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hailsatanacab · 3 months

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I'll ask after that secret number 8!

I only remembered secret number 8 because I saw your wip here! I'd started this one based on the same prompt, then lost said prompt and stopped working on it 😅

Instead of a snippet, I'm just dropping it all here - maybe that way I'll feel inspired to finish it?

———

It’s a full house for dinner tonight and, really, that should have tipped him off.

Bruce sits at the head of the table, smiling softly as he watches over everyone’s antics. Damian is regaling Dick with everything they saw at the zoo that day (Danny had been so happy to see Delilah the purpleback gorilla again, and her new little additions to the troupe, too!) and how well they are implementing the grant the Wayne Foundation had gifted them. Tim, Steph, Cass, and Duke are all engaged in a thumb-war tournament which Danny has no interest in participating in. It just wouldn’t be fair on them.

Danny loves that look. The one where Bruce’s eyes crinkle when he thinks none of the kids can see him. It oozes love and it makes Danny’s heart, his core, ache.

It’s been a little over a year since Alfred found him on the street and managed to wrangle him back to the manor to stay—even after the whole biting thing when he realised how rich they were.

A little over a year here and Danny’s starting to feel like family.

Starting to feel like he might, just maybe, like to make it official.

“Danny,” Bruce says, drawing everyone’s attention. Danny starts at his name, but Bruce’s voice is warm and calm, and his shoulders lose their tension almost immediately. “Danny, I have something I would like to tell you.”

“Uhhh…” is all Danny can croak out, eyes flicking back and forth between Bruce and the rest of them. Smooth. Looking good, Danny.

Except… they’re all happy. All smiles, all relaxed body language, all radiating calm and love and acceptance. Well, not Damian—his face is as thunderous as it always is—which at least means it’s nothing too out of the ordinary.

“Danny, first of all, I just want to impress upon you that this is in no way something you have to do. You are under no obligation to join us and, no matter what, you shall always be welcome with us in the manor.”

Wait, what? Danny squints at Bruce, trying to parse exactly what he’s saying… Is he—is this them asking to adopt him? Do they want to make it official, too?

It’s been a little over a year and of course Danny has imagined calling Bruce ‘Dad’. Of course he’s imagined being part of the family, of course he wants to make it official!

He can’t help the beaming grin or the bright and bubbling “Yes!” already waiting on his lips. All Bruce has to do is ask, all Danny needs to hear is—

“I’m Batman.”

The smile freezes on Danny’s face.

His lungs stop working, his heart stops working, he stops working, he just—

“And I’m Nightwing,” Dick smiles, breaking the awkward silence.

Danny’s eyes snap to him, and then down to Tim when he admits to being Red Robin. Duke is Signal, Steph is Spoiler. Damian begrudgingly tells him he’s Robin, but Danny can barely hear it over the ringing in his ears.

“I’m Black Bat.” Cass cocks her head, almost looking concerned. It always felt like she understood him the most. Whenever he was feeling low, too in his memories, or stewing after a nightmare, she was always there, ready to card her fingers through his hair and never mention his tears. It makes his heart ache to think of it now. “It’s okay, Danny.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but how—how can it be okay? How?

Danny’s spent a little over a year with them. A little over a year with Batman.

Batman, who works with the Justice League, who works with…

A little over a year.

Just under 16 months since he escaped.

“Danny? Are you alright?” Bruce asks

Finally, his lungs kickstart and suck in a shuddering breath, only for everyone to drop their smiles.

Didn’t take them long, did it? Now that their ruse is up, there’s no kindness in their eyes, they’re just… cold, calculating. Evaluating.

“Why?” Danny gasps, his fingers tingling, his heart in his throat.

Just under 16 months since he—has he escaped? Or was this just another one of their experiments?

"I... I trusted you, why—" Danny chokes back a sob, gritting his teeth as his shoulders shake. Why? Why would they do this? "I was happy here, with you. I thought... Weren't you happy?"

"Danny..." Bruce is looking at him, eyes narrow and eyebrows pinched, in some cruel facsimile of confused concern and all Danny can think is how much of an actor he is. How well he can play the part of a doting father. How much he made him want that.

"I don't understand, why..."

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you before, I can imagine that it comes as a shock. We shouldn't have lied to you, Danny, but—"

"Stop it!" Danny slams his hands down on the table and pushes himself up on wobbly legs. Even standing, he feels so small. Smaller than Bruce, than all of his adopted siblings. They crowd above him when they all stand, too. "Just stop it! Why are you doing this, why are you still pretending? Stop it!"

It was easier, with Danny's biological parents. The knowledge that they'd do anything to get him on a lab table, to open him up and see what makes him tick, to rip him apart molecule by molecule, had always been there. He knew they hated ghosts. He knew they hated Phantom. He knew they hated him. It was easier because it was something he'd known all his life. When he died, when he became a ghost, he knew what to expect from them. It hurt, of course it did.

But it was easier than this.

"Danny, I'm going to need you to take a deep breath. You're having a panic attack and you need to breathe."

"Breathe?" Danny laughs, the sound harsh and choking, too high pitched in his hysteria. "You're joking, right? Or is this just more of the—the experiment?"

"Danny, please, we don't know what you're talking about, you—"

"You don't know? You're Batman! You work with the Justice League, you work with—" His words choke off as his stomach churns, bile rising in his throat. His whole body itches, screaming at him to leave, he can't go back, he can't, he can't, he can't!

Bruce takes a hesitant step forward and Danny scrambles back, his feet catching on the chair behind him and sending him careening to the floor. Where are the agents? Why aren't they swarming in, ready to apprehend him, strap him back on the table, carve him from the inside out.

"Please, Danny, calm down. We don't—"

Danny stops listening. His back hits the wall and he pulls his knees into his chest, his shoulders dipping down as he begins to sob. His heart throbs inside his throat, too painful to swallow around. Tears fall hot and heavy on his face.

Sure, he could run. He could phase out through the wall and he could be out of Gotham in a couple of hours. He's escaped the GIW once, he can do it again.

But that was before Batman knew who he was. Before he had the World's Greatest Detective on his tail.

Before he...

He really thought this would be different, you know?

He wanted to make it official.

"Why did... Why were you so nice to me? Why did you make me like you? I really—I really liked you. I-I thought we could be a family."

"Danny, we are a—"

"Don't lie to me!" Danny snaps, but the force of his anger leeches all the fight from him, and suddenly all that's left is a bone-weary tiredness. There’s a lump in his throat that hurts. There’s a line down his chest that burns. "I don't care. I don't care anymore, I don't. Just... don't make me go back there. Please."

Is it futile? He thought he knew how the GIW operated by now, the depths that they would go to achieve their results, but this... this was a whole new level of pain that Danny thought he had left behind him in Amity.

"We're not going to make you go anywhere, Danny, you're safe here, I promise."

"Safe? Safe? You must have—" he takes a deep breath, tries to stop the quivering of his voice. It’s all starting to make sense, now. "The reason you're telling me who you are is because you must have told them everything already. I know the Justice League—I know you're working with them, which means the ex-experiment is over now, and they're coming to take me back. And I can't go back."

"Danny—"

"I can’t!” Danny glares at Bruce with all the rage he can, fingernails digging into his skin. “I’m not going back!"

"That's right, you're not going back, Danny. I won't let that happen." Bruce crouches down in front of Danny, his hands open and raised as if he's trying to say he's not a threat. "I don't know who you're talking about, and I'm sorry about that, but I can promise you that you’re not going back there. We will keep you safe."

Danny pulls himself closer, tucks himself further into the wall, eyes flickering all across the room waiting for that tell-tale flash of white as the agents start to swarm.

He should take his chances now and run, he should go, he needs to go!

The rest of them, his brothers and sisters of a little over a year, are spread out, giving him and Bruce some space. The same concern colours all of their faces. Why are they still pretending?

Steph is chewing on her thumb.

Danny liked Steph and her brash confidence, her jokes. She's been promising to paint his nails for months now, they've just never found the time. He was going to go for green and black, or maybe a galaxy theme, depending on what she felt comfortable doing.

He likes them all.

"You were supposed to be my family." His mouth turns down at the corners and his voice shakes like a child. "You were supposed to—why? Why would you—I don't understand why you would make me like you..."

"This isn't an experiment, Danny," Bruce's voice is steady, soothing. "I promise."

"But you work with them and—"

"Who do I work with?"

"The Justice League."

"Yes, I do, but we—"

"And the Justice League works with them. The GIW." Danny trembles with the name, clutching tightly onto his hoodie. "I'm not going back there, Bruce."

Danny doesn't miss Bruce's look over his shoulder, nor Tim's nod in return. Tim turns slightly to the side to hide his movements, but Danny bets he has his phone in his hand, probably letting them know they can take him now. Guess this is it, then. They'll be here soon, and he'll be gone.

"Kill me."

"Danny? What do—"

"If you ever had any kindness for me, if you ever cared, kill me. Please, Bruce. I can't do it again."

"Danny..."

"End me now. Take my core out and break it, please, before they get here."

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dpxdc fanfic #wip game #thanks for the ask <3 and thanks for helping me remember this fic lol #also huge thanks for having the prompt linked because i have S O M A N Y prompt wips that i can't ever post because i've lost the post #didn't really know how to get danny to calm down #that's a lie #i have a few ideas of where this can go but no motivation for it - not against all the other wips #i'll keep at it and ig post to ao3 should it actually start looking alright #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#dudes did u kno u can pin shit to your clipboard on desktop because i fucking love that #also if you use the windows key + . there's like emojis and shit #(((φ(◎ロ◎;)φ)))#<- and kaomoji too!!!!!#anyway that's been fun facts and fanfic with me. ur welcome #oh shit my writing tag #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #at some point 'oh shit my writing tag' will just become my writing tag #anyway thank you again for the ask #good night everyone!!!!!

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darthstitch · 1 year

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Professor Mysterious and Professor Wet Cat

This is my take on that Dreamling post making the rounds about Hob and Dream being uni professors and that Hob is surprisingly NOT the prof who overshares and Dream is the one who inadvertently does.

Buckle up, kids, let's have some fun with this. Also, gentle reminder: NOBODY TELL NEIL. SHHHH!

This time around, Hob's using his proper name, Robert Gadling, because it's been a while since he's trotted that one out and he kinda likes the seeming rightness that the once upon a time near-illiterate medieval peasant that he'd been was now teaching at a rather prestigious university. However, he's not prone to sharing much about his personal life to his students. He's still warm and friendly, but he's cautious about letting Certain Things slip.

Hilariously, the things that do slip end up making him everyone's favorite university cryptid. Sometimes Hob slips into Middle English when he's stressed or emotional. Sometimes he might use odd old-fashioned sounding oaths like "God's wounds," "Holy Jesu," and "Mother Mary's teats" (this last one sends everyone into spasms of laughter).

The literature department ADORES him because they can always drag Professor Gadling off to read Chaucer in its original form or even medieval French, his pronunciation perfect and dead on. Shakespeare is the only thing he'll flat out refuse to read because in any universe this Fuzzy Blue Alien's gonna write, his hatred of the Bard is the stuff of legend.

The students universally agree that Professor G is basically British Indiana Jones, because he's also known to have lethal expertise in medieval weapons. There's been more than a few fantasies inspired during the booked-solid outdoor demonstrations where he works in tandem with the other medieval history professors to show everyone how medieval weapons worked. Apparently, his favorite weapons are the longbow, the bastard sword and daggers.

Obviously, this all leads to Professor Gadling being the campus crush and his relationship status is a matter of hot speculation even if he's made it perfectly clear he was not about to violate his ethical standards or position as a teacher. It still doesn't stop the fevered fantasies of more than a few grad students, though. But that's all they're gonna get.

And then, there's the new literature teacher, Professor T. Murphy.

To everyone's disappointment, Professor Murphy is only going to be at the university for a limited series of lectures. Word of mouth spread fast, and his classes were now booked solid and he was going to be asked to return, once his apparently very busy schedule is cleared.

7. Of course, he's an instant campus crush, with the "Goth angel" looks, the Edward Cullen jokes are definitely flying and there's more than a few students melting after they heard him speak. "That Voice" is always referred to in capital letters and it's well deserved.

8. "Campus crush" turns to "Official Precious Blorbo" once the students all discover that behind the whole regal and imperious Goth Prince vibe that he gave off, was an adorkable darling wet cat who was just completely gone on "my beloved." If he's discussing a love sonnet or poem, there's definitely going to be a reference to "my beloved" or "my dearest" or "my love." It's never sickeningly cloying and the sweet tiny little smile that takes over his normally serious face is like sunshine. The kilig feels are real.

9. He's also forever worrying that he's not enough for "my dearest" as he's rather painfully aware "of my lack in human graces" - which everyone translates to "OMG HELP I HAVE THE SOCIAL SKILLS OF A SCRUNKLY WET CAT." He frets that he's somehow failing his beloved, who is infinitely sweet and thoughtful and caring and that Professor Murphy is the selfish one, really, who doesn't deserve the man.

10. The students, of course, immediately ADOPT him. Tesco ice cream runs are done, YouTube videos on cooking and invites to kitchens are extended so Professor Murphy could practice making something that is "not a catastrophic culinary disaster unfit for human consumption." There was a session on the language of flowers, which everyone had enjoyed. For a while, flowers with significant meanings were presented to sweethearts and lovers all over the uni. There's an unforgettable after-class meeting in which the craft-inclined students teach Professor Murphy how to knit and crochet and he was really rather proud of the scarf he had created.

11. Professor Murphy's raven had been rather entertained playing with the yarn scraps. The students learn that the raven's name is Matthew.

12. And then, dashing, mysterious Professor Gadling finally peeks into Professor Murphy's class.

"The things I do for you, myne owne hertis rote. Bloody Shaxberd."

"But you do read him so very well, my love." And there it was, that tiny, soft, sweet smile, now aimed in Professor Gadling's direction.

Professor Gadling sighs and puts a hand over his chest. There's a very familiar scarf draped over his neck. "God's wounds, dove, warn your poor, long-suffering husband before you do these things."

"What 'things,' dearest?"

Professor Gadling waves his arms helplessly. The scarf slips a little, offering a tantalizing view of a purplish mark on his throat. "That thing!" He looks appealingly at the students, who are now all stifling their delighted giggles. "Look at him! My heart can only take so much!"

And that was how everyone found out that Professors Gadling and Murphy were actually happily married.

Incidentally, the Shakespeare reading, in which both professors took part, was a true kilig apocalypse. Instant campus legend.

#dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #professor dream #professor gadling #i crack what i want #history and literature class cryptids #pffthahahaha #shhh nobody tell neil

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rascheln · 7 months

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In some alternate universe it's Neil who gets possessed and Billy teams up with the others to stop him and the mindflayer, just to distract his dad long enough that El can get in the finishing blow. And maybe he stays with the Mayfields officially, but he drops by Steve's place an awful lot. They drink. They talk. Their rivalry sort of reemerges in the form of them playing basketball and going swimming and ribbing each other mercilessly, just to drive back to Steve's place for pizza and a movie.

While they talk, Billy drops some of the facade he's had on for so long and regales Steve with one shitty restriction after another his dad used to pull on him. Of course Steve's being a bit awkward about how to deal with Billy being a bit (a lot) fucked in the head over his very dead dad for a while, because Billy hated Neil so much and was hurt so much, but he also craved his approval constantly. All he can do is say "wow, what an asshole" and make the dumbest jokes imaginable in the hopes that that's enough and it may not magically fix things but it certainly helps.

It breaks the tension. It helps make Billy crack up when he looks like he's about to cry.

Enough time spent in each other's pockets also brings the frustrating, yet somewhat hilarious realization that Steve, in turn, is also woefully blind to his own family's unique levels of shittyness. Solving problems with money and telling their son to get a job instead of checking in why he's in such a slump? Consistently talking about other people's achievements just to throw Steve judging glances? The drawn out absences and silence between then?

"Oh, that's just how they are," Steve shrugs, leaned casually against the Family Video counter as Robin shares an understanding look with Billy over Steve's shoulders.

#harringrove #harringrove txt #suddenly needed to eject this from my brain hahaha #I always come back to thinking that even if Steve's family is great and normal he'd still be blind to the more weird/messed up dynamics #simply bc that's just how he grew up! what do you mean that complex can be traced right back to how his parents treated him?

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here-there-be-drag0ns · 9 months

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i believe deep in my very soul that Ollie and Prince Leon are pen pals.

Like after everything settled in Edison Kingdom and everyone was socializing on the ship they for sure bonded over being kinda sorta technically but not really kidnapped/abducted by the Riptide Pirates, and then Leon mentioned that he'd only heard of pirates in his books and Ollie was quick to regale him with stories from a real pirate ship and they decided to keep in touch as two kids who didn't have too many friends their own age.

I think by the time they get back to Zero, Ollie and Leon are definitely besties and write to each other every week and Ollie very excitedly tells Leon that he finally made it home to his mom and tells him the whole story of the Riptide Pirates claiming Zero and everything and Leon writes back about how things are going in Edison kingdom and how he's relieved he's not going to have to explain to his brother why he's recieving letters from a pirate ship anymore, but that he's a bit sad that he wont be hearing of any more pirate adventures for a while.

And I think Ollie brags that he's best friends with the prince of Edison Kingdom and the other kids in Zero don't believe him and think he's making shit up to sound cooler, and then he receives a letter in the mail with the official seal of the Edison royal family and Ollie's smug as all hell brandishing it at everyone who told him he was full of shit.

And then this is incredibly self indulgent but I think years in the future Ollie becomes the captain of his own ship and Leon decides he's tired of reading about the world - he wants to see it. And his brother has had children by now, so he's no longer next in line for the throne, so it's unlikely that he'll really be needed in the kingdom. So Captain Ollie sets a course for Edison Kingdom and Leon sneaks down to the docks and together they start up their own crew and become just as infamous as the Riptide Pirates.

#dragons chatting #jrwiblr #jrwi headcanon #jrwi ollie #jrwi prince leon #jrwi king leon #ollie teach #just roll with it riptide

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sweetdreamsofgelato · 1 year

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Ebb and Flow

(image shameless taken from google)

Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x Reader (You)

Summary: see the prompt below

Rating: E for everyone (maybe T for a little mild language?)

Word Count: 4261 (I know, I KNOW. Yes, I got carried away and no, I don't want to talk about it)

Warnings/Content: AU!RPF; mild adult language; pining 💋 Emotions with a capital E

A/N:

I was presented with two kissing prompts (#66 and #67) from this list and whilst I mulled over both, this idea took hold, so I combined them. I hope you don't mind, @jolly-polly! To my dear Bonnie Nonnie, I know you requested Henry but I hope that AU!Henry will do. Apologies in advance for deviating from the course.

I'm afraid I might've gone a little overboard with the imagery in this one, but I was IN MY FEELS so I soldier on without regret.

A side note for anyone who enjoys instrumental music: I was utterly consumed by Ludovico Einaudi's In a Time Lapse album the entire time I wrote this. I can't recommend it enough. Time Lapse, Run, Brothers, Experience, and Burning were particularly inspiring.

Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are my own.

Reposting my works on any other sites or platforms is strictly prohibited (my official AO3 is linked in my master list). Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated.

Working at a charming little bookshop on a leafy corner of the local high street was certainly not your dream when you accepted the job, but the elderly couple who owned it were incredibly kind and desperately needed help, and you were in the market for a job that didn’t completely crush your will to live.

For a small business, it had a large and fiercely loyal customer base and most days you felt positively run off your feet. Not long after you started, it was plain the shop needed more help. You were only one person, and the Cavills were on the dark side of their golden years—both neither quick moving nor technologically inclined, which made keeping up with demand a daunting task indeed.

Which is why it came as much of a surprise a few months later when you’d expected Mr Cavill to inform you that he was hiring another shop clerk, that he rather announced he and his wife were taking off for the Mediterranean. Truth be told was Mrs Cavill had been not- so-quietly longing for sandy beaches and warmer climes for some time and Mr Cavill finally agreed to dip his toes into retirement.

For a brief moment, you thought you were going to lose a job you’d come to really love. Gratefully, Mr Cavill was not yet ready to shutter the doors or sell off the business. It was still profitable, after all, and the shop had been Cavill-owned for four generations, so he was (rightfully) reluctant to let it pass out of familial hands. It was a relief when a few weeks later, he informed you that though he was taking a “sabbatical” (as he liked to call it), his grandson, Henry, would be stepping up in his absence.

If there was anything you learned over the time leading up to said grandson’s arrival, it was that the Cavills loved him fiercely. Mrs Cavill spent most afternoons regaling you with memory after memory, sparing none of the normal flattery all the while. He was kind, tall, polite, generous, handsome, intelligent, athletic, hard-working, handsome, and friendly. A true gentleman.

And did she mention handsome?

Yes, she had. So much so you were concerned that this all was possibly a set-up. You didn’t think so highly of yourself to suspect that the whole thing was an elaborate ruse, but rather perhaps convenient opportunism was at play. Wouldn’t be the first time some well-meaning grandmother tried to pair you up with a beloved grandson. By Mrs Cavill’s account, Henry was quite lovely and you didn’t look upon him uncharitably, but the fact was that loving grandparents tended to regard their grandchildren through rose-coloured glasses.

That morning, you were still brainstorming how to gently let them down without making the atmosphere at work irrevocably awkward when the little bell over the shop door tinkled someone’s arrival. You assumed it to be the first customer to drop in on this unusually quiet morning.

“Grandad? Gran?”

You froze over the box you were unpacking and furtively glanced at the calendar on the back of the door, then at your watch and cursed. Okay, not a customer. It was him.

“Anyone here?” Henry’s voice was deep and warm and smooth as velvet; you were horrified by the rogue tingle that ran up your spine.

Ever so quietly, you tiptoed around the boxes at your feet and poked the swinging door open just enough to get a glimpse. Your jaw dropped.

“Oh no,” you gasped. His back was to you, but even at a distance, he cut the exact image Mrs Cavill described: statuesque. Tall and broad, like a rugby player or perhaps a professional lumberjack, if either wore perfectly-tailored tweed suits.

“Hello?” he called out again. He turned and searched the shop for any sign of life. You caught a glimpse of his profile and your knees threatened to turn to jelly.

Shit shit shit! You quickly drew back and caught yourself against the shelves. This was bad. This was really bad. Mrs Cavill had not exaggerated in any way. If anything, she’d criminally understated her description. One could be blind as a bat and still tell that he was exceedingly handsome. He had an aura.

What a fool you were. Here you’d spent the better part of a fortnight coming up with gentle ways to tell the Cavills that you weren’t interested in their grandson, and now here he was in the flesh and you were a sharp jawline away from proposing marriage. You’d not even officially met.

Horror struck; you slowly sniffed your armpit and your nose wrinkled at the offence. What were the odds that he’d leave if you kept quiet? Not good, you reluctantly admitted. Surely he’d expect that you were expecting him—and you were, it’s just that time had gotten away from you, as it always did when you were focused. Still, after three hours sequestered in the store room doing inventory, you were undoubtedly a smelly and sweaty mess, and you did not want his first impression of you to be that of a wilted shop clerk.

For purely professional reasons, of course.

You frantically, but quietly—very quietly, hunted for your bag and rummaged for that fragrance sample you’d chucked in for odorous emergencies. You spritzed under each arm as you huffed into your palm. You immediately searched for a mint.

“Hi.”

It came from the doorway right behind you, and you very nearly hit the ceiling in surprise. The noise that escaped your lips was positively Jurassic.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Nope,” you squeaked, threw your bag across the room and turned to face him. So much for first impressions. You cleared your throat and did your best to school your features into something less spooked. “Nope, you didn’t.”

He watched you with a placid sort of look. The kind someone wears when they absolutely don’t believe you but they’re far too polite to call you out on it. He leaned against the door frame and gave you a little wave. “I’m Henry.”

“I know,” you blurted. Fuck.“I mean, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” And all of it bloody true, apparently. You held out your undoubtedly clammy hand and made your introductions.

“Nice to put a face to the name,” Henry said. He gave your hand a firm squeeze and your forearm erupted in gooseflesh. “I’ve been hearing all about you for weeks.”

You laughed nervously, rubbing your palms over your skin and desperately willing it back to normal before he noticed. “All good things, I hope.”

“Only the best,” Henry answered with a reassuring smile.

Your heart did a precarious little wobble.

He’s just a man, you scolded yourself, and though he may look like he walked straight off an old Hollywood movie set and could charm the pants off a nun, certainly he couldn’t be everything his grandmother made him out to be. No one was that perfect.

***

He was. He was so bloody perfect you wanted to cry.

As a universal rule, men like this didn’t actually exist. It was a commonly known fact that they were myths. Legends. Exaggerated and unattainable fabrications conjured from the imaginations of gothic novelists and social media experts.

You assumed Henry (as kin to the owner) would take up the role of Boss Man, and if a lifetime of anecdotal evidence dealing with attractive men in positions of power proved correct, he’d immediately start throwing his weight around like a proper egoistic tyrant.

But that was so far from the truth that you still felt ashamed for prematurely judging his character. He was just as described. Handsome and kind in equal measures. Impeccably well-mannered, even when he rang and told off the couriers when they stuffed up deliveries. Generous. Most days he offered to grab lunch or make a coffee run and he always offered a helping hand no matter how menial the task. Not to mention the thrice-a-week homemade treats.

It was his way to decompress, he’d said, and you didn’t complain.

Henry’s even-tempered disposition notwithstanding, he wasn’t above throwing around his impressive weight when he deemed it necessary. He pulled off mean and scary quite effectively when he’d chased off a creep who decided it was their life’s purpose to come in every day and pester you. Henry had even offered to escort you home until you felt comfortable walking on your own again.

The man was a damned unicorn and he was the best non-boss boss you’d ever had.

***

You stood in the doorway to the admin office—which was really a glorified broom cupboard not much wider than the breadth of Henry’s shoulders—and chewed around an overly-large bite of homemade pastry. It was all you could do not to moan. He had no right to be this skilled in the kitchen. It was almost as much a turn-on as watching him assemble one of the shop’s shiny new computers.

One always appreciated a man who was good with his hands.

To add to his ever-growing list of positive qualities, he was also a bit of a nerd. Henry had taken one look at the existing system and had been downright horrified by the outdated technology. He was adamant about bringing the shop up-to-date, but instead of ordering a prefab computer, he’d custom-ordered an entirely new system which he planned to assemble himself. After much anticipation, the equipment had finally been delivered. It would solve a lot of headaches, but not all of them.

As Henry’s arrival more or less coincided with the Cavills' departure, the shop was down one net member of staff, and whilst Henry was more than capable of doing the work of three people, he shouldn’t have to. You both agreed that the shop needed more help.

“Know anyone who might want a job?” Henry murmured around the tiny screwdriver clenched between his teeth.

Your mouth went dry as you watched his lips move around the tool. “You’d leave that decision to me?

“Why not?” He adjusted his headlamp, pushed his glasses up his nose and resumed fiddling with the computer’s internals. “Technically you’ve got seniority, so you understand the shop’s staffing needs far better than I do.”

“I just thought, being related to the owner and all, that you’d be in charge of these sorts of decisions.” Of all the decisions, really.

Henry looked visibly uncomfortable at the suggestion. “I like to think we have more of a horizontal organisational structure here.” He fitted the computer cover back in place. “A purely collaborative and democratic effort.”

“Oh.” How refreshing. “Not worried I’ll just hire an irresponsible friend and run the business into the ground?” You stuffed the rest of the pastry in your mouth and gingerly sucked the sugary remnants from your thumb. Not good manners, you knew, but it was too delicious to waste on a napkin.

Henry stuttered to a pause as if his mind momentarily blanked. He cleared the grit from his throat and continued, “I trust you. Not to mention it’d be rather hypocritical to accuse you of nepotism.” Henry graced you with a sly smile and you never felt closer to swooning. “Besides, you don’t strike me as the self-sabotaging type.”

Generally, you weren’t but you’d argue that steadily falling head over heels for your coworker could certainly categorise you as such. Still, the fact that he’d thought of you in any sort of capacity left your cheeks overheated.

“I know just the person.”

***

“He’s a serial killer.”

“He’s not a serial killer.”

You stepped back from the small rosewood display table to both admire your handiwork and question the intelligence behind hiring your eternally paranoid flatmate, Sarah.

The timing had been rather serendipitous, as Sarah had found herself suddenly out of work—which was no fault of her own. Her ex-boss was an absolute cretin and deserved the throat punch he’d received for groping Sarah in the office lift. Not to mention Sarah’s ability to keep paying rent benefitted you both, but it was possibly at the cost of your sanity.

“Has to be.”

“He can’t be,” you insisted testily. This was the third time she’d brought this up. Sarah angled you an expectant look that read explain and you fumbled around your brain from some logical reasoning.

“He bakes,” you added weakly. Surely being able to produce delightfully sugary bits of heaven didn’t preclude one from being a serial killer, but you still liked to think the likelihood of association was relatively low.

“All the more reason to suspect him,” Sarah replied as she continued boxing online orders behind the counter. “Some of the most notorious serial killers were all described as charming, handsome, or talented in some way. Henry’s all three at least. There is such a thing as too perfect.”

Be that as it may. “You need to lay off the True Crime.”

“Absolutely not.” Sarah pointed the tape gun in your direction. “It’s a prerequisite for modern-day survival.”

You weren’t going to argue; it was too exhausting. “He can’t be all bad if he let me hire you no questions asked.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Sarah admitted. “I know just the way to show my gratitude.”

“By being ferociously dedicated to your job?” you asked hopefully.

She made a vague motion around her face. “Hannibal Lector mask.”

Sarah actually got it for him, and instead of reprimanding her as he ought, he kept it displayed under glass next to the till with a sign reading:

For Emergency Use Only

In Case of Rude and Unruly Customers or Serial Killers Masquerading as Gentlemen

Break Glass

It was quite the conversation piece.

Did you mention his wickedly subversive sense of humour?

Ugh, you were in love.

***

It was official. You were pining.

Like properly pining. The can’t eat, can’t sleep, thrown into existential crisis kind of pining.

“You need to do something about it.”

The computer monitor came back into focus as the delightful little daydream about snogging Henry in the storeroom evaporated in your mind. You sighed ruefully; it’d been a good one.

“About what?”

“Your Henry situation.”

You slanted a sidelong glance in her direction and mumbled, “I thought you said he was a serial killer.”

“I may have been a bit hasty with my judgments,” Sarah conceded as she adjusted the rucksack on her shoulder. “Seriously. I am begging you to go for it, if not for your sake, then for mine.”

Your brow furrowed; you swivelled in your chair to face her.

Sarah took the opportunity to squish your cheeks between her palms, lest you flee the conversation as you’d done on at least two other occasions. “I can’t watch you torture yourself anymore.”

“I’m not torturing myself.” At least not deliberately. You batted her hands away. “I’m being pragmatic.”

“By torturing yourself.”

“He’s my boss.”

He was more than that, you knew. It hadn’t taken long to pass into the realm of friendship. You didn’t dare presume more than that though, despite having incrementally fallen in love with him since the day he walked into your life. That was the fastest way to a broken heart.

“He’s far more than.” Sarah echoed your inner thoughts and you wanted to crawl under the counter and hide.

“He’s still my boss.” Was he, though? Henry had adamantly refused the mantle whenever you mentioned it, so you weren’t really certain anymore. The lines had always been a bit blurry. Made for a convenient excuse though.

“Didn’t Henry give you the whole “horizontal organisation” speech?” Sarah asked cheekily. “Sounded euphemistic to me.”

“Regardless, it’s ethically unwise.” You loosed a long, beleaguered exhale and rested your chin in your palm. “Weren’t you leaving?”

Sarah pointedly ignored your dismissal. “Office affairs are a beloved modern literary trope and a cornerstone of the romance genre.”

You cast her a wry smile. “Traded True Crime for fan fiction, then?” Not that you were judging. You could go down an Ao3 rabbit hole and easily not come up for days.

“It’s more common than you think.”

“Reading fan fiction?”

Sarah’s expression flattened. “Shagging your coworker.”

That was a leap you’d not even dared in your own dreams. “The man is three eyebrow hairs away from Adonis.”

Freak kitchen accident apparently and he’d been afraid to make crème brûlée since. You couldn’t suppress a dreamy smile at the memory of that conversation, because Henry’d relayed it one early morning whilst presenting you with—crème brûlée. It was the best damn thing you’d ever tasted. He’d even let you eat half his portion.

“Why on earth would he want me when he could have literally anyone else?” you lamented.

“Have you seen the way he looks at you? He practically worships the ground you walk on.” Sarah looked about two seconds away from reaching across the counter and shaking you. “The man’s in a desperate state but much too polite to make the first move. Honestly, you two are hopeless.”

You were definitely hopeless, there was no denying that, but the rest of it sounded a bit of a stretch. If that were true, surely you would’ve seen the signs.

“It’ll make things weird,” you said. You left off the last bit of that thought: when he says no.

Sarah looked suspiciously smug. “Not if he says yes.”

The shop door swung open and in strode your personal greek tragedy, two paper cups of tea in hand.

“Hey Sarah, I thought you were already off on holiday,” said Henry, who glanced awkwardly between you, Sarah, and the two cups in his hands. He set one on the counter for you and offered Sarah the other—the one that you were sure he’d intended to drink himself.

The pining intensified.

“No, thanks. On my way out as we speak.” Sarah confirmed as she gave him a mock salute. You picked up your tea and took a sip. From the corner of your eye, you caught her silently mouthing Do it! before she slipped out the door.

“I appreciate you picking up Sarah’s shifts,” said Henry. He came around the back of the counter and rifled through a few bits of post resting next to your elbow. “When she told me Cassie surprised her with a Norwegian cruise, I couldn’t say no to the last-minute request for holiday leave.”

“Mhmm,” you murmured absentmindedly, then turned to Henry in confusion. He was very close and smelled amazing. Warm and spicy, like a smoky campfire in autumn. You swallowed hard, your voice rough when you asked, “Cassie?”

“Her girlfriend,” he prompted with a quizzical raise of his brow.

“Oh, right.” Your eye’s narrowed toward the door. Sarah and Cassie split up two months ago and as far as you knew, she wasn’t dating anyone new. Norwegian cruise but only packed one rucksack? This reeked of subterfuge.

Henry’s eyes swept over towering stacks of boxes and growing piles of books destined for new shelves. The shop was closed to customers for the day and it was all hands on deck for a seasonal inventory catalogue and reshuffle, but you were two hands down and hadn’t made much progress.

The daydreaming hadn’t helped. You let out a resigned sigh.

“Looks like it’s gonna be a late night.” He nudged his shoulder gently against yours. It took all of your willpower not to lean into the touch. “Let’s order takeaway.”

***

The bookshop was rather magical at night. It was one of many reasons you loved working evening shifts. With the shades drawn and the lights dimmed to a warm glow, it had a sort of natural cosy ambience of a private library. Then again, it could just be the company.

As you reached up to shelve another book, your focus drifted along the instrumental music still playing through the shop and back to just hours before. The vision swam into view, entrenched on the horizon of your mind’s eye as, now, a core memory:

Henry perched on the edge of the window display opposite, you tucked into a plush armchair he’d dragged over from the reading corner for you. Between you, the remnants of a feast spread over a makeshift cardboard box table because the man didn’t know the definition of restraint when it came to food. He pushed the sleeves of his cobalt knit jumper to his elbows and set aside his steaming mug, the contents of which threatened to splash all over him as he animatedly recounted yet another story that had easily reduced you both to shared fits of laughter.

You rested your elbow on the side of the armchair and leaned your fist against a cheek so delightfully sore from the near-constant smile Henry so easily coax forth. Watching him at that moment, you knew no matter how much you tried to ignore or deny it, you were in love.

In the present, warmed from the memory, you slid the book home onto the shelf and fought to breathe.

It was definitely the company.

You forced your way through the haze of your thoughts as you hopped off the railed step ladder. If you lost yourself in work, you couldn’t think about the rest. Or so had been the plan, but it seemed fate had other ideas. With a frown, you inspected the collection of boxes nearest.

“Henry, do you have Young Adult S2? I don’t have it.”

You heard thumps and shuffling from across the shop, and then Henry answered, “Got it! Stay put. I’ll bring it to you.”

With Young Adult S1 under your arm, you were back up the steps and shelving the last stragglers whilst you waited. When you turned around to descend, you accidentally smacked Henry across the face with the empty box.

“Shit!” you cursed and threw the cardboard aside. “Henry, I’m so sorry!”

“No worries,” Henry chuckled graciously as he set down the box in his hands and gingerly rubbed his face. “No harm done.”

“Nonsense,” you fussed. By your own terribly unscientific analysis, Henry’s only toxic trait was belying the truth for the sake of others’ feelings. “Let me see.”

Without thinking, you leaned down and gently grasped his chin. He allowed you to tilt his face to the side and inspect the damage. His jaw flexed under your fingers when you traced a fingertip over the faint pink mark blooming across the stubbled skin of his cheek. Even with the superficial scratch, he was still stunning. All beautifully sculpted angles in such sharp contrast to the softness of his nature. Your gaze naturally drifted to his mouth when it parted on a sharp intake of air.

Your eyes flicked back up; your breath caught and the gooseflesh returned, and this time it was head to toe. Your hand dropped but your entire body rooted to the spot. Henry watched you with piercing intensity. The bright blue of his eyes gone dark as lapis. Sharper and clearer than you’d ever seen before.

It happened all at once, or maybe it hadn’t. People often talk about points of no return, but this was different. Not so much before and after, but rather with a single intimate touch, the barrier between two parallel realities dissolved. They slowly bled together, coalescing in a heavily charged anticipation that swelled unbidden in the space between. It surged through you and kicked up your heart into a frantic pace.

This is where desire lived.

You bowed into it. An ebb to the flow, unable to resist the pull of its fulcrum. The step ladder shuddered under Henry’s weight as he moved onto the bottom step, his arms bracing the railing on either side of you. He’d not laid so much as a finger on you, but you felt him everywhere. A delicate counter pressure pressing in. You nervously chewed at your bottom lip; Henry’s eyes followed the movement and you saw it again. A flicker of something only just restrained. Barely perceptible, but the shift was undeniable now that you’d had glimpsed behind the veil.

Henry reached up with one hand and cupped your face as he narrowed the distance. His thumb reverently traced over your bottom lip and across the curve of your cheek. Henry release your name in a breathy oath just before his mouth found yours.

First kisses were funny things. They come with such high expectations. Metaphorical explosions, fireworks, and seismic rifts in space and time. Some sort of divine reordering of the cosmos. But this kiss…

It was gentle and cautious. A greeting between two souls stepping fully into the light and meeting for the first time. Like a camera coming into focus, everything fell away and there was just Henry, and he was absolutely breathtaking.

His mouth angled against yours and you returned in kind, urgency threatening to take hold, but Henry suddenly broke away. You despaired at the loss.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He was winded. His eyes searched yours, and they were wounded in a way that made your chest ache because you knew where it came from: anticipated rejection. “Are you sure?”

You wished to pour your heart into his. To fill all the cracks from which his vulnerability broke through. You wished to tell him that this little bit of paradise you both somehow managed to discover was safe. Here was a home where he’d only find warmth, joy, and love.

Your fingers brushed through curls just as soft as you’d imagined and you sank into his embrace. Gently drawing his lips back to yours, your smile melded with his, and you answered without words, in a space between hearts where none were required.

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill Fan Fiction #Henry Cavill AU RPF #AU RPF #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill x You #Henry Cavill fanfic #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #sweetdreamsofgelato writes #fic: ebb and flow

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bijoumikhawal · 2 months

Text

Bite the Hand that Starves You: Chapter Six

Fic as of this chapter contains: discussion of abortion, references to drug use, intersex and trans characters, torture/graphic violence, colonialism and its aftermath, implied sexual violence, disassociation

Kardasi: peikirvi- would translate to something like "concubine", specifically refers to an individual that socially presents as male, and was assigned such at birth, but can carry children (and often could impregnate someone else), who is legally bound to someone. Usually this is done with a pre-existing couple who has fertility issues.

---

Peikirvi don’t get grand celebrations when they’re added to someone’s family. Women, less commonly men, or more commonly… it didn’t matter.

It is Garak, Barkan, and Palandine. Almost like that night in the garden, many years ago- except now, there is a government official, looking quite bored, and her assistant.

Normally, their parents would be here too. Of course, Garak does not get that comfort. He wonders why they didn’t bring theirs.

The dark coral doesn’t look quite right on Garak’s skin. Palandine and Barkan both naturally look regal in reddened burnt orange. Orange, orange, orange- of course it's all orange. Blue is too improper, even when it's ostensibly the only reason he's here.

Palandine, as the existing spouse, has a structured cap over her hair, to symbolize that she won’t be jealous. Neither of them has been able to make eye contact since they both entered the room. These are the details Garak latches onto as, in turn, they each wash their hands and mouth. The ink of signatures is already drying.

The skimmer isn't outfitted the way it would be if this was a grand celebration either, of course, and there is no procession, no well wishers. It wasn’t that Garak expected any- had ever expected any. He stopped considering the idea that he would have a legally recognized partner after he left Bamarren.

Palandine is sent off so he and Barkan are alone. Barkan stands behind him, stroking his neck ridges.

“How is your leg these days? Your spine?”

“Healed.”

“A pity, what happened during the competition…” Barkan sighed. “I suppose I never explained myself to you.”

“I suppose you didn’t.”

“Shh- this is meant to be a happy occasion. I shouldn't have mentioned it.”

Garak let his shoulder relax under Barkan’s touch instead of pushing himself to resist. “How would you explain yourself?”

“You know how brutal social politics can be, Elim. You were only in your first year… and frankly, you didn't have a strong standing among your peers. If I had awarded you, I realized, it would put a target on your back.” Barkan’s fingers slipped into his mijast, undoing the fastenings. “You would be the one to beat, into submission. It was improper of me to seek out your knowledge in the first place. Hearing how badly you were injured made me realize why.”

“I thought that was an accident.” Barkan stayed behind him, so Garak did not reciprocate the undressing.

“As far as I know, it was. But if that was how bad an accident could be, a purposeful attack…” he was at the lacing on Garak’s supportive garments now. “It was a miserable sight, seeing you use that cane for all those months.”

Garak’s hand curled, remembering the grip of the handle, how smooth it had worn by the end. “I see.”

“You don't.” Barkan’s hands slid over his stomach. “I…”

Garak turned in his arms. “You're still dressed.”

---

This time, Garak wasn't in a decrepit hall, or his shop, or on the promenade. This time, Garak was ill fated to be on a turbolift.

There were many times when he wished stairs were feasible on space stations.

When Barkan laid eyes on him, he turned to his aide, and gestured for them to go off and do who knows what. The doors closed behind him like red curtains.

"How lucky I've become." Barkan mused, voice like a whetstone.

"How unpatriotic." Garak replied. A good Cardassian did not believe in fickle luck- fate was another matter.

Barkan laughed, but didn't go for the obvious barb. He went for a worse one. "That doctor of yours... he's quite young, isn't he? A little younger than you were, when you joined my household."

"I hadn't noticed." Garak said dryly. He was lying, of course, but Barkan didn't know that. It had, once or twice, prickled at him, like straight pins shoved under scales, Julian's youth, and the things that came with it- naivete, exuberance.

It sometimes made him angry. Made Garak want to grab him by the collar and shake him.

"Really?"

"Yes." Garak resisted the urge to elaborate- to say something about Bashir's competence as not just a doctor, but CMO, member of the station senior staff. To further slide in that he was not only a doctor, but a soldier.

Barkan wanted him to talk.

"Strange." Barkan murmured. "You're usually so observant. I suppose you pay more attention to clothes than people these days."

Garak stared at him blankly. Well, not blankly- simply with what, to him, felt like a neutral expression. It tended to make him look a bit sullen.

Barkan tilted his head, smiling. "Well, when you do that, you like you did when we met."

Palandine's advice of smiling as a way of being powerful did not work on this man. Garak’s smile would be evidence of his power. His sullenness would be too, but it was more unpleasant for Barkan.

He hoped it prodded at his wounds, whispered in his ear how did you think this was your caged darling? How blinded by your desires were you not to see the teeth in his maw, the claws at the bend of the wing?

The compartment came to a stop, and the doors opened. Garak left without a word.

Barkan let him.

---

Julian was in line at the Klingon restaurant, trying not to think about work, when he of course ran into his only superior. “Captain.” Julian greeted him with a smile. “I don't usually see you eat out.”

Sisko tipped his head to the side. “Kaga has been pleading with me to try his cooking, on the house, ever since we tied as finalists in a station competition. I gave him a heads up that I'd be taking him up on that offer today- I'm hoping it'll help me relax after all these meetings with Dukat.”

Julian sighed. Dukat and his crew would, thankfully, be leaving in two days. “Speaking of… sir, I have a request.”

It was then that Kaga came to greet his guest. “Captain Sisko! You did not tell me you had a guest!” He clapped a hand on each of their shoulders. “But he will be a great help to you in eating everything I've prepared! Doctor, where have you been hiding?”

Julian opened his mouth to explain that actually, they were both on their own, but a squeeze on his arm from Sisko made him think better of it. “I've just been…” he sighed, “Very busy.”

“Too busy to eat! Pah. You must learn to delegate.” Kaga escorted them to a corner that had been done up nicely, and already was set up with several dishes giving off fragrant steam. They were indeed, more than enough for one person… potentially three. “Sit, sit and eat. Later I will come and entertain you personally, and if T'ustolla does not treat you well in the meantime, he will go in tomorrow's special!”

“That must be the new assistant.” Julian said as Kaga left.

“Hopefully he's a match for Kaga.” Sisko said with a smile. “You had a request of me?” He said, taking the first dish.

“Yes.” Julian looked down at the table. “I understand if you think it's a bad time, sir, but I was hoping to take some leave.”

“Of course. What makes you think it's a bad time?” Sisko asked as he looked around for utensils.

“You eat these with your hands sir, it's like Ethiopian food- well. Recently, we had first contact with the main political power of the Delta quadrant, and it was hostile, possibly irreconcilably so. There's the usual tension with Bajor, increased tension with Cardassia, kunowaat is still going around even if it’s petering out with no new infections, and most likely something I'm forgetting at the moment.”

“To you that sounds like I shouldn't give you leave. To me that sounds like the last chance you may get in awhile, doctor.”

“Oh, don't jinx me.” Julian sighed. “I see your point, though. It'll be a moment before things get worse, and when they do…”

Sisko patted his hand. “Just wait until you've got a decade of service under your belt. Now, is there anything else you wanted from me?”

“No, sir.”

“Then take Kaga's advice and eat.”

---

The rest of their dinner conversation had been light. They'd said their goodbyes to each other, and now Julian was walking. Walking and thinking- found himself thinking about his own... relationship to the idea of children.

One of the things he and Palis understood was that Julian was never having children. She'd been fine with that- understood some of it, even, having a fraught relationship with her own parents that they'd mended after years of effort.

No one knew that a lot of it was for the sane reason as Garak- it simply would be cruel for him to have children. It'd brand them as accomplices, and Julian would rather not repeat his parents mistakes.

He stopped in front of Garak’s quarters.

Naturally, he was here to check in on his friend, as a friend, not as a doctor.

After a moment of thought, Julian buzzed the door. It seemed Garak took a moment to think as well, since the door opened just as Julian was about to press the door buzzer again.

Garak had on his normal clothes this time.

It seemed Garak was in the midst of sewing something, fabric stretched out on the table before him. Fragrant steam floated up from a mug of tea kept in arm's reach.

"New clothes for yourself?" Julian guessed.

"Mm." Garak put down the cutting tool he was using.

"It looks nice." Julian offered.

"Why are you here?"

Julian’s brow knitted in confusion. "I'm checking in on you. I thought you might want to talk again."

"Did you." Garak passive aggressively folded a length of fabric- it made Julian tense, reminding him of his mother.

Julian set his jaw, cautious. "Yes, Garak, I did."

Garak didn't look at him as he kept talking, instead putting the fabric on a shelf under the table. "Well, doctor, I don't. I don't wish to acknowledge whats happened at all- you should know that by now." He hadn't looked at Julian the while time, and he was putting on a a patronizing air, but-

But it was normal, really. Julian breathed. "Alright." If Garak didn't want to talk, that was fine. And he wasn't lying, or at least his lies were consistent- last time, he'd just asked about the pudding. "I still-"

"Came for something else."

"To be... here, yes." Julian felt off balance, but held his ground. Garak had called him last time, and yes, they'd had a misunderstanding, but. Ultimately, Garak had been soothed by him.

Julian wanted to soothe him.

"Why?" Garak asked again. "Just being here is hardly a reason. There's nothing here. I'm in no state to host, and you know this."

Julian stared at him. "I'm not asking you to host me. You don't need to-"

Garak laughed, getting up and walking to the window. "Well, thank you for your clemency. Your permission."

Everything he said was going to be taken badly, wasn't it? Julian sighed- he hadn't figured out how to respond to Garak when he was upset like this yet. "I didn't mean it that way."

"No, I suppose it simply doesn't matter to you." Garak remarked. "That imposing might be inconvenient for others."

He was doing bullshit again, it seemed. Julian bit his cheek, thinking.

Garak had his back to him. "Well? Have anything to say for yourself?"

"Garak... must we do this?"

Garak was still- his shoulders did not twitch, and if his face changed, it was hidden. Unlike last time, and the time before, he had solid control on himself. "Dodging, doctor?"

"You aren't upset that I'm imposing and you aren't in a state to receive guests."

"How do you know? How do you know anything at all?"

"You never cared about it before." Julian pointed out. Admittedly, Garak had only invited him over once or twice before- before this, and the wire. But he hadn't cared then. There'd been the clutter of life around then, and it wasn't that anything special was prepared. They had drinks from the replicator and draped themselves over the too-hard chairs.

"Perhaps I've realized I've been improper and wish to change."

Julian raised his brows, thinking back on their interrupted lunch. "Improper?"

"Classless. Whichever word you like."

Julian frowned. "That's not it either."

That made Garak snap and turn to him. "Then perhaps it's this, doctor: I want you to leave, and wanted to-"

"Be polite about it?" Julian couldn't help himself. The second part was so ridiculous- nothing about Garak’s attempts had been polite. His tone conveyed all that disbelief exactly.

Garak’s face was set and cold. "So clever. So... quick."

This had been a mistake. Or had it? Julian still didn't know why Garak was acting like this, and didn't buy that him coming by had incited it. Mistake implied he could've avoided it.

In any case, he was at a loss for what to do. "Garak..." He tried again, and it hung in the air, lonely and ineffective.

"Good night, doctor." Garak turned away from him again.

Julian reached for him for a second, then, remembering, took his hand back. He nodded to himself and left.

He walked a few yards of corridor before the overwhelming need to stop came over him. He leaned against the wall, pressed a hand to his forehead and willed his heart rate to go down.

CMO of a station fresh out of the academy. Impressive, and an easy way into an early grave- exactly what he'd wanted. But two years was a little fast.

He really needed that break away, didn't he?

#Fic: Bite the Hand that Starves You #Ds9 #Garashir #Ds9 fic #Star trek fic

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fallen-symphony · 17 days

Note

Who do you guys like the most on your team? Who do you hate the most on the enemy team?

"An interesting question... Although I'm not one for relationships since I'm a superior being... I must admit that Obake's intellect and Motivations truly seem to resonate with me. He's like a more intelligent Dr. Regal.

"As for who I hate on the enemy team... Probably my stupid brothers... Especially RiFT. So much power, yet he uses it to serve lower beings. What an insult..."

"Glad to know we can get along, Slur. I have always found you fascinating... But as a brilliant mind who loves potential, Eggman Nega is a man after my own heart."

"The feeling is mutual, Obake. I do have respect for Dr. Starline and the Analog Man."

"Oh, it's such an honor to hear you say that, Mr. Eggman Nega, sir. Know that you are my favorite here as well."

"As for who I hate... Though I haven't met them in person, that Peni Parker and her robot, SP//Dr remind me too much of Hiro and Baymax, which remind me of my past Failure! If I can't get my revenge on Hiro, then Peni will be the next Best thing..."

"I feel the same way about that key wielding Sonic that showed up not too long ago! Dimensional variant or not, he's still a Sonic, and Sonic ruined my plans many times! I want to destroy him personally...!"

"Hey! You lay off him, Egghead! That Sonic is mine, ya hear me!? I'm the one who's gonna destroy him! I hate him and every other Sonic out there! I'll destroy them all until the only one left is me!"

"You tell 'em, Scourgey! Now, tell them how I'm your favorite person here!"

"If by that, you mean my LEAST favorite person here, then yes, that's you, Rosy."

"Awww! You say the meanest things, Scourgey! You're one of my favorite people here, too..."

"But her... This one right here... She's my girl..."

"Aw, thank you, Rosy. I like you, too. Such an adorable little psychopath ready to smash some heads... It's like having a little sister... But of course, my favorite has to be Dark Mega for obvious reasons."

"You're my favorite, too, Dark Empress! A beautiful Darkloid queen like you has stolen my heart..."

"As much as that Empress chick terrifies me almost as much as Rosy does... Gotta agree with her. Dark Megz is my favorite member here. We both got beef with our goodie-goodie two shoes doppelgangers, and we both want to live in a world of chaos."

"Yeah... I'm disliking that Megaman more and more each day. He gets to keep his Lan, while I was rejected by mine when I became the ruler of the Darkloids."

"I feel the same way about Roll. She gets to keep her Mayl, but mine wouldn't accept the new me..."

"Can I help you smash that good Roll that makes you look bad, best friend?! Can I, can I, can I?!"

"Sure... As long as I get the last blow."

"Deal!"

"Obake and Eggman Nega are inspirational. Their genius far exceeds mine, and I have much to learn from them. I don't have any personal beef with anyone on the enemy team... Yet... But that ARiA and her army of Guardiangemon might be a problem."

"CHYA HA HA HA HA HA!!! My favorite person here is obviously the Great Lord Brevon! No one can compare to his greatness...!

"As for who I hate the most, obviously it's that blasted Commander Torque! He and Squid Head have been getting in Lord Brevon's way far too many times! I promise to destroy them!"

"I can always count on you to praise me, General Serpentine. I, too, can't stand Commander Torque. That blasted dragon girl might not be with him now, but he can still be a problem... Especially with that new squad of his."

"My favorite member is Ophelia! Even if it's not official, she's awesome!

"And my favorite member on the other team is my beloved Nana..."

"You're supposed to be talking about the enemy members you hate, lover boy. Anyway, probably no surprise to anyone, but Mr. Tinker is my arch nemesis on the enemy team. I got over the grudge of him 'murdering' Dr. Eggman ever since meeting the superior Eggman Nega. That doesn't mean I don't want to show him up. What about you, Sync?"

"..."

"Gee, nice choices there, chatterbox."

"I think we can all assume he hates everyone equally, teammate and enemy alike. Anyway, it seems we reached our limit, time-wise. We need to get back to our plans of taking over the Multiverse."

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afpwestcoast · 5 months

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Belasco Theater, LA, 12/8/23

I’m often asked why I go to so many Dolls shows. It’s a big question with a complicated answer, but a major factor is the crowds. Most of my closest friends and almost every cool person I know I met at a Dresden Dolls show, and this one continued the trend.

I met Dolly, who had actually responded to a general call on the Facebook group and sent me a birthday card in October. She regaled us with tales of the decade she spent traveling around the country by hopping trains.

We also met Natalie and Julia, a dynamic sister duo. Natalie is a Dolls fan but Julia was tagging along out of solidarity - sisterhood is strong. They were delightful, but Natalie has been saddled with club thumbs, a genetic defect that was common amongst European royalty due to inbreeding. Drawing conclusions from that is left as an exercise to the reader. The venue was larger (~1500) and less intimate (a barrier kept the crowd back from the stage) than the recent run of shows, but the band was better rehearsed and well rested and provided the extra energy needed to overcome these issues. I generally prefer my Dresden Dolls shows with a soupçon of chaos, but watching the band flex their performance chops with virtuosity was inspiring. Annotated Set List:

Good Day

Sex Changes

Gravity

Backstabber

My Alcoholic Friends

Shores of California - Brian said this was the first show they had played within the city limits of LA since 2008, so of course they had to roll this one out.

Mrs. O

Delilah (featuring Veronica Swift)

Welcome to the Internet (Bo Burnham cover)

There was a break in the set as Amanda warned that they were about to launch into a bunch of new songs and gave a lengthy explanation of how the Dresden Dolls are fundamentally a live band and need to work things out on stage. “The thing about playing these new songs is like they’re not quite ready, so if they suck a little bit know that we are going to continue to rehearse them and make them suck less.”

Then Brian explained that Amanda was nervous about playing the new songs and was delaying the inevitable by talking, which shamed her into proceeding into the new material, which has, in fact, gotten tighter and better over the past year. The new album is going to be fire.

Mister God - Despite Boyfriend in a Coma being officially dubbed Tom’s New Favorite Song in Orlando, I think this one is actually my new favorite.

Houdini - This is a close second in the New Favorite Song sweepstakes, which is a bit surprising since I typically prefer the bangers to the slower songs, but this one has power.

Whakenewha

Amsterdam (Jacques Brel cover) - Amanda headed up to the balcony for this one, as is tradition.

Another Christmas (Brian on guitar, Amanda on jingle bells) - An original Christmas song that is exactly as sad and depressing as you would expect. At this point there was a medical emergency in the crowd and the house lights came up as they took someone out in a wheelchair. The response from the security team, the band, and the crowd was stellar all around.

Boyfriend in a Coma - This is a “new” song that was actually written 20 years ago and recently resurrected for the new album. It was written about an old boyfriend who almost died, and, coincidentally, Amanda reconnected with him and is dating him again. But she dusted the song off BEFORE reconnecting, in a cosmic coincidence.

The Runner - This is essentially a run-down of Amanda’s dating history in song form.

The Nail featuring the new third member of the Dresden Dolls: Amanda’s new Moog synthesizer.

Coin-Operated Boy - Amanda paused after the first few bars to comment on the harsh transition from The Nail, which is slow and contemplative, and Coin-Op, which is … not.

War Pigs (Black Sabbath cover)

—

Half Jack - It’s traditional to do a long intro that starts minimalist and slowly builds to launch the song, but tonight Brian took it to the next level. After the show I told Amanda if they did a show that was just Half Jack with a 2hr intro I would be here for it. She said that they actually did that at one of the shows they opened for Panic at the Disco! because they were so fed up on that tour.

Girl Anachronism - The original set list had Sing as the closer but Amanda called an audible, which was a solid choice after the medical emergency had drained the energy from the room.

Photo Gallery:

Natalie is a goddamned delight. Despite her … nonstandard thumbs.

Delilah!

The creepy ghost of John Lennon welcomes you to the Internet.

Amsterdam

Dresden Dolls Gothic

What’s a Christmas song without jingle bells?

That’s a wrap!

#dresden dolls #amanda palmer

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therentyoupay · 4 months

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“Jack—“ she sighs softly, and he startles when she stands, the blankets shifting and pooling onto the cushions of the couch. She brushes a few strands of hair behind her ear as she edges closer and tries to ignore the way he stiffens in obvious discomfort when she stops just a few paces away. “I’m sorry—Anna and I can easily move ourselves over to my apartment for the night. It’s really no problem.”

He tries to shutter his emotions by glancing quickly to the door, pretending like he might be mulling it over or thinking of what to say, but before he can cover himself completely, Elsa witnesses a quick flash of an emotion that she hadn’t been expecting. As realization dawns, Elsa feels inexcusably rude for presuming so much with so little knowledge of who he is, and for automatically believing that the best way to fix this miscommunication would be the solution that she herself might have wanted.

“Or,” she adds, because even as she curses her inability to simply let the man speak, she simply can’t help herself. (He just usually has so much more to say?) “This might sound rather bizarre, considering that this living space is half yours, but… you’re more than welcome to join us, of course. If you’d like.”

Jack cracks a smile at that, and Elsa feels her chest begin to warm with the start of what could hopefully amount to a satisfying end after such a disastrous start.

“For girls’ night?” he clarifies, clearly amused.

Elsa finds herself crossing her arms—a behavioral pattern that has erupted so frequently in Jack’s presence that it’s beginning to feel a little too familiar. (She usually prefers to keep her hands clasped gently at her front; over the years, she’s found that it helps her appear more approachable, but with Jack, she seems to keep fighting to find a hundred and one different ways to keep her distance, at least when he gets like this.) As Jack’s grin grows more genuine—more amused—Elsa feels her heart begin to hammer, defensive and alert. Her crossed arms tighten, and Elsa chides herself for getting so easily caught up in such a childish moment again. She does not want to pick up any poor habits, especially now.

And yet.

“For the newly-discovered tradition of Christmas Eve Eve,” Elsa declares, arms crossed, with all the regal austerity of an official royal verdict… not to mention the mischievous gleam of a woman who is at least three years his senior. There is a striking amount of challenge that she has let seep into these words, and Elsa hopes (believes) that her bait will take hold; Jack is by no means a predictable creature, but in many ways, he is still very much a friendly (lonely), cocky (humble) young man.

It has not escaped Elsa’s notice that he’s made no mention of his supposed plans to visit family.

“I’m no master brewer of hot chocolate like Anna is,” Elsa warns, as if he’s already given his answer, “and we may not share the same tastes in holiday films, but I hardly think it’s a terrible way to spend an evening.”

Jack laughs, easily, and his hand slides over his face with the most interesting mix of reluctance and curiosity and pleasantry she has ever seen. He seems just as hesitant to accept her offer as he is dying to snatch it up.

“I don’t know,” he admits, with an air so unlike his usual bravado that it makes her heart stutter, just a bit. “You sure you want me hanging around your sisterly-bonding time? That stuff’s important, isn’t it?”

He is being purposely flippant, but his curiosity is so earnest and so unsure that a new flood of thoughts and concerns slip into Elsa’s mind. What, really, had he intended for this evening? Had he told Anna the truth about leaving early for the holidays since she’d claimed to be doing the same? Where had he been planning to go… if anywhere? They are worrisome questions, but perhaps not yet within her right.

————

start from the beginning of livable 🎄🎁❤️

#jelsa #therentyoupay livable #MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE #i meant to post this yesterday on christmas eve eve but HOLIDAY BUSY-NESS YOU KNOW

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whateverisbeautiful · 1 year

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Reveling in Richonne

#178: The Ones Who Live (11x24)

Y’all the power and impact of Richonne is unmatched. 🔥

Michonne and Rick established a motto between them seasons ago, and now that motto is the final sentiment of the entire show. It’s perfect.

I love that their love is still so alive. And that was evident in these final moments. Like there’s a real endless pulse to Rick and Michonne’s love that keeps them going and also spreads into positively impacting their loved ones too.

So in the show’s closing scenes, we are reminded that this “zombie show” was always about the ones who live. And we’re also reminded that Rick and Michonne give each other and give us so much life.

So for the last time in The Walking Dead, I gotta happy dance over the gift that is Richonne.

Y’all after the flashback sequence, we then see Michonne looking just so regal in her new attire as she writes her letter.

I also peeped she is still wearing the ring around her neck, and I cannot wait for this woman to find her husband. (And also to be officially referred to as Rick’s wife, Michonne Grimes). Like the moment Rick and Michonne first lay eyes on each other in the new show, I might just act a plumb fool. 😂

Michonne looks at the special iPhone sketch of her and Judith with the message for Rick to believe a little longer. And believing a little longer is something she (and us, since we have to wait until 2024) have had to do too.

I love that she has his boots as well. Of course these items found their way to her. Cuz magnets. 🧲

Michonne speaks confidently as she declares that she knows her kids are alive and also that Rick is literally alive. And I love that she doesn’t doubt for a second that he’s out there trying to find her and their family. She knows her family is alive wholeheartedly and of course sis is always right.

They cut to Rick writing his letter and looking rugged in a jacket reminiscent of the murder coat, and it notably has that logo on the back. Homeboy has clearly been through the ringer but still looking fine. 😋

I love that we see Rick with the iPhone for the first time and that these items have been in both his and Michonne’s hands. Both of them pack it in their bag and…they just cherish each other y’all, even in little drawings form. I’m beyond here for it.

Rick then rolls up his letter and places it in a bottle and I may or may not have tried to slow down the video several times to read what the letter says. 😅 Cuz look, if there was anymore unspoken sweet things between him and Michonne in there I need to know lol.

I was sorta able to make out a few new words, but what I did see loud and clear is that the letter ends with, “We’re the ones who live. Rick.”

His letter ends on their mantra. 🥹 The motto they shared keeps him going. He’s sharing it with Michonne in the letter in hopes it’ll keep her going too. I could cry.

Again, Danai’s delivery is great as Michonne says, “I will find him. Because I know he’s trying to find us.” Talk about unbreakable and unstoppable love.

We then get an epic Michonne moment as she rides on a horse in armor and takes out a walker. We had to see R&M be the baddest to ever do it one last time in the original series so this was great. 👏

We also see Rick’s mucky bare feet walk in walker-infested mud as he chucks the bottle with the letter. It’s sweet thinking how many letters to Michonne could possibly be in bottles out there.

Helicopter noises can then be heard as Rick utters urgent “no’s” before tossing the backpack on the boat, that thankfully will find its way to Michonne one day.

Rick is told to surrender and put his hands up and then we see Michonne stopping abruptly on her horse as she’s dealing with a threat of her own, with what appears to be a giant horde before her.

Rick takes out a walker, and looks pissed because this feels like one of the times he might’ve come closest to getting home before being caught.

The way the person on the speaker seemingly exasperatedly says, “Come on Rick, it’s like we told you, there’s no escape for the living,” I have a feeling they’ve been having to deal with Rick trying to escape for awhile lol. And also their bleak “no escape for the living” sentiment is not enough to overwrite what Rick knows to be true, the motto instilled into him by his wife.

And as Rick looks up at this helicopter, it’s the acting just with the eyes for me. 😮‍💨 Y’all give the eyes their own Emmy and then give Andy several too. Incredible. The story told just in his expressions alone. The teary-eyed frustration, devastation, longing, determination, and defiance. It’s powerful and oh how I missed Andy’s performance as Rick Grimes. Absolutely legendary. 🔥

As Rick looks up at this helicopter with every emotion on his face, we hear Michonne’s calming voice say, “Remember what I said. It’s what he said. Hold it to your heart. It’s true forever.” And ever and ever, y’all. ☺️

And it feels like, while she’s saying that in her letter to their children, it’s also something Rick is remembering in this moment that could feel like an ultimate defeat. Rick is remembering the motto right then and there.

Then we get a bunch of characters joining in on mom and dad’s motto and I love that Richonne’s saying of “we’re the ones who live” is the final statement of the show. At its best, The Walking Dead was always about the living and the resilience of humanity.

And then y’all the final series moments are given to Rick, Michonne, and their kids. Making it crystal clear the Grimes family is this show’s heart.

As Michonne rides off into the distance, determined as ever, she says in her perfect, calm, and assured tone, “We are the ones who live.” (And I really like the music during this whole ending sequence.)

Then Rick places his arms up with a decrepit city and descending helicopter before him as he says in a perfect, resilient, and “you’re messing with the wrong people,” tone “We’re the ones who live.”

I love that the way Rick says it contrasts the surrender of his hands and lets you know, Homeboy may have been caught but he still has a lot of fight left in him because he’s getting to Michonne and their family one way or another.

It was a great visual too to see Rick and Michonne both looking defiant and determined to take on a threat “bigger than them” be it a helicopter or horde. Even in these circumstances, you still feel like whatever or whoever is trying to get in their way is the one in danger. Because Rick and Michonne are trying to get back to each other and nothing stops that. So these seemingly giant challenges are just mere rocks in the road for these two warriors.

And to drive home his mindset further, the scene ends with a determined and defiant grin spreading across Rick Grimes’ face.

Rick’s final smile is a fitting image to end on for the resilient character.

And I appreciate the way it calls back to 7x09 when Michonne instilled in Rick this reminder that they’re the ones who live so they can smile in the face of adversity because, as she said in 7x08, they’re still standing and will keep standing.

And so, as Rick reflects on his love Michonne and her words, he’s able to stand and smile even in what look like impossible circumstances.

R&M’s love is stronger than any circumstances and it fuels them like no other. It’s why it can be believable that they’ll find each other against all odds.

The scene fades to white and after getting a glimpse of where Rick and Michonne are ahead of their spinoff, the series ultimately lands on their legacy.

Because they cut to Judith and RJ overlooking a lush landscape and it’s sweet that these siblings still have each other.

I also adore the visual of the kids as they face away from the camera because we see RJ in the iconic sheriff hat worn by his dad and brother Carl, and we also see Judith with the sword strapped to her back. Rick and Michonne’s presence and impact is still felt so strongly in their precious kids who are the world’s future and the embodiment of hope. Look what Rick and Michonne created, y’all. 🥰

And Judith turns to RJ as she shares the family motto, the foundational belief planted in her heart by her mother, the saying that will push Michonne, Rick, and Judith and RJ forward on their journeys apart until they eventually reunite, as she says, “We get to start over. We’re the ones who live.”

And yes they are, y’all. Yes they truly are. And this whole final sequence was life-giving.

I’m so glad the show knew to end on Rick and Michonne and their legacy. It’s only right. R&M and their family remains the best thing to come out of all this imho. And while that was the Grimes’ family’s final TWD moments, as y’all know...

There’s still a whole new miniseries in store. When I heard the news that Rick and Michonne would be returning to complete their epic love story in a spinoff, I was and still am beyond elated.

What I most want is to witness Rick and Michonne’s grand love story with grounded execution, and this short finale sequence gave me hope they can pull this off.

We are in such good hands with Andy and Danai bringing this story to life. Just their voices and eyes were able to captivate and tell a whole powerful story within minutes during this series finale, so imagine when they have a show dedicated to them.

I absolutely cannot wait! I’m so glad our patience paid off this way. Every time I think about all the Richonne gold in store, from the moment they first see each other alive, the I love you’s, the first kiss, Rick learning about RJ, any and all callbacks, professions of love, fighting battles together, their smiles, and of course their family reunion with Judith and RJ. I want it all, and I think we’ll be fully blessed with so much good stuff.

So this is just the beginning to be honest. Because now that we’re closer to the home stretch of completing R&M’s story once and for all, I want to enjoy reveling as much as I can before it’s all said and done. So here’s to all the Richonne reveling there is to do later in 2023. And here’s to Richonne, for being the undeniable greatest of all time. Thanks for reading. 💜

#richonne #s11 #11.24

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bradsthorn · 7 months

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WONDER OF YOU | B.B. X FEMALE OC.

Prologue: IT KEEPS RIGHT ON A-HURTIN'

Summary: Pete Mitchell got called back to North Island and so did two of the people that he had lost over a decade ago. He had yet another responsibility on his shoulders that he had never let be lifted.

Warnings: Child abandonment, Mentions of death

Word Count: 1.7K

Author Note: Hey y y'all this fic is my baby and I'm excited to share this with y'all. This is cross-listed on AO3!

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Being sent back to North Island after blowing up a multi-million dollar aircraft was not on Pete Mitchell’s to-do list of the day. But, here he was. He stared at a building he had sworn to never be back at or in unless it was for his daughter or the one other person he had ever grown to truly and fully love. That person had already had him there before and he was decently sure they were the reason he was standing there. The black and white photo screamed his glory days at him as he looked it over. He knew that every pilot that had come through those front doors had seen it – and he knew for some that it was one of their least favorite parts of being here. Of course, another memory rang out loud but he couldn’t dwell in the memory otherwise he’d walk out and be grounded without a second thought. There was no way his guardian angel could prevent that when he disobeyed direct orders twice on the same day. That guardian angel was always watching; at least if they were the one he was thinking of and currently looking at in the very photo that used to elicit an excited response from a much smaller and much younger version of someone who he was sure would do anything to not end up in the same place as him. Then, the familiar dull pain echoed in his heart, one of the people who once made up the very fibers of his being that were now gone or no longer wanted to be linked to him. All but a handful had since left or cut contact, one that had not left was looking over him – looking as regal as ever in his official photo. “Admiral Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky.” The name almost always sets a warm feeling in the pool of the male’s stomach. Had since the moment Goose had uttered it in the O Club all those years ago, and he was certain it would for the rest of his life. He knew that at least he would always have him, and now he was home.

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

Maverick did not necessarily go out of his way to be a pest to commanding officers, it just happened. That very thing is why his welcome back, which apparently was not that, to Top Gun was not a warm one.

“Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell. Your reputation precedes you.” There was a tone he was quite used to, one that clearly was attempting to put him into his place. That plus the fact that Maverick himself was proud of his accomplishments equaled the words that fell from lips

“Thank you, sir.” There was a prideful smile and tone to his voice and that was cut short by the next comment.

“It wasn’t a compliment.” Maverick’s smile faltered for a second, only because it had become clear that the man in front of him was not one with a sense of humor or he just had such a distaste for Maverick that the joke was not going to land regardless.

“Admiral Beau Simpson. I’m the Airboss. I believe you know Admiral Bates.” Maverick’s attention turned to the third male in the room,

“Warlock, Sir. I must admit, I wasn’t expecting an invitation back.” There was a silence in the room for a second, two unamused faces looking back at him.

“They’re called orders, Maverick.” At least Warlock wasn’t mad, just not excited and Maverick would have to agree with both men’s apparent attitudes, he didn't want to be back in this town. It was too painful, too much loss, a failure when he taught there, but it had also brought him his greatest treasure.

There was a knock on the pilot’s door at a time of night when he should have been asleep. But he wasn’t, he couldn’t sleep half of the time until late into the morning. The thoughts of his father were louder than anything, which wasn’t unusual for him, he was always in his head about what happened to his father and how badly he didn’t want to repeat that. But, his was a refusal to allow Goose’s son to grow up without a father, and Maverick was the only one, in his head, that could make sure Bradley had a dad. Top Gun had been proving a tad bit more difficult than the young pilot had imagined, simply because Iceman actually gave him a run for his money. And what he was met with on the front porch of the bungalow that Top Gun had provided him with, also gave him a run for his money. A random toddler.

The toddler found herself standing on a random porch at three in the morning looking at a strange man; who looked equally as confused as she did. The resemblance would’ve been clear, had a third person been watching this happen.

Pete Mitchell was usually able to adjust with the flow whenever he needed to, but looking at the toddler had really thrown him for a loop. She didn’t give him a chance to look for anyone else once he opened the door again, she just let herself in; which should’ve been another clear indicator for the pilot, but it wasn’t. He tried to get her to talk, which was a lost cause, but he was too panicked by the child to even realize it was more than her being shy. But, she did offer her bag, and to him, that meant he could go through it. and once he did? he was in for a surprise. The one that shocked him the most? She didn’t have a name and she was three years old. S𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, minus his 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚. Maverick was in panic immediately, obviously, he had to give her a name, and he had to do that fast. now, he suddenly became sentimental and maybe it was because the Bradshaws had been the only family he had known, and now he had this delicate being that was going to depend on him as he had depended on Nick and Carole. and, suddenly it hit him the only name that made sense; N𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞. perfect. it fit her, and he was sure Goose would be so excited to hear that. Then, D𝐮𝐤𝐞. His dad’s name, maybe it was because he was thinking about the fact that he was a dad now; Maverick Mitchell was a dad, and that was a big pill to swallow. But, the male thought why not honor his, hell, who knew maybe she’d want to be a fighter pilot like him. And right now was way too soon to be thinking about that.

“Can it be done?” The older pilot had taken notice of the lack of fear of loss from the two at the table. But, then again, they weren’t Pete Mitchell. They didn’t have the past of being the reason the most important people in your life were gone.

“How soon until the plant becomes operational?”

“Three Weeks. Maybe less.”

There’s a pause, Maverick shifting as he looks back over the plant and mountains on the screen.

“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve flown an F-18… And I’m not sure who I’d trust to fly the other three.”

The silence is deafening, but he prefers that over what comes next.

“I think you misunderstand, Captain.”

Confusion spread as Maverick looked over the other two,

“Sir?”

“We don’t want you to fly it. We want you to teach it.”

Maverick could feel his stomach drop. Teach? That meant people depending on him and all he ever did to those that did depend on him? He hurt them. Then he lost them. Every time, it felt like.

“Teach… Sir…”

Nothing was said as Warlock clicked to the next screen. Young pilots' faces on their photo I.D.'s taking up the screen behind the pilot.

“ We’ve recalled thirteen Top Gun graduates from their squadrons, all top of their class. You will narrow this pool down to six - the best of the best. They will fly the mission.”

Green hues locked on two faces, gaze flickering back and forth. His stomach was under the building at this point. Seeing the two of them up there side by side - as they almost always had been.

“Is there a problem, Captain?” That tone was not helping him.

“You know there is. . . sir.”

Cyclone’s eyes glanced over the screen before only two I.D. photos were showing.

“Bradley Bradshaw. AKA Rooster. I understand you flew with his old man. . . What was his call sign?”

“Goose, sir.” Maverick’s eyes were doing their best to be void of emotion. It wasn’t just —

“And Nicolette Mitchell. AKA Wildcard. Heard she was almost grounded permanently before this.”

His breath hitched. Permanently grounded? Hollywood hadn’t said anything about that. And if anyone would have known, it would have been him. Or Iceman. His eyes glanced over the I.D. photos taking in how stoic the two looked, he had been used to smiles and laughing, but not that. Although there was a familiar sparkle of mischief in Nicolette’s eyes.

“Tragic what happened.”

Maverick stiffened. The hits just kept on coming with Cyclone, didn't they?

“Captain Mitchell was cleared of any wrongdoing. Goose’s death was an accident.”

“That how you see it, Captain?” Maverick’s eyes followed Cyclone’s finger, once again taking in the two faces of the two kids he had once protected — or tried to protect — from this world. Eyes skimming over accomplishments he had already memorized.

“Is that how Goose’s son sees it?”

The Captain shifted, he couldn’t respond. He didn’t know how.

“And your daughter… she’s been through hell based on her file. Does she forgive you for that?”

A beat. Fists curled by his side. There were many things his daughter hadn’t forgiven him for, and her treatment in the Navy was most likely one of them. But, he couldn’t even be sure. He hadn’t ever gotten a chance to ask her. Just the result of him trying to fulfill a promise to one of his closest friends. He had lost her too, and then Bradley and Pete’s own daughter, Nicolette. Just one after another, never to gain them back; no matter how hard he had tried to with the two.

credit: I don't own any characters but Nicolette Mitchell, and any other OCs that may appear and their storylines. I have no affiliation with Top Gun or Top Gun: Maverick. All rights go to the rightful owners.

Tag list: @toracsanji

#top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x mitchell!daughter #bradley bradshaw x oc #pete maverick mitchell #top gun 86 #tom iceman kazansky

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centuryberry · 1 year

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@peachshadows / @terrible-leviathan May I present you the Tea Party chapter!

It all started with an invitation.

It had been MK’s idea. He knew his little sister well and caught onto her sadness whenever Wukong had to leave to perform his duties as the Emperor. Yes, she was thoroughly entertained every day by her Uncles who, as Macaque loathed to admit it, were nothing but good and doting to her. Even Peng, as impossible as it sounded. But what A-Dan wanted the most was her Baba to sit down and play with her without being distracted by his duties.

MK, with a stroke of genius inspired by what he learned under Peng’s tutelage, decided to make her wish come true. An “official” tea party hosted by the Princess herself would be a legitimate reason to draw Wukong away from his duties for a good amount of time. It would be more “real” than the usual games that A-Dan played, but that was more of a win for the little monkey, who was over the moon at the thought of a party just for her.

Macaque watched as his daughter poured her little heart and soul into the project in front of her. Armed with crayons, A-Dan decorated the paper in front of her with peaches, clouds, smiley faces, and all the other bright, sweet things she associated with her Baba. With her Gege’s help, she wrote out her message in shaky characters in ink and stamped the end of the message with an ink-stained paw.

“Baba. You are invited to A-Dan’s Tea Party. Location: Flower Fruit Mountain. Time: Next week. Pretty dresses are a must!”

The text was near-illegible, but it was the thought and effort that counted. Macaque would be delivering the message himself so nothing would be lost in translation.

“Of course I’ll come, Moonlight!” Wukong enthused. He looked at the handmade invitation with no little awe. “A-Dan already knows how to write?”

“MK helped,” Macaque admitted. “But she knew how to write her own name by herself. And look at how she took the initiative to personalize the message by adding her own paw print!”

“She’s so talented.”

“I know, right?”

Macaque settled against Wukong’s side on the throne and listened indulgently as his husband continued to gush over A-Dan’s “masterpiece.” There’s no doubt that Wukong would be layering it with high-class protection and preservation spells usually reserved for priceless artwork and important documents when he had the chance.

There were other invitations to deliver, of course. A-Dan had wanted all of her family and friends to be there, after all. For DBK and Princess Iron Fan, he sent a clone to deliver the message. For the rest of the Brotherhood, Macaque sent the palace servants to deliver their invitations. His relationship with Peng and Yellow Tusk may have changed into something more civil, but he still wouldn’t go the extra mile for them.

For Azure, reviving an invitation period was more generous than he deserved. But A-Dan wanted the “Kitty” to be there, so Macaque would be the bigger demon and temporarily allow the mangy feline into his home.

The week went by quickly. On the day of the party, Flower Fruit Mountain’s palace was aglow with lights and decorations. Fruits, teas, and snacks were prepared aplenty.

A-Dan waited with excitement for her guests for most of the day, unable to keep still. Her little hanfu was a delightful mix of light pinks and lilac. Replacing the usual embroidered flowers, her dress was decorated with clouds to add to the whimsical feel of her hanfu. To make up for the lack of flowers in her dress, A-Dan had a single apple blossom tucked behind her ear.

Macaque himself was dressed in a less-formal hanfu. Instead of keeping his regal colors, he decided that a softer purple was more suitable for the occasion. Instead of golden jewelry, plum blossoms adorned his head, spelled to not wither or fall off for the entire day as also done to the flower adorning his daughter.

To Macaque’s amusement, everyone came to the party in dresses. The whole lot of them must’ve bled the Spider Clan dry with their last-minute requests just so they could be suitably dressed for the party. As loathed as he was to admit it, all of his husband’s sworn brothers chose good colors and designs. A-Dan jumped and clapped at the sight of them while Macaque cheekily took out a camera and snapped pictures.

“Was that necessary, Macaque?” Peng hissed as he blinked rapidly and rubbed the flash from his eyes. Macaque had to admit that the blues and the greens of his hanfu suited him.

Well. Suited him the way gaudy feathers suited peacocks.

“Awww, but how else was I supposed to immortalize your beauty?” Macaque mockingly cooed before snapping another picture. It was of A-Dan hanging off of Yellow-Tusk’s black and white sleeves. “C’mon, don’t be shy now. Give me your best smiles!”

Peng flustered at his words. “Well- you- I- At least get me at my good angle if you must!”

Macaque chuckled and snapped a few more pictures. Reluctantly, he snapped one of Azure too since A-Dan jumped onto his shoulder to play with his mane.

Dark blue, silver, and white. The colors that actively opposed Macaque’s preference to red, gold, and black. He wasn’t stupid nor was he blind. Even now, Azure was making digs at Macaque’s position as Wukong’s Empress and Wife. As noble and well-meaning as Azure liked to make himself appear, Macaque knew better.

No one “noble” would actively pursue an already taken and married person, especially not one who was very happily married and the father of two.

But for today, Macaque wouldn’t give into his urges to bare his teeth and lash out at Azure’s petty baiting. Unlike him, Macaque could set aside his personal feelings tonight for A-Dan.

“Make way, you oafs. I want to hold my niece.”

Princess Iron Fan not-so-subtly elbowed Azure as she plucked A-Dan from her perch. Macaque hid a smile at his sworn sister’s blatant retaliation for the quiet insult the Celestial Beast had given him. She had grown up in the same court as he had, so she knew of Azure’s games.

“Auntie Fan!” A-Dan cheered at the sight of Macaque’s sworn sister. She settled into her regal aunt's arms and greeted her with happy chirps. The steel in her gaze softened into something more indulgent as she allowed A-Dan to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the colors and embroidery of her hanfu.

While his sister was by no means a weak person, Macaque knew that the Samadhi Fire left many lasting scars to the Bull Family - one of them being the fact that there would never be another child born from the union between Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan. Macaque knew that his sworn sister didn’t yearn for children as desperately as he did, but he knew that she gave A-Dan all the warmth and softness she couldn’t spare for her only heir and the children who could never be.

Behind her, DBK watched his wife and niece with a soft look in his eyes. He looked awkward in his dress, but did not raise a voice of complaint. He didn’t even bother to look the slightest bit apologetic at his wife’s actions towards Azure. Once, he may have risen to the other’s defense as he had admired the Celestial Beast during their younger years, but meeting and marrying Iron Fan had reforged his alliances and loyalties. Macaque was grateful for the silent yet steady support his Brother Ox gave him now as A-Dan’s uncle and MK’s soon-to-be father-in-law.

Macaque’s six ears flicked as he heard his husband and son finish changing into their dresses. Macaque had prepared them by his own hand before the invitation was sent out. He turned towards the doorway they would come out of and readied his camera. He didn’t want to miss a moment of this.

Wukong stepped into the room and all eyes fell on him. Even as he snapped away, Macaque beheld his husband through the camera and thought, not for the first time, that he was beautiful.

Instead of dressing Wukong in regal blues, reds, and golds, Macaque decided to dress him in soft pinks - like the peaches he adored and the blush of a new dawn. Peach flowers adorned his hair to compliment the plum blossoms in Macaque’s. With an impish smirk, the Emperor of the Three Realms twirled around and posed.

“How do I look?”

Beautiful. Breathtaking. Wonderous. More light and free than he’s ever been since he took the Jade Throne. It was as if Macaque had been the one sent back into time to the days when it was just them frolicking in the mountain with Wukong leading and Macaque always following.

“Absolutely ravishing, my king,” Azure’s suggestive purr cut through Macaque’s love-dazed thoughts. It soured the mood immediately.

This shameless beast! Panting and drooling after Wukong while Macaque and A-Dan were right there!

Macaque was all but ready to throw himself at Azure and rip off his mouth with his claws for his utter gall. But then, as if summoned by his mother’s murderous thoughts, MK stepped out in his dress.

Macaque’s eldest kept his usual yellows and oranges. While the colors would usually be eye-catching and sharp, his son managed to make the colors look warm and inviting. The hanfu softened his features and complimented the orange blossoms in his hair. MK’s tail swayed from side to side shyly but he kept his back straight and proud under the many eyes on him.

“Goodness,” Macaque heard his sworn sister murmuring with delight to her husband, “our son will be absolutely beside himself when he realizes that he missed this.”

“He will blame us,” DBK rumbled back with amusement heavy in his tone.

“Oh, most certainly.”

Red Son had, regrettably, been left behind to oversee his parent’s domain. Macaque generously took a few photos of MK standing alone, noting to himself to print out some copies for Red Son the next time the Bull King’s heir came to visit.

A-Dan eagerly came up to the both of them with stars shining in her eyes.

“Baba! Gege! Pretty! Prettyprettypretty!”

Wukong let out a joyful laugh as he swept his daughter up into his arms. “Says the prettiest princess in the party!” He kissed her little cheek and began to spin her around. Her giggles and his laughter filled the entire space. It was pure happiness in physical form. It was a dance without song.

Wukong made a wonderful father. Macaque had always known it and he was happy that his husband realized it too. Even though he acknowledged with a hint of sadness that this was only temporary, he comforted himself with the knowledge that this was their future.

Now, if only a certain shameless lion would stop ogling his husband, everything would be perfect -

“Heeeeeey, Uncle Lion. Dancing sure looks fun! Why don’t we take a crack at it? I’ll lead!” MK once again came in between Macaque and Azure. His eldest’s appearance snapped the beast out of his blatant staring, changing his look of desire to pure confusion to amusement.

Unbeknownst to Azure, MK glanced back at Macaque. The moment their eyes met, Macaque realized that MK knew. He saw and recognized what was in Azure’s heart and took it upon himself to shepherd him away from the center of the party before he spoiled the mood.

For the rest of the tea party, Macaque relaxed and enjoyed himself. He watched his husband and daughter dance. He laughed as his clumsy son stepped on his dancing partner’s toes. He gossiped with Iron Fan. He poured tea. He passed plates filled with food and snacks down the table. He ate fruit. He had fun.

When was the last time he had fun like this?

Macaque looked around himself and, for a moment, thought back of the past where he was surrounded by his brothers, who all feasted and laughed at a similar table. He hasn’t been as happy then but now…with MK and A-Dan…

Macaque felt Wukong take his hand and squeeze it. “What are you thinking about, Moonlight?”

“Just that I’m lucky and happy and that I love you.”

Wukong purred at that and pulled him forward for a quick kiss. “Me too. Today wouldn’t have happened without you. I don’t think all of us came together like this in a long time. Thank you.”

Even as their attention eventually wandered to different conversations, Wukong and Macaque didn’t let go of each other for the rest of the party. Not for a moment.

#lmk #little dawn au #the sundown era #Xiaodan #shadowpeach #lionpeach #one sided pining

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thebluestbluewords · 10 months

Text

Wouldn’t Ever Make You Leave

(Mal/Ben but in a bisexual and poly way)

Mal dances up to Ben, on the neon-lit steps of the castle. “Hey, princeling,” she says with a little smirk and a swish of her soft purple skirts. “Wanna take a spin?”

Ben grabs on to her outstretched hand. “You know it.” he says, and lets her pull him out onto the dance floor.

Mal, shockingly, isn’t a bad dancer. She’s not letting Ben lead very well, but it’s kind of fun to let go, and just let himself be pulled along with the music and the movement of her body, rather than trying to hold himself back with the formal steps that have been drilled into him through years of royalty-appropriate dance lessons designed to teach him just the right way to lead a lady with whom he is interested in dancing.

It’s fun, is what Ben’s thinking. Mal must be able to feel him relax into it, because she swings him a little harder, pushing Ben into moving away and back from her again, a little swing-steppy sort of move that doesn’t really fit with the upbeat song currently pumping through the outdoor speakers that the castle keeps around for just this kinds of student event.

She pulls him in, so that they’re shoulder to shoulder again, and bounces a bit on her heels to bring her face up to Ben’s cheek. “So, hey!” Mal whisper-shouts in Ben’s ear. “You looked pretty good up there today! Very regal, and all that.”

Ben draws her over to the edge of the crowd before answering. It’s quieter, on the far side of the dance floor. Further away from the speakers.

“Thanks?” he says. Is this what flirting looks like? “You looked good, too.” Oh, wait. “Very good .” he adds, with a little nudge to her shoulder.

Mal crows out a burst of laughter, and slaps Ben on the arm. “Oh my gods, Ben! You’re awful, you know that?”

This is more like it. Ben knows what to do with this. It’s kind of hard to reign in his grin. “Usually people tell me I’m good.” he says, pushing close.

Mal lets him get all up in her personal space, grinning like a jack-o-lantern all the while. “You know what I meant. You were pretty cool today, princeling.”

“Shouldn’t you be calling me kingling now?” Ben asks, reaching up to touch the crown he’s swapped into for the party. Tradition dictates that he’s not allowed to wear the ceremonial crown for casual events, but his sense of self-importance, which he knows is something he should be working on, means he’s wearing the casual, plated one that was offered after the main coronation ceremony ended. “King of the states, and all.”

“Mm,” Mal hums. “I don’t know if a double vote at council meetings and increasing responsibilities until age twenty-five or marriage is really enough for me to consider you a king quite yet.” She swings Ben around into a little spin, both of them ducking under each other’s arms, equal partners on the edge of the neon dance floor. “Get back to me in a bit,” she shouts over the rush of noise as a new, apparently very popular song comes on. “I’ll have to consider it.”

Ben spins her swing-dance style, so that she ends up with her arms crossed, tucked against his chest as he leans them both over. “That’s more than fair,” he says, burying it in the curve of her jaw, by her ear. “I don’t know if I should consider myself a king yet either, then. There’s no official re-coronation date chosen yet, so maybe I’ll have to wait for my second crowning.”

Mal pulls back at that, far enough so that she can look Ben in the face. “Is there going to be one?” She sounds horrified. “That’s terrible.”

Ben laughs. “You know us royals. Always gotta be the center of attention, right?”

“Mm-hm'' Mal hums. She seems distracted, and it takes Ben a moment to notice her staring behind him, back out on the main floor. She looks back as soon as she realizes that he’s realized, but not before he catches a glance of blue. She’s watching Evie, of course, as she goes sweeping by all glittering and beautiful on the arm of a boy whom Ben knows Mal hates.

Ben doesn’t have anything against Doug, personally, but it makes sense that Mal would resent any boy, even a band-geeky one, making eyes at her girlfriend.

He dares to move a hand to the small of Mal’s back, pulling her in. She doesn’t startle, of course, but she looks back to him.

“Um,” Mal laughs. “Oops. Us villains too, we just live for the drama of it all.”

“I’m sure. Would you ever want to be crowned, if you could go back to the moors someday?”

The corner of Mal’s mouth twitches, like she’s trying not to smile (Or maybe not to bare her teeth at him. It’s hard to say sometimes, with Mal.) “It wouldn’t quite be going back, for me. I’ve never been in the first place.”

Ben ducks his head. He’s a little bit lightheaded from the drinks served earlier, and a little bit flustered from being around this amazing girl. “Right,” he says. “Of course.”

“Anyway, no. I wouldn’t want to be crowned the queen of a people I’ve never even met.” Mal goes on. “I know my mother wanted me to reclaim our homeland, and all that, but I’m not really much for….”

“Subjugating unwilling people under your iron fist?” Ben offers. The chunks of iron sewn into the outside of Mal’s gloves are something he’s been too afraid to ask about directly. Maybe after tonight, he’ll find the right words.

“Not quite iron.” Mal says lightly, making a fist to demonstrate. She’s right. She’s wearing a delicate golden bracelet today, draping down over the back of her hand. No iron in sight. “My golden fist?”

He has to have seen her bare hands before this. It’s basically impossible for him to have not seen. She can’t possibly wear gloves all of the time. “Doesn't have quite the same ring to it, does it.” Ben manages to say.

He wants to hold her hand.

Mal pulls her fist back before he can make a move. “Not quite, no.”

(Find the rest on my ao3!!)

#my fic #descendants #descendants fic #anyway hello friends and enemies you may recognize this from my weird sprawling a/b/o epic #USUALLY I would not post older stuff as scraps like this but I remembered what a great fucking song set it off is #and y’know what it felt like the right time to celebrate that

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