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razzle-zazzle · 23 days ago

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Whumptober Day 31: Asking for Help

"I'm alive, I'm just not well."

2376 Words; Coleverlord, various points pre-pilots and end of s1

TW for bugs, body horror imagery

AO3 ver

The sky darkened, Pythor’s laughs echoing across the empty city.

They were too late. The ground trembled, ancient stones creaking and cracking under the sudden strain. Cole stumbled back as the spiral in the arena gave way, a million marching ants blotting out the sun as a giant moving shadow lifted from the ground. The darkness shifted, parting to reveal scales and fangs and two baleful eyes—

She’s gorgeous.

More powerful than I ever imagined.

Beautiful, pure DESTRUCTION—

Yeah, yeah, Cole got the picture. He reached out to steady Kai as the Devourer slithered all the way out of her hole, frills flared. Off to the other side, Pythor was singing similar praise, as though the massive size of the Devourer wasn’t intimidating to him in the slightest.

Which made it all the more satisfying when the Devourer swallowed him whole.

(Cole’s chest lurched when he realized that Wu had been swallowed, too.)

+=+=+=+=+

Wu’s new student wasn’t what Cole expected.

Though, to be fair, Cole wasn’t sure what he expected. So maybe this was normal. Just…

The guy would not stop yapping! He’d introduced himself as Jay Walker, which Cole was pretty sure was a joke except the guy seemed completely serious, and hadn’t given the words any chance to breathe before rambling on about how high up the monastery was, seriously, why did every mysterious mentor figure have to live in fuckass nowhere, did this place even have running water, and wow this mountain air was so much different from the desert, not that he would know that of course because he was totally from the city and not some weird place like a scrapyard, haha, hey where are you from, what’s your name, is there any way he can get his hands on some scrap metal to work with—

“You talk a lot.” Cole commented, the moment Jay stopped to take a breath. It had been a neutral observation, the termites crawling along his bones more confused than annoyed.

But there must have been something about the wasps in his chest, or the worms in his gut, because Jay suddenly deflated, drawing in on himself. “Sorry, I—sorry.” And he scurried away, down the hall to where Wu had pointed out their bedroom, leaving Cole standing alone in the hallway.

“I didn’t mean…” Ugh. Whatever. Cole knew the effect he had on other people. Wu seemed to be somehow immune to it, probably because he was some kind of dragon in disguise according to the spider in Cole’s brain. But Jay wasn’t a dragon—heck, he was probably nervous talker. Cole should have known it wouldn’t take long to unsettle Jay—it never did.

Cole sighed, and made his way out to the yard to train.

+=+=+=+=+

“It’s gone.” And so was the Destiny’s Bounty, shattered pieces spread wide across the sand. Cole walked to the back of the cave, trying to calm the wasps buzzing in his chest.

“That was too intense.” Kai was panting as he removed his hood, chest heaving as he leaned against the sand bank.

“There’s no time to rest.” Zane urged. “We need to warn people, before it becomes bigger.”

I say let her play, Vessel.

“Bigger?” Jay stood up, “BIGGER?” His voice was edging into hysteria, now, and Cole wanted to take the spiders that were crawling up Jay’s back and snuff them out, “That thing in one bite just crushed our entire ship!” He started to pace around, gesturing wildly. “We need to save as many as we can, we need to find some kind of refuge—oh! The Serpentine Tombs! Yeah, they’re underground, sure, we’ll be without sunlight for months, but they’re perfect!”

“What, and just give up?” No, no, Cole couldn’t give up, he always kept going on no matter what, because it was what he was good at and because ninja never quit—

“We have no chance against that thing!” Jay argued back. Cole wanted to punch him, to grab him by the shoulders and shake him—

To find every shadow that made him doubt himself and BURY IT—

Protect your own, Vessel. Let the Devourer play.

“Guys! Is this what Sensei Wu would have wanted?” And there was Kai, interjecting himself into the argument so seamlessly, “Just running and hiding? Giving up?”

A tactical retreat is not giving up, Vessel.

“But… he’s not here anymore.” Lloyd mumbled. The conversation continued on, Kai urging them all to remember Wu’s teachings—

The spider in Cole’s brain sang so sweetly, spinning a web across his thoughts. He lost the thread of the conversation as shadows blotted out his vision, so many worms starting to eat at his flesh. He imagined his chest splitting, ribs opening up into bloodied wings as a spider emerged from his head, every inch of his body shifting to accommodate its new master—

“Cole?” Zane’s voice cut through the premonition, his hand on Cole’s shoulder.

Cole shook his head. “Sorry. Lost focus.” It wasn’t the first time It showed him that—Cole knew how his path would end. But it wasn’t time for any of that, yet—there was a snake to catch. Zane and Cole ran out into the sands, calling the vehicles hidden in their golden weapons to join up with the others.

+=+=+=+=+

Jay was… Cole was pretty sure Jay was still avoiding him. Sure, Wu insisted on them training together, and Jay didn’t skip out on that—not after Wu saddled him with scrub duty for skipping—but Cole barely saw Jay outside of the training yard. He could hear him, of course, either chattering to Wu or doing something with metal that was loud—

But Cole doubted Jay would ever really like him. And he didn’t have high hopes for the new student Wu was bringing in soon. Or… today, it looked like, Cole coming to a stop at the edge of the yard as he noticed the new arrival.

“New student?” Cole asked, drawing Wu’s attention. The guy next to him turned as well, regarding Cole with not quite hostility, not quite interest. At least, insofar as Cole could tell.

“Hello. I am Zane.” The new guy introduced himself, holding out a hand. Cole took it, ignoring the isopods scuttling under his skin and the centipedes biting at his spine. Zane’s pleasant smile did not change as he and Cole shook hands—was he like Wu, then? A dragon in disguise, unbothered by the spider in Cole’s brain?

No, he feels as normal as you mortals come.

Okay. That was… huh. “I’m Cole.” Cole said, waiting for the moment where Zane would yank his hand back and find somewhere else to be. The moment where the shadows clinging to his feet reached over to Zane’s ankles—

“It is nice to meet you, Cole.” Zane said instead, releasing the handshake normally. “I sense we will do great things together.”

Cole’s face burned. That was—oh, wow.

Vessel, don’t get attached.

The spider in his brain bit down, millions of termites digging into his bones. Zane’s smile finally faltered, face returning to a neutral expression, and Cole pulled back. Shadows curled at the corners of his vision—he should leave. Zane was already walking away.

Wu had disappeared somewhere—to go find Jay, maybe? Zane was poking around the training course curiously. Cole should definitely leave, before he unsettled Zane further. Maybe he shouldn’t have accepted Wu’s offer. Maybe he was doomed to always be stuck in the spider’s shadow, only truly loveable by the very thing that made him so unloveable—

“Do you want to run the course with me? I’m afraid I don’t know how to start it.” Cole flinched, stumbling over flat ground and falling to the dirt in surprise. He rolled over, looking up at Zane, face getting progressively hotter—

“I.” Cole sat up slowly. “You startled me.” Which was definitely not what Cole was used to.

“My apologies.” Zane offered his hand, but Cole stood on his own.

Hm. Maybe Wu taking on other students wouldn’t be too awful.

+=+=+=+=+

“ZANE!”

Shadows clawed at Cole’s brain, and the Devourer withdrew back into the earth. House centipedes scrabbled at Cole’s bones, a million buzzing flies in his ears as he fought to escape his seatbelt. “Is everyone okay?” He needed to get out out out—

Vessel, calm—

“Right here.” Zane’s voice cut through the buzzing, canisters clanking as they fell away. Cole winced—half of Zane’s face had been scraped right off, revealing the metal beneath. “That was close.”

You still want me to let her play? Cole wondered, even though he knew—whatever the spider wanted, It would get. And It wanted the Devourer to cause havoc, to “play.”

I will not let you come to harm, Vessel.

It was the most that Cole could expect It to concede. He picked his way out of the wreckage, making his way over to the others. He didn’t care if he got hurt—he just wanted his friends to be okay. Was that so much to ask?

“Too close.” Kai agreed.

“Perfect. Now that was a total failure!” Jay complained.

“Not total!” Kai argued, “Did you guys notice, on its forehead—it has a weak spot!”

I thought I removed that…

“Ohhh, great, lemme make a note of that.” Jay chirped, miming writing a note. “Giant snake has wee itty bitty weak spot that’ll be TOTALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO GET AT BECAUSE THE THING IS TOO RIDICULOUSLY HUGE TO DO ANYTHING TO STOP IT!”

“Are you done?” Nya asked. Jay heaved, hissing through his teeth before, “Yes.”

“Guys, where’s the Devourer going?” Lloyd asked, pointing to where it had surfaced again and was beelining away. Cole flinched the moment he recognized the route—

“It’s going to Ninjago City!” Zane announced.

Ohhhhh, that was not good. If it ate something that big—

Shadows bloated out Cole’s vision. He stumbled, feeling the vague sensation of a hand on his arm through the haze of worms squirming under his skin. The spider still wanted the Devourer to play, still wanted Cole to stay out of the way—

But how was Cole supposed to do that? Jay’s parents were in Ninjago City. Jay would be devastated if they were eaten. Cole couldn’t just stand by and let that happen. He was supposed to protect his own, wasn’t he? There was no way Jay wouldn’t go to Ninjago City—

Fine, then. Go and throw yourself into the jaws of death.

I’ll pull you out, but I won’t stop you.

+=+=+=+=+

Wu’s new student was brushing his teeth. Cole, Jay, and Zane watched from the rafters, waiting for the perfect moment to strike—

The new guy shifted, glancing over his shoulder. The spider in Cole’s brain spun a web of shadows, Jay and Zane shifting in response—

“What the—” Now! Cole jumped down, scythe flashing in the lamplight. Twin thuds signaled Jay and Zane’s arrivals, the three of them completely surrounding the new student, who tightened his grip on his toothbrush.

The next several minutes were a riot of chaotic thrashing about. The chase brought the four of them through the halls, back up into the rafters, out onto the roof—at some point, the four of them had eschewed proper technique entirely, devolving into a chaos of thrashing and grappling. Cole’s head was pounding, the spider in his brain biting, shadows swirling into his vision as they all fell from the roof out into the yard—

The new student grabbed a training sword and hit Jay with it, forcing him back. Cole untangled himself from Zane and stood, leveling his scythe at the new guy—

“Enough.” Cole muttered, the pressure in his head intensifying. The shadows clawed their way up the new guy’s pajamas, making him flinch back as Cole tried his best to loom. Cole advanced a step, and the guy fell backwards onto his ass, face contorted in a scowl as he scrabbled for his weapon—

“Enough!” Wu’s voice cut through the night, bringing them all to a halt. The wasps in Cole’s chest subsided, the shadows retreating. The new guy stood quickly, knuckles white around the hilt of his sword—but he was otherwise fine, standing tall like he hadn’t just taken the brunt of the shadow in Cole’s mind.

Wu explained—wait, had he not told this guy that he had other students? Really? Cole shrugged—Wu withheld the strangest things. Their practice gis were exchanged for new ones; Cole’s new gi was just as black as before—

The color of the earth, and the shadows that hide within it.

The shadow sounded vaguely proud. Cole’s shoulders hiked, his face flushing behind his mask—

“What was that?” Kai was asking, gesturing loosely towards Cole.

“That was you getting totally Coled.” Jay bragged, before launching into a litany of his habits. “…a little bit of poetry—”

“More like mouth of lightning.” Cole commented, focusing in on the current conversation. He nudged Kai with his scythe. “Nice to meet you, kid. I’ll watch your back.”

+=+=+=+=+

Slime exploded outwards, splashing across what felt like the whole city. Cole stumbled back, grabbing onto Kai’s arm—the sheer force of the wave was almost enough to knock him to the ground. But he stood, shadows lacing into his bones to hold him steady, and the wave subsided.

Ewww, everything was sticky now. And the spider was scurrying around Cole’s skull, hissing displeasure at the Devourer’s death.

They made their way down to street level, Jay running over to his parents and being pulled into a hug. Garmadon was nowhere to be found—

(“You won’t give them back.” It wasn’t a question. It was barely even an accusation.

Garmadon shrugged. “What other choice do you have?” There was no point in denying it.)

Cole gasped. “Sensei Wu!” And there he was, standing up in a particularly thick patch of slime, looking none the worse for wear.

Of course he survived. Did you expect anything different, Vessel?

All six of them piled into the slime, tackling Wu in a hug from every direction. Cole’s arms ended up around Jay and Zane, his face pressed into the junction of Wu’s neck and shoulder. He got a faceful of slime for it—but he just didn’t care. His friends were all together and safe and whole—

Cole was doomed, he knew.

But he could still enjoy these moments while they came.

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kohakhearts · 10 months ago

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7 for palletshipping tho?-

7: we always used to have sleepovers as children, why would it be weird now? wc: 1 731 read on ao3 here

Ash is at his wit’s end.

It has been a long, long time since he’s been truly and properly alone. Even then, he knows so many people in so many corners of the world, it is hardly a surprise when he bumps into a familiar and friendly face on his journeys. They will typically spend a few days to weeks together, and then, eventually—as they always do—part ways again with a spirited promise to meet again soon.

This is how it always is. Ash wouldn’t have it any other way.

Except for one Gary Oak, that is.

Oh, Ash sees him everywhere. They run into each other, quite literally, in Castelia City trying to find a place in line for a Casteliacone. They cross paths a dozen times or more at the docks in Vermilion City, boarding separate ships to faraway regions. They even find themselves two seats apart on an airplane bound from Kalos to Kanto.

But after a few hours of conversation, Gary always steps back again. Says, somehow bracingly, “It was good to see ya, Ash,” “I’ll see ya around,” “Catch ya later”—each new iteration means the same thing: I’m not sticking around this time, either.

Since they were kids on the road for the first time, this is how it has been. One degree of separation, and then a dozen more with each one of Gary’s receding footsteps. Ash cannot trace or follow them, has never known how to catch up to someone whose movements always face away from him. He spent so long trying, he became someone whose footsteps others believe can be followed, too. Sometimes, he even needs to remind himself that the view from up ahead cannot be the reason he refuses to turn around when a friend calls out his name.

It is almost ironic, then, that this should be their position now: caught out in the lush green of northern Hoenn, Ash calling out to the shadowed figure ahead of him, “Gary! Hey, wait up!”

Gary pauses, though he does not so much as turn his head until Ash has jogged up beside him. He offers Gary his best winning smile and says, “Wasn’t expecting to find you out here! What’re you up to?”

“Looking for a Pokémon.” Gary’s eyes turn away from him again, sweeping over the sunlight-dappled shrubbery. “Actually, maybe you could help me out.”

“Sure! What are we looking for?”

“Kecleon.”

Ash blinks. “Did you wanna catch one?”

He shakes his head. “It’s injured. I saw it earlier, but it disappeared before I could get close enough to check it. I doubt it’s gone far. It didn’t look like it was in very good shape.”

Ash’s decision was already made when he saw Gary standing out here alone in the first place, but that is enough to solidify his convictions. With a sharp nod, he says, “I’ll check this way, then. We can meet back here.”

Gary’s gaze still doesn’t reach his, even as he nods his agreement. Ash doesn’t waste any time to do more than notice it; they will return to each other, without a doubt. They always do, at least long enough so that Gary can say good-bye.

The search, however, is long and fruitless. The leaves shudder with the late summer breeze, calling his and Pikachu’s attention, but never once do they encounter anything larger than a skittish Oddish or wide-eyed Zigzagoon peering out from behind tree trunks and bushes. As green begins to glow orange with the final strokes of daytime, Ash trudges back to the place he met up with Gary to wait for Staraptor to report back to him with its findings.

It arrives only a few minutes later, head bowed as it delivers to him one disappointed squawk: nothing.

Ash smiles at his Pokémon and pulls out its ball to recall it. “It’s okay. You did your best. Thanks for the help.”

By now, the last coals of evening are beginning to cool into dark splotches all around him. The wind whispers through the trees; he wraps his arms around his torso, momentarily frozen by the lonely quality of its passage.

But then there is a rustling to his right. His head snaps around just as Gary appears from the late-day shadows. He’s carrying a bundle in his arms, brow pinched. Without even looking up from it, he steps past Ash to get to the clearing behind them and says, “Help me start a fire, would ya?”

Ash doesn’t need to be told twice when there is an injured Pokémon in their midst. He pulls out two Poké Balls and directs Sceptile and Pignite to begin gathering kindling for them. Pikachu hops off his shoulder and scurries away to help them.

In no time at all, the fire is blazing and a small pile of juicy oran and sitrus berries have been gathered nearby it. Ash watches from one side of their makeshift fire pit as Gary mutters reassurances to the tired, feverish Kecleon, then puts his back to the scene and begins pitching his tent. It is twenty parts habit and eighty parts hope that has him throwing out the extra sleeping bag he’s taken to carrying since he realized how often he is pulling his friends away from their day-to-day lives for adventures without them having any time to prepare for the fact.

It is only when he crosses to the other side of their site that he sees Gary is watching him. It is not merely the nighttime shadows that contribute to the darkness of his expression.

“I should take Kecleon to the Pokémon Centre,” he says.

Ash peers down at the now-sleeping Pokémon with a frown. “Is it really that sick? It’s gonna take at least an hour to get there, and that’s if we don’t get lost or sidetracked on the way. ‘Sides, the Pokémon Centre’s gonna be closed soon. We shouldn’t wake Nurse Joy if it’s not an emergency.”

The wind slices between them, much cooler now that the sun has gone away.

And then Gary says, voice tight, “Who said anything about ‘we’?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ash mutters. “‘Course I’d come with ya.”

A sigh. He watches as some of the tension drifts out from Gary’s body.

“Stay here,” Ash tells him. “I set up the tent for us both. You need to get some sleep too, y’know. You were searching for it all day!”

But just when he thinks Gary is going to acquiesce, he turns around and grabs his bag from the ground. Still not looking at Ash, he says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The night seems, all at once to still. Ash stands there for a long moment, heart beating loud and fast, just waiting for Gary to quantify that statement. To give him some kind of reason for his departure, if there ever even was one, but—

He doesn’t.

And finally, the desperate irritation beneath his breast rises and swells. He takes a step forward, demanding, “Why not? You’re always doing this! Can’t you just trust me on this?”

He sees when the tension returns. A familiar weight on Gary’s shoulders.

“It’s not about trust. This is just how it is.”

Gary takes a step away from him.

“But why’s it gotta be how it is? C’mon, Gary, we used to have sleepovers all the time as kids! What’s so different about it now?”

His heart leaps up into his throat when Gary whirls around. The shadows are cast away by the light from the fire, revealing wide, astounded—angry?—eyes.

“What part of this is anything like that?”

Ash swallows. “Well, uh—how is it anything not like that? We share the tent and if you’re really too worried about Kecleon to sleep, then I’ll be here to keep you company. Or, if not, then we can watch each other’s backs if anything happens. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Gary opens his mouth, then closes it again. He blinks once, hard, then laughs. It is not a joyous sound in the slightest; Ash is reminded of sneering taunts, a rivalry he never knew how to play out.

He says, feeling very small, “I just wish you’d stop walking away.”

A beat passes. Gary lifts one hand up to his nose, sighing deeply. When he drops again, the heat in his gaze has simmered down into something less familiar, almost sad.

“It’s different, Ash. We…we’re different. It’s been a long time. Let it go, all right?”

“No. Why should I? You aren’t giving me a reason to!”

Behind him, the fire spits and crackles. Pikachu pads around it in order to sit down by his feet, looking up at Gary quizzically.

“The reason is we aren’t kids anymore.” Gary hoists his bag up higher on his shoulder, determinedly not looking at either of them. “You’re never gonna get it, so why bother wasting time explaining? It was good to see ya, Ash, but—”

Before he can finish the thought, Ash surges forward and grabs hold of his wrist. When Gary’s wide eyes fall down to meet his glare, all he can think to say is, “Stop leaving me behind, you jerk!”

He feels Gary’s hand twitch, but he dares not release his hold now. Gary doesn’t force him to, either.

He just asks, “Is that what you think I’ve been doing?”

And all at once, the anger floods out of him. His grip relaxes, just slightly. He lowers his gaze, and he nods.

The wind picks up again, but Ash doesn’t feel its bite as Gary steps in closer to him again. Gary’s fingers brush against his wrist, then force their way up to his hand, effectively loosening Ash’s hold on him. But just when Ash expects the warmth to disappear, those fingers wrap between his, holding tight.

“Okay,” Gary says, very quietly. He shrugs his shoulder, so that his bag falls down his free arm and back to the ground. His hand squeezes Ash’s. “I’ll stay.”

Ash breathes out, deflating against him. His head falls to rest against Gary’s shoulder. Everything else seems in an instant to disappear.

“I missed you,” he admits at last.

Gary stills. But he does not pull away. And finally, finally, he lifts his free hand up to Ash’s cheek. It is warm, and familiar.

He says, “I missed you too, Ashy.”

bed-sharing prompts!

#palletshipping #shigesato #pokemon #anipoke #mine #*fic #*reqs #no beds were shared but you know what. thats just how it be with these two sdhfhdjks #when you sent this i definitely had something fluffier in mind but then i was gripped by the sad piano music i put on in the background #THANKS AM ILYSM <3<3 #answered #r0wlets

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gaiuswrites · 3 years ago

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King of Cups || Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Judgement

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | seven

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Things have changed, things have stayed the same.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: e m o (i can't stress this enough), illusions to mental health issues (?), emo, mature themes and language, EMO, family-trauma related angst, emo

Notes: I wanted to completely cut Din's perspective out of this chapter to emphasize the reader's pov. Hopefully it tracks? Big lovey-dovey shout out to @pedros-mustache for bonking me in the head with a proverbial pool noodle. ily friends. Be kind to yourself. Cheers x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

This is fine. You’re fine.

You’re okay with this.

You’re okay

You’re

You think, perhaps, the sting is made worse by the normalcy of it all.

You think, perhaps, that this stabbing—this splinter in your gut, prodding prodding prodding—would not be so sharp if it were different between you—if things were different; if it were clumsy and cumbersome and mauled. Ruined.

But it isn’t; it’s the same. You and Din and his boy, his adi’ka—it’s ordinary. Evergreen.

You suppose you should be grateful—grateful your dynamic hasn’t shifted, hasn’t sullied any. Grateful you still have your Mandalorian piloting you home. Grateful you have his foundling to keep you company, to keep you preoccupied.

But you feel false.

It’s as if you slipped into an alternate reality—one where you and Din touched each other, held each other; one where he buried his frustration to the hilt in your womb and you moaned his name like your tongue was formed for it—and then were snapped back to this one here—this nothing, this void—without anyone taking note of your absence. Because your routines—those domestic tableaus—remain unchanged. They are well-oiled and operate regardless— undeterred, succinct.

The days start the same.

You set aside a warm bowl of fruit and porridge, steam rising to greet him as it fans over his helm. Good morning.

Exiting the fresher, you find the dishes washed and dried—the towel folded neatly into a square beside them. Good morning.

You return the bowls to their shelf, nestling them right next to your unfulfilled expectations and embarrassing desires—butted against your silly, silly heart.

“Anything good?” he asks one night, passing through the galley as you thumb through the news on your holopad

You nearly choke on it—your throat closing up tight around the casual banality of the question. Because that’s what you two share now: you have things. You have quips and lines and normal and none of that disappeared after you’d made each other unravel not four paces away, pressed there against that wall—the wall that stands there even now, a tall and mocking reminder.

You wonder, if you sealed your ear to the bulkhead, could you still hear yourself? The symphonic reverb—your girlish pants, Din’s hoarse rasps— trapped there in the seams of the steel siding like the grooves of a record, to be played and played again.

“Never,” you say, like you’ve always said, and do your best to flash him a grin—the one you’ve worn before, the one, perhaps, you hope he likes. The one where you go dimpled and dove-like.

And then he makes for the cockpit and you are left

without.

The afternoons stretch familiar, too.

Din flies the ship and you watch the child—steering him clear of disasters and shenanigans the best you can. He tugs gentle at your hair; you nip at his little hand until he’s dissolved to giggles—the same the same the same, all of these acquainted patterns continuing to revolve on. Din lands and prepares for his hunt—banging around the belly of the ship, gathering weapons and ammunition and rations—and your eyes skitter along after him, following his hulking figure as he steps past where you and Munch are seated, heading towards the mouth of the Crest.

Din.

You’re half afraid of what it will sound like now— what it will feel like, bruised and jagged in your mouth. Like it doesn’t belong there, like it has no right laying claim to your tongue.

“Din,” you call hurriedly to the span of his broad back as he leaves the ship, your spine straightening out of the chair. You say it; you speak his name and to your surprise find it is none of those things—none of those ugly fears, none of those roughened gums. It’s worse.

Because scarier still, it comes out cotton soft; it comes out comfortable and true. It tastes like home maybe — like a version of home where people could come and go and laugh and not be frightened. Where they could hold little children in their arms and sleep and breathe and be and say I am here with you. Here we are. How special. I have chosen this. I have made this with you.

Din.

His shoulders tense and his feet stop short, just before the apex of the ramp. He turns to you, slow. Controlled.

“Good hunting.”

Din looks at you, the heavy umber of his eyes settling on your own, and he freezes—stock-still, his blood and muscles and bone thickened to paste, rendering him motionless. His dark gaze scans over you—the wisps of hair dancing around your face, the sag of your shirt lolling from your shoulder, his son in your lap. You bounce Munch on your knee and he gurgles out a quieted hum, glancing between his surrogate parent and you.

“Thank you,” Din replies, stilted, and you think you discern a subtle scrape of his modulator; you think you sense his lips part, pained and breathy, the cusp of another thought—of more, anything more— corralled by his sense of duty, hampered by the armor that plates him.

You untangle the boy’s claws from your hair and slip your fingers around his wrist, waving his green hand in a delicate to and fro.

Goodbye, it says. We’ll be right here when you get back.

He stays. For another glimmer of a millisecond he remains, sunlight pouring in through the opening of the Crest—shining off his beskar, off the gunmetal grey covering his body—focus trained on you both—before he pivots, cape whipping behind him as Din vanishes like he does without fail—away. Away.

To vapors.

Three days of this—three miserable days. Seventy-two suffocatingly mundane hours.

You figured this would be easy. You figured it could be as painless as you chose to make it. You were two consenting adults, after all—you both had needs, and you both met them—and you thought that this would be simple.

What you failed to take into consideration however, is that Din Djarin is anything but a simple man.

Because he is all these things, paradigms and paradoxes, coiled into one very tightly wound warrior—a warrior who can dismember a blaster just as effectively as he can sop up baby vomit from his foundling’s brown robes—one handed, no less. In flight. Din is all sharp edges and smooth silver, he’s cold and calculating and roguish and endearing and you can’t grapple with the dichotomy of him—with all these mismatched pieces at odds with themselves that somehow fit perfectly, inexplicably together.

You were naïve to assume you could go back—as if you could unremember the shape of his fingers as they filled you; as if you could make yourself forget how needy he bowed against you, how hot and thick his cock rested in your palm when he pitched his hips and released his desperation in white streaks along your skin.

And when your mind isn’t wholly consumed—smothered with the crushed velvet sin of that time-capsuled memory—it’s tortured in other ways, with crueler techniques. Pointed. Specified.

You watch him. You wish you could look away, but there isn't anywhere else to look. There isn’t a corner you can escape to, nor an inch of the Crest that isn’t him—isn’t an emblem of him, isn’t an extension of his personage.

You see him - day in, day out - interact with the child and Maker, it’s so precious and he’s so damn good. Two arms, cradling Munch snug to his chest—you know their strength now, you know their weight—and you observe as Din holds this boy with the same hands that unmade you—that molded you like clay and parted your wet heat. You see this man—so stoic, so reserved—dote on his child in a way that you never were, and bit by bit, it breaks you.

You caught them napping together once, compressed in that dingy of an alcove by the refresher. Your feet halted in their tracks at the sight and you held your breath—he’s a light sleeper, you didn’t dare wake them—Din’s helmet nodded to his chest and the kid, open-mouthed and adorable, nestled into the crook of his arm.

It made you want to sing. It made you want to cry.

You had to pry your boots from the floor and force yourself to move, to scram. You had to be anywhere else but there, ogling like a spectator at a zoo, nose smushed against the glass, watching the last of some great species simply be as nature intended—calm, drowsy, at peace.

You busied yourself then, scuttling preoccupied about the Crest but the image never evaporated, it never faded—it dogged you, tacking itself onto your psyche: the picture of him there, Din and his boy, holding on to one another like anchors while they slept, and you can't resist drawing the question.

Is that what it’s supposed to look like, to feel like—a father’s arms around your shoulders? Is that what safe looks like? Is that what family is?

You wouldn’t know. You cannot recollect the glow of it—the memory of such an embrace—on your own skin, and isn’t that what makes it all so achingly befitting, so inevitable. As if the Moirai—those weird sisters—spun this string of fate tailored to your being and plucked it like a harp, curating a melody for you and you alone.

Because you see Din give what you never got, and it makes you want. You want him. You curse yourself for it, but fuck you want him—every sordid part of you is tugged and pulled in his direction. You want him, magnetically, you want him you want him you wa—

And Din is fine. A Mandalorian pillar, undisturbed. He is bedrock. This is the Way.

And while he withstands the weathering, you crumble beneath it. It's eroding you. Like tides crashing monotonous against a beaten shore, you are in granules—and these morsels, ever-fine, they nick you - gritting - sanding you raw, abrading you rugged.

You thought you could ignore them at first. They were but lace whispers behind your ear—muted and tickling and just far off enough to deflect. But with each passing moment those feathered words grew loud—rude and vocal and you couldn’t keep them out. Round and round, they wriggled into your most tender swathes of skin. Skipless. Poison.

He regrets it.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t enjoy it.

He didn’t want me He doesn’t want me I’m not wanted

These thoughts, insistent and pervasive, they are sewn into the bed of your mind one ugly seed at a time. You water them. You don’t mean to, you don’t wish to cultivate these errs but you know they will fester and grow with or without you. So you tend them—watchful, you garden—and they push up through the soil, sprouting weeds, choking the dirt. Marring it fallow.

But you’re okay with this. You’re fine—look at you, you’re fine.

///

The planet of Jelucan is bustling.

It’s got a pulse of its own, energetic and thrumming; there’s an electric current charging the cool air. It’s alive. This place is alive. Towers and buildings are chiseled into the cliff faces of the mountains framing the city, reaching tall towards the pale blue sky overhead. The capital—Valentia, you learned—is almost offensively busy— far busier than any of the backwater territories you and Din had explored in the recent months. There’s so much noise, it’s cacophonous— speeders dodging pedestrians milling about the throughway, engines whirring and backfiring, merchants arguing, hawking foods and goods from their windowed shops and brightly colored stalls, politicians and well to-dos seemingly gliding above it all as the common rabble of varying species and origins mingle and mix.

You suppose it reminds you of Coruscant. You suppose that makes you nervous.

Because you’ve been holed up in his ship and flitting through the Outer Rim, seeing the stars and the moons and planets and there’s just so much life—everywhere, everywhere— this galaxy is chalked full of it; it’s spilling over the sides with it all. And Maker, these months have felt like an adventure; they’ve felt like a fantasy, like an escape. You’ve eloped, caught in the whirlwind romance of it all—shirking your duties, your career, absconding from your shitty, shoebox of an apartment back home.

But Valentia is all too quick to ground you, all too eager to remind you of that blissfully forgotten reality; it taps on its wristwatch, gutting you with a look:

your time, my dear, is up.

The cobbled pavement underfoot is stony and industrial, each step landing too hard, too hollow—like everyone can hear your chipped heart pounding through your boots—exposing you, coloring you a liar.

This is fine. You’re fine. You’re okay with this.

You’ve been telling yourself that—bargaining, pleading—attempting to manifest into fruition; speaking it to yourself like a chant in hopes it’ll stick—in hopes you’ll fall for the ruse.

But it’s as if each dulled footfall shakes the rust from your neglected truth, revealing all too plainly that no. No, you’re not. You aren’t.

You and Din do not walk in tandem—his gait is longer, and he’s a stride in front of you—but there isn't so much space between your bodies that his presence doesn’t distract you completely, doesn’t eat you up and make you fizz. Your gaze could latch anywhere in this packed, teeming city, and you would still see him. Still feel him—on the nape of your neck, in the wet pink of your cunt. Throbbing reminders of the man that has knotted himself so seamlessly into your world.

You shake your head, locks rustling— as if you could rock him loose from where he clings on to your mind— when you feel a spindled hand at the wing of your back. Startled, you spin towards the touch.

There’s a woman— she isn’t human, but judging by her general appearance she’s some species close to it. She’s old. Whittled. Her maroon eyes are clouded, her silvered hair swooped back into a low bun, wiry frizz haloing the crown of her head.

She’s petite, but it looks wrong— inorganic. Too knobby, she’s all elbows and boney angles where she shouldn’t be. It’s as if she’s shrinking, right there before you. Time, pressing her in— pressing her down.

She’s lived a life in the sun; she wears lines on her face, deep and haggard, and her skin is pulled taut around her skull like hide stretched over a tanning rack. She’s ancient, prehistoric.

She’ll probably outlive you all.

An alien language you don’t recognize comes spilling fast from her thin mouth. You can’t decipher the string of words rushing like river water, the current unstoppable, but you garner she’s insistent; there’s no misconstruing the earnest fervor in her voice. Something woolen is held tight in her grasp—a blanket, by the looks of it, intricate and pleated—and she’s handing it to you like her very existence depends on it.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, confusion evident on your brow, “I’m sorry I don’t—”

She continues speaking, urgent and desperate and pleading—gesticulating as she offers you the throw, the shiny golden thread needled into the patchwork winking in the afternoon sun. The child slung at your side chirps curiously, saucer-large eyes following the shimmer of the fabric.

“I’m sorry, it’s beautiful - really - but—”

You’re jobless and blowing through your savings at a blistering speed. You barely have two measly credits to rub together; getting supplies is tricky enough as is. Purchasing something as ornate and superfluous as a blanket was out of the question. Munch coos sadly, a twitter of his voice, and it ruptures your heart to say it, “I can’t afford something like this.”

The bell on the door to the adjacent shop grabs your attention, producing a Twi’lek as it opens. She’s younger, perhaps around your age, and her lilac lekku bob as she bounds over to you.

“Hi,” she breathes, lips pulling back to reveal a charming smile as she glances between you two. “Everything okay?”

Before you can get a word out the elder resumes chattering, incensed as she addresses the other store attendant—you think it might be Old Corellian, some archaic dialect you presumed died out eons ago, predating the Battle of Yavin by centuries.

Just how old is this woman?

There’s a hushed exchange between them—the Twi’lek’s attempt at the language proving stiff. Her cadence is clunky, nowhere near as smooth and lilted as the other woman’s, but they must come to some sort of a conclusion, because they face you—two sets of eyes, burrowing blinkless into yours. The girl takes a small half step towards you, speaking - blessedly - in Basic.

“The blanket. It’s for you. She wants you to have it,” she explains, “for the little one.”

A twitch notches your eyebrow, gaze flickering back to the older woman, something akin to a crinkled smile worn into the grooves of her wizened face. She nods, fervent and solemn—a seriousness set in the desperate way she bores into you, urging you to understand. To see.

More foreign utterances pass between them— the younger woman listening to her soft vowels and gritting consonants for a beat, before continuing to translate.

“She says, you have a beautiful family. It makes her—” the Twi’lek pauses, choosing her next words, “yearn for the past, to reclaim time.”

Family. A beautiful family. A beautiful—

You consider telling them.

You consider correcting her, informing these kind souls that you’re only temporary. A fleeting thing— like the seasons, autumn dying cold into winter— you’ll leave when the time comes. You consider telling them that that’s the arrangement you agreed to, and that you’ll be delivered back to Coruscant and deposited off at your doorstep with nothing but a cheap, portable cot and an unused blaster the bounty hunter had unfathomably given to you once upon a time. That they’ve mistaken you for someone else—someone important to Din and his foundling. Someone relevant. Someone permanent.

But, you don’t.

You don’t rectify their assumption. Your silence betrays you, confirming the lie, and you grant yourself to revel in it. Like slipping into silk sheets, you roll in the luxury of the imaginary sentiment— letting it swaddle you, comfort you, kiss your skin.

And just for a moment, maybe you allow yourself to believe that this is real: the three of you, a perfect band of misfits; entwined together, fated and star-crossed.

A family.

“She hopes you know that what you have is special. She says, she hopes you hold onto them—never let go. Never.”

Fuck.

Can they hear it? Can they hear the way parts of you fracture like slate and quake to the asphalt in shards? Can they see the shiver in your knees—how your nails dig into the rough tweed of the satchel hung long beside you?

You steal a trepid glance back at Din who has since stopped and stands idle in wait—there in the middle of the lane, a single stone splitting the sea of people passing through. He’s unreadable, his visor illegible. He appears statuesque, arms immobilized in plaster by his sides—inhuman under all that effacing steel as life moves in flurries, eddying around him.

The kid babbles, snapping your focus off the Mandalorian and returning it to the two women. They adorn their sincerity openly, as one would a badge, extending the blanket to you—you, a perfect stranger.

Shit. Tears prickle the wells of your eyes. There’s something lodged in your throat— a canary in a cage, batting violent against its bars. You attempt to swallow it down with an ugly gulp, but it provides no relief. This emotion you’ve leveed—your joy, your pain and embarrassment, your desire and need—it swells in you, threatening to slosh over. You blink it back, keeping it confined safely behind your lash line.

“I—thank you,” you manage, looking between them. Awed and humbled, you accept their offering, handling it with the care of something holy—something sacred—and drawing it to your chest. Immediately, Munch latches a claw into a drooping corner of the woven material, a happy hum sounding from his droll grin. “Thank you,” you murmur again, reverent and breathy, reversing away from them—refusing to drop their gaze until you must—before finally righting yourself and walking on.

You’re shaken. You’re shaking.

And it is on shaky feet that you meet Din some steps later, pausing once you arrive next to him. His helm shifts; you register the sweep of his eyes roving over you—the burn of them along your shoulders, sloping down to the blanket folded against your breasts, slipping lower to his adi’ka sitting in the satchel at your hip. He’s clutching at the new token, dipping the edge of it into his tiny mouth to teethe.

And then,

he lifts at the wrist, orange glove tips raising - reaching - towards you. Din takes the hem of the quilt between his fingers experimentally, massaging the feel of the fabric—his knuckles brushing the exposed skin of your arm, searing into your flesh like a hot iron, lingering there mesmerizingly.

It’s the first he's touched you. It’s the first he’s touched you since, since—

His hand drops, hinging back to his side.

“Ready?”

His modulated voice crackles indiscernible and your stomach leaps to your neck. Are you breathing? Kriff, you’re not sure. You have to check—deliberately drawing in a gust of chilled air, the rush burning your lungs as you suck it down. With a nod of your head, a placid smile glosses over the shudder of your features, dousing the singe of your nerves.

“Ready.”

///

You think about that old woman later that day, and the many days that follow, her visage marked with centuries and regret and history. Life, evident in the spider’s web of wrinkles engraving her. But there was love too, clearly wormed into the lines of her face. So much of it— almost too much for a galaxy this hard and war-torn. The things she’s possibly witnessed: the atrocities, the devastation, the loss.

The wisdom she has gained while all of those she’s ever known succumb to the inevitability of age, as her past decays around her. The knowledge she absorbs while she withers—while time does nothing but skip by. Blameless. Forever onward.

In your dreams that night, she appears in front of you like mist rising off a lake, astral and ephemeral— there, but not. Haunting you, inescapable wherever you fix your eye. The woman nods silently. She’s mouthing something to you, but the words never come.

You understand.

tags:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @gracie7209 @thatonedindjarinfan @altered-delta @email2ash @stevie75 @shegatsby @onebrownoneblue @sammysdaisy @uniquebiscuitmongerdonkey

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x fem!reader #Din Djarin #Pedro Pascal #star wars fandom #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x you #mando x you #din djarin x ofc #mando x ofc #king of cups

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omg-imagine · 4 years ago

Text

All We Are

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x female!V

Summary: V is jealous after Johnny’s date with Rogue, which leads to an honest discussion about where they both stand.

Words: 1.7k

Warning: spoilers for Blistering Love side job, a little angst

A/N: Requested by an anon. This may be a bit different than what you were expecting, but I was in the feels™. Hope you still enjoy :)

Also, can we please talk about how adorable he looks in the gif??

The long drive back to the apartment was silent; the utter stillness in the car weighs heavily on V’s mind. Hands gripping tight on the steering wheel, she tries to ignore this unsettling ache she has, not allowing even an ounce of thought to pass. Though she chalks it off as a side effect of the pseudoendotrizine, this strange, hollow feeling of hers continues to stir deep inside, burning, burning and burning.

And so, she switches on the radio and focuses ahead on the stretch of road winding down the North Oak hills, the approaching lights of Night City glowing brighter against the inky skies. A fresh breeze flows into the open windows, dulling the tension for a moment.

A moment of tranquility that ends far too soon, yet it was a moment V’s at least grateful to have.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Johnny points out, the gruff baritone of his voice piercing the air. “An enny for your thoughts?”

Kicking his feet up on the dashboard, his aviators glint in the silver moonlight, making him appear impossibly more obnoxious than he usually is. He acts as if he’s not aware of the recent thoughts plaguing V’s head, but perhaps that truly was the case. If it were, then she would be surprised— Johnny often invades her mind, poking and prodding at things he shouldn’t be. For a while, she assumes he knows.

“Just tired,” V replies monotonously. Her answer was far from a lie; she really was tired. Exhausted, even. All she wants is to collapse into bed, pass out, and hope that for a few short hours, she can forget about today, about everything.

“Huh,” he breathes out, and V spares him not a single glance. “Pretty sure somethin’ was up. You’ve been actin’ weird since we left the drive-in.”

A chuckle rumbles through her chest. V still finds it unusual for Johnny to act so… concerned. Almost caring, if she had to be honest. She’s noticed a change in him recently, which became apparent after their conversation in the oil fields. He’s a lot softer now, sometimes sweet, both in his own unique way, of course. As if his rough edges were slightly smoothed out with sandpaper, enough that they no longer cut and make her bleed.

V would often catch him staring when he thinks she’s not looking. She also doesn’t fail to miss the small smile that creeps across his face as she talks. And in those passing seconds that lasts an eternity when the relic malfunctions, Johnny was there to offer her comfort. He’d kneel down to the ground while she coils in agony, whispering promises that this will all be over soon. That one way or another, they would get rid of that goddamn chip slotted in V’s head and ultimately save her life.

Life. Life has a funny way of unraveling itself. Fuck, this all seems like a cruel joke the universe is playing on V. Fate is rarely kind to her, a sad fact she’s accepted over the years. Never would she have imagined that after experiencing the pain of heartbreak and loss, she’d find herself falling for someone at the worst possible time.

And that someone is the imprisoned digital ghost of a rockerboy-turned-terrorist studying her from the passenger seat.

But V’s adamant in denying it. Her life was too fucking complicated for this right now.

“Are you capable of shutting the fuck up for two seconds?” V bitterly snaps, the hands on the wheel clenching stiffly as her jaw. “You got what you wanted tonight. Finally got your dick wet after fifty years, so leave me the hell alone, would’ya?!”

She doesn’t mean to act on her muted anger, but it manages to get the best of her. V knows why, and because of it, she crumbles. She crumbles like the walls she’s built around herself. Like the facade she’s been hiding behind for the past couple of months. Because underneath the dirt and grime, V was just a poor, tragic soul, more worried about losing the man she couldn’t have than her awaiting death.

“Really think that’s what happened?” Johnny asks, pushing his shades up to his head as he shifts to sit up straight in his seat.

V grits her teeth, eyes remaining locked on the road. She had woken up an hour or two after Johnny took over, finding her lips still warm, still swollen. Her hair was tousled, and she had been stripped off of most of her clothes; the scent of Rogue’s perfume lingering on her skin. She didn’t need him to recount; it was all clear to her what had transpired. It was what she agreed on to make him happy, a date with the Afterlife fixer and whatever it could lead up to.

In the end, V regretted it, not because Johnny used her body to sleep with someone. But because even after the rollercoaster ride, the dog tags, the private concerts, and the heart-to-heart they had at his gravesite, she still wasn’t his. He was too hung up over Rogue, and she couldn’t blame him. Having shared a lengthy history, there was no doubt Johnny wouldn’t snatch up the opportunity to win her back.

But then where does that leave V?

“The fuck is wrong, V? Don’t make me figure it out by myself.”

Biting the edge of her lip, she ignores Johnny’s latest question and contemplates swallowing an omega blocker. She doesn’t even care that he’s threatening to search for the truth without her permission. Choosing not to do so, he keeps pressing on regardless, and V was getting pissed off. When he doesn’t stop, she loses her temper and slams on the brakes, the Porsche coming to a screeching halt on a dead street.

Huffing, V pulls over to the side, shutting the car’s engine as Johnny is left bewildered by her actions. Peace and quiet. She yearns for peace and quiet, and the pills would do the trick in an instant. Her hand reaches for the bottle in her jacket pocket, the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears. Popping the cap open, she turns her head to the side, unable to help herself. She sees the tenderness etched in his features, a wordless plea shining in his dark eyes.

“V… Tell me.”

V’s gaze slowly falters, her consciousness at war with itself. The storm of anger in her calms, yet she needs to know what her next move is. She’s always been terrible at this sort of thing, dealing with her feelings and shit. Growing up in the streets of Heywood, she’s learned how to shut people out and keep them out. Biggest rule she had imposed on herself was to never, ever fall for a choom, but this time was different. Despite him being a mere figment of her imagination, she feels safe around Johnny, appreciated and content. The two understand each other on a level nobody else has done. They’ve been through literal hell and would only sink further into it to find a way to survive.

A chrome palm comes to rest on V’s cheek, the sensation oddly warm, oddly familiar. Her attention flickers back to Johnny as he strokes her weary face. His touch was delicate, movements careful and controlled. He treats her as if she were porcelain, afraid that his metal hand would cause her to crack. V exhales deeply, relishing the feeling she’s longed from the moment she had broken that dumb rule of hers.

“Go ahead,” she mumbles, giving Johnny consent for him to read her mind. It only takes a second, maybe even less. V half expects his shit-eating grin to make its appearance. She couldn’t forget how cocky he was, and she thought this would certainly rub his ego.

It never comes. Instead, Johnny’s lips turn up into a genuine smile, one softer than the way his black hair falls to frame his face. V swears she was floating; this doesn’t feel all that real to her. It couldn’t be real. But as the first faint slivers of sunlight appear on the horizon, she starts to believe that she isn’t dreaming nor hallucinating. She was still very much wide awake.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Johnny quips as he leans closer. “You had no reason to be jealous, princess.”

“Why not?”

“Nothin’ happen between Rogue and me,” he clarifies, his fingers pushing back her locks. “Yeah, we made out a little, but I couldn’t go through with it. Wanna know why?”

V nods.

“’Cause I realized that ship sailed a long time ago. We’re too different people now; she’s got her own life, while I got mine sittin’ right here.”

“Johnny…” she murmurs his name as he brings up his other hand to cradle her face. “I wanted to have what you and Rogue had, minus the shitty things you did. But I could feel how much you loved her, how you basically worshipped the ground she walked on. Then I thought, can’t compete with her. She’s a livin’ legend, a badass. Meanwhile, I could be dead the next minute or two, either by this fuckin’ relic or a bullet.”

“Trust me, V, you wouldn’t want that,” Johnny returns, resting his forehead against hers. How could he feel so real? “What you and I have is special. Ain’t felt this way before, not even with Rogue or Alt. Like I said, you’re the fuckin’ closest to me. These feelings you’re afraid of? Shit, I have them too, and I’m fuckin’ terrified. But knowing that you’re here and we both share them, it makes things a lot less scary.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Johnny laughs softly. “Gotta spell it out for ya, huh? Well then, here it goes; V, I love you. I don’t throw that word around randomly, but know that it’s what I feel whenever I think of you.”

V doesn’t waste a second longer. Her lips meet his for a kiss that is gentle and bruising, all at once. They hold one another close, their grasps taut so that the other wouldn’t slip away, not wanting to lose what they’ve gained. Time goes by, ticking in the background as they kiss again and again, but to them, it’s slow, nearly everlasting.

And when it was over, when they finally had to part, they were breathless, panting.

“Love you too, Johnny,” she murmurs into his skin, tone dripping with affection as he hums in response.

Night melds into day, and the city comes back to its fullest life. V kisses Johnny a final time before driving back to the place she calls home, even though she’s found her true one in his heart.

—

Permanent Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @keandrews @feminine-machinegun @fanficsrusz @thehumanistsdiary @flaminasteroid @rowserein @unaspiringwritings @planetkt @breakthenight @baphometwolf666 @rdjloverxxx

Johnny Silverhand Tags: @silverse @overheardatthecontinental @meshlababy @ataraxydreams @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread @savsselfinserts @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @donakamark

*If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to send me an ask or DM!

#johnny silverhand x v #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand x reader #johnny silverhand fanfic

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paranaturalpop · 4 years ago

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I rate your pnat ships by how well they work as foils

I’m Professor Pops, welcome to Literature 405: comparing and contrasting in pnat ships. Love is in the air but all that really matters is narrative symmetry!

Mina and Agent Day (submitted by @anxanhh)

two women on missions who need a confidante.

Mina is a calculating woman of science with a tender, vulnerable heart deep down that she guards. Day is a fun, giggly love goddess but beneath the surface she is just as calculating.

They are both focused on their prospective goals to the point of subterfuge.

They have similar missions, to solve the many mysteries of Mayview, but they’re at odds instead of working together. Will these lone wolves learn to let their walls down and work towards a common goal?

Their spectral energies are complementary colors!!!!!!!!!!!!

9/10 so different yet so alike. They should kiss and also develop as people.

Spendcia

Where's that post about paranatural having what my hero academia wants?

These two had interacted in cannon only once before we found out they were dating, power move on Zack’s part

The cousinhood and the consortium seem to have bad blood…. Enemies to lovers????

As teachers, Garcia is tired and phoning it in while spender is energetic and committed. But when it comes to mystery solving Spender is burning himself out while Garcia keeps him grounded.

Garcia does things like pack spender lunches with little hearts drawn on the bag but was surprised to be called his boyfriend. He acts chill but inside he is deeply invested in spender but also knows about spender’s isolating tendencies.

8/10 there's a reason these two have been off and on again for 6ish years, they’re walking a tightrope of vulnerability.

Imaax (submitted by Rubyya)

The Destiel of Paranatural. No I will not elaborate.

Here’s a pnat history lesson, the original ship name was Maxaac, but Zack weighed in on twitter with a much better alternative: Imaax. Also sometimes called Team Lightning Rod.

Black and blue colors, just like the emotional bruises they leave on the people around them.

Isaac wants to be seen as heroic and Max wants to be seen as aloof. It presents in different ways but deep down they both really care what other people think.

They both fear sincerity. Isaac protects himself with theatrics and Max with sarcasm.

Isaac puts on a big show of having strong ethics but he’s a little mean on instinct. Max puts on a big show of cutting people down with his snark and devil-may-care attitude, but when push comes to shove he’s kind and cares how other people feel.

Max immediately insults every person he meets and they still want to be best friends with him, while Issac tries so hard to be cool and nice but people just can’t stand him.

The meta tension between Isaac, who wants so badly to be the protagonist, and Max “magnetic personally” Puckett who is exhausted with being the protagonist, is delicious.

There’s a reason official art tends to portray them together. They bring out the best in each other. Isaac brakes through Max’s performative pessimism and Max brings Isaac down to earth.

10/10 these two were written as a pair and it shows.

Suzabel (submitted by Rubyya)

One of my fav tropes is ‘enemies to friends’ where the enemy part is completely one-sided. Isabel probably thinks she and Suzy get along great.

Both the heads of their respective clubs, but with very different leadership styles.

Isabel only studies her grandfather's spectral style to please him and is a near master of it, while Suzy is incredibly self-motivated even though her actual skills are lacking.

Isabel is at a crucial time in her life where she’s learning to distance herself from adult authority figures in order to take on more personal responsibility. Suzy is already blazing with independence and could help her adjust.

Inversely, Isabel could teach Suzy a thing or two about treating your club members with respect and doing the emotional labor necessary to prevent future conflict.

Red and pink! Valentines colors!

Isabel could kill you but would never, Suzy would actually try to kill you.

Investigative reporter/person living mysterious double life is a great dynamic.

Back when Izzy had Eightfold they had the ship name ‘Paper Girls’ which is awesome

7/10 Don’t ask me how I know this but they would kill at karaoke together. And they’re ok foils.

Bullymagnet

Max ‘too cool for clubs’ vs a boy who defines himself by his tight knit group.

Max is learning to be less passive aggressive and johnny is learning to be less aggressive aggressive.

Max’s entry to spectral life was when he injured Johnny and saw a shade of a doctopi on him, and Johnny's first shade was Max's doctopi after the hit ball game.

Johnny refuses to commit to not bullying max anymore even though he really likes him, and max is working on being nicer but he’s still gonna be snarky with people even though they’re his friends. Old habits die hard.

If he hadn't seen that shade, Max might have joined Johnny's gang. He has the style, the stunts, the snark.

8/10 Just two bros whose lives are changing forever.

Isaac and Dimitri (submitted by Rubyya)

Here’s my pitch for a ship name: Brainstorm

Orange and blue are complementary colors.

Isaac hurt Dimitri accidentally somehow. Hurting others accidentally is the central theme of chapter 5.

Idealist/pragmatist is a classic dynamic

They both have relationships with their spirit partners that are rooted in fear.

Dimitri’s self concept is overly dependent on his sense of intellectual superiority, and Isaac’s on ethical superiority.

7/10 have not directly interacted in the comic yet but the narrative symmetry is there

Johnny and Isabel (submitted by Rubyya)

Burnhound Vs Shockadile

These two are natural leaders who know how to treat their friends with respect.

These jocks are both lethal weapons, but while Isabel is a master martial artist, Johnny is a passionate but blunt instrument.

They’re both going through similar identity crises.

Isabel is struggling to reconcile her violent and disciplined upbringing with a good, gentle heart and Johnny is trying to reconcile his violent and self-centered lifestyle with a developing respect and empathy for other people.

Johnny dies his hair red, so he would think it’s cool how Izzy emits a fiery red aura when excited.

8/10 there's a reason these two were the team leaders in the hit ball arch.

Violet and Lisa (submitted by Rubyya)

People have been theorizing about what kind of cryptid Lisa is since day one meanwhile Violet gives off big normie energy.

Lisa is very plugged into all the Mayview weirdness as the queen of the school underground, while Violet was the only person who thought to go get a teacher during the hit ball arch. Lisa was also the only one who really spoke openly about how something was clearly very wrong with Jeff, everyone else talked around it and played by the so called ‘rules’. Lisa’s secret brokering Vs. Violet’s ‘sunlight is the best disinfectant’ attitude presents two different approaches to trying to survive in a school run by a mysterious shadow organization within a town that contains several other mysterious shadow organizations.

“If you were, I’d have to be jealous too.” just two middle schoolers pinning over their crushes.

7/10 two girls against the world.

Isaac and Johnny

ship name: Firestorm?

Just 2 fiery redheaded mediums with anger management issues that command primal forces and wanna be best friends with max

Johnny chooses to have red spiky hair, Issac has had red spiky hair thrust upon him.

Both met Maxwell Pucket and decided they needed to change for the better.

I’ve said this before but Johnny and Issac have equal and opposite philosophies. Johnny doesn't care about the greater good, he just cares about a small group of people who he loves. Issac cares about the greater good, but can’t connect with individuals and ends up hurting them. Together they form one GoodTM boy.

Both their spirit partners want revenge on Spender. This spells trouble.

If there’s anyone to teach Isaac about unconditional friendship, it’s Johnny

Isaac has sworn off violence and Johnny worships at the altar of it.

9/10 they’ve only interacted in canon once so far but I’ve think we’ve got a big storm coming.

Suzy and Collin (submitted by Rubyya)

The Bakudeku of pnat. I will continue to not elaborate.

Suzy once stole Collin's phone which prompted Collin to try to cut her hair which prompted Suzy to stab Collin and at no point did either of them think to move to a different bus seat. As different as they are they are also very much the same.

Collin is the definition of mouth service (constantly disapproving of suzy’s antics but going along with it anyway.) while suzy is all action.

Despite their different attitudes they both seem genuinely passionate about the journalism club.

Fashion icons. Suzy’s sunglasses and legwarmers, Collins sweater vests and wrist bands, this duo could walk for Paris fashion week: middle school edition.

We’ve gotten an indication that Collin cares a lot about what Suzy thinks of him (taking off his wrist bands when she made fun of Max's) but we haven't gotten any sign yet that the feelings are mutual.

5/10 I think their story is yet to be told and we’ll get to know more about how they compare/contrast to each other in the future. Maybe brought on by Dimitri's betrayal?????

Cody and Isabel (Submitted by @a-bitchtm)

Cody is gay by WOG but that doesn't matter here since we are evaluating thematic compatibility, not romantic compatibility.

Red Vs. Blue

Izzy’s arch about stepping into her role as leader through communication and honesty contrasts Cody’s role as the secret class president. Izzy finally told Isaac the truth about the consortium, while Cody blatantly lied to max about being president.

Both seem to have generally good motivations and the skills/talent to back those motivations up.

Isabel is in the process of unlearning the ‘firm hand’ philosophy that she learned from her grandpa and Cody’s dad straight up tried to mind control him into murdering a toddler.

They were both taught to fall back on their capacity for violence and intimidation but those teachings conflict with the people they really want to be.

6/10 just two kids who are being led astray by authority figures trying to learn to be themselves.

Cody and Collin (Submitted by @gatortavern)

They both like vests.

Both beholden to blood thirsty predators

Collin is a journalist, Cody is a vampire/leader of the shadow government. It’s a huge power move on Cody’s part to hang out with Collin.

Cody’s support of his friends is enthusiastic while Collin would have you believe Suzy has kidnapped him.

4/10 they hang out for a reason but those reasons have yet to be fully developed

Isabel and Max (submitted by @Paranatural-goofiness)

They’re both people who have learned to put up walls to keep people out. Isabel through violence and intimidation, max through sarcasm and mockery. T

he other side of this is their mutual journey to let their walls down and connect with other people more genuinely, starting with each other.

Their search for acceptance and identity has led them both to become incredible athletes. Spectral fist martial arts = shred eagle stunts

As we saw in the hit ball game, Izzy faces things head on while Max is all about evasion. However we’ve seen how Izzy has actually learned to be evasive and guarded about her feelings while Max is a little more forthcoming.

8/10 Never has there been faster friends.

Isaac and Cody (submitted by Rubyya)

Drama kings

Isaac wants the likability Cody has.

Parallels of power: Isaac with power he didn't choose and cant control vs. Cody who also didn’t choose to have his power (elected), but wields it like an instrument.

Involuntary anime hair and involuntary glowing monster eyes

These two definitely both fall under the category of “lawful”.

I can see these two ending up on opposite sides of a conflict because they both have such rigid personal codes and an intense sense of duty.

I know I’ve been approaching almost all of these platonically but Isaac probably really wants a cool vampire boyfriend deep down

7/10 Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. You two should watch anime together.

Hijack and PJ (submitted by @gatortavern)

They both wanna join the activity club so bad

Both have immature ideas about heroism and villainy.

Both aspire to heroism while at the same time understanding that they aren't that yet and maybe never will be.

They both, like many people in this comic, wanna be friends with max.

5/10 Two supernatural babies who should play wii sports together

Stephen and Isaac (@Gatortavern)

Two boys who are easily overwhelmed

Lawful vs. chaotic

Isaac has enough secrets to give Stephen his conspiracy fix for a long time.

In their own ways they both just want everything out in the open.

Isaac is Stephen's dream, someone actually living a secret double life, and Stephen is Issac's dream, someone with a cool scar who would think he’s actually very interesting.

5/10 these two are both very intense in their own way.

Johnny and Ed (Submitted by @theevilbrainman)

Two souls lost in the wind

Two people for whom friendship and loyalty is central to their character, and they’re both struggling with personal growth because of it. Johnny is afraid to change because his friends have always liked the person he already is, and Ed is struggling to even define himself outside of Isabel, the person he cares about the most.

Both impulsive and uninhibited.

They both live lives free from expectation. Johnny’s wild bully persona means no one is surprised by his antics or cruelty, while Grandpa Guerra doesn't really care if Ed takes up phantom fist like Isabel. He actually calls him a freeloader. Not having much expected of you can feel free but it’s also lonely and can warp your self-perception.

6/10 these two crossed paths at exactly the right time.

I didn't cover every submission because even though only 9 people submitted you sent in 34 ships between you. Pnat’s fanbase is small but very dedicated.

Honorable mentions:

Johnny and clear sinuses, submitted by @gaul-the-unmitigated

Isaac and therapy, submitted by both @squidgeons and @somethingfishysgoingon

PJ and Johnny, submitted by @gatortavern, who seems to be under the impression that Johnny Would protect PJ and not destroy him just by breathing near him.

Day and Scabs, submitted by @gatortavern, because funny.

Special thanks to everyone who sent in ship between people who have never interacted in cannon, which was a lot of you. My eyes are opened now, so many possibilities.

#paranatural #pnat #q #ships #valentines #dr. zarei/agent day #imaax #spendcia #suzabel #bullymagnet #shipping #pnat spoilers

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lys-lilac · 4 years ago

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Yuki Sohma: An In-depth Character Analysis

I remember getting this anime as a recommendation in summer almost 2 years ago. Right, when the reboot season 1 started. I was so engrossed in this that I can’t tell you. The theme of the series always made me keep at the edge of my seat. And yeah, as the title suggests, I got to admire him the most-

I know, many of you might think that I fell in love with his beauty after seeing him in the anime for the first time, but unfortunately, it’s a big no. I love the characters who care about others so much. And he is the perfect example.

Now, the point is, what makes him steal the top rank for me while most of the fandom is basically about Kyo and Tohru? Let me put down the points. But before that, grab your earphones or headphones, and play this song as you read about the things he has been through.

youtube

1. His selfless attitude

His kind nature shines throughout the series. We see in the beginning that it was he who discovers Tohru living in a tent. He welcomes her to stay in Shigure’s home, even after knowing that their curse is being put at risk and takes care of her fever. After she sleeps, he ventures out in the night to dig up her belongings. Even though he mentions that he had selfishly taken her just to rebel against the family curse, still this is replaced by his benevolent and sweet nature towards Tohru. As a result, their relationship is beautiful.

He also has helped her countless times, whether it’s taking her back from her relatives, or lending her hand to carry the grocery bags. These all moments define how pure their bond is and how both trust and care each other.

2. His willingness to sacrifice everything

This point actually reminds of Kasumi Toshiki from Romance MD: Always on Call. Even though he appears plain on the surface, he can go to any extent just for the sake of her happiness. One instance of this can be from season 2 episode 22. Kyo and Tohru seem to be in the hallway, with Tohru trying to grab the script from his hands. Just then, Yuki says whether they would give him way to go upstairs. It is obvious that Yuki would have seen the whole thing, but for her sake, he doesn’t interrupt. The line he says here is-

“You are precious. I look up to you. I cherish you because you provided for me what I desperately longed for.”

Now what did he yearn for? It was Tohru’s love and affection for him, which he didn’t get from anyone else, not even his mother when he was a child.

3. The heart-fluttering sweet moments and his character development

Ah! Thanks to the production for such sweet moments of Yuki and Tohru. Even if the ship is not canon, they will still remain my favorite.

In my opinion, this story actually portrays Yuki’s development in character more than any other thing. This is amazing. The boy, who was unable to let go of his dark past, the truth that he was after was covered with a lid, all are slowly untangled with Tohru’s compassionate nature towards Yuki. Unlike the fan club who adored him only for his looks, she sees him in a different, more friendly light, which mellows him up. What’s more, the once timid boy builds up so much courage within himself that he doesn’t get afraid of Akito anymore and confronts her face to face. The warmth he searched for, finally reaches him just like a soft feather, landing on his palm, giving a soft and soothing touch of happiness.

Let’s look at this background here. Yuki is surrounded by chinese bellflowers, which symbolize honesty, unchanging love and obedience. In his hand lays a white rose, which means, devotion, and innocence. The color white itself and his name are a symbol of peace and silence. This actually is an imagery for his character, and it resembles it truly.

Yuki had no intentions of getting on bad terms with Kyo. But it’s seen in episode 20, that Kyo shouts at him outside the banquet saying it was all his fault. Although he was small, but those words were like a heavy blow to him. What’s more, even when he comes back crying hoping for his mom to console him, she slaps him and warns him not to disappear again. (Noo... T^T)

(Kyo shouts this to him outside the hall.)

There is some fault with Kyo as well for this point. All Yuki wanted was to become friends with him. He yearned for the parental love and friendship which Kyo had since his childhood. But, the latter has the misunderstanding that Yuki had everything.

Yuki says this when he remembers that Kyo didn’t take the hat from his hand when he gives him. This makes him cry so hard, cause he was just a little child going through these painful things, all at once.

“There was something I wanted. Parents who would embrace me. A home I wanted to return to.”

(Yuki cries after being ignored by Kyo.)

Even though Kyo’s behavior initially compelled him to be like that, even though he knew that there is a lot Kyo was internally suffering from, but in episode 22, he just couldn’t take it anymore. Instead of debating, he stays silent and shows his most vulnerable and hurt face to Kyo, because he didn’t want things to end up like that between them. He didn’t want the person he admired to lash out at him every time, when he was at no fault at all, and still is the prey of Kyo’s anger and apathy. This only leaves Kyo speechless, making him break the window out of frustration. This part pains me a lot, because Kyo had at least someone he can throw out his anger and put the blame. But Yuki didn’t even had that.

There is again this pretty imagery here. Yuki, when looking at Kyo, is bathed with the sunlight. This symbolizes the change he has gone through and accepted it, which is really stunning to notice.

[The rest are in paragraph form from here]

Now that I have talked much about his positive points, let’s explore a hot topic which is often a reason of disagreement between Yuki’s fans and Kyo’s fans.

What are Yuki’s actual feelings towards Tohru?

I know that almost all the fandom here will say these feelings which he talks about is what a mother would give to his child. And this point strengthens a lot more as it was confirmed by the author. If that’s the case, then let me state my thoughts on this, which are opposite to the author’s.

Let’s again move back to episode 22 of season 2. In the first half, Yuki talks to Kakeru about his first meet with Tohru when he was a child. At that time, he was tortured so much by Akito, both physically and mentally, that he thinks that there is no purpose of his life, and he is not needed by anyone at all. With this thought in mind, he disguises himself with a baseball hat and runs away from the Sohma estate. After some time, he discovers Tohru’s mother, Kyoko, crying because she was missing. He suddenly remembers to have seen her earlier, crying in the street, and helps her to reach her mother. At last, he places the hat on her head and disappears. It is later seen that he has converted to his rat form, and cries on realizing that at least at that point, he was needed by Tohru, and his thoughts were proved wrong.

He mentions that he almost forgot to ask her name at that time. And when he again was hitting the bottom, Tohru approaches him in the high school, slowly building courage and giving love to him. He also discovers later that the girl, whom he once his hat was none other than Tohru. With things unravelling, their bond becomes stronger.

But, although he mentions that he had only motherly affection towards her and couldn’t see her in a romantic light, I still doubt the line itself.

“But she appeared before the hopeless me once again. To be with me, close to me. She even listened to what someone like me had to say. Time after time, she accepted me time and again. She’s beloved to me. Like how the sky feels so close, yet so far.”

This line, although somehow shows that Yuki is saved by Tohru every time he is in need of it, but it feels weird to say that he only thinks of her as a mother here. I mean, one can also feel like this if he/she is helped by a good friend, or a dear one. And Yuki also mentions that she is beloved to him. But, what about the last line? Doesn’t it sound like, he can’t reach her even if she was close to reach? Because this is the exact meaning. If we analyze word by word, then this makes sense, as Yuki had already realized by that time that Kyo and Tohru had mutual feelings towards each other. In fact, he says it himself that it dawned on him in the last episode of season 1 when Tohru chases after Kyo into the forest, the latter being converted to his monster form. And how could he not? This guy is mature enough to figure out anything. Then this would have been nothing.

One instance of this realization could be the beach arc episode 7 , where he says-

“I probably actually knew, in the back of my mind. What would happen if I opened the lid. What I must do. Thanks for always being willing to lend an ear. Thanks for always accepting my weaknesses.... You probably don’t know that you are the one who’s always saving me. You always shared your kindness, warmth, and joy with me. That’s why, I won’t lose. I will keep going forward, and keep believing.”

Tohru asks the exact thing which was going on my mind listening to that voice acting. Why did he look so sad there? And Yuki replies that she is just like the sky, very dear to him. Doesn’t it sound exactly like a confession to a person about what she did for you till now? Yuki already had realized that, and this is just a proof. He sounds sad, and he also compares her to the sky. The metaphor which comes to mind is that he is basically symbolizing that her vast expanse of kindness is just like the sky, which is so close, yet so far. Even if he wanted, he can’t keep her all to himself. That’s why he just says that she is dear to him. The way it is portrayed here, is just like saying goodbye before parting ways. Huh... I didn’t continue the season afterwards because of this scene. T~T

(Why, why did he cry after saying that she was dear to him....? Isn’t it right in front of your eyes? *sobs*)

And, if he only sees her as a mother, then what does this mean-

“I was so confused, not to mention incredibly embarrassed. I wasn’t sure how to deal with it, so I didn’t. I shut it away immediately. I stuffed those feelings down, teased and flirted like a normal guy with the girl he likes. But still, it felt wrong.”

It’s clear here. He had somehow developed romantic feelings for her, earlier. But when he realized it was not what he meant, and saw the gradual progression of Tohru and Kyo liking each other, he changes his mind, thinking that he might have been wrong the whole time. That the feelings he harbored for her weren’t correct. But when he thinks of her as a mother, he feels embarrassed. And it’s no different. Why wouldn’t anyone feel like that if it’s someone of your age? This implies that their relationship wasn’t a romantic one, but not a motherly one either.

Kakeru asks the same thing next. He says that maybe he has twisted his thoughts and feelings just after knowing that he had lost her to Kyo. But Yuki denies it saying-

“It’s not true why I feel like this. But, he properly sees her as a woman. He loves her. You can see it in his eyes. Her too. The way she looks at him... But I... I don’t want that! That isn’t what I want! I’d feel... so lonely. I am not willing to give up. I don’t know when to give up.”

(Such a pure boy... Just cried after saying that... )

Definitely as said above. He is obviously jealous of Kyo here. Not in a romantic way, but because he didn’t want Tohru’s kindness and hope she gave him to recede away. Even if it was like a good friend, he wanted to stay by her side. He is mature enough to see the bonds that she and he shared. And he is not the type to fret over getting rejected or anything like that. Moreover, you can already get a hint from the line that he approved of Kyo and Tohru. This always impresses me. The bond that these two have is so beautiful and unspoken, that it transcends romance itself.

Although this is probably half of my reasonings, I will stop here. Although I covered the most important ones here, but I wanted to discuss many other scenes too. Let’s keep it for next time!

#fruits basket #furaba #yuki sohma #sohma yuki #character analysis #kyo sohma #tohru honda #akito sohma #kakeru manabe #lys's thoughts #analysis and thoughts #i ship the pure and beautiful relationship they have #T-T #coffee with lys

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insaneasgardian · 4 years ago

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Arachnid Enigma - Irondad and Spiderson

Inspired by a headcanon from @cassiecasyl

“I just had this thought... Tony suddenly gets hyperfixated on spiders and noone knows why. The first time the Avengers notice it's on a mission and it's not weird, he's a genius after all, they figure he just knows stuff. But then he begins rambling about spiders randomly. And sometimes he speaks about some issues like it's personal experience but he doesn't have a pet spider, Nat confirmed that?? What is going on???”

And an addition to it by @savvysass

“Lmao then spiderman walks in and they r like ah. Ok.”

............................................................................................

Also, this is an Irondad and Spiderson fic. I do NOT ship Starker for obvious reasons. If you do, I would like you to leave my blog.

🦸‍♀️🦹‍♂️🦸‍♂️🦹‍♀️ 🦸‍♀️🦹‍♂️🦸‍♂️🦹‍♀️ 🦸‍♀️🦹‍♂️🦸‍♂️🦹‍♀️ 🦸‍♀️🦹‍♂️🦸‍♂️🦹‍♀️ 🦸‍♀️🦹‍♂️🦸‍♂️🦹‍♀️ 🦸‍♀️🦹‍♂️🦸‍♂️🦹‍♀️

There have been several times Tony Stark has displayed a fascination with arachnids. The first time Tony ever mentioned spiders was on a stealth mission in Bhutan where a HYDRA base had been spotted. It was supposed to be relatively easy, break in, grab intel, don’t be seen, and get out. It was a successful mission but not everything went according to plan.

“I’m in” Steve spoke into his comms as he looked around the HYDRA base he had just infiltrated. “No sign of any people, just a lot of spiders and dust”, he added, eyeing the critters that scuttled around the dark and grimy area.

“Of course there are,” Tony commented, “HYDRA isn’t exactly a stickler for cleanliness, and spiders love dirty, sooty, nasty areas to live in”. Steve proceeded to roll his eyes at the obvious remark. It was just Tony being Tony.

“Has everyone managed to locate the entrance?”, The Captain inquired, getting plenty of affirmative responses. Soon enough, everyone managed to enter the building and joined Steve in the large room he stood in.

There was no illumination except for the few rays sunlight that filtered in through the cathedral window. Just as Steve had said, there was an immense amount of dust settled all over the floor, window, and grand staircase that led to the second floor, along with a lot of arachnids. Clint stepped forward, accidentally crunching a couple of spiders under his foot. Tony clenched his jaw tightly, “Don’t. DO THAT!” he hissed extremely loudly, alarming everyone.

Clint gulped, “Geez, sorry”. Unfortunately for the team of heroes, Tony had not only surprised his colleagues but the occupants of the building too. Shuffling and a lot of movement was heard, and before the Avengers could retreat, the enemy confronted them.

“Great work Tony”, Natasha mumbled angrily under her breath when she saw several HYDRA agents rushing down the stairs. Earth’s mightiest heroes worked quickly and efficiently to take out the flocks and flocks of operatives running at them. Although it wasn’t a very hard job, it still took out the stealth element out of their job.

After the oncoming threat was wiped out and the data they needed had been collected, the team swiftly exited the base and entered the quinjet where Bruce was waiting for them. “What happened?” the scientist asked, inspecting his friends who were covered in gore.

Sam sighed, “Tony happened”, he stated simply.

Another time Tony spoke of the arachnids was when they had a day off, and decided to spend them with Clint’s family at their farm. It was around now that a few of the heroes began to suspect that Tony wasn’t just knowledgeable about the eight legged critters, but he was utterly fascinated by them.

“Thank you again for having us Laura” Wanda said, earning a kind smile from Clint’s wife.

“It was no problem at all!” she responded, putting together some quick snacks for the whole team.

The Avengers had a great time with the Bartons. Chatting and laughing, gossiping and giggling. It was fun. Just before they were about to leave and as Clint kissed his wife goodbye, a little shriek was heard. It was Nathaniel Barton.

Everybody was alarmed at first, thinking something terrible had happened to the boy, but when they saw the cause, they couldn’t help burst out laughing. A large house spider was crawling on Nathaniel’s show. Although spiders were the cause of a rational phobia, the team of heroes did not fear the hairy critter before them.

Tony stepped forward and picked up the spider, placing it somewhere it would be safe, and also where Nathaniel wouldn’t freak out over it. He then turned to the youngest Barton child, “Don’t worry kid,” he began “spiders are great creatures! Honestly, they’re really cute, and nice, and brave”.

Thor snickered, “You speak of spiders as if they’re people”. Tony opened his mouth to say something, but then hurriedly shut it and looked away from the group. Tony was quiet. That was a first. What was happening to Tony?

Meanwhile, Rhodey stood in the corner, looking at the confused glances his friends gave each other as they attempted to figure out what was causing Tony’s new behavior. He smiled, and this didn’t go unnoticed by Loki who narrowed his eyes slightly and chewed his lip in thought. What did Colonel James know?

To mention one more instance in which Tony displayed an unusual interest in spiders was just the day after the Avengers visit to the Bartons. Nick Fury had brought his pet tarantula to work and the team was crowded around it.

“What’s his name?” Sam curiously inquired.

“It’s Bert,” the director responded, sounding rather bored, “I got him from Agent Hill’s house, she despises spiders”.

Tony looked at Maria, who was standing quite far away from Bert, cautiously watching him. “Don’t be scared Maria!” he exclaimed, “They’re gentle, come closer”. The agent’s eyes widened in fear and she rapidly shook her head which made a few of the Avengers chuckle. “Come on”, Tony encouraged.

Maria looked around the room for an escape, but seeing that everyone in the room had conveniently blocked the exits she sighed and walked closer. “Go on and pet him”, Fury remarked, clearly amused at the situation. Agent Hill desperately wanted to refuse but she didn’t want to chicken out so she carefully held out a finger and ran it over the tarantula’s hairy body.

She wanted to puke.

“See! It’s not so bad!” Steve said, smiling at her. Still, the agent quickly pulled away. Spiders were definitely not her thing. “Yes, spiders are just as scared of humans and some humans are of them,” Tony began, “they’re quite shy actually but very gentle! They won’t hurt anybody unless they feel provoked-”

“What is it with you and spiders?” Bruce cut him off with a playful grin. The genius billionaire playboy philanthropist froze and all the humor initially on his features disappeared. Everyone noticed this change in behavior and Bruce fidgeted uncomfortably, believing he had upset his lab buddy. “I mean... you just speak of them a lot, do you have like a pet spider or something?”

Tony remained quiet but Natasha answered, “No, he doesn’t have any pets”. The group turned to the redheaded assassin and she shrugged, “What? I’m a spy, I know stuff”.

A silence fell over once again, and it was interrupted by Tony. “Oh! I got a business meeting soon, see you guys later”, and with that, he turned and trudged away just as Phil Coulson walked in. Tony bumped into him, “Sorry Agent” he mumbled quietly before proceeding to walk out.

Phil shot Nick and Maria a confused look, and both returned it. The Avengers on the other hand knew for sure something was up.

The last time the Avengers wondered about Tony’s obsession with spiders was also the time they found out its cause. The entire team was just about to enter Tony’s lab.

“Sleep well spidey boy” are exactly the words the Avengers heard Tony whisper before they could walk into his lab. They all heard it, and looked around at each other for confirmation that they were hearing the right thing. They then proceeded to have a conversation right outside Tony’s work space. A quick one, in which they decided it was time to confront Tony about his spider problem. There was nothing wrong with loving them, but talking to a spider? This was unhealthy.

So they opened the door to the lab and walked in on a very surprised Tony Stark, his face paled, but he regained his composure. “Heyyyy, what’s up guys?” he asked, casually leaning against a wall.

His superhero friends looked at him sadly and Steve stepped forward, “Tony, I think it’s time we talked about-” he was interrupted by a snore. Captain America agitatedly glanced back, “Can you guys please be serious?”, he requested. However, everyone behind him was looking confused.

Then a cough was heard, then another, it then developed into a coughing fit. Then there was silence. Until there wasn’t. “Oh shoot! I am so sorry Mr Stark, did I disturb yo-... OH MY GOD IT’S THE AVENGERS!”, a voice came from the ceiling. The group collectively looked up and saw a boy, no older than 16 with wavy brown hair and adorable doe brown eyes gaping at them.

Tony tiredly rubbed his eyes, “Hope you had a nice nap Peter,” he said, “Come down now”. The boy, Peter, obliged and hopped down from the ceiling without injuring himself.

“How did you do that? Stick to the ceiling I mean” Bucky asked.

Peter looked at the super soldier and smiled brightly, “I’m spiderman!”, he practically yelled, “It’s what I do!”. The Avengers all looked at this young boy in shock.

“The kid from Queens?” Wanda asked.

“Yea, the kid from Queens,” Rhodey confirmed, “Tony kept Peter a secret this whole time as so not to endanger him”.

The billionaire nodded and smiled sheepishly, “Secrets out now I guess...” he murmured.

There was silence, it wasn’t awkward or comfortable. It was the kind of silence that hung in the air after a huge revelation... It was astounded silence.

Tony broke it, he placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder and began guiding him out the room, “Come on kid, let’s go get some cheeseburgers”. With that, they stepped out the lab and left the rest of the people still standing there, completely appalled.

Steve turned back to the group he had led into the lab, “Well... that kind of explains the interest in spiders I guess...”

@emma-elsa-0000 @lost-lunar-wolf @joyful-soul-collector @teammightypen @blerghfish @incorrect-spiderson @only-love-can @badmcuposts @cassiecasyl @savvysass

#Avengers #Irondad #Spiderson #Irondad and Spiderson fic #Tony keeping Peter a secret #Peter sleeping on the ceiling #Marvel #funny avengers #funny marvel #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #inspired

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lue-arlert · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! <3 Could I please get a date with Reiner? I'm not a sugar baby lol. Pure fluff, if you don't mind. <3 Thank you!

ZEKI HELLO thank you for your patience while I got your date ready for you 🥰💚

I hope you have a lovely time with Reiner! 💚✨

WC: 1.2k

You always had a crush on Reiner. When you were small kids, you always played together, always went and did what you could within the restricted areas, as far as you were allowed to wander in Marley.

When he started training and prepping to become an Honorary Marleyan Warrior, you didn’t know what was going on. You didn’t know why your friend was suddenly busy and couldn’t play anymore.

And as you grew older, seeing him ship off to the devil’s island, you cried and cried, fearing you would never see him again, afraid for him that he had a bloody Titan in him.

When he returned to Marley, you were elated. When you found out he returned alone, you were sad.

You greeted him at his arrival, glad that he remembered you after all these years, and nearly crying when he embraced you.

You were inseparable since then. It was nearly every day you spent together, catching up, talking about your lives during the times you were apart.

It took years of hiding your infatuation for him before you were fed up of it, confessing to him one day on a walk.

He was obviously shaken by your admission, but after mulling it over, he’d realized that he’d always had those same feelings. It took him a few minutes to gather the courage to ask you out, but when he finally did, it was a relief to the both of you.

There wasn’t much to be done around Marley. Even with Reiner’s military pay, you couldn’t afford a ‘fine dining’ date, so you decided a rooftop picnic would be the most creative thing you come up with.

It was the rooftop of your home, the unit nestled above the market your parents owned taller than the rest around it, having just enough of a view over the city and some grassy landscapes that you could maybe deem it romantic, in the right angle of sunlight.

You wore your prettiest dress, the one your mother made you for a family member’s wedding, with dainty little flowers embroidered around the hem and collar, sleeveless to show your soft arms, the band around your bicep matching the color of the details in your dress.

After your hair was good and fixed up, you left your bedroom to meet Reiner at the back door entrance to your home behind the market, waiting patiently against the wall with your hands behind your back.

The weather was perfect for your early morning date; the sun was rising, and the air was gentle and cool, soon to be warm and bright.

You were humming to yourself as you rolled a chunky rock under your foot, staring at the ground before you, when a pair of boots came into your vision, making your eyes trail upwards to meet Reiner’s amber irises.

A smile crept over your face and you reached out to his nervous, extended hand, taking his large fingers into your palm.

He greeted you quietly, standing awkwardly while holding your hand, unsure what to say.

After spending almost too much time staring up at his beautiful towering figure, you cleared your throat and led him to the staircase that climbed to the roof, a display of a small breakfast plated out across the table, various fruits and breads and some eggs on some old chipped dishes ready for you.

Reiner held back a smile as you motioned him to his seat, releasing his hand and sitting beside him at the round table, laying a fabric napkin over your legs.

You caught up on things from work and talked about plans for the week, laughing between bites of food and sipping at your coffees.

And after breakfast was long finished, you still continued to talk, leaning close to each other in your own chairs, elbows nearly touching.

There was a moment when you were talking that you realized Reiner was staring at you. It was different from how he normally looked at you, his eyes seemed to glimmer differently and they would trace the shape of your face, his chin resting in his palm as he leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair.

This made you stop, your eyes blinking as you tilted your head to look up at him.

“Are you okay, Rei?” You asked quietly.

He blinked in return, pausing a moment before nodding, dropping his hand from his face. “I… I just…” He pursed his lips, unsure of how to say what he wanted, but he carefully reached his hand over and took yours, wrapping his fingers around it.

You could feel how anxious he was, his palms damp around your hand—but you didn’t mind it.

You were happy to have him so close to you like this. You’d dreamed of this for so many years, of his hands being wrapped around yours, of him gazing at you like he was now.

“You can tell me anything, Rei.” His hand was now sandwiched between both of yours, your thumb grazing his knuckles as you shifted in your seat, crossing a knee over the other to face him better.

He nodded again, clearing his throat. “I’m… happy that you told me how you feel.”

The blush that took over his cheeks gave you butterflies.

“Yeah?” It took everything to hold your smile back.

“Yeah.” He pursed his lips again, then carefully took his hand from yours, gripped the arms of his chair and lifted it to scoot it closer to you, until it bumped against yours, then he sat back once more, taking your hand in his again, his arm grazing you.

You smiled and shifted in your seat to lean your head on his shoulder, watching the city beneath you and birds taking to the sky, and with how close you were now, you could smell his cheap cologne. It wasn’t a bad smell to you, it was inviting and warm, and right now it had you so comforted, so relaxed against his bulky frame.

He called your name to grab your attention and you tilted your head, craning your neck to get a good look at him.

“I, uh…” He looked away from you for a moment, then returned his gaze to yours, lifting his free hand to touch your cheek. “This… this has been nice. I-I want to do this again sometime.”

A wide grin spread over your face and you nodded, careful not to show too much excitement. “I would love that.”

Reiner finally allowed a soft smile to make its place over his lips, relieved that you still felt the same, that he didn’t do anything weird or awkward during the date to make you change your mind.

“Thank you for always being there for me.” He whispered, his thumb grazing the curve of your cheek.

“I’ll always be here for you, Rei,” you returned, leaning into his touch.

He nodded thoughtfully, then cupped your face, his pinky hooked under your jaw, and tilted your head up to him more, and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on your pretty lips, his own quivering just the slightest with nerves.

You reassuringly placed your hand on his chest as you kissed him back, no longer holding back the crazy smile that plastered itself on your face.

Lue Arlert’s 100 Followers First Date Event - CLOSED

Thank you so much to @coffeeforday for letting me use her beautiful picture for the header 🥰

#lue-arlert’s 100 followers event #first date event #reiner braun #reiner braun aot #reiner braun snk #ask lue

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ashdoesfandomarchieved · 3 years ago

Text

we're living in a powder keg (and giving off sparks)

Fandom: Star Trek Lower Decks

Rating: M

AO3

Beckett Elizabeth Mariner wakes up with the absolute unshakable knowledge that she has done something unspeakable.

“Oh my fucking god.”

On the pillow across from hers, Brad opens his eyes. He blinks once or twice, squinting at the obnoxious sunlight streaming through the blinds. It creates bars of light slanting across the bed and floor. There’s a brief moment of confusion where he stares up at her owlishly before he groans and rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. Clearly not shaken at all by the unspeakable horror coursing through Beckett’s veins.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God .”

“Please lower your voice,” he mutters, voice muffled almost beyond comprehension. Almost. “I think I have a migraine. Or a hangover.” A pause. “Or both .”

“Oh god oh god oh god-”

Beckett’s comm begins chirping on the nightstand, derailing her mental breakdown. She lunges for it, flips the device open and answers the call. “Yeah?”

“Beckett Mariner, where in god’s name are you?” her mother’s voice shrills across the tiny speaker. Not exactly the distraction she was looking for, but she’ll take it. “I’ve been calling you for hours. I swear to god if you’re in prison again-”

“I’m not in prison!” she hisses. “And that was one time!”

“Six times. In the last month.”

“I- mom -”

“We’re in Wvaxuv,” Brad snaps, snatching the comm out of her hand. “We’ll be there in fifteen. Over.” He snaps the comm shut, throws it at the nightstand on her side, and flops facedown into his pillow again. Beckett, both impressed by Brad hanging up on his captain and horrified by him hanging up on her mom , stares at him, mouth agape.

“You just hung up on my mom.��

“Mffffmmn.”

“My mom , Bradward.”

“Mm.”

“Your Captain .”

This does get a reaction out of Brad, but not quite the one she expected? He peeks one eye out of where he’s currently trying to become one with the bedding. It’s cute, in like a cat-like way. Which is exactly where Beckett is trying to keep her thoughts from going. There is nothing cute or nice about waking up in the same bed as Brad. There’s not.

“I think I’ll care about that when I’m sober,” he says, at last.

“You don’t care that you just hung up on my mom, but you know what city we’re in?” Beckett raises an eyebrow, both impressed and unimpressed. She contains multitudes.

“I always know where I am,” he mumbles, turning his face back into the pillow. “Also, it literally says in the tourist brochure on your nightstand.”

Beckett grins and then stops herself. “Okay, Mister ‘I always know where I am,’ how long will it actually take us to get back to the Cerritos ?”

“ Ten minutes if we get dressed like right now.”

She stops, face heating at the reminder that oh yeah they’re both fucking naked under the duvet. Beckett carefully inches away, toward her end of the bed, just in case. She casts a quick look around the room and locates her clothes on the floor, near the bathroom.

“Don’t look,” she warns. Threatens?

Brad gives her a thumbs up, seemingly content in continuing his faceplant. Beckett decides that she can trust him not to sneak a peak--not that it mattered at this point but she was not thinking about that --and hurriedly dives toward them and gathers them up. She throws them on the bathroom floor and slams the door shut.

“Oh my god.” Beckett stares at the yellowing tiled floor. “Oh my god .” She turns on the sink, cupping the freezing water in her hands and splashing it onto her face. It does little to clear her mind, but it does help with the hangover nausea. She grips the sides of the sink, breathing in and out slowly. After a few moments of this, Beckett finally dares to look in the mirror.

She’s looked worse. Especially after a night of getting blackout drunk. Her hair is down, out of its usual high ponytail. It’s also completely wrecked, she notes, running her fingers through it to pull out the tangles. She looks a little sweaty and her eyes are bloodshot with dark circles rimming them, but nothing about her appearance suggests that she did anything stupid or dangerous last night. All of her limbs and toes are accounted for. All things considered, it’s not that bad.

Well, except for the trail of hickeys going down her neck. Jesus , she thinks, straining her head around to see how far they go. Nevermind, she doesn’t really want to know. That’s definitely going to be a problem to examine later. Much, much later.

She quickly pulls her pants on, studiously ignoring her sore muscles and the purple bruises in other places besides her neck and shoulder. Fuck . She can hear her comm chirping again through the bathroom door, but doesn’t make any attempts to hurry and answer it. From the sound of things--or lack thereof--Brad isn’t making an effort either. He probably decided, as she has, that they can get reemed out when they actually get back on the ship.

Beckett pulls her tank top over her head, frowning when she realizes that it does absolutely nothing to hide the bruises on her neck. Where the fuck is her jacket? She pops back into the bedroom.

“Where’s my jacket?”

“You threw it in the Gezorvazors’ fountain.”

“And you didn’t stop me? Dude, that was my favorite jacket.”

He makes a vague hand gesture, still face down on the bed. “You can borrow mine.”

“Yours isn’t nice like mine is,” she snaps, picking his weird hoodie/jean jacket hybrid. “Mine is leather, and badass, and-” She slips his jacket on, pulling the collar up to hide the hickeys. “-And. Oh shit this is comfortable.” The fabric is soft in the way that clothes only get after you’ve owned them for years and years and ruined the fabric with too much fabric softener and shit. Also, it’s a little big around her shoulders, and Beckett’s kind of a slut for comfy clothes that are too big for her. “You’re not getting this back,” she realizes out loud.

Brad finally lifts his head off the pillow, eyes zeroing in on her. His face is unreadable. “Huh.”

“What?”

Her comm chirps again. Brad picks it up and throws it to her. “Call your mom.” He jerks his head toward the balcony on the other side of the suite. “Or don’t. Either way, we’re gonna be late.” He makes to get out of bed, which is Beckett’s cue to get the fuck out of there . She escapes onto the balcony which is less of a balcony and more of a ledge.

She flips the comm open and answers it.

“ Your mom is flipping out,” D’Vana says. “She thinks you went AWOL and kidnapped Boimler again.”

“Her thinking that is a thousand times better than what actually happened,” Beckett replies, relieved. “She’s not leaving, is she?”

“ Without you? Fat chance.” There’s a pause. “So are you gonna tell me what did happen-”

“Just a long night of drinking and bad decisions. I’ll see you back on the Cerritos, ” she swiftly interrupts. “If my mom asks, everything is fine. Don’t worry.” She hangs up over D’Vana’s sputtering protests. “Shit.” What was she going to tell D’Vana. What was she going to tell her mom?

A gust of cool wind blows through the street, cutting straight through her. She wraps the jacket tightly around her. It smells like Brad. “ Shit. ”

_____

Beckett sits in her mom’s ready room with a paper cup of coffee heating her hands. The smell isn’t doing great things to her nauseous stomach, but the warmth radiating through her fingers is soothing and the caffeine is knocking out most of her headache. Turn of the century and there still isn’t a definitive hangover cure for humans. Go figure.

Her mother’s slightly raised eyebrow is both a question and a criticism. She has too much tact to say that Beckett looks like shit, but they both know Beckett looks like shit. Damnit.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Freeman says at last, rubbing her temple with two fingers. “Just please stop violating regulations while on shore leave.”

Beckett wants to ask if this means she can violate regulations while off shore leave, but feels too shitty to get into that argument. “You got it, Cap’n,” she says, instead of emoting. She gives her mom a lazy, two fingered salute.

“Also, please remember to keep up with your birth control, I don’t really need any Beckett/Boimler hybrids running around on this ship-”

“Literally what the fuck -” Beckett all but shrieks, voice way to loud for the hangover she’s sporting. “ Why would you even say-”

Her mom looks pointedly at Beckett’s bruised neck. “I’m not a complete idiot, kiddo.”

“Oh my god,” Beckett buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god .”

Freeman rolls her eyes, flicking her fingers at her daughter. “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s my job to embarrass you. Now get out of my sight. And ask T’Ana for a hangover cure.”

This has Beckett sitting up. “Wha- T’Ana said there wasn’t a hangover cure .”

Flat look. “Beckett. What century is this?”

Beckett scowls at the desk. “Ripped off for five years and counting,” she mumbles.

_____

Avoiding Brad was harder than she thought it was going to be.

(Not that she’s avoiding him. She’s not.)

(She totally is. )

When he first came back to the Cerritos --almost two years ago now?--it had been easy. He’d been in a state of remorse/guilt, and had basically allowed Beckett to call the shots. This was generally considered a bad idea by absolutely everyone, because it meant that Beckett swung dangerously between watching his every move like a crazed stalker to having nothing to do with him. It had accumulated in Sam and D’Vana going the old-fashioned route by locking them in a storage closet.

Things had eventually ironed out after that. Nothing was ever quite the same--it couldn’t be with Brad’s newfound confidence and Beckett’s decision to see him as an equal rather than someone to mentor--but it was better that way. They worked better that way. At least until Beckett had fucked everything up by having drunk sex with her best friend of four years.

So here Beckett was, hiding in medbay because she thought she might have seen Brad walk by.

“You gotta admit, this is weird, even for you,” D’Vana says.

Beckett peaks over the biobed. “He’s gone, right?”

“Honey, what’s going on between you two? Do I need to fight him? I can totally fight him.”

“What?”

“I mean, the last time you were this mad at him was because--”

“I’m not mad at him,” Beckett waves her off, not too keen on dredging up ancient history. Shitty ancient history at that. “Everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s fine,” D’Vana repeats dubiously. “Which is why you’ve been hiding in medbay--your least favorite place--all day. Instead of doing fun things, like moving everything in Ransom’s cabin a little to the left or putting extra espresso shots in T’Ana’s coffee.”

Beckett grins. “We should put extra espresso shots in T’Ana’s coffee.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m not.”

“ So are.”

Beckett scowls. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“I am, as in I will help you bury the body if need be, but as it stands there isn’t a body to bury and you’re in my way.”

“Rude!”

“Coward.”

“Killjoy.”

“ Both of you, out,” T’Ana snaps, from like 20 feet away. She’s not even looking at them, but one of her ears is swiveled in their direction.

D’Vana gives Beckett a dirty look, turning on her heel and marching out of the medbay. Beckett follows, more subdued.

“Seriously, you need to get your shit together,” D’Vana says, once she’s caught up to her. “I promise whatever happened between you and Brad isn’t as terrible as you’re thinking. It’s probably even fixable.”

“Real encouraging, bestie.”

“I try.” D’Vana gives her a friendly punch on the arm that’s probably going to bruise. “Now go find your man.”

_____

Becket does not, in fact, “go find her man.” First of all, because she doesn’t have one, but also because the idea of facing Brad right now is so mortifying--seriously what is she supposed to say? --that the thought makes her break out in hives.

(Not literally, but still.)

A couple more days of this has Sam and D’Vana returning to the tried and true method of locking Beckett and Brad in a storage closet to sort out their shit.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!” D’Vana shouts through the door.

Beckett flips her the bird, even though she can see, scowling at the door. “Fuck you, D’Vana Tendi!”

There is no response, meaning that her ex-friends have left her alone with her thoughts, Brad, and Brad’s very loud thoughts. Goddammit.

“Look, just say it,” Brad suddenly snaps after the longest, most awkward pause Beckett has ever had the misfortune to be a part of. His entire body is tenser than Beckett has seen in a hot minute. Probably since before he transferred back to the Cerritos.

“Say what?” she says back hotly, now not really sure if they’re about to argue about something, but also not one to back down from a fight.

“I don’t know-just. Whatever it is- just please. I’m tired, D’Vana’s tired--hell the whole ship is tired of this. So just.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I know it was bad, I know that you regretted it.”

“I. What.”

“But, you’re also my best friend and I don’t want things to go back to how they were when. When I came back and you hated me and I was shitty to you and-” Brad stops messing up his hair. “Just say it was awful and we can forget it ever happened.”

Beckett steels herself as she finally admits: “I don’t remember it.”

It was Brad’s turn to go still and quiet.

“Brad--I. You know how I get when I’m drunk.” Beckett has never felt embarrassed by her drinking habits, but now she wonders if she should. Okay, she’s not, not really. But she was at least regretful that she had done something so stupid as fucking up one of her best relationships while intoxicated. Literally. “I don’t remember anything after the sixth drink,” she groans. “I think I was messing with your hair?”

“You said it was the color of jellyfish.”

She manages a weak smile. “Yeah.”

“And then I said jellyfish were translucent and have been extinct for over a thousand years on Earth so your point was redundant and that’s when you kissed me.”

“Oh.” Beckett wracks her memory. Nothing comes up. She doesn’t know if she feels proud or scared by the fact that she was the one to initiate whatever happened between them. “Was it. Good?”

“For me.” Brad shrugs, nonchalant in a way she wishes he weren’t. “Can’t really say if you liked it or not. Rest of the night is.” He makes a gesture with one hand. “Fuzzy.”

“But you remember more details than I do.” Beckett takes a step toward him.

He takes a step back as she crowds his space. Swallows. “Guess I do.”

“Was that good? What came after?” she asks, steadily, taking another step toward him.

His back hits the wall. He makes a little oof sound, maybe at the impact, but more likely at her question. “I-it was fuzzy ,” he reiterates, voice pitching up.

“Just answer the question, Bradward. I thought this was honesty hour for-”

“Yes it was good!” he snaps. “It was awesome, and earth-shattering, and all the stupid fucking cliches we both make fun of and mock together, and-and you didn’t care the next morning! Actually, no, you were fucking horrified-- so I panicked and--”

Beckett kisses him. It’s a short peck, hardly a brush of lips really, but enough to leave him gaping like a fish after. Kind of shocked, like a computer bluescreening. Goddamnit, he is cute.

“I. I- what .”

Beckett carefully leans in, brushing his hair out of his eyes with one hand--giving him time to opt out or push her away if he wants-- and kisses him again. This time she goes a bit more slowly, somehow coaxing his panicked mind into letting him kiss her back. Only for a moment, sadly. As soon as he begins softening against her, mouth opening slightly to kiss her back, he draws away, face disturbed. “Beck, what are you doing?” His voice is weak.

“Experimenting,” she replies, eyes quickly darting back and forth between his.

“ Experi -”

“I mean, there must be a reason I jumped straight from drunken makeout to lets fuck on our last night of shore leave. I’m just trying to find the missing puzzle piece.” She leans back in. Kisses him again. Pulls back almost immediately. “That means kiss me back, dumba-”

Brad cups her face and kisses her back. Like really kisses her back. Like tilts her face to the side until the angle is just right and slips his tongue in to slide against hers-

“Fuck,” Beckett says, when they draw back for air. “ Fuck.”

Brad drops his hands, but makes no move to pull out of her space. “Got enough data?” he asks sarcastically.

“I might need a larger sample size,” she says breathlessly, eyes darting back down to his lips.

“Well, feel free to go makeout with whomever-”

“Not that kind of sample size, dummy. I'm working with just one test subject, you see.” Her hand fingers the top button of his shirt almost thoughtfully. “My sample size needs to be bigger in quantity, not diversity.”

“ Beck- ” he whines.

“What, so you get to remember this awesome, showstopping one-night stand while I wonder forever if you're actually as good as my sore everything implies?”

Brad’s face visibly heats up. “Well, it's not a one-night stand if we do it again, is it?” he mutters.

“No,” Beckett replies curtly, making her eye contact as direct as possible. “It's not.”

“And you really want to fuck in a storage closet.”

“It can't be much worse than on a planet of jellybean aliens.”

“Gezorvazorians,” he corrects. Pauses, considering. “It might not be that good sober.”

“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of having sex with you?” Beckett groans again in exasperation. “This is literally a one time, limited offer, Bradward.”

“I have anxiety, Beckett! It was fine when I was on drink number eight, but I'm going to freak out if I do this without-”

“Oh my god, just stop thinking-” she shoves him back into the wall, hands fisting his stupid Starfleet shirt, “-just do what feels good.”

Apparently what feels good is letting Beckett once again call the shots on this one, like she does on everything. He lets her crowd him back against the wall, pop each of his shirt buttons and makeout as aggressively as they can while still standing upright.

“For the record,” she says, in between kisses, “if you don't want to have sex with me, that's a hundred percent fine, I don't want to pressure you-”

Brad rolls his eyes. “You really gotta-” kisses her again, “make up your mind-” her hand pulls at the short hair on the nape of his neck, eliciting a high pitched noise “- getting mixed signals-”

“My mind is made up, it's just that I realized that I maaay have been a bit pushy-”

Brad pulls away to give her a deadpan expression. “Yeah, if there's one thing I do remember about you in bed, it's that you're kind of pushy. Actually, scratch that, you’re relentless.”

Beckett flushes. “I-”

“I don't mind. Just as long as you're sure.”

“I am,” she meets his gaze challengingly, fighting her blush down.

“Cool.” He nods once, curtly. The image doesn’t exactly mesh right with his disheveled hair and unbuttoned shirt. “Cool, cool, cool. I'm probably going to freak out in the middle of this, fyi.”

“Don't say ‘fyi,’ it's lame.” She glances around the room. “So. Floor or wall?”

_____

They don't actually fuck in the storage closet, much to Beckett's disappointment and everyone else's general embarrassment. D’Vana in particular is going back and forth between remorse and spastic giggling. It’s just as well. Brad really couldn’t stop laughing at her after her “floor or wall” comment which made getting laid kind of hard. No pun intended.

_____

The next few days are kind of a living hell for the Cerritos. Which is unbelievable, considering how weird Beckett and Brad had made it for everyone before their conversation in the storage closet.

It really really doesn’t help that Brad’s bunk is like. Right over hers. Goddamnnit.

“Good news is we have shore leave again in three weeks,” Jennifer says, handing her a wrench.

Beckett, who’s holding a screwdriver in her mouth, makes whahed? noise, eyes glued to the charred remains of the food replicator. Jen leans back against the counter casually, flipping her silver hair over her shoulder. She’s not really helping Beckett, just watching while she takes advantage of her own buffer time. Beckett doesn’t mind because a) everyone’s entitled to their own buffer time and b) Jen isn’t bad company. At least when she isn’t involving herself in the soap opera worthy drama that is Beckett’s life. Like right now.

Jen gives her a bemused look. “You don’t have to tell me what happened last time,” she says, which is great because Beckett has no intention of bringing up the events of their last shore leave, “But you want my advice? Fix it this time. For everyone’s sake.”

Beckett takes the screwdriver out of her mouth and places it on the counter. “I literally have no idea what you are talking about,” she says in lieu of feeling an emotion.

“Me neither,” Jen admits, sighing. “Look, I don’t put much stock in the rumor mill, but even I know there’s something going on between you and Boimler.”

Oh. Shit.

“Oh, shit,” Beckett says.

Jen grins. “Yeah, shit Mariner. Who’d have thought: you and Brad Boimler. Six years ago, I’d have laughed in your face.”

Beckett makes a face. It’s not a laughing one. More of a grimace, really. “It’s not whatever you’re thinking.”

“With you it rarely is.” Jen looks wary, but the corners of her eyes still crinkle with amusement. “I’m just saying, I know something’s up. Don’t really care, but it’s making this ship socially awkward. I refuse to work somewhere socially awkward, Mariner.”

“Oh, we are in agreement,” Beckett quickly defends, holding her hands up.

“Good, then fix whatever the fuck’s going on. I can’t take much more of this.”

Beckett doesn’t have much to say to that. Mostly because she’s in total agreement, but also because that’s the moment D’Vana comes around the corner and she’d rather not get Into It with the perky Orion today.

_____

It’s Sam who brings it up. “So, shore leave on Earth,” he says. “Who’s down?”

The four of them are sitting at the bar, pretending like nothing weird is going on between two of their members. It helps that Sam is sitting between her and Brad, but it also doesn’t because he keeps catching them staring at each other. It’s super fucking awkward, so Beckett takes the opportunity to direct their attentions elsewhere.

She groans loudly, dropping her face onto her folded arms. “If I wanted to be on Earth I wouldn’t have joined Starfleet,” she grumbles. “This fucking sucks.”

D’Vana perks up immediately, like Beckett knew she would. “I love Earth!” she says, enthusiastically gesturing with her martini glass. “So many different cultures and languages and religions on one planet. If I wasn’t stationed in deep space, I’d have asked for a position there.”

“All those religions and cultures and shit is why Earth has a reputation of not getting along with itself,” Beckett mumbles into her arm.

“That’s not specific to Earth though,” Brad points out, pretty much speaking for the first time that night. He looks a bit surprised, like he hadn’t meant to talk to her at all or make eye contact. Which was most likely the case, considering. Still, he pushes on. “I mean, how many interplanetary disputes have we broken up in the last year alone?”

“Yeah, but I don’t come from those planets so I don’t have to feel bad about it,” Beckett mutters.

Sam snorts. “So is that a no?”

Beckett shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Will there be alcohol?”

“There can be.”

She flutters her eyelashes at Sam. “Well, if you insist then.”

Brad and D’Vana exchange a look.

_____

Earth isn’t too bad.

Beckett should know, she was born there.

The distinct lack of shenanigans she can get up to are fairly disappointing, however. And the distinct presence of cops is still as annoying as ever. But Sam drags the four through downtown San Francisco, intent on making the most of it.

He is determined to teach D’Vana how to surf, so they find themselves at one of those swim stores--the ones that smell like chlorine and weed and have like a display of goggles that takes up two entire ailes and the walls are covered in surf boards and body boards, and there’s little naked mermaid figurines everywhere. It’s one of those out-of-this-world vibes that has Beckett remembering the little things about earth she misses.

Sam somehow cuts a deal on four surf boards and some swim trunks for him and Brad. Beckett, who had the foresight to bring her own swimwear, doesn’t spend a dime on anything but the salt water taffy up at the front counter. D’Vana, who showed up for shore leave already in a bikini and has chronic steal Beckett’s food syndrome, walks out of there the least broke.

“So we want to start in the whitewater,” Sam says, rubbing copious amounts of sunscreen on D’Vana’s back. It’s a wise move, considering the last time they spent free time on a sunny planet, D’Vana walked away with the worst sunburns. “That way we can work on your stance without any pressure.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Beckett flips her shades down. “I’m heading out for the Big Bois. The Chungos, if you will.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Have you ever surfed before?”

“Does doing handstands on a floatie in my pool count?”

“No.”

“Then listen to the expert. We also probably don’t want to go way out until we get wetsuits. Trust me on that one,” Sam says, grimacing. “I mean, I’ve gone without, but it’s cold as shit out there.”

Beckett snatches the sunscreen from Sam’s hand and squirts a glob on her calf. “Fine, defeat me with your logic. You want some of this, white bread?” she asks Brad, who very much lives up to said nickname. He sighs, accepting the bottle from her.

All sunscreen up, Sam stands, picking up his surfboard. “I’ll take D’Vana out first,” he says in a blatant show of favoritism.

Brad and Beckett roll their eyes in tandem. “Whatever,” Beckett says, shooing them off with one hand. “I’m taking a nap.” She flops down on a towel under the giant umbrella that D’Vana got from god knows where . Brad looks from her to Sam and D’Vana unsurely before deciding that he’ll strike out on his own for a bit.

“Don’t drown,” Beckett says, already half asleep.

“Duh.” She can practically hear his eye roll. “Remember to wake up in two hours and apply more sunscreen,” he shoots back.

She gives him the o-k hand signal, not opening up her eyes. “You got it, Mom.”

_____

A few hours later--way past when Beckett was supposed to dump more chemicals on her skin (and yes she’s going to be feeling that later)--Beckett wakes up to Sam and D’Vana’s dulcet tones. By dulcet tones she actually means they’re belting out I’ve Had the Time of My Life in tandem with the music booming on the speaker Sam brought because they are those annoying beach people .

D’Vana must’ve gone to one of the street vendors on the boardwalk, because she has a tray of tiny sandwiches and a paper bag of popcorn that she’s sharing with Sam. Beckett tries to get in on that action, but because D’Vana is the biggest hypocrite Beckett knows, she finds herself banned from the snacks.

“You and Brad can get your own,” D’Vana says stubbornly.

Beckett rolls her eyes. “Where is he, anyway?”

D’Vana points vaguely off in the direction of the water. Brad is sitting on his surfboard, looking more relaxed than Beckett’s seen him in a while.

She stands up, stretching out the kinks and stiffness in her joints, grinning when Sam winces at the cracking of her spine. Shaking the fogginess away, Beckett makes her way out into the waves, shivering at their chill. In a stroke of genius, or maybe just chaotic evillness, Beckett ducks under the water, swimming beneath where Brad is peacefully sitting.

“Nice view,” Beckett says, bursting out of the water. Brad flails, arms pinwheeling. He does fall off his perch on the surfboard, but Beckett catches it before the waves can take it away. She heaves herself gracefully over the side, sitting with her legs in the water. After a moment she offers a hand to a very sulky looking Brad, who’s usually coiffed hair is plastered to his skull by the water.

He takes her proffered hand and sits beside her.

After a moments pause, where they sit bobbing in the waves and watching the sunset, Brad says, “I would like to say that not even the holodeck can recreate colors like that buuut-”

“We do have top-of-the-line technology,” Beckett agrees. “It’s still nice knowing it’s real, though,” she adds.

“How sentimental of you,” he says, almost teasingly. It does wonders for the tension Beckett’s holding.

“Shut up,” she gets out, shoving his shoulder good-naturedly. It’s not hard enough to push him back in the water, but it’s enough that he swats her off. “I’m just saying .”

“So Earth isn’t so bad, after all?” he asks, smug.

Beckett rolls her eyes. “I guess ,” she allows, grudgingly. “But don’t go telling anyone.”

Brad just grins, turning back to the sunset. They don’t say much more after that.

_____

Beckett is lying in bed, staring at the ceiling of the hotel they’re staying at overnight, when she comes to a decision. “I’m going to have sex with Brad.”

D’Vana, who Beckett had been pretty sure was sleeping, chokes in the dark. “Beckett what the fuuu -”

Beckett sits up. “I’m going to have sex with Brad,” she reiterates, throwing the covers off.

The bedside lamp clicks on, washing the room in a pale, yellow light. D’Vana’s expression is somewhere between I’m too sleep-deprived to deal with this shit and a murder is happening tonight .

“Like, right now?” she asks, finally.

“No time like the present,” Beckett says, already halfway out the door. Whatever protests D’Vana has is cut off when the door slides shut behind her. Sam and Brad are staying just across the hall, so it takes no time to get there and knock on the door.

“So are we gonna fuck or what?” Beckett asks the minute Brad shows his face. Sam makes a choked, gagging noise from somewhere behind him. Brad makes an equally despairing sound.

“Sam, could you-?”

“Gone! I'm gone.” Sam pushes past them, heading for the other suite. “I'll just sleep with D’Vana-- in D’Vana’s room!” He hurriedly course corrects, “In her room. I'm--I'll. Bye.” He ducks behind the door, slamming it.

“Yeesh, my girl ain't getting any tonight.”

“But we are apparently,” Brad dryly remarks. Or tries to dryly remark. It comes out strangled. “I thought that was a limited offer.”

“Yeah well, maybe I changed my mind. Are you gonna invite me in or what?”

Brad opens the door wider. “I didn't know you needed a literal invitation like some sort of vampire.”

“I was being polite.” She brushes past him. “I am capable of that on occasion.” She flops on the bed with forced bravado. Brad starts doing that thing where he avoids eye contact but realizes it's awkward so he then makes too much eye contact. Beckett resists the urge to tease him about it, if only because she's starting to feel weird about everything too.

“I’m not saying no-”

“Jesus, okay, rejection time-”

“But right now might not be the best time,” he finishes, face crimson.

“What?” She glances around the room. “Master suite in a five star hotel in San Francisco is a worse time for you than a storage closet? I didn't know you had an exhibition thing-”

“ I don't.” Brad scowls. “I'm just not in the mood.”

Oh.

“Oh,” she says, leaning back with her hands supporting her behind her. She kind of feels like an asshole for just assuming he’d be down anytime. There’s another moment of silence. Awkward.

Then, “I have some old timey soap-opera that Jen gave me, on my padd. You down?”

_____

“I don’t think this is a soap opera,” Brad says, ten minutes into their third episode.

They’re both lying on top of the covers, padd propped on a pillow, watching a collection of random episodes Beckett seemingly has. There’s about four feet of yawning distance between them, four impossible feet that’s frankly starting to piss Beckett off for reasons she’s trying not to examine.

“He’s married to his best friends’ daughter which means his mother-in-law made out with him,” Beckett replies, rolling her eyes. “His wife and her parents are pretty much the same age. He gets assassinated by his wife who was trained by a cultist group to take him down. How is that not a soap opera?”

Brad shrugs. “It just seems to be more action based.”

“Give it time, you’ll get it.”

Silence as they watch the main characters get chased by dinosaurs. Brad, surprisingly, does not offer up why it’s unrealistic--(she can totally hear him lecturing on about how dinosaurs actually had feathers, Beckett, and that one was definitely bipedal why is it on all fours?)-- instead tapping his fingers against the mattress and occasionally spacing out.

Whatever. Beckett’s perfectly comfortable reclining on the other side of the bed and ignoring him.

“It’s not me, right?” she blurts out. “I didn’t like, push you too much and now you want nothing to do with me?”

Way to sound insecure, Mariner.

Brad startles in surprise. “What? No!” He sits up. “Why would-”

“I don’t know, it’s just weird! And we’re not weird like this--we watch shit all the time together and make fun of it and it’s not socially awkward!”

“I’m not trying to be socially awkward! I just-”

“Well you are -”

“I thought you were mad at me ?” He tries, looking askance.

Beckett blinks across the bed at him. “You thought-- what --that I was mad at you for not being up for-”

“If you make that pun, I swear to god-”

“Not a pun, I’m being literal-you thought -”

“Beck-”

“You thought I was upset that you aren’t in the mood for-for my weird need to-to-” She can’t even finish it.

“Ughrhrh.” Brad covers his eyes with his hands. “It sounds bad when you say it out loud.”

“Yeah no shit, Bradward.” She huffs loudly, turning back to the episode only to find that it’s over.

“Sorry,” he says at last, still into his hands. “I’m having a weird night.”

Aaaand now Beckett feels like shit. Because of course she was making everything about her when there were other people emotionally involved. God she needed to talk to her therapist.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asks, nervously tapping her foot at the air.

Brad drops his hands, staring at her flatly. “Do you really want to hear my weird TMI relationship hangups?”

Oh fuck, it’s gonna be that kind of talk.

“Uh, yes? I tell you my weird shit all the time-”

“ Unsolicited -”

“And you don’t give a shit. Why would I be upset about you telling me your weird shit? Is it a kink thing? I bet it’s a kink thing.”

“It’s not a-! Just-just let me talk!”

Beckett makes a phhhft- ing noise, but relents. She twiddles her thumbs for a moment, a mannerism she picked up from D’Vana over the years. Brad’s eyes zero in on the motion for a moment, as he nervously begins tapping his fingers against the mattress again and then stopping to clasp his hands tightly.

“You know how I don’t really. Date people?” he tries, wincing slightly.

“Yeah, sure.” She shrugs.

“Have you ever wondered why-”

“Because our friend group is so batshit fucking certifiable that any potential boyfriends or girlfriends get scared off. It’s why Amina and I were never gonna get back together.” Beckett doesn’t say duh , but it lingers in the air.

Brad rolls his eyes. “ Yes that, but also I don’t date people for the same reason it took D’Vana six years to figure out she and Sam were dating.”

Oh.

“Oh. Oh .” Beckett blinks for a moment, world realigning. “Wait, how did I not know that about you? I know everything about you.” Which is entirely the wrong response to your best friend sharing something that personal, but Brad doesn’t seem to pick up on it so Beckett thinks it’s okay. Hopefully.

“Apparently, not,” he replies, amused.

“But, you’re like. Okay hooking up every once in a while.” God, she hopes so. If she pressured her best friend into having drunk sex with her-

“Yeah, I’m in the mood every once in a while. Like, once a year kind of once in a while,” Brad says casually, alleviating her worries. “Just not right now.”

“Oh okay, cool.” A pause. “Thank you for telling me.”

He rolls his eyes again like she knows she’s going over every social media post and session with her therapist concerning how to handle your best friend coming out to you in her head and settles down next to her. “Whatever. What’s happening?” he asks, turning back to the padd.

Beckett apparently has episodes out of order because the main characters are hijacking the 1969 Earth space missions. “An alien race that controls humans through post-hypnotic suggestions is giving them the technology to land on their own moon.”

Brad huffs, amused. “Naturally.”

_____

Everything kind of goes back to normal after that.

Well, as normal as things get on the Cerritos .

Beckett takes her conversation with Brad to mean that he’s not interested in le sex with her (at the moment anyway) and backing off is in their best interests.

Whatever, she didn’t really know what she was going on about anyway. It’s not as if she was using not remembering their one-night stand as an excuse to hook up with Brad because she’s suffering from unacknowledged requited feelings.

(She’s not. She’s not . Goddamnit.)

The ship seems to give a collective sigh of relief, now that Beckett and Brad aren’t doing...whatever it was they were. Beckett is back to annoying the shit out of her best friend and Brad is back to pretending like he hates everything she stands for. It’s a comfortable equilibrium that Beckett’s glad to be back to.

Even if she still ponders all of the what ifs .

_____

If Beckett’s life is a movie--which is a metaphor she hasn’t used yet, but now’s probably the best time to start because the drama of hooking up with her best friend is totally some awkward comedy shit--then the Halloween party Sam and Jen throw is the punch line. Or the climax--whatever, no pun intended.

Beckett didn’t even know Halloween was like still a Thing until she and her friend group came across a Halloween themed shop during shore leave.

“Isn’t it July?” Beckett had pondered. “I’m pretty sure this holiday is supposed to be in October?”

“It’s one of those “Holiday in July” shops,” Brad said, rolling his eyes at D’Vana who’d donned a witches hat on and was cackling appropriately. “They were totally a thing when I was a kid.”

Sam pulled out his comm. “You know how Jen wanted to throw a party for the end of our assignment in the Neutral Zone? I think I know what theme we should go with.”

Beckett had laughed, delighted at the idea of them throwing a Halloween Bash on the Cerritos , but hadn’t taken it seriously until she walked into her favorite bar on the ship, which was now decked out in the most ridiculous decorations she’s ever seen.

“This is amazing,” Beckett says.

D’Vana grins. “Right? I think I’m going to marry Jen.”

“If I don’t get there first,” Sam retorts, darting off in Jen’s direction. D’Vana shouts after him, breaking out into a run. Beckett shakes her head and heads off to find a corner to enjoy her alcohol in peace.

She finds one, and gets through one red, plastic cup of cheap beer before Brad is at her shoulder.

“So, we’re done being weird, right?” Brad confirms. Surprised that he actually has the backbone to bring The Incident up, Beckett shrugs, eyes still on a dancing D’Vana. She’s somehow roped to humans into a weird-threeway dance that is honestly making Beckett wish she had a recorder device on her.

“Yeah, we’re good,” she says. “Sorry for. You know.”

“It’s cool,” Brad replies, giving her a thumbs up. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually?”

This gives Beckett pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, someone in our friend group was eventually going to hook up and make everything awkward,” Brad rubs the back of his neck, laughing, well, awkwardly . “Sucks that it was us but,” he shrugs in a what can you do way.

Beckett nods back, almost absentmindedly. “Yeah. I mean. Yeah,” she finishes off, lamely and god this is awkward. “Could have been worse,” she finally settles on.

“Could’ve been me and D’Vana,” Brad agrees, nose wrinkling at the thought. She’s pretty sure he had a crush when they first met, but it mellowed out over the years. Especially after D’Vana made it clear to a handsy ensign that she was only interested in girls .

(And being in a co-dependent/queerplatonic relationship with one Samantha Rutherford, but that was beside the point.)

Still, something about the suggestion of the two hooking up leaves a sour pit in Beckett’s stomach.

“It’s too bad though,” she blurts out, “that it happened like the way it did.”

Brad pauses, brow furrowed.

“I mean,” she bulldozes on when he doesn’t say anything. “If I’d have had a choice on how it would have happened...I would have done things differently.”

“Oh?” Brad angles his body toward hers. She leans back against the wall, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Yeah.” Her voice sounds far away.

“How would you have done things?”

“I-” She fists her palms and then forces herself to relax them. “Well, for starters I wouldn’t have been drunk .”

“Ah.” Brad winces, probably remembering the terrible hangovers they had the next day. “Yeah that probably wasn’t the best -”

“And it would have meant something.”

There. She said it.

It’s what her mom’s been hinting at for years now, what D’Vana had been getting at and Jen and Sam and even Brad himself; the one truth that Beckett had been shoving to the back of her mind, since even before that shared night with Brad.

Brad Boimler is her best friend and she’s in love with him.

The pause goes on for too long. Beckett doesn’t dare look at him, doesn’t dare breathe. She keeps her eyes firmly on D’Vana, who’s been joined by a slightly tipsy Sam. They dance around each other, ridiculous and fond.

“It did mean something.”

Beckett whips her head around, meeting Brad’s gaze disbelievingly. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing.

“Of course it meant something,” he says. “It was with you.”

Beckett likes to think that she’s smarter than the average person. And if not smarter, witty enough to pass as smarter. She has an automated response for every situation, a retort for every comment, a comeback for every line. There isn’t much that phases her-at least not until she woke up in a hotel room, naked, with her best friend at her side. And just like then, Beckett finds herself speechless.

“Oh,” she says, dumbly, as if she just hadn’t shown her own hand less than a minute ago.

“Mmm,” Brad agrees, looking stressed out. He doesn’t take it back though. He doesn’t do much of anything, actually, beyond staring at her intensely. Then, “Oh god, I made it weird again.”

“No, no,” Beckett holds her hands up placatingly as Brad begins to freak out. “ I made it weird first, you don’t have to-”

“Well I made it weirder!”

“No,” Beckett grabs his collar, shaking him slightly, “-no you didn’t -”

“ Then why are you freaking out? ” He throws his hands up in the air, almost dislodging her grip on his shirt. She tightens it, bringing him down to her eye level.

“I’m not freaking out you’re freaking out -”

“Then why are you the one all up in my personal spa-”

“I’m not-”

“ Jesus Christ , WILL YOU TWO JUST KISS!” D’Vana shouts over the booming bass of Spooky Scary Skeletons Communist Remix.

Beckett freezes , as does Boimler. She’s suddenly aware that the two of them are standing, nose to nose, practically shouting at each other--even though the loud music drowns out what they’re saying to the people around them (thank god).

Beckett slowly lets go of Boimler’s shirt.

“Uhm.” She blinks up at him, every part of her completely aware that she left the ball in his court last time they had an opportunity to do anything.

Brad looks like he’s wrestling with himself--not an uncommon emotion when it comes to the uptight little dude--eyes darting from both of her eyes to her lips, to over her shoulder where D’Vana is probably being a little creep. Then, all of the tension bleeds out of his body, all at once and a determined look lights up in his eyes.

“ Fuck it,” he says, cupping her face and kissing her.

_____

The walk from the bar to Beckett’s room has never seemed longer, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that they can’t keep their hands off each other.

Even with the buzz of alcohol in her system, Beckett feels entirely present for once in her life. She pushes Brad back against her door, pressing kisses into his lips and the length of his jawline. He gives a little huff when she nips at his skin, pushing her off enough to get a good look at her.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Never been surer,” she replies, already having a go at his buttons. She gets down to the final one, pleased to note that this time they aren’t interrupted. “Are you sure?” she blinks up at him. “You’re in the mood, right?”

“Yes, Beck, I’m in the mood.” Brad rolls her eyes. It looks fond. “Are you in the mood?”

“So so in the mood,” she agrees.

“Great, now that we’ve covered the consent end of this-”

Beckett interrupts, diving back in for more kisses, much to his bemusement.

A few minutes later finds the two of them on her bed, sans their clothes. Beckett wants to feel very very smug about the fact that it’s been a while since that first, mistaken one night stand and Brad still has bruises in places unmentionable, but she’s kind of in the same boat.

“Holy shit, watch it ,” she swats at his face as he kind of nips at a dark bruise on her thigh.

“Oh I am .”

“Stop, that’s not sexy,” she kicks his shoulder, scowling when he snorts.

“Uh-huh.”

“No, no it’s not .”

“Yeah, okay, I stopped doing it .” Brad stares up at her unblinkingly for a moment.

Beckett stares back, arms folded-which feels weird because she’s super naked right now, but she’s already started doing it and Beckett fucking commits to shit-scowl firmly in place. Their little stare off only lasts for a minute longer before Beckett groans, “ Ugh , do it again.”

Brad does not, in fact, do it again because he's laughing too hard at her.

Beckett raises an eyebrow, flipping them over. Brad does not look like he minds, though, blinking up at her with equal amounts bemusement and what Beckett is assuming is appreciation. Whatever, it’s not as if Beckett doesn’t know that she’s smoking hot. It’s nice to see that Brad can acknowledge it though.

“Sooo,” he says, hands on her hips, steadying her as she grabs a scrunchy off the nightstand to pull her wayward hair out of her eyes. “How do you want to do this?”

Beckett takes a moment to make herself comfortable in his lap. “How did we do this last time?”

Brad’s face turns red. “Uhm, I’m not sure if-”

Beckett grins, leaning in. “How’d we do it last time, Brad?”

“ Beckett ,” he whines. She flicks his nose, but then leans in to give him a quick peck. “That’s cheating,” he tells her.

She shrugs, unrepentant. “Well you have all the time in the world to make an honest woman out of m-”

“ Stoooop ,” Brad covers his eyes with his hands. “I hate you. Maybe we should ’ve been drunk for this.”

“I have tequila under the bed.”

“Why do you-nevermind.” Brad sits up, jostling her slightly. “I really shouldn’t be surprised anymore.”

“Too much talking, more kissing,” Beckett says, pressing a couple of featherlight kisses on his lips. She gets her way--as always--and there’s very little talking after that.

(That’s a lie, of course, because it’s BeckettandBrad, meaning that there’s a lot shit-talk and laughing and an embarrassing amount of awkward moments where Brad elbows her in the eye or Beckett makes a noise that’s distinctly not sexy, but honestly? Neither of them would have it any other way.)

_____

The next day goes like this:

Beckett shows up to her shift 40 minutes late, a string of freshly made hickeys on her neck and a shit-eating grin on her face. Freeman takes one look at her and reassigns her off the Bridge for the day, muttering something incomprehensible about grandbabies that Beckett’s forcibly not thinking too hard about.

She finds D’Vana just outside of medbay, who looks utterly delighted by Beckett’s disheveled appearance.

“So, everything’s fine between you two?” D’Vana is grinning a little evilly.

Beckett throws an arm over her shoulder, delighted as always over their height difference. “Oh so fine, mi amore.”

D’Vana shoves her off, but looks just as pleased as Beckett feels. “Thank god,” she says. “I couldn’t take much more of your sad, sad faces. It was embarrassing.”

This gives Beckett pause. “Hey, we weren’t that bad,” she protests.

“Oh, you definitely were,” D’Vana promises. “There’s only so many times Sam and I can lock you two in a storage closet before our quaple isn’t worth it anymore. We were like a minute away from throwing you out of the polycule.”

“I- polycule? Since when -”

“Oh Beckett,” D’Vana sighs. “I have some bad news for you.”

“Did you know that we were in a platonic quaple with Sam and D’Vana?” Beckett shrieks, practically flying out of the turbolift.

Brad stares at her. “...yes?”

No one tells Beckett anything.

#marinler #my fic #beckett mariner #brad boimler #d'vana tendi #sam rutherford #the warp core four #star trek lower decks #stld fanfic #star trek lower decks fanfic #star trek lower decks fanfiction

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Hi!! I really loved your NMJ/WWX/LWJ ficlets!!! I'm very into this ship now lol I literally can't get the idea out of mind!! I keep think about LXC finding out NMJ is also into LWJ and going " Da-ge WTF" :D

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 - aka Pastime (with good company)

Lan Xichen had heard no word from Yiling since Lan Wangji had gone.

It was – distressing. If only he’d known…

He had, though, hadn’t he? Back when they’d all been at the Cloud Recesses together, long ago before it’d been burnt, his brother had always been so fond of Wei Wuxian, even if he’d always denied it. His expression had brightened whenever he’d seen the other boy, his eyes always on him, his attention always drawn to him…

Lan Xichen had thought it was a crush.

A silly little thing, fleeting: he vaguely remembered one time, when Lan Wangji had been only six years old, he’d asked, in that adorable serious fashion of his, if he could marry Nie Mingjue when he was older. He’d already known not to bring up issues of marriage to their father or uncle, and their mother had recently died; who else could he ask?

Lan Xichen, then nine years old, had laughed himself sick.

Still, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known in the years since then that his brother’s disinterest in women had less to do with virtue and more to do with his personal inclinations. He’d teased him over it a few times, encouraged him in the rare instances when someone seemed to catch his interest, the way Wei Wuxian had; he’d even had a private word with their uncle to prepare him for the fact that any children would have to come from his lineage, not his brother’s.

He just hadn’t realized it was serious this time.

He should have realized. Lan Wangji was six no longer, his attention more serious, his affection sincere –

He’d known Lan Wangji was a cutsleeve, that he liked men the way other men liked women. He just hadn’t understood that his brother had fallen in love – and now he might very well spend the rest of his life mourning his lost chance to win Wei Wuxian, and all because Lan Xichen didn’t realize..!

Some elder brother he was.

By the time he’d figured it out, it was too late to cancel the engagement between Nie Mingjue and Wei Wuxian without great political cost, and Lan Wangji insisted on going alone as chaperone as he had promised; he’d refused any and all attempts by Lan Xichen to discuss the issue, and the most he had said was that it would be better for him to see with his own eyes that it had happened – the implication heart-breaking.

Lan Wangji had had hope, however foolish, and Lan Xichen had helped kill it. By facilitating the marriage of Lan Wangji’s love to another man, no less – not even a woman, which anyone would have understood…! For political reasons…!

Lan Xichen spent a great deal of time pacing and meditating, trying to calm his unhappy heart and thinking of what actions he could take to take to rectify his mistake.

That’s what he was doing when Nie Huaisang unexpectedly swanned in through the door to the hanshi one afternoon.

“So this is going to be a mess,” he announced, throwing himself down on one of the seats. “A mess, I tell you! All that work, and I’ll have to redo the whole thing, er-ge; it’s really not fair…at least I’ll have your help with it, this time!”

Lan Xichen blinked, a little blindsided by the sudden tsunami of words. “You know I’m always happy to help you, Huaisang,” he said, since that was both true and relatively safe.

“I know that, but now you have to be involved! Where do you want your table for the wedding banquet, do you think?”

At least he was only asking for advice on the wedding. The one Lan Xichen was currently kicking himself for supporting.

“I’m not sure,” he said, trying to smile and not quite succeeding. “Near the front?”

“Of course near the front. You’re part of the wedding party, aren’t you?”

Lan Xichen supposed from a certain perspective he was. “You think I should be seated at the main table, given my role as da-ge’s sworn brother?”

“Well, that too, I guess,” Nie Huaisang said. “Maybe it’ll just be easier to have one big table? We could have your family on one side of the table to represent the bride –”

Lan Xichen held up his hands. “Huaisang. Why would we represent the bride? The Jiang sect is representing Wei-gongzi.”

Nie Huaisang, who’d been all but horizontal, splayed out face down on the table, lifted his head and blinked at him. “Er-ge, don’t be silly. I’m not talking about Wei-xiong. I’m talking about Lan-er-gongzi – oh, I suppose I should call him sister-in-law now, I guess? So, Lan-saozi? No, that sounds weird. I’ll just stick with Lan-xiong.”

Lan Xichen rubbed his ears, wondering if he’d started hearing things. “Huaisang, what are you talking about? Wei-gongzi is the one marrying your brother.”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said slowly. “Of course he is. Lan-xiong is also marrying him.”

“…that’s impossible.”

“Not impossible at all; the plan is that they’ll share the position of first wife,” Nie Huaisang said, slowly sitting up. “There’s been more than one Madame Nie before…I’m sorry, did you not know? Didn’t Lan-xiong tell you?”

Lan Xichen stared. “Tell me – what? That he’s – that he’s planning on marrying your brother?”

“And Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang said. “Normally, both brides would make their vows to the husband alone, but everyone agreed that it would be more appropriate if Wei-xiong and Lan-xiong shared vows as well, reflecting the prestige of the Sects and their own dignity as men – did Lan-xiong really not say anything?”

“Forgive me, Huaisang. It appears I need to speak with my brother. Urgently.”

He strode out the door, his steps more hurried than the calm pace he was accustomed to using –

Lan Wangji was walking towards the hanshi.

He was coming from the direction of their uncle’s house; he must have arrived around the same time as Nie Huaisang – perhaps they’d even come together – but Lan Wangji had always followed family etiquette before sect etiquette, as Lan Xichen had taught him: he would have formally greeted his uncle first and foremost, shared a cup of tea with him, and only then gone to find Lan Xichen.

To break the news first to the sect leader, presumably.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen called, and Lan Wangji turned to look at him –

He was smiling.

Not a full smile, of course; only the most joyous occasions brought out that rare ray of sunlight. But there was the slightest curve to his eyes that suggested he was pleased, and in the light of the setting sun, Lan Xichen could see the small hint of red in his ears that showed bashfulness.

“Brother,” he said formally, inclining his head.

“Walk with me,” Lan Xichen requested, and led them towards the jingshi – it would at least be private, if nothing else, unlike the currently occupied hanshi. It was only once they were inside that he spoke. “Do you have something to tell me?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

Lan Xichen forced himself to sit, as if that would calm his racing heart. “Please do.”

“Before the evening meal, Nie-gongzi will formally deliver to you a letter,” Lan Wangji said, very nearly managing to appear unperturbed to those who did not know him well enough to see his excitement. “Requesting permission to arrange a marriage.”

“With you.”

“En.”

“You and – Nie Mingjue.”

Lan Wangji blinked at Lan Xichen’s unaccountable rudeness. “The vows would be taken between myself, Mingjue-xiong, and Wei Ying.”

Lan Xichen rolled the words ‘Mingjue-xiong’ around his mouth as if seeking to taste every aspect of it. His brother was a stickler for proper etiquette; he would never refer to Nie Mingjue by so familiar a name unless he was truly serious about this.

“And this makes you happy?” Lan Xichen asked.

Lan Wangji smiled. He actually smiled, the expression blooming on his face as inexorably as the sun rising; he ducked his head to try to hide it, but it was far too late for that. “En.”

Lan Xichen wished he could just take that as the full answer it was clearly intended to be.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said very carefully, his hands folded in his lap. “When you left – I know you are very fond of Wei-gongzi. I have been thinking of this matter since you left. I have concluded that while the price may be high, if you wish for me to advocate to Mingjue-xiong that you be permitted to marry Wei-gongzi, I will do so.”

Lan Wangji’s smile faded into a look of some bewilderment. He didn’t understand: the expression on his face so very clearly said but I’m marrying him already…?

“If you wish to marry him without Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen clarified. “I do not want you to feel as though the only route to your happiness is through another –”

But Lan Wangji was shaking his head, very quickly. Lan Xichen stopped talking and waited for Lan Wangji to gather his thoughts.

“I would not marry Mingjue-xiong to win Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji finally said. “I would not.”

Lan Xichen softened. “I know you are always sincere, Wangji, and would never act to deceive. But at the same time, this is – very unexpected, you understand? The matter concerns the happiness of the rest of your life. It must be done right. I mean…when did you even become interested in Mingjue-xiong?”

Lan Wangji flushed red and dropped his eyes to the ground. “…six.”

Six? What –

“That crush?” Lan Xichen blurted out, eyes wide. “When you were six and he was thirteen?”

Lan Wangji’s head dipped lower and his shoulders went up defensively.

“You’ve liked him ever since then? Really? You’re not – not just saying –”

With an expression of great suffering on his face, Lan Wangji leaned over and whispered some words into Lan Xichen’s ear – even at that distance, they were barely audible, rushed together into a scarcely coherent mumble, but upon hearing the words ‘spring dreams’ and ‘tried to stop’ and something even more disturbing about Wei Wuxian and the time spent supervising him in the Library Pavilion, Lan Xichen learned in a single blow both that his concerns were misplaced and also far, far more than he’d ever wanted to know about his brother.

“I see,” he said, his voice a little strangled. “And you only got over it by – replacing him with Wei-gongzi?”

Lan Wangji, looking horribly shamed, nodded.

“And now you think about both of them doing –”

Lan Wangji looked up in dumbstruck horror, only to have his eyes narrow as he realized that Lan Xichen had absolutely no intention of finishing his sentence and was only teasing him.

Lan Xichen couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face, and he didn’t even try.

“I’m very happy for you,” he said, and meant it. His brother’s happiness was all he had ever wanted, from the beginning, no matter how unorthodox – and besides, having two lovers technically fulfilled their uncle’s constant exhortations that they never allow a single person to become their entire lives, the way their father had.

If either of them were to do something unforgivable (probably Wei Wuxian) or die young (probably Nie Mingjue), Lan Wangji would still have the other by his side to support him through the hardship. He would never be alone.

Yes, this was fine.

Of course, Lan Xichen was still going to have to have a talk with Nie Mingjue about marrying his little brother away from him…

He paused.

“Wangji,” he said, starting to feel a terrible premonition. “Have you raised this with Uncle yet?”

Lan Wangji paused for a moment, and Lan Xichen could see his back straightening as if he could somehow adopt even more of a proper posture than he already had habitually. “…no.”

Lan Xichen knows his brother to be able to infer the rest of that: After all, you’re the head of the family, I had to get your approval first, and also it would be very nice to have someone to act as a shield for me – please?

“…Uncle is going to kill me,” he sighed.

Lan Wangji’s eyes curved up a little, and Lan Xichen felt that it might almost – almost – be worth the truly disastrous scolding he’s about to get.

#mdzs #lan wangji #lan xichen #nie mingjue #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #pastime with good company #Anonymous #pasttime with good company

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lupismaris · 3 years ago

Note

sorry you’re feeling so crappy 😔 i hope you feel better soon!!

if you’re feeling up to it, maybe silverflinthamiltons on a lake or beach vacation?

SILVERFLINTHAM LAKESIDE HOLIDAY PART 1 with a surprise! and another segment to follow because this is them arriving to the lake!

(this got long so most of it will be under the cut.)

***

It was summer.

Summer meant blistering asphalt and bags of trash stewing on the curb each morning. Hazy sunlight blinding the street, dark cavernous pockets of shade where the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees, but the air stayed stale and suffocating all the same. It meant too many people and too much noise and parties in the park that never seemed to end, one just replacing another in an endless cycle of hedonism, and bottles of chilled wine and cheap beer sweating on the fountain walls. It meant long dinners and longer lunches, ice cream trucks and Italian ice carts on opposite corners of the street carrying on an old world rivalry. It meant golds and blues and lush greens wherever your eyes happened to fall, be it on a back alley garden or storefront window display.

Silver loved summer.

He loved the warmth and the sprawling picnics and the baring of skin and the feral energy of a child free from school amplified to suit a city of millions and the heady summer storms that shook the glittering skyline in a kind of holy cleanse. He loved the summer fruits and the sweet aperitifs and the old school white linen shirts and open fire hydrants flooding the streets and the neon lights reflecting in the puddles left behind, still evaporating in the hot night, giving the whole world an ethereal glow.

Though he had to admit it was always better spent on a beach with a frosted drink and not a goddamn thing to do. But, if a beach couldn’t be procured, a big, cool, well air conditioned house that was paid for by someone else was an excellent alternative. His sister’s condo in Chelsea for instance was an excellent place to waste away a summer on parties and sun bathing and a private pool that no one else seemed to have the time to use. He had spent several summers with Max that way, even once the Rangers had become part of the picture, if Silver was on the east coast for the summer, he would drop in and waste away a while.

Now though, it looked like summers were going to be spent in Brooklyn, in the big cool townhouse that Thomas had paid for, with the truly miraculously internal air con that was always kept at a balmy 65 degrees from May to October, and with very little to do outside of whatever suited his fancy on any given day. Oh and sex, a lot of sex. This would be the first summer in a very long time where he could not only allow himself a libido, but he could also satiate it.

Silver was thoroughly content with the new circumstances.

He was less content however, with how the summer months, or maybe just the summer months in the city, seemed to bring out the worst in people as frequently as it did the best.

Flint, for example, did not handle summers as well as Silver did. In part it was due to the heat and the sun and the weird smells coming off the steamy side walks, and Silver understood Flint’s frustration with all that, he truly did. But summer also meant more tourists and more people going out for a good time, more people starting brawls in bars and fights in the street and parties spilling over from one bar to the next, or worse packs of bigots making the rounds and harassing whomever they find, everything the working class service folks of the city dreaded- in short, Flint’s stress levels seemed to just rise with the temperature. And considering an average day in July might easily crack 100, Silver was starting to get a tad worried.

“Is it like this every summer?” Silver had asked one Friday morning in June.

The kitchen was soft with the morning sunlight, Thomas in his silk night shirt and robe as he perused the menu for the cafe on the corner, Silver fixing them each an espresso.

“To a point yes. You know how James is about control,” Thomas said with a fond smile, “when he’s at his best he can combat every threat to his sovereignty without so much as flinching. But the summer gets to him, makes him a bit of a wolf in a cage, so to speak.”

“Was he worse in Manhattan?” the buildings sometimes reminded Silver of a cell block, the slivers of sunlight cutting through as hot as cattle prods.

“Much. Hal has tried talking him into not working as much in the summer, but you know how he is, can’t be told anything once he’s got his mind made up. Not to mention he’s never been good at simply existing. There always has to be purpose in it, work to be done, fields to plow and what not.”

Silver huffed a laugh and brought Thomas’ espresso over, feeling a sense of warmth at the notion that he and Thomas were able to share this, to share flint and all his eccentricities.

“I’m sure a man as clever as you thought of some way to keep his blood pressure down, hm?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. Thomas took the espresso cup without looking away from the menu. He set it aside and pulled Silver in, kissing him sweetly in thanks. Ah, that was also a nice thing to share with Thomas, Silver reminded himself.

“Oh I came up with a few ideas, pet. How about we order breakfast, and I’ll tell you about them.”

By Friday, the three of them were packed into Flint’s old Range Rover heading upstate for two weeks of holiday bliss. It had taken multiple phone calls to Gates to make sure the bar would in fact be alright while Flint was gone and to make sure he barred Flint from being within a dozen yards of The Walrus once it closed on Thursday night. It had also taken coaxing, convincing, bartering, and eventually outright bribery with sex to get Flint to stop scowling about the idea of being away from his “ship” for longer than a weekend. There had been other phone calls as well, placed by Thomas in the early hours of the morning when he thought he was the only one awake. When asked about them he just waved the questions away with a mild, “oh just a little extra surprise for James thats all” and Silver did his best to trust him.

It was a five hour drive from the house in Brooklyn to the house on Lake Cayuga that Thomas had purchased during his recovery, to he and Flint would have a quiet place to heal and make up for lost time without the strain of the city grating on them. Silver had never been upstate, his various clients had always preferred houses in the Hamptons, but from the photos it was a cozy little cottage style house right on the shore, a couple bedrooms, an airy kitchen, lush garden, and a private pier that stretched out into the lake. There was also apparently a boat, a little hybrid sailboat of polished wood and deep blue paint, the name Ariel written in careful golden script. Silver wanted to ask whether Flint had bought it or built it, because he was the kind of high strung man to just build a boat from scratch instead of buying one or scheduling extra therapy. But the scowl on his face as they tucked the suitcases into the trunk told him it wasn’t worth the teasing. Not yet anyway.

Flint insisted on driving the whole five hours himself, scowling silently behind the wheel as he drove them through miles of lush farmland, leaving Thomas and Silver to chat about what they might do once they get settled in. There was plenty of hiking, though Thomas was worried the gorges might be tricky for Silver’s regular prosthetic, ample water falls and countless parks to explore. Lots of quaint small towns with seafood shacks and local fare and more wineries than even Thomas knew what to do with. And of course, most importantly, there was the lake.

Flint kept his silence till the last hour of the ride, the scowl firmly set on his jaw. Silver and Thomas had switched seats so Thomas could stretch out and nap in the back seats, leaving Silver to try and coax a smile out of his partner. Not that he had to do much. As the car climbed yet another rolling hill, Silver watched the horizon, his hand in Flint’s, trying to figure out whether the deep blue streak that had suddenly appeared was a dark patch of sky.

It wasn’t, for the record.

Silver frowned and turned to Flint, planning to ask if it was the lake and exactly how big was said lake- but the question died well before he could even open his mouth.

The scowl was gone, dropped from Flint’s face and replaced by the softest look of wonder Silver had ever seen on the man, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, making his mustache twitch. It was as if something had hooked its line into Flint’s chest and was slowly reeling him in, his whole body sitting straighter, the tension in his shoulders bleeding out until he was leaning into the steering wheel. His hand even held tighter to Silver’s, an unconscious need to keep himself tethered maybe, or to keep Silver close.

“Is that the lake?” Silver managed to ask with a soft smile of his own.

“Yeah. We’ll be at the cabin in half an hour.”

They got there in twenty minutes, not that anyone was actually counting.

The lake stretched out before them, a sea of deep blues and aquamarines, glittering with the hot late June sunlight that danced across it’s surface. It’s shores were patched with wildflowers and thick thatches of wood, little clusters of cabins and boat houses, who’s owners were out skipping across the surface like dragon flies on their small boats and kayaks. The afternoon air was hazy and sweet, the whole scene a postcard from the mythical summers of memory that everyone aspired to, bird song and the low hum of the radio escorting them along the final stretch of route 90. Flint pulled them down a narrow side road, passing a few comfortably sized homes with ample space between them, until they reached the dead end of the street, and the little cottage Silver had seen in the photos, with the shadow of the pier dark across the water, and the Ariel waiting like a loyal dog in her berth.

“Oh good,” Thomas said with a yawn, finally pulling himself back into a sitting position and stretching, as Flint pulled the car into the drive alongside what looked like a rental car. “I was starting to think we were lost.”

Silver looked back at him, ready to tease about old men and naps, but Thomas was looking down at his phone, his fingers quickly switching on the stop watch. “Thomas what-”

The range rover lurched to a sudden stop as Flint hit the brakes and Silver had to cling to the seat to keep himself upright. Thomas seemed completely unfazed, draped across the back seat in his half buttoned linen shirt and designer sunglasses, watching with an air of fond expectation as Flint threw on the parking brake and booked it from the car, leaving the engine running.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Silver asked.

Thomas laughed and reached around the driver’s seat to shut the car off. “Exactly what I expected him to do, though I’ll admit I expected him to at least properly stop the car first.”

“What? Thomas- oh my god he’s going in the lake?” Silver asked, watching as Flint cleared the back fence and striped off his shirt, leaving it on the lawn as he kept moving towards the pier. His boots, socks, and jeans followed, barely breaking his quick stride to strip them off.

“Last time it took him a whole ten minutes to get into the water,” Thomas said, helping Silver, who was too busy staring in shock at the sight of his stern and stoic partner racing across the back patio like a child, from the car. “He might clear five minutes this time.”

A few more quick strides and Flint dove from the end of the pier, breaking the surface of the lake with a thunderous sound and disappearing into the blue.

“He’s in the lake,” Silver said.

Thomas hooked their arms together, the two of them walking leisurely across the lawn. “Every visit, the first thing he does is go to the water. It’s even more dramatic when it’s the ocean, maybe I’ll book us a house on the coast next month.”

“More dramatic than stripping down to his boxers in the back yard?” he asked.

The back lawn of the house was a mix of a large patio and and a short green, with a fire pit and a grill, a small dining table and some cozy chairs, and what silver hoped was a hot tub. A woman was stretched out on one of the long beach chairs in a deep green bikini, her dark hair cut short and a magazine across her lap, though she was watching the water, where Flint had just resurfaced for a moment before diving again.

“Miranda?” Silver called, aware that Thomas was beaming behind him but not at all surprised to see his ex wife. That explained the phone calls, and the rental car out front.

“I believe our husband is in the lake my dears,” Miranda called with a laugh, getting up to come greet them. “God he’s like a little boy at a swimming hole.”

“I’d ask how you got here but that seems almost silly,” Silver said, letting her pull him into a tight hug. They had taken to each other from the first, which had left Thomas and Flint a little uneasy. Miranda’s humor matched his, her wit sharp and familiar, and Silver had learned very quickly why Flint and Thomas were both still in love with her. He wasn’t far from it himself.

“Thomas called, said James needed an intervention,” She said, letting him go to kiss Thomas hello and hug him tight. “I’m on break from teaching this summer and the fall concert season hasn’t started yet, could I come out and join you for a couple weeks? Which was a silly question, I was buying a ticket the moment he suggested it.”

Thomas kissed the top of her head, smiling brightly. “I had hoped you might be his surprise before he jumped in the lake, I’m sorry my dear.”

Silver watched them, feeling a bit dizzy. They were were a perfect pair, Miranda dark and elegant under Thomas’ arm, the cool dusk sky to Thomas’ golden hour sun.

“Don’t be, I’ll go down to him, maybe join him in the water for a bit.” She kissed his cheek, then Silver’s. “There’s some snacks laid out in the kitchen and dinner will be delivered in a couple hours, why don’t you get the bags inside and then come join us. Maybe we can even take Ariel out before dinner.”

“Oh now there’s an idea,” Thomas agreed, moving to go back and fetch the bags from the car. “Tell our husband we’ll join you in a moment. If you can manage to get him up for air.”

Miranda laughed, a bright sunny sound that always reminded Silver of how she played piano, and made her way down to the pier. He watched as she sat down on the edge of the pier, as the surface of the water broke and Flint emerged, staring up at her in shock. Silver heard her laughing, saw her reach out and watched as Flint reached up and pulled her into the lake with a joyful shout of her name. They were lost for a moment to the water, kicking up waves as Flint held her tight and danced them around, clumsy and free. Behind him Silver could hear Thomas laughing, felt his hand as it came to rest warm and sure on his lower back, pulling him in close, as he said something about wishing they’d gotten that on film.

For Silver, it was one of those moments where suddenly he remembered what all those old love songs were written about. He understood it.

And it was finally his.

#my fic #black sails modern au #silverflinthamilton #jamie's fic prompt fills #@halewoods #john silver #james flint #thomas hamilton #miranda hamilton #i truly love this one and am already working on the next segment which will i hope be smutty as well as soft and sappy

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higuchimon · 3 years ago

Text

[fanfic] Her Best Welcome

Asuka drew in a steadying breath, trying to get herself settled. Warm sunlight brushed against her skin and when she breathed in, instead of the stench of unwashed bodies having baked in the sun for days there came the aroma of the ocean and the trees brought by the wind. She wondered if she could get away from here long enough to get to Obelisk Blue and get a shower. She didn't envy the Red and Yellow students, who would likely have very long lines to get cleaned up. She didn't want to live in Obelisk Blue right now but she still had access to it for certain things like getting washed up.

She'd barely taken three steps away from Juudai, who didn't seem interested in anything outside of his own thoughts right now, before a voice cried out her name and a pair of arms wrapped around her, hugging her hard. Asuka sighed and for once, didn't step away from her brother as he hugged her, at least not right away.

"Hello, big brother," she said, trying to get a little farther away. She really wanted that shower. Bu Fubuki kept his arms around her.

"You're back!" He squealed. "You're safe!"

"Yes, I know." Asuka wouldn't mind talking to him about this once she'd had that shower and maybe something to eat. But the shower first. "Everyone's safe." Well, almost. She tried not to think too much about Johan and what had happened there. She didn't even know what happened, but he wasn't there. They'd figure out something about that later.

Fubuki hugged harder. "I knew you'd be all right. What happened?" He turned her around so they could look at each other, and she was surprised to see the worry in his eyes, no matter what he said.

"It's a really long story," Asuka told him. "And I don't' want to tell it right now." She didn't even know all of it. She thought Juudai might know more but he wasn't in any condition to tell anyone the time of day, let alone anything else.

Fubuki nodded, but she knew that he still wanted to know. Maybe she'd be able to tell him later. Her stomach rumbled and she frowned, still wanting that shower before she ate. Fubuki sniffed lightly.

"Come on," he said, still with one arm around her, and guided her towards the Red dorm. Her first thought was that everyone else there would need the showers before she could get to them. Then she remembered; Manjoume had set up that magnificent bath. That would definitely do.

She could see Shou making his way over to Ryou as the two of them headed away. She wouldn't mind having a talk with him herself. She'd heard about what he'd done the previous year, but she'd never yet had the chance to talk to him about it. Once she'd no longer been part of the Society of Light, she'd been more interested in learning what she'd missed around school than anything else. After getting that sorted out, she'd tried to e-mail him but he hadn't responded. Maybe I can talk to Fubuki about it? Ryou was his best friend, after all. If he knew anything, then he'd let her know. But whatever Ryou's problems the year before were, clearly they didn't prevent him from helping now.

Fubuki guided her to the Red dorm. She could still feel the grit of the desert on her skin and if she hadn't wanted that shower so badly she would have demanded to get something to eat first and foremost. Priorities first.

"You go on," he said, nudging her towards the blessed clean and unlimited water. "I'll get you something to eat." She caught sight of the grin when she looked up at him. "If you don't eat something soon, you're going to start chewing on me and I'm not that kind of delicious."

He paused for a second, mouth opening, and Asuka shook her head. She had a good idea of what he wanted to say, and she didn't really want to hear it. She waved one hand, wanting him out of there, and once he headed out, she closed and locked the door to the bathing area, sagging against it for a few moments.

Home. They were really home. Fubuki was really there, and being his usual pain in her side self. She'd never been so glad that he was there and bothering her. She'd missed him during the last few days, far more than she'd been willing to admit.

It's probably for the best. He might've become a duel zombie. She trusted in his dueling talents, but she also knew him. The first moment he'd seen Manjoume as one of those creatures, he would have rushed out to try to help him, and it would have been all over for him.

Would she have tried to save him? As much as she wanted to think she would have known better, a tiny part of her suspected otherwise. She'd lost him once already. If it had happened again, and he'd still been there in front of her, she suspected she would have done exactly like he would for Manjoume. That would not have been good for anyone in the long run.

At least it hadn't happened like that. They were home. They were safe. That thought glowed warm and secure in the very center of her heart.

Getting the dust and dirt and sweat off didn't take all that long. But Asuka couldn't stop herself from just soaking in the water once she'd cleaned up, at least not until a knock came on the door.

"Little sister?" Fubuki's voice drifted through. "I brought you your favorites! It's unagi and Hatakosen Raspberry!"

Asuka jerked up; she hadn't thought she'd been in here long enough for him to get food. Especially not her favorite food. Fubuki didn't make up stories about food, though. She quickly dried and found one of the uniforms she'd kept in here before heading out.

In the main room, where most of them gathered during quieter and happier times, Fubuki set up two places. At least her meal was set out there and there were two chairs, one across from the other. He settled into one, staring at her as if he thought she might not be real. Asuka settled down into her own chair and quickly started eating, satisfying the first surge of hunger before she looked up at him again.

"What happened here while we were gone?" She asked. She could guess a few things; she knew that Edo and Ryou were involved, as well as that strange Professor that Misawa seemed to know. But most of the details had escaped her.

Fubuki trailed his fingers over his side of the table. "Well - once Principal Samejima knew what happened, he counted up who was still here and who wasn't. Then he started calling for help from KaibaCorp. Kaiba-san sent President Pegasus." His lips twitched a little. "I heard him talking to Principal Samejima about it. Something about "He's the one who designed the cards. Let him worry about a world where they're real.""

Asuka held back a small giggle. From what she knew about Kaiba, that was a lot like him. As she kept on eating, Fubuki told her more - about how they'd finally found Johan's Rainbow Dragon and started to make arrangements to make it a card.

"Something did happen there, but I'm not sure of what." Fubuki shook his head. "We already knew then we were going to need a strong duelist, and Edo suggested we find Ryou."

She sipped at her drink, listening. It sounded somewhat bland compared to what they'd been going through, and bland was exactly what she wanted right now.

"He wasn't there when I showed up at his apartment," he continued, "but he got back pretty quick. I told him what was going on and then we headed over here."

Asuka raised one eyebrow. "Is that all?" She'd seen somewhat how Ryou was these days. She doubted that just telling him of what was going on would have been enough to persuade him to come and help.

Fubuki shrugged. "More or less. I kinda of did have to explain it a bit more, though. Anyway, Edo brought us back here on his boat. Do you know how fast that thing can go?" He shook his head, eyes wide and gleaming with delight now. "I have got to get him to take me out on that again!"

Asuka drew in a breath and smiled. Even if Fubuki had been a duel zombie, he wouldn't have changed a great deal. She wondered if he would have been going "Surf! Surf! Surf!" instead of "Duel! Duel! Duel!"

He picked up the tale again, though there wasn't much left to it. "Once Pegasus finished the card, we got it ready to go to you guys, and got Ryou ready to duel Johan." He leaned his head back and sighed a deep sigh. "I saw it. Ryou's gotten so much better than he used to be and I didn't think that was possible." Again his fingers danced over the table. "It's weird, but I think being Hell Kaiser has really been good for him."

Asuka wasn't ready to go that far just yet, but she'd not talked to Ryou enough to be sure. She made a noncommittal noise and listened as Fubuki told the tale of the duel from what he'd seen. She'd been too busy trying to survive in that world to notice if he'd been in sight or not, and it was good to know that he'd been safe regardless.

She rubbed her wrist as he talked, still trying to get adjusted to the fact her Dis-belt wasn't there anymore. She'd worn it for so long - over a month - that it seemed strange for it not to be there. She glanced over to Fubuki

"Do you still have your Dis-belt?" She'd noticed that everyone who'd been in that world had lost theirs . But those who wore it and hadn't been taken along?

Fubuki raised his wrist. "Nope. It fell off just after you guys got back here. What were they for, anyway?"

"As far as I can tell, gathering duel energy. It helped create those zombies." She wasn't sure of what else it had done. She wondered how much she'd missed, being half unconscious after the charge to get Juudai to the duel against Martin. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to find the others and have a talk. She didn't think Juudai would be helpful, not unless Johan had suddenly turned back up in the last hour or so.

"I wish I'd been there for you," Fubuki said, a little more serious than he usually sounded. "You were in danger and I wasn't there. What kind of a brother am I?"

"The kind who was safe where I didn't have to worry about you!" Asuka snapped back without a breath of thought. Fubuki stared at her in surprise, before he softened and smiled.

"You worried about me?"

Asuka closed her eyes. "All the time you were gone. And I'd rather not do it again. Stay safe. You've been gone long enough."

Fubuki leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. She wasn't sure what he thought about but she had her own thoughts to consider. Slowly she pulled herself to her feet.

"I'm going to go find the others." She thought by now they'd probably also cleaned up and might be feeling better. They needed to figure out how to help Juudai and maybe get Johan back - if there was a way to do that. She wasn't even certain of what had happened to him.

Fubuki nodded, getting up as well, clearly going with her. Together they headed out, and Asuka couldn't help but smile. It was true. They were home.

The End

Notes: Of course they won’t stay for long. But Fubuki should have shown up sooner in season three. I have done my best to repair that in a little way.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #gxmonth2021 #ygo gx #tenjoin asuka #tenjoin fubuki

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julie-and-the-phantoms-stan · 4 years ago

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Warm and Hazy Dreams

Alright guys, I’m feeling, how shall I put this, normal. That’s not a good thing for me tbh. To me, normal is just, not a good state to be in. So, to take my mind off this, I’ve FINALLY written the poly-ship fluff I said I’d write earlier. I was gonna write some really angsty stuff, but I figured that’d make me spiral even more, and it’s not worth it, no matter how good the fic would’ve been. I don’t want tonight to be one of those nights where I don’t even cry myself to sleep because there’s no sleep involved and all I do is cry. Also the most voted ship is Julie/Luke/Reggie so her ya go!!! Thx to all those who voted, I tagged y’all. This fic was actually inspired by a dream I had a few weeks ago, but with character changes, and portrayed to show it as romantic affection instead of platonic. Yall, i literally have a whole ass story in my head to explain the ACTUAL dream so if you want that just let me know. Anyways, here ya go!!!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Julie didn’t know where she was. She didn’t remember much about anything either. But, she knew she felt sleepy. Was someone talking? Was that, laughter?

It didn’t matter, all she wanted to do was close her eyes, and snuggle closer to this warmth. What was so warm? Whatever it was, it was comforting. It felt familiar. It felt safe.

She heard someone say her name, and she opened her eyes a crack. It was so hazy. She couldn’t make anything out. There was this light, as if it were early morning. It cast everything in a gray luminance.

Julie closed her eyes again. And she burrowed deeper into whatever was blanketing her in this feeling of safety. She felt so protected, and surrounded by love.

She could comprehend the feeling of an arm wrapping around her. She could recognize that her head was laying on someone’s shoulder, and it was burried in the crook of their neck.

It all felt so relaxing. She was calm. Her breath’s were even, and she felt more carefree than she’s felt in a long time. She was just aware enough to catch the soft and quiet laughter of those around her.

“She sure is tired today, huh?”

Julie wasn’t sure who said it, but she knew they were talking about her. And in all honesty? She couldn’t care less. She was too engrossed in the warmth eminetting from the things next to her.

And she stayed like that, she wasn’t sure for how long. But eventually, she woke up enough to realize she was leaning on Luke’s shoulder, and that Reggie’s arm was wrapped around her.

Suddenly, reality seemed to shift, and she found herself laying down instead of sitting up.

But the warmth was still the same. It was safe and protecting and comforting and filled with love. Julie layed there for another moment, soaking it all in. The feeling of being wrapped in this absolutely blissful warmth.

Finally, she slowly opened her eyes. Everything was still blury, but she could make out the rays of early morning sunlight pouring out the window. And she could feel the two still asleep boys peacfully snoring on either side of her.

‘Luke and Reggie’ she thought. She shifted ever so slightly, but before she could move further, Reggie cuddled closer to her, pulling her into an even tighter embrace.

Luke’s brows furrowed, and he gently tugged Julie closer to him. This elicited a tug of war between to two sleeping boys. Julie could hardly contain her giggles.

Eventually, the three settled into a position where julie was tightly sandwitched between the two boys, with absolutely no hope of escape. Not that she would ever want to leave the little bubble of warmth the three seemed to have created.

‘How weird, I didn’t know you could fall asleep in a dream. But then again, it’s hard not to relax when I’m with these two’

And with that final thought, Julie was lulled back into a peaceful sleep, her breath even with Reggie’s heartbeat, her head burried in Luke’s chest.

If she seemed to have a bounce in her step that day, no one questioned it. No one seemed to mind that she kept spacing out, where her face breaking into a wide grin.

And Julie herself didn’t regret a thing. She felt a surge of joy whenever she thought about her dream. It emerged in her heart and bloomed until it reached every single part of her, from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers and toes.

Oh how thankful she was for warm and hazy dreams.

@random-nerd-3 @knowledgeableknees @sinfullysimple31 @dont-bury-the-gays and ( @only-here-for-jatp it seems like you need some fluff so ima tag u too)

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iffeelscouldkill · 4 years ago

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Adjusting [Part 4: Arkady]

A/N: Hey! In honour of us getting a confirmed release date for TSCOSI Season 2, here’s a fic update! (No I was not planning to post this anyway tonight, what are you talking about)

This one’s another long chapter, so strap in, folks! As always, a big THANK YOU to @dragonsthough101 for beta reading and for all the encouragement and enthusiasm! <3

CW: This fic contains a fairly brief description of a panic attack, from the POV of the character experiencing the panic attack. If you want to skip it, stop reading at the line “Everything is very still.” and skip to “They gravitate over to the kitchen table...”

---

The sound of gunfire echoes around purple-tinged sand and silver rocks, the alien landscape of a desert planet that sinks, spongy under RJ’s feet as they run for their life, head down to present less of a target. There’s a fiery pain in their right leg, running from the thigh right down to the shin, and though RJ clenches their jaw and forces themself onwards, it buckles, sending them crashing to one knee in the sand.

“RJ!” Sana shouts. She’s about thirty paces ahead, supporting a blood-soaked and half-conscious Arkady.

“I’m fine – go, get to the ship,” RJ calls, but Sana doesn’t budge. Cursing under their breath – and feeling a sudden kinship with Arkady every time she’d complained about Sana prioritising the crew’s safety above her own – RJ forces their leg to lock and pushes off from the soft sand, wobbling into a standing position. There’s another hail of bullets, closer this time, and RJ almost trips forward in their haste to move- and then stops.

Wait a minute.

“RJ!” Sana calls again, this time with a note of panic in her voice. She looks like she’s debating sprinting back across the distance between them to find out what’s wrong, but doesn’t want to abandon Arkady.

RJ waves a hand at her, motioning her down. Arkady has roused enough to give Sana a confused look, but both of them sink down towards the sand.

In the echoey canyon that they just emerged from, it had sounded like the gunshots were coming from all sides. RJ had been baffled as to how so many shooters were still pursuing them, as they thought they’d managed to take out virtually all of them, but there hadn’t been time to figure it out. Now, out in the open, RJ can tell: there’s only one shooter.

“Kid,” Arkady hisses, her voice carrying just far enough to reach RJ in the quiet. “Get out of the goddamn open.”

RJ ignores her, scanning their surroundings. They’ve narrowed down a rough area that the shots are coming from: an outcrop of metallic rocks on a ledge about twenty metres up. The spot is almost completely shielded, but it’s also difficult to shoot from. The shooter can’t get a clear shot at them, which is why they were laying down so much fire: trying to confuse them, make them panic, and run into the path of a stray bullet.

It also means that RJ can’t get a clear shot either, unless…

RJ flails as if losing their footing on the sand, turns and crumples dramatically backwards. They hear Arkady swear, and Sana say, “Wait here- I’m going back-”

From this vantage point they can see through a gap low in the rocks, and sure enough, there’s a dark shape beyond, sunlight glinting off the dull metal of an old-fashioned automatic rifle.

“Got you,” RJ mutters, and fires.

A muffled cry of pain can be heard across the distance, and RJ jumps to their feet in a shower of sand, adrenaline and triumph numbing the searing pain in their leg. They catch up to Arkady and Sana, who are frozen in the middle of getting to their feet.

“We can go now,” they say. A delighted smile spreads across Sana’s face, while Arkady looks torn between annoyance and grudging respect.

“Glad you made up your mind,” she snarks.

They make it back to the Iris without incident, where Violet is there to work the airlock as usual. She pales at the sight of them.

“Arkady- Sana- RJ! What happened? We couldn’t get you on your comms-”

“Yeah, sand’s a bitch,” pants Arkady, who seems to have rallied some more at the sight of her girlfriend. She pulls the useless, sand-encrusted comm link from her ear and tosses it with a flick of her hand at Violet, who just catches it. “That weird purple storm you saw? It jammed all of our devices.”

“You’re covered in blood-”

“I’m fine,” Arkady insists, though the fact that she can barely stand upright is undermining her argument quite a bit. “I’ve been worse.”

“Sana Tripathi to all crew,” Sana is saying over them. “Krejjh, we’re gonna need a quick getaway. RJ took out the last of our pursuers, but we think some of them might have gone for backup. We can’t afford to hang around.”

“Aye aye, Captain Tripathi.”

“Brian, Park, keep an eye out for anything on our tail.”

“Roger that.”

“Will do.”

Sana turns to RJ, Arkady and Violet, who are still clustered around the airlock. “Arkady, you’re going to accompany Violet to the medbay for urgent attention, and no arguments.”

“For once, I wasn’t gonna,” says Arkady with a wince, her voice strained. Violet moves forward to take Arkady’s weight, and Arkady leans on her gratefully. The height difference makes it a little awkward, but Violet is also clearly stronger than she looks.

“Captain, I’m going to take a look at that shoulder as soon as Arkady’s been patched up,” Violet says in that gentle-but-firm way that no-one ever tries to argue with (except Arkady, but even she doesn’t try particularly hard).

Sana nods, hand going to the dried patch of blood on her shoulder. The bullet had only grazed her, but it hadn’t been pretty at all, and they’d had to improvise a bandage in a panic out of a scarf that Arkady had been using to keep the sand out of her face.

Violet turns a sharp gaze on RJ, who straightens reflexively, letting go of the safety rail they’d been leaning on. This proves to be a mistake as they put too much weight on their injured leg, and they can’t conceal the resulting flinch.

“What happened to your leg, RJ?” Violet asks. It’s mild, but there’s no-nonsense steel lurking under her tone.

“I’m uh, not really sure?” RJ admits. Their pant leg is caked in violet sand, ragged and torn; there’s no visible blood, but it could easily be concealed under the sand. “It’s uh, it’s kind of painful, but I don’t think I got shot. There were bullets ricocheting off the rocks, though, and some shrapnel might have hit-” They’re rolling up the leg of their pants as they speak, and then stop as the wound comes into view. ‘Some’ shrapnel is an understatement: RJ’s leg is peppered with tiny pieces of glittering metal, including one fairly large and pointy-looking piece sticking out of their lower thigh. Dried blood is streaked along the length of their leg. Sana sucks in a breath.

RJ laughs a little, nervously. “Um. Ow?”

Violet passes a hand over her face. “Okay. I’m gonna get those out of you as soon as possible, RJ. In the meantime, try to keep your weight off your leg – actually, that goes for after I’ve dressed the wounds, too. Luckily, none of it seems to have gone in too deep.”

“Arkady, you might have some too,” Sana says. “She and RJ managed to draw most of their fire-”

“Arkady more than me,” RJ puts in, as if it wasn’t already obvious from Arkady’s multiple injuries. “I guess I didn’t seem like that significant of a target.”

“-but it was kind of hard to tell what was a bullet and what was debris, with sand whipping up all around us.”

“Yeah, if I never see another sandstorm, it’ll be too soon,” Arkady mutters.

“Wonderful,” Violet says dryly. “Is it too much to hope that the sand might not contain any toxic or harmful substances?”

There’s a pause, as Sana, RJ and Arkady look at each other. None of them had thought of that possibility.

Violet sighs. “I’ll prep some equipment and try and get a sample to analyse from Arkady’s comm link.” She holds up the inert device. “I haven’t tried it out yet, but the medbay in this ship has some equipment that should be able to do the job.”

“You could probably get a good sample from our clothes, too,” says Sana. Violet nods.

“Sana, RJ, I want you to – carefully – change into some clean, loose-fitting clothes and then come to the medbay. Try not to touch your wounds directly.”

Both Sana and RJ give their assent to her instructions. It’s a little weird for RJ to see Sana, as the Captain, taking an order from someone else, but Sana acts like there’s nothing unusual about it at all. They’ve known some commanding officers – okay, a lot of commanding officers – in the Regime who acted like they would lose all their authority if they were seen deferring to a subordinate for anything, which led to a lot of bad and stupid judgement calls. They know now that the mark of a good leader is someone who’s willing to listen to the people under their command.

Violet turns back to Arkady, her face softening.

“C’mon, soldier,” she says quietly. RJ isn’t sure if this is a pet name or just a reference to ‘brave soldier’, but either way, it makes Arkady go pink. Sana looks impossibly fond of the two of them.

Arkady looks back at RJ, and RJ braces for some kind of threat about breathing a word about that to anyone else, but instead Arkady says, “Good shot earlier.”

For the first time ever, she doesn’t call RJ ‘kid’.

“Uh… thanks,” RJ barely manages in their surprise, but Arkady doesn’t even seem to hear it, already letting Violet help her down the corridor to the medbay.

---

The whole crew is a little on edge for the rest of the day (or what passes for ‘day’ when you’re hurtling through the black void of space). The excursion on Enlil was meant to be a simple pick-up and drop-off job, which was why Sana had thought it might be a good first outing for RJ to accompany them on while also providing some extra backup. But someone had tipped off the planet’s local security force – a sort of combined police force and militia – to their presence, and minutes after completing the trade, they’d found themselves fleeing from a dozen armed pursuers.

They got the payment, and more importantly got away safely (ish), but it’s a stark reminder just how little they can afford to let their guard down.

Dinner is a lively and extra-loud affair, all of the accumulated tension of the day (of the past two months, really) welling up and spilling over. For once, RJ doesn’t mind. They boost themselves up, gingerly, onto one of the bolted-down metal chairs decorated with Sana’s colourful homemade cushions, being careful not to jolt their leg, which has been expertly cleaned and bandaged by Violet. (The sand, to the best of Violet’s assessment, did not contain any toxic elements, but was still not great to have in an open wound for obvious reasons).

RJ watches Jeeter haphazardly throwing ingredients into a huge stock pot while Park looks on with a slightly pained expression. As Brian gets distracted by a compliment from Krejjh, he quickly claims the spoon, adding some spices from a small tin and a few other flavourings from little bottles in precise, measured amounts, before replacing the spoon just as Brian turns back around.

The noise and the activity is… familiar. Reassuring. It helps to drown out the images of purple and silver in RJ’s head, of sand whipping against rocks and gunshots echoing through a vast canyon, so vast it seemed like they’d never emerge from it. Of thinking about those few crucial seconds, out in the open, and what might have happened if they hadn’t made the shot.

(RJ always makes the shot. Every single time, in the Academy and afterwards, they had always made the shot. RJ believed then that they couldn’t afford to miss – for the sake of their reputation and their career, for the respect of the senior officers that they’d worked so relentlessly to earn.

But since becoming part of a crew and having more than just their own wellbeing riding on their steady hands and the aim of their gun – RJ has learned the real meaning of can’t afford to miss).

Sana passes out bowls of the stew that Brian has concocted, unknowingly aided by Park. It’s pretty good – the vegetables and meat are bland (RJ can’t even identify them, which is probably for the better) but the spices give it flavour and the tiniest kick. Park slides into the seat across from RJ; the crew officially don’t have designated seats in the kitchen/dining area, but unofficially, they totally do, and Park’s chair is padded with two cushions: one on the seat, and one on the back.

RJ can’t say how it happened, but Park had always sat a little awkwardly on the unforgiving chairs, and there was a tentativeness to his movements whenever he shifted, like he was in pain and trying to hide it. Evidently they weren’t the only one who noticed, because a second cushion had mysteriously appeared on ‘Park’s’ chair one day, and that had been that.

“Dinner’s pretty good,” RJ tells Park, under the combined volume of Krejjh, Brian and Sana’s jokes and laughter. Arkady is there too, also propped up on multiple cushions, after she’d loudly and persistently refused to have dinner brought to her in the medbay. “I’m already sick of being stuck in there. I’m not helpless, Sana,” she’d snapped. Sana and Violet had exchanged a look over her head that spoke volumes.

She looks paler than usual, but she keeps up a determined level of snark and banter like she’s daring anyone to question her health.

“Tell that to the cook,” Park responds mildly to RJ’s compliment, picking up his spoon.

“I am,” RJ replies with a smirk. Park’s only response is the slightest raise of his eyebrow.

“I heard you got to do some sharpshooting, earlier,” he says instead, changing the subject. RJ brightens, realising that with everything that was going on after they got back to the ship, they’d never got a chance to tell Park what had happened on Enlil. Sana must have said something about it to him.

“Yeah, finally,” RJ says, and Park grins fleetingly. He knows RJ has been itching to help out with some of the (infrequent, always extremely cautious) drop-offs and supply runs, but Sana had been reluctant to take the risk.

“I know how capable you are, RJ,” she’d said gently the last time she turned them down, while RJ had done their best to hide their disappointment. “It’s not that I don’t trust your skills. But I don’t want to send anyone else out into the field unless it’s strictly necessary, and I’m sure that Arkady and I can handle this one. As soon as we get a drop-off where I think we’ll need more backup, I promise that I’ll bring you in.”

She’d sounded sincere, but RJ had been privately sure that the promise was just meant to pacify them. They’d been genuinely taken aback when less than a week later, Sana informed them that she wanted them to accompany her and Arkady on the next drop.

“We’ve never been to this planet before, and neither Arkady nor I are familiar with the terrain,” she’d explained at the crew meeting, handing RJ a topographical map of their destination while RJ quietly exploded with excitement. “By the looks of things, there’s a lot of open ground, but also some spots where we could be vulnerable to ambush. I think three pairs of eyes will be better than two.”

She’d been completely correct about that, although the planet’s intermittent sandstorms had not been in their intel. Either way, RJ doesn’t think that Sana and Arkady would have made it through in one piece without their help.

They should be pleased at that thought, to know that they were critical to the mission, but instead it makes them feel slightly sick.

Everyone lingers in the kitchen after the meal finishes, and soon enough Sana breaks out a bottle of engine room-brewed moonshine and cups are passed around. RJ prepares to decline, as usual, but to their surprise Violet passes them a cup of something else – it’s bright orange, slightly sparkly, and smells sweet.

“What’s this?” they ask.

Violet shows them the bottle, which is silver with an orange bolt of lightning down the side and shimmering writing in Chinese characters. “It’s an energy drink!” she says cheerfully. “I lived off it when I was in grad school. If you down it in one go it’ll give you a kick like you wouldn’t believe. We used to knock it back instead of shots sometimes – the buzz wears off quicker than alcohol, but you also get less of a hangover. I stashed some away in case we ever needed to pull an all-nighter or something.”

RJ looks doubtfully down at the drink and then glances at Park, who responds with a shrug and half a smile. His expression somehow conveys both, ‘It’s okay if you don’t want to,’ and ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’

“I promise it’s completely safe,” Violet says, reassuringly. “Here, I’ll join you.” She pours herself out a small amount of the vibrant drink. “Cheers!”

She clinks her cup gently against RJ’s and then downs it in one go. After a moment’s hesitation, RJ follows suit. There’s a burst of intense, teeth-rattling sweetness and then a fizzing sensation like something went up RJ’s nose. They shake their head rapidly. “I… wow,” they say. Everything seems very bright all of a sudden. Violet is laughing as she puts down her cup.

“Oh my god!” she exclaims. “I feel like I’m 22 again.”

“How do you feel?” Park asks RJ, nursing his own cup of moonshine.

“I feel…” says RJ, and then gets distracted by how the ‘l’ sound rolls off their tongue. “Feellll… I feelllll… great! Really really good.” They beam at Park, who looks a little uncertain, but smiles anyway.

“That’s… good. Well, cheers.”

---

Twenty minutes later, RJ is laughing hysterically at a joke that Krejjh just made – in Dwarnian.

“It’s the- it’s just- it’s the way they said lequezzek…” they wheeze, trying to explain the joke to Park, who is staring at them in some consternation. They wipe one eye. “Ah, you kinda had to be there.”

“I… was there,” Park tells RJ.

“Hey, your pronunciation is really coming along,” Brian says approvingly to RJ, who brightens and sits up straight.

“You really think so?”

“Heck, yeah!” Krejjh chimes in. “Hey, say ‘Dwajjhah Ferin’.”

“Dwajjhah Ferin,” RJ repeats, trying hard to get the ‘jjh’ sound right. Brian and Krejjh look at each other, and Krejjh grins.

“Excellent Dwarnian ‘jjh’ sound. For a human.”

RJ throws their arms up in the air, almost clocking Park on the ear. “I’ll take it!”

Not long after that, Sana notices Arkady struggling to keep her eyes open and, over her half-hearted protests, firmly instructs Violet to accompany her back to her room. “I’m going to turn in too,” she says. “Not that I wouldn’t love to stay up with you guys, but it’s been a pretty long day and I think the adrenaline crash is finally starting to hit me.”

Her eyes linger on RJ, who stares back, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “Don’t stay up too late, okay, guys? Get some rest,” she says.

“You got it, Captain,” says Brian as Krejjh salutes. “Hey, RJ – wanna come back to our room to watch the pre-season 17 finale of Sh’th Hremreh?”

“Yessss!” RJ cheers, jumping up.

“You’re welcome to join us, too,” Brian says to Park.

“I… thanks, but I think I’d be a bit lost,” Park declines politely. “McCabe-”

RJ, who is bouncing on the balls of their feet with impatience, looks over. “Hm?”

“Just be sure to drink plenty of water. I know Violet says that stuff gives you less of a hangover, but I think it’ll help.”

RJ rolls their eyes exaggeratedly. “Okay, Dad,” they groan, but they grab a bottle of water from the fridge before following Krejjh and Brian out. “Night, Park.”

“G’night.”

---

By the time the credits roll on Sh’th Hremreh, RJ has to admit that the effects of the energy drink Violet gave them have thoroughly worn off, and they’re feeling pretty beat. Krejjh has actually dozed off, and is snoring quietly against Brian’s shoulder.

“D’you wanna keep watching?” Brian asks quietly. “We should probably save the actual finale for when Krejjh is awake, but we can watch an episode of something else.”

RJ considers it, but reluctantly shakes their head. “Thanks, but… I think I do need to sleep,” they admit, stretching their arms up over their head.

“That’s fair. How’s your leg?”

“Uh…” RJ hasn’t really thought about their leg since dinner. The energy drink made every part of them feel fuzzy and light, so it hadn’t seemed like a concern. They hope they haven’t accidentally overdone things, although it’s not as if they’ve been running around the corridors. Well. They might have raced Krejjh to Brian and Krejjh’s room. It seemed like a fun idea at the time.

They stand up experimentally, testing how it holds their weight. It definitely throbs, but it’s a dull throbbing, and it doesn’t feel like it’s about to give way beneath them. “I probably should have stayed off it more like Violet said,” RJ admits. “But I think it’ll be better after some rest.”

Brian grins, an expression that RJ can just make out in the glow of the holo-screen. “Not really following medical advice is kind of a time-honoured tradition on this ship. It’s a miracle Violet hasn’t given up on all of us and left us to our own devices.”

RJ knows he’s joking, but the idea of Violet not being around to help in the aftermath of situations like the one they were in today is more than a little horrifying. “You guys didn’t even have a medic before she joined the crew, right? How did you manage?”

Brian shrugs in that easy way of his. “Arkady has a fair amount of field experience dealing with injuries, which I expect she picked up, uh… during the war,” he says. “Krejjh too, though obviously their knowledge is mostly applicable to Dwarnians. Sana and I know basic first aid, and Campbell – you met him when we made a stopover in Neuzo – has some skills and some contacts who don’t ask too many questions. We would sometimes go to him for help if we were in a bind, medically speaking.”

RJ nods slowly. It makes sense, although it also raises a number of other worrying questions. Namely, what if they’d been stuck out in the middle of the Deep or in hostile territory and weren’t able to get in contact with anyone? What if something really serious happened?

Brian correctly interprets their expression. “Mostly, it’s best not to think about it,” he says cheerfully. “Overall, we were pretty good at not needing any help, but it did happen occasionally.”

“Maybe I should learn some first aid too,” RJ says, thinking about possible worst-case scenarios on unknown planets and the fact that there’s only one of Violet. “Just in case.”

Brian smiles. “No reason not to. Violet could probably teach you stuff that the rest of us don’t know.”

After saying goodnight to Brian (and a still-sleeping Krejjh), RJ starts off in the direction of their room, but then reconsiders and heads towards the kitchen. Maybe it’s the lingering advice from Park to stay hydrated; maybe RJ just wants to sit and nurse a cup of tea and stare into space for a while.

They aren’t expecting, upon entering the kitchen, to find Arkady already there, reaching for the box of tea at the top of the cupboard and wincing as she pulls at her stitches.

“Uh…”

Arkady whips around so fast RJ is positive she must have pulled something else. She relaxes slightly when she sees RJ, obviously afraid it might be Violet or Sana. “Hey, McCabe. What are you doing up?”

RJ shrugs slightly as they step further into the kitchen, letting the door whoosh shut behind them. “Same as you, I think. I came to get some tea. Should you be… doing that?” Arkady has turned back to the cupboard and is slowly stretching up again to try and grab the tea. She huffs in exasperation.

“Don’t you start.”

“I’m just saying, we do have a stool,” RJ points out reasonably, going to fetch the foldaway stepping-stool.

“I don’t need a stool,” Arkady retorts. RJ thinks it’s meant to sound deadpan, but it comes out a little petulant.

“Well, I do,” says RJ, carrying it over and setting it down next to Arkady. “Move over.”

Arkady rolls her eyes, but moves aside to let RJ climb onto the stool and grab the box of tea, newly replenished thanks to a recent supply run.

“Why do you guys keep it on the top shelf, anyway?” asks RJ, setting the box on the kitchen table. “Is it because of…?” They nod at the scrawled NOT FOR YOU, JEETER on the lid of the box.

“Oh, that?” Arkady seems surprised, like she’d completely forgotten it was there. “It’s a joke, kinda – Jeeter doesn’t drink tea normally, but he has a habit of raiding our stash sometimes when he’s really sleep-deprived. And he always forgets that he’s allergic to rooibos, so. I wrote that as a reminder.” She flips open the top of the box and considers the contents.

“I… see,” RJ says, brow crinkling. They don’t really, but that tends to be the case with a lot of things involving their crewmates, so they decide not to spend too much time worrying about it.

Instead, they pick out a bag of peppermint tea and wait for Arkady to choose her flavour – lemongrass and ginger – before quickly plucking it out of her hand. “I’ll make these!”

“Kid–” Arkady grabs at RJ, who dances out of reach. “Listen, I can make my own goddamn tea–”

“Sure, but if I don’t make you sit down then both of us are going to get in trouble with Violet, and also I think you’ve already popped a stitch,” RJ shoots back. Arkady looks down and swears as she sees the tiny spot of blood that’s leaked through the bandages around her side onto her shirt, and grudgingly sits down at the kitchen table.

Smug, RJ rummages around for two clean mugs and drops the teabags into them. They pick up the kettle and carry it over to the small, pump-operated sink to fill it with water.

Intent on their task, RJ almost doesn’t notice it until the last second – out of the corner of their eye, a glint of light off silver rocks, off the barrel of a gun—

The kettle goes flying with a loud clatter as RJ whirls around. “ARKADY, GET D-”

Then they stop, heaving breaths in the middle of the kitchen, their leg throbbing. There’s nothing there.

Everything is very still.

But RJ saw it, they saw–

A glint of light, reflecting off the fridge, in the corner of their eye. Not an attacker. Not silver rocks and purple sand.

“-kid, can you hear me? RJ. RJ, can you hear me?” Arkady is suddenly right there, her face serious and intent, bending down to RJ’s level. “Kid, I need you to breathe with me. You’re having a panic attack. Breathe in–”

RJ is confused. They are breathing in. Aren’t they? Then they register the sharp, panicked breaths that they’re taking, their side beginning to ache from the strain. Oh. A panic attack. Right.

It feels like their lungs are already full to bursting, but RJ manages to drag in a breath.

“And out…” Arkady demonstrates, and RJ copies her. It’s helping to even their breathing out, but RJ’s muscles still feel like they’re locked in fight-or-flight mode, a non-existent threat pinging at the back of their brain.

“And again,” Arkady instructs, and she starts counting as RJ breathes in, and then out again. Her tone is matter-of-fact, with no attempt to sound soothing or sympathetic, and weirdly, it helps ground RJ. Plus, Arkady seems like she’s done this before. Maybe a few times before.

They gravitate over to the kitchen table, RJ breathing more normally but still keyed-up and tense. Their head is light from sucking in air, and their hands feel strangely tingly. They blink as Arkady pushes a hot mug towards them. At some point, she must have cleaned up the kettle and boiled some water for tea.

“Thanks,” they say, voice hoarse. They realise they should probably give some kind of an explanation about what the hell just happened. “Uh, that was…”

“Do you want me to get Violet?” Arkady asks, over them. RJ blinks.

“No, I- it’s not a medical condition, I swear. I mean, I don’t think it is. I just…” They think back to the glint of light, and then immediately try not to think about it. “I thought I saw something, and I panicked.”

“It was the refrigerator, right?” says Arkady. “Reflecting something.”

RJ looks at them, surprised. “Yeah, I- how did you know?”

Arkady shrugs. “I figured it might be something that reminded you of earlier. And since there’s no purple sand in here…” RJ laughs at that, very weakly. “I didn’t suggest Violet because she’s the ship’s medic,” Arkady goes on. “She knows a lot about this kind of stuff. She could…” Arkady gestures vaguely. “Talk to you about it.”

RJ really doesn’t have much desire to talk about what happened, although they know they probably should. “You seem like you know some stuff,” they point out. Belatedly, they remember the tea, and take a sip.

“Having a guh- uhhh, having a close… that is, knowing someone with anxiety will do that to you.” Arkady coughs as if trying to cover up her almost-slip of the tongue. RJ hides their smirk of amusement behind their mug.

“I don’t have anxiety. I don’t think, anyway,” they say slowly. “I’ve never had problems coping with combat situations before. They ran us through all sorts of simulations in the Academy. I learned to shoot in any conditions, under immense amounts of pressure.”

“Yeah, but how much actual field experience do you have?” Arkady asks sceptically. “Those were just simulations. It’s not the same as… actual war.”

She sips her own tea, a dark look on her face, and RJ is forcibly reminded that Arkady fought in the war – was probably a teenager when she did. There’s an awkward silence as they try to think of something to say. “No,” they say eventually. “I guess I don’t have any… experience with that.”

Arkady straightens up suddenly, squaring her shoulders. RJ remembers her popped stitch and hopes she isn’t putting any additional strain on it. “If this is the part where I’m supposed to delve into my dark past and tell you a story that inspires you, you’re shit outta luck,” she says flatly. “You want touchy-feely, you can go wake up Sana.” RJ laughs for real this time.

“I’m good. I promise,” they say. “Uh, but. Thanks for…” They falter, trying to be sincere but not wanting Arkady to make fun of them. “…Not freaking out,” they finish.

Arkady looks a little taken aback, like she wasn’t expecting to be thanked. “It’s no big deal. Really.”

At the mention of Sana, something occurs to RJ that makes their heart drop to the bottom of their stomach. They don’t want to voice it aloud to Arkady, though. Unfortunately for them, she reads it on their face anyway.

“You've got this scrunched-up look on your face,” she remarks. “Whatever it is that’s suddenly bothering you, spit it out.”

Her tone is impatient, but fortunately RJ has spent enough time with Arkady by now to know that she sounds like that most of the time, so they know not to take it personally. Well, too personally.

RJ worries at their lip, and then bursts out, “Please don’t tell Sana what just happened.”

Arkady’s face does something complicated; she looks halfway between baffled and annoyed. “You think I’m – what – going to rat you out to the Captain?” A slight laugh creeps into her voice.

RJ is too worked up to be reassured, though. “It took so long for her to agree to send me out on a drop-off, and I know that I had a bad reaction just now, but I can guarantee it won’t reoccur and I won't let it affect my performance on-”

“Oh my god,” Arkady interrupts, running a hand over her face. “Kid, listen to me. First of all, never try to keep things from Tripathi. It’s pointless, and she’ll only pry it out of you anyway and then be disappointed that you tried to hide it from her. Save yourself the bother.”

Arkady shakes her head slightly. “Second of all, the Captain isn’t going to bench you because you had a bad reaction to something that reminded you of a combat situation. If she did, I’d never-”

She catches herself, but RJ is able to mentally complete the sentence. I’d never be allowed to go on a drop-off or supply run.

“Look,” Arkady says. “You can’t “guarantee” that something like that isn’t gonna happen to you again, maybe in the middle of a job. When it happens, you deal with it, and you get on with the job. If you can’t do that, then maybe you should stay behind on the ship. But if you can deal with it just like you would anything else unexpected that happens, then I don’t see the problem.”

She gives RJ a flat look, as if daring them to find a hole in her logic. RJ has to admit it makes sense. It’s going to take a lot longer than they realised to shake the mentality that was drilled into them at the Academy, and under the Regime: optimal performance, optimal efficiency. The idea that anything less – any mistake – is unacceptable. That being human is unacceptable.

They realise they haven’t said anything yet. Arkady doesn’t seem to be waiting for a response, and has gone back to drinking her tea. Maybe she can tell that RJ’s taking in what she said, but they still want to give some kind of acknowledgement.

“Yes,” they say, into the silence. Arkady raises an eyebrow at them. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Arkady replies.

“Uh, thank you,” RJ adds, because they feel like they should say it, even though Arkady definitely won’t want them to. They drink some more of their now lukewarm tea.

“Ugh, don’t thank me,” Arkady says, predictably. “And speaking of not telling the Captain things: we’re not telling her that I just gave you a goddamn pep talk.”

RJ smirks. They can’t resist pointing out: “Didn't you just say it was pointless to keep things from the Captain?”

“I did. I also forgot to tell you about the exception to that rule,” says Arkady breezily.

“Which is?” RJ asks, already knowing the answer.

“Me.”

RJ snorts a little. It’s a relief to be back on the familiar ground of trading snark back and forth and not thinking about panic attacks or worrying about what will happen the next time they need to pick up a gun. They wonder if they’d be able to sleep now if they went back to their room. Maybe, after a couple of audiobooks. They’re still only midway through the collection that Park gave them, and Park has been talking about persuading Arkady to connect to the local network on their next stop-off so that he can download even more.

RJ realises that they never got the chance to ask how Arkady came to be awake and making tea in the kitchen so late at night. It’s probable that she’d say it was none of their business – and isn’t, really, except for the fact that they’re crew, and they were on a drop-off together earlier where RJ watched Arkady get shot, more than once, in part because she was trying to draw fire – and attention – away from RJ and Sana.

Arkady’s finished her tea, but she hasn’t made a move to get up and either refill the mug with more water or make her excuses and go back to bed. Instead she’s staring into it, brow furrowed, like she’s thinking about something unsettling. There’s shadows under her eyes.

“Are you-” RJ begins, and then second-guesses themself. Except that now Arkady is blinking at them, confused, which means that RJ needs to come up with something to say instead, damn it. “Uh, I mean. Could you… not sleep?”

Arkady looks momentarily annoyed by the question, and RJ prepares to walk it back, but then her face clears and she just looks tired. “The pain makes it… difficult,” she admits, grudgingly. “And before you say anything about painkillers, the kind that Liu gave me have some weird side-effects if you keep taking them for too long, so I don’t wanna risk it.”

“And she can’t give you something else?” RJ asks, because well, it’s the obvious question.

“We’re running low,” Arkady says, shortly. “Meds have always been the hardest to get our hands on, even when we’re just moving them, never mind for our own usage. There’s even more of a shortage now. Black market prices have gone up – we think the Regime is requisitioning more, either because they’re expecting to need them, or just to keep them out of the hands of ‘insurgents’. And back-alley doctors, abortion clinics and anyone else they’ve decided doesn’t deserve to have them.”

RJ feels the now-familiar wave of anger at being confronted, yet again, with evidence of the Regime’s callousness and pointless cruelty towards the people it’s meant to be protecting. Normally when this happens they keep quiet, uncomfortable with voicing outrage towards something that, until recently, they were completely complicit in. But this time, they can’t keep it from slipping out. “Fuck that.”

Arkady just nods, though RJ thinks there’s something approving in it. “Point being, I’d rather go without for a few hours and be sure that we still have enough in reserve for an actual emergency.”

RJ looks at the spot of blood on Arkady’s side, dried now but still there, and wonders what would class as an ‘actual emergency’ in her book if not this. No doubt if it were Sana who had been hurt (well, hurt worse than she was), Arkady would be making a very different argument. But RJ isn’t Sana, which means there is no way they would get away with pointing that out.

“Are you planning to stay up all night drinking tea in the kitchen?” they ask instead.

Arkady’s mouth lifts a tiny bit at the corner. “I was planning to kill a bit of time doing that, then head down to the engine room and do some stretches. Gentle ones.”

“The… engine room?” RJ is completely nonplussed. They know Arkady and Violet go there fairly often, but they figured it was for a specific reason, not like… recreational engine room time. “Don’t you brew moonshine in there?”

“Not all the time,” Arkady says. “A batch lasts us a while, so we only brew some every few weeks. You want to steer clear of the engine room while that’s going on, but otherwise it’s fume-free, and pretty roomy. Have you even been down there yet?”

RJ has not.

Which is how they somehow find themself in the middle of the engine room with Arkady at something like three in the morning, moving slowly through a series of Tai Chi stretches.

RJ can safely say they never predicted that their night would end up like this. But as they finally fall into bed half an hour later, gradually dozing off with an audiobook playing in the background, they feel pretty okay with how it turned out.

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