#you CAN technically see it on like most folk but it's easier to just stare at your own and...

[ask-the-usa-manor]

America, how did you react when west Virginia asked for and then obtained the funds to repair a damaged bridge from the Soviet union?

Whoopsie daisy, my hand slipped and I wrote a 3000+ word short story for this ancient ask. Well. It’s old, I just got around to proofreading it now, but—

Psst! You can also read it on Wattpad.

West Virginia Robs His Father Blind and Almost Starts a Nuclear Armageddon

"What'd they say?"

For a long moment, the only answer she received was the sound of nature moving around her. The songs of bugs humming, the trees rustling with a warm breeze, and the pitter-patter of critters racing about the tree branches. Get rekt, nature. Unfortunately, Vulcan wasn't talking to you.

Vulcan's company took his sweet time processing her words before offering a very lazy: "...Hn?"

Exasperated, the town flicked a beetle off of her sleeve. Sometimes she wished the stories she heard of the states being somewhat snobby yet professional were true, "...West. What'd they say?"

West Virginia paused, staring into the drink in his hand as he leaned against the wooden fence. Not the most comfortable position in the world, given the chipped paint scratching into him. He knew for sure he'd be picking the pieces out of his shirt for the next couple of days, but he supposed it was better than the alternative tree. He preferred chipped paint to splinters, it was easier to spot. Plus, less free acupuncture, thank you very much.

Of course, not that he minds leaning against a tree every so often, especially on a summer evening as nice as this. Besides, trees didn't always give you splinters. But the last time he did, he got this one splinter in his arm that he couldn't see so it was stuck with him for at least a week before he had to complain about it to Tennessee and-

Wait. What were they talking about?

"Who?" He asked, giving Vulcan 2.37/4 of his totally undivided attention.

Vulcan stifled a sigh. She dully wondered how frustrated she could get with him before it caused some sort of an issue. He was technically her boss. Well, boss's boss. Couldn't forget her county, Mingo. Especially after Mingo went through all the trouble of cornering the state and getting him in contact with her.

"Your folks in the government?"

West Virginia looked up, giving her a bit of a squint as he tried to recall, "...No more spite dying?"

"Ye- What? No," Vulcan blinked. She chose not to question that little tidbit of information and went on, "The money."

"Ah..." West nodded slowly, as if he completely understood, "...What for?"

"Cat fur, to make kitten britches- The bridge, West. I want to know about my bridge," Vulcan huffed, "The railroad company's been plastering anti-trespassing signs on their path now, we can't use it much longer! We need to get our access to Kentucky back."

"Ew, you actually want to go to Kentucky? Your life, I guess..." WV sighed, "Right. That bridge..."

That darn broken bridge. The same topic he's been dancing around for one and a half hours. Not his record time of three decades, but he supposed he should get to the point.

Truthfully, West Virginia was overjoyed when she came to him for help. Sure, a certain unnamed older sister of his to the east insists that he's a no-good hillbilly- which may or may not be true, depending on who you ask- but he likes helping people. He likes being useful. Ish.

I mean, not that he feels like he does nothing now, with the mines and other main economic ventures of his rapidly becoming a thing of the past. Nope. No way. He's not a flameout trying to scrap his life together, he's just a helpful fella. The glory days aren't over. He knows that.

For sure.

"Yeah. Yeah," West Virginia waved his hand, "They said no."

Vulcan gave him a squint. A very judgy one. WV dully noted it and ranked it far below Rhode Island's, but certainly above Iowa's. Peppy little cornfield frolicker.

"What?" She prodded, hoping there was more to it. There had to be, right? The government of her own state wouldn't overlook an issue as easy to solve as this.

"In an... alarming turn of events," West Virginia scratched the back of his neck, letting out an awkward chuckle, "They won't pawn it over, and I... am dirt broke. In state terms, anywho. We uh. We need those funds for other things. Apparently."

Admittedly, West Virginia's financial situation wasn't as... boisterous as it once was considered. Whoopsies.

"How are you even out of money? What have you been getting?" Vulcan was absolutely flabbergasted, "I've seen potholes deep enough to bury my gran in them! You don't even spend that much on yourself! You've been wearing that same brown belt for the past two decades!"

"It's two-in-one, actually," West Virginia pointed out. After a long pause, he flipped it over a bit, "It's reversible. It has a black side."

"...Only for you to always keep it on the brown side-?"

"Only for me to always keep it on the brown side."

"Are belts that expensive these days?"

"$1.54. Inflation, amiright? Anywho," West Virginia gently plopped his empty cup onto a tree stump, "That's the sitch. The situation. The sitchy-wation. It's bad, I know. Sorry."

Vulcan turned away from WV, but not to find something to chuck at him like he thought she would. She paced for a good couple of moments, back and forth as the leaves crunched beneath her feet. She stopped and looked back to West Virginia, "...And what about your dad?"

West Virginia's eyes lit up, "Oh! Right, well-"

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"PA-!"

Pennsylvania turned around. West Virginia smacked a hand in his face and shoved him aside as he raced past.

"Not you, fuck you. DAD!"

A rather disheveled America spun around in his desk chair, starting his stopwatch with a click, "Unless you're dying, ten seconds, time starts now."

"Give me money. Bridge. Now."

"...No... no please, Gin?"

"'nO pLeAsE, gIn?'" West Virginia mocked, "That's what you sound like. That's what you sound like."

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"I tried my best," West Virginia sighed, "I presented my case with as much grace as I possibly could."

"That doesn't seem like much."

"Hey, it's harder than it looks! He's been overwhelmed lately," West Virginia shrugged, "Not by us states, which is shocking. Someone's trying to steal our title as the highest blood pressure raisers."

Their longest streak of maintaining it lasted roughly a century. It's awarded yearly and decided by seeing how close the land o' the free gets to blacking out.

"Then what unholy creature irritates him most?" Vulcan pressed, "We can always ask 'em to bully him into it."

"Irritates him most?" West Virginia blinked, "We already asked my dad?"

"Oh. No, not- Other than him."

"England's busy."

"I wasn't serious, but- What about-?"

"Assume most of our extended family is busy."

"Aw. Is-?"

"I literally have no idea where the Department of Treasury would be right now, and I think he's still not going anywhere near Dad due to the 'we can't fund dogs in bathrobes' tiff. That got... That got heated."

"Dammit. H-"

"The IRS can't be summoned by our mere mortal forms."

"...Do we have any form that isn't our 'mere mortal' ones?"

"Kentucky has Colonel Sanders."

A distant Kentuckian 'whoop' sounded faintly across the gaping trench, on the other side of the close state border. Far too close for comfort. He's lurking.

Vulcan tugged at her hair, "...Nobody else?"

"Someone who ticks off the USA? Who has a looming and- dare I say- cold presence? Causing disturbance that can alter the world? In the 1970s?" West Virginia shrugged and shook his head, "Nope, not that I can think of. Bye, Vulcan! See you around. Nice chat."

"Ah, bummer. Bye."

CAST

Vulcan - Vulcan

Kentucky's Voice - Kentucky

America - America

West Virginia - Mountain Mama

Kevin - Steve Carell

Pennsylvania - Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson in a Wig with 99.999% of our Budget—

"HOLY SHIT," West Virginia screeched, busting down Vulcan's bedroom door three days later as the clock read a bright and early 11:52PM, "THE USSR!"

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"So," West Virginia bounced in his office chair excitedly, "I did a thing. I found an in. I planned a plot! We're getting you that bridge!"

Vulcan patted the desk, observing the environment of West Virginia's 'workplace.' It was a simple office, nearly a clone of the governor's, but smaller. It had a distinct smell of 'I don't actually know how to use cleaning chemicals but my janitor's on maternity leave so I'm just going to use every bottle I find and let nature take its course' clinging to it, but Vulcan would take that over the stench of cigarette smoke any day.

West Virginia was shuffling a stack of papers. They really didn't need to be shuffled, but he figured it added some level of importance to them. How to Look Professional When You're Actually Doing Nothing: a set of skills passed down to him by a random assortment of politicians he didn't care for very much. I'm not saying names, it's open to your interpretation. However, regardless of your political standing, we both know you just thought of at least. Three current politicians. How dare you! This is the 70s, be historically accurate while reading my story about personified countries with whimsical flag faces and overdramatized emotions inserted into world events that impact billions of lives.

"I wrote to the USSR! It took a couple drafts to get what I wanted to say right," He waved dismissively to the crumpled papers on his desk and floor. Vulcan spotted one that just said 'PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE-', but what works works, she supposed, "And he's willing to take a crack at the bridge issue!"

"You wrote the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and he just... responded? How'd you go and get him to agree?"

"I'm a very skilled diplomat."

"..."

...

"...Of course, the condition of where we would discuss the issue did come up, but-"

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"Why is that whore on my newly mowed front lawn?"

North Carolina rubbed his face tiredly as the coffee machine finished its job, caught off-guard by America's sudden tone change. 

"Dad, you can't keep disrespecting your own postal service, it's-" North Carolina glanced over his should stopped short, "Oh. That skank."

America stood inches away from the glass- mildly fogging it up with his breath- and looking at the country as if the visitor were a hissing, rabid naked mole-rat foaming at the mouth with rabies.

"My day has been irrevocably ruined."

"Is there anything happening for him to need to...be here?"

"There's nothing that can happen for him to need to be anywhere. At anytime," America mourned as he stared out of the window for another silent moment, "...We need to burn the front yard."

"We don't need to burn the front yard."

"I don't care about my landscaping that much," He took his coffee mug from NC, "I'm going to throw this at him."

"Don't- don't. Don't...?"

"Are the children safe?"

"Uhm... Yes?"

"What about the international children?"

"International children?"

"West Germany, South Korea-"

"You mean the grown adults? The grown adults running their grown countries with grown politicians?"

"I don't like your tone."

"Sure. Sure, Dad. I'm sure they're fine-"

"Dammit, he's knocking on my door," America exasperatedly rubbed his eyes, "We need to burn that, too. Shame. I liked that one."

"We don't need to burn- It's fine, it's locked," The state assured, "It's locked, we can pretend we didn't hear him, play dead, and I know damn well none of the others are going to-"

North Carolina paused as West Virginia politely welcome USSR in with a firm handshake. America's eye twitched. Shocked. Betrayed. Possibly gobsmacked.

"Well. Well then..." NC started to make another pot of coffee. He's sure it'll be needed it, "I hope you know it's unethical to burn him...?"

America sulked back over to his seat. He rested his head on the table. The lifted it. Then rested it again. Then- Oh. No. He's just banging his head on his desk while being mindful of his health insurance.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

It was surprisingly easy for West Virginia to get the entire personification of the Soviet Union into the house. He just walked right in.

It's not like they were discreet, either. Virginia was reading on the couch in one of the sitting rooms when the strange duo passed by. She barely even moved. She glanced up once, squinted at them, then looked back to her novel. She was off the clock.

They passed Secret Service in the hallway, too. All he accomplished was borderline tackling DC and dragging him into a nearby dark room. That didn't help anyone. Especially not the capitol's spine.

When they finally got to the door of USA's study, West Virginia's knock was greeted by a muffled groan of pure agony for thirty seconds. Somehow, less discreet than their entrance. It got louder and more pained as it dragged on. Soviet didn't seem remotely fazed. It eventually subsided, replaced by a shuffling WV could only assume was shoving everything his father wouldn't want who he considered the #1 threat to life on earth to see into his desk drawers. The Mountain State vaguely wondered if that included the gag gift dartboard with the face of a certain union to the left of him on it from Australia a good couple of Christmases ago.

A couple of unintelligable whispers later, America open the door. He had a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. Looking past him, Gin concluded that he did not, in fact, hide the dartboard. Or cover the crude phrases written on it. It was moved to a more central location.

"Good afternoon, Sovyetskikh!" USA grabbed the guest's hand a shook it firmly. Maybe a little too firmly. He was white knuckling the handshake, "I wasn't aware you were stopping by today! What an unwel- unexpected surprise! And West Virginia...! You're. Also here."

West Virginia waved enthusiastically. America gave him a tight smile only a parent who wants to act nice in front of company but will raise hell once they're gone could give.

"Hello," USSR tilted his head to look a little further into the room, still stuck in the lengthy handshake, "Hello, Texas."

It was a miracle that North Carolina didn't jump out of the window right then and there.

"Well, come on in! I certainly hope you're not here to tell us any bad news," America laughed. He didn't seem to be breaking the handshake anytime soon, so Soviet maintained it while the two awkwardly shuffled into the study together. WV was quick to follow.

"I have one like that," The Euroasian absentmindedly nodded to the dartboard, "From Australia during the 1964 Olympics."

"Ah. I'm sorry to hear that."

"My face is not on mine."

"We got ours in 1964, too," West Virginia recalled, "Aussie must've had a discount somewhere."

America's second betrayal of the day. Third, counting the time he went 'pspsps' to his cat Laundry this morning resulting in her staring at him then walking away. Somehow, that wounded him more than the other two.

"To answer your question: no bad news." Soviet paused to think, "...Yes, no bad news. For you. Today."

America nodded. NC put down the baseball bat he was holding behind his back and nudged it behind a nearby chair. USSR ignored it for the most part, trying to prompt the dissolution of the handshake. It wasn't working.

"I expected a sawed-off shotgun," He mused.

"Soviet. I believe that the usage of those kinds of national stereotypes are very harmful to society as a whole," America remarked, "Now then. If you're here for diplomacy, do you. Do you want some vodka, or...?"

"He's not here for diplomacy," WV cut in.

North Carolina started to reach back behind the chair. 

"We need to borrow your study,"!West Virginia continued, "My office has water damage."

North Carolina's hand slowly retreated.

"Oh! Yes, of course, and-" America squinted, "...Why?"

"Well, the pipes burst on the floor above me. Leaked down through the ceiling," The West Virginian rattled on, talking with his hands, "Not ideal, but the damage should be fixed within two weeks or so. I blame Weirton. We were talking about the weird sounds from the walls before, and I said we should contact a plumber, but he was all like 'no, maybe it's rodents,' but I knew it wasn't the rodents and-"

"That's not- No," America's smile faltered for moment, "No. Not that."

"I agree," Soviet nodded solemnly, "Rodents sound much different than plumbing issues."

"You would know how rodents sound you little ra-" United States interrupted himself and looked back to his lazily named son, "Why do you need an office to talk to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?"

"Because the diner was too loud."

"Gin. Do you like being in my will?"

Now's the right time to spring it, West Virginia supposed. From the twitching in America's stars, he could tell he might make the poor man have an aneurysm. Goodness, he doesn't want to kill his dad! He just wants to extort an exuberant amount of money from him with questionable ethics!

"He's going to help me fund a bridge for the town of Vulcan. You know? The one I asked you about? The one I asked my own father to help me with? In my time of need?" West Virginia feigned innocence, "That one? The one you refused to help me with getting? It's alright though, Soviet Union wants to help. He'll hear me out on funding bridges for the troubled folks in my state."

"I will be more than happy to help him," Sovyetskikh assured, "Seeing as a simple bridge is... inopportune for you."

America vaguely wondered what his life would be like if he never had children. Not that he doesn't love them, but he imagined his blood pressure would be much healthier.

Speaking of blood pressure, North Carolina was helpfully making note that the award of Highest Blood Pressure Raiser must go to West Virginia this year. The trophy's finally back in the hands of the states! This year might even be a contender for breaking the record, if America manages to get into cardiac arrest.

Quite frankly, America has no idea what the hell West Virginia was talking about. He had already forgotton about the request. He vaguely remembered some sort of rambling from him a good while ago, but he's not the best listener when he's practically alive by the grace of an IV of caffeine.

Still. Fake it 'til you make it.

Too bad he was a terrible actor.

"The bridge?" America gasped loudly, "Wh- Oh! The Vulcan bridge? What do you mean? You're getting three hundred thou-"

West Virginia shot him a look of unfathomable sadness.

"...Three hundred thousand and one million dollars for it," USA swiftly finished, "It was. It was in the works since you've asked me. These things just take a bit of time."

The swindler's smile grew. North Carolina, upon realizing there were going to be no heart attacks today, shook his head at how easily his dad caved under embarassment and giddily slipped out of the room to inform Florida that his score had been beaten this year.

"Oh, right, of course," WV nodded, "I should've guessed you were up to something like that! Your notice was probably ruined with the water damage before I could read it!"

"Ehm- Yeah! Probably! Those- Those darn water pipes, amiright?"

"Looks like I don't need you anymore, Soviet," West Virginia turned and waved, "Welp! Thanks, you two! Off to tell Vulcan. Try not to start a nuclear armaggedon. It'd ruin my new carpet. And bridge."

With that, he was gone in a flash. His cheering for his successful scam could be heard in the distance. Then tripping over a lump in the carpet in the distance. Then silence.

He.

He's probably fine.

It was quiet for a long time afterwards.

"Well, looks like that settles everything..." America reasoned.

The long silence restarted as soon as it was broken.

"...You should," America began, "You probably have. Work. To do. People to see. So..."

The two unions stood in an uncomfortable silence for a couple of minutes.

"...Oh, to hell with it," America patted USSR on the shoulder, finally breaking the handshake, "You disgust me on a professional, personal, and spiritual level so I want you to leave."

"Never touch me again."

[naughtyneganjdm]

Parenthood

Summary: Being a parent is hard and exhausting, but being married to Joel makes it so much easier for Y/N after becoming a mother for the first time.

Characters: Joel Miller, the reader (OC)

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, etc.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31264607

Notes: Someone requested me to do a short one-shot for Joel and I know I've never written a Joel story directly, so this is my first. Technically I write a version of a character inspired by Joel for The Guest/Arcadia, BUT -- this is what I came up with. In case people didn't know Y/N means your name or you can insert any name you want. Thanks to anyone that reads it! And I also apologize for any potential errors, this was written rather fast and edited when I was really tired.

There it was again, that same incessant buzzing. Truthfully, Y/N should have been used to it by now. It had already been three months. It was the same time, every single night. Yet, when this time of night came, she never found herself ready. Drowsily, her eyes fluttered to an open. The room was still blurry while her tired eyes adjusted to the dark room around her. The only thing that lit up the room was the bright, red light from her alarm clock that she had set up. Three in the morning always came too fast.

Parenthood was the hardest thing she had ever experienced. Not that she didn’t love it. Hell, she loved every second of it, but you’re never prepared for how much work it truly takes when you have a baby. Everyone always warned her that it would kick her ass. Most of the time she thought it was a joke, but now she knew better. Then again, this wasn’t a normal world that she was living in. Maybe if things were ordinary and the world was like it used to be, things would be easier.

The fears of the infected were always lingering at the back of her mind. Not only that, but those that were trying to infiltrate the community was a repeating fear in her mind. There was never a dull moment in Jackson. The anxiety had always been there, but it just enhanced when she became a parent. Because then, you weren’t only thinking about yourself, but you were also thinking about the life of your child.

Finally mustering up enough strength, she turned her head into the pillow and let out a small groan. Sliding her palms out over the cool sheets beneath her, she pushed up with her strength and got herself into a seated position. Throwing her legs over the side of the bed caused a chill to fill her entire body. With the blankets and sheets wrapped around her on this cool fall night it had kept her nice and cozy. Without them, the briskness of the chilly Wyoming air had flooded in through the windows to her bedroom and she shuddered.

Curling her fingers around the edge of the bed, she dug them into the mattress and let out a yawn, “It’s my turn this time baby…”

Hearing nothing in return, she looked over her shoulder to see that her husband was missing from his side of the bed. Stretching out her hand toward his side of the bed, she felt the coolness of the sheets beside her showing that he had been gone for quite some time.

“Joel,” an undeniable grin tugged at the corners of her lips when she thought about her husband. There were no doubts in her mind where he was. It was where he was most nights. Even though they had set the alarm and she was always waking up, this was the same way most nights.

Getting up from the bed, she moved groggily through their dark bedroom making sure not to knock into anything until she managed to turn on the light. It may have been hard waking up at three in the morning for the feedings, but this was easily becoming her favorite time of the day. Quietly opening the bedroom door, she tip-toed through the hallway to try and stay quiet. A light filtered into the dark hallway just right outside the door of the baby’s room.

Coming to a pause, she stayed still in the hallway when she heard the faint sounds of Joel singing quietly and it made her heart full. Joel’s singing was something that had drawn her to him when she had first met him. On the outside Joel seemed like such a shy man. For him to sing, he really had to trust you at first, which of course blew her mind when she found out he wanted to be a singer when he was younger. Even though he was ridiculously charming, handsome and multi-talented, Joel had grown to become someone who was very self-conscious of himself. It was something she had been working on with him for quite some time. After helping him gain some confidence and getting him to open up to people, the walls he had worked so hard to build were slowly breaking down. Now he was giving guitar lessons to the folks in Jackson which was something Joel wouldn’t have done when she had first met him.

Dragging her feet, she stopped at the door to lean against the doorframe. The sight alone caused her heart to flutter inside of her chest. Joel was sitting in the corner of the room in the rocking chair that he had made himself. He was wearing his pajama pants with a burp cloth thrown over his shoulder. In his arms was their son. Joel’s eyes were locked on him with such love and adoration while he sang to him.

Awe flooded through her. It was a picture perfect sight. The two of her boys together reminded her all over again why she fought so hard for the life that she did. Having the two of them in her life made everything worth it.  Every day she found herself swooning over her husband in a new way. Joel made it easy to love him. On the outside he appeared to be rough and tough, but he had the biggest heart of anyone she had ever known.

A few minutes she spent just watching the two of them together until Joel’s eyes finally lifted up from their son to see that she was observing. It drew a smile to tug at the corners of his lips, but he didn’t stop singing. Once she knew that Joel was aware she was there, she moved into the bedroom and stepped beside Joel to look down at their son. The sound of Joel’s voice was calming him to the point of falling asleep again. As Joel finished the song, their son was fast asleep.

“He’s beautiful,” she reached out to place her hand over Joel’s bare shoulder, squeezing firmly at it. Joel leaned his head against her arm cherishing the warmth of her close to him. Seeing their son in his arms was beautiful. It blew her mind that together they were able to make something so pure and perfect.

“That’s because he looks like his mama,” Joel insisted and the compliment was intensified by the drawl of his Texan accent. It made her smile, but her eyes were drawn back to their son. Joel cuddled him in closer to his chest and hummed before speaking up again. “Isn’t that right Brayden?”

“Well, I think he looks like his daddy,” she corrected him, her fingers trailing up the side of Joel’s neck and toward his thick graying hair. Caressing over his scalp caused Joel’s eyes to close tightly and a worn-out sigh escaped his throat. “How long have you been in here babe?”

“A few hours,” Joel answered clearing his throat as he nodded over toward the baby bottle that was on the dresser. “I reckon I may have fed him like a half hour earlier than we were supposed to, but he was getting fussy and I figured I’d give you a break.”

“Well that’s because he knows his daddy is always going to be there to pamper him,” she continued to stroke her fingers through Joel’s hair. It was unbelievable how good of a father Joel turned out to be. Even with being as busy as he was for the people of Jackson, he always made sure to be there for Brayden. Even though parenthood was exhausting, she was thankful that Joel was the person that she got to share it with. Overall, Joel was a phenomenal father and husband. Without him, she was certain that she would have driven herself crazy. “I love you so much, you know that?”

“I love you too,” Joel lifted his head to stare up at her with exhausted, hazel eyes. When his eyes connected with hers, everything in the world seemed to fall into place for her. Joel was everything she could ever want and more. Lowering down, her lips collided with his and she delicately kissed him. The coarse hairs from his short beard tickled at her face and it made her smile against the kiss. When Joel noticed her smiling, he softly chuckled against her lips and hummed. “What?”

“You’re just…so perfect,” she declared, sliding her palm down over the side of his chiseled face. Appreciating his features, she knew that Joel was everything she could ever dream of. When she first met Joel, everyone labeled him as the handsome, grumpy, closed off brother to Tommy. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever think she would be married and have children with him, but here they were and she was so thankful for it.

“I think you may be a little biased,” Joel winked at her giving her another small peck against her lips before giving his attention back to their sleeping son in his arms.

“You should sleep sometimes you know. You work your ass off. What is Jackson going to do if you collapse from exhaustion?” she inquired, palming in over his muscular shoulders and over the planes of his upper back.

“If something was going to happen to me from sleep exhaustion, it would have already. In the last twenty years, it would have already happened with how much shit I’ve gone through,” Joel denied her claim with a snort. Pulling Brayden up closer to him, he pressed gentle kiss over his son’s forehead and sighed. “I think I’m actually used to not sleeping. In the past, I’d have so many nightmares that I hated sleeping. I got used to it. Now, I’m just afraid of going to sleep.”

“Why?” she frowned, lowering down to her knees beside the rocking chair and Joel looked to her with a saddened expression that made her chest hurt. Sliding her palm in over his thigh in a supportive caress, she tried to get him to open up to her in a calming way. “Joel?”

“Because everything is so…perfect,” Joel simply stated with a small shrug of his shoulders. It took him a minute to gather his thoughts. Biting at his bottom lip, he made it obvious that he was really having a hard time putting words together to make her understand. “My whole life, I’ve never had things go right, ever. I’m afraid that one day I’m going to wake up and this is all going to be a dream or something bad is going to happen to Brayden.”

“Oh honey, you can’t think like that,” she tried to hush him and Joel tilted his head to the side, his eyes tearing over as he thought about everything that had happened in his life.

“You don’t understand. Since I’ve been a teenager things have just been going wrong. You know I had Sarah as a teenager. I was a stupid kid that wasn’t thinking things out. Ya know? At the time, I knew I had to get my shit together and give the best life I could to my baby girl. Then her mother took off on me and ran away. I tried giving her the best possible life I could, but…” Joel found himself getting caught up in his emotions when he thought about his late daughter.

“You did the best with what you had,” she insisted knowing that she had many discussions with Tommy about Joel's past with his daughter. Even Ellie had opened up to her about what she knew when it came to Joel’s daughter that he had lost so long ago. Her eyes fell to the broken watch that he still wore on his wrist and it broke her heart to know that these thoughts were wearing heavy on Joel.

“But I still lost her. No matter how hard I fought for her, it wasn’t good enough,” Joel countered and a single tear slid down the side of his face. Trying to attempt to open up to her why he was feeling this way was hard because even he knew that he was complicated. “Then for the next twenty years it was just nothing, but shit. I would try, but something was always happening. It wasn’t until I got here in Jackson and I met you that it felt like for once something was going right. I wondered if I had died back in Colorado because you…you were too good to be true.”

Damn, that hit her deep. Instead of saying anything, she reached out to slide her hand in over his arm giving him a supportive grasp.

“I was a broken mess and I was pretty much an adoptive father. I figured I would come to the town; give Ellie a life here and then that would be it. I accepted that life. Then the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on suddenly has eyes for me,” Joel chuckled thinking back to when he had first arrived in Jackson. It was a few months before the two of them really had a good conversation, but their chemistry was almost immediate. “I couldn’t believe my lucky stars that someone like you was interested in someone like me.”

“You know, you were the one that asked me out first,” she teased him, poking him playfully in the ribs and he laughed. Almost immediately, he looked to make sure that their playful teasing didn’t wake Brayden up. Adjusting their son in his arms, Joel looked to her again and shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah, but you made it very clear that you liked me. I just had no game. So, I didn’t know if I was stupid or not. So when I asked you out I was actually feeling like a total moron on the inside because I figured you might say no and I was wrong the whole time. From the moment you said yes, I knew that you were the one,” Joel stammered, a hint of a smile pressing in over his handsome features when he thought back to her past with him. “They say when you know, you know. Well that’s what it was like with me. The moment I made you laugh and smile, I knew that you were the one that I was meant to be with. It was like a horse’s back kick, it hit me that hard.”

“Leave it to you to come up with that kind of comparison,” she winked watching his nose wrinkling in amusement.

“I just meant I knew you were everything I wanted and more. I didn’t understand why someone like you would wanna be with a fool like me,” Joel recalled his thoughts from the past and his eyes surveyed over the ring he had been able to find when they went scavenging through a nearby city. They were just lucky that they knew someone who could make him a wedding band in the town. Getting married was a surprise. One that Joel never thought he would experience again. With his past, he closed his heart off from ever getting that close to someone again. But then everything changed when he met Y/N. “Then you said yes to marrying me and everything felt right. I had you…I had Ellie…and then this beautiful boy comes into our lives. God, I almost reckon my heart stopped on the spot when you told me that you were pregnant.”

“Tommy told me he thinks you passed out,” she informed him with a tiny laugh knowing that she had told Joel when Tommy was in their home. It kind of just fell out of her lips when she couldn’t get Joel to focus at the time. He was always so busy with everything that it was hard to make him think only about one thing. “He always teases that he had to catch you.”

“Well, I think you just almost knocked me right outta my boots,” Joel snickered, acknowledging that it did shock him. “I just never thought that it would be possible for me to have something like this. Happiness. Every night I sit here and wonder how I got so lucky to have you here in my life. The both of you. Ellie too. I worry that I don’t deserve you or any of you.”

“Joel,” she whispered, lifting up enough to palm in over the side of his face to get him to look at her. Leading him to her, she pressed a tender kiss over his lips taking her time to appreciate the chills it would give her every time she kissed the man of her dreams. “We’re lucky to have you. I can’t think of someone else I would rather share this life with. You…you’ve made me believe in second chances. You’ve made me believe in something more.”

“I just have lost anyone I have ever cared for,” Joel confessed, his eyes tearing over as he spoke and he found it hard to look at her when he admitted that. “Everyone I have ever cared for has gotten hurt or left me. That’s why I’m in here every night. I’m just so afraid…”

“And you have every right to feel the way you do. Life has been so hard, but I can tell you this. Since you walked into my life…you were the only thing that has ever felt right. You brought Ellie into my life and that kid is a pleasure to be around. Then you gave me Brayden and between the three of you I know what happiness truly is,” she explained with a quiet breath knowing that she was getting emotional as well with everything he was telling her. “I think our small little family here is going to do everything we can to take care of each other. We’ll do whatever it takes, just like we always have. I just know that every day I wake up thanking the world that I have you here in it with me.”

“I love you, so much,” Joel blurt out, his hazel eyes exceedingly serious when he nodded. “I just want to be the best father and husband that I can be. I want to give you the closest thing to a real life that I can. I want all of you happy.”

“We are happy. I don’t know if you realize it or not, but the only time that little man is happy is when he is in your arms. He knows who is daddy is and he loves you…so much,” she promised, getting up from where she was kneeling so she could lean over to press a kiss against his temple. “If you’re worried, after tonight we should move his crib into our room until he’s old enough to be alone. That way you can feel safer knowing he is with us.”

“You’d be okay with that?” Joel asked for confirmation and she nodded slowly. Of course she was okay with that. Nothing about that would bother her. Carefully, Joel pulled himself up from the rocking chair and moved over to put Brayden back in his crib. Standing at the edge of the crib, his large fingers wrapped around the sides of it while he watched his son sleep. “I worry about things because when I was a father last time, I was young. Now I’m fucking old.”

“Joel,” she laughed, moving in behind him to wrap her arms around his muscular body. Taking advantage, she managed to press a kiss over his shoulder since he was slouched down enough for her to do so.

“I’m serious,” Joel chuckled while her right hand caressed over his the center of his bare torso, teasing her fingers through the dark hairs that covered his body.  When she traced over the puckered flesh where his scar was, it made him look down at her fingers. After keeping Ellie safe and being able to have this family, all the scars on his body almost felt worth it. All that pain he went through was worth it to have the family that he now had. “I’m an old fart.”

“You are the only person I know that has the amount of energy that you do. I’m pretty sure you could outrun a lot of the kids in town here Joel. I don’t know how you do everything that you do, but your age is not a factor that I’m worried about,” she assured him, sliding in beside him and he loosely wrapped his arm around her shoulders while they stared down at their son. “Plus, I already know you’re an amazing father. That’s one thing I will never doubt.”

“I hope so,” Joel sighed pulling her in closer to him while they watched their son sleep. “I can make him another crib. I’ll go down to the basement so we’ll have two. I was carving him one of my horses, but I suppose I can stop to give us something more useful.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” she knew that Joel’s workshop got moved to the basement as soon as they had their son together. This room was full of wooden sculptures before and half made acoustic guitars, but now it was their son’s bedroom. Still, some of Joel’s sculptures he had done helped lighten the room for their little boy. “Are you ready to get some sleep?”

“Just a little bit longer,” Joel sighed wanting to be with his son for a few more moments before they would go back to bed. Wrapping both of his arms around her, Joel squeezed her tight to him and kept her in his arms firmly. “You are the first person who has made feel like I’m not alone in a very long time Y/N. I hope you know that. You gave me the greatest gift of all time and that was a second chance at life. I love you and I always will.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Blighted

For my precious Sunshine, @5-secondsofcolor's birthday!! Which is technically now, because it is 1 AM on the 20th of May and I am a mad woman. Love you and I hope you have an amazing day, when you see this of course.

Here is your fic, FBI/Behavior Analyst!Calum. Female OC.

Ivy says she's cursed after taking the same career path that took her father's life. Calum's new on the team, a liaison and media specialist, but he's looking to get his toes wet.

AKA your regular old jaded pessimist veteran and bright eyed rookie buddy cop story. Please enjoy!

CW: In depth descriptions of death/crime scenes. Depictions of violence, gore, and blood.

Enjoy my masterlist (on a haitus)

Search for more writing in the h writes tag

________________________

The whiteboard never leaves. It glows behind her closed eyelids. When staring down at the neck of a bottle, she sees it floating just as the bottom of her drink. She’s cursed. But she knew that the moment she tried out for the academy. The second the thought floated across her mind, she would be doomed just like her father. Ivy tried her best to reroute herself--she got into the arts, was first chair flute in her highschool’s orchestra. She was president of the Homecoming committees her junior and senior year, and worked during the summers at her church's camp.

And yet when she went into school for her degree, she gravitated towards psychology and criminal justice. She saw her mother’s fear. The closer it came to graduation and the more the two of them talked about what she would do after graduating, the more the thought lingered, I want to get into the Bureau like Dad. But she couldn’t utter that. She couldn’t say those words without tears welling up in her mother’s eyes.

Ivy suspected her mother always knew about the desires. Ivy didn’t remember all the nights clearly, but sometimes she’d peek out her bedroom door and see the glow of the light downstairs. Ivy followed it, side stepping the creaky fourth step from the top and from between the banister’s she’d find her dad sitting at the dining room table. The kitchen light glowed from behind him and his tie would barely hang on around his neck.

“Boo,” he’d say quietly, knowing the slight shuffle of Ivy’s feet.

“How’d you know I was there, Daddy?” she’d ask, carrying herself the rest of the way down the stairs and make her way through the living room to climb into his lap.

“I can hear your feet above me,” he’d respond, pointing above them.

And they’d spend an hour, sitting at the dining room table. Ivy asked about her dad’s latest trip. He only ever told her when she was young that they were helping save people, putting bad people away. Ivy wonders if this is where it started. If this was where her father casted the spell, leaving Ivy somehow starry eyed about what it really was he did. Ivy would always look at this job with a little bit of that hope that her younger self had, and she’d always be fucked to never be able to walk away from this line of work.

It would kill her--much like it had killed her dad. But unlike him, she’d see the bullet spiral out of the barrel. Her dad had her and her mother to get back too. It wasn’t a weakness. Ivy admired her father for sticking with his dreams and also making the hard calls to make sure his family knew he cared too. But the need to decide would always be a slight hindrance, would always be the key to living or dying in this line of work.

All that’s left of her father, besides the memories and a few of his old t-shirts that got remade into pillows, is the whiteboard she keeps at her desk. There’s a whiteboard for the entire team to use of course. But this whiteboard is the one that her father used in his office. The one where he made his notes, scribbles. The one she’d write notes to him in the bottom left corner that never disappeared until she wanted to replace the note with something new.

“Thomas, look alive, and enjoy.” The manilla folder hits her desk with a quiet thwack. Ivy blinks from the whiteboard up to her senior officer. Kennedy carries on, dropping folders on every desk and each one of them stands without needing any further prompting.

Kennedy’s been in the field for years. It was all over his face with the deep frown lines. His brow seemed permanently furrowed, as if he questioned every waking second. Ivy liked to tease he worried even about sleep. But no one could sink a decade and a half into this line of work and not come out on the other side with a healthy amount of suspicion.

“And where’s this new guy?” Kennedy asks, glancing over the office.

Ivy looks up from her copy of the file. She heard rumors of someone else coming by the office, assisting them occasionally on cases. But those rumors floated around weeks ago, long enough that she chalked it up to just that--rumors. It doesn’t shock her though. Things start at rumors often, and sometimes they come to fruition and sometimes they don’t. Ivy follows Kennedy’s eyeline and doesn’t spy any new faces.

“Want me to keep an eye out for any lost souls?” Ivy offers, glancing back up to Kennedy.

“Nah, I need your eyes on this one. Head up to the conference room and I’ll be there once he shows up.”

With a nod, Ivy closes the file. She swipes the whiteboard from her desk with a couple markers and heads up to the conference room. The rest of the team sat flipping through their files too, Jenkins sitting right near the front but moved down one seat. They’re not new, having been around for a couple years. But Ivy can tell their type--getting in chummy with the boss, trying too hard. They’re a good addition, but Ivy’s waiting for the day they take a hunch and it doesn’t lead to the results they want. A loss will show their true colors, how well they can handle being wrong sometimes. No one on the team is perfect, they’re all hedging bets. Ivy’s taken her lumps of hunches being made too late, or the wrong bets placed. They’re not often. No one likes them. But they happen.

Diaz, Russell, and Burke and scattered throughout the rest of the table. The three of them have been there longer than Ivy. But they all accepted her with open arms. Diaz and Burke were more muscular. They had the brains to match, but they came up the pipeline from their local PD departments and aren’t afraid to get into a tussle. More often than not, Ivy winds up pulling Burke from fights than she’d care to admit. Diaz’s much too big for Ivy to attempt physically restraining, so she referee’s those fights that he gets into.

Russell’s their man behind the screen. He was good at getting through the internet loops, figuring out how to sort databases for the information they need without so much red tape and delay. He preferred to stay behind the lines, but could handle a tussle. Ivy doesn’t count herself as the brains. But her gut had some sort of true north needle that, more often than not, was right. She could see patterns faster than most, could sniff the air after someone and assess how much she could and wanted to trust. Kennedy consulted her often. Whenever she felt like she had something, he’d hush the crowd for her to formulate the full thought. Kennedy didn’t always agree with her assessment, but had to listen to it. He needed to listen to it.

“Nope,” Russell huffs, shutting the folder. “Fucking hell. Kennedy told me it was rough, but I didn’t--I didn’t think it was this rough.”

Ivy settles in next to him sliding him a marker. She draws roughly a tic-tac-toe board. “It not getting easier for you is a good sign.”

Russell makes his first move, the marker squeaking just a little. Ivy follows up with hers. She knows if she makes it too obvious, too easy, Russell will forfeit the game. So she tries to play along, like she’s vying to win.

Russell places his second X though his hands shake just a hair. “Yeah, but compared to you guys, I feel like if someone took a gnarly enough shit it would make me queasy.”

“A bad enough shit could do that to anyone,” Diaz pipes in, his own folder still open but his forearms pressed down over the photographs. Russell’s been around the block, definitely seem some rough things, but has always had a softer view of the world. Still wants it to be good despite all the bad he’s seen.

Ivy places down her second O, noticing the pretty obvious wide open spot she left Russell but looks up to Diaz. “I think I heard through the grapevine you were on the losing end of one of those shits yesterday,” she teases.

Diaz reclines into his seat, his chest bouncing with his laughter. “All because of your cooking Thomas.”

“My cooking is not that bad,” she defends, the cap of her black marker pointing him out.

Burke snickers too with a shake of her head and opens her mouth to speak but the room fills with the voice of Kennedy. “Aren’t y’all old enough to be left alone not to talk about shit for five minutes?”

“Never too old to talk shit, sir,” Diaz returns, his smile lifting only half his face up. He’s a charmer, whenever they go out to bars out manage to get a moment’s peace not hounded by work, he never seems to be at a lack of folks coming up to him. He’s already got a girl, but with the hair that cascades always neatly placed and the dazzling bright grin, anyone could fall for it.

Kennedy huffs his laughter quickly and then shuffles deeper into the room. “We’ve got a new friend, so let’s play nice.” As Kennedy makes head way, Ivy notices the man behind him. He’s tall. The black dress pants and black dress shirt don’t hide everything beneath them, but Ivy’s not too shocked to see people who work in the field like that with some sort of muscular physique. There’s something about his face though--something about the way his brown eyes dart around the room and his smile never shows any teeth that something familiar tugs at her.

Kennedy goes around the table introducing Ivy first, then going to Russell, coming down to Jenkins, Diaz, and then Burke. Each one of them lifts a hand or nods at their name. “This here is Hood, Calum Hood. Joining us as a new liaison.”

Ivy’s no good with faces sometimes. But names she hardly ever forgets. Hood, she met him once a few years back at a lecture. Not that she did them often, but Kennedy got more face time. But he made sure to spread the love between the team. He asked her to tag along. Calum must’ve been in the crowd, had to be, and had to have asked a question because Kennedy told her to remember that name. And she had.

Kennedy continues on with something. Ivy suspects he’s warning Diaz to keep any hazy tactics to a minimum considering how much of a mess they’re walking into. Ivy nods once more at him, and then faces back to the whiteboard, the tap on her arm prompting her too. I’m a scaredy cat sure, but not dumb, it reads in Russell’s handwriting. She spies his X in the bottom corner, opposite of where he would’ve won.

“Pull up a seat, Hood. We’ll have more time for pleasantries once we’re up in the air. But I want everyone to at least be familiar with this case.”

“Yes, sir.” His voice is smooth, Ivy notes. A soft volume and accented but smoother than she would’ve pegged.

The team breaks down the file, recapping mostly what they’ve already read but Kennedy’s old fashioned this way, needing to make sure people have done their homework. It’s an extra step than completely necessary, but having the quick meetings has always made this team feel more like a second family. There’s always a common goal in mind for them and they’re always reminded of it. No matter what happens out in the field, they all want the same thing.

“We soar in forty-five minutes. So let’s hope wheels can turn in the air. Hood, I need you to keep in mind the local PD’s been taking a lot of heat for the last couple of months. So we don’t want to take too much star power, we’re only here to assist and whatever we can do to put the local’s good grace back onto that PD we need to.”

Not quite what she expected, though with his demeanor and looks, he’s sure to work a crowd or newsroom well. She’s sure he’ll be on the ground with them too.

“Understood,” he replies and with that, all of them push away from the table. “Agent Thomas,” Hood says, reaching out almost as if to touch her elbow but never actually do it. He continues to speak once she looks over to him. “I-I don’t know if you remember. But we met at a lecture a couple years back that you held with Agent Kennedy. And I just wanted to say that I’m excited to be here, working with you all.”

“Thomas, here, does not respond well to flattery. Trust, we’ve all tried,” Diaz laughs, clamping down on Hood’s shoulders.

“I appreciate it,” Ivy responds. “Glad to have a fresh mind on the team.” There’s no smile, at least, not one she’d give Russell, Burke, Diaz, or even Jenkins. But Calum watches her give another curt nod with a quick quirk of her lips, and then leave, stacking her file on top of the whiteboard.

“Don’t sweat it. She’s in work mode,” Diaz assures. “We get off the clock and she’s a hoot. But on the clock, it’s strictly business. I will warn you, Thomas will burn you.”

Calum’s left, watching Diaz, Burke, and Russell leave. Jenkins turned tail the second Kennedy got done. It’s not that he wants to mix business with pleasure. He’s just been studying Thomas, attending as many lectures that she gives as he can. She didn’t always go directly by the book, there was something about her method that used the evidence, used science, but also had some sort of intuition. Thomas just knew things and when attempting to quantify it, she didn’t always have the words for it. Calum just wants to see that in action, understand what it is about knowing that isn’t always present in the facts.

The plane ride is comfortable. Plenty of seats even though they squeak just a little. Calum watches Thomas sit and everyone seems to sit spread out from there, keeping her at some sort of center. “Mobile. They don’t mind the hustle,” Ivy starts.

“Crossing state lines is risky, especially after the escalation,” Burke interjects.

“But wouldn’t that be a reason for it? If all the crimes look different, enough crossing state lines might make the unsub feel confident, like they’re getting away with something.” The entire plane turns to look at him. Calum freezes for a moment. He knows better. He knows so much better than that. Fuck.

“Valid. But we shouldn’t settle. Travel might be part of their job. We’ve got a good cluster to possibly estimate a home base. Get comfortable, perfect the craft here and then spread out. But why come back? Local PD's hadn't quite connected anything, until the return. More families, found exactly the same. Even when they cross state lines, all points wind back to a specific geographical location,” Burke returns.

“Hood, you got the inside of the media. What does it look like?”

Thirty minutes of his forty five was making sure that he could at least nail down this run through. And it’s easy, even with the squeak of Ivy’s dry erase marker, to run down the media reports, what information has been released and what hasn’t been released. He makes note of what the team doesn’t want to get out and what they do want to keep available to the public.

All the while, Calum watches the way Ivy writes over her board, the squeak over and over on specific strokes. He wonders for a moment what she’s writing, what it is that she needs to keep written track of. But he doesn’t get a chance to fully flesh out that thought before he finishes his spill and Diaz cuts in. They’re fast, not quite settling on any one theory. More like compiling the possibilities, not wanting to eliminate things but ranking how plausible they all could be until the pieces click.

The first thing after the flight lands, they head for the precinct. The lead investigator greets them, and there’s no pause. They’re pulled into the frenzy, looking at boards. Calum tries to keep his head in the game, but he is watching Ivy. The way she settles in her chair, her marker always moving. He’s not even sure it’s words anymore, just a constant circular movement. Sure he’s here to help regulate media outlets, and he can do that in his sleep if local PD and media follow his instructions to a T.

But he needs an in, to show he’s more than just the new meat on the chopping block. He’s worth something. “Is the last crime scene still available?” Calum asks.

The room turns to him, well most of the room does. Ivy keeps circling, but she speaks. “The plan’s to go in ten minutes. Whatever’s got you preoccupied, leave it in your go bag.”

Kennedy chuckles, tapping at her foot. “Give the kid a break. He was buried in news coverage the second we got into the door. But Hood, shake the cobwebs. This isn’t your small town’s rodeo anymore. If you need to be caught up, ask. But if you’re going to be in the room, keep those ears open.”

A task easier said than done, but he nods, resting his elbows on his knees. God, they’re going to think I’m an idiot. The room goes back to its normal buzz, but Calum keeps his head buried in his hands.

“Talk to me. What are your theories?”

Calum lifts his head. Ivy’s closer now. He can see the black marks on her hand from where she’s held it up against the swirls and lettering. “Clearly I’m barely treading water here.”

“First day nerves, but you can shake it. You wanted to see the crime scene. Why?”

“Why there? We have indications that the unsub spent a lot of time there, even with the interruptions they've seemed to caused. They're still meticulous. I want to follow their steps. What did they do first? And why? What do they need from a crime scene before it’s done?”

“Good. But what else?”

“What-what do you mean what else?”

She smiles, much different than the first one. It shows her teeth, a bit of a twinkle in her eyes. “What else?”

He goes quiet, reclines back into the seat and closes his eyes for a second. What else? There’s a lot else. “I mean, the next obvious thing is why these victims? But besides that, how comfortable is this person? Do they feel a need to be rushed, fast, get-in-get-out or can they blend in? I have a hunch they can blend in. Maybe people even trust them. They are perfectly ordinary and in essence, they have to be in order for the fantasy to work. Detection means they have to get sloppy. Being sloppy’s not an option, so blending in it is.”

“Bring that to the crime scene.” Something taps his knee and Calum cracks open his eyes to see her, standing. Her whiteboard still gently rests against his knee. She’s not looking at him though. Her gaze is locked onto the board next to him, displaying the crime scene photos.

“What’s your secret?” Calum asks. He’s almost positive she didn’t hear him due to Ivy’s lack of prompt response. But then she turns to him.

“Secret?”

“Thomas, Hood, you comin’ or what?” Kennedy calls. “I can deal without Diaz, but I need you, Thomas.”

“I’ll remember that,” Diaz laughs as they walk through the glass doors of the precinct.

It’s not Calum’s first time at a crime scene. But the second Calum steps through the door a chill runs through him. The carpet and walls are still bloodstained. Everything about it the scene just feels wrong, makes Calum want to immediately step back out of the house.

“You feel that?” Burke asks. She continues on deeper into the house, slipping into her gloves.

“This is when Thomas says she’s too Black for all this and gets the hell out of dodge,” Diaz barks. He squats down to the blood on the carpet. Ivy’s already deep into the house, seemingly guided by a force unwillingly to let her go. She doesn’t respond verbally, just lifts her hand, the middle finger extended out in the general direction of Diaz.

And Calum is standing near the threshold of the door, trying to pinpoint why it feels so cold in a house in Texas in the middle of the summer. His hands feel sticky even inside the latex gloves. His first step is shaky but he stops next to Diaz. “There are drag marks from the blood,” Calum notes. “This isn’t where they were killed, just staged.”

“The unsub staged all the victims here in the living room. We know that. Pictures show the parents at the ends of the sofa, children in the middle, dog on the floor.”

“But there’s blood on the walls. We know the Dad’s 6’1,” Calum returns.

“And we don’t have forced entry. So, whoever is wreaking havoc isn’t threatening enough for someone not to answer the door.”

Calum turns to the sofa where the family was found. “It’s picturesque, poetic even. You’ve got a whole family right here, at your will. They knock on the door. It’s dusk, sun’s just starting to set.”

“They have a ruse that gets them inside. We already know they have to blend in with the community. So what can you use to get into a house? Who gets into a house without a problem?”

Diaz goes into the kitchen where in the case file it mentions when the family was finally discovered food was still out on the table. “The window doesn’t have to last long. But it has to be just right. All three families were either eating dinner, or just done with dinner. So why dinner time?” Diaz turns from the stove to face Calum.

“It’s when everyone is together. They’re not just going after a family, but very specific family dynamics. Which means both parents need to present, two kids seems to be a minimum.”

“What’s the average dinner time you’d say? With this job, I eat whenever I fucking can. But before this, excluding people like us, when is the average person sitting down to eat?”

“6, 6:30 I’d guess. That’s assuming the average person is working a job that calls it at 5PM. A town like this is either on the verge of collapsing or being bought out. So I assume a lot of people are traveling outside to the city for work, so the commute might be even later. But I wouldn’t hazard any guesses that our unsub’s just haphazardly picking houses.”

“No, no, you’re right, Hood,” Diaz states, walking over to the table. “I guess what I’m saying is the timing. No one hears anything. But our unsub’s using a gun. That’s not quiet. And there’s not a lot of city noise this far out. They’re spending hours in the house and somehow getting out undetected. But striking at dinner time, with the setting sun, means this person’s around outside the house. But no one’s noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

“Hunting seasons,” Calum returns. “No one really flinches at the sound of a gun shot because people are hunting year ‘round here.”

“And it seems like humans are on the menu.”

“An appetizing thought.”

******

Ivy’s not sure when the chill finally left over the course of the day but it returns when she walks into the precinct and sees the entire room in a frenzy. Kennedy spies her and it’s just a look. Not much different than his resting face, but somehow she knows with that slight arch in his eyebrow. Another family--while they were proding over photos the killer was already moving on, already in the midst of their attack.

And it shouldn’t shock her. Well, to be more accurate, it doesn’t shock her and maybe that’s the thing that scares her. “I’ve been doing this too damned long,” she mutters to herself. “Hood, you’re with me. Get the address and let’s see what that gut of yours cooks up.”

“How’d--Is Kennedy going to be okay with that? The call just came in a few minutes ago.”

“Get the address and tell me how you like your coffee,” Ivy says. Kennedy’s going to come to the scene anyway, but she doesn’t tell Calum that.

There’s not another word before Calum passes in front of her. “Cream and two sugars,” he answers as he goes.

“So Black, got it.”

Paused at the desk of a detective, he looks over his shoulder. “Cream and two sugars,” he re-emphasizes with a tiny smile and holding up two fingers. Police station coffee’s never the best, but it’s better than nothing. When on a case, time is also imperative and they take what they can. Ivy fixes Calum’s cup first, slipping a lid on and keeping the stirrer through the hole. She pours her cup with no additions.

“Not even creamer? Not one?” Calum questions.

“Takes too much time,” she returns. “Burke, you staying?”

“Yeah, Russell got those files over just before the call came in. Besides that crime scene’s bound to be crowded as all hell and I swear if I walk into another house and catch a chill after seven years of doing this job, I just might quit.”

The two ladies laugh. Ivy recovering first to respond, “I need you to keep me sane even though you’re just as much trouble as Diaz.”

“Which is why I’m going to say here, work with Russell. We’re going to need Hood back before the 5’oclock news. Whatever you find at the scene will help solidify our profile and we need it soon. We need the hands on this clock, because it’s ticking ahead of us.”

Ivy nods. It’s no fun being behind. “Kennedy, we’re moving or we’re dying.”

“I trust you. There’s something off about that last one that I want to walk through again.”

“Let’s rock and roll,” she says to Calum, handing him his cup of coffee. “Mr. Cream-and-Two-Sugars.”

The drive is relatively short, all thanks to Ivy’s lead foot. But they need to get there fast, while things are still fresh.

“Did you always want to do this?” Calum asks in the silence of their drive. The radio doesn’t even play. Ivy knew he had questions. He wore them on his face, brows furrowing anytime he was the slightest bit hesitant about something.

“I don’t think I had a choice.”

“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice? We’ve all got choices.”

“My dad worked with the FBI until it killed him. And I think about how he used to tell me it was his job to help put bad people in jail. And I believed him.”

“The bug bit you before you even had a fighting chance.”

Ivy nods, taking a quick glance to Calum. “But if I had a prettier face, I’d stick with liaison too.”

Calum huffs out his laughter. “I went the journalism route first, sue me. Besides, that’s you admitting you think I have a pretty face.”

“I forget faces—so don’t think too highly of it. And I’m probably old enough to be your mother. You attended some lectures, I remembered your name. How’d you convert?”

It’s silent for a moment and Calum contemplates her statement, old enough to be his mother. “Given that my mother has shared her fountain of youth with my sister and I, you might be shocked to know I’m nearing 30. And I converted because of you and your work under Kennedy and his old superior Rogers.”

“All the greats,” Ivy teases, but she doesn't sound impressed. More like tired, used to it.

“But you’re different.”

“Yeah, because somehow the Bureau hasn’t realized their mistake.”

“Mistake?” Calum asks around his sip of coffee.

“Kennedy’s going to retire soon. He's done 15 with our unit. Another ten prior to that climbing through the ranks. Then they’re going to have to find a replacement.”

“You say that like it won’t be you.”

“Because it won’t.”

“You’ve been with Kennedy for so long. He’s obviously going to recommend you, Ivy.”

“He can recommend but people higher up get the final word.”

The truck stops just in front of the house, and Calum knows the most logical thing to do is just focus on the case, walk the scene. Do his job. But he reaches across the console and wraps his fingers around hers for a second with a squeeze. “You’ll get it. They’d be dumb not to bring you to the head of this team.”

“There’s an altar or a shrine. It’s small.”

Calum pauses with his hand on the door. Ivy continues beside him. “Go to the eldest child’s bedroom. In a corner you’ll see the small shrine. Our unsub left one at the last house. And the house before, I’d bet. And this house too. That’s what Kennedy missed. What other cops missed too. Make sure you get it photographed. Besides, I’ve been doing this job too long and don’t know if I’d even want the added responsibility if they promoted me.”

“How’d we miss that?”

“We didn’t miss shit. We saw it when we needed to see it. We see things when we need them.” It's the way she says it, like she has to believe that makes Calum believe too.

The sight rocks Calum--he knew it wouldn’t be easy. But he didn’t know it’d hit him like this. The room spins, just a little. And his heart racing. Mostly because he can’t stand the thought that this could be someone he knows. These people weren’t anticipating their would be like this. And what does that even mean for him? What does his end look like?

“Hey, whoa. Whoa.” An arm comes around his waist and he follows the lead of whomever’s grabbed him.

“I’m okay,” he breathes out. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, I’m a fudge brownie. It’s okay to not be alright in there.”

Calum rests against the side of the house and squats down just a little. His elbows hit his knees. His breath is heavy, falls from his open mouth almost like he’s going to vomit. But his stomach’s not churning anymore. Not with the fresh morning air hitting his lungs. “Fuck,” he breathes out again, eyes blurring just a little.

“But you’re okay. Take a breather.” Ivy’s shoes turn up in the dirt. "Get him a water, will ya? Hood, take a minute. It's alright. I'll be inside when you're ready." Calum just watches her go. It takes a moment for him to lift his head. It has to get easier. Or least he hopes it does. It takes him a minute, inhaling deeply before he stands up straight.

The rest of them processing the scene goes by in relative silence. Occasionally, Calum pipes in with an addition to their theory. Ivy hums in agreement. And it’s not until they step out and slip out of their gloves that Ivy says anything. “This is why I drink my coffee black.”

“I’m sorry. I really--I don’t know why this one got me.”

“It’s the kids. Kids are the worst.”

Calum looks up to the sky. There’s a few clouds, but not many. “The photos are bad, but in person is way different.”

Ivy watches Calum, the way it takes him a second to come back to earth it seems. “Don’t ask yourself if it gets easier.” When his gaze lands hers, she can see the furrowed brow again. The question drips off his face. “You’ll only disappoint yourself. And this job’s not for the weak of heart. For the people that can’t take some losses with the wins.”

“You said it yourself. You wanted to put the bad people away.”

“Eight year old me wants to believe it’s as easy as putting the monsters away. Thirty-one year old me knows for a fact what the losses are, who gets caught in the cross-fire. It’s not easy, not in the slightest.”

“Innocent lives do add up.”

“Which is why I try not to do math on the job. They all slip up. They all reach a point where their methods don’t satiate the need. They all make a fatal flaw and counting the unfortunate lives on the way to that will have you walking from the Bureau faster than you can blink.”

“So what makes you stay? If it’s all so fucking bad, what keeps you going?”

Ivy nods to the car, pulling the keys from her pocket. “We need to solidify our profile and you need to run press ASAP. But to answer your question, the thing that keeps me going is that fact that they do get caught eventually.”

******

Eventually seems to come up faster than Calum anticipates. He was sure it would take weeks. After getting back to the precinct more information in Russell’s digging found a connection between all the families, a Venn diagram that overlapped to their X on the map. Another couple of days and it all unravelled. It’s a blur, when he tries to think back to it, on the plane. The only grounding thing is when one of the children, a little girl about 6, pointed out the tattoos on his hands. In all this time, he was sure the tattoos would be a barrier to entry--they’d somehow put him in a place that others would think he was nothing but trouble. But somehow, despite the terror she had done through, that little girl liked his tattoos, found some sort of comfort in them.

When he told her they were for his parents, she smiled at him. She said she wanted one for her parents too and then asked if he had anymore and how old he was when he got them. All of which Calum was more than happy to answer while the medic checked over her. Her older brother came soon after, asking a few questions, but overall he was much quieter than his sister. Understandable for what was endured. In the end, Calum’s just glad he didn’t see them staged on a couch, bleeding out onto the cushions.

There’s a small bit of turbulence and the shakes cause Calum to open his eyes for a moment. Ivy’s seated across from him, whiteboard on her lap, headphones in her ears. A tic-tac-toe grid drawn across it in the middle, but in the corners are some swirls, a crude drawing of the shrine from the case. Calum leans forward and tugs on the board just a little. She lets it go without a fight and hands over the marker.

Calum makes an ‘X’ in the top left. “You said this job doesn’t get easier.” He looks up to see if Ivy can hear him and is relieved when she pops out one her headphones. She raises her brows like she wants him to continue with the thought. And Calum’s not even sure he should. Instead, he hands over the board back to her. If seeing death doesn’t get easier, then maybe it just means he gets better at it. Maybe it means that not being okay with death is a good motivator to keep down this path.

“The job doesn’t get easier. You’re still human. You still want a spouse and a kid. You might want two dogs and a cat. You might want that white picket fence one day. You’ll want to close your eyes and not see death. You’ll want to walk down the street and see humans as humans again. You’ll have nightmares. Don’t hide from it. Nothing’s wrong with you for wanting that. But we’re in a world now where we see the horrors--what’s on the other side of everything you wanted. It’s a liminal space and it’s heavy to wade through.”

“I just want to not freak like I did the other day. It’s not easy. But sometimes I fear that maybe I bit off more than I could chew.”

Their game of tic-tac-toe has been forgotten, placed in the seat next to Ivy as she leans forward in her seat. “You said you were converted because of me. What exactly about me was it?”

“You just know things. When you walk onto a scene, you have an air of knowing. How can you just pick up on it in a snap?”

“Well,” Ivy laughs, “if that’s the only reason you want in, I warn you to get out.”

“I want to help. I want to save people,” Calum adds on. But then it hits him. Maybe this wasn’t the business of saving people as much as it was stopping people. Sure, they prevent future murders, but that didn’t always negate for all the lives lost. But they did save that family today. He saved that little girl that wants tattoos like his. “I want to save people and I want to stop people as well,” he finally adds on.

“There will always be monsters in this world,” Ivy warns.

“And there will always be heroes.”

“Make no mistake, Calum. We don’t have capes. We don’t swoop in all the time at just the right moment. Sometimes we are late. Sometimes we’re reacting more than we are being proactive. Sometimes we fuck up.”

His heart stops for just a moment at the mention of his first name. He’s always Hood, or at least has always been Hood. Just like she’s always Thomas to the team. But she said his first name. Unmistakably so. “Did-did you just use my first name?”

“You used my first name, first.”

When had he done that? He didn’t recall, but he couldn’t combat it either.

“Look,” Ivy continues, “the fact remains. We will fail. We will make the wrong call, or the right call just by the skin of our teeth. We will walk down the wrong direction only to figure out, we know it’s the wrong one. We get it right. A lot more often, we get it right and we minimize the death count. But we’re human--you don’t have to take it on if you don’t want. You don’t have to suffer.”

“If I don’t suffer and win, then that little girl suffers and loses. Then the next person loses. And the next. Their suffering or mine--the choice is clear.”

Ivy studies Calum for a moment. She sees the resolve on his face. Just how much sacrificing himself is a no brainer for him. It was a no brainer for her too. But admittedly, she was cursed. Maybe Calum wasn’t. Maybe she could save him, even if she couldn’t save herself. But she wasn’t in the business of saving people, only stopping them.

“I can’t stop you, can I?” she asks.

“Stop me from what?”

“Stop you from killing yourself with this job.”

“If it’s killing you, then why don’t you leave?” His head cocks to the side, now intrigued by her honesty.

“It’s like you said, I got bit before I could escape. I’m cursed. Are you?”

The little girl flashes through his vision again, and his chest tightens for a second before the relief kicks in. He could chase that feeling, the knowledge that he saved someone, one person. And that he helped put away one more person causing harm. “I am now. Ruined--because even though I can’t save them all. I can save some. I can help keep some people safe. I don’t think there’s a better reward than that.”

With a nod, Ivy looks back to their game on the whiteboard. They would’ve tied, she can see it after where she placed her ‘O’. But she hands it back over to Calum. “Kennedy’s going to shit himself when he realizes he’s got too hard heads on his team.”

“You’ll shit yourself when you realize you’re inheriting the second hard-head on the team after Kennedy leaves.”

Ivy scoffs. Of course, Calum still believes in the shiny idea that hard work yields rewards. “And this is where I can still tell you’re new to this--the dreams are still shiny and ideal.”

“All the work you’ve invested, they’d be--”

Ivy interrupts him. “I know, they’d be dumb not to.”

“Then why do you keep saying it won’t happen?”

“I’d call my pessimism a curse. But at this point, I think it’s a personality trait and the truth.”

“And let me guess, this is why you take your coffee black too.”

Ivy winks at him before her smile takes over her face. “You know it.”

[tunedtostatic]

ain’t no safety coats, raft or river boats

Brian & Sana (plus a dash of Brian & Arkady and pre-Brian/Krejjh), 1.5k

This was supposed to be another triple drabble. It is not! Title is from “Can’t Be Too Careful” by Jennah Bell.

CW: Food, mention of minor injury, descriptions of deep bodies of water

~

Brian suppresses a sleepy morning yawn as he makes his way down the dim corridor of the starship Rumor. After two nights aboard, this path between the bathroom and the kitchen is still unfamiliar in a way that brings back memories of waking up in new apartments and the odd adjustment periods of still packed boxes and unfamiliar sinks and cabinets in new spaces that had abruptly become “home.”

Right. Just another new apartment. New bed. New shower. New, borrowed clothing—no boxes to unpack this time. New microwave. New cargo hold with thirty-five cases of bulk gourmet chocolate destined for the intergalactic black market. New bath mat.

In the kitchen, Captain Tripathi is at the stove, boiling a kettle.

New roommates.

“Morning, Brian.” Tripathi smiles at him, one of her dimples showing. “Tea?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea?” Brian steps up to the counter next to her, opening the cabinet that he now knows holds the cereal. “Thanks, Captain.”

As Sana methodically unseals a package of vacuum-sealed bread, Brian realizes that this is the first time he’s been alone with her. Krejjh has been spending hours with her, learning the Rumor’s cockpit, and Brian’s first hour aboard included First Mate Arkady Patel walking him to the Rumor’s tiny medbay and carefully cleaning the cut on his cheek with a taciturnity that did not come across as unkind. But this is the first time Brian and Sana have been in a room together without the rest of their tiny new crew.

The toaster slot in the wall dings, and Brian watches Sana out of the corner of his eye as she spreads butter substitute on her toast. He’s known her for three days, two life-threatening calamities, and one crew dinner. He trusts her with his life. He doesn’t think he knows her better than he did the hour they met.

“Have you and Krejjh been settling into your cabins okay? I told them to let me know if they needed the temperature lower in there. As it is, one reg controls the whole ship, but I should be able to rig something up.”

“You can ask them when they wake up. But their energy levels seem pretty normal to me.” Brian smiles.

Sana smiles back, but as Brian pulls the milk out of the fridge, he has the feeling that she’s watching him, too.

He doesn’t think her question about Krejjh was, like, a test, with a right/wrong answer where she was seeing if he was…willing to speak for them, or something. He doesn’t really think it was any kind of deliberate probe, even to scope out something as general as how much he and Krejjh trust or know about each other. But he does feel like, every time they interact, Tripathi has been quietly getting the measure of him.

He doesn’t have the measure of her yet. He’s known other people who are both kind and tough. That isn’t a heavy lift. But there is another dimension to Sana’s kindness, something deep and quiet that undulates like an underground river.

“It has been nice to have some enthusiasm in the cockpit, I have to say.” There’s a twinkle in her eye, now. Right, Brian’s almost-joke about Krejjh’s energy levels. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to teach the Rumor’s quirks to someone new.”

As she reseals the butter substitute, she glances at him with a canny expression. “You know, she might not come out and say this, but I think Arkady is looking forward to have someone who might be doing, say, translation work at the kitchen table while she’s on one of her coding marathons, too.”

Brian smiles and nods, wondering if Sana, for all her perspicacity, has realized yet that her subtle skid-greasing in this realm isn’t necessary. You met some interesting folks in academia, even if most of them didn’t carry at least three guns at all times and have biceps the size of Brian’s undergrad coffee thermos, and you definitely met some interesting folks on Neuzo. Resultantly, some types of weirdness are easier for Brian to parse than others.

A few hours after a sweaty, out of breath Sana, Arkady, Krejjh and Brian had made it aboard the Rumor and into space, Sana was still flying and Arkady had vanished after her into the cockpit to help liaise with their contacts. Unfamiliar with the ship, Brian and Krejjh had stuck to the kitchen, talking quietly.

Arkady had appeared in the doorway with a faint scowl, looking Brian and Krejjh over for a second before going to the sink and silently filling two glasses with water. She’d walked to the table and set the glasses down, remaining standing.

“Important to stay hydrated.”

“Thanks, dude,” Brian said hesitantly.

Arkady grunted, staring impassively down at them for another few seconds. “We did a pot of pasta last night. Leftovers are in the fridge. It has rehydrated shellfish powder. Allergies?”

Brian shook his head.

“Microwave’s there.” Arkady pointed to the very obvious microwave. “Fridge.” The even more obvious fridge. “Cabinets. Help yourself to whatever, except the chamomile tea, that’s for Sana’s headaches.”

“Roger dodger,” Krejjh replied, in a cadence Brian could recognize as false cheer.

Arkady turned to look directly at Krejjh, and Brian tensed.

Arkady must have noticed that, because she turned and looked at him for a long second. Her eyes, he realized, reminded him of a deep mountain lake he had seen once on a visit to Earth. The water had been impossibly clear; you could see through it all the way down to the point where light no longer filtered through.

She reached for a chair and swiveled it in an easy motion, sinking down to straddle it backwards.

“I’m this ship’s security officer,” she said, as though this wasn’t functionally obvious from the five holstered guns, the two sheathed knives, the events that had introduced the two halves of the new crew to each other, or her thorough sweep for bugs when they finally made it to the Rumor. “That means that while you are part of this crew, you are under my protection.”

Brian had felt his shoulders relax, and Arkady had dropped her lakewater gaze, mumbled something about Sana assigning them cabins later, and spun the chair back around.

Then she’d bolted. Brian had smiled and squeezed Krejjh’s hand—trying to ignore the way this seemed to make his heart flip a little more every time—and gotten up to microwave the pasta.

The kettle starts to whistle, and Sana reaches a nonchalant hand to set it on a cool burner as deftly as if it was a teacup. Her arm musculature situation isn’t exactly shabby, either, which…yeah, working as a mechanic in the wartime shipyards would probably do that.

Then add ‘building a secret starship with your own two hands.’ Brian is still trying to wrap his head around that one. Becoming one of the only humans fluent in Standard Exo-Dwarnian after shiphopping to Neuzo for fieldwork, and then getting in the ill graces of the Dwarnian mafia and falling in l—becoming excellent friends with a deserting Dwarnian pilot probably wouldn’t be considered, like, that normal by most people? But Brian has never built anything larger or more secret than a poprocket that time in third grade, unless you count the less physical large-ness of his research, which was technically also a secret once the war broke out, and now that he’s thinking about it, if you gave each sentence of his thesis the weight of a rivet, it actually might be up there with the mass of a starship? Ha, he’s totally telling Krejjh that just to see the look on their face. No doubt they’ll have opinions on whether a chapter section is equivalent to one or two hull subsections.

“Mugs are in that cabinet,” Sana says easily, gesturing toward it.

“Got it, dude,” Brian replies, equally easily.

You don’t comfortably exist in a place like Neuzo, or for that matter a place like academia, if you expect everyone to present their whole self at all times. Besides, since Brian is now in effect depending on Tripathi’s astuteness for his own safety and Krejjh’s, it’s comforting to know that she knows how to keep an eye on layers of social interactions, even when that includes her interactions with him.

He hands off the mugs in a brush of cracked porcelain and calloused hands. The domesticity of working beside someone at a kitchen counter is unexpectedly comforting, too. He could almost be in the cramped galley kitchen of his last shared grad school apartment, or behind the bar with Alvie, getting ready for a shift.

He isn’t.

Sana drops the teabags into the mugs, pouring the steaming water carefully. “If you take sugar, I think it was last seen in the cabinet next to the fridge.”

Brian chuckles at her almost-joke about the dynamic chaos of her kitchen. The kitchen. Their kitchen. He’s going to be spending the next few days getting used to that. If Sana is an early riser, maybe he’ll spend the next few days getting used to mornings like this with her, too.

[thenixkat]

HCs and OCs for a fic

Toyomitsu family: Descended from one of the first giant mutants in Japan. Tend to have monster or animal related transformation quirks in addition to being huge. Own farmland and forested areas all over the Kansai region. The family founded the Devil’s Market yakuza group which has been extremely long-running and focused on buying and selling illicit goods, general goods, and general supplies and labor for larger people. A Toyomitsu has been either the boss or first lieutenant of the Devil’s Market for as long as it’s existed. They had to move out of their Osaka base when All For One set up shop, their current main base of operations is in Esuha city. The family also runs a franchise of butcher shops across most of Japan under the name of Oni Meats which carries a vast selection of animal protein from around the world. Nearly all members of the family have prey drives from their monstrous transformations.

Ma- Manami- (Quirk) Bugbear- transformation quirk. If the user is sufficiently fat then they can transform into a hybrid bear/reptile monster. Has great senses and night vision as well as enhanced strength. Can induce fear by staring someone directly in the eyes. -->Prefers not to be involved with the less legal dealings of the family and Devil’s Market. She’s more than capable of being as much of if not more a terrifying mob boss than her little brother. She just likes farming better. -->Generally doesn’t look people in the eyes unless she doesn’t like them b/c her terror-inducing power stays active regardless of her form. She prefers not to scare folks who don’t deserve it. -->Gets on very well with her sister-in-law, if she wasn’t married she’d steal her brother’s wife. -->Met her husband in a fighting ring. She eviscerated him with her claws and he broke one of her arms and several of her ribs. They started talking while getting patched up. -->Is about 7’10” and built like a well-padded brick house. -->Is the one who judges new recruits into the gang. Tends to have them do farm work for at least a month to get a bead on their personalities.

Pa- Noel ‘Blue Devil’ Diablo nee Toyomitsu- (Quirk) Energy absorption- emitter quirk. Can absorb, temporarily store, and redirect kinetic/thermal/electric energy. Too much energy kept in the body for too long causes reckless and impulsive behavior and hyperactivity. Devil- mutant quirk. Has devil-like horns and a tail. -->Used to be a nomad b4 settling down with his strong beautiful wife. Supported himself on his travels with fighting, gambling, handyman skills, and musical skills. -->Brings nothing to the table in his household other than his good looks, good nature, and knack for fixing things and a broad range of skills. -->Holding in excess energy makes him glow blue, especially his horns. -->Loves his family just so much. Is the goofy dad and great flirty husband. -->Loved to carry his kids until they got waaaay too big for him to pick up. Stands on a char to talk to his kids and wife on their level. B/c they are just so damn tall. -->Is 6 ft tall with a strong build with very little body fat b/c of a side effect of his quirk. He gets cold easily b/c of this and it bothers his joints.

Grandpa- Ryuji ‘The Dragon/ Dread Emperor of Giants’ - (Quirk) Dragon- transformation quirk. Can transform into an eastern dragon or humanoid eastern dragon with the severity of the transformation depending on percentage of body fat. Can also control the weather. -->Controlling the weather means that his farms never have a bad year. He does sell this service on the black market through the Devil’s Market. -->Wanted to be a hero when he was young and stopped when his mom got sent to jail for vigilantism and murder for stopping a serial killer from preying on women in the community -->Retired after a betrayal from some too ambitious underlings lead to a crippling knee injury. Still acts as a source of wisdom for the family and the gang. -->Is the go-to babysitter. -->Prefers to be in his transformed state and hates the anti-public quirk use laws with a passion. -->His full dragon form is as long as a bus and can fly. His humanoid dragon form/human form (sans antlers) is 8’5”

Grandma- Akane- (Quirk) None. -->An ex-mercenary who beat Ryuji in his prime AND in his full dragon form with nothing but some rope and her bare hands. -->Very good with guns and knives -->Takes advantage of the fact that as a plump quirkless woman she tends to get overlooked by people with powers to end fuckers. -->Was the one who got rid of the over-ambitious underlings who attempted a coup against her husband. -->Is about 5’10”, very chubby, wears glasses, and is rather soft-spoken. -->Is an icon to the quirkless members of the Devil’s Market and teaches them how to fight people with powers.

Uncle- Wani ‘The Butcher’- (Quirk) Crocodilian- transformation quirk. Similar to grandpa but crocodile instead of dragon. Has a great sense of smell and hearing as well as night vision. Is bulletproof at full strength. -->A strong proponent of community defense to the point where more people came to him about community issues than go to police or heroes. He gets problems handled permanently. -->Also heavily invested in technology and occult studies to see if there was a way to make life easier for people -->Also prefers to be in his transformed state -->Caught and ate 3 quirk diagnosing doctors in the area who were trafficking children into human experimentation. Managed to rescue most of the kids. -->Was arrested and sent to Tartarus for a string of killing corrupt cops and heroes fucking around in his neighborhood. His family often visits him. -->Fell for his wife when she bet him she could drink him under the table with the loser paying the tab. She won. -->Is about 8 ft tall and at least half as wide b4 going to jail. In prison he rapidly lost weight, the family is planning a jailbreak.

Auntie- Jay ‘Jaybird/Hummingbird’ Johnson nee Toyomitsu- (Quirk) Fast Twitch- emitter quirk. A speedster type. Can move and think at superhuman speeds for a few minutes at a time every hour. Has a very high metabolism and needs to consume large amounts of food in general. -->Was a villain before settling down. Still pulls off a robbery every now and then and has a fondness for gems. -->A Black American who came to Japan to hide from law enforcement after a heist gone wrong. -->Thinks that the way people throw the word villain around to just about any fucker committing any kind of crime while using a quirk really dilutes the word. Thinks that villains need fun costumes and proper themes and intent. -->Her sister-in-law was one of the first women she’s ever met who never criticized her eating habits and she would kill for the other woman. Ride or die friendship. -->Is constantly hungry due to her speedster metabolism and has to eat a lot. -->About 5’8” and leggy with plenty of visible muscle.

Sister- Onini ‘Oni/Gargoyle’- (Quirk) Gargoyle- transformation quirk. Can transform into a stone-skinned gargoyle with the severity of the transformation being dependant on amount of body fat. Heat Sink- emitter quirk. Can absorb, store, and release thermal energy. -->Tried to become a hero but was bullied out of school -->Named after one of her mom’s friends -->Considers cousin Kenji to be effectively one of her brothers -->Became a firefighter and uses her quirks on the job even tho it’s illegal. Not like the people she’s saving are gonna complain. -->Tends to flirt with strong women. -->Actually tends to stay partially transformed b/c she likes having a tail and passes herself off as a mutant -->If she gets too hungry and loses control she can become a heat vampire and freeze things to death while feeding on their body heat. -->Spends a lot of time helping out on the farm and her mother is most likely to pass ownership of the family land to her once she retires. -->The most likely person in her generation of the family to have biological kids. --->Keeps teasing Fatgum about when he’s gonna officially adopt his interns. -->Is about 7’5” and technically is too heavy to fly but she glides pretty well.

Cousin- Kenjiro ‘Kenji/Ken/Shuten’- (Quirk) Fast Oni- transformation quirk. Can transform into an oni with enhanced speed and strength. Transforming causes his metabolism to speed up and he burns fat to stay in oni form. Has a speedster metabolism in regular form, if he doesn’t eat a substantial meal every 5 hours he starts losing weight (fat and muscle) rapidly and is consequently always hungry. -->Would love to stay in his transformed form but can’t due to the timer. -->Is jealous of Taishiro’s height and metabolism so he makes fun of the way Tai’s face looks when he’s transformed. Also jealous of Onini’s ability to not be constantly hungry. -->Is constantly hungry from the day his quirk came in and had to take appetite suppressants during puberty to keep from losing his head and chowing down on anything and anyone in reach during his growth spurts. -->Has been mistaken for Fatgum more than once due to their similar-ish size and clothing choices. It frustrates him to no end b/c he’s way darker than Tai and prefers wearing blue or white. -->Has intentionally eaten people. Most notable example being him ending a war with a rival yakuza group by capturing, butchering, and cooking the rival leader and openly serving him for dinner at the peace treaty/gang merger. -->Strongly supports Fatgum as a hero and the two combine resources to help the community whether that is through funding housing for the homeless or getting a very good tailor the resources to make clothing for specific clientele or sending the other to deal with a situation appropriately. -->Brings a knife to a gunfight b/c he’s a superstrong speedster and a gun ain’t go do shit if you ain’t got no hands. -->Thinks Overhaul is a stupid asshole b/c it’s not that hard to get blood out of a kid or train a kid to be ok with it. -->Is about 7’10” and has heard every short joke under the sun from Tai

Fatgum-Taishiro ‘Tai’- (Quirk) Fat Absorption- Transformation quirk into an uncanny valley cartoony blob man that is as strong as the amount of body fat he has. Can absorb, neutralize, or release kinetic energy. Eyes glow in the dark like a cartoon when his quirk is active. Has a great sense of taste and is incapable of feeling sated/is always hungry. Also has an extremely efficient digestive system that breaks food down in seconds. Can also convert fat into muscle as well as generally having enhanced strength and speed while transformed. -->Was a late bloomer. His quirk didn’t start coming in till he was 8 and it took a while b4 he was fat enough for it to have notable effects. -->Preferred being in his skinnier form during middle and high school due to bullying and self-esteem issues that he didn’t work through until his early twenties. -->Started high school at 5’7” (170 cm) at 14 yrs old and was 8’2 (250 cm) when he graduated at 18 yrs old. Puberty was hell and pants were his enemy. -->Had a friend in hero support who took it as a personal challenge to make him clothing that he couldn’t destroy, that would grow and shrink with him, and that he couldn���t outgrow heightwise either. Ended up inventing ‘indestructible pants’ and making bank. -->Does not have canine teeth due to a mutation related to his quirk. Does have several rows of teeth that can replace themselves like a shark’s due to the same mutation. The fuckery of his mouth is only really noticeable if he’s ‘stretching’/pushing his transformation to its fullest extent or if someone’s feeling around inside of his mouth for whatever reason. -->Does not have a gag reflex -->Has been constantly hungry since his quirk emerged and like Kenji had to take appetite suppressants during his growth spurts to keep control of himself. An asshole classmate once replaced his appetite suppressants with appetite stimulants to see what happens. Several people ended up hospitalized, Taishiro still has nightmares about it and said asshole student actually managed to get expelled. Has a restraining order against said asshole classmate who fucked off to England to be a hero there. -->Is so glad he’s done growing. Went through clothes like water when he was a teen. -->Going several days without getting enough calories in tends to activate his prey drive and he really doesn’t like that b/c heroes shouldn’t murder or maul people. Figured out this aspect when he mauled a bully after his quirk just came in and later during a survival training exercise in hero school in which he ended up eating a live bear after several days of living on trail rations (scared his teammates for life with that one). -->A lot of aspects of his costume with the bright colors and friendly mannerisms is to reduce the intimidation factor/terrifying aspects of his appearance. He is aware that in his transformed state he’s a giant uncanny valley cartoony egg man monster that can fucking absorb people into his body. -->While transformed his limb, mouth, and eye proportions are extremely fluid and change nearly at will. If he wants to his face can be entirely mouth, which he knows is terrifying to other people. His arms and legs can rubber hose it though they aren’t as strong when he does that, does mean he can grab from angles that shouldn’t be possible. -->Was bullied as a kid for being ‘quirkless’ b4 his quirk manifested and then he was bullied for being fat. It did a number on his self-esteem as a teen leading him to prefer using his thinner form as his default. -->His thinner form was considered a heartthrob in school to his frustration. Didn’t mean he didn’t take advantage of the fact people found him hot to make money or flirt a free lunch off of someone. Was in a hot guy calendar made and distributed by one of his classmates. -->It absolutely gets on his nerves when people only find his skinny form attractive. -->After graduation, he lost muscle b/c that starter hero paycheck ain’t shit and the Hero Commission refused to let him write off food costs as business expenses. Had to save his food money for patrols leading to him losing weight. -->Participated in underground fighting rings to both make some money on the side and get better at using his quirk -->Has tried Trigger b4 and carries a small vial of the good version of it just in case he really needs it one day. (Listen, you ain’t finding shit trying to pat down fucking Fatgum) -->While transformed the absorbing things into him thing is automatic, put too much pressure on the flabbier parts of his body and you’ll just sink in. It takes effort to release things and took him a while to learn how to do this as a kid. Before he learned how to release things, he’d just turn off his quirk to get things out of him. -->Was blackmailed into working for the cops after getting caught during a raid of one of the fighting rings he was participating in. Decided to be a double agent and give away info on cases to the Devil’s Market to help them stay ahead of the cops. Also blew a decent chunk of the Osaka police force’s budget on his feeding since they wanted to use him. Ultimately this is what caused the police to break their partnership with him b/c he was too damn expensive to keep on the payroll. -->Once he became decently popular he and the Devil’s Market started funding a superhero trade school to get people who otherwise wouldn’t be able to get into hero schools for various reasons trained up and educated enough to get a hero license. -->As a hero he just doesn’t enforce the dumber laws like anti-public quirk use laws b/c who cares if people use their quirks if they aren’t hurting anyone. Also prefers not to label criminals as villains unless they’ve done some truly heinous shit b/c he knows that villains get harsher punishments in the justice system. Is also a strong proponent for rehabilitation for criminals. -->Once got caught in a scandal where he and a close friend and classmate managed to get a quirkless friend of theirs enrolled in their hero school with the help of a hacker. It took months for the school to catch on, during which said quirkless friend excelled in the hero classes. Fatgum and his friend nearly got expelled when caught. Later he helps that quirkless friend get a provisional hero license to become Japan’s first quirkless hero. -->From his family history, to his accent, to his size, to his ancestry Fatgum got torn apart by the media when he first started making waves. It took years but his image as a fun friendly beloved hero won out over ‘loose canon with criminal ties who’ll probably turn villain any day now’ -->Most of his sidekicks are folks he knew in his underground fighting days or rehabilitated criminals. Sidekicks and interns from actual hero schools are picked based on both potential as well as ‘how well can you bend the law/see in shades of grey instead of black and white?’. Essentially interning with Fatgum is a long process of unlearning propaganda and a practical application of morality on a case by case basis. -->Is aware of the hornier corners of his fandom and doesn’t know how to get them to understand that death via snusnu is not a way they want to go out (“How do you know this?” “...No comment.”) and telling them that they would def either die or require medical attention only makes them hornier. He finds it distressing and tries to avoid these people. -->Only found out that his name and birthday were puns when he was in middle school. He was not pleased. His parents had a blast since they were waiting for him to figure it out. -->When transformed his face, hands, feet, knees, and elbows are the most vulnerable parts of his body. Hence the leg armor (and occasionally arm armor). -->Due to his size, he’s got a few glaring blind spots, the main one being that he simply can’t see past his belly when looking down. He has tripped over short people b4 b/c of this. At least one of his friends from school would take advantage of this when he was in his larger form to sneak up on him.

[theboredwritertm]

Din x Mandalorian!Reader x Cobb Vanth? Say like Din and the reader are partners and they’re both kinda into Cobb and if it’s your thing maybe the reader can be a little bossy?

The Arrangement

A/N: Sorry/not sorry for using that ^ gif - it made me laugh. (No, they don’t technically do anything in front of the kid.) There’s a lot of ways I could have taken this request, but honestly, I’m glad I went with this. (I may or may not have a part two in mind already). Also, I guess I’m just horny on main for this entire episode, since I want to write all my requests around it?? Hope you enjoy, anon! The request was for reader to be bossy – I might have accidentally made them a bit of an asshole, haha. Also, I ignored a lot of things on my to-do list to get this edited and posted today! 

Rating: I’m going to say 18+

Pairing: Din Djarin x Mandalorian!Reader x Cobb Vanth

Warnings: Swearing, partner sharing (cuckolding, I guess), like a bunch of smut at the end. 

Word Count: 7,272  (consider the first 3000 words foreplay)

Summary: You and Din are partners in every sense of the word, loyal to each other in every way, but you have one very simple arrangement: you can fuck anyone who takes your interest, and he gets to watch.

Tags: @justanotherblonde23

***********************************************************

It was like the opening of a bad joke.

Three Mandalorians walk into a bar. One of them is an imposter.

You’d felt Din tense beside you the moment you’d spotted the familiar armor, both noting the casual way it was worn, as if it were merely an accessory to the man beneath it and not a reflection of his religion. This complete separation from the creed was further proven as the man you knew only as ‘The Marshal’ stepped up to one of the tables in the bar, calmly removed his beaten-up beskar helmet, and set it down on the wooden tabletop.  

You’d had to pause for a moment as you took in the face in front of you, all thoughts of backing Din up about the beskar not belonging to this man suddenly far from your mind. He was older than you – older than Din, too, if his greying hair and beard were anything to go by – but there was a youthful kind of mischief to his face, in the way he gazed curiously between the two of you. 

You’d traveled the galaxy and seen a lot of faces in your time, and this certainly wasn’t the first handsome one – but, Maker, if there isn’t something just a little bit tempting about it… 

You turn your head, now, to look at Din. Though he gives no sign of noticing, his visor still directed forward, you knew he’d sensed the movement – understood the intention. His helmet dips almost imperceptibly for a moment, then he turns his head to look back. You grin beneath your visor. It had been a long time, but he still remembered the gesture; a silent approval regarding a long agreed-upon arrangement between the two of you. 

It was simple: you could choose any man who caught your particular interest – though, with a man like Din by your side, you couldn’t say there’d been many – and Din got to watch.

You loved Din, had been by his side for years now, but you’d be lying if you said your first thought at that moment hadn’t involved getting pinned against the wall in some dusty, back-room by the man in front of you and letting him drill you to the point of oblivion.  

The Marshal sits staring between the two of you with a lopsided grin that certainly doesn’t help with your current line of thinking, eyes sparkling with easygoing humor. 

“Never met a real Mandalorian,” he states, as he takes a seat and sets down three cups and a bottle of what you recognize as spotchka. “Now, two walk into my town. What are the odds?” He glances between the two of you as he carefully pours out three equal serves, sliding two of the cups in your direction in what you assume is a peace-offering – or maybe just a show of small-town hospitality. 

“I’d say they’re in your favor,” you reply, your sly smirk clear in your tone, even through the modulator. Din throws you a look for how obvious you’re being, but you can’t say you care. If the man manages to pick up what you’re putting down early on, so be it. It makes things that much easier for you.

The Marshal looks up at you, curiosity clear on his face as he hears your voice for the first time, not expecting you to be a woman. Your armor doesn’t give that away – forged for protection rather than showing off what’s underneath – and even though you are a little smaller in stature compared to the big guy next to you, he wouldn’t have made the assumption. He’d fought all shapes and sizes and knew that size didn’t always denote ability – or gender.

“From what I’ve heard about your kind, I figured at least one of us might not be walking out of here. But now,” he says, gesturing with a nod towards you, since you’ve given yourself away, “Between her and the kid, I’m thinking maybe this isn’t the kind of situation I thought it was gonna be.”

You’re deep in thought about the kind of situation you’re hoping it’s gonna be, when you feel little hands grasping at the back of your leg. You look down. Right. The kid. You’d been so busy picturing every position you’d let this man bend you into, you’d almost forgotten about the little womp rat. 

The Child looks up at you with big eyes and raises his little arms in a gesture you’ve grown familiar with over the past few weeks. Conceding to his demands, you reach down to scoop him up. Not that you and Din were ever particularly careful when it came to sex, but you really hadn’t expected to be thrown into parenthood like this. You doubted a town like this offered much in the way of babysitters, and even if it did you didn’t think Din would trust just any person to watch over the kid; not after everything you’d been through so far to keep him safe. And certainly not just to satisfy whatever devious thoughts were running through your head. 

“You got a name?” you ask, your eyes never leaving the marshal’s – even if he can’t see yours – as you settle the child in your arms. 

“Cobb Vanth,” he replies, and you’re glad to finally have a name to put to the face – something to whisper or cry out when the time calls for it. 

“Where’d you get the armor?” Din asks. 

Right. The armor. You’d completely forgotten about that.

“Bought it off some Jawas,” Cobb replies.

You cringe, knowing that’ll be a sticking point, especially for Din. It’s a mark of disrespect to the beskar, even if Cobb doesn’t know it. But you don’t think it’s enough to break the silent agreement you and Din have made. 

“Hand it over,” Din tells him, and you have to roll your eyes at his attitude. Always straight to the point.

Cobb seems to find something amusing about this. “Look, pal, I’m sure you call the shots where you come from, but ‘round here I’m the one who tells folks what to do.”

Bouncing the kid on your hip, you glance towards Din, wondering what he’s going to do and if that something will ruin your chances of carrying out the wicked ideas currently playing out in your mind. You know he’s got to hate being called ‘pal’ by someone like this – someone who wears the armor without any right to – in the same way you know Cobb is using the term just to stir him up. You glance back and forth between the two of them patiently, waiting to see where this goes.

“Take it off, or I will.”

Now, that’s more like it.

Clearly not how he meant it – at least you don’t think so…but then Din was prone to a darker humor that sometimes went over your head when you weren’t expecting it. Maybe he was fucking with you both.

You find yourself distracted by the way Cobb grins in response, unsure if it’s the way it lights up his attractive features, or if it’s his cocky kind of fearlessness that gets you the most. You didn’t encounter a lot of people who stood up to Din, and most of the ones who did were almost always bluffing, but, staring down a member of an infamous warrior clan, Cobb manages to look quite at ease. 

“Two on one? Doesn’t seem very fair,” he says, adding fuel to the thoughts running through your head. You’re sure you can change his mind on that.

“Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement.” Your tone is low, words steeped with intention, and the way he looks back at you now says maybe he’s finally caught on. 

He glances between you and Din, trying to work out the dynamic here. You’re standing close – could just be business partners, but he thinks not. There’s something in the way the larger Mandalorian keeps pausing when you talk, as if, even with a baby in your arms, you’re the one who’s really calling the shots. He opens his mouth to give his answer, but before he can tell you the sort of arrangement that he thinks might be suitable, the ground begins to shake beneath you. 

Behind you, at the bar, cups, and saucers chatter and clank together on their shelves. One of the bottles of bright blue liquid shuffles towards the edge of the counter then dives, shattering on the floor below before the bartender can catch it. It’s a shame. Liquid is hard to come by out here.

Cobb stares at you both for a minute, then holds up a single, polite finger to give him a moment. Your gaze trails after him as he heads for the doorway, then you glance back towards the bartender to find they’re making a beeline for the back exit, too. 

You and Din exchange looks. Whatever this is, it looks like any kind of arrangement is going to have to wait.

***

A new arrangement falls into your lap in the form of an enormous, cock-blocking krayt dragon. 

As if driven by some constant compulsion to play ‘defender of the people’, Din agrees to take care of this problem for the town in exchange for Cobb’s armor. Of course, you follow along – you’re not completely heartless to their cause – though you’re not sure you’ve ever had to work this hard for a lay. After all, you’d had a much simpler way in mind for getting the man out of the armor.

Yet, as you travel towards the dragon’s lair, clutching onto Din in a manner you find a little undignified as you ride on the back of his borrowed landspeeder, Cobb begins to tell you some of his history – of how he came to be marshal of Mos Pelgo – and you find yourself growing more intrigued by the man. You’d never usually make the effort to get to know the people involved in your arrangements, knowing you’d probably never have to see them again, and sometimes extra information tended to get in the way of what should have otherwise been a simple one-night stand. You already had Din; you weren’t interested in getting to know someone else on that level. But as the night found the three of you lodging together at a Tusken Raider camp, you found yourself warming up to the man. 

So, now you’re sat around a fire, the three of you on one side, the Child on your lap, and several Tuskens across from you engaged in an odd, barking conversation with Din. You’d traveled enough to understand most of what was being said, but that didn’t mean you weren’t wishing they’d go back to the silent hand gestures they’d been using to converse with earlier in the day – the sounds were just so grating.

An argument eventually erupts over some smelly peace offering, a drink Cobb isn’t familiar with, and you’re amused to find that he’s a bit of a hothead. It’s a nice contrast to Din’s cool, calm nature. In an ironic twist, Din ends the row with a blast from the flamethrower on his arm and you turn the baby away from the heat, unfazed, used to this kind of behavior from your partner by now.

Cobb collapses back into his seat beside you, looking slightly defeated, and catches your quiet chuckle.

“You agree with all this?” he asks you, glancing between Din and the Tuskens in an irritated kind of disbelief. You both watch as Din moves to sit closer to the tribesmen to continue their strategizing. As far as you’re concerned, since this little endeavor is Din’s idea, you have no qualms letting him do most of the work. Cobb, on the other hand, used to being the one running things, seems mighty put-out.

“Me? I go where he goes.”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.”

You look back at him and find his handsome face turned back towards you, looking like he’s trying to take in what he can’t see beneath your helmet. You smile. “No?” 

He shakes his head, looking amused. “Sometimes I get the feelin’ you’re the one in charge.”

You think of how best to phrase that, as two idiots in love, you and Din are prone to following one another into idiotic situations, but settle instead for trying your luck with something different.

“He’s got a habit of volunteering us for things. Personally, I had an easier way in mind for getting you out of that armor.”

You watch his face carefully, at least as much as you can make out in the flickering light of the fire. He seems to pause and take this in, not at all expecting it, then takes on a curious expression.

“Am I readin’ this wrong? I thought you two were together.”

“We are.”

He stares at you again and only looks more confused. But you can’t say he doesn’t look interested. It’s like he’s weighing up a few things.

“Well, forgive me for sayin’ so, but I am not about to risk gettin’ my junk blown off for manhandling some Mandalorian’s girl.”

This time you laugh a little louder, pleased to hear that he’s at least imagined it in enough depth that his intended actions might warrant that kind of reaction. Din looks over at the two of you for a moment before returning to his own conversation. 

“What’s so funny?” Cobb asks, smiling at you.

“That you think he’d have a say in that,” you reply. You watch him for a moment, finding this one of the few times you’re wishing you could take off your helmet and be properly face-to-face with someone. There was a lot you wanted to say to him, and not a lot of it could be said using words. 

“If it helps,” you add, “He’s cool with it. We have an agreement.”

Cobb’s staring at you, eyes bright with interest below a shock of salt-and-pepper hair, thinking a few things over. This isn’t a situation that he’s encountered before. Flirtatious women, sure; but none who seemed pretty attached to the man they were already with. He hadn’t even seen your face yet – but he’ll admit, that kind of adds to the thrill. 

“So, what, we do this right here, right now?” he half-jokes, glancing back at the surrounding tents as if the Tuskens might be so hospitable. He waits for your response, because in all honesty, he’d be up for it if you were.

“I figure we take care of the giant monster eating your townsfolk, first. Then, assuming at least two of us make it back alive, we see what happens.”

He chuckles.

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

***

It goes surprisingly well, aside from a very stupid stunt on Din’s behalf; one you’re quick to pull him up on, because for a split moment all thoughts of Cobb had evaporated from your mind at the very real prospect of losing him. 

There are still losses on both sides, of course – for the Tuskens and the Mos Pelgons. The krayt dragon had lost entirely. 

A celebration takes place in the bar that night, back in Mos Pelgo, and you imagine the Tuskens are having a little party of their own back at their camp, with enough meat now to feed their entire clan for weeks to come. 

Cobb’s sitting on his own, watching his happy townspeople with a smile, a bottle of spotchka in hand. He pours himself another cup - his third one. He’s waiting, now. Assuming you hadn’t been leading him on the entire time. You and your Mandalorian had disappeared not long after everyone had arrived back. Maybe it had all been a lie – some twisted game of foreplay the two of you had going on that you had never intended for him to be a part of. He’ll admit that handing over his armor back at the den of the dead dragon might not have been a smart play. He kind of preferred your idea for the handover. He sighs and takes a long sip of his drink. 

Oh well. 

He takes a moment to look around the room, remembering the last time they’d had such a joyful celebration – at least the first half of that night, back when the Empire had finally fallen, given how it had eventually ended. As he continues to look around, a flash of steel catches his attention towards the very back of the room. 

There you are, standing in the doorway. 

He wonders how long you’ve been there; if you’ve been watching him, and how the hell he hasn’t noticed. He’s not sure how he feels about that. Despite spending the past few days with you both, he’ll admit he’s still a bit intimidated. Especially by you. Still, when you beckon with a single jerk of your gloved index finger, he finds himself already on his feet.

Oh. Well.

He throws back the last of his drink, thinking that tonight he’s probably going to need it. 

***

You lead him up a flight of stairs in the back to a room that sits above the bar; a room where only moments earlier you’d set the final boundaries for the night with Din. 

Although you’ve done this a few times before, it’s still important that you remain on the same page. Most of his rules hadn’t changed from previous occasions: no sleeping with the outsider (actual sleeping, that is – it was a form of intimacy he drew the line at), no cumming inside of you (that was for him, and him only), and you were to always remain in control of the situation. 

There had been one unfortunate incident where the guest for the evening had proven a little too rough with you. The moment the dynamic had flipped, Din had left his seat at the sidelines and preceded to drag the guy – who had still been completely naked at the time – out into the darkened streets. You didn’t know what had happened after that and hadn’t bothered to ask.

You didn’t think you were going to have the same issue with the marshal. There was a gentleness about him that perfectly balanced with his cocksure attitude. He seemed respectful. A good man, just like Din. Maybe that’s what had attracted you to him in the first place – how the dirty could balance just right with the sweet.  

He follows behind you looking a little wary, but after everything you’d been through together in the last forty-eight hours, he didn’t see any reason not to trust you. Or maybe that was his dick talking. It had been a while for him. Most of the women in the town were married, and for those that weren’t, he was friends with most of their fathers – practically old enough to be their father. It wasn’t a situation he wanted to get himself into, especially not in such a small town. And Mos Pelgo didn’t exactly get a lot of visitors these days. He’d take his chances with you.

When he enters the room, he sees the other Mandalorian seated on a chair against the wall, facing the bed; completely still, hands resting on his beskar-covered thighs, waiting. 

“You know, I realized I haven’t even seen you, yet,” Cobb says to break some of the tension, turning back towards you as you hit the button for the door – tension only he seems to be feeling, apparently. You both seem oddly at ease. 

“And you won’t get to.” Your voice, though slightly distorted by the helmet, still manages to sound alluring. It almost manages to take some of the edge off your vaguely threatening undertone.

“Not even a peek?” he teases, but he knows enough about your people to understand what he’s getting himself into. “How’s that gonna work?” His eyes glide over your full form for the first time truly taking in your body. Admittedly, he’s looking for any unfamiliar lumps and bumps, but from what he knows Mandalorians are usually humanoid. He watches as you take out a long strip of cloth from one of your pockets.

“One rule for tonight. The blindfold stays on.”

“That’s it?” Cobb asks. He can do that. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time, though at least he’d gotten to see that person’s face first.

You glance over at Din, catching the barely perceptible way he cocks his helmet, then add, “There are other rules, but for now those can wait. This is the most important.” You turn back to Cobb. “No living person can see us without our armor. This is The Way.”

“Huh,” he replies, thoughtfully, catching your choice of words. “After everything we’ve been through, you’re still threatening me?”

“It’s not a threat,” you say, and the gruffness added by your modulator does no favors in convincing him of this. He lets you secure the strip of fabric firmly across his eyes, then almost immediately after hears the hiss of your helmet being removed. Then your voice, clearer this time, hot breath against his ear: “It’s a guarantee.” 

He wonders if it’s possible to be terrified and turned on at the same time.

You barely pause to let this sink in before you’re pressing a mixture of kisses and bites down his neck. Though you’d lived a long time wearing the armor, letting it become like a second skin, you couldn’t deny the added pleasure of the cool, fresh air against your face once it was off. Then there was the added sensory layer of scent and taste. After spending hours with your head inside the confines of your helmet, breathing filtered air, you always found your senses heightened once you were finally exposed.

Cobb smells of sand and sweat, and as you trail a few light, teasing kisses along the lower line of his jaw, his beard bristling against your soft lips, you pick up the sweet-and-sour scent of spotchka on his breath. He turns his head in the direction of the armor seated opposite the bed, having momentarily forgotten about your one-man audience, giving you a much better angle of his neck in the process. As you continue working your mouth over him, he keeps his ears pricked for any sound of movement, feeling suddenly vulnerable in more ways than one.

“You sure he’s in there?” he half-jokes, voice breathy as you continue to lap at his sensitive skin. He could have sworn the armor hadn’t moved since you’d arrived.

“He’s in there. Let’s see what kind of show we can put on, and maybe he can prove it.”

You have his full attention now.

Completely blind, he fumbles to help you out of your armor, fingers finding straps to undo as he feels your hurried movements assisting him. There’s a number of clanks as heavy plates fall to the floor, and he takes a moment to run his fingers over you, feeling the cloth of your tunic still separating his fingertips from the warmth of your skin. It has to come off. He tugs at it, signaling this, and you happily comply. Once you kick your pants and boots off, you stand before him, confident and completely naked, a smirk tugging at your lips as you work out what you want to do with him first.

Din drinks in the sight of your bare figure. It still feels like a rare occasion when he gets a full view like this – so used to the dim lights of the Crest, since it’s one of the few places you both feel comfortable removing your armor – but even those opportunities have become rare now that you had the Child to worry about. It was a blessing that you’d managed to get the little womp rat to sleep in the adjoining room, but then Din wasn’t surprised – despite your ability to come off tough and uncaring, you were better with the kid than he had ever been. If there was one thing the Child might inherit from him, it’s a deep adoration for you.

Even from this seated distance, he can see how smooth your skin looks, his thoughts triggering a kind of muscle memory in his fingertips as he recalls all the times he’s run them across it. He’s almost tempted to call this whole thing off and take you for himself, leaning forward ever-so-slightly, hands braced against the arms of the chair, then Cobb starts to run his hands down along your curves and he catches the way you glance back at him. He’s always caught off guard by your beauty when he’s lucky enough to see you without the helmet, forgetting just how much he’s missing out on when you wear it. As a smile slants across your face in his direction, he settles back into his seat, heart thudding in his chest. He’ll happily let you enjoy this, if only to have you look at him like that forever.

Cobb’s adjusting to compensate for the sense he’s had taken from him, guiding his fingers slowly over your body as he tries to picture how you must look. He starts with your shoulders and you remain completely still across from him, waiting patiently for him to take you in with the only method he’s got left. He feels you shiver as he brushes his fingernails over your neck, then he reaches up for your hair. It’s longer than he’s expecting, given you have to wear it under a helmet all day, but silky and soft. He spends a moment running his fingers through it and you take the opportunity to close the gap between the two of you, grasping the back of his neck to encourage him down to your shorter level so you can press your mouth to his. The kiss becomes heated and has you backing him towards the bed. 

Pausing for a moment, voice breathless, you say, “You’re still dressed.” He grins and takes the hint. You watch as the layers of red are stripped off, then step in to help him with his belt, your mouths less than an inch apart, breath ghosting over each other’s lips as you watch his face for little reactions. Then he dips his head forward to find your lips again, both of you forgetting about his clothes for a moment as you become engrossed in the simple pleasure of the kiss. You feel him smile against your lips as your hands find his belt buckle once more, your fingers making quick, eager work of it. You pull back once it’s undone and let him take care of the rest, your gaze dropping down at the same moment his pants do to catch sight of what you’ll be working with. You’re happy with what you see. There was something to be said about a cocksure man with something to back it up.

Cobb resumes exploring your body as his fingers drift downwards this time; down your arms, briefly stopping to cup your breasts, smiling to himself when he rubs the pads of his thumbs across your hardened nipples and hears you sigh, then down along your sides, finally reaching your hips. His fingers dig in for a moment as he draws you in closer to his warm body, then in one swift movement, he scoops you up under your ass. You wrap your legs around him instinctively to keep you both steady and find yourself rewarded as his hot, hardened member unintentionally brushes against your folds. He has to stop for a moment when he feels how wet you already are, reminding himself he wants to take his time, despite the sudden urge to slide into you. He presses a couple more kisses to your cheek and neck, whatever skin he finds he can reach in this position, then carefully drops you down onto the sheets. They’re cool and refreshing after your long day in the desert heat, but you’d worked hard to set the room just right for your evening, sourcing these little luxuries in the short time you had after the fight with the dragon. 

You lay back so your head’s pointing towards the foot of the bed, towards Din, where you can easily look back at your man. You do so now and feel the heat of his gaze even through his visor. You glance down at his hands, which still rest on the arms of the chair, and see his fingers clutching tightly at the wood. 

Cobb feels his way up onto the bed, using the headboard to steady himself, looking to where he thinks you’ve landed, getting a feel for your position. He feels off-balance without his sight to help him. You’re still busy watching Din when a hand finds your thigh, and your attention is torn back to the marshal as he drops forward, caging your body with his arms. He presses warm, ticklish kisses down your belly, his close-cut beard scratching at your sensitive skin, using the intimate gesture to help guide him down to his intended destination. He ruts his throbbing erection against your thigh to help give him some relief, but that only seems to make it worse. Managing an impressive level of self-control, he shuffles back to give himself more room, then continues using his lips to map out your body. He starts at one of your knees, kissing his way down your thigh, catching the heavenly scent of your arousal as he nears your core. His face hovers above it, feeling the heat radiating off it like a sand dune at the end of a long, hot day, then he licks a stripe where your thigh meets your crotch, dangerously close you where you want him. Your hips rise ever-so-slightly off the bed to try and meet him, but he backs off, blowing cool air against you to tease. You reach down to run your fingers through his hair, urging him closer to you, and hear him emit a soft growl in response. 

When his mouth finally finds your center, you both moan – his sending vibrations that rattle your already-buzzing nerve-endings, yours a little higher pitched as you find a craving finally satisfied. You’d been thinking about this since your first run-in on the day you’d arrived in Mos Pelgo, and the relief it brings to your needy body is better than you could imagine. Still, as his tongue continues to work you up, your pussy clenches with the need for something to be inside of you – a finger, a cock, at this point you don’t care – and you wonder how long he’s planning to take before he finally fucks you.

He starts slow, his tongue pointed and direct as it traces circles and lines over your clit, then the more he relaxes, the sloppier his movements become. You much prefer it that way. The sounds soon coming from between your thighs – a combination of wet slurps and his delighted groans – are as lewd as they are divine, and you’re already fast approaching your first orgasm. As he continues to fuck his tongue into you, your hips bucking mercilessly against his face, fingers twisted in his hair, he hears you mutter something. It sounds almost like a chant. Words he can’t make out. Another language.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. Ner cyar’ika.”

Din’s currently entranced by the way your body is moving, his gaze firmly directed at the man between your legs as your cries and whimpers reach his ears like a favorite symphony; his hips grinding in tiny movements against the chair in an attempt to get some relief. Then he catches the familiar words spilling from your lips. He stills. They’re words you had only ever said to him, and for a moment he thinks they’re being wasted on the marshal. Then he looks at your face, sees your neck curved back, and realizes all this praise is being directed at him. His heart swells – along with certain other body parts – to have you still be thinking about him while your pleasure is at the complete mercy of another man. He thinks he’s never loved you more than at this moment, just to know that you’re his. It takes every ounce of willpower he has left to remain seated. 

The first shockwave of pleasure hits you harder than you’re expecting and the cry that rips from your throat, as if pulled from your very core, is so loud you wonder if the whole damn bar can hear you downstairs. As you ride through your waves of pleasure, your cries the only relief from the full-body torture, you think you probably don’t care. Let them hear. It’s a time for celebration, after all, and who’s to deny you yours.

By this time, Cobb’s slipped a couple of fingers inside of you, working you towards your second orgasm already, and you brace your body for the impending over-stimulation. Once his lips and tongue join in, you find it doesn’t take long; his deft fingers somehow managing to hit just the right spot as he presses a kiss to your thigh and curls his fingertips upwards. He keeps his fingers moving even as your whole body tenses up, your back arching off the bed, his tongue lapping at your clit as your mind goes blank. When you finally look back down at him to see a teasing smirk plastered on his face, along with the sheen of your juices, you know you can’t wait any longer. You push yourself up and take him by the shoulders, using the strength of your toned legs to flip him onto his back so you’re on top. He’s not expecting the sudden maneuver and releases an ‘oof’ then a soft chuckle. 

“Sick of that already, darlin’?” he asks, face still wet and shining as he grins beneath you. Even with half of his face covered by the blindfold, he’s still a handsome motherfucker.

You smile back and trace a couple of fingers down his cheek, managing to gather up some of your slick as you go. Looking over at Din, you lift your fingers to your mouth and lick the residue off of them, grinning when you hear the strained growl that rasps through his modulator. It was always a roll of the dice whether or not he would fuck you after you’ve been with someone else, but that sound was all you needed to hear to know that you probably wouldn’t be making it back to the ship that night.

You turn your attention back to Cobb, finally responding, “I could do that all night, mesh’la, but if I don’t get you inside of me soon, my partner’s going to have to step in, and I don’t want you feeling left out.”

He hums, pleased by how forward you are, and grasps your hips to direct you over him. His grip loosens when you push a hand down on his chest, forcing him back into some semblance of submission, then he releases you completely when you reach back and take hold of him. You stroke your hand up and down his length a few times, smiling to yourself as he bucks into your hand, then finally lean forward to place it at your entrance. You hover over him, his tip angled inward to hold him in place, and your palms come down to his chest to force him to remain still. He takes the hint, even if his hips are free and every instinct is begging him to thrust. He can feel the warmth of you, how slick you are against him, and knows that all he needs to do to relieve the feeling is a quick buck of his hips, but there’s something about the weight of you on his chest that has him completely at your mercy. You feel the small movements of his indecision, his hips twitching below you, then when he’s least expecting it, you slide down, full engulfing him. The tortured whine that erupts from him is reward enough for your patience. 

You start up at a rough pace, hands still pressed on his chest to balance you as you buck your hips and start to ride him. You look down at his hands and watch him clutching desperately at the sheets before he reaches back for you, hands hovering tentatively by your hips like he’s not sure you’ll allow it again. You grab hold of them and set them firmly against you. Taking the cue, he begins thrusting upwards. Soon, you’ve fallen into blissful sync, running your hands up to your chest and pinching at your nipples as you look back over at Din. His stance in the chair has changed since you last looked; his legs sitting a little wider, his body a little more slouched like he’s relaxed into it. His hands are back on his thighs, rubbing slowly at the beskar covering them, as if he’s fighting to keep them away from other parts of his body. Every so often you see his hips shift like he’s trying to gain some relief.

You’re caught off guard when Cobb sits up, but the new angle hits deeper and has you seeing stars. It’s put his face in a better position, his mouth now at level with your breasts, and as he pulls your body closer his lips and tongue latch onto one of your nipples. Your head drops back as you let out a deep moan and his thrusts begin to pick up, as if he’d been waiting for the signal. After being inside of your armor for almost a day straight, it’s a lot of sensation all at once, and with your pleasure fast approaching another peak, a familiar tightening in your lower belly, it’s almost hard to keep up. 

“How’s that, sweetheart?” Cobb asks between panting breaths, running his fingers down your back until his hands are cupping your ass again. “You like that?”

“Fucking perfect,” you reply. You reach for the back of his neck, tilting his head back as you look down at him from your position on top, and you find it’s a turn on in itself to have this kind of power over the man. You gently tug on his hair, giving you both a minute to bask in your shared pleasure before you lean down for a sloppy kiss, both too far gone to care. The minute you’ve parted Cobb buries his face between your breasts, grunting and moaning against you as his thrusts grow slow and uneven. You think that maybe he’s close, but the man’s self-control has proven impressive so far – he’s not going to cum until you do.

The tightening in your lower belly stretches towards its peak, threatening to break. Almost as if he knows, Cobb leans back, ever-so-slightly changing the angle of his hips, and suddenly he’s hitting a different spot, as if he was saving it for the perfect moment. Your pitch changes and you’re holding onto the man for dear life as your body goes into involuntary spasms around him, your fingers clawing against his back for purchase as he holds you tightly against him and forces you to ride it out. He pulls out at the last minute, since you’re currently so outside of your own body that you can’t remember to tell him to do so (and he gets the feeling your partner isn’t the type to let him mark you like that) and you feel warm spurts along your belly as he shoots his load against you, his strained groans adding one final note of obscenity to round off your pleasure. 

It takes you both a moment to return to your senses, and you lean down to kiss him again, ignoring the sticky sensation on your skin as you let the simple pleasure ground you. As you slip back onto the sheets, disentangling yourself from him, you look around for something to clean yourself up with but come up short. 

“Just use the sheets,” Cobb tells you, like he’s reading your mind, “I’ll wash’em up later.”

Your gaze narrows, though you’re too hopped up on endorphins to be concerned about much of anything right now. “Can you see through that thing?”

He grins as he falls back onto the bed, utterly spent, and shakes his head. “Just figured you wouldn’t be too keen on keeping my mess on you too long,” he replies, and it’s enough of an answer for you. 

“I could have said the same to you before,” you reply.

“I don’t think I’m wrong in sayin’ yours is much finer than mine. If there wasn’t a drop left to drink in this town, I think I’d find a way to live on what you just gave me.”

You chuckle, still soaking in your blissful afterglow. “All your townsfolk would go thirsty,” you comment with a smile.

“And it might just be worth it.” 

You know he doesn’t mean that – not after everything he’s gone through to save the town – but the sentiment is nice all the same, and you show him your gratitude with another kiss, intending to make it your last. Then it deepens, grows heated, and you find you have to pull away to gain back a little self-control. You part, both of you laughing, satisfied, and you reach for the sheets to wipe yourself down. Your skin still feels sticky afterward, but you doubt there’s much in the way of hot showers right now considering the water situation in the town, so you’re content to wait until you reach the Razor Crest, knowing you’re at least guaranteed better bathing in its refresher. 

As you look at Din, at the ruined way he’s sitting even though he hasn’t even touched you or himself yet, you think that if you both even manage to make it as far as the Razor Crest, you’re definitely guaranteed a better bathing experience.

“So, how’s this work? We never see each other again?” Cobb asks, hands resting behind his head, looking in your general direction with the blindfold still respectfully secured across his eyes. 

You look over at him as you begin to redress, beginning with your socks, still conscious of Din’s heated gaze on your back as you purposely bend over in front of him to pull them on. “Not usually.”

You catch the quick way the corner of the marshal’s mouth pulls down in a click, realizing he’s disappointed by this news, and then glance over your shoulder at Din. He’s inched forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging lazily between his legs, as his gaze rests between your legs where you still glisten from your romp, and it takes him a moment to tear his eyes away and look up. But he seems to catch the meaning in your glance. His helmet tilts slightly to the right – consideration. 

You smile and step towards him in nothing but your socks, running your fingers down the sides of his helmet affectionately. He finally allows himself to reach out and touch you, his gloved hands grabbing handfuls of your ass, cold steel helmet resting against your belly, as you look back at the marshal.

“But I might find a way to make an exception.”

A grin blooms on Cobb’s face as he imagines all the things he’s yet to do to you – or, perhaps even better, all the things you’re yet to do to him. “I sure hope so.”

And honestly? So do you.

[bastardtetsu]

critical thinking | ch①

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader

genre: college au, enemies to lovers, tsundere!reader, slow burn

wc: 1.9k

warnings: swearing, being a theatre major 

※ mlist | ● ② ③ ④

you knew it was a dumb bitch move to procrastinate on your science requirement.

trying to schedule gen-eds around the demanding requirements of your theatre degree was already a nightmare, and your aversion to maths and sciences makes it even more difficult to find classes that both fit in your schedule AND don’t make you want to actively drop out of school. you weren’t sure why you thought putting off your one and only science credit until your final semester was going to solve any of that. so, you couldn’t be shocked when your only option to graduate on time ended up being 9am chemistry 1. on a monday, no less.

the first class is just as bad as you expect. the lecture drags on for ages, and as much as you will your sleepy morning brain to wrap your head around the concepts being thrown at you, no amount of caffeine, color-coded notes, or mental gymnastics can ford the river of brain-muddling frustration standing between you and a passing grade - the one you need to graduate.

panic begins to set in as you visualize all the hard work you put into your degree rendered useless, all because of a class that doesn’t even have to do with your field of study. who decided there had to be a science requirement anyway? i don’t need fucking chemistry to get a theatre degree??

“if you’re having trouble with anything,” your professor announces, bringing your attention back to the lecture that's finally wrapping up, “the tutoring center on campus is a great resource. i also hold office hours at the times listed on the syllabus. that’s our time for today folks, have a good week.”

you check the syllabus - all of the professor’s office hours conflict with your other classes, of course. asking your classmates is out of the question, seeing as you’re the lone arts major in a sea of STEM and pre-med. as annoying as it is to have to add another item to your schedule, tutoring seems like the only option if you want any hope of graduating. luckily you have some time before your next class, so you pack up your things and head for the tutoring center.

you pray that a decent chem tutor is available during any of your limited free time as you approach the lady at the desk of the tutoring office. she informs you of several with hours later in the week, none of which align with your schedule, and one who is available for the next hour. you figure tutoring right after class isn’t a bad deal - especially considering it’s your only option. the woman gives you a classroom number and a name - kuroo tetsuro - and you set out.

it doesn’t take you long to find the right classroom, but you aren’t prepared for the sight that is waiting for you there. a strong jawline and a mess of black hair that appears to stick up on its own catch your eye first as he taps away at his phone screen, his bored slouch doing nothing to hide his imposing height.

“um... hi, kuroo?” you say tentatively. his eyes glance up from his phone, slightly startled.

“oh, hey,” he responds, sitting up a bit, “you here for tutoring?”

“i am,” you reply with a half smile, “y/n.”

“kuroo. nice to meet you, y/n,” he pulls out the chair next to him as an invitation, “what year are you?”

“i’m a senior,” you say as you make your way over and sit down, “i’m in chem 1.” he definitely seems taller up close, even sitting down.

“chem 1? as a senior?” he asks derisively, his lips curling into a smirk. embarrassment and annoyance shoot through your chest.

“i’m a theatre major, alright,” you respond dryly, “i’m just trying to get my science credit and go.”

“left it ‘til the last minute, huh?” that smirk is still on his face.

“yeah, not my best decision,” you reply, trying not to let your annoyance seep through, “but i’m just trying to pass this class so i can graduate.”

“well, hopefully i can help with that,” he says smugly, “i may be a lowly business major, but i’m pretty good with chem if i do say so myself.”

a business major. of course. you’re familiar with the future capitalist machinery of the business school from your limited experience with the frat parties they so densely populated. needless to say, the impression was not good.

“so what do you need help with?”

“um...” you pondered, “all of it?” he snickered.

“you’re gonna have to be more specific if you wanna get anywhere.” his tone is dripping with amusement. is he trying to piss you off?

“ugh,” you let out an exasperated grunt, suddenly averse to showing any kind of weakness to this jerk. you pull out your notebook and flip to the page where you had attempted to take notes earlier. “this stuff.”

he leans over to take a look at your notes, and as his eyes scan the page you suddenly notice his smell - some fancy-smelling cologne with like, sandalwood or some shit - and his strong but elegant bone structure. i could cut myself on those cheekbones, you think.

“these notes are terrible.”

annnndddd he ruined it.

“well i can’t exactly take good notes if i have no clue what’s going on,” you counter, “isn’t that what you’re supposed to help me with?”

“i can try,” he says with an amused grin, “but I’ve never seen someone struggle this much with the basics on day one.”

now, you could put up with a lot of shit, but the one thing you cannot stand is being condescended to. especially not by some egotistical capitalist fucker who barely knows you.

“look,” you say pointedly, holding back the urge to throat punch him right then and there, “i’m really busy, and i just wanna pass this class, so if you could help me without being a dick about it i’d really appreciate it.”

“aw, but where’s the fun in that?”

his lips twist back into that patronizing smirk - he’s definitely trying to get a rise out of you.

“fuck off,” you say with a roll of your eyes, refusing to take his bait, “are you gonna teach me chemistry or not?”

he chuckles quietly again, thoroughly entertained. “sure. only because I’m so kind, and i could use the challenge.”

you scoff, but hold yourself back from retorting. you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

at first, it’s excruciating. you loathe this douchey business bro getting off on being condescending while explaining chemistry to you like you don’t understand anything - which, to be fair, you don’t. but that somehow makes you resent him more.

granted, once you actually get down to business, kuroo is actually a pretty good tutor. he’s not actively annoying when he’s actually trying to teach you something, and he’s surprisingly patient and good at breaking things down. dude is smart, there’s no denying that.

nevertheless, even when he’s not being snarky, every correction he makes seems to fluster you more. you hate looking stupid in front of others, and something about kuroo seems to amplify that feeling by a thousand. you blame his attitude.

as you fumble trying to wrap your head around the unfamiliar numbers, symbols, & formulas, you’re simultaneously attempting to maintain a shred of dignity in front of this man who clearly thinks of you as the dumbest bitch on the planet. and the more you struggle, the more you worry he’s right.

“seeeee? i told you it wasn’t that hard!” he hums as you finish off another homework question you’d been struggling with. he can’t seem to praise you without being patronizing as fuck, either. you look up from your page momentarily to shoot him a glare.

frustration and embarrassment simmer inside of you with each of his snide remarks, but you hold yourself together and divert the attention back to studying each time. the restraint it takes not to deck him right in his pretty face is honestly deserving of a nobel peace prize.

“not bad,” he muses as you finally finish off the last of your homework, “and it only took you two and a half hours!”

“i’m floored,” you deadpan. your brain is too exhausted to formulate a more clever comeback. then you suddenly realize - “hang on... has it actually been two and a half hours? i thought you were only available for one??”

“technically,” he shrugs, “that’s when my tutoring hours end. but I wasn’t doing anything after, and you seemed like you needed the extra help.” that shitty smile is back. you can feel your blood boiling, but at the same time that... is actually pretty nice of him?

“ah... th-thanks,” you mumble, still resistant to showing any signs of weakness - much less gratitude - to the messy-haired prick.

“so, should i expect you back next week?” his stare reminds you of a cat sizing up its prey.

“uh... maybe,” you say. you honestly don’t have an answer yet. “i have to run though, i’ve got another class to get to.”

“don’t be a stranger,” he grins, “you’re gonna need a lot of help if you wanna graduate.”

you shoot him another glare as you swing your bag over your shoulder.

“i’ll think about it.”

he's still smirking at you as you walk out the door.

—

as much as you’d like to deny it, there’s not much to think about. none of the other chem tutors are available when you are, and there’s no way you’re passing the class without the extra help. and, as insufferable as he is, kuroo did help you get through your entire first week of homework successfully.

of course, you still resent having to rely on some nasty ass, pompous business major to mansplain chemistry to you every week so you can graduate. well, technically it’s not mansplaining since you don’t actually know anything about chemistry. and you technically also asked him to do it. but god, does he have to be such a dick about it??

it’s just an hour or two once a week, you reassure yourself, you can put up with it.

this is easier said than done, of course. the following monday, you begrudgingly approach the same classroom, empty except for one (1) chickenhead douchebag, who promptly stares you down with the most shiteating smile you’ve ever seen.

“oya oya~ look who decided to come back!” he croons.

“don’t flatter yourself, it’s not like I had much of a choice,” you respond flatly. why is he still looking at me with that dumb expression?

“true, there’s no way you’re passing on your own.”

“listen,” you reply pointedly, “some people have better things to do than worry about how many neutrons are on hydrogen or whatever”

“hydrogen doesn’t have any neutrons.”

“COOL!!!! i just want to graduate!!”

“well then you’re gonna need to know that hydrogen doesn’t have any neutr-”

“ALRIGHT, i got it,” you huff, “can you just… help me figure out this balancing equations shit? WITHOUT being an asshole about it?”

“hmm… sorry, i can only accept one request at a time.”

this is gonna be a long fucking semester.

a/n: eeeeee this is the first time i’ve actually wholeheartedly attempted to write a fic in lord knows how long (possibly ever?? idk them memories repressed) and my first time posting my own writing so i hope y’all like it !! everybody who’s ready to see me trash talk k*roo t*tsuro say way ho

[mrsalwayswrite]

Never Alone (Don “Wardaddy” Collier x reader) Fury 2014

Just something that popped in my head today and I had time to write. Yay! Plus I watched Fury recently and my love of that movie grows every time I watch it.

Reader is written as she/her instead of y/n but no other description is given.  

Warnings: none really. some swearing, sadness, fluff. 

Words:1780

  She had been so excited when the Private told her she had mail. Tearing the envelope practically in half, she did not check who sent it. There was only one person (well two technically) who sent her mail. Her grandparents. Her grandfather was the one who wrote the letters though. He was the one who mattered. Since his own son dumped his toddler on his parents' doorstep and walked away, her grandfather had treated her as his own. Better than his own. 

 Ever since she was able to walk she waddled around following her grandfather. He teased her calling her his shadow, but she knew he loved it. He was the one that taught her to fish, to hunt, to shoot, to defend herself, everything he knew about engines and machines. 

He had been in the Great War, a Captain, but when this war rolled around, age and injury prevented him from joining. 

 So she did. 

 The tanks were supposed to be rolling out soon. This was only a short reprieve until they headed to the next town to liberate and secure it. Nothing unusual. 

 For the brief moments she had, she hid behind her current home- the tank Fury. As an assistant mechanic, she knew every part of the tank, almost better than Grady since she could fit into the smaller spots better than him. The rest of the crew- her boys as she teased them- were getting some hot chow. Wardaddy probably was talking with that stupid lieutenant, that acted like he was better than everyone else, to learn where they were going. For the moment, she was alone. A rarity that she planned on taking full advantage of. 

 She tore the envelope and ripped out the letter, eager for news from home. 

 Immediately she knew something was wrong. 

The words were written in a lovely cursive, not the typical choppy, slant she associated with her grandfather's handwriting. There were dried tear marks smudging some of the words and scattered around the paper. 

 Sweetheart, I don't know how to make this any easier on you, so I am just going to say it. Your grandfather is gone. There was an accident. The neighbor's truck was acting up again so your grandfather went to help and then…

 The words blurred before her eyes, no longer recognizable.  Gone… her grandmother could not even come out and say the truth. He was dead. The man that mattered most to her was dead. 

 She wanted to scream at the heavens, she wanted to cry until there was nothing left in her, she wanted to burn the letter and pretend her world had not imploded.

 Mostly she just wanted her grandfather back. 

 Instead she sat there, kneeling in the mud, staring out over the field next to the tanks, the letter clutched in her hand like her life depended on it. Tears streaked down her cheeks, cleaning away the grime and grease that felt like a permanent stain on her skin. 

 The fog in her mind lifted when she heard someone call her name. Turning her head slowly, she glanced over her shoulder to see Bible approaching her. Gordo stood a few feet away watching her, eyebrows furrowed. She could guess why. She never cried. Even when a chunk of tank pierced her thigh and Wardaddy had to pull it out, no tears fell. Even when everyone else in their unit died, tanks blown sky high, she never shed a tear. 

 "What's wrong, Whiskey? You hurt?"

 Silently she handed him the letter. Words felt like too much effort right now.  Even hearing her nickname felt like a stab to her gut. Her grandfather had instilled in her the knowledge of good whiskey so now she was humorously picky when it came to drinking alcohol.  

 It did not take long for him to understand. "Oh, Whiskey. I'm so sorry." He wrapped his arms around her, putting his chin on the top of her head as she pressed her face to his chest. "He's in Heaven now with our Lord, looking down on you. No more pain, only happiness. He probably found himself a bench with Saint Peter and is keeping an eye on you, yeah? Looking out for his girl."

 She nodded, thankful for Bible's intuition of what she needed to hear. 

 He held her for a few more moments before the cries of 'move out' sounded and men piled back into the tanks, war ready to resume. 

 He let her go but stared into her eyes. "You need to talk, or even a hug, you find me."

 "Tha...thank you."

 "We're family. A bit dysfunctional but family."

 She chuckled, quickly wiping away the dried tears with the sleeve of her jacket, caking her face in grime once again. One more nod to each other, they stood up and clambered into Fury. Gordo squeezed her hand when she slipped into the gunner's seat next to him. Coon-Ass patted her shoulder awkwardly. Wardaddy gave her a brief nod, but it was his gaze, all the sentiment in it almost broke her resolve to bury her pain. 

 Now was not the time. They had a job to do. 

 Best job she ever had. 

 ******

 That evening, under the stars, she leaned against a brick building that once was a cafe but now was half demolished. Cigarette between her lips as her thoughts threatened to overwhelm her. Everyone that was not on guard duty was asleep. 

 Footsteps approached her but she knew who it was without looking. She knew he would find her eventually. He always did. 

 Without a word, he leaned against the brick next to her, lighting his own cigarette. They stood that way, silently, watching the stars as the smoke from their cigarettes drifted upward to join the celestial beings. 

 Giving in, she tipped her head to the side, laying it against Don's shoulder, his arm wrapping around her. 

 "He's dead."

 "Yeah."

 "I don't… I don't know what to do."

 "You keep living." His harsh tone made her peer up at him in the dark, but he continued, staring ahead. "You keep living every goddamn day doing the best you can, to honor them, but mostly cause you alive and they aren't.  You live while there is breath in your lungs because one day there won't be and you don't want to realize you wasted those breathes. Trust me on that."

 And she did. She knew about the scars on his back and where they came from. One drunken night he told her and Bible about it. 

 He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head. "I'll take care of you."

 "I know. But when this damn war is over and we go home, I…."

 "I'll take care of you." He interrupted, exhaling, smoke slipping between his lips. 

 "What?"

 "You heard me. You aren't going home alone. You're coming home with me." His statement said, so matter of fact, as he kept staring at the stars.

 "I am?"

 "Yeah, be my wife. There's land behind my folks place. We'll build a house and you can hunt in the woods all day long or work on vehicles in the garage."

 "You want me to marry you?" She needed to make sure she was not hallucinating.  

 "I sure as hell ain't letting you marry any of these other bastards."

 She could not help it. She threw her head back and laughed. God, it felt good. Anything was better than crying. 

 Turning around so she was facing him properly, his arm still around her, hand on her hip now, she stared at him. Taking one last inhale of her cigarette, she dropped it onto the ground. She had always thought he was attractive. At the beginning she may have even had a schoolgirl crush on him. As time passed and she got to know him more, that crush evolved into something deeper. Something stronger. His loyalty, his  protectiveness for those he cared about, his nerves of steel, his sincerity and his ability to think calmly and rationally even in the most dire of circumstances...those things began to mean more to her than just his pretty face. Even if it was very pretty. 

 "You serious? You really want me to marry you?"

 "That's what I said."

 She stared at him, trying to imagine herself as his wife, as living a simple life together. Something she had never imagined for herself before...until now. And with the picture in her mind, she realized she wanted that. More specific, she wanted that with him. "Well, ok."

 He finally looked down at her, lips turned up just slightly. "Yeah?"

 "Yeah. Yes, Don, I will marry you."

 A full, brilliant smile split his face. He dropped his cigarette and cupped her face, pressing his lips against hers in a mad rush. Her own hands grabbed his jacket, pulling him as close as possible as she opened her mouth to allow their tongues to dance. She wondered if this is what it felt like to be on morphine. A lightness filled her, everything felt right with the world, a warmth stirred in her belly. Kissing Don Collier had to be the best thing she had ever done in her life. Well maybe second best thing, since she agreed to marry him and fully expected more kisses in the future. 

 Breathing heavy once their lips unlatched, Don held her close, his chin on top of her head. Her hands still gripped his jacket but now more to steady herself. Her legs felt like limp noodles and her mind was in a euphoria of bliss. 

 "So, this means we're calling you Warmomma instead of Whiskey?"

 She looked over to see Bible standing nearby, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

 "Don't you dare." She glared but his smile only grew and she could feel Don attempting to suppress his own laughter. 

 "We'll don't stay up too late you two…" he pointed a finger at them, "...and no funny business."

 "Night, Boyd." Don said, lighting a new cigarette. 

 Bible shook his head, still smiling before sticking his hands in his pockets and strolling away. 

 "He's right. We should probably bed down."

 "Mmm…" He slowly ran his hand up and down her back. 

 "Want to keep me warm tonight? Gordo stole my blanket yesterday, so…" she shrugged, struggling to keep her voice light. 

 He smirked. "I can do that."

 They walked back towards the others, his arm around her shoulders and hers around his side. She realized in the moment that if they survived this war, she would never be alone. Her future was not how she planned it to be...but perhaps it would be even better.

[midnightsnyx]

Matthew Tkachuk - In Your Dreams: part 2

a/n: a couple people requested a part 2 and i couldn’t help myself!! thank you for all the love on part 1!! <3  also im bad at writing cheesy romance so i apologize in advance at how bad it will be lol

part 1 here

warnings: angst, fluff, insinuated smut (i may get there some day folks but today ain’t that day)

word count: 2967

tag list: @buckybarneshairpullingkink​

my masterlist

Matthew Tkachuk

“Are you sexting my brother?”

You yelp when Brady drops on the couch beside you and snatches your phone from your hand. Luckily, you were only scrolling through Instagram so he didn’t see the suggestive texts you and Matt had been exchanging all morning.

After the summer, you and Matt had been texting back and forth, trying to get used to the idea of talking without insulting each other. It was much easier than you were expecting and you discovered rather quickly that you enjoyed talking to him. He was sweeter than you’ve ever seen, thoughtful, good-humored and you were completely infatuated with him.

After a couple months of texting and Facetime, you flew to Calgary to spend the weekend with him. He wined and dined and took you to his bed and you hated having to leave.

You snatch your phone back. “No. Although I’m not sure why you would want to see them.”

“I don’t!”

“Keep your nose out of my business then.”

. . .

“Heck no.” Brady says when you meet him at the Canadian Tire Centre. “Oh, heck, no. You’re not wearing that!”

You look down at you Calgary Flames jersey and shrug. Matt sent it to you and asked if you would wear it for tonight’s game because the Sens were facing off against the Flames.

“I mean, technically, it still has your name on it.”

“You’ve betrayed me!”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re being dramatic. Look,” you lift your jersey up to show a Sens t-shirt with number 7 on it. “See? Now c’mon, you have a game to play.”

He follows you like a sad puppy and sighs. “My own brother is stealing my best friend. You know, I think I liked it better when guys hated each other.”

You groan and shove his shoulder. “Grow up.”

 Along with buying your jersey, Matt also bought your ticket so that you’d be on the visitors side. Which means he spent most of warm up showing off to you as if you’ve never seen him play before which you have but you’ll never admit it to him.

It’s an intense game and you’re not sure who you’re cheering for half the time but they go into overtime so at least they’ll both get a point.

Matt ends up scoring the winning goal and when he points to you and mouths, that one was for you, you think your heart might burst out of your chest.

. . .

The two of you haven’t put a label on whatever you are and part of you is okay with it because it is fairly new but you’re also worried about what he does when the two of you aren’t together which is quite a lot. Sure, he sends you flowers and calls you after every game no matter how tired he is. He texts you every morning and calls you before you go to bed and it makes you feel special but sometimes you can’t help but wonder if he does this for other girls and if it makes them feel special too.

It’s something that’s on your mind on a weekend that Matt brings you to Calgary. He had practice in the morning so you’re hanging out at his apartment waiting for him to come home. You’re cooking lunch when you hear the front door open, and Matt calling out to you.

“Babe, I’m back!” He shouts and your heart swells at the term of endearment but it drops when you think about him calling other girls that when you’re not around.

His arms wrap around your waist and he presses a kiss on your neck.

“Something smells good.”

“Yeah, it’s fettuccine… I think I might’ve messed it up a-”

“I’m not talking about the pasta.” he mumbles, pressing more kisses down your neck.

“Oh?” you squeak and you really shouldn’t, because you’re still worrying about not being the only one, but you let him drag you to bed anyway.

Later that night, long after he’s asleep, you’re trying to ignore the taunting voice in your head reminding you that he might be holding other girls like this. Reminding you that someone else might also wake up to his sleepy smile and messy hair.

. . .

“So you’re her.”

You raise your eyebrows at Johnny Gaudreau, who Matt had introduced you to when the two of you first arrived at the bar. He introduced you as Brady’s friend and when you looked at him, he just shrugged.

You’re not sure what you were expecting - certainly not saying you were his girlfriend - but Brady’s friend? It was bothering you and you were doing you best to hide it but you knew you were failing because Matt had been sending you weird looks all night all while basically ignoring you. He’s barely touched you since you sat with his friends.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply, glancing at Matt who is deep in conversation with one of his teammates.

“He talks about you a lot.” Johnny shrugs. “I thought you two were dating.”

“Apparently not.” You mumble, standing up and giving Matt a quick look. “I’m going to get a refill.”

You leave before he can reply and push through all the sweaty bodies trying to get to the bar. While you’re flagging down a bartender, someone sits on the stool next to you. You look, expecting it to be Matthew but instead it’s a stranger. A handsome stranger so when he offers you to pay for your drink you almost say yes but a familiar arm wraps around your shoulder.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Matt says, glaring at the man until he mutters an apology and leaves. When he’s out of sight, Matt turns so he’s facing you and now you’re the one on the opposite end of his dirty look.

“What the hell was that?” He snaps and you scoff, shrugging his arm off you.

“Excuse me?”

“You were going to let him buy you a drink!” He says loudly and you glance around but nobody seems to be paying attention to you thankfully.

“It was a drink, Matthew. I wasn’t inviting him home.”

“Well I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” He says harshly and you flinch. His eyes widen immediately and he reaches out but you hop off the stool and run out of the bar, ignoring him calling your name.  

You run out of the bar and down the street until you come across a quiet diner. A bell dings when you open the door and a kind looking, older woman greets you and tells you to seat yourself.

You’ve been sitting in the diner nursing a glass of water for no more than fifteen minutes when the bell rings, signally a new customer.

You don’t have to look up to know who it is but you do anyway and you’re greeted with a very guilty looking Matt. He slowly walks over and seats himself across from you.

“How’d you find me?”

He shifts in his seat and stares at the table instead of you. “I tracked you on snapchat.”

You swear under your breath for not turning that option off. When you look at Matt again, his eyes are on you already. He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off right away, wanting to speak your mind before he says anything.

“You introduced me as Brady’s friend.” you say quietly and he nods. “you barely spoke to me the entire night and then you got possessive when that guy spoke to me.” he nods again and you sigh. “look, Matt. I’m not asking you to say something you’re not comfortable saying or you’re not ready to say - I don’t think I’m ready for it - but you’re not allowed to act like I’m nothing to you when there are people around but get jealous if someone talks to me. And you’re not allowed to say what you said to me. That was unfair.”

“I know.” he replies. “and I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I was out of line.” He looks back down at the table and you know he’s trying to think of what to say so you give him a moment. “I know it’s selfish… but I guess I just want you to myself a little while longer. I like the two of us in our bubble and that bubble is going to be popped when people find out about us. I’m in the spotlight, people are going to want to know our business and I don’t want it to freak you out.”

You nod in understanding. You were aware of how the media can be and it’s not something you look forward to.

“I’m scared.” He admits and you reach across the table, squeezing his hand.

“I’m scared too.” you tell him, lips turning up in a tiny smile. “but it’s better to be scared together than alone, right?”

He mirrors your smile and leans across the table and you meet him halfway.

. . .

You spend Christmas with the Tkachuk’s and Matthew proudly introduces you as his girlfriend and Chantal and Taryn squeal, Keith smiles and hugs you and Brady rolls his eyes and says “I knew this would happen all along. The two of you should really thank me.”

Matt blushes when his mom gushes about how glad she is that he found someone like you and that she had a feeling the two of you were meant for each other but later that night he tells you how happy he is that you gave him a chance.

The two of you debate over how it would be best to tell everyone you’re dating and you decide on a cliche but simple post to his Instagram.

It’s a picture of the two of you standing in front of the tree, his arms wrapped around you and lips pressed against your forehead. The caption reads, it wasn’t love at first sight, but we turned out okay.

It accurately sums up your relationship perfectly and you tease him about how long he’s had that one in his back pocket.

But it still makes your heart race and you want to shout I love you from the rooftops.

. . .

It’s not easy being 2877 kilometers apart and it becomes more obvious the longer the two of you are together. You fly to Calgary as often as you can but you still have school and Matt can’t visit Ottawa much because of his hockey schedule.

It’s a test for the two of you - and your relationship - and sometimes you feel frustrated and you wonder if you can do it but you think about when Matt Facetime’s you nearly every night that you’re apart from each other and you know that it would break your heart to live without seeing his curly brown hair and blue eyes and hearing his voice so you tell yourself it’s worth it.

And it is, until it isn’t.

. . .

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.” Matt says, obviously frustrated.

The two of you had been arguing for hours. You were graduating in less than two weeks so you’re job searching and when Matt brought up the idea of you moving to Calgary with him to get a job, you panicked.

You have been together for just about eight months now and you know that it’s normal at this stage to move in with someone but you were scared. There’s always been the fear in the back of your mind that one day Matt is going to wake up and decide that you’re not who he wants and if you uproot your entire life in Ottawa for him, you don’t know what you would do if something happened between the two of you.

But you couldn’t explain this to him so you kept making up lame excuses as to why you couldn't move in with him.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” You say quietly and he huffs.

“Can you please just think about it?” He pleads and you’re tired of arguing that you just agree even though your answer will still be no when he asks.

“I love you.” He says and you smile softly. One thing about Matt is that no matter how big an argument and even if it’s not solved right away, he tell you he loves you.

“I know. I love you too.” You say before he ends the call.

You flop back on your bed and even though it’s only seven o’clock, you feel ready for bed. Ten minutes later, you’re just dozing off when you hear your door open and slam shut. You would freak out but you hear Brady call out to you and you tell him you are in your room.

You expected him to come over because when you and Matt argue, he makes sure to check on you.

What you’re not expecting is to see him fuming with anger.

“You’re an idiot.” He says.

“Excuse me?” You snap and he huffs, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at you.

“You love my brother, right?” he asks and you nod. “and he loves you.” you nod again and he raises an eyebrow.

“So why won’t you move in with him?”

You roll your eyes and sit up. “It’s not that simple, Brady.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just not.” you say because you don’t actually have a valid explanation. You know most of your reasons are foolish but you can’t help it.

He sighs and sits on the bed next to you. “What’s going on in your head? We’re best friends, you can talk to me about anything.”

You look at him and can’t help but smile. Brady always had a way of making you feel better when you were kids.

“I guess I’m scared.” You admit quietly and he knocks his shoulder against yours more gentle than normal.

“’bout what?” he asks and you shrug.

“He wants me to move across the county.”

“Yeah.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

A small smile crosses his face. “But what if it does?”

. . .

Three weeks later you’re holding a one way ticket to Calgary in your hand and saying goodbye to Brady in the airport.

“You got everything?” He asks, passing you your carry-on. You’re pretty sure if you looked close enough, his eyes would be a bit watery but yours are too so you can’t poke fun.

“Everything I need.” You tell him, and hug him tightly. You hold on to him a little longer than usual but it’s hard leaving your best friend after being attached at the hip for so long.

When he pulls away, he grins. “I’m proud of you.”

“I know.” you say. “I’ll text you when I land. And don’t forget-”

“I won’t tell him.” he promises and you hug him once more before leaving.

You’ll miss Ottawa, but it’s time for the new chapter of your life to start and you can’t wait.

. . .

Matt’s not surprised when he opens his front door to find you standing in front of him. He just grins and leans against the door.

“Missed me, did you?”

“Yeah.” You tell him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. “I really did.”

[whispersafterdusk]

Lost in Time - ch 20

"Better have a good reason for dragging me out here, fellow."

The nights on this side of the river were unbearably hot, and the wind blew sand into every nook and cranny of person and building alike; Windsor could have sworn he learned in grade school that deserts were chilly at night but Eufala seemed to be different in that regard -- maybe it was the proximity to both the river and ocean, since the humidity alone was enough to make you want to die during the day.

That heat and humidity had already soured his mood by the time he'd returned to his motel room, and finding the little note jammed under his pillow hadn't done much to alleviate it; now here he was out in the middle of the desert, filling his boots with sweat, staring down the muscle-head that had left the note.

Franklin was an intimidating figure whose image was slightly undercut by the moonlight glistening on the healthy amount of sweat on top of his bald head; it was taking every ounce of self control Windsor had to not comment or laugh about it, or stare as a single bead finally ran down off the man's dome and traced a line to the lobe of his ear, then disappeared down his neck to soak into the collar of his shirt. ((Continued below cut))

"You're not one of them, are you?  Duvos soldier, I mean."

Windsor met the man's gaze and shook his head.  "Nope - just a humble bounty hunter and mercenary for hire.  What's it to you?"

Franklin folded his massive arms with a grunt and a nod.  "Figured as much.  Listen.  Xan's on the hook for some murders. He was given - "given" command of this last job," he repeated, flapping his fingers as he said it, "-and then, poof, dead commander.  Xan's rise through the ranks has always been on the backs of the dead -- loads of blood in his wake but never anything that tied him directly to anything, but this one they can't let slide on a maybe."

The man went silent then and Windsor could tell by the look on his face that he was expecting a reaction; he kept his expression blank and let the silence drag on until the meat head was clearly getting frustrated.  "Right.  And?"

"...and so I'm here to screw things up for him.  If he's discredited on something this important then no one is going to care if he disappears.  The higher ups are willing to sacrifice another chance at an AI just to get him gone."

Windsor rolled his eyes.  "I see where this is going and no thank you.  This is your bed - shit in it all you like but I'm not joining you."

Franklin's eyes narrowed.  "If Xan takes a fall so do you since you're a part of this damn group."

"I'm not an empire native and also don't give a flying rat's ass about the man or his politics -- if anyone wants to make a stink about it I've got the papers to prove I'm just a hired hand, and if they STILL don't like that I've got ways to get out of their hands.  If you want to convince one of the others that they need to save their backsides then by all means do so; I won't stand in your way or narc you out.  But leave me out of this."

Franklin growled.  "You saw 'em -- they aren't going to break ranks."

Windsor shrugged.  "Yeah, and?  What would've you done if they HAD?"

"Kidnapped the woman, dragged her back to Duvos - I've got my orders to screw this up but nothing says I can't benefit in the process.  So long as the job isn't done as ordered and Xan's embarrassed.  He stakes his reputation on his plans always going AS planned down to the letter, so-"

"Oh please, THAT'S your back up plan?  Original plan or not that would only make Xan look good!  You're as dumb as you look, as dumb as I suspected, and my answer is STILL 'no goddamn thank you.'  Mind your business and I'll mind mine."

The other simply narrowed his eyes and glared; Windsor gave it another few breaths then turned to leave.  He kept his ears trained for any approaching steps (as he half-expected the man to attack him with his back turned) but he made it back to the motel without issue, and after emptying the sand and sweat out of his boots he unclipped his dagger harness and rolled into bed.

Whatever trouble there was in paradise wasn't any of his concern; he'd been hired to help steal an AI and that was that.

Pity about Xan though...man really did have a reputation for getting things done.  Whatever methods he used aside Duvos would surely take a hit in the espionage and acquisitions department if they took Xan out of the chain of command.  Was rather interesting to hear that they were actually willing to do something about him...Duvos had some cutthroat politics and supposedly a lot of things were overlooked or praised as being ambitious but whoever that commander had been that he offed must have had parents REALLY far up the chain who had the pull to go after him.

At least Franklin's half-assed recruiting attempt had given him a fair head's up that once they'd paid for his services then Windsor should get the hell out of town and lay low.  Maybe he'd leave the meat head enough for a single drink as a parting gift -- assuming the man's own tactics didn't leave him dead at the end of all this.

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

"It's not important right now."

Remington mentally sighed; they'd been trying to get the date of Eli's birthday out of her for five days now and she'd stubbornly insisted each time that they had more pressing matters to attend to.   And yes, while technically she was correct, he didn't see any harm in them knowing when to wish her a simple "happy birthday" with the rest of it coming later. It wasn't exactly an argument but whatever you wanted to call it was interrupted by a familiar wobble from his bad knee; he immediately froze -- an impressive feat considering he was partly bent over in a stretching pose, and by shifting his good leg he was able to avoid toppling over onto his head (this time).

Eli grabbed him by the shoulders and helped him straighten up, and when he turned around she was frowning down at his legs.  "Stubborn injury, isn't it?"

"Yeah.  Been like that for awhile now.  I've learned to live with it."

"If we just knew what was wrong I bet Stewart could fix it."

"Really?  Even without all the fancy technology?"

She nodded.  "Really.  I've been trying to get up to speed with Xu about what survived the years and what's been developed since everything fell apart. Kind of makes me wonder if we really NEEDED all that tech back then.  Made things easier but at its most basic a lot of surgeries are done in essentially the same way regardless of whether it was a man or machine holding the blade...  We had an old saying about reinventing the wheel and while innovation was always pushing for new heights there were a lot of things you could say we had down to an art and couldn't really change.  Can't remember the last time I'd read about a new medical advancement...and I was married to a researcher."

With Eli helping he lowered himself into the grass and rubbed gingerly at his knee; every couple of days, on top of any strength training they found the time for, Eli had him working with stretches and light exercises specifically meant to try and help that joint.  So far he'd not noticed any changes aside from being constantly sore but at this point he was willing to try just about anything as he didn't relish the idea of living the rest of his life with a leg that was always threatening to suddenly buckle if he moved wrong.  

"Still, a lot of things made life easier. Bare minimum," she went on, "I'd love to have at least one functional imaging machine.  See everything inside without having to open you up."

"How'd those work?"

"Couldn't begin to tell you, beyond trying to explain how X-rays, radioactive tracers, and magnetic imaging works which, aside from basic facts about them, is well out of my scope of knowledge. Now, if I had Darren, or Peter or Ashley here, any of them could talk themselves blue in the face explaining how any given medical instrument worked.  Stewart could explain it too if you're interested."

Peter and Ashley...if memory served those were two of the squad mates they had buried in the graveyard (they'd been keeping a close eye on those graves still) and he certainly knew who Darren was.  "I won't bother Stewart with that - he'll have his hands full when the next round of scholars shows up."

With a groan she let her head drop back, staring up into the sky.  "Don't remind me. The first group was nosy enough."

"These ones are coming from Vega 5 and ought to be more interested in the technical side of things rather than...well."

She flashed him a smile.  "Rather than wanting to study me and how folks in the Old World lived?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that.  I didn't think they were bothering you too much...were they?"

"Not...really?  It kind of depends on how you want to quantify it - they didn't ask to meet with me a lot, but when they did they had notebooks full of questions that Stewart's social and technical programming couldn't answer and it'd take me an entire day to get through them."

He frowned.  "You could have said something if they were imposing on you too much."

"I could have.  But I didn't see a point in it," she sighed.  "It was something that needed to be done."

He sat up and looked at her; compared to Arlo or the Flying Pigs he didn't really get a lot of one-on-one time with her outside of these recent stretching sessions but still even he could tell something was a bit...off with her tone.  Like she was tired, or sad (and he didn't really need to consider why).  "You've got all the time in the world to answer questions."

"Maybe.  It just seemed easier to get them out of my hair and get back to-"

"-work?" Remington jutted in.  "Doesn't seem like you focus on much else.  Is everything all right?"

She blew out a breath that trailed into a buzzing raspberry.  "Not you too."

"Me too?"

"You, and Arlo, Asher and Xu - asking if I'm all right or need anything all the time or if someone is bugging me."

"...well, friends do that, don't they?"

"They do, but not every problem or bad mood can be solved by having a friend around."

He bent his good leg so he could rest his arms on his knee, and his chin on his arms, as he gazed up at her thoughtfully.  "We just -- it's not meaning to suggest anything beyond just wanting you to know the door's open, you know?  I can ask everyone to tone it down but we're just - we care.  That's all."

She closed her eyes and, after a moment, slumped her shoulders.  "I know, and I get it, and I'm thankful for having friends around ready and willing to support and help.  But it's... It's like picking at a scab. Each time I get asked, it's picking - and if you keep picking it never closes or heals, and the scar is a million times worse.  And with what they did to Darren's grave I feel like someone took a diamond sander to the scab and ground down to the bone.  Just when I thought I was doing better.  I talk to Xu, and it helps, but each well-meaning question from everyone else is pulling scabs right now."

"All right.  I'll quietly let the others know that you'll come to US if you need something and we should stop asking.  But, I do know we do really want to know you, and be your friends, and be there.  That's why we wanted to know about your birthday -- heck, if there's any holidays you want to celebrate I know we'll figure that out too."

She rubbed her hands across her face and held them there; when she spoke her voice was muffled but Remington didn't think she sounded too upset.  "Birthdays were celebrated only on multiples of 5.  I was born on the 15th of the first Spring.  I would need to check with Stewart to make sure I've got the years right but I last remember passing my 37th birthday."

Remington nodded slowly, and smiled at her; in his mind, very briefly, he thought 'I'm older than she is' followed immediately by the realization that no, he was not, and no one in the world was older than she was.  "All right - I'm sorry if it seemed like I was badgering you on anything but I'm also glad you told me.  Do you want me to keep quiet about it?"

"Please.  At least until I hit 40."

"It's a deal.  How would you celebrate your birthday back then?"

"Gifts, an elaborate dinner.  Costume parties were popular.  I always ended up with costume parties because New Year's Dawn had just happened, which was a city-wide costume party so you'd always have something on hand you could wear.  You'd go door to door singing songs, playing games, giving gifts, dancing in the streets.  You'd stay awake as long as you could but it was expected that you'd stay awake from dawn of the last day of the year to dawn of the second day of the new year."

"That sounds an awful lot like celebrating a holiday, and not your own  birthday."

She finally dropped her hands away from her face and shrugged at him.  "That's what happened if your birthday fell on or close to a national holiday."

Remington went to stand and tested his weight on his bad leg; there were no wobbles, no twinges, no sudden shooting pains.  "Sounds like you've had 37 years of getting the short end of the stick, then."

"You learn to live with it.  Ready to keep going?"

He didn't protest the sudden change in subject; with a bit more attention and care to how he was moving his body he managed to get through the rest of the exercises without any further trouble, and though he was pretty sore when they were done he didn't mind it too much -- his next patrol would be on horseback so the joint could rest while he rode.

"We'll get there, slowly but surely," Eli said as she walked him to the gate.  "Just take it easy for the rest of the day."

"I plan to," he replied with a chuckle.  "I was actually just thinking about that." As he latched the gate behind him he could spy Selene heading home - she was just coming out through Portia's gates. "-not to rush off or anything but I better get going.  I know Selene is just wanting to pounce over party things."

"Oh I know.  She's babbled about your birthday party these last few days.  All the more reason for YOU to keep your trap shut."

Remington laughed.  "I swear on my honor your secret is safe with me.  See you later, Eli."

He hurried off and was able to dodge around Selene with a hurried 'sorry, late for my patrol' and then he was huffing and puffing up the hill toward the Corps building to collect Arrow.

When he got there though he found his saddle was missing.  That was odd.

Spacer was there however and that saddle was where it was supposed to be; Remington hurriedly scribbled a note of explanation for Arlo and left it pinned to Spacer's stable stall then saddled him and headed down the road, and wondered how the heck he'd managed to misplace a saddle. Maybe someone had moved it since they were cleaning out the back wall in preparation of replacing a few shelves that were starting to dry rot and his was the only saddle that sat near those particular shelves.   Most of what had been sitting on those shelves was currently in a jumbled pile in the corner across from there...maybe he ought to clean a bit of that up when he got back from patrol.

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

He didn't mind that Remington had borrowed Spacer -- the horse liked the man well enough so Arlo knew there wouldn't be any trouble from the animal (unlike Teddy who typically wouldn't let anyone but Sam ride him).

What he DID mind though was by the time he'd found the note the missing saddle was back in its place, and after checking it over he found that a lot of the stitching had been carefully frayed with a knife so that it was highly likely that if Remington had been IN the saddle, moving quickly, and had made any sudden movements or sudden stops, the straps would have given way and dumped him off the horse.  Teddy's saddle had likewise been tampered with but not as badly as Arrow's, and Arlo was both relieved he'd discovered that before Sam went out on a ride as well as extremely anxious for Remington's safe return because he had no reason to believe that Spacer's saddle hadn't also been sabotaged.

It was really beginning to feel like whoever was causing their current problems was trying to spread them as thin as possible, as Arlo's first thought upon discovering the sabotaged saddles was "great, now we have to watch the stables."

But...no.  That was doing exactly what their spy and or vandal would want.

He still believed that the Stupid Plan idea of Eli's had merit - in fact, this was probably a result of that, assuming their spy was also their vandal - but it was time for a change in strategy.

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

"Looks like we'll be up and running within two weeks then."

It had been awhile since they'd ALL been together out at the facility; they were clustered inside the tent, looking over a collection of blueprints and measurements for the security door and signal transmitters.  Eli had been shifted off her patrols and onto helping Selene get the rest of the transmitter parts made, along with the towers they'd be mounted on.  With Eli's assistance they wouldn't need to bring in another builder for the assembly (though Higgins was producing the metal struts needed for the towers) and that left Merlin and Petra in charge of assembling the power sources (a mix of hydro, wind, and power stones).

Between work on that, and Mint overseeing the project to get the door installed...two weeks.  They would need to manage for two weeks, and then they could bring their full attention down on catching their spy.   It was nice to know that the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel wasn't something that was going to run them over.

"Do we have anything new to discuss?" Mali asked, pausing to look around at each of them in turn.

Beside him Arlo cleared his throat and Asher turned to look at him as he leaned forward to brace his hands on the little table.

"Yes, actually.  Someone sabotaged all of our saddles yesterday.  I think it's time we get a bit more aggressive - try to draw this person out into the open."

"I agree, because whoever this is uh-" Sam stopped abruptly, glancing briefly at Eli, before sighing.  "-we had some graffiti to clean up early this morning."

"About me, I'm guessing," Eli said.

Sam nodded.  "Yeah.  Nothing too nasty but basically urging you to leave town, claiming you don't belong here, that sort of thing."

"What was the graffiti made with?  Do we have any record of anyone buying paint of that color?" Remington asked.

This time she shook her head.  "It was done with charcoal - really easy to clean up, thankfully, but it doesn't point to where it came from or who had it. And of course no one saw anyone doing it AND it was all at different heights so we can't really narrow anything down."

Arlo huffed.  "Of course.  Regardless -- I worry that letting this stretch on any further will only result in someone getting seriously hurt.  It's clear our initial plan has definitely made this person more bold - just not bold enough to come close to us like they did at the tent.  I think this may be the best we're going to get so we need to come up with our plan to catch them."

Remington nodded, running a hand through his hair briefly; it was hot and stuffy in this tent with all of them inside it and Asher felt his scalp prickle in the heat just watching how Remington's hair clumped together in damp strands.  "We've set a trap once before for that rogue knight - we can always do it again."

"Well, maybe," Sam said, drawing out the last word.  "The thing is, THAT time we definitely knew what the knight was after.  There's a lot more down in the facility besides Stewart and if we set a trap it needs to be baited with whatever it is they're hoping to steal."

"It also needs to look natural - we got away with the last trap since it was in a ruins that were already falling apart.  This facility is much more preserved and it's going to be harder to set something up without it looking off," Mali added.

In the brief pause that followed that exchange Asher sat up a bit straighter.  "Well, it's common knowledge that we're expanding the clinic in town soon.  We could use that as our staging area instead since it's going to be pretty obvious that we're moving Stewart's station there."

Arlo grimaced.  "Yes, but that would be dangerous and tricky. Setting this trap would be dependent on no one else being at risk of injury -- we know this person is armed, after all, and we can't control when someone might try to trip the trap.  I don't want to put Dr. Xu or Harrison, or anyone else who might be at the clinic, in danger."

Eli lightly elbowed Asher in the ribs.  "AND I don't want Stewart's tech in danger of being damaged either -- if it breaks that's it because while I MIGHT know how to fix it it won't be as simple as heading down to the shop to pick up the right parts."

"Yeah...you're right about that part," Asher muttered.  "So it would have to be replicas, and we'd be guessing at what the spy would go for. Do you think they'd actually know what to grab if we baited them with the server stuff or basic computer pieces?"

Eli raised an eyebrow.  "Assuming they're not expecting that again? I could make something that looks genuine, important, and expensive."

Remington let out a thoughtful noise, leaning toward Eli. "How complicated would it be to do that?  I don't even know what...whatever we're talking about looks like."

"Not...TOO complicated, I don't think?  I -- hang on, wait.  Before we get too far ahead of ourselves I need to know what's common knowledge about tech these days.  Exactly how complicated and fancy I'd need to make the replicas would kind of depend on what people know or think these things look like."

They all fell silent; Asher glanced about and could see lots of thoughtful faces - he was hopeful that that meant someone had an answer, because he definitely didn't.  Technology wasn't something he studied or thought about much and he'd consider himself the last person anyone ought to be asking about Old World stuff.

Finally, Mali tipped her head back to look up toward the tent's ceiling.  "There's some common knowledge about Old World components but it's mostly regarding the things we commonly find.  Everyone knows what chipsets are, circuit boards, monitors and displays, and odds and ends that get lumped together just as 'old parts.'  We also have access to old engines of varying types that we've successfully re-created ourselves so we no longer need to rely on digging them up.  In this case... I'm not sure I have the answer.  But I know who would."

There was a brief pause then Arlo nodded.  "Ah, right.  The scholars from Vega 5 will be here soon."

Mali nodded.  "Vega 5 is full of people who have studied Living AIs, and they and Atara both have large libraries full of blueprints and books on Old World tech along with everything their museums have catalogued on display.  They'd be the ones to ask about what they would consider common knowledge."

"But would they know what's common knowledge in Duvos though?" Eli asked.

Mali shrugged.  "It's possible.  I'm not privy to everything that's been discovered through the Alliance's information networks -- the Flying Pigs are an adventuring guild who sometimes get tapped to help provide law enforcement.  I know more than most but ultimately we're not a military group so we're only told what we need to know for the tasks we're given." Eli scratched at her cheek; Asher noted that, due to the heat and sweat, the simple gesture left a pair of angry red marks across her skin  "Right...  Maybe I should go talk to Gale when we're done here -- er, assuming you aren't putting me back on patrol duty?" she added after a moment, looking to Arlo.

"No, go talk to Gale - this is important.  Afterward get back to those signal transmitters," came Arlo's answer.

"Understood."

"You sure you don't need an extra pair of hands with those things?" Asher asked then, looking between Arlo and Eli.  "At the very least I can tote and carry."

Arlo considered that for a moment, then glanced to Eli.  "Your thoughts?"

She huffed out a breath. "Carrying, sure.  But it'd just slow us down if we have to explain how to assemble.  We DO need someone to start bundling the tower pieces and that's also something you could do without much instruction needed - get the finished bits from Higgins, ensure we've got everything, sort it out into sets for assembly.  Basic stuff."

"All right -- go ahead and help them with the heavy lifting and getting the tower parts ready to transport.  Eli, once you've talked to Gale come find me in the Corps building -- Mali, if you'd like to join me for that feel free." Mali and Eli both nodded, and Arlo blew out a breath.  "I think that covers everything-"

"Hey- HEY!"

They all jumped to their feet at the shout from beyond the tent; Asher was still getting to know a lot of the townsfolk but he thought that sounded a lot like--

As he was closest to the tent flap Asher stuck his head out to see Albert sprinting toward them; when the man saw him he started waving his hands and his sprint was slowing.  Asher in turn hurried out of the tent and began running toward him, faintly aware of the sound of several pairs of feet following along behind him, and about halfway to the man Albert came to a stop entirely and doubled over with his hands on his knees, panting harshly.

"What's wrong?  What's happened?"

"Portia...ruins...cave in..." Albert was gasping as Asher came skidding to a stop beside him.  "One under...church..."

"Oh hell," Asher muttered.  He spun around as Eli, Arlo, Mali, and Remington reached them.  "Cave in at the ruins under the church."

"Was anyone hurt?" Arlo asked immediately.  Albert could only nod as he struggled to catch his breath and Arlo broke into a run again while calling orders over his shoulder.  "Asher - take Albert to the tent to catch his breath.  Remington and Eli with me."

The others went running off and Asher put a hand on Albert's shoulder.  "Sit down here in the grass, mind the marshy spots - we'll take a minute here and then we'll walk to the tent, all right?"

"I'll ask Sam to stay out here with Adam," Mali interrupted.  "After that I will join Arlo and the others in town - stay with Albert until he's recovered then escort him back to town."

"Got it," Asher replied.  Mali immediately ran back the way she'd come and Asher turned his attention back to Albert.  "Deep breaths, man, it'll be all right.  Do you know what happened?"

Albert took several more breaths; he seemed to be breathing a bit easier.  After an especially deep breath he lifted his head to look up at Asher.  "Not...a clue.  Heard a...loud noise.  Couple folks...out of the ruins, shouting...about a cave in.  Gale already there...told me to come get you all. I was closest."

Damn it... They should have had this meeting at the Corps building, not all the way out here; even as he thought that he knew that was very unfair as all their patrol routes for this morning had had them all out this way and it was quickest and easiest to gather here, but...  Well, honestly it could have been worse timing.  At least out here they'd all been in one place but had this happened at any other time of day or any other day in general they would've been spread across the countryside with only two of them in town.

"Think you can make it to the tent?  We'll get some water in you, can sit a bit, then we'll head back to Portia."

Albert nodded and straightened and the two of them began to (slowly) walk toward the Pigs's tent.  Mali was already heading back toward them and they exchanged nods as she passed and kept on going.

"What kind of loud noise did you hear?"

"Just a loud boom and a rumbling."

Asher frowned - a loud boom?  "Like...a KABOOM-kind of boom?  Like something exploded?"

"I couldn't tell you.  It was more - more of a sound that sort of hit you in the chest, more than in the ears, and one you could feel through your feet.  Our building is closest to those ruins so it's no wonder that we heard something."

"We?  You and Gust I'm guessing?"

Albert nodded.  "I went to the ruins, and Gust went for Gale.  And then Gale told me to run out here."

"How many came out of those ruins?"

"Um - I saw three folks.  Covered in dust, one of them was bloodied. They were all shaken up and just shouting 'cave in cave in' over and over."

Asher went quiet, chewing on his lower lip.  He wanted to simply believe that the ruins had partially collapsed but something nagged at him over it; the Civil Corps and the Flying Pigs both conducted regular inspections of all ruins across the Alliance of Free Cities to make sure they remained safe for public use.  There's NO WAY they would've missed a structural weakness that was so dangerous as to cause a cave in...someone on the inside had to have caused this.  A careless digger, or...

The saddles might have just been the first attempt to send a message.

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

Four injured, one dead.  All in all, considering there had been eight people inside the ruins at the time of the collapse, it could have been much worse.

Still.  It was slightly guilt-inducing to feel relieved that ONLY one person had been killed -- no one was sure where she'd come from but they'd matched her description to the list of Happy Apartment hotel-based rentals so they had a name but no way to contact any next of kin, nor did they know if this Kara person had any sort of surname at all either.  It would make for a somewhat plain headstone but at least they had the first name.

Sam, along with Mali and Higgins, had worked quickly to get a makeshift door in place and the rest of the entryway to the ruins boarded up; tomorrow Dana would be traveling to Portia to help Mali investigate what had caused the collapse.  Sam had wanted to go in with them as well but she'd gotten a resounding "no" from Arlo, Mali, and Gale - all at the same time, no less.  She supposed that made sense as she wasn't a miner or builder or anyone who would know anything about structural integrity (or whatever Mali had called it), and the fewer people at risk inside for a follow up collapse, the better.

As she walked up the hill toward the Corps building it was hard to miss the silence in this half of town; Ack hadn't been at his usual spot in the plaza, there weren't any tourists or townsfolk walking about.   Even the Round Table had seemed a bit quiet when she'd passed by moments ago.

Portia had certainly had a streak of bad luck lately...  The pessimistic side of her wondered how the spy would find a way to take advantage of the chaos.

As she crested the hill she spotted a man leaning against the railing of the stairs that led down to the central plaza; he had his back to her but she recognized the coat he had on (even in this heat).

"Bob?  I thought you would've moved on by now," she called out.

The man jumped and spun around, stumbling a bit as he boot caught on an upraised stone.  "Huh!  Huh?  Well.  Yeah, maybe.  Thought I should. Been tired lately."

Sam nodded and walked over, crossing her arms and eying the man.  He was a harmless drifter and she didn't suspect anything of him but he was also somewhat regular - he arrived in the spring, left at the start of the summer season, and then came back mid-autumn.  "Something wrong?"

"Not really.  Just got a feeling.  Road might not be safe."

She frowned.  "What do you mean?"

"I remember someone telling me there was a thief around.  I don't carry valuables.  But that's not all someone could take."

"Bob... Do you think someone's trying to harm you in some way?" she asked.

The man fidgeted a bit.  "Not me.  I think?  But I've seen some ghosts.  Footprints out of thin air.  I don't want to share a road with it."

Sam stared at him.  "...where did you see these footprints?  Can you show me?"

Bob shook his head.  "Not now - been too long.  Saw them on the beach while I was stargazing.  Walking west.  Too close to where I'd pass going back south."

"How long ago was this?"

The man shrugged, then scratched at his head.  "Not sure.  I don't do so well with time anymore."

"But it was recent, at least?"

He nodded; Sam mulled that over -- it sounded like Bob had spotted their spy out in the wild.  "How about we walk together to where you saw the footprints and you tell me whatever you can remember about when you saw them and what you were doing?"

He nodded again and walked with her back down the hill.  As they passed under the gates she wondered if she shouldn't call for back up but...  Well.  She could think of a lot of reasons to do so, and the reasons not to didn't seem as convincing so as they continued down the road she gestured for them to detour toward Selene's house.  Eli ought to be in the factory helping assemble, and Asher ought to be here too.   Surely one of them could shift over to walk out to...wherever, with her and Bob.

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

That she hadn't known Kara made it easier to look genuine when it came to keeping her expression appropriately sad-looking as they buried the woman; it was a small ceremony with a smattering of Portians present, along with the full force of the Civil Corps -- being as she didn't see them she assumed that the Flying Pigs members were out at the facility, as usual.  They seemed to never, ever leave the place unguarded and, as she'd discovered the other evening while doing some recon, there was a gigantic build project of some kind being carried out at the facility's entrance now -- if she had to guess it looked like some sort of covering, or door.  

That likely meant they were really doubling down on the security out there, and while what she was after was being moved out of the facility she was beginning to get worried -- if they sealed that place up tight that would free the Pigs up to directly watch the construction of the clinic addition and the installation of the All Source AI.  

And that would make Lily's job even harder while now also being down a team member.

After the funeral it was announced that the ruins would be closed for the time being to conduct an investigation into the cause of the collapse; that at least didn't effect any of them remaining but it ALSO carried the high risk of bringing in more outside people -- more Pigs, more nosy law-types, the possibilities were starting to pile up.

Days ago she'd been bitching about how long it was taking them to start construction; she'd seen buildings put up in a matter of days in Duvos -- how hard could one addition to an already existing building be?

Now... As much as she didn't want to disappoint Xan, they might indeed have to change their plans to have any chance of this heist succeeding.

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

They always put out the paper on the first of every month.  Always.   Without fail -- even if it meant that she and Erwa stayed up all night fixing issues with their printing press machine or working to get wording on an article juuuuust right.

The first of the month was still six days away but Gale had asked for a special edition to be produced.  It was the hardest thing Mei had ever had to write: all this...all this alarming detail on a vandal, a thief attempting to break into the medical facility in the marsh, and now the devastating discovery that the cave in two days ago had been purposely caused by tiny explosive charges.  It was such awful news that sometimes Mei found her hand shaking as she scribbled notes and drew arrows or crossed out paragraphs as she tried to get things into order both chronologically and also in a manner that flowed well for reading.

There were still a few hours to go before they needed to start printing and there was just one thing Mei wanted to get done before then but then again... It wasn't a nice subject and she didn't want to offend anyone - especially not the person she'd like to interview regarding all this.

But.  She wouldn't know if she'd be offending unless she asked.

Selene's workshop was a familiar sight - Mei had been out here a lot over the years, both before and after large city projects were announced and completed with the builder's help - so she knew better than to knock on the house's door and instead marched up to to the factory door and really gave it a good pounding.  After a few minutes the door opened and an oil-smudged Selene was framed in the doorway, and once it registered who was there Mei was offered a big, bright smile.

"Hey!  What're you doing out here?"

"Hello Selene!  I was wondering if Eli was still here?"

Selene nodded and stepped aside, gesturing with one hand toward a makeshift workbench set up perpendicular to her usual one; lined up shoulder to shoulder was Eli, Petra, and Merlin, all hurriedly working to assemble bits and doodads that Mei guessed was all meant to fit into a much bigger contraption of some kind.  

It was unusually quiet in here today as well; only a handful of the machines were running -- that must mean whatever Selene was working on either didn't need a lot of pieces or maybe it was almost complete.  She stepped inside and out of the way so Selene could close the door and then noted that the latest member of the Civil Corps, Asher, was sorting large metal struts and rods into organized piles against the far wall, moving about in short bursts and then checking off things on a clipboard he had hanging off his belt.

"I'm not interrupting something I shouldn't, am I?"

"Not really - we can spare a pair of hands for a bit."  Selene led Mei over toward Eli and the Research Center gals.  "Mei's wanting to talk to you, Eli."

The woman looked up at them (though Mei noticed her hands didn't stop what they were doing - it was kind of impressive to see her keep working without her looking at the pieces) and silently lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh - um, yes.  I was wondering if you could spare some time to give a few statements for the article we're writing for the paper?" Mei asked into the pause.

"Uh..." Eli drew the word out, returning her attention to what her hands were doing.  It seemed immediately clear that whatever her answer was going to be it would have to wait until she'd finished off this piece of...whatever it was; Mei waited patiently, and watched with a bit of curiosity, until Eli had slotted all the pieces together and tightened down all the screws.  "-all right, sure.  Let's step outside for some air."

Mei led the way outside and then followed as Eli took an abrupt turn to the western side of the factory -- there was a cluster of stools out here and they both settled on one, and Mei hurried to pull out her little notebook.

"All right - of course, if you find any of my questions upsetting it's perfectly fine not to answer.  I don't mind at all!"

Eli nodded.  "Ask away."

"How would you say the situation is currently going?"

"Which one are you referring to?"

"Let's start with the vandal.  It couldn't have been easy to see the gravestone damaged like that."

For several breaths Eli didn't answer.  Mei sat patiently with her pen poised over the blank sheet of notebook paper with her free hand pinning the loose edge down; this side of the factory was currently in the shade and the breeze was a bit strong as the wind rushed along the flat brick.  It was a nice place to sit but if she wasn't careful her notes would get scattered across the yard since not all the pages were still bound to the wire spiral.

"It wasn't, no.  It's clear whoever did it wanted their message heard, and intended it to hurt.  It did, I won't lie, but also, it really shows just how much of a coward this person is since they didn't confront me directly.  Same with all the other instances of graffiti lately -- they're not brave enough to say anything to my face.  In that context, it's a bit comical."

It took about the same amount of time for Mei to write that down as it had for Eli to say it.  "-and do you have any guesses as to who this person is?"  Eli shook her head but didn't elaborate; Mei added a little mark after the quote to remind herself of the answer.  "How about things out at the medical facility?  Has there been any further attempts to break in?"

"No, and soon there won't be any chances of a break in either.  We're installing a security door and will work toward preserving the facility as it is."

Mei had heard about the door - she wondered what it would look like when it was done.  "And do you have any opinion on the expansion at the clinic, since it's rumored that you'll be incorporating an All Source AI into the building?"

Eli blinked at her.  "Incorp- uh, maybe that definition has changed in three hundred years but we're not incorporating him into anything.   He'll be installed and be there to teach and treat, but he won't be in charge of or able to run the clinic by himself.  For one, there's no other computers or AIs for him to oversee, and secondly the building will be just a building without any tech for him to monitor either."

"Do you have any worries about how having an All Source AI teaching humans would be seen in the greater world?"

With a loud sigh Eli leaned back against the brick wall.  "I do, sort of.  I worry that zealots in your Church won't be able to look past him being a part of the Old World and try to destroy him, in which case all the knowledge he holds would be lost along with him.  Hand in hand with that I also worry about what he'd be teaching and to whom."

Mei looked up from her notes in surprise.  "You think he'd teach something bad?  Or bad people?"

"Not exactly "bad" in either case, its more I worry people will try to somehow hoard the knowledge -- even hypothetical enemies deserve the right to live disease and injury free.  I wouldn't really say there's right and wrong people to teach, but I do think there will be people out there who think they're the only ones who have a right to the knowledge, or who think some knowledge is fine but some of it should be scrubbed from history.  We even had a bit of a problem with myths and misinformation regarding certain diseases in my time and that was with an entire world's worth of knowledge available to anyone at any time."

Mei slowly nodded at that; it reminded her of an article she'd written a few years ago about the push-back of remedies coming from a doctor in Vega 5.  "So, even if people don't want to keep the knowledge to themselves there's also a question of whether some would accept it, at all."

"Exactly. I imagine there's going to be a lot of entrenched doctors scattered across the world who think their way is best and will be unwilling to change.  It'll be a bit messy in the upcoming years but I hope the overall health and life expectancy of the world goes up as the knowledge spreads -- and hopefully it'll be fairly uniform across the world, not just in small clusters due to hoarding or refusal to adapt."

With her hand cramping from how quickly she was trying to write Mei managed to get all that down in her notes; she'd gotten a little carried away as she'd only wanted a few lines to quote but this could potentially be an article all on its own.  She was just about to shut the book when a thought occurred to her. "Oh!  Right - there's been a lot of questions about the metal towers that were put up recently.  Are you able to explain what those are for?"

"You guys use telegraphs for long distance communication, right?"

Mei nodded.  "For messages that can't wait for couriers."

"Right.  So, those towers are the first of many that will hold...how to put it in simple terms...  Think of a telegraph that doesn't need wires, is more reliable and secure, and also can just send words instead of having to tap a little button and have someone translate at the other end.  We're trying it out here in Portia and maybe in the future, assuming it works and can be reliably maintained, we could extend it across the continent."

"What, really?" Mei asked, eyes widening.  "That's huge!"    

Eli was giving her an amused look and Mei realized her jaw was hanging open; she scrawled an almost unreadable note about the towers underneath the rest of it.  "Ah, um - uh, so, when will THAT project be completed?"

"It'll take some time.  Getting everything installed is the easy part.  Getting it all to work correctly will be hard."

"So...no...expected...completion date yet?" Mei asked as she wrote, glancing up from the writing to Eli, then underlining the 'no' as Eli shook her head.  "That's very exciting... Will it be something anyone could use?  Will it cost a lot?"

Eli paused, then offered a half shrug.  "Well, I guess that first answer is yes and no.  In terms of complexity anyone will be able to use it because it's not difficult at all to learn, but initially there's going to be a problem with getting parts to both maintain and expand it so there won't be a lot of the system in place for widespread use to start.  I don't have any idea on cost just yet - we're using a combination of wind, water, and power stones to start off with.  I'm relatively certain I know how much energy this will draw but won't know exact numbers until its been up and running for awhile."

"And...you're ok with this technology spreading?"

Eli snorted loudly.  "I am," she replied, placing heavy emphasis on 'I.'  "No idea about the rest of the world."

Mei hummed to herself as she put down a few more notes.  "This could be an article by itself... All right.  That was everything I had in mind for this piece.  Unless you'd like to add anything?"

"Not in particular."

"Well, thank you!" Mei said, smiling and shoving a hand toward her.   Eli shook it with a bit of a smile and then stood.  "I'll get this over to the paper and you'll be seeing it in print soon!"

Eli didn't reply beyond nodding, then led the way around the building where she went back inside while Mei headed toward the gate; she felt a bit lightheaded -- like she was floating across the grass.  The prospect of a better, more secure communications system that was instantaneous made her giddy; imagine how much faster information could travel.  Imagine how quickly a message back home could reach family...how much easier it would be to stay in touch with the Atara Post about her progress with the Portia Times.  

There were dozens of ways she could instantly imagine her life getting easier if this communication thing worked, and that was just for HER - she couldn't even clearly conceive all the ways the entire Alliance could make use of such a thing.

As she walked through the doors into the news building she managed to pull her thoughts away from the communications scoop and set herself back on track regarding the special edition Gale had asked them to put out; it didn't appear Erwa was here but that was ok - Mei could work on a rough draft and get his opinion later when he came back.

Eli hadn't been the only one she'd interviewed today so the first order of business was to quickly reread her notes and decide where to insert Eli's bit into the order she'd tentatively decided on earlier; this article needed to be a direct and firm read, with a logical flow to the information, but it couldn't have a tone to it that would cause undue alarm. People had a right to know that the cave in was actually a murder, but how to word it so that it wouldn't cause a panic in town...

And also, the more she thought about it, the less sense it made to include anything referencing the communications project.  Prior to talking to Eli she'd assumed the towers were related to the security project out at the facility but now it seemed they were unrelated to each other, and...well, if they had a vandal snooping around it wouldn't do to draw attention to something this valuable.

...yeah.  It made more sense to relegate the communications towers to its own separate article, AFTER the vandal (or murderer?  Or both?) had been taken care of.  At the very least that cut out a good amount of information she would've had to figure out how to fit onto the front page with everything else.

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

Windsor had "claimed" a small area of the Peach Plaza for his impromptu performances; a decent number of people expected him to be there in the mornings and later at night, showing off his juggling and throwing skills (a few had even donated some small straw targets for him to use so he'd changed up his routine a bit).  It may have just been a cover job but it was bringing in decent money; it was a nice little perk to the whole thing but if they didn't get moving on this theft job soon he wouldn't be able to keep playing off the "too poor to go back home" angle of his cover story.

The atmosphere in Portia seemed a bit...strange this morning.  There weren't nearly as many people moving about in the central plaza as usual, and as he went plodding up the hill passed the shops he was a bit alarmed to see a small crowd of people that WEREN'T his usual audience huddled roughly in his spot near the fountain.  As he drew closer he could see all of them clutching papers in hand, and there was a dull roar of chatter among them.  In their midst was a squat, hairy man in an orange vest and hat, and a blonde woman wearing a blue and white pointy hat; they appeared to be handing out whatever the paper was, and when he finally got close enough to the gathering he saw it was a thin newspaper with "SPECIAL EDITION" printed in big, bold letters across its top with "Portia Times" printed in slightly smaller text beneath it.

Through a gap in the crowd the hat-wearing blonde noticed him, and carefully wound her way through the group toward him with one of the papers in hand, pushed out toward him.

"Good morning, sir - would you like to read this special release of the Portia Times?  This copy is free, paid for by Portia's government."

"Uh...sure.  What seems to be the ruckus?" he replied, taking the paper and skimming the-

...oh.  Oh boy.  Well, that wasn't good.

[monstersandmaw]

Embers - Male dragon shifter x reader, Chapter Fourteen (final!) (nsfw)

You thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you? Do you have so little faith in me?

Spoilers: I was in bed when I remembered, and it’s 11.45pm here and I totally had forgotten. I’m so sorry.

Well, this is it, folks! The conclusion to the 14-part story! Hope you’ve enjoyed it, and thanks to the few of you who’ve let me know when you’ve enjoyed it, and to those of you who have consistently reminded me when I’ve forgotten to post! <3

This week: our boy has shown us his true wyvern form and has taken us for a brief test-flight around the grounds of his home, but now he's got a surprise for us and wants to take us further afield!

Catch up on previous episodes here:

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen

You would remember that flight for the rest of your life. The way the ground disappeared beneath you should have left you a frightened wreck, but sitting astride Mikaeïl like that gave you a strange rush of courage, knowing that his power and strength and agility in the air would keep you safe, that you would not fall tumbling to your death through the endless space beneath you. He would bear you up, hold you aloft, soar and glide with you as the world passed by beneath. It was hard not to laugh like a lunatic after a while, even once the adrenaline had mostly worn off.

Mikaeïl’s wing beats whooshed with a steady, thrumming rhythm as he flew, the vast stretch of the leathery wings reaching as wide as an aeroplane tip-to-tip, his neck long and spiked extending ahead of you, and, if you were brave enough, you could twist and look behind you and see the rippling muscles of his back and tail working to steady himself like a rudder in the strong currents up this high.

In the sun his scales gleamed a million shades and hues of gold and amber, and you barely noticed the countryside streaming past beneath you. As you finally released your grip on a very handy pair of spikes at the base of his neck, about ten minutes into the journey, you allowed yourself to run your palm down the smooth, reptilian scales of his withers. With a rumbling groan that was audible even with the wind roaring in your ears, he dropped a few feet in altitude as the rhythm of his wings faltered. Your stomach lurched and you felt the blood drain from your face.

“Careful,” Mikaeïl laughed, half turning back to look at you over his shoulder at you. “Remember what I told you about you being distracting while I fly?”

You laughed and apologised, but he could clearly see that you meant not a word of it, and he turned away, his nostrils actually smoking softly, which was a new sight.

“Hey,” you called. “Can you breathe fire?”

“I’m surprised that that hasn’t come up before now,” he said. “Yes,” he added. “I can. Why, do you want a demonstration?”

You looked around at the vast emptiness on all sides and shrugged. “Here’s as safe a place as any I can think of…” you yelled.

Unexpectedly, Mikaeïl laughed. “Hold on,” he rumbled. Adjusting the pattern of his wing beats, slowing down a little and tilting his head downwards, Mikaeïl sucked in a great lungful of air, his ribs expanding beneath you, and suddenly, with a booming roar, a gout of flame burst from his open mouth below you.

The distant heat of it hit you in the face as you flew past it, and you gasped, laughing. “That’s amazing!”

He shook his head and simply took a moment to breathe and continue flying. “We’re nearly there,” he said, turning his nose first and then banking right with the rest of his body as he shifted direction slightly, heading for a wooded patch of hillside above a glimmering lake shaped like a diamond.

In the distance, a small, lone building caught your attention and as he shot like a missile right towards it, it began to reveal itself with greater and greater clarity. It looked like a ruined tower, seated at the top end of a wide, grassy meadow, backed by deciduous trees.

Leaning forwards, taking hold of those two golden horns at the base of his neck, you shouted, “Is that where we’re headed?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Hold on. While I descend, alright?”

“Yeah,” you said, stomach swooping unpleasantly again as he dropped in altitude.

In fact, landing in the meadow was easier this time than it had been the first back at his estate. Perhaps that was because you knew what to expect and you hadn’t rammed your eyes shut this time, but whatever the reason, you slithered laughing to the floor as he helped you down off his back and settled down into the grass with a soft rumble.

“Are you alight?” he asked, breathing hard from the effort of the careful landing. “Not too cold?”

You turned your hands over and grimaced a little. “Hands are a bit chilly,” you mumbled, “But no, I’m ok.”

“Here,” he said before he exhaled a rush of warm breath over your hands. “Better?”

Useful. With an answering grin, you nodded, and he led you up the meadow towards what you could now see was a cylindrical tower with a red tiled roof. “It looks like one of those fairytale castles where a helpless royal is locked in a keep and guarded by a monstrous dragon…”

“And which one of us are you suggesting is the helpless royal?” he asked, his reptilian face expressing curious sarcasm with the merest adjustment of his brow, golden eyes flaring.

“Well it’s not me,” you laughed. “I’m pretty sure don’t have a single drop of blue blood in my veins…”

“You must be the dragon then,” Mikaeïl grinned, flashing his rows of incredibly sharp teeth and adjusting his wings behind him like a bird just returned from a long flight. He caught you staring at him again, and tilted his head. “What?”

“I still can’t believe you kept this from me for so long,” you said, pushing through the whispering grasses beside him as he lifted elegant, clawed hind paws and balanced on his thumbs at the front like a bat. His long, elegant tail swung behind him, a counterweight for his neck and head.

“Kept what from you? My wyvern form?”

You shrugged. “I don’t blame you, not with the history your kind has suffered, but I’m just… overwhelmed. In a good way!” you added hastily as his regular footfalls faltered.

Mikaeïl’s relieved answering chuckle was deep and throaty and it made you prickle hot all over. Something of that must have showed in your eyes because he lowered his head and sniffed gently, playfully at your neck, making you gasp. “Apparently so,” he rumbled and you let out a quiet - if obscene - moan that you hadn’t really meant to make. He only laughed again and twitched his head towards the tower. “Come on.”

“What is this place?” you asked, finally kicking your legs back into action as he moved off ahead of you.

“It belongs to my family,” he said. “It was once part of the estate of a great hunting lodge, gifted to us by the royal family for our services. We sold most of the land a long time ago, but we kept this meadow, the woodlands, and the folly.”

“The folly?” you asked, looking at the tower. “It’s not real?”

“Well, it’s not an illusion but it was never part of a castle if that’s what you mean. It does have a room at the top and a fireplace though, but no running water or electricity.”

He led you right up to the shadow of the tower before revealing anything else to you, and even when he did, he only asked you to open the heavy wooden door at the base of the tower, and bring out what was inside.

Boiling with curiosity, you did as bidden, and you returned into the daylight with an enormous grin on your face, and a picnic hamper and blanket in your arms. “Mikaeïl,” you smiled. “You big softie.”

He laughed nervously, and then the lines of his body became taut, muscles bunching as he turned a bit shy and awkward. “Do you want me to shift…?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” you shrugged as you spread out the blanket and opened the huge basket to discover an absolute feast inside. Its contents were cool too, and you saw two ice blocks sitting there to keep it all fresh. “When did you plot and pull all this off?”

As he settled his large, bronze body down on the grass beside you, he said, “I had some help.”

“From whom?”

“Frankie,” he said. “He dropped off the basket this morning. And my sister helped too. She’s the one who technically owns this land, and she keeps the keys to the folly.”

“Well, thank them both for me next time you see them, will you? This is amazing.”

“I’m glad,” he said, the fondness for you ringing deeply in his voice. He lowered his head and nuzzled at your back, breathing more warm air around you in an aura of comfort. Your head tipped back and he supported you as you sagged into him for a moment. “You’ve got other things on your mind, haven’t you?” he asked in a darker, sweeter voice.

You flushed hot at his question, but nodded. “Nothing I can’t handle for a while though,” you smirked at him and he rolled his eyes. “I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate this; I do… a lot…”

He leaned in close, bringing his maw full of deadly teeth right up to your ear, and whispered, “I know. I can smell it on you.”

Heat flared white inside you and you groaned.

As amazing as the food was, and the fruit cordial to wash it down, you could barely keep your hands off him. All the while you ate and enjoyed the view, you trailed the fingers of one hand over his unbelievably sensitive wing membrane until he was shuddering and groaning, and even as you fed him morsels of food, the way his tongue cleaned your fingers was nothing short of indecent. You wanted that tongue elsewhere. Finally, with the food long finished and the afternoon tipping towards evening, the mood shifted completely and he began to growl and purr.

“I’m not the only one who’s having trouble,” you commented and he gnashed his teeth for a moment, a plume of smoke escaping and coiling upwards through the still air. “Gods, Mikaeïl, you’re so beautiful.”

He rolled slightly onto one side and you saw that a slit in his lower abdomen was growing puffy, swollen, and had begun to glisten too. His legs kicked once as he came to lie on his side completely, his clawed feet lying limp and gentle now, one wing flopping over to flatten the grass behind him like a toppled sail from a tall ship. “I can’t…” he whispered, though it came out more as an earthy growl. His head fell heavily to the grass too and he lay there panting gently as you began to touch him everywhere you could reach.

In no time he was quivering and snorting beneath your attention and praise. His creamy belly heaved and one hind leg twitched.

“I want you,” you heard him hiss between gasps. “Let me taste you…”

You nodded, and he watched you undress with glazed, unfocused eyes and a slack-jawed expression of wonder and open lust. The moment you were free of your last pieces of clothing, he pounced on you like a cat after a mouse. There was no denying that he was a predator, as careful as he always was with you. His ‘attack’ knocked you back into the grass and he began to lave his tongue over your body as he reared up over you, blotting out the sun with his gleaming, scaled body.

His wings spread suddenly wide, his hook-taloned thumbs barely enough to balance him as he mouthed eagerly at your shoulder and took your whole torso briefly in his mouth while he let his tongue rasp over your skin. He never once gave you even the barest hint of pain, the tip of his serpentine tongue lavishing attention on your hardening nipples until your back arched and you cried out, desperate for more. You might even have articulated that aloud, but you couldn’t be sure. The sensation of his tongue moved slowly south until he tasted you and he let out a low-frequency snarl that you felt in your chest as much as heard.

“Oh gods,” he rasped, quickening his pace.

As you glanced down the length of your body, you saw that his cock had begun to emerge from the sheath between his legs and he was not small; there was no way you could take him in this form. Pre-come dripped liberally from his arrow-head tip and down his leg as he moved, his growling intensifying.

Suddenly he drew back from you with a hiss, breathing hard, sparks dancing at his nostrils. His slit pupils were now blown into a wide circle of blackness with barely a ring of the usual gold around them, and he just stood there, frozen in place and staring at you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked faintly, dizzy from the change of pace. “Come back… Mikaeïl, please…”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I… I got carried away… I… I shouldn’t… I could hurt you like this. I should… uh…”

His cock twitched visibly as you moved and he half turned away. “Mikaeïl, please,” you whimpered. “I don’t mind what form you’re in, but please don’t stop touching me… I’m so close now… I need you…”

“Let me…” he said and his body twitched. A moment later, he began to change visibly. The vast wings folded down into his back, coppery scales started to melt away and his size diminished until, with a roar of what could only have been pain, the Mikaeïl with which you were much more familiar crouched on all fours at a little distance from you, breathing hard and sweating and naked. Somehow, he was also still hard.

You rose on shaky limbs and reached out to touch him. He gasped as your palm came down tenderly on the scales that still lined his hips, and you could see that his hands and feet remained clawed and scaled as well. He hadn’t managed to shift back to his more ‘human’ form, but none of that mattered now. “Come and lie down with me,” you said, trying to draw him down to the blanket.

Mikaeïl’s red hair was long and loose and it fell around his face in a curtain of fire, but as he tilted his head up to meet your gaze you could see that lying down quietly was the last thing on his mind.

“Or not,” you grinned, and he laughed hoarsely. He still had sharper teeth than any human would, and his eyes blazed a bright gold.

With hands that were more like gilded gauntlets tipped with talons than they were hands, he laid you back down and lowered his mouth once more to you. It didn't take long with the intense heat of his tongue pressed and lapping against you, sucking and making the most obscene noises, for you to come hard against his mouth. He stayed put and teased you all the way through your orgasm, prolonging it as much as he could before finally withdrawing from you and licking the taste of you from his beautiful lips. His mouth was puffy and red from his efforts, and he stared at you with open hunger in his eyes.

You parted your legs and he took it for the invitation it was, eyes flaring again. With his claws pricking against your hips, he paused and said, “I can’t use my hands,” he said. “And I don’t want to hurt you.” His ridged cock was flushed and red, and still bigger than anything you’d ever had inside you before being with him, but you just cautioned him to go gently, which he did with great effort.

His thighs shook with the effort of not sinking himself hilt deep into you in one thrust, but after a while it became too much for you to bear. You raised your hips and reached for him at the same time, pulling him the rest of the way inside you with a cry that you almost didn’t hear through the spike of pleasure that shot through you. He filled you so completely you thought you might never feel the same again.

Mikaeïl cried out and began to move, slowly at first, snarling and growling, lips pulled back with the intensity of his pleasure. “You’re so tight,” he gasped as he lifted you up higher. With the adjustment in angle, you tipped your head back and yelled wordlessly. “Oh gods,” he said as he picked up his pace, ramming himself into you over and over with a feverish light in his eyes. “I’m not going to last.”

“Come for me,” you slurred. “Mikaeïl, come for me…”

A mere three thrusts later, he did. His hips thrust up flush against you and his head rolled back, spine arching like a bow at full draw as he emptied himself inside you with an open-mouthed roar. There was something so primal about the sight of him like this - usually so composed and reserved, not a hair out of place nor a wrinkle in his shirt - as he gave himself to you, the scales up his arms and on his hips glimmering in the last rays of the sun, and you tumbled after him a heartbeat later.

As you clenched around him, coming a second time, he bowed forwards over you like a supplicant at an altar, and fell against your neck. He kissed you weakly, his body still wracked with the last throes of his own intense orgasm.

In an unsteady, gasping whisper, he said, “I love you,” against the sweat-sheened skin of your neck, right against your thrumming heartbeat. “I love you, I love you,” he chanted, even as his body still twitched and his cock pulsed inside you.

Placing your arms around him and stroking the skin of his back, tracing the beginning of the scales halfway down his spine, you teased gentle, calming circles, centring him. His hair fell around you in a straight cascade and you raked your fingers through it too, feeling him going slack all over. “Shh,” you smiled, kissing his slightly pointed ear. “I love you too Mikaeïl. I love you too.”

___

Thank you so much for following this story through to its conclusion! The whole thing is 24,545 words long, and it's been so much fun. I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

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[katierosefun]

ever in our favor

Summary: Anakin Skywalker liked to think he wasn't afraid of anything.Ahsoka Tano liked to think no one was afraid of her.Obi-Wan Kenobi liked to think he was too smart to be afraid.[or: the Hunger Games/TCW AU. Three different tributes from three different districts. A tech-whiz, a thief, and the son of a Victor who was cast into the Games on purpose. Happy Hunger Games, everyone.]

read on ao3 | read on ff 

wc: 5509

Anakin Skywalker liked to think he wasn’t afraid of anything.

He wasn’t afraid of Peacekeepers, for one thing, not when he could easily outrun any of them. Not that he had had to, not in a long time. He had once had to outrun them when he was little, back when it was easier for his mom to defend him against his stupid little tricks with the electricity or the radio system. He hadn’t meant to mess around with the radios, but he had, and he was pretty sure he somehow transmitted some music from District 11. He had thought it was rather nice, but then Peacekeepers had started looking for him, and his mother had insisted that Anakin was just a “silly little boy” who played with the dials because he had nothing better to do so please, punish me instead—

His mom had been punished that day, in the end. Tied to a post and whipped, and Anakin had screamed himself hoarse, and one of the other women had tugged Anakin aside, forced him to not watch, but Anakin could still hear the whip fall, and he could still hear his mom’s just barely restrained screams. No one had been allowed to touch her even long after the Peacekeeper had finished. Anakin remembered that it was summer, and it was hot, and he remembered being scared only then, even after his mom healed with the help of some of the other men and women in the district.

“Don’t be afraid, Ani,” his mom had said to him later that night, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “Because as soon as you’re afraid, that makes them happy.”

So he decided not to be afraid.

He wouldn’t be afraid—he won’t be afraid, not even if his name had been cast into the lottery more times this year than ever before.

Just twelve times, he thought. Things could be worse. He could have his name put in there nearly forty times, fifty times, which he knew some unlucky folks did for their families. But Anakin just had his mom and himself—no siblings, no dad. Just the two of them. Shmi and Anakin Skywalker.

Just twelve times.

And there weren’t even going to be as many tributes this year—there was only going to be one chosen per district this year for the Third Quarter Quell. Unusual, Anakin knew, but the president had promised that fewer tributes would mean an even more exciting game. Deadlier traps, higher stakes. Draw out the game longer than they had in previous years. Make people more desperate.

“You should eat something,” Shmi said now, pushing bread Anakin’s way.

Anakin looked down and found that it wasn’t the brown, hard stuff that his mom and he had to have most of the time. He found a round, soft roll instead, one without burn marks or mold or anything. Anakin looked back up, surprised.

Shmi smiled. “A gift,” she said. “Our neighbors wish us well.” She pushed the roll a little closer to Anakin. “Now go on, eat.”

He wasn’t really hungry—he wasn’t sure anyone was, not on Reaping Day, but—

Anakin tore the roll in half and pressed one half into his mom’s reluctant hand. “We’ll both need it,” he said, flashing his mom a quick smile. He stood up, forced himself to take a bite. They ate in silence.

The bread seemed to clog itself in Anakin’s throat, and for a moment, he wondered if he wouldn’t be able to swallow—but he eventually did, and then he heard the bells sound across the district.

A quiet gasp—not from himself, but from his mother, who reached over and grabbed his hand in sudden desperation.

“It’s okay,” Anakin said. He squeezed back his mom’s hand. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” He looked at his mom, smiled again. “What happened to not being afraid?”

A silence passed, and then Shmi gave Anakin a weak smile. “You’re right,” she said after a little while. She lifted a hand, brushed her thumb under his eye like he was a nine-year old again. “I’m not afraid at all.”

“That’s the spirit,” Anakin said. He tugged at his mom’s hands. “Come on,” he said. “After this, we can listen to that music again. The singing, remember?”

Shmi’s face faltered for a moment. “You really should stop…”

“They haven’t caught me yet,” Anakin said with forced lightness. Not since he was nine years old, at least. Seven more years of getting familiar with the technology and goings-on of his district had taught him to be nimbler and smarter with what he did when he did them.

“No,” Shmi said. “I suppose they haven’t.” She squeezed Anakin’s hand again.

And they headed out to greet the rest of District 3.

--

Ahsoka Tano liked to think no one was afraid of her.

She used that to her advantage—she always had, ever since she was a little girl. She was smaller than most of the girls and boys her age, both in height and frame. So that made her forgettable. Peacekeepers were less likely to be suspicious of a small girl, and the others were less likely to point fingers at someone as seemingly innocent as herself. But Ahsoka knew the truth about her own self: she’d known enough about herself to use that appearance to her advantage, starting from when she was old enough to work in the fields. Her baggy clothes made for useful ways to pocket more food and sneak back to her dad and her friends.

And she hadn’t been caught once—the Peacekeepers hadn’t ever noticed, and Ahsoka had always been careful to swipe only enough in haphazard places. The closest she ever got to getting caught was the time she stole a whole loaf of bread from a Peacekeeper, but by the time he had discovered the thieving, Ahsoka and the other field workers had already been long gone, and luckily, the Peacekeeper’s dog had been close enough to be the suspected thief instead.

She got away with those little things easily, and no one ever suspected her. So Ahsoka told herself that if she got chosen, then—

Ahsoka curled her hands over her lap.

But she didn’t want to be chosen—

She couldn’t be chosen. This was only her second year. She only had her name in three times. Her three older brothers—Wolffe, Boost, Sinker, and Comet—all had their names in more times than her, Wolffe with the highest: forty-two pieces of paper with his name would be in the lottery today. Eighteen years old and covering for all five members of their family. And Ahsoka knew that next year, Boost would be the one covering for all of the, and then the year after that, Sinker, and then Comet.

A part of Ahsoka wondered if her dad ever regretted having as many children as he did—they weren’t even technically related, not by blood anyways. But Plo Koon had always been a man with more heart than he probably needed, and there were many starving babies left on porches a decade or so ago, when District 11 got hit with an unexpected frost overnight.

The only real blood relations might be amongst Ahsoka’s brothers—they had been a whole set, Wolffe being the oldest and drifting along with his younger brothers when Plo Koon found them hovering near the market.

As for Ahsoka, she was told that she had just been dropped at Plo Koon’s doorstep in the middle of the night, and that had been that. Ahsoka didn’t try to figure out who her birth parents were—as far as she was considered, Plo Koon was her dad, and that was all that mattered.

Ahsoka curled her hands over her knees. She glanced around her room—really, the whole family’s room, separated only by curtains, but she liked her little space. She fingered the hem of her skirt: a pretty red thing that fell right above her knees. She had only worn it once before, on her birthday. She thought it was fitting that she should wear it on Reaping Day.

The slight brush of a hand against the curtain behind her was what brought Ahsoka’s head up.

“There you are,” Plo Koon said, sitting down next to Ahsoka on her bed. “I figured you might be here.”

Ahsoka smiled. Tried to smile. “Do we need to go?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Plo Koon replied. He turned around, and Ahsoka smelled the flowers before seeing them first. She smiled for real this time as Plo Koon tucked a red-orange flower right into her hair. “Do you know what this is?”

Ahsoka concentrated for a moment, trying to remember, and then she said, “Marigolds. Tagetes patula, to be exact.”

“Correct,” Plo Koon said, his eyes wrinkling a little bit at the corners as he smiled. He leaned back, tilted his head, and suddenly that smile turned sad, and Ahsoka knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking and dreading the same exact thing too.

There was the sound of rushing feet and curtains being batted aside, and suddenly, Wolffe and the others were crowded around Ahsoka’s little space, breathing hard but eyes bright. Ahsoka knew that they had just spent the last few minutes running through the district—they always did, to work off the nerves and, as Sinker once put it, “to piss off the Peacekeepers one last time”—even though all the Peacekeepers were busy with the Reaping Day preparations. (“Don’t,” Wolffe would always groan.)

“Look at you,” Comet was saying, flashing Ahsoka a grin. “Nice flower.”

“Don’t laugh,” Ahsoka said, flicking Comet on the shoulder. She nodded at Plo Koon. “He got some for you guys, too.”

“That’s true,” Plo Koon said. “Come here, boys.”

“Dad—”

“Come on, I think we’ll look pretty, don’t you think?”

Some grumbling and laughter later, and the whole family had flowers tucked behind their ears.

Boost and Sinker looked at each other, snickered, and then bowed their heads, nearly knocking their foreheads together. (“You look lovely, Sinker.” “No, you, I insist—”)

Ahsoka smiled at her family. They would be just fine, she told herself. She looked up at Wolffe last, who was watching their brothers with some restrained amusement. Wolffe caught her staring, and he smiled—rare, coming from him, but Ahsoka figured that they all needed it.

We’ll be fine, she thought again. She adjusted the flower in her hair and looked out the window, where people were already starting to trail out of their homes. They would be just fine.

--

Obi-Wan Kenobi liked to think that he was too smart to be afraid.

Being afraid made people lose focus, made them do stupid things like run or jump without looking where they were heading. That was what he had learned from his time watching countless games, ever since he was a child. He would watch them even when his father wasn’t, because even though his father was one of the many famed Victors of their district, Obi-Wan liked to be prepared.

Which was why he had taken to learning and quietly training on his own when he was little—and then his father had caught him, and instead of reprimanding him, Qui-Gon Jinn had only adjusted Obi-Wan’s grip on the makeshift spear he had made for himself (really nothing more than a large stick that Obi-Wan had sharpened to a point).

And of course, the Peacekeepers, had they seen anything, didn’t argue. Secret training in preparation for the games was commonplace enough in District 1. If anything, it would have been strange if the Victors didn’t train their own children, blood-related or not.

Obi-Wan pushed himself away from the back door of the house—mansion, really, but Obi-Wan always referred to it as a house in his own mind. He stepped across the backyard, looked at the lemon trees that made a semi-circle around the perimeter of the yard. Obi-Wan reached out for one, scratched at the peel. Rolled it between his hands. Wondered if there would be any trees in the arena. One time the games had been a frozen wasteland, which hadn’t been fun—most of the tributes had just froze to death, with lips blue and eyes still open. There had been a desert before too, all dunes of orange and yellow sand, and that had gone poorly as well. Most tributes either went mad with thirst or simply laid down and refused to get back up due to the heat.

“Here again?”

Obi-Wan turned to find Qui-Gon standing at the back door.

Obi-Wan held up the lemon in his hand. “This was about to fall off anyways,” he said, tossing the fruit over to Qui-Gon.

His father caught it one-handed. “So it was,” he said. He looked up at Obi-Wan. “What do you see?”

“Seven lemon trees,” Obi-Wan said. “One of the trees is growing sick. We’ll have to take care of it soon.”

Qui-Gon’s lips twitched. “What else?”

Your shirt’s looser than it was last week, Obi-Wan thought. Dark circles under his father’s eyes, skin paler than normal.

Obi-Wan said as much.

Qui-Gon smiled. “Good observations,” he said.

Obi-Wan didn’t smile back. He took another lemon from the tree, found the grey rot on its underside. He frowned, tucked the lemon in his own pocket to dispose of it properly later. He looked back to his father, found that Qui-Gon’s smile had faded.

“When you go into the arena,” he said, “you’ll have to make sure you’re always observing. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, walking back to the back door. He started to walk past Qui-Gon, but his father caught him by the shoulder.

Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon looked back down at Obi-Wan intently. A moment passed before he said at last, “I’m sorry that it has to come down to this.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Obi-Wan said. He took out the rotting lemon in his pocket and stepped through the back door. He threw it in the bin, where it landed with a satisfying thunk. The bin had been meters and meters away, but Obi-Wan’s aim had been perfect.

He saw Qui-Gon nod—just the slightest tilt of his head to signal his approval.

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon. “When she calls my name,” he said, “am I supposed to react in any particular way?”

“Don’t look afraid,” Qui-Gon replied.

“I won’t.” Obi-Wan turned to the hall mirror, adjusted his clothes: a white shirt, dark trousers. They didn’t need any actual adjusting, not with the clothes tailored specifically to his size and shape, but still. Obi-Wan made eye-contact with Qui-Gon standing behind him.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea what the other tributes will be like this year,” Obi-Wan said, moreso a statement than a question.

“They’ll be more desperate,” Qui-Gon said.

Everyone was going to be desperate.

Obi-Wan nodded anyways, straightened himself one last time. Then the bells were ringing over the district, signaling everyone to come for the Reaping. A part of Obi-Wan wished that they didn’t all have to gather in one place—really, there was no point, when he knew that he was going to get chosen anyways. Not that anyone else did.

Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon.

“I’ll see you on the train,” Qui-Gon said. “And remember: play the part.”

Play the part—be the triumphant, happy Career, son of the Victor that Panem expected. Proud to get a chance to prove to the rest of Panem that he was, in fact, just as much the talented and clever soon-to-be-victor that his own father was.

Obi-Wan nodded.

--

There were too many people clustered in one area, and there wasn’t enough space.

Really, Anakin wished that the Peacekeepers could have chosen someplace else to hold the reaping, but the Hall of Justice had to do, even though the inside hall was too small to fit everyone inside. There were a few children in the roped-off sections outside. Anakin didn’t know why they couldn’t all be outside, with at least more room to breathe, but there was something about apparently the back mural of the Hall of Justice—a ridiculous piece commemorating the Capitol—that was perfectly perfect for the rest of the Capitol audience.

Anakin didn’t like the mural. There were too many bright colors, and the faces looked all wrong.

He turned to find his mom. She was standing at the other end of the hall, where all the other parents were. Shmi caught his eye and smiled weakly, fluttering her fingers over at him.

Anakin smiled back, but then the sound of someone clearing a throat drew everyone’s attention back to the front.

“Welcome!” a man in a ridiculously flashy, ridiculously golden suit smiled blandly at the crowd. Anakin couldn’t help himself: he laughed a little to himself. Everyone knew who Threepio was, the escort well-known for his silly little tirades about nothing in particular. “Ah, there are quite a lot of you, aren’t there—yes, more faces than last year…” An awkward little laugh to himself, which no one responded to.

“Well, yes,” Threepio said, blinking down at them all. “Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds—”

Be ever in your favor, Anakin finished for him.

“Today, we are joined by—ah, yes, Miss Amidala, hello, ma’am, so good to see you today!”

There was a sudden rustling in the crowd as everyone lifted their heads at the name.

Including Anakin’s, as he watched District 3’s sole victor walk across the makeshift stage.

She wasn’t that much older than him—Anakin remembered her own games five years ago, back when she was eighteen and he was thirteen. He couldn’t remember much then, except that he thought she was the most beautiful person in the world, with dark hair and even darker eyes. The other tribute had been his age too. Another thirteen year old boy, who Anakin watched die with a spear in his chest.

“Thank you, Threepio,” Padmé Amidala said now, tilting her head at Threepio. She looked out to the crowd, and Anakin’s breath caught in his throat.

“Now we can begin!” Threepio said in that blandly cheerful voice. He turned to the little crystal ball full of leaflets.

Anakin turned to his mother again.

But Shmi wasn’t looking at him—she was whispering something into a crying woman’s ear, probably reassuring her of whatever was to come.

And then someone jostled into Anakin, and for a moment, all he felt was himself being shoved to the ground—someone had fainted, he realized, and he looked down to shake the person next to him awake, come on, get up, don’t do this now—

The boy—because it had been a boy who had fainted right into Anakin, blinked up at him with glazed eyes. “I don’t wanna go,” he whispered.

“You won’t,” Anakin whispered back. “Just get up, before you create a scene. Okay?”

The boy only whimpered, curled in on himself. He couldn’t have been that much older than twelve. Anakin looked around, wondering if he had any siblings, anyone who could—

“Listen,” Anakin said, looking back down at the boy. “Don’t be afraid. Okay?” He tugged at the boy’s arm, forcing him upright. “Because as soon as you’re afraid, that’s when you make them happy. And we can’t let that happen, can we?”

The boy’s bottom lip wobbled.

“Can we?” Anakin repeated.

The boy shook his head.

“Great,” Anakin said. “Good.” He tugged the boy up to his feet. “So come on. Don’t be scared now—” But then he realized that there were other eyes on him, not just the boy beside him. He could feel the shift in the air, the sudden turn of heads.

Anakin paused, and then he looked up.

“Anakin Skywalker?” Threepio’s voice called. He was craning his neck over the microphone, hand over his eyes. “Is that you over there, boy?”

Anakin stared.

Mom, where’s Mom—

Anakin looked to the side.

He found Shmi staring back at him, her eyes wide and fearful, hand clapped over her mouth because—

Oh, he realized. He hadn’t heard Threepio the first time, because he had been busy with the kid—

“Anakin Skywalker, if you can come up now please—”

Anakin slowly turned back around to the stage. He heard, rather than saw, the others shift around him. People slowly stepping out of his way, creating a straight path between himself and the stage.

Anakin took one step.

Two steps.

And then he was walking across the hall, to the stage.

He climbed up, hoping that his steps were steady. He wasn’t sure if they were.

“Ah, yes,” Threepio said from somewhere in front of him. “Here we are.”

Anakin lifted his eyes. He saw a blur of a face, realized then that there was a hand guiding his back so that he could turn to the crowd. “Our tribute from District 3!”

Anakin looked to the crowd. Mom, where’s Mom—

But he couldn’t see anyone’s faces. The lights were too bright, and there were suddenly so many cameras, and Anakin could only blink at them all. He felt a cold hand wrap around his wrist, hoist it into the air.

Our tribute from District 3—

--

There were too many people clustered in one area, and there wasn’t even a breeze to keep off the heat.

Ahsoka swiped at the sweat dripping down the back of her neck. She was glad that her clothes were relatively light, but still. She looked over at her brothers, who were all lined up together near the back. Ahsoka catches their eyes, and they all make a face at her. The joke is clear: bored already.

Ahsoka stifles a smile and turns to the front, surprised to find that there is a different escort than the one that usually greeted the tributes. Gone was the previous Capitol man with his strange assortment of clothing and wigs, but instead, there was a pale—remarkably pale—woman with long legs and a completely shaved head save for a few elaborate purple tattoos.

“Look alive,” the escort said, bored. There was a little bit of a rustling amongst the crowd at that—look alive hardly seemed like the appropriate greeting, but—

“Ah, yes, and welcome to the Hunger Games, Reaping, et cetera.” The woman’s sharp eyes surveyed the crowd for a full second before adding, “We might as well get started. Our dear victor isn’t able to make an appearance today, caught up with very important matters all relating to the games, of course, and et cetera.”

You already said that, Ahsoka thought.

“So let’s just get this show started, shall we?” The woman reached into the crystal ball faster than Ahsoka anticipated, and something in her lurched because she wasn’t ready for it to be done that quickly—

Ahsoka blindly turned to her brothers again, and they were already waiting for.

Wolffe mouthed something: it’s fine, and then—

“Ahsoka Tano.”

Ahsoka was still looking at her brothers, so she saw the horror on their faces before she felt her own.

And then Wolffe started moving forward, which was how Ahsoka knew that wait, this was happening, and wait, what was Wolffe doing—

“I volunteer,” Wolffe said quickly, stepping out onto the path between the boys and the girls. “In Ahsoka Tano’s place—I volunteer as tribute.”

Ahsoka’s ears rang. Wait, Wolffe, no—

A silence, and then the escort smiled. Ahsoka wasn’t sure how she could be smiling at a time like this, but the escort only lifted up the leaflet bearing Ahsoka’s name. “Sorry, sweetheart,” the woman said, “but president’s orders. No volunteers for this Quarter Quell.”

Another ripple through the crowd at that news.

“Wait—” Wolffe started. “But we didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t hear it yet,” the woman said, folding the leaflet in her hands with a few deft strokes. “News gets around the districts slow, doesn’t it? But rules are rules.” Her sharp eyes combed through the crowd. “Now, Ahsoka Tano, do come up—we’ve got a long day ahead of us, and the day’s rather hot.”

Ahsoka didn’t feel hot at all. She was cold all over.

Ahsoka looked at her brothers again. They were all staring at her, pained and wide-eyed, and she saw a sudden burst of movement—but then Wolffe was holding them back because the Peacekeepers were suddenly closer now.

It’s fine, Ahsoka thought. She looked at her brothers, gave them a tight nod. I’ll be fine.

She wondered where her dad was. She didn’t know where he went or where he was located here—probably with the other parents, but what was he doing now? She dully hoped that there was someone around to comfort him, because no one could move until she left with her escort.

Ahsoka made her way to the front, hearing only the whispers of some of the other girls as she weaved through them. For a moment, she thought they wouldn’t let her get past. It was almost as though all the other girls were desperately trying to keep her in, keep her from entering the games, and the thought almost made Ahsoka stop walking altogether.

Someone squeezed Ahsoka’s arm. She wasn’t sure who, but then someone else was touching her shoulder, another was brushing the hair from her face, another was readjusting the flower near her ear. And Ahsoka emerged from the crowd with the ghost of touches from the others in her district, and then she was at the front of the stage, looking up at the pale, long-legged woman.

“Well, come on up,” the woman said, jerking her head.

Ahsoka straightened her shoulders. Headed for the stairs. She looked to the back of the stage—thought she saw something moving in the background, but then she was being turned to look at the cameras gathered around her.

A pat on her shoulder from the woman. Her hand was cold.

“Our tribute from District 11,” the woman said flatly to the cameras. She looked down at Ahsoka, nodded her head to the cameras again. “Anything in particular you want to say while the cameras are still rolling, sweetheart? Give a good first impression for all of us?”

Ahsoka stared up at the woman. This wasn’t usually how most reapings went—she wasn’t sure if this new escort was making fun of her or not.

Ahsoka looked to the cameras.

People aren’t afraid of you, a voice whispered at the back of her head. Make them keep thinking that.

So Ahsoka only smiled—her sweetest, most naïve smile, the kind that she only ever gave when she was trying to wheedle her brothers into doing something for her. She twirled a strand of her dark hair around a finger and waved at the camera until her wrist hurt.

--

Obi-Wan didn’t care if there were too many people clustered around the area. He’d be separated from the rest soon enough.

He saw some boys and girls toss curious glances his way. Some sneers, but most just watched him with a wary eye. Obi-Wan already knew most of them were running statistics in their heads: trying to guess whether or not he would be able to get drawn. He was eighteen—his name would have technically only been cast seven times, and he didn’t have any need to cast his name any more than that.

Obi-Wan didn’t bother meeting the stares of those who looked at him. Let them stare, he decided. He would be under the attention of the entire country in just a few minutes anyways, and in just a few days, he would be under the attention of the entire country for hours on end. He might as well get some more practice now.

Not that he hadn’t had practice before. Being the Victor’s son always got him an extra glance or two in school, in the streets. He remembered a boy had once asked him if his father ever told him stories of the games, so Obi-Wan had made one up on the spot, just so the boy could leave him alone.

The truth was Qui-Gon didn’t tell Obi-Wan too much of his own experience in the games. There had been some clips played, of course, during each reaping—clips of his father emerging victorious out of a dense jungle with mud and blood splattered across his face, but he had been standing defiant until the very end.

Obi-Wan figured he wouldn’t get a jungle, not for his games. The game-makers didn’t like repeating themselves, and from what Obi-Wan had watched from the recordings of his own father’s time at the games, he was a little glad he wouldn’t be stuck in a jungle. There had been great bugs that sucked their victims dry of blood, suffocating mists that left their victims choking on their own vomit and spit, vines that came to life and tried strangling their victims to death whenever things got a little too slow. Obi-Wan had watched a clip of his own father use one of those vines to his own advantage, somehow manipulating them into choking one of his pursuers instead.

Qui-Gon had shut off the television after finding Obi-Wan watching that recording.

They hadn’t spoken about it afterwards, and when Obi-Wan went to search for the recording of those games again, he found that they were deleted from the television. He was fairly sure the Capitol didn’t allow such behavior, but he didn’t ask questions, and his father didn’t give him any answers.

Obi-Wan watched some of the clips from the previous games play before him now: shots of his father, and then shots of the other victors from the past in their final moments. Most of the victors were from District 1, District 2, District 4. All of the more favored districts. But there was the occasional victor from the other districts—Mace Windu from District 7, Quinlan Vos from District 5, Luminara Unduli from District 8, and most recently, a young girl named Katooni from District 12. That had been a surprise to all—the girl was no more than twelve years old, and yet everyone had watched her confuse her opponent into falling off the edge of a cliff. There weren’t any other living victors from District 12—Obi-Wan tried to imagine this child now attempting to mentor and get sponsorships for someone who might potentially be older than herself.

And now, finally, the escort—a young, blonde woman who Obi-Wan knew as Satine Kryze, although he couldn’t be sure that was her real name—all the Capitol people made up their own names by the day, it seemed. He had only ever met her a few times, once in his own home. She couldn’t have been that much older than himself, and he remembered being confused why there was a random girl in the hallway, but then she had just given him a quick, appraising look before walking out.

Obi-Wan only found out that he was to be the new escort a few weeks ago, and now, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Qui-Gon had told him that the girl in their home was to be the escort, he wouldn’t have guessed looking at Satine now: she was dressed in a particularly voluminous blue dress, her hair piled atop her head in an elaborate headset.

“Welcome,” Satine said now, nodding at the crowd as though they were all good friends. “And welcome to the 75th Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor.” Her lips curled into a slight smile, as though she knew something that the rest of the district didn’t. For all Obi-Wan knew, she might already know what the game makers were planning. He didn’t put it past the escorts for his district to somehow already have some inside knowledge with the rest of the games.

And beside Satine, Obi-Wan saw his father. Still wearing the same loose shirt, loose pants that was only halfheartedly held up by a belt, but someone had applied enough makeup to reduce the dark circles under his eyes.

“May the odds be ever in your favor,” Satine repeated, and then she dipped her hand into the bowl.

And when she said his name—it didn’t matter if his name wasn’t actually on the leaflet she had pulled, she would say his name anyways, that was the deal, Obi-Wan knew, Obi-Wan pressed through the crowd without a second thought. It wasn’t difficult for him to keep his shoulders back, chin up.

Don’t look afraid, Qui-Gon had told him.

Only idiots get afraid, Obi-Wan thought. He kept his hands at his sides, mounted the stairs to the stage. Satine and Qui-Gon both looked at him, gave him a slight nod as he made his way to the front of the stage.

He looked at the cameras and smiled.

Let the games begin.

[365days365movies]

March 1, 2021: The Hobbit (1977) (Part 1)

In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit.

When I was 9, my school let us read a very special book, originally meant for kids, but beloved by everyone. My folks and I went to Borders Books (FUCK ME, I miss Borders), and we got an illustrated copy of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit. I can’t find that book, but if I ever find it again, Imma buy it IMMEDIATELY, I tell you what. And...oh shit, it’s on Amazon for $12? 

Well. I just made that purchase, I guess. But yeah, I loved that book when I was a kid, and this was during the same year that Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy began, with Fellowship, of course. And I wouldn’t end up watching those until a few years later, but I loved those too when I saw them. And I’ve NEVER seen the abridged version, by the way, I’ve only ever seen the extended editions.

Although, I can’t call myself a hardcore fan. I’ve never read the Silmarillion, for example. Although, weirdly, I wanted it as a kid at some point, so I was almost there. But no, I ended up getting into comic books hardcore instead, so I can’t tell you the history of Tom Bombadil, but I can tell you about at least one of the fuckin’ 87 tieles that the Legion of Super-Heroes has been involved in. I’m not gonna like it though.

...Yes, I will, who am I kidding, I love the Legion. Anyway, I’ve still always been a fan of the franchise, and I was extremely excited when Jackson announced that he’d be doing an adaptation of The Hobbit! Seriously, I WAS FUCKING PUMPED, you have no idea. I re-read the book, I was super-excited...and then Harry Potter changed EVERYTHING. Kind of.

See, Harry Potter’s development as a two films made from one book seemed to kick off a trend. Breaking Dawn and Mockingjay are the two that immediately come to mind, as does this film. However, to be fair...that’s probably a coincidence. Yeah, this film was originally developed as two parts, WAY before Deathly Hallows got that treatment. And even then, Jackson and Del Toro had difficulty breaking it up into two parts, and three ended up being easier. Still...the change from two-to-three does feel a little connected to that trend.

Anyway, in celebration of that decision, I’m gonna break this review into three parts! Yes. Really. I want to see if it works. And so, let’s talk about the other most famous adaptation of this book by talking about its creators.

Yup. Rankin-Bass did 2D-animated cartoons, too! And this was one of their most famous ones, dating back to 1977. But wait! There’s more! This was followed by Ralph Bakshi’s version of Lord of the Rings by a different studio. You know, this one?

Yeah, that one. It was only based on the first two books, Fellowship and Towers. But it was technically unconnected to the Rankin-Bass version. Which is why it was REALLY weird when Rankin-Bass came out with an adaptation of the third book, Return of the King, right afterwards!

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE. Because both of Rankin-Bass’ specials were animated by a Japanese studio called Topcraft, who’d actually worked with Rankin-Bass for years. But then, they went bankrupt a few years later, and was bought by Isao Takahata, Toshio Suzuki, and...Hayao Miyazaki. And it was renamed as...

So, this is a Hobbit adaptation produced by the Rudolph people and animated by the people who would eventually become Studio Ghibli. Well, uh...holy fucking shit. Let’s DO THIS BABY. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/3)

As we’re wont to do in this story, we head to Hobbiton in the Shire, where we meet Bilbo Baggins (Orson Bean). A simple Hobbit in a simple home, with a happy and simple life. But one day, he’s approached by Gandalf (John Huston), who seeks a burglar to help with the mission of a group of dwarves, led by Thorin Oakenshield (Hans Conried).

We also immediately start off with two songs from the original book, and I have to say that I like them a but better in the Jackson movies, but they’re still well performed here. Anyway, after dinner, the true goal of their quest is given. Beneath Lonely Mountain, the ancestral home of the Dwarves, there was a kingdom ruled by the King Under the Mountain, Thorin’s grandfather.

Through reading the lyrics of the song “Far over the Misty Mountains,” Thorin tells the tale of the takeover of the Dwarves’ great golden hoard by the dragon Smaug. Bilbo is tasked to help the Dwarves steal back the treasure stolen from them. And, while he’s extremely reluctant to be a part of all this, Gandalf basically forces him to, the pushy bastard. And Bilbo’s Greatest Adventure now lies ahead!

Speaking of, here’s the song “The Greatest Adventure”, sung by Glenn Yarborough, who is the living personification of vibrato. Fuckin’ seriously, this guy’s voice is ridiculous, but I love it so much. As the night passes underneath Glenn Yarborough’s hypnotically shaky voice, and uncertain, Bilbo stares out at the moon. Once it’s over, we’re on our way to the Misty Mountains.

Bilbo’s having a tough time with the long journey and rough weather, and it doesn’t get much better when they encounter a trio of trolls. They send out Bilbo to try and steal some mutton from them, but he’s IMMEDIATELY a failure, and also manages to tell the trolls that the dwarves are present. Nice one, Bilbo. The trolls catch all of the dwarves, although Bilbo manages to escape. 

The trolls argue about how to cook the dwarves, but before they get to do anything, Gandalf shows up and summons the dawn, turning the trolls into stone and saving the dwarves. While they’re initially quite frustrated by Bilbo’s failure, he makes it up by discovering a horde of goods and weapons stolen by the trolls. This is also where Bilbo gets his classic weapon, Sting.

Gandalf, cheeky bastard that he is, suddenly reveals a map that he’s kept secret from Thorin, its rightful owner. Bilbo, a classic cartomaniac, is able to interpret the map. But there are also runes that they can’t quite read. And so, Gandalf brings them to his friend, Elrond (), who’s wearing a sick-ass glittery tiara that’s hovering off his head. How come Hugo Weaving didn’t have that?

Anyway, Elrond identifies the swords that Thorin and Gandalf grabbed as Orcrist, the Goblin-Cleaver and Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer, because FUCK YEAH, BABY, those are some fuckin’ NAMES! WHOOOOOO!

Anyway, he also points them in the direction of the mountain, and shows them hidden features to the map. They head through the mountains after this, and rest in a cave. Unfortunately, this cave is on Goblin territory, and the group (sans Gandalf, who’s disappeared to make out with Cate Blanchett or whatever) is quickly ambushed by a group of now-horned Goblins, who chant their song as they go “Down, Down, to Goblin-Town”. Which is a song that I love, unironically. It compels me to sing along.

The Goblins nearly kill them when they discover Orcrist in Thorin’s possession, but they’re saved by the sudden appearance of Gandalf with the glowing sword Glamdring. He kills the Great Goblin, and the group run out with the Goblins in hot pursuit. Well, except for Bilbo.

Yeah, Bilbo falls into a cavern below the mountain, and the dwarves think him gone for good. However, he’s miraculously safe on the ground, having landed in an underground aquifer, in which lives THE GREATEST CHARACTER IN THE MIDDLE-EARTH FRANCHISE FUCKIN’ AT ME I DARE YOU

And just so we’re clear, I’m not talking about the film version only, I’m talking about Gollum/Smeagol in general. Granted, I don’t want a film starring him or anything (coughCruellacoughcoughMaleficentcoughcoughClaricecoughcough), but I love this dissociative little dude so much. He’s one of my favorite fantasy characters in general, and is also maybe the best example of a sympathetic villain, in film at least.

OK, to be fair, I love Andy Serkis’ version of the character a LOT, like a LOT a lot, and it’s a great version of the character. OK, so what do I think of this version? He’s...interesting, actually. If I’m honest, I kinda like him. This is similar to how I always pictured Gollum when I was a kid.

I mean, listen to this description from the book, yeah?

Deep down here by the dark water lived old Gollum, a small slimy creature. I don't know where he came from, nor who or what he was. He was Gollum - as dark as darkness, except for two big round pale eyes in his thin face...He was looking out of his pale lamp-like eyes for blind fish, which he grabbed with his long fingers as quick as thinking.

I dunno, that does sound more like this version of Gollum to me, just saying. Anyway, while Gollum is off fishing in the water, Bilbo gets up on the shore, where he finds a little golden ring Not important, just a ring, definitely means nothing at all, NOTHING AT ALL, NOTHING TO SEE HERE.

The hungry Gollum (Brother Theodore) happens upon Bilbo, precious, wonders if Bilbo would taste good, and is basically about to kill him for his sweet hobbit meat, before Bilbo takes out Sting. Now afraid, Gollum offers a game of riddles. The two make a deal: if Bilbo wins at a game of riddles, Gollum will show him the  way out. But if Gollum wins, precious will eat him raaaaaaaw and wrrrrrrrrrriggling!

The riddles commence, in a super-fuckin’-classic moment, and also ends with maybe the most bullshit moment in all of fantasy lore. After clever riddles with answers involving eggs, wind, and time, Bilbo’s last riddle is “What’s in my pocket?” The fuck, Bilbo, that’s absolute BULLSHIT!

Not that it matters. Bilbo wins, but Gollum goes to find his ring to show it to Bilbo before he takes him away. Thing is, though, that’s what was in Bilbo’s pocket, which Gollum quickly figures out, my precious. He’s about to kill Bilbo to get back his birthday present, precious, but Bilbo discovers the secret trick of the ring: it turns the wearer invisible, AND THAT WILL NEVER BE A BAD THING EVER.

Gollum thinks that Bilbo’s escaped and runs after him toward the exit. This, of course, leads Bilbo towards the exit inadvertently, and he follows Gollum, then jumps over him to get back. To which Gollum screams the following:

Thief! Thief! Baggins! We hates it! Hates it! Forever!

I hear you, buddy. I hear you. Well, once Bilbo escapes, he reconvenes with the rest, and shares his adventure in the cave, but leaves out the ring. And Gandalf seems to know, based on his dialogue. And I checked, and he figured it out in the book and Jackson movie, too. And I gotta say...WHAT THE FUCK GANDALF

I mean...DUDE. CHECK UP on that shit. Do you wizard job, man! If you’d been like, “Dude...you didn’t find a magic ring that turns you invisible, ight, because we’re FUCKED if you did”, NONE OF THE LORD OF THE RINGS WOULD’VE HAPPENED, AND BOROMIR WOULD STILL BE ALIVE

Everybody talks about the fuckin’ eagles, but WHY DO I NEVER HEAR ANYONE MENTION THIS SHIT? Gandalf the Grey: Middle-Earth’s most irresponsible asshole, I swear...

This seems like a good place to pause, actually. See you in the next part!

[fenheart87]

manikin

Lukanette 2020 Exchange piece For @the-alice-of-hearts, enjoy! 

Marinette was on a mission,step outside of her comfort zone and again echoed by her technical design professor to be more daring and assertive and bold. She needed to round out her styles and portfolio as much as she could to make herself a more attractive candidate for any applications she submitted or even just expanding her online commissions and bulking her portfolio that way if she chose to start out on her own. It was difficult to just be set in one style and make it big when just starting. Mari figured that she would explore as much as she could before committing to one genre or style, it would keep her far from being burnt out like some of her fellow classmates.

“Hey Nathaniel! Have you seen Juleka?” She called out, walking a bit faster to the redhead who waited for her to join him.

“She was around this morning but I haven’t seen her since. Have you tried calling or texting her?”

“Yup, nothing but silence though. I’m out of touch with everyone’s schedules the more time goes by.”

“Is she complaining she can’t be super Mari and be our everyday ladybug again?” Marc teased, sneaking up and poking the shorter girl’s sides resulting in a squeal.

“Marc!” She smacked a red clad shoulder before they disappeared behind their boyfriend. “Stop doing that!”

“Stop making it so easy?” Nathaniel offered, smirking at Mari’s adorable pout.

“I hate you. I really do. Welp, if Juleka is busy and you’re both too shy to play model and dress up and have proof of it, I guess I need to find a model.”

“I’m pretty much free if you need a mannequin, class ends at three for me this week.” Marc offered kindly, green eyes peeping over Nathaniel’s shoulder.

“Oh wonderful! I found another sample fabric I wanted to try for you!” She did her jump and hip shimmy, ignoring the giggles.

“Only exception being Thursday, that’s date night this week.”

“Fine, have your boyfriend Marc on Thursday, I get your girlfriend Michelle the rest of the week. See you later!” Mari dashed away, giggling as the bright red spots on Marc’s cheeks.

After walking around campus and deciding against searching too far as she still had classes, she was no closer to finding her muse model but it did nothing to dampen her good mood. It was a sign that meant she would just have to explore the in and outs further and stay away from her usual haunts. Instead of using her eyes she decided to let her ears guide her, Marinette glanced around a few times and focused on conversations instead of what people were wearing, hearing the emotions in their voices. With the new mindset, carefully the young designer wandered around and sketched some expressions, new emotions to craft into fabric choices and color schemes to make them come alive as clothing to wear the emotion plain as day. There was a ton of laughter and giggles around her until she got closer to the library. The sound of a guitar drew her in like a sirens song.

Marinette needed a break from all the walking and climbing she had done so far and decided to stop by the library for the few books she had on hold. Skirting around the cliques that hugged the stairs more often than naught, the petite designer made her way into the library. Seeing Max working the check out desk, Marinette bee lined for him, smiling wide enough to crinkle eyes just slightly.

“Marinette, how are you today?” Max greeted, shuffling books around to scan them and write the names on the cards for the reserved items.

“I should have a few books on hold, all fashion related of course, there was one that was checked out but if you could see if it’s been returned?”

“Sure thing, book title, author or DEWY code?”

“There’s several, here’s my card.” Marinette held it out for Max to scan, rocking on heels slightly to a rhythm she could hear every time the door opened.

“Ah yes, you have five reserved and it looks like two have not been checked back on yet. Would you like me to check the return bin?” Max asked, finding the appropriate stack of books and setting them on the counter.

“Yes please, even if we can find one more that makes it easier to study and hopefully pass with flying colors.”

“Fashion has always been a huge part of you Marinette, as long as your heart is in it then you’ll pass with flying colors.” Max smiled at the rare blush on the young woman’s face, “I’ll check the returns for you, be right back.

Marinette breathed deeply to calm her sudden nerves, her friend’s unwavering faith in her abilities always managed to take the designer off guard but she wouldn’t change any of them for the world. While waiting, she filled out the cards for the books in the pile to make Max’s job easier but kept getting distracted by the wonderful music that kept sneaking through.

“I managed to find both luckily, if you could fill these out then you free to chase whatever has you so distracted.” The glint from his glasses made Marinette squeak in embarrassment as being caught.

“Thanks Max!” Quickly she stuffed the books in her backpack and marched at a reasonable pace to the door and only let out the breath she was holding once outside.

Students shuffled to and from the library, stopping to chat quietly or bask in the music for a moment before continuing their way. The solo guitarist was the center of attention, playing a mix of old and new songs. The overall genre seemed to be with the intent to soothe stressed students and teachers alike as they passed by, Marinette could feel herself relaxing and her creative block lifting. Deciding to obey her muse, the slim young woman snagged a bench that was being vacated by a couple who had finished their coffees. Unsure how much time had passed, the designer lost herself to the world of inspiration, completing outlines with notes and vague sketches with the knowledgeable experience telling her to be swift and flesh then out later.

The music had become a soft and sweet ballad, just hovering in the background for anyone to notice or ignore if they were passing by. Marinette took a quick glance at her outlines and notes, polishing little things or rewriting fabric choices, her eyes fell to the musician that she could finally see and she froze. This was exactly what she was looking for, his expression spoke of calm but hid the slight anxiety every time he started a new song. When he suddenly changed tunes and a couple stopped fighting because the music took over made his lips quirk in a faint grin. His clothes were made to blend in, ripped jeans and combat boots topped with a plain Jagged tee and lightweight layered Hoodie. That did absolutely nothing to help hide his hair with the blue tips, was that a tongue ring?! Marinette felt the need to sketch and design and she had to see what color his eyes were.

Swiftly but carefully she put away her supplies and made her way to the musician that was quietly packing away his guitar and removing the tips from his case. The designer caught his attention and when the weight of gaze met hers, Marinette just blurted out what came to mind.

“You’re hot, can I undress you?” With a squeak, she smacked her face with her sketchpad and took a few deep lungs full of air. “I’m sorry! I want your clothes- I just, you were playing and sound sexy- GOOD SOUND! I really like you- YOUR  style it’s mysterious but like nice- I really want to undress you- I mean I-!”

“Deep breaths.” His melodic voice cut through her anxiety like a hot knife to butter. “I’m Luka.”

“Ma-ma-Marinette!”

“Nice to meet your Ma-ma-Marinette. You’re an artist too?” He nodded causally to her sketchbook.

“Yes. Fashion designer. Project.” Few more deep breaths. “I need to branch out and try a new style and I usually create women’s clothes. So my professor told me to challenge myself and your music inspired me and when I looked at you, you’re perfect. That is- I mean, if you wouldn’t mind being my model?”

“So do I get to undress myself or is that your job?” Luka teased with a grin, causing Marinette to hide her face again with a squeak. “I have a crazy schedule but I’d love to help.”

“I have time on Tuesdays from two to five, Thursdays from five to seven and Saturdays after the morning rush so more like three or four to eight.” She rattled off, pulling out her planner to his amusement.

“Okay I’ll have to check my schedule, two of my classes are up in the air. How about we exchange phone numbers and then I can text you what’s my schedules going to look like? It changes week to week.”

“Most musicians do it seems, one of my best friends is a DJ and he takes all kinds of gigs so it’s hard to sit down and catch up.” They traded phones and saved their numbers before swapping back. “Some of this we can do via Skype if needed, you have to be comfortable with the design too and just wearing it to help my grade.”

“Seems like you’ve done this before.” Luka stuffed his phone into his pocket and packed away his guitar, shouldering his case.

“Fashion student, too broke for mannequins so I lure in unsuspecting folk with delicious free pastries from the best bakery in town.” She teased with a huge grin.

“Well then, I look forward to those pastries.”

Waving, they went their separate ways and Marinette had a skip in her step that had been missing due to the stress. Texting her other friends that were her usual models but this time with ideas of clothing to compliment the designs she had drafted for Luka. Everyone had a positive response and she had just enough people for a full collection, Marinette was sure to blow this project out of the water.

- - - 

Luka stared down at his phone with a smile. As far as first impressions go, he didn’t think negatively of Marinette. It was easy for the musician to recognize the spark of creativity making her blue bells shine and the dark circles the byproduct of sleepless nights from the muse keeping her awake to do her bidding. Her song was the dead giveaway, it was beautiful but unfinished with the crash of crescendos and decrescendos in spots, showing she was afraid to stay loud and bold.

“That had better not be another cat meme.” Juleka muttered, sliding into the booth across from him.

“Nope, I just got asked to undress for a pretty cute girl.”

“What girl wants to see you naked?”

“Not naked, she wants to dress me up.” Luka corrected, waving the waitress over so they could order. “Caramel cappuccino and one hot fudge vanilla shake.”

“Design student or art student?” Luka had no trouble hearing his sisters mumbles, even over the din of the coffee-shop.

“Design student, I guess she felt a good vibe with the music I was playing and she got bit by the creative bug.”

“Not the only one that got bit.” Juleka smiled innocently as the waitress set down their drink orders. “When’s your first fitting?”

“I don’t know, I told Marinette I would text her my schedule for the week once I figure it out.

"Well them, you had better bring me back an eclair and a chocolatine, try the macaroons.” With that cryptic advice, Juleka took her drink and left her brother confused. A ding from his phone had him opening a picture of a very familiar face forwarded from his sister.

Is this the ‘go get em tiger high-five from you?

You hurt her and you’ll answer to your future sister-in-law.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

[akvtsuki-ari]

A Study In Body Language: iv. yours truly

Warnings: mentions of rehab, but for the most part none! 

Length: 5.5k

Authors Note: This is the happiest chapter so far, and theres a few perspective jumps but they’re not too hard to follow. i love this fic, but the last chapter is next and shit is emotional. be ready and thank you all

Plot Summary: Spencer Reid comes to some scary conclusions about what that gnawing feeling is. The universe knows a lot of things the two of you don’t

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 

Reccomend this song to listen to this while reading!

"Well, Spencer - remember you are always welcome back here but I think, for now, you have some folks waiting for you outside. Congratulations and many blessings,"

Spencer smiles at her, her name was Diane. She didn't remind him of his mother but she was nice all the same, curly hair and dark skin and kind eyes. No, she didn't make him think of his mom but she certainly made him think of you - and so Spencer smiles at her fondly and wishes her goodbye.

He'd technically been outside in the last 60 days, but only technically. This was the first time he'd actually been outside, just to be outside and not because his therapist recommended fresh air. He could feel the cool wind presses kisses to the nape of his neck, intertwine with his fingers as the sun brushed his skin. He could feel everything - and it was so much and so little at once but he was so grateful. He couldn't stop smiling, the second he went outside, he just couldn't stop smiling.

JJ hugs him first. She's warm, her arms are small and they hold onto him tight. She's crying and says hello and Spencer says hello back. Next is Penelope, who also cries and hugs him tighter. Emily, then Derek, then Rossi and lastly, Hotch - who gave him the proud fatherly smile that only he knows to give.

It was only missing you, and even though you told him you couldn't go to pick him up - he finds himself so disappointed. He's deflated but decides he can mope later.

"We're so proud of you, Spencer," JJs voice is shaky and a little hurt. Spencer smiles down at his shoes and nods.

"Thank you, all of you for supporting me," Spencer says honestly. Everyone gives him a soft look.

"It's nothing kid," Morgan says first. The whole team nods in agreement. Spencer can't stop smiling it seems.

"Let's get you home," Rossi's voice is smooth as he speaks, everyone walking towards the SUV. Spencer looks back onto the concrete building with an odd fondness. It's a surprisingly difficult goodbye, but it's the most important one he's had second to yours. So, he says bye - hoping to say an important hello to you soon.

_____

The headstone was something he would've liked. Every time you look at it, you can see that he'd like it even if he pretended not to at first. You chuckle for a few seconds, the flowers and the ridiculous cherry blossom tree that's been here for as long as you can remember, it's beautiful and unfitting. He's dead, and that's that and it should feel - well, it should feel more important shouldn't it? But it's all so indifferent. It's all so much nothing, and didn't mean as much as it should've but who's to say right?

You wish you were crying. But you weren't, you were just looking. Tears fall, slowly if at all while you just take it in. You were alone before but it's different this time. In the whole world, there's no one who can really claim you as blood. It doesn't hurt but it's strange to remember. When the cherry blossoms fall onto his grave you don't resent them. He was neglectful at worst so in a way, you don't resent him either. It was all over now, whatever happened between the both of you had simply ceased and it felt like it was time for the next chapter. It'd take a while before things settled again, but that's okay.

"You've been staring awful long," your boyfriend's voice is comforting. It was familiar and when you heard it, you felt calm. You turn around and give him a light kiss which he returns to you, and then the both of you just stand.

"Guess so," you managed to mumble our. His arms around your shoulder as he hugs you tight and the gesture is friendly. Most of your interactions were, intimacy only heightened enough to be dating, really.

"You ready to head to the airport," his voice is more a statement than anything.

"Yeah, Jay - I'm ready," you say softly. He squeezes your hand as he leads you away to the rental car.

_____

Spencer doesn't know if he recognizes the office much these days. It might be a little easier if you were there - and you would be soon. For now, it was a familiar and worn place. Full of tattered and unclosed edges, and long nights that seemed to settle inside him forever. Spencer wasn't unhappy there, he just didn't know what to make of things yet, worried that time would've changed his mind.

He sits at his desk, the team chattering away while Spencer patiently waits on your arrival. You spent 60 days taking care of your father and your neighborhood. You called him, and wrote him letters at times because you know he loved to write back. Somehow you managed to care for him so far away - and any breakthroughs he had was because you kept pushing him to move forward. Spencer just wanted to show you he was good, more than good — he wants to finally be able to say thank you. After all this time, he feels like he owes you that much.

When you walk out of the elevator door, Spencer is the first person to hear you. It's the weight of your walk that he'd become so attuned to, the sound of your shoes hitting the floor that he knew so well. He didn't have to pause to make sure because he just knew. No doubts in his mind, like he'd memorized your white noise so well it'd be ingrained in him forever.

After 60 days, you were the only thing more refreshing that being outside.

The team says something, but it's distant to Spencers ears as he gets up from his desk and walks up to you. It was that feeling again - that the two of you were the only two people on Earth. Spencer can't bring himself for formalities - so when he sees you, and he hugs you so tight you might break, you get it.

You hug him just as tight back. This is the strongest hug he's ever given you but it's not about the physicality. You could feel the happiness on his skin - something that was usually always in glimpses was now in full bloom. You hug Spencer so tight that he's all you can feel. It didn't matter what the universe had to say.

The whole team is stunned into silence - because the last they all remember the two of you couldn't stand each other. But, here you two were, holding the other so closely as if no one was there at all. You wanted to see them, and so did Spencer but this was different. It had to happen first - so the team just gave eachother side glances and watched the two of you.

When you pull back, you look up into Spencer's eyes and put a hand on the side of his face. The team steps back as they watch - they swear you two are gonna kiss but you don't. You just look into his eyes so deeply you can see into his mind and he lets you. Spencer doesn't let anyone do that, but he lets you.

"Hey, dickhead," You say first breaking the silence. Spencer lets out a wonderful laugh, truly jubilant.

"Hey there, lady," Spencer says cheeky. He called you that because he knew how much it annoyed you - when people called you a lady of any kind, went back to being discplined as a kid. You hit his chest, eyes squinted as he laughs. The team just watches in awe as the both of you look at each other so intently - all of them waiting for something more to happen but it doesn't. Neither of you seem to care to explain what went on, and it becomes more apparent as the seconds pass that it wasn't weird to either of you. Did you two think they wouldn't notice or was this legitimate ignorance, no one had decided yet.

"Move so I can go say hi to the team, stupid," you say sarcastically yet lightheartedly. Spencer laughs , continuing to block your vision.

"They can say hi from here," Spencer insists, letting you out of a hug as he moves his body to block your vision. You give him a shove which he fake whines at and you laugh again.

"Hey everyone," You say first. Suddenly your aware of everyones expression, all equally as perplexed. You look back at them just as confused as all of you stand still, just looking at the other party with an odd suspicion. Your facial expression is truly befuddled so the team figures that you two were actually just unaware of how strange all that was. No one says anything, instead all opting to shake it off as people start to give you hugs one by one.

"Oh I've missed you so much, beloved Y/N," Penelope is the first person to hug you, everyone silently appreciating the work she's doing. You smile, returning her affectionate gesture before going back down the line of people. Hotch hugs you last, giving you a knowing look. You just shrug your shoulders, softly smiling at him while shaking your head. He blinks in acknowledgement before things can go any further.  You simply shake your head at him back and he gives you  a gesure, like we'll talk about it later.                        

"I've missed you guys too," your voice is sincere as you speak to all of them but your eyes naturally find themself to Spencer. He gives you an encouraging smile that you return shyly and the whole team pretends not to catch wind of it.

"Hotch," Rossis voice cuts through the room for a moment. Hotch looks at Rossi with a questioning look.

"Do we have a case today?,"

Hotch shakes his head, brows furrowed as Rossi continues.

"Well the, if everyones free - I think it's long overdue we have some celebrations for both of you," Rossi annouces. The team lets out a string of celebratory noise but you're confused - unsure as to why they were celebrating you. You were off-grid for the last few months, so they couldn't have known about what you had been doing. A sixth sense went off in your head as you looked over to Penelope who was definitely avoiding eye contact now. You wanna roll your eyes but who could ever be really angry at Garcia of all people?

"Now wait - I know why we're celebrating this dickhead over here," you say looking to Spencer "but, why would we be celebrating me at this occasion?," You said suspiciously. The whole team looked at Garcia, who immediately folded under the weight of all that pressure. You gave her a look of faux annoyance as she spoke quickly.

"I know you said you were supposed to be off-the-grid, but I worry okay? And when I worry, you know what I do? Well, other than watch cute videos of bird doing tricks -"

"Birds can do tricks?," JJ asks laughing.

"Birds are extremely intelligent creatures - they display traits like good memory, extensive communication, the ability to plan ahead, among other things that we associate primarily with intelligence. They're also able to complete problems and task that are far beyond that of what we'd call animal instinct, so it's actually very easy to teach birds to do tricks," Spencer says anecdotally. Your eyes fill with affection as you hear him talk and he manages to give you a shy smile back. Emily looks incredulously at the rest of the team but they all shake their head, telling her to leave it.

"Yes, birds can do tricks. Now as I was saying - when I worry I go and do research so I started digging, not to intrude - just to make sure you were okay you know and I found that you'd been fundraising all that money for kids in your neighboorhood and I got so excited because that's so lovely, you know? You're so lovely and I love you," Garcia says rambling. You can't help but smile at her, looking down at your shoes embarassed.

"Did you find anything else?"

"No no, I don't intrude remember - just saw you in the local paper with your apron and read the article about how you handmade all those desserts and it was just really heartwarming you know, good for the soul," Penelope explains dramatically. You laugh a little bit, scratching the back of your neck while your cheeks flush.

"Wouldn't take you for a baker, mama," Derek says laughing. You stick your tongue out him and Spencer ignores how jealousy floods in his chest. Weird.

"I learned from this woman named Miss Bell, she was like - the neighborhood auntie. Welcomed everyone in and taught me to bake so I'd have something to do when I got bored, instead of you know - get in trouble,"

"You were a troublemaker as a kid?," Emily asks surprised. You can't help your roar of laughter, your stomach hurt from how hard you were giggling.

"I would give baby Morgan a run for his goddamn money, let's just say that," you say sarcastically.

"That bad?," Rossi questions. You just nod, a smile painted on your face.

"Absolutely that bad,"

"You're a baker, and after all this time I haven't recieve a single cake - frankly Y/N, I'm devestated," Rossi says dramatically. The whole team laughs as you shake your head.

"Give me a hall pass on being late tonight, and I can bring one in," you say, smiling. Rossi gives you a nod of approval.

"Now it's really a party,"

"Sure is. Spence, you wanna come over and come bake this cake with me?," You say, not really wanting to bake alone since your boyfriend was gonna be busy tonight. Spencer grins ear to ear.

"I'm definitely not gonna be very helpful, but yeah I'd love to," Spencer annouces. The team gives The Look™ to each other. Morgan rolls his eyes, speaking up first.

"I don't remember you and pretty boy being so cool last time we all saw eachother," Morgan annouces, pointing out to everyone else what was already obvious. You furrow your brows at him, Spencer doing the same. Were you two...? You two were definitely mirroring each other and didn't notice. Jesus.

"We kept running into each other after we took off for the first few weeks," It's not a lie, but it's not true either. Spencer gives you a mental high-five.

"Turns out we have a lot in common," Spencer adds, giving his tight-lipped smile (:]) to Morgan. Derek puts his hands up in defense

"Just curious," Morgan says, easing up. The both of you just look at each other briefly before looking away - neither of you has spoken about those two months since then and you certainly planned to keep it that way.

"We all deserve a break - and I'm happy to welcome both of you back. So go home, wind down, and get ready. I'll see you all at the party,"  Hotch annouces, basically telling everyone to fuck off and go home. You look at Spencer, making sure he's following you as you walk into the elevator and down into the parking lot.

___

"Whose this again?," Spencer asks, yelling over the speakers a bit as you mix in some sprinkles for the batter of your cake. You twirl around to the sound of Artic Monkeys playing in your kitchen. The oven makes a little beep sound to tell you it's pre-heated and you flash Spencer a grin as you mouth the lyrics

"Artic Monkeys!," You say, pouring your batter into greased up pans, as Spencer sits next to you on the kitchen counter. You groove to the music, singing the lyrics with a faux-british accent.

"And I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be ! And satisfaction feels like a distant memory ~" you laugh aloud as you sing the lyrics of the song. Spencer watches you carefully, seeing the way you sway your hips to the music - closing your eyes and getting visbly excited when a part you like comes on. The whole thing was so domestic, you alone in your kitchen with Spencer singing your favorite song. It was invitng, and cozy. It was different.

In the months you and Spencer could only talk through letters and phone calls - all your conversations started to be more meaningful in the way only subtext could make it. Intimacy can't be represented by touches, most days. There's more intimacy in moments like these - jokes whispered to each other at serious events and little lingering looks. You were both so oblivious, and maybe that's why it works. Those conversations shared over a secret so powerful - you'd be foolish to not know someone could fall in love off that.

No harm, no foul. If no one knows - not even you two, the universe could remain in tact. Otherwise, it was likely that both of you were soon to be unraveled. It wasn't for either of you to decide but - Spencer keeps having this nagging feeling.

He hasn't had it since you told him you had a boyfriend - he managed to deal with it just fine but it keeps coming to him. Sometimes at the end of phone calls, or when he'd finish writing letters. It was like anytime an ending crossed paths with him - he had this nagging feeling about making sure you would still be there. Maybe it was the addiction talking, the fear of being alone again but it just felt different. He couldn't be sure why.

"Alright - cake is in the oven. I gotta go get ready, can you take it out and cool it down when it's done? I'll frost it once I'm dressed," you say to Spencer, washing your hands under the sink. He just nods for you, giving you smile.

"You already know where everything is, and I have some of your stuff in my room from before so just grab anything you might need! Okay, gonna go shower," you say, shuffling into the bathroom before throwing your apron at him. Spencer chuckles before catching it - watching as you scurry away into the bathroom.

Spencer sits on your couch when you leave. He hears you sing in the shower and can't contain his giggle. He's reading, a book that his mom recommended to him forever ago that he never got around to. He'd probably finish in the time that you'd come out, he figures.

It's silent for a while. Spencer reads and you shower, and the apartment is filled with a pleasant sense of the evening. It's nice to be here, kind of like before but Spencer shakes the thought out of his mind before wiping his face.

His ears become alert to the sound of the key unlocking, and before he panics too much he reminds himself you gave your boyfriend a key to your place recently. Spencer sighs as he sees him walk in the door and gives him a small wave. Jay smiles at him brightly, going up to Spencer with a welcoming look.

"Spencer, right? Good to meet you, man! I've heard so much about you, it doesn't feel like the first time, heh," your boyfriend repeats to him. Spencer laugh, shaking his hand.

"I hope all good things," Spencer says quietly, chuckling. Your boyfriend gives him a pat on the back before going to the kitchen. He peers at the cake on the counter and smiles at it, before looking up at Spencer again. He has a knowing smile written on his face, opening his mouth to talk to Spencer.

"Spencer, you're a good man, you know that right?,"

Spencer looks up at him confused, eyes furrowed and nods slowly. He grabs his stuff out of the drawer of Y/N's apartment, just some tools he let her borrow a while back. He looks to Spencer and holds eye-contact before laughing. He's suprised that Spencer is just as oblivious as you, but he can't say it doesn't feel like destiny. He shoots Spencer a soft grin, shaking his head in the process.

"Remember to take care of Y/N, always - and remember you can always come to me if you need anything," his words are ominious and Spencer just shoots him a confused look before nodding. He beams at Spencer, tucking his tools away in his bag before giving Spencer.

"Tell Y/N I say hello! I'm gonna head back out," he calls out to Spencer. Spencer shouts back a goodbye as he hears the door shut close.

Like clockwork it feels like, you pop out of the bathroom fully dressed and ready to go. Spencer feels his heartbeat in his eardrums as his eyes fall onto your sihloutte, body adorned in a dress that managed to hug your body in all the prettiest ways. It was lavender, your make-up pretty golds and neautral browns - lashes long and fluttering against your eyes as you blink them getting re-adjusted to the feeling. You give Spencer a twirl, before smiling at him with a toothy grin.

"We match!," you're so genuinely excited as you see Spencer look down at his own attire. Your dress matches the lavender shirt that he liked so much. Spencer can't help the way his eyes flooded with endearment at your excitment.

"That dress is too pretty to frost a cake in, Y/N," Spencer says softly. He hears the sound of your feet pad on the floor, you haven't put your heels on yet. You walk over to the cake and grab a spatula and the frosting you had Spencer make earlier on.

"No dress is too pretty for cake, Spencer. How the hell do you think people get married?," You argue back, confidently. Spencer giggles at your comment but can't disagree. He walks up to you as you frost the cake. It's the firs time he's noticed how much taller he is then you. You seem so tiny now, he isn't sure what to make of it. He leans over your shoulder as you frost and stack the cakes up.

"Need any help?," Spencer inquires, throat closing up as he realizes the words that almost come out of his mouth. He nearly called you love - and it came out so easily he's startled. You shake your head no as Spencer finds himself dazed.

"With this? No. But you have to help me put my heels on because I can't get the clasp on them on right ever," you say softly. Spencer nods, looking for your shoes which he finds next to the futon he sat on earlier.

You finish frosting the cake before sitting down on the futon next to Spencer. He smiles at you, as he takes your shoes out of their box. You make eye-contact as Spencer holds your leg, easing your feet into the uncomfortable looking heels. You watch his as he works with the clasp of them, pulling the strap through and readjusting them so that their tight. The moment is too close for comfort but you'd be damned before you thought of moving. Spencers eyes find yours for a second as the two of you smile at eachother for a while. Spencer places a hand on your calf, and you place one of his face and it feels like those two blissful months. Still difficult, and heartwrenching but for different reasons that you couldn't be sure of yet.

"Ready to go?," Spencer asks, cutting the tension. You nod halfheartedly.

"Do I look okay?,"

Spencer pauses. He takes a deep breath before his eyes settle on your face, your shoulders, your hair. He takes you for a few seconds, before he replies.

"Perfect. You look perfect,"

__

Rossi really knew how to threw a party. It was mostly the team and their spouses collectively, but what it was lacking in size it up for in fancy decor and lighting. You can't imagine how long it took for him to set-up, feeling overwhelmed with just how nice everything looked.

You and Spencer sorta forgot that you two were the ones being celebrated, so when everyone popped over with gifts of all kinds and alcohol - it was a little overwhelming. Nonetheless, you felt grateful. You hadn't realized how much you missed being around the team until it hit you like this.

Most of the night was spent catching up - drinking and talking until the early hours of  the next day. You told everyone about how life was back home, what it was like to volunteer with all the kids and catch up on old folks. Everyone was surprised you ended up a fed, you were such a shithead kid they wouldn't have figured it otherwise. You told them about how they cleaned up the river you used to live next to, and about how the old shopping center closed down finally. You talked with them, drinking wine and laughing until the sun threatened to come up. You'd missed everyone so much, the sound of their laughter so soothing to your aching ears.

Spencer told them stories too, about all the things he saw  in rehab. He told them about the scheduling and all the paintings he did, about the different people he met who were all their own brand of strange. He told a ghost story that scared the shit out of you even though you'd heard it before. Everyone was together - joking with each other like tomorrow was unimportant.

All night was ephemeral. Sometimes certain thing exist to be just that - gone and back in a matter of seconds. Sometimes things that are so volatile in nature are the most lovely - and this night was the clearest example. It was all ending, the spark had gone out and everyone was about ready to call it quits.

"One last slow song, as requested by our lovely tech analyst," Rossi announces. Garcia lets our a drunken giggle as she whisks Morgan onto the dance floor.

You had been whisked away by Hotch and Spencer by Emily. You figure now was the time that Hotch was referring to as later. He leans into your ear and whispers.

"What happened?,"

The question is relative. It means a lot of things, like how are you and what happened when you disappeared for so many months, how will I explain all that to the people above me. Hotch knows, he always does, so when he asks you that - you know have to be totally honest.

"I can't disclose the first two months yet but you can write that I was taking care of my sick dad - he passed away when I was home," you explain softly. Hotch pulls away to look at you and you give him a sincere smile.

"I'm okay. I don't feel much, really. About him at least," You say, your word choice sticking out to Hotch as the two of you swayed to music. Hotch nods at your honesty.

"I'm glad you're okay, welcome back,"

"Thanks, Hotch. I didn't take you for a dancer," you say laughing quietly. Aaron shoots you a small smile.

"Hope you don't mind if I steal your dance partner real quick," comes Spencers voice. Hotch shakes his head, passing your hand off to Spencer whose quick to shoo Hotch away. He gives you a knowing look before he goes to talk to Rossi about what you could only assume to be a case.

"Hey, you," you say softly. Spencer hands find the lower part of your back, as he shuffles his feet. He holds you close as he sways to the music and you find your face instinctively in his chest. This was just comfortable, of course. Nothing more or less.

"I missed them," you speak first. Spencer holds you a little tighter before looking at you, as you looked up at him.

"Did you miss me?," he asks, tongue-in-cheek. You roll your eyes, laying back down as the two of you continue to sway.

"I alway miss you, dickhead,"

"Always?," Spencer asks you. He chews on the inside of his lips - the question was heavy though it stems form something else. That was always the case for you two it seemed. You hold your head up to see Spencer, look him in his eyes. You always looked into him, you felt the way his hands grip on your waist as if you were going to fall away and you just smile.

"Always, Spencer."

He gives you a small smile in return.

"Well that's good. I always miss you too and uh - didn't want it to be weird, you know," He says a little sarcastically. You try to control your laughter but it comes to you in fitst, breaking the lovely moment in the best way. Your heads thrown back as Spencer gives you a few laughs himself, he watches the way your hair falls behind you.  He's seen you laugh before, and maybe it's the sangria talking but this was different. You were laughing till your stomach hurt, wiping tears from underneath your eyes to prevent your makeup from smudging too much. The sound of your voice in his ears was sweet, so sweet it could rot all his teeth. The way your whole body relaxes him as you continue to let out soft giggles of appreciation, over a joke so simple. Spencer is smiling but he gets this feeling again. A gnawing one like he's gonna be sick.

And suddenly, so suddenly - Spencer gets it.

It's hard to describe the feeling that you're in love with someone. Every writer, story-teller, musician, poet - everyone has tried so hard to describe the feeling of falling in love. The act of falling in love is so convoluted, it nears fucking impossible. Spencer doesn't know if he can explain what it feels to know that you've fallen in love with someone who once to you was so impossible but he feels it. He feels it so much in every part of him he feels like he's gonna pass out.

For Spencer Reid, falling in love with you was like waking up. Just like waking up, because when Spencer Reid thought of you he thought of everything that might make tomorrow. For 60 days, he thought of you just waiting for the last tomorrow to see it. When we wake up, we are making a promise to live another - just to see what happens. When we wake up, we are promising the universe that we are going to try and give it another chance. When we wake up, we go to sleep trying to fall in love with the universe all over again. Dreams are a prophecy, but waking up was a promise. Spencer Reid realizing he's fallen in love with you was a promise to the universe that he would keep waking up - and when he was awake, he would go to sleep with intent to do it all over again. You weren't his oxygen, but you were all 5 of his senses. You were the thing that made him experience life because he wanted too. Spencer Reid spent so many fucking hours thinking about what it would be like if he just didn't wake up. He wondered what it would be like to dream of endless darkness for so long.

Spencer used to dream of endless darkness. He prayed for the abyss to swallow him in his sleep.

But then you came, and reminded Spencer to wake up. And suddenly, the darkness was gone and he was holding onto thoughts of you.

Spencer woke up, and pulled himself out of the darkness for you.

"Y/N," Spencer voice can only manage a whisper as he wakes your sleepy figure. You flutter your eyes up at him and Spencer looks at you with love. Love is written clearly on his expression but he doesn't know if you can see it. You smile at him and Spencer loves you. Spencer loves you so fucking much and he has no clue what to say, or how to say it yet and even though he doesn't know if it's necessary he feels it so much. He needs to tell you, just not yet.

"Yes?," your voice is small. Spencer pushes hair out of your face, your sleepy and buzzed face smiling at him. Spencer's heart aches. Spencer Reid heart aches for you, and only you.

"Wake up, it's time to go home,"

"Okay," you say sleepily. You tangle your hand in Spencer's hands and the whole universe falls beneath his feet.

What the fuck was he gonna do?

___

taglist: @cynbx​ @zephyr-studiesjp​ @skrrrrrrrrrrt​ @reid-187​ @louistwinslover​ @pastanest​ @nomajdetective​ @iamburdened​ @secretlyablueunicorn​

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Abandoned - fic

Characters: Jason Todd, Ric Grayson, bits of Tim, Cass and Damian Summary: Ric was an only child. A man named Jay decided to remind him that, in another life, he wasn’t. A/N: Reminder Ric Grayson is one of the worst things to ever exist and the fact that they completely ignored what would happen with those really close relationships he had with his siblings is a bunch of bullshit. So here’s Jason word-vomiting for me. I wrote this in one go in the middle of the night. Sorry it’s garbage. The batkids were driving back to Gotham from some top secret mission and shit probably.

~~

Ric frowned as he stepped out of the bar. There was a car blocking his cab in the alleyway.

And that in itself wasn’t a problem, not really. Had happened before. What made it worse was that there was a man in a leather jacket standing nearby, leaning on a light pole, puffing away at a cigarette. Ric didn’t know why, but he had an intense feeling the man was the car’s owner, and that this little blockade was on purpose.

Ric huffed, shoving his hands in his pocket as he began to stomp closer. He didn’t really want to fight one of the fine folks of Bludhaven today, but would if he had to. He had fares to find and bills to pay, and this guy looked like one of those smarmy assholes who would drag out a stupid argument just out of spite.

As he got closer, the man glanced over, a sharp grin flashing onto his face in recognition. He popped the cigarette into his mouth and pushed off the streetlamp, fixing in his jacket. While he did so, Ric caught a glimpse of scars, violent looking ones, and even a few wounds still in the process of healing.

Ric blinked, and his stomach dropped in frustration.

One of them.

“Bruce Wayne sent another one of you, huh?” He snapped before thinking too much about it. The man snorted a laugh, running his fingers through his hair. Ric took note of the white streak near his bangs.

“Nah. If he knew I was here, he’d kill me actually.” A drag of the cigarette. “Again.”

Ric stopped in front of him, waiting.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry. Amnesia.” The man exhaled smoke right into Ric’s face. “You wouldn’t get the joke.”

“Doesn’t sound like it’d be funny even if I did.” Ric countered easily. “Mind telling me why you blocked my cab?”

The man shrugged. “Wanted to talk.”

Ric groaned, glancing to the skies. “Look, I’ll tell you the same thing I told that Barbara woman. I’m sorry I don’t remember whatever relationships we had before, but I don’t want to come back to Goth-”

“I don’t give a shit about all that. Don’t come back, I don’t care. It’s your life.” The man cut off. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“…Oh.” Ric pursed his lips, looking around. “Then what do you want?”

“I want to talk about…” The man seemed to think over his words. “What you else left behind.” Suddenly he gestured his arm towards his own car, directing Ric to look for himself. “I want to talk about them.”

Ric glanced over and realized that the man’s car wasn’t empty. There were three people inside, three kids by the look of it. Two in the back and one in the front.

The teenagers in the back could have been twins from where he was standing. Both with black hair and pale skin. Petite. The girl’s hair was longer, almost to her shoulders, but the boy could have used a haircut himself too. The girl smiled and pointed to something on the phone the boy was holding between them. The boy laughed too.

In the front passenger seat was a younger boy. He was also consumed by the phone in his hands, headphones shoved into his ears and sweatshirt hood over his head. His knees were curled up to his chest, and he looked like he was hugging himself.

He looked…sad.

Not that the two in the back looked any better. They looked tired. More tired than a couple of teenagers should. Concerningly tired.

Ric looked back to the man. “Who are they?” And almost an after thought: “Who are you?”

“…You used to call me Jay sometimes. So let’s go with that.” Jay said absently. “And they…are your siblings.”

Ric was already shaking his head as he looked back. The three in the car didn’t seem to notice them. “I don’t have any brothers and sisters. I’m an only child.”

“By blood, yeah. By found family…you’re the oldest of five. Legally too, technically.”

Ric looked back. “Five? There’s only three kids in that car.”

Jay pointed to himself. “You were also kiddo’s legal guardian for a few years, too. But that’s less important in the long run I guess. Kind of.”

Ric’s stomach was churning now. “Okay, so Bruce Wayne had a bunch of kids besides me. So what?”

“So…that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Jay took another sharp inhale of his cigarette, seemingly steeling himself. Thinking. “Because Bruce is one thing. The secret cave and what we did down there is one thing. Don’t want to come back to that? Fine. Be as big an asshole as you want about it. I don’t care. No one does. Nightwing was a beloved hero around the world, but if it came down to the world having Nightwing or having Dick…Richard Grayson safe, not a single person would pick the former. Besides, heroes retire. Heroes quit. Heroes become bad guys. No big thing. It was wrong of Bruce and Barbara and whoever else to try to force you back into a role you didn’t remember.”

Ric waited.

“That’s one thing.” Jay repeated, and suddenly his voice was angry behind the cigarette. “But abandoning those kids is another.”

A moment to let that sink in.

“And sure, at first I thought I’d come here and say abandoning the people who love you was really shitty, but you know? A lot of people fucking love you and I don’t care about a single one of them.”

He pointed towards the car.

“But them? They adored you. Still do frankly. Especially kiddo.” Jay emphasized his point by jabbing his finger forward again. “You saved his life. You saved all their lives in one way or another. And even more than that – you loved them when it kinda seemed like no one else would. You gave a shit when not even Bruce did.”

Jay dropped his cigarette back between his fingers. Exhaled, and it was shaky. Upset.

“And I get it, I do. Leaving Batman? Easy. Leaving Bruce? Honestly, even easier. It’s not a life any of us should have or want and…you got out. Yeah, it was through getting shot in the head and forgetting everything, but. You got out.” Jay waved it off. “But what I have a problem with is that you left them and you don’t even care.”

“Because I don’t know them.” Ric countered, feeling his own emotions bubbling up. “How can I care about someone I don’t know?”

“Literally, you did all the fucking time!” Jay hissed. It seemed like he wanted to shout, but instantly turned it to a whisper. He glanced nervously at the car, and Ric realized – the kids didn’t notice them because Jason didn’t want them to. He didn’t want them to see Ric, or hear this conversation. “It was what made you…you. What made you special. Because it didn’t matter who it was or what they’d done. Even if you didn’t know someone’s name, you cared.”

Ric just stared. “I’m not that person anymore.”

“And I’m suspicious about that, because I’m pretty sure amnesia doesn’t change who you are as a core person, and Dick Grayson was no fake when it came to his heart, but that’s not what’s important here.” Jason snapped. The cigarette was close to burning his hand and he dropped his, squishing it under his heel. Immediately he pulled another pack from his pocket, along with a lighter. He shoved the stick into his mouth and lit it. “Because, okay, I can even forgive you not caring about some of the people around you when you woke up. Bruce, Barbara, even Alfred, maybe. Me.”

He paused, to inhale. Then exhaled the smoke, but into the sky this time.

“But they’re just kids.” Jay whispered, looking at Dick with some of the most pained eyes he’d ever seen. “What happened wasn’t their fault, wasn’t their choice. Trust me, if it was, that asshole in the front seat would have taken that bullet for you in a heartbeat, a goddamn thirteen year old.”

Ric let his hands in his pocket roll into fists.

“But this wasn’t their fault, and they’re the ones suffering the most here. Because, yeah, you’re not Dick Grayson, and you’ve made that clear. You’ve made it very clear you want no association with how the old you was, or anything he did. But they’re a bunch of fucking kids who have to convince themselves that their older brother is dead and gone and never coming back, but watch you be alive and well down here in fucking Bludhaven anyway.”

Ric found his gaze slowly drifting back to the car. The girl in the backseat had taken the phone now, the boy next to her leaning on her shoulder with his eyes closed. The little boy in the front hadn’t moved.

“And I take back what I said earlier. You being his legal guardian is important. Because you were like his dad, then. His motherfucking dad. You remember losing your dad. Imagine how it is for him to be forgotten and abandoned by his, while he’s still around out there enjoying his life?” Jay spit. “And Tim – you were there when his dad was murdered. When his best friend was. His girlfriend. One of the only ones there for him. You were there for Cass when she didn’t even know how to fucking speak. When she had no one but some parents who wanted to kill her. It was years ago, but how do you think they both feel now? How do you think they’re coping?”

“So what, are you saying this whole mess is my fault?” Ric snapped back. “It’s my fault I got shot and lost my whole life?”

“No. It’s not your fault what happened to you. But it is your fault how you reacted to it.” Jay answered coldly. “Avoid your old job. Avoid the people harassing you and trying to force you to remember something you can’t. But those three did nothing to you. They’re children. And you abandoned them without even giving them a damn chance. Without even attempting to start over with them or let them try.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Ric demanded. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing. I don’t want you to do a damn thing.” Jay shrugged. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Why?”

“So you know what you’re missing out on, being a stubborn piece of garbage who refuses to even acknowledge the people of his past, let alone interact with them.” Jay took a long inhale, and Ric watched the cigarette slowly turn to ash. “They’re good kids, Ric. Good kids you helped make. And now you’re mocking them with your mere existence and man. It just sucks.”

“And what am I supposed to do about it?”

“Like I said – nothing. Just wanted you to know. Barbara came down here and said her peace, so I figured I should be allowed to say mine.” He dropped the remainder of his cigarette and snuffed it out. “You mind going to your car first? I’m sure you’ve picked up on it right now, but I don’t want the babies to see you if I can help it. You’re still a bit of a raw wound for them, if you didn’t catch that.”

Ric stared at him for a moment. “…Tell the kids I’m sorry, if the conversation ever comes up.”

Jay shrugged. “I would if I thought you meant it, Ric. After all, Dick made it a point to not lie to them, if he could help it.”

Ric grit his teeth and turned towards his car without another word, making sure to keep his face in the shadows as he passed the windows of Jay’s car. None of the occupants even glanced up.

“Good luck with those memories and shit.” Jay called after him. Ric didn’t respond, and slammed his door a little harder than he meant to after he dropped into the car. He started his engine and rolled down his window, listening.

Jay was whistling as he walked back to the car, and jerked open his own driver side door.

“What took so long?” A young voice whined. Ric glanced into his rearview mirror to see it was the boy in the front seat. He hadn’t looked up from his phone. “I didn’t think destroying your lungs with cigarettes was an extended affair.”

“Was watching some old men down the street fight over a chess match.” Jay seemed to say nonchalantly. “Also had more than one cig. Excuse me if I don’t want to waste my supply, and enjoy the moment.”

The boy’s answer was cut off as Jay got into the car and shut the door. Ric listened as his engine started, and watched as they pulled away, freeing him from his temporary prison.

He threw his cab in reverse, dropping out of the alley and onto the road. He shifted to drive, and took off, ironically, the same way Jay and his crew went. In fact, they were at a light just down the block, waiting for it to turn green.

And Ric found himself frozen, blocking both lanes with his car, because the girl – Cass, he’d called her – was staring out her back window, directly at him.

When she’d caught his eye, she simply smiled, though it was clearly sad, and gave him a single wave.

Then the light turned, and Dick Grayson’s siblings disappeared around the corner.