#might put this in the spies server or on ao3

[orbleglorb]

👀👀👀 may I request elaboration on the secret rivers Rosa lore 👀👀👀

(notes: 1. word bad brain sleepy. these sentences might not be complete. 2. took me 4ever because i accidentally closed out while typing and it frustrated me & i didn't get back to it. 3. this version of rivers rosa is different than widely know fanon 4. i only have basic knowledge of spanish and might get some things wrong).

rosa rivera is scared of fire.

she gets the nickname "rosa del río" from friends in panama. rosa of the river. she's an excellent swimmer and is passionate about water access and marine life. in her late twenties, she feels the call of mx. chicago and attends college there to get a marine biology degree. her classmates call her rivers rosa. the nickname sticks, even after she graduates and ages. when mx. chicago calls rosa to participate in blaseball, she is 46. she doesn't hesitate to follow. she signs up as rivers rosa.

she doesn't like fire, but she trusts water. staying a safe distance and spraying the water is an easy job for her. as easy as it gets, anyway. the worst part of fighting fires is going in there. finding people. rosa can't. she can't get herself to move. someone else always can. but she's afraid that one of these days there won't be.

rosa falls to houston. no fires to fight. she gets along with her teammates well. most of them are younger than her. a lot of them have more hope than her. especially the ones that just joined the sport. surprisingly, even some of the ones who live in the shadows are optimistic. "they won't open the book again," they say. she doesn't have it in her to even look at them sometimes. they'll be broken when someone dies. even more disturbing, though, is a player that's always been in the shadows. yuniesky. he has a pet computer or something, and it's named conditional. they slapped their names together on the roster and they play as conditional yuniesky. yuniesky is more of a doomist than rosa. convinced that not only will The Fans open the book, they're out to get the players. all they want is chaos and destruction. they'll cook up new ways to hurt the players, give power to strange new gods no one's seen before. "there's no point," he says when asked why he doesn't bother attending any meetings or going out to dinner. he doesn't elaborate, but everyone knows what he's talking about.

rosa won't let it slide. to be honest, it pisses her off for the same reason the optimistic ones piss her off. they don't have any real experience with this game. what makes them think they know what's gonna happen? she stops phrasing invitations as questions. he only gets more combative. someone-- a kid named sevgi-- suggests that he needs more warning.

"we're getting dinner on friday," rosa would say. "come with us."

yuniesky wouldn't even look up at her to respond, instead focusing on whatever he was doing on his computer. "fine."

rosa started to realize he barely ate. he'd just pick at whatever he ordered with his fork, or just order a drink and swirl the straw around while listening to the conversation. he'd smile occasionally, or make a face, but rarely commented. sometimes he would say something snarky in spanish, low enough so that only rosa could hear. he was hilarious. rude as hell, but hilarious. she liked that he was blunt. sure, it wouldn't hurt for him to develop some tact, but she could tell he didn't really want to be mean. he just sounded like that. he seemed to appreciate rosa's bluntness as well, but he wasn't easy to read.

surprising barely anyone, the book gets opened. rosa is still scared of fire. anastasia isarobot (who used to be in the firefighters shadows) got incinerated, and for some reason, it felt like an omen.

rosa is still scared of fire when the umpire aims for her and raises its hand. she's still scared of fire and trying to run, even though she knows it's useless. she reaches out to the nearest person as she feels her heel catch on fire. it burns worse than she could ever imagine. someone takes her hand.

yuniesky. he's already crying.

rosa realizes she's never seen him show a raw emotion before. and she realizes she'll never say goodbye to lou, or declan, and she'll never go back to chicago or panama, and she's going to die, and there will be no hall waiting for her. she watches the flame spread up her arm and towards yuniesky's hand, and so does he, but he doesn't let go. he's an idiot for it, but rosa couldn't be more thankful. it's a selfish sort of thankfulness, she thinks as the flame spreads across his hand, but she deserves to be selfish. she deserves to die comforted.

yuniesky knows her last words were "thank you," but nobody else heard. nobody even asked. they ask plenty of other questions: "what's wrong with you?" "the hell were you thinking?" "are there any medics here? do we usually keep those on staff?" but not a single question about her. and for some reason, that pisses him off.

after the game, he goes to the hospital (of his own free will, for once). the only thing blaseball players aren't immune to is umpire flames, but people don't typically get away with a small injury. you either die or you're a fire eater.

terrell was the one who took him, since it's hard to drive with only one hand and while in unspeakable amounts of pain. he turns to yuniesky while they're in the waiting room.

"why'd you do it?" he asks in a low voice. not judgementally. just confused. in shock, perhaps.

yuniesky looked at the shoddily bandaged hand in his lap. "no one else would."

#houston spies #asks 4 sasha #blaseball #<- it's late so i feel brave enough to maintag this. nobody's awake it's chill #might put this in the spies server or on ao3 #just so it's somewhere else besides tumblr #orble writing

[spookyceph]

Peace Offering, a Shigadabi Fanfic

The first in a series of Shigadabi fics. Because why not?

WARNINGS for mention of destructive/depressive thoughts, language, and unabashed self-indulgence.

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 3,378

Also, find it on my Ao3 account @ CarlyChameleon.

For someone who hated to drink, Tomura spent a lot of time sitting at the hideout’s bar. He couldn’t have done it if the place were still in business—some unlucky server would’ve had several drunk assholes to mop up off the floor before the night ended. But with it sealed off from the outside world the atmosphere suited him fine. It was quiet. Clean. Both adjectives that applied to his room upstairs, but locking himself in there too long gave him the urge to start climbing the walls. Even he needed to get out of his own head once in a while, whether that involved speaking with Sensei or just watching Kurogiri dust the glasses.

The open space of the bar never threatened to close in and suffocate him. All the different sizes and shapes of the bottles occupying the shelves, glinting in the low lighting, gave him something to look at while he thought besides a glowing screen or blank ceiling as he laid in bed. Or, like now, he could simply trace the swirling grain of the bar top with one finger and think nothing. Or what passed for nothing in his case—his mind churned and surged as relentlessly as the sea grinding away the edges of the land. He’d only learned how to roll back the tide enough to allow for some sleep or brief breaks that kept him from throwing himself off the roof and quieting his brain for good.

The Internet had fished up terms like rumination and obsessive compulsive and thought loops when he’d done a search once. Psychobabble for being his own worst enemy, in other words. Tracing patterns in fabric or wood or pictures or whatever did help sometimes like a few of the articles had suggested, though. Listing colors or items in his surroundings too when he became overwhelmed and started to flounder. (Breathing exercises, however, could fuck right off—all those did was cause him to hyperventilate as he counted each inhale and exhale faster and faster.) The tricks allowed him to hit reset and go back to a previous save point, in a way. The level didn’t get any easier when he returned to it, but the momentary respite allowed him to regroup and adjust his tactics.

He’d been doing an awful fucking lot of both ever since Giran’s first two finds had moved in. Tomura’s nail scraped against polished wood, digging in while his mind replayed the conversation with Kurogiri the evening before, clear as a cutscene.

We cannot further our ends without skilled support, Shigaraki Tomura.

I know, damn it. He couldn’t have even said what his party was fighting on-screen. He’d just kept selecting Attack each round. That doesn’t mean we have to take in every stray Giran drags in from the gutter.

True…yet please recall why we hired the man in the first place: to scout for promising candidates. He wouldn’t present us with anyone he considered beneath our notice. Each point had been spoken with the polite but unwavering logic that had won him the job as Tomura’s handler to begin with. Drifting over to the computer desk, Kurogiri had warped two manila folders onto it. At least skim their profiles before declaring your ultimate decision.

So, Tomura had. And he’d seen beyond a doubt that the fucking walking Rorschach test had been right, as usual. The description of the brat’s quirk had been particularly surprising. Tomura’s mind had roiled with all the possible uses for her. The smartass’s, on the other hand, didn’t boast as much versatility, but it did promise the kind of ranged and wide-area attacks needed to control a battle.

Giran had brought him an illusionist assassin and a black mage. With them, he’d have a better chance at clearing higher level quests. He hated the facts, but that didn’t change them, as he’d been taught in no uncertain terms during the little excursion to UA’s training facility.

Thus, Toga Himiko and Dabi, whoever he really was, had been granted permission to move what worldly goods they possessed into rooms of their choosing upstairs. Tomura hadn’t bothered to learn which. He figured he’d reduce the chances of murdering them in their sleep if he didn’t know.

His hand left the bar and relocated to his throat. The fingers didn’t scratch, but they flexed in the familiar pattern. Letting those two move in might have been a mistake—yet another in a growing string of them. He shouldn’t have given in to Kurogiri so easily because of rattled confidence. He should have insisted all recruits stay somewhere else until they proved their worth and loyalty. To hell with Giran’s professional instincts. What if they were spies for some hero agency? The Toga brat especially, with a quirk like hers. Barring that, they still hadn’t made it past basic introductions without trying to kill each other. How could they be expected to follow orders or not botch a mission because of their own petty goals? And anyway, both of them were just fucking weird.

A sound barged into Tomura’s thoughts from the outer world. Only the small, metallic click of a door handle turning, but it made his head snap in the direction of the hallway. Kurogiri never used the door. He didn’t need to.

Sure enough, there slouched a tall, ragged figure. The zombie. The one name wonder. Dabi.

The skin of Tomura’s throat stung as his nails finally found purchase. Of course the last person on Earth he wanted to see would show up at that very moment. Of course. Because the universe fucking hated him and the feeling was very much mutual.

For a minute, Dabi just filled up the space in the doorway, watching and being watched. When Tomura didn’t move to attack, he finally stepped into the room. His ugly boots clomped on the floorboards as he approached. Still wary, still keeping an eye on where Tomura’s hands rested, he paused at the far corner of the bar. Kurogiri must have had a chat with both newcomers, oh yes. Now they had to be aware of just how close they’d come to never annoying the shit out of anyone ever again.

“So.” Dabi nodded toward the shelves. “We gotta pay for booze or is it included in our membership?”

Even while asking a simple question he couldn’t sound anything less than full of contempt. Putting on an air of boredom despite the knot of tension between his shoulder blades, Tomura shrugged. “Knock yourself out. None of this shit comes out of my pocket.”

No further invitation was required. Dabi strode behind the bar and started examining labels, back turned. Tomura’s fingers twitched. Patchwork asshole. Like he’d fall for a trap that obvious.

Dabi settled on a dark blue bottle with a foreign label. Turning around, he grabbed a glass from beneath the bar, twisted the cap open, and poured without restraint. Fumes wafted over, crinkling Tomura’s nose. Great. Wonder-fucking-ful. The reek of alcohol made his stomach tie itself in knots just as much as it had after his first and final hangover.

He’d thought that drinking the toxic shit might help shut his brain up. And, after choking down an acidic gulp—he’d chosen something a deep gold because he’d just liked the color—it had, sort of. His thoughts had softened, stretching out and slowing with a new elasticity. So, even though his chest and nostrils had still been full of napalm he’d knocked back another swallow. The volume of his mental chatter had faded with the third. By the fifth it became benign background noise. The alcohol’s chemical burn had faded away on the seventh. Memories slid into blank blackness sometime after the tenth.

Kurogiri must have warped him to bed that night because when Tomura woke, sweaty, shaking, sicker than a lab rat, the man already had a bucket at the ready. He spoke not a word while letting Tomura puke his guts up. Or when he brought miso broth, umeboshi, and tea after the dry heaves stopped. He didn’t have to. Tomura hadn’t drunk a drop since.

“You look like you swallowed a bug.”

Tomura’s gaze leapt up from the bar to find Dabi staring at him over the rim of the now empty glass. A little riff of unease jangled his nerves. He’d never seen eyes such a deep blue. They caught and glinted in the low lighting the same way the selected bottle did. The patches of ruined skin sagging beneath just made them more striking.

“Must be the company.” His tongue moved too sluggishly to be sharp, turning the comeback into little more than a mumble. Another jolt of realization lanced through Tomura: Father wasn’t shielding his own face. There wouldn’t be much to see with his hair hanging in a messy curtain…but he still had to repress the urge to fidget on the stool and shift away.

Dabi smirked. Tomura couldn’t tear his stare away from how the smooth skin of his upper cheeks and the trauma-purple scar tissue of his jaw pulled in opposite directions against the surgical staples—the fuckmothering staples—binding them at the seams. The smirk only grew under the attention.

“Yeah, about that…” Dabi reached into his raggedy jacket and Tomura tensed. Then mentally cursed when not a weapon but a small jar was produced. Dark glass, unlabeled, it looked utterly boring in the other man’s palm (also stapled, also intensely weird) as he offered it across the bar. “For you.”

“What…what’s in it?”

“A gesture of goodwill.”

The scarred corner of Tomura’s upper lip peeled back just enough to show a glimmer of teeth. “You couldn’t have given me one in the first place by introducing yourself properly?”

Those disquieting eyes almost glowed. “Sure. But then I wouldn’t have seen who you are. People always show their real selves when they’re pissed.”

A fine tremor infected Tomura’s hands. One swift, short lunge. That’s all it would take to disintegrate Frankendick’s face for good. There would be no Kurogiri to play referee either… “So, what? That was just part of some elaborate test? You going to amaze me with an in-depth character analysis now?”

“Nope. I’m not feeling that generous.”

Right. That did it for his quota of fucks to give for the day. If he stuck around for another thirty seconds there really would be a murder in progress. Tomura turned away from the bar with a scoff.

“Hurts, huh? The stuff around your eyes.”

He froze with one foot on the floor, one still hooked on the bottom of the stool.

“Itches like a sonuvabitch too when it’s humid probably,” Dabi continued, sensing the hook had set. “What’s in the jar helps with that kind of thing.”

“Nothing helps.” The words hissed out of Tomura like a jet of steam.

“This will. I make it. Look how good it works on me.”

For the next solid minute, Tomura could do nothing except grapple with the question of how this staple-faced fucker could even be for real.

Dabi, for his part, let his smirk soften into something that almost resembled an actual smile. Unscrewing the jar’s lid, he set it down on the bar and dipped two fingers into the contents. When he reached forward, Tomura’s hand shot up and captured him around the wrist. Only his index finger didn’t touch, pointed at the ceiling and ready to clamp down in an instant.

On the verge of being reduced to bloody slush staining the floor, Dabi just cocked his head. “Jumpy, are we?”

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” It came out entirely too high and strained to spare Tomura’s dignity.

“I told you. Showing goodwill.” A pause. “Are you touch averse?”

“Am I what?”

“You know. Like, being touched gets you nervous or grosses you out. That sort of thing.”

“The fuck would I know? It’s not like I ever let anyone try!”

Okay. That hadn’t come out quite as intended. Tomura dug his fingers into Dabi’s wrist, deep enough to leave marks even through the sleeve of a jacket, daring the bastard to laugh or make a crude quip. Instead, said bastard quit smiling. His strange, stained-glass eyes only observed, absorbing details while giving none away. Contrary to the lack of mockery, hot blood rushed straight up Tomura’s neck and flooded his face.

All he had to do was flex one finger and Dabi would be dead. Every scenario that played out in inside his mind showed him having the clear advantage at such a close range. So why, why, why had the pulse in his chest and temples kicked into hyper mode?

“Think of this another way,” Dabi said, as if reading his thoughts and causing another spike in blood pressure. “As a show of trust.”

“T-trust?” The word tripped up Tomura’s tongue like it came from an alien language. “We tried to kill each other yesterday.”

The response was a shrug. “That’s yesterday. Like I said, you showed me what I wanted to know. Now I’m returning the favor. That’s why you were so pissed, wasn’t it? When I didn’t make an introduction? You wanted to see if you could trust me. Well, here I am, close enough for you to use your quirk on without much chance to dodge. Still not gonna tell you my name, though.”

All valid points. And having Dabi at his mercy did make for a strong show of dominance. It still didn’t explain why Tomura was the one on the edge of his seat. He eyed the pale goop coating Dabi’s fingers. Sensei had educated him on a wide variety of poisons used for killing or incapacitating victims, but he held few suspicions from that angle. Another crackpot personality test sounded more plausible. For cowardice? To see if he’d flinch if confronted? The only thing Tomura knew for sure was that he couldn’t back down without proving both. He could do nothing except follow the limited dialog and action choices to see what ending he got.

Gathering his will, he eased his fingers from Dabi’s wrist. “Fine. I accept.” A little forethought went a long way; the words came across as gracious rather than sullen.

Dabi continued to study him for a few more heartbeats. When he caught no hint of a trick he reached out and closed the gap.

The warmth came as a shock. It radiated off his fingers just before they made contact with Tomura’s cheek. Against skin they bordered on searing. Despite the extensive training in muscle control and pain tolerance Sensei had drilled into him, a twitch from his jaw betrayed him.

Raising his eyebrows a fraction, Dabi pulled away a few centimeters. “All right?”

Mismatched ass rag. He’d probably raised his body temperature with his fire quirk to provoke a reaction. Rather than Decay his hand and snap it off at the wrist, Tomura said through a snarl, “I’m fine.”

Dabi’s hooded stare declared his doubts on that, but he reached out again. Tomura didn’t falter a second time. The ointment, whatever it was made of, glided onto his cracked skin hot, clingy, and stinging. The fingertips applying it, though, did so with gentle strokes. After a minute or so the sting fizzled into tingling and the heat turned tolerable. It seeped into Tomura’s skull, his jaw and neck. The pinched muscles of his face slowly relaxed. Not so terrible after all. Weird to the nth degree, and he had no clue what he’d do if Kurogiri warped in on them, but not awful. Maybe he’d order Dabi to do this again in the near future. See how much the fucker smirked when his plan worked too well.

Fingers sliding into his hair scattered all petty plans of revenge. Tomura jumped and jerked his head away, blinking, startled.

Dabi’s skin pulled at the seams slightly from a small smile. “Your hair’s covering the other side of your face.”

“Oh.” The only way he could have sounded stupider was if he’d fried his brain like the UA kid with the electricity quirk. A possibility, given how his cheeks and neck were burning up. How the hell had he wound up on the defensive—again? This was why he liked games: whenever a dialog option or approval interaction went wrong he could backtrack and do it over until he got the desired result.

He should kill Dabi where he stood. Eliminate such a major factor of uncertainty. The League needed members to grow, yes, but it also needed stability. Kurogiri would come to see that eventually. Even if he didn’t there wasn’t shit he could do about it in the end. Tomura’s fingers curled on his thighs, ready to leap up and grab any bit of exposed flesh.

A gentle, stitched up hand beat him to it. Dabi brushed aside Tomura’s hair, tucking it back behind his ear. The tickle of the messy strands and strokes from warm fingertips sent fireworks sizzling and popping along the bundles of nerves in his neck and shoulders. Instead of going in for an easy kill his fingers dug into his legs. He barely managed to swallow what would definitely have been a humiliating noise in his surprise. He didn’t even want to consider what his expression had betrayed in that instant.

Was this why people hugged and held hands and all that? Because contact gave them a high? Somehow, Tomura doubted it. Novelty and his inexperience were probably heightening the sensations. Every touch he could remember had been a threat, either given or received. This would turn out no different. He raised his eyes from the bar, intent on finding some shred of evidence to support the suspicion.

Instead, he caught Dabi watching him. Not focused on rubbing the salve in. Not gauging reactions. Just…staring straight at him, irises as bright as the hearts of candleflames. Brain upended, Tomura shrunk in on himself a bit. Seriously, what the blazing fuck did this guy want? Why not spit it out already? The game didn’t have a point without a clear objective.

Tiny sparks spat across the network of nerves in Tomura’s scalp as fingers slipped into his hair again, combing through it. The sharp, involuntary breath he sucked in had nothing to do with the few strands that got caught and pulled by staples. Dabi took his hand away only to let it settle against the curve of Tomura’s cheek. The mildly calloused pad of his thumb caressed soothing heat into the peeling skin.

“There. Better?” His voice was almost as soft as his touch.

Against his will, Tomura realized it was. Not just his face either. For several glorious seconds, his thoughts stayed silent, at rest. There was nothing but warmth and blue eyes and strange feelings he had no names for.

Then the last possibility he would have considered for the whole bizarre encounter breached the calm surface of his mind, churning it back into chaos.

The stool tipped precariously under Tomura as he lurched back from Dabi’s reach. He latched onto the bar’s edge in the nick of time, keeping a finger on each hand away purely by the grace of reflex.

“You really are jumpy. Like a damn stray cat.”

If looks could Decay, he would have given Kurogiri something to sigh about in the form of sixty-eight kilograms’ worth of dust sprayed all over the immaculate shelves and cabinets.

Willfully oblivious, Dabi pushed the little jar across the bar top. “Here. Keep it. Should last awhile.” The smirk returned to his mismatched face as if it had never left. “Don’t expect me to share my chapstick, though. You’re on your own with that one, creep.”

Nothing but a strangled sound of outrage managed to escape Tomura’s constricted throat while the unbelievable bastard grabbed his chosen bottle and sauntered away. He considered flinging the empty glass after him. Using his quirk to bring the entire building crashing down on everyone inside. Crawling into the nearest hole and never coming out too. By the time Dabi was halfway across the room, Tomura had made his decision.

Slowly, his hand went to the jar. One finger touched the lid.

Dabi stopped in front of the door.

A second finger touched the dark glass.

The handle turned.

Three points of contact now.

Faint light spilled in from the hallway.

Tomura’s thumb wrapped around the jar in fourth place.

The door swung shut behind Dabi just as Shigaraki Tomura made his gesture of goodwill disappear, not in his grip but into his pocket.

#shigadabi #shigaraki x dabi #dabi x shigaraki #dabi x tomura #tomura x dabi #league of villains #league of villains fanfic #shigadabi fanfic #enemies to lovers #nonexplicit #awkward flirting #fluff #shigadabi fluff #twisted and fluffy feelings #shigaraki tomura #dabi #bnha dabi #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki pov #pre relationship #mha dabi #mha shigaraki #dabi is touya #dabi is a todoroki #ao3 fic #fic series #slow burn #touching #trust issues

[seriestrash]

Community Service - Part Two

A Tyrus (ish) One Shot

[PART ONE]

Summary: A new and unlikely friendship blossoms after Cyrus’ first Saturday at community service. Meanwhile, TJ is confused by the new development.

Word Count: 3645

Read on ao3

☆ ☆ ☆

After Cyrus’ father signs him out of his first day at community service they swing by The Spoon so Cyrus can quickly run in and get some take-out for dinner. Cyrus is at the counter ordering when the door chimes, signalling someone has entered.

“There you are.” Cyrus hears a familiar voice say and he turns around to find TJ approaching. 

“Oh hey, TJ.” Cyrus greets him with a smile but a sadness washes over him remembering the all too fresh swing set encounter.

“I thought you said you weren't avoiding me?” TJ looks annoyed. 

“I’m not.” Cyrus is confused by the mild hostility. 

“You haven’t answered any of my texts today asking you to hang out.” TJ states. 

“I’m sorry. They confiscated our phones.” Cyrus says as he pulls his cell out of his pocket, quickly clicking it so the lock screen displays his unseen notifications, “See I just haven't seen them yet. I wasn’t intentionally ignoring you.” Cyrus was being honest, he hand’t noticed the messages until just now but he wasn’t exactly looking for reasons to talk to TJ either, not since he spied him on the swings with Kira. Not that Cyrus was avoiding TJ but he thought it was best to give the boy some space, more to protect his own feelings than anyone elses.

“Oh.” TJ shifts uncomfortably as he jumped to the conclusion but then he’s hit with confusion, “Who confiscated your phone?” 

"The officers supervising community service.” Cyrus explains. 

TJ’s perplexed expression remains, “Were you volunteering?” 

“No, not exactly...” Cyrus chuckles nervously, “You know how I mentioned that free flea market I was running with Andi, Buffy and Jonah the other day? Well we were apparently not allowed to do that and kinda got arrested for it...” 

“You got arrested?” TJ asks loudly in shock and Cyrus looks embarrassed that he was drawing attention to them. 

“Well we all got put in a holding cell together for like twenty minutes until our parents got there.” 

“Why am I only just hearing about this now?” TJ is in a state of disbelief. 

“Sorry, it was kind of a whirlwind but next time I’m thrown in the clink, I’ll use you as my one phone call.” Cyrus jokes and this lightens the mood.

TJ laughs as he questions, “Twenty minutes in there and you’re down with the prison slang already?” 

“I might have searched some online...” Cyrus shrugs innocently and it causes TJ to laugh harder. 

“Does this mean you’re the bad influence in our friendship now?” TJ jokes. “Should my mom be worried about us hanging out?” 

Cyrus chuckles, “Nah, we’re both just a couple of tough guys, doing tough guy stuff.” 

“I’m sorry, Cyrus,” TJ begins in a mock serious tone, “But I promised to leave that life behind.” More laughter consumes them. Cyrus and TJ were getting along so well that Cyrus’ sad feelings towards the whole shirt debacle were almost forgotten in the moment. 

“Actually, you know who I bumped into today-” Cyrus begins but he’s cut off by a not so friendly face. 

“Hey, TJ.” Kira bounces into The Spoon with a smile. “Cyrus.” Her enthused tone drops along with her grin when she acknowledges him. 

“Kira, hey.” TJ greets her. 

“Hi.” Cyrus smiles politely. 

“So,” Kira turns towards TJ, cutting Cyrus off almost completely. “Family day got cut short so I’m free to hang out tonight. Take me to a movie?” 

Just like that Cyrus’ wave of sadness was back to consume him. Of course TJ wanted to hang out today, Kira was otherwise occupied. 

“Uh, sure, movies sound good.” TJ bops his head, “Cyrus, want to come?”

“I can’t.” Cyrus picks up the bag of take-out the server had left for him on the counter and waves it lightly in front of himself, “I have plans with my dad, but you two have fun.” 

“We will.” Kira says with a smug smile. “We always do.”

“Well, see ya round.” Cyrus nods and tries to make his escape. 

“Oh, Cyrus,” TJ stops him. “Did you still have that shirt or did the officer confiscate it when you got busted?” 

“No but I gave it to Jonah. Sorry.” Cyrus mumbles. 

“Oh, okay.” TJ says looking disappointed and Cyrus simply shrugs before finally leaving. 

☆

The week marches on and by Wednesday Cyrus still wasn’t feeling any better about his situation with TJ. Cyrus couldn’t avoid the basketball captain forever because he honesty didn’t want to give up their friendship just because TJ potentially had feelings for someone else, but on the other hand it was hard hanging out with TJ when his new best friend very clearly didn’t want Cyrus hanging around. Reed’s words flow into Cyrus’ mind, about how he and TJ weren't communicating well enough and how they should really talk about it. Cyrus wanted to do that and really explain to TJ how we felt about Kira but Cyrus didn’t want to come across as a jealous friend. Cyrus could hardly say ‘Kira doesn’t like me’ because it might sound like he’s saying ‘you shouldn’t like Kira because I don’t want you too’ and despite his own feelings, Cyrus wouldn’t get in the way of TJ’s feelings for someone else. With that all in mind it also kind of hurt Cyrus to feel like the backup plan, the friend that TJ hangs out with when other friends were busy. 

That day at lunch, Cyrus is in the cafeteria line collecting his food when he can hear Kira and TJ laughing loudly at a table across the room.

“You know I wasn’t paying attention before but now that you’ve pointed out it’s all I can notice,” Reed pops up out of nowhere with his own lunch tray and walks the beside Cyrus as they collect food, “They really are annoyingly joint at the hip aren’t they?” 

“I told you. They are really getting along.” Cyrus shrugs. 

“I take it you haven’t spoken to TJ yet?” 

“Nope and I’m not sure I’m going to.” Cyrus admits. 

“Why not?” Reed asks. 

“When you and TJ fought about him spending time with me-” Cyrus began and the sentence honestly felt like a joke, “did you tell him not to hang out with me?” Cyrus questions. 

“Well, no..” Reed tosses his head from side to side, “But-” 

“There is no but. I can’t tell TJ to hang out with Kira less just because she doesn't like me.” Cyrus says simply. 

“I guess that makes sense...” Reed mumbles. “But if she's not being a good friend to you that should matter to TJ.” 

“But she’s not being mean to me, she’s not telling me to go away. It’s just uncomfortable.” Cyrus explains, “I can’t really say anything, I mean, I hung out with TJ when he wasn’t being friendly to Buffy.” 

Reed didn’t have a good comeback to this statement so he stays quiet. The two finish collecting their food and hover by the end of the line. 

“Judging by that confused look on Teej’s face I’d say he doesnt know we’ve reconnected?” Reed briefly draws Cyrus’ attention to the basketball captain supporting a confused look. 

“I tried to tell him but can you guess who popped up before I got the chance?” Cyrus half heartedly smiles. 

“Geez.” Reed lets out a breath of disbelief.

“Maybe I am a jealous friend.” Cyrus says as a joke although he actually kind of meant it. 

“Happens to the best of us.” Reed shrugs one shoulder with a smile and the two laugh softly. 

“You want to eat lunch together?” Cyrus asks. 

Reed appeared to be running the idea over in his mind for second before smiling, “Sure, why not?” With that the two sit down and enjoy lunch together. 

☆

That afternoon, Cyrus has just exited the school’s main building when he’s chased down by TJ. 

“Hey.” Cyrus greets him but he doesnt bother to stop walking. 

“Hey?” TJ responds. 

“Hello?” Cyrus is unsure why he’s being weird. 

“Since when are you and Reed buddies?” TJ questions. 

Of course that’s what’s up, Cyrus almost laughs to himself for being confused in the first place. “I actually tried to tell you on Saturday, I bumped into Reed whilst we were picking up trash for community service.” 

“He’s still doing his hours?” TJ questions. 

“Yeah, he’s got two more days left.” Cyrus nods. 

“Okay, but you ignored me for like a week after the gun and I wasn’t even the one that brought it.” TJ highlights, “But Reed was and you talk once and now you’re lunch buddies?” 

Cyrus can’t help but laugh at this. TJ was metaphorically combusting over the development like Reed had joked during their chat on Saturday.

“You’re laughing at me?” TJ frowns. 

“No I’m not, I was just thinking about something. It doesnt matter.” Cyrus shakes his head. 

“I’m just surprised you’re all buddy buddy with him.” TJ moves back on topic.  

“I’m surprised we’re getting along too but it’s kind of my thing, to adopt delinquent puppies.” Cyrus jokes, “At least that’s what Buffy says.” 

“Is that what I was?” TJ asks looking offended and Cyrus stops walking. 

“It was just a joke.” Cyrus frowns. “Not that I think it matters who I’m friends with but Reed and I have only really spoken twice and mostly about you-” 

“What did he tell you?” TJ asks worried. 

“Just that you’re not really friends anymore and he misses you.” Cyrus explains, “I didn’t know things were that strained between you two, you never said anything.” 

“There was nothing to say.” TJ says bluntly, “You should be careful with him. Reed has a way of pulling you in and then getting you both into trouble.” 

“I can’t really speak for your past with Reed but I can say that I think Reed is genuinely sorry about the gun and he seems to actually want to be better.” Cyrus sticks up for Reed, “I think he's changed and I know that he misses you and wants to reach out or he has reached out to you-” 

“You don’t know all the details so you can’t really tell me to forgive him.” TJ snaps. 

“I wasn’t saying that at all.” Cyrus furrows his brows, “I was just telling you that I know he’s sorry and he misses you.” 

“Thanks.” TJ says insincerely.

“I’m going to go.” Cyrus tried to leave.

“Of course you are.” TJ lets out a exasperated sigh.

“You’re acting really weird and I don’t like it.” Cyrus frowns. 

“Maybe I’m acting weird because you keep saying you’re not avoiding me whilst continuing to avoid me.” TJ huffs. 

Cyrus didn’t like that he was being made out to be a bad person in this situation when all he’s done over the past few weeks since Kira popped up was try and be super considerate of how TJ feels. Not to mention how politely he treats Kira when she’s outwardly rude to him. 

“TJ, I am not intentionally avoiding you but I can’t hang out with you when you’re with Kira.” Cyrus sighs, “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to give you two space.”

“We’re just friends. I don’t need space.” TJ says with furrowed brows. 

“I do.” Cyrus says quietly and then speaks up, “I need it.”

“Why?” TJ looks hurt. 

“I don’t want to be your backup plan.” Cyrus admits and feels a little embarrassed and vulnerable but still he continues, “You wanted to hang out with me on Saturday because Kira was busy.” 

“That’s not true.” TJ shakes his head, “I asked you to hang out whilst she was busy because I know you don’t like her.” 

“I don’t like her?” Cyrus scoffs, “You are so oblivious,” Cyrus lets out a frustrated breath, “TJ, Kira is the one that doesn’t like me.” Cyrus says firmly. “I think it’s because I’m Buffy’s friend but who really knows. Regardless, she doesn’t want me to hang out with you.” 

“So you want me to stop being her friend?” TJ asks. 

“Have you been paying attention at all?” Cyrus is clearly frustrated. “You can hang out with whomever you like.” 

“Alright but I don't understand what I’m supposed to do, I still want to hang out with you.” TJ says with a worried expression, “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know what I want.” Cyrus blurts out. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” TJ asks with a hard to read expression. 

“This is why I was giving you two space,” Cyrus sighs, “I didn’t want to make something out of nothing.”

“But now it is something.” TJ states.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Cyrus says, “Let’s just forget it okay?” 

“Okay.” TJ says with a frown. 

“I have to go, I have a history test tomorrow that I have to study for.” Cyrus says, looking for an excuse to part. 

Cyrus hurries away and reflects on the whole ordeal. Even though the sight of Kira and TJ on the swings sat in the back of his mind the whole time, Cyrus couldn’t bring himself to bring it up. He didn’t want to hear anything that could potentially ruin the importance of the swings anymore than they already had been.

-

Once Cyrus leaves TJ outside of school, TJ’s quickly approached by an old friend. “Trouble in paradise?” Reed asks. 

“I don't know, why don’t you ask him? Since you two seem to be best buddies now.” TJ rolls his eyes. 

“Hey, I thought I was the jealous friend.” Reed quips. 

TJ rolls his eyes again and starts walking away but Reed follows. 

“You’re just going to walk away?” Reed asks. 

“I have nothing to say to you.” TJ says. 

“Sounds like you want to say something.” Reed matches TJ’s strides and when TJ continues to ignore him, Reed reaches his hand out to touch his ex best friends arm, “Teej, please?” Reed pleads and TJ stops to hear him out. 

“I know things haven't been great between us lately but you can talk to me.” Reed says genuinely.“I’m sorry I got so angry with you for reporting the gun.” Reed is sincere. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

“Who says it was you that pushed. You don’t think I was mad at you already?” TJ scoffs. “I don’t care that you got angry at me for it. I did the right thing.” 

“I know.” Reed nods. “You’re right. I should have apologised for bringing the gun in the first place. I monumentality messed up and I’m sorry.” 

“Why did you do that?” TJ asks.

“I’m sorry, it didn’t have anything to do with our fight about you hanging out with Cyrus.” Reed admits, “It was just a stupid mistake and I wasn’t thinking.”

“You think I got upset because you made me look bad in front of Cyrus?” TJ furrows his brows. “I got upset because what you did was incredibly reckless. I know we’ve misbehaved before but Reed that was scary.” 

“I know.” Reed says sheepishly, “I wasn’t thinking but I have thought about it since and I know how stupid it was. Believe me.” 

TJ is quiet for a moment but he nods slightly, “I do.” 

Reed looks relieved, “Dude, I miss my best friend.” 

“Me too.” TJ agrees softly. 

“Friends?” Reed asks with a hopeful smile. 

“Friends.” TJ nods with a small grin of his own. 

“So, I only caught a glimpse from afar but you and Cyrus didn’t seem to be having a good conversation.” Reed says. 

“I’m not talking to you about Cyrus.” TJ shakes his head. 

“Fine.” Reed shrugs. “How about Kira?” 

“Not you too.” TJ groans. “Is this what you and Cyrus were so engaged about at lunch?” 

“Yeah TJ, we sat around complaining about our TJ problems.” Reeds says sarcastically with an eye roll. “I thought we weren't talking about Cyrus?” 

“We’re not.” TJ folds his arms but he does eventually break, “How did you know there was a problem.. Did he say something? Because Cyrus says he’s not bothered about Kira but he acts bothered by her.” 

Reed doesn’t want to share everything Cyrus has said but since Cyrus himself said he’s tried to talk to TJ about it, he thinks its safe, “He just mentioned that he thinks you like Kira and since Kira doesn’t appear to like him he’s giving you guys space.” 

“That’s what he told me too.” TJ mumbles like he was annoyed Cyrus was telling the truth. “I told him I don’t like Kira, why does he think that?”

Reed shrugs with a playfully dumb expression on his face, “I don’t know why he’d think that... I didn’t think Kira was your type. I mean, last time we spoke you weren't sure girls were your type at all.” 

“Shut up.” TJ scowls. “You haven't told anyone have you?”

“I have done some lousy things, TJ but I am not that lousy of a friend. I would never.” Reed says seriously. 

TJ seems to relax a little as he does believe Reed to be genuine. Even though TJ didn’t think Reed would say anything to anyone about the feelings he opened up about in the past, it was still nerve wracking knowing someone had the ability to share his secrets. 

“I know when we talked about it you said I was the first person you’d brought it up with.” Reed reflects, “Have you spoken to anyone else since?” 

TJ shakes his head and Reed’s expression drops, “Teej, you’ve kept this all to yourself this whole time?” 

“It’s not like I’m a big talker anyway.” TJ tries to pay it off. 

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to bottle this up, TJ.” Reed frowns. “I know me being a jealous friend kind of pushed a confession out of you but I’m still really happy you told me. You can still talk to me, you know that?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” TJ grumbles in a childlike huffy way, “I want to ignore it all until it goes away.” 

“That’s what you’re doing with Kira?” Reed asks. 

“We are just friends. How much clearer can I be?” TJ huffs, “We get along because we both like basketball.” 

“From what I’ve heard about her since she transferred, she’s not that nice of a person.” Reed states. 

“Yeah and people used to say that about me as well. Does that mean I don’t deserve friends either?” TJ challenges. 

Reed thought TJ had a point so he doesn’t press any further. “What about Cyrus?” 

“What about him?” TJ sighs and Reed noticed how drained TJ looked and it didn’t seem like it was just from today, it seems that TJ’s been weighed down for a while now.  

“You told me about your crush on muffin boy last year.” Reed is joking but gentle with his approach, “Has that changed?” 

“I asked you not to call him that.” TJ frowns and Reed takes this as a non verbal agreement that his crush hasn’t gone away.

“Sorry.” Reed smiles. “So being friends with Kira is making being friends with Cyrus difficult.” 

“Now I know what Cyrus must have felt like when Buffy hated me.” TJ laughs half heartedly. 

“If you want to keep them both then they’re either going to have to become friends or you’ll just have to make time for both of them separately.” Reed points out the obvious. 

“That’s the problem,” TJ states, “Kira and Cyrus don’t seem to like each other and both of them seem to not like that I’m friends with the other.” 

“Are you willing to give one up for the other?” Reed questions carefully. 

“Why should I have to?” TJ asks. 

“You shouldn’t.” Reed admits. “I don't really know much about your friendship with Kira. I don’t know what she means to you but Cyrus? You knew Cyrus for all of five minutes and I could already tell back then how much happier you were because of it.” Reed highlights. 

This made TJ internally reflect. As horrible as it was to admit - even only to himself - TJ knew if it came down to it he’d pick Cyrus over Kira without question but for some reason TJ didn’t really understand, he didn’t have any plans to drop Kira as a friend even though it was currently hurting his friendship with Cyrus. 

“I don’t know what to do then.” TJ looks defeated. 

Reed treads lightly, “Maybe you could tell Cyrus how you feel?” 

TJ laughs erratically. “Yeah let me go and do that.” 

“I’m being serious.” Reed was firm but gentle. 

“What if I say something and it changes everything?” TJ asks concerned. 

“What if it changes things for the better?” Reed asks with a smile. 

“I don’t know if I can risk the friendship.” TJ shakes his head. 

“Okay.” Reed is understanding. “Then lets go back to just saving the friendship.”

“What other great ideas do you have?” TJ asks semi sarcastically.

“Well since Cyrus and I are basically best friends now I could put in a good word for you?” Reed jokes. 

“Ha ha.” TJ fake laughs.

“Here’s an idea,” Reed says, “Why don’t you invite Kira and Cyrus to hang out with us? That way I can act as a buffer between them.” 

“That might actually work.” TJ lets the suggestion sink in. 

“You’re going to be okay, TJ.” Reed smiles softly and for a second TJ actually felt like he would be but then of course the heaviness of it all got to be too much so TJ breaks with a joke. 

“Cyrus was right, you have changed.” TJ crinkles his nose. “You’re all gooey now.

“Shut up.” Reed gives him a playful shove.  “You’re still a jerk.” 

“Rude!” TJ plays up his offence. 

Things were still messy but at least TJ had someone to talk to about it all again.

End Notes: Okay so this is it! I don't feel the need to write a part three. I know it's not resolved yet but I think it's ended in a nice enough place. Of course I'll write more one shots based around the final few tyrus episodes so dont worry!! 

I would just like to clarify - because it's too hard to go into it within this one shot - TJ is clearly confused about the manipulation? with Kira. He's forgotten - purposely or not - about his original insecurities with Kira so in this one shot he's not sure why being her friend is a bad thing. Hope that clears up any confusion!! 

I hope you enjoyed this two part story! Thanks so much for reading :)

#andi mack #tyrus #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #kira (andi mack) #reed (andi mack) #reed with the weed

[mollymauk-teafleak]

All Is Well (widomauk courtesan AU)

How Mollymauk Tealeaf came to work at the Lavish Chateau

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment on Ao3! 

---------

Sometimes Marion would miss it.

When she sat in her office, which she kept purposely aside from the rest of her brothel, soundproofed and even decorated in a completely clashing scheme from the rest of it all, she would sit alone with books of numbers and order forms and client lists and miss being out there. This had always been what she’d wanted, to own her own house, keep her own place, know that everything was exactly how she wanted it and that everyone who passed through her doors was safe. She had been in enough places that were… otherwise… to have it mean a lot to her.

But still, she would miss it. Never for long, never enough to regret anything, but enough.

If she had the time, if there were no jobs immediately demanding her attention, sometimes Marion would indulge the nostalgic longing that lived in the back of her mind. She would leave the accounts and books and go linger in the bar room, in the booth that was kept clear for her. The bartender would never need to be asked, within a minute there would be a flute of her favourite fruit and champagne cocktail by her hand, and the music would shift and swim in accordance with her tastes.

It was nice to watch it unfold in front of her, the games they all played, subtle, intricate little games barely perceptible to the clients or anyone who didn’t live this life. Knowing when to approach, when to lean just a little further in. When another drink was called for or when to give the server a sign in the hand language unique to the Lavish Chateau workers that the next order needed to be watered down. How to read a client’s wants and wishes, the ones they could barely admit to themselves, in slight shifts of muscle. How to subtly wave over a partner to join the conversation and the eventual revels that would happen upstairs. It was an art in itself, the foreplay and build up, as much as anything that went on in the floors above.

Marion could watch it all and fondly remember when she had been the best at it.

She chuckled to herself that night, sipping her glass, noting happily that it was peach today. You’re getting old, she admonished herself gently as the bubbles popped on her tongue, sitting here with your glory days…

She could imagine most people would think it was a terrible thing, a bitter sad irony, to be a courtesan growing old. Marion smirked in their hypothetical faces.

She came back into the room as a different song began, something softer and sweeter than before, mostly piano. And that was when she noticed the marr in her perfect view. The oddity.

Yasha had spied him too, she noticed, probably before Marion. She was a brand new hire, young and quiet but very good at her job, of course she’d already seen him and was subtly, inconspicuously making her way towards him. Marion held herself stiffer than before, ready to stand and insert herself if trouble was on the cards. Of course she wasn’t as physically intimidating as her new bouncer but she knew how to eject difficult clients.

But, as Yasha reached the figure hunched over the bar and spoke a few, stern words- the only kind of words Yasha was really capable of speaking- she didn’t move to grab him or ferry him to the door. She only looked back to Marion and it wasn’t annoyance or exasperation in her eyes.

She looked worried.

Within a heartbeat Marion was on her feet, heels clicking sharply against the floor as she crossed over. As she grew closer, she noticed several things about the stranger in quick succession, her well honed skills of observation and reading people supplying her quickly and smoothly.

He was filthy. He was young. He was thin.

And he looked terrified.

Marion sank into the stool beside him, bringing herself to his level. He was a tiefling like herself, though an unusual deep purple colour she hadn’t come across before. So not from around here. He was dressed in a dark robe, though dark by design or by the soil and dirt that clung to it, she couldn’t immediately tell.  And underneath it… well he didn’t appear to be wearing anything apart from some tattoos. Not as unusual in a brothel as it would be in some places but still, odd.

“Good evening sir,” Marion smiled as if nothing was amiss, “Are you enjoying your time here?”

He didn’t seem to have heard her at first; his pointed ears, bracketed by an impressive set of horns, didn’t even flicker. But then his cracked lips moved slightly and he murmured something softly.

Marion leaned in, frowning delicately, “M… T? Is that your name?”

“Empty,” Yasha corrected, voice soft so as to use the chatter around them as a cover, “That’s all he said to me too.”

A very bad feeling stirred in Marion’s chest, “Sir? What’s empty?”

The tiefling just gave the barest shake of his head, his curls too matted with dirt and grease to move with the motion.

“Do you need us to get you some medical attention, sir?”

Again, nothing, just a slight intake of breath like he was trying to repeat his only word but couldn’t manage. But Marion could make her own assessment.

“Call for my daughter please, Yasha, if you would be so kind?”

Yasha hesitated, looking between her boss and the young man as if worried to leave them alone.

“I’m just going to take him up to my rooms and help him get cleaned off.  We’ll be fine,” Marion assured her gently.

That answer didn’t seem to assuage Yasha any but she just nodded, “I won’t be long.”

Moving the young man was easy, there was no resistance at all in his muscles and he just half stumbled in the direction he was pointed. Now they were drawing glances, her workers picking up on the snag in the usually calm and relaxed atmosphere, but Marion gave reassuring smiles all around, answering them in their shared language of hand movements that could be so easily missed by clients. All is well.

The young man- the empty young man, as Marion was starting to think of him in her head, as horrible a name as that was- sat on the bed in her private suite, staring into thin air. Like the shadows on the wall were forming an elaborate, absorbing puppet show that only he could see.

Marion set the shower running for him and tried to gesture him to the en suite, “Shall we get you cleaned up?”

Nothing. No kind of response.

Sighing softly, Marion went over to him and guided him to his feet. The dirt clinging to him seemed to be mostly soil, there were green flecks to it if you looked closely. It was particularly crusted under his nails, as if he’d been clawing at the stuff like some kind of digging animal. The robe he wore was far too big for him, seen in close proximity, not just because of how thin he was underneath. It looked as though it was more shroud than cloak.

Marion set her jaw and helped him into the bathroom. He gave absolutely no resistance to her undressing him, like he didn’t feel the fabric against his skin. He was trans, she noted, adding that to her scant information on him. The gently warmed water falling on him drew no reaction either. Though after a moment, when she turned back to him after throwing his robe in the hamper, she could almost see less tension in his muscles, like he’d relaxed ever so slightly in the warmth.

She heard the door to her apartment open behind her. There was only one person who would ever come into her rooms without knocking.

“Mama?” Jester’s voice called, curious. Clearly Yasha had told her a little about their current mystery.

“One moment,” Marion returned, putting a hand out under the water to gently touch the man on the shoulder, not caring when rivulets of scented soap ran under the billowing sleeve of her dress, “I’ll be back soon, alright? My daughter will check any hurts you have.”

She was expecting nothing, more speaking because it would be rude not to. But he inclined his head ever so slightly, water now streaming through his filthy hair and down his face.

“Empty…” he whispered, so soft that it could just have been part of the water’s gentle voice. He sounded so young, so frightened.

Marion gave his shoulder a squeeze, feeling a slighter, smaller version of the same love and fear she held inside her for her daughter. He did look so much like her after all, he could hardly have more than a handful of years on her.

“We will fix this,” she promised, meaning it as much as she could, “And you’re safe here until we do.”

The young man didn’t say his word again and he moved back slightly, as if allowing her to go. Marion went to go but her eyes were suddenly caught on something. They fixed on the young man’s hand, fallen limply by his side. Now it was clean she could see with perfect, horrible clarity just how torn they were, how the skin of his hands was full of ragged splinters, how his knuckles had split, the awful gashes on his fingers.

And they weren’t the only wounds he had. They were simply the only fresh ones.

Every inch of his skin was covered with white, slim scars like a falling of snow. Some were nicks, some were long, all of them cleanly done with a sword that must have been as sharp as a razor.

Marion’s shout for Jester caught in her throat.

There were always spare rooms available in the Lavish Chateau. Marion didn’t have a high turnover in her staff but new faces were always welcome, provided they fit in.

Not that their new guest fit in. But he was welcome all the same.

Marion went to check on him whenever she could spare the time. When she couldn’t, there was always Yasha, who seemed to consider herself in charge of their visitor. It had started as a need to guard him, worrying that whatever violent impulses had earned him so many scars might suddenly reawaken. But now it seemed to be more protective, sitting with him while he slept for when he inevitably woke with nightmares, encouraging him to eat when he was reluctant.

Of course she was there when Marion pushed back the door after a gentle knock. She sat cross legged on the bed with the tiefling opposite her, mirroring her position. He did that a lot, copying others when he was unsure of what to do.

“How are we doing today?” Marion smiled fondly, letting the door close. Of course everyone was maddeningly curious about their guest but he needed his privacy.

“Good,” Yasha gave her a smile, “Watch…”

She faced Molly and clearly, rather formally signed to him in the house’s language. Hello. How are you?

The tiefling bit his lip and signed back to her, his own movements nervous and unsure but it was unmistakably an answer in the same language. I am fine. All is well.

Marion smiled delightedly. The difference in the young man was clear, just how much he’d improved from how he’d been a month ago. He moved on his own, his face held expressions. He still couldn’t talk but he asked for things after his own fashion. He seemed to want to be alone most of the time, the noisy brothel seemed to frighten him a little, but his hands were bandaged and his eyes were clear and present.

And now he could speak to them.

“Yasha, what a wonderful idea,” Marion patted her back fondly, “This is brilliant, it will help him so much.”

Yasha coloured a little, shocking against her pale skin, “I just thought it would be nice if he could  talk to us and if he can’t use his voice… he’s the one that’s picking it up so quickly. He’s learned that in just a few hours.”

He fidgeted a little, looking pleased by the praise. He didn’t always understand what people said to him, like it all came to him through a fog and some things would get lost along the way. But he was good at picking up on tones in people’s voices.

“Well, Mollymauk, well done to you too,” Marion smiles, happy to see him pleased.

Yasha blinked curiously, “Mollymauk? Is that what we’re calling him?”

Marion gave a delicate shrug, sitting in her reading chair, “Well, I had to call him something until he remembers his name. And people are asking about him.”

“It’s a nice name. What does it mean?”

“Well, it’s a kind of albatross,” Marion said thoughtfully, watching Molly who had retreated inside himself a little, practising the hand motions from before until they were sure and certain, “And that seemed to fit him. He’s clearly from the Coast and he just seems like he’s travelled so far. And he looks so unusual, he deserved an unusual name.”

His ears seemed to pick up at that, glancing over at the two of them and giving a small smile. A smile that looked like it might grow.

“Mollymauk,” Marion repeated, “Would that be okay with you?” She translated the name and the question into the hand gestures as she spoke. It took a while to spell out, her hands flitting through the shapes with grace and delicacy.

He tilted his head a little as he processed that, then he looked pleased, answering her with more confidence than before.

Yes. All is well.

Marion always wrote her letters to Ophelia Mardun carefully. They were good friends, lovers on a few occasions when she was back in town and the mood had taken them, but she would never be someone Marion wouldn’t watch her words with.

She was partway through the letter when the knock came at the door. She looked up and spoke a soft welcome, knowing who it would be before he entered.

A year at the Lavish Chateau had changed Mollymauk more than she’d ever have thought possible. He stood much taller than he had before, he wore his own clothes comfortably- patterned leggings and a billowing shirt under a fitted waistcoat- and his horns held bands and caps of gold. Though he’d never be anything but slender, wiry at best, he was fuller than he ever had been and a smile sat comfortably on his face like it was the norm. There were tattoos on his skin that hadn’t been there a year before and his fingers held no trace of ever having being damaged.

Though the scars everywhere else remained. Marion didn’t think they’d ever go away.

“Good afternoon, Molly,” Marion smiled easily, “Tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” he came in and sank into the chair opposite her desk, the one with the plush velvet cushions. Marion never wanted her guests to feel uncomfortable.

At first Molly’s voice had been wobbly and uncertain, just like his sign language had been the first few times. It had come back in drips a few months after his arrival. He’d remembered words here and there, a lot of it copied from Yasha or Jester or Marion, like a parrot in behaviour as well as his colouring. But once he’d mastered a few small sentences, it came to him quickly, his natural skill for quickly picking things up helping him massively. It was a nice voice in the end, gently accented, quick to laugh and joke.

Before long, Marion returned with a little clay teapot, just big enough for two, soft whorls of jasmine scented smoke emerging from the spout. She filled both their cups, not wanting it to be over brewed and bitter.  She knew Molly didn’t like that, he could be quite particular about his tea.

She’d chosen his first name for him, he’d chosen his second. It seemed to amuse him, given how the first few days he’d been here- days that seemed so long ago now- he couldn’t be persuaded to take any nourishment other than weak tea. He’d also more recently gotten into different methods of fortune telling, tarot cards being his favourite but tea leaves had been his first attempt.

Marion found that passing strange, someone with no past being determined to peer into the future. She supposed she could understand it. With one being lost to him, maybe he just wanted to reach forward and have some sense of control. She’d never asked.

He still did love his tea though.

“What’s on your mind, dear?” she asked softly, watching him blow on his tea to cool it, cupping the little clay mug protectively.

Molly didn’t look surprised that she already knew he had something to say. He’d gotten used to her rather eerie perceptiveness.

“I wanted to ask you something…” he sat back, not lifting his eyes from his tea, “Seeing as I’ve officially been here a year and all.”

Marion nodded, the significance of the day hadn’t been lost on her either.

Molly seemed to take a breath, like he was steeling himself a little, “I want to work here.”

Marion absorbed that, blinking steadily, “Mollymauk… you know I’m happy to have you here. But there’s still so much you don’t know? Yet you’ve never shown any interest in looking into it…”

“I know,” Molly said hurriedly, red eyes wide and worried, “And it’s not like I haven’t thought about it. But I don’t want to.”  

“You don’t want to? Molly, there could be a life out there waiting for you…”

Molly’s face twisted with unpleasant memories, “A life that ended with me in a grave. Whatever happened back then, I have no idea and I don’t want any idea,” he sighed softly, “All I know for sure is I’m happy right now. I’m happy here. And I want to stay here.”

Marion tilted her head gently, “There’s...there’s other places, Molly, different kinds of work, if you really wanted a fresh start. Some people wouldn’t call what we do here an honourable life or even a good life.”

He didn’t seem surprised by that, the clandestine nature of their home was obvious in a number of subtle ways and inferring from that wouldn’t be difficult, “I don’t understand that. How is it any different from the city market? People need touch and comfort as much as they need anything on those stalls and giving it to them is important. It’s fun here, it’s bright and there’s always laughter and… and it’s safe. I like that. I want to be part of it.”

Marion reached out and put her hands over Molly’s where he held the cup, “Molly, if this is really what you want then of course you can work for us. You’re already part of our family.”

Mollymauk looked relieved at that, smiling hugely, the lamplight catching on the points of his teeth, “Thank you! Thank you so much, I’ll be as good as I can possibly be, I’ll always show up on time, I’ll do whatever you need…”

She laughed brightly, wondering if she’d ever had anyone be so enthusiastic. A year ago, she never would have let someone in Mollymauk’s condition sign up to be a courtesan. But looking at him now, he was so far from the scared, flinching man who’d stumbled into her Chateau just looking for warmth and light. His thoughts were his own, his words were his own, his decisions were his own.

Marion smiled warmly and withdrew, giving him her reply in their own hand language, just for old time’s sake.

You are welcome. All is well.

If she had the time, Marion liked to come linger in the bar.

It was strange how much had changed in a year and how much hadn’t. The taste of peaches and champagne on her tongue was the same. The sound of laughter and love would always be the same. The pride she felt as she sat back in her booth and let her golden eyes slide across the scene in front of her was the same.

What was different were the faces, the clients and some of the workers. Yasha was taller where she stood by the door, a greatsword visible over her shoulder that would have been near impossible for her to heft two years ago. Beauregard, a runaway from some high ranking family she wouldn’t reveal but Marion could guess, was laughing with her daughter over at the bar.

And Mollymauk Tealeaf was in the middle of it, laughing louder than anyone, playfully perched in the lap of a lawmaster, whispering something in his ear while simultaneously signing over to Yasha an unkind but hilarious comment on the scent of his client’s breath.

Marion rolled her eyes fondly, catching his eye and signing for him to play nice. Molly grinned, completely unabashed, and gave her a wave.

He wasn’t always on time. He wasn’t the most reliable of her workers. But Marion still felt a strong love for him, the same she’d felt when he’d first sat at her bar, the feeling that reminded her so much of her love for her daughter.

That hadn’t changed. And it never would.

#courtesan au #found family #trans mollymauk tealeaf #critical role fic

[sladedick]

im just creepin on your twitter (as you do) and i wondering if u would ever write some rastim? bc 👀👀

yes!!!!! sorry this too k so long i love ra’stim owo

noncon/underage/switching/violence/black humor | on ao3

           Timothy Drake stares at his American school lunch in the fuzzy security camera. His dark circles are visible under his eyes even from this height, and his hair is visibly unwashed. Equations trail their way up pale arms in smudged ink. He shovels another soggy french fry into his mouth, scratching his armpit with the other hand.

           “Are you sure you want that one, Master?” Ra’s’s assistant inquires, standing meekly next to him as he watches the screen.

           “You dare question the will of the Demon?” Ra’s booms.

           “N-no, master, of course not,” he mutters, looking down. Ra’s turns his attention back to Timothy. He’s facedown in his applesauce, clearly snoring.

           “He’s perfect.”

Share the happy news with your detective

           “Happy engagement,” Ra’s says. Tim blinks at him.

           “To who?”

           “To you.”

           “I’m not engaged,” he says blankly.

           “I am pleased to inform you that you are. To me, the Demon’s Head.”

           “No,” Tim declares.

           “Yes.” Ra’s’s grin shows teeth.

           “No!”

           “This is not a discussion,” Ra’s says. “It is the respectful thing to do before I deflower you, Detective.”

           Tim makes a disgusted face. “You won’t be ‘deflowering’ me. I had sex with Superboy.” It had been an ordeal. Kon’s Kryptonian dick had gained semi-sentience and tried to lay its eggs in Tim. Turns out Clark hadn’t bothered to give him ‘the talk’.

           Ra’s’s lip curls. “How inappropriate.”

           “No premarital sex, huh, but rape is a-okay,” Tim mocks.

           “Victor’s rights, Timothy.”

           “That’s bullshit,” Tim says. Ra’s wags a finger in his face.

           “Language, Detective.”

           Tim sticks his tongue out. “You can’t marry minors without parental consent. Your marriage is null and void. Ra’s! Ra’s, listen to me, we have to be in Alabama—”

Keep excessive amounts of alcohol away from your detective

           The reception is ostentatious, of course.

           Ra’s first notices the problem when Tim’s step is slightly halting at the reception, cheeks slightly redder—always red, really, given how pale his skin is even for a European. They’re even red through the several layers of makeup that Ra’s had his servants apply.

           Tim gives a lopsided grin, showing off teeth that, until recently, had had braces on them. That’s the second sign something is off. Timothy has been pouting ever since he was kidnapped.

           “I want — some more campaign,” he says, quite sincerely. A face, as if he knows that’s not quite right. “Clam pain.” A pause. “Sham veins?”

           “Champaign, dear,” Ra’s says softly. Timothy grabs another glass from a passing server before Ra’s can stop it. The reception is ostentatious, and Timothy’s dress is no exception, in lacy whites and pale greens, showing off his body just enough to tell everyone what Ra’s has that they don’t. And how they should be jealous of Ra’s’s high school concubine.

           “It’s poor taste to be drunk at your own reception,” Ra’s says.

           “Your … fault,” Tim says. He sways slightly. Ra’s catches his arm. “Kidnapped me. Miss my family.”

           “You’ll make a new one quite soon.”

           “Fuck you. Hate you,” he mumbles. “Don’t wanna get pregnanant. Pregant. Prenengant.”

           Ra’s snatches the glass of champagne from Timothy’s hand as the boy slumps slightly against him.

           “I insist,” he says coldly, angrily, “that you be conscious for the consummation.”

           He takes some pleasure in seeing Timothy’s skin lose its redness for the first time that night, falling away to reveal a pale face. Timothy grabs desperately for the alcohol, but Ra’s whisks it away just in time.

           “Absolutely not.”

             2. Keep your detective well entertained

           “You can’t all be monks,” Tim tries to explain. The ninja sat in a circle around him squint at him through the eyeholes in their masks, heavy armor clinking as they shift. Tim repeats it in Arabic for the two that don’t speak English, and then switches to it for good.

           “I wish to be of the shadow subclass,” Ninja No. 3 says.

           “As do I,” adds Ninja No. 1.

           “The point of Dungeons and Dragons is to be something you’re not. It’s escapism.” The four guards, practically brainwashed into the service of Ra’s al Ghul, stare at him. “Nobody is allowed to be a ninja monk.”

           “I will be a warlock,” says Ninja No. 2, waving about the bit of paper that Tim had given him, translated from what Tim remembers of the Player’s Guide. “In service of the great Head of the Demon—”

           “This is a fantastical universe. Ra’s doesn’t exist. See? Escapism!” Tim sighs. “If you don’t cooperate I’m going to tell him you were very inadequate and suggest severe punishment.” He stares sternly.

           The ninja pale. Tim wouldn’t do that, really, because then they would end up dead. He knows exactly how much influence he has with Ra’s. The threat, however, is still good.

           “I will be a fighter,” sighs Ninja No. 2. “In the service of nobody.”

           “Perfect!” Tim grins. He feels like he should patronizingly pat their heads, but refrains. That’s the kind of thing they might only accept from Ra’s.

           “I will be a sorcerer,” says Ninja No. 4, “who works for only himself, and wields fantastic power.”

           Tim nods enthusiastically.

           “I will be a rogue,” says Ninja No. 1, “who overthrows his glorious leader and takes his place, murdering his kin and raping his wife—”

           “Wait just a second—”

           “—and sending all his castles and being to endless ruin, in search of individuality.”

           “I mean,” Tim says, “I’ll allow it …”

           (Ninja No. 1 doesn’t show up the next week. Neither do any of the others. It wasn’t your fault, Ra’s assures him, though please do not encourage individuality, Timothy.)

             3. Be assured your detective is sexually satisfied and interested

           Tim sits on one side of the wooden table, idly tracing the patterned texture with one

finger. Ra’s sits stiff and regal as always, a few slips of paper right in front of him. This is obviously a Meeting. Ra’s is always around Tim, but a Meeting is different. Ra’s has something to talk about, and Tim probably doesn’t want to hear it.

             “Beloved,” Ra’s says.

             “Ra’s,” Tim replies. His voice is considerably cold. More tired.

             “I’ve been doing some research,” Ra’s says. “You have been quite uninterested in our sexual activity.”

             “It’s because I object to the rape,” Tim says.

             “Ah, I think not. I think you’re simply not … stimulated enough. So I found out what you might be interested in.”

             “Please don’t—”

             The papers are slapped onto the table like a death warrant, and Tim is stared in the face by his last six months of search history.

             man turns little brother gay big dick blowjob looks back at him like the antichrist with flaming, doomed eyes. Tim pales. He tries to think of exactly what he’d been searching on PornHero before Ra’s had caught up with him, but his mind is suddenly completely blank.

             bears rail twink anal dp rimming glares accusingly at him. Tim knows that Ra’s has a perfectly neutral expression on his face. He always does. But Tim can’t force himself to meet the green eyes, not even on the pain of losing some of his pride.

             “And some more enlightening content,” Ra’s adds, putting another piece of paper on the table. Tim can barely bring himself to open his eyes and look.

             batman fucks robin hard in the ass, batman and robin blowjob, batmanxrobin—

             Tim covers his eyes. He can’t take it.

             “You’re particularly understimulated in the bedroom. Would you prefer that I don a suit in the manner of your adopted father? Would you enjoy referring to me as—”

             “No!” Tim almost screams. He wants to cover his ears. “Ra’s, please. Please don’t, okay? I’ll be good, okay? I’ll pretend I like getting fucked. Just please stop.”

             Ra’s makes a little humming sound. “This is not a punishment, Beloved. I am simply curious.” The rustling sound of papers lets him know what’s going on. “Though perhaps you can explain this? Superboy x reader fluffy love fanfiction?”

             Tim turns white.

             “I’m going to kill myself,” he declares, and he’s not sure if he’s joking or not.

             4. Install safety bars on windows; learn modern youth jargon

           “I’m going to kill myself,” Timothy says.

           It’s something he says a lot. Quite a bit, really, typically any time something goes even a little wrong. Timothy had explained to him, a sullen glare in his eyes, that it was a joke. Ra’s had eventually been persuaded.

           The fact that Timothy is crouched on the window ledge, the mountain wind making long-grown dark hair—tended to with the most expensive shampoos—swirl out behind Timothy, makes the thought of him joking much less likely.

           “That is a choice you will regret,” Ra’s says coolly. He could try to grab him, but Timothy would fall out of the window and die anyways. Then when it came time to punish him properly, Timothy could attempt to childishly shift the blame.

           Timothy flips him off.

           Ra’s raises an eyebrow. “How rude, Beloved.”

           “Yeet,” Timothy says. Ra’s assumes this also means I’m going to kill myself because right after Timothy does it, he’s falling through the air. Ra’s doesn’t hear the crack of his bones or see the blood spatter, but he sees the broken body splayed in the snow below, certainly dead.

           “How inconvenient,” Ra’s says, to nobody in particular. Except, perhaps, the three guards who monitor Timothy at all times. He makes a mental note to have them executed.

             6. Discourage your detective from staging coups

             “Fuck,” Tim says.

             “Indeed.” Ra’s’s teeth are perfect, pearly white. A wickedly curved sword at his side slowly drips blood into the oceans pooled around his feet, the corpses’ blood eking its way towards Tim’s booted feet.

             Tim stomps. Blood splashes, staining the bottom of his robes. “Fuck!”

             Ra’s sheathes his sword. The front of his shirt is crimson, showing that he, at least, did not escape unscathed. Tim draws some small satisfaction from that, even though he feels the guards still loyal to Ra’s grab at his shoulders, yanking his arms behind his back and holding him still.

             “A valiant attempt, Detective,” Ra’s says. “Next time, I suggest purging your dissenters’ ranks for spies more carefully.” He moves forward, and Tim sags slightly in the arms of the guards.

             “I’m sorry?” Tim offers.

             “You’re not.”

             Tim sticks his tongue out.

             7. Properly reprimand your detective

             “I’m sorry,” Tim whimpers, head hanging between his shoulders as he stares down at the bed beneath him, fingers curled in the sheets, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

             A hand cards gently through sweaty hair. “Shh, Timothy, it will be over soon,” Ra’s murmurs. The back of the boy’s thighs and buttocks are covered in red switch marks, from the birch thing that Ra’s holds in the hand that does not hold Timothy. The skin burns red and pink and parts bleed. Timothy won’t be able to sit down for a month without remembering this.

             The next one whips down with a wicked noise. Timothy chokes, spasms, arms shaking. He gasps, tears clinging to his long, pretty lashes like pearls.

             “You are free to cry if you like, Beloved,” Ra’s says softly. “Forty out of fifty. You’re almost finished.”

             8. Curb attempts to relate to the youth

           Ra’s throws his sword. It impales the man through the gut; a wound that will leave him squirming for hours in agony before he finally expires.

           “Yeet.”

           (Timothy doesn’t speak to him for a week.)

             9. Keep track of possessions around your detective

           “Is that my cape, Detective?”

           Tim wraps the green folds further around himself, his small form almost disappearing inside of it. “Maybe.”

           “Are you going to return it?”

           The high collar hides Timothy’s face, and slightly muffles his answer. “No.”

            10. Take very good care of your detective, and give it nobody else to turn to when it hurts

           Timothy’s eyes are wide, blank oceans, full of a sort of pain and sadness that Ra’s knows will pass, but he still almost dislikes seeing in his consort’s eyes. Ra’s’s arm is wrapped around him, fingers splaying dark hair around them, Timothy warm against his chest. His eyes are closed, the two of them wrapped in Ra’s’s cape. Before, Timothy would flinch away whenever he was to be held. Now, he almost begs to be touched with his eyes, even when he is too proud to ask.

           A shift of him. Ra’s stays still, doesn’t move, enjoying the fact of Timothy against him. A hand slowly pets his hair.

           Something is wet against his chest, where the neck of his shirt is cut down to reveal his chest. Ra’s almost has to pry Tim’s face off of him, and it comes away teary.

           “How do you fair, my love?”

           A hand rests on Ra’s’s shoulder, pale fingers against dark, tanned skin. The eyes look past Ra’s.

           “I hate you,” Timothy whispers. It’s not an accusation. Simply a sad, broken confession.

           “I know,” Ra’s says, almost, almost sympathetic.

           A pause,

           A long, long pause.

           “I love you,” Tim whispers, and it’s even softer, barely audible. And then he’s diving back against Ra’s’s chest, Ra’s’s head tucked above Tim’s.

           “I know,” Ra’s murmurs.

           The look in his eyes is the stare of a man who has killed millions, and will kill millions more.

#Anonymous #asks #ra'stim #ra's al ghul #tim drake #fic recs #freak fic #prompts/requests

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Twenty-Four: Delete ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: The Future is Wild ] [ AO3 Link ]

...it’s time.

So many months of planning, and years before that of yearning, have led to this moment. Sasuke has patiently bided his time at the scientist’s side, awaiting the perfect opportunity to make his dream a reality:

He, and as many others as he can manage...are going to escape this horrible place.

For decades, the man he knows only as Orochimaru has been employed by their government to create monstrosities: genetically engineered humans with supposedly impossible powers, something straight out of science fiction. Whether it’s men with super strength, bulletproof subdermal skin, or even people that can see through walls...he’s been paid untold numbers of dollars to take the human genome and twist it into fantastical creations...all to suit the need of their country for super soldiers, spies, and other roles. For years he’s spliced and manipulated their specie into things unrecognizable as human...while others are meant to blend unseen, their powers unknown.

Sasuke himself is one of them, a member of the Sharingan project line. Able to see and react to the world around him at speeds most humans can only dream of, he’s also engineered with extreme levels of physical fitness, and the ability to copy what he sees almost perfectly.

He’s one of Orochimaru’s pets. Just like the one Sasuke calls his big brother: the iteration of the Sharingan project before him, deemed a failure due to an immunodeficiency. Once the madman realized Sasuke’s attachment to him...he instead became a source of emotional blackmail. Motivation for him to never disobey his creator, lest something happen to his precious brother. A whim could see him terminated like all the others deemed a failed project before them.

...Sasuke couldn’t let that happen.

So, for years now, he’s served as Orochimaru’s right hand alongside a few other trusted members of the staff. Only one man outranks him: one Yakushi Kabuto, a man obsessed with both Orochimaru and his work.

In truth...it sickens Sasuke. At first, he’d been unable to comprehend. He was a child, after all. But now...now he knows the sick lengths the man goes to in order to manipulate human DNA until it reaches something to his liking.

In a way...he’s a genius. Never has evolution been so guided and forced. But all Sasuke can see is the way his work is abused...and the disgusting pleasure he seems to take in each new creation.

The latest project, however, was exactly what Sasuke had been waiting for: the Byakugan. Humans able to concentrate their vision so narrowly, they can see through nearly any solid object. While Sasuke might not fully comprehend the science, he doesn’t have to. This...is their ticket out.

Someone who can see through the entire facility. Who can lead them to the surface, to freedom…! With Sasuke at their helm, he knows they can make it. Already he has a small group in mind to take with him. He can’t save them all...not yet. But maybe, if they make it out, they can get the place thrown into the public eye, disbanded, destroyed…!

...first, however...they have to escape.

Since her creation, Sasuke has been subtly guiding the first Byakugan specimen - at first simply called B1 - to his side. Treating her better, kindling the human side of her Orochimaru has been attempt to suppress and restrain. But he had to be careful. Be too forward, and he risked revealing his interference. Be too subtle...and she might not trust him, or prefer him.

But now, he’s sure she’s finally ready.

Hinata. The name he gave her. She’s now almost fully versed in language. She understands complex concepts, as confirmed by Orochimaru and his team. Soon enough, she would begin training for her ultimate purpose: a spy able to see into areas denied her physically with eyes that can pierce almost any wall. Not only that, but her vision is nearly three hundred and sixty-five degrees. Without moving her eyes, she can see in nearly any direction, for far greater distances than any human.

The scientist had estimated, at her growth rate, she’d soon reach distances of nearly twenty kilometers.

As far as Sasuke is concerned, that’s plenty far. He has no idea how far below ground they are, only that they are, indeed, subterranean. All they need now is Hinata to guide them to the surface. He knows it won’t be easy. Even if they manage to be stealthy, this place crawls with guards. To escape with Hinata and the other four he has chosen, they’ll likely have to resort to some kind of violence before they make it.

...he’s willing to do anything to get them out.

Anything.

Escorting Hinata back to her cell, Sasuke asks, “How was your training today?”

“It was good. I think I met all expectations,” is her quiet reply.

They both know the purpose of this banter. They’ll reach her quarters, and then have their supposed block for working on her language. And it’s then they’ll exchange words. He needs to tell her they’re ready...and she needs to agree.

All of this work befriending and convincing her comes down to this. For their freedom. His freedom. Itachi’s freedom.

...and to put a stop to all of this.

There are three cameras in her room, all equipped to record audio. So, the pair have designed their own kind of sign language: subtle physical cues with their hands, faces, and shoulders that communicate the true meaning behind their meetings.

“Tell me more about your day.”

Tomorrow night. Midnight. Be ready.

“I was assigned new tasks, to observe various creatures in a room in the neighboring facility.”

I am ready. How many will go with us?

“What did you see?”

Four beyond us. Most have combat training. One has subdermal armor.

“I could see their movements, observe their behavior. It was...peaceful. I want to do it again.”

I have a route planned. Did you find the override code?

“Maybe you will. We’ll see what Orochimaru has planned, B1. For now, you should rest.”

I did. I’ll input on our way out. Everything will be deleted. All will be lost. This won’t happen again.

Hinata gives a practiced smile. “I will. Goodnight, Sasuke.”

“Goodnight, B1.”

Sasuke then does his rounds, checking on several other projects. Of them, his chosen three are also signaled. One more day. Be ready. Be patient. Be prepared for anything...even dying.

Better to die, they reply, than stay here any longer.

Last he sees is Itachi. The previous Sharingan prodigy gives a soft smile. “Ah, you’re back. It’s been a while.”

Is it time?

“I’m sorry...we’ve been busy.”

Tomorrow night. Then you’ll be free.

“That’s quite all right. I’m not much fun to be around.”

WE will be free. A life to do with as we please.

“Don’t give me that. You’re plenty fun.”

And we’ll find you a doctor.

“Well...at least you think so. But it’s late, you should turn in.”

“You too, brother.”

It’s then Sasuke moves to the server room to log his day and observations. Easy enough to do with a photographic memory. As he types, he looks around the room, seeing the master computer at the head of it. There...there he’ll input the override code. Then all of Orochimaru’s research - all of his bastardized science - will be deleted. Sent to the digital void where it belongs. Never again will be create another unfortunate soul bound to his will, or the government’s. His work will be a thing of the past - a haunting memory for those who get out alive.

And they will get out alive.

...he’ll make sure of it.

But...he must be patient. As itching as it is to begin, they have one more night. Orochimaru’s therapy for his injured arms will take place, and painkillers administered. Then more than any other night he’ll be too tired to stop them. They’ll align the stars themselves, and forge their own fate.

Just a little longer.

Then all of this will be over...like a bad dream.

                                                             .oOo.

     More scifi verse! A bit of a...transitional piece. I wanted to write the breakout, but I had a long day, and wrote a LOT more than usual, so I'm a lil burnt out - next time!      But yeah, this is a followup to days 171 and 196! I'm usually not a big scifi person, but...I'm liking this verse, lol - I'll hopefully get to do more soon, depending on how the prompts roll out!      Anyway, my eyes are screamin', so time for bed lol - thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #uchiha itachi #the future is wild [ au ] #365daysofsasuhina

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP - 40.5: Interlude 5: The Ride

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net  -  AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Part 1: Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11;

Part 2: Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32; Interlude 3; Bonus 1; Chapter 33

Part 3: Chapter 34; Chapter 35; Chapter 36; Interlude 4; Chapter 37; Chapter 38; Chapter 39; Chapter 40

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: Ah, yes, this is why I don't like posting too long chapters... Judging by the reactions, the points that were important to me seemed to have drowned in everything else. Ah, well... Splitting the previous chapter and drawing it out longer wouldn't have been a good choice either, so I'll have to live with this now.

This week, the summer holidays started here. That means that I will have even less time to write, but I'll try to stick to the schedule nonetheless. I can't make any promises though, especially with me and my family going on vacation in the week before the next planned update. All I can promise is that I will try.

But! Chapter 41 is one of the most important chapters of this entire story to me and I want to get it right! Meaning, I won't update in two weeks if it's not in a state I'm satisfied with. Sorry.

. o O o .

With a tired sigh, King Osmond of House Hofferson, ruler of the United Kingdom of Volantis, took a moment to rest his head in his hands. Sometimes he wondered just how much time exactly he spent in this room, sitting at his desk and brooding over reports, lists, and requests. But then, did it matter? Someone had to do this and as King it was his duty to make decisions. And if he made the wrong decision, or even let anyone else make these decisions, thousands could and would suffer. No, it was his responsibility to make sure the right decisions were made – or at the very least the ones that offered the minimum amount of harm… 

However, it looked as if his recent decisions were paying off positively. Going through the reports of the last two weeks helped bring a grim smile of satisfaction to his face. He still wasn’t happy with the solution he and his friends had settled upon some months ago, but he couldn’t deny that it was working. Before they’d begun these festivities, he’d compiled a single list of the men they knew were in the conspiracy, and another list of those they reasonably suspected of being in it by association and personal reputations. Those two lists had composed the core of the guest list. And now he was crossing off names from both. Nearly two dozen dead so far, and nearly all of them were on one of the two lists. From what it looked like, the greedy agitators were even murdering each other for their chance at the prize, presumably getting rid of their most dangerous competitors first, and making the upcoming work of the King’s Guard that much easier. Indeed, aside from the incident with the boar, where his huntsman had deliberately set a group of the known traitors after a boar – when they had only been prepared for hunting deer – every other death had come from their fellow men.

The next report listed the injured and the maimed. Here, the divide between the innocent and the guilty wasn’t quite as favourable, but he knew the patients would get the best possible care, which was all he could do for them. Injuries were a common risk, after all. 

Yes, as much as he detested having to use this approach to get rid of the traitors, he had to admit that it was working out splendidly. The highest priority target, Duke Thuggory, might still be alive – and had, annoyingly, been the one to finish off the boar – but there was plenty of time to remedy that fact.

He put the list aside, took a sip of his wine, and reached for the next report. It was the account of the guards that had been sent out to look for the missing tax collector. Neither the man nor his coach had been found by now, so the question remained whether he’d been attacked or had gone into hiding himself. Osmond’s gut told him that it was likely the former, as the man had been loyal for many years now, but that wasn’t why this report made him grimace. This incident wasn’t directly related to the current events at the castle, but... The money and goods this specific man had gathered had been meant to pay for Astrid’s wedding, both for the celebrations and also her dowry. And while the castle’s treasury was filled well enough to compensate the loss, this report only reminded him of what he tried not to think about too often – that this entire charade was being paid at the expense of his beloved daughter. 

Osmond leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face, but then stood up and, almost without thinking, walked over to a large painting that hung in the more comfortable corner of his office. With tired eyes, he looked up into the face of his beloved Brenna; it was so similar to Astrid’s that he sometimes, when she entered a room or they met in the corridors, thought it was her. 

“I wonder what you would have to say if you were here, my love,” he murmured, reaching out to let his fingers glide along the gilded frame. “I assume you’d scold me for using our daughter as bait, especially after the price you paid for her life. But that’s the lot of the royal family, isn’t it? To make sacrifices for the good of the people. And from what it looks like, she’s going to marry Eret’s son; that isn’t too bad, right? Not what you and your best friend had hoped for, not her marrying her son but only her nephew. But given the circumstances, this is the best option for her. I just wish I could already tell her why all this is necessary, but I promise that I will do so eventually. I hope she may forgive me one day, and… and I hope you can, too.”

But, of course, he got no answer. Brenna just kept gazing down at him with those beautiful deep blue eyes and that slightly cheeky smile of hers. Gods, how much he missed her...

For a little while longer, he stayed where he was, gazing up at the painting, before he returned to his desk. He knew that Astrid wasn’t thrilled about any of this, but at least she seemed to be better now that she’d apparently made her choice. All he could do now was hope that, over time, the close friendship she and young Eret shared would turn into more; that was why he’d instructed to grant her more time with him and Oswald’s boy during the weeks before her birthday, after all. 

Although… given how much pain love had brought him, he wasn’t so sure whether that was really something to wish for. Losing Brenna, the love of his life, had nearly killed him too. It had certainly maimed his heart for many years. Only reluctantly, he’d agreed to marry again ten years later, and it had taken three more years to overcome his aversion against the woman his advisors had picked for him. And just when his heart had started to love again, she’d been taken from him, too. Logically, he knew that the bad days were only bearable because he could remember the happy ones… but he also hoped that none of his children would ever have to suffer the pain of burying their loved ones way too early. 

. o O o .

“Ah, there’s nothing quite like a good ride through the countryside, don’t you agree?”

Osmond glanced at his friend Eret II from the corner of his eye, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I do. But you do remember that not everyone feels the same way, yes? There’s no need to tease Oswald tonight for not wanting to come along.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” Eret pouted.

From the side, Spitelout approached them on his white stallion. Out of the four of them, he was the only one not riding one of the Jag’r horses, as he’d never had the patience to learn how to deal with one of the demanding beasts. “No, really, Eret. You shouldn’t tease Ozzie; he gets enough riding of another sort, after all. Grapevine has it that he and his mistress are expecting again.”

“Oh, is that so?” Eret laughed. “You really do have your spies everywhere, don’t you?”

Spitelout shrugged with a wide grin. “I like to be well-informed.”

Osmond joined in into the laughter that followed, though only half-heartedly. His eyes had fallen on someone dressed in a wide flowing dress of blue and turquoise, and after a murmured excuse to his friends, he led his horse to her side.

“Good morning, Astrid,” he greeted her, smiling warmly, but just as he’d feared and expected, she barely even looked at him in return. 

“Good morning, Sire,” she replied obediently, making a perfect bow on the back of her broad gelding. 

Her formal address pained him, but he didn’t let anything show. He was aware of her current opinion of him, and as much as he’d liked to explain and maybe redeem himself in her eyes – he knew that this wasn’t the time, not yet. Maybe it would come one day – when the traitors were dealt with and secrecy wasn’t as crucial anymore – but for now, it was better she focused all her anger on him. It hopefully meant that her heart was otherwise free to find warmth and comfort in young Eret’s arms. 

“I hope this ride is to your liking,” he tried nonetheless. “I know how fond you are of riding, so I hope this is a welcome diversion to the latest events for you.” The necessary hunts and tournaments might be supposedly to her honour, but Osmond was no fool. He knew his daughter well enough to know that she wasn’t enjoying those, which was why he’d done everything in his power to follow young Eret’s suggestions and squeeze in this ride between the other planned events. 

Astrid, however, merely shrugged. “I’ll try to enjoy it if that is your wish. With this saddle, this company, and the expected pace, I can’t make any promises though.” 

With these words, she directed her gaze to the side to where now the last members of the party, young Eret and his squire, Stoick’s boy, came to join them. Her turning away without a word in public was borderline discourteous – he hadn’t dismissed her, after all – but she hadn’t turned her back on him. So, Osmond didn’t reprimand her. He wanted her to focus on the newcomer, after all. 

Instead, he simply gave the signal for the group to get started. He rode at the front, with Astrid at his side and a few guards loosely around them, but soon the formation shifted and changed and he could only watch her from a bit of a distance as he made way for the young men around them to talk to her. For a short while, young Eret rode next to her and it was obvious how much more relaxed she was around him. But soon, voices got louder that demanded their share of the Princess’s time as well, and so her attention was taken up by the ever-changing and increasingly desperate conversational partners. 

“They haven’t given up just yet, eh?” Eret II muttered as he rode next to Osmund and shook his head. 

Spitelout snorted. “Of course, they haven’t. Many of them came a long way to court her, and so far, nothing is official. I doubt even tonight’s ball will change that.”

They all watched as young Snotlout took his place at Astrid’s side next and it didn’t escape anyone’s notice how she pursed her lips at that. Osmond threw Spitelout an inquisitive look, interested in how his friend would react to the obvious rejection, but either he didn’t care much or he was way better at hiding his opinion than he’d thought. There was no reaction in his friend’s face whatsoever, so Osmond just shrugged and for a while, they rode on without much in terms of conversation. It really was a lovely day, and spending it outside with a leisure activity like peacefully riding along the shore of Lake Vola instead of brooding over even more reports was a great diversion.

“Oh, I can’t believe it!” Eret exclaimed after what had to be nearly two hours into their ride. Soon, they would take a break to eat the picnic the servants riding with them had brought along before they would return to the castle. 

Curious about what agitated his friend so much, Osmond followed his eyes to the young man who now approached Astrid – and gritted his teeth. Duke Thuggory of Meathead. If he could, Osmond would have forbidden him to come close to his daughter. But he had no legitimate reason to do so, nothing but assumptions, suspicions, and secret information. No, all he could do was watch and silently apologise to Astrid for making her endure this. 

But apparently, his friend’s agitation had another reason.

“I wonder how that piece of filth got his hands on one of our horses,” Eret hissed. “Because he certainly didn’t get it directly from us. I’d rather take a good stallion back to our farms again before I hand him over to someone who wouldn’t treat him right. But with his influence, it probably wasn’t difficult for him to find a middleman. Odin, I wish I could demand the poor beast back from him. See? He can’t even control him right!”

Osmond’s eyes narrowed to slits as he watched the hated nobleman. Eret was right, the stallion the duke was riding was barely under his control, prancing left and right and throwing his head around. The sight wasn’t exactly reassuring – although it did come with the hope that the Duke would get thrown from the saddle and break his neck, thereby removing the biggest threat to the realm, as Thuggory’s lands were a knife poised at the heart of the kingdom, only a day’s ride from Lake Vola. But there was the fact that he was so close to Astrid, and riding so haphazardly. It was only his knowledge about Astrid’s exceptional riding skills that kept him from interfering then and there. 

A decision he regretted only seconds later – and probably would for the rest of his life. 

It happened in an instant, too fast for him or anyone else around them to react. When Thuggory rode closer to Astrid, his stallion threw its head up and tried to bite Astrid’s gelding without warning. Astrid’s horse shied away from the aggressive stallion with a distressed whinny. She tried to reign him in, but couldn’t hold him when Thuggory’s stallion attacked again, his jaws snapping with a harsh click! that Osmund could even hear from his place yards away. When Markor bolted away from the attacking stallion, his panic infected many of the horses around him, but Osmund was less concerned about the sudden stampede than he was about the fact that Astrid was at the head of it, barely able to keep her seat as Markor ran for his life.

“After them!” he bellowed, unable to get to his daughter himself with all the jumbled horses around him. But his words drowned in the general uproar, all men around shouting over one another. It was chaos, and he barely managed to keep sight of Astrid and her horse as they set off across a field and toward a nearby copse of aspen. Again, he tried to push through the chaos, but to no avail. Thor, keep her safe! he prayed desperately, helpless to do anything. 

Then he lost sight of her completely and only a few moments later, a bloodcurdling scream thundered over the plain. The chaos grew as even more horses panicked at the noise, running off in all directions. But Osmond froze even as his steed beneath him pranced left and right, his heart stuttering painfully. No… No, he couldn’t lose her too! 

Frantically, he tried to push through the mass of milling horses and riders; most of the mounts weren’t battle-trained and were running wild, resulting in utter chaos. He kept having to halt and turn or risk a collision, but he didn’t dare stop; his eyes were darting to and fro, looking for that patch of blue and turquoise that would tell him where his daughter was. He couldn’t find her, but a moment later he spotted something else that, while still telling him nothing about where Astrid was or whether she was alright, at least somewhat eased his mind. 

There were two riders darting past the general throng, one on a big black stallion and the other one astride a smaller chestnut mare. But unlike most of the others on this ride, they were clearly still in full control of their horses, heading in the direction Astrid’s gelding had disappeared to. 

With knowing that young Eret was already coming to her help, Osmond was able to calm down somewhat, enough to concentrate on his own surroundings again. It took him a few minutes, but eventually, he managed to find a way out of the chaos as many men got their horses under control again. 

When he and a group of other men reached the copse, it took them a minute to find Astrid and Eret, the sounds of her wailing and of soft whispers leading their way. The sight that greeted them was reassuring – but still bad enough. 

From what it looked like, Astrid was unharmed with only her hair and dress ruffled from the fall. He couldn’t be entirely sure though as she was largely hiding from everyone’s view, encased in Eret’s embrace and her face buried against his chest. The same couldn’t be said for her horse though. The gelding lay a few steps away from the couple, unmoving, and with Stoick’s boy kneeling near his head.

“Oh, by Thor’s hammer!” Eret cursed as he reached his side a few moments later. He’d apparently seen the obvious too – the unnatural angle in which the gelding’s left hind leg dangled, a bloody splinter of bone sticking out from the skin, the bloody dagger lying next to his head, and the equally bloody hands of the boy stroking the dead horse’s mane. From the looks of it, the horse had stumbled, possibly in a burrow or on other uneven ground, and thrown Astrid off, who had miraculously landed uninjured... but Markor had broken his leg, and badly. Stoick’s boy had given the only mercy available to the poor beast.

During the next minutes, more men appeared around them, taking in the scene with gasps and hushed whispers. Some offered their sympathy even though nobody dared to get any closer, and Osmond doubted that Astrid heard any of that between Eret murmuring into her ear and her own sobbing and wailing. It was a strange sight and it took Osmond a minute to understand why. 

Astrid was crying. 

He tried to remember when he’d last seen her in such a state but came up empty-handed except for very early memories of her toddler years. No matter how dreadful an occasion, be it her stepmother’s funeral or the assaults on her during the past year, she’d always kept up her facade when in public, had always shown nothing but strength. For her to break down like this now… His eyes wandered back to the dead gelding, and only slowly did it dawn on him how hard this must have hit her. He wanted to go to her, too, to take his daughter into his arms and comfort her. But she wouldn’t appreciate that – even her warder kept his distance, leaving her the space she needed – so he held back.

Instead, he ordered to no-one in particular, “We will return to the castle immediately.” That would give her at least a little privacy. 

Around him, the men hustled about, delivering the message to those standing farther away. Young Eret tried to pull Astrid away from the site of the accident, and Osmond heard him murmur “Come, there’s nothing left we can do for him,” when she weakly fought against him. Eventually, she gave in though, and let him lead her toward his own horse. She was already on the stallion’s back, young Eret about to climb up behind her, when a highly unwelcome voice spoke up near them. 

“Isn’t this an unfair advantage to Sir Eret if the Princess rides with him? It’s not as if her choice is official yet, she could still change her mind.” 

Osmond gritted his teeth but kept his expression neutral as he turned toward Duke Thuggory. There was no hint of remorse on his face, even though he and his lack of control over his stallion were to blame for this accident. If only he’d interfered sooner – or had gotten rid of the traitor already.

He was about to form an answer when he caught sight of his friends’ expressions standing nearby. Eret was grimacing, clearly as enraged as Osmond was about the Duke’s behaviour, but Spitelout looked more cautious, and when he caught his eyes, he shrugged apologetically. “He has a point.”

Osmond pressed his lips into a thin line. Of course, he had a point. Not only about giving an advantage to one of her suitors, but letting her ride on a stallion was also highly inappropriate. Letting out a low sigh, his shoulders slumped down. As much as he wanted to grant her the comfort of riding with her soon-to-be-husband, he couldn’t allow it yet. His eyes wandered around, pondering the alternatives. If it were only about not giving an advantage, she could ride with him or one of the Grand Dukes, but they were all riding stallions, too, and it wasn’t really becoming of their status anyway. Her warder would be a better option, but Osmond doubted the old pony the man was riding could carry two people over such a distance. His eyes wandered on, over the guards who also all rode stallions and the servants with their full picnic baskets. None of them were suitable options either and he wasn’t sure whether to trust them with Astrid in her brittle state right now anyway. He was at a loss as to what to decide – until his eyes fell on the lonely figure still kneeling next to the horse’s corpse.

The boy rode a mare, didn’t he? In addition, he had no further weight to carry, and hadn’t he become something of a friend to Astrid, too? Also… he didn’t know the boy at all, but with what Osmund remembered about his parents, how his upbringing must have been, and how highly Daniel was thinking of him – he couldn’t help but trust in the boy’s character. 

Being satisfied with this decision, he declared in a voice which clearly didn’t tolerate protest, “The Princess will ride with Sir Eret’s squire.”

. o O o .

Here again the reminder that I can't promise there won't be a new chapter in two weeks! We're on family vacation and the next chapter is too important to be released in a half-finished state.

Next chapter

#For The Love Of A Princess #FTLOAP #Hiccstrid #Hiccstrid fanfiction #fanfiction #httyd #httyd fanfiction #Romance/Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Fluff #Hiccstrid Medieval AU #medieval au #hiccstrid royal au #royalty au

[emptymasks]

just let me check if anyone's there (avengers endgame spoilers)

Pairing: Thor & Loki (can be Thor/Loki if you want I guess)

Words: 2,381, 2 Chapters

Rating: General Audiences

Read on Ao3

Notes: So I watched Endgame today... And I feel I've already ranted on Tumblr and Discord enough about how Thor and Loki both deserved better.Sorry if there's mistakes in this. It's 2am but I had the urge to right something for these two. I'm honestly thinking about doing a re-write of the whole film, but for now this is all I have time to produce.

Also if you want to come and cry about Thor and Loki with others, check out this Discord server: https://ntb-outsider.tumblr.com/post/184520805242/join-the-were-sad-about-thor-and-loki

Chapter 1

“What do you think you’re doing?” Quill tried to knock Thor’s hands away from the screen.

“No need to worry, I’m just inputting some coordinates-“

“How many times?! I’m the Captain.”

“We’ll only be a moment, and then we can go back to wherever it is that you want us to be headed.”

“You mean where we’re supposed to be headed. Where the hell do you want to go anyway?”

“I just want to check something is all.”

Thor easily continued to dodge Quill’s grabbing hands.

“Wait… Isn’t that where we picked you up from? Where you were floating in space?” Quill asked and lowered his voice.

Thor stopped moving and clenched his fists.

“Quill… I just have to see… I have to make sure…”

“Yeah… Yeah, okay. Rocket! Change of plan, buddy.” Quill called out and went to sit back down at the front of the ship.

They continued to surprise Thor. Even as he is still learning to get along with some of them, they are some of the most understanding and accepting people he’s ever met.

It isn’t more than ten minutes before they’ve passed through the nearest jump-point and find themselves floating amidst pieces of the Grandmaster’s former ship.

“Do you want us to scan for heat signatures?” Quill asked.

“Please…” Thor stared out of the ship in earnest.

The ship glided through the rubble and Thor had to steady himself as very faint orange glows appear on the scanner.

“Is that…?” Thor tried not to choke on his own voice.

“There’s not anyone there, but there were people here not long ago. A fair amount of people by the looks of it.” Rocket explained.

“What about those colours? What do they mean?” Thor pointed out at a trail of light across the screen.

“That’s… That’s not from our scanner…” Quill glanced between the screen and out of the window.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not from our scanner? That light, that rainbow disco pathway is actually out there.”

Thor raised himself up on shaking legs. Sure enough it was there. It was faint, but it was there. It couldn’t just be a coincidence could it? He tried to reach his mind out, but his thoughts were scattering all over the place.

“Thor… Does the light mean something to you?” Rocket slid out of his chair and turned towards him.

“It… Would you all excuse me for a moment.” Thor got out of the chair and headed for the back of the ship.

He needed to concentrate. He needed to focus. If he could just block out everything around him, block out the anxiety coursing through his veins, then maybe, if he was out there, he could-

"It's been some time hasn't it."

That voice…

Thor opened his eyes and sure enough, it had worked. When Bruce had brought them back, he’d thought of Asgard, he’d thought about him. It had been worth it.

“Heimdall…” Thor clenched his fists, knowing it wasn’t possible to hug the other in his astral projected form. “It has indeed old friend… Please tell me you’re on Earth.”

"We are. It's strange... We can all remember what happened, we can remember dying, and then in what felt like no time at all, we were back. Valkyrie says it’s been five years... Your people are infinity grateful to you and your friends."

"My people…” Thor could already feel himself choking. “Are all of them there?"

"Everyone who appeared out in space-" Heimdall flickered out of Thor’s sight for a moment

"Heimdall?! Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine I’m just…” Heimdall sighed. “Being interrupted is all... I had hoped to speak with you properly… I’m worried about you..."

"Heimall… Who is interrupting you?”

"I’m sorry I- Send you now? There is no need to raise your voice at me, I’m trying to help him."

"Heimdall who are you talking to? Heimdall, when i said ‘all of them’ I meant-"

"I know, Thor, I know. I'm sorry, he won’t wait. I’ll speak to you again soon."

"Heimdall, wait!"

But Heimdall was gone. Thor tried to re-establish the connection, but it was as if Heimdall wouldn’t let him.

"Were you just sleeping standing up?"

Thor jumped. When had Quill gotten up? …When had all of them gotten up?

"I was telepathically communicating with a god who can open gateways across space."

“You were… I’m sorry what?” Quill stepped forward "You have someone who can do that and you're only mentioning this now- Ow.”

Quill glared down at Rocket.

"He was one of my best friends..."

"Ah, shit, sorry." Quill mumbled under his breath.

"Well that’s uh, really nice Thor. Congrats" Rocket glared up at Quill.

"Thank you, rabbit."

"Yeah sounds great... This friend can open gateways huh?"

"Oh yes, they shimmer and glow-"

"Rainbow colours?"

"Yes exactly!... How..." Rocket pointed at a spot behind where Thor was standing.

Nebula and Drax reached for their knives, but Quill motioned for them to stop.

The light was too bright, it was reflecting off every surface inside the ship. Thor moved a hand up to try and shield his eyes from most of the glare.

Thor could see the outline of the person in the light more clearly now, but he didn’t dare hope-

"I told you the sun would shine on us again, I see you still continue you to have little faith in me, brother."

"Loki..."

Out of the corner of his eye, Thor saw Rocket press something against the wall and suddenly there was a wall separating them from the Guardians.

Thor's fingers twitched. He wanted to reach out, to make sure he wasn't dreaming or imagining anything. He wanted to make sure this wasn’t an illusion. But if even this was real, he didn’t want to push Loki away. He didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, he couldn’t lose him again, not again…

"Oh, Thor..."

Thor hadn’t realised he’d started crying until Loki’s hands where on his face.

"You really missed me that much?" Loki laughed, but there was still that constant uncertainty behind his eyes.

"Loki..." Thor caught Loki’s hands in his own. "I am so sorry-"

"Don’t be ridiculous. You did everything you could."

"But I-"

"Thor. You did enough. I promise you, you did enough."

Sobs starting wracking through Thor’s body.

"Please..."

Loki moved his hands and allowed Thor's arms to clutch around his neck. Loki moved one of his hands to Thor's back and the other to his hair.

"It's okay. Everything's going to be okay now."

"Please don’t leave me again."

"I wont. I’m here now. I-" Thor could hear Loki's voice breaking as well. "I’m going take care of you now."

Thor was putting more and more weight onto Loki and so Loki tried his best to gently lower them to their knees, but Thor crashed down onto the metal floor.

Loki took Thor's head in his hands and rested his forehead against his own.

"I have a feeling we're being spied on" Loki said.

Thor chuckled as he heard frantic noises off to the side.

"They mean well."

"Will you stay with them?"

"I..."

"You don't have to answer now. You can think about it."

"Maybe for a bit, I think... I just wanted to spend time away from earth, away from responsibilities... I need..."

"You need time for yourself..."

"I need time as myself... I can be myself wherever you are." Thor watched Loki duck his head.

"…So, I’m stuck with these idiots until...?

"Until perhaps we find a ship of our own?"

"And by find you mean?"

Thor laughed.

"You know, now that I think about it, perhaps you and the rabbit will get along."

Chapter 2

Pain and darkness. That’s the last thing Loki remembered. His nails digging into Thanos’ wrist as red spots appeared in his vison and he felt his lungs being ripped open. He always had a back-up plan, he always had several back-up plans. But all of them seemed to be failing. He couldn’t teleport. He couldn’t use any magic. He had hoped to use more than a knife. He had hoped for that to be a distraction. But the stones were glowing and Thanos was grinning and he couldn’t use his powers. He could hear Thor screaming against his gag, but everything sounded like he was underwater. The red spots turned black and the blackness grew until there was nothing.

No vision, no sound.

Just nothingness.

And then all at once there was a pull and a flash of white and he gasped for air.

And there was actually air to be found.

Loki blinked again and again until the everything stopped looking so blurry. There were shapes moving around him, and sounds… voices he realised. A blur appeared in front of him and Loki’s eyes focused on the outstretched hand. He felt his limbs move slowly as he reached up and stumbled into the body attached to that hand.

“Easy there, my prince.” Heimdall’s voice greeted him.

“What…?” How eloquent.

“It would appear that someone has been messing around with time.”

Loki laughed. He laughed and thought he might cry.

That stubborn oaf.

Now that his eyes seemed to be cooperating with him, Loki looked around. Surely Thanos wouldn’t have left the ship… in one piece…

They were floating on pieces of rubble being held together by any magic that his people could muster up.

“Heimdall, we can’t stay here. Have you enough strength tootake us to Earth?”

“I’ll have to… We have no other options.” Heimdall turned away from him. “Everyone get as close to me as you can! And brace yourselves.”

The light started small as the tip of Heimdall’s sword slowly glowing. A circle of light slowly crawled out from beneath his feet, growing larger and larger until it encompassed all of them.

“Do you know where to land?” Loki called out.

“I can sense our people down there. They will guide me.”

And with that came the familiar pull and Loki tried not to think about how certain people would react to him being on Earth.

Once the light cleared Loki found himself looking at the ocean. This certainly didn’t look like New York… And that was probably a good thing. He turned to see houses scattered along the hill. He saw people, his people, making their way towards them.

“Out of the way!” Called a familiar voice.

“Lady Valkyrie,” Loki inclined his head.

“Your majesty,” She sounded almost breathless. “So they really did bring everyone back…”

“Is everyone else from Asgard here? Did you manage to get away alright?” Loki asked.

“You managed to keep most of them busy with you, we could handle ourselves against the rest… We weren’t sure if you all would be brought back as well. We worried it would only be those you were erased.”

“Erased?”

Valkyrie sighed and started to walk off, gesturing for Loki and Heimdall to follow her away from the crowd.

“Thanos won. He collected all of the stones and wiped out half of all life. The Avengers couldn’t live with that. They ended up finding him and killing him but that didn’t change anything. He’d already destroyed the stones. There was no way to bring people back… So of course they had the completely uncomplicated idea of using time-travel… Which somehow worked. Bruce used the stones and brought everyone back… We still lost people on the way but… We did win in the end.”

Thanos had managed to get all of the stones? And the Avengers managed to change that? Perhaps he had underestimated these mortals.

“And Thor?” Loki tried to make himself sound nonchalant.

Valkyrie looked straight through that attempt.

“He’s alive but-”

“But?”

“He’s… a mess. Losing Asgard, losing to Thanos… losing you. It broke him.”

“You don’t know him very well if you think he would give up that quickly-”

“It’s been five years, Loki.”

“It’s… It’s been what?!”

Five years... He could imagine it now. Thor trying his hardest, and failing, and failing, and failing. Over and over again. For all of his strengths, Thor drew his motivation and energy from other people… And if there was no one around to help him, to give him that strength…

“What have you been doing to him? Letting him wallow in his grief for years?!”

Valkyrie flinched as he raised his voice.

“Where is he?”

“…Space.”

“Space? Am I supposed to be satisfied with that answer?”

“Well I don’t know. He flew off in a ship with those Guardians and, hey-”

Loki pushed past her and stalked towards where Heimdall had wandered off to while he’d been talking to Valkyrie.

“…Everyone who appeared out in space-.”

“Are you talking to him? Do you know where he is?” Loki interrupted him.

“Loki, please I’m trying to- I’m sorry I-”

“Send me to him.”

“Send you now?”

“Send me to him!”

“There is no need to raise your voice at me, I’m trying to help him… I know, Thor, I know. I’m sorry, he won’t wait. I’ll speak to you again soon.”

Heimdall turned and glared at Loki.

“You're assuming I have the strength to transport people again so soon. You do realise I can’t draw power from the Bifrost anymore. Everything I’m doing has to come straight from myself.”

“And we all know you’re stronger than you let anyone know. Now, I won’t repeat myself again.”

Heimdall sighed and lent on his sword.

“Are you ready-”

“Just get on with it.”

The pull and the light was back and Loki knew it wasn’t the best idea to travel like this again so soon, but this couldn’t wait. Valkyrie had said ‘broken’… And he’d never seen her look that serious.

He could make out shapes outside of the light. Thor wasn’t alone. He supposed that was a good thing…

Oh.

Thor looked older. Yes it has been years, but Asgardians don’t age that quickly… He’d put on weight, and Loki could tell straight away that is was from drinking… Where the hell had his friends been? His precious Avengers? Leaving him to find unhealthy coping mechanisms...

The light had disappeared now.

"I told you the sun would shine on us again, I see you still continue you to have little faith in me, brother."

#endgame spoilers #avengers endgame #thor #loki #thorki #mywriting