you away from me.” His voice cracked. His anger melted into sorrow and transformed into tears.

“That’s how it works...doesn’t it,” he said clutching his shirt like the world’s safest security blanket. “Damn it....if I can’t love her...”

A gentle foreign hand ran across his face, wiping the tear from his eyes. Waylon turned and jerked instinctively. Positive affection wasn’t something he was used to due to the absence of it for many many years.

Waylon had turned to see Xeena was awake and giving him a gentle look of concern. “Cause God always sends the greatest gifts to those who need it the most,” Xeena said in a gentle tone,her hands rubbing the sides of his face gently,.

Waylon went through several emotions at the sight of her and hearing this: sorrow, relief and comfort.

Waylon melted into her hands a mess. He could die there and be the happiest man alive. Hey God, please don’t say psyche.

“I’m just glad you’re ok,” Waylon said grabbing both her hands in his gently. “I just...I don’t want you to leave me. You could have died.”

“But I didn...ow,” Xeena said now fully registering where she got hit on the head.

Waylon checked it out in concern and ran his thumb over it gently. He puffed out his chest and huffed out. He was pissed beyond reason.

“Sorry..I just couldn’t see you get hurt. I didn’t want you go get hurt,” Xeena explained.

“Better me than you,” Waylon said running his nose into Xeena’s hair in a territorial manner.

Xeena gave a resolute huff at what he just said.”No, that’s not true you big lug,” she snapped. “Your life is worth just as much as mine. I care about you and I don’t want to see you hurt. I love seeing you Waylon and believe it or not, I want to protect you too.”

Waylon paused for a moment. Sounds of insecurity and peoples’ antagonistic clamoring over his appearance drowned out in that moment. For a minute, there was peace in his head. This wasn’t what he was used to and he’s not sure if he ever will be, but in the moment, he can be. For this moment, he can try to believe that maybe someone found him to be worth it.

With that resolution now stated, Waylon took Xeena by the hand and drew her close to him. “Just as long as you let me protect you too.”

Xeena didn’t know what made her blush more: that confession or the sound of his heart near her ear. Both? She settled for both.

“Let’s protect each other. Ok,” Xeena argued back.

Waylon blinked then shook his head. He wasn’t going to win this fight on the measure of his self worth. He couldn’t. Not when his self worth was measured by both of them meaning the world to each other.

“I’ll do my best,” he said holding her closer.

“Deal,” Xeena said holding him back. Well, the best she could with a tall beefy guy like him.

“Hey...” Waylon said softly,” Can you stay the night tonight? It’s late and I don’t let you going out after hours.”

Xeena looked at her phone. That late? “Are you sure? I don’t want to intru--”

Waylon interrupted her before she could even finish.”I insist,” he said glaring. It was a glare that said, you can’t make me change my mind so don’t even try.

To be honest, she wouldn’t fight. She wanted to stay the night anyhow. “Ok, fine you big lug. You twisted my arm,” Xeena teased. Waylon chuckled by only softly at this.

“Oh uh can I ask you something,” Xeena turned to ask before she sat back on the couch,”What happened to those guys anyhow?”

Waylon didn’t say anything. What could he say?

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

“Please let me go,”one of them cried in his grip.

“Why should I,” Waylon was pissed and not up for negotiation at this point. He wanted to destroy and kill them for even daring to threaten Xeena.

The three struggled in his grip. Waylon was set to kill when his glance darted to Xeena. He turned to check on her.

Then..he had an epiphany. Could he really be worthy of her if he keeps doing this? Could he be considered worthy of her if he keeps acting like this? He’s no monster. He’s no monster.

“I’m..no monster,” he said dropping them to the ground.

They looked up to be met with a glare.”You punks are lucky I have to get her out of here, but if you ever show up near this part of town or near her...,”he paused to pick Xeena up and head towards the sewers,”You won’t be so lucky.”

The three ran off as Waylon dropped into the sewers out of sight.

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

Waylon shrugged wanting to give a vague answer at best, but the fact he wasn’t covered in blood was the only answer Xeena needed. She smiled in satisfaction at this.

Waylon crawled towards the edge of the couch to relax by her as Xeena ran her fingers across his scalp. God, he was putty in her hands.

“You did good big guy,” Xeena said wrapping her arms around his neck.

Waylon could only smile in content at those words. Maybe just maybe Xeena was right. Maybe Xeena was the one thing in his life that he could always call his and always be his. He had prayed for some form of happiness to be his. Who knew it would come in the form of the girl with him now and hopefully forever.

#fics for others

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