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lu-undy · 3 years

Text

Request #7

The Sniper/Spy Pirate AU! Here on AO3!

Each step taken on the wooden bridge made the planks of it creak under worn-out, heeled, leather boots. The gun's strap needed adjusting, so he stopped and tied it neatly again for the long barrel to rest across his back.

He gulped down his dry throat and thought to himself that a visit to the local bar would do him some good. After all, the past few weeks at sea had been tiring. So he raised his hand and his feathery companion landed on it.

“Hoo?”

The owl opened his eyes wide and round. In the dead of night, it could see perfectly.

“Let’s go.” The hoarse voice said and the owl jumped to the tall man’s shoulder.

After walking in town for quite a while, being offered the favours of women in ragged dresses and men in torn out coats, the man in the long, dark brown, sleeveless coat heard the familiar racket of a pub. Perfect. He pushed the door.

The songs of drunk men and the chatter of the way-past-tipsy were melodies that the scruffy man was used to. He entered the place and bent his head slightly, to not bump his head. Only the colourful feathers of exotic birds on his hat grazed the top of the doorframe.

He sat at a secluded table, and waited for someone to take his order. A beer, fresh and bitter, that's what he liked.

"I swear they exist!"

"Bah…! Nonsense, I've heard the stories."

Some other poor sailing souls were chatting loudly.

"What stories?" A young one asked as the man in the long coat paid for his beer with doubloons. The waitress bit them to check and moved away.

"Listen, kid. There are stories out there about the Great Nine." An old man recalled.

"What are they?"

"You mean who are they? They were the best pirates over all the seas! The bounties over their heads would clean a bank dry of all of its money! Countless folks tried to best them, none of them came back to tell their stories."

"They were? They're dead?"

"Rumour has it they're dead. But I could never believe it, nah…" The old man shook his head, his eyebrows were so bushy that he looked like he had just one going from one end of his face to the other.

"Why?"

"Cause every once in a while, you hear of them."

"Have you ever met one?"

"Nah, but I've heard the stories. Last somebody saw some was over in Europe! Some are here, in the colonies, and there's one that no one knows where he is."

"What's so special about him?" The young sailor asked.

"Some say he doesn't even exist. He could be anywhere. See that tree there?" The old man pointed through the window. "He could be that very tree."

Another sailor sat at the table with a pint. The old man went on.

"Some say he might be your mum right now!"

"Others say he might be with your mum right now!" The sailor who had just joined said and laughter boomed in the dimly lit bar. "He's a master of disguises, as loud as shadow, and so good with men and women that folks say he never sleeps alone! But he could be anywhere and anyone! He could be you, he could be me, he could even be-"

"Oh shut up! The Great Nine don't exist!" Another voice said and disturbed the peace of the man with the owl, who winced.

"Yeah, they do! I heard one of them is around these parts of the world." The old one answered.

"Really?" The young one asked. "Which one!?"

"They say he can see like a bird of prey, even at night, like an owl. Best eyesight on all the seas, can gun down anyone and any prey from any distance, even blindfolded, they say!"

"Bullocks!" Another one answered. "The Great Nine are the stuff of legend!"

"They aren't!"

Two groups formed in the tavern and the argument went on.

"But what's so special about them?" The young sailor asked.

"Each of them are experts in somethin'. Folks say they invented their craft!"

"What do they do?" The young one asked.

"One's said to put mountains to shame. Muscles that pile higher than what you've ever seen."

"Another one's said to have blown up an entire island with one eye. They say his eye socket is haunted!"

"Aye! And there's one who's said to jump so high and run so fast, you can't see him!"

"The fourth can build cannons that fire without being manned!"

"The fifth one drinks his beer only if it's set ablaze and he's the only pirate who can sail a wooden ship on flames!"

"The sixth blasts his gun with his hat over his eyes and can jump in the air with cannons!"

"And the last one is a healer."

"A healer?" The young one repeated, perplexed. "How can he be a pirate then?"

"Rumour has it he's sailing with the pile of muscles and can make him invincible with a secret potion. He also brought some folks back from the dead!"

"How would you recognise them?" The young one asked.

"Only in battle, kid. If you see one of the miracles we described to ya, then you'll know. Legend says some can also recognise each other somehow."

"And you said he was around these parts, the one with great eyesight. How do you recognise him in particular? D'you have to watch him fight?"

"He's got a gun like none other, with one very long barrel. Rumour has it he built it on his own, forged the metal and all. Besides, he's got an owl for a pet." The old sailor resumed. "They say he sees through its eyes."

"Yeah, that's why a lot of folks think they saw him. They see a man with a bird and get scared…!"

"An owl?" The young one repeated. "Like this guy?"

All the eyes turned to that one man with the long, dark brown coat and the hat with two exotic feathers on it. He stood up and took his leave, his owl firmly perched on his shoulder. He had heard enough.

A few days later, the man with the owl looked for a contract again. As a hunter, he was a patient man and could have waited more but he missed the sea. He looked around in town to find something suitable for him. He knew the basics of sailing but that wasn't his strongest asset. He much preferred being hired as an assassin.

In the past, he had had contracts to protect convoys or attack some. He also had hunting contracts for exotic and rare species. As he had spent a lot of time with the wildlife of the colonies, he had become quite the expert with the fauna.

"Hoo."

The owl flew from his shoulder to a sign where people pin letters, advertisements for jobs. The man took a closer look. He eliminated a lot of them until one caught his attention. He tore the paper out of the sign and shoved it in his pocket before heading to the address mentioned on it.

"Sir, a gentleman to see you, for business."

"Let him in."

The house wasn't a house. It was a bloody palace and a half. The governor of that area sure was well-off.

The old, heeled boots clicked and clacked with every step on the immaculate, white tiled floor, as the man with the contract in his pocket followed the butler. They eventually arrived in a spacious and luxuriously decorated room at the end of which was a desk and the governor sitting at it.

"Faites vite."

The man in the ragged clothes didn't move. Ah, yes, that was French territory and the governor was of course, French.

"I said to make it quick." The governor translated himself and one could hear the accent even though he could speak in perfect English.

The man raised a finger and his pet owl flew to it. He looked the governor in the eye and removed his peculiar long gun from his back, holding it firmly in his palm.

"Ah, I see you are here for the job?"

He nodded, the feathers on the hat brushed the air.

"Well, you are hired."

The butler's eyebrows jumped. The governor didn't even ask anything about that vagabond and just hired him?

"Let me give you some details. Pray take a seat."

The man with the long gun obeyed.

"My ship will transport some gold and sugar from this island to further up North. From there, the cargo will be transferred to a group of ships and transported back to Europe. Your job is to make sure that the first step of the plan goes smoothly. Namely, that all the cargo makes it up North. Am I clear?"

"Any particular risk of attack?" The man had finally spoken and his voice was deep and hoarse.

"Pirates." The governor said. "They are growing more and more numerous by the minute, reproducing like rats. The English are of course to be distrusted, and some reports tell us that even some Spanish ships were seen to roam around these coasts."

The feathers on the hat nodded slowly.

"Payment?" The hoarse voice asked.

"As promised on contract, and only when I have received a letter from France saying that they received all of it."

Again, the couple of exotic feathers bowed and bounced back up.

"Will I be alone on the job?"

"No, of course not. A group of my guards will be there."

"Why hire me then? Don't trust them?"

"A pile of gold can make a man's oath for service swing." The governor answered. "Any more questions?"

The man under the hat shook his head.

"Then I have one for you. What is your name?"

"M."

The governor's eyebrows twitched but he then promptly nodded.

"Fine then, Mister M. The ship will depart tonight, the crew will expect you."

M nodded and rose to his feet before turning away.

"M?"

He turned back to the governor.

"Here, take this letter with you. My crew will let you on board if you show it."

M took the letter and nodded before leaving.

It was still early in the day and when M exited the governor's palace, he decided to spend some time on his own, walking around town.

M wasn't a man of many friends. The owl he had, Hootsy, was his longest one. He had rescued it as it was but a young chick and raised it until it became a proud and grown up owl. M wasn't very talkative either. Some people would even say that his owl would speak more than him. But it didn't matter much to him. He was living for Hootsy and himself, he had no family either.

He had his parents back home but when he had come back to them with mountains of money, they had kicked him out. That was a mistake on M's part. Of course a beginner sailor couldn't make that much. He had tried to make them believe that it was all honest money, but of course, they didn't believe him and had guessed that he had joined some pirates.

So much for family and friends. He had none left. And what about love interests, hm? Wanting to start a family? Wave goodbye to the seas and stay on land with a woman and a few kids?

Nah. He liked the sea too much and the women so little.

The truth was that anytime he wanted a night to be less lonely, he would rarely go to women. It happened, sometimes, that he would try a woman again. But there was nothing that got to him more than a man's attention. Somehow, it was more honest, more true, and even if at the end of the day it was but a transaction - a service in exchange for doubloons - it never failed to make a spark in his heart.

And that spark, he had learnt to put it off, bury it and move on. M was cursed, not because he liked men - many pirates were like him - but because he had stepped a foot in a type of life that wouldn’t allow him to exit it. Being at sea, the salt floating in the air, the seagulls chanting the land and men chanting the waves, the bobbing of the ship, the thrill of a chase, of a fight, and emerging victorious against the authorities, against forces that deemed your job illegal and your whole purpose void; yeah, that was what M had developed an addiction to. Of course men would fall and die, people he would call “mate” for a trip, a voyage, they would leave him. And it seemed to him that however big the number of people he called “mate”, the number of dead men would always rise higher and death would swallow them all eventually like a gigantic hungry shark.

And the curse did not end there. M had to hide. He did not want people to call him “mate”. He let them do it, just for the purpose of the job and because it would seem unusual if he asked other crewmates to treat him differently. But the truth was that he was different, he wasn’t like any odd pirate. No, God had to make him special and on top of pushing away any semblance of friendship, the cruel one high above had to make M do the heart-breaking job of actively pushing people away himself. Why? Because if they knew who he was, they would try to kill him.

M looked at the sun and it barely started to go down. A cold beer would do. He shoved a hand in his pocket and felt the coins. Yeah, that should do for a pint or two. He headed for the harbor and entered a tavern there.

The setting was much different than that pub of the previous day. Everywhere around him were official sailors, people who had a wage and all for their work. There were even a few blue coats, officers of the French naval forces. M didn’t pay any attention to them. He went to the counter and placed his order, barely noticing the eyes riveted on him, the odd one in the crowd.

“Mais qu’est-ce qu’il fait là? Il n’a pas l’air Français.”

[What the hell is he doing here? He doesn’t look French.]

“A mon avis, c’est un de ces pirates, ou pire, un Anglais.”

[In my opinion, he’s a pirate, or worse, he could be English.]

“Un pirate? Ici? Il tend le bâton pour se faire battre…”

[A pirate? Here? He is asking to be beaten up...]

M’s understanding of French was limited to sailing words. But no matter the language, he could feel the tension rising in the air and the animosity growing towards him.

“Hé, d’où tu viens, l’ami?”

[Hey, where d’you come from, mate?]

M kept on drinking his beer silently.

“Hé, j’te cause….!”

[Hey, I’m talkin’ to you….!]

The French naval officer came closer and pulled M by the shoulder.

“T’es Français ou non?”

[Are you French or not?]

M sighed and frowned.

“No.” He answered.

“Alors casse-toi avant qu’on te casse la gueule.”

[Then fuck off out of here before we beat you up.]

M did not want to attract any attention but… His pint was still pretty full and he had paid with the last few doubloons he had. In other words, he didn’t have much to lose. He whistled and his owl flew inside the pub, landing next to his glass.

"Une chouette et un long fusil… Est-ce que c'est…?"

[An owl and the long gun… Is that…?]

One sailor pointed at M.

"C'est personne! J'en ai vu des gens qui se trimballent avec un hibou et un long fusil. Ils s’habillent comme une des Grand Neuf pour effrayer les gens!”

[It's no one! Countless people I've met with a pet owl and a long barrelled gun. They just dress up like one of the Great Nine to scare people away!]

“I’m not lookin’ for trouble. Just a beer close to the harbour.”

The people in the bar looked at each other, intrigued. A man with a pet owl and an odd long barrelled gun on his back…?

“Leave him be.” Another officer said from his chair in the corner of the room. He spoke in English with a similar accent than that of the governor. “He paid for his beer as much as you did, thus giving his money to a French landlord. If more of the English scum did the same, we wouldn’t need to hire pirates at each other to help us in this war.”

“J’en ai rien à foutre. Qu’il dégage ou je vais le renvoyer chez sa mère vite fait bien fait.”

[I don’t give a fuck. He should be out of this place, before I send him back to his mum quick.]

People turned to the man who was in the corner, the one who had defended the stranger, and he stood up. He walked to the one who wanted to pick up a fight and looked them straight in the eye.

“C’est toi que je vais renvoyer chez ta mère si tu ne la boucles pas.”

[It’s you I will send to your mother if you don’t shut it.]

He patted his own shoulder where the sewn pattern of his rank was and the feisty officer froze.

“Oh, merde… Pardon, Monsieur!” He saluted him.

[Oh, shit… Sorry, Sir!]

M had ignored the whole conversation. He had asked for a bowl of water and Hootsy was now bathing in it. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. The officer sat next to him.

“Sorry for the inconvenience. I know you will join us on the governor’s ship tonight. My name is Capitaine de Belzyeux.”

M nodded in thanks.

“You the captain of the ship?”

“No, I will come as a guard with my squad.”

M nodded again.

“See you later.” The Frenchman said.

M finished his drink and the sun gently set in the distance, the sky turned from blue to pink and darker shades of violet in the distance. He looked at his owl and offered his hand to him.

Tick, tack, tick, tack.

Hootsy’s claws clicked on the wooden counter and the feathery companion climbed on his master’s hand, wrapping his claws gently around his fingers. M put him on his shoulder and exited the tavern, heading for the docks.

He walked along the ships, Hootsy flying above him until M located the governor’s ship. The sails were very distinct, his sigil was sewn there gigantically.

Embarking wasn't an issue for M, the letter vouched for him. But once aboard of course, people kept on giving him odd looks. He was the only one not wearing a blue uniform. But as the Captain from the tavern was there, no one attempted more than whispers or looks.

The ship departed from the harbour and was headed deep into the sea. The strip of land on the horizon shrunk to a line, and soon, nothing. The water was calm, one could only hear the occasional creaking of the wood on the ship, or the sails rolling, inflating under the soft wind before they deflated and let a gentle draft through. Orders were shouted left and right but soon, silence fell when the ship was sufficiently far from any land.

The night was deep and everywhere around the ship was an infinite sea, the ripples at the surface gently reflected the moonlight. Most of the crewmates withdrew to get some rest, leaving a few to keep watch.

“Mercenary?” M turned. The Captain from earlier came to him. “Follow me, please.”

M obeyed and went down the cargo hold of the ship, passing the crewmates' rustic beds.

“That’s where the gold is.” He pointed at crates. “Should things go pear-shaped, this is what my squad, me and you will die for.”

M’s eyes lingered on the crates. They were neatly arranged and piled up and he thought to himself that it was indeed a lot of it. Wherever that governor had got it all from was beyond him.

“As you see, there is only one way to get inside, through this door that I have led you through, and this entire level is below the crew’s level where some of my guards are posted. Whoever wants this will have to pass through three levels of the ship and even more levels of guns and guards to get here.”

“Thanks.” M nodded.

“No problem.” Both exited the room and the Captain locked it again. M saw him slip the key in his pocket. “Now, I am not one to be enthused at the idea of working with a mercenary.”

Both men resurfaced on the deck.

“Your kind are competition to the regular armed forces of any country. Besides, your presence here speaks at length of how much the governor trusts me and my men… But I suppose, with what both you and I have seen down there, it is only fair to doubt the loyalty of men. Some would kill for much less.”

They walked along the deck.

“But contrary to a lot of your bunch that I have met through the years, you don’t seem arrogant about it and you don’t provoke my men, or the regular guards in general. Quite peculiar.”

M nodded without adding a word. The Captain stared at him for a second and decided to leave the man to his own peace.

M climbed up to the crow’s nest. He leaned to rest his forearms on the bar there and just calmly watched the starry sky. He took a deep breath. Yeah, that was his life, and one he wouldn’t exchange with anyone else for anything in the world. Out there, at sea, not having to follow anyone’s order, doing a job, getting paid and moving on to the next. No strings attached.

Well, he sometimes wished he did have a few strings attached to something, to someone. M wasn’t getting any younger and the thought of coming back somewhere to a room with someone waiting for him tickled his insides warmly. But who? Who could accept to let him go periodically and perhaps not see him again? Because it was out of the way to stop being what he did best. After all, he was the best in his business for a reason and liked his job. It wasn’t always on the legal side of the line, but it paid enough and he wasn’t bothered too much about the causes or consequences of his contracts. Those were for other people to deal with, in their consciences. He was a means hired to an end. Some would argue he was doing the dirty work. In the eyes of the law? Yeah, very dirty sometimes. But for him? He was doing the exciting part, the part that in fact no one else could do.

His train of thought was broken by a sailor climbing up the crow’s nest. M let him come up and slid back down. His heels hit the floor with a wooden click. He went back to the edge of the deck and let the salty air gently lick his face.

“Capitaine! Pirates en vue! Nord-Ouest et en approche rapide!”

[Captain! Pirates! North-West and coming fast!]

The crew woke up fast at the jingle of the metal bell that resounded promptly after. M squinted in the direction announced by the sailor on the crow’s nest and yes, he could see it. A ship coming closer and closer.

Orders were shouted, sailors put all their efforts into trying to gain some speed but burdened as the ship was, they would never manage to avoid the confrontation. Some other sailors manned the cannons and got ready to fire. The racket of voices slashing the air, heavy cannons slowly rotated to get the right angle on their target as the rest of the crew took muskets and swords.

M whistled and Hootsy perched on his shoulder. He exchanged a few words with the bird before setting it free. M watched as the pirate ship got closer. He removed his gun from his back and loaded it to get ready. He took aim and was the first gunshot that anyone heard. All the eyes turned to him as he reloaded shot after shot. Sailors laughed at him. Taking shots from that far surely was a waste of ammunition. Thank God the man had a pouch with his own and wasn’t using the crew’s or they wouldn’t be laughing seeing his reloading and shooting relentlessly. The captain of the ship ignored the lunatic and went on shouting orders.

“Aux canons! Tenez-vous prêts!”

[Man the cannons! Get ready!]

The French Captain from the tavern took his spyglass out and took a look. His jaw dropped.

“Non!” He roared. “Ne tirez pas!”

[Don’t shoot!]

The sailors looked at each other, confused.

“Ne tirez pas, leur canonniers ont été abattus!”

[Don’t shoot, the pirates manning the cannons are down!]

The official captain of the ship took a look and his jaw dropped. His eyes went straight to M who was reloading with impressive speed and took another shot. Hootsy came back to his master and hooted to him a message that only M could understand. He raised his eyes to the French Captain from the tavern.

“There are more, they’re hidden in the ship and will come out when they’re within boardin’ distance.” He simply said and took another shot that split the air before it split a skull, leaving a bullet hole cleaner than what any pirate had ever seen before.

The pirate ship was helped by the wind and soon it happened. The pirates boarded the official ship and swords slashed, clouds of smoke popped everywhere on the deck where gunshots slashed through the air. The battle raged but the pirates soon manned their cannons again and started taking shots on the regular ship. The water started to flow inside the ship and it slowly rose, more and more. Each loud boom was accompanied by the sound of the wood crunching under the impact of the heavy cannonball piercing through the hull mercilessly. As the water flowed in more and more, the sailors were soon overwhelmed and some abandoned the ship, others were shot dead or thrown overboard.

M was of course caught in the middle of the fight. He put his rifle on his back again and picked up a sword. A pirate ran to him but he fell limply to the floor before he reached him. M turned to a group rushing to him. There was a gunshot and the blood sprang from them, as they were sliced open, but by whom? M couldn’t tell. In the dead of night, it was hard to see even for him.

“Hoo!”

M turned again and this time his sword slashed with an opponent. Soon after, the ship was set ablaze by the pirates and the flames devoured the wood mercilessly. M defended himself and managed to protect himself until he received a hit on the head and blacked out on the vision of hell; flames everywhere, and the smell of burning wood, ashes blown by the air.

When he gained consciousness again, He was tied in a cage like an animal and the French Captain from the tavern was there too, in another cage. M looked around. They were in the cargo hold of a ship, not their original one. And oh… His hat was gone, his braid of brown hair still laid on his shoulder.

“You’re finally awake? God bless you... “ The French Captain whispered. “We’re on the pirate ship and I’m afraid they didn’t make many more prisoners. It’s only you, me and a handful of others.” He nodded in the direction of a cage when other bruised men were tied up.

“Oi! They woke up down there!” A voice shouted in perfect English, which told M that it was one of the pirates. Soon after, a few of the scoundrels came in to examine their prisoners.

“What do we have here, eh? Frenchie, Frenchie, Frenchie and oh… You! We put you in a different cage cause you’re special. You’re not French.” The pirate captain had an impressively large, black hat with feathers as red as blood. He had a long, unkempt beard and dark eyes. The man was largely built too. “Who’re you, eh? Why’re the Frenchies keepin’ ya? Lucky charm? Well if you’re their lucky charm, we should toss you overboard, eh?”

The rest of the pirates cheered and laughed around him.

“Now, we found you with one hell of a weird gun.”

One of the pirates brought M’s rifle forward.

“You’re the one who took my men down from the bloody Moon, yeah?”

M didn’t answer. His head hurt too much and he didn’t want to even raise his eyes to the pirate captain, who went on.

“Now, some of my men here are scared of you, that’s precisely why I want to keep you. It’ll teach them to not fear anyone. Whatever you are, you’re human and we can kill you any moment. Now, for the Frenchies…” He turned to the French Captain. “You’re the chief there, aren’t ya? Are those your men?” The pirate nodded to the third cage.

“What do you want from us?” The French captain bared his teeth.

“From you? I want to know what was on your ship and if there are more like it coming. It sank faster than an elephant!"

"I won't say anything to some scum like you."

"Well then," The pirate Captain turned to his men. "Get one out of the bird cage and shoot'em."

M was still surfacing back to full conscience when the gunshot made his ears ring loudly. He winced and frowned, trying to catch as much force as he could. His mind was foggy but when he managed to open his eyes again, there were a few corpses on the ground. French sailors.

The French Captain couldn't do anything.

"I told you! We were the only ship with this cargo!"

"Yeah but you didn't tell us what you were transporting. Another one!"

Another gunshot and a body fell lifeless.

"Gold! We were transporting gold but it was the entire stack of it! I swear!" The bloodshed was enough for the French official soldier.

"Are you sure?" He gestured and another French sailor was executed.

"I swear!" The French officer shouted, tears welling at his eyes. The pile of corpses was growing and the man's conscience was gnawing on him.

"Alright then…" The pirate gestured and the French man's eyes snapped wide before his skull got pierced by a bullet and his body hit the floor limply.

M leaned back and sighed.

"Out with the bodies, quick!" The captain of the pirates ordered and his crew got to work.

"And what should we do with this one?" One of them asked, pointing at M.

"We keep him for now."

The bodies were dragged out and M was left alone in the dimly lit cargo hold. He fully woke up and started to move his wrists. Bugger, they were in iron handcuffs. He gritted his teeth and looked around him. That's when he noticed that his ankles were in cuffs too.

Well, time to think of something… Hm…

His eyes darted everywhere around him, as the boat gently bobbed left and right under the waves and the currents, when a smell tickled his nostrils. It was sweet, what was it? It wasn't sugar or honey, no, it was… It was… Vanilla?

He frowned and looked around him but couldn't see anything that could smell of vanilla. It intrigued him and distracted him almost well enough that he hardly heard a metallic click. M moved his wrists. He was free?

Tick, tack, tick, tack…

M thought it was Hootsy but out of the shadows a white cockatoo appeared and entered his cage, slipping between the bars.

"Hey there, baby bird." M pushed the handcuffs away from his wrists and offered a hand to the bird who climbed on his fingers. He petted it. "D'you have any idea how I can make it out of here, eh?"

The cockatoo raised his eyes to the man and nodded, bending his head down to enjoy more neck scratches.

"Sorry I don't have any treats for you. I used to have Hootsy's but they're meat. I doubt you'll like that."

The bird nodded again before jumping down M's lap and curling there. The man cupped him to bring him warmth and petted it, staring at it on his lap.

"There, there…"

Click.

M raised an eyebrow. The noise surprised him and as he raised his head to see in front of him, his eyes met with the silhouette of a man crouching in front of him, with a gloved finger on his lips.

M didn't make a noise.

"Good day, M." The stranger said low enough that the wood creaking almost covered his voice. "Now listen, I will get you out of here, but you need to follow my instructions closely."

The voice had a French accent too, was that one of the sailors? Nah, none of them knew his name.

"Do you understand me?" The stranger asked and M nodded.

"Good." He unlocked the cage and freed M before gesturing to him to follow him. The white cockatoo flew to the stranger.

“Perle, reste avec le Monsieur, ma chérie.”

[Pearl, stay with the gentleman, my darling.]

The bird flew from his shoulder to M’s and both men walked as silently as possible. M grabbed his equipment from the floor nearby, he put his rifle on his back and his hat on his head. When they faced the stairs to go up one level, they saw a pirate standing guard. The stranger motioned M to wait, and he obeyed. He watched as the man dressed with a long dark coat and a hood on his head slithered behind the pirate, killed him in silence and dragged his body down and behind the stairs. When he emerged from there, he was dressed and looked absolutely like the man he had just killed.

M's eyebrows jumped. How the hell did he dress up that fast? And the face? Was he the pirate's twin?

They progressed up level by level. The stranger's abilities were like no others. M saw him stab the pirates in the back stealthily, one by one, putting a hand on their mouths to cover any noise they would make, before disguising as them and progressing further. Sometimes, he would even lure them with a conversation before striking. M would hide behind barrels or crates and watch his improvised ally until they made it to the upper deck. M realised that an entire day had passed since the boarding of the governor’s ship as it was already night again.

"Now, I will have to handcuff you again momentarily and take your equipment from you. Follow me and you will find your freedom."

M nodded and got his wrists back in a pair of cuffs. The stranger took his rifle and his hat that he put on his own head before pushing M outside.

"Now, get outta there! Captain wants you out, whoever the fuck you are…"

M's eyebrows jumped again. Where the hell was the French accent gone to?

It didn't matter much because the acting fooled the remaining pirates who pitched in in the mocking of the unfortunate M, who played the stranger's game and walked on the deck. When he raised his eyes, he realised that the ship was actually stopped at some land. Where that was, M had no idea. But he needed to get far and away from these pirates right now.

The stranger pushed him out of the ship with the tip of a sword poking his back and into the harbour. They walked and walked until they ended up in a narrow alleyway where the stranger resumed his normal attire with the dark cloak in a flash and uncuffed M.

Hootsy came flying and landed on his master's shoulder.

"You must run and hide. Any minute now, they will realise that something is wrong." The stranger said.

M observed the man. His face was hidden under his hood and when the nearby street lamp light hit him right, he realised that he had some kind of scarf around his mouth and nose. Only his very light blue eyes flashed in the night.

"But I don't suppose you have anywhere to stay here, do you?"

"I don't even know where we are." M answered.

"Back where you started. But I doubt the governor will be happy with you when he will know that you lost his gold. So you cannot hide with him."

M nodded and lowered his head.

"Which is why I am offering you to follow me back to my house."

M's head jerked back up. That stranger was awfully generous…

"Who're you?"

"You know who I am and I know who you are too. The legends did not lie, you really have a pet owl and a very long barrelled gun."

M could hear the smirk even if he couldn't see it.

"Now, follow me, we shall go out of town."

They walked through dark and poorly lit streets, stopping every so often to let a group of patrolling guards cross their paths and walk away. After what seemed like eternity, they walked out of town and had to walk on roads never taken before by man. M pushed the dense foliage to follow the stranger not by necessity anymore but out of curiosity.

"Here we are."

Hidden deep in the jungle was a white house. It wasn't as big as the governor's palace but it was more than reasonable in size for a wealthy family.

“Hoo!”

The stranger knocked on his own door and a butler opened.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur."

[Good evening, Sir.]

"Good evening, Alexandre. Please speak in English as our guest here is not familiar with our tongue. Come in, please, M."

M was taken aback. How did the stranger know his name?

He followed him inside to discover that the house was richly decorated. And M's suspicions as to who his host was were more and more confirmed.

"I imagine you are quite hungry. Alexandre, please prepare some dinner for two, I will show our guest around."

"Of course, Sir."

"Follow me, M."

"Hold on."

Both stopped in the corridor.

"How d'you know my name?"

The stranger pulled his hood down and M saw salt and pepper hair combed back into a slightly long mullet. The front grey lock nonetheless fell between his eyes. M’s eyes went down to his host's attire and he realised that under the cloak, he was dressed as posh as his manners and his house.

"You may call me L." He simply answered with a smile that M finally saw as he removed the scarf in front of his mouth.

A slightly hooked nose, slim face and silhouette overall, and very thin lips under a finely trimmed moustache, French style, with a goatee.

"Now, follow me upstairs… Here are your quarters. Madeleine?" He shouted and a maid appeared. “S’il vous plaît, préparez un bain pour notre invité, il en a bien besoin.”

[Please prepare a bath for our guest, he could do with one.]

"Oui, Monsieur." She nodded and went on her way.

[Yes, Sir.]

“I shall leave you in the hands of Madeleine, M. See you for dinner.”

The expert hunter was so surprised that he didn’t know if he should thank the man or run away as fast as possible.

“Monsieur?” Madeleine’s feminine and gentle voice cut M in his astonishment and grounded him back to Earth. “Veuillez me suivre.”

[Please follow me.]

“D’you speak any English?” He asked as Hootsy flew straight to the bed, between the pillows.

“Euh, je, non, je ne parle pas Anglais.” She blushed and lowered her head.

[Uh, I, no, I do not speak English.]

“It’s alright, just go ahead, I’ll follow.”

Communicating with Madeleine turned out to be easier than expected. Sign language helped greatly. She showed him his room and started preparing the bath. M stripped naked and slipped in before she came back to scrub him clean with - oh - a vanilla scented kind of soap.

“Voilà, Monsieur. Monsieur L vous attend pour dîner et vous trouverez de quoi vous habiller sur votre lit.”

[Here we are, Sir. Mister L is waiting for your dinner and you will find what you need to dress up on your bed.]

M raised a curious eyebrow and Madeleine repeated herself with gestures, pointing fingers and miming actions.

“Ah, yeah, alright, I get it. Uh, merci.” He tried his best and Madeleine nodded with a wide grin on her face. She left the man alone in his bathroom to get out of the bath and go to the bedroom to get dressed.

When he entered the bedroom, M found a few different options of clothing on the bed. He went for the most casual one. A white shirt, with quite wide and puffy sleeves, and a pair of dark trousers. He put them on and slipped some socks. Even slippers were provided.

Hootsy flew to his shoulder as he went downstairs and stopped at the living room door, his hair still damp on his shoulders.

“Ah, M, please join me.” L gestured to him and he entered the room. “Take a seat and join me, I hope you will enjoy your meal. What does your feathery companion enjoy?”

M took a seat and his eyes raised to comprehend everything that was on the table. Chicken, lamb, beef, salads, fruits, vegetables, potatoes…

“Meat.” M answered.

“Oh, come here, then.” L raised his finger and Hootsy flew to him. He fed it some lamb and petted his head. “I like birds, their freedom is inspiring.”

M was still tense. He did not want to stay for dinner with that man. Why was he still there? And dressed by him as well…?

“What d’you want from me?”

“A few answers and a bit of company. But first, please, you must be starving. Help yourself.”

M went for a chicken thigh. He grabbed the large knife and cut it in one confident slice before going at it.

“I presume you know who I am.” L said.

“Have my idea.”

“Pray share.”

M raised his eyes from his plate to Alexandre and Madeleine still standing not far. L turned to them and nodded. Both of them left.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” M said.

“And so are you. I am delighted to meet you, a master hunter and sharpest of all shooters. I saw you in action and it was quite a feat.”

“You’re not bad with your disguisin’ and backstabbin’ either.”

The concerto of cutlery on plate resumed. They exchanged gazes with each other, the tension was making the air electric. Should one trust the other? What were his ideas? His intentions? Should one just ask?

“Why did you get me out of there?”

“I heard that someone dressed like you was roaming the streets.”

“Who told you?”

“Perle.” The Frenchman said and his snow white bird flew to him. “She has eyes and ears everywhere. People don’t mind what they say where birds fly free. Too bad for them, and quite good for me. Tiens, ma belle.”

[Here, my pretty one.]

He fed her some nuts that were in a separate little bowl.

“What d’you want from me?” M asked.

“Nothing. Or rather, I want to suggest something.” L said, becoming slightly more serious. “You might wonder why I was on that pirate ship you got captured in.”

M nodded, his face still deep in his food.

“Well, I could have retired or stopped. As you can see, I live very comfortably and do not need to continue pirating, looting, stealing and such.”

“But?” M raised his lagoon blue eyes to his host and saw the shadow of a smirk on L’s lips.

“But I like it. I like the thrill of it, the tension, the energy and sometimes, the chaos even. On the deck of the governor’s ship, I was there, fighting too.”

“Saw you.”

L’s eyebrows jumped.

“Did you?”

“Never saw anyone fight swords with a short blade.”

“Swords are preposterous, large, inconvenient and at the other end of stealthy. I like to do what I need to do while hiding in plain sight, as you have noticed. If I can make my way without making any noise, then I will.”

“Yeah, saw that too, and never saw anyone like you before.”

The Frenchman’s smirk grew wider.

“Likewise. The way that you took down those people manning the cannons was divine. If your gun had been silent, I would have had to sit down to breathe.”

M stopped chewing sharp. His irises darted left and right as the blush on his cheeks appeared. He cleared his throat and frowned, diving again in his plate.

“Workin’ on it actually.”

“Are you?” L cocked an eyebrow and M met his gaze for an instant.

“Still haven’t told me what you want from me.”

“Straight to the point, I like that.” L straightened his back on his chair. “Here is my proposition. I know you have nowhere to go and no one left. You cannot wave goodbye to that life of adrenaline either so I wonder, would you like to join me?”

M stopped eating.

“What do you mean, join you?” He asked.

“I regularly go and have fun on my own. My targets are dictated only by me.”

“Sounds… weird. Also, how d’you know things about me?”

“People think that my trade is seduction and disguises. Part of it is, yes, but I also possess means of gathering intelligence unlike you have ever seen.”

M cocked an eyebrow and leaned back on his chair.

“Meanin’?”

“Meaning that I know things, like I know that you were supposed to transport thirty-eigth crates of gold from the governor from here to another city up North where it would then be split up to be transported to France. But, as you are here and the gold twenty thousand fathoms below the sea, you had better either leave or pretend you are dead, at least for this governor.”

M sighed.

“My proposition is simple. We continue enjoying what we do best, but we don’t do it for the money or for fame. I would rather people ignored my existence and if I could, I would wipe out their memories like water washes footprints on the sand.”

M noticed the slight intensity in the man’s eyes.

“Did stuff you regret too, eh?” The Frenchman failed to hide his vexation. “It’s alright, we all do. I guess it’s why we don’t stop. We just always try again to make it right. But it doesn’t change.”

Silence fell.

“Get out of this house.”

“What?” M raised his head off his plate.

“I said. Get out of my house this instant.”

A few minutes later, the hunter was out with his hat, his rifle and his misery. And he still had the slippers on. He looked down and sighed. Well, at least he had a bite. And the food was really good too.

It was deep into the night now but M shouldn’t risk going to town and meeting with a patrol of guards. Surely the governor had learnt about the shipwreck, because if M had the time to make it back, then that news sure did too.

He walked around the impressive white house towards the sound of the waves and after pushing leaves left and right, he found the sand, not far. He removed the slippers, left them there before treading in the still warm sand. The grains flowed on his feet as they sank with each step. The wind was gentle and helped dry his hair as his shirt waved under the gentle draft.

M sat down and crossed his legs looking at the waves roll and the froth periodically slide up to him, before withdrawing again.

What he had said to L, it was unfortunately true. He wished he hadn’t killed that many men, he wished he hadn’t killed the first one, he wished he hadn’t brought that money to his parents, he wished he hadn’t lost them that day, as he thought he would keep them happy forever but ended up disappointing them beyond repair. Maybe he should have just stayed on the farm with them, he shouldn’t have gone and lied for the day on a ship, he shouldn’t. Maybe it was better to be stuck there, with them, find someone to settle with and have a gentle life rather than be here, as lonely as he could get, no family, no friends, no shelter other than the starry sky. Remorse was maybe worse than regret.

M brushed the sand next to him until it was relatively flat. He then removed his shirt and folded it approximately, just so that it would be a square-ish mass of fabrics to use as a pillow. He lay down and stared at the now vertical front of the sea rolling to him and further away, repeatedly, tirelessly.

While him? He was tired. He had had enough. He wished he could live like L. Big house, far from people, and his meals, always hot and ready. And the butler and the housemaid as well… I mean, that’s some kind of company, right? That’s a few people to come home to, isn’t it?

Mundy sighed.

Mundy, that was his name, the name that his parents had given him and that he had decided to bury along with them, all those years ago, on that day that his life had flipped. From farmer to pirate. From son to orphan.

As the waves rolled and rolled, as his thoughts crept up on him and invaded him, he closed his eyes and let it all come to him. The regrets, the remorse, the feeling of being too big, taking too much space, being too visible, attracting too much unwanted attention. He wanted to be forgotten, just plainly forgotten. He wished he hadn’t been a burden for his parents, he wished he hadn’t brought that life of misery on himself. Yes, being a pirate had its moments of adrenaline rushes, of being absorbed into something that sucked all his mind and prevented him from looking back. But when he did, oh boy…

Vanilla.

Mundy opened his eyes. He could smell it.

“I do apologise.”

Mundy sat up and looked next to him. L was sitting there, his elegantly clothed derrière planted on the sand, right next to Mundy’s.

"I should not have reacted the way I did. It was impulsive of me."

"It's fine."

They let the wind and the waves speak for a while.

"Lucien."

"What?"

"My real name. It is Lucien."

"You're really French."

"A curse and a blessing, depending on who you ask."

They chuckled and their eyes met.

"Where are you from, M?"

"Mundy, and I'm from Australia."

"Oh… I have heard legends about that place."

"You ever been there?"

"Non, the seas never took me that far. I… I couldn't afford it."

"What, you always paid a ticket to travel?" Mundy chuckled.

"Non, it is not a monetary cost I am talking about, but an emotional one." Lucien crossed his legs and lowered his head. "If only it was something as easy to obtain as money."

"What was it?"

"I suppose you had a family at some point? Before this whole 'becoming a legend of a pirate'?"

"Yeah, my parents."

"No family of your own, wife, children?"

"Nah."

There was a second of silence.

"What?" Mundy asked, looking at Lucien.

"Why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Why didn't you have a family?"

"Sheilas are odd. Never understood them."

"Do you prefer men?"

"Yeah."

"Fair enough."

"What about you?"

Lucien lay down on the sand, putting his hands below his head.

"I once was a father, and a husband."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped.

"Really?"

"Oui." He chuckled with a distraught smile on his lips. "I had a son, Jérémy, and a wonderful wife."

"What happened?" Mundy lay down next to him and stared at the stars.

"I thought I could keep them away from harm's way and live my life with both of my passions, piracy, and them. It turned out I had to make a choice, and before I could, God made that choice for me. I lost the only woman I ever had any interest in, and our dear beloved boy."

"Oh… I'm sorry."

Lucien took a deep breath and sighed.

"There is nothing you or I can do about it, pirate legends or not. But thank you."

Silence fell for a while, the waves still rolled and spilled a few metres away from their feet.

"Have you ever met the others?" Mundy asked.

"The rest of the Nine? Oui, I have. After I lost my family, I was set on travelling and… Dare I admit, I wanted to take the lives of the people who took theirs. So I sailed and ruthlessly killed, left and right. At some point, I even ignored what faction those poor souls were from, for each time I was facing someone, I could not stop that voice in me, saying that this one might be the one who killed them."

"Gosh…”

“I travelled the world and met all of them. Remarkable people, some of them actually work together.”

“Do they?”

“Oui, Mikhail and Ludvig, the Mountain and the Healer work together. The Flame and the Hammer do too, how else would a ship be able to sail on oily flames if not for the Hammer’s ingenuity.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“Oui. I… I suggested an alliance between them and myself.”

“Did they accept?”

“What do you think?” Lucien answered. “I am here on this beach with you now.”

“Oh… So they didn’t.”

“Non indeed they did not. Looking back at it, I understand. My trade is very different from theirs. They face their enemies frontally while my methods require more subtlety. It would never have worked. And I am not getting younger.”

Mundy chuckled.

“What?”

“You’re not that old, eh? And from what I’ve seen you do today, you could go on for years.”

Lucien smiled.

“I might. But I am… bothered by something.”

“What is it?”

“The solitude that this life condemned me in. I am restless and obsessed with the idea of some company.”

“I know a few places in town.” Mundy answered.

“I do not mean it in that way. If physical satisfaction was the only thing I was after, it would not be an issue, I would have any man or woman offer his favours to me in the snap of my fingers.”

“Man or woman?” Mundy repeated.

Their eyes met again.

“Oui.”

Mundy nodded to himself.

“I am looking for…” Lucien started.

“For what?”

Lucien turned his head and Mundy imitated him. Their eyes met.

“For exactly what we are doing right now.” The Frenchman answered with a smile. “Some company, some meaningful discussions, an exchange of ideas, opinions, a few laughs, why not?”

“You can laugh?” Mundy teased and Lucien chuckled.

“Believe me, I can, oui.”

“Still have to see it then.” Mundy smiled and it made the waves stop rolling for Lucien.

“Please, stay.” Lucien asked, almost whispering.

Mundy’s smile vanished and he looked away.

“I-I don’t know. Need to think about it.”

“Fine.” Lucien sighed. “I understand if you like your freedom better.”

“I don’t know.” Mundy repeated. “The bit you said about solitude. Makes a lot of sense.”

Lucien’s eyebrows jumped.

“What do you mean?” He asked, and Mundy took a deep breath.

“I’m… I’m tired too; not of what I’m doin’, I’m tired of bein’ alone. No one gets what it feels like. People say that it’s great and excitin’ and all but at the end of the day, it’s just you, and you don’t want people to know who you are and bother you, of course, but that just pushes you to be more alone and… sad.”

Lucien stared at the man lying on the sand next to him, his rough skin, his odd sideburns and his long, wavy hair, his naked chest too.

“You’re really lonely?” Mundy asked, looking him in the eye.

“Oui, I am. I… This conversation that we are having is… a priceless gift you are offering me. It is more than I had hoped to have with anyone.”

“C’mon, you have yer Alexander and Madeleine at home. You can talk to them and all, you’re not all that lonely.”

“Non, Mundy. Their company is very enjoyable, oui, but it does not fill the emptiness that you presently are with your presence and your words.”

Their eyes lingered on each other.

“My words might seem strong to you but…”

“No.” Mundy blinked with both eyes. “I get it, I… I really do. The more you talk about it, the more I… Yeah… I uh… Yeah, I’ll stay, I think.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped wide and he rolled to his side.

"Are you sure? You may take your time thinking if you want.”

“No, I’m tired of waitin’. I’m tired of everythin’. Maybe this is what I need.”

The Frenchman smiled from ear to ear.

“But hold on,” Mundy asked. “I don’t have any money to pay anythin’, like rent or food. I need to go and get some work.”

“It will not be necessary. This house is mine, I am not renting it, and I will be glad to cover all the costs myself.”

“It’s unfair.”

“Non, you just did not understand what I said.” Lucien propped his head on his hand, still lying on his side in the sand. “I will repeat myself but your company is priceless.”

They exchanged a smile.

“You barely know me. Maybe I’m hell to live with?” Mundy said.

“Non, you are not. You have been the dream housemate so far. We even had our first argument.” Lucien chuckled.

“Yeah, and you kicked me out the house already, I’m tellin’ you, I’m terrible.” Mundy rolled on his side too, facing the Frenchman, and his hair gently fell on his shoulders and on his naked chest.

“Maybe you are terrible, but you are the kind of terribleness that I look for.”

“Heh, thanks. I like it better when you’re like that.”

“Like what?”

“Not posh and arrogant, but you just say what you want.”

“Should I tell you what I want now?”

“Go ahead.”

Lucien looked down at the sand and timidly raised his eyes to Mundy again.

“I… I…” His jaw was petrified as his mind raced to find the proper way to express himself. His eyes darted on Mundy, everywhere, his face, his body, his hair.

“I’d like someone for the night too.” Mundy said, and Lucien exhaled the air that he failed to transform into words.

“Fine.” Lucien stood up and started walking back home.

“Oi, wait.” Mundy jumped to his feet, his white shirt still crumpled in his hand.

“Oui?” The Frenchman stopped in the middle of the foliage, the distress still gnawing on him.

“Where are you goin’?”

“Well if you know a few places in town to find the company that you need, then I am only keeping you up and away from what you want. I shall go to sleep. I will tell Alexandre and Madeleine that this house is now yours too.”

“You idiot.” Mundy said and took the step that separated him from his former host, now housemate.

“Quoi?” Lucien failed to translate himself on the spur of the moment.

[What?]

“I don’t want to go to town or anythin’. I… I was meanin’ that maybe uh… I mean… I tend to get cold at night and uh… Hm.” Mundy frowned. “Y’know what? Forget it, it’s bloody ridiculous.”

“Non, please? What do you want?”

Mundy looked into Lucien’s light blue eyes only shimmering in the night.

“You asked me to stay with you, right?”

“Oui.”

“And it’s madness, right? I mean, we just met.”

“Yet we share more in common than I first thought, but oui.”

“Can I ask you somethin’ a bit… mad, too?”

“Pray do.”

Mundy dropped the shirt down and fiddled with his fingers awkwardly.

“Mundy…?”

“It’s a bit… weird. I mean, we just met - oh?” A gloved hand was warmly brushing Mundy’s cheek and he couldn’t help but close his eyes slowly and melt under the touch.

“Please.” Lucien insisted in a whisper.

And it gave him the courage, with his eyes nonetheless closed.

“Sleep with me tonight.” Mundy whispered with his hoarse voice and when he heard himself ask, he blushed and frowned, regretting it already. His hands hovered around the Frenchman’s waist.

“Avec plaisir.” Lucien pushed Mundy’s hands on his sides.

“What?” He opened his eyes and the sight of Lucien with half-lidded eyes made his guts melt further. And what a grin, how…?

“With pleasure.”

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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anthrofreshtodeath · 3 years

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Inspiration struck last night 👀 - putting this here so you can let me know if it's worth continuing/if you would want to read more of it. Super AU!

Jane cut the engine of her Ford Ranger just outside the tiny strip mall off of Sixth Street. It had been a splurge just after she got brought on as the head baseball coach of Empire High School, a treat for herself for finally getting a big-person job and generating some regular income. Her mother had convinced her to do it, actually, because Jane had been on the fence for months, waffling so many times that Angela piled her in the family Buick and dropped her off at the dealership. Find your own way home, Angela had said, and it better be in that brand new truck.

Now, Jane was thankful for the push, because southern California summers in her old Civic with the busted A/C were no fucking joke. They were still no joke now, but at least she could blast cold air on her face when needed. Like now: even at six thirty in the morning, temperatures climbed above eighty in early August, and she settled into the discomfort of an already damp back. At least her front still looked fresh. She glanced in the rearview mirror one last time before she got out, taking off her adjustable black cap with her school’s insignia and smoothing the tied-back black hair on top of her head. Presentable and believable: a baseball coach with a ponytail and a Nike dri-fit short sleeve windbreaker over her t-shirt.

She hopped out, satisfied enough to not be looking like a hooligan, and when she planted her turf shoes, she could tell the asphalt was already on fire. The boys were gonna be whiny as hell this afternoon. That made her grin just a little bit. She ambled up to the donut shop-slash-panaderia on the corner, straightening her posture when the door jingled and signalled her entry.

The short, middle-aged woman with her graying hair in a bun and an apron around her waist brightened when Jane approached the counter. “Buenos días, Coach Rizzoli,” she greeted with a smile and voice so cheery, she’d obviously been up for hours already. Probably baking as Jane finished weight-lifting in her backyard before the sun came up.

Jane smiled softly in return. “Buenos días, señora Gutierrez,” Jane said, deferential even though at nearly 5’11”, she must have been almost a foot taller than Mrs. Gutierrez. “Como está?” Short Spanish phrases sounded pretty darn good in her mouth, she had to admit, for all the Sicilian she heard growing up, and for being a product of Santa Ana. Spanish was more common than English in a lot of her friends’ homes growing up, so she caught on quick. At least enough to carry on a polite conversation, if needed.

“Bien, gracias. Tengo sus conchas aquí,” Mrs. Gutierrez asked as disappeared behind the counter to find what she was looking for, Jane’s order, reappearing with six pink donut boxes.

Jane opened her nostrils wide to take in the smell of flour, sugar, and a hint of cinnamon for the white conchas, her favorite. It was enough to feed a small army, which felt just about right for the staff meeting she had been tasked with supplying breakfast for. The first of the new school year. “Qué bueno,” she replied, not sure if she was referring to Mrs. Gutierrez’s overall well-being or the pan in the boxes. She pulled out her cash to pay, slipping her wallet in her back pocket, and in the seconds that it took her to do that, a single, piping-hot styrofoam cup of coffee appeared on the counter in front of her.

“Y un cafecito come le gusta,” said Mrs. Gutierrez with a wink and a smile. Occasionally, she did this, and it was her way of taking care of Jane, one of their family’s best customers.

Jane had learned not to refuse it. She just blushed and bowed her head a little bit, her lips pursed in a bashful smile. “Muchisimas gracias,” she said, taking a sip. Mrs. Gutierrez always left the cinnamon stick in it and added minimal creamer, just how Jane liked. Jane held back a moan. She decided she’d partake of the rest in the car, and then pocketed her change. She picked the boxes up by the string tied to them and huffed, ready to begin the day. “Y el Jonny?” she asked, and Mrs. Gutierrez nodded her head towards the back of the bakery.

Jane nodded and made her way toward the door so she could pop around. “Qué tenga un buen día, Coach,” Mrs. Gutierrez called after her.

“Igualmente!” Jane replied, already on her way. She deposited her haul on her front passenger seat, keeping her coffee in hand, and then walked over to the alley between the Gutierrez bakery and the block wall separating it from the Cardenas market just across the way. She put her hat back on, threading her ponytail through its opening, and adjusted her Oakley sunglasses as she stood by the dumpster that Jonathan Gutierrez currently filled with broken-down cardboard boxes.

He heard her shoes scuffling his way, so he turned. “Coach Rizzoli! It’s early as hell,” he said, “what’re you doing here?” He sweated through the ribbed tank on his torso and the black basketball shorts on his hips. Jane commiserated, having helped her dad out on many a plumbing job in the summer when she was in high school.

“Well, first day for teachers is today,” she said, sipping her drink. “And I had to get some of your mom’s pan for the meeting. They’d expect nothing less. I’m here lookin’ at you because she exhausted all my Spanish skills, and I needed to remind you that practice starts at one today.”

Jonny, as tall as her, lanky too, smirked. “I’m sure you could’ve found a way to say that to her,” he teased, knowing that she couldn’t have, not well.

“You’re a riot. One o’clock, and not a minute later, a’right? I will not hesitate to bench our centerfielder for opening day if he’s late,” she warned. Then she started to turn.

“That’s like seven months from now!” Jonny whined, setting his box cutter down and running a hand through his thick black hair. “I got work today! Last day before school starts next week!”

Jane rolled her eyes. “The perfect hair thing may work on the girls at school, kid, but it won’t work on me. Find a way to make it happen - if you get into Fullerton, it won’t be because I sent you, but because you did it on your own. Part of that means showing up to practice on time. Even in August.”

Jonny sighed. His mom would understand, but his wallet would be crying. “I’m tryna save up for a pickup like yours, though, Coach,” he tried, batting his eyes for extra sympathy.

Jane laughed, and then he did. “Listen. You show up for practice on time every day this year, and you and me’ll have a talk about replacing today’s wages for that new Ranger, a’right?”

“Ok,” Jonny said quietly. He knew that Jane knew they didn’t have much money. And he knew that she knew most everything about him - she meant what she said. She’d taken him under her wing when she’d noticed his boundless talent and his faltering attendance. When she found out it was to make enough money to keep him and his brother on the team, she’d covered the cost in full. That was two years ago, and now that Jonny was an incoming senior, they’d righted the ship together. There was only a little more to go until he applied to the school of his dreams, the one with the killer baseball program and just miles from home.

It didn’t hurt that Jane was the first woman to play ball there as a range-y second baseman, was eventually drafted from Fullerton. He wanted to follow in her footsteps as best he could. “Good. See you then, kid,” she said. He knew that she knew the best way for him to do that was to grind. To eat, sleep, drink, and shit baseball.

“Hey Coach!” He called after her as she made her way back into the alley.

She turned around. “What’s up?”

“I wanna focus on my forearms this year. Should I go the Altuve way?” he asked, smiling.

The Jose Altuve way: banging sledgehammers into tractor trailer tires. Jane guffawed. “I’m not saying do it, but I mean hey, guy’s 5’5” and hitting thirty dingers a year in The Show, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jonny said. “I’ll take it under advisement. Thanks,” and with that, he waved Jane off. She spent the rest of the ride to school thinking about how to safely incorporate forearm work into the team’s regimen in a way that didn’t involve sledgehammers.

The bread had made her truck smell like heaven, and it was the perfect olfactory accompaniment through the working class neighborhoods of Coronita Heights - the part that she felt more comfortable in. She’d grown up down the 91 in Santa Ana, one of Orange County’s most vibrant cities, and her street looked a lot more like these than the ones that Empire High School sat on.

But Empire was one of the top 15 baseball programs in the state, and she had jumped at the opportunity to coach when she’d been approached about it. She packed the few boxes from her parents’ house, used the rest of her signing bonus to put a nice down payment on a house in Coronita Heights, and hadn’t looked back. It had been good for her - she kept in shape, used that teaching credential she’d worked on at Fullerton to teach PE, and led the Knights to a CIF championship in the five years she had been there. She hunted another.

Soon, the burger joints, smoke shops, and insurance spots gave way to expensive houses and palm trees, and she saw the massive campus come into view. She hopped out of the truck once she parked near the office toward the front, downing her coffee and tossing it in the trash. She tugged her belt, looped through her white baseball pants, making sure the fit was good, and then she took the breakfast out.

Another school year was about to begin, and she was determined to make it a victorious one.

___

Maura smoothed her dress in the full-length mirror of her bedroom for what must have been the hundredth time. It was tasteful: sleeveless, dark blue, with a thin black patent-leather belt around its waist. She paired it with black heels, and she looked good. She knew, intellectually, that she did, but this happened every time she started something new: the nerves kicked in and she doubted herself. She curled her impeccably styled hair behind her right ear out of habit, and then made her way downstairs for breakfast.

Her palatial home in Anaheim Hills sat overlooking the city below, still sleepy at six-thirty in the morning. She was anything but, having already completed her run and entire grooming routine. She perused the options within her double door refrigerator, still quite imposing even under the expansive wooden beams on the ceiling that ran from wall to wall. She thought about eggs, protein always a good start to the day, but then remembered the expected temperature and decided a cold breakfast of yogurt and berries would be best.

Again, it was too hot for warm coffee, but the massive cold brew dispenser she had readied just a few days prior called her name and she filled a tumbler with it and her favorite almond milk creamer. She’d have one cup with breakfast and a refill for the road, as she always did from May to October. She reveled in routine; it was what helped her not to shake as she brought a spoonful of honey, dairy, and strawberry up to her lips.

Today, despite her several years of doctoring, would be her first job with the living since residency. In fact, it would be her first non-clinical job, well, ever. Even when she had volunteered for research, it had been in pathology labs, or oncology centers, or Alzheimer’s wards. Now, she would head the pilot program for a pre-med track at Empire High School. Well, pre-pre-med, she corrected herself. The point of the program was to prepare students from non-private and non-charter school backgrounds for the rigor of medical school. And, as a graduate of the Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA, as well as Boston Cambridge University for undergraduate work, Coronita Heights Unified thought her very qualified to head its inception.

Maura was humble, so she did not consider that they also factored in her copious research articles within the field of pathology, nor her several awards from the Medical Board of California. But they did, and so today she started her teaching/counseling position that included Advanced Placement Anatomy and Physiology, as well as Advanced Placement Biology and an elective of honors molecular pathology to boot. She had negotiated that last one to retain a taste of her passion outside of teaching.

Satisfied both with her breakfast and her mulling, Maura rose from her stool at the kitchen island, its white marble counter still gleaming from its recent clean this weekend, and made her way to the sink. She rinsed her bowl, placed it in the dishwasher on the top rack with the others, and then washed her hands for twenty seconds. Soap on, palm scrub, back-of-the-hand scrub, webspace scrub, for as long as it took to hum happy birthday to herself, twice.

She reveled in routine.

She unscrewed the lid of her tumbler and placed it under the dispenser in the refrigerator again, watching dark coffee wash over ice cubes with pleasure. The properties of matter, their predictability and regularity, calmed Maura. She could predict where each rivulet would go with accuracy, and then watch the change of color with no surprise when she poured in her creamer. She could control how light or dark it became, and thus control its flavor. She savored that one last ounce of control before she screwed her lid back on and walked over to where her purse and rolling cart awaited her at the front door.

She took one last look behind her, at the open concept living room so large it needed a sectional couch that no one used because people hardly ever dropped by, at the kitchen with state-of-the-art, industrial appliances that often cooked meals for one. It was her home, even if all of that were true, and the way that the southern California sun poured in through her floor-to-ceiling windows thrilled her. It thrilled her the way it had the first time she set foot in LA, for her first day of classes. She let that embolden her as she locked the door and stepped into her S-Class.

Navigation popped up as soon the engine roared to life, already pre-programmed with the route to Empire High School. She saw the calculation of a twenty minute drive, rearranged a few numbers in her head as she thought about the day of the week, the time of the morning, and the unpredictability of the 91, and decided twenty minutes was probably just about right. She’d given herself a cushion for twenty-five, and with a glance to the men’s style cartier on her wrist, she smiled and pulled out of the garage towards the main drag that would lead her to the freeway.

She jumped out of nerves and surprise when the system notified her of a call coming in. She smirked when she saw the caller ID: Dr. Nina Holiday, Hoag Hospital. Maura pressed the call accept button. “Need a consult already, Doctor?” she teased, her own voice always just a bit foreign in the morning after not having heard it for hours.

Doctor Holiday scoffed on the line. “You wish,” she replied, and then there were beats of silence. “I just wanted to call to wish you good luck on your first day. And to see if you’d reconsider.”

“If this is Hoag’s way of trying to lure me back, by making their premier neurologist do all the dirty work, I think I’m going to have to pass,” Maura said, and Nina laughed.

“No, this is just a friend saying you’re gonna be missed is all,” said Nina. “But I respect what you’re doing.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Maura demured. “Pathology is in... very capable hands with Doctor Pike,” she said, and then immediately the two women guffawed.

“You couldn’t even get it out before you started laughing!” Nina asserted, “see? We’re up a creek with no paddle!”

“Whom the department decided to hire in my stead is not my business,” Maura replied professionally, “especially if they do not take my recommendations into account,” and then with more spice.

“You right, you right. And I know I said it before, but I respect you for this. I think my road to medicine might have been a lot easier if I had someone like you at my high school to guide me through,” Nina said seriously. “Just answer me something: you didn’t leave because of Ian, did you?”

Maura stiffened. She hadn’t wanted to think about that on her first day, but here Nina was, dredging it up. Maura wrung her hands on her steering wheel. “No. Not really,” she answered, and that was the truth. The timing of it all had just been awful.

“Ok. I just… with him being gone, I didn’t know if that would be better, or if you’d be haunted by ghosts, you know? If you stayed.”

“I think I needed a fresh start either way, Nina. I really do,” Maura said.

Nina took the hint that they were done talking about it. Her voice turned chipper again. “I’ve got a call at seven, so I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon, ok? You can tell me all about your first week. Maybe over bottomless mimosas.”

Maura sighed with relief. She would need that. “Sounds great. Nina?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for calling. I’m… I’m going to miss you, too,” Maura confessed.

“Aw, Doctor Isles, don’t get all mushy on me,” gushed Nina. “Bye. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye,” Maura said after the line had gone dead.

Nina’s call had lasted most of the ride. Maura was grateful. Nina had been one of the few people to get to know her at Hoag. The hospital itself had a very competent staff. Excellent, really. And Maura was one of the best, so this led to a never-spoken, always-felt air of competition. It didn’t really lend itself to friendship. But Nina had consulted with Maura so often, that a comfortable working relationship eventually morphed into a casual friendship. That turned into drinks on the rare weeknights they had off and brunch on Sundays at some of the best spots in Orange County.

They promised to continue, and they would of course, but for the first time in their friendship, they didn’t work a floor away from each other, and Maura resolved that while she would do everything to keep it alive, she had to acknowledge the change. Fittingly, as soon as she did so, she drove into the staff parking lot at Empire High. Her new beginning.

Her welcome e-mail mentioned a staff meeting today, Friday, in the lecture hall at the front of the school, refreshments provided. So, she pulled next to the gunmetal gray Ford Ranger to her right, and gathered her things. Her cart could wait until they were dismissed to ready their classrooms, so she deposited her fob into her purse and sipped on her coffee for fortitude as she followed the sidewalk pathway past the front office to the lecture hall. She had mapped out the route when she had found out about the meeting, deciding that touring campus on her own before she began would reduce her anxieties, as well as the possibility of unknown factors. It was also why she had arrived right on time: early meant possible one-on-one conversations with strangers, and late meant all eyes on her as she hustled in.

She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head when she reached the glass double doors of the hall, and breathed in one last time. It was a big, 360 degree breath: it engaged her pelvic floor and spread her ribs equally. It lowered her pulse and calmed her nerves, and then she was ready.

When she entered, she heard chatter. Lots of it. When she turned the corner and yanked open the wooden door of the room itself, she was shocked to see what looked like most of the staff already deep in conversation in their seats. Some stood, others stretched their legs over a couple of seats at once, some laughed and some nodded seriously. For a moment, Maura panicked, then checked her watch again. She felt her heartbeat fall a little bit when she looked up to the front and realized that no-one had started the meeting. In fact, there was a small line at the sign-in sheet, so she decided that rather than have a breakdown in the walkway, she should join the line.

She mustered as much courage as she could and stood behind the last woman, who smiled at her politely. Maura smiled back and thanked whatever powers that be that the woman didn’t try to engage. The line moved quickly, and staff members grabbed what looked like sweet bread just off to the side of the table as they signed in. She forewent the sugar and decided just to take the requisite printouts instead. By then, things started to feel a little more like a normal job orientation, so she turned on her heels to make her way back to the crowd.

The confident turn ended up being another mistake, however, because as she started to walk, she saw no openings. It was like the middle of a very bad dream, in which she needed so desperately to blend in, but all she could do was stand out. She felt eyes on her as she passed tables full of other adults, she heard conversations quiet and alter when she walked by.

However, just as she was about to give up and stand all the way in the back, someone called out. “Hey,” the voice was firm, raspy, and kind. She turned instantly and it kept talking. “You need a spot? I was savin’ this one for my brother, but, big shocker, he’s late.” Seated at a table in the middle of the hall with an all-white backpack on the empty chair next to her, two aluminum bat handles sticking out on either side of it, was… “Oh, and I’m Jane. Rizzoli. By the way.”

Jane Rizzoli. Maura thought the name fitting. Jane was so tall and so dark-featured and so handsome that she needed an Italian surname. And by god, she had one. One with a trilled-r and a plural i and everything: it was perfect for her in the way that all its sounds signified abundance. Maura’s mind rambled and she caught it; she wasn’t even sure how the phonotactic rules of Italian applied to Jane’s physicality, but they did, and Maura sat next to her without hesitation. She chanced one glance to the length of Jane’s torso as she curled to put her elbows on the table, and then she met Jane’s dark brown eyes.

It was then that she realized that Jane probably awaited some kind of response. “Maura Isles,” said Maura, holding her hand out. Jane shook it and Maura was not at all surprised by the firmness of the shake.

“Hey Maura. I’m uh, I’m the head baseball coach here. I also teach PE,” Jane explained. Then she looked down at herself, her uniform and the bats in the backpack now on the floor. “But you probably guessed that.”

Maura smirked, and laughed softly. “I don’t like to guess. It puts people in awkward positions. But I would say there’s lots of evidence to that fact, yes.”

Jane laughed openly and then took her hat off. “Well, I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you’re the hotshot doctor that they hired for our new pre-med pipeline.”

Maura raised a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “And why would you assume that?”

“You talk like a doctor. And you dress better than everyone else in this room. Real doctor-y,” Jane wagged her own eyebrows up and down.

Maura watched Jane’s crooked grin, rapt. “One…” she began slowly, “doctor-y is not a word. Two, what if I were independently wealthy and taught, oh say, English?”

Jane shrugged. “Words are made up. And are you? Independently wealthy?”

Maura’s mouth twitched in humor. “Yes,” she answered. Jane threw her head back in defeat. “But, I am also the doctor piloting the pre-med program here.”

Just like that, the slender column of Jane’s neck brought her head forward again. “Thought so!” she said. Just as she did, The man who Maura knew from his photo online as the school principal walked in. People started to hush as he made his way to the front podium. Even she turned her attention, until there was the distinct warmth of whispering by her ear that dismantled all other thoughts. Jane was speaking. “Well, Dr. Isles,” she responded, “welcome to Empire High, then.”

#rizzoli and isles #rizzles #lauren writes rizzoli and isles fan fiction #the high school teachers baseball California AU no one asked for lmao #not sure if it's too niche or if there'll be interest for it #but it feels like if I do continue it it should be long?#idk we'll see

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jbbuckybarnes · 3 years

Text

Concerned Parents

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader Desc: To get the child back after it was taken from you, Din has to remove the helmet to get into a place to find out where he was taken. He didn‘t think you‘d have to see him AND kiss him to keep the cover up. Warnings: flirting, sexual references, not proofread

„They won‘t let you into that place with your helmet on. It‘s like the Hutts but worse and more uptight.“ Fennec had explained about the shady looking hut you were all looking at. „I‘ll go in alone, you‘re my backup.“ Din looked at you, Fennec and Boba. Your eyes widened but you kept your mouth shut. You all wanted the baby, whatever it takes. Everyone agreed to his plan. Fennec and Boba would take long range, you‘d be close enough to barge in, just in case all hell broke loose. He left his visible armor in Boba‘s ship, put something on over his chest plate and hid his face under a cloth wrapped around his face, a thinner material around his eyes that he could look through. „Let‘s go.“

Fennec went on her position, Boba on the opposite hill. You followed a couple dozen steps behind Mando You saw him starting to remove his headwrap that he put on for around all of you. Out of respect you looked around instead, but you could stop letting your eyes wander past him, noticing brown fluffy hair. You wondered how it looked this good after all these hours under a helmet. You sat down under a lamp in earshot of the hut, noticing his deep voice talking to get into the place. A grunt of agreement came back. With a touch against your ear you started hearing out what was going on inside. „I heard you could lead me to any imperial ship.“ You finally made out his voice out of all of them. „You heard right. For the right price I‘ll be able to locate almost any ship.“ A scratchy voice answered. „I only have this amount of credits, but I know the ship has cargo worth more than two dozen times of it.“ You heard a grunt and a commotion. „You take me for someone taking upfront payment and leaving with the rest?“ He asked in a calmer voice. „I never break my part of a contract. I‘m a bounty hunter.“ „Oh?“ You sighed and got up, „You‘re an idiot. That‘s what you are.“ The weird tentacle guy at the entrance looked you up and down and then nodded to let you in. „We don‘t really like your kind here.“ „I‘ll be gone and back with more. I‘m not here for a bounty. I‘m here to get something that was stolen from me by a Moff.“ You saw the big man look him up and down hesitantly, „Which one?“ „Moff Gideon.“ Now the man looked angry. „Are you kidding me? That man is dead!“ „He isn‘t, he has recently appeared on Nevarro and took someone from me.“ „Someone you say?“ „My child. And I know it isn‘t dead.“ „You‘re making stuff up, my friend.“ The guards around the man tensed up. You came closer, throwing on your charm, „Heard you talking about Moff Gideon.“ On the table in front of the guy you put down the disc with the holo message. The whole message from the Nevarro base played off. „That‘s from about a week ago.“ You looked at the guy, still trying to respect Din‘s creed. „And who are you?“ He smirked at you, looking you up and down. „A concerned mother, one could say.“ You winked at him and sat down next to Din. „You a bounty hunter too?“ He looked between you both. „Nope. Actually used to be a bounty. Let‘s just say I‘m good at stealing.“ „Odd pair. Hm.“ He looked between you both again and you put your head on Din‘s shoulder and put your arm around him. „2500 credits up front for someone that wants to take on Gideon. That‘s...I don‘t have to tell you that is a low amount of credits, but I hate that guy as much as the next person. I‘ll help you, but you‘re gonna have to give me your code, because I will put a bounty on you if you don‘t pay up.“ The man didn‘t account for possible death, but you didn‘t mention that error of mind. „Kakiu? You know what to do.“ A small thin man nodded and ran off into a backroom. You felt Din tense up under your temple and gently went over his other shoulder with your hand. „Why would he keep your child alive?“ The man was nosy, but he had a valid question. „Our child has some specific mutation about his blood that they want to experiment with. Tried to hunt us for it for a while…well, and last week they got him. Now we‘re just trying to get him back any way we can.“ The man‘s face softened a bit, „Concerned parents, cute. But do you two really think you can breach a ship that big? That‘s wishful thinking. I‘d like to see you try tho.“ „You haven‘t seen him in his element. Never seen so many dead Imps in the vicinity of one man.“ Your head went up and you went to give him a kiss on the cheek, closing your eyes for the duration to not break his creed. „Kaiku will take a while, so why don‘t you tell me about it?“ The guy leaned back. „Which time? There were like, three.“ „The best one.“ „Well, last week it is, Gideon really wanted this kid, so he sent two ships full of Imps for us. Probably 120 or more. I shot some, a friend of us shot some, but this one probably took care of two thirds of them alone. He looks pretty good in a field of dead Stormtroopers with his blaster still sizzling.“ You felt his hand grab into your thigh and put your hand on his. „You took out quite a few yourself, don‘t sell yourself too short.“ You heard Din‘s warm voice next to you. You looked into your lap, „I really just want the kid back.“ You felt his lips on your temple, „I know, darling. I know.“ „Boss, Kaiku is having a bit of trouble.“ A guard came over and the guy in front of you grumbled and excused himself. You felt a thumb caress your hand and took the arm you had around him and snaked it around his arm to have it snug against you. „D‘you think the dude wants to secretly kill us?“ He chuckled. „I wouldn‘t be surprised, sadly.“ You mumbled back. „Didn‘t have to make me look this good in front of strangers.“ He whispered to you. „I didn‘t lie for a second, you know that damn well.“ You felt his other hand under your chin. „Looking down makes you look submissive around this folk, don‘t want that, we’re getting the kid back.“ You sighed in agreement and fluttered your eyes open slowly to see dark brown ones reflect back soft, concerned and determined. „I‘m sorry.“ You whispered, he knew what you meant. „It‘s okay. Don‘t beat yourself up over it.“ He offered a small smile. The guy came back after a while, „He‘ll be done in a while. Get yourself drinks and enjoy yourself, yeah?“ You nodded and dragged Din out of his seat towards the little bar. With your hands you ordered two small drinks while he put a respectful amount of distance between the both of you again. Not too long after you were in your thoughts sipping your drink. Not noticing the man on your left. „Hey sweetpea, you here often?“ A tipsy man of another species looked at you. „Nope.“ „Wanna change that?“ You felt an arm slinging around you from behind protectively. „Nope.“ You answered with a sweet smile and leaned against the broad chest behind you. „Aww, c‘mon.“ He didn‘t give up. Usually Din would have his scary demeanor in his beskar armor, but that wasn‘t his out card this time. „Does that man make you uncomfortable, dear?“ Your heart beat a little harder at the affectionate name. „He surely doesn‘t know how to treat me right.“ You sighed before unexpectedly being turned around. You let out a giggle and put your arms around his neck, „Now this guy is way better.“ He softened at your slightly tipsy behavior, not that he didn‘t enjoy the whole front of being partners in the first place. No. He absolutely didn‘t like that. At all. It was horrible. Super bad. „Oh, is he?“ The drunken guy was still commenting in. „Yeah.“ You whispered and Din didn‘t quite know which god put him into this situation, but suddenly his lips were on yours and he hated himself for liking it. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was just a front. He knew he just broke his creed for his child. He hated that he liked what his brain just decided to do. Someone cleared their throat next to you and you went apart, looking at the boss here. He handed you a data stick, „Gonna put it right on your ships control panel. Now I‘d like your code.“ Din obliged to the terms and gave him his code, you didn‘t know if it really was, but he gave one. You hoped it was just one of his old bounty‘s code. „See you again when you got the rest of that money.“ He nodded at the helmetless man and got a nod back. Not too long after you were dragged out of the hut by him. You helped him with his headwrap, not saying a word. He saw the guilt written on your face, but didn‘t say anything. „Say it.“ He whispered. „I hate that I broke your creed and liked it. I hate that I liked any of it.“ You said short and firm, as if you were scolding yourself. Silence. There was nothing else you could add. That‘s all you felt right now. „I feel the same.“ He answered after a while of you walking towards the rendezvous spot. „I mean, my god you look beautiful.“ The words burst out of your deepest soul and he came to a hold to look at you with his thin cloth for his eyes removed. „And I made you look.“ He sighed, „So please don‘t put this on yourself. You were just trying to help get Grogu.“ More silence between you for the way back. „I‘m sorry for flirting with you.“ You mumbled and looked away. You were just playing your part to de-escalate. „Ouch.“ He commented. „No, no, it‘s just. I. I don‘t know. I wasn‘t supposed to do that. It wasn‘t necessary for the mission.“ You stumbled over your words. „I‘m sorry that I kissed you.“ He answered and that felt like he just put a vibroblade through your heart. „I didn‘t mind. I think.“ You didn‘t even know what was and wasn‘t okay anymore. „I‘m sorry I‘d do it again.“ He chuckled and looked over to you as you walked. „Me too.“ You smiled back at his shimmering eyes and then back to where you were going. „I would do all of this again.“ He whispered with a sigh, more to himself than you. „For someone with a tin can on your head since your teen years you kiss pretty good.“ You grinned. No comment. „And you‘re kinda more fun when there isn‘t a visor between us. I can actually see your reaction. That‘s groundbreaking. I love it.“ You chuckled. „I have a lot to think through with my creed and what I just did.“ He added. „You‘ll make the right decision.“ You said calmly, grabbing his hand and squeezing it before letting it go as you stopped at the meeting point. „The decision might be led by what you just did to my mind.“ He laughed lowly, it sounded beautiful. You looked around for Boba and Fennec, nobody in sight, so you went to his back and kissed the sliver of exposed skin there. „Cyar‘ika!“ He said with a warning tone. You didn‘t know what that meant. „I‘m sorry, I like teasing when I know I have an effect.“ „Oh, have I awakened something in you?“ „If you didn‘t notice by the way I talked about you killing Imps, yes.“ „Well, good that we‘ll have to kill some more.“

— Time Jump to End of Chapter 16

You didn‘t think someone was still coming for Grogu from the Jedi Temple. Now you stood here with no child, but a dumb saber that Bo-Katan won‘t take. Seeing him broken, helmetless, exposed, but with all this armor and that saber. That reflected your feelings somehow. You knew this had to happen, but it broke a part of you anyway and made you vulnerable. You turned to look at Din, took his head into your hands and let his forehead gently fall against yours. „It‘s okay.“ You felt him shake and pull you close to his chest. „You‘re the only thing left.“ He whispered as the rest went ahead to meet Boba. „I won‘t leave you unless you ever want me to.“ You whispered back before he grabbed your face and put his desperation for home into a kiss. „We need a new ship.“ He murmured. „I might know how to steal one.“ You chuckled and caressed his cheek. „That‘s my girl.“ His thumb went over your lower lip. Where did he learn that? Was that allowed? „You look even better when you wear everything but the helmet.“ You bit your lip. „Is that your version of distraction?“ He huffed and you nodded with a chuckle. You liked flirting too much. With that you flew back to Nevarro and got a neat little ship, stolen by you and Greef. You made sure to fill it up with cozy things, reminders of what was and signs of hope for the future. For now you‘d stay a bit on Nevarro with it. He searched the whole thing for trackers after the horror of what happened to the crest, but after a couple days he finally settled in and removed his helmet around you. „Oh, hey good-looking man in beskar, are you here often?“ You grinned from your cot when he walked into the center room of the ship. „Depends on what you want from me.“ He chuckled and shook his head. „You look pretty tense, I‘m sure I could change that.“ Now he blushed at the possibilities crossing his mind. „I‘m intrigued, cyar‘ika.“ He smirked and came closer. „I was thinking cuddling, but judging by your face you have other plans.“ You laughed and stood up to knock against his chest plate. His armor was gone shortly after, „I love this.“ You scrunched your nose and hugged him close, you really did like this. He looked so human, so warm and huggable. His gloveless hands wandered down your back, stopping for a second, before wandering where they really wanted to go. You betted with yourself that he was secretly a grabby man after what happened in that hut. Turns out you were right. With a swift motion he hoisted you up to have you wrap your legs around him. „I like this,“ He mumbled and felt you smile against his neck. „Me too.“ Your hands wandered through his hair and you felt him relax even more. He sat down on your cot with you still wrapped around him. „You, um, have nice thighs.“ He pointed out sheepishly. „You know you can grab them anytime, right?“ You asked him. „Now I do.“ He huffed and gently caressed them before giving them a squeeze. „You can touch me all you want.“ You reassured him and felt him grab you by your hips so you untangled and he could fall back onto your cot with you on top of him. „That goes for you too, cyare.“ He pulled you closer by your chin. „What does that mean?“ „Beloved. Darling. Something like that.“ Now he was the one watching you get flustered and grinned. „Oh.“ You blinked a couple times, „You‘ve been saying that a lot.“ „Of course,“ he murmured and went through your hair. „Have you ever thought about settling on a planet?“ You mumbled, laying on his chest and looking up at him. „Once or twice. I think a lot of things would catch up to me.“ His voice hummed in his chest below you. „And creating a family?“ You whispered and saw him open one of his eyes. „I had one for a while, didn‘t I?“ You smiled at him and nodded. „You still have me. I wouldn‘t mind adopting another one.“ A chuckle escaped both of you. „Maybe one that isn‘t chased by the empire.“ He laughed lowly and went over your head gently. „We could make one too one day.“ You added as casual as possible and felt him tense under you. „Not like I have that many years left to do that.“ He pointed out with a huff. „Who said it would take many years?“ You whispered and crawled up on him to nuzzle into his neckline. „Where‘d you wanna settle?“ His arms snaked around you. „Preferably somewhere that isn‘t attacked every two years.“ Your muffled voice answered. „Now where‘s the fun in that, cyar‘ika?“ You kissed his neck and heard him hold his breath. „More than enough fun to have.“ You grabbed into his hair gently and felt his fingers grab into your hips. „I see.“ He murmured and closed his eyes again to enjoy your warmth. „Home is wherever you wanna go, my dear.“ He sighed and slowly dozed off.

___

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monsterywriting · 3 years

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Thenerius - pt 2

word count: 5,675

male tiefling x female reader

Read Part 1 here

AN: whelp i guess this is getting (hopefully just) a third part... good luck to everyone else who’s going through finals week and don’t procrastinate your final projects/tests like i am! literally have a final today to study for and take after my 8 am and a portfolio due friday i haven’t started on lol

You were getting one last bucket-full of water for a much-needed bath from the pump around the back of the barn, too far to hear when the thundering sound of hooves on the dirt path approach the cottage. You also miss the shout of greeting and the sound of voices entering the cottage.

The sun was finally dipping below the horizon on a long day of playing catch-up around the homestead, and your only plans for the evening were to wash up and make dinner before passing out. So, when you finally reentered through the back door soaked in sweat and worn work clothes only to see your mother sitting at the small wooden table with none other than Thenerius, you were understandably shocked.

He was obviously here to kill you, getting revenge for how you humiliated him and refused his advances when he wanted you to accept them the most. You had been brave in that moment, brushed aside the fact that he was a pirate and more likely than not a killer, and now you would be paying the price.

When the tiefling saw you frozen at the doorway, his already bright demeanor seemed to reach the levels of the surface of the sun, blinding then burning when he stood up to greet you enthusiastically. You almost wish he was here to kill you, that fate infinitely better than whatever he actually had planned instead.

Pointedly ignoring him, you addressed your mother only, asking if she took her medicine yet.

“Your friend from work was keeping me company,” your mother smiled, though it was clear that she was drained from the encounter, “He brought your weekly payment from Aedan.”

Your head snapped over to Thenerius, the tiefling having the nerve to grin and hold up a pouch of coins. You were distracted, however, when your mother let out a soft cough she tried in vain to hold back. She broke out into a coughing fit, starting small and growing until they wracked her body.

Your concern grew, helping her to the bedroom and quickly getting some cough syrup into her. Once she was settled, you went back into the main room to deal with the purple menace.

He was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room once you returned, the pouch sitting on the table. You stalk over and grab the pouch, shoving it into the tiefling’s chest.

“You need to leave,” you hiss, beginning to usher Thenerius towards the door.

“Wait!” The bastard had the nerve to dig his heels in, refusing to move until you give up on forcing him.

“What?” You spat, glaring up at him. Perhaps you would have found it amusing, how he had to duck his head to keep his horns from scraping the ceiling, a grizzled pirate trying to make himself fit inside the cozy cottage. No, you definitely would have found it hilarious, if said pirate wasn’t in your cottage unannounced, the location of which you never divulged during working hours, apparently trying to win your affections after your admittedly callous rejection.

“I-” Thenerius hesitated, any confidence he had that carried him all the way to your home dissipating when you weren’t as responsive to his charms as he’d come to expect from you, “I wanted to apologize. You were right, about the proposal. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You blinked, having assumed you’d be given another unwanted love confession. You’re not sure what to make of the admission, though you’re certain it wasn’t a trick, as he seemed genuinely remorseful.

“What part, that we’ve only known each other for three weeks or that it was because you were so lonely and any girl who wagged her tail at you would have had you falling for her?” You’re internally grimacing as soon as the words are out, unable to believe how cold you sound even to yourself. You didn’t want to goad him to anger if he was just here to apologize.

“If my memory serves correctly, I believe the exact phrase you used was ‘bat their eyelashes’ at me.” The attempt at humor didn’t quite reach Thenerius’ eyes, but you still allowed yourself to deflate at the opportunity of a reprieve, “but that it came too soon. I had done it thinking of all the time that had passed since I met you, the time I spent halfway across the world and all I could think about was returning to you. Your smile alone made the entire six month journey worth it, but you gave me so much more in that time - not your love. I know that, now, but… your time, and affection. Once you said that - that we’d only been in each other’s presence for three weeks - I realized, perhaps I was rushed in my assessment of who you were. I filled the gaps of who I wanted you to be in my head.”

By the end of his faltering speech, you had shut your eyes, screwing them tightly shut in order to avoid having to look into Thenerius’ eyes, the raw emotion that swelled behind them that threatened to consume you with it. You refused to allow yourself to be caught up in the moment, to let yourself fall any deeper in than you already were entrenched from his flowery words. Just words, you told yourself.

“Is that all you needed to say?” You clear your throat, opening your eyes and looking anywhere but him, your resolve thinning with the mere awareness of his gaze upon you, feeling yourself being worn down.

Perhaps ‘worn down’ wasn’t the right verbiage, though it very much felt like it. Dragging you out into the light? Exposing you to be scrutinized, or to be known? What is the difference, if any? Either way, you felt as though Thenerius could read every passing thought darting around your head at lightening speed, projecting loud and clear your true desires no matter what you could say to the contrary.

“No, I want to know you. My feelings haven’t changed since that night, but I want you to feel the same.”

You let out a deep breath you weren’t aware you were holding. The short sentence is so simple, clear in meaning and intent. It’s… infuriating. A wave of something flowed over you in that moment, a realization like a bucket of ice water dousing you. You were shaking, your realized, but not with cold.

“You want to change my mind?” You whisper, cursing yourself for your inability to do much more in this conversation than to parrot his words, “You come to my home - unprompted, in fact, considering our last conversation, entirely unnecessarily - to what, exactly? Prove that I’m some prize to be won over by you? Come see how sorry my life is, see my sick mother and how I work my ass off at the tavern and here and think I’ll jump into your arms with some words? You must know that I wouldn’t go with you. Nor would I sit here waiting for you to return from the sea, hoping you’ll return for a few weeks every year and grace me with your presence and gold.”

You pause for air, realizing with horror that you were crying of all things. You quickly run your hands over your cheeks, glaring at Thenerius in a silent challenge, waiting for him to turn tail and run, “Now go.”

In yet another turn of seemingly endless events that should no longer have surprised you with how consistently they’ve been happening, Thenerius surprised you yet again.

“Well, this is awkward. I may have sent my men back south with my ship. I’m in need of room and board,” Thenerius said, and for the life of you, no matter how closely you examined his expression, you could not figure out what the hell he was thinking.

“Go to The Deep, then. I happen to be of the inside knowledge that there’s plenty of vacancies this time of year,” you said, brushing past the tiefling on your way back to your forgotten bucket of water, ready to escape this suffocating atmosphere.

“I don’t have enough gold for the length of time I’m planning on staying,” he replied.

“This is sounding more and more like your crew left you here and took the ship for themselves,” you deadpan, hefting the bucket up and carefully carrying it back towards the bathroom.

“My crew wouldn’t do that,” Thenerius’ voice suddenly turned serious, “I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t have come here if they had.”

“Well, unlucky me, then,” you grumble, “You’re still not staying here.”

“You’re very sarcastic,” Thenerius noted, and you prayed for his sake that the comment wasn’t a part of his vow to get to know the real you.

You disappear down the hall and into the bathroom, dumping the bucket into the basin. To your great relief, the water was still steaming.

“Wait, your pay!” Thenerius walked in behind you. You could tell the exact moment he realized where he was, quickly averting his eyes from you.

You roll your eyes. As if you would undress for any reason while he was still in the house.

“Please, you may have lied to my mother, but I’m no fool,” you snort, ignoring the outstretched hand to check the water, “Mr. Thistle would never trust a pirate with money, much less tell you where I live.”

“I’ll- come back later,” he says, turning to get out the room.

“No, you’re leaving,” you follow after him.

“Dear, it’s much to too late for him to ride, he can sleep here.” You and Thenerius both jump at your mother’s sudden appearance, both of you having forgotten that you were arguing right in front of the bedroom.

“But-” your protest is cut short when she only shakes her head, and you hope to Tova that she only caught the tail-end of your conversation with Thenerius.

“If you must, you can ride with him tomorrow to ask Aedan to give him a discount. Tomorrow.”

You run your hands down your face, glancing out the nearest window to confirm it was in fact dark out.

“Fine,” you sigh, pointing at Thenerius, “but you’re gone first thing tomorrow!”

Thenerius at least has the decency to not look too excited under your scrutiny, thanking your mother quietly.

“Go wash up, mom, it’s ready,” you inform her, moving away from the doorway so she can slip past.

You consider telling Thenerius to go last in the bath, but you’re covered in dried mud and animal shit and you weren’t going to have his tavern smell stinking up the sofa.

“You’re next,” you tell him, finally noticing how cramped the hallway was with two people in it. You push past him to to sit at the table again.

Thenerius followed you, keen to the fact that he was on thin ice and remained wisely silent as you waited for your mother to finish in the bathroom.

When she exited, dressed in her nightgown and hair wrapped tightly in a towel, you ushered Thenerius in, barely giving him time to grab his bag on the floor next to the chair he’d been sitting in when you first walked in. You enter close behind, going around him to grab a towel for him to use and quickly leaving him to his privacy, letting out the longest exhale of your life once the door shut behind you. You go back to the table and sit, trying not to think about the naked tiefling in your bathtub as you started the fire under the stove.

As soon as Thenerius stepped out of the bathroom with his bag in hand, you rush in, not making eye contact before you slam the door shut behind yourself.

The water is still somewhat lukewarm, and clear enough besides the murkiness from the soap. You think about literally anything else besides the fact that Thenerius had been in the same water just minutes before you, using the bowl to run water over your hair and quickly lathering the bar soap with a clean washcloth. The sooner you get out the better, you think.

It isn’t until you’re out of the bath and looking at your nightclothes that you realize you’re going to have to wear them in front of him, unless you change into clean day clothes just to change into them in the privacy of your bedroom later.

It’s just tonight, you tell yourself, he’ll be gone tomorrow. And why would you have to modify your routine for him? He’s the one intruding. It won’t be a big deal so lang as you act like it isn’t. It’s not like you’ll be prancing around naked. They’re your winter ones, the material made much thicker than the normal cotton.

Properly talked up, you walk out, pretending not to notice how Thenerius stops mid-sentence in a conversation with your mother to stare at you like the moon herself descended in front of him.

“I’ll have dinner ready soon.” You mumble, not stopping until you were safely in the kitchen.

You take the last eight eggs and crack them onto the iron skillet sitting on the stove, immediately sizzling before you take a flat spoon to scramble and scrape them into three plates. You then add leftover cuts from a chicken you culled from your flock a week ago to the skillet to cook, already seasoned. Then, you took the stack of unleavened bread your mother made during the day while you worked before putting them on another flat slab of iron on the stove to warm them.

Once you had a sizable enough stack for three people, you wrapped the resulting unleavened bread in cloth and balanced the three plates in your arms and carried everything back into the dining area.

You had heard Thenerius and your mother sharing a hushed conversation through the walls, but weren’t able to make out any specifics. However, when thy both immediate hushed up once you entered, it was clear who the topic of their chat was.

You set down the plates, frowning once you realized you’d have to sit next to Thenerius, as it was only a four-person table and they were already sitting at opposite ends. Once you were seated, however, the dinner conversation was thankfully limited as everyone focused on their plates.

Then it was time for your mother to take her tablets, you watching carefully as she downed them with a cup of water. She retired to the bedroom shortly after, and though she tried to make it seem as though she was solely doing it to give you and Thenerius some privacy, it was obvious she was drained of all energy as she slowly shuffled down the hall.

You ignore Thenerius and grab the plates, taking them to the kitchen to dump the scraps in the bin and be washed. Thenerius’ plate is practically clean already, but your mother’s is concerningly hardly touched at all.

Dunking the emptied plates plates in the half-full sink, you scrub vigorously. Just as you are about to place the first one on the rack to dry, however, Thenerius takes it from you and dries it with the dishtowel.

You decide to say nothing, simply handing him the next plate once he placed the previous one on the rack.

You bring Thenerius a stack of blankets, dumping them on the cot next to where he sat for him to assemble himself.

Just as you turn to leave, a hand falls on your shoulder and you immediately stiffen. It quickly retracts.

“I don’t need this many,” Thenerius says quietly, looking dejected when you look over your shoulder at him as he tries to hand you a few of the blankets back.

“You do,” you inform him, “we’re at a higher altitude. It’s going to get colder.”

Thenerius places them back on the pile, his mouth opening and then closing. You wait. Finally, he clears his throat, “Thank you, for dinner. And for letting me stay here.”

“Thank my mom,” you reply, “and don’t get used to it. I was serious when I said you’re gone tomorrow.”

After a moment, Thenerius smiles, small but hopeful, “not first thing?”

“You have to pay for the meal and bed,” you huff, turning back around and going into the bedroom, careful to be quiet as you cross the cottage so as to not wake your mother.

You make sure the door is shut securely, and for good measure, you stick a piece of paper in the gap between the top of the door and the frame. You don’t think you’ll be able to sleep with the knowledge of a stranger sleeping in the next room, but almost as soon as your head hits the pillow, you’re waking to the sound of the rooster crowing the next morning.

You sit up abruptly, your mother still asleep next to you. You swing your legs over the edge of the mattress and scurry to the door, the paper still in the same spot you placed it when you take it back down.

You open the door quietly and slip out, glancing around the corner at the end of the hall to the cot. On the side closest to you, the stack of blankets are folded neatly, Thenerius’ pack leaning against one of the cot’s legs.

Your eyebrows furrow, going back to make sure the bathroom was empty before checking the kitchen, seeing neither hide nor hair of Thenerius in the cottage. Before you go search outside for the tiefling, you decide to at least get the stove going to warm up the cottage. As you stand in the kitchen looking for the box of matches, you realize you can hear the familiar, rhythmic thumping of an axe hitting wood.

Glancing out the window, you see Thenerius at an old stump splitting firewood a few yards away, his coat off and hanging from a tree branch. He stops to brush his hair back, careful to avoid his horns, before continuing.

Against your better judgement, you study him from the safety of the indoors. The last time you’d seen him, it had been shaved close. He apparently grew it out since then, dark waves forming curls around the nape of his neck that you’d noticed when he first arrived at the deep and now was sticking to his scalp with sweat.

As the sun broke over the horizon and illuminated the clearing, you could see how Thenerius’ back muscles flexed under the fabric of his shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose his thick forearms. Obviously, as a pirate, he would have to be at least somewhat fit. Hell, you’d felt them whenever he would insist you touch his arm while he flexed or would pull you into his lap.

But none of that quite prepared you for how he would look without the barrier of his coat, how he likely looked working out at sea.

You force your eyes back to the task at hand before they can venture downwards, finally finding the matches and lighting one with shaking hands before lighting the scrap of paper and tossing both into the stove.

Shutting the door and opening the grate, you return to the bedroom to change into your day clothes.

You immediately regret stepping outside as soon as you do, the light of the sun doing little to warm the icy air rushing inside your lungs and burning against your skin. Still, you are determined as you march around the cottage to where Thenerius continues to split the pieces of wood, though the pile of wood that took you months to chop down and cut into sections was now nearly gone and a neat stack of his split pieces had taken its place.

“I noticed you were running low,” Thenerius calls out as you approach, smiling as your eyes met his.

“It’s fine,” you huff, Thenerius’ smile brightening as though you just extended him the best praise of his life.

Annoyance bubbled in your stomach. Did he think he was cute? Acting like a love-struck teen and not a Tova-damned pirate? Or did he think you would be tricked by the illusion he put forth if he played pretend enough?

“Hurry up and finish that. There’s more work to do before breakfast,” you mutter, turning towards the barn as he would no doubt be crestfallen as you continue, “Then we’re going to The Deep.”

You go back to the kitchen briefly to grab the scrap bin before going to the chicken coop, making sure to latch the screen door behind you. You drop the scraps at the center of the enclosure, the chickens running over each other in a clucking mass of feathers and beating wings in their attempt to get at the food first. A few even manage to steal a few morsels before the more dominant ones chase them off.

Once the nesting area was empty, you went over and started collecting eggs in the same bin. Only six today, and you cooked the last of them in storage for dinner the night before. You worry your bottom lip, looking at the flock.

There were five hens and the rooster. You had been planning to let them breed in the spring to bring their numbers up, but that was still a long ways away.

You glanced over at the goats, currently in the pasture with the horses. You had two bucks and eight does. You had sold off the kids of four of the does, leaving you with five kids, three males. There was still the cured meat you got from the storehouse the other day, so you wouldn’t have to do anything drastic for food just yet, but it wouldn’t last soon at your current rate.

You had been planning on buying rabbits to raise for meat and fur, but you hadn’t been able to find the time to finish the winter hutch that was still partially completed in the barn.

Then you thought about everything else you had to do soon - castrate the three kids, patch the barn roof, harvest the second pasture’s grass and dry it for hay… and it seemed like every day you found something that needed repairing or replacing.

But… if Thenerius does plan on staying, you just may be able to keep everything afloat for the time being. With him there to collect the eggs and milk the goats while you worked shifts at the deep, then- appalled that you were planning ahead as though you would allow Thenerius to stay for months on end with you. No, you survived the last winter without any help, you could do the same this year.

Letting out a sigh, you dropped the eggs off in the kitchen before going back to the barn to wrap the horses snugly in blankets and let them out to graze in the pasture connected to the barn.

By that point, Thenerius comes to find you. You were admittedly surprised he’d finished that quickly, soaked with sweat and breathing heavily as he told you he was finished. You had even gone to check, not quite able to believe he’d gone through the entire wood pile that fast, or at least correctly. He looked proud when you peer up at him, but you refuse to praise him, directing him instead to the pasture while you grab two pails from the barn.

After showing him how to milk the does, you quickly fill about two pail's worth of milk between you from the four kidless does.

After taking the milk to the small pasteurizer in the barn, you set about making breakfast.

After taking the milk to the small pasteurizer in the barn, you and Thenerius returned to the cottage, your mother already up and standing by the stove.

You waste no time getting breakfast ready, making the six eggs you collected and take out the smoked meat. You make up two plates, setting them down in front of the two.

“I’ll be back soon,” you tell your mother, gripping her shoulder for a moment, “Don’t forget to take your medicine.”

“I’ve been taking it for three years, I don’t need you reminding all the time, you know,” your mother huffed, but she still pressed a kiss to the top of your head and waving you off.

“You aren’t going to eat?” Thenerius asked, thankfully swallowing his mouthful before speaking.

“I ate a couple boiled eggs while I cooked,” you reply, “clean the dishes after you’re done. We’ll go to The Deep afterwards.”

Grabbing your purse and heading to the barn, you click your tongue at the door leading out to the pasture, grabbing his saddle as your horse neighs loudly and nearly trampling over Thenerius’ horse in his attempt to get to you.

Any attempts on your part to name the capricious animal had been in vain, as he only ever responded to the sound of a clicking tongue, what your mother called him over to eat. It explained why he was fatter than a pregnant mare when you got here, unridden and getting fat on the lush pasture to himself and the treats.

Horse, as you’d taken to referring to him in your head, shoved his face into your hands, sticking your entire hand into his mouth in search of treats. You fish out a peeled hard-boiled egg from your pocket, the treat disappearing from your hand before you can even unfurl your fingers, Horse chewing it down quickly. Thenerius’ horse ventures over once she realizes you have food, and you have to press an open palm against Horse’s face to keep him from snatching the second egg you pull out before she can gently take it from you.

“Are those the eggs you ‘ate’?” You jump as Thenerius suddenly appears next to you, and you glare at him for sneaking up at you.

“I need to bribe him to come over and let me saddle him,” you said, neither confirming or denying the tiefling’s accusation, “he’ll be angry the entire ride otherwise.”

“Why didn’t you eat?” Thenerius presses, his eyes never leaving you as you unpin Horse’s blanket and refold it, throwing it over his back before securing his saddle on top.

“There wasn’t enough,” you shrug, climbing onto Horse’s back and pressing your legs momentarily into his side to get him to start walking.

You’re almost to the main road when you hear Thenerius pull up beside you.

“You should have taken mine,” he says after a moment.

You sigh. Clearly, wanting a nice, quiet stroll into town was too much to ask for, “Our horse is fine. He needs the exercise, anyways.”

“Not the horse, the food,” Thenerius said, actually sounding irate with you, “if there wasn’t enough you should have eaten mine.”

You bite back a laugh. You’ve heard Thenerius actually angry before, yelling at his crew members when one shoved another into a table in the tavern and broke it.

He’d been absolutely furious then, scaring even you with how his red eyes burned like hot coals, his face darkening to what you assumed to be an unhealthy purple-blue color as he nearly came to blows with the offenders. That feared pirate captain now reprimanded you like a child.

“Please, it’s one meal,” you snort, “I had plenty while I was working.”

“You shouldn’t skip meals,” he insisted, drawing close to your side to look down at you sternly, “You’re going to still be working the rest of the day after this, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and snap your reins, Horse speeding up to a canter and leaving Thenerius behind. The journey was familiar to you both, and you don’t even need to provide the horse with direction as he follows the twists and turns of the winding path with a sure foot.

You just want to hurry and reach The Deep, collect your pay, dump Thenerius on them and then go to Alfore to meet with the doctor about your mother.

You reach The Deep before Thenerius, tying Horse to a post outside the stables and making a beeline inside with barely contained excitement.

When you enter the tavern, Lenora is the only one in. Her welcoming smile quickly shrinks into a sheepish one once she sees you, however, turning on one heel to head straight towards the inn portion of the building.

Your eyes narrow, making a detour from Mr. Thistle’s office to go after her. You had an inkling as to what that was all about, and you couldn’t help but need to confirm it.

Your hand falls onto her shoulder and grips it tight, yanking her back just before she can abscond up the steps.

“Where are you going?” You ask, putting on a pleasant smile for the few patrons at the bar as you steer her down the hall to the privacy of the storage room, once an office.

“Please don’t kill me - he tricked me into telling!” Lenora begged for mercy immediate, clasping both hands in front of her.

“I highly doubt that,” you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow and waiting for her to try again.

Lenora had always been something of a romantic, constantly falling for one sweet gesture after another and declaring someone her ‘soulmate’ every few months. If she caught wind of Thenerius’ proposal, of course she’d think it was fine to play matchmaker. But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to make her sweat to teach her a lesson.

“Ok, but my intentions were good!” She pleaded, shaking your arm, “I mean, he obviously loves you, so I thought if he saw how you were living, you could get him to give you enough money for your mom!”

Your eyes widen, anger draining from your face and replaced with hurt, “so you told a stranger where I live, where my mother lives, so I could get him to feel sorry for me and bankroll my expenses? What else would I do, hm? Let him sleep with me for an allowance?”

Lenora realized her mistake too late, unable to backtrack as you spun around and left the room. You walk straight past Mr. Thistle’s office, too distraught to think about what you came here to do.

You untie Horse and quickly mount him, spurring him to go forward.

“Please don’t be angry! I didn’t mean you would do anything like that, I just wanted to help you-” you snap the reins twice to get Horse to a gallop.

“Are you okay?” You think Thenerius calls out, but you pay him no time as you race past, reaching the main road in no time and heading down the straight path to Alfore.

Your breathing is erratic as you try to get a handle on the unfamiliar emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. Perhaps in the past, you would have acted out in anger, lashed out at Lenora for the insult implied.

Now, however, you’re just tired. Worn out from two years of being back in this shithole, struggling to make ends meet, doing whatever you could. And because of that, your own coworker - someone you thought of as a friend, even - believed you to be so unscrupulous in your need for money that you’d take advantage of someone’s emotions for your own ends.

The worst part is, you were tempted. Tempted to step back. Tempted to let someone else take the reins. Tempted to use Thenerius’ misguided feelings for you to your advantage.

Had this what you’d been reduced to, from academic work to flirting shamelessly with customers to line your pockets? Do things your mother never did even when she was doing the same job, running the homestead, and saving money for you to move to the capital for your schooling?

So, at the end of your rapid-fire cycling through the stages of grief, you have no desire to fight Lenora over her true thoughts about you, nor do you wish to turn on Thenerius for the way he’s crashed into your life. You don’t qualify every action you ever did out of necessity or lay bare the fact that you were actually embarrassed by them. You don’t try to separate yourself from your choices by bringing up your past life or hard work. You simply loathe yourself for it.

Without your constant commands, Horse slows to a trot. You allow it, not wanting him to get hurt because of you. However, you soon regret your decision as you hear hooves charging up to you from behind.

You pull over to the side of the road, praying that whoever it was just passed you by. Of course, you had no such luck, the other horse slowing down next to you and Thenerius looking down at you with a concerned expression.

You say nothing and you don’t bother trying to outrun him, resigned to the fact that you wouldn’t be shaking him anytime soon.

“It wasn’t her fault,” he said once it was clear you weren’t speaking, drawing your sulking expression to point directly at him, “I pressured her to tell me where to find you.”

“Why are you still here?” You ask instead, exasperated and unwilling to have a conversation with him of all people about what happened between you and Lenora.

“I told you, my feelings for you haven’t changed,” Thenerius said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Even if I allow you to stay, it would only be to use you,” you argue, “you could work for months and waste your time if I never change my mind. Doesn’t that make you angry?”

“No,” he replied, a warm smile adorning his face as he looked at you, “because you said if.”

You blink dumbly as he spurs his horse forward, leaving you to catch up.

part 3

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #reader insert #tiefling boyfriend #tiefling

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calicorn · 4 years

Text

My experience with WeLoveFine/ForFansByFans as an artist.

This in regards to the Act 6/7 Tarot Project, which occurred from 2017 to 2018. I also want to thank @aryll for the chance to participate in such a project, and thank you for doing what you could with the group and what occurred. I realize this is a few years late, however, but it’s been bothering me ever since it occurred, and I only chose to speak my mind about it. But to summarize, the project started out as unofficial, however we were approached by FFBF in February of 2018. They were willing to sell the deck as official merchandise on their store. I have my own opinions on the company, as it’s known they underpay artists severely for their work despite selling most items for extremely high prices. A similar payment issue occurred with the Official Homestuck Zine, and one of the artists of the Tarot Project posted this in the comments: “Can relate OP. I did work for the new tarot deck (using my throwaway account for that reason lol) but we aren’t being paid at all. No money. The only compensation we are getting is a free deck and an exclusive enamel pin which is pennies compared to what they’ll be making off us. One might argue that the project wasn’t supposed to be printed so I should be grateful it’s even happening but I expected a big company like WLF to y’know, pay artists... The only reason I agreed to letting them use my art was to get a free deck. I also honestly dislike WLF’s artist compensation policy. My art has been selected from the Fan Forge before and the idea of being able to sell my HS art was so appealing, but the execution is so poor. They don’t pay us until we sell $100 worth of shirts, but that is so difficult in a market that is so oversaturated. I wish they like, cycled designs in and out. Instead, they just keep adding more and more designs, drowning out old ones and just flooding the entire market. Plus, they get to withhold money from artists until every hundred-dollar mark. I can’t imagine how much they’ve made off of small time artists that get their design accepted and sell maybe 3 shirts since it happens so often.” So. What exactly happened? I’ll explain under the cut given there’s a decent amount to go through. Though to summarize; WeLoveFine/ForFansByFans is an extremely egregious company that does not value their artists whatsoever and will do what they can to pay them as little as possible. Please support said artists on sites that actually do give them fair pay, or support them via commissions.

There were a few bumps during the tarot project, though overall it went extremely smoothly and we released our art to the Tumblr blog. FFBF approached us during this time, and we were all given the option to agree to continue working or the project or decline. However, this is what was an important piece to the initial email sent out by the Tarot Project team; • Each participating artist will get a full finalized copy of the deck, COMPLETELY free. This includes packaging and free shipping of the deck. • Each participating artist will get an enamel pin commemorating the project, EXCLUSIVE to the artists of this project only, with a custom design as chosen/designed by us. What will most likely occur is that everyone who wishes to submit a design for the pin can do so, and as a group, we will vote on which one we would like to submit as our final design choice! • Each participating artist will receive FULL COMMISSION on any further usage of their artwork by What Pumpkin or For Fans By Fans. For example, if they release a mini-print, wallet, etc. with your design on it, you will be paid in commission for the usage of your work. (If you have ANY questions about how this would work, please don’t hesitate to ask and I will hook you up ASAP with a For fans By Fans representative who can go over the details with you further.) • Each participating artist will have a window in which they will be able to make updates or revisions to their illustration(s) before the project is released. This means that if something is bugging you about your work, or you feel that it does not reflect your current level of skill, you will be allowed to resubmit a new version before the project officially goes up as merchandise! So, the majority of us agreed to continue forward with the project and retouch our cards. From there, things continued, and we were emailed by a FFBF representative on occasion to discuss how the process went, as well as various other things that required discussion, plus asked to assist in the promotion of the 4/13/18 celebration on their website. This is where the issues began and would continue through the entire project, with it still being seen post-release of the cards. We were sent an email in April of 2018 requiring information to be provided in the accompanying booklet of the deck, as well as being asked to answer various interview questions that would be posted to FFBF’s Tumblr, and most importantly; the Commission Agreement form. So what did it entail? This was the form I was sent. My interview was never posted. I have looked multiple times and never seen evidence it ever was, either. And this was also included in the email; • We are going to be hosting a pre-order bonus promotion surrounding the new tarot set, starting 413. Anyone who pre-orders the set will be entered into a drawing to win a commissioned art piece from a random artist who worked on the tarot. You will be paid by us, FFBF, for this commission work in the amount of $50. So we had to draw more art with a very close deadline date to obtain a payment for art we had already created, both of which should have easily been worth more than $50 total. I signed without thinking, which looking back on, was incredibly idiotic, despite my own worries over the fact that even at the time, $50 did not seem like a lot. Progress continued. An exclusive pin was designed and created for the artists, though the production and delivery dates would be delayed to September of 2018. During this time, we were also invited to join FFBF’s Discord server as well, which I am still in, though am not active in. And eventually, we were provided a Commission Schedule. I do not know if I’m missing an email between the enamel pin shipment and this schedule post, however I cannot find any trace of it. This is the Commission Schedule email, and what it consists of. Of course I found it strange, because looking at the schedule, I could never find any sign of myself having been added. Obviously I should have replied then and there due to that, but I didn’t, and that is my own fault. But that rolled into October of 2018, when I did finally email back and asked about why I hadn’t been added. I was sent back this; “Hi Calicorn! I’m sorry I misinterpreted your response as not wanting to proceed:“3) I am completely willing to sign up for being one of the artists for the commission raffle event, though I must say $50 would be underpaying considering most artists’ base prices for commissions tend to be $50 or more.” Then I sent “If you do not want to be part of the give-away, that’s totally ok. We are offering $50 for these commissions but if that price is not within your comfort, there’s no pressure!” You never came back with anything so I didn’t want to proceed since it seemed like you were uncomfortable with the amount we were offering – I’m really sorry if I misunderstood! The giveaway is actually over I’m sorry to say but I appreciate you following up about this. I wonder why the message went into spam.. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you Thanks!” And one of the most glaring issues popped up in October as well. When we finally received our decks in the mail, our project’s Discord group began to discuss the fact that our emails had been printed in the pamphlet without our permission. Mind you, this was also a project that included minors in it, and our emails had now been given away without our knowledge. Another issue with the pamphlets is the fact that FFBF had reused the same text from the Homestuck Kickstarter Tarot Deck, as seen on the New Booklet/Old Booklet, and here/here. FFBF then decided to remove the booklet from every outgoing tarot that gets ordered, with customers receiving a corrected digital PDF that was coordinated in its creation by Aryll. And apparently previous customers would receive this PDF via emails, as well as a link to download it on the product page. Thankfully FFBF seemed to have at least posted the PDF on the product page, however this seems extremely lazy compared to simply including the newly reprinted booklet. Though this may not be the last of issues, as I stumbled across the Amazon product page for our tarot deck earlier before typing this all up. To say the least, it is extremely infuriating, especially given the quality of the cards and how many people of complained about them on both Amazon and FFBF’s websites. Of course we, the artists, were never alerted to this development, nor were we paid for such.

But overall, we were hardly paid for our time and effort during this project, which is a massive disappointment, but perhaps that much should have been expected from WeloveFine/ForFansByFans, who are notorious for underpaying artists and overpricing products. Their actions are inexcusable, and I am still both disappointed and furious with this company as a whole. But thank you for reading, and please spread the word, as I do not want FFBF’s actions to go unnoticed.

#homestuck #welovefine #forfansbyfans #act6tarotproject

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dameronology · 4 years

Text

the one with the intergalactic babysitter (mando x reader)

summary: you’re a little lost in life - you moved to coruscant to become a writer, but working two jobs to make ends meet has made you dismayed. one babysitting gig with a mandalorian and his weird green kid might change everything.

this is my first mando piece!! it might be the first part of a series or it might be a stand alone - if you want to see more, i’m definitely down to see what else my brain spews up

enjoy,

- val xx

Coruscant was a very fucking expensive place to live.

It was understandable, seeing as it was the political and cultural hub of the galaxy - the kind of place that Frank Sinatra might write songs about titled Coruscant, Coruscant - but maker, it felt like they were charging you simply to exist in the city. Perhaps if you’d had a career, or a solid job that didn’t require chasing around after rude patrons and yelling at middle-aged women for severely under tipping. Being a waitress simply wasn’t enough to make ends meet. You’d originally moved to the capital to make it as a writer - a statement you would come to learn would age like milk on a hot July day.

So, you turned to babysitting too; you already spent your day dealing with sticky-handed children and tuning out their incessant screaming. The extra credits wouldn’t hurt and it was something to do that didn’t involve sitting within the four walls of your tiny, concrete apartment.

The first few weeks were a bit sow, usually tending to the spoilt of children of rich, inner city politicians. They were easy jobs; the kids were easily entertained by a holomovie and their parents usually left enough money to order take away food for them. You simply had to sit and watch them; making sure they didn’t choke and that they were in bed on time. Simple.

One slow Monday - the kind were the hours dragged and there was a sort of grey cloud of gloom hanging over the skyscrapers - you got a call. Initially, it was supposed to be your night off to work on your debut novel. The first thing on your to-do list was to come up with an idea for said novel but as it usually went with writers, you found it easier to find excuses than to get on with the thing you claimed was your livelihood.

‘Hello?’ You were halfway through the door of your apartment, your commslink in one hand as you tossed your apron onto the kitchen counter.

‘Is this...Y/N?’

‘Maybe.’ You thinned your eyes. ‘Who’s asking?’

‘A potential client.’ It sounded as though the caller was covering their mouth. ‘Are your services exclusive to human children?’

‘Not at all. I had a Twi’lek kid last week.’ You replied. ‘What kinda kid are we talking?’

‘I’m not entirely sure.’

‘You don’t know what species your own kid is?’

‘He’s adopted?’ The voice came back, a little unsure. ‘Look, it’s a long story but I’ve had an emergency at work and I need someone to keep an eye on him for a few hours. I’ll pay double.’

That was how you ended up rushing out again, plans for the night completely disregarded in lieu of money . Admittedly, you were a little unsure because a) the address he had given you was in an air hangar and b) you were half-expecting to turn up and find that the child was a demon. But the guy was paying double and you needed to make rent - and you were like eighty percent sure he probably wasn’t going to kill you.

When you got to Air Hangar 64 - a jet parking spot right in the middle of downtown Coruscant - you almost turned around, thinking you’d got the wrong address. A man in Mandalorian armour (one hell of a man, it should be added) was standing outside of a jet, a bundle of robes in his arms. He was tapping his foot on the ground, the bright lights of the city around you illuminating against the beskar of his suit.

‘Y/N?’ You hadn’t even noticed that he’d spotted you, given the whole face apparatus situation. The voice, however, matched the one from the phone.

‘Right. Hi.’ You cautiously approached him. ‘I didn’t catch your name on the phone.’

‘Mando.’ He replied.

‘Mando the Mandalorian?’ You quirked a brow at him. ‘Or is it short for Mandalorian?’

‘Up to you.’ His words were blunt.

It was then that you noticed the bundle in his arms was actually moving, a tiny and clawed green hand reaching up. It wriggled slightly and you tried - you really tried - to hide the look of horror on your face.

‘That's the thing I’m babysitting?’

‘He’s the thing you're babysitting.’ Mando replied. ‘His face is much better than his hands.’

He handed you the bundle - and you noted that the shiny guy had been right. The little face staring back at you, with its wide eyes, brown eyes and hilariously oversized ears, was certainly much cuter than a human baby. He wrapped his tiny hand around your finger, letting out a tiny giggle.

‘Is that why you wear the helmet?’ You asked. ‘Cos you’re green and wrinkly too?’

You couldn’t see the Mandalorian’s face, but you could tell from the way that he tilted his head to the side that he wasn’t amused by your statement. Tough crowd.

‘I’ll only be gone a few hours.’ He said. ‘I appreciate you doing this.’

‘And I appreciate you paying double.’ You shot back.

‘There’s food for him on the ship - some freeze dried frogs and some bantha milk.’

‘I’m sorry, did you just say freeze dried frogs and-’

‘- I’d appreciate it if you stayed out the hull of the ship.’ Mando continued, ignoring your question. ‘Just stick to the cockpit.’

‘Right.’ You forced a smile, inwardly reminding yourself of the double payment. ‘And do you have a rough ETA?’

‘Sometime between now and tomorrow morning.’

‘No need to be precise, I suppose.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘Well, have fun doing whatever is that you do...Mando.’

He didn’t mean to come across as icy and rude. It was just that he rarely ever interacted with anybody else - the Child was hardly chatty and he usually knocked his cargo out before they could get a word in. Still, the Mandalorian smiled slightly to himself at the use of his name. He wouldn’t usually trust a single soul in the galaxy to be alone with his kid on his ship, but he didn’t have much choice. You didn’t seem like the sort of person who would steal it - in fact, he got the impression you probably couldn’t fly it at all.

Just like that, you were alone with the weird, Kermit-looking child. The first hour was slow; painfully so, in fact. All you could do was sit in the pilot’s chair, spinning around aimlessly in circles as the kid napped. The pile of dead, freeze-dried frogs stacked atop the dashboard was a little unnerving, but not any less unnerving than the six-foot-tall, armour-clad man to whom they belonged.

By the third hour, you were beginning to wish the kid was still asleep. You quickly learnt that he enjoyed waddling about and pressing random buttons; he was particularly drawn to the bright red one next to your seat. You were no expert, but you’d seen enough holocartoons growing up to know what an ejector seat was.

‘Oh no, let’s leave the blaster alone.’ You jumped out your chair, quickly picking up the Child. You held him up in the air, eyes meeting for a moment - then he burst into tears. ‘Hey, it’s okay! It’s better to play with safe things, like this mildly disturbing freeze dried-’

- The kid ripped his food from your hand before you could finish the sentence, shoving the creature into his slobbery mouth with an ostentatiousness that was impressive and disturbing in equal measures.

Watching him guzzle down the bantha milk was a similar experience; half of it ended up down his robes, the other half splattering to the floor. It could have been worse. He could have spilled it all over the controls or down the seat. Heck, he could have poured it over your head.

By the time the Mandalorian came back, both you and the Child were passed out. So much so, in fact, that you didn’t hear him enter the ship. You were snoring quietly in the pilot’s seat, leg stretched out to the other chair. The little green rat was snoozing on your chest, one of your hands resting over his back. There was blue milk all down your shirt and a frog’s leg stuck to the windscreen.

He gently leant forward to pick his kid up, placing him back in his floating crib. You began to stir when you felt the warmth move from your chest, your brain mentally registering the sudden absence of the creature.

‘Hey, Mando the Mandalorian.’ You sat up, rubbing your eyes. As you did, the frog that had been plastered to the windscreen fell, bouncing off of his helmet. Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to stifle the laugh that was about to come out. ‘I am so sorry about the mess-’

‘- don’t be.’ He cut you off, sticking out his gloved hand to help you up. ‘He’s a messy kid.’

You weren’t sure how you could tell, but something about him seemed much more docile than your previous, brief encounter. His tone was a little warmer - or was it more tired? It was hard to tell with the helmet.

Your best guess was that whatever work-related task he’d run out to had really taken it out of him. His shoulders were a little slumped, words tinged with exasperation. Coming home to find his ship covered in frogs and blue milk was probably only salt in the wound.

‘I’ll clean it up.’ You offered.

‘No, it’s fine.’ Mando shook his head, releasing his grip on your hand.

‘You’re tired.’ You said. ‘I mean...I think you’re tired. It’s hard to tell with that metal thing covering your face but I’m getting some exhausted dad vibes from you and I did make the mess after all.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Certain.’ You rubbed your eyes. ‘We spent most of the time you were out napping so I’m well-rested anyways.’

After pointing you in the direction of a tiny closet towards the back of the cock-pit, you gathered what appeared to be an ages-old mop and a bottle of unidentified cleaning liquid. Cleaning up spilled and splattered food was simply part of your day job and it didn’t take you long to reassemble the place. You mopped the floor, prying the occasional frog leg or arm from the ship’s windscreen and controls.

Mando watched as you did, eyes following you as you darted around. You couldn’t see him staring at you but you could certainly feel it. Glancing up from the floor, you paused your cleaning to hold his gaze, letting the mop fall against the wall.

‘So, what do you do?’ You asked.

Helmet tilt.

‘I mean, for like a job.’ You continued. ‘You live on a ship and you have a weird kid - he’s lovely, don’t get me wrong - but he’s fucking weird. Doesn’t he have a mum or something? Or another dad?’

‘I’m a bounty hunter.’ Mando replied. ‘And no.’

Did you always talk this much? Or was it just his wordless responses that made it feel like you were having a conversation with yourself? You could have sworn that most conversations didn’t take this much effort.

‘Bounty hunter, huh?’ You raised your eyebrow. ‘I don’t suppose that finding an individual in these Coruscanti crowds is very easy - sorry. I also don’t suppose that you want my running commentary-’

‘- no, I like it.’ His words took you by surprise. ‘I don’t come across many chatty people.’

There was something about you that he liked - you were bright, sparky. The complete opposite of every antisocial criminal and cantina-dweller that he’d ever come across. He was tired beyond words but your voice was soothing.

‘Yeah, the kid isn’t much of a conversationalist.’ You replied. ‘Where did you find him?’

‘He had a bounty on his head.’ Mando replied. ‘The people that wanted him were bad.’

‘So you ran away with him?’ You dropped the mop, taking a seat in the chair beside him. ‘And just called him your own?’

‘Not at first, but there are a lot of people after him.’

‘Oh yeah. I’m sure that tiny green thing is the galaxy’s most wanted criminal.’ You scoffed.

‘What do you do?’ His helmet tilted again, this time out of curiosity. He got the vibe that you probably weren’t a full-time babysitter. You’d looked after his kid well enough but you didn’t seem like the sort of person who would voluntarily spend all their time with children. You swore too much for that.

‘I’m trying to be a writer.’ You explained.

That made sense, Mando thought, you certainly had plenty to say.

‘Trying?’

‘Let’s just say that there isn’t a whole lot of writing happening.’ You replied. ‘You know, life gets in the way. I babysit and waitress to make ends meet but that leaves little time for getting shit done. I’m hopeful, though.’

Mando was almost bewildered by you at that point: you were the opposite of him in every way. You spoke about anything & everything, you’d anchored yourself to this city and you were trying to achieve a dream - an uncertain dream. He was the one that travelled the galaxy but somehow, you seemed to be more free. You had the sort of energy and optimism that felt like a stranger to him. Your presence alone against the cold, metal walls of his ship felt like a warm hug.

‘Is it lack of inspiration?’ He asked.

‘Maybe.’ You replied. ‘I thought Coruscant would help with that but it’s actually pretty fucking sad here. I can’t travel though, not when I’m working two jobs just so I can afford to live, let alone go on kriffing vacation.’

‘Right.’ He nodded. ‘I’m heading out tomorrow morning.’

You furrowed your brow. ‘Yeah. Where to?’

‘I have no idea.’ He replied. ‘But I need someone to watch the kid and you need to travel.’

‘Sure.’ You snorted. ‘I’ll just...I’ll just up and leave my whole life here behind to drop everything and travel the galaxy with a random man and his weird frog baby whilst I search for inspiration and - oh.’

‘What?’

‘That sounds like one hell of a story.’

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian imagines #mando x reader #mando imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars fanfic

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joshslater · 4 years

Text

Five Step Program

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I stared at the contents of the envelope, a blue jockstrap, and a folded piece of paper. I hadn’t put much hope into this “miracle solution” to becoming a jock without any of the work. Of course there was a catch. “First 20 customers get their first shipment free of charge” was enough for me to fill out the form with my information. It wasn’t anything too revealing. Name, address, height, weight, age. A box where you could write what you hoped to achieve with this revolutionary five step program. That’s what they really were after, I guessed. Having people enter their dreams so that they can tailor their next scam better. I was even surprised I got anything in the mail at all, and now having opened it, it made even more sense.

I could see how sending a jockstrap to someone perhaps fulfills some legal requirement that the recipient could now look like a jock. It could be a way to avoid getting a federal fraud charge. But I hadn’t spent a dime on this, so it didn’t make any sense. The jockstrap looked like any other jockstrap, I guessed. I’d never owned one, nor worn one. The pouch was dark blue and made with two layers of some synthetic mesh material. The big waistband was light blue with the letters JOCK repeated in dark blue around it. There was a faint smell of synthetic material and detergent. I did a mental sigh and opened the folded letter.

Congratulation on becoming one of our first customers on the revolutionizing five step Jock Express program. As a thank you for signing up, this first part is totally free of charge. Should you wish to continue the program, as we are confident you will after having successfully completed the first session, simply use the URL at the bottom of this page to enter your credit card information and we’ll send you the next item as soon as the payment is confirmed. I’m happy to inform you that we can offer a reduced price for the entire program, should you chose to start it within five days. The price is only $100 for the next installment, and progressively higher as you advance in the program. There is no commitment to purchase so you can stop the program at any point. We’re confident you will want to complete all the five steps in the Jock Express program.

Fuck that! What morons sign up to this kind of shit?

Instructions: The Jock Express is the easiest and most user friendly fitness program ever developed. Simply drink a lot of water, put on the items included in each program step, as you normally would, and go to sleep.

I was even more confused. Why would that sway anyone to put out $100 for at best another piece of gym clothing? I put it all in my in-tray on my desk and let it slip from my mind. I had dinner, watched TV, answered some late emails and the usual Tuesday stuff. By bedtime I walked past my home office and had the sudden recollection that I had something waiting in the in-tray. Then I remembered what it was, and almost reluctantly decided to go ahead with wearing the damn thing. I was still convinced it was a scam, but was immensely curious to exactly how it would work. If nothing else I would get to feel what wearing a jockstrap feels like. I drank a glass of water, put on the jockstrap, and went to bed. The jockstrap was as comfortable as anything and I quickly went to sleep.

Apparently I slept through the first alarm, and jolted awake on hearing the more incessant buzz from the phone. I jumped out of bed and it wasn’t until halfway to the bathroom I realized I was naked. I wouldn’t say massive, as in cartoonish in any way, but my dick and balls were noticeably bigger than before. It took a few seconds for my still startled brain to put the pieces together. The jockstrap had disappeared and somehow affected the body. It hadn’t replaced any body parts, I could still recognize my dick, but it was for sure altered. Suddenly $100 felt like way too little money. I didn’t even put any pants on as I typed in the URL from the letter. Jock Express step #2 for $100 and express delivery for another $25. Annoyingly no option to order all four remaining steps as a package. I just wanted to have them all in my house as soon as possible.

By the time I had entered all my details, checked all the boxes, and clicked the final webshop button I was rocking a massive hard-on. The biggest one in my life so far, by far. I didn’t care right then if I would come late or call in sick, I just knew that I had to take my pre-cum leaking enhancement for a test drive, and slowly started to move my hand up and down the shaft. It felt better than ever, and lasted longer than I have ever before. I’m not really sure how long, because I zoned out a bit while wanking, and then exploded with an epic load of cum. I managed to tilt the chair back and catch it all on my body, but then I felt really spent and dozed off, only to be brought back with a text message from my boss. Sick day it is, I decided.

A more apt description would be a lewd day. I just cycled between laptop porn, wanking and showers, and combinations thereof. I loved the difference it made when wearing underwear. Even when flaccid you could tell here was action waiting, not just only wearing underwear, but while wearing jeans too. I took photos so I had progress photos to compare with.

The next day was a strange one. I worked all day in the glow of someone with confidence, as if somehow I had done some achievement. I kind of surprised myself with how much of a difference it made when dealing with the pileup of emails from yesterday. Big dick energy. I could make decisions so much faster than I was used to. I don’t know if I really had more confidence, or just didn’t care as much. I was for sure giddy with anticipation of what was yet to come by overnight delivery. I forced myself to stay until official end of office hours and then bolted and drove straight home.

Thank God there was a DHL box in my mailbox, or I don’t know what I would have done. I opened it on my way in, and it’s contents were similar to the first one. A folded letter and some folded cloth. Without opening the letter I unfolded the cloth, which turned out to be a plain, sleeveless, white cotton T-shirt. Had there been someone to high five, I would have done so. I’m not fat, but there is a bit of flabbiness I would love to get rid of, so I couldn’t wait for this part. I felt anticipation in my stomach and something else in my pants. I hadn’t had a wank since this morning.

Evening couldn’t come soon enough. The letter said basically the same as the last one. A new URL for the $400 Jock Express #3, which I immediately ordered, again with overnight shipping. Not really sure what to kill time with, I figured a jock would watch sport, so I just randomly put some football on. I hadn’t really paid any attention to sports before, so I wasn’t sure about who was who, what the series looked like, or really what happened on the field besides the obvious. I ended up masturbating to the football, which in my opinion made it better. By 9:30 I decided to drink a few glasses of water, strip, put on the sleeveless T-shirt, and go to bed. I tossed and turned in anticipation for quite a while. The T-shirt had a very loose fit, and the big holes for the arms made it even more mobile, though it was anchored by the crew neck. Finally at some point I managed to fall asleep.

I woke up before the alarm. It was dark enough that I knew I hadn’t slept through them all. Instead of getting up or turning on the light, I just slowly moved my hand to my chest under the sheet. My chest was about the same size, but felt firmer, I imagined. But more importantly I was naked and the shirt was gone. I moved my hand down and couldn’t contain my joy when I started to feel the faint square of abs. I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom to have a look in the mirror. The effect was better than I thought from just touch. My torso not only looked fit as a model, with abs and V and all, but younger and with better skin. Perhaps an illusion, but it almost looked like my dick was bigger as well.

Having woken up early, after a wank and a shower, I was one of the first in at the office and quickly got ahead on my tasks for the day. I still had the anticipation I felt yesterday, but today it was more like I knew what to expect. It wasn’t just a one-off or a fluke, this was legit and it was happening. As I started early I decided to flex out early and rush back home. I spent the drive home fantasizing about different types of clothing. I was kind of wishing for those sleeves they use in basket, to amp up my arms, but there might be some scientific reason why they changed the body parts in a specific order. Who was I kidding? This wasn’t science. This was magic.

I ripped open the familiar package as soon as I was inside the front door. This time it was white under armour legging of some sort, ending just below the knees. I was considering strip down fully naked and put on the leggings right then and there, and wear them until it was time to go to bed, but decided against it. Even though the descriptions were vague and didn’t really say you couldn’t do that, I didn’t want to risk fucking up the process. Instead I found some underwear in the same color as the jockstrap and took a pair of scissors to an old white T-shirt to make it look like the one I put on yesterday. Then I put on those, and nothing but, and sat myself in front of the TV, determined to actually try to follow the game this time, whichever game I happened to see.

It might be I imagined it, perhaps because I’ve never really seen myself in a sleeveless T-shirt before, but it looked to me like my arms were a bit more defined than yesterday. I realized that I had just assumed only the parts under the clothes are affected, but that’s just something I made up. It could be that it just primarily acts under the clothes, or perhaps it was just a coincidence and the clothes really could change anything. In the end I let it go. It didn’t matter, I couldn’t prove it either way, and I couldn’t watch a game, have deep thoughts and masturbate all at the same time anyway. I was so into it I almost forgot to order the next package. A steep $1000 for whatever the next item was, but so far it was fucking worth it.

I really liked how I looked in the 3/4 leggings or whatever the fuck they are called. Just imagining how much better I would look the morning after made me go to bed with a big boner, despite being thoroughly wanked. I tried to calm myself by thinking of the last game I watched, and not give Jock Express a thought, and it kind of worked. I know I fell asleep pretty quickly and dreamt of football until the alarm woke me up.

“Fuck yeah!” was the first I could think when I saw myself. The thighs were about as large as before, but the line going down them made it obvious they were muscles and not jiggle matter. It even felt different just standing. I’m almost positive my dick had grown even more. Who the hell wouldn’t dish out $400 or whatever for this shit?

While the day started great it quickly became frustrating with all the corporate bullshit. I knew how to do my job. There were just so many fucking rules in the way of doing it in the best way. Perhaps the anticipation of the second to last package made me be in a bad mood. Whatever. I bolted as soon as I could, cranked up the volume in the car, trying to not think of anything until I got home. I almost punched something when I opened the mailbox and didn’t find an envelope. Instead it was just a note about DHL attempted to deliver while I wasn’t home. I could either call them to deliver tomorrow or drive to a pickup point. Like fuck I would wait another full fucking day.

I was furious when I got back into the car, blasting music as loud as I could, but I quickly calmed down. Perhaps this was a good thing? It might be a box with shoulder pads from football or hockey or lacrosse or whatever the fuck else looks hot. You know what else is hot? Michael at the DHL pickup point. I mean, I’m not homo or anything, I’m just saying he was a good looking dude.

The packet he gave me was a bit disappointing though. No way it could contain anything as large as shoulder pads. I didn’t want to fuck with my mojo, so I kept the same routine as before and didn’t open it until back home. Fucking cleats and socks. Another fucking leg day. And they smelled bad too, like distilled vinegar or some shit. As I entered the URL from the letter on my phone I got two more shocks. The price of the last package was ten thousand fucking dollars! And even worse, the delivery wouldn’t arrive until Monday. Two fucking days away. “This is bullshit” I shouted at nobody and threw the empty cardboard box into the wall to no damage to either.

I was still furious and went straight to the fridge, pulled out a cold can of beer, opened it, and downed half of it. It felt better, but I was still upset on the world in general. I looked at the phone screen again. $10k is a fuckton of money. There wasn’t a rush to buy it right now either, if they didn’t do overnight delivery during weekends. I emptied the can and crushed it against the countertop. It hurt my hand, which just added to my anger for being such a weakling. I pulled the rest of the six-pack out of the fridge and threw it in the living room couch on my way to the bedroom. I needed to get out of these stuffy office clothes and cool down with a cold one, or four.

I ripped off the tie and started to unbutton the shirt on my way into the bedroom, and once there opened the door to my wardrobe. I felt like a girl, not knowing what to wear. I hated everything my eyes fell on, and I hated feeling like that. I bunched the shirt into a ball and threw it into a corner, together with the tie. I climbed out of the pants as quickly as I could and threw them there as well. Then I stopped myself.

Everything I saw I really liked, I realized. The pecs, the abs, the thighs, and the generous bulge in the boxer briefs.I yanked off my socks and more deliberately lowered my boxers to let the dick and balls loose. I knew what I wanted from this junk selection of clothes, and opened a drawer with my athletic clothes and pulled out a pair of grey sweatpants. It was Friday and my dick and balls deserved some freedom, I thought, as I put on the sweats without any underwear. I picked up the sleeveless T-shirt from the floor by the bed and put that on as well. I felt so much better. A few beers, whatever game was on, and some more wanking, and perhaps this could turn into a good evening after all.

After two more beers, cum stains on sweatpants, T-shirt and the couch, and fuck knows how many games I zapped through I couldn’t wait any longer. Whatever bullshit the cleats and sock did, the sooner it was over with, the sooner I could move on with the final package. $10k was still a lot, but if I sold all shares I could buy it, keeping both house and car.

The socks went almost up to the knees, but weren’t any real soccer socks or anything like that. The looked more like something someone might have to the gym, or something a skater would wear. Skater was perhaps right, because they smelled like that vinegary acidic smell of really sweaty skater shoes. The socks were white with a wide black band around it near the top, and were a bit off-white on contact surfaces around the foot, as if they had been used in black shoes by someone. As if I would fucking care. I pulled up both legs of the sweats over the knees and put on both socks, pulling them as high as possible. The cleats were black and a bit banged up, but fit perfectly on my feet. I didn’t even remember having given out my shoe size. I was unsure how tight to tie them, so I went with comfortable without being loose.

It felt weird walking with them, like the shoes were pushing your forward. Not at all like my much flatter leather shoes. Somehow my test walking ended up by the fridge, so I grabbed another six-pack and returned to the couch for some more ESPN or whatever.

I had no idea what sport it was on the screen, but glancing out the window I could see that it wasn’t evening anymore. I must have fallen asleep, I realized, but I felt way better than I ought to, given the pile of crushed beer cans around me. I walked to the toilet to have a piss, and it wasn’t until I lowered the front of my sweatpants to grab my morning semi-stiff snake I realized I was barefoot. I was pissing for probably a good minute, aiming down with one hand. Holy fuck so much I’ve kept in while sleeping. I was pretty sure I had cleats and socks on when I fell asleep. I did a few bounces on the balls of the feet. It felt fucking great, and shook loose the last drops of piss from my dick. I dropped it back into the sweatpants, and broke into a smile from how fucking huge of a tent it made, despite being just a semi. I did a few more jumps, looking at how the flagpole in my front swung up and down. I really didn’t deserve to feel this great after yesterday, but I’d fucking take it. I felt so full of energy I felt I could do anything. I wanted to run just to see how it would feel.

I dashed into my bedroom and emptied the rest of the athletic clothes drawer on the floor. Some T-shirts, a pair of basket shorts, white socks and wiped down indoor and outdoor shoes. All of it was underwhelming, outright disappointing. And why the fuck did I keep the shoes here and not by the door? I grabbed the outdoor shoes and without bothering with socks started to mash my foot into it. It was clearly at least one size too small, perhaps several. Who the fucks know how shoe sizes work. I threw both shoes into the wall above my pile of office clothes. Fucking hell. Why do all days start out great and then go downhill so fast, I wondered.

I grabbed a pair of flip flops, the car keys, and pulled the credit card out of the wallet and walked out to the car. The car stereo startled me when I turned the ignition key, as it blared out some hip hop at max volume. I reached to turn it down, but changed my mind. It felt like my mood, as I was driving to my closest mall almost below speed limit. There wasn’t much traffic out anyway on a Saturday morning. As I turned into the almost empty parking lot in front of the mall I realized the fucking God damn shit mall would open for another 40-something fucking minutes. I wished I could turn up the music louder.

As I looked down on the cum stains on my shirt and tenting sweats I decided why the fuck not, and started to beat off in sync with the music.

40-something fucking minutes later I entered the sporting goods store in the mall. Johnson’s or Dick’s or Willy’s or whatever, I don’t care. I picked up some proper compression clothes, like the leggings I had earlier with a matching top. I got myself some outdoor Nike’s, a few proper tanks, some jocks, boxer shorts and socks, new flip flops, and a snapback cap. On the way to the cashier I decided to pick up a wooden baseball bat and a regulation size football as well. Back in the car I ripped off all the stickers and shit and put on something I could run in. The sneakers, jockstrap and shorts, a tank top, and the snapback. I left the car and just ran.

It was a revelation. The first time I tasted ice cream or coca cola, or the first time I discovered I could do something else with my dick besides peeing and hitting it too hard. I felt like a good damn terminator. Like as long as I kept the pace below sprinting I could run for hours. Trickles of sweat running down my face, my arms, my back, wetting the fabric of my clothes where it could, cooling the skin with the breeze my motion generated where it couldn’t. I have no fucking idea how long I actually run. When I finally ended up back in the car I was steaming and real fucking hungry.

I felt like a shower was in order, but I was too hungry to do that first. I went by Five Guys and had a bacon cheeseburger with fries and a peanut butter milkshake. As I started eating I realized I wasn’t anywhere near tired. It was probably enough running for today, but I wanted to do more. Halfway through the meal I decided I would visit the gym we had a company membership at. I had only been there a few times since the introduction walkthrough. I wasn’t even sure I had the card in my wallet anymore, or if it was in the bowl of stuff in the kitchen.

I made a quick stop at home, unloaded my car, found the card, and set off to the Pacific Wellness Center. The dude in the lobby had a pissy attitude and asked me if I was wearing indoor shoes. I asked him what they looked like, and he let me in. Such a shame, because he was kind of good looking.

Inside the gym the results were mixed. Squats, lunges, planking, and abductor machine all went excellent. It was fun, even. But everything involving arms went miserably. I could only lift a pathetic load, and after a few reps I would be tired. I even embarrassed myself in front of two massive gym buddies. One of them had amazing arms. You could see how strong they were even when he wasn’t lifting, but fuck me what beautiful ‘ceps when loaded. And tanned too. It was lucky I had the jockstrap on, because that body was smoking hot.

I could only stand a few more failures after that and then sped back home, still with hip hop at max, in a mix of emotions. I got naked on the way to the bathroom, and there I spent perhaps an hour in the shower, getting the grime and sweat off me, and wanking twice, thinking of the arms of the hot dude. As I dried myself on a towel I knew I had to buy the last package. Ten fucking thousand fucking dollars. I had to use the laptop to access my bank, and once I had put in the sell order for my stock portfolio I saw the pornhub tabs I hadn’t looked at since Wednesday.

The big-busted bimbos I had wanked my way through the Wednesday suddenly didn’t seem as interesting. I clicked around a bit until I found a muscle stud fucking a Latino girl. How quickly the taste can change, but except for pathetic arms, I’m was now the muscle stud. I quickly entered the URL from the Jock Express #4 box and ordered the last package. The delivery date was still Monday, so come Tuesday the muscle stud would be me. Only one fucking week.

Since I was out of beer I threw on my old shorts and a T-shirt, and had a walk to my nearest convenience store and bought one six-pack for each hand. I was feeling a bit stiff from the training, but it was much better than it ought to be.

As I opened the door back at home the warm smell of gym clothes, sweat, and feet hit me. I did the responsible thing and threw everything in the washing machine, opened a beer, and started to watch whatever was on.

Sunday was just a boring-ass filler day. I woke up at a decent time, had a long run. I passed through the park, but didn’t engage with any of the groups playing football or beach volley there. I could wait two more days to get my arms sorted. I did some cleaning up and domestic shit back home. Then I went to the gym again, but this time I pretended it was leg day, so I didn’t have to embarrass myself. After dinner I had an evening jog as well, and only had a few beers before bedtime.

Same thing on Monday. Woke up pretty early and went for a long run. When I was almost back home I got a text message from my boss, saying we needed to talk about my performance over the last few days. My answer “Suck my balls” probably summed up the conversation much better than any in-person meeting. I found that the best way to find porn with muscle studs in them was to search in the gay section. Just because you like to watch big arms and strong backs doesn’t make you homo. I jacked off to the videos until it was time to eat lunch. By 2 pm I was climbing on the fucking walls in anticipation, and every minute felt like too long. Perhaps it wouldn’t arrive today at all? I heard the mailman at 2:18 and rushed out wearing only shorts and snapback.

The mailbox was stuffed full with a big, soft envelope. I tore it open on my way back inside, kicked the door shut, and emptied the contents on my kitchen table. A big black something fell out, as well as something small that rattled across the table. Ignoring the letters, as usual, I unfolded the cloth. It was a big, black hoodie in sweatshirt material, with the print “STRONG” on the front. Finally arms! I picked up the small plastic box that almost fell off the table and opened it. It contained some sort of advanced mouthguard mad in blue, white, and transparent plastic of different hardness and flex. The kind that football players use.

Not knowing what to do next, I went to the gym and spent a few hours just randomly doing low weight, high rep stuff. I was trying to catch a glimpse of everyone else who worked out to see what their arms and legs looked like. Once I felt it was too obvious I wasn’t doing anything serious I drove home, but instead of going inside I started to walk and walked for hours just looking. It felt good just to be in motion. I didn’t return back until the sun started to set, and it was almost fully dark when I walked through the door.

I decided to just go ahead with the last piece of transformation. I stepped out of my sneakers and pulled off my damp socks. It didn’t smell of strawberries. I pulled off the T-shirt and stepped out of the basket shorts, but kept the compression shorts on. I grabbed the hoodie from the table and put it over my head. Perhaps it was me, but it smelled of musky sweat inside while I put it on. I poured myself a big glass of water and downed it.

I walked with the small plastic box to the bathroom and had a look in the mirror. I didn’t really look that different. The big hoodie hid my newly athletic front. The legs and feet looked strong, but who ever notices that? My big bulge in the compression pants was however a change from the past week that couldn’t easily be hidden. I opened the box and put the mouthguard into my mouth. It fit snugly and didn’t change my appearance much either. Not knowing what to do with the hoodie I put it up over my head and pulled it tighter with the drawstrings so all but my face was gone. Then I turned off all the lights and went to bed.

It was still dark when I woke up. Instantly I knew it had worked, because I couldn’t feel the mouthguard in my mouth, though it felt different. As if the ghost of the mouthguard was still there, prying my mouth open. I felt some sort of pressure on my head, as if I was wearing a hat or a beanie or something. I was about to feel my head when I realized moving my arm felt different. Not wanting to fuck around any longer I went straight to the bathroom again to have a look in the mirror. I stared at my reflection with open mouth. The difference was breathtaking.

First of all I wasn’t wearing any top, so my abs and pecs were on full display, but they were also bigger than before. Everything was bigger. My shoulders were much bigger, my entire upper body looked wider than before, and everything about the arms were huge. My face was still my face, but there were lots of small changes. “Fucking dope” I said with a much deeper voice than what I had before. I smiled a smirk and flexed the arms in different poses. I couldn't wait to show up at the gym doing an arm day. I just needed to have another shower. My dick needed service, and I felt sluggish, as if I hadn't really wakened up yet.

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mark6f · 2 years

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gothighunicorntolerance · 3 years

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Planet Earth is Blue- 2

One

AO3

Logan had been a member of the Silver Serpent for a good three years now, three years being counted in earth time with the calendar app on Logan’s phone (which somehow still worked, despite there not being any internet service in space. Logan had yet to figure out why he could still watch YouTube or access anything with WiFi, really).

During his three years, Logan learned quite a lot. In addition to learning a few words in Janus’s language (‘hello,’ ‘help,’ and ‘My name is Logan,’ the only phrases Janus said would really be useful), Logan also learned how to commit crimes in space. It sounded much more exciting than it actually was, of course, since most of the crime Janus and the crew committed was the smuggling of slightly illegal goods. The most valuable thing Logan had learned, however, was how to hack alien technology.

He had always been good with computers, but now with access to technology more advanced than anyone on earth could dream of? He was almost unstoppable. He single-handedly erased all warrants for Virgil’s arrest in three different galaxies, as well as cleaning up Janus’s record.

There had been several close calls over the years, though Janus handled most of them nonviolently. There had only been one occasion where a space cop had gone mysteriously missing out of the airlock. Being aboard a ship with crewmates that had a various amount of arrest warrants on different planets wasn’t perfect, but it sure beat earth. Logan would take aliens over transphobia any day of the week.

The Silver Serpent’s current load was a cargo hold full of Volatum, something Logan didn’t want anything to do with, as it was almost like a narcotic for the Umutu, the species native to Trappist-E and H, as well as a few weapons, all hidden under what they were legally delivering, a plant native to Kepler-62 called ibiryo.

The journey between planets was low-stress, as the only thing they really had to worry about was raiders- Logan had never met them, and hoped that he wouldn’t. But the entry to Trappist-E where they were to drop off the Volatum? The entire process was extremely stressful. First, permission to dock was needed- Janus took care of that part, as captain. Once permission was given, glorified border patrol guards would inspect the ship for illegal substances. This was the part that always made Logan nervous. What would happen if the Volatum and weapons were found?

Logan stood in the hallway with the rest of the crew, as per instructed, and watched the guards look around. Virgil glared at them as one opened the door to his room. It was only Patton putting a webbed hand on Virgil’s back that stopped him from hissing. Roman and Remus looked at each other, giggling at something only they heard.

Janus put a hand on Logan's shoulder and gave a small squeeze. During his time on the ship, Logan found that while Janus wasn’t one to hold long conversations, he instead communicated via physical touch.

“It’ll be fine,” Janus whispered so only Logan could hear. “I’m confident in my abilities.”

Logan gave a subtle nod.

It took an achingly long time, but the three guards that had boarded eventually come back out.

“You’re free to land, Silver Serpent,” one of them waved as they stepped out of the ship.

“Thank you,” Janus nodded, gesturing for the crew to follow him to navigation where they strapped into their seats in preparation for reentering an atmosphere. Going back into the pull of gravity was… an experience, to say the least. It reminded Logan of when he had been on a plane that had to land in the rain- bumpy, jarring, and overall making his insides feel like they had been turned upside down and then crushed with a weight. The first time Logan had reentered, he had been sick to his stomach. But now, after hundreds of trips to different planets, reentry was much more bearable, though still not at all pleasant.

Logan closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, something he found helped. He only opened his eyes once Janus announced, “Gentlemen, we have landed!”

Patton was the first to unbuckle, and he immediately lay down on the floor with his arms and legs spread out.

“I really don’t like that,” Patton mumbled.

“Neither do I,” Logan stretched his arms above his head.

“Alas, it is necessary. Now, we don’t have time to lounge around quite yet. We have to deliver,” Janus helped Patton up. “The ibiryo buyers will be here soon.”

“When will the second customer be dropping by?” Virgil asked.

Janus just shrugged by moving his top set of arms. “Soon. But let’s get to work unloading.”

He ushered them to the cargo hold, where it was Logan and Patton’s job to hand boxes of ibiryo to Janus, Remus, Roman, and Virgil, who brought the boxes out to the dock to be picked up by the buyers.

When the ibiryo was finally unloaded, Logan sat with the rest of the crew outside, his muscles aching. Roman and Remus’s words were muffled by their breathing apparatuses, which they had to use to breath in the oxygen-rich atmosphere of Trappist-E, as they needed nitrogen, not oxygen.

The sunset of Trappist-E was close to that of earth’s sunsets, albeit dimmer, as the sun that the planet orbited didn’t give off nearly as much energy as earth’s sun. The air was thinner, making it a little difficult for Logan to breathe, especially when he was still wearing his binder, but it wasn;t nearly as bad as it had been on Trappist-H, where Logan hard to borrow one of the breathing devices and stop binding.

Janus suddenly stood up next to him and raised one of his arms in greeting to a figure walking towards the now-empty docking area and began to walk towards them.

“Is that them?” Logan whispered to Virgil, who sat next to him.

“Yup,” Virgil replied. “I don’t know who they are, but I’m pretty sure they’re some kind of gang leader. You could probably find out with your fancy computer skills, Teach.”

“Probably,” Logan agreed. “Though it would likely take a lot of sorting through criminal records on this planet.”

Janus and the newcomer walked back to the ship. “Roman, Remus, go get the gifts for my friend here.”

The twins nodded and stood up, hurrying into the ship to bring out the Volatum. The newcomer left their hood up when they spoke to Janus, but Logan could tell they were Umutu- the coarse black fur around their hands gave it away. “I take it that my gift is in good condition?” they asked.

“Of course. Nothing but the best from my crew,” Janus replied.

“Very nice. Still the price we agreed on?”

“Correct. Who would I be if I changed the price upon delivery? A government agent?”

Janus and the Umutu buyer laughed. “Ah, here it is,” Janus took the boxes from Roman and Remus.

“Thirty pounds of Volatum. Twelve guns, twelve cases of ammunition,” the buyer inspected. “It seems to be in order. Let me transfer the payment and I’ll be on my way.”

Janus nodded and waved Logan over to wire the transfer. Logan held out a tablet and typed out a code that would allow the funds to be untraceably deposited into an account Logan had set up for himself- most of the funds were used by Janus without Logan’s complaint, as he didn’t really have a need for the money, though he did purchase a small souvenir for himself after every planet he visited.

Each trinket was put carefully in the drawer of his nightstand, though to anyone else it would look like a drawer full of clutter- a ball of yarn made from a cotton like plant from Roman and Remus’s native planet, Wolf-1061-C. A branch from a tree-like organism from Gliese-667-Cc. It was also comforting to know that the type of shirts that proclaimed “I went to New York and all I got was this t-shirt” we’re not confined to earth’s tourism culture- he had several of those, each from a different planet.

The Umutu took the tablet, typed in a code, and handed it back to Logan with a nod.

“Crew of the Silver Serpent, I salute you,” they said.

“Pissing off authority is what we strive to do,” Janus grinned.

“A noble cause. Now, I will be on my way.”

The buyer left the docks, leaving the crew alone.

“Well,” Logan announced. “I’m going to go to my room and sleep. If you see something interesting in the market, buy it for me?”

“Of course!” Roman replied.

“Definitely,” Janus nodded. “Well be taking off in a few hours, so now would be your chance to go shopping if you want to.”

“Thank you, but I’m exhausted,” Logan walked back into the ship, where he tugged off his binder and pulled on a sleeping shirt before crawling under his exceptionally warm and light blankets on his small bed and falling asleep almost immediately.

He woke to shouting.

Stumbling out of his bedroom, he put his glasses in just in time to see Virgil running past him from the engine room to the front navigation, screaming some untranslatable words at the top of his lungs (untranslatable because there was no English equivalent, not because the translator device refused to translate unpleasant words. He had heard plenty of those streaming from Virgil’s mouth when there was an engine malfunction).

Logan took a moment to realize what was happening before chasing after Virgil.

“Who’s chasing us this time!?” Logan shouted over the clanking of the engines and the scuttle of Virgil’s spidery legs against the cold metal floor.

“The cops!” Virgil shouted over his shoulder.

“Those motherfuckers!” Logan cracked his knuckles as he ran after Virgil.

Logan slid into a seat and began typing at a tablet. “What’s their ship name? I’m going to slow them down! Wait- are you kidding me? They’re using an unsecured network… hold on. Patton, look out the window and tell me what’s happening.”

“They’re still shooting at us! Wait! They’ve stopped! And now- now they’re… flying in circles?” Patton hopped out of his seat to the thick glass panes that served as windows to report what was going on as Logan typed commands into the tablet.

“Perfect! This won't be able to last forever, so get out of here!” Logan told Janus and Virgil.

“Virgil, can we warp?” Janus shouted over the engine.

“Once! Now go go go! Now do it now!” Virgil shouted back.

With a flip of a switch, the crew of the Silver Serpent successfully evaded the law once again, and with shouts of “ACAB, BITCHES!”, they arrived in the Fireworks Galaxy.

Had Logan been on the spaceship equivalent of a cap car, he would have heard the confused shouts of the space-cops as they tried to figure out what had caused the sudden malfunctions in the steering mechanisms and the reason only the left engine was working. But Logan was not on the space-cop car- he was with the crew of Janus’s ship, with the different species he had learned to call his friends, his family, shouting obscenities at the space-cops, as all upstanding citizens did.

“Well,” Remus announced. “Fuck the police! Jan, where are we going next?”

Janus shrugged. “Wherever we want, Remus. Wherever we want. Logan, you pick.”

Logan froze for a moment, not used to the spotlight being on him. He looked out the window at the galaxy, at the nebulae and planets and countless stars, at the infinity that was the universe. He had seen things like this before, of course, but he could never get over the sheer vastness of space.

“Let’s go to that one,” he pointed at a random planet.

“That one it is,” Janus gave Logan a six-armed hug from behind.

In addition to learning how to hack spaceships, Logan also learned that Patton’s and Janus’s hugs were quite possibly the best in the entire universe. Janus’s multiple arms made hugging all that better, and Logan leaned into the taller humanoid (Logan still wasn’t quite sure what descriptor, exactly, that he was supposed to use. Janus wasn’t a figure, as those were shapes in fog or darkness. He wasn’t a man, which was made obvious by the four extra arms and shimmering golden scales. Janus wasn’t just a friend, either. Logan considered them all family, but he did occasionally wish there could be something… more with Janus. So Janus was simply the taller humanoid, as not even Logan had the proper vocabulary to describe him).

Logan watched the galaxy pass by, still in Janus’s protective hug, as the Silver Serpent flew to the planet and had pointed to.

Life was good. Life was happy, even!

Those were words Logan had never thought he would have been able to truthfully say, not when he was back on earth. But now? Now, in space- which had seemed like a far off dream- Logan could truly say he was happy.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides fic #loceit #logan x janus #space au #tw cops mention #tw guns mention

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