#stow it em

[chiropteracupola]

for the colour prompt: lady stowe in dance macabre or null moon?

As beautiful as the first frost — and as cold.

#em draws stuff #the flight of the heron #the gleam in the north #lady stowe #these were both excellent palettes for her but I had to go with dance macabre because of the red and how well it worked for her Parrot #I am So afraid of her parrot by the way. wracks me with distress for reasons mysterious. #and I did not have a reference picture to work off for That otherwise it would be Scarier-Looking #the rest of it is based on nathaniel dance-holland's 1762 portrait of olive craster #which I like for its Squirrel and its Wild amounts of delicately rendered lace #which I was going to add but I found I did not actually like the look of it in my own iteration #Anyway. She :]

[absolutely-esme]

Amity Park is different

Amity Park has a local superhero.

He's great. He works hard to protect his town. That said, Amity's local hero is a teenager. The people he relies on to help and support him are teenagers. The town's superhero defense is a handful of kids figuring things out on their own.

They do good, but sometimes the people of Amity have to be prepared to lend a hand or hold their own for a bit. That's just how life is under these conditions. Communities come together and support each other. It's fine. People adapt. Life goes on. They're really doing quite well.

A class from Amity Park visits a museum in Gotham on a field trip. They get caught in an unfortunately timed Scarecrow attack.

Scarecrow should have known better than to activate the fight or flight responses of a group of Amity Parkers.

The gas canister drops and discharges. The field trip group explodes into action.

A pair of Football players quickly overturns a table and use it as a shield as they charge the goons with the most firepower. Cheerleaders toss each other into the air for aerial attacks. Nerds turn objects from a nearby Janitor closet into a surprisingly effective trebuchet with astounding speed. One girl utilizes impressive martial arts skills.

A boy with Black hair and blue eyes flits about the battlefield pilfering and disassembling weapons with a shocking degree of efficiency as a Goth girl follows him around and bludgeon anyone who attempts to make a grab for him with a stand that had been holding up a rope barrier, and a boy in a beret lays down cover fire by launching pencils out of a makeshift bow formed from a binder and rubber bands with a startling degree of accuracy.

The teacher flits around pulling kids out of the path of attacks they hadn't seen, stowing any injured behind cover, and giving foes solid thwack on the noggin when the opportunity arises. He actually ends up knocking out Scarecrow himself.

The statement "We're not trapped in here with you. You're trapped in here with us," is repeated several times by different people.

When the Bats or police arrive, they have to carefully pull the feildtrip group off of the unfortunate rogues.

It takes a while to get the antidotes administered, but they do eventually manage. The class remains in defensive formation the whole time.

When the kids finally calm down enough to give statements, they mostly just say that Scarecrow gets what he gets for deliberately activating Amity Parkers' fight or flight responses. After the antidotes take effect, the class seems unfazed and goes about their business as soon as the authorities allow.

Some other visitors to the museum upload videos of the event online with titles like "the one class that was prepared for a field trip to Gotham" and "What kind of place is Amity Park, and why haven't I heard of it before?"

It doesn't take long for people to edit the videos to set the fight to music. Popular song choices include Ballroom Blitz, Bring 'em Out by Hawk Nelson, and the "we like to party" song from the six flags commercial.

Now the Bats are investigating Amity Park (and why they haven't heard of it before).

#dpxdc #dcxdp #Amity Parkers are OP #Amity Parkers are like that #Casper High has gone Feral #The goons are gonna have nightmares about a town where all kids are like Robin

[asyourshadowfalls]

liz got me a kindle as a birthday gift, purely to read fanfic on. she's fantastic

#she was genuinely worried i wouldnt be a fan bc i hate amazon #and like yeah i wouldve suggested not buying from amazon #but i still really appreciate her gift #she also got me a puzzle mat so i can do puzzles and stow them away since i dont have the space for em always out #personal

[neil-gaiman]

Id like to let you know that I recently lost my annotated and very well-loved copy of Fragile Things in the San Diego Airport.

Rather, I lent it to a goth kid who'd been sitting next to me and wanted to know if I had an Android charger. I did. She plugged her phone in, and a pinhole light on the screen blinked into life. We both looked at the otherwise dead screen for a moment, and I asked her where she was flying to. New York, she said.

Then she asked me what book I was reading - Fragile Things, I told her, by the same guy who wrote Coraline. What's it *about*, though, she asked again.

Im at best a mediocre writer, so I rather gave her the book than trying to explain things myself. I figure some folks get Hugos for writing stories, and I should let 'em do it.

She didnt seem to mind my scribbles in the margins, and it was fun, watching a painted face that looked so somber and serious just a few minutes ago smile. A Study in Emerald had its surprising share of humour. After a while, I stopped paying attention and scrolled absentmindedly through my phone.

Then I hear my flight called - San Diego to Philadelphia, the boarding now, group C, C as in Coconut. I grab my bag, my phone, my ticket, pat my pockets down for my passport, my overstuffed backpack, precariously balanced on my carryon luggage, my headphone wires tangled in the strap of my purse and jerked out of my ears. I trot hastily over to the gate check - a smile, a beep, and I'm shuffled down the gangway and into the plane. My things stowed, and myself cozy against the window.

This was when I went to reach for my book, and realised that it was missing - still nestled comfortably in the hands of a 15-odd goth.

I miss my book. It had many memories in it, beyond the stories told there. My grandfather was still alive when i first read Fragile Things, and he was the one who gave it to me. But I hope that the kid who has it now will also love the stories you wrote. I hope maybe she will remember me and our little story, that we now share. Maybe she will also keep other memories of her own in there.

It seems an oddly fitting way for me to part with this book. It was an old fragile thing, given to me by a fragile man, and left to a child with whom i had only a fragile, tenuous connection.

Or maybe I'm reading too much into things, i don't know.

At any rate, if you read all this rambling, thank you mister Gaiman.

I hope it was the book she needed.

[moonstruckme]

i’ve been meaning to request this for awhile because i love the idea, what if poly!marauders x animagus!reader and reader’s animal counter part is a raccoon so they call reader bandit as their nickname for the group. and maybe reader naturally has dark circles under their eyes and they prefer to be awake at night? maybe they steal little tokens from their partners like rings and shirts all the time too lol. idk if this interests you but if so i’d love to read it babes! -🌶️

Hi Pepper! This was my first attempt at writing animagus!reader and it felt a bit clumsy but I hope you like it! Thanks for requesting my love <3

poly!marauders x animagus!reader ♡ 742 words

“Where are they?” Sirius asks, stalking into the common room. 

Remus doesn’t look up from his book, not needing to wonder who Sirius is asking about. “They crashed right after class.” He glances out the window. “But it’s almost dark, they should be up soon. Missing something?”

“My rings.” Sirius holds up ten bare fingers. “Took them off to shower after class, and now they’re gone.” 

“Ew,” James says, coming in with two cups of tea. He passes one to Remus, handle first. “It’s like you’re naked.” 

Sirius harrumphs. “You wish, Prongs.” 

“Have you tried checking their stash?” Remus asks, flipping his page. 

Both James and Sirius look at him quizzically. “You know where it is?” 

Remus sighs. His bones creak and pop as he stands. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll show you.” 

Your boyfriends mostly stay out of their dorm during the day because it’s so quiet and dreary. You’ve got all the curtains drawn shut, not even the tiniest ray of sunlight allowed to permeate your den, and you’ve burrowed underneath the covers of your bed for good measure. Remus leads the boys to the top corner of your bed, pointing to what appears to be a pile of shirts you’ve stowed behind the bedpost. 

James crouches bemusedly, but at Remus’ nod, he pulls the top shirt aside. Sirius sees the glint of metal and drops to his haunches beside James, looking at the treasures you’ve nestled within the pile of shirts. He curses quietly, gathering the rings he’d been wearing that morning along with some he hadn’t seen for months. They clink together in his palm, and not a second later, he and James look up at the sound of rustling sheets. 

Your face emerges from beneath the covers, and Sirius thinks amusedly that it’s almost like you’re peering out from the mouth of a very plush cave. “What’re you doing?” you ask, words slurred together with sleep. Less so when your eyes narrow on the rings in Sirius’ hand. “Those are mine.” 

Sirius can’t help it; he laughs, and you glare at him (you’re really not as intimidating as you’d like to think, even with the darkness that rings your eyes and makes you look like a cartoon villain). “Oh, are they?” he asks you. “I seem to recall purchasing them some time ago.” 

“Since when did you purchase them?” James asks, rising from his crouch to sit next to you on the bed. He pets your hair, and you relax as if you might go back to sleep, though you’re still tracking Sirius’ hand with watchful eyes. “You told me you stole them from your mum.” 

“Well,” Sirius huffs. “Finders keepers.” 

“Exactly,” you say grouchily. “So put them back.” 

“Sorry, Bandit.” Sirius drops a conciliatory kiss on your temple as he slides a few of the rings on and stows the others in his pocket. “I found ‘em this time. Anyway, at least when I steal things, I actually use them. Keeping them stashed under your bed is criminal.” 

You grumble, but you can’t rally much resentment with James’ fingernails scratching at your scalp so pleasantly. 

“I think they do it to feel close to us,” Remus muses, giving you an appraising look. You won’t meet his eyes. “I mean, they’ve got your rings under there, Pads, and one of Prongs’ old necklaces, and some of my sweaters.” James coos as you sink further back into your burrow, and Remus smiles. “Did I get that right, sweetheart?” 

Sirius knows that tone. Remus is laying it on thick and extra sweet, trying to get you to squirm. And it’s working; you won’t look up from where you’re toying with the hem of the sheets, but your face takes on a pinkish hue. You start tearing the edge of your sheet into little strips between your fingers. 

“Oi.” James takes your hand prisoner in his. “Don’t start on that, we’ve already had to replace all the curtains.” 

“Is that true, baby?” Sirius wheedles, giving you his most saccharine smile. “Do you take our things because you love us?” 

You huff, your embarrassment revealed by the way you begin playing with James’ fingers. “Obviously I love you. You know that already. And you have nice things, so think whatever you want.” 

Remus chuckles. “Alright, we will.” 

“I can’t believe it.” Sirius looks down at you, raising an eyebrow when you glare. “Our Bandit’s a thief with a heart of gold.”

#poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x animagus!reader #animagus!reader #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders x y/n #poly!marauders x self insert #poly!marauders fanfiction #poly!marauders fic #poly!marauders fanfic #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders drabble #poly!marauders scenario #poly!marauders one shot #poly!marauders oneshot #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #the marauders #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #hp marauders

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Ghost x City Girl Reader

You and Ghost going off to have a quick smoke turns into something else entirely, after pushing one too many of his buttons tonight.

NSFW 18+ EXPLICIT Shameless Smut, Porn with little Plot, Graphic Description, Teasing, Fliritng, Light Build-Up, Dom Ghost, Brat Reader, Rough Sex, Car Sex, Oral (both), Choking, Spanking, Hair-Pulling, Doggy, Creampie, Reader smokes, Reader is also mean, but so is Ghost in this, but there's chemistry, I hope, you're just getting manhandled, but who doesn't like that ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ"

Word Count: 3.1k

Part One | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Not Required!

Masterlist

Here's the final part to this two parter! It can definitely be read as a one-shot if preferred. Part One is just more build-up for the smut if you prefer it. But yeah, now for the moment we were all waiting for. I hope you enjoy~

Ghost scrounged about the inside of his car, moving over spare jackets and bags, popping open the glove box, until he's found the cigarettes he'd stowed away.

He had parked his car a considerable distance from the club, having found some secluded lot that looked more like a tucked away alleyway than anything else.

Your only complaint had honestly been the walk itself, having spent the past hour or so drinking and dancing in heels. Of course, he wouldn't have cared whether or not you came along. He would have his smoke either way.

The night air is brisk this late into it; the only people on the streets now were those still looking to bar hop. With how far the club was, it was safe to say you would not be disturbed.

Ghost extends a large arm towards you, offering you a smoke.

You take it from him, placing it between your lips and leaning forward so that he could light it for you. Once lit, you lean back against his car, inhaling the nicotine and letting the headrush run through you as you exhaled. Finally, you thought.

"Took you long enough to find 'em," you say. "God damn."

Ghost groans, "Shut up."

Ghost reaches for the bottom of his mask and hooks his finger beneath it, before bringing the fabric up to the bridge of his nose, revealing the lower half of his face -- strong, scarred, and with a light stubble. His slightly tattered lips clasp over his cigarette, as he cups his large hands over his mouth to light it.

While you've never seen him fully unmasked before, there have been times you've caught half of him like this, which hadn't been nearly enough to paint the whole picture, as he knew. You imagined he looked pretty decent under there, given what you have seen. Or you liked to imagine.

The complete and utter tension you see leave him once he's finally able to take his drag is nearly cartoonish. His shoulders slack and he blows the smoke up towards the stars, and let's the city ambience take its place, before you've gone ahead and laughed to yourself.

The silence fell quickly and heavy between you two as the time drew on. Ghost felt content enough just finishing his one and then heading back to join the others. He also had been pretty content with the possibility of seeing what were to happen here, if he were to give you a chance to be around him like this.

He could tell the silences made you uncomfortable. You kept making jokes, some at his expense, some not. You asked him questions, though sparingly, regarding topics and things you haven't had the chance to ask prior. Ghost's replies were short and unmotivated, but he would answer you.

Before long, had his cigarette not gotten lower, he may have lost track of time out here with you. If he hadn't already known you, he may have actually found you a pleasant woman to be around tonight.

Yet even alongside your more magnetic traits, that bratty side of you never quite went away.

At some point you thought it would be entertaining to start blowing your smoke at him every time you took a drag. You'd do so deliberately, making sure your eyes were locked, before bringing your lips to a low pucker and blowing. You'd smile when Ghost would glare afterwards, as if to tell him nonverbally that even now, you didn't give a fuck what he thought.

"Blow that somewhere else," he tells you once.

You cock your head to the side mockingly, already prepared to do the exact opposite of what he was asking. "Or what?"

He doesn't respond.

You laugh to yourself now, debating on whether it would he worth to push his buttons right now. To you, there was always time to.

"What if I like blowing it there?" You ask playfully, and then, you blow more smoke at him.

Ghost turned his head, letting the cloud bubble roll over him as he took another drag himself. He knew that sooner or later something was gonna start, whether it had been from you or him. Usually it was you though.

"Here you go playing the bitch again," he comments. "Suppose old habits die hard."

"You still won't do shit, Manchester." You take another drag from your cigarette and blow it at the lieutenant, watching the white smoke veil around his mask and break apart like a thin sheet. Beneath the white, his dark eyes leer at you with magnitude.

"If you blow that smoke in my face one more time," he warns you. "I'll show you what I'll do about it."

You chuckle, and immediately take another drag, feeling his eyes watch you finish off the end of your cigarette in a single inhale. You always love when men try and tell you what you can and can't do, as if you'll actually listen to them. Helps you weed out the men who are really about it.

And you were seconds away from learning just how "about it" Ghost was.

You turn your head to him slyly, a bratty smile perking on your lips, and then, you pucker up your lips and blow, watching the smoke bubble over him and the course of your night change forever.

Ghost pushes himself off from leaning on his car, before flicking his cigarette to the side and taking two large steps in your direction. Before you knew it, this hulking, shadowy mass of man was standing right in front of you, ticked off, and still very much riled up about earlier.

He takes the cigarette from your hand and flicks it to the side, making you scoff.

"I wasn't finished with that yet." You move to shove him, only Ghost's large hands have already taken hold of both your wrists.

He takes your arms and brings them above your head, until you've felt the cold steel of the car against your bare arms, Ghost pinning your arms with a single hand to your wrist.

For the first time in years, you address him by a name other than 'Manchester', as you instead gasp out, "Ghost?" somewhere within the exchange. Hearing it damn near brings chills down his spine, knowing now what upper hand he's now gotten over you.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you," he says, his voice so low and gravelly you almost forget yourself. "Always pushin' limits you'd best leave alone." Ghost tells you commandingly, "Listen the first time."

Now, being a Task Force member yourself, you were in better shape than the average woman. Some regular Joe ever grabs you like this and they'd be down on the ground in less than 10 seconds. Ghost was not some regular Joe. His one hand alone could hold both your wrist comfortably. He squeezes tightly when you struggle and pull.

If Ghost wanted to, he could kill you right here, and you both knew that.

So you stop trying to resist him, your expression growing coy. This is a power play, a game of dominance now. You've been playing for years, and you've had the lead. You weren't about to give him that now.

You lick your lips, smiling as you see his eyes dip down to take a quick look. You then lean your head forward somewhat, looking up at the lieutenant daringly, as you see the fire burning in his rageful eyes.

"Make me."

In a flash, Ghost uses his other hand to open the car door behind you, before practically throwing you onto the backseat. His car was rather spacious, all things considered, having just enough wiggle room to move around without having to awkwardly crane yourself. Or it was like that for you at least.

The second Ghost enters the vehicle after you, the space couldn't feel any smaller. You hear the car door click shut behind you and the interior lights shut. Shut off from the outside world. Away from the club, parked somewhere far off a ways in the dead of night. The only reality that existed before you now was whatever ideas Ghost had buzzing in his twisted mind.

Ghost hovers over you on the backseat, his arms boxing you in as he just takes his time to really look at you.

"If you wanna act like a slag, then I'll treat you like the slag you are."

Ghost starts to unbuckle his jeans, and immediately you know where this is going. You bite your lip with anticipation, having spent years wondering what he was slinging. Seeing that excited glint in your eyes only makes him harder, ready to give you what you've always fantasized about, deep down.

He unsheathes himself from his jeans, your eyes pausing on the sheer largeness of his cock. He could barely fit it in his hand, it was so big, its girth already looking a slight size too big for you. You almost make an awestruck comment.

"On your knees," he beckons. "Now."

As brats do, you ignore his order, continuing to sit back and await a pleasurable punishment. And punish he does.

Ghost gives you about three seconds before he's reached over and taken a handful of your hair, pulling you up from the seat and roughly forcing you onto your knees in front of him.

"Now," Ghost uses your hair to crane your neck back, that way so you could look at him. Your doe-like eyes flutter with lustful yearning, merely waiting to taste him, your lips already wet from licking them. He could just lean down and kiss you, your mouth never looked so inviting. It brings a short pause, before he could deny you no longer. "How 'bout you put that bratty little mouth of yours to some good use, princess."

Before you can make a remark, Ghost takes your opening mouth and brings himself to your lips, before pretruding inside. Your warm lips wrap around him, your hands resting on the sides of his thighs to have a better grip, as you go to town.

He barely had to guide you to start, your head bobbing back and forth as you sucked his cock like a popsicle, letting your tongue blanket around him each time he's let out a gruff moan of appraisal and driven himself deeper into your mouth.

Your eyes looked up at him, watching him cock his head back pleasurably when you've gagged, your saliva coating his cock with sweet lubricant. His grip on your hair tightens, his hips thrusting deeper until he's felt the back of your throat, taking the oxygen from you at each thrust.

His pumping grew more relentless, as did his tight grip on your hair. Your light gags and delicate fingers digging into his sides did little to slow his movements, merely serenading this animal-like lust you've brought out of him. And you didn't want him to stop, either. This aggression excites you. There hadn't been a man able to meet such highs as this.

Ghost could go all night like this, having you choking on his cock after driving him to his wits end for so long. He's dreamed of nights like this. Of finally shutting you up. And those dreams didn't stop here.

Ghost pulls you away from him, throwing you onto your back. You gasp out, still trying to catch your breath. "Finished so soon?" You tease.

"I'm just gettin' started."

He pries your legs open, pushing your dress up and revealing the black little thong you had on underneath your fishnet stocking. His fingers, which dig roughly into your thigh, only make the arousal you felt in your core erupt more.

"Is it my turn?" You ask cutely.

"Not sure you deserve it," he teases.

You pout now. "Wasn't that just the best head you had a second ago-"

Ghost interrupts you by smacking your ass roughly, the sheer force making your thigh ripple and the sound bounce within the entire vehicle, as the sting of his touch lingers. You moan lightly.

"Say please," he tells you.

"Or what?"

Ghost answers your childish question with another smack to your ass. You see the rules now. Laughing to yourself, you cross your arms and smile at the lieutenant. It's been a long time since you've had a good spanking.

His hand has made a print on both your ass cheeks by the time you've caved, feeling as the moans you released and the tears that pooled in your eyes fuel each smack he brought down. The more stubborn you were now, the more he intended to make up for it later.

He smacks your ass another time, your skin a new shade of dark pink. A moan leaves your lips and you finally whimper out, "...Please."

In a flash the man takes your fishnet stockings and tears them open, until its discarded remnants have fallen to the floor, soon joined by your panties. Your cunt is bare open to him, already dripping onto his seats like a fresh beverage.

Ghost dives down to your pussy as though he'd been starved of it his whole life, letting his mouth engulf your clit. You feel his tongue massage over the sensitive bud, his hot breath complimenting his sucking and flicking that was at such a fast pace it'd grown overwhelming.

The moans you cry out you can't even help, your body wanting to wiggle and writhe to the stimulation. However, Ghost keeps you pinned down, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly that it could leave bruises.

His tongue work is savage and relentless and perfect, his tongue dipping down from your clit and to your core, where he laps up every bit that cries out of you.

"Ghost," you pant out. "I'm gonna-"

He pulls himself away, leaving your cunt throbbing for relief. Your eyes look up to him, nearly in tears that he's stopped. Now that his mask was up, however, you see the cocky smile painted on his lips.

"Beg."

Deep in your stubborn heart, you wanted to not beg. Make him work for it like you've been making him work since you met him. But frankly, your cunt hurt, you needed him bad.

"I need you," you beg. "I want you so fucking bad right now."

"Say my name."

Now you knew he was on a power trip. And damn right he was, because he always knew he'd have you at his mercy like this if this were to happen. He couldn't wait for this.

His name's not Manchester. He figures it's about time you knew that.

You swallow your pride, and say quietly, "Simon."

"I want to hear you say it when I fuck you."

"Then fuck me already, Simon."

With little warning, Ghost takes hold of you and flips you around onto your stomach. Instinctively, you get on your knees and prop your ass up in the low doggy position, looking around for what immediate things you could hold on to as you listened to Ghost bring down his pants.

You feel him bring his cock to you, the heat of your pussy bouncing off your skin and making the man's member tremble with precum. He lets it rub against you, letting your juices make a mess over his tip and your knees shake, waiting.

"Ugh," you whine. "Give it to me already-"

Ghost shoots himself roughly into you, the base of his cock slapping hard against your pussy and immediately hitting your sweet spot. The sheer length and girth of it on its way in is so large and prominent you've felt the sensation of it travel from the pit of your gut to your lungs. It's immediately followed by another hard thrust, as they start to come in quick succession soon after.

Ghost pounds you silly, his cock forcibly stretching the walls of your cunt until he's shaped himself inside you, the smacking of his base to your pussy beating in the car like a drum. To keep your back arched he's grabbed your hair again, keeping your head cocked back so that his other hand can stay wrapped around your throat, squeezing each time he's felt your pussy tighten over him.

You were drooling he fucked you so hard, tears running down your face and moans feeling like gurgle chaos spilling out your mouth each time he squeezed another orgasm out of you. You had Ghost just as riled too.

The man pumped into you as though he had just been enlightened, low growls and heavy breaths spilling from his lips like you've never heard before. When his hands weren't busy choking you or smacking your ass, they were exploring you, massaging your breast and gripping your sides to pound even harder, as if he could go any deeper, his chest pressing into your back just wanting to stay in you.

The moans all but hiccup out of you now, your tongue laced with his name as you cry it out for him to hear, each time you've felt him pulsate back inside you.

"That's it, love," he all but whispers into your ear, teeth searing faintly into the soft cartilage. "You can take it."

Ghost grits his teeth now, holding in shaky grunts as you feel his cock throb in you. You knew what was coming at this point, no pun intended.

You moan, "Give me everything you've got, Simon."

The blend of emotions between the arousal he felt below and the sweetness of your tone erupt the man past his point. You feel his body shake on top of you, the veins of his cock throbbing, as he pumped your pussy full of himself, watching it drip from you after he's pulled out.

You both sit in his car, hot and out of breath, now unsure of the time or what you planned on doing after. As you watch Ghost clean himself up and bring his mask back down, not having said a word to you since that brief escapade, you sit in his backseat thinking.

He pulls out another cigarette and seats himself beside you with a heavy sigh, before passing you a smoke for yourself. After that performance, you both could use one. You lean over and let him light the end, before taking a long-needed drag and blowing it out the window. You watch him do the same.

"Hey Manchester," you say. You see Ghost roll his eyes and sigh at the nickname, however, it's not as cold as it once was before. "Maybe I shoulda been callin' you Big Ben instead, yeah?"

Ghost groans, "Please, don't."

Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoy! I honestly really do enjoying posting and interacting with all of you. I've always been so awkward (still am), but this has really been fun. So, Thank you for engaging with my stuff, it really means a lot.

ヾ(*´ ∇ `) Part Three

Taglist (thought you might be interested ʅ(́ ◡◝)ʃ): @cabreezer0117 @13thprogenitor @deadbranch

#ghost x reader #ghost smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost mwii #call of duty #modern warfare ii #mwii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mw2022 #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost #Spotify

[twola]

27 please oh my gosh

“Let’s for a moment -” your breathless voice rasps in-between kisses planted on your lips, “pretend ‘bout settlin’ down.”

“Hm, whereabouts?” Arthur rumbles in your ear as his lips start tracing your jawline. His skin is warm on yours, he’s spread out beside you on the rickety old bed.

Rain pounds on the dirty glass window further down the wall. Having been caught out in an autumn storm, the two of you were utterly soaked when you stumbled across this abandoned cabin. Stowing the horses under an old overhang, the two of you made your way inside, where Arthur began a fire in the old fireplace with wood from a broken chair. Wringing the water from your hair, you frown as droplets run down your elbow from your shirt.

“We should lay these clothes out and let ‘em dry.” Arthur states matter of factly as he steps away from the fireplace, unbuttoning his denim work shirt.

Your eyebrow cocks as you notice a sly grin start to peak out from under the rim of that old hat of his.

Yes, yes, that’s how you ended up here, with Arthur’s bedroll spread out beneath you, wrapped up in each other’s naked bodies.

“Dunno, somewhere quiet.” Your hand presses against his chest, the pad of your thumb finding his nipple and rubbing at it as it pebbles.

He groans against your neck, and against your belly, you feel the length of him, hard and hot and ready for you.

“Jus think,” you sigh breathily, your other hand finding the nape of his neck and letting your fingers intertwine with his hair, “A little cabin, a couple of horses, maybe a dog.”

“I’d finally make an honest woman outta you.” Arthur presses up onto his elbow and presses his lips to yours again.

“Even with a ring on my finger, you know you could never call me an honest woman.” You laugh against his smile, and his hand trails down your side to your hip, taking a greedy handful of your rear that makes you yelp playfully.

“Wouldn’t expect anythin’ less.” Arthur pulls you underneath him, desperate to continue down the lustful path the two of you were on.

Your hand lands softly upon his cheek, giving him pause. His eyes find yours, and he stops, laying his forearms on either side of your head, keeping most of his weight off of you.

“I want a baby.”

It's if lightning struck him. His eyes widen and his heart thumps loud as thunder in his chest.

“Sweetheart…” he trails off, laying his forehead down on the bedroll next to your head, and your arms encircle his shoulders, warm and gentle.

“I know it wouldn't replace your boy, but…”

He pushes himself up again, not making eye contact with you as he sits up, extracting himself from your embrace and sitting on the side of the bed, gaze trained on the fire across the room.

You rocket up to sit next to him, your hand finding his and pulling it to your lips. He lets out a long breath.

“Y’know how shitty a father I’ve been.”

“You’ve grown since then, Arthur. I've seen you with Jack. I know it would be different.”

He gives a mirthless laugh. “Ain’t any different from my own daddy. Jus’ a criminal lowlife.”

Your hand squeezes his, “Look at me.”

He turns his head slowly and your hand finds his cheek again.

“You’re kind and care about people. You try not to hurt people that don’t deserve it. We live a hard life - so do plenty of folks.”

His eyes dart downward and you tug gently at his chin to make him look back at you again.

“I…-” your voice is small as you trail off, swallowing, “All I wanna do is give you a boy with them eyes of yours to chase around. Or a girl with your smile that has you wrapped ‘round her little finger. I just… I want to give you that.”

It’s your turn to look away, suddenly regretful of even bringing your secret wish up. You retract your hand from his cheek and it slowly floats down toward your lap.

But then…

A calloused finger brushes against your collarbone. You look back up at him and drown in the depth of his blue eyes.

“No… I hope they get their momma’s looks.” Arthur whispers before leaning into to capture your lips.

The overwhelming joy in your heart rushes out like a wave crashing on the shoreline. You climb back into Arthur’s embrace and kiss him back until the both of you are breathless.

Breathless, breathless, as he tips you backward in that bed. Breathless, breathless as he presses himself inside you.

Breathless, breathless as he pours his love into you. It is not until later, with the rain still pounding against the windows as night falls, that the two of you are able to catch your breath, intertwined in the rickety old bed, drifting off into dreams of the future.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #miniprompt #twolafic #prompt request

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Burning Hearts Chapter 9

Pairing: Law x Straw Hat Zoan Type (named) OC 

Summary: *SLOW BURN BUT IT GETS HOT HERE* You were teleported across the globe in an instant, away from your crew. Your body was badly broken and beaten, thrust into the harsh landscape of a Northern island. You are discovered by the Heart Pirates and brought back to health. Startled upon waking up in a foreign place with an unfamiliar crew, you are shocked with the news that you’ll be spending two years there. Trafalgar Law, the captain of the Heart Pirates has made a promise to train you, but will it become something more than a mentor relationship?

WC: 2800

Taglist: @cottoncandyloverrrr @nothing-but-brass @zoros-fourth-sword

Burning Hearts Chapter 9: Carpe Momentum (Seize the Moment)

— — 

The summer heat had crept in. The trees on the island were full and green, the wildlife was emerging from their slumber, and the ocean waters surrounding the area began to warm. But your favorite part of course, was how lush and bountiful the garden was looking. Each night you were bringing in baskets full of fresh produce and cooking a huge meal to feed the Heart Pirates. Your efforts were met with great praise from the crew, but you didn’t care, you just loved having a garden again. 

You also turned one of the storage sheds with a skylight into a makeshift grow house for your *special* plants… Law had either not noticed it yet or was making a choice to ignore it. 

It was a hot, muggy morning and you were knelt down in the garden harvesting fresh garlic and asparagus for the soup you had planned to prepare tonight. You hummed one of Brook’s signature tunes to yourself as you dug your shears into the soil. Suddenly,  you hear the heavy door to the base swing open. You turn your head and place your hand over your brow to block the sunlight from obscuring your vision. 

It was Penguin. He waves as he walks towards you. You return the wave. 

“Hey!” 

“Howdy. What brings you into my dojo?” You smile.

“Captain’s called a meeting. Said to meet in 15 minutes.”

“Thanks, I’ll head in. You want a strawberry? Just picked em.” You hold out a large, bright red berry. 

“Oh man, do I!!” Penguin greedily snatches the berry and gobbles it up. He smiles at its sweet taste. “Are you sure you can’t stay here forever? I don’t think I can go back to rice balls and chicken breast after this.” 

You chuckle. 

“Spend some time out here and learn to do it yourself! Once you can grow your own food, you won’t miss me at all, I promise.” 

“Hey, I think we’d still miss you. Anyway, see you in 15.” Penguin jogged back into the base and shut the door. 

You finished packing your basket full of produce and stand up. You dust the dirt off your gardening apron and pull your gloves off, stowing them in the basket. You head into the base, wondering what Law had schemed up now. 

— — 

You sat in a wheelie chair in the meeting room with your feet up on the conference table. 

“He’s gonna tell us he’s an Emperor now or something.” Ikkaku sits next to you and lazily runs her fingers through her curls. 

“Pfffttt.” You stretch your arms over your head. “Unless one of the four has a heart attack, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Law enters the crowded room and his crew straightens in their seats. You however, just turn your head in his direction. 

“As I’m sure most of you know, we’re low on supplies. So, I will be taking some of you in the Tang tomorrow to the nearest inhabited island to stock up. It may be a day trip, it may be overnight, depending on the sea condition and weather. Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo, you’ll be coming with me. The rest of you will stay here.”

“Wait, I want to go!” You drop your legs to the floor and sit up.

“No, you’ll stay here. I want to make sure your ankle is healed.” 

“Come on! I haven’t left this place since I got here. It’s been months. My ankle is fine. I’ve been wearing these jumpsuits and Ikkaku’s hand me downs this whole time,” You nod towards Ikkaku. “No offense.” 

She puts up her hands. 

“None taken.”

“Please, let me go with you.” You stand up and meet Law’s eyes. He sighs. A long pause follows your plea. 

“Fine. You’ll keep a low profile. We leave at 8 AM. Carry on.”

“Yes!” You clasp your hands together. 

Law exits the meeting room.

“Wait, does this mean we’re getting more booze tomorrow…?” Penguin speaks up.

“Meaning that we can drink everything we have tonight…?” Shachi rubs his hands together. 

You turn back to the crew and grin. 

“YES!” You all shout together, a few crew members sharing high fives. 

— — 

You sigh in relief as you rinse the grit and grime from both training and your work in the garden off of your body. The hot water was cascading through your hair therapeutically. 

You finish washing your tresses and turn off the water. Upon exiting the shower stall in your towel, you find Ikkaku at the counter, contents of your small cosmetic bag spilled out on the sink. 

“You said I could borrow some makeup any time, sorry I didn’t ask!”

“You’re fine! I meant it, really any time.” You start to dry your hair with another towel and you notice Ikkaku applying some eyeliner… badly. 

“Do you… want help?” You cock your head and smirk. 

Ikkaku sighs. 

“Very much. Yes. I look like Pagliacci.”

You look at each other and smile. 

“But doctor!” You yell. 

“I AM PAGLIACCI!” Ikkaku responds. 

You both burst into laughter. 

Once composing yourself, you sit on the counter next to Ikkaku and begin to apply the makeup to her lids. “So… what inspired this little makeover?” You ask.

“Nothing…” Ikkaku says quietly. 

“This wouldn’t have to do with the bouquet of flowers I saw Penguin taking from my garden last week, would it?” You cock your head. 

“Definitely not.” Ikkaku tries to hide a smirk as you brush mascara onto her lashes. 

“Right, of course.” You smile. “Ok done. Open.” 

Ikkaku opens her eyes and turns her head to look in the mirror. She gasps softly. 

“Perfect!” 

“Perfect indeed. Now hurry up and let me get ready, there’s booze to drink!”

“You’re right, we have to get a head start so the boys don’t guzzle it all.” 

— — 

After spending the next hour getting ready, You and Ikkaku join the rest of the crew in the galley… minus Law, that is. The double metal doors swing open and the two of you walk in. You are both met with open mouths and wide eyed stares. 

“Wow, Ikkaku you look…” Penguin begins. 

“Like a girl! Wow!” Shachi interjects. 

“Ok, asshole. Not my fault you’ve never seen one before. Where’s the booze?” She asks after rolling her eyes at her crew mate. 

“I’m glad you asked! I poured all the rest of the liquor we had in a trash bin, then filled it with soda and Daisy’s strawberries. It sounds terrible, but I promise it’s good!”

“You used my fruit to make jungle juice? You heathen!” You slap Shachi hard from across the counter. He shudders. You look down at the pink concoction below you. “I will have some, though…” 

You grab a plastic cup and scoop some of the punch up and take a sip. 

“Gross… but drinkable.” You nod your head back and forth, contemplating the flavors. You scoop another cup full of punch and hand it to Ikkaku. “Bottoms up, girlie.” You cheers your glasses as she takes hers from your hand. 

— — 

An hour of drinking games goes by and you find yourself seated at the dining room table in a game of Never Have I Ever. 

“Never have I ever peed in the bathroom sink!” Ikkaku glares at many of the male members of the crew as she spits out her question. 

“Oh my god…” 

Several crew members groan and put a finger down and take a drink. You definitely don’t. You make a mental note to be careful of where you leave your toothbrush. 

The door to the galley swings open and Law enters quietly wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt. 

“Captain! Come drink and play with us! There’s plenty more!” Penguin drunkenly waves towards his captain. 

“No, that’s quite alright. I have work to do.” Law stoically replies. 

You roll your eyes. You stand up and approach the booze bucket ro refill your cup. You grab another cup it and fill it as well. You extend the cup towards Law’s chest. 

“Come on. One drink won’t kill you.” You wink. 

Law gulps. 

“I… I guess it wouldn’t…” He hesitantly accepts the cup and joins you at the table. As he sat down he was met with riotous cheers from his crew that he tried to wave away. 

“Ok so, we’re playing Never Have I Ever. Put up 5 fingers and every time someone says something you’ve done you put one down and drink. If you get to 0, you have to finish your drink.” Shachi nervously explains the rules to his straight edge captain. 

“Seems easy enough.” 

“Great. Well, Peng, it’s your turn.” 

“Ah yes! Never have I ever… been a Straw Hat Pirate!” Penguin laughs as he finishes his sentence. 

“Oh that’s such bullshit…” You put your pointer finger down and take a big swig of your drink. 

You could have sword you saw Law smile. 

“Ok ok my turn!” Bepo claps his paws. “Never have I ever, not been a polar bear mink!”

The room groans and everyone reaches for their beverage. 

“Never have I ever… kissed a man!” Shachi shouts. 

You look at Ikkaku and you both roll your eyes.

“We have to start adding more rules to this game before I get alcohol poisoning.” Ikkaku complains as she takes a drink.

“Big agree.” You sigh as you take another sip.

“We have to sabotage someone else, or else we’re on the floor.” She whispers to you. 

*easy* you think. 

“Never have I ever performed heart surgery.”  You say confidently. 

Law turns his head to look at you, he smirks. He drinks. 

“Never have I ever cut someones arms off…” Ikkaku follows up. 

You and Law both reach for your glasses… hey, you were a pirate? Who’s to judge?

“… and put them back on someone else!” Ikkaku continues. 

You draw back your hand and laugh. 

Law rolls his eyes and drinks. 

“Never have I ever grown illicit drugs in the storage shed in the yard.” Law blinks slowly with a sneaky smile. 

You chuckle, put a finger down and drink. 

You throw your hands up and whisper, “oops!” With a snigger. 

The game rounds the circle once again and many of you were close to losing. Your cheeks were hot and pink from the risqué questions and the alcohol coursing through your system. Both you and Law were on your third cup of alcohol, he was clearly handling his better than you were. 

You had the giggles, bad. 

“Never have I ever….. gone skinny dipping!” You laugh. 

“Obviously, you can’t fucking swim!” Penguin responds and everyone laughs. 

Next to you, you notice Ikkaku put her last finger down and finish her drink. 

“I’m out. I should quit while I’m ahead.” She stands from the table, wobbles for a bit, before excusing herself to her room. 

“I-, um” Penguin stands up awkwardly. “I should um, walk you back to your room! Make sure you get there safe, you know?” 

“Oh.. okay?” Ikkaku moves to leave the galley with Penguin behind her. 

After a few moments of silence, Shachi breaks the barrier. 

“I hope they finally do it, I’m so tired of hearing about it.” 

“What?”

“Dude where have you been? They’ve been flirting for MONTHS… you seriously haven’t noticed?” You question. 

“Hmm… guess I haven’t noticed.” Law huffs. 

“Whatever. Moving on. Never have I ever… been in a relationship.” Shachi states. 

You drink. 

Law drinks. 

All of your heads spin to Bepo, who was taking a sip…

“Bepo?!?” You question. 

“We were just kids! She kissed me on the playground! I think it counts!” 

The room erupts into laughter, including Law. 

“You never told me that one, Bepo! I’d love to hear more!” Law lets out a surprisingly loud laugh.

“Come on, Captain, it’s not like you ever talk about that sort of thing!” Bepo shoots back, his fluffy white cheeks tinged red. 

After the laughter subsides, Bepo continues with his turn. 

“Never have I ever kissed someone… with dark hair!” He crosses his big, furry arms, trying to get back at his crew mates. 

Shachi and you both take a drink. You look to your right and notice that Law does the same. Your mind wanders… what does someone have to do to be romantically attractive to Trafalgar Law? He was such a strange man… what turned him on?

“It’s your turn, D.” Shachi prompts you. 

“Oh yeah…” You ponder for a moment. “Never have I ever… HAD A PENIS!” You roll over laughing. 

The three remaining people at the table take drinks and gripe at your cheap shot. “Alright, we’re done. You two win. I’ve gotta head to bed if you want anyone to drive the Tang tomorrow. Goodnight!” Bepo grabs Shachi by the shoulder and carries him off to the staterooms. 

They left you and Law alone in the galley.

“Are we cleaning up tonight or-?” You ask as you rise from the table. 

“Nah, Uni has kitchen duty. Let him deal with it.” Law rises and stumbles a bit, not realizing how the alcohol would affect him. 

You laugh. 

“You okay, doc? Come on.” You grab Law’s hand to steady him. He winces a bit, but then he eases into your touch. 

“I’ll… I’ll walk you.. back to your room.. your ankle…” Law suddenly scoops an arm under your left armpit and supports your pained foot. 

“Oh, thanks!” You smile and he helps you hobble out of the galley and towards your room. 

It was clear that the two of you were just a little drunk, Law having nearly dropped you twice on the way to your stateroom and the both of you laughing it off. 

“I believe this is your stop, ma’am.” A slightly drunk Law gently lets go of your torso as the two of you reach your bedroom door. 

You chuckle. 

“Ah yes, door to door service! How professional! I give the ride service 5 stars!” You laugh and do your best to put your weight onto both feet as he lets go of you. 

“Oof!” You misstep and your ankle throbs, but you catch yourself. 

Law’s playful demeanor becomes serious. 

“You’re okay?” He asks. 

“Yeah… just a twinge. I’m fine, though…” You grin through the pain. 

“I don’t want you to be in pain…” Law barely whispers as he looks into your eyes. 

“I know…” You quietly respond… drawing your face closer to his.

Law licks his lips and looks at your mouth… 

Suddenly, you feel hands on either side of your face as Law smashes his lips onto yours. 

Your eyes snap open wide and your hands are frozen at your sides. Was Law really kissing you right now? Here? In the hallway? His eyes were slammed shut and fingers gripped your cheeks tightly. 

Law pulls back and catches his breath. He sees your bewildered expression. 

“Daisy I…” Law stutters as he backs up from you. 

“Law…” You step towards him. 

“No, I… I’m so sorry. I really am so sorry…-“

“Wait!” You reach out a hand to touch Law’s cheek but in a flash of blue light, Law had completely disappeared. A pebble clattered to the ground in his place. 

You stand in the hallway alone, trying to process what just happened. Law had kissed you. You were tipsy, but there was no denying or imagining that Law had just kissed you. It was purposeful. He grabbed your face and kissed you with fervor. Was it a good kiss? No. Did he have any idea how to kiss someone? Clearly no. Was there feeling?

yes. 

There was something behind that kiss… something you could feel… It wasn’t just a drunk attempt to get lucky… there was too much emotion, and you felt it through his grip. 

But he was gone now. You knew Law wouldn’t answer your call if you knocked on his door now… so you had best just call it a night. You enter your room and strip yourself of your pants and shirt before crawling into bed. After nestling your head between your pillows, you lift your right hand to your lips… Law had kissed you…

Now what?

xx 

*Authors Note*

OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING! WHAT'S THE PROCEDURE? WHAT'S THE PROCEDURE? IT'S HAPPENING! Happy Valentine's Day my loves! It took 9 chapters but we FINALLY got a little smooooooch! Comment and let me know if you want to be on the taglist for this series or you have any ideas for future chapters! Thanks and I love you :)

#one piece #one piece anime #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanart #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #one piece smut #law x reader #trafalgar law #law one piece #trafalgar d law #trafalgar d water law #trafalfar #trafalgar op #trafalgar one piece #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar d law x reader

[itsapmseymour]

On this last day of Pride Month,

No matter what pride flags you wave, have stowed in the closet waiting for the chance to hold em high, or figuring out which one to hold but know you want to hold one.

I'm proud of you, and support you no matter what 💖

[karmic-vibes]

If I Can Dream

21 - Deep in my Heart, There’s a Trembling Question

art credit: @lazylittledragon on tumblr / lazyjunebug on twitter

cw: bullying, name calling, misgendering/incorrect use of pronouns

Year: 1995

“Papa, daddy, can I help you garden?” Bobby asked.

“Of course, sweetie, why don’t you help me pick some weeds,” Eddie said.

He explained to her what the weeds looked like and how to properly pull them up from the ground. He sent her over to the edge of the fence to pick up some where there were no flowers, so she wouldn’t accidentally pull up any of Steve’s perennials. 

Steve went back to watering the lawn as Eddie laid some mulch near the deck. Bobby was singing and humming to herself as she pulled up the weeds and its surrounding grass. As she worked her way down the fence, the neighbor’s kids, and their friends, stormed into the backyard. Bobby politely waved hello before returning to the yard work.

As she continued plucking up blades of grass, she heard the kids taunting her. She pouted and tried ignoring them the best she could, but their torments only got louder and louder as they approached the fence.

“What’re you doing?” The neighbor boy asked.

“Gardening,” Bobby smiled.

“No, you’re just pulling grass.”

“No, my daddy and papa said I’m pulling weeds.”

“Dad and papa? You mean dad and mama?”

“No… daddy and papa…” She pointed to her fathers by the deck.

“Where’s your mom?”

“Mom? I don’t have a mom.”

“Everyone has a mom.”

“I don’t…”

“Freak!” One laughed.

“I’m not a freak,” she teared up.

“Cry baby!” Another taunted.

“Go cry to your mommy, weirdo!”

“I don’t have a mommy,” Bobby sniffed. “I have a daddy and a papa…”

“So you have two homos as parents,” one laughed. “Go cry to your homos.”

Not knowing what the boy’s words meant, Bobby wiped her runny nose on her mustard yellow sweater, and ran over to Eddie. She tapped him on the shoulder to pull his attention away from the flower beds.

“Hey, bug, what’s up? You all done with the weeds?”

“Papa,” she sniffed.

“Oh, my goodness, you’re crying.” He brushed the excess dirt off his hands before pulling Bobby into a tight hug. “What’s wrong? What happened? You bump your knee again?”

“No…” She wiped a tear off her cheek as Eddie pinched her nose go collect all the excess snot (wiping it into the lawn).

“Then what happened?” He looked at his sad daughter, pushing her hair behind her ears as she cried.

“Mrs. Smith’s son–”

“Eric?”

“Mhmm, Eric was calling me names and told me to go cry to my mommy, but I told him I didn’t have a mommy, then he called you and daddy something, and he said I wasn’t doing the weeds right, and–” She ran on in one breath.

“Whoa, Bobbs, slow down,” Eddie said. “First of all, you don’t need a mommy, okay? You have two loving daddies and that’s what matters, okay? Second, ignore them when they call daddy and I names, okay? It’s not important and it doesn’t hurt us, so it shouldn’t hurt you. They’re just being mean.”

“Yeah, but–”

“Bee–”

“Papa!” she interrupted. “They called you names!”

“Alright, I tried being nice about this. You want revenge? Full blown horror movie style?” She eagerly nodded. “Let’s go. Don’t tell dad.”

The two snuck into the house as Steve continued to work his way throughout the lawn. Eddie dug through their stowed away Halloween decorations for something to scare the neighborhood kids.

“Clean your face off, bug,” Eddie muttered as he grabbed a damp washcloth. He properly cleaned her face before sliding on a Jason Voorhies mask. “Give ‘em hell, kiddo.”

Eddie made his way to the backyard and watched Bobby chase after Eric and his friends. Steve’s attention was finally torn from the yard work when he heard all the children screaming. He saw his little one chasing several boys with a fake machete and a serial killer mask.

“Edward!” Steve yelled as he stormed the deck.

“Yes, Steven?”

“Are you responsible for that?”

“Possibly.”

“Christ,” he sighed.

“I’m not stopping it.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

They two let Bobby run around a bit longer before Mrs. Smith scolded Eddie and Steve for letting their child do such a thing. The two snickered to each other before calling Bobby back over to the yard.

“Are you two really laughing? She traumatized my son!” Mrs. Smith yelled.

“Oh, shut it, your son started it,” Eddie scoffed. “Next time, raise your son to not call our daughter names. Alright?”

“Eric, is that true? Were you calling Bobby names?”

“No,” he lied.

“My daughter is a tough girl who doesn’t cry at much. Whatever your son said really upset her,” Eddie said.

“And you called my daddies names!” Bobby added.

“And you called us names,” Eddie reiterated.

“Eric, in the house, now!” Her son cowered before dragging his feet inside. “Sorry for disturbing you all. Just, next time, Bobby, please don’t charge my son with a fake knife, okay?” She nodded in response. “Thank you, dear.”

A couple weeks went by and Eric hadn’t bothered Bobby since—or so the boys had thought. One afternoon, as the two were getting ready to head out and pick her up from school, the home phone rang. Eddie, being in the middle of writing a song, didn’t even hear it, so Steve wandered off to the kitchen to answer it.

“Hello?” Steve answered.

“Hi, may I speak with either Steve or Eddie Harrington?”

“This is Steve, how can I help you?”

“I’m principal Gibbons, I’m calling to inform you of an incident that occurred earlier today.”

“An incident? Is Bobby okay?”

“Yes, Bobby is fine, Mr. Harrington. It’s just…” Principal Gibbons sighed. “Bobby has been displaying some violent behaviors lately.”

“I’m sorry, what? That doesn’t sound like my little girl.” Steve shook his head in disbelief.

“Mr. Harrington–”

“Please, call me Steve—Mr. Harrington is my father, and I’m trying very hard to be nothing like him.”

“Apologies, Steve. Anyways, she got into a fight earlier today.”

“She what‽” he yelled.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie called.

“Bobby just got in a fight at school.”

“Did she win?”

“Ed–”

“Did she win? It’s a simple question, Steve.”

“I’m not asking if she won! Christ, forgive my spouse.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll be right down.” Steve hung up the phone and threw his jacket on. “Ed, come on.”

“We’re going now?”

“Yes, Edward, we are. Our daughter got into a fight, lord knows if she’s hurt! We need to go, now!”

Steve dragged Eddie to the car and sped off to Bobby’s school. They swung into the parking lot and ran in to meet with the principal. They found Bobby sitting outside the office, glancing at the floor, kicking her feet back and forth.

“Bobbs, what happened?” Steve asked, kneeling to meet her gaze.

“Did you win?” Eddie asked.

“Not the time!” Steve grit his teeth. “Bobby, I thought we raised you better than this. What happened?”

“Eric…” she whimpered. “He called me names again, then called you guys names, and then he said that papa is actually my mommy and I got mad and hit him…” She rushed out in a single breath, as she often did when she was anxious. “I’m sorry, daddy.”

Steve sighed in defeat as he pulled his daughter in for a hug. He gently rubbed her back as he heard Bobby holding in tears, sniffing back her emotions.

“You can cry, Bobbs, it’s okay,” Steve whispered. “Are you okay?”

“Mhmm…”

“He didn’t hit you back or pull your hair or anything, right?”

“No, daddy.”

“So you won!” Eddie threw his arms up in celebration.

“Yeah,” She giggled, wiping her eyes.

“We’ll talk to Mrs. Smith—Eric can’t keep doing this to you.”

“Harringtons,” Principal Gibbons called.

“Come on.”

Steve extended his hand to Bobby as the family walked into the office. Everyone got settled in the office as the principal prepped the paperwork.

“So, Mrs. Smith is threatening to press charges.”

“Whoa, what? No, absolutely not. Eric was the instigator here. Bobby was only standing up for herself and her family.”

“That’s not what Mrs. Smith and her son said.”

“I trust my daughter first and foremost. It wouldn’t be the first time Eric has started something like this, either. The Smith’s are our neighbors and Eric has a history of taunting Bobby. I can’t say I blame her for finally snapping.”

“Okay, Bobby, what did Eric say that started the fight?”

“He called me a ‘freak of nature’, said I have ‘homos for parents’, and that my papa is actually my mommy…”

“Eddie, Steve… we brought this concern up to you two when you were enrolling her.”

“But why should our lives have to impact hers? Yes, I’m a trans man and yeah, we’re two guys that are married, but that shouldn’t affect Bobby’s life. Especially her education. This is supposed to be a place of acceptance and learning, but instead you’re turning it into a place where people can openly bully her and then have her get punished for sticking up for herself. It’s not fair, Gibbons,” Eddie sneered. “People can call my husband and I all the names they want, but the second they bring Bobby into it, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“Mrs. Harrington–”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Eddie, please,” Steve urged.

“Stay out of this, Steve. Gibbons, we love our daughter and we value her safety and well being more than anything in the world. Her mental health falls into that, understand? She is a good, sweet kid who doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment. I will be damned if she stays at a school where the staff openly allow her to be bullied, and one where I’m openly misgendered.”

“Eddie, it was an honest mistake,” Gibbons backtracked.

“Save it, alright? Let’s go.”

Eddie swung Bobby’s backpack over his shoulder and led her out of the room. By the time he was out the front door, Steve stood up and leaned over Principal Gibbon’s desk.

“With all due respect, Miranda, you don’t get to treat my family like this. Understand? Bobby is the sweetest child I have ever met—Eddie and I work hard to be sure of it. She would never hurt someone else without good reason. Hell, this is the first time she’s ever hurt anyone at all. She’s just a little girl who loves her family, especially her papa. She would follow him to the ends of the earth, and I couldn’t be more proud. I love my family and I’m proud of who we all are. How dare you think you can treat us like this.” Steve straightened himself out before heading to the door. “Bobby will be withdrawn as soon as we find a replacement school. One that accepts us, Gibbons. And if you even think about disciplining my daughter and not Carol’s hellion, then you’re going to have a much bigger problem on your hands. Understood?” She nodded and gulped back any response. “Good.”

Steve slammed the door and joined his family at their car. He ran his hand up and down Eddie’s back as he buckled Bobby into her car seat. He leaned over, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“We’re proud of you, bug,” he smiled.

“Yeah, really proud,” Eddie added. “What you did was super brave. I know I couldn’t’ve done what you did. Hell, I couldn’t even tell people I was a man until I was nineteen.”

“Wait, what?” Bobby asked.

“What’s up?” Eddie straightened out her jacket and rested against the door.

“You had to tell people you were a man? Do I have to tell people I’m a girl?”

“What do you mean, honey?”

“Do we have to tell people what we are?”

“Oh… I think I know what she’s getting at,” Steve said. “Bug… okay, I’ll… we’ll… let’s talk when we get home.”

Steve rushed the family home and ushered Bobby into the living room, where he sat her between himself and Eddie.

“So, bug,” Steve started. “Papa is your papa, but, at one point in his life, he wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Bobby, I wasn’t always a papa,” Eddie said. He looked to Steve and took a deep sigh. “I used to, technically, be a mommy.”

“How? You’re a boy.”

“You’re right, I am, but I was born a girl, and legally, I still technically am—it’s how daddy and I were able to get married. My name wasn’t always Eddie, sweetheart. I was born as Eden… not Eddie.”

“So, does that mean I’ll become a boy too?”

“Not necessarily,” Eddie chuckled. “I was always a boy, but I was stuck in a girl’s body. Now, through the help of some very nice doctors, and daddy’s support, I’m a boy in a boy’s body.”

“Oh… okay.”

“I’m still papa, and I always will be, but the whole reason you got here was because I was born as a mommy. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, papa, I do.”

“Okay… just know, there’s nothing wrong with who I am, and there’s nothing wrong with daddy and I loving each other. We’re all born as who we are and we can’t change that.”

“And at the end of the day,” Steve added, “we will always love each other, and we’ll always love you. Okay? We’re a little different than most families, but we’re happy and love one another… and that’s all that matters.”

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie st4 #eddie stranger things #gay #st4 #lgbtq #lgbt pride #joe kerry #joseph quinn #steddie #happy #pride #steve x eddie #love #maya hawke #netflix #robin buckley #parent steddie #steddie dads #transgender #trans eddie munson

[chiropteracupola]

the city, and what may or may not happen to it.

(the queen of rhysea, @backagainpodcast)

#em draws stuff #back again back again #got a little too into doing some costuming sketches and before I knew it I had Her here #she was very fun to invent because I keep holding her up to my mental image of cassian and comparing #similar but not too similar y'know #come to think of it I think I like her for some of the same reasons I like lady stowe #connecticut-clark-and-malfina vibes included #so yeah! I have had a bit of an ilyaas focus so far when I'm doing baba art and it is Time To Branch Out

[fluffytheocelot]

Hello it’s extremely late oops. Did not realize how long this thing would take (28 and a half hours apparently according to procreate lmao) but finally, here it is!

Carmen Week Day 8: La Femme Rouge

Holy crap that was a lot of characters! For day 8 I wanted to draw all the ways I've drawn/imagined Carmen over the last 5 years! There are many I didn't do for one reason or another, but it mainly boiled down to space lol. These 10 (11 including canon Carmen) are (most) of my favorites of my AUs :)

this turned out so cool im putting it in a frame when i get a chance lol

Info and solo drawings for each under the cut! it is. so long lol

as usual, i'll gladly answer asks about em :) i have plans to write a few for sure, but it's gonna be A While for them lol

Cat:

Both a Warriors AU and also just my "_____ as a cat" style!

This ones a lot less fleshed out so just bear with me lol. (ATM there might only be 2 clans, ACME and VILE, idk yet lol. idk what to name em either cos stickin "clan" on the end don't feel right XD)

In the Warriors AU, Sheeppaw grows up learning 2 contradictory versions of the Warrior Code: The true one from Shadowstalk, and the VILE version from older warriors. She gets made an apprentice a couple moons early, but is relegated only to camp duties until shes 6 moons old.

She trains alongside Cracklepaw, Tigerpaw, Molepaw, Goatpaw, and Silentpaw. At her first gathering she meets another apprentice, maybe a few moons older, from the other clan: Jewelpaw. The two hit it off and become good friends (and develop little mutual crushes). Sheeppaw also sneaks out and meets a kittypet: Player, who she also becomes very good friends with.

When her mentor, the deputy, Shadowstalk fails her on her final warrior assessment she pretty much has most of the same reaction as the show, just in the WC style.

After witnessing a murder, she hightails it out of there and encounters the newly named Crackletail. Panicked, she hastily and vaguely tells him she saw something and needs to Leave.

She makes it to Players yard and lays low for a while, and he introduces her to the neighbor cats, a sibling pair named Zack and Ivy. The four brainstorm and Sheeppaw is renamed Carmen. They know they cant let VILE keep doing what they're doing. So rogue Carmen and her kittypet friends start figuring things out from behind the scenes.

Pirate Cat:

Exactly as it says, bipedal cat world. Black Sheep was dropped off at a random orphanage in England, with a small stuffed black sheep (where she got her name). Since everybody are cats, Black Sheep isn't that atypical of a name. Sorta a mix of normal people names and cat names.

She grows up there alongside her self-appointed older brother Graham. When she's about 10-11ish she meets the princess: Julia Argent. Childhood friends to lovers letsgoo (its a recurring theme in these lol. its cute i like it).

The two eventually get together (in secret, yay homophobia and also societal status) It doesn't help that Black Sheep had a habit of getting in trouble so she could see the princess her princess.

The two get caught one night, and Black Sheep is nearly executed for "corrupting royalty", but Julia manages to talk her father down from that. Instead, she is exiled. If she ever sets foot in the kingdom after dawn, she WILL be killed this time.

Julia visits one last time, and Black Sheep promises to return someday when she finds somewhere where they can be together freely. She gives Julia her stuffed sheep to look after while she's gone, and asks her to take care of Fuega while she's gone (on one of their sneak-outs, they found a baby dragon that Julia managed to convince her dad to let her keep). Julia gives her the triangle choker. yay tearful goodbyes ;-;

Black Sheep and Graham (because no way is he letting his little sister go into exile without him) go from place to place, stealing when they need to and end up accidentally stowing away on a VILE pirate ship.

VILE pirate training to avoid death, they escape. Graham appoints the newly named Carmen Sandiego captain of their little ship, and they also pick up Zack, Ivy, and Player along the way. Carmen becomes very well known around the globe: civilians/lower class people see her as a Robin Hood hero (correct), while most royals and nobles see her as nothing but a filthy pirate (incorrect).

A few years go by when suddenly the crew gets word that the King of England is trying to marry off his daughter, who has recently come of age. Cue panicked race home + childhood lover reunion.

Daughter of Poseidon (Carmen Sandiego and the Olympians):

Percy Jackson AU! Replace Percy with Carmen, Grover with Player, Annabeth with Julia, and switch/move around some plot points and that's about it lol. I keep telling myself I'll do some scene rewrites of this one so we'll see. Includes PJO and HOO acting as prequels for Carmen Sandiego. Def wanna do dome rewrites for the canon show for this AU too lol

Dino Squad:

I'm out here combining one obscure kids show with another lol. If you haven't seen it, Dino Squad is this early 2000s animated show about these 5 teenagers that get mutated and can turn into dinosaurs, and go around stopping the bad guy from turning everything into dinosaurs. (I think the entire series may be on youtube lol. its goofy but man i loved it as a kid. i wanted dino powers so bad)

This is basically a high school au but most of Team Red has dinosaur powers. :P

In this, Dr. Bellum is experimenting with bringing dinosaurs back, but instead of just cloning them, she figures out how to mutate already-existing organisms into others.

(in the OG dino squad, the bad guy IS a dinosaur that evolved into a human--long story--and believes everything should still be dinosaurs. hes technically right, tbf, if the meteor hadn't hit they prolly still WOULD be dinosaurs. why does bellum want dinosaurs? because she's Bellum and she Can lol)

Carmen Wolfe and her twin brother Graham (they're fraternal twins. why? bc i thought it would be funny. yes he still has his accent. its my world i do what i want) are raised by Carlotta and Dexter Wolfe in Kittery Point, Maine. Carlotta is a paleontologist/biologist and Dexter is a history and geography teacher at the high school. They do know of VILE and what Bellum was working on and have been monitoring it in secret from the kids.

Carmen and Julia are those friends that met bc they were both hiding under the slide in like. Preschool and just stayed friends lol. They're the kind of best friends that will just. Show Up. usually Julia at Carmen's house because "You have better snacks" also Julia's parents just Don't Like Carmen. (Why? idk bc i said so. idk they think she's a bad influence. she's really not lol) Literally Julia has like a spot on the couch and a table setting. She's basically the third twin these three have known each other essentially their entire lives.

Zack and Ivy joined the group in middle school, when Ivy had the same class as Carmen, Julia, and Gray. Zack joined via association. (Zack and Ivy, on the other hand are not twins. again. bc its funny. each sibling pair thought the other was like them. zack and ivy thought Carmen and Gray were just normal siblings, and Carmen and Gray thought Zack and Ivy were twins. Julia had to explain to all of them it was not the case lol)

Player is Carmen's online friend that the whole group includes. they all game together and he gets ALL the public school tea. hes about the same age as Zack, so about a year-ish younger than Carmen, Gray, Ivy, and Julia.

At the end of their freshman year, Carmen and Julia start dating. Their friends and Carmen's parents know, they keep it secret from everyone else. At the end of the summer everybody (aside from Player) go to the beach for one last day of freedom before school starts. They swim through the mutant goo, and over the next few days discover their powers.

Carlotta IDs each dino: Carmen is a (large/person sized) pyroraptor, Gray is a T. rex, Julia is a troodon, and I still cant decide on Zack and Ivy's dino forms lol. Carlotta and Dexter explain the whole VILE thing and the group just kinda simultaneously goes "welp guess we're superheroes now. cool"

so yea dealing w highschool and also mutant dinosaurs and superpowers. this ones fun bc they can just be stupid kids lol

The Last Wolf:

My werewolf AU. The one that started all this mess and my love for making AUs of this show. It was my first fanfic i ever wrote, and it is very near to my heart. it's also gotten out of hand and become a franchise at this point it's ridiculous. (Seriously i've got a prequel of her parents planned and also a series of shorts set in the universe) It's gonna be a long ride, boys. Hope people still like CS by the time it's done lol

A Thief's Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse:

Zombie apocalypse AU! Talked about this one a bit for AU day, and also as of this post I have ~1k words written of the first chapter! I also have a bunch of the major plot points outlined too ;) I wouldn't expect anything soon tho lol.

She wears a wetsuit under the coat bc it's really hard to bite through, especially with rotten jaws. She's got some boots she probably scavenged or traded for, and of course: the Walkman she probably found looting some abandoned building. She collects cassettes to listen to. Gotta keep sane in the end of the world.

How is this one a literal apocalypse and its still more lighthearted than the one based on FNAF lol

Redd Wolf (Five Nights at Redd's):

FNAF AU. I've truly lost it lol. I have this one completely outlined, nothing written but a lot of things are VERY clear in my mind. This ones uh. a lot more intense than even Thief's Guide. It's FNAF. its immense violence and child death. Seriously, Carmen, Player, Gray, Ivy, Zack, and Julia all end up possessing animatronics at some point. It ends happily, but it is based off a horror thing so if that's not your thing b careful <3

its supposed to be more of a mystery that gets unraveled, but if anyone wants specifics of it u can drop an ask :) i only have animatronic designs for Carmen, Julia, and Gray so far tho. I have ideas for the others too.

This is one I wanna share with y'all at some point. its probably the shortest of the AUs I have outlined so far, so yk. maybe in this lifetime lol.

Carmen and the Age of Wonderbeasts:

Mega Jaguar Carmen. This ones more of a ~vibe~ than an actual plot but i like drawing mega jag carm :)

Plushie Dragon:

This one's not an AU, but actually based on doodles of these 2 plush dragons! Matching red/gold and blue/silver dragons named after carmen and julia lol. I'll get around to posting more drawings of em cause they're cute

the plushies <3 (they have spikes u just cant see em:

ik they look goofy i lov them anyways

Wings of Fire:

Wings of Fire AU! Carmen is a rainwing/skywing hybrid (rainwing dad, skywing mom) She can camoflauge, fly decently fast, and has a prehensile tail. She can't breathe fire or use typical venom, BUT she figures out her venom, while not face-melting by itself, IS in fact flammable. again, more of a ~vibe~ than a story and plot, but I like drawing dragons.

Canon Carmen:

She's front and center, the one that started all this.

Way back in 2019, the autism and ADHD departments in my brain came to an agreement: This show is the greatest show of all time.

It was the first fandom I actively contributed to/interacted with. (I still read fics from other fandoms before, but had never been active in a fandom) Like I mentioned with Last Wolf, I had never actually written fanfiction before, and definitely never posted it. I love writing and telling stories (and boy howdy do I have A Lot of stories rolling around my brain). between all of the AUs ive come up with, I've gotten to practice so much worldbuilding and characterization. English classes usually focused on expository stuff, with like. a brief fiction writing thing. So I've definitely gotten to stretch my creative writing muscles with this show, and hopefully I can put em to use on original projects someday <3

I fell in love with the first season, and got ridiculously excited for every new season and the interactive. (heck, i played every possible option for the interactive the day it came out, and binged every subsequent season the day they aired.)

This show has been a big part of my life the last five years, and the original show will always be special to me. It's the reason I started learning to draw people lol, I have a drawing of Carmen from 2020 that I'm still really proud of. It's hung on my bedroom wall to this day.

So thank you, Carmen Sandiego. For everything.

#fluffytheocelot #fluffy’s art #carmen sandeigo 2019 #drawing #carmen week #carmenweek #carmen sandiego #digitalart #procreate #art #carmensandiego #carmen sandiego 2019 #warrior cats #warrior cats au #wings of fire #wings of fire au #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson au #a thief's guide to the zombie apocalypse au #zombie apocolypse au #the last wolf au #werewolf #werewolf au #dino squad #dino squad au #dragon au #pirate au #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts au

[probably-impossible]

Crush

A story about the End of the Wild West; or, the Prophet sees two trains explode on his one-hundred-and-fourth birthday.

(Aka my Activity 1 for the @dollarstrilogyevent that I got way too into hahahaha)

By his own reckoning, Prophet was one-hundred and four years old as of that September in 1896. Perhaps unsurprisingly he had lost most of his hearing, but his vision was still good. He saw the door of his shack swing open, and he struggled to sit up in bed. “I've already found Jesus and I'm not buying anything!”

The face that poked around the door belonged to Fluke Dudley, a young man who worked on the ranch that had sprung up next door. He was just about the only one who visited him anymore. “It's me, Prophet,” he said. “I w- - - - - to - - - - you- -”

“Speak up, boy!”

“I SAID THERE'S SOMEWHERE I'D LIKE TO TAKE YOU TODAY!”

“What? Where's that, then?”

“IT'S A SURPRISE!” Fluke scratched his nose and grinned. “For your birthday. You'll like it, sir, I promise.”

Prophet grumbled but allowed Fluke to lift him into the rickety wheelchair that sat beside his bed. “Don't need remindin’ about no birthday,” he said. “I've had about ten too many of ‘em, I reckon. Wish someone had put me out of my misery back when the goddamn good-for-nothing trains took my hearing!”

“Oh, don't talk like that.” 

“I'm a hundred and four years old, I'll talk however I damn well please!” 

Fluke rolled him out of the shack, towards one of the ranch's small one-horse wagons. He lifted the old man up onto the seat and stowed the chair in the bed, then jumped up and flicked the reins.

Prophet squinted at the scenery as they rolled slowly alongside the train tracks. “I used to get visits from all sorts of people, you know,” he said. “I used to know everything about everybody in these parts. They'd come from miles around to see me. To get their information.”

Fluke nodded. He'd heard this story before. 

“Lawmen, outlaws, drifters,” Prophet continued. “Bounty killers. I've seen them all. But they just don't make men like that anymore. I tell you, boy, things have got too civilized around here.”

“ - - - - ”

“What?”

“I SAID YOU'RE RIGHT!”

“Damn sure I'm right.” Prophet leaned over the side of the wagon to glare down at the tracks. “It's all the fault of those trains! They take all the civilized folk from out east, load ‘em up into their carriage cars with the lacy curtains and little fruity drink trolleys, and send ‘em out here. And soon enough there's so much civilization around a man can't hardly be himself anymore.”

Prophet leaned back and went silent for a while. “I wonder how many of those young men who used to come and see me are still alive,” he said. “They strung up Willie Foster last year, I know that. And Kid Frasier fell off his hoss. That old marshal Colby… whatever happened to him?”

“He got killed in a shootout, you said.”

“Right, right. Davey and Red Kelly done it, and then they run off to Mexico.” He blinked as another wagon passed by them. It was loaded up with people, chatting and laughing. He lost his thought for a moment, then picked it back up again. “Angel Eyes… he's long gone. That retired colonel went back to North Carolina. Now what was that young buck's name… Manco. Fell off the face of the earth, far as I can remember. And worst of all, poor old Cheyenne…”

“Shot in the gut by the president of the railroad company,” Fluke muttered.

“...shot in the gut by the president of the railroad company! Did you ever hear of a worse way to go?!” Prophet sighed. “Somehow I outlived them all. Now I'm the last of a dyin’ breed. They just don't make men like us anymore.”

“No sir,” Fluke said. There were more wagons around now, and people walking along the tracks, too. They all seemed to be going in the same direction. Fluke tipped his hat as they passed by a group of ladies holding parasols.

Prophet looked at him skeptically. “Where exactly are you taking me? There sure are a lot of other people headed this way.”

“You'll find out soon,” Fluke said. “We're almost there.” 

“There’s nothin’ wrong with my hair!”

“I SAID WE'RE ALMOST THERE!”

As they kept riding the crowd really started to thicken. They passed by lemonade stands and carnival games, a grandstand with a band, even a circus tent. “Just this once I'm glad I'm deaf,” Prophet muttered. “Who's runnin’ a goddamn county fair along the train tracks?”

Fluke slowly drew the wagon to a stop and pointed up at a large banner that had been hoisted next to a section of the track. It read ‘Crush, Texas. Est. September 15, 1896.’

“The railroad company's putting on a demonstration,” Fluke said, raising his voice even more than usual over the sound of the crowd. “They're gonna take two old steam engines, run ‘em as fast as they can, and crash ‘em right into each other!” He beamed with pride. “How do you like that for a birthday present, sir? You and me are gonna watch two trains smash each other to smithereens!”

Prophet blinked. “...What? The railroad company’s gonna smash their own trains?” he said, puzzled. “What for?”

“They're old engines, I guess,” Fluke said. “No use for ‘em anymore.”

“So they're crashing them? What, with all these people around?” 

“It's supposed to be very safe. No chance of the boilers exploding or anything, that's what the man from the railroad said.”

Prophet went quiet for a while. Fluke felt his own excitement start to deflate. He'd been so sure the old man would love to see this. All he ever talked about was how much he hated trains! The whole affair seemed perfectly designed with him in mind. But he didn't look excited. In fact, he seemed a little… sad.

“The railroad company…” he muttered. “Making a whole damn spectacle out of busting up some old trains that aren't good for nothing anymore. And it's perfectly safe. ‘Course it is.”

A ripple of excitement went through the crowd; rumbling could be heard in the distance. Fluke slouched on the bench of the wagon. “...I'm sorry, Prophet. I thought for sure you'd like to see it.”

“Oh, don't look so damn mopey, boy,” Prophet said, gently. “Old bastards like me can't ever be satisfied with nothin’, that's all.”

They sat there in silence for a while. Fluke listened to the rumbling while Prophet watched two black dots appear on either end of the horizon and grow steadily closer. 

Eventually the rumbling grew to a roar, and an anticipatory hush fell over the crowd. The ground began to shake. The trains were close enough to their destined meeting place now that Prophet could make out the shape of the engine cars, could see the smoke billowing from their antiquated stacks. For the first time in his life, the sight of the damn things didn't fill him entirely with hatred. They were being put out to pasture, just like him. To make way for newer, better trains. And when it happened it would be a perfectly-designed show, perfectly safe. Perfectly civilized. 

The two trains met right beneath the banner. There was a mighty crash, so loud that even Prophet could hear it, and the sound of splintering wood. Then, a moment of total silence. 

When the explosion began, time seemed to slow for Prophet. He could see a bright orange light well up within each of the smashed engines, then blossom into two beautiful balls of flame. The light danced in his eyes, and he smiled with glee. The boilers of the old engines had blown up after all. The sight of it was breathtaking. 

All this took place within less than a second. As the fire billowed outwards, the force of the explosion sent millions of pieces of metallic debris straight into the gathered crowd. Prophet grinned with ecstasy and thought about how awful this was going to be for the railroad company. Oh, they were going to have hell to pay for this. It was a fiasco. Maybe it would even drive them out of business...! Of all the ways for a man like him to go, this was a fine one. He was grateful the boy had brought him out here, after all.

The explosion nearly knocked Fluke from the wagon, and he felt a stinging pain in his forearms as he shielded his face. It was all over in only a moment. He could hear groans and shouts from the crowd as he slowly regained his senses. He looked down at his arms; he'd been hit by some shrapnel, but not badly. 

He turned quickly towards Prophet, then froze. The old man lay flopped backwards over the wagon bench, unmoving. 

A metal bolt had gone straight into his forehead. Even so, there was a satisfied smile on his face.

#based on real historical events btw #man it seems like we're all getting into the feels for this first prompt :') #for a few dollars more #prophet #trains #dollarsfandomevent #fan fiction

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 4 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur goes on one last hunt before he leaves, taking you with him.

Author’s Notes: Chapter four of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Four: The Shell of an Elk

Word count: 3020

You were going to Nebraska. Surety over it was a distant thing, but you were going. You had a place there at least, people to wait on your arrival. No matter the devastation awaiting you once you got there.

You wanted to leave now, to let the restlessness release from your bones from being around all these watchful eyes, but the man taking you was stubborn. He insisted on go hunting one last time before he left his people. For sake of staying in his good graces lest you be forced to take the trip on your own, you kept quiet about it. You did join him in it, your stomach giving that uneasy flip at the thought of staying behind.

You were currently approaching the edge of a wide valley, the air biting your skin as you rode. One good thing that had come of the caravan of people was a horse to spare, and you had one underneath you now—a stubborn but hardy animal. He reminded you of the man riding alongside you.

“Get off your horse, we’ll leave ‘em here. Don’t want ‘em scaring the game.”

You thought of what the older man had said about this one’s hunting. He was right in that it wasn’t very experienced. The memory of your father teaching you to hunt plagued you when the man reached for a giant rifle with a scope. An improper gun for this. Your father had corrected you on the very same the first time you went out together. The thought of correcting Arthur stung though, past memory keeping you from saying what needed to be said.

He saw you eyeing the gun and mistook your focus for fear. “Don’t worry yourself to death, I ain’t gonna shoot you now. Not after dragging you all this way.”

He kept saying things like that. But he didn’t seem annoyed at you tagging along, more like he was trying to clear the air. His form of humor. It was a bit lost on you as you continued looking at that monster of a gun.

Knowing you couldn’t work up the courage to speak, you moved instead. You made for his horse and began pulling out a smaller rifle.

“Hey, what-”

You shoved it in his hands, taking the other.

He looked at you like you were crazy. You hadn’t given him much chance to believe otherwise.

“This one’s too big,” you said simply, moving to stow it back on his horse.

“Well ain’t you just the expert. We’re going after elk. You expect me to bring one down with this thing?”

You eyed the one you had given him before passing him, steeling yourself against the thought of the last time you’d heard an elk. “It’ll do fine.”

You heard him sigh but follow.

You fell into the familiarity of hunting, not even having to look for tracks before you spotted a small herd of elk on the far side of the valley. You didn’t have your binoculars with you, having left them underneath the carnage of an upturned wagon miles behind. You stopped and pointed instead, letting Arthur take the lead again. He had binoculars of his own and took them out.

“You’re good at this then,” he said as he spied the animals through the lenses.

You watched him. Studied him. He was likely a fair shot with the revolver at his hip, but you wondered about his skill with a rifle. “We hunted to survive,” you said simply.

He brought the binoculars down and held them out to you. “Show me how it’s done, if you’re so sure.”

You took them before letting that get to you. He seemed prideful, and you didn’t know enough about him to know whether your hunting know-how was impressing him or embarrassing him. You didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with him. Not if it would be weeks together.

You brought the binoculars to your eyes, this pair much nicer than yours, and saw four cows standing about, watchful. Knowing elk, there was a bull around somewhere. Especially with the way they kept pulling their heads up and moving a few steps at a time.

“You want to take one of those down or wait for the bull?” you asked.

“What bull?”

You just eyed him, not in the mood to have to prove yourself.

When you didn’t answer, he snatched the binoculars back and took another look. “Closest one’s fine. Easier to carry back without all them horns.”

He was right about that. A bull elk would yield more meat, but not so much that it would make a difference.

To your surprise, when Arthur seemed satisfied, he put his binoculars away and held out his gun to you. “Let’s see what you got.”

You stared at the weapon. It was taking everything in you not to think of your father teaching you to hunt. The memory of it was bittersweet now.

Finding the courage, you took the gun from Arthur’s hand, making sure it was loaded before readying it in your hands. You were too far to get a good shot, but you needed to feel the gun between your grip and your eye. You needed the easy breath that came with the familiarity of it. You eyed your target and brought the gun back down.

“Keep quiet,” you told him, starting forward. What your father told you countless times, even when you already knew to do so.

You went slightly left to get a better line, approaching just near enough that you could bring the animal down without drawing its attention too soon. You held out a hand to stop Arthur behind you before getting down on one knee, bringing the gun back to your shoulder. He started to say something but you shushed him. The noise had the nearest cow raising her head, looking for the source of it. You readied your aim and let out a breath. You swore you could feel your fathers eyes on you as you pulled the trigger.

All in a moment, noise exploded in your ear while your side wrenched with pain, the elk went down, Arthur said, “Good shot,” and you had the rushing feeling of regret, longing, sadness. Those words broke over you like a slap of water, your father there somehow, the hurt of him gone more than you could bear. You killed the elk, that proud animal’s heart beating no more. You fell to the ground like the pain of loss was a physical blow, crying out whether from hurt or sadness you didn’t know. He was gone.

You vaguely felt Arthur grabbing you, asking you something, pulling the gun away. He thought the recoil had hurt you. You were crying on your hands and knees, your father’s memory crushing you, and he thought it was the gun.

“Pa,” you said, blurting it out between sobs. “He’s…” Crying overtook you, shook your whole frame.

“Shhh,” Arthur said, and he was patting your shoulder, then leaving his hand there. A steady weight. “I know. It’s okay.”

“Gone,” you managed, the word like poison on your tongue. You didn’t fight the man’s hold. Needing it.

“You’re okay.” The severity of your sadness was making stillness impossible. You would have shaken right out of your bones had it not been for the hand on you. Your father was gone, and you let the whole world bear down on you.

Everything went a little hazy before you eventually came to. You sniffled like a child, needing to be on your feet, to get back to hunting lest you drown and die right there on the valley floor. You pushed the man’s hand away and stood, making for the dead elk with new determination.

The man stayed quiet. You were grateful.

You reached the animal. It had fallen where it stood, the shot to the head not allowing it to bolt. Going through the motions of hunting took back over, and when the man cautiously walked over to join you, you held out your hand to him for the knife he carried.

He hesitated. You met his eye and knew why—he was staring at you like you would fall apart again. He didn’t want a knife in your hands when you did.

“I’m fine, I just…”

“No. You ain’t.”

You weren’t. But if you didn’t skin this animal now, that nagging feeling would take over again. You stuck your hand out farther. “Please.”

He reluctantly reached around and unsheathed it, never taking his eyes off you as he turned the handle toward you and set it in your hand.

You took it and immediately got to work. Having something to do with yourself kept everything else at bay.

The man tried to talk to you twice, but you didn’t respond. Didn’t even really hear him. Only when you were elbow deep in the animal did you feel his hand at your shoulder again, stopping you.

“Let me.” You couldn’t. Couldn’t even meet his eye to tell him no in fear of that piteous stare. But he was stronger than you, and he pulled you back until you were sitting, the knife dropping, your mind going numb.

You let him finish the job as you remained trapped somewhere between the past and the hellish present.

When he finished, he cleaned his knife. Put it away. He called his horse and loaded her up with the new kill. He stowed his gun. And when there was nothing else left to do, he offered you his hand.

“Come on.”

You stared at it a moment before taking it. He helped you up. Your horse had followed his over, and you made for it. When you got in the saddle, emptier now than you had been on the ride here, you looked at the man. He had barely gotten a foot in the stirrup before you spoke.

“Don’t tell them.”

He met your eye and studied you a beat before nodding. Good. You didn’t need that whole camp of people knowing you were…whatever it was you were now. Burning alive. Drowning.

The pair of you started a trotting pace back across the valley, the shell of an elk left farther behind with every step.

~

Upon arriving in the makeshift camp again, you dismounted and made for the river. Arthur could handle the elk himself. You needed the cold sting of the water.

You shed your coat and gloves and rolled back your sleeves, noting for the first time how dirty you were. That treacherous fall had landed you in the dirt, not to mention how often you had met with the ground lately. You were willing to bet you looked even worse than you felt.

You knelt by the riverside and ran your hands through the water, ignoring the shock of it as its swiftness passed through your fingers like silk ribbon. It was cold enough that you would never be used to it, so you went to running it over your arms, scrubbing your skin. It felt good. You hadn’t felt clean in weeks. Not since you left Montana, really. You splashed your face, amazed at how much grit sloughed off when you did. You kept on, scrubbing your skin raw, until there wasn’t a speck of dirt left on any showing skin. You thought to clean your wound but didn’t, not wanting to unwrap it. Not wanting to look at it.

Finally somewhat satisfied, thinking of how long it would be until you found a real bath, you stood and shook the water off your arms. You picked up your coat and gloves and were buttoning your sleeves, starting back for the edge of camp when you heard voices.

“More power to her. I wouldn’t want to leave all this behind.”

You stopped dead, knowing without having to who they were talking about.

“Me either. On the off chance she’ll find her family too. To hell with family I say. We already got all we need here.” This from one of the women in camp speaking to another, the two youngest you had taken notice of. Probably younger than you by the looks of it.

“Amen to that. Ain’t nothing but trouble come from my family.”

“Mine too.”

They were quiet a moment, and you took the chance to edge deeper into the woods. They were right about one thing—this life they led seemed to be better for any woman than the one you would soon be headed back to. But you couldn’t stay. As little sense as it made, you felt trapped here. Too much pity and too little familiarity. The only one you didn’t feel that way around was Arthur, and it suddenly struck you why—he didn’t treat you like the others did. He wasn’t so concerned with making you comfortable that he ended up tip toeing around you like the rest of them. He was who he was, no matter the circumstances. And who he was was a man who had saved you, no thanks needed. It was a rare thing.

After hiding in the woods long enough for any conversation about you to be long over, you went looking for Arthur. It was time to leave, the suffocating feeling you got around these people grating on you. It didn’t take long to find him—he was packing up at his tent. You approached without saying a word, not knowing how to. You had already asked so much of him. Asking him to rush felt wrong.

Without meaning to, you made him startle when he turned and saw you standing there.

“Jesus. Don’t do that.”

You made to apologize but couldn’t get the word out. You wondered if you would ever be able to speak freely again.

“If you’re here to light a fire under me, don’t bother. Hosea did it for you.”

The older man. If circumstances were different, he may have been the only other one you could stand.

“You ready then?” Arthur turned and eyed you before seemingly coming to his senses—you didn’t have a single belonging apart from your father’s ledger tucked away in your coat. You came here with nothing and you would leave with nothing. “Right,” he mumbled, throwing a few more things haphazardly into a saddle bag. “Go check the horses are ready then.”

“We’re leaving?” You couldn’t keep the hope out of the words.

“No, I’m just doing this for fun. Of course we’re leaving. Or have you had a sudden change of heart and want to stay?”

“No. I’m ready.”

He raised an amused eyebrow at you, like he didn’t believe you. “Go then. I’ll meet you by the horses. I need to speak with Dutch first.”

With that you did as he bade, nervousness lighting your bones. This wouldn’t exactly be an easy trip. But it was going somewhere, doing something with yourself. What your parents would have wanted. And, honestly, it was the closest you would get to the life you used to have. It was no Montana, but it would do. You hoped.

You checked on the horses then watched as Arthur finished up and threw his saddle bag over his shoulder, going to talk to the man you suspected to be the leader of this group. Once deep in conversation, they seemed to go back and forth about something, Arthur getting frustrated enough for Hosea to walk over and join them. All the older man had to do was lay a hand on Dutch’s shoulder, pass over a few words. Then all seemed well. Dutch may have been the leader, but Hosea was a herald. A silver-tongued bringer of peace who knew just how to get others to do his bidding, just as Arthur and Dutch were doing now. Just like your mother used to do.

In moments, Arthur was headed for you.

“Be back in a few months!” he called out without even turning to look at everyone.

“Be careful, Arthur!” This from a young, dark-skinned woman, one of the two who had been discussing you earlier.

“Yes, do try to get back to us in one piece,” said an older woman.

A few of them gathered, the rest stopping to watch Arthur leave. A family. He did have a family.

“Have a good ole time while the rest of us do all your work for you,” called out a bigger man.

“Shut up, Williamson,” Arthur said, finally turning to face them all. “I thought you said you’d enjoy me being gone.”

“And I’m still saying it,” the man answered. Arthur chuckled.

“John,” Arthur said suddenly, making a dark-haired man toward the back of the group eye him. “Take care of that family of yours.”

The man didn’t say a word in response, but another woman you’d seen walking about with a young child spoke. “We can take care of ourselves just fine, Arthur. Now get, don’t keep the lady waiting.”

At mention of you, Arthur turned. And all of that attention shifted from him to you. You had to hold yourself back from mounting and riding right away at the feeling of all those eyes. The only thing keeping you standing there was the thought of how much they all cared for Arthur, gathering around to see him off. That this wasn’t about you. You missed being cared for like that. But maybe after all this travel—if you ever got out on the other side of it—you would have that again someday. Maybe you would be okay.

“You ready?”

Those words weighed on you. You didn’t know if you were or not. But you looked at the man who had gathered up the pieces of you and carried them all this way, regarding him fully for the first time. His life, his found family, the sacrifices he had made in what little time you knew him.

“Yes.” It was as close to meaning it as you could be.

The pair of you mounted, turned your horses east, and rode into the trees.

_________

Chapter five is here.

tag list: @tommys0not0beloved @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

[cybernecromancer365]

(Elliot catches Alex trying to look good for Liv)

"Thanks." Elliot ended his fourth phone call. Another dead end with no luck. Hopefully Olivia was faring better with the victim. It was the last lead they had.

He groaned at the ache in his bladder. "Gotta piss." He said to himself and walked out of the squadroom with a stretch. He stepped into the hallway and stopped in his tracks at an unexpected sight.

Fixing her lipstick in the reflection of the office's framed "INTEGRITY" poster was none other than their A.D.A. She stood alone in the hall (or so she thought), fluffing her hair to the perfect point and combing it away from her eyes.

His brow raised as she took off her glasses and stowed them in her bag, tousling her hair a little more with both hands. She looked down her black shirt and tugged a button out of its hole, widening the collar just a bit.

"Liv's not here." He sucked in a smile as Alex snapped out of her makeup session and whipped around to him.

She recomposed herself with a clear of her throat but her words took a second to come. "...A-And?"

Elliot stuck his hands in his pockets but stayed quiet.

"I was fixing my collar."

"Okay."

Alex took a breath. "Well, do you guys have any new leads for me? I'm running dry and court's in a few days."

"Liv's finishing up with the victim."

Elliot's cellphone beeped and he pulled it out of his pocket.

"Look at that."

He read a message.

"Look at what?" Alex said walking to him.

"My partner worked her magic again. Victim's agreed to testify."

"Seriously? Tell her I owe her."

Elliot typed and dictated out loud as he went. "Alex says she owes you...dinner at her place--"

"What?! Elliot stop joking."

"Whoops...my thumb slipped."

Their gazes met and Alex paled. "You did not."

*bing*

"Let me see it." Alex snatched the phone from Elliot's hand. On the screen one word, 'Huh?'

Alex skimmed through the previous messages in disbelief. "Oh my God." She said and tugged at her collar to relieve the sauna starting under her shirt. She breathed and hastily typed a message. "Alex did not say that, your partner is being an asshole." She readily hit send and threw Elliot a disapproving glance.

*bing*

'Oh, that's too bad. I'm hungry.'

Her eyes widened a little at the reponse. She cursed under her breath and put a hand over her eyes. "What have you done?"

"She likes Italian." Elliot said knowingly and Alex met his gaze with a furrow in her brow. She thought for a second then typed a response.

'Rossini's?'

*bing*

'Sounds great. I'm almost back. Tell my asshole partner he'll be filing today's report.'

Alex smiled. "Olivia wants you to know you're filing today's report."

Elliot gave a "so what" shrug and started down the hall. "Keep the glasses. She likes 'em."

Alex clenched her jaw, still holding Elliot's phone in her hand.

#cabenson #olivia benson #alex cabot #elliot stabler #law and order svu #my dumb headcanons

[vibrantbirdy]

Hey lovely!! Could you do a Cassian Andor x (f) reader? I’m a sucker for enemies to lovers. I like the whole “you annoy me and piss me off” relationship that ends up in a situation where they are stuck together for something and end up in a fight where they suddenly realize they have feelings! I love allowing creators to have their own space to create, so if you wanna do something else entirely, please feel free too!!

❤️ take care of yourself

Thank you SO much, this is a great request! I am a sucker for enemies to lovers too. I hope you don't mind, but I had a similar Cassian request from Anon at the same time about Cassian x Reader having to go undercover to Canto Bight as a couple which I thought would work well with yours so I merged them. (Anon, I also hope you don't mind the merging and that you can find this ok as I don't know if/how I can reply to two asks in the same post?)

Also, I want to thank everyone who has interacted with my writing so far.

Requests for Character x Reader fics are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first. Keep 'em coming.

-Birdy

Title: Charade Fandom: Star Wars Setting: Between Andor and Rogue One Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Enemies to lovers; Action/adventure; Fluff Warnings: Moderate sexuality; moderate swearing; mild violence/peril; brief mentions of loss of family/friends by Reader. Pairing: Cassian Andor x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: approx 10k (oops)

Summary: You and Captain Cassian Andor have to negotiate your personal differences and difficult history when you are both assigned to go on an undercover operation to the Galaxy's playground for the super-rich, Canto Bight, as a married couple.

Prologue

Your first mission as a spy for the Rebel Alliance has taken you to Carida. The objective; to infiltrate and sabotage the Imperial Naval Yard there then get out as quickly and quietly as possible.

As it turns out, the mission is doomed from the outset. An Imperial mole who somehow dug their way into the very heart of Rebel Command on Yavin 4 has alerted the Empire to your plans.

Your team of six hardly made it five kilometers from the rust-bucket of a ship Rebel Leadership had assigned to you when you were intercepted by an Imperial patrol.

The firefight was brief. The Stormtroopers were green, even more so than you. You wondered with a pang of unexpected sympathy whether they'd come fresh from the Imperial Academy which was also based on Carida. There were far more seasoned combatants amongst your own unit and the fight was over before it had really began.

Still, that's when you'd lost poor Lily to a Trooper's blaster bolt. You're not even sure he was aiming at her. She'd fallen against you and you'd twisted your ankle as you'd spun to the ground following a futile attempt to hold her upright as if that would negate the fatal injury she'd just sustained.

Now, as you limp up the ridge of the hill you feel a swell of relief as you see that you are almost back to the clearing where the ship is stowed. But as you catch a glimpse of the hunk of old metal, you realise with horror that you are not out of the woods yet.

The Empire uses decrepit shuttles just like this one for for training cadets at the Academy. That's why High Command had insisted you take it - to blend in. You'd nicknamed it Tenacity because the old girl just wouldn't die and the name had stuck.

The ancient vessel doesn't do anything quickly until it's up in the air. Then she's sharp as a razor. But she has a complicated manual override for emergency take-offs whereby the crew need pump fuel round the engines a few times using an externally stowed generator.

Good for training Imperial cadets for problem solving and how to make the best of old tech. Not so good for spies who need a quick exit.

You're the engineer, it should have been you who hooked the ship up to the generator. But with your injury you are too slow and so the others went on ahead to start without you. You are sure you gave correct and clear instructions, but in his panic, it looks like Rogdul has connected the ports up all wrong. Dangerously so.

Overhead, you hear the scream of Imperial TIE fighters and you launch yourself into the nearby undergrowth. You count them. Four. They are searching the valley for you. They pass, but they'll be back in less than a minute. It's impossible that they haven't spotted the ship in the forest clearing.

From your hiding place you hear the ship's engines burst into life. Inside, you imagine Rogdul and Anya carrying out hurried pre-flight checks. Baslin is probably taking up position in the gunner's hatch, hoping to see some action.

No, you think. Not like this.

But you can reach the ship and fix the problem. You know you can. The whole thing will blow if you don't and that's not an option.

You dart out towards the Tenacity, but someone intercepts you, slamming into you with a body tackle and dragging you roughly back to cover through the mud. Soon, you're seated up against them, your back pressed into their chest, their arms and legs wrapped around you like a vice.

It's Captain Cassian Andor, you realise, your superior officer and the lead operative on this mission. You'd completely forgotten that he was even further behind the hasty retreat than you, taking up the rear and keeping watch for more Imperial patrols on your tail.

You don't care who it is. You struggle and writhe furiously against him, desperate to get away and stop the impending disaster you can see unfolding before your eyes. But Andor holds you fast against him as if you were a child having a tantrum.

"Let me go, I can fix it!" you scream over the howl of the returning TIEs.

"You can't, it's too late!" Andor shouts back into your ear.

As if on cue, the generator connected to the side of the ship starts to spark wildly, just as you knew it would. You watch helplessly as the fuel cells hidden within the Tenacity ignite with a deafening bang and whoosh of flame as the ship goes up in a hellish fireball.

A second later, the TIEs make their second pass. There's no need for them to bother firing their weapons. The devastation from the explosion is catastrophic.

They do it anyway.

Two years later

You are on approach to Canto Bight, Cantonica's capital city - the Galaxy's playground for the wealthy.

Captain Cassian Andor is in the pilot's seat, following instructions from the flight control tower. You'll sit down in a moment, but right now, you are desperately trying to sort the sticking-up collar of his cream shirt which is made of expensive looking silk.

Irritated, he tries to bat your hand away, but you are persistent.

"Kriff's sake, Andor, just let me do it," you mutter.

"I'm not a child," he says petulantly, but he relents.

There. Now he looks the part in his fine clothes. He's tidied his short beard and moustache so that the stubble is cropped neatly to the sharp contours of his chiselled face. His dark brown hair is neatly parted at the side, although it's perhaps still a little long...

You don't look too shabby either, bedecked in a knee-length silk day dress of sky blue, accompanied by a cloak of dusky purple which is draped elegantly across your shoulders. The Rebellion went to great lengths to fund this operation and they certainly didn't skimp on the provision of suitable attire. It's essential that you fit in.

"I look fine, you look fine, stop fussing," Andor says dismissively, noticing as you smooth out a couple of annoying wrinkles in your dress and swish out the skirt to make sure the fabric is lying properly.

"I think you look lovely," K-2SO, Andor's droid and almost constant companion, pipes up from the co-pilot's chair, "and that Cassian looks like he's swallowed an Endor fire hornet."

"You don't think," Andor retorts, "That's just circuits misfiring randomly in your head..."

K-2 turns to you with a mechanical whirr, and if he had the ability to conjure expressions, this one would read:

See? I told you.

You stifle a laugh and drop down into the passenger seat behind the droid.

The first time you'd met the hulking re-programmed Imperial security droid had been that fateful day on Carida. You and Andor had shivered miserably in silence for hours by the wreckage of the Tenacity as the rain lashed down, making little difference to the fearsome fuel-accelerated flames which devoured the ship. The Empire, in their arrogance, didn't bother to send out a patrol to check the site.

Then, late into the night, K-2 had finally arrived in Cassian's own ship under cover of darkness. With your injured ankle having swollen to twice its usual size, the gargantuan droid had lumbered over, scooped you up, and carried you with surprising gentleness into the vessel. Ever since, you've always enjoyed his company and his sardonic wit.

Your relationship with Andor, on the other hand, has been tumultuous since its inception. He's always been frosty and stand-offish with you. You sometimes wonder if your presence reminds him of the disaster on Carida the way his does to you.

Whatever his reasoning, his uncompromising demeanour has always brought out your worst qualities when you're around him, especially your stubbornness and your dislike of being told what to do. You've never gone so far as insubordination under his command, but when you disagree with him, you have a unique knack for finding your own way to interpret his orders. This always has the infinitely satisfying effect of winding him up.

Anyway, this time won't be like Carida. And despite your personal differences, you and Andor have worked together successfully - though admittedly never harmoniously - many times since.

Your objective is simple enough. You're looking for a business man, Dreylan Balgo. He's not yet thirty, but he's the biggest supplier of Imperial weapons in the Galaxy. You need to obtain his biometric signature and transmit it back to Alliance High Command. They'll then use it to access the designs and blueprints of the weapons his company is designing for the Empire and eventually send agents in as factory workers to sabotage various key elements.

As Andor and K-2 make the final approach to Canto Bight you look out the window. Below you, the dark sea glitters and ahead, the shining spires of the beautiful city glow golden in the evening sun.

You close your eyes as a flash of a childhood memory dances across your brain. You came here with your parents once when you were nine or ten. That's partly why you've been chosen for this mission. You used to move in these circles.

K-2 drops the shuttle neatly on to the landing pad which juts out over the water.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," the droid quips as you exit.

It's winter on Cantonica. As you step out onto the platform, the breeze is chilly but pleasantly fresh and you can hear the steady crash of waves against the cliffs below you.

At the entrance to the structure, you pause a minute to take in the monolithic doors, ornately carved and inlaid with beautiful coloured glass which catches the light of the setting sun with dazzling beauty. The doors open and you and Andor step into the elaborate marble halls of Canto Bight's most luxurious resort as newlyweds Mr and Mrs Race Pax.

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

The suite you are staying in is as lavish as the rest of the place, but it is small. The coiffeurs of the Rebel Alliance do have their limits.

"What are you doing?" You ask, suddenly stopping your own unpacking to observe Andor throwing an assortment of pillows and blankets onto the ground.

"I'm taking the floor like a gentleman."

"Don't be stupid," you snort, "What if the maid comes in and sees this..." you gesture to the collection of blankets on the floor, searching for a fitting description "...gentleman's pillow fort?"

The most important thing on this mission is that your cover needs to be believable. And, perhaps tantamount to that, if Andor is tired, he'll be even grumpier than usual and you don't think you could deal with that.

He straightens and sighs, repeatedly slapping the cushion he has been plumping with unnecessary force.

One thing you and Andor have never been around each other is shy. Having spent weeks at a time together in miserable, hastily erected camps, cramped transports, and underground bunkers in the service of the Alliance, the necessity of living in close quarters with him stamped that out quick. You've learned to move in each other's personal space with ease and usually without any awkwardness, so you can't fathom why he's making a meal of it now.

He looks at you defiantly for a moment longer before accepting defeat.

"Fine," he says, as he starts to pick up the elements of his makeshift camp bed and throwing them back on the bed, "Fine, but if you snore, I won't hesitate to kick you out."

"If I snore?!"

That was rich.

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

You and Andor are attending one of Canto Bight's seemingly infinite evening soirees for the rich and powerful. A colourful sea of people in lavish dress are engaged in polite conversation and enjoying expensive beverages in one of the grandest ballrooms you've ever seen.

Dreylan Balgo is here, somewhere. Tonight is a chance to observe his behaviour, get to know his habits and make an initial introduction if possible. Anything that could help you create an opportunity to obtain his biometrics over the next few days.

You are wearing a teal halter-neck gown, a drink in one hand while the other rests elegantly on top of Andor's arm. The silk of his plush evening jacket is smooth under your fingertips and you absent-mindedly fuss with it as you scan the crowd for your target.

Someone says your name. Your real name.

Andor stiffens next to you.

Trying to keep your composure you turn and relief floods through you as you realise it's one of your mother's oldest friends, Lady Sen Prya. It's been years since you've seen her and she must be in her eighties by now, but she hasn't changed one bit. She is adorned in the most grandiose yellow satin gown you've ever seen, complete with matching gloves. Her long white hair falls, twisted in an elaborate braid, all the way down to her waist.

Quickly, you take her gloved hand and squeeze it gently, a subtle message you hope she can read.

"Oh I'm sorry you must be mistaken," you say politely and introduce yourself as Mrs Pax.

Understanding flickers across Prya's face. She always was sharp as a knife and time doesn't seem to have dulled that characteristic one jot.

"Ah of course, child. Forgive me," she says tactfully with all the grace and ease you remember from your childhood, "You look very like a dear old friend of mine. It's nice to meet you. I am Lady Sen Prya."

She reaches a hand up and touches your cheek affectionately with a twinkle in her golden eyes. Then, she reaches out to Andor who brings her hand up to his mouth and kisses it gently.

"Race Pax, it's a pleasure," he says, and there is a genuine warmth in his voice.

He appears to have relaxed somewhat and you are sure it's because he probably recognises Prya's name. She has been funding various elements of the Rebellion for years.

"Now, is there anyone you need an introduction to, before I retire to bed like the old woman I am?"

Prya stresses introduction as if its a code word. And it is.

You look up at Andor questioningly. You hate to ask his permission for anything, but he is the senior operative here. He nods once in ascent.

"Dreylan Balgo," you say.

Lady Prya's eyes light up and you can tell that she is delighted to learn who your indented mark is.

"Well then, follow me, young lovers."

Andor gives that rare smile of his, the one you see so infrequently which reaches all the way up to his eyes where they crinkle at the corners. He likes Prya. Everyone does. That's what makes her so dangerous for the Empire.

You wind through the crowd, following Prya as if she is golden star leading you to your destination. You're suddenly nervous and although you'd never admit it, there is something comforting about how Andor's large hand entwines with your own as he follows your lead through the busy party.

"Dreylan! My boy!" Prya's voice is clear as crystal and cuts through the party hubbub with ease.

Balgo turns from a conversation he is having with several other men. He is a handsome man, dressed in an evening suit of black velvet. He is tall and elegant with piercing blue eyes and a mop of sandy blonde curls.

"Ah! Lady Prya! What a delight to see you," he says gregariously, stooping low to kiss the older woman's cheek.

"And you, my lad," she replies with gracious ease, "Now, I want you to meet a couple of newly weds, Mr and Mrs Pax. I'm certain young Pax here would be interested in discussing business with you boys, although I, for one, find it all very dull."

There is a ripple of smug, amused laughter from the circle of men, and you join in only because you know Prya could negotiate most of these idiots out of any of business asset of theirs she chose to.

Balgo turns his attention to you first, appraising you thoroughly before taking your hand and kissing it with an elaborate flourish. You let out a silly little laugh, ensuring your voice carries an appropriate blend of affluence and air headedness.

Less than a minute you've been in this man's company and you can already read him like a holo novel.

He then greets Andor with boisterous joviality.

"Congratulations, Pax, what a stunning creature you have caught in your net."

Andor chuckles amiably, shaking Balgo's hand.

"It's good to meet you," he says warmly.

This time, his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes and you notice that his hand, which has been sitting lightly round your waist, shifts down to just under your hip.

Lady Prya retires to bed soon after, flashing you a wink and a dazzling smile as she sweeps from the room, an ageless vision in yellow.

The conversation and drinks flow. All night, you sense Balgo's eyes on you. Alliance High Command don't officially approve of so-called "honey-traps," and neither do you, but you see no harm in cultivating Balgo's delusion if it opens another window of opportunity. You don't discourage him, directly meeting the furtive glances he casts your way when he thinks Andor isn't looking.

Throughout the evening Andor proves why he is so good at his job. His ability to observe and imitate behaviour is uncanny. He adopts with ease that careless, raucous affectation that only young, wealthy men seem to possess. He hasn't taken more than a few sips of his wine, but he mirrors Balgo's increasingly boisterous body language and bawdy humour expertly.

By the end of the night the two are stomping around the dwindling party with their arms slung around each other's shoulders, swaying and laughing and singing like idiots.

The night has been a success. You've created a rapport with Balgo.

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

"Prya was a friend of your family's?" Andor's voice comes unexpectedly from the darkness, "What happened to them?"

It's very late - or early, depending on how your look at it - and you and Andor have just fallen, exhausted, into bed.

You are resting on your left side, as always, and you hear him roll over beside you, so that he is looking at your back.

You are surprised by how accurately Andor has read into the situation with so little information. You don't see any harm in telling him.

"My father owned an agricultural engineering works. One day the Empire came to his factory and asked him to design and build components for some machine they were building, probably a weapon. He refused. They executed him on the spot and took the factory anyway. I did my best, but we struggled and my mother died a few years after of a broken heart. That's when I left to join the Rebellion."

Andor shuffles, the bed shifting beneath you both and you can tell that he's propped himself up on his elbow. You feel his eyes boring into the back of your head.

"You've never told me that before."

"You never bothered to ask," you reply defensively, "I know what you think, what you all think. That I'm a rich brat who ran off to join the Rebellion just to piss off her wealthy parents."

There's a silence.

"Turns out you're only half right..." you finish with a rather bitter self-deprecating chuckle.

To your surprise, Andor puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. You hesitate for a moment, before you reach across your body to place your hand on top of his, just for a second.

"Goodnight, Cassian," you say.

You rarely use his first name and it feels odd, but not unnatural on your tongue.

"Goodnight."

He rolls back over and is soon snoring softly. You don't fall asleep for a long while, not until you hear the birds begin their morning chorus and the light of dawn starts to creep through the open window with the sea breeze.

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

You and Andor spend the next morning trying to locate Balgo but he's nowhere to be found. You suspect he is probably in his bed nursing a very sore head.

The last place you try is the Fathier racetrack, although you know there are no races on today. You are glad. You can't stand to see these magnificent animals forced to run like that.

Even so, you are unable to refrain from grabbing Andor's hand in excitement and dragging him over to the nearest pen where a mother and foal are resting in a patch of sunshine.

"A baby," you find yourself saying, stupidly.

Andor laughs quietly at the ridiculous, breathless joy in your voice. You wonder if he's making fun of you, but when you turn to him his eyes are sparkling with a mischievous light.

He gestures to a nearby handler, adopting Pax's air of arrogant entitlement with frightening ease.

"My wife would like to see the animal."

"Of course, sir."

The handler coaxes the foal over and it's tall enough already to reach other the fence. You pat the creature on its nose and between its ridiculously long ears and it nuzzles sweetly into your hand.

"Mr Pax?" You say as you turn to Andor and realise he's hovering a few feet back from the fence.

You gesticulate to him to come over. When else will he get the opportunity to interact with such an animal?

"Oh no, I can see fine from here," he replies with a shake of his head.

Surely not, you think, and you feel your mouth twist into a devilish smirk.

"Are you scared?" You tease.

You sidle up to him and entwine your arm in his before stretching up to whisper into his ear so that only he can hear you.

"Captain Andor?"

Unable to resist your direct challenge he offers you his hand with a resigned, slightly nervous grin. You take it, leading him back to the fence. You guide his palm up to the baby Fathier's nose and the creature sniffs it curiously. You then press it gently against the animal's long forehead. When you let go, Andor continues to stroke the animal softly, his face lit up with an expression of childish wonder.

"Thank you, husband," you say when you both turn to leave.

He gives you a subtle wink and you feel a sudden rush of something close to fondness for him.

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

That afternoon is spent sneaking around the resort's service corridors. You are right at the top of the building and the corridors are narrow and low. It's ridiculously hot and you feel stupid carrying out serious espionage in yet another one of the seemingly endless supply of dresses you've been provided. This one is a horrible pink colour that clings all over and you hate it which is why you've chosen it for this dirty, sweaty work. You know you need to wear something suitable for Canto Bight's grand halls in case anyone sees you on your way to or from the job, but it just feels so unnatural.

Hopefully this shouldn't take too long. All you need to do is wire in a small signal booster to the resort's communications lines. Then, when you obtain Balgo's biometric signature, the data pad can send a transmission to a commandeered, disused Republic satellite to confirm that the sample has been collected successfully.

Actually transmitting the scrambled data to the Rebel base on Yavin 4 needs considerably more power which means, at some point, you and Andor are going to have to hike out to Cantonica's main transmitter mast and send the signal manually from there.

You'd flown past the huge pylon on your way in to land at the resort. It's a monumental thing and you feel a rush of nausea at the very thought of having to climb it...but that's a problem for another day, you decide.

Your head is buried in a control panel, and you're trying to explain to Andor why you need to use a slightly different width of cable than originally planned but he interrupts you mid-flow.

"Can you do it, or can't you?"

"I can do it," you snap back.

"Then just do it, I don't care how."

Charming as ever, the morning's hard won truce between you apparently forgotten. He's nervous and so are you, so you try not to hold it against him. He just wants to get out of here quickly.

There's a sound, and with horror, you realise it's the service elevator doors hissing open. A stern male voice follows soon after.

"Lars, If you're up here slouching again, I'm going to dock your pay."

You and Andor both freeze, staring at each other like Loth cats caught in the headlights of a speeder. Then, without warning he grabs you at the back of your knee, hitching your leg up to rest on his hip, his hand travelling further up the underside of your thigh and underneath your dress as he shoves you against the wall and pushes his body firmly against yours. The other hand flies up to your face, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone.

Your gasp of surprise is muffled as he crashes his lips hard against yours. It takes you only a millisecond to understand what he's doing and you kiss him back, twisting your fingers tightly through the locks of dark hair at the back of his head.

At this, a soft groan resonates in his throat and you are almost certain this is unintended. You feel a flash of satisfaction that you've managed to affect him in such a way, then scold yourself for being unable to refrain from point scoring with him, even now.

"Get out of here," Andor growls at the hapless employee, pretending he has only just noticed the man's presence.

His voice is low and husky. As he speaks, you feel his fingertips press into the flesh your thigh. Suddenly, the combination of his proximity and his heady, masculine, familiar scent is overwhelming, and you feel something hot and fierce coil in the pit of your abdomen.

Andor - Pax - has broken away from your lips to berate the man, but he hardly deigns to turn his head to look at the unfortunate employee. You take a moment to study the fine details of his face up close. His pupils are dilated, making his dark eyes gleam like midnight. His nostrils flare slightly with heightened breathing. An uncharacteristic blush is travelling up his neck into his cheeks. You can feel his heart slamming against his chest and your own.

"Oh, uhh... yes...of course," the poor employee sounds terribly embarrassed and all the previous managerial authority has vanished entirely from his voice.

"My apologies sir..."

The man actually stands on his tiptoes and cranes his neck to see your face through the tousled mess you've made of Andor's hair before addressing you directly with a courteous nod of his head.

"Madam."

You raise your eyebrows at him politely and give him a ridiculous little wave with your free hand, the one that's not woven through Andor's hair.

You hear the employee blundering off back to the service elevator and the machinery clunks as the doors close and he disappears.

Andor's forehead is gracing your own and neither you nor he move for a moment. It's just long enough to catch the slow glint of recognition in each other's eyes that something new has passed between you and you both know it.

"Sorry," he mumbles as he finally breaks away, running a hand through his hair as if to sweep away the feel of your fingers there, "I didn't have time to ask nicely."

"It's fine," you say, smoothing your stupid dress down and clearing your throat, "Good thinking."

He leans against the opposite wall, arms crossed, as you return to your work in silence.

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

Evening has fallen and Andor and Balgo are talking animatedly at the bar. The resort is hosting another of its grand parties. You sit with Lady Prya at a nearby table. You don't talk about your new life and she doesn't ask, but the conversation is easy and comfortable and you feel a rush of gratitude that your paths have crossed again.

Once Balgo has left to mingle with other guests, you give Prya an apologetic smile and cross over to the bar where you drape yourself around Andor's shoulders. You lean in to kiss him on the cheek. To anyone else, these merely look to be the actions of a young couple.

In reality, you are providing cover as Andor works quickly with Balgo's empty glass. Earlier, he'd lined the outside of the receptacle with a special gel that picks up biometric data. Once settled on a surface, it is almost imperceptible to the touch.

Andor attaches, then tears away the transfer strip from the glass and quickly places it down on the data pad's receiver. A rather sad and weary boop from the device confirms that it hasn't picked up Balgo's fingerprints.

"Kriff," Andor curses quietly in frustration, a muscle working in his jaw.

"Give it to me."

"What?"

"Give it," you hiss.

Uncertainly, Andor passes the various components of the device to you. You snatch them from his hand, shoving the bits and bobs into your pockets and stride away before he can stop you. The satin of your dress swishes a melody to the click of your heels. You hear Andor swear under his breath.

As you walk, your eyes scan the room, searching for your target. There. A flash of golden hair at the other side of the room. You stalk Balgo through the crowd, waiting for the right moment.

You make your approach, taking out a small mirror from your pocket and quickly squeezing a blob of the clear transfer gel onto your finger before making a performance of patting the strange substance on your mouth like lipstick. You snap the mirror closed and move in for the kill.

"Oh Mr Balgo, I am so sorry!" you exclaim, feigning embarrassment as you collide with his shoulder, jolting him arm so that he spills red wine all down the front of his pristine, white suit jacket.

"Please, Mrs Pax, it's no matter, really," he says as he stays your pawing hands and swoops down to greet you with a peck you on the cheek.

"I really am sorry, Dreylan, I will pay for the damage."

"Nonsense," he scoffs amicably, his chest visibly puffing out as you address him familiarly by his first name, "Now, where has your husband of yours got to? The fool surely hasn't let you out of his sight in that dress?"

Balgo is right, it is a nice dress. Your favourite so far in fact. It is tailored in beautiful crimson satin with a full skirt, off the shoulder sleeves, and a plunging neckline.

"Oh, he's around somewhere, I'm sure."

You lean in and whisper in his ear.

"But he's not here."

He smirks back at you and you see his icy blue eyes light up.

"Shall we get some air on the balcony?" He suggests.

Well, what an unexpected turn of events, you think sarcastically as you accept the proposal with an external show of flirtatious grace.

Out on the ballroom's grandiose veranda with Balgo, you look across Cantonica's seemingly endless, dark waters. The sea breeze is cold, and the businessman drapes his jacket round your shoulders. You laugh at the right times, interject an asinine comment here and there as Balgo talks about business, and allow him to explain things to you that you already know without complaint.

When the timing feels apt, and the balcony is otherwise deserted, you reach up and plant a kiss on his lips. He returns it, placing his hands on your hips. Balgo is attractive enough, there's no doubt about that, and the kiss is far from unpleasant... but it's only a means to an end. There's no passion to it, and you can't help but compare it against the ardent fervour of Andor's embrace. The heat of it.

As you pull back from Balgo with a suitably flushed smile, the gossamer curtains behind him shift in the breeze and over his shoulder you catch a glimpse of Andor across the cavernous ballroom.

He's so far away, but you see him clear as day. His eyes are searing holes in Balgo's back before meeting yours with a look of disdain. He downs his drink and slams the glass on the bar's marble counter-top, stalking off towards the elevator.

You suddenly feel a pang of irrational guilt which makes you furious with him. You're doing your job. The one he failed to do.

Balgo's self-satisfied look of victory does nothing for your vexed and flustered disposition. He offers to go and source a drink for you both. Keeping your composure - you are a spy after all - you smile sweetly at him and agree.

When he is gone, you make sure no one else is around before you take out the transfer paper from your pocket and subtly dab it on your lips. Surreptitiously, you whip the data pad out of your other pocket - thank the stars you'd insisted on dresses with pockets - and press the paper against the reader.

You wait, visualising what the signal might look like if it was something tangible and visible. A little bolt of lightning, perhaps, arcing to the closest service hatch, climbing its way up wires and cables, escaping out into the cold night and up into orbit and the decrepit Republic satellite.

Finally, the device gives you a cheerful bleep and lights up green.

Success.

You'd like to see Balgo's smug face fall when he returns to find you've disappeared, but you don't want this to go any further than necessary. You've got what you need and your sudden absence can easily be explained away as a young wife's crisis of conscience. You leave his jacket on a nearby chair and make your way up to your suite.

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

When you get back to the room, you can practically feel the heat radiating off Andor as he rips his shirt over his head dramatically in the process of undressing for bed.

Trying to ignore his silent seething, you turn away from him and lift your hair away from the nape of your neck. He automatically moves behind you to help you unzip your dress and, despite his clear agitation, his hands are gentle. The red gown drops to the floor, leaving you standing in your flimsy under-slip.

You turn back to look at Andor, taking in the familiar outline of his body. He's not a huge man, but the muscles are strong and taut in his torso, back and arms. Littered here and there are scars, testament to a hard life lived dangerously. The moonlight streaming through the bedroom window gives his tan skin an ethereal glow and illuminates the sharp, handsome features of his face.

It's not that you don't find each other attractive. You both know that there's always been some unspoken tension between you. But the tempestuousness of your personal and working relationship has always prevented you from falling into anything that might be a mistake.

You are suddenly keenly aware of the obviousness your own form as your underdress clings to the curves and planes of your body. You can sense Andor's eyes roaming across it in a way you're sure they never have before.

You think - maybe - something changed with that kiss you shared this afternoon. An embrace which began as a charade and ended as something else.

"That was a stupid, reckless, dangerous thing to do!" he finally explodes, interrupting your reverie and bringing you back down to reality with a thud.

"It was a calculated risk," you retort, furious with him and internally embarrassed by your silly romantic notions.

"And," you stretch across to the nearby dresser to pick up the data pad where Balgo's biometric data is safely stored to brandish it under Andor's nose, "And it worked."

"In case you'd forgotten, Balgo thinks you're here with your husband..."

"That's why it worked!" You exclaim, "By the Force, men know so little about their own species..."

"You could have blown our cover, the whole operation!"

That riles you. Why can't he just congratulate you on a job well done? You've just saved this damn operation. You have what you need now. All you need to do is transmit the data and you can both get out of here.

"I know what this is," you say, your voice rising in chorus with your anger.

"Oh please, please enlighten me."

"You're jealous."

There's a heavy silence.

"Jealous?!" Andor scoffs finally, but the strength of his conviction has faded from his voice, "Of what?"

"You can't stand that I kissed him."

Andor steps towards you, brows furrowed, eyes alight with something that's not quite anger.

"He's welcome to you," he seethes, "The last thing I need is some highly strung rich girl playing at being a spy."

The words sting, especially after you opened up to him about your parents the other night. Even as the vague idea of restraint flashes through your mind, impulsion compels you to raise a hand to strike him across the face.

He catches you by the wrist as you lash out, pulling you even closer to him so that his sharp nose is almost touching yours.

"And so what if I am?" He continues and the change in direction is so unexpected that you are rendered speechless.

His tone is low and dangerous and his deep, brown eyes are wild, roaming your face desperately for an answer that never comes.

"What if I am jealous? What if I don't want his filthy, Imperial hands all over you? So what?"

Andor's face suddenly softens, his eyebrows knitting together in an expression of genuine turmoil. It's a display of vulnerability you've never seen from him before. His grip on your wrist loosens slightly but he doesn't let go.

When he speaks again, his voice is barely a whisper.

"What difference does it make to you? Ever since Carida... You despise me."

It's not true, you suddenly realise. It's never been true. Not really.

You want to tell him you've never blamed him for what happened on Carida. The actions of the mole? Not his fault. The failure of that sorry excuse for a ship? Not him either. Somewhere along the way, your perception of him became warped and refracted through the prism of your own feelings of guilt.

You know he saved your life that day. He must have gone through hell in the aftermath too, dragged up in front of various different elements of High Command to explain why only two of his six operatives made it back alive over and over and over again.

More than this, you want to explain that while you were kissing Balgo tonight, you were thinking only of him. You want to say how when you took a shower earlier and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you'd seen the faint, red imprints of his fingertips still lingering like little tattoos on your skin and that you hope they never fade.

But you're just so angry with him for always having to be such a stubborn, patronising, hard-nosed bastard. So you say none of these things.

You know how much it must have taken for him to admit feelings for you, no matter how clumsy and ill-timed the execution. This man who always holds his cards so close to his chest has shown you his hand. He's given you ammunition and all you can think of in this moment is shooting him down with it.

"That's right," you say, leaning in close and whispering spitefully into his ear, "I despise you Cassian Andor."

You regret it immediately. Andor drops your wrist as if he's been burned. As he steps away from you, he looks completely lost. His eyes are cast down at the floor, full of humiliation and hurt. By the time they return to your face, they have darkened like storm clouds.

"Then, I'm glad we understand each other."

You open your mouth to say something, to take back your words and undo the damage you've wrought with your temper. Nothing comes out.

As Andor turns away, you reach out for him, try to catch him by the elbow. He shrugs you off angrily and storms out of the room.

He doesn't come back until late. You pretend to be asleep as he quietly slips into the bed beside you.

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

When dusk falls the next evening, and with Balgo's biometric stored safely on the data pad in your pocket, you and Andor set out for Cantonica's main transmitter.

You want to use the journey time to explain yourself, to apologise to him and admit your own feelings. But you are so ashamed of your careless words the night before that you don't even know how to begin.

Continuing the trend of the day, you walk the ten kilometers together in almost complete silence, trudging in single file along the rocky coastline.

Even so, being out in nature and away from the city feels almost healing to you. Most tourists only see the rugged countryside of Cantonica from the confines of a shuttle. It has a wild, mountainous, windswept type of beauty that you find exhilarating. After days stuck inside the gilded cage of Canto Bight, it is wonderful to be out in the elements, even if it is rather cold and damp.

Night has decsended by the time you reach the transmitter. It is set precariously on the cliff edge, so close to the tumultuous waters below, it seems like a freak wave could wash it away at any moment.

It looks even more imposing than you remember. A huge durasteel spike with a narrow, fragile looking caged ladder stretching up into the sky leading to a high metal gangway which looks just as ancient.

You go first, and as you climb higher, your hands and feet start to feel fuzzy and your breathing becomes rapid, escaping through your lips in short, sharp pants. You've never been good with heights.

The icy wind starts to whip unpleasantly around you and you grip the ladder fiercely with each laboured step. The damp air has made the metal slick and you gasp as your boot slips on one of the rungs.

You catch yourself before you fall, but even so, you are relieved when Andor comes up behind you and positions himself so that his solid chest presses reassuringly against your back as you take a moment to steady yourself.

"Take your time," he says and his tone is gentle, "You're ok."

You nod and exhale deeply. Steeling yourself, you continue your ascent. You can do this.

You finally reach the top of the ladder and crawl up onto the round platform which encircles the pylon of the transmitter to provide access to where the mechanics of the structure are stored.

You think for a moment that this experience is going to be marginally better than the climb up the rickety ladder. That foolish hope is soon proven mistaken. The durasteel grating beneath your feet feels precarious. There are rusted gaps in the metal here and there and your stomach flips every time you look down. The wind is stronger up here, wild and blustery, and you feel horrendously vulnerable. You just want to get the job done and get down from this death trap as soon as possible.

Andor helps you lift the heavy panel off the front of the control box. You sigh with relief. It's a standard set up, one you've seen hundreds of times before and it's easy to bypass. You set to work infiltrating the system and once you're done, you wait in suspense as the data pad blinks text at you.

TRANSMITTING, TRANSMITTING, TRANSMITTING....

TRANSMISSION SENT.

"It's gone!"

Instinctively, you turn to flash a smile of triumph towards Andor, and you are relieved when one corner of his mouth twitches upwards ever so slightly in return. You wonder if, on the way back to the city, you might find the courage to try and make amends for your rough words the previous night.

Your hopeful thoughts are rudely interrupted when, without warning, the gangway you are standing on shifts violently under your feet. The whole structure lets out an ominous and eerie metallic groan and you realise with dread that the platform is tearing itself away from the pylon.

You have no doubt that you and Andor are the first people up here in years, and that your presence has disturbed the structure from its hibernation and reminded it of its decrepit, fragile state.

You grab at one of the rungs affixed to the main pylon intended for servicing the internal mechanisms, but Andor is too far away to reach. As the walkway peels away, he falls with it. The huge hunk of metal stops suddenly at a right angle to the structure, and the now horizontal guard railings catch Andor as he slams into them with a sickening clang.

There's a brief moment of relief when you think the worst is over, but then the structure jerks violently again as another metal bolt fails, and it tilts just enough to send Andor somersaulting over the top of the railing.

Desperately, he scrambles for something to purchase, and he manages to grasp at the guard rail with the fingertips of one hand as he rolls over it, leaving him dangling helplessly over the roaring water below.

Closing your eyes, you let yourself drop down towards him and your body hits the metal railings agonisingly hard. You ignore the pain and, praying that the railings will hold you, you scrabble to grab at Andor, your hands clutching at a handful of material at the front of his shirt just as his own grip fails.

Unexpectedly finding himself suspended in the air, Andor looks up at you in abject surprise. He assesses the situation and his eyes lock on to yours in alarm as he understands what you've done.

Your shoulders feel like they are slowly pulling themselves out of their sockets and your fingers, numb and white, are twisted up painfully in the material of Andor's shirt. You can't breathe properly, the air in your lungs being crushed out of you as you are pressed into the railings by the pull of Andor's bodyweight below you.

You are terrified that at any moment the guardrail will collapse and you'll both plummet together into the angry sea which seems to wait with open maw like a predator beneath you. But you don't know what else to do, and you refuse to let him fall, so you cling on to him in utter desperation.

"Let go!" Andor shouts up at you, and you can tell it's an order.

"No!" You yell back.

Suddenly, the front of his shirt rips and he drops away so that he is now hanging, almost literally, by a thread. The abrupt and unexpected motion causes you to lose balance and you have to let go of him with one hand to steady yourself on the railings and stop yourself from almost flipping over them to join him.

Andor's eyes are wild and fraught now, flicking between the failing structure and your overwrought face.

"Damn you," he growls with renewed urgency, "let go!"

Your whole body is screaming at you to do as he says, but you won't. Tears sting your eyes, whether from pain or fear, you're not sure. You clench your jaw and shake your head at him.

Andor snarls with effort as he reaches behind him and into his back pocket, pulling out his flip knife. He wrenches it open with his teeth.

"Don't you dare, you stupid bastard!" you scream down at him as you realise with what he intends to do.

He looks at you for one final moment and the world seems to stop. His expression is completely open and readable to you, perhaps for the very first time. His dark eyes glint with a fear that you suddenly realise is as much for you as it is for himself.

Then, he sets his face into a mask of grim determination and with one swift motion, he severs the flimsy cord of fabric tying you together and cuts himself loose.

"Cassian!" The vague outline of his name is torn ragged from your throat in an incomprehensible shriek of despair.

Helpless, you watch as he falls, limbs flailing, down, down, down, until he hits the water below with a sickening crash and disappears into the black, unforgiving waves.

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

Unbeknownst to you, the Rebel Alliance have successfully received Dreylan Balgo's biometric signature and K-2SO is already on his way to extract you and Cassian from Canto Bight.

By his calculations, K-2 should reach Cantonica in twelve hours, twenty-nine minutes and seven seconds. Plenty of time to mull over the conversation he'd had with Murdo the flight technician before he'd left the hanger.

"Maybe this time, eh K-2?" Murdo had quipped as he unhooked the re-fuelling nozzle from Cassian's ship.

"Maybe this time, what?"

"Maybe this time they'll finally have admitted their feelings for each other."

"That is a ridiculous observation," K-2 had said confidently, "They dislike each other immensely."

Murdo had laughed and made a comment about the droid having a lot to learn about human relationships which K-2 had thought was quite rude.

But as he barrels through the hyperspace lanes in Cassian's ship towards the Outer Rim and Cantonica, K-2 has time to mull things over.

He thinks about how on missions when the unit has to set up camp on some remote world, Cassian always leaves your meat rations on the fire just a little longer than everyone else's because he knows you like them so crispy that they're almost burnt.

Then he thinks about how whenever he and Cassian return from a mission you're not assigned to, yours is always the first face the droid spots in the hanger when they arrive back, and that once your eyes land on Cassian, you always walk away without a word, seemingly satisfied.

Now that K-2 really uses his circuits to process it, Murdo's conclusion doesn't seem quite so ridiculous after all.

"Humans," the droid muses to himself with an exasperated shake of his mechanical head.

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

Somehow, you manage to descend the transmitter, climbing and clambering down the structure in a daze. You don't bother even trying to mask your shouts of distress and frustration as your feet and hands slip on the blasted, kriffing, cursed metal all the way down.

You stagger the ten kilometers back to Canto Bight in something resembling a fugue state. When you reach the resort, you sneak through the back entry port you and Andor left through and wind your way through the maze of service passages and elevators back to your suite.

You are as bedraggled looking as you are distraught and you are glad that the corridors are as deserted as they were when you departed. You don't feel you could negotiate your way out of anything right now, despite all your training.

Once you've climbed out of your damp and dirty clothes you fall into bed. Andor's absence beside you is a stark, raw reminder of what's just happened and you finally allow yourself to cry. Somehow, at some point, as you wallow in your anguish, fatigue takes over and you fall into a torrid sleep.

When you awake, it's still dark and you have the distinct impression that you're being watched. There's someone else in the room with you. You bolt upright and almost cry out as your eyes take in the silhouette of a person in the moonlight.

The ghost of Cassian Andor is standing at the foot of the bed.

Except he's not a spectre, you realise. His outline, though swaying, is solid. He's flesh and blood. He's alive.

Once you've recover from the initial shock, you don't think you've ever felt relief like it in your whole life. You leap up out of the bed and fly to him, just as he starts to crumple to the floor. You grab for him, but too weak to moderate his own movements, he drops like a stone and his momentum pulls you crashing down on top of him.

He's all sand and salt and seawater and he is shivering violently. His eyes are heavy, like he's struggling to keep them open. You touch his face and his skin ice cold. His clothes are wet through and you're suddenly struck by the urgency of the situation. You need to get him warm. Now.

With great effort, you manage to half drag, half shove Andor towards the shower room. He's so exhausted and disoriented that even this appears to be an insurmountable task for him.

When you finally get him there, you bundle him into the shower, fully clothed. He slumps against the wall as you turn the warm water on. You start peeling off the sodden, freezing layers of his clothing.

He hisses through his teeth as you remove what remains of his shredded shirt and you see that the skin on his torso and back is blossoming here and there in vibrant shades of black and blue. You're not surprised, a fall from that height, these are probably bruises from hitting the water hard. You try to be more gentle.

Once he's free of all his clothing, you slide down behind him so that you are against the wall, and he's sat between your legs with his back pressed against your torso. You guide him to bring his knees up to his chest and he wraps his arms around himself pliantly, curling into a tight ball. He's still shaking uncontrollably.

You ignore your own discomfort as the warm water plasters your nightdress to your body like a second skin.

Trying desperately to aid the shower in its work of returning some of his body heat to him, you rub his back, his arms, and his chest vigorously. Every so often he rests his head on the bridge he's created with his forearms across his knees and you have to coax him gently to sit up.

"Stay awake," you plead, "You need to stay awake for me."

Finally, his shivering subsides and you sit in exhausted silence as the warm water continues to pour over both of you. Your chin is resting on his shoulder.

"Cassian," you finally say into his ear, tucking a stray lock behind it as if that will allow him to heed your words better.

He leans back into you, tilting his head up towards your face, to show he is listening.

"I don't....I don't despise you, I don't..." you trail off, silent tears suddenly mingling with the spray from the shower as they start to fall from your eyes.

Slowly, Cassian turns to you. He rolls on to his knees, and sits upright on his heels. You mirror his movements so that you are face to face and your foreheads come to rest against each other's.

"I know," he whispers, bringing a hand to your cheek, his expression soft and full of tenderness, "I know that."

He trails a series of soft kisses down your face, touching his lips to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally down until they reach your own. You melt into him.

This kiss is not like the first you shared, hasty and hurried and fuelled by external forces. This is deep and languid and deliberate, as if you are the only two in existence and you have all the time in the Galaxy to spend in this moment.

One of Andor's hands tangles up in your wet hair, the other presses against the small of your back as if willing you closer to him. You can feel his urgency increasing now. His movements are definite and purposeful as he caresses and kisses your skin.

Selfishly, you want him to continue, need him to never stop. But you also know this might not be the wisest way for him to recover.

"Cassian..."

"You told me I need to stay awake," he argues as if he already knows what you're about to say, now tracing kisses along your collarbone, "I'm awake."

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind..." you protest weakly, but the breathy desire in your own voice betrays you.

"Liar," he mumbles as he nuzzles into your neck and you feel him grin against your skin.

The movement of his lips makes his short beard tickle your flesh and the feeling forces a raucous laugh from your chest. It's a loud, unrestrained, joyful sound.

Cassian pulls away to look at you, wearing an expression of wonder. You realise he's probably never heard you laugh like that before. In fact, you can't remember the last time you heard it yourself.

His eyes crease at the corners and dimples appear in his cheeks as he smiles widely at you. That smile, the one you realise you've adored all along. And this one is only for you.

"You're infuriating," you scold, but your voice is light and full of heady exhilaration.

You wrap yourself around him and kiss him hard, realising, finally, that it is impossible to deny yourself the joy of him any longer.

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

You and Andor step off the landing platform of the resort and up into his ship. K-2 wastes no time in piloting the vessel up and away from the city.

Compared to the sumptuous surroundings of Canto Bight, the interior of the ship looks admittedly a little dreary by comparison, but you won't miss life within those opulent walls. Not when you now know just how many of its inhabitants are within the insidious clutches of the Empire.

"Well, I hope you two behaved yourselves," K-2 greets you as you both enter the cockpit.

You and Cassian exchange a glance. He winks at you and you actually giggle, the internal glow of happiness you feel manifesting itself in an embarrassing little laugh.

"I'm taking that as a no," K-2 says, "Murdo will be pleased."

"Who the hell is Murdo?" Cassian asks and he drops into the pilot's chair beside his faithful droid.

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