#sometimes you are only ever meant to visit a place for a brief time and though you may want to return again it will not have you

[juliaaadoodles]

Highest score

#disco elysium #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #w-w-w-wildest cops in revachol #before you ask i have heard the sad za/um news #how ironic #and how devistating #but on the bright side my friends #disco elysium is real #you can go play it as much as youd like #maybe it doesnt need a sequel #maybe it never did #sometimes you are only ever meant to visit a place for a brief time and though you may want to return again it will not have you #and that is okay #this news doesnt change how meaningful the game was for you #be vigilant. i love you

[miley1442111]

memory fails- c.berzatto

a/n: this is lowkey saddddd but wtv. this was intended for fem!reader but it's only mentioned once so feel free to imagine what you like :) also I fucking love Monk.

summary: there's no way carmy forgot such an important date, right? You'd better go down to the restaurant and check.

pairings: carmenberzatto x reader, platonic!syndeyadamu x reader

warnings: breaking up, parental loss, failing relationship, mean carmy, brief mention of sex, mentions of feeling used in a relationship, smoking.

Everything was too loud. His head hurt, his body ached and all he fucking wanted was to be at home, with you. He stepped outside the noisy kitchen and lit a cigarette, a habit he knew you hated but he just couldn’t take this anymore. Why did I leave my bed this morning? He asked himself again and again.

This morning, you were beside him, arms wrapped around his neck as he lazily kissed a trail up your neck, electing small giggles from your drowsy state. Today was meant to be his day off, but fucking Nat called him in for a meeting with Cicerio, a meeting that didn’t even happen. So now, here he was standing outside his own restaurant, the last place he wanted to be right then. He had spent the day practicing fucking timing in the kitchen. The sun was setting, he knew he’d missed the day with you. He knew you’d be upset. Never mad, always just upset, or frustrated. Just never fucking mad. He didn’t think he’d ever seen you mad. He brought the cigarette to his lips again as he smiled at the image of you that morning, one that will be burnt into his brain forever. 

“Cousin! Your girl’s here!” Richie shouted from inside and Carmen’s daydream was shattered. He exhaled the remaining smoke and off he went, back inside where he saw you, arms crossed against your chest, looking guarded and upset. 

“Hey, what’s up?” He asked as he pulled you into his office for some privacy. Richie, Tina and Sydney gave him stern looks. 

“You remember what today is, right?” You asked him, a slight wobble in your voice. He scoured his brain for a few seconds and that was all you needed. “You don’t.” 

“Sunshine, I’m sorry I-”

“Carm, if you don’t have time for this relationship anymore then what are we doing?” you sigh, sitting on the small black couch in the corner. “I’m sick of feeling like I don’t matter.”

“Sunshine, what? You matter more than anyone, more than anything! Wh-where is this coming from?” 

“It’s my dad’s anniversary. You didn’t show up. Sydney showed up, Nat showed up, Tina showed up, hell, even fucking Cicero showed up! And my own boyfriend didn’t? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You were getting mad. For the first time ever he was seeing you get mad. His heart broke. He had made you mad. He made his sunshine mad. “I just wanted 45 minutes of your time to visit his grave!” That’s why it was just him and Ritchie in the restaurant earlier.

“Fuck…” He sighed out. 

“Yeah Carmen, ‘fuck’! At this point, I’m kind of ready to break up Carmen! If this is how important to you I am, then maybe we’re fucking done!” You shouted, the entire restaurant and kitchen could hear you, thank god there were no customers but fuck, how could he miss such an important date? 

His face dropped. You couldn’t actually mean that, right?

“Sunshine please-”

“No Carmen. I come second to fucking everything in your life! Today was the day you promised to be there for me! It’s not fucking fair.”

“Sunshine, you know that work is important,” he tried to reason and when he looked up he knew he had made a grave mistake. 

“More important than me? More important than my dad’s fucking one-anniversary? More important than being there for me?” you challenged. 

“Yes! Sometimes, yes! Not everything is always about you!” He shouted, and trust him, he knew he shouldn’t have. What he really wanted was to apologise and spend the next few days making it up to you. But he didn’t. He just dug himself a deeper hole. “Fuck’s sake- sunshine, just drop it!”

Had he had the emotional strength to look up, he would’ve seen the hurt evident in your face. He would’ve noticed the way your eyes glazed and how you started shaking. 

“Fuck you.” You practically whispered. “Fuck your restaurant and fuck this shit. I have to at least allow myself some fucking self-respect Carmen! You don’t get to treat me like this anymore! We’re done.” You turn on your heel, walking out of the restaurant as Sydney follows after you, and Richie starts giving Carmen hell. 

“Yo, that seemed pretty heated back there-” She started saying, trying to catch up to you. 

“Please Syd, just… leave me alone,” you sighed, leaning against the wall outside the restaurant. 

“I’m sure this is just… like he’s just being a dick-”

“He forgot the one thing I needed him to remember. The only fucking thing I asked him to remember. I never care when he misses my birthday, any and all family things, fucking date nights. I never care. I’m always understanding. But I’m so done. I’m done with this feeling- I-I’m just… I feel like I’m the only one who cares, y’know? Like I’m the only one who ever puts any fucking effort into our relationship, a-and when he finally does, it’s like he’s expecting a fucking medal for just… being a boyfriend. And I understand that he’s struggling, but there’s only so much comforting and support I can give before I feel like I’m being used. I am being used Syd. All he does is come home and he's either crying or manic, or mad, so I comfort him, and then he asks if he can fuck me, and of fucking course I say yes, because he’s looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. And then he turns over and falls asleep, and I’m fucking alone again. I’m struggling too! My dad died! My…” You trailed off as Sydney pulled you into a comforting hug. “I fucking hate myself for staying with him, just hoping he’d be better,” you explain as sobs wrack your body. There’s a moment of silence between the two of you.

“He’s an asshole, and I think we both know you’re better without him, but I get this is hard too. How about we go back to yours and watch some Monk? It was your dads favourite, right?” She offered, a kind smile on her lips. 

“Yeah, thanks,” you smiled through your tears. 

“I’ll go grab my stuff, be back in a minute,” she smiled and walked back inside the building, leaving you with your thoughts. 

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

“I-is she ok?” Carmen’s eyes were on Sydney as she walked back inside the building. 

“Fuck you Carmen,” Ritchie sighed, as Sydney started grabbing her things from her locker, ignoring his question. “You don’t deserve to know if she’s ok!”

“You didn’t go either!” Carmen pointed out.

“Yeah, cause I went with her to the grave yesterday, y’know, since I have my fucking job today?!” 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Look, I’m heading out, night,” Sydney mumbled out as she slung her bag over her shoulder, walking swiftly towards the door. 

“Wait! Just… a-are we broken up then?” Carmen asked, terrified of the answer. The restaurant stilled. 

“Yes,” all of them answered, Tina’s voice the loudest. It was unanimous. You were gone from his life. Carmen stalked into his office and slammed the door, a loud “Fuck!” could be heard, as well as things falling to the floor. 

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

Sydney walked back out to you and grabbed your arm, whisking you away from The Bear and to her couch, binge watching episodes of Monk with her and her dad, popcorn and beer in your hands until you inevitably fell asleep on her floor.

Carmen didn’t sleep that night. He just kept thinking about you that morning, the small smile in the darkness. Your soft skin against his lips and hands. Your lips against his. Your kind eyes. Your sing-song voice. Your sweet smell. Your perfect smile. Your determination and unbreakable spirit. You. 

He had a lot to make up for, but how?

#carmy the bear #the bear fx #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #the bear #syd adamu #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #fanfic #fandom

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Sometimes Your Soul Family Is The Only Family You Need - Part 1

Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Summary: 18 months ago you were a mess but with the help of your close friends you start to rebuild your life. Your soul friendships maybe chaotic but they're your family, just as you're theirs. With one of them about to have a baby, you and your misfit friends are here to visit. But will you stay? And what will the small town think of you having two soulmates and why do you keep finding yourself in the same place as a bunch of hot bikers.

"Sometimes families are assholes, sometimes your soul connections mean far more than family ever can. Sometimes your soul family is the only family you need." - Nurse Maggie

Chapter Warning: Premature labour mentioned, brief mention of sexual harassment in the workplace.

Chapter Summary: We meet our reader and one of her soul friends. Does she need a bat?

Message Received Daniel Are you on your way yet? I think she might be calmer if she knew you were at least on route.

Daniel, soulmate to one of your best friends, had woken you this morning with a frantic phone call. Annemarie, one of your soul friends was in labour, but it was too early for baby to make an appearance and you and your other best and soul friend, Ryan, were her other birthing partners and were now in a race to get there.

You were all in. You’d taken classes, baby first aid, read books and had your bag packed for weeks already just in case. You were going to be a godmother and this was serious shit. Ryan had watched most of the online labour classes from behind a pillow like he was watching a Blumhouse horror.

You sent a quick reply to Daniel.

I’m just waiting for Ry, I’m going to start beeping the horn in a minute.

Ryan often kept you waiting. Always a change of outfit or something he’d forgotten. He hated the impatient beeping.

You leaned your head back against the head rest and let out a yawn. Not the best start when you had a 6 hour drive ahead of you.

You were startled by the ringing of your phone coming through the hands free, Ryan calling displayed on the dashboard.

“Why are you calling me? Hurry up, Annemarie is freaking out that we aren’t on the way yet.”

“Start the car and get ready to floor it?”

“What? Why?”

Your attention was caught by a familiar figure entering the stairwell that you could see from where you were parked.

"Why are you running?"

“They wouldn’t let me leave!”

“What do you mean they wouldn’t let you leave? This was all agreed! You’re owed the time!”

“I know! But she’s not here!”

By she, Ryan meant his boss, Jo, who also happened to be your old boss. You’d both sweet talked her into letting him have the leave when the baby was on the way. Short notice leave was never agreed to but Ryan had gone in early and stayed late, covering for others and helping out as much as possible. Being the life and soul of the office and covering for others so they could leave for their kids or appointments meant his colleagues had also been ok with it too. You and Jo were good friends and had stayed in touch after you’d left. She’d been a huge support to you since your almost (it probably was) breakdown post breakup, so you’d thrown in some babysitting for her adorable twin boys and a deal was made. But Jo and her adorable kids, and her soulmate husband were currently sunning themselves somewhere exotic. That’s management earnings for you.

“Brian is pissed off, I may have told him to go fuck himself when he said he wouldn’t let me leave and he’d sack me if I did.”

It was then you spotted Brian at the top of the stairwell in pursuit or Ryan.

“He’s following you. I’m getting the bat.”

“Alright Harley Quinn calm the fuck down.”

“You’re the one who said he wouldn’t let you leave.”

“Yeah well he can go fuck himself.”

“Wait why do you have a box? Are you stealing? Am I an accessory? I’m getting the bat.”

“Just start the car!”

You started the car and put your seatbelt on. The fire exit flew open as Ryan dashed through it, jacket a mess, backpack half on and the box still in his arms, Brian and now a security guard on his heals.

Ryan practically threw himself into your car, partly falling onto you in the process.

“Go, go, go”

“Why do I feel like there’s more to this?”

“Go!!!”

You spotted Brian nearing the car and put your foot on the accelerator.

A mile down the road with Ryan still squished in the passenger seat you’d pulled over to sort out your chaotic friend. You placed the box in the backseat, along with his backpack, spotting he’d stole the office plant, as Ryan took off his jacket and stretched like a cat. You smirked at him.

“What?”

“What the fuck was that? And you stole the plant!”

“He’s an asshole!”

“Oh I know, my ass still lives in fear of his grabby hands!”

“Exactly!! I may have brought that up, along with a few other things.”

“So are you fired?”

“Possibly.”

You pulled him into a hug.

“Proud of you.”

He laughed into your shoulder. You were always proud of each other in weird ways.

“The ten years ago Ryan would never.”

“Well I learnt my dramatics from the best?”

You gasped in mock horror.

“Meeeeee, no you meant Darcy right? Or Wanda? It was Wanda, wasn’t it?”

“Really? Wanda is the least dramatic of us all!“

“She set fire to her ex boyfriend’s clothes and got us to dance round it in our underwear.”

“Oh I miss that little witch.”

“Speaking of the little witch. You’re on phone duty, get those two on a group call but call Annemarie first. She’s in a state and we need to move our arses. Then call the lady re the Airbnb.” You replied, moving back to the drivers seat.

Ryan slipped on his sunglasses and leaned against the car. You pressed the horn hard.

“Hey unemployed, get in the car!!”

He startled and got in.

“Asshole.”

“I learnt from the best” you said pulling on your own sunglasses and turning on the radio.

“I love it when you’re assertive!” He replied as you snorted with laughter.

You were half a mile down the road when Ryan spoke up again, as he looked for his phone.

“I wonder if we’ll see any hot bikers this time.”

#avengers au #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel au #soulmates #soulmate au #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #avengers biker au #biker au

[rebelliousstories]

Happily Ever After

Relationship: Jack Twist x Male!Reader

Fandom: Brokeback Mountain

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Strong Language, Mentions of Ennis and Unwelcome Feelings

Word Count: 1,805

Masterlist: Here

Jake Gyllenhaal & Co. Masterlist: Here

Summary: Sometimes, Prince Charming is just a few years away.

As much as he wanted, Jack knew he couldn’t wait forever. Every year that he waited for Ennis to come to him, took something away from his heart. He knew why Ennis never did, hell, he understood better than anyone else. But that didn’t mean that the pain didn’t go away. The pain of being put aside for him to live a life that they both knew he didn’t like, with his only bright side being his girls. Yes, Ennis Del Mar was a stubborn son of a bitch, and so was Jack Twist. Which meant they both held out hope that the other one would come to their senses and leave.

After his last visit with Ennis, Jack decided enough was enough. He couldn’t continue on meeting up with him every once in a while to spend the night together, and then return him back to his wife and kids the next morning. His heart hurt to do it, but it was for the best. Ennis looked relieved and depressed at the news, which didn’t make dropping him off any easier on Jack. But it had to be done, for both of their sakes. Which lead Jack to wandering across America. The divorce had put things into perspective for him, and now he was trying to enjoy life as best he could.

Eventually, Jack settled back on Brokeback Mountain. The place that felt more like home than anywhere else. The man felt the sun start to peak over the horizon and onto his face from the window in his bedroom. He groaned and turned over, but felt something heavy and warm wrapped around him. The warm something against his back, and the distinct lack of coffee smell let him know that his companion had yet to wake up and get started on the day today. Jack heard a groan behind him, and felt the warm body nuzzle further into his neck from behind. The early morning, the smells of the mountain, and the company with him pulled Jack into a welcome memory.

~

“‘Scuse me, sir?” Jack turned around and beheld a man with a beautiful, but worn Stetson on his head. The espresso brown color complimented the mystery man’s skin, eyes, and the little bit of hair peaking through.

“Anyone sittin’ here?” The mystery man asked, and pointed to the only other available seat at the bar. Jack shook his head and motioned for the man to sit down, which he did. Flagging down the bartender, he heard a honey smooth voice order a double whiskey on the rocks. He sounded like a man after Jack’s heart.

“Whatcha doin’ in a place like this? You look like a city boy.” Jack’s eyebrows shot up to the top of his head as he slowly looked over his shoulder at the man. The look he was giving him must have been enough to convey the emotion he felt being called a city boy, because the mystery man started to talk once more.

“Oh, ‘m sorry. Me and my big mouth. I-I-I meant that you look really clean cut for being out in a workin’ part of town like this. Not that you…” he trailed off, mumbling to himself about the trouble his mouth was about to get him into. The man reminded Jack a lot of him when he was younger and more full of vigor. He started to chuckle lightly as he turned to face the man more.

“You’re alrigh’, I suppose. What’s your name?” The whiskey in his hands felt warmer than usual, as Jack watched the man’s face. The man supplied him with his name, and let himself roll it over his tongue a couple times before giving him his own. It was strange for Jack to be back in this position all these years later, now weathered and hurt. But it reminded him of the good times he had, and hoped for more to come.

“So, what brings you out here, Jack?” He asked, nursing the whiskey in his hands. He laughed humorlessly and thought about his answer.

“Just tired of living for everyone else. All my folks ran me off, so I’m just wanderin’ now. What about you? Your folks run you off?” A flash of blonde hair and a white hat passed over his mind, but the response wasn’t right.

“I guess I’m the same. I’m tired of survivin’ for everyone else. I wanna live for me.” And like that, the sweet chocolate brown eyes flashed away from memory. The gruff voice was replaced by this honey laced one. Same situation, different outcome. It took Jack a long time to realize that this was the beginning of the rest of his life.

~

Being pulled back into the present, soft kisses were pressed against Jack’s shoulders, neck, and back. He hummed at the affection and let himself sink further into the embrace. The head that the devilish lips were attached to peaked over his shoulder and came into view.

“Good morning, cowboy.” His partner said, voice stifled with sleep. He dropped his head on Jack’s chest and let the other man card his hands through his hair.

“Good morning, beau.” Jack responded as he pressed a small kiss to his head. They laid there for a moment more before his partner had to get up, and he made it known. Groaning, he shuffled over Jack, stretched, and walked over to grab a pair of jeans off the floor. Jack simply admired the man from behind, and made no move to get out of bed just yet.

“You wan’ some coffee, cowboy?” He asked, hand waiting on the door. Jack leveled him a deadpan look.

“Does that damn rooster wake us up every morning?” The man laughed as he walked out the door of their bedroom, and left Jack laying down in their shared bed. He knew he needed to get up. He had to help with taking care of their ranch, but everything seemed peaceful right now. He’d hate to disturb it, but it needed to be done. After a few minutes of staying in the warm bed, and letting the sunrise get him awake, Jack stood and went to go find a pair of jeans and a shirt. He stuffed his feet into a pair of socks, before grabbing another flannel shirt and heading to the kitchen.

The sight was something to behold when he finally arrived in the kitchen. His partner stood with his back to the threshold, and lost in his own world. He hummed quietly as the coffee was brewing on the stovetop, with the radio guiding him along in tune and tempo. As he watched the man in the kitchen go about his routine, Jack ran his hands over the flannel in his hands that he was going to offer. Their life together so far flashed in his head as he quietly observed. He came up behind the shirtless man and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, while tucking his head into the little spot where the neck met the shoulder. Jack felt his partner’s head tip back onto his own shoulder and the two began to sway gently. The music, the smell of the coffee, and the sound of the great outdoors that awaited them all helped set the mood of the morning.

Both were just content. They were content to be with each other, content to live where they did, and content to be themselves. It was easier to be themselves away from the prying eyes of society. The same ones that called their lifestyle sinful while having multiple affairs. But that didn’t matter out here. Here, they were just there. No heavy deadlines, or appearances to keep. No watching what they say, or how they act. It was freeing to be them out here. Jack watched with droopy eyes as his partner placed several spoonfuls of sugar into his mug and went to add a splash of milk. While Jack didn’t need the milk, it was a nice touch when they could afford it. He watched the man fix his own cup of coffee before dragging them both over to the table in the dining room. Jack had totally missed the food that was already there. How long had it been that his partner left their bedroom?

“Here you go, cowboy. Eat up. We’ve gotta go repair that fence today.” The man said, digging into his eggs and sausage. Jack groaned around a mouthful of eggs and threw his head back.

“Seriously? How many times have we had to fix that damn fence this month?” He continued to tear into his toast and breakfast while they talked.

“Three. That’s because of the damn sheep. They just don’t leave it the hell alone. Which reminds me, we’ve gotta eat anythin’ that can go bad soon. We’re movin’ the sheep ‘cross the mountain again this summer.” Jack was amazed at his ability to multitask like that. It surely couldn’t have been easy but he made it appear so.

“Damn it. Okay. We takin’ Jesse with us, right?” He asked, biting off a piece of toast.

“Yep. We’re gettin’ a little raise from last year’s adventure but it will be enough to pay for the fence and then some.” The men finished their meals with some small talk, mostly about the day ahead. With plates in the sink, and mugs in hand, a now full dressed couple stood on the porch, and watched the land. Jesse came up as soon as she saw her owners with a dead squirrel in her mouth and tail a wagging. They laughed and got the squirrel away from her before resting. The same routine everyday, but they loved it. One last moment of piece before they would turn in for the night later on.

They drank their coffee and enjoyed the blissful state of nature around them. Jesse laid at their feet, while Jack wrapped his right arm around his partner’s shoulders. He felt his partner do the same but with his left arm. Jack turned and pressed a kiss to his partner’s head and nuzzled further into the hair that he fell in love with years ago. He always imagined that he would be doing this with Ennis. That’s what his heart wanted for twenty years; twenty years of longing, pain, love, and heartache. But this was even better. A partner that loved him as he loved him, one that stood by his side but called him out when he needed to. Someone to live out his happily ever after with with no doubt that he would crawl through fire and glass just to see Jack happy. Maybe it’s not with who he originally thought it would be, but happily ever after takes a little time to get sometimes.

#rebelliousstories #writing #jack twist x reader #jack twist #jack twist imagine #jack twist x ennis del mar #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal #brokeback mountain #brokeback mountain imagine #brokeback mountain fanfiction #male reader #x male reader #jack twist x male reader

[puff-mmd]

musings

"If I keep trying, I know I'll find that person that makes me happy; who I can make happy. I just have to keep trying."

"You hold on to such a stupid dream - who in their right mind believes in true love and mutual happiness? It' easier to just give up and take what's given to you."

"Says the guy who's never settled on a photography job if you didn't really want to do it."

"Photography and love are a little different."

"Not really - you feel love for what you capture, don't you?"

"Yes but..."

"Then you can try to understand me. Unless, the problem is that you don't want to."

"..."

"Whatever..."

--

Yakumo sat in silence, editing his latest batch of photos for a project. Usually he listened to music or some kind of audiobook, but tonight he chose silence. Not that it was a good idea at the moment - his mind kept drifting from the photos back to what he'd learned a few days ago at that job.

He had been commissioned to take photos of an event - it was a celebration of someone's anniversary, and of all the people to have been there, he was there.

Those bright blue eyes and genuine amile directed at someone else.

'The person you were looking for, right?'

He sighed, the memory of that brief interaction causing his chest to tighten.

"You two are, dating? Really?"

"Yeah."

The blonde stepped in front of his boyfriend, slightly blocking Yakumo's view of the man behind him.

"Don't you dare try anything. Your smooth talking won't work on him."

"Oh, I'm sure not now. But it did for a while, didn't it,

Kaisei?"

He slumped over the desk, placing his forehead against his arms. He knew if he lay there long enough, the sleeves would surely imprint on his face, but he didn't care.

It wasn't like there would be anyone but him seeing it.

It wasn't like there'd be anyone to point at his forehead and laugh at the lines.

It wasn't like there'd be anyone to lightly trace those red lines, saying he sure looked like an old man now with all those wrinkles.

He sat up slightly, and despite knowing full well it would only make him feel worse, he reached down and opened one of the desk drawers. The one where he kept his personal photos - the photos that he would never admit to anyone meant anything to him. Picking up the stack, he thumbed through until he found the pictures he was looking for.

Those same bright eyes and handsome smile, the memory that he once was the subject of that sweet gaze.

And yet, he pushed him away.

In his fear of losing something important to him, his actions only served to make that fear a reality.

"Everything changes, sometimes for better - like leaving that fucked up house with those fucked up parents, or signing on with the photographer's guild. Sometimes for the worse - a true friend moving away, hospital visits that get blamed on you with no sympathy from others, changing schools to find even fewer people who can stand being around your gloomy ass."

As he looked at the photos, sitting in the darkness only illuminated by the blue light of his computer screen, Yakumo felt that tightness in his chest begin to burn up into his throat, causing tears to well in his dark eyes.

"You were my only constant for so long, and the best thing that ever happened to me. I only realized all of that far too late."

He put the photo to his forehead, and closed his eyes.

For the first time in a long time, he let himself indluge in crying over someone else.

"I'm sorry."

Through the tears, he felt anger, regret; boiling up inside of him. He slammed the photos on the desk, causing the computer screen light to shake from the force. A few expletives fell from his mouth as he went over to his bedside table, grabbing the lighter and pack of cigarettes.

As he attempted to light the cigarette that he brought to his lips, he realized his eyes were still blurry from the tears, his hands still trembling from how hard he'd hit the desk.

Another curse, damning everything, and he threw the lighter on the bedwhile tearing the cigarette from his mouth.

His tired, stinging eyes blazed at the balcony beyond the dark curtains across his room. He strode across, pulled the curtains back, and stomped out into the night air.

He could hear the sounds of the city not far below and tried to block out his thoughts - only focusing on the framing of the city before him. It took a few minutes, but he sat on the concrete and took in all of the familiar sight, letting the cityscape wash over him and calm his nerves.

He realized what he needed to do.

He stood up, hesitant for a moment, before turning back into his bedroom. Grabbing the photos off his desk and his lighter, he stepped out again onto the balcony, this time sitting closer to the railing.

One by one, he lit the photos up and let them burn, leaving a pile of ash sitting in the palm of his hand

One by one, he scattered those ashes to the wind.

His thoughts raced,

"Does he know how I was your first?"

"Does he know about how we would sneak off during study hall to be together?"

"Does he know I was the first to hear you say 'I love you'?"

"Did you tell him how I was a coward who never had the courage to say it back?"

The photos flickered into ruin, taking those thoughts and regrets with them,

Until he reached one particular photo, that is.

As he held it up, striking the lighter to give it the same fate as the others, he paused.

It was of him and Kaisei on the day of their high school graduation. He hadn't actually taken the photo himself - it had been another photography club member that knew they were friends.

Kaisei had encouraged him to give his best "cool guy" pose - his one arm around Kaisei's shoulders, the other holding up a rather crude gesture with his middle and forefingers, and a view of his tongue - before it had been pierced.

In the photo, Kaisei had an arm around his waist, the other with a peace sign and that signature cheeky wink of his.

As much as it pained him to think of what he had lost because of his own insecurities, a part of him knew this photo could never be replaced.

And so, with another sigh passing his lips, he clicked the cap on his lighter and let his hands drop to his sides.

"Fine. I'll try. But only because of you. Only because you were able to find some kind of happiness in this damned world.

Maybe, if I'm lucky and I try like you did,

I can be as happy as I was with you."

--

sad boy yakumo hours :')

#oc rabmles #yakumo #kaisei #hint of ciro #aaahhh i cried hehe

[clutterfield]

GHOST BUSTERS

FratBoys! BTS x Comatose! Reader

Main mlist. Previous chapter

Synopsis

You get into a freak accident and wake up to your body surrounded by seven crying men. Or your unrequited love doesn’t seem so unrequited after all.

Chapter warnings

Angst, Horror

Chapter Rating: T (For Teen Audiences and Up)

Chapter 8: The Hen House part 1

A/N. Y'all. Have you seen airport Yoongi 2022? Also, wrote this while on the road so forgive me if it's sloppy. 🥹

FLASHBACK

Smoke filled your lungs, an endless circle of tobacco and the smell of fried eggs and grilling meat as you tried to push your sweaty hair to the side, the sun beating down on your bare fore arms, the prickling heat shoved at the forefront of your mind incessantly.

You just know you were going to get a tan in weird places with the way your shirt sleeves were haphazardly rolled up to your shoulders and the frayed edge tied to a side knot just above your hip bone.

If anything you looked like a poster girl for Rosie the Riveter minus the iconic red polka-dotted headband.

You had foregone wearing shorts, opting for jeans instead as you weren't really all that comfortable showing a good amount of skin below your stomach and so it was sweltering hot as you attempted with a mild grunt to carry the multitude of colored boxes for a new resident of the Hen House - you think you've read one labelled Toys and you weren't born yesterday to decipher what that had meant.

With a blush, you enter the comfortable air conditioned lobby of the home, the receptionist smiling behind the desk before going back to jot down something on her clipboard, and you trudge up the winding staircases down to the east wing.

The Hen House, built upon an old abandoned convent back in the day boasted a sprawling ten-acre enclave lined with all kinds of trees and greenery, a massive lake just behind the structure where you mostly loved to spend your time lounging by the docks whenever you didn't have anything to do, feeding whatever woodland creature graced you with it's presence so you tended to pocket an assortment of nuts and bits and pieces of bread whenever you visit.

It was actually one of the adopted social services program for Kyung Hee, the university you were attending, extending help to women (and men) who previously worked in the under hood of Korea's red light districts and were trying to turn over a new page in their battered, worn out books.

Initially you were hesitant, what with your swamped schedule but your professor had convinced you otherwise in exchange for raising your GPA so you had agreed without thinking too much of the consequences.

Passing through the hallways all while giving a wave or two to the relatively cheerful residents doing their own thing, you come to a stop in front of a wooden door.

Lightly nudging it open, you toddle through and gently place the boxes in a corner of the room out of harm's way.

"Thanks, sweet cheeks."

Startled, you almost smack the tall intruder in his handsome face. "Oh fuck, sorry!" You bow as he barely dodges from your hands before he chuckles, bringing your flailing to a stop.

Your eyes land on the love handles peeking through his white cropped shirt.

Like a fish out of water, you blatantly ogle the dude, only to curse under your breath- first house rule, never ever check out the residents (at least openly) for several reasons, one of them being a violation of their dignity and privacy after everything they went through to get to this point.

But you couldn't help it! He easily towered over you and he was huge, like he ate protein shakes for breakfast every morning.

Clearing your throat, you hold out a hand in greeting. "I'm LN YN."

The attractive stranger nods taking your hand in his for a brief shake. "Kim Matthew, but you may call me BM."

You give him a genuine, welcoming smile. "Well then, BM, I hope you like your new home. The people here can be a handful, and crazy, and sometimes pushes all your buttons and smoke like they're sixty-five but they're all caring on the inside." You state plainly only to flush when you realize you were babbling.

You give a hasty bow, "Also, I'll be in your care from now on."

He grins, white canines glinting, the tear drop earrings he sported shimmers in the mid afternoon light streaming through the curtains as he pats your head consolingly almost amused at your little display and you look up at him shyly. "Likewise, YN."

You have a strong feeling you and him would get along just fine.

.

BM, as it turns out, became your bosom buddy even if you hadn't known him for long.

He was very well likeable and was basically good at everything, from cooking to building that cat dream house one of the matrons had always wanted, and writing poems that could rival Namjoon's, you were starting to think all beautiful people were blessed by the gods themselves.

And BM was really good at writing. Like insanely good.

So it isn't a wonder when one day, as you were raking leaves in the garden, he comes running out thrusting sheafs of paper against your face, getting you cross eyed as you tentatively take them from his excited grasp.

"I got in, YN!" He screams with giddiness and you stare confused only for your creased brows to unfurl, a giant smile lighting up your haggard demeanor.

BM had been accepted to Kyung Hee as a Literature Major under a scholarship.

The best part was, he would be sponsored to go to an Ivy League school of his choice as long as he kept his grades up.

"Woah, this is awesome!" You tell him, proud at his accomplishments as he basically lifts you up and twirls you around like you weighed nothing.

Having been a former stripper for a BDSM club, your friend didn't have many options in his career, most regarding him with an underlying sort of disgust, a used commodity but it seems the Literature department of your university thought he had great potential ahead of him if they were willing to go so far as to let him finish a Master's Degree abroad.

Once back in your feet, your beefy friend hesitates. "But... I'll be moving into the dorms before the semester starts."

You snort and smack him lightly on the chest, the only part reachable for your five foot, two inches. "Don't worry about me, dummy. I go to the same university too. Dorm visitations are allowed on weekends. And it's not like you can't just text me to meet up or something. "

He chuckles, but then his sharp eyes stray to somewhere behind you as he subconsciously grips your fingers in his. "Yeah, that's not what I'm worried about." He whispers seriously and you shoot a look at the middle aged man tottering a few steps away towards the sidewalk, as if he had just been caught peering through the fence.

You freeze. Who was that? This was the third time in a row you've caught him staring at you.

Somehow, and you don't know why but that behavior reminded you of the Bogeyman when you were younger.

You shuddered.

BM does not let you get home alone that night as he steadfastly refuses to let you drive alone. "I'll just take a cab on the way back." He says, tone final and you don't argue.

Knowing your friend for over a year now, his instincts for bad things were usually a little too spot on, (like that time you showed him a photo of an apartment you were looking into leasing which thankfully you didn't as turns out it was a trap house) having been honed by dealing with seedy and unsavory clients for almost half of his street rat years.

Maybe you should report that incident to the police just in case.

You give him a farewell kiss on the cheek and watch him walk the driveway, past the security who open the gates for him, and back into the shadows, only for you to stop in your tracks as you feel someone watching your backside (surely it wasn't the gatekeeper) and not wasting any time, you run into the house almost colliding into one of the boys dogs.

"Woof!"

You heave a sigh of relief as the brown poodle clings to your leg, tail wagging. "Holly, you scared me! " You coo only for her owner to come stumbling out into the foyer sleepily.

"Oh, you're back." He then frowns checking the clock on the wall and is fairly surprised that it's around two in the morning. He pauses awkwardly by the foot of the stairs. "...Had a hot date?" Yoongi drawls albeit uncomfortably, though you can't tell with the way his lips break out into his usual smirk.

You don't know why that gets to you, it's just a question, but it does anyway and with how tired you were the entire goddamn day and the lingering fear still rooted in your bones, a bit of light leaves your irises. "Eh." You shrug neither denying or confirming and brush past him, leaving Holly yapping in the background and her owner stumped because it was the first time you acted like you he was a roommate and nothing more.

Not a member of your makeshift family.

Not the man who hung the moon and the stars.

Not the man who broke your heart countless of times as he and his brothers came home looking thoroughly fucked and sated.

Nothing.

Frantic footsteps follow you, "...are you hungry?"

You stop and he stops, his dog in tow, sitting her butt on the marbled floor. "I'm sleepy. Good night, Yoongi. " Your tone borders on a heavy sort of finality and you trudge up to your room without another word, not caring a shit what he thought about you at the moment.

Maybe tomorrow would be better.

.

The next morning finds you buried bone deep in volunteer work.

It was Sunday, and with no boyfriend or social life outside of your boys you had offered to clean the old lake shed at the Hen House.

It was a dusty old shack if anything, filled with miscellaneous stuff old residents had left and some rusty machinery which could fetch a notable price at some obscure junkyard by the roadside.

If only you weren't alone (not discounting the receptionist and the cook who were always on duty) but the other staff had the day off and since most of the residents were capable of running the place anyway, they were left to their own devices.

You cough up a storm as the pile of books on the shelf topples, leaving you wheezing in a particle cloud of dust bunnies.

The shed may be grimy but it was pretty workable as it was small, big enough to fit at most four of you.

You huff, putting on a mask and hyping your spirits to do some shit cleaning because you were not going to leave this place without scrubbing every single inch, every nook and cranny until you were satisfied.

"Let's do this, YN."

It takes you approximately until seven into the evening to finish everything and you collapse in the now waxed and polished floor, muscles aching and moaning.

All things that could still be of use were boxed and taped up to be sent to the lost and found department just in case some of the residents wanted to 'dumpster dive'.

The stuff that were practically trash was going to be shipped off to the junkyard tomorrow. Recycle and all that shit.

With a tired whine, you allow yourself to partially doze off to slumber, only minutes later, something cold taps your ankle until long fingers are grasping them and you jump up, shrieking in shock.

The old man you had seen with BM last night was here. Inside the shed. With you.

Shit!

Before you can even run out to call for help, a force yanks you back and you land on the hardwood with a thump.

You refuse to look anywhere but at him, thinking this was the way you were going to die and you'd rather not hold the face of your murderer in the afterlife lest you never find peace, only for him to practically bend abnormally close down to your level.

You gasp when you are left staring at milky white orbs and yellowed rotten teeth, "Save me." The old man gasps and you scream.

END OF FLASHBACK

🔮

YOONGI POV

He hates you.

Well, he actually doesn't.

He was annoyed, irritated, with the fact that you were hugging a man twice the size of the Sigma leader.

And he was a fucking dwarf compared to the guy's bulging pectorals.

"YN?!"

He growls lowly, though the only people who heard were his brothers as you climb the big buffoon like he wanted you to climb his dick.

Something gnaws at his chest, straining, making his insides blaze with unbridled fury and bitterness as he witnesses how happy you looked, something he --they have never seen on you before.

And it hurts.

It fucking hurts.

"Guys, this is BM! He's a good friend of mine!" You wave them over, glowing and positively beautiful that the twinge grows deeper, like a knife stabbed him in his lungs.

A friend? He's never heard of this BM. Not until now. Dread fills his already fucked up emotional spectrum solely thanks to you.

Just how much of your life outside of them did they miss?

He glances at the others who mirror the same kind of trepidation as they all survey the gothic structure, the concrete seemingly intimidating even as they were used to grandeur.

There was something eerie about this place and if you had been working here for a long time right under their noses, he doesn't even want to imagine what kind of horrors you faced.

And as you pull them all in to meet curious faces, he swallows, hiding his disdain as he realizes just how far away you were from them.

Fuck.

They fucked up.

Next chapter

🔮

Chapter taglist

@potaetopic @yoongiigolden @missseoulite @reallysparklychaos

#bts army #bts fic #bts imagines #bts x reader #polyamory #bts angst with a happy ending #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #namjoon x you #hoseok x reader #seokjin x you #jimin x reader #yoongi x you #hoseok x y/n #taehyung x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook x reader

[schleckermaul]

drabble — lady sharon's birthday.

THE PAPERS STREWN ACROSS HIS DESK ARE CRUMPLED.

   ink, sometimes spilled haphazardly, nonsensical and frantic. it's a picture of despair, carefully tucked away in the safety of break's room, a door locked and a candle lit. he wouldn't have needed it, his eyes not picking up any light, not recognizing even the shape of the sheets of paper. break can't see its flame, and still, there's familiarity in the ritual of it.

   a candle lit. a window closed. an ink pen, alongside the box it's kept in. paper, torn and crumpled, with a few sheets still untouched. his trembling hands, struggling to put down the words.

   already failing at the first word, the first instance. looking at the attempts, spread before him, break knows the mess they must make.

milad milady lady shar dear sharon, my sh sharon, i'm how have you be happy b

   he wipes at his eye, furiously, as something wet hits the paper, the sound of it soaking into the parchment brimming in his ears. he'll run out of them, eventually. this was a stupid idea, he knows it is, knew it the second he sat down to try and start writing. some of the letters are too small to recognize, and he has to press the pen so hard into the paper that it tears, sometimes, just so he can trace over it, check if it's truly visible enough. and when that's managed, he'll be too impatient, trace it before it's dry, ruin the whole thing— how is a blind man supposed to write a letter?

   does it matter, even? he died in her arms. he knows. in gilbert's version of the story, she lived a lifetime without him, spent more time without him at her side than with him. and that's a cruel thought, it is. knows the severity of her affections for him, how badly she wanted to walk alongside him. he was just too stupid to see.

to see. there's a brief flash, of a memory of her smile, hazier and blurrier the longer he stays alive. his breath hitches with a sob, break not attempting to bite down on it, his head pounding.

   squeezing his eyes shut, he breathes, wheezes, frustrated, before reaching for another paper.

sa sharon, i'm sorry.

   he'd tried doing this before, when he was still home. when he was alive. he'd made lists, then, as if writing it down would help, with his ever dwindling focus and strength. his goals, his tasks, what he needed to do before he died. visit lady shelly's grave one more time. have tea with lady sheryl. buy a cake for the raven. leave reim's favourite wine in his office.

apologize.

   he'd never done it. never found the time. there was never any time, always something to do.

   his fingers, shaky, continue.

it's very roude of me to miss my lady's birthday. i hope reim is preparing an ade a fitting celebration in my absence. and i am so

   he can't breathe. his chest hurts, heaves, and it's so much worse than the pain he feels when mad hatter's powers pull blood from his lungs. he wishes, desperately, he could tear it from his chest and toss it aside, but in the here and now, it's the only proof he has of his love for her ever existing in the first place.

   tears keep hitting the paper. he leans back, for just a moment, trying to stop them from falling. she's never going to read this. it's a stupid idea. she'll never see him again. she'll live a life without him, she'll bury him and move on, eventually.

   (he hears her voice, alongside reim's, calling for him. the way they clung to him as his last breath left him. reim's strong shoulder for him to lean against, as his eyes fluttered close. her hand, tied into the back of his coat, small and warm.

   she'd always been so small. so young. how could she ever bear the loss of him, and not lose a piece of herself?)

i am so rry. i never meant to miss any of them. it's unbecoming. lady sheryl would be upset with me. i hope she is well. i hope you ar i hope you are well. i know yo u're not, right now, but i hope also know you will be, so oner or later. you're strong.

   so much stronger than he ever gave her credit for, a small hope that's holding him upright enough to not collapse entirely. she was prepared, in some ways, the same way reim was. and still, they weren't. still, they begged him to live, hours before his death.

   could they ever have been, really?

you will grow. without me. you will live, without me. you, and rei m. you will lead the rainsworth dukedom, and you will do it wonderfully. i know this, too. you will do we ll.

   burying his face in his hand not holding the pen, break makes a small noise, a whimper muffled into his palm. he wipes at his nose, rubs a wet eye.

i'm sorry for leaving.

   he'll never be able to fix it. not even if he ever found himself returning. it's a wound too grievous, too significant. maybe, and only maybe, the cycle of a hundred years will be able to mend it, for them to meet after reincarnation. somewhere they won't have to part so soon. sometime he'll be able to remain without guilt.

happy birthday. most affectionately and faithfully yours, your br xerxes break

   the paper makes a horrible noise when he crushes it between his palms.

   swallowing his next sob, break shakes his head vehemently.

   it's for her birthday. he shouldn't be too glum about it. she should smile, reading it, so that he can hear it in her voice, remind himself of how it looked when he could still see.

   reaching for another sheet—

   he tries again.

#& — drabble . #& — ic . #death mention cw #his own though. lmao #the heaviest amount of grief in this one fellas #also it's officially midnight in america time so #here u go. (inflicts psychic damage) #i'll rb this later as well just bc. i liKE IT

[mrfippstuff]

This is just a vent post about some thoughts I have about the current Chainsaw Man arc.

I don't think it's a bad arc per say, I just think there are some obvious missteps which I think boil down to three points in particular.

Denji's Arc

To start things off, I don't actually think Denji's arc is bad, I actually like it, it builds off of how things ended with Denji at the end of Part 1. Having an arc about how Denji sees himself and his place in the world, of having him try and think about what exactly he wants out of his life, all while having other people try and further manipulate him while he has no real ability to take his life into his own hands I think is great, I think it's an interesting arc to watch. However, having one of the protagonists remain completely passive while they are beaten down with everyone telling them they are not allowed to take part in the story does not make it an engaging plot to go through, especially when the co-protagonist is (seemingly) actively engaged in their own plot off screen (we'll put a pin in that for now). Even less so when you have to go through it on a week by week basis, sometimes bi-weekly.

The Church's Presence

I really liked the set up for the Church, and how it affected certain character, and I really do like on paper how it all ended with Fami's chainsaw zombie plans, but at the same time I can't help but feel as though we sort of blitzed through its existence. In the same arc it was introduced we saw that is exploded in popularity, the effects it had on people and society, became this massive influence before it met the truth behind its purpose all in the same arc, and the only time we ever really got a good look at it was when Denji had his brief visit to it. I really feel like something that was made to be that big should have had been something more of a central focus between it being formed and Fami's ambitions were realized, just give the concept time to breathe. Which brings me to my final point

Asa's (Lack of an) Arc

When Asa joined the Church for the purpose of saving Chainsaw Man and became their poster girl she vanished from the manga for roughly three months, with only a couple of short scenes with her before we got to the recent chapter with Yoru's power boost and the 606 Sword, and during this time I had expected that her return would have meant some large change for her rather than the circumstances that she found herself in. I honestly expected that Asa should have had her own arc in the Church and how she interacted with the Church and its members and how it affected her. I've said it before, but a major part of Asa's character is wanting to be praised and loved but being to afraid of actually get close to people, so having her have a sudden following would been a conflict custom made for her, and we only ever saw a brief glimpse of it. She wants to save Chainsaw Man, but does this ever conflict with her desire for love and validation? We could have seen more of the workings of the Church, gotten more for characters like Haruka and Seigi and maybe even the Hybrids with actual introductions to the Spear and Whip Hybrids. Denji was only at the Church for five minutes and he was able to see all the red flags they had going on, from the propaganda about America firing stupid lazers at Japan to having their teenage members get married, but how does Asa, who has always tried to be a moral person, justify being a prolific member of this place when they are spouting things like that? How exactly does she interact with the Church? Asa could have had a Rise to Fame arc, occasionally spilt up by Denji constantly being cast low for contrast, before we she suffered her inevitable Fall From Grace, where all of her efforts get turned against her, which fits with how things always go against her.

To me it honestly feel like there was no real point in Asa joining the Church since I don't feel like it actually did anything for her character. She was off screen her entire time there, we barely saw her, she didn't go through any significant development, and I feel like any personal consequences she may suffer from being in the Church, such as wanting to Chainsaw Man to never have to fight devils only to end up having him fight the most powerful devil or being the reason people join the Church only to get zombified, won't really feel all that impactful because we never saw her in it. Asa could have had an A Plot that would build the Church up better with Denji's arc becoming a B Plot which I think would have made it more digestible, but instead it feels like she and Yoru could have just sat on their shared ass for the month this story took place in and nothing much would have changed for her. Even if we do get some extended flashback sequence, I feel like that should still have been something we saw in the present. In the end it feels like Asa was only in the Church just to get her from Point A in the story to Point B and nothing else behind it.

Like I said, I don't think the arc was bad, and despite my complaints I do find myself looking forward to what we get next, but at the same time I can't help but feel we ended up missing some rather obvious targets for the story.

#chainsaw man #denji #asa mitaka #criticism

[imjustalittleman]

[Sort of an aftermath/continuation of my previous post??]

Today was the day. Kara was going to walk into Lena's office, and she was going to tell her everything. 'Everything' being the fact that she was Supergirl, her true name Kara Zor-El. Not the other part of everything. Not the part where she found herself wanting to simply be near the CEO. Where she couldn't spend a second without thinking about her. No, it was all too sudden, and she was still trying to figure out what this all meant. She had just lost Mon-el, and she almost lost Lena, too. Surely, this was an aftershock. The first secret was big enough, anyway.

She paced back and forth along her kitchen floor, going over the exact words she planned on saying to Lena so that she wouldn't mess up. No matter what, she had to do it. She couldn't hold it off for any longer. Not when the hints were getting too obvious and the lies were getting too absurd. She didn't like lying in the first place. Especially to her best friend. And it wasn't like she didn't trust her after all of this time. Of course she did! It was just that she never knew how to bring it up. Saying something like "Hey, Lena. I don't know if I ever mentioned this before, but I'm Supergirl. Tada" didn't seem very appropriate.

Whatever the excuse, she just couldn't let another day go by without telling her. Since the day they teamed up to save Lena, Lillian Luthor's words echoed through her mind:

"Eventually, she'll find out on her own. Find out that you've been lying to her all this time. And when she does? She'll hate you for it."

She knew Lillian was only trying to get in her head with that statement, but she couldn't help but find truth in it. Her friendship with Lena has only grown since they met. And Lena has opened up to her on numerous occasions. Sometimes, to her own surprise. She didn't deserve to be lied to again. She put her trust in too many people just to watch them betray it. Kara was not going to be one of the many. She was determined to show her friend that she appreciated her trust. She wanted to open up to her, too. Because friendship takes mutual effort, and Lena deserves it all.

With that, Kara stopped in her tracks. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She whispered a quick "I can do this" to herself before nodding in resolution and taking to the skies to LCorp.

When she got off the elevator, she gave a casual greeting to Jess, who in turn gave her a brief smile and nod, indicating that she was welcome to walk in the office. Despite the 'go ahead', she knocked on the door just in case before going inside.

Lena must not have heard the knocking because when Kara stepped foot in the office, she was sitting in her desk chair, squinting at her computer screen in concentration. She looked immersed in her work, and Kara almost felt like she was intruding, but she took the time to admire her friend. Her black hair was put up in a bun today. A few strands seem to have escaped the rest and lightly rested near the sides of her face. Her eyes looked sharp as they often do, but she also had deep bags. Kara didn't blame her for not being able to get much sleep after all that has happened. If anything, she didn't want to have to stress her out any more than she already looked.

Swiftly, Kara walked up to the desk and cleared her throat. Lena looked up, and her eyes softened as soon as she registered who was in the room with her.

"Kara, hi" she greeted as a light smile graced her lips and she stood up. "What brings you here today?"

Kara adjusted the glasses on her face as it was a natural habit when she was nervous. "Hi Lena. I just came to visit and see how you were doing. And to tell you something important," she mumbled the last part.

Lena approached her and her hand lightly pressed against Kara's lower back, guiding her to the couch. When they took a seat, their knees touched which didn't go unnoticed by either party.

"Is everything okay?" Lena asked, concern etched into her voice. She always seemed to sense when Kara was conflicted or anxious. And she always asked about it, which only made Kara want to confess to her more because of how much she genuinely cared.

Kara played with her fingers, "Yes. Um. I just- Well... How are you?" She managed to stutter out, looking up into green eyes that stared back in question.

"I could be better," Lena answered truthfully. "But the real question is how are you? Your boyfriend- Mike, was it? - he just-"

Kara swallowed thickly. She wasn't expecting the counter question, although she should've, considering Lena always asked. If she was being honest, she hadn't thought about how she felt about the whole situation since it happened. She tried to ignore her feelings and be productive. Continue being Supergirl. It helped for a bit, but now that she was being asked, she didn't know if she could keep it in anymore.

"Mike, yeah. He took my pod and he-" She started choking on her words and a sob escaped her without permission. She didn't come here to talk about what happened. She didn't come here to cry about her (ex?) boyfriend. But that's what she ended up doing when she felt the tears form up in the corners of her eyes. She didn't even realize her slip up.

In little time, Lena was wrapping Kara in a strong and warm hug. "I'm so sorry that had to happen," she whispered.

Kara hugged the brunette back and cried into her shoulder. She felt Lena run a hand through her ponytail, taking it out in one felt swoop and massaging it. It was calming, but it didn't stop the tears that were already running down her cheeks.

"I miss him," she said weakly. And she did miss him. It has only been a few days, but she could already feel the difference it was making. She wished that he was still on earth with her and that they could continue living their lives as if his mother had never even come to earth in the first place. But now..

"And you have every right to. Look at me," Lena pushed Kara's shoulders away gently so they could look at each other. She looked into Kara's blue eyes that were still filled with tears. Wiping them away with a thumb to either side, Kara's glasses lifted up with each movement. Then, holding her face in between her hands, she said, "You are a strong woman. Stronger than you know. Your boyfriend? He sacrificed his life on earth for the rest of us. That was a noble thing to do. Crying is always okay, Kara. But just know that you two are still connected in here," she placed two fingers on her head. "And in here," she pointed to Kara's heart.

Kara nodded and smiled, wiping away the rest of her tears. "Thank you," she sniffed. "Really." She was more than grateful that Lena cared about her feelings. "And sorry for getting your sweater all..."

"It's alright. It was getting warm anyways," Lena said, slipping off said sweater and placing it down on the armrest of the couch.

They sat in a semi-comfortable silence for a few moments. Kara was still sniffling and quietly thanked Lena when she got up to get a box of tissues. Lena waited patiently until her dear friend was ready to speak again.

"Sorry you had to see that," Kara apologized once again.

"Don't be," Lena replied before the taller woman could say anything else. "You were there to comfort me back when Jack...," she was looking down at the floor when she said this, trying to hide her melancholic response to the memory. She raised her head to look into Kara's blue eyes again, reaching out to one of her hands and squeezing it lightly in assurance, "The least I could do is return the favor."

Kara smiled at the comment and, once again, gave a sincere "Thank you." She was perfectly okay with just spending the remainder of her visit sitting on Lena's couch and talking to her about various things. Both everything and nothing almost simultaneously, like they were so used to doing. She longed to change the subject to something more pleasant. Something happier than death or separation. And then she remembered.

"I almost forgot!" She blurted out suddenly, catching the businesswoman by surprise. "I have to tell you something," she started. And just like that, the nerves came back to her. She was anxious of what the other woman's response would be. What if she really did begin to hate her like Lillian said? She wouldn't know what to do if she added on to the grief that Lena had already experienced in her life. If she never wanted to see her again, she would oblige, but Kara wouldn't be able to go on if she lost another person that she cared deeply for in such a short time. She didn't want that to happen at all, but if that were the case, she wouldn't be able to stop her.

"What is it?" Lena asked, snapping the reporter out of her thoughts and back to the brunette sitting next to her.

She started fidgeting again. "It's important that you know."

Lena did the thing where she rose her eyebrow just a bit, curious, her undivided attention on Kara. She watched as Kara slid off her glasses and placed them on the table in front of them. Her eyes widened as Kara started unbuttoning her shirt and she promptly looked away.

Clearing her throat and trying to hide her oncoming blush she asked, "Kara, what are you doing?"

Said woman noticed the squeak in her voice and looked up after fumbling with one of the buttons to see that Lena was no longer looking at her. "I'm-" she paused. She looked down to her shirt that was almost all the way open and back to Lena, who was looking away awkwardly. Her face was redder than before. Then it clicked. Oh Rao.

"It's not what it looks like!! I- there are clothes underneath this! It was- this is a part of what I wanted to tell you!"

Lena took a moment to breathe again before she slowly turned her head back around. She sighed in relief when she saw that Kara was not indeed stripping in her office with just the two of them. What she saw instead was a very familiar outfit worn by a certain superhero who she has grown to respect and regard as a friend. The red symbol outlined by yellow for the House of El stood out among the rest of her attire. Before Lena knew it, her hand was on Kara's chest, tracing out the 'S' and the pentagon surrounding it.

"I'm Supergirl," Kara said quietly, as if saying it any louder would give the secret away to the whole world.

Lena's finger stopped tracing along the crest, much to Kara's displeasure for reasons she didn't know. Her hand went up to Supergirl's face to put a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

"I know," she smiled crookedly. These two simple words held more feeling and explanation than any other. It held memories of all the little accidental slip ups that Kara thought she could get away with, but Lena had a keen eye. It held the intense relief Lena felt all of those times Supergirl saved her from death. But it also held the dullness that she felt at having to live in the image of the villain everyone made her out to be. It held the pain of all the times Kara lost her loved ones. Lost her planet. Lost herself to her thoughts. It held the weight of the world. And it held the forgiveness Lena had for Kara not telling her sooner because she understood. Lena knew this. Kara knew this. And if nobody else did, then it was okay because it was only important for the two of them.

#not me posting all my old supercorp fics #this took place after the daxamite invasion #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #supergirl #fanfic #anyway i love them #a bit of angst #a bit of comfort

[shieldkeeper]

FFXIVWrite2022: Prompt 16

Writing Prompt: DEIFORM Words: 842

“Bless the heavens! They have gifted you a miracle…!”

“You’ll be just like yer ol’ Da here! Strong and true, bestowed with unparalleled clairvoyance!”

Praises upon praises were heaped on as mother and father grasped their child tight within their arms. Mistaken for boundless love and adoration for their little one who would one day have a grand role to play, given that which he showed promise for.

The visions started out small. Little passing bits of the future. The weather would be like this sometime soon. These certain tribesman would be having a casual chat around this area. Someone’s babe was soon to be born and would be of healthy countenance. Tiny, insignificant things that only earned the boy further praises and reward.

To his parents, he was their star. Their golden goose. Heir to the chief’s chair once he had long past in a far away future.

To the clan who lay claim to the shores, he was treated as their next coming. Simply seeing his face brought them to ease. They would offer him prized possessions to gain his favor. Adorning him in fashions meant for those of high standing. He would be both revered… and feared for his divine gift. Treated akin to a God in a fashion, both good and bad. Ostracized from other children for that which he had no say.

A blessing and a curse. For, inevitably, the young one would start receiving horrendous visions. Things that he did not wish to see. Some he couldn’t have possibly understood. Like dreams there were nightmares too. Frightening, awful visions that caused the child to scream and weep in fear.

Taught that they were normal to his family. That he would get used to it. Grow cold to what is seen and simply shoulder what is witnessed. “There are fake Seers out there after all.” His Da would chide, certain persons who thrived on getting recognition and being revered for false fortunes. Inciting the calls to beware the oracles of their land—how else can you prove what they see to be true?

Regardless of the burdens he carried… young Garen wished to get away from the attention at times and simply play around with those of similar age. An impossible feat however; All of the village knew of his status. Whensoever he so much as approached another child, they were whisked away in an instant. Or the other kids would stare hesitantly for a moment before running off or making some excuse.

Not a friend to call his own. Not a single person who wished to connect. He was isolated… yet expected of many a great thing.

So he trained into the person they wanted him to be. He became a force worth reckoning. When he was not so cooped up at home, he was out and about. Training with a spear or some other weaponry. Learning the ways of the land or running off to seas to challenge the tides. Growing into his own person, his own warrior. His Da and Ma couldn’t have been any prouder. The tribe eventually opened up to him when he came of age—but even then they kept a respectable distance.

A lonely life.

It took that of a cataclysmic vision to set Garen on a journey far from his homeland. To places and lands he could only dream of visiting, where his name nor status was known! Still he was ostracized, if only for being an outsider. That he could handle and fight back against all he’d like. He would even meet a couple of the so called ‘fake seers’ of the lands. He could tell from a glance if they were if they were true or not. And most of them were not…

Those he did meet in truth, he greeted in kind and shared in brief lamentations. Of vague pasts and how they were treated by those around them. All the same. And only ever regarded at times where guidance was needed. To meet another Seer on his travels… it was a welcoming yet sad relief.

He would remember to final Seer on his voyage most of all. Someone who had fulfilled his soon to be role: Liege and Seer both. Well respected by his people just as he and left to his own devices once they’d come and gone. Garen believed this oracle immediately upon meeting. He could sense it in his words… his heart was so true.

Zika Duronhaille… a name he would remember fondly out of many of the faces he’s seen on his travels. Mayhaps when all of the madness would come to an end and his prophecy fulfilled, he would return to that place. Have a chance to exchange words over brewed teas and incense. He’d tell tales of his elder brother too… of the brave man who stepped to the plate and had his back. Or if Zura had returned with him, he could prod the man into telling it himself!

So he hoped… so he prayed at journey’s end.

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #writing #Frostbite AU #viking au

[corellianhounds]

The Oldest Profession

Media: The Mandalorian

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 4,917

Warnings: None

Art Credit: Pacific Rim screenshot

Summary: Intimacy is a seldom found luxury. The Mandalorian is forced to find lodging during a long hunt. Set prior to the show. A discussion with a stranger concerning vulnerability and trust. SFW.

The Mandalorian avoids brothels when it can be helped. The nature of the business sometimes demands his presence, but he keeps it as brief as his work allows. On an ideal job you inform security to keep them from interfering, avoid civilians, corner the quarry, and grab the target. Keep it neat and tidy, mitigate interference and collateral damage, don’t let other people get involved.

And pay the madame for the trouble.

There’s only one reason the Mandalorian has ever had to pay for anything besides his own work.

—

He’d been tracking for days when he could no longer ignore the fatigue creeping into his bones. He found wilderness preferable to cities, but you couldn’t be choosy with acquisitions. The target was a Nautolan gunrunner who’d “lost” a shipment and had bounties on both ISB postings and private channels, and Mando aimed to collect on both. The Nautolan made landfall outside the most populated city in the Nylarc Belt before his ship finally broke down and was impounded by the Tannis Corp., and Mando spent over a fortnight in a haze of constant pursuit and inquiries as to the target’s whereabouts.

Some festival had sent lodging rates skyrocketing, the majority of hotels, inns, and boarding houses now entirely booked or occupied the further he went into the city, and he’d spent more time cramming into secluded alcoves trying to catch brief bouts of rest than he’d spent making headway wading through the throng of sentients in the streets. A dozen people had tried to pickpocket or start fights with him and the disruptions didn’t bode well for his reflexes if he couldn’t find time to catch up on the sleep deficit. Someone had sardonically offered him a place in the dovecote up top one of the buildings and he’d declined with a blunt “No, thank you.”

What he wouldn’t give for a hayloft.

The festival provided both annoyances and opportunities. Necessities were more readily available and vendors were more willing to barter if there wasn’t enough coin to change hands, but the local politicians and peacekeepers had also hastily spackled over the shanty towns and lower-class inhabitants with flimsy façades that projected a veneer of respectability and progress to their visiting pilgrims, dignitaries, and tourists; be that as it may, Din knew of several politicians whose loyal patronages were to thank for the lights of the silverskin slums staying on. The ruling elite and their Nevitian masks.

The hollow, paper-thin aura of “respectability” the sumptuary laws tried to enforce didn’t curb the seedy market dealings and clandestine forays, but the increased peacekeepers did. The brothels of Q’rad were forced to either take a slow week or risk the ire of the upper crust calling in authorities and legalized-attack dogs. As far as anyone was concerned, festival week meant a forcefully imposed bout of celibacy for those inclined towards casual pleasure in order to keep up appearances of the holy city (despite those pleasures having never come under criticism in the codices).

However, given you had the right documents and authorization, certain people were able to find some leeway when it came to crossing districts to the leisure zone, and the Mandalorian just so happened to be up-to-date on his Guild permits.

The stench of sweat and mixing bodies stuck to him like a second skin as he navigated the streets of Q’rad, the filter in his helmet the only thing keeping the cloying air at bay. If memory served, there was a bordello noted for its bathhouse above the mineral springs. The Nautolan had a history of similar vices which provided enough justification to investigate if he was there, and enough cover for the Mandalorian’s detour if he wasn’t. The weeks of dogged pursuit were catching up to him now every hour instead of every day; he didn’t like the delayed response time that came with extended fatigue even if his reflexes were still better than most, and his irritability at the overcrowded streets was at a constant simmer. Luckily the crowd gave him a wide berth, enough so that he wasn’t touched by as many of the sticky, oily bodies squeezing past him. Small mercies.

The Gilded Lily came into view and he could only hope there was still a chance something was available. He’d take a broom closet if they had one to spare.

The madame gave him a sharp look at the credentials and permit he slid across the counter. “I’m not aware of any Guild postings that should bring you to my door.”

He didn’t respond, instead filling out the form she’d given him. He saw her eye him suspiciously in his periphery as he noted his specifications and returned it.

“Pleasure then, not business?”

“I’m passing through. I just need a bed.”

“They’ve all got beds.”

Din bit his tongue. She wouldn’t believe him regardless of what he told her, so he opted to fork over the credits and present his finger for the blood prick.

She glanced over the form and shoved it back at him. “Chain-code.”

He shook his head. “I have enough credits to afford anonymity, and your discretion.”

“Chain code or no entry.”

“My Guild sequence should suffice.”

The madame looked up at him breezily, her eyes flicking to the space over his shoulder. He could feel the doorman looming, and he was growing impatient.

“Guild ID provides you with contact to my broker,” the Mandalorian gestured to the form, “And any Guild lodge nearby. Causing trouble is bad for business. Word gets back to any of them, I lose my line of work.”

“That’s hardly collateral.”

Mando grit his teeth, dug into a pouch, and slid five centicred sterlings across the counter— The glint caught the madame’s eye and she balked at the sight.

“For your discretion,” he said, his voice pitched low. “And I guarantee your employee will vouch for my conduct come morning.”

The madame weighed her options, but ultimately signaled to the doorman to step back as she swiped the credits from the counter and tucked them into her bodice. She gestured impatiently for his bare hand, typing an override command into the computer. “Health scan.”

She pulled his wrist forward none too gently and took the sample, placing it in the machine next to her. The centrifuge whirred to life as he flexed his hand uncomfortably and secured his glove back in place, absently rubbing his palm against his leg. The madame input the rest of what little data he’d provided and nodded to herself as the test screen blipped green. “The girls’ rooms are theirs, whatever you use them for. At the end of the night she’s always the one in charge.”

“Noted.”

“Any other requests, Mandalorian?”

“… Do you have a floor without music?”

—

He knew the rumors, the tall tales and salacious stories spread about his kin. He wasn’t blind or ignorant to the effect he had on people either. It was hard to go anywhere without whispers following him for one reason or another; he disliked the trains of thought those runaway tracks led people too because left unchecked, their curiosity compelled them to ask questions, if not outright cross his boundaries. The rumors couldn’t be further from the truth but he didn’t indulge people who pried into his customs, let alone personal space— His own skin still felt twitchy and uncomfortable from even the briefest moment doffing his glove to the woman downstairs. If he wasn’t so bloody exhausted he thought he’d collapse, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Nevertheless he hesitated at the key-code reader, hand hovering inches away despite the ticking clock. He wondered if the fatigue had gone to his head. The guard at the end of the hall watched him like a hawk.

Need won out over discomfort and he unlocked the door. Better to just get the discomfort over with.

The door slid aside with a soft shff. The B-bellan woman on the other side was waiting on a chaise lounge next to a low table and hookah a few steps down into the room. Though she seemed perfectly at ease he knew a rehearsed smile when he saw one, and he felt a twinge of guilt at her trepidation. Six hours of unknowns on the horizon, and even if The Gilded Lily was in a more reputable part of the leisure zone, part of the allure was that weapons weren’t checked at the door.

The B-bellan woman appeared to be about ten years older than him with loose dark hair and skin the color of autumn. She was lithe and graceful even in repose, but he got the sense she was well-equipped to handle herself if her clients proved to be trouble. The madame had probably assigned her specifically.

The woman’s catlike eyes tracked him, the slightest flash of luminosity reflecting back in a flicker of calculating assessment.

Three weeks of hunting, he reminded himself, trying not to turn his neck in a way that would give him a crick, and a deficit in your budget you won’t get back if you back out now.

“Welcome,” the woman said warmly. She stood and gestured to the well-decorated room, her robe strategically falling off one shoulder. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you care for something to drink?”

Mando shook his head, flexing his hand. The woman’s footsteps were silent as she continued her approach, sidling up to him with a hand on his bicep. He tensed.

“There are a number of options available: Desert Bloom, revnog, even some tihaar, just for you. Say the word and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Mando held up a hand, stopping her.

“I’m sorry for the trouble, but I’m not here for business.”

There was a flicker of doubt behind her careful façade even as she traced both hands down his arms. “I… received your information from the desk,” she said carefully. She reached out to run her thumb along the top edge of his breastplate and the tension in his shoulders ratcheted further. “You are the only Mandalorian here this evening. Six hour black-out, two breaks, one girl—”

Mando carefully side-stepped her and assessed the room as he spoke again, keeping his hands visible and doing his best to convey that he wasn’t a threat. “I don’t mean to insult you, but I meant I’m not here for your services.”

“… What is it you’re here for then?” The woman stepped back into his line of sight. “Meeting with another patron?”

“A bed. For myself.”

“… A bed.”

“To sleep.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “… You’re risking corpo watchdogs to rent a room.”

“Yes. Yours was the furthest from the nightlife. I don’t need— and won’t ask— anything from you, aside from what distance you can give me. Is that acceptable?”

The woman crossed her arms with a glare. “Elaborate.”

The Mandalorian sighed. If he had other options he wouldn’t have put any of the workers through this; the armor was as much a deterrent as it was protection, and Mandalorians were already met with suspicion for how closely guarded the majority of them kept. Having one in close quarters made other sentients uneasy no matter how much they minded their own business.

But he needed to sleep.

“I’m tired. I need a bed. I only came here because the inns are full and my Guild credentials could get me in the door. I’m not here for you, and I don’t want to be touched.” He turned back to face her. “Can I sleep and trust that you’ll leave me alone?”

“… Yes, of course. Excuse me.”

She recovered quickly and tied her robe so she could adjust the space unhindered, pressing a palm to the door scanner to lock it. The sconces were dimmed as the lamps came up, instantly changing the atmosphere of the room. He could see the floor plan more clearly: a spacious bed took up most of the western wall beneath a half-circle window inlaid with tracery. Not ideal in terms of total privacy, but it’d do. He preferred that compromise over the proximity to the cabaret on ground level. There was a set of sturdy, plush chairs next to a small table off to the left, and gauzy, swaged curtains hanging from the ceiling to make divisions between the living areas. The fresher room was tucked into the back corner, extending beyond what he could see of the southern wall. The lights revealed a glimpse of shelves back in an alcove to his right behind another curtained off area he assumed was an extension of her private quarters.

The woman, who had introduced herself as Marcéi, had the room and bed arranged in short order. He surveyed the levels and bare tech for cams and recorders, unhooking the rifle from his shoulder and carrying it to the side of the bed near the en suite. She straightened the pillows on the chaise, earlier suspicion slowly being replaced with curiosity.

“You really paid for six hours so you could sleep?”

He nodded. “With a guarantee of privacy.”

She looked him over with a look he’d seen a thousand times. “I see. Anything else?”

“… Do you have filtered water?”

—

He spared enough time in the fresher to scrub the worst of the grime off with a hand towel before borrowing the laundry facilities and redressing. He was fastidious about cleanliness when he could be since the clothes he wore on a hunt were usually the only set he brought with him.

Marcéi had excused herself to make some tea and he was relieved to see that she’d changed her own clothes while they were apart. Her legs were still mostly bare and the gauzy robe remained, but she’d switched her more revealing work attire for loose, comfortable sleep clothes, a sleeveless shirt and shorts. It put him at ease to see her more casually dressed, less like there was an expectation for the evening. He wouldn’t be so naïve as to remove his armor while he was here (which he was sure did nothing to put her at ease), but she didn’t say anything and he didn’t bring it up.

Before long the two of them were situated comfortably, him stretching his back and arms on one side of the bed, her plaiting her hair away from the cranial horns on her brow on the other side of the room.

She’d offered him food, which he declined, and appeared to be studying him while he took stock of his belongings. The rifle leaned against the wall beside the bed, and he put the bandolier into a pouch beside him. The holster and boots remained.

“There is a safe deposit box available if you like,” Marcèi offered. “It’s bolted into the wall.”

He shook his head. “No thank you.”

She frowned as he swung his legs up over the covers and lay on his back, trying to get comfortable. “The sheets are clean, I assure you. You can use the bed.”

Din grunted and laced his hands over his middle. “I believe you, but I’m not planning to undress— It doesn’t matter what they feel like.”

“Will you be comfortable in your armor?” she asked. “You move like you’ve been sleeping upright for a week.”

Din absently rolled his shoulder: his entire back felt tight. “I’ll manage.”

Marcéi stirred her tea. She’d provisioned a space away from the bed at his request, now perched more comfortably on the chaise lounge with a tablet. “You don’t strike me as the holidaying type; did one of the hostels give your room away?”

“I’m just passing through.”

“I guessed as much. You didn’t seem like a local boy.”

Beneath his helmet Din smiled at her tone. Though he didn’t spend much time around the women at brothels, Marcéi seemed well-versed in playing hostess. He was still in a busy city, still in a building six stories up, still assessing his surroundings, but the longer he scoped out the room and made the necessary small talk, the more he could feel himself being drawn toward a proper rest.

He looked over to his hostess in thought. She was pretty, darker freckles over her nose and shoulders more noticeable in the changed light. He knew what happened to B-bell during the war and hoped she was here of her own volition.

“Will it bother you if I move sometime in the night?”

He shrugged. “It’s your room.”

“You’re paying.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll know it’s you. Just… Don’t touch me. I’ll wake up on my own.”

She nodded, and from her seat she reached over to dim the lights. “Sleep then, Mandalorian. Contrary to popular belief the oldest profession was keeping the night watch.”

—

The Mandalorian was a curious thing. For the first hour Marcéi remained on guard but it appeared he had the gift of falling asleep immediately when the situation called for it. Either that or he’d been truthful when he said he hadn’t slept in several days and had simply passed out.

After what little conversation he offered, all he’d done was clean himself up and stow his gear within arm’s reach. He barely spared her a glance as he made himself comfortable (though she couldn’t see how with his entire suit still on), folded his hands across his stomach, and went quiet. There was nothing but the near imperceptible sound of his steady breathing, muted through the mask.

Marcéi had never met a Mandalorian, not up close. There were occasional loners in spaceports or crowded streets, sometimes a bounty hunter stopping to ask questions or nab a target, but she’d never had a reason to interact with them. The legends and reputation preceded them though; she remembered stories of conquests across every system, the civil wars that raged and the battles that were fought. Some of the most brutally efficient warriors the galaxy had to offer. This one fit the silhouette, but the quiet demeanor and complete lack of interest in her had thrown her off entirely.

All the cats in the cathouse talked, speculation and gossip alike passing the time between shifts. No species was left out of hypotheticals, and the tales of the masked warriors’ thirst and stamina were some of the most vivid.

When Marcéi had seen her assignment for the evening she nearly had a heart attack and had to comm the boss to make sure the readout was accurate. No amount of arguing would dissuade her and it wasn’t long before Marcéi‘s scanner pinged at the guest’s presence outside her room.

Six hours was already unheard of, and for a Mandalorian at that. She’d already put in a request for the next day off before he got to the door.

And then… nothing. He came into the room with reticence, declined her touch, almost seeming to wait for her permission before moving himself. He’d done nothing to imply interest in what she had to offer, not even to indulge in a drink. He hardly looked at her.

It wasn’t often that patrons established limits in her room. Occasional provisions had to be made to accomodate species or physiology, but it was expected that she was there to meet their demands. A simple exchange of money for services, all those involved aware of what they were there for. She was a professional of course, she knew the necessities of maintaining restraint and managing boundaries— It was just unheard of that she would entertain a guest who didn’t want anything from her at all, especially and including her touch.

What an odd duck.

He was appealing though, from what she could tell, all broad shoulders and a solid build. His voice, rough-hewn and world weary, sounded like it was used sparingly, but was one she was sure commanded attention when he raised it. He moved like a panther over foreign terrain and carried himself with the bearing of someone unafraid to take up space, but only his own space; there was no posturing or intimidation here, and though she was sure he could make himself imposing, he’d done very little to imply he would. He didn’t need to.

She was far more curious about his appearance than she knew she should be. It was clear to her his reserved approach to their arrangement was born of experience dealing with invasive people. He carried himself with dignity and she could only extend that to him in turn, making him as comfortable as he allowed her to.

Marcéi opened her tablet, settling in with the occasional glance his way to be sure she wasn’t imagining things.

—

Din felt like only moments had passed between him falling asleep and the door opening with a grating slide as the lights blazed to life.

The Mandalorian leapt to his feet immediately, gun drawn as Marcéi startled from the couch. The Zabrak guard from the hallway muscled in with two blasters raised, looking wildly around the room. Before she even saw him move the Mandalorian was in front of her, growling “Stay back,” as he pushed her behind himself with one arm blocking her from view, squaring his stance and taking aim at the guard—

The Zabrak charged into the room with a snarl. Marcéi looked wildly between them as she raised her voice in a desperate bid to halt any gunfire.

“SEKOTZA!”

Eyes wide, the Zabrak faltered, locking in on her position behind the Mandalorian.

“Stop.”

Marcéi ducked under the Mandalorian’s arm, putting a hand on his breastplate and stepping between them, the other hand raised to the guard. The Mandalorian was still beneath her palm. “Sekotza. Do not make me repeat myself.”

The guard deflated immediately, both guns lowering as she stared him down with a look that commanded his attention.

“What— What are you doing—?”

“I’m working, imbécile,” she said with a scowl. “Get out.”

“But—”

“I said I am working.” Marcéi stepped forward and pushed him back, blocking his scope on the Mandalorian, whose blaster remained exactly where it was. “Do you need a map?” Marcéi demanded. “I said get. OUT.”

The bulky security guy wavered. “But he’s- he’s not— It was too quiet, I thought—”

Marcéi crowded him back towards the door, her stature unintimidating from the Mandalorian’s perspective but evidently enough to cow the Zabrak into stumbling back several feet as she blocked his way, jabbing a finger sharply into the middle of his chest. “I don’t want to know what you thought. He is not causing any trouble. I did not call for you. Go take a long drop off a short ledge,” she seethed quietly. “And do not intrude on us again.”

“I’ve heard of their kind,” Sekotza snarled. “I saw him when he came in—”

“Listen here and you listen good.” Marcéi drew up to her full height and braced one arm on the doorway. “If you override my lock again I will peel your tattoos off your hide myself. Out.”

Marcéi gave him another sharp shove, forcing him and his baffled expression out the door and into the hall. The door slid shut with a soft hiss on a cushion of air and the woman looked back to the Mandalorian with a sigh as he lowered his gun. He didn’t say a word as she re-keyed the lock on her door.

“I’m incredibly sorry,” she said, distressed. “He shouldn’t have been able to barge in. I’m sorry your sleep was compromised, it was entirely uncalled for.”

Mando shoved his blaster back in place and wordlessly stalked back to the bed. Marcéi followed, feeling as though she should say something more but not knowing how to assess his temperament.

“I really am sorry for the disturbance,” she said again, wringing her hands. “I’ll ensure the next shift is informed. We don’t… It’s rare for people to stay longer than an hour or two.”

Mando gave her a short nod over his shoulder, cautiously sitting back on the bed. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried unsuccessfully to pop it. The strain of jolting awake that tense had left it stiff. It was an unpleasant combination with the dying adrenaline buzzing beneath his skin, to say nothing of his sour mood.

He could feel her eyes on him as he rolled his shoulders and laid back down, waiting as she dimmed the lights. By his chrono he figured he could at least get the last three hours in. He didn’t think she’d allow a second interruption.

He was almost settled enough to relax when she spoke.

“Thank you, for thinking to defend me,” she said. “It was… considerate.”

Din nodded, acknowledging her. He’d barely thought of it.

“… You sure there isn’t anything I can do for you, honey?” Marcéi asked quietly. “I could give you a massage. Strictly in fine fettle. Work some of those knots out of your back if you like, you’d probably sleep better.”

Din wondered if the practice was actually as relieving as it was purported to be, but the thought of someone’s hands on his exposed back, uncomfortably situated as he’d be, made his skin crawl just thinking about it. Marcéi was nice enough, he knew she was giving him options because it was her line of work, and while he trusted her enough to allow himself to sleep while she was in the room and trusted that she’d keep her distance because he’d asked her to, he didn’t think he’d be ever able to give a stranger that level of vulnerability without breaking out into hives.

“No,” Mando said. He folded his arms back over his chest, and almost as an afterthought added, “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

The sky outside was dark, the streets gold with lanterns that illuminated the thoroughfare, visible even from that distance. If he focused hard enough he could ignore the hum of activity, dwelling instead on the spacious bed and how it felt to stretch out and rest. The scent of clean laundry filtered almost faintly through the mask, and he could hear his hostess tapping her tablet intermittently in the dark.

He could also sense her curiosity from across the room. He knew what it felt like to be watched.

“… Can I ask a question?” Marcéi said softly.

Din mulled over the request. He’d stayed still enough in the few minutes that had passed between their conversation that he could probably get away with feigning sleep. She’d probably go back to reading her datapad and leave him be.

But she had been more accommodating than most. And her voice was nice.

“… Sure.”

“If being a Mandalorian means people are kept at arm’s length, how do you form families?” she asked. “Do you only pair with other Mandalorians?”

It was more tactfully put than others had said it in the past. Most outsiders treated them as a social experiment to mock or spin what information they could weasel out of them into lascivious exaggerations for their own entertainment. It was why it was better to simply not answer. Genuine curiosity was rare, and rarer still, he’d found, from those of her trade.

“… We don’t exclude bonds with outsiders,” he said finally. Her reflective eyes flickered in the dark. “Partners of most cultures are welcomed. They’re difficult to find though, since our lives have certain demands.” Din shifted uncomfortably. “Most of the outsiders who seek us out only do it to say they’ve had us.”

Something about that made Marcéi’s nerves stand on edge, a solid weight dropping into the pit of her stomach. It sounded brittle and resigned, like she’d inadvertently brought something to the forefront he didn’t want to remember.

“I’m sorry,” she said, genuinely apologetic. “Having to stay on guard is a hard way to live.”

Both of them were quiet, mulling over their own thoughts. The hum of nightlife beyond the brothel could be heard from the street, a muffled chorus of music and talk amidst the sounds of the city. The mixing of voices stood as a reminder of who and where they were. Marcéi watched him, the dichotomy of a man clearly capable of meting out violence at a moment’s notice at odds with his calm voice and the clear effort to put her at ease despite his trappings.

“Could I ask something else?”

“Sure.”

Marcéi weighed her next words carefully. “What does it take to find a match?”

“… Trust,” he said. “And time.”

“Love at first sight must not be a common experience, then?”

Din snorted. “You can’t love somebody you don’t trust. You can’t trust somebody you don’t know.”

“Some people do,” she shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just a connection.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She thought about it, wondering for a moment. “Do you have anyone, back home…? Someone who has that trust?”

Din shook his head. “Vulnerability is a risk we can’t often afford. People want us picked apart for one reason or another. It’s easier to just keep our distance.”

Marcéi seemed pained by that thought, if her expression was anything to go by. “I’m sorry you haven’t been afforded that companionship. You… You seem like someone who’s worth the time it would take to get there.”

Something about her tone struck him, an odd sensation making it hard for him to swallow. It took him a moment to find an acceptable response.

The Mandalorian turned over, facing away from her on his side. It was a long time before he spoke.

“Can’t miss what you’ve never had.”

Mando’a

kar’taylir: to know (lit. “to hold in the heart”)

kar'taylir darasuum: to love (lit. “to hold in the heart forever”)

Notes

B-bell is the name of the planet the main character from “The Spy Dancer” is from

#The Mandalorian #Din Djarin #The Mandalorian fanfiction #Star Wars fanfiction #my writing #Star Wars OCs #OC Marcéi #What is intimacy but feeling safe with somebody at your most vulnerable? #AO3 link in reblog

[parameddic]

i found this in my docs @hvndredstories i don't know if i ever gave it to you but it doesn't look finished (?) so probably i never did (?), i am not finishing it but here it is. this was the title too, i named it accurately, good work me

 “TK, put that away.” She was smiling, though. Smiling so wide. 

“I gotta document it!” TK’s voice from the video played, muffled by his hand ‘cause of how he was holding the camera. They were in Central Park with a picnic blanket and no hope of finding a place properly in the sun at 10:00-something in the morning on a Saturday but Mum had found a bench at least, legs crossed at the knee and picnic blanket used as cushioning for her back. The pregnancy suited her. Enzo hadn’t been there that day, busy with work. “My little brother’s first trip to Central Park.” 

“I walk through this park every day.” 

“Not with me.” 

She laughed at that, swatting at the camera, “I’m pretty sure he was in my womb even when you weren’t here, TK.” 

“Maybe. But I missed out on the first six months, Mum, how am I meant to explain that to him when he gets older? How much I wasn’t here for?” He hadn’t even really been worried. He hadn’t even really thought, beyond a brief unsettling, that this was something he needed to stress about. But he had wanted:

“You tell him you were being safe, TK.” And that’s what he got, Mum softening as she said it, and she reached up for him and the camera moved as TK sat in the space beside her on the bench. She had put her hand on his face, here, stroked his hair just above his ear, near his temple, that way she had. He had been able to feel her rings. Her nails were freshly done. None of this was captured on film and TK longed and longed and longed for it, because one day he would forget it, one day it would not be as sharp in his memory, not as clear-cut, and that scared him. “You tell him his big brother loves him and you’re always gonna be there for him when he needs you.” 

“Even if I don’t see him for six months?” 

“Have you met you?” she said this in the same tone she sometimes said, my sweet boy. The same tone she sometimes said, Tyler, and the tone she sometimes said, you can, TK. I know you can. “You’re gonna be the best big brother a kid could want. He’s gonna have trouble getting rid of you.” 

TK had smiled, done that tongue-through-his-teeth thing (he knew, he knew), false-bashful enough for Mum to pinch him for talking nonsense when they could have been breaking out the chopsticks. 

“Now turn that off. Come on. I was out the door with only a smoothie this morning and I’m six months pregnant, I need to eat.” 

The rustling of a bag as TK leant forward to retrieve their lunch. “Hey, did Aunty change packaging, or-?” 

“Different place. She’s visiting her dad in Beijing. You know-” 

The video ended there. TK already didn’t remember everything they’d talked about that Saturday. It was the last time he’d been to see his mum in New York, and he’d always been intending to visit Jonah after he was born (and Jonah had come once, to Austin) but it sort of hadn’t – it hadn’t ever – and then she’d died and he still wasn’t sure if it was safe for him to go back there. They hadn’t decided on Jonah’s name at that point. It hadn’t been a part of the universe’s story, maybe, it just hadn’t been in the lore, hadn’t. Existed, all this story of TK-and-his-mum could shake out all he liked but it was different (better) after Jonah had been Jonah and his mum had been mum-to-two and TK only had bits and pieces of that documented, in the clips she’d sent over of Jonah growing and playing and pulling Enzo’s hair. 

Nikolai had only just been… starting, then. After the stabbing, but TK had been yet to fall through the ice. It was before TK had really started thinking about him as someone he wanted to introduce to his Mum, as someone he thought Mum would love, as someone who – well, everyone deserved to know her. There was not a single person on this planet who did not deserve to meet his mother, she was… she… 

But he had wanted Nikolai to, especially. God, Mum would have loved him. He knew it for sure. A statement of fact. He was everything she would have hoped for him and the loudest and biggest part of that was he made TK happy every time he saw him. 

TK thought that that Saturday they’d probably spoken a bit about Alex. Mum had wanted to shop around spin classes to find him (hunt him down) which had made TK laugh, and she hadn’t been expecting him to laugh, and maybe she knew. She knew after that, anyway. She had told him she wanted to meet him. 

He swiped at the tears on his face; swallowed hard; sniffed, and pulled his legs up to rearrange on the couch, blanket haphazard over himself, still in a t-shirt and jeans in the dead of night. Hadn’t been able to sleep. He swiped to the next video, one he’d played for Nikolai once, Jonah teetering around and harassing people while his mum laughed and cooed and loved the people around her. 

#ic #hvndredstories #v; nikolai #; with both hands (tk and nikolai) #grief tw #parent death tw #pregnancy tw

[uhmusingmon]

shedding the old

Healing is a fun journey. You start making some progress, you've got a plan and begin to take action then BOOM. Something else is thrown into the mix. It shakes you from your initial focus as it invites you to adjust.

The past three years have been a major transformational period of my life. When I think the transformation season is coming to an end, I am surprised with more twists and turns.

I was building a routine to work for me, lining up projects with newfound inspiration and energy, and before I could take a big step, I was faced with a curveball regarding my living situation. Although it has been pretty inconvenient and introduced unpleasant stress and pressure on top of what already existed that I was working to manage, I accept it as a blessing.

I don't know if I work better under pressure, or if I simply just accomplish more. My ass needs a fire lit beneath to get me going, it seems. When I succumb to the pressure, I might freeze from overwhelm and engage in my patterns of escape which brings on guilt for avoiding what I ought to face. I was caught in this for a brief moment, until a specific deadline was given. That was when I decided to roll my sleeves up and face the challenge head on.

My home for five years served me for what I needed. In the past 2-3 years, though, I have increasingly grown unhappy with the living space and property management. I felt trapped because how can I move if I don't meet income requirements for a better space? I have so badly wished to launch myself into a new life, but felt constricted by my environment. Anyone who's visited me has experienced a new layout anytime they come over because I frequently rearranged furniture, trying to restructure the home. It only ever worked temporarily. It was not long before I found myself stagnant and needing to switch it up again.

In two weeks I get to say goodbye to this home. I realized I wasn't ever trapped here. I just needed to get a little creative in order to be approved in a new place. Sometimes it takes a push to think outside the box and discover alternative resources and support that have always existed.

Now that I'm moving on, I am very excited. I have craved a fresh start for years. But in my mind, that meant selling and leaving everything and everyone behind, and taking off to a new location where no one knows me. I fantasized starting completely fresh. Maybe that fantasy isn't so out of reach, but maybe it doesn't have to be quite so dramatic. Even 15 minutes away from my current location can do me some good and drastically change my everyday routine (or patterns and habits, because I wouldn't call this a routine lol). For one thing, I won't have my comfort bar two blocks down the road from me. My friends won't be in my 3 mile radius. The ease of escaping through people will be a little less.

More of the less I look forward to having is less distraction, less noise, less clutter. In the next two weeks, I am aiming to downsize, declutter, and rid as much as I possibly can. The new place is a smaller space, so physically the room is not there. The room I do have is to be calm, safe, and invite me to create. I have shed several layers of conditioning, unhelpful beliefs and thoughts, and toxic patterns. Now it's time to shed the physical shit that just gets in the way or serves as reminders of unfinished business. It's like ghosts of the old me are latched on to some of these things and it's time for them to move on so I can move on.

I do recognize, however, that the problems that exist in my current place can easily follow me, because real change isn't about the environment or surroundings, but what is going on within me. So over these next two weeks, I am preparing myself for a successful transition and continued growth. I am pinpointing my needs and inviting my Soul to guide me. I take comfort in surrender, trusting that all my needs will be met and all resources will be provided. All that is required of me is choosing the life I intend to bring and cultivate in my new space. Everything else will fall into place.

#reflection #life transitions

[feintenstein]

I posted 332 times in 2022

That's 327 more posts than 2021!

63 posts created (19%)

269 posts reblogged (81%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ yagrandmapeach

@ carrionthird

@ molabuddy

@ ppencil

I tagged 322 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#disco elysium - 158 posts

#kim kitsuragi - 101 posts

#harry du bois - 86 posts

#etc - 46 posts

#digital art - 44 posts

#fanart - 40 posts

#moomins - 37 posts

#snufkin - 35 posts

#moominvalley - 30 posts

#moomintroll - 25 posts

Longest Tag: 128 characters

#sometimes you are only ever meant to visit a place for a brief time and though you may want to return again it will not have you

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

who the hell is frank

See the full post

454 notes - Posted October 13, 2022

#4

redraw of the panel every moomin fanatic has redrawn-! yae

Og:

562 notes - Posted July 27, 2022

#3

just some soft, fun, --and round- doodles

603 notes - Posted August 19, 2022

#2

not gonna humor me this time?? ok....

OG under cut

1,078 notes - Posted November 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

moomin-ifies your harry du bois

the sharkflan art post awakened something I think.

Also discovered this is so much more fun then drawing in my default style eughfhfg.

1,666 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #I was expecting more moomins woau

[caker-baker]

Of Convenience

The protagonist was sometimes asked if they were married. They would always say no. There was no point in the whole truth.

To be fair, they were young, in college, and both them and their spouse figured being married would make things just a bit easier with money.

So, marriage. Totally platonic marriage between two broke best friends that was meant to last only through the end of their schooling.

Then their spouse disappeared, and stayed disappeared for ten years.

Legally, the protagonist wasn’t even married anymore, they never lied when they said they weren’t married. How could someone be married to a presumed dead person?

Sometimes they felt guilty. All the mourning for their best friend had been done with, and they weren’t by any means in love with them in the traditional way one would love their spouse, but it never stopped the protagonist from feeling bad.

Bad about moving on with their life. Bad about this date.

But it had been ten years, and the protagonist reasoned their best friend, wherever they were, would be happy for them.

It was supposed to be at a nice place, this date. A traditionally formal restaurant, one with valets. The protagonist enjoyed that. They didn’t always have the time for nice outings.

It was also relatively public, a little ways away from the heart of the city, close enough to home in case things took a turn for the worse.

But that was just a what if. Their friend gave this blind date a glowing review.

The bad feeling still ate away at the protagonist. Not for their possibly dead spouse, but for the lack of knowing. They didn’t know this person, and sure, the goal was to get to know them, but there was no basis for anything.

Regardless, it was going to be a nice night out with a nice meal in their nice clothes. All thoughts the protagonist had to remind themselves of as they watched the valet take their car away.

The door closed behind them, and the protagonist jumped.

Online, the place looked lively, warm. This was empty, abandoned of all people.

The tables and chairs and lights were all there. Lovely centerpieces of flowers and candles decorated empty spaces. No chatter filled the room, no host stood at the front, and most notably, no date.

It was all under a second the protagonist was able to observe these factors, and took less than three to turn and push on the door that wouldn’t budge.

“It locks electronically.”

For the second time that night, the protagonist jumped.

“How wonderfully modern.” They said, not taking their hand off the door.

“Wonderfully.” The faceless voice agreed. “Wouldn’t you like to sit?”

“Actually, I think I was just about to leave.”

“What about your date?”

The protagonist turned, and nearly screamed.

They thought they could deal with a regular person in this irregular situation. However, dealing with a villain was much, much different.

“Funny enough,” the protagonist managed “I’m beginning to think they stood me up.”

“Oh?” The villain grinned, sitting slowly at one of the tables. “What makes you so sure?”

“It’s been a few minutes since the agreed upon time.”

This was wrong. Talking with a villain while waiting for help.

What help? No alarms were triggered. There’s no sign of a villain being here at all. No hero would have any clue of potential danger.

“Still.” The villain moved their eyes to the chair opposite them. “You should sit.”

At this point, the protagonist was only conscious through fear and adrenaline, so, they moved to the chair, and sat.

“Now, forgive me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you married?” The villain said, leaning forward to rest their chin in their hand.

“I-” Two more people came out then, trays in hand, and all the protagonist could do was watch as they set them down, and left wordlessly. “I- what?”

“Well,” the villain started again, lifting the lid to their tray. “I could have sworn you had a spouse. Yet here you are, waiting for a,” they sucked air in through their teeth, a harsh sign of disapproval. “date.”

“What an unlucky bastard my spouse is, huh?” The protagonist felt dizzy.

“Oh, surely.” The villain’s eyes looked as if they darkened. “I’m glad, at least, corporate life hasn’t knocked the humor out of you.”

What?

“No, just all my free time.”

“Still free enough to try for a date.” The villain looked at them with a matter of fact stare, something the protagonist had been on the receiving end of before.

It was a stare their best friend, their spouse had mastered.

It was the same stare the villain was giving them now.

It was the same eye color the protagonist used to know well.

It was…

Oh.

“There they are.” The villain - or rather, their presumed dead best friend, their spouse - looked amused, and leaned back in the chair. “I knew you were smarter than that.”

“But you-”

Oh, God.

“You vanished.” The protagonist whispered.

“And you never even looked for me.”

“Looked for you?” The protagonist repeated in disbelief.

“I’m only teasing, love. I didn’t leave a single trace. No one could have found me.”

The protagonist stood. “And now you’re a villain.”

“Mm. I prefer goal-oriented entrepreneur.”

“You’re a villain!”

“If you insist. You are really going to let the foie gras go to waste if you don’t eat.”

“You’ve been alive this whole time! You’re perfectly fine!” The protagonist sat again, lowering their voice. “We had a funeral for you. We mourned you. The police could only assume you died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, love. I didn’t realize my disappearance would upset you so.”

The protagonist slammed their hands on the table. “You were my best friend! We got married.”

“I know, I was there.” The villain held up their hand, the old, cheap ring still on their finger. “Bringing me back to my point. Why go on a date?”

For a brief moment, the protagonist had to wonder if they were the crazy one for not seeing the villain’s side of things.

“Why was I trying to go on a date ten years after you left?” They spoke slowly, still trying to decipher if there was something strange about it.

“We both know it wasn’t just the one date. Maybe the first one in a while, but-”

“Have you been watching me?”

“No more than I need to. You’re my spouse, Protagonist.”

“It was a marriage of convenience. Neither of us really ever…and legally, no, we aren’t married. You can’t be married to a dead person.”

The villain let out a single scoff. “You’re not dead, and I’m still very much married to you.”

“That’s not-”

“Point being, Protagonist, I got tired of watching these people come in and out of your life.”

“And you get to do the exact same thing, is that it?”

“Absolutely not.” The villain scowled. “What kind of a person do you take me for anyways?”

“The kind who disappears for ten years without a call or even a postcard!”

The villain at least had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “Touché.”

The protagonist’s tone turned less angry, and more serious. “I’ve seen you online. The news.”

“Ah.” The villain let a look of annoyance pass over their face. “Most people have, love.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t go running to the closest person I could find to tell them about you? I know your identity now. There’s someone to find and blame for the things you’ve done.”

“I do have your car.”

Stupid valets.

“And, really, love. Do you know me? My civilian self has dropped off the face of the earth.”

The protagonist felt a chill up their spine, but the villain was just getting started.

“You also seem to be forgetting I’m the one who kept on eye on you. I know you. For better or for worse, I know you. How it’s only six blocks to home, how you visit your parents and sister every other month. She’s sixteen now, right? How you meet up with my parents every anniversary of my disappearance, and how you manage to avoid telling everyone who asks that you are indeed committed to someone.”

“What do you want?” The protagonist spat.

“Other than your company?” The villain tapped a finger to their lips in faux thought. “Now that you mention it, that cushy corporate job of yours has a hold on some valuable assets of mine. And believe me, love, it’s honestly something they wouldn’t want to get too deep in.”

“You’ve been watching me this entire time just to threaten me? Because of my job?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, love. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not threatening you. I adore your family, and I would never hurt you. You know that right?”

“Do I?”

“Mm.” The villain tilted their head to the side. “Tell you what, love. You don’t even have to do any of the corporate espionage. You just have to give me your boss’ number. I can go from there.”

The protagonist found themselves shaking.“Why are you doing this?”

“I couldn’t think of a better reason to stay in your life than to bring a little chaos.”

#I’ve composed a song #it’s based on my feelings #and I would like to share it #in the tags #of this silly little snippet #ready? #here goes #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #thank you #we will now proceed with our regularly scheduled tags #villain #villains #villainess #hero #heroes #heroines #protagonist #villain x protagonist #protagonist x villain #honestly #I don’t like this one #but it’s been in my drafts #and I wrote it while I was sick #writing snippet #villains and heroes #hero x villain

[heliads]

Crows

Everyone has a symbol on their palm that somehow relates to your soulmate. You have a crow, which led to you joining the Dregs in Ketterdam. Every Dreg has a soulmate symbol that in no way relates to you- except Kaz Brekker, as no one has seen his palm at all.

masterlist

You stare at the crow inked into your palm. It stares back at you.

You hesitate for a second longer, then snap your hand shut, letting the unblinking eyes of the black bird disappear back behind your fingers. This is the price of a soulmate, of wandering too far from your home and never finding the one person you were meant to belong to. This is the price of being a canal rat, a Grisha, of being anybody still foolish enough to believe in a soulmate in the midst of all this darkness.

Soulmates may technically be real, but people only believe in them as much as they do Inej’s Saints, or anybody else’s long-held dreams. Between the wars and Shadow Folds springing up across the world, it’s getting pretty hard for anyone to find their soulmate at all. It’s supposed to be simple- one mark on each person’s palm to designate their soulmate, a mark that will disappear at the first touch of their hand on yours. Sometimes, you wonder what mark would be on your soulmate’s skin: a flame or sparking coal, maybe, for your branch of the Small Science, or a skull, for all the death that seems to shadow your path.

The crow has been on your palm for as long as you can remember, as long as anyone has ever had a soulmate. It was there when you were born, but judging by your trend in luck, it’ll probably be there until the day you die. Soulmates aren’t for girls like you, girls who flee their homes to trade a life amongst the Grisha for a death in the gray-streaked streets of Ketterdam.

You were born an Inferni, that much is true. You witnessed the Ravkan civil war, and you were there to flee it for safer tides. You weren’t sure what cruel twist of fate landed you in Ketterdam, one of the worst places for a Grisha, but you were at least able to keep your identity a secret. You’d seen what happened to the luckless Grisha trapped inside neverending indentures, and you know what tortures would await you if word of your firestarting habit got out. So, you never spoke a word, and pretended you were just another otkazat’sya traveler in need of safe harbors.

You hadn’t been wandering the canals long before your path turned into the Barrel. It wasn’t an intentional choice, just an eventual fate that you would end up in the worst part of the twisting sidestreets. There was no escaping the Barrel, not unless you were a wealthy mercher or some other lucky sap who the Saints blessed with the ability to avoid getting dragged down into the muck like everyone else. You learned the names and locations of all the gangs like everyone else: Black Tips, Dime Lions, and most notably, the Dregs.

Your breath had caught in your chest when you heard of them. They frequented the Crow Club, some were called the crows themselves, their leader had a crow on his cane. Everything seemed to point in a glaringly obvious arrow towards your soulmate mark: a crow for a crow. Where else could you have ended up?

You knew better now. You had met Kaz Brekker, the boy with the crow cane, and you knew that any chance of finding a soulmate among his crew was near impossible. You had been walking home after dark one night when you found yourself set upon by a duo of thugs. Not Dregs, possibly Dime Lions with a bone to pick, angry that the Dregs had such control over the pigeons of Fifth Harbor. They had been expecting an easy mark, somebody they could thunk over the head with a pair of brass knuckles and walk away without a scratch. They weren’t expecting you to beat them into the dust in a matter of seconds.

No matter your status or location, you were still a Grisha, and you’d been trained by Botkin long enough to be able to defend yourself. When the goons were finally laid at your feet, unconscious, you had allowed yourself a moment to smile. It was easy to feel low, a gutter rat in the canals of Ketterdam, but being able to use your fists again almost reminded you of the training halls at the Little Palace.

Enjoying this one brief memory, though, was a slip that you shouldn’t have made. When you looked up, you weren’t alone- a boy stood before you, gloved hands clasped over a crow’s head cane. You didn’t particularly know who he was, or make the connection between him and the Dregs, and moved to get out of the alleyway before he decided to make the same mistake as the thugs. He had slid his cane in front of you, fast as lightning, stopping you in your place. “I think we should speak about your future in Ketterdam.”

You were annoyed at this sudden interruption. “I think you should leave me alone.” You had retorted, using your hand to move his cane back in front of him. You had also been irritated, both by the fight and this boy’s brashness, and slipped your hand into his pocket for just a second to retrieve a newly shined pocketwatch. No one could have possibly seen it, this tiny movement, and the boy certainly didn’t, as he let you pass without another word.

You were still grumbling when you got back to the ramshackle building you called an apartment complex, and your landlady had raised an eyebrow when she saw you. “What, have you finally realized that it was a fool’s errand to come here?” She asked, and you shook your head. “No, just bothered by some guy with a crow’s head cane. Weird prop to carry around.” The woman had blanched, face suddenly seeming to age a decade in a second.

She had bustled over to you, voice low as if terrified that the boy might be able to hear her. “That’s Kaz Brekker, you fool. He runs the Dregs. Saints, he might even run this city.” She had hurried away from you then, forcing herself back to her work. Even then, you had known she was wrong. There was nothing the Saints could know about Kaz Brekker, nothing they could even hope to involve themselves in.

You had shaken the experience away, climbing up the stairs to your apartment. When you pushed open the door, however, you saw that you were not alone. The boy from earlier was back, this time leaning against the far wall. He gestured for you to close the door, which you did, albeit hesitantly. You had no idea how he got in- you had changed the locks when you first arrived at the apartment all those weeks ago, barred the windows, made it impossible for anyone except you to make their way inside. Yet here he stood, with knowledge of both where you lived and how to get there before you. It was impossible. Well, impossible for anyone except Kaz. The Barrel was his home, after all, and you doubt Dirtyhands had ever bothered to knock.

His fingers tapped the crow’s head of his cane. “I don’t think we quite finished our conversation. You could do more than just wash dishes, you know. The Dregs could always use a new member. That, and I’d like you to return what you stole from me. I’m impressed, actually. No one is that good at pickpocketing except me, and no one would try something that daring except for, well, me. I think you’d fit in nicely with my gang.”

You had folded your arms across your chest. “And I’m meant to believe that my pickpocketing was impressive enough to warrant a visit from Dirtyhands himself?” Kaz had shrugged, the movement stiff in the darkness. “You can believe whatever you want. I just want to see if you’ll take a good offer when you see one.” After a while, you had accepted, and Kaz had left, but not before whispering something in your ear. “If you steal from me again, I will cut off both of your hands. I don’t tolerate theft, not from me.”

You had heard enough threats to know that he meant good on this one. As it turned out, however, Kaz would not have to fear theft from you again. You found a home amongst the Dregs, a home you weren’t likely to give up due to the thrill of pickpocketing Kaz Brekker. You had a room at the Slat, a place at the table, a voice in the masses. It was something you weren’t willing to trade away.

Even amongst the many crows of Kaz Brekker’s gang, however, you still couldn’t let the issue of your soulmate go. You can remember one night, late into the night’s bells when you, Inej, Jesper, Matthias, and Nina had all made the journey up to Kaz’s office, slumped against chairs and floorboards and chatting the night away. Kaz was sitting at his desk, apparently doing paperwork, but you did notice that he kept coincidentally chiming into conversations even when he said he wasn’t paying attention.

At some point, Nina steered the conversation to soulmates. She held up her now blank palm, proclaiming that at some point it had held a wolf’s head. She had been terrified, she said, terrified that she would have a drüskelle or some other weirdo for a soulmate. Matthias had acted affronted at that, but if he was feeling particularly charitable he might relent and tell the gathered Crows about how he’d had a heart on his hand, and how frustrated he’d been when it had disappeared the second he’d locked Nina away on that slaver’s ship.

Nina had turned to Kaz then, intent on poking the bear and having some sort of fun that night. “So, Brekker, what’s your soulmate mark? Or do you not do that sort of zealot human thing we call soulmates?” Kaz had raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly bored. Of everyone in the room, you’re pretty sure that only you and Inej would be able to tell that he was holding back a smile.

“I’m not entirely a monster, Zenik. I do have a soulmate.” Nina had leaned forward, intent on clarification. “Then what’s the mark? We can’t just take a gander at your palm, remember? They’re hidden by your gloves.” Kaz had let his papers fall back to the desk with a thunk, turning to her with an expression laced with both exasperation and studied disinterest. “It’s a fire. A small flame. Happy?”

Nina had looked fascinated. “Beatific. I wonder what that means. An Inferni, maybe?” She wiggled her eyebrows at Kaz. “Maybe it’s supposed to show that they’re devilishly attractive. Really hot, get it?” Kaz had made a sound that was either a dry cough or his best attempt at a laugh. “Hilarious, Nina. I see why you’re a Heartrender- you could make a person want to die based on your jokes alone.”

Nina had acted affronted, making sure everybody knew that her jokes were hilarious, thank you very much, but you couldn’t help but think about the repercussions of this. What if Nina’s first guess was right, and Kaz’s soulmate was an Inferni, like you? If your tattoo was of a crow, and Kaz’s was of flames, then surely it was too much to just be a coincidence. You’d never know, anyway, because soulmate marks only disappeared on flesh to flesh contact. Kaz always wore gloves, so you’d never find out the truth. Besides, you remind yourself, the chances of this were superbly unlikely. A crow could mean anything, so could a flame. You need to stop getting your hopes up.

Despite the possibilities and impossibilities, you’ve still been running with the canal rats long enough to know that you can’t dwell forever on what might have been. You’re a Dreg now and you need to focus on that instead. When Kaz announces an upcoming settlement with the Razorgulls, yet another one of the gangs that roam the streets of Ketterdam, you’re eager for a chance at something entertaining after a long while of nothing. Kaz will meet with the leader to negotiate their way through a claim on the various pigeons coming and going from the harbors, and that will be that.

However, this is the Barrel. Negotiations are rarely easy. This is why, when Jesper arrives as Kaz’s second, he’s shunted aside to a separate room to stay out the duration of the meeting. Kaz and the leader of the Razorgulls are on the opposite side of the street in an empty courtyard, far away from any help should they need it. Kaz was prepared for this, as always, and set up a plan. Inej will shadow Jesper, making sure that he’ll have a way out if he needs it, and you’ll be shadowing Kaz himself. You’re not sure why Kaz chose you instead of his faithful Wraith, only that he rarely makes decisions based on nothing and you would do best to follow his judgement. The times he’s let you down are few and far between.

You and Inej split up, staying amongst the rooftops to avoid detection. She follows Jesper and the Razorgulls’ second into a crowded tavern, and you head towards the abandoned courtyard. Ahead of you, Kaz’s cane taps against the crooked cobblestones as he wends through desiccated hedges and marble statues severely lashed by time. The Razorgulls’ leader is waiting for him there, but you can’t follow now. Instead, you stick to the edges, climbing stairs and making your way into the empty buildings that watch over the courtyard like silent sentries.

You’re not sure what trouble you’ll be walking into, only that it will exist in some crooked form. There’s no logical reason the Razorgulls would want the seconds in another building unless they were planning something, and no reason Kaz would agree to this at all if he wasn’t sure you could have his back when he needed it. As you creep along the buildings, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings through the few broken windows, you notice that the two gang leaders have begun to speak. You can’t quite hear what they’re saying, only a few whispers here and there.

You’re just rounding a corner, ready to make your way into a neighbouring building, when the lights flash off, landing you in darkness. Instantly, you panic. Lighting is scarce here, only the moonbeams and a couple of oil lamps, but there’s no reason they should have shut down this quickly. You hear footsteps on the stairs, along with two pairs of voices: Razorgulls, discussing how important it is to stick to the shadows so Brekker can’t see them.

Your heartbeat thuds in the dark as you realize they haven’t spotted you yet. In fact, they have no idea you’re there at all. When Kaz was giving directions for the negotiations, he specifically told you to make sure that you weren’t seen, even if rival gang members showed up. If you want to go along with his plan and make sure he lives to see the end of this shoddy deal, you’ll have to stay in hiding.

This, however, is easier said than done. If the lights were on, you would be able to see the wooden beams of the floor and tell which ones would creak and which wouldn’t, which large shapes of furniture to avoid and which holes in the floorboards you should step over. A chill washes over you as you realize what you’ll have to do. You move your fingers together, quick as scraping flint against steel, and a small flame materializes at the pad of your index finger. It’s small, barely visible to anyone except you, but it’s enough to help you get out of the room before the Razorgulls notice you.

Even as the thrill of using your Grisha power after so long sends a charge of energy through your veins, you can’t help but feel uneasy. The only reason you’ve been able to survive in the Barrel and avoid unwholesome indentures is because you never used your power, not once. Even if it was necessary, this still feels bad.

You’ve found a new hiding place in the corner of the room and move to extinguish your flame now that it’s no longer useful. However, it’s been too long since you last used your powers as an Inferni, and your concentration wavers. The flame grows brighter and you start to panic, eventually clamping down your mind and forcing the fire to disappear.

The disappearance comes too late. The Razorgulls have seen some light in the shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there and are now edging your way, careful not to let you out of their sight. You have no choice but to take them down, standing over their unconscious bodies and feeling a wave of nerves crest over you. Kaz specifically said not to mess with the gangs, but you had no choice. You can only hope that this won’t ruin his plan too much.

Quietly, you step through the room and unlock a window, letting the panes move open in the wind. Now, you can hear the voices echoing up from the courtyard, and your heart sinks as you realize that things aren’t going well. The leader of the Razorgulls has revealed his ace in the hole, that he’s got guns trained on Kaz right now. Kaz just laughs, the sound as cold as rocks scraping against a ship’s hull, ready to damn a hundred men to the depths of the ocean.

“Do you, though? Who are the men you sent up- Dirk Struik and Niels ter Avest? Your coffers may be deep, but mine are more extensive. Gentlemen, take down this man, if you please.” Your stomach twists as you realize Kaz was counting on the men you just knocked out. Without them, he’s alone with a man pointing a gun at his skull. There’s no way around this- you’re going to have to break your most cherished rule again.

You thrust your palms out in front of you, letting tendrils of flame arc out of your hands and cascade onto the leader of the Razorgulls. He twists in agony, burns appearing on his skin. He only suffers for a moment or two, however, until he becomes unconscious due to the pain. Kaz’s head jerks up, staring at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kaz Brekker truly surprised, but he most certainly was not expecting this.

You don’t think there’s anything you can do except try to explain yourself. You jump down from the open window, letting your heels land lightly on the stones of the courtyard. Kaz seems frozen in place for a second, then moves forward until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Your breath comes wild in your chest. Kaz speaks after the longest of moments. “Where were the guards?”

You hold up your hands uselessly. “They saw me. I had to take them out.” Kaz’s eyes dart to your palms, faster than a sharpshooter pulling the trigger. He takes in the smoke still curling around your fingers, then the crow mark in the middle of your hand. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its icy edge. He just sounds like a boy again, young and confused.

“You never told me you were an Inferni.” You sigh. “It was a secret I needed to keep. You know what happens in the Barrel, the indentures and the tortures. If I used my powers, I would have died a long time ago.” Kaz jerks his head in a harsh nod. “I don’t blame you for surviving. We have all committed worse crimes to live” Your voice gains a confidence it didn’t have before. “Then what do you blame me for? You’re upset, anyone could tell that. If it’s not with me keeping my Grisha abilities a secret, then what is it?”

Kaz hesitates, as if pulling himself back from a yawning chasm. “Me.” You stare at him, at the indecision wracking his brow, then at the way he’s pulling at the glove at his palm. His hands almost seem to shake, like he’s still not sure that he’s doing the right thing. He pulls the glove off, inch by inch, seeming to dread every second that his hands aren’t covered by the black leather. At last, you see it- the mark on his palm, the flame sparking into being right there on his hand.

He reaches out tentatively. “I need to know.” He manages, and at last you understand. You move your own hand slowly, stopping when it’s only a few inches away from his. Kaz squares his shoulders, as if preparing to jump from another broken building, then closes the distance and lets his hand rest lightly on yours. As you watch, your soulmate tattoos shimmer for a second and then vanish, erasing from your skin as if they’d never been there at all.

Kaz lets his gaze linger on the empty skin of your palm, and then he seems to come back into himself, snatching his hand away like he’s flinching from a blow. You can see it in his eyes that he regrets this, that he can’t keep his hand there, but you understand. You can understand quite a lot from him.

Kaz’s voice is like the grating of metal. “I’m not somebody you want as a soulmate. It won’t be easy. It won’t be good.” You laugh quietly in the night. “If I wanted something easy, I would have never come to Ketterdam.” Kaz nods at this, something almost like relief in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” You manage. Something almost like a smile flits across Kaz’s face. “Good. We have much to discuss.”

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