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stresslitzia · 8 months

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Rhapsody!! :D

Song rolled: Bad Luck Charm - Jeff Williams Themes: Shame, despair, the yearning to do what's right. Characters: Meteion (Final Fantasy XIV), Sora (Kingdom Hearts) Setting: One who's beyond used to destroying everything she touches returns to an old mission, and meets the one person who can mend everything that can be broken. Length: ~1.1k words

Pain is your reward for being near me Fate won't be your friend when I'm around Blame me for the tragedies that follow Grave, the situations that surround

The silence of the rift was deafening. Were it not for her sisters' constant chittering from the other Stars, Meteion felt she'd have long since succumbed to the selfsame despair as the rest of them. That world that intrigued her the most, that network of Stars in the furthest corner of the Sea of Stars, couldn't be much further now.

Wings to soar the Heavens, she reminded herself. Hermes gave me wings to soar the Heavens. Hermes wanted to know what distant Stars thought of being. The azure bird paused in her flight, turning to face the Star she'd come from. Why did she still yearn for her creator's approval? Hermes was long gone. And yet… "I have to do this for Hermes," she told herself- out loud, so she could hear something that wasn't just an echo in her own mind. "Such is… my purpose." And with that, she turned back to the network of distant Stars, pressing on with the intent of at least seeing what was there.

Clusters of Stars like this only formed when one was destroyed. Admittedly, she hadn't been too hopeful about the cluster as a result- but one of her sisters had mentioned seeing Starships traveling among the cluster. If a large enough Star could shatter into several smaller Stars, then perhaps it truly was worth a look. Perhaps it was akin to the Source and its Shards. Perhaps some traumatic event had shattered the Star, leaving it to merely exist with clones of itself…

The Sundering did not leave physical debris, she reminded herself, slowing her flight upon entering the cluster's range. There were so many options… so many Stars. It was hard to believe they were connected, once- but they were too close together to not have been. And each of the Stars, as she approached, gave off such a strong aura… She paused at each one, checking what the ambient emotions would be, before finally deciding to simply dive into one. The Star she chose had turned her blue feathers silver on approach- a sign that the ambient emotion was fear. Or perhaps anxiety. But it was not sorrow, or despair, so it was already better than many others she and her sisters had visited. The forests here seemed to stretch on forever in one direction, with a castle near the sea in the other.

"Individual self suspended," the bird spoke, fluttering down to the trees of the forest. "Connection with shared consciousness stable. Starbird number one hundred thirty-seven has made contact with the anomalous Star cluster. One Star within has been visited. Locals have yet to be seen. There is a castle, a lush forest, and a healthy sea." She paused, checking the leaves on the branch she now stood upon. "There is an anxious aura, but the Star seems stable. There is no immediate risk. We will reconnect ere we depart. …Suspending connection to shared consciousess. Individual self restored."

Meteion shook herself quickly to remove the stardust from her feathers before setting off through the forest, seeking out signs of life. Sure, the woods were lush- there were definitely animals here. But she needed to speak to someone sapient. Someone like… There! There, near the rock! She swooped down, hovering beside the person she'd found. A boy, about the same age as her keeper's youngest companions, dressed in black and red with short, spiky hair. He seemed to have companions who were prone to advancing without him, and when they disappeared into the brush, she chirped to get his attention.

"Greetings and salutations!" She chirped, earning a startled response from her target. Before he could speak up, she continued. "Do not be alarmed. I mean you no harm. I wish only to hear your words, share your feelings, and know your thoughts."

As though on instinct, the boy held a hand out to the mysterious, talking bird- and she landed with a grateful sigh, before tilting her head at him.

"May we please be friends?"

There was a moment of silence. It was less deafening than the silence of the Sea of Stars, but Meteion couldn't help but believe she hadn't been understood. That is, until she closed her eyes to transmit her message again, only to suddenly lose her balance as she was lifted a bit higher.

"What are you?" The boy asked, observing the silken silver feathers of the bird he held. "And why do you want to know so much about me?"

Meteion rose from his hand, moving instead to perch on his shoulder, where she would not be flipped around like a butterfly knife. "I am… Starbird one hundred thirty-seven… One of several thousand. Collectively known as the Meteia. You may call me Meteion. I was created on a distant Star known as Etheirys, and my purpose is to ascertain the meaning of existence. …To that end, I have caused Calamities, all inadvertent. My new keeper entrusted the goal of visiting distant Stars to me, such that I would cause no further harm while maintaining my original goal. This Star is an anomaly, part of a cluster that should not exist. …I seek to learn more of it."

It was only after her speech that Meteion noticed the look of sheer confusion in her companion's eyes. "…In short. I seek knowledge of where I am. All that you know- and your name, if you would be so kind."

"Oh! My name's Sora," the boy replied, practically beaming- glowing, even. "As for where you are… You're in the Kingdom of Corona. Or at least, the woods near it. …What do you mean, 'a cluster that shouldn't exist'?"

Meteion perked up, realizing she could finally actually explain the Stars to someone. This boy- this Sora- had crossed the Rift, too. He held an aura of hope and the scent of stardust. Just as she did. As such, she let herself spiral, sharing as many things as she could, answering every question, and accumulating as much knowledge as she could about the cluster. With her goal no longer requiring her to pose existential questions, it was much easier to prevent the conversation from becoming sorrowful. Over time, her plumage shifted from silver to a striking leaf-green. The color of friendship, not anxiety. And a color she had never been before.

"…But I'm not the one you want to ask about most of these things," Sora added, once the conversation had gone for so long that the duo had made their way to the shore of a pond. "I have friends who would know more. Maybe you'd like to meet them?" "Oh, yes, please!" Meteion replied, fluttering her wings excitedly. "There are plenty of me to go around. I can stay here and carry out my mission as normal." "Then you can join us. Visit more of the cluster you're interested in, and-" "And actually help?" "Yeah."

#infrequently asked questions #oops you got a crossover #kingdom hearts #final fantasy xiv #Sora #Meteion #Not ship!! they'd just be very good friends I think :)#oops it's mostly just a bird

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yeenybeanies · 2 years

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INTRO: Eyruk'tal

i've had this giant birb man for many years now, & i've drawn a few things with them here & there, but i really wanted to write something that explained a bit more about his character beyond the scribbles and short text posts. NOTE: 'tal uses he/they pronouns! they switch a lot throughout the story! & yes i will admit: he is sort of a bridge between the star wars & transformers universes -uwu- star wars (ocs) | eyruk'tal & pierce 5,380 words canon-typical violence warning thanks for reading!! reblogs > likes!! patreon ✨ ko-fi

The words hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Are you listening, Captain? You’re being reassigned.”

Pierce blinked and tipped his chin up, returning from his momentary (albeit slight) lapse in posture.

“Yes, sir. I heard you, sir,” he said, despite the sudden dryness in his mouth and the racing in his mind. Of course he’d be reassigned. It was only natural that he would be, being one of the few survivors left of his battalion. Not even his Jedi general had survived the massacre… Pierce had been gravely injured himself. Had it not been for the relief party’s arrival, he and the handful of other remaining troopers would have been lost too. He faintly remembers seeing white trooper armor with purple paint before he’d fallen unconscious. When he’d woken up, he was in a Coruscant medical facility, where he’d spent the past few weeks in recovery.

And now, here he was, being reassigned.

Of course Pierce wanted to get back into the fight. He’d seen countless battles at this point. He was an older clone, from one of the first few batches to roll out of Kamino. He’d been in this damned war from the beginning. But now that he actually faced reassignment, he felt an unusual apprehension. Unconsciously he squeezed his helmet closer to his side.

“You’re being placed with Raptor Battalion under General Eyruk’tal and Commander Knives,” the trooper told him. Pierce furrowed his brows.

“Sir, that’s the battalion that rescued us, correct?”

“That’s correct. General Eyruk’tal specifically requested you. You ship out tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Pierce saluted his fellow clone with his free hand, and held his pose until he’d left the room. As soon as he was alone, Pierce released a breath he didn’t know that he’d been holding and sat down on his bed, helmet to his left.

Raptor Battalion. They were a rescue/relief force, if he remembered correctly.

Pierce dropped his head into his hands.

* * *

The transport jostled as its landing gear touched down in the Star Destroyer hangar. Its engines slowly quieted, and its hydraulics hissed with released pressure. Pierce’s fingers uncurled stiffly from the strap he’d been holding too tight. He and a few of his fellow survivors all donned their helmets and waited for the doors to open. Outside to meet them was another trooper, his armor painted with the same purple paint that Pierce remembered seeing.

“Troopers,” he greeted them as they stepped out of the transport. They all stood at attention before him. “Welcome to the Raptors. Right this way.” He pivoted on his heel and started walking further into the hangar. Pierce and company followed behind. He tried to ignore the pit in his gut, and focused on keeping his breathing even.

The trooper led them through the ship, occasionally pointing out areas of interest. It was somewhat redundant, Pierce having been on many a Star Destroyer, but he did notice some abnormalities. There was far more open space on this ship. The ceilings were unusually tall, and the corridors wide, like this ship was retrofitted for something much larger than a clone. There were also strange-yet-intentional segments in places in the ceilings and floors that looked like doorways.

“The General and commanding officers will meet you in here,” the trooper said, stopping before a door. It slid open with a hiss, and he stepped inside, newcomers in tow. A trio of clones stood in conversation, all with purple-painted armor. One of the men––the one with a shock of blond hair and a series of scars slashed down his face––spotted them first. Pierce and company stood at attention and saluted.

“New shipment’s in, boys,” the blond one said, directing the other two to face them. He approached Pierce, arms behind his back. “Greetings, soldiers. At ease.” They all obeyed with practiced movements. “Welcome to Raptor Battalion. I’m Commander Knives. Behind me is Major Wilde––” he nodded to the red-headed clone with dark stripe tattoos across his face, “––and our lead medic, Bo––” he nodded again to the remaining man with an eyepatch and long, greying hair tied into a tight bun. He was older, Pierce noted, like him.

“Ooh, I can’t wait to see how they look when they meet the General,” Wilde said, an excited grin on his face. Pierce grimaced under his helmet. He was quickly starting to get an idea of why this one was named “Wilde.” Still, his words perplexed him. Pierce opened his mouth to ask where said General was, when the three men turned their heads up. Wilde’s grin only grew.

“Guess you don’t have to,” Knives said with a smile of his own.

A gust of air rushed past the newcomers from behind. Pierce flinched; the troopers behind him spun and backpedaled, one bumping into a smug-looking Wilde. Pierce put his hand on his empty hip holster out of habit as he turned to meet the oncoming… thing. Awe joined his alarm, leaving him frozen in place.

Time both seemed to speed up and slow down. The being descended from above on a pair of grey-and-black-feathered wings, each at least four times the height of any clone. They landed, somehow noiselessly, on yellow feet tipped with long, black talons. Their wings folded behind them and they stood up straight, easily fourteen, fifteen feet tall. The fluffy plumage on their head made them look even taller. Searing red eyes scanned over the new clones, then a smile split their face.

“Greetings!” They said, more enthusiastic than Pierce had expected. Their plumage moved as they spoke. “My apologies; I would have met you in the hangar, but there was an issue on the bridge that I had to deal with. I am Eyruk’tal, your Jedi General. It’s a pleasure to have you join us.” He waited a moment, giving them all another look-over. “Please, remove your helmets! Let me see your faces.”

Pierce and the others exchanged glances, very thrown off, but complied. Pierce pulled his helmet off and wedged it between his arm and his side, and returned to attention, face stern. Eyruk’tal’s expression brightened. He crouched down in front of them—while still managing to tower over them—and offered a hand to Pierce. It, much like their feet, was covered in yellow scales and sported black talons. Pierce looked at it dumbly, unsure of what to do. From behind him, one of the officers—Wilde—nudged him.

“That’s a handshake, soldier,” he said, still looking far too amused.

Pierce cleared his throat and stiffly put his hand just past the General’s wrist. The difference in their sizes was comical. He couldn’t help but swallow when those huge fingers curled around his forearm, fully encircling it, but the claws never even grazed his armor. He was gentle. Surprisingly so. Pierce looked up to meet the General’s face. Their eyes were soft, friendly.

“Tell me your name, soldier,” he said.

“CT-384, sir. Er, Captain Pierce.”

“Welcome, Captain Pierce. I am honored to have you with us.” The General closed their eyes and smiled with genuine mirth—something that left Pierce reeling internally with bewilderment.

This Jedi was unlike any he’d ever met before.

Eyruk’tal released his arm and repeated introductions with the other clones, just as earnest with each of them. Pierce remained at attention, staring ahead, mind racing.

Fingers snapped in front of him, jolting him back into the present. He blinked and met Knives’ eyes, a brow raised. This clone, he noticed, had much lighter eyes than the average clone.

“Still with us, Captain?”

Pierce stiffened back into proper pose. “Yes, sir.”

Knives chuckled and shook his head. He placed a hand on Pierce’s shoulder, his touch heavier than the General’s had been. “You’ll get used to him,” he says with a smile. “He’s a good one. Really good to us clones.”

“Yes, sir,” Pierce repeated.

“You’ll learn to ease up a little too.” He slapped Pierce’s cheek gently, further grounding him to the moment.

This was happening. Pierce was here. He was a part of Raptor Battalion now.

“Gentlemen,” the General said, drawing everyone’s attention, “I would like my medical staff to clear you, and then you have the rest of the day to yourselves. Tomorrow, you’ll start your integration into our ranks.”

* * *

The barracks, much like the rest of the ship, were wide and spacious. It was unnerving. Pierce was used to the normal bunks and living quarters, clones packed tight. He sat on his chosen bed, a lower bunk, and studied the floor. The medic, Bo, had cleared him quickly. Bo had also revealed that he’d been with the party that rescued Pierce and the other survivors. He’d attended to him personally until he’d been transferred to Coruscant.

“You brood like this often?”

Pierce breathed in sharply. His eyes focused on the white and purple armor before him, and then the face—Wilde’s face, somehow still grinning. Up close, Pierce noticed another tattoo: a black curve along his lower eyelid. It reminded him of a black eye.

“No. I’m not brooding.” Yes, he did; yes, he was. “I’m just… it’s not what I was expecting. Any of this.”

“Heard you served under General Cinn. How was he?” Wilde crossed his arms over his chest and leaned casually against the bunk frame. Pierce found his constant smug or amused looks off-putting. He wasn’t sure if Wilde was making fun of him or not.

“He was… fair. Tough, but fair.” And perhaps a little detached. Pierce’s frown deepened. Talking about Cinn in the past tense still felt weird, even several weeks after the Jedi’s death.

Wilde lifted an eyebrow. “He treat you like people?”

The question shocked Pierce. “Yes. He did.”

“That’s good at least. General ‘Tal, though… I’ve never met another Jedi—or person, for that matter—like him. He puts himself in between us and the danger, mourns us individually when we die, goes out of his way to check on us. Never seen someone care so much about us clones.” Wilde wore a fond look on his face as he stared off into the middle distance.

Pierce felt the beginnings of a scowl creep onto his features. “Is he really so great? I’d never heard of him until my reassignment, nor of this battalion. Going off of first impressions, he looks intimidating enough, but acts… soft.” Before he’d even finished his sentence, Wilde’s smile--for the first time since meeting him--dropped. Eyes previously mirthful now glared back at Pierce like daggers.

“You’re new here, so I’m going to let that one go. You shouldn’t talk like that around the others, though. General Eyruk’tal defends us, and we defend him just as fiercely, even from our own brothers.” Wilde stepped closer and jabbed a finger into Pierce’s shoulder. “But if it’s statistics you’re looking for, you ought’a know that Raptor Battalion has one of the lowest clone casualties in the Republic Army, and that’s entirely because of the General. So, yeah, he’s pretty great.”

Pierce’s scowl deepend at the jab, but he didn’t move nor retaliate. He wasn’t one to brawl with his brothers--or rather, he didn’t ever throw the first punch. Still, he held Wilde’s eye contact, silent. Wilde huffed after a moment and turned to take his leave.

“Rest up, Captain. We’ve got an assignment a week from today. In the meantime, we need to get you and your men up to speed with how the Raptors operate. Training starts tomorrow at 0800.”

Pierce watched Wilde’s back as he disappeared through the barracks door. “... Sir yes sir.”

* * *

In the weeks since joining Raptor Battalion, the other men had acclimated easily to the ranks. Pierce tried to do the same, and largely succeeded, but his reservations about General Eyruk’tal wouldn’t subside. Being the new captain, he often had contact with the General. He knew that they could sense his unease, but they never let that change how they treated him. Still, no matter how much Knives and Wilde supported them, Pierce couldn’t shake his funny feeling about the strange Jedi.

The missions that the Raptors took were different from what Pierce was used to, and what he’d done his entire life. Pierce had always been a man on the front lines, leading his men into battle, taking out clankers. Now, more often than not, he and his men brought relief supplies into towns and cities that had been newly liberated from Separatist occupation. On a few of these missions, not a single blaster was fired.

It felt bizarre.

Today’s mission was supposed to be a little more like what Pierce was familiar with. They were being sent with supplies to aid another battalion that was struggling against heavy opposition from droid forces.

Eyruk’tal sat at the back of the gunship, hunched over, staring off into nothing. His face was hard, serious, unreadable. Knives and Wilde’s voices buzzed in over the comms, discussing some finer details of the plan. Pierce listened to them, but he couldn’t help but watch the General from his peripherals. His eyes didn’t have their usual cheery shine. It made him look downright terrifying.

“General,” Pierce said. Those eyes snapped to meet him, sending chills down his spine. “We’re nearing the drop point.”

“Thank you, Captain.” They moved to stand as much as they could, prompting the other clones in the ship to shuffle aside. “Gentlemen, I will see you shortly. Take care of each other.” The door slid open, and the General let himself drop out into the open air. Pierce watched him fall for several yards before his wings opened, and he vanished into the clouds. The gunship, and its clone passengers, continued to the ground.

The plan was to carry the supplies on foot and via tanks to the fighting a klick away, with the battalion split into three groups, each led by one of the three commanding officers. Once everything was offloaded from the ships and everyone was ready, Pierce took point. Sounds of blaster fire echoed over the land, telling them exactly where they needed to go.

It was supposed to go without a hitch, at least until they got to the actual fighting. No one saw the trip mines until it was too late. An explosion to Pierce’s rear left sent him and a few other clones flying forward. He slammed into the dirt, his lungs empty of air and his head spinning. A shrill ringing filled his ears, drowning out the yells and screams around him. The ground shook from a second explosion as another mine went off. Pierce felt the adrenaline rush through his veins, bringing with it just enough coordination to get back onto his feet.

“Droids!” A clone yelled out. Pierce whipped his head around, searching for the clankers in question through his dizzy head fog. Sure enough, a red bolt zipped by his head. Just beyond the tall, reed-like trees marched a group of battle droids.

“Droids!” he repeated. His voice was hoarse, strained, his lungs still recovering from the blast. The ringing in his ears wasn’t quite gone yet, but it was quiet enough now that he could hear marching coming from the east. More droids. “Watch out! They’re flanking us!” Pierce struggled to pick specific targets, but he fired off bolts regardless. As long as he shot in the general direction of the droids, he figured he stood a good chance of hitting some of them.

Clones fell to his left and right. Pierce gritted his teeth and continued to shoot at the oncoming threat. They were getting closer, closing in on them. He could see now that, alongside the standard battle droids, there were a few crab droids crawling through the foliage. Why were they out here, and not at the gunfight ahead? Was this a trap? Had they walked into an ambush? Was he going to die here?

A blaster bolt struck the ground just inches away from Pierce’s foot, making him stumble backwards. He tripped over a fallen clone behind him and landed heavily on his rear. One of the crab droids took notice and rushed toward him. Its atrocious aim improved with every step, each bolt searing the dirt nearer and nearer to him. He tried to crawl away, tried to fire back, but a stray shot from another droid knocked his blaster from his hands. Damn it! Was he going to die here? The crab droid loomed over him, one leg raised. Pierce squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the inevitable…

But what he faced instead was the sound of crunching metal. He looked up to see deep gouges carved into the crab droid’s armor. It fell away from him with a loud, sparking crash. Pierce was left dumbfounded, staring at its corpse.

A shadow rushed by overhead, drawing the Captain’s attention skyward. Whipping around in the air above the crossfire was either a very nimble gunship, or a super-sized Jedi. Black wings twisted in the air, expertly dodging any skyward blaster fire. Pierce stared, fixated on the graceful movements, until another explosion shook him back into the present. He was in the middle of a combat situation! He couldn’t let himself be distracted! He was better than this! He scrambled to his feet and snatched his blaster up, falling back into the fight.

“Captain! There are too many of them! We’re being overwhelmed!” One of the clones shouted. Pierce knew it already, but he was loath to admit it. Even when faced with adversity, clones didn’t surrender. They went down fighting. This is what they were made for.

From his peripherals, Pierce noticed, far too late, a blaster aimed towards him. The droid holding it pulled the trigger, unleashing the deadly bolt. Time slowed. It zipped through the air on a trajectory right for his head. In that split moment, he accepted it. He was going to die here.

But death did not come.

With only inches to spare, the bolt came to a shaky stop in front of him, caught midair. Pierce stared at it, bewildered. His mind couldn’t process what was happening until his Jedi General landed behind him, arms and wings held out wide. Pierce glanced back towards General Eyruk’tal, noting the strain on his features, and then to the fight around them. All oncoming blaster fire was caught, held in place by an unseen force surrounding them. Eyruk’tal grimaced under the effort.

“General––!” Pierce protested, but a sharp look from the Jedi silenced him.

“This… ends… now,” he growled. He drew in a deep breath, chest puffed, and spread his wings wide. “Enough!” In time with the stroke of those wings, all suspended bolts flew back towards the droids, each one striking a metal shell with lethal precision. All droids on the front lines fell in sparking messes of scrap. But there were more behind them. Eyruk’tal Stood behind Pierce––hell, they practically stood over him––deflecting oncoming fire with his hands and wings alone. He had yet to brandish the Jedi weapon.

“Look alive, Captain,” he said, glancing down at Pierce between blaster bolts, “I do not intend to lose any more of you today. Not if I can help it. But I need you to fight.”

Pierce hesitated for only a moment more. “Yes sir!” He shouted, shouldering his blaster. Any droid that came within his line of sight caught a bolt. The General kept fire off of him, and he dealt it back at the droids just as hard. Other troopers gathered around the General, each of them returning fire with newfound fervor. Together, the squadron tore through the clankers. When all that remained was a single crab droid, its armor already singed with blaster fire, Eyruk’tal launched from his mass of troopers. He brought his clawed feet down on the droid, crushing its plating like it was paper. It went down under their weight with a dull thud and went offline.

The dust started to settle. Everyone was silent. Many of the clones kept alert, picking through the droid carcasses to make sure they were all destroyed. Others tended to the wounded and dead troopers. Pierce could only stare at Eyruk’tal. The General straightened their posture and slowly swept their gaze over the scene. They wore a grim look, their frown deep.

“Sir,” Pierce said, finding his voice. Eyruk’tal’s sharp eyes snapped to him as he approached. He gestured to their wing with a hand, to two holes burnt through the dark feathers. “Does… that need any attention?”

Eyruk’tal followed his gaze to the burns. He shook his head, his features relaxing just a little. “No, my Captain,” he said. He tucked his wings in behind his back, the burns disappearing from view. “They did not strike my flesh, nor did they create wounds large enough to hinder my flight. I am fine.” He dipped his head low to Pierce. “I appreciate your concern. And I… apologize for my truancy. Had I been here sooner, I could have––”

“No, sir,” Pierce interrupted. Eyruk’tal lifted his head, surprised. “This wasn’t your fault. This was no one’s fault but the Separatists’. You can’t blame yourself.”

The General blinked, regarding Pierce with a thoughtful look, then breathed out a weak chuckle. He reached forward and rested a hand on Pierce’s pauldron. “Thank you, Pierce,” they said. He wasn’t quite convinced that they believed him, but they didn’t give him time to push his point. “We should keep moving. We still have a mission to complete. Once it is over, we will collect our fallen.”

“Yes sir,” Pierce said. He gave a salute and, with Eyruk’tal’s permission, rallied the rest of the men. Together, and with Eyruk’tal watching from above, they continued on.

* * *

Even days later, Pierce could not get the image of the General defending them out of his head. No hard hard feelings to the deceased, but Cinn had never defended them so… so valiantly. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure that the late Jedi even could have done the things that Eyruk’tal did that day. He’d never seen a Jedi fight like that––certainly not without using a lightsaber.

“You’re brooding again,” Wilde chimed in. Pierce’s brows furrowed. He would not rise to his superior officer’s taunts. “You’ve been quiet. I mean––more quiet than usual.”

“General Eyruk’tal,” Pierce started, “I’ve just been thinking… Where does he come from? I’ve never seen his kind before. From what I could find, there’s nothing like him in the records.”

Wilde shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “He’s the last of his kind,” he said simply. “There is no one else like him.”

The last of his––? Pierce’s jaw fell open. A wave of guilt crashed over him. He stared down at the holopad in his hands, frowning hard. Before he’d thought the General soft, perhaps even naïve. He’d assumed that they didn’t know about loss, or didn’t care. But to hear that he was the last of his species… He stood up abruptly and set the holopad down. Wilde raised a brow.

“Sir,” Pierce dismissed himself with a salute, then made a beeline for the door.

“Captain? Where are you going? Pierce?” Wilde’s voice chased after him, but Pierce kept walking.

“General Eyruk’tal,” he said into his comm. “May I have a word?”

“Certainly, Captain,” the General’s voice rang over. “I am in the medical bay.”

Pierce let his arm fall, donned his helmet, and marched on through the oversized hallway, towards the nearest lift. As he neared the medbay, he paused for a moment, noticing that the windows were opaque. He’d never seen them opaque before. Usually they remained transparent, regardless of the grim scenes that might lay beyond. It confused him, but he put it to the back of his mind and stood before the medbay doors. They slid open at his presence, letting him step through, where he again paused.

He could see why the windows were opaque. Eyruk’tal sat on one of the beds while Bo unwrapped a wound at his side, just above his hip. The General looked up, greeting him with a smile.

“Captain, hello. Is everything alright?” they asked.

Pierce stared at the wound, trying to figure out where it came from. Had they gotten it on the mission? They never said anything! And he’d seen them since the mission!

“Captain?” Eyruk’tal prodded. Pierce stiffened.

“Sir!” he said. “Pardon the interruption. I can come back if you are busy.”

Eyruk’tal waved his hand. “Nonsense. Come in. Take a seat.”

Obediently, Pierce obliged, though he remained stiff. He sat down in one of the chairs adjacent to the bed, mindful to stay out of Bo’s way so he could work. Upon closer inspection, the wound looked to be a burn, most likely from a blaster bolt. It didn’t look too serious, certainly not anymore, but the fact remained that Pierce hadn’t noticed it before.

“What happened, sir?” He asked, looking from the wound up to Eyruk’tal’s face.

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about,” the General said. “One of the droids nicked me. It’s not too bad.”

“He’s not gonna be keeling over anytime soon,” Bo added. He peeled the rest of the dressing from the wound and set it aside, then took a bottle and gently set to cleaning it. Eyruk’tal didn’t flinch.

“You said you wished to speak?” they prompted. Pierce hesitated. He glanced at Bo. “Ah,” Eyruk’tal said. He took Bo’s forearms in his hands, gently stopping his work. “Doctor, if you wouldn’t mind giving us a moment. I’m sure Pierce can take care of this for you.”

“General,” Bo protested. He looked over his shoulder to Pierce, who was just as surprised, then back up to Eyruk’tal.

“It only needs to be cleaned and redressed, correct? Pierce can handle it. Please, I’m sure you have other matters to attend to.” They gave the medic’s forearms a gentle squeeze, then guided them away from his person. Reluctantly, Bo stood up and handed the bottle to Pierce. He muttered a grumpy affirmation as he exited the medbay. Pierce stood for a moment, staring at the bottle in his hand, then at Eyruk’tal’s injury.

“Come closer. You do know how to take care of a flesh wound, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Pierce said. He sat down in Bo’s chair and moistened a towel with the solution. Before he could apply it, though, Eyruk’tal’s claws settled on either side of his helmet. One of his hands alone could cover its entire face, perhaps even the whole front of it.

“May I?” they asked gently.

“Y-yes sir,” he said, keeping still. The General eased the helmet off of his head and set it aside, then smiled down at him. Feeling a little lost, Pierce only met their gaze for a moment, then continued with the solution. Its acrid smell flooded his nose, bringing back memories of his own visits to the medbay. Eyruk’tal sat patiently as he picked up where Bo left off.

“General, I, er…” kriff, this was awkward. How was he to broach this topic? “I… wanted to apologize.” Eyruk’tal tilted his head. “I held some misconceptions of you that, perhaps, may have affected my behavior under your command.”

For a long, painful moment, the General said nothing. Pierce focused firmly on cleaning the wound, and tried to ignore his rising embarrassment. Was it embarrassment? Or was it dread? Or both?

He nearly jumped out of his seat when Eyruk’tal blurted out a loud honk and started laughing.

“G-General…?” Pierce said helplessly. It was definitely embarrassment. Eyruk’tal covered their mouth with a hand and tried to regain their composure. Their head plumage was fluffed up high in their mirth.

“Pierce,” he said. He used his free hand to tip Pierce’s chin up, forcing him to look at them. “You have been nothing but a model soldier. Perhaps a bit turbulent, a bit formal, but I have no complaints thus far about your behavior.” He released Pierce’s chin and leaned back on his wings, still amused. “What made you feel like you needed to apologize?”

Pierce was reeling. Why was he doing this? Why was he here? Why couldn’t he have just acknowledged that he was wrong and move on without bothering the General? He tightened his jaw and swallowed thickly. Slowly, he resumed working on the wound. “I… Major Wilde mentioned that you were the last of your kind. It made me realize that I severely misjudged you, and I… I didn’t feel right letting that go without apologizing.”

Eyruk’tal’s plumage lowered, falling with his amusement to something more somber. “Yes,” they said. “It’s true, as far as I know. I am the only one of my species left. My homeworld was destroyed. I cannot feel any more of my kind through the Force. A part of me wants to think that it is distance that obscures my senses. You see, I am from an entirely different galaxy.” Pierce paused, shocked, but Eyruk’tal continued. “But another part of me… has doubts that any more of us remain. And I’ve since accepted my role as the last one.”

“How… how did you get here? If you’re from a different galaxy…” Travel within their current galaxy had its own difficulties; he couldn’t even fathom how Eyruk’tal could come from somewhere beyond.

Eyruk’tal breathed out a hollow chuckle. “A race of giant, living machines destroyed my homeworld when I was very young. I was taken, rather than killed alongside my people, and kept as a pet for a while. These living machines had incredible technology far beyond my comprehension; intergalactic travel was nothing to them. When they grew bored of me, I was sold to a market in this galaxy. Eventually, I was found by a pair of Jedi, drawn to me through the Force. They bought my freedom, took me in, and convinced the Jedi Order to let me in. That must have been… well, almost two hundred years ago by now.”

Pierce fought to keep his hands steady. There was just so much to this story. Every new piece of information Eyruk’tal gave him blew his mind. The General was the last of his kind. He was from a whole different galaxy. There were living machines with crazy advanced technology. He was almost––or maybe over––two hundred years old! Pierce attached the last piece of medical tape to the bandages and planted his hands to the table, head bowed. This was a lot to process. Too much. But he still had so many questions…

A familiar weight rested on his shoulder. Pierce breathed out, eyes closing. “Easy, Captain,” Eyruk’tal soothed.

“General, I’m so sorry,” he managed to say.

“Don’t be. You have nothing to apologize for.” They kept their hand in place as they slid off of the bed. Pierce absentmindedly noted how, when their wings folded back into place, they hid the wound from view. The General crouched before Pierce and took his other shoulder. “But it does mean a lot that you cared enough to share your feelings with me.” Their smile was soft, genuine, albeit touched with a hint of sadness. Pierce couldn’t find any words to say, so he nodded weakly instead.

The medbay doors slid open again, making Pierce flinch. Bo marched back in, looking exceptionally grumpy. He pointed to Pierce. “You. Out.”

“Bo––” Eyruk’tal tried to interrupt, but the medic leveled him with a glare. They lifted their hands and hopped back onto the bed.

“You’ve had long enough. I need to finish attending to the General. Out.”

Pierce stood and took a step toward the door, then paused. Helmet. He turned back to see Eyruk’tal already holding his helmet out to him. He took it with an appreciative nod, said a parting word to them both, then swiftly exited before Bo could get more cross with him.

Out in the hallway again, once the doors closed behind him, Pierce released a strangled breath. He still had a lot to think about, and, in the wake of all of this new information, he wasn’t sure if he felt any better about how he’d judged the General, but that was something he had to work out on his own.

What he did know now, though, was that he, much like the rest of Raptor Battalion, would do anything for Jedi General Eyruk’tal.

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t fiction #star wars #g/t star wars #hyena writes #hyena ocs #eyruk’tal #pierce #knives #wilde #bo #buckle up boyos this is a LONG one #but i love this big birb & his clones so much

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vodkassassin · 3 years

Text

Mobei Jun POV because people keep asking for him lol ;3

—

Shang Qinghua does not make an appearance at this morning’s war room council.

It really should not make that much of a difference. Mobei Jun should be able to manage the council himself, should be able to direct his generals without second guessing his own orders. He should be able to lead his own kingdom without the ever present aid of his right hand human advisor.

Except. Shang Qinghua does not make an appearance at this morning’s war room council, and nothing ends up getting done at all.

Mobei Jun dismisses the lot of them two hours early. The gathered generals and council members and network agents don’t look incredibly surprised — instead, they have the gall to look both relieved and concerned in equal measure, and Mobei Jun finds that he cannot even fault them for it.

The North has grown used to having Peak Lord Shang at its helm, always managing every faucet of it, and now it seems that not even a single council meeting can be attempted without Shang Qinghua’s input.

It should be insulting. It’s ridiculous, really, how Mobei Jun has become so reliant on a single person. It should be embarrassing. He should feel offended, ashamed, pathetic.

Mobei Jun can’t feel any of these things.

He was raised as the heir apparent of the Northern throne. The crown prince. He was taught the history of his kingdom, learned its politics and rituals and government. It was his birthright. He knows how to run a kingdom.

Or, at least, he knows how to run a kingdom the way that his father and the kings before him would have.

The kingdom is prospering now, however, and it has nothing to do with how his predecessor would have ruled it.

Because Mobei Jun had also spent a good half of his life with Shang Qinghua beside him. With Shang Qinghua giving intelligence and advice and then, steadily growing bolder and more comfortable, just taking over this task or that so that Mobei Jun would not need to trouble himself.

And the North flourished.

Mobei Jun may be the king. He may be the one that sits on the throne and has the final say. He may be the one that the rest of the world and the realms credit for his homeland’s current prosperity. But there isn’t a single citizen in the North, Mobei Jun foremost, that does not know who truly rules this kingdom.

The gathered demons troop out of the hall without a single complaint, all in agreement that they should instead meet up at a later time. That being a time when Lord Shang is more available is unspoken but understood by everyone present.

Mobei Jun steps down from his throne and leaves through a door behind it, his cloak sweeping behind him as he makes his way down the hidden back hall that leads toward his royal wing.

His father used to live in that room, before he’d died. His mother had lived in this one. Mobei Jun’s own quarters he passes by similarly, before coming to a stop before a set of doors near the other end of the hall, more toward where the corridor meets with the rest of the palace.

He’d wanted to situate the suite closer to his own, and subsequently the throne — for reasons pertaining to safety, of course — but Shang Qinghua had argued extensively until Mobei Jun gave in.

He always gave in.

Truly, Mobei Jun is weak.

The two guards standing outside the door salute him, silent as the grave, and he eyes them both with a sharp glance. Their presence here makes it clear that what he seeks is beyond those doors. Neither of them speak, not even to greet him as he stands there, and it makes Mobei Jun suspicious.

He is quiet, thusly, as he pushes the doors open and steps into the room.

He surveys the suite, eyes roving over each space. The foreroom is empty and still. The bedchamber just beyond its open doorway to the right is similarly devoid of life. As is the kitchen and dining area.

Mobei Jun pulls the door closed behind him as he steps further into the suite, careful to make sure that it does not make a sound as it shuts. He walks past the foreroom and enters into the office, eyes immediately zeroing in on the person he has been searching for.

Of course.

Shang Qinghua is folded over his desk, face pillowed into his arms, breathing steadily and quietly. He’s fallen asleep over a half finished document, the ink not even dried and therefore making a mess of his sleeves. Papers and scrolls are scattered across the desk around him, a tall stack of finished work sitting precariously to his left.

Mobei Jun steps over to stare down at him in silence. Shang Qinghua is dead to the world, a soft and barely audible snore escaping him as he turns his head to the side. There’s a smear of ink across one cheek which contrasts lightly with the dark smudges beneath his eyes that are not made of ink.

His small movement causes the tower of papers to sway. Mobei Jun reaches out and lifts the top half of it away, settling it down on the table beside it. He does this again so that there are three stacks of paper, instead. They take up more space on the desk, but pose far les of a risk of falling over and making a mess. Or toppling onto the sleeping peek lord.

A soft, incomprehensible hum tumbles from Shang Qinghua’s lips, and Mobei Jun reaches out to run a thumb over the ink on his cheek. It’s still damp, smearing across the skin, and comes off onto his fingers.

Catching himself, Mobei Jun withdraws his hand. He stoops down and gathers the man into his arms, lifting Shang Qinghua up until he rests snugly against Mobei Jun’s chest.

He stands there for a moment, gaze riveted on the sleeping face. Shang Qinghua turns his head into his collar and breathes out a puff of warm air that tickles Mobei Jun’s exposed collarbone.

He takes in a careful breath, and makes his way out of the office, carrying Shang Qinghua across the suite and over to the bedroom.

It’s odd, having Shang Qinghua in his arms like this. He fits so neatly, small but firm. Comfortable. Mobei Jun has, before now, only ever held him like this when he was injured or unconscious. To have the peak lord here in his arms without a sense of urgency pushing him forward and not letting him enjoy it is startlingly different.

He steps up to the bed and leans back, carefully balancing Shang Qinghua against his chest with one arm braced around him. He uses his now freed arm to grab the corner of the covers and peel them back.

With a space open in the bed, now, Mobei Jun readjusts his hold and settles his armful of cultivator onto the mattress. Holding Shang Qinghua upright for a moment, he slides off the ink-stained outer robe and then lowers the man down onto the pillow.

The peak lord immediately turns onto his side when he comes into contact with the soft sheets, reaching out an arm to throw over the pillow as if to hug it to himself. He falls still, and lets out a quiet sigh.

Mobei Jun watches him for a moment, feeling a sense of calm come over him. He folds the outer robe and sets it aside, then reaches down and gets to work at sliding off the slumbering peak lord’s boots. One after the other, and in the process the left leg of Shang Qinghua’s pants slides up to reveal the smooth skin of his calf.

Mobei Jun pauses. The boot held in his hand slips from his grip and lands on the floor with a dull thud, and his eyes snap up to Shang Qinghua’s face without his meaning to.

The man lets out a murmur, taking in a slow breath only to release it in a quiet sigh. He turns his head to nuzzle it into the pillow, and then is silent.

Mobei Jun stares at him for a few lingering moments, taking in the way that his hair has come undone ever-so slightly, to spread across the pillow in a gentle wave. Once he’s certain that the man has indeed not woken, he slowly turns back to the bare, unclothed leg that sits before him.

It’s just a leg. Nothing interesting. Or, that would be the case, surely, if it was not Shang Qinghua’s leg and, in addition, covered in sprawling, artful images.

The first thing that Mobei Jun notices are the scales. Winding with intricate detail, each individual one almost glimmers up at him with real life breathing from them, set into each other tiny and overlapping by the dozens to make up the entirety of the serpentine dragon that coils around Shang Qinghua’s leg. They’re gossamer and a lovely blue that reminds Mobei Jun comfortingly of ice and sapphires. The lower half of the creature’s body disappears up into Shang Qinghua’s pant leg, the dragon’s head curled to bite its jaw around the peak lord’s calf. It’s clawed talons are buried in a sea of lilac gentians that covers the entirety of the ankle, rising up to gently caress the body of the beast and grace the rest of Shang Qinghua’s leg with bursts of violets and blues.

It’s beautiful. Done by the hand of a master artist, clearly. The details are so incredible and lifelike that it’s almost as if he can just reach out and touch them. Feel the sleek, cold scales of the dragon under his palm, the petals of the flowers brushing against his fingers like the beat of butterfly wings.

All he feels is heated, smooth skin.

Mobei Jun snatches his hand back, face uncomfortably warm. Quickly, he crouches down to retrieve the errant boot and turns away to set the pair neatly on the footstool at the end of the bed.

Very consciously, he does not look down again at Shang Qinghua’s leg when he turns back, and instead reaches out to grab the edge of the bedsheets in his hand. He carefully tosses them over the slumbering peak lord, covering him completely up to his neck.

Mobei Jun stares down at the man, who lies pliantly and snug, face smoothed out in dreamless peace. The ever-present tenseness to his brow in his waking moments is conspicuously absent, and it makes Shang Qinghua look ever-softer in his sleep.

Mobei Jun is suddenly overcome with the wish that he had the ability to do for this man what a good sleep can. That he could, somehow, take away the constant stress that Shang Qinghua piles upon his own shoulders. That Mobei Jun could manage, himself, to ease the burden of his many duties and ensure that Shang Qinghua can feel at peace like he is now, where he can be awake to actually experience it.

Mobei Jun pivots on his heel, turning his back on the peaceful and comfortable and overly inviting scene that a sleeping Shang Qinghua presents.

There exists a tightness in his throat that he will need to leave the room to clear, least the noise cause the peak lord to wake. That won’t do — Shang Qinghua has foregone sleep too many nights in a row already. He needs this.

Mobei Jun wishes that the man could need him, for once, instead.

He walks forward and pushes his way out of the room, making sure to close the door quietly behind him. Both the guards that stand outside of it eye him from the visors of their helmets, but neither say a word. Good.

If they had made even a peep, Mobei Jun isn’t sure he wouldn’t just haul back and hand them their lives. He is tense enough for it and he knows himself. Which won’t do, clearly, as it might wake Shang Qinghua.

Mobei Jun stalks down the hall, feeling tense. Too bad that Bai Zhan peak lord hasn’t come to visit alongside Shang Qinghua. This king could really use a good battle, right now.

#svsss prompts #mobei jun #shang qinghua #moshang #vodkassassin fanfiction #sleepy SQH #MBJ POV

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deathlikesdeep-dish · 4 years

Text

Shower [Zoro x Reader]

Just a quick lil somethin that I whipped up this morning feat. our favorite green-haired idiot.

Hope y’all enjoy! x

Scenario: Zoro being convinced by his s/o to finally take a damn shower

Warnings: cussing (obvs), mild nsfw

It’s been 6 days. You think to yourself with a small shudder. The first few days, you almost don’t mind. It’s kinda sexy, the musty scent. It’s a reminder of the hard work that he puts himself through daily. And of course, the visual benefits of that work are certainly worth a mild stench. But 6 days? It’s beyond a mild stench now. It’s a fucking identity trait. You’d only been together for a couple months, so you don’t exactly know what the proper way to bring up this kind of shit. Like “hey babe, I’d love to really take a trip to the bone zone and all, but if we do right now, Brook isn’t gonna be the only dead one on the ship.” Even if you did say that, he’d be so confused, the adorable idiot, and probably pretty dejected too. You sigh, squeezing your eyes closed and press your fingertips to your temples.

“I’m just gonna have to manipulate the poor boy.” You decide out loud, having no idea how to manage that.

“Who are we manipulating?” Nami pops her head in the room with a sly grin.

You nod your head in a greeting to her. “Zoro,” you say with exasperation. “To take a shower.”

Nami laughs loudly. “Good fucking luck,” she’s almost crying with how hard she’s laughing. “I’ve been barking up that tree since the literal day I met him.”

This is not what you needed to hear. You groan and flop back on your mattress, clapping your hand over your eyes. After another few moments of laughing, you feel Nami sit next to you on the edge of the bed. “Y/n, the answer is obvious.”

You raise an eyebrow and glance up at through the parted fingers over your eyes.

“Oh?” You ask.

“Shower sex, duh.” Nami replies, sticking her tongue out at you with a wink.

You flush. Goddamn it. You think. Seductive manipulation is not precisely your forte. Especially with someone as completely dense as Zoro. In some ways, Zoro is one of the most intelligent people you know. He’s instinctual, able to observe his environment, adaptable and cunning in a fight. But with other people? That he actually likes? Let’s just say the wheel is spinning, but the hamster’s dead. Very dead.

“I was afraid of this,” you say gravely.

Nami rolls her eyes. “Christ, y/n. You’re acting like it’s such a chore to have sex with your boyfriend.”

“UGH.” You throw a pillow at her, and she cackles again as she stands up to walk towards the door.

“You’re a true champ, y/n. From all of us Straw-hat Pirates, we thank you for your service.” She salutes, dodging another pillow that you chuck her direction as she walks out the door.

As you sit on the edge of your bed, you grab the last pillow left and shove it into your face, letting it stifle the almost inhuman, frustrated screech that rips through your throat.

The sound dissipates, and you stand up, heading up to the Crow’s Nest, where you know the smelly swordsman will be. Nami and Robin snicker at you as you pass and you flip them off crudely. You climb up the ladder to the Crow’s Nest and open the hatch, pulling yourself inside.

You smell him before you can see him. Why am I doing this to myself? Why?

You turn towards the sound of heavy breathing and you see Zoro, in all his bare-chested glory, doing one-armed hand stand push-ups while he used the free arm to curl a massive dumbbell.

Oh yeah, that’s why. You reply internally.

His back is to you, so you’re able to watch the muscles of his back and shoulders ripple beneath his tanned skin effortlessly. He’s taken his long green coat off, leaving him in only his pants and boots. You can see droplets of sweat dripping down his back, each bead following a different muscular curve. He makes soft grunting noises with each rep and you feel the knot in your stomach tighten and your heart race.

You clear your throat softly, hoping to gain his attention. He doesn’t turn, only switching the role of each arm. So, you try again, this time a bit louder.

You watch him stiffen at the disturbance, his head shooting down between his arms to look at the intruder. His steely eyes meet yours and soften, along with his body and he gives you a grin, clearly pleased to see you. He pushes himself up and flips upright to land on his feet before turning to greet you.

“Hey y/n,” He smiles again and grabs a towel off a rack to wipe his face and hair.

He begins to walk toward you and you almost forget your mission. He looks so handsome, especially with that wide grin that he typically only reserves for you. His green hair is damp, making it a slightly darker shade than usual, and he drapes the towel over the back of his neck. He halts in front of you, his hands moving to grip each end of the towel casually.

“What’s up?” He says.

You realize you haven’t taken a breath for a few moments, and you inhale to reply to him. Rookie mistake. The smell of him hits you again, and you cough without warning.

Shit, you think. Don’t screw around, y’n. Get this damn mosshead in the shower with you pronto.

“Hey,” You reply, forcing yourself into a smile. “Just came up here to check on you. How are you doing?”

He smiles again, the oblivious bastard. “Oh, okay. I’m fine. Just doing the usual,” he replies. “Shit, your face had me going for a second. I thought something might be wrong,” He chuckles.

You pause a beat too long. He notices. Fuck. “…is there something wrong, y/n?” He asks, now somewhat nervous.

“Oh no!” You say too quickly. “No, no, nothing’s wrong. I just came up here because…” You know you need to calm down if you’re going to attempt anything that mildly looks like seduction.

You take a breath and drop your gaze, now looking at him from underneath your eyelashes flirtatiously. “I came up here because I was about to take a shower...” You place a hand on his warm chest and push up to the shell of his ear. You lower your voice. “And I was wondering if you might want to join me?”

You feel him stiffen again beneath the hand on his chest and his breath hitch. His hands come up to lightly grip your hips. “You what?” He asks, his voice suddenly a little rougher.

You kiss the soft skin just beneath his angled jaw. “Join me. In the shower.” You repeat.

His grip on your hips tightens for a second before he grabs your hand suddenly, pulling you towards the hatch of the Crow’s Nest. It’s so fast that you almost can’t process what’s happening. He opens the hatch with his foot.

“Oh, so you want to come?” You manage. He swoops you up into his arms and jumps down the hatch without regard to the ladder. You land firmly on the deck below and he doesn’t bother to set you down.

“Zoro?” You ask, mesmerized by the concentration on his face. He shifts to hold you with one arm as he opens the door to the bath house room, slamming it behind him. He sets you down and wraps strong arms around your waist, kissing your neck. “Get in the shower. Now.” He commands.

Internal screams.

And in that moment, as the water turns on and your simple, oblivious, gorgeous greenette quickly strips away the rest of his clothes, you don’t know what you’re more excited about, the amazing sex that you’re about to have, or the fact that the simple, oblivious, gorgeous greenette is finally going to be fucking clean.

#roronoazoro #zoro x reader #zoroxreader #zoro #onepiece #scenario #one piece scenario #writing #writing challenge #poor oblivious bastard

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sapphires-and-gold-fics · 4 years

Photo

Sense & Sensibility Braime AU Update!

Forget Me, Not

Chapter 17

Colonel Casterly came in while Brienne and Ser Brynden were finishing tea, and by his manner of looking round the room, Brienne immediately fancied that he neither expected, nor wished to see Sansa there, and in short, that he was already aware of what occasioned her absence. Ser Brynden was not struck by the same thought. He greeted Tyrion warmly enough, and then made up some errand to take him from the room, leaving Brienne and Tyrion with the housemaid clearing the service, but not before pausing before Brienne to say “The Colonel looks grave as ever, Miss Stark. Do tell him the news. I leave it to your sense.”

Tyrion watched his host go, and then looked frankly at Brienne, almost causing her to laugh aloud at the Blackfish’s conspicuousness. He drew a chair close to her place on the sofa and, with a look that perfectly assured her of his good information, inquired, “Is there is more truth in what I’ve heard than I initially believed, Miss Stark?”

Brienne raised her eyebrows and then drew them together, concerned that Sansa’s name might be in the mouths of strangers. “Do you mean Mr. Snow’s marriage with Miss Poole?” Her friend nodded. “Yes, we know it too. Where did you hear it?”

“In a shop where I had business. Two ladies were waiting for their carriage by the door, and one of them was giving the other an account of the intended match, in a voice so little attempting concealment, that it was impossible not to hear all. The name of Snow might have been nothing, but the repeated assertion of Mr. Ramsay before it was undeniable. And one thing also served to identify the man still more - as soon as the ceremony was over, they were to remove to Harren Hall, the estate he acquired in the Vale. It would be impossible to describe what I felt and thought on hearing this news.” He considered her expression seriously. “Miss Stark, your sister - how did she receive it?”

Brienne sighed in semi-relief. “Till yesterday I did not think that she doubted his regard, but I have learned that she did question his past, and only hoped that she might --” She paused, careful not to tread on Tyrion’s feelings, “I think she thought to save him from himself somehow. But that does not matter now. She appears to have a hardness of heart where he is concerned now, but I know my sister. She thinks herself central in a fairy-tale at times. If she could acquit him of his deceit and ride on to his castle with him, she would. Thankfully, no evidence has been presented in his favor. I wish I could be more certain of the depths of his dishonesty, that I might help encourage her dismissal of him, but I am afraid we do not know much more of him than our short acquaintance permitted.”

Tyrion made no answer, only nodding to himself and looking toward the hearth which seemed to grow brighter as the sun faded from the windows. And throughout supper, Brienne imagined him more serious and thoughtful than usual.

From a night of more sleep than she or her sister had expected, Sansa awoke the next morning to the same consciousness of misery in which she had closed her eyes for here, still, was the unfamiliar bed, there the unfamiliar curtains, and beyond the door the omnipresence of Ser Brynden’s aggravating good cheer. She missed her mother, even her younger sister. She missed being anywhere but this cramped city with its too-close neighbors. She had the good grace to appear at breakfast, but she did not remain below stairs for long after.

With a letter in his outstretched hand, and countenance gaily smiling from the persuasion of bringing comfort, Ser Brynden addressed the girls from the door to their room. “Now, my dear Miss Sansa, I bring you something that I am sure will do you good.”

In one moment Sansa’s imagination placed before her a letter from Ramsay, full of tenderness and contrition, and without real thought, she was on her feet ready to snatch the letter away and, despite what Brienne might imagine her feelings to be, drop it into the fire, so far gone was her affection for him. But the work of one moment was destroyed by the next. The handwriting of her mother, never till then her heart’s desire, was before her, and the acuteness of the desperation which followed such virulent rage, she felt as if, till that instant, she had never suffered. All her impatience to be at home again now returned, though if she were honest with herself it was not to Riverrun she wished to go - not to that place that held the memory of the abbreviated life of her foolish romance, but to Winterfell where she had last been happy and surrounded by those she loved, without the cloud of artifice in his shape. Her mother was dearer to her than ever, dearer though the very impetus of her writing had been Brienne’s application to entreat from Sansa greater openness towards them both, this with such tenderness and conviction that Sansa wept with agony, wildly urgent to be gone.

Brienne, unable to determine if Sansa would be better off in King’s Landing or at Riverrun, or some other place where Catelyn might meet them, obtained her sister’s consent that they wait until her mother’s opinion on the matter to be known.

Ser Brynden left them earlier than usual, and Sansa, who had joined Brienne downstairs following her cousin’s departure remained fixed at the table where Brienne wrote to Catelyn, watching the advancement of her pen, grieving for the effect such a letter would have on her mother, allowing even for a small inward smile for Arya who, upon hearing the news, would very likely imagine Ramsay into irons and off the plank.

In this manner, they continued for about a quarter of an hour when they were startled by a rap at the door. Sansa went to the window and confirmed it with some resign to be Colonel Casterly, back as if he’d never left. “We are never safe from him,” she declared.“A man who has nothing to do with his own time has no conscience in his intrusion on that of others.” With this, she quit the room at least a little more in spirits than she had entered it. Brienne was thankful for Sansa’s improved mood but, when she saw Tyrion’s anxious and melancholy look, she could not forgive her sister for esteeming him so lightly.

“I met Ser Brynden in the street,” said he after the first salutation, “and he suggested I come hither without him.” He gestured at her materials, “I hope I do not interrupt you.”

She folded her finished letter. “Not at all. I only need to see this into the footman’s hands, and I will be at my leisure.” She stood and rang for a servant, and after a moment was able to give Tyrion her full attention.

He sighed. “I would not intrude, I assure you, nothing but an earnest desire to be useful… I think I am justified - Brienne, I would like to… no, I must relay--”

Brienne startled. Friends they had been, but never before could she recall his using her given name, even privately. She recognized the seriousness of his countenance and tone, and at once understood that this must be a continuation of last evening’s distress.

He saw her alarm. “Miss Stark, forgive me.”

She stood and crossed to the sofa where he sat, placing herself beside him, “No! That is, there is nothing to forgive. I think I understand,” she said, “you have something to tell me of Mr. Snow, I think. Something that will open his character further, something from which we may only gain from hearing, please--” she was excited now, “please, Tyrion.”

He nodded, sighing, “You will find me an awkward narrator, Miss Stark; I hardly know where to begin.” He stopped a moment for recollection and then, with another sigh, went on, “No doubt... that is, I understand that you know something of my relationship with my father.”

She hesitated, thinking, “Ser Brynden did, I think, mention some difficulty in your family, yes.”

Tyrion looked a little surprised but continued. “There was a lady I once knew. She was a cousin, an orphan from her infancy, and my father's ward. We were of an age and were raised together in almost every way. I cannot remember the time when I did not love Tysha. We were both nine years old when my dear mother passed bringing my siblings into the world. And though I loved them, I was acutely aware that my love for her was different. And her’s for me was, I believe, as fervent as the attachment of your sister to Mr. Snow has been, and it was, though from a different cause, no less unfortunate.”

Tyrion rubbed his eyes distractedly.

“At seventeen she was lost to me forever. She was married - married against her inclination - to my father.”

Brienne must have made a sound of alarm for Tyrion looked up at her, his weary eyes worried, and clasped her hand, but whether that was to support her or lean on her for strength was unclear. “We were going to run away together. But my sister, her mind poisoned by my father from an early age, revealed our plans to him. He has blamed me all my life for weakening my mother, and when she died he hated me even more. He had no regard for Tysha but in doing this, he exacted his revenge on me. Her fortune was large and despite what people may think, despite current appearances, our family’s property was much encumbered at the time. His pleasures were not what they ought to have been."

Brienne cringed. She had heard of such arrangements. Silently she thanked the gods that her family had no fortune to part with, nothing to motivate undeserving men to commit her sisters to a life of despair.

"I hoped - foolishly - that her regard for me might support her under any difficulty, but the consequence of my father on a mind so young and so inexperienced as hers was but too natural. She resigned herself to her misery, as did I. To my eternal shame, I quit the country, removing from them in the interest of everyone's happiness, but perhaps especially, selfishly, my own. The shock of her marriage, though, was nothing to what I felt when I heard two years after that my father had quietly had said marriage annulled. I might not have heard it but my dear brother, who was but eleven at the time, defied our father’s wishes and wrote to me.” Tyrion paused and smiled softly at Brienne, lowering her hands, earnestly, “He has always been the most thoughtful--”

He rose hastily and began pacing the room. Brienne, affected by his story, could not speak. Eventually, he returned to his seat, no less melancholy. “It was another three years after this unhappy period before I was discharged and returned to Westeros. My first care when I arrived was to seek for her, but she could not be found. Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and my father, when I confronted him, suggested that her extravagance had caused her to outlive her means, but that was a despicable excuse for his actions in all but robbing her of her inheritance. Some six months later, I found her.”

His voice broke, and now Brienne reached out to comfort him.

“She was, to all appearance, in the last stages of shaking sickness. Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time for better preparation for her death. To whatever credit I am allowed, that was given. I saw her placed in comfortable lodgings, with the best maesters, and the best dreamwine. I visited with her every day during the rest of her short life. How could I do anything else?”

Brienne could see the tears forming in his eyes, and spoke her feelings in an exclamation of tender concern at the fate of his unfortunate friend.

“Your sister, I hope, cannot be offended,” said he, “by the resemblance I have all this time fancied between her and my poor cousin. But their fates, their fortunes cannot be the same…Yet to what does this all lead? I promise I would not distress you for nothing. This is a subject I have broached with few in the last fourteen years, I promise I shall try to be more concise.

Brienne assured him that she was not under undue distress and urged him to continue.

“Tysha left to my care her only child, a little girl, offspring of her first guilty connection, who was then about two years old. She had been very precious to her mother, and perhaps only that affection had protected the girl from the mother’s illness. I saw the girl into capable hands and eventually to school. I would have discharged this precious trust myself by watching over her and her education, but I had already parted ways with my father and had no home of my own as yet. I saw little Tysha whenever I could, and once I secured my own estate about five years ago, she visited me there often. I called her a distant relation, but I am well aware that I have generally been suspected of a much nearer connection with her - truly, Brienne, if you saw her I think you would know immediately that I am not so fortunate to be the true father of that beautiful girl. She has--”

He stopped as if catching himself in the midst of telling an unintended secret. Brienne looked away as if to not insist on whatever details he wished to conceal for now.

His expression turned sadder. “Three years ago I removed her from school and placed her with a very respectable woman who had charge of a handful of other similarly-aged girls. She had just had her sixteenth nameday when she suddenly disappeared. She had, with my permission, gone to Maidenpool with one of her friends who was attending her father there for his health and - I knew him to be a good sort of man but I did not realize that he had been generally confined to the house. I gave his daughter more credit than she deserved. The girls were ranging all over the town, making friends with the stranger himself. I could learn nothing but that she was gone; all the rest, for seven long months, was left to conjecture.”

He chanced a glance at Brienne who was giving him every ounce of her attention. Catching his eye, she nearly lost all sense, “Good gods, Tyrion - do you mean…” Could Ramsay be even more despicable than Sansa had lead her to believe?

“The first news that reached me of her,” he continued, “came in a letter from herself, which was forwarded to me at Riverrun, arriving the morning of our picnic. Only Lord Edmure knew anything of the situation; I’m sure my sudden departure was strange to some and, I believe, gave offense to one. Little did Mr. Snow imagine, I suppose, when his looks censured me for incivility, that I was called away to the relief of one, whom he had made poor and miserable. He had left the girl whose youth and innocence he had seduced, in a situation of the utmost distress with no help, no friends, and ignorant of his address. He left her in Flea Bottom to whence he had absconded with her, and left her with nothing.”

“This is beyond everything,” replied Brienne in a fierce whisper.

“His character is now before you, Brienne. Only imagine how helpless I felt when I was assured that your sister would marry this animal. Now you may comprehend my behavior. To suffer you all to be so deceived... but what could I do?

Brienne’s thanks followed with grateful earnestness; attended too with the assurance of her expecting material advantage to Sansa, from the communication of what had passed. “At first she will suffer a little I think, to revisit her blindness where he is concerned, but I am sure she will soon become easier.”

“I need not say, perhaps, that none of this is public. You are now part of a very small circle of knowledge, but I hope that your family may trust my word in this and, should you have any doubt, you might of course apply to my brother, who will most assuredly support this information. He was my second at my only meeting with Mr. Snow since finding him out.”

Brienne startled at this and looked at him anxiously. “What, have you met him to…” Brienne could imagine just then holding the point of a sword against Ramsay’s neck herself.

“I could meet him no other way. She confessed the name of her lover quite reluctantly, but when he returned to town we met by appointment. We returned unwounded, and the meeting therefore never got abroad.”

“Would that I had been there with you,” quipped Brienne, “he might not have left the field.”

“I can only hope, Brienne, that you never have such cause.”

Brienne sighed. “Is she still in town?”

“No, as soon as she recovered from her lying in, I removed her and the child into the country. I had to be back in town on business right away, so I charged Jaime with overseeing things there until she was settled with the additional staff. I am determined that she and the babe will want for nothing.”

Brienne’s heart leapt into her throat and could not suppress itself, “Jaime?”

“My brother.” His eyes widened. “Gods, I was certain you knew!”

Her head swam as the pieces of his tale fell into place. Of course, Tyrion was the very brother Jaime had spoken of. And Robert’s wife - yes, the cruel sister who fell in line with her father’s wishes. Jaime had traveled east perhaps not just to see Mrs. Blackwood and his goddaughter, but to visit his brother, to aid him. And Jaime had been present - suffered another duel to--- All this time there had been something comforting and familiar about Tyrion, but… “But Casterly--” she blurted.

“--is an old family joke, just like me. I styled myself as such when I purchased my commission because I didn't want the shadow of my father's exploits over me. But I was born Tyrion Lannister. Lord Tywin Lannister is my father.”

#braime #brienne x jaime #jaime x brienne #jane austen #austen au #braime au #forget me not #got au #game of thrones #sense and sensibility #ao3 #ao3 link #mine #ficlet into fiction #fictober transfer #put me back together

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portals-to-a-new-world · 4 years

Text

Come Hell or High Water Chapter 5: Storms A-Brewin’

Who?: Leonard McCoy x Reader

What?: Had to deal with the aftermath of date night, Leonard is a storm waiting to happen, and never play B.S. with Joanna. You will lose.

Word Count: 2364

Warnings: Language, cheesy-ness, little bit of steam for good measure (Its a hot southern summer yall 🤪)

A/n: WOOO BOY. Finally got this done, and let me apologize once again for the wait. Work is finally looking like it’s gonna lighten up on me so hopefully I’ll be able to work on this a lot more now. As always, @bakerstreethound is an angel who I love and adore and she’s the best.

Series Masterlist

You were greeted by the whole family as you finally pulled into the yard. Joanna nearly crushed poor Leonard in a hug the moment his feet hit the ground. “Hey now, it’s alright, Shug. We’re okay,” He held her tight, once again failing to hide the tears brimming his eyes. Jim had rushed to your side but stopped himself before he could aggravate his sunburn by hugging you.

“Gosh I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” He joked, but before you could respond, the sound of a car rolling up the gravel drive drew everyone’s attention.

“Apparently not.” You said after stepping back to see a black and white police vehicle approaching. Leonard quickly sent Joanna inside before coming over to place a supportive hand on your back.

“Leave it to Jocelyn to get the police involved.” He said with a clenched jaw. You both tensed as the door opened, and as the person inside stepped out, you looked up to see recognition on Len’s face. Eleanora was the first to speak.

“Sheriff Graham. What can we do for you?” The man stepped forward and shook his head gravely.

“’Fraid I’m here to talk to that boy of yours, El,” He continued walking forward as he spoke until he stood directly in front of you both. He looked you up and down before turning his attention to Leonard. “See, somebody down at the music festival got in quite the scrap with his ex-wife, and I had to come see for myself the woman who put her on her ass.” He broke out in a grin as he finished, and you felt Leonard relax beside you.

“Damn it, man, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Len said while reaching out to shake the sheriff’s hand. The man laughed and returned the gesture, and you quickly spoke up in surprise.

“Wait, she’s not pressing charges?”

“Well, she wanted to, but I’ve got about 30 witnesses that were ready to testify in front of God himself that she started it, so she gave up the notion pretty fast.” He said, finally turning his attention to you. “Leonard, please tell me this gorgeous gal is the one responsible.” You couldn’t help the slight blush dusting your cheeks as you nodded and reached out to shake the man’s hand.

“I’m afraid I can neither confirm nor deny these allegations, Sheriff.” You said. He laughed and waved you off.

“Not that it matters, but it would be kinda hard to play innocent considering you practically announced your name and rank to everyone in the vicinity, sweetheart. Which, by the way, was a hell of a ballsy move. How you ended up with this old stick in the mud is beyond me.” He said, giving Leonard a playful shove, which was met with a scowl. You giggled and moved to wrap your arms around Len’s waist.

“Just lucky, I guess.” You said, smiling up at your lover.

“He must be.” Said the sheriff with a wink. El, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward to stand alongside the three of you.

“Why don’t you come inside and sit a spell, John? I’ve got some fresh tea in the fridge.” She said. The sheriff offered a polite smile before shaking his head.

“Naw, I’ve got to get back into town. It was great seeing y’all, though. Pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant Commander (Y/n) (Y/L/N).” He said, finishing with a tip of his hat. You grinned and gave a dramatic curtsy.

“Pleasures all mine, Sheriff Graham.” He shook Leonard’s hand again and hugged Eleanora before hopping back into his vehicle with a wave. You were waving back when the sound of the front door opening drew your attention. You turned to find Jim walking out with a look of disbelief.

“Did you just charm your way out of an assault charge?” He demanded. Deciding to mess with him, you nodded your head.

“Yep.” You said, popping the p. Leonard shook his head as you broke out in giggles. “No, Jim. I was smart enough to not throw the first punch, so we’re all good. He just stopped by to say hello.” Jim shook his head as you all made your way inside.

“Unbelievable.” He mumbled to himself. Once inside, Joanna was waiting to bombard you all with questions, until Eleanora eventually sent her, and everyone else, to bed. You finally relaxed as you got upstairs, not realizing how much tension you’d been holding in your body since the whole ordeal started. Leonard came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Some date night, this turned out to be, huh?” You said bitterly. He hummed in response as he buried his face in your neck.

“I’ve had worse. Cmon. Let’s just go to bed.” He mumbled against your skin. You sighed and nodded, letting him walk you forward until you reached the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone slept in the next day; no premade plans meant there was no rush to get up and get going. Nowhere was this more evident than the bed you were sharing with Leonard. He had wrapped himself around you like a koala and was refusing to let you get out of bed, citing “lazy day laws” as his excuse. When you finally made it downstairs, Joanna was curled up on the couch reading one of her new books while El and Donna sat watching the news. “Mornin’ you two. Give me just a minute, I haven’t started cooking yet, I wanna see the weather.” El said, moving to get up, but you were quick to jump in.

“No, no, don’t worry about it! Just point me in the direction of the cereal, and I’ll be right as rain, although I’ll let Len speak for himself.” You said, looking up over your shoulder at the man. He gave you a quick smile before looking back up to his mother.

“Yeah, Ma, don’t worry about it. I think you’ve earned a break from all the excellent cookin you’ve been doing all week.” She still looked hesitant as she replied.

“Well, if y’all are sure…”

“Absolutely.” You reaffirmed, nodding. She sighed and relaxed back into her seat.

“Cereal’s where it’s always been, Leonard.” He walked over and placed a kiss on her head.

“Thanks, ma.” She smiled and waved him off. He walked back over and took your hand to lead you into the kitchen, grabbing two bowls from one cabinet and the cereal from another. Jim walked in right as you finished pouring your bowl, grabbing the box from your hand. You shook your head as he grabbed a bowl, bright and chipper despite having clearly just rolled out of bed.

“Was he like this at the academy? I can’t imagine rooming with a morning person.” You jokingly asked Len.

“Worse than you can imagine, sweetheart.”

“Hey!” Jim cried out, indignantly.

“Up at 5:30 every morning. God knows how many times I’d come back from an overnight clinic shift to find that Hurricane Jim had hit, leaving snack wrappers and textbooks laying everywhere,” Leonard said, pointing at Jim, who’d decided to ignore him and read the news on his PADD instead. “Not to mention the number of women out there who had to endure me trying to explain that my roommate had already left and that she needed to go-” Leonard’s rant was cut off by the sudden sputtering and coughing coming from Jim. Leonard was by his side in a flash, and you turned to see Jim waving him off while laughing and coughing. “The hell’s wrong with you?” Len demanded. Jim held up a finger while he got himself under control and then handed Leonard his PADD.

“Just the greatest coincidence I’ve seen in years.” Leonard looked down at the device in his hand, his eyes bugging out comically as he read the screen.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” The sound of Joanna’s laughter and rapid footsteps nearly overwhelmed Len’s outcry. She turned the corner right as Len handed back the PADD.

“What’s-”

“Did you see” You and Jo spoke at the same time, but you were cut off by Leonard.

“Don’t.” Jim stood and walked over to hand you the device, ignoring Leonard throwing his hands in the air. You looked down at the screen, reading the headline.

Massive Storm in Atlantic Upgraded to Hurricane Status.

“What’s so funny about-” Jim just pointed further down the article.

The storm, which has been dubbed Hurricane Leonard . . .

You looked up at the man himself, valiantly trying not to laugh but you broke the moment you saw his grumpy scowl. He rolled his eyes and picked up his bowl. Jim took his PADD back and sat back down to finish his breakfast while you and Joanna set each other off in fits of giggles. By the time you both managed to rein yourselves in Jim and Leonard had both finished and Len stood at the sink washing out the dishes. You picked up your bowl still grinning as Jim and Jo retreated to the living room. “C’mon, Leo. Now we have something to call you when it’s time for annual physicals, and you go hunting for all the crew members.” He huffed and dried off his hands before walking over to you.

“Just for that, you can wash your own bowl.” He said, pointing at you, but there was the smallest trace of a smile on his lips, so you knew he wasn’t actually upset. You raised your hand in a mock salute.

“Aye, sir!” You said. His gaze darkened ever so slightly. He reached to grab your bowl and set it on the counter behind you as he leaned in.

“Good girl.” Was all he said before pressing his lips against yours, his words sending a shudder down your spine. The moment was short-lived, however, as Jim re-entered the kitchen.

“Oh, come on, really? We leave the room for two seconds” He trailed off and shook his head at your sheepish grin.

“Something we can help you with, or are you just intent on interrupting every moment I have with my girl?” Leonard said, looking over his shoulder. Jim held his hands up in surrender.

“Calm down, Romeo. I just forgot my PADD.” He said, walking over to grab the offending item before heading back towards the door. “As you were.” Jim said with a wave. Leonard shook his head and mumbled.

“As you were.” He started to lean in again, but you reached up to press a finger against his lips.

“Can I finish eating, Romeo?” You asked. He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes before stepping away.

“I suppose.” He grumbled. You smiled and stepped forward to pull him into a quick kiss.

“Thank you, Doctor.” You said with a wink.

“Well how am I supposed to leave now?” He said jokingly, reaching out to pull you back into him. The answer came in the form of Joanna’s voice calling through the house.

“Dad we’re gonna play B.S. you want in?” You grinned as he shook his head and smiled before calling back.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He pressed one more kiss against your lips before turning to leave. “Want us to wait for you?” You shook your head and picked up your bowl.

“Nah, I want to watch Jo kick your asses.” Leonard scoffed as he walked away.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much to your amusement and the boys’ annoyance, Joanna proved you right and absolutely slaughtered the two of them. Leonard lasted two games before admitting defeat, deciding instead to sit back and watch with you as Jim refused to give up. In fairness to him, he did manage to pull out a few wins, but Joanna was astonishingly good at reading when someone was lying. Leonard, proud papa that he was, spent the entire time with a smug grin on his face. Jim finally gave in when you joined a game, and it was with a near full deck in his hands, none in Jo’s, and the few remaining cards in yours that he cried out in surrender. Several hours later you found yourself laying on a blanket in the yard staring up at the stars in awe. Everyone else had gone to bed and you’d somehow convinced Leonard to join you. He sat beside you playing with your hair as you mapped constellations in your mind. “Can you believe we get to be out there?” You turned your head to look at Leonard, blushing slightly as you found him looking at you and not the sky. “Leo, why’d you agree to come to stargaze if you’re not even gonna gaze at the stars?”

“I am looking at the stars.” He said, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “I can see them reflected in your eyes.” You blushed crimson, and he huffed out a laugh. His fingers moved to cradle your face, but he stopped when his gaze fell on the stitches in your cheek. His expression turned serious and he gently brushed a thumb under them. “How are these feeling?” You shrugged before replying.

“Stings a bit, but otherwise okay.” He hummed in response, eyeing them for a few moments before nodding in satisfaction. You sat up and slid closer to kiss him softly. “Y’know, I wish that old truck wasn’t so loud. I’d’ve loved to have seen that spot you were talking about yesterday.” Leonard raised an amused eyebrow before wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Now she tells me.” He said sarcastically. You gave him a playful shove and shook your head, not bothering to hide the smile on your face.

“Ass.” He just nodded and claimed your lips once again. The kiss quickly grew heated, and eventually, you both had to break away.

“Can’t believe you’ve got me out here, sneaking kisses like some horny teenager.” He said, earning an amused scoff.

“Classy, McCoy. Real classy.” He smirked and stood to his feet, offering a hand to pull you up.

“Trust me, sugar. Just wait till we get to Charleston. I’ll show you how classy I can be.”

Tags: (if you’d like to be added or removed let me know)

@bakerstreethound @bookscoffeeandracoons

#leonard mccoy x reader #leonard bones mccoy x reader #southern charms series #come hell or high water

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cosmosfated · 3 years

Text

The Summoning

SUMMARY: Lea, Xion and Roxas perform a summoning to bring back an old friend to perform on a job asked by another. This results in a conversation between them and their old friend that gets uncomfortable in several ways, as well as a couple of faces that intrude. Roleplayed on Discord.

It's a tug of warmth in his chest that begets a look of confusion. What? Then, a name. A familiar one, his. His ears ring with bells as he feels himself pulled from his place in The Depths and up, out, away. The dragon is with him, always with him, but the sensation is jarring and wrong and it feels too fast. It makes him feel dizzy and sick and awful.

This is all too quick, and he takes a breath of cold, but comparatively warm air. The light is bright against his eyes, as he'd grown used to the dark. He has to squint somewhat to adjust and his chest shudders as he breathes in. Everything aches, he hurts. Clothes torn to near shreds, beaten, bloodied, hair slicked down, covering his right eye, single visible eye a bright silver, fully aware that there's flowers and leaves and trees and life and vigor all around him but not trusting it. His ears are ringing still with the sound of bells. Right, right, first things first. Deal with the rest of what he sees later.

His eyes focus on... wait... no... that can't be right. Yet his chest is warm. A tug forward, to a familiar face. He doesn't trust it. He can't...can he? "... excuse me." Voice a growl, like a warning, like a demand for an explanation.

The curl of a flame dips before settling on a shoulder. Comfortable now that its done its task. A smirk curling across features that would sooner see a sunset then stand around a garden. Or would he?

"Yo!" The mock, two fingered wave/lazy salute given with his free hand is well enough to give away who it is. A greeting far too familiar to be anyone else. Not that his looks would be anyone else. Nor to two half pints flanking him on either side. Keyblades drawn and looking like deer's caught in the headlights. Something he's quick to note and shake his head at.

"You two got all that? Or are we going to have to do that again?"

"I have it, though Roxas on the other hand..." Xion states with a bit of a smirk to the blond and redhead. "Hey! I got it too! This was important so I was paying attention!" Roxas pouts somewhat, though mostly playful in his intent.

Fleur can't help the flicker of a smile that plays on his lips at the familiar bickering between familiar voices. It's his friends. Oh how he's missed them. But just as quickly he's reminded that this is probably a trap and he all but snarls at the familiar visage before him of his so called friend. This isn't beyond something that The Depths would do to him to get him to die before he reaches his grave. Then he would be screwed. Then there would be no escape. Then there would be truly no way for him to go home. And then he would be going against his word.

"so. you called for me. i would like to know why and the terms. i was in the middle of something. something important too." He's calm, but his breaths are short, stunted, as if breathing through a straw. "i don't take kindly to being interrupted while on a business venture."

Lea's grinning at the duo even as his attention slides back over towards Fleur. Waving off the words with his free hand like they're not much but an annoyance or a few leaves on the wind.

"Yeah you're busy so you're not back yet, we get it. This is kinda important though." His keyblade disappeared in a flash of fire as he moved to cross his arms over his chest, far more comfortable but also far more serious.

"Saros hired me as a body guard."

There's a pause, a twitch of his claws. And then-

"with what money?"

It's a simple question but one that is as stupid as it comes. He knows well the going rate of an assassin. Especially one of Lea's caliber. He just wants to know how Saros managed to access his money without him giving that information up to them. It's real interesting.

That gets a laugh. "Pretty sure pearls are expensive. And it's not like you ever hid anything from the kid." He's rolling his eyes long before anything else knowing the kids will back him up on this one.

He clicks his tongue. That's a fair assessment he supposes. Hide, no, not if they asked, and they asked plenty of things. Unlike others in their 'family'. He pauses again, realizes something. "my magic. it feels strange. i can't access what i normally can. is there a cap on it that i should be aware of or is this because of the way you summoned me?"

He looks over towards the kids warily, for just a moment, but they just smile at him and wave. Weird. They haven't tried to attack him yet. He mutters under his breath that they're being weird.

"It's Keyblade stuff." Lea's answer sounds almost as exasperated as he looks. One hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck even as he shakes his head at the ground. "Far as I could get out of Sora, without all the mushy heart talk thrown in, we act as a unit. Two people, one shared attack or magic effect."

"...i'm sorry," he's so calm, terribly calm. He's not even looking at Lea. "but not only can i not teleport freely, but i can't use my spells? i can't use mirage arcane or herasha mirak?" He suddenly looks annoyed. He does however start coughing a little bit, for just long enough for it to become a problem and then he stops.

"... i hate this. this is awful. don't summon me again after this, okay? or if you do, summon me the right way, so i have all my abilities and can actually do something." Sigh! "guess i'll just rely on the old fashioned way." Pause. "wait. wait. back up. body guard. why body guard? they're 13 they don't need a body guard."

Well he would comment on how rude that was. There were some tricks up his sleeves thank you very much! But... Well... Lea shares a look with Roxas and Xion. That cough doesn't sound good. Now he's glad they talked him into making it a Trinity Limit. It would last way longer this way. Not that Fleur had to know that.

"Fine, fine I'll let Xion summon you next or something." He waves a hand again, exasperated even as his other finds its way onto his hip. Can they get on with the program please?

Roxas and Xion definitely look worried for him. That didn't sound good. He looks worse for wear too... He looks like he could use the time out from where he was.

"no! i said YOU! not xion!" He rubs at his temples and sigh-growls. "anyway, body guard. right. why would... a 13 year old need an assassin as a body guard..." ... Nope. Nothing comes to mind. "bullies at school or something? i'm sorry, i'm not all with it, a bit loose in the cap. i'm, ah." He winces. "distracted too. right sul?"

There's a low rumble of a growl that shudders the ground like a localized earthquake, and then a rumble of a voice answering "I do not believe these are deceptions young one. You can stop playing your games."

Lea's stance widens just a hair. Oh shit another one! "Uh... Care to catch us up?"

He knows the kids will back him up. They always do, but his side still smarts from where he took the most damage sailing THROUGH a WALL thanks to a dragon friend of Sunshine's.

"Long story short on our end? Your script's been messed with. Sunshine's a very real threat with a very real dragon. One that's threatened Saros enough into hiring me... and enough for calling backup."

The kids even go a bit ready on the offensive for just a moment. There's another dragon in their midst?! God damn it! Not again! They don't need this...

Fleur doesn't seem fazed by this information until he hears that Saros has been threatened by Sunshine. At which point a low snarl tears from his throat. An awful sound that is actually sounding a bit watery and drowned. He then takes a short breath and shakes his head.

"Young one. You should take what time you have." Silence. "This should not be squandered." Silence. "Young one. Trust in what allies that you have. You have few." Silence. "Young one?"

"i'll help. but i need to check up on two people first." He looks down for a moment. "they don't need to be now but i need to... see if they're okay. just at some point. even if i have to steal one of my watches to do so."

Is he about ready to bolt? Maybe. But weird feeling the kids anger though. That’s a new one. Sora could have given him a heads up. He’s pretty sure if the two half pints weren’t in view he’d be a lot scarier right now.

And that’s a thought he’s going to shake right back into a box thanks. No shape edges needed here. Not right now.

He hopes Xion doesn’t think too far into why he puts a hand on both her and Roxas shoulders as he steps closer to Fleur again. “Sure fine, check on whoever. I’ll buy you some time.”

I'll buy you some time.

Something about that phrasing makes his expression soften. The anger in his visible eye flickers and dims. And he just stares, no words, no response, just stares, as if he simply can't understand.

Xion looks at the hand on her shoulder, then up at Lea, then at Fleur. "... I think you've broken him. Look at him. You've broken a perfectly good friend is what you've done." She smiles. Roxas gasps. "You broke him again? Isn't this like, the fifth time?" Cue a wide grin. "Come on Lea, we need him unbroken."

Lea smirks. Your turn kid to have a little extra time.

Only for the touching moment to end with Xion and Roxas poking at him for breaking Fleur. "Hey!" That's his hands on both their heads. Time to mess with their hair. Brats. Key brats the both of them!

He snaps back to attention at hearing the laughter of the two keybearers, and Fleur closes his eyes, reaching up to gently scritch at the neck of the dragon as it comes into view. Gargantuan, silvery with hints of grey, but only for a moment before it shifts itself to be small enough to be on Fleur's shoulders like a scarf and just stares at the the Keyblade bearers. Respecting distance and also keeping close to Fleur.

"that requires stealing a watch from either my lab or from the embassy. i can't just be invisible while walking around so i have to be careful how i go about this. my damned other watch broke when i... left." Sigh. "speaking of. how did you get clearance to do this from the watchers of this timeline? namely the wardens? ... and i can still feel the influence of my papá." His expression drops. "oh gods. i'm actually... this is real?"

"Did you doubt us?" Roxas throws up a victory sign, grinning like the fool he is. "If it wasn't us, it would have been someone. You know that. Now's not then." Xion insists. "Isn't that right, Lea?"

“You’re joking right? Maribel was one of the first people we told with the idea to summon you. She’s the reason we haven’t got people on our butts.” Lea waves a hand over his shoulder. They’d made enough of a racket recently that just their presence doing something this serious would bring more then a few main players running.

Speaking of...

It’s not the sound of boot-steps that heralds him. Silent as the grave save one thing... It’s the aborted noise caught in an agape mouth. One that isn’t sure what to say. Too many things running through a head at high speed off fractured surfaces. Nothing that will articulate correctly. One hand aglow, ready to defend to the death a world his son had loved with what magic he could throw, the other wrapped deep into the fabric of a friend’s collar to drag him along. A grip now going slack at the sight before him. An eye rippling with rings of color stilling once again.

"i'm sure she loved the idea of bringing me back. especially considering the state of the world." He almost laughs. But the aborted noise makes him jump and spin to face the sound, ready to fight and defend Lea and the kids, that rise in anger and fear undeniable in his heart.

But he's greeted with something else. Familiarity. Painful familiarity.

The friend who had been brought along for this ride had, sadly, been brought along with the thought that he'd be in a fight, so he didn't put up a disguise. So no illusion. No tricks. Nothing. He looks like himself. And perhaps that a good thing. Seven raises a hand to the one Lost has entangled in his collar to gently unentangle it. "Well." He says calmly, recognizing the boy in front of him without problem, without pause. He takes off his cloak to walk up to the tense Fleur and wrap it around him, and smiles. "You look awful. You should get cleaned up a bit. A shower would do you a lot of good." Spoken as if he were seeing an old friend after work, and not seeing him after being dragged out of a hellscape.

Fleur just looks over his shoulder at Lea and the kids with the expression of 'uh, help??' but only gets the look back of 'what do you want US to do?' from the kids.

Even with attention elsewhere, tunnel-visioned onto someone else his hand is removed with ease. A trust there that most haven’t earned. A flinch that doesn’t come. Someone is touching his hand, and Lost is unbothered, even as fingers are uncurled from cloth.

Lea gives Fleur a shrug. He recognizes one of these faces. The other one he doesn’t. The fact that the first hadn’t shown up to stalk them while they’d been running around for a while was already confusing, but still welcome. All he could do was stay a stable presence right? That’s how this worked or something? Who knows.

Fleur slowly looks back at the two familiar faces and warily assesses the situation. So, this looks like Seven and Lost. Two of the figures that had taken care of him when he was at his worst. But then again, this could be a trick. A very elaborate trick.

"s...even?" "Yes?" "...how are you-" "Long story short: you led me to your old man over there and he pulled me free for a time. I still suggest a shower. Or a bath. A nice long one. You look like you need one. It relaxes the body and mind. You know? Right, Lost?" Seven turns to face Lost with a grin. "Start with a proper shower and go from there?"

"Man this guy's weird," Roxas mutters to Xion under his breath, who shushes him but nods.

Lea crosses his arms over his chest but deigns to say anything. This is interesting to watch, and for more then one reason. He's seen this in a few places, and the few places he has. Well, he'll leave his mouth shut.

Thoughts bounce off shattered panes of coded messages. Half formed thoughts and partially coherent mutterings.

That was his son, but what if? Could he? What if not? There was danger here. Keys friend or foe? He looked terrible. Agreed. There was a spike in activity in sector 586. Movement from One-that-is-not-Frisk: None.

Fleur opens his mouth to say something... but nothing comes out. He has nothing to say. If this is really Seven... then he looks tired. Worse for wear. Not the way the Depths would make him look. A confused and strangled, drowned noise tears its way out of his throat and he backs up closer to Lea. The dragon growls at Seven, peeking out of the drenched but slowly drying hair, as a warning.

Seven seems caught off guard by the dragon for but a moment before nodding. Very well. He's unwelcome. Have his cloak then. It's cold out anyway. Seven turns on his heel and walks up to Lost again, gently taking the man's face in his hands. "I need you to stay focused. Can you do that for me?" Speaking gently, calmly, as if nothing else were there but the two of them. "I know this is tough, but you must to try and find your words. Just one at a time will do. Can you try that for me? Not for them. For me. Let me know if I'm asking too much."

Lea's hand steadies him automatically, a hand just to a shoulder. They're here, and aren't going anywhere.

Lost freezes. Hands. Warm.

His eye is quick to meet Seven's holding. A jittering and diffused glow sharpening to a more focused light. Ever so slightly he leans into that touch, grounding himself and settling into that warmth, that trust, that hold.

It's a rattle through his bones that answers more then his voice does. A tight squeeze shut of an eye as he takes a second to focus not on what he sees or thinks but on what he's been asked.

"Keys." Finally makes its way past his teeth. His eye opening again to sweep the three wrapped in an odd material. Sharp with a wild threat. He'd sweep his son away to his ship in an instant if he but knew he could. But what did these keybearers represent here?

The hand on his shoulder does put him at ease, especially since it's Lea that does it. Seeing Roxas out of the corner of his eye calms him some more but he does look towards Xion just to make sure she's there. Good. His friends are still there.

Seven smiles again. "Thank you, my friend. That's more than enough." He then steps to the side to place one hand on Losts arm to help keep him grounded as he speaks. "I think an explanation is in order, if I'm to understand my friend here correctly. The presence of the keybearers right spooked him."

"oh uh," Fleur stammers for a moment. "i was u-uh, s-summoned? right? yes. summoned. by lea. and roxas and xion? i think." He's just staring at Lost. Bewildered and caught between wanting to wanting to reach out and wanting to stick near Lea.

Lea blinks before looking the duo that looked like they might be from Halloween Town over. Huh... So one of them knows about the World Order and the other doesn't. Interesting.

"Right, well we're not here to cause that kind of trouble. Unless you're with Sunshine."

It's almost automatic for him to hook that arm as if he's escorting someone. This one is with me. And yet, it is the entire opposite. Seven has him. Lost's eye narrows just a bit further. His head tilting slightly in curiosity but still a deep distrust set into the light of his eye. His free arm sweeping out to gesture at the world around them, claws showing themselves within the gesture.

"This world is protected." Each word is a struggle. But he manages. He will make certain these keybladers know it, and know the threat well. He will not give up this place that is beloved by his family without a fight.

Ah, Fleur had almost forgotten. The other side to knowing Keybearers. The dangerous side. He's just known them for so long, he's really just seen them as 'they would never'. This is his world. They would never think to harm it unless he gave up on it.

So he steps forward again, still hesitant, still unsure, but towards Lost and Seven. He tugs the cloak closer around him for warmth, and gets a little bit closer, and closer still. He doesn't say anything at first, unsure of what to do or think. Even Seven watches him warily and the kids look like they want to say something but don't.

"you've been protectin' it, haven't ya?" He says with a smile. And then he opens his arms for Lost to give him a hug. He's taking a shot in the dark as far as he's concerned, but he misses his papá. He needs to know.

Lost watches his son walk forward. Uncertain and without trust. It hurts to see, and yet it is only understanding that has him take a step back. A nod bowing his head but also an old warning haunting a step that had not been as steady as it should have.

His mouth clicks closed even as his hand clinches tight on thin air. Of course he would protect this place. That was without question. But that did not mean that he should be trusted. He knew those games just as well as his son did, and all of this was all too many warning signs.

His eye lingered upon Fleur a moment longer before sliding back up to pin the keybearers where they stood.

“Summoners.” It’s a word almost growled out, a low hiss upon his tongue that for those that knew him demanded swift explanation. It’s a warning that comes with his free hand slipping into a pocket.

Those that summoned could command and control just as easily as they could grant that leeway. This was two strikes and he’d get his answers first and foremost.

Ah. So this really was his papá. The depths would have taken that chance in a heartbeat. He drops his arms and smiles sadly. He also takes a step back. Towards safety, towards certainty. This is for the best, for now. Until they both can be sure of themselves and their company. He rushed it, again. He doesn't sigh, but the temptation is there.

"they summoned me because they need my help." He states simply. This is business. This is not a reunion. Not yet. "something happened with saros between them and sunshine, and they summoned me from the depths in order to help them out. i'm going to help because of my own free will. they wouldn't keep me here if i didn't want to stay, right, lea?"

Lea just rubs at the back of his neck. “Pretty sure you’d kick our butts if we tried something stupid.” The kid was stubborn, not stupid. All three keyblade wielders knew that if Fleur didn’t actually want to be here he wouldn’t be. Beside, he’s pretty sure that’s not how this version of summoning worked...

All this hero and heart stuff could give a somebody a headache.

“Otherwise, that’s the gist of it. Saros hired us and we needed the backup.”

Lost’s head tilts, his eye settling on each bearer in turn. Taking his time. These are not beings he can just gloss over.

Instead he hisses out a breath of mist. Might as well start concealing steps that others have already noticed.

“Crow’s about. Be careful.” It’s not an invitation. That would be too simple to listening ears. But the mist makes it easy for him to relax his posture and lean on Seven. Letting his eye unfocus and close as visibility turned terrible to most save those he deemed worth the time. Now escape or return to ship, he’s not up to mind. He’ll trust Seven’s judgement for now.

"i would, you're right." He jests, though knowing that a forced summoning would hurt like hell. Even this strange version of it, there must be rules to it. And he's pretty sure one of said rules must be that both sides must be willing. Otherwise it won't work. He hopes so at least. Otherwise he'd never get his word achieved if the kids had any say in it.

The kids know better than to back down or hide but neither are they going to puff out their chests in pride. They're just waiting. Watching. They've been silent on purpose. They know better than to interrupt something important.

Seven takes the leaning with pride and rests his free hand against Lost calmly. "I have to agree. People you don't want on your tail may already be looking to sever your connection. You best be careful. Keep my cloak for a time. You'll need it more than me. Return it to me when you get a chance, will you?" Said to Fleur, who nods though seems sad. "Good. Now. Lost, that's enough excitement for a while. We can leave when you feel you're ready to go."

Lost watches on through the fog for a moment longer. Eye light like a distant lantern within the gloom.

There isn’t anything to be said as his coat flutters as if caught in an unusual gale. The shadows around him and Seven deepening and turning the fog almost black save the lights of their eyes.

“Always.” Is uttered upon the quiet of the mist that smells of death, sea-breeze, parchment, cedar, and sage. A single word before a light fades and darkness recedes, leaving nothing behind.

Lea gives a low whistle. Now that was an exit. But at least they had a little cover now to get out of here with some sort of stealth to their name.

Almost as if he had been holding his breath the entire time, Fleur lets out a long breath and starts coughing, hacking, wheezing. Breathing is difficult when you've drowned. When he steadies himself after a few moments, he finds himself staring out at the space where the two were. "well that went... elegantly."

"That was tense." Roxas finally speaks up with a bit of a wince to his words. "You okay, Fleur? That coughing fit sounded bad." Xion asks, stepping forward to reach out to him.

"oh aye. just a bit drowned. or drowning. everything hurts." He rolls his shoulders. "got a place you're staying? i could use a moment to rebandage my wounds." Gesturing to the various dirtied bandages across his arms, his chest, even his legs.

Not all that glitters is gold. Not all that is precious is made of gemstone.

Always; he had said. A quiet and broken sentence to a slightly longer one. One punctuated by something that slithers through the fog and mist to curl about a drowned man’s boots.

Bone and just a bit of glitter clung to countless ribs stares up at someone that should not have left it behind. How dare. There will be much pouting for this.

And noticing the familiar sight makes the anger dim that much further and be replaced with joy. Oh how he's missed you! He kneels down to pick up the snake, careful in his motions as to not aggravate his coughing and wheezing. Ah there's the dizziness. "sorry for leaving you, friend. i hadn't a choice."

"I've never seen you look so fondly at something before in my life," Roxas intones in awe. "I have. It's cute. Let him have this while we figure out how to escape someplace safer than this with him in tow, right?" Xion chirps as she tugs on Leas sleeve. "Ideas?"

Lea chuckled watching the kids. Sometimes Roxas missed the biggest cues even now. Man did it show. One hand plops itself onto a blind head to ruffle and muse hair that is in dire need of being messed up for that one.

Xion’s question does get him to pause and think. “Actually, those two gave me an idea.” If this world was as weird as it seemed to have dark creatures working as heroes ... well sorta. Then follow the darkness.

He looked to Fleur with a curious brow raised. “Am I right in betting that travel through the dark isn’t as dangerous here as it usually is?”

Roxas makes a noise of discontent at having his hair mused but doesn't fight it. Clearly he's missed something so he'll take it. Xion just laughs quietly.

Fleur stands and turns to face them again, now holding two entities that are vying for his attention and shoulder space. "erm, it depends on the means of travel. usually not, one of my old friends used to do it all the time and never had a problem. but i can't say every means of travel is exactly the same guarantee. there's always a risk you run. a gamble, no matter how small."

Lea nods. A small gamble is way less then what they usually deal with. And he looks to the duo of kids for a confirmation. He won’t pull a stunt like this without their approval.

“Well, it’s worth a shot.” They could leave the area and get where Fleur might want to go.

The kids just nod towards him; they're up for the gamble if he is. They might as well take the shot if it's going to get them away from here.

"it's worth a shot indeed." Fleur retorts as he finally notices the two on his shoulders gets comfortable. "at your pace."

#discord.#The Summoning #Epilogue #Fragmented Fate #Happy New Year's?#early new year's I suppose

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

A love that never leaves (Epilogue)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Death by fluff.

A/N: Here we have a visit from a very hungry super soldier, an enormous helping of domestic bliss, and an unexpected surprise for Bucky. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me on this little adventure. I appreciate every bit of encouragement and support, and I hope you enjoy the end! ♥️

If you’re interested in the song the boys are whistling, it’s a war song from 1942 “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.” You can find it on Spotify. ☺️

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

Slipping a knife from his boot, he crouches down and digs his blade into the tree. With a few twists of his wrist, he carves a rough cross deep into the base of the tree trunk. He gazes at the small token for a minute, before sliding the knife back into his boot.

Standing with an inaudible sigh, he backs away. Straightens himself up. Snaps his feet together and offers a sharp salute to the unmarked grave.

“Rest easy, Soldier,” he murmurs.

And then Sergeant Bucky Barnes turns and heads home.

*****

One month later

Out by the woodshed, Bucky lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes the sweat from his face. Sorting through the pile of wood, he finds the best piece, balancing it on the chopping block. With an easy swing, the sharp blade arcs through the air and the pieces tumble into the growing pile.

Chopping wood seems unnecessary this late in the season, but he likes the work. Manual labor feels cathartic, and he relishes the pull of his muscles with each swing. Besides, even though he runs hot, he knows she doesn’t. If he has to put in some elbow grease to keep her warm, he’s happy to do it.

Spring is so tantalizingly close, he can almost taste it.

More and more of the ever-present world of white disappears daily, the shining sun turning the world beyond the cabin into a slushy mess of mud. So muddy in fact, they’ve gotten her truck stuck twice.

The first time they got it out no problem, but the second time - Bucky has that memory tucked away forever. While the wheels spun uselessly, he got out to push, which was a nice idea in theory. Until the truck leapt forward and he face planted in the mud. When she hit the brakes and jumped out, she ran around back to find him staggering to his feet, covered head to toe in black muck.

Of course, her surprised laughter turned to shrieking when he chased her through the slop until he caught her, picked her up, and threw her in a snowbank, his fingers tickling the entire time. They rode home dripping wet and covered in mud, barely able to stop laughing. When they arrived, Bucky pulled her into the shower with him until they were both perfectly clean and thoroughly interested in getting dirty again.

Yes, spring is a magical time.

Life feels new. After a long, cold, dark winter, he can finally see the other side and everything it offers. It’s like being born again, his life with her brimming with hope.

Taking a deep breath of the clean air, he selects another chunk of wood.

Above the sharp thwack of the ax, he hears a faint sound floating on the breeze.

Shading his eyes, he sees a figure walking along the road. Even from here, he sees a bright red stocking hat pulled low over his head, a hitchhiker’s bag strapped to his back. There is a brief flutter of nerves, before his stomach eases. The slope of broad shoulders and bouncing walk are telltale signs, but then he hears the whistle of a familiar song. Embedding the ax into the chopping block with a dull thunk, he whistles the tune in return. Strange words he unconsciously knows from another time.

Praise the Lord, we’re on a mighty mission

All aboard, we ain’t a-goin fishin’

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition

And we’ll all stay free

Dusting off his hands, Bucky ambles down to meet the man, a relaxed grin on his face.

“Still singing that damn song?” Bucky greets him. “Anyone tell you the war is over?”

Steve Rogers pulls off his stocking hat with a theatrical groan and uses it to mop the sweat from his face.

“Classics never die,” he huffs. Running sweaty fingers through snarls of golden hair, it sticks straight up in an awkward mohawk. “God damn, this was a fuckin’ walk. You got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

Grabbing Steve in a giant bear hug, Bucky lifts him off his feet and Steve squawks in protest.

“You’re such a little shit. Come inside. Got someone you need to see.”

*****

On the porch, Bucky removes his mud-covered boots and neatly lines them up beside the front door; raising his eyebrows, he points for Steve to do the same. Steve grins at the domesticity and follows suit, before following him inside.

“Hey darlin’?” Bucky calls and there’s an answering shout from above.

Dressed in old wellies, jeans, and a knobby grey fisherman’s sweater she appears, trying to zip up her jacket as she trots down the stairs.

“Buck, if you actually want potato soup tonight, I have to go into town. I didn’t realize when you said you ate all the bacon, you literally ate all the bacon. There were three pounds of it, how did you even -” looking up, she stops.

Astonishment floods Steve’s face when he sees her, but he schools it quickly. Standing up straighter, he nervously tries to smooth his hair, before eventually recognizing the futility and shoving his hands in his pockets. He gives her a bashful smile instead.

“Hey. I’m, uh, sorry for just showing up. Probably should have called, I just -”

The words are struck from his lungs when she bounds forward and throws her arms around him, knocking him back a step. Steve hugs her tight, glancing in surprise at Bucky who looks on fondly.

“You never have to call, Captain Rogers. You’re always welcome.”

“Christ, no,” Steve grimaces when he releases her. “Call me Steve, please. Get enough of that Captain bullshit at home.” Catching himself, he looks momentarily horrified. “Shit, I mean shoot, sorry, pardon my language.”

“Please,” she says with a laugh. Elbowing Bucky, she winks. “Let’s not pretend I haven’t heard worse from him.”

Wrinkling his nose, Bucky wraps a playful arm around her neck. “I told you, it’s how I spice up my vocabulary. Science says swearing makes me smart.”

Rolling her eyes, she pokes her fingers into his belly and he grunts breathlessly.

“God, you two are adorable,” Steve says seriously. “I think I’m gonna vomit.”

Placing his whole hand over Steve’s face, Bucky shoves him away while she laughs, her arm curving around his waist.

“Want me to go warm up the truck? Pull it around for you?” Bucky asks, and she kisses his cheek.

“No, I’m good. Stay here and catch up. Maybe get Steve some food, I’d hate for him to starve,” she says.

“I love her,” Steve stage whispers.

Grabbing a bundle of tote bags, she heads outside, stomping carelessly through the muddy yard. On the sunny porch, the two men stand shoulder to shoulder, waving as she drives the clunky old truck down toward town. Once it disappears, Bucky turns to Steve and claps him on the back.

“Come on asshole, I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

*****

One carton of eggs and a loaf of bread later, they sit on the porch with steaming cups of coffee. Bucky tucks an errant strand of hair behind his ear as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. Steve sits back in his chair, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“It all sounds insane, doesn’t it?” Bucky asks quietly.

Fiddling with his coffee cup, Steve scratches absently at his beard. “Maybe. Maybe not. We always knew there were others. Whatever they did to him, it wasn’t perfect, but it must’ve been enough for him to survive. Whatever survive means.”

“Yeah. I guess so. ”

Taking a long drink of coffee, Steve frowns at his boots before looking up to Bucky. “So, you buried him then?”

There’s a defiant edge to Bucky’s voice when he responds.

“Just felt right. He was a soldier, not a lab rat.”

Steve shrugs casually as he sits forward. “I get it, don’t need to convince me. We don’t have to tell anyone.”

Amused at the blatant lack of adherence to the precious world of protocol, Bucky gasps.

“Goodness gracious, I’m clutching my fuckin’ pearls. Did I just convince Captain America to commit treason?”

“Well you always were a terrible influence. So many bad decisions, all because of you,” Steve says loftily.

“You’re so full of shit,” Bucky laughs. Steve grins wickedly, knowing full well all their youthful indiscretions came from his ridiculous decisions; not that he’ll ever admit that one to Bucky.

At the thought of their past though - it makes him wonder.

“Can I ask something?”

“Hit me,” Bucky says easily. There are a couple minutes of silence, while Steve tries to find the words he wants.

“When she wipes memories, that’s - that’s it? They’re gone for good? We couldn’t - like, there’s no chance of getting them back?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “No. I was curious, so I asked. But she said it was absolute. Looked so miserable when she told me, I’m sure as shit not mentioning it again. Besides,” he contemplates the blue sky beyond the porch railing, “it doesn’t matter. What do I need all that for anyway? Got her. Got you. That’s enough.”

The relief in Steve’s reply is palpable. “Good. I hated your dumbass running around trying to dig up the past.”

“Me too,” Bucky sighs. “Only did it ‘cause I thought I should. But now - I’m just worrying about the future. Those are the only memories I need.”

They sit in companionable silence, gazing out into the cool morning. In the treetops, birds chatter back and forth, and Steve feels himself relax. An unfamiliar peacefulness steals over him, filling him from head to toe; he almost doesn’t hear the quiet question.

“Stevie?” Looking sideways, he finds Bucky watching him calmly. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired. Just want a normal life, a home with her. Something quiet. Is that - will that be okay?”

The hesitancy in Bucky’s voice hits Steve like a fist to the face. Turning away, he blinks back tears and clears his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, Buck. Of course that’s okay.”

That unspoken weight always dragging Bucky down disappears. With Steve’s words, the decades seem to fall away and there - the fleeting image of Sergeant James Barnes flashes across his features. Lighter. Softer. Carefree and full of laughter, wanting nothing more than to hang up his boots and find a warm home with the girl he loves.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers looking back into the clear morning, a contented smile on his lips.

With the crisp breeze swirling around them, the soldiers sit in silence. One light haired and one dark, with two matching pairs of blue eyes, and two gigantic hearts.

*****

The sun is just beginning to sink when Bucky announces he’s going to go clean up the woodpile before it gets dark. The night air blows sharp when he opens the door, ushering in the wintery chill that still insists on arriving when darkness falls.

“Nah, stay here and catch up,” he urges, when Steve goes to grab his jacket. “It’ll just take me a few minutes.”

“Thanks love,” she murmurs and Bucky beams at the pet name, a happy bounce in his step as he heads outside. Grinning at Steve, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of beer from the depths, popping the tops and handing one to him.

“Cheers,” she says, clinking them together and he nods shyly. Pulling out knives and cutting boards and stock pots and skillets, she assembles everything for the potato soup Bucky begs her to make at least once a week. Salted water is simmering on the stovetop, before Steve finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Scrubbing potatoes, she looks up in surprise. “Sorry for what?”

Steeling his nerves, Steve frowns. “For not coming back. For letting you deal with his death alone. Always promised him, if something happened, I’d do my best to take care of you. And then I just -” he breaks off.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she reaches over the counter and squeezes his hand. “You just saved the world,” she says gently.

Swallowing hard, Steve looks down. “Still. My best friend’s girl, and I let her down. I let both of you down.”

Releasing his hand, she picks up her knife and starts dicing the potatoes.

“No, you didn’t. If I’ve learned nothing else in this life, it’s that you can’t stay in the past. What’s done is done, and now we move on. We’re all here now, Steve,” she says quietly. “That’s all that matters.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve lets the tension of his apology melt away. “He always said you were smart.”

“Hmmm, did he now?” she says with a mischievous grin and Steve can’t help the responding smile; it feels infectious.

The kitchen radio plays in the background, filling the small kitchen with the punchy sound of trumpets and piano, the world of old French jazz. Steve watches her cook, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“How come - how come you didn’t call? Didn’t tell us you were here?”

Without replying, she lays out slices of bacon and starts chopping. Immersed in her task, it takes her a minute to respond.

“When I heard they found you, I almost came to New York. But then, I imagined telling you what happened and - I was too ashamed.” Setting the knife down, she looks up and he sees deep sadness in her eyes. “The last time I saw him, he had no clue who I was, and I had no idea if he was still alive. It all seemed impossible. And then I saw him come back, and I just - you were with him and I was so relieved. He had you. I knew you’d do everything in your power to help him recover. After what I did, I didn’t think I should be part of that.”

Canting her head down, he sees her shoulders slump slightly. Steve knows that feeling better than anyone, what it means when you can’t save someone. Particularly when you can’t save Bucky Barnes.

“Back then, you saved him. During the war. I hope you understand, I hope you know.”

She doesn’t speak, but finally looks up. “Know what?”

He gives her a gentle smile. “How much he loved you. Never shut up about it. Used to drive us all crazy with all his sighing and his mooning around.”

The brilliant smile she gives him lights up her whole face and Steve feels his own lips curve in response. Both of them automatically glance toward the front door when they hear Bucky’s boots clomping up the porch steps.

“I know,” she says, her eyes shining bright. “He tells me every day.”

*****

Steve has more than a thousand stories about Bucky, from growing up in Brooklyn to traipsing across the European front to all their avenging these past few years, and unfortunately for Bucky, Steve seems dead set on relaying every stupid thing Bucky’s ever done. The worst part is, he can’t even refute the stories - Steve could be making everything up, and Bucky can’t even call him out on it.

A fact he continually points out and a fact Steve blithely dismisses.

“Trust me,” he says with a sage nod. “Captain America would never lie.”

“That is the biggest crock of shit I ever heard,” Bucky states. He looks mildly put out when she shushes him.

“Hush Bucky, I need to hear this story.”

“Uh, no you most certainly do not,” he replies, as Steve tells about the time him, Bucky, and Sam were stuck in a safe house in Mexico and every time Bucky went to sleep, Sam moved everything in the apartment three inches before convincing Bucky the place was haunted.

“Well for fuck’s sake, there are aliens aren’t there?” Bucky exclaims. “Why the hell not ghosts?”

Scooping up a huge spoonful of soup, Steve swallows it down and gives him a serious look. “That’s true Buck. And that’s why I supported your idea of having a séance to contact the ghost. It seemed like the sensible thing to do.”

“I hate your face so hard. Remind me why you’re here again?” Bucky groans. Leaning back, he slings an arm around her chair and tucks his face against her neck. “Don’t believe anything he says. He lies,” his plea is muffled.

Patting his head, she scratches her fingers in his hair just like he likes, and he hums delightedly. “Don’t worry, I think you’re very adorable.”

“I am very adorable,” Bucky mumbles.

Lifting up his bowl, Steve slurps down the rest of his soup; smacking his lips, he gives them a mysterious smile. “Actually, there was another reason I came to visit.”

Bucky pulls away from her and glares at him. “Was it to destroy my happiness?”

“No, that’s just a fringe benefit,” Steve says cheerfully. Shoving away from the table, he goes to his oversized backpack and starts digging. Pulling something free, he comes back to the table and sets a cloth bag in front of Bucky.

“It’s a bag,” Bucky deadpans. “Inside a bag.”

“Smartass. Open it.”

Wiggling his eyebrows at her, Bucky un-cinches the bag and pulls out a leather satchel.

“It’s a bag, inside a bag, inside - a bag.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re hilarious?”

“Literally everyone who’s met me,” Bucky says with a grin. Glancing curiously at the worn brown leather, his smile begins to fade. Something about the bag seems insanely familiar, and he racks his brain -

And he catches his breath. Wide-eyed, he looks back up at Steve.

“Wait. Is this -“

“Yep,” Steve says, eyes sparkling. “You’d left it back at the base camp, must’ve gotten stuck in some of the camp containers they shipped to headquarters. Anyway, I spent the last three weeks banging around the SHIELD archives trying to see if I could find anything - there’s so much shit down there by the way, like an episode of hoarders - and then I was digging through this moldy ass box, and there it was.”

“My bag,” Bucky marvels. Excitement fills his face, bright sunrise in the evening. “From the war, from before. All my stuff.”

“All your memories,” she says breathlessly, squeezing his thigh.

“Go on,” Steve encourages. “Open the damn thing, I’m dying to know what the hell you kept in there. You never let me see anything.”

The leather straps are fastened tight, decades of moisture and dust creating a concrete knot that takes several minutes to unravel. It creaks irritably when it finally gives way and Bucky tugs it open. One by one, he pulls out items.

A book appears first. Front cover torn, they see a copy of ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’, one of the compact armed service editions published for soldiers. Some of the pages are stuck together and as he thumbs through it, Bucky sees familiar handwriting. Notes he scribbled in the margins, passages he underlined. Words and phrases pop out like friendly messages from another life. Flipping toward the end, he finds his favorite line, one that caught his fancy when he read the book again last year.

“Dear God,” he reads, voice wobbling slightly, “let me be something, every minute of every hour of my life.”

He touches the words with a cautious metal finger and looks up to find her watching him, a soft look in her eyes. Leaning over, he gives her a kiss and she brushes his hair back.

“You were always something, no question about that,” she says and Bucky smiles.

The next item is a thick sheaf of papers. Folded into neat rectangles are a set of maps, the ones he and Steve received from the Priest in her village, before they headed out on that last mission.

“Oops,” Steve says sheepishly. “Guess we never did get those back to the church.”

Two white, army issued packs of cigarettes follow; when Bucky tips out a Lucky Strike, it crumbles to powder in his fingers. His silver lighter is next, scales of brownish-red rest covering one side. As he tries to light it, the coils give a harsh screech.

“Okay, I was gonna give up smoking anyway,” he shrugs.

When he pulls out a dented flask and unscrews the cap, a faint wisp of whiskey floats out. Steve makes a gagging noise and shudders.

“Holy hell, I remember that garbage. Dugan bought it off a medic at a field hospital in Germany. Cross my heart, it was the worst shit I ever tasted. Gave me nightmares.”

“I remember it too,” she pipes up, looking slightly nauseated. “He convinced me to try it once and I haven’t tried whiskey since.”

Bucky grins at them both and plunges his hand into the bag again, this time, jerking back with a curse. Cautiously, he reaches in again and discovers an open switchblade. Carved below the marble handle in flaking gold are the letters JBB.

“Becca gave that to you, before you shipped out,” Steve says quietly. “She sold her pearl earrings to buy it.”

Rubbing the white marble gingerly, Bucky gently folds down the blade and sets it carefully aside. It hurts for a minute, and his throat works hard to swallow down the emotion.

“Anything else in there?” she nudges lightly, and he shakes himself from the reverie.

Reaching into the bag, his hand bumps something. Buried at the bottom, he feels a soft bundle, a rectangular parcel wrapped in old green cloth. When he pulls it free, he has to unwind it several times before they discover what lies beneath.

Bucky blinks when he sees it, his heart leaping at her soft exclamation.

“My letters,” she says, wrapping her arm around him and curling closer.

“Your letters,” he repeats faintly. Sudden tears fill his eyes and he surreptitiously wipes them away, gruffly clearing his throat.

Handling the paper reverently, he brushes his fingers over the faded handwriting. The whole bundle is tied together with a broken boot lace, and it takes a few tugs before it releases.

Eleven letters.

Eleven letters, written just for him. Eleven of his very own memories, real and tangible and full of her love. Something he knows he kept in his coat pocket every day, drawing comfort and strength from her words, while he battled through the horrors of that unending war.

Unfolding the first one, he takes a deep breath.

10 March 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I wanted to write this on your birthday, so I could fill it full of all the things I wish we could do, if you were here. Maybe next year, everything will be possible. The war will be over, and your day would look something like this.

We could spend it in Paris, how lovely that might be! We could sleep in, no need to get up early. I might wake you up with a kiss, one on your cheek, then on your nose, then on your lips, and then I’d make you breakfast in bed, strong coffee and fried eggs and sizzling slices of bacon and fresh croissants, and we could spend the morning reading the papers and laying in the sun. Then we might go for walk down by the Seine, see the bridges and the booksellers, throw coins in the river and make wishes. Eat chocolate cake and drink bottles of wine. Whatever your heart desires my love, it would be your day. Maybe that night, we would be walking home, and hear a musician playing in the streets and we could stop and dance. Just you and me, holding each other in the moonlight.

And when we get home, I think I’ll take you upstairs to soft sheets and soft pillows and all kinds of things that are rather inappropriate for this letter, but I can certainly tell you one thing - sleep would not be on our minds.

Something to dream about for next year.

But if you remember nothing else on your birthday, I hope you will remember there’s a girl in France who loves you with all her heart.

6 June 1944

…and please don’t ever tell Steve, but I laughed forever at your letter. Such a demure, solemn man when I met him, I keep picturing him covered in mud and so frustrated with all of you! I do hope his knees are feeling better, give him a hug from me.

Sending you all my love, now and always.

19 August 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I’ve never been to a drive-in movie, but I must tell you, I think it sounds wonderful. I have no doubt we could show those kids a thing or two, because the simple truth is that I could spend my entire life kissing you. There would be no need to ever stop, I know that much.

The days of sunlight are long now, and so often I lay out in the field behind the house, where the grass grows tall and the world smells like wildflowers, and I think of you until long after the stars appear. The sweet taste of your lips, the rough feel of your hands, the sound of your voice when you say my name. How much I love the red highlights in your beard and the dimple in your chin and the way you purr like a house-cat when I scratch my fingers through your hair. Everything you are, your kind heart and your curious soul, it fills me with a wanting I cannot explain.

Do you know, when I fall sleep, your face is the last thing on my mind? Sometimes I still believe this is a God, because He lets you into my dreams every single night.

30 December 1944

My love,

Just this morning, I let you go again. Back into this wretched war. It feels unforgivable, letting you leave. My heart fled with you and I admit, tonight I am having trouble remembering to breath.

You are the one thing that gets me through everything. Isn’t that so strange? I had no idea my heart missed you, until the day we met. There are so many things I want to say to you. Things I want you to know about me, who I was and who I am. So many things I want to learn about you.

But now, if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost hear your voice. It’s there in that lost place between sleep and awake, where you tell me good night darling, that Brooklyn drawl coloring your words.

There is nothing I want more than a life with you. Sitting on the porch while the sun sets, holding your hand. Falling asleep wrapped in your arms. Loving you until there is nothing but grey left in your hair. I miss you so much. Please, please, please come home soon.

Resting her head on Bucky’s shoulder as he reads, she follows along in silence, reliving every word, every phrase, every bit of punctuation. How familiar it seems, even after all this time.

When Bucky finally sets the last letter down, he turns to her. Tipping his head down, he touches his forehead to hers and closes his eyes; cradling his face in her hands, she rubs her thumb over his lips. Neither one speaks. Old letters and faded memories and quiet breaths are the only words they need.

*****

The evening is late when Steve flops on the couch and gets comfortable. Digging through the hall closet, Bucky returns with a couple pillows and a fuzzy blanket and tosses them over.

“Alright Rogers. You need a teddy bear? Glass of milk? Bedtime story? Should I check under the couch for monsters?” he asks and Steve flips him off with a huge yawn.

“G’night, asshole.”

“Night, punk.”

Flipping off the lights, they leave him snug in the warm darkness downstairs, the flames burning low in the fireplace. Steve watches as they walk upstairs together, Bucky patting her on the butt as she walks ahead, muttering something that makes her laugh. Buried in the couch cushions, he smiles drowsily as he listens to their quiet voices get ready for bed, the calming footsteps above, the soothing laughter gliding down the stairs.

It sounds perfect.

Like a home.

Slowly and surely, the firelight lulls him to sleep.

*****

Standing in the bedroom doorway, her mouth curves up at the image.

Leaning against a pile of pillows, Bucky sits with all his letters spread around him, shuffling through them again. They haven’t left his hands all evening, so perfectly enamored with his small treasure, something he never expected.

“Would you like me to write them for you again? So you have fresh copies?”

Squinting up at her, he contemplates the offer, before shaking his head.

“Nah, already have them memorized. Besides, now you can write me new ones. I like to be romanced.”

“Hmm. I had no idea this relationship would be so much work,” she teases.

Gathering up the letters, he places each in the correct envelope, wraps them back up in a fresh piece of cloth, and tucks them into the drawer of his nightstand. Giving her an outrageously sultry look, he clicks off the lamp and pats the bed next to him invitingly.

Slipping under the sheets, she immediately tucks her cold toes against his leg and he yelps at the icy feel, but lifts his arm automatically, letting her nestle into her favorite spot against his chest.

“Good god, you need to wear socks to bed,” he says with a shiver.

“No, I don’t. I have you,” she says happily.

Smothering a laugh, he rolls to face her. Face to face on the same pillow, two pairs of eyes adjust to the dark room. When she traces the back of her knuckles down his cheek, he catches her hand and presses a kiss to her wrist.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you,” she breathes.

Comfortable silence fills the room, and as the minutes tick by, her eyes grow heavy. Sleep never comes easy for him, so Bucky watches her instead, content to fill his sleeplessness with nothing more than the curves and shadows of her face. He can hear her heartbeat slow, her breathing steady, and right before she goes under, a thought pops into his head.

“Darlin’, can I ask you something?”

“Course,” she says sleepily.

“All the stuff you’ve kept over the years, what you had hidden around the house. Why’d you do that? Hide it that way?”

Slow fingers trace up his chest as she thinks, and her voice is low and raspy with a reply.

“I know what it means to lose everything you’ve ever known. Instead of having it all up here,” and she taps her forehead, “I keep things everywhere. Never all together, so I can’t lose everything at once.”

“Are there more things in the house?” he asks curiously, and she hums.

“Lots more,” she answers, and snuggles closer. Closing her eyes, she presses her lips to his skin. “Can I tell you more tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he murmurs.

A moment later, her deep, even breaths tickle his chest and Bucky keeps watching, mesmerized by the sight. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever needed, right there. Wrapped up in his arms.

Around them, the room is blanketed in darkness, deep blacks and shades of gray and he thinks about all those memories he’s collected. All that color, good and bad, and what it means to have a past. And then he thinks about the future, free from the turmoil of war, with nothing ahead but the delicate blue of her cool touches and the bright gold of her sunny smiles and the rainbow of color he hears when she laughs.

So many colors. So much time.

The paintbrush in his head lays down to dream. Closing his eyes, Bucky drifts to sleep.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #altnl

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bookish-nerd9 · 5 years

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At Long Last: Chapter 4

Despite himself Andrew woke up excited for today’s meeting with Neil, he kept replaying the events of the previous day; Neil pouring over the books hair falling in his eyes, auburn hair that Andrew itched to touch and see how it felt between his fingers. The intent focus he had when he was explaining something complicated to Andrew that he perfectly understood but making it hard for Neil was kind of fun, and if Andrew forgot to mention the fact that he had photographic memory and he only needed things to be properly explained just once well who was to blame him!.

Then there was the unexpected trip to the Waffle House, Andrew didn’t plan on taking Neil there or anywhere else for that matter but he found that he wanted to spend more time with him and to get to know him a bit better, that’s why before he could stop himself he suggested going there and the baffled and excited look on Neil’s face was totally worth it.

Getting dressed never took Andrew long but for some reason today he sat shirtless after his shower just staring at his forearms the ugly red slashes staring right back at him as if in mockery, and right then a rogue idea crossed his mind “what would Neil think if he saw them and knew why he did that to himself?”. At that Andrew shook himself and got dressed quickly “stupid” he told himself “so fucking stupid actually, get it together Minyard”, he kept repeating this to himself as he made his way out of his room to look for some breakfast and to his unpleasant surprise everyone was up and about their business already.

Heading for the coffee pot avoiding making eye contact with anyone, waking up in a pleasant mood really made him angry and he wasn’t in the mood to make niceties with anyone today, not that he ever was.

“Did you come by the court last night? I think I saw your car, and what are you doing dropping Neil off? How do you know each other? Why didn’t you come in aren’t you going to grace us again with your presence in the court? You know we need you Andrew”

This apparently was Kevin’s way of saying good morning and Andrew was already starting to get a headache from the bombard of questions. As a way of replying Andrew stared Kevin down and dropped an unceremonious amount of sugar in his coffee.

“Look I’m just saying if you’re going to come to court anyway why not come in for a bit even just to observe the new goalkeeper.” Kevin pushed on.

“Drop it Kevin.” Andrew warned with a glare that ought to shut him up.

“Well someone is in a particular merry mood today.” Nick snickered as he made his way to the kitchen.

Without replying to any of them Andrew grabbed his stuff and headed out because god forbids him being able to enjoy a perfect cup of coffee in piece. He didn’t have to meet up with Neil until later that day after his classes so he waited for Renee outside her room as he always did to go about their day together.

“Morning Andrew” Renee greeted him with the ever sweet smile she always had that never stopped to baffle him, “Renee” he greeted her back with two fingers to his temple in salute as she fell into step beside him, this was easy and familiar to him Andrew never had a problem knowing Renee or letting her know him she was the only person other than Bee who knew everything about him and strangely that sat very well with Andrew.

“So how was your first session with Neil?” she asked with a smile that now had a hint of mischief in it.

“Don’t start with me Renee.”

“What! I’m not starting anything I really want to know, I also want to know how the infamous Andrew Minyard with his photographic memory needs any tutoring at all.” She said with a chuckle, Andrew really couldn’t argue or discourage Renee as he does any other person so he begrudgingly said

“It was fine, I understood everything thanks to that little math wiz, and I need tutoring because you know perfectly well that our beloved professor already has a foot in the grave and can’t form a whole sentence, honestly how you understand anything from him is beyond me.”

“Oh don’t be mean he’s cute” she said laughing; they kept at it until they reached the lectures hall and they went their separate way.

The rest of the day passed in a blur until Andrew was seated in the library waiting for Neil who was late again! As Andrew pulled out his phone to text him Neil made his way slowly to where Andrew sat but something was different about him the way he moved and held himself was all wrong as if he was trying so hard and failing to disappear into himself and as Neil stood right in front of Andrew he was sure something was really wrong, Neil was more disheveled than he normally is with deep dark circles under his too red eyes that didn’t seem to be able to focus in one place and Andrew knew that look all too well, the look of someone scouring the place looking for all the exists and possible escape routes.

Andrew waited as Neil heavily dropped in the chair next to him and started pulling his things out of his ridiculous duffle bag, “you look terrible” Andrew said; it took Neil a moment to focus on Andrew and process what he said “umm yeah thanks I have a mirror, let’s just get started” Neil retorted.

They spent the next hour tripping over the material that they were supposed to go through Neil couldn’t seem to focus every now and then his eyes would wonder looking for someone or something that wasn’t there and he would flinch at every little sound around them.

“Alright stop! That’s enough for today” Andrew said flipping the books closed and shoving the notes aside.

“Wait what! Why??”

“Well there is clearly something wrong and I’m not wasting my time like that so you either tell me what the fuck is wrong with you today Josten or we leave now.”

Neil said nothing he only looked down his hands and started tapping his leg furiously, “well fine we’re leaving then come on.”

Neil stuffed hiss stuff back in the duffle and headed out without waiting for Andrew who was now jogging after him to catch up to him “and where do you think you’re going?” Andrew asked Neil’s back.

“Well what do you want huh, what the fuck do you want Andrew, my performance isn’t up to your standards today so I’m leaving report me if you want or do whatever you want, I don’t care just don’t push me not today.” That took Andrew by surprise and in that minute Neil started moving, again Andrew caught up to him, “god Andrew what do you want!?”

“Nothing you’re headed to the dorms right, well so am I” and with that they walked in silence until they reached Neil’s room and before he could reach out to open the door Andrew stopped him “there’s something that might help I think come.”

Begrudgingly Neil followed him as he made his way up the stairs until they reached the roof, Andrew nudged the door open and stepped inside with Neil following hesitantly after him “Is that even legal?” Neil asked but Andrew only shrugged as he reached behind the door for something that Neil found out that it was a bottle of wine, a very expensive one.

Andrew sat at the ledge with his legs swinging on the side of the building and Neil followed suite, they sat like that for a while none of them talking and just looking at the sun dipping and bathing the campus in its warm golden afternoon light.

“Thanks for bringing me here it’s beautiful, and umm sorry about before I’m really having a bad day” Neil broke their silence.

“Don’t”

“Don’t what!!”

“Say that “sorry” don’t say it I hate that word”

“Well umm thanks still, it’s beautiful up here how did you come by it?”

“Same as the Waffle House, was looking for someplace quiet and here I am.”

They fell quite again gazing out at the campus and then Andrew said “well I guess it’s my turn now”

Neil looked at him a moment too long and Andrew was shocked by the intensity of Neil’s too blue eyes then said “what do you mean?” Andrew rolled his eyes and answered “our deal remember? Question for question!”

“Oh yeah right, well shoot”

“What’s wrong with you?” “but don’t ask me what’s wrong” they both said at the same time and Neil laughed for the first time today and his face lit up which made Andrew want to punch him in his too handsome face.

“Okay fair enough, how about ummmmm, why are you keeping that hideous thing you call a cat?”

Neil chuckled and said “Well I found kitten as I was headed to the dorms, he was this tiny little fur ball abandoned near the building soaked and shivering from the rain and the whimpering sound he was making really undid me, and he’s not hideous kitten is magnificent you know.”

Andrew blinked at him several times then said “You’re telling me you called him kitten that’s not a name you know!”

“Why does everyone keep saying that, it’s a perfectly good name that describes him well, he is a kitten after all.” Neil retorted.

“For someone who’s good with math you are unexpectedly dim witted Josten.” Neil looked at him and started saying something but right then a car’s engine backfired and Neil flinched soo hard at the sound he must’ve pulled a muscle.

Andrew looked him over body taught, hand gripping the ledge too tightly that his knuckles turned white, frantic eyes looking around for the source of the sound and breath coming in short heavy pants. He thought this isn’t working at all he meant to bring Neil here in order for him to unwind a bit, so without really thinking what he was doing he hooked his finger in Neil’s collar and tugged until Neil finally looked at him and the look Neil gave him sucked the breath from his lungs, he looked like a wounded animal looking for shelter, his eyes kept roving Andrew’s face and after a minute he started to relax as if he found what he was looking for in Andrew which was completely and utterly stupid Andrew thought.

“Come on we’re leaving” Andrew said and dragged Neil up with him finger still hooked in his collar.

“Where are we going?”

“Just come!”

They made their way outside and rode the Maserati, he drove in silence which he didn’t mind, for once no one needed to fill the silence and Andrew loved that. Soon they reached the exy court and Andrew asked “Do you have your keys?”

It took Neil a second to get what he was saying but as he looked out at the court he nodded to Andrew.

“Well come on then we’re not staying in the car obviously.”

They headed inside and as they reached the lockers Andrew told Neal to change as he headed for the court to wait for him, but why was he doing that, what is it about Neil that makes Andrew wants to know him, spend time with him, and above all comfort him when he’s in this state, to tell him that it’s okay, he’s safe and he won’t let anything happen to him, that he was willing to share his demons if only Neil wouldn’t run away if he saw Andrew’s.

As Neil came out and made his way towards Andrew who was lying on the floor with the exy racquet cradled on his chest he said “Now what? Why are we here?”

Andrew got up lazily and headed for the goal where he took his position and said “Try to score one goal and you get to ask me two questions.”

Neil raised his eyebrow in disbelief “you know that I will win right, I mean you must keep up with the matches.”

Andrew tapped the racquet twice against the floor and said “Bring it on Josten.”

They played for a full hour Neil trying and failing miserably to make one pathetic score against Andrew who defended the goal without breaking a sweat. After what must’ve been the two hundredth attempt Neil threw his racquet and lay on the floor, Andrew came over and hovered above Neil, from this angle with Neil sprawled on the floor, face flushed and hair sticking up every which way Andrew felt the need of kissing him, feeling Neil’s lips on his, would they be as full as they look? How would Neil taste like? What if he bit them what would Neil do. Instead he swallowed and said “Giving up already Josten tsk, what a shame.”

“God I hate you Minyard”

“Well good, I hate you too.”

Neil smiled a dazzling smile and Andrew allowed himself to flop down next to him. This close Andrew was itching to lean just a little bit forward to kiss Neil instead he turned his head and fixed his eyes heavenwards.

“I guess it’s my turn now” Andrew didn’t answer which Neil took as a sign for him to ask,

“Why did you stop playing exy”

“Ugh soo predictable Josten”

“Well I want to know and it’s my turn and it’s not like I asked you about your arm bands.” Sensing Andrew tensing about that last part he added quickly “and I will not I promise not unless you want to talk about them I swear.”

Andrew looked at him really hard eyes glaring which no doubt Neil interpreted as him wanting to punch Neil but not for mentioning his arm bands it was because he respected him to not ask about which was what Andrew bracing himself to be asked but nooo! He had the audacity to understand what the word privacy meant and actually respect it when no one else around Andrew seemed able to get their petty little heads around the concept.

“you’re an Idiot Josten, I stopped playing because I don’t care enough to play, I had a deal with Kevin and in order to honor it I had to play, now it’s done and I don’t play”

“Then why come here tonight when you clearly hate it?” Neil pushed

“First off I don’t hate it I just don’t care and secondly apparently being around you makes people stupid as well so here we are.” Neil smiled that sweet dizzying smile again and Andrew really wanted to wipe it off of his face, preferably with his own mouth, “good god you’re losing it Minyard” he told himself.

“Let’s go I’m not sleeping here, go change I will wait in the car”

In less than five minutes Neil was done and sitting in the car and they headed back in silence which neither of them seemed to mind. Andrew walked Neil to his room where Neil hesitated a minute before he turned on Andrew and lifted his hand as if to hold Andrew’s but thought better of it and said “thank you, really you helped, I don’t know if you meant to or not I mean I think you did but I don’t want to be presumptuous so thank you, I …I mean it really.”

“You’re an idiot Josten” that made Neil smile and not for the first time today nor the last Andrew suspected he felt like kissing that smile off of Neil’s face.

“Next time don’t be late or your kitten will pay the price” Andrew said as he walked away but not before he heard Neil’s laughter around him even after he made it to his room.

“Well, what a good fucking job Minyard, you’re screwed” he told himself as he flopped down on bed with blazing blue eyes imprinted in his mind.

Here is chapter 3

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naomignome · 4 years

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The King’s Landing Job

A Game of Thrones x Leverage fic dedicated to and inspired by @ddagent

I couldn’t get the concept out of my head so I wrote my first fic in a year. This is un-beta’d, unedited, and really just kind of a plot bunny dump LOL.

If you don’t know what Leverage is (you should check it out, it is in my top 3 shows EVER), it basically operates on the premise that a band of very accomplished criminals and a mastermind take on jobs Robin Hood style for people who don’t have the resources to obtain justice. (Poor summary--but it is an excellent show).

My standing here is that Tyrion is the Mastermind, Brienne the Muscle, Arya the Thief, Bran is the Hacker, and Jaime is the Grifter.

Without further ado:

****

“Tyrion,” the Stark matriarch might’ve hailed from the Riverlands, but her blue eyes were as cold as the North she married into.

“Lady Catelyn,” Tyrion greeted, gripping his wineglass a little tighter, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have a job for you,” she replied shortly. “My husband was murdered, falsely accused of treason, and executed for it.”

The introduction went without saying, after all, it was Tyrion’s family that had technically swung the killing blow. He took a long drink, the Red Arbor sliding easily down his throat.

“As I recall, whatever was done in court is done, and I certainly don’t have the power to change that.”

“The job I need is beyond the law.” Catelyn replied, “I need closure. I know nothing will ever bring Ned back; but he deserves justice.”

“And you think.. I can give your dead husband...justice?” Tyrion peered at Cat over his wine glass.

“I know you orchestrated that plan that kept your niece alive. Cersei is smart, but there was no way she could’ve pulled that off.”

“Ah, yes, and now that you’ve brought that up, what makes you think I will exact ‘closure’ in your name, against my own family.”

“They hate you more than they hate me.” Cat said simply. “And they’re bad people, which, against my better judgement, you decidedly are not.”

Tyrion gravely raised his cup towards her a salutation, took a long swill and said, “Say I do, take up your crusade, I am but half a man, my lady, this kind of justice requires a team of trusted individuals with a very high skill set. Deceit, and strength and who knows what else. I don’t readily have those at my disposal, and I cannot especially pull them from the very family we are trying to triumph over.”

Catelyn pursed her lips at his tone but pulled a sheaf of folders from her bag. “Here, these are the best of the best in their skill set. Muscle, hacker, thief.”

“My lady, two thirds of this team are your own children.”

“They are the best in their field. And there is almost no better motivator than love of their wronged father.”

“You mean vengeance.”

Cat shrugged as Tyrion shifted through the folders, the details falling into place, knowing the pieces he had to play with. “I will say, Cat, that this is an extensive foray of skills, but you are missing a crucial element.”

Cat looked at him, eyebrow raised.

“You need someone who can blend in the open with finesse.”

Cat gave a little hum with her lips before saying with a pointed look, “Well, you want the best right? Then you know who would be the best.”

*****

Jaime Lannister had not seen his family in a good year and he had been perfectly content to leave it that way. His family had always brought him trouble, although it took a long time for him to notice it, it was trouble. Even now, in the back alleyway of this gods forsaken museum, his family name was giving him trouble as he stared down three goons who were clearly looking for a fight.

“You know, Lannister, your brother owes us quite a pretty penny. Baratheons don’t shit gold like you guys though.”

Jaime grimaced at the thought of ever considering the pig that was Robert Baratheon, his “brother”. He only had one brother, and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his short ass since--

One thug swung, and Jaime dodged with what he believed to be an exemplary amount of grace. He did not account for the other two, who also moved in. Quite cowardly, really, to go in all at once. Not at all like--- he took a punch to the jaw and rough kick at the ribs.

He looked up once to meet the soles of his attackers with a brave face, but it never came. He pulled himself up roughly off the ground only to see his attackers being dispatched with clear efficiency by the spirit of the Warrior himself. One attacker was tossed easily to the alley wall. Another kicked quite soundly in the head. The third one seemed to have assessed brute strength wasn’t the best course of action, had procured a knife from somewhere and blindly charged. The Warrior disarmed him, procured his own knife from where, Jaime didn’t know, promptly drove into the assailants thigh and knocked him out cold.

Jaime could not take his eyes off the Warrior, who had stopped moving and was now standing among the fallen bodies like a vision off the Sept’s walls. By the Seven, that’s a woman. Jaime thought in awe, the Warrior is a woman.

Long legs, grim face, eyes so blue they could only be celestial. Jaime swallowed hard.

And then a voice from behind her spoke, “This is him? He’s certainly not as impressive as you or mom made him out to be.”

The owner of the voice was a slight girl he recognized from inside the museum, she had been accompanied by a boy in a wheelchair. The boy in question was present, his eyes boring eerily into Jaime. The Warrior girl remained silent, opting for dragging his assailants against the wall and petting the down for additional weapons.

“Well, he is, although I am a little surprised. I would’ve thought that he would be able to hold himself up in a fight; he was always the best in fencing. Well, no, he’s always been the best at making the right faces at the right people.” a familiar voice answered.

Tyrion emerged from behind the two silhouettes. “Hello brother, have you missed me?”

********

#braime #im back into fanfiction lmao #got x leverage #jaime x brienne

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death-himself · 4 years

Text

Could You Meet Me Beyond the Grave?—Chapter 5

Summary: Virgil tries to communicate with the humans, and Remy and Emile discover the truth

Pairings: Eventual LAMP/CALM, Remile, QPR RED (this chapter’s mainly Remile)

Word Count: 1,498

Warnings: Kidnapping, talk of murder, talk of cannibalism, arguments

previous next (AO3 Link)

Once Dee, Emile, and Remy had fallen asleep, I slipped out of my room, walking silently down the stairs. I slowly turned the knob of the door, listening closely. Two of the humans were asleep, while the third was awake.

I took account of their scents. The one that was awake smelled like peaches and cinnamon. The one on their left smelled sweet, like they took a bath in sugar water. The one on their right smelled of books and lemon, a surprisingly calming scent coming from a human. The one that was awake growled at me to the best of their ability.

“Relax, will ya? I’m not here to kill you or anything.” I sat in front of them, hearing the other two slowly wake up. I considered taking off the cloth covering their mouths and actually having a proper conversation with them.

But then I thought back to what Dee had told me all those times about how humans react to Willows; how they’re terrified of us—or in this case, maybe just furious that they’re being held here against their will. The thought of being screamed at and called names by these humans made me flinch.

I stuffed my hands into my pockets. How would I be able to communicate with them any other way? I bit at my lip, the silence only making me more anxious. I stared down at the ground, taking a deep breath to calm myself. Coming up with an idea, I said, “I’m gonna ask a few questions. You’re gonna answer them. Got that?” I hesitantly took the sweet-smelling human’s hands, tied tightly together at their wrists. The human tensed up, before forcing themself to relax a bit. “Tap on my hand once for yes, twice for no. Okay?” After a few seconds, I felt a tap.

“Good.” I took a shallow breath, all my questions suddenly leaving my head as I felt the warmth of a living human’s hands against my skin. It felt so familiar, but the warmth took it to a completely different level. It felt completely different from when Dee would hold my hands.

I forced my thoughts away from that, refocusing back on my questions. “So...do you know what I am?” Two taps. “Do you want to know?” There was a moment of hesitation. Then they tapped once. I hummed. Typical human curiosity.

“I’m a Willow. Have you ever heard that term?” Two taps. “We’re kinda like zombies, kinda like ghouls. We eat humans and have our own...special powers that we get when we become like this. Sounds like it comes straight out of a horror movie, huh?” They didn’t answer. I grinned evilly. “Are you scared?”

Two taps. I froze, my eye sockets going wide as I stared into the darkness. “Did you forget two taps means no or something?” Two more taps.

“Are you messing with me?” Two taps.

“Trying to get my guard down then?” Two taps. I pulled my hand away from them. “What’re you trying to do then?” The sweet-smelling human muffled out something inaudible, their hands moving around as much as they could while tied up. “Okay, okay. Stop. I...have no idea what you’re trying to say.” They hummed out a small agreement. I sighed, blowing at my bangs before taking the human’s hands again.

“Do you know why Dee brought you here?” They hesitated, nervously tapping my hand. “It’s messed up, isn’t it? He usually doesn’t really do this kind of stuff. It’s actually...kind of weird. And I mean, why would he do this now? Emile and Remy have been with us for like twenty years now!” I mulled it over in my head, something not adding up, like it was just out of reach.

I groaned, pulling my hand away and standing up. “Whatever. Any reason Dee had for doing this is a good reason.” The lemon-scented human made a noise of protest, as if they knew Dee better than I did. “We’ll head to the store and get you some food and water tomorrow. For now, just try and get some rest. Later.” I saluted to them as I walked out the door, closing and locking it behind me.

I took a deep breath, sure that my heart would be hammering in my chest if it were still beating. Something was weird about those humans. It was like an idea was itching at the back of my skull, but for whatever reason I just couldn’t place it. But I couldn’t decide if it was just something that hasn’t clicked yet, or if I just didn’t want whatever it was to be true. Nonetheless, I shrugged off the strange feeling, heading back up the stairs to bed, running my hand across the Braille on my skin that had yet to be erased.

“Are you sure we should be doing this Remy?” Emile asked, a hint of apprehensiveness in his voice as he followed Remy down the stairs. “Relax, babe. I just wanna check something.”

Remy slipped silently down the stairs, unlocking and opening the door to the humans’ room. A muffled voice greeted him, one that Remy could swear was trying in vain to curse him out, but with no luck. Remy crouched in front of the humans, mulling things over in his head. Then he quickly ripped off one of their bandanas.

The human gasped in surprise, but Remy simply ignored him. “You’re Virgil’s soulmates, aren’t you?” Emile could feel the panic and anger radiating off the human, almost able to see the glare Remy was getting.

“What does it matter to you?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Remy said with a sigh, standing up and turning back to his boyfriend. “We should tell Virgil.” Emile spoke.

“...Let’s not.”

“What?”

“You heard the man, release us!” Virgil’s soulmate cried out. Remy shoved the bandana back over his mouth.

“You remember what Dee said about this whole soulmates becoming Willows thing. They’re not becoming Willows! Besides, if Virgil finds out, he’s gonna let them go, then Dee would get mad and there would be humans out there that know about us. Not to mention how Vee would feel. I mean he finds out about this, and all his trust in Dee-Dee is gone, poof, au revoir mi amigo!”

“Rem, you realize that that was two different—”

“It’s better if he didn’t know about this.” He cut off bluntly. Emile sighed. “I understand that, but...these are people’s lives we’re messing with for no real good reason. Not to mention they’re the people Virgil’s been pining after for years now, I mean...it’s just wrong.”

“Well it’s not like we haven’t done worse things, Em! We kill people so that we can eat them! I think you forgot about that! So what’s wrong with a little kidnapping?”

“It’s mental torture, Remy. Unlike with killing people, they’re going to be alive in here for...well who knows how long they’re going to be here!” Emile could sense the humans calming down a little bit, having seen our attention had left them for a moment as we argued. They were still so painfully scared, but Emile hoped that wouldn’t be for too long.

“Come on, Em. Besides, Virgil is still able to talk to them. It would be dangerous for him if they were to leave, don’t you think? They could write whatever they want and he’d see it and wouldn’t be able to get rid of it. And with how boy crazy he is for these guys, he’d believe anything they say.” Emile shuffled his feet nervously on the ground. “That’s a good point.” He muttered hesitantly. “But that still doesn’t excuse us kidnapping them!” Remy shook his head, crouching in front of Virgil’s soulmates. “They would still have writing on their arms, wouldn’t they?”

“Yeah, why?” Remy grabbed a rag from their supplies and wet it in the sink, taking the humans by the arms and scrubbing. “What’re you doing?” Emile asked tentatively.

“You remember when Virgil said how weird it was that they haven’t wiped off their arms yet?”

“You’re cleaning it off?”

“If Virgil gets suspicious, you know he’ll jump to this conclusion.” Emile hesitated, before grabbing a rag of his own and assisting. They worked in silence, scrubbing until they felt decent enough about the writing to call it gone. Remy stood up once he was done, stretching in place and dropping the rag to the ground. Emile put his rag away, walking over to Remy and leaning into him, allowing Remy to wrap his arms in a comforting embrace.

“If Vee finds out about this he’s gonna hate us.” Emile spoke softly. Remy held his boyfriend tight, slowly ushering him out of the room. He pulled away for a moment to lock the door, before pulling Emile slowly up the stairs.

“He won’t find out. There’s no one who can tell him but us.”

#sanders sides #willow!au #tw kidnapping #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #remy sanders #emile picani

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ladyleoart · 6 years

Text

First Time For Everything

Fandom: Marvel - Avengers {MCU} AU: Domestic Avengers - Let’s pretend they’re in a time bubble, I just want them to be HAPPY okay! Pairing: Steve/Tony {Stony} Rating: This is a solid fucking G, basically? Sex implied Warning(s): None <3 Prompt: "Stony goes through a haunted house, Steve does bobbing for apples for the first time, Tony takes Steve trick or treating"

For: Eric @fiction-is-my-diction also viewable on ao3!

(Note: Bucky’s halloween costume is actually inspired by this post from @dorkcoffee !! Amazing artist <3)

Captain America is a symbol of hope. He’s an American icon, but his reach extends beyond its shores and touches the heart of every dreamer, the fiery soul of every broken and beaten outcast, the spot buried deep in anyone who looks into the face of inequality and inhumane treatment and yearns to kick and scratch bloody stripes into their skin. He’s a hero, a role model, a mythical figure in his own right.

And he’s terrified of robot babies.

Tony can’t believe it, but it’s true - Captain America has fears, and not something so grand and vague as fascism, war, or another metaphoric big bad. His fear is the goddamn animatronic baby in the haunted house crib.

“Steve, it’s not real.”

“I know that!” He groans, fingers digging into Tony’s arm so hard it hurts.

“We can’t leave until we walk past it.”

“I know that too!” His feet seem to be glued to the spot, and the baby’s scripted routine of jerking upright and wailing resets, causing Steve to jerk and yank Tony’s arm nearly out of the socket.

“Steve,” he hisses involuntarily, and the star-spangled crybaby relents slightly, allowing Tony to roll his sore shoulder and grab his wrist instead. “Alright, come on, I’ve got you.”

A soft whimper and at first Steve’s dragging his feet through the small “nursery”, but once the baby lays back down Tony is able to pull him out the draped doorway and into a hall of mirrors.

As they wander through, Steve seems to calm down; he’s almost back to normal by the time they make it to the exit - but Tony can still feel him flinch when a short little vampire pops out for one last jumpscare. The kid must be about sixteen, but Steve glares him down like he’s Red Skull all over again; Tony can’t help but slide him a twenty to make up for what are most likely stained pants as he drags his surly boyfriend across the lawn of the haunted house.

Steve is dead silent - pun intended - and Tony shoulder checks him gently. “They do say it’s the scariest haunted house on the east coast.”

“I am never doing this ever again,” Steve snaps, but the pout says he’s more embarrassed than angry.

“Hey, at least that kid has a story to tell about the time he almost made Captain America cry.”

“Oh shut up.”

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

They show up to the Halloween party fashionably late - a quick pit stop to change into their costumes turned into Tony’s suggestive “Trick or Treat” implications which turned into a quick tumble in the sheets. Eventually, Steve manages to get into his cowboy costume without Tony prying pieces of it back off, even if it means he has to yank Tony’s grim reaper hood down over his entire face.

There’s music playing and lights pulsing when they finally make it into the party, which is conveniently located three floors under their penthouse apartment in Stark Tower.

“The party’s at your house and you show up late?” Rhodey greets them with a grin, an arched brow, and two glasses of scotch, one of which he hands off to Tony while initiating their routine banter. He’s making the most of his robotic leg braces and has committed to being a cyborg for the party, complete with glowing red eye-piece.

“Oh, you know traffic always sucks.”

“You know,” Natasha interrupts, appearing from seemingly nowhere to stand directly beside them. “This is the boring business equivalent of a Dad Joke.”

Tony looks horrified. “You take that back, I am funny.”

“Maybe the first time, if I’m being generous.”

“Hey, Nat,” Steve interjects, casually sliding between them to steer her away from a sputtering Tony and laughing Rhodey. “Where are Sam and Bucky?”

“Just arrived to the party and you’re already heading to the time out corner?”

“The what?”

She grins. “That’s what I call the corner where they’re inevitably snarling and glaring at each other.”

He snorts. “Guess I better go make sure they don’t start another brawl.”

“Nice costume by the way,” she gives him a once-over. Natasha herself is wearing what can only be called a combat ballerina costume. Grey tights and steel-toed black boots, a fluffy pink tutu and bedazzled bodice, hair in a tight bun and war paint streaked on her cheeks.

He can’t help but laugh. “You too.”

She salutes him with her glass of vodka and a dangerous smirk.

He finds his two best friends right where Nat suggested - staring each other down in a little corner lounge space. The armchairs are plush and they’re sprawled in relaxed poses, but the tension in the air does nothing to suggest comfort - in fact, the chairs seem to have been yanked out of place so they can stare unblinking over their bottles of beer. Sam is decked out in what he calls “modern warlock regalia” which is really just a fancy, fitted charcoal gray suit and a velvet magenta duster, both dripping with chains and jewels. Bucky, true to form, has gone the lazy route with his costume. He’s wearing a blousey black shirt with loose sleeves that has a laced front undone to mid-torso, tucked into tight black pants and tall boots with several belts and a red sash.

“Are you a prince, or a pirate?” Steve interrupts their staredown brightly.

“Pirate,” Bucky spits, wiggling his many-ringed fingers and taking a long swig of Sam Adams’ Octoberfest without breaking eye contact.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Steve frowns sternly. “This is a party and we are here to have fun. No more pissing contest, ya hear me!”

“Aw, fine.” Sam is the first to break and cave to societal convention. “I know what to do!”

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Bucky is scowling and Sam is grinning and Steve is wary, but Thor enthusiastically grabs them all in a big bear hug as they approach the bucket of water.

“Bobbing for apples?” Bucky’s brow is arched sharply as he squirms away from the embrace, but his relaxed stance betrays his interest.

“On Asgard we call it epli grípa,” Thor explains. “And it is a great game of sport.”

“I saw Thor carrying in the bucket,” Sam explains excitedly. “My cousins and I used to love bobbing for apples as kids.”

“Y’know,” Steve muses aloud, “I don’t think I ever did bob for apples.”

“Wait what?” Bucky frowns. “I did.”

Steve smiles wryly. “I think too many dunks in the school toilet turned me off the concept.”

Sam spins to look at him, incredulous. “You got swirlies?”

“There’s a name for those?”

“Oh yeah,” Tony grins, sliding up behind them and wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist. “I had my fair share, being the misunderstood rich genius that I was.”

Rhodey snorts. “You were a smart-ass punk and everyone could see it.”

“Same thing,” he waves a hand dismissively. “All geniuses are inherently misunderstood.”

“Now!” Thor grins. “Will the Captain be the first to…bob?”

He pauses, and Tony nudges him. “Go on then, Cowboy. Reclaim your honor.”

“Reclaim his honor?” Bucky frowns.

“Don’t you dare!” Steve snaps.

Tony smirks. “If you can catch the apple within three tries, I take the secret……to the grave.”

Natasha, passing by with Pepper and Darcy and a plate of snacks, groans. “Oh, reaper puns? Now it’s getting worse.”

“You shut up, you,” Tony points at her sternly, shaking his scythe, and she sticks out her tongue.

“Fine,” Steve declares, pulling attention back to himself. “I’ll accept your challenge.”

“When have you not accepted a challenge?” Bucky mutters.

Thor claps firmly, grinning broadly. “Yes!”

“I kinda wanna hear the story,” Sam wonders aloud, and Tony winks.

Steve is focused on the tub of water like it hold the secrets of the universe, eyebrows furrowed with concentration.

It’s like watching a blind dog try to find its water dish in the dark. He’s flailing and pecking at the water like a chicken, and Tony Is trying so hard not to pee himself laughing. In the end he goes past three attempts with no success, a fact which seems to drive him further out of spite. Steve is nearly submerging his entire head at this point, and eventually Bucky and Tony have to pull him back by the arms - with an apple clutched firmly in his teeth.

“Good job babe,” Tony smiles, pulling the apple free and taking a bite. “I’m still telling the story though.”

Steve groans, proud grin falling into a resigned expression. “I knoooow….”

So Tony gets the treat in the end.

#marvel #stony #stonyhalloween #fictionismydiction #domestic avengers #avengers #stony fic #marvel drabble #ironcap #fics and drabbles

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authorellenmint · 6 years

Text

Romancing Ser Barris

I wrote cutscenes as they would appear in-game were Barris a potential love interest. For all the Barris fans out there. More coming with every reblog.

First Flirt:

Positioned before the stables are a gaggle of children, each of them ranging in age from nearly 13 to a tender 4. The Inquisitor is drawn to the kids all saluting a fist to their tiny chests in honor of the man standing with back straight, head high before them.

"What do we do if we spot a dragon in the sky?" Barris asks.

"Wing the bell," a voice pipes out from inside a too large templar helmet.

"And then..." the man leading them continues.

"We run to the stone kitchens to take up our place, Ser!" a taller boy calls, his eyes never drifting from Barris'.

Curiosity fully piqued, the Inquisitor steps into the range of the templar. "Ser Barris?" she asks softly, a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Ah, Inquisitor," he full on blushes.

"What's going on here?"

"We were...that is to say, I was attempting to teach the children preventative measures should Corypheus attempt to attack Skyhold."

The Inquisitor pulls even closer to Ser Barris, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Is that wise? Aren't you afraid of giving them nightmares?"

"Personally, ma'am, er...Ser." Barris wrings his hands over the hilt at his side, his eyes closed tight in contemplation. "I know what it feels to be too young and helpless in the face of an oncoming horde of darkspawn. The fear of not knowing what to do, not having a plan to take control of the situation induces far more nightmares than knowing evil exists."

"I had no idea," the Inquisitor gasps, a hand resting upon the emblem on his chest as if to soothe away the pain of the Blight.

"Preparing the children, the ones who survived Haven, forming a plan for them should the worst arise, I thought it to be..." He pauses in his personal thoughts, his striking green eyes darting to the woman before him. "That is, if it's all right with you, Inquisitor?"

She couldn't stop the smile rising up her cheeks, the Inquisitor bobbing her head. "Yes, it's...a good idea."

"Ser Bawwis," the child trapped inside of the templar helmet mewls. With a chuckle, Ser Barris drops to a knee and helps to excise the head caught inside, revealing a girl with braids scattering to her shoulders. Giggling, the girl places a quick kiss to the man's cheek, bringing an even brighter flush to his glowing skin.

With a hand curled over her chest right above her heart, the Inquisitor muses, "So adorable."

Barris rises to his feet, the helmet safely tucked into the crook of his arm. "They are rather cute," he says while watching the kids fall back into line.

"Yes, the children are as well," the Inquisitor smiles slyly.

"Ah," Ser Barris gasps, his sight dropping to the ground while the flush grows beyond capacity. The Inquisitor fears she might have overstepped her bounds, when those green eyes rise from under his brow to stare directly into hers.

Sliding back, her cheeks starting to burn, the Inquisitor says, "I shall leave you to it then, Ser Barris."

Romancing Ser Barris 2

Starting a Romance:

Cracks of broken wood and grunts are the only sounds to fill the air as the Inquisitor opens a door. She watches Ser Barris pry a rotted board off with his bare hands. When he turns to hurl it onto the pile he catches sight of her and smiles.

“Inquisitor. I did not hear you enter.”

“People rarely seem to expect to find me around Skyhold. Probably all of those random but necessary trips to Crestwood, or the Hissing Wastes, or the Emerald Graves, or all of southern Thedas really,” she laughs while stepping in closer.

“Quite,” Barris blushes. “I only returned the day before myself from Val Royeaux.”

Sliding up beside the tattered remains of whatever once stood in this ramshackle tower, the Inquisitor graces her fingers upon the next board to be removed. “We seem to keep missing each other.”

“I,” Barris smiles reflexively, his head bent in thought as if that might hide the flush, “I suppose we do.”

With all her strength, the Inquisitor yanks the board off, rusty nails spraying through the air for her effort. As the grunt of exertion fades from the stone’s echo, Barris takes the rotten wood from her. “You don’t need to, I was only trying to help prep the tower for the other templars…”

His chin drifts down to his chest, nearly banging against the armor that never leaves him. After twisting the board in his hands, Barris sighs, “This is beneath someone of your standing.”

She snorts, “How so? Seems all I do is run around solving everyone’s little problems.”

“But you’re a gift from Andraste Herself. You’re wise, and kind, with a beauty more striking than any sunset the Maker deemed possible.” His lavishing lips pause in their compliments barely a stone’s throw from her cheeks. Realizing what he said, Barris tries to shrink back, his entire face beet red. “Inquisitor.”

In a soft voice, she says, “I think you can call me by my name.”

“That would be disrespectful.”

Her fingers cup Barris’ warm cheek, practically on fire now, and she tugs his stuttering lips towards her. “Is this disrespectful?” her mouth whispers before plunging onto his. Barris’ pillowy lips mold to hers, his hands swooping around her waist as she cradles his chiseled cheeks in her palms. Heat stronger than any rage demon attack builds inside, her tongue finding safety inside of the templar’s mouth.

“Wait,” Barris turns his head to the side, breaking the kiss, but his hands remain upon her hips. “This isn’t right. Not, not in such a fashion. I should be, a woman of your grace must be courted.”

She blinks in surprise, “Courted? Why? I’m not sure what that even entails with a Ferelden/Human.”

“You deserve no less, my Lady,” Barris solemnly proclaims.

“Very well,” she steps back, accepting she can’t stop him and growing slightly curious.

Barris’ hands pool to the side, his eyes sweeping over the work before him. “I will need some time to prepare. Perhaps after I return from my next mission, and you are in Skyhold as well?”

The Inquisitor bows her head, unable to stop the smile at how serious he’s taking it. “I wonder, while in the midst of this courtship ritual, am I not allowed to kiss you?”

He smiles brightly, swooping his trusting arms around her body. “I believe we can make a few exceptions,” Barris whispers before tasting her lips once more.

Romancing Ser Barris 3:

The Gift:

The Inquisitor is so busy at the desk, she doesn’t realize someone’s entered her room until the armor glints from a sunbeam. Squinting, a hand shielding her eyes, the frown erupts into a great smile as she spies Barris standing awkwardly in the middle of her floor.

“My Lady,” he begins, hands hidden behind himself.

“You’re back,” she cries, leaping to her feet and rushing to his side. Where normally there’d be a hug, Barris steps back a moment, causing the Inquisitor to frown in confusion.

A huge breath fills his lungs, his striking green eyes shut as he seems to be girding himself. “Inquisitor,” Barris begins, causing her to fold her arms in consternation. When a smile toys with his lips, he whispers, “My love. I humbly ask that you…”

From behind his back swings a perfectly round shield the color of a lake by fall’s almost wintery morn. Into her hands he places it while finishing, “accept my gift of courtship.”

“Of course,” she says automatically, her pinkie skirting along an etched vine that trails the edge of the metal. “What is it?”

Barris’ hand soothes over the middle of the shield, the metal fogging from the warmth of his body. “It is tradition in Ferelden, when a man wishes to proclaim to the village his intentions in another, he will forge for her a shield.”

“You made this?” she gasped, turning over the shield polished more smoother than a river rock.

“It took me some time to find enough everite to forge it, but I…” he gulps, his eyes meeting with hers, “I consider you worth the effort.”

With a smile, she fits the shield on her arm, impressed by the great weight. “Why a shield?”

“In the old days, before the Imperium invasion, when the man was pressed to defend his lands from invaders, his woman would be forever at his side using his gift to protect the family. Their love is said to be only as strong as the shield on the wife’s arm.”

“A beautiful thought. Do the markings mean anything?” she circles around another small vine section. While most of the shield is pure, about 10% of the edge is made up of the decorations.

“Yes,” he whispers, a nail trailing one of the vine etchings, “whenever a man thinks of his love too far from his arms, he will carve one.”

She gasps. There are a good hundred or so vines already, and he could not have had it long on his person.

Barris’ fingers slip in behind hers, the pair of them holding the shield together. The allure of his body pressing tighter to her back beckons to the Inquisitor. Leaning against him, she whispers, “I’m not exactly a shield person/This is far too lovely to use upon a Venatori.”

He smiles sweetly, his plush lips cupping near her cheek, “You could always store it upon the mantle.”

“I adore it,” she turns, greedy for the first kiss in a month of work. “It’s almost as breathtaking as you.”

Barris happily gives her another two kisses, each pulsing hotter with every return. “Then you accept my gift?”

“I already said yes.”

“Without knowing what it was. What it means…”

Together, they fold their hands, heads bent to watch how easily the fingers intertwined. “I understand,” she says, “what you’re offering. What you’re gifting me. What you’re asking. And I want nothing more than to be your shield arm.”

Greedily, the Inquisitor and Ser Barris fall into each other’s arms, both falling towards her bed. The fading sunlight glints upon her name etched into the bottom of the shield.

Love Scene:

A messenger stops the Inquisitor in the main hall. "Ma'am," he greets her before passing over a letter.

She opens it to reveal the words from Ser Barris, "My love, meet me at the docks in Redcliffe village when the moon is at its peak."

With a smile, she folds the letter in her hands.

*Fade to black.*

Moonlight glints upon the choppy waves, boats knocking against the blackened docks as the Inquisitor steps towards a man sitting in a stripped, two-seater rowboat. He catches sight of her and calls, "You came."

"Of course I would," she smiles while approaching Ser Barris. He's eschewed his templar armor for little more than an ivory tunic and tight pants. "It's been some time since you've last crossed Skyhold's threshold."

"I know," his half moon smile wanes, head dropping a moment before he leans out of the boat to take her hand, "but I have every intention to make up for my absence."

With a smile, she accepts Barris' hand and steps into the small boat. It bobs with her weight, the Inquisitor lashing out to grip onto the sides before she settles onto a bench. Her love sits towards the prow, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal the flexing forearms as he dips two oars into the water. Without another word, their boat silently trails away from the docks out onto lake Calenhad.

The churning waves fade to a pristine mirror, the Inquisitor watching Barris' reflection as he continues to glide the boat deeper into unknown waters. With a smile, she dips her fingers into the glassy reflection, brisk water beading up her hand.

"Ah, best be careful," Barris says, "there are shrieking eels hiding in the depths of this lake."

She yanks her hand out, stares a moment overlong at her fingers as if one might be missing, before frowning. "Shrieking eels? Are you messing with me?"

"A little," he laughs and she joins in.

"Where are we going?"

"I wanted to give you something," Barris says. The methodical tug of the oars, the glistening splash of water against his skin, the continual bulge of his muscles all enthrall her.

She cannot look away, even while saying, "You're too generous. Every moment I see you, you're there with another gift." Her lips twist from the smile in her heart into a pang. While thoughts of him bring joy to her soul, there's always a vein of pain -- the two of them often on opposite sides of thedas regardless of her wants.

"This one is special," he whispers while turning the boat to the west.

Rising from her spot, the Inquisitor sits beside Barris. He lets go of the oar just long enough for her to catch it. Together, as if forever in tune, they begin to row the boat. Splashes of wood sundering water are all that speak between them. She feels his body winding through the silent air, not even an inch away from hers.

"I've missed you," she says, her eyes closed.

"I fear for you," he answers back. Tugging his oar in across his lap, Barris turns to her. His glistening palm cups her cheek, tugging her to him for a kiss. As the heat burns through the crisp night, their tongues twirling a more intimate dance than in any orlesian ballroom, her fingers hunger for his body. She swoops both hands to his jawline, Barris' hand cuddling the back of her head as he pulls her ever tighter.

A kerplunk breaks through their kissing, the Inquisitor's eyes opening wide as she turns to watch her abandoned oar sink to its watery grave. "Oh no," she gasps, trying to reach for it despite being far too late.

"It's all right," Barris assures her, "we have another," he lifts up his oar. "And besides, we're where I hoped to take you."

He twists her to look behind, watching as the prow of the ship parts through the glassy water. First it crosses a large white orb, so great it nearly encompasses the boat itself, reflected from the sky above them. As they continue, the boat barely drifting, the second smaller moon appears from behind the great one. At the aft rests the giant, impressive, named moon. At the prow, the tiny, often forgotten and sometimes misplaced moon reflects upon them both.

"This is..." she gasps, "beautiful." She watches the twin moons shiver in the lake's embrace, her own skin trembling at the awe-inspiring image.

"You're," Barris' lips press to her shoulder and continue higher with every word, "far more beautiful." When he reaches her lips, he pauses to say, "You've struck my heart since our first meeting. The fall from that arrow is the most delectable pain I've ever known."

Her hands wrap around his shoulders and she pulls him to her for a kiss in the middle of moonlight.

*Fade to black*

The Inquisitor's head is nestled upon Barris' bare chest, barely bobbing with the waves as the boat creaks around them. She too is as naked as the day of her birth, one hand keeping her body pressed tight to him as they stare up at the sky. The moons have long since moved on, not bothering to stop for two people sharing in each other.

"I've never done that before," she sputters, her voice exhausted, "On a boat, anyway."

His smile could shame the moon, brighter than any constellation in the sky. He turns his eyes to sweep over the woman resting upon his body. "I love you," he whispers, lifting her hand to press a kiss to each knuckle.

"I love you too," she says back.

"There was a mage I knew in the circle, claimed to be able to predict future events," Barris' voice drops, his green eyes shut tight in memory. "I wish I knew what happened to her, so I could ask..."

She turns on her stomach, her chin dipping into his pec while her eyes hunt him out, "Don't."

"Do not what? Worry for you? Fear for what will happen next in this war against a false god?"

Her palm presses to his chest right over his heart. "Only focus on coming back to me. On walking back through Skyhold's gates into my arms. On knowing I'll come back for you. Please."

Barris cups his hand over hers, the fingers folding together in perfect formation. As the boat rocks under them, the stars dance through the sky, he whispers to the world, "I swear it."

After the Wilds

The Inquisitor walks into Skyhold’s infirmary, her eyes fully upon the man trapped in a chair as a healer winds bandages around his propped up leg.

“Ser Barris?” she swallows down the concern in her voice, but just barely. His head lifts and his brow shifts from joy at discovering her face, to a frown as he glances at his injury, before shying away to one of distant protocol.

“Inquisitor,” he tips his head to her in deferment, both of them watching as the surgeon finishes up the last of her ministrations.

“How bad is it?” the Inquisitor asks, her heart throbbing in her chest. She hadn’t received word from anyone in her army since leaving the Arbor Wilds via mirror – including any of the templars.

“Broken, but in time it should take to mending nicely. Provided you follow my instructions to the letter,” the surgeon waves a finger at Barris and he shakes it away while easing his splinted leg off the chair to the ground. The Inquisitor flinches the same as her love, sharing in the pain.

“What happened?” she puts to Barris, but the surgeon interrupts.

“Damn fool leapt from a cliff to save a mage caught in the middle of two red templars.”

Barris purses his lips, those verdant eyes darting to the floor, “It was all I could think to do.”

“Coulda damn well broken your neck!” the surgeon continues to harangue him even as the man shrugs. The Inquisitor knows that feeling well – making a decision even knowing how it might end in your death without question or regret. She flexes her hand, remembering the terror rising in her heart when the Grey Warden corpse’s flesh began to crack open into Corypheus.

“May I,” she coughs, turning to the surgeon, “have a moment with Ser Barris?”

The woman bows her head, wipes her hands off on a stained half apron, and slides out to the other section of the infirmary. The Inquisitor waits a beat – trying to be certain no one else will come through – before she falls to her knees, her body swaddling around Barris’. Nuzzling into her cheek, his nose sniffs deep as if to remind himself she’s real and alive.

“When I didn’t hear anything, I was…” she gasps, tears blinding her eyes.

His warm hand cups her cheek, keeping her pressed against him. With a soft whisper, his breath caresses her skin, “I feared for you as well, my love.” She slides back from his hold, staring into the endless depths of his eyes. “And I yet do.”

Barris glares at his splinted leg and begins to rise. The Inquisitor offers a hand to him, helping the wounded warrior back to the sky. He smiles a moment, proud of the progress, but it is short lived. Hissing in pain, he begins to sink.

“This isn’t right,” he gasps, his hands clenched in fists. “I should be by your side for this final fight!”

“Not if you’re injured.”

“A broken leg is nothing, my arm can yet lift a blade,” he insists as if that’s all that’s needed. “Who knows what you will face from that monster? I cannot let you go it alone.”

“And I will not let you risk your own life for mine,” she cries back, two weeks of worrying herself into a knot unwinding upon him in one snap. No word would come from the Wilds, and it would have been unseemly for the Inquisitor to show preference for one soldier out of the army. All she could do was wait, and it nearly did her in.

“My love,” Barris sighs, his palms comforting her cheeks and hiding away any errant tears. “My life is yours.”

“Your life belongs to the templars, the Inquisition.” She knew he’d do it too. If soldiers are needed for this last push, he’d go. He’d be there, and he could die right before their victory just as assuredly as her.

“Perhaps,” he draws his fingers over her palm, “but my heart rests in one woman’s hands.” Smiling through the pain, he says, “And nothing, not even a false god, would change that.”

She falls forward, her hands scooping around her love for one more hug. One more kiss before the end, whatever that may be. “Promise me something,” Barris’ words breathe against her neck. He reaches behind his chair to unearth a shield, their shield. “Promise me you will take this into battle with Corypheus. So I will protect you and be by your side.”

Her fingers roll around the edge of the shield, her eyes never leaving Barris’. “I will,” she vows before leaning towards her love to fall into his kiss. Barris slots the shield onto her back while melding their lips, revealing that after these few months the surface is completely coated in entwined etchings of vines.

The Final Fight:

All of Skyhold celebrates in the slaying of Corypheus. The Inquisitor glances amongst her most trusted companions all imbibing with glee in the main hall. A single, fiery glint off of steel catches her eye and she turns, her smile breaking wider than the moon.

"I can't believe it's over," she says, sidling next to the man holding a drink instead of a crutch.

"I can," Barris smiles, his full attention upon her. "I knew you'd be the light to pull us from the darkness."

Her heart burns to pull him to her for a kiss, but there are various nobility and diplomats watching. She settles for letting her hand brush against the edge of his, both staring across the partying throne room.

It was done. They were safe.

"There is something I wished to tell you," Barris turns to her, his voice preternaturally serious. "I've decided to follow the Commander's lead and stop taking lyrium."

"Is that safe?" she gasps. While Cullen yet stood his ground, at the moment his hands pawing through the few small cakes to find a strawberry one, she knew it'd been hard on him. There seem to be days when even he isn't certain if he can last through the challenge.

Barris' blinding green eyes hunt through hers, pinning down her worry, "It is a risk, one that could cost me given the Order remains that rest upon my shoulders. Perhaps it is selfish of me to say, but I do not want to lose a single memory of you. The Commander is proof that I can still do good even with my powers..."

"Ser Barris," she interrupts him, tears glistening as she smiles wider, "I order you to do what you feel is best."

He too grins, "As you say, Inquisitor." For a beat the two lock eyes, his tongue darting to his lips, "But I have kept your attentions for too long. Please, you should mingle with the rest of the heroes."

Accepting her duty, she wanders out to speak with the next in a long line of congratulations. But for a moment she glances back to her knight in shining armor.

After a long night of laughing, drinking, feasting, and talking, the Inquisitor begins to retire towards her quarters. As she reaches the door, she's stopped by a familiar face.

"I hoped you'd like some company for the evening," Barris begins, his body pressing closer, the intoxicating heat enveloping her.

She takes her hand off the door handle and places it upon Barris' forearm. "There's nothing I'd love more," she darts her eyes up and down his body. At the bottom she pauses, "How's your leg?"

"Worried about injuring me?" Barris finds her fears hidden in the question. Before she can voice the answer, his sturdy and safe hands swoop around her ass. A single yelp erupts from the Inquisitor as the Knight-Commander lifts her into the air, securing her body in his arms. She winds her legs around his waist, her chest crushed to the armor as they fall into the kiss of survival.

A kiss worth fighting for.

Barris' lips slip away and he whispers, "I think it'll do fine for the evening." Giddy, the pair of them open the door and vanish into the long stairwell to the Inquisitor's quarters. Not once does he put her down.

As the sun rises over a new dawn in thedas, Barris brushes his hand against her cheek. With no eyes watching, no orders, nothing but hope before her she happily curls her face into it.

"All that and you're still standing," she muses. Even with her eyes closed in joy she can feel his protecting gaze watching her.

"I could say the same of you, my love," Barris whispers back.

With a languid turn, the Inquisitor walks out to her balcony. Rosy streaks of the sun turn the snow a glistening pink. As she places her hands over the banister, she says, "Everything's going to change."

Warm hands slide over her stomach, tugging her away from the long fall and back into his embrace. Barris' chin caresses her shoulder, his lips whispering, "And I shall be by your side for all of it."

Trespasser

In her red velvet finery, the Inquisitor approaches the scope overlooking the lush Orlesian fields. She bends down to peer through it when a voice coughs from behind her.

"I'd hoped to catch you before the talks began."

Smiling wide, she spins in place. Her eyes drink in the man in the finest uniform he owns, his hair worn long with locs spilling to the right. She aches to envelope him in her arms, but keeps both at her side.

"You're here," she all but leaps in joy. "I feared, what with the problems along the border..."

Barris steps forward, his hand picking up hers and swaddling it, "I would not be a step from your side, not when you need me."

"I know, love," she sighs, trying to keep on a brave face even as her heart swells in gratefulness at his mere presence. "But I suspect the only thing I need worry about is my legs falling asleep as the talks carry on."

"Will the word of the Knight-Commander carry any weight to honor the good deeds of the Inquisition before the council?"

"Some," she tips her head in thought, "I hope so."

He smiles, his teeth blinding in the bright southern sun, "Would the word of the Knight-Commander be enough to provide the Inquisitor a momentary escape?"

"Depends on what you had in mind." Forgoing the eyes behind masks watching her, fully forgetting the warnings Josephine bathed her in, she slips her arms around the back of Barris' neck. It'd been too long since last they were together.

The man whistles once, causing a horse to trot up from behind. He brushes a hand against the steed's flank and smiles. "Trust me."

"I always do," she answers, leaping into the saddle.

*Fade to black*

In the distance, she can make out the Winter Palace along with all of her people fretting over the coming talks. But here is sunshine, velvety grass caressing her knees, and no diplomats to pry her away for miles. "I hope no one panics because they can't find me for a few minutes and thinks this an act of war," she mutters to herself.

Barris ceases grooming their amenable horse long enough to glance once back at the Palace as if to make certain a battalion of chevaliers aren't coming for him. "We should have a little time to ourselves before any declarations are made."

With a hand placed to her hip, she cocks her head to the side in the direction of a blanket stretched over the ground. "Whatever did you have in mind?"

Both of his hands scoop around her cheeks, preparing her for the onslaught of love he unleashes from his lips. The kiss is so deep, so heartfelt, so soul-meltingly warm, she nearly tumbles to the ground in surprise.

"I've missed you," Barris whispers.

"Me too...especially at night," her fingers begin to wind their way towards the templar skirt.

Her love gasps, letting her try to undress him a moment more before he fumbles to catch her hand. "Wait. There's...something I want to say."

Leaning down, Barris rustles through the grass to lift up something hidden beside the blanket. She crosses her arms and sighs, "You did not pull me all the way out here just to give me a gift."

"No," he insists, then his eyes dart to whatever is in his hands, "I mean, I..." His fingers draw over the edges of his would-be gift. "Old habits."

"I don't want them to die," she insists, cupping her hand behind the back of his.

"I believe it is time I step away from the templars entirely," Barris whispers, his eyes shut tight.

"Relapses happen," she races to comfort him, "All those days around the others taking lyrium. I don't blame you for..."

"That is not why," his smile nearly rends her heart in two. It was a hard climb out of that hole whenever he fell, but she was always there with a hand to help.

Barris scratches his fingers over his gift before passing it to the Inquisitor. "Here," he announces as if she had no idea it was for her.

Into her weighed down palms he drops a brick, white stone with both of their names carved into it. "What's this for? To bean the Ferelden diplomat in the head?"

He laughs at her mocking throw of the hefty brick at the Arl. "No, it's the cornerstone for our hearth."

"Our hearth?"

"You deserve a mantle for our shield, a heart for a home. Not a keep, not a hold, a home."

Her breath catches as he too draws her palm over this no longer unassuming brick. "Delrin...?"

"I don't care where in thedas you want it to be. Ferelden, Orlais, the Free Marches, Nevarra... I'll even build it in Skyhold if you cannot imagine giving it up, but please, my love," he clasps his hands under hers, both holding their future in their palms, "let me give you a home."

"Will you be there?" she gulps, tears rising in her eyes.

"Every day."

"Yes," the Inquisitor gasps, her lips cupping his in a kiss. Tears of joy drench both their cheeks as Barris tugs her ever tighter.

As he pulls away, Barris' bright eyes drift to the ground a moment, a blush dabbing his cheeks. "Then you accept...?"

"Oh for the love of," she hurls the brick behind her to the ground where it safely thuds to the grass. With both hands, the Inquisitor grabs onto the man who'd been by her side in both flesh and spirit for two years.

"I'm never letting you go," she says, her voice full of command. With a shove, she and Barris both tumble onto the blanket, the man laughing as his armor jangles from the fall. Her hands part down the templar emblems clinging to his body, her fingers aching to wrench them off.

Barris cups her chin, tugging her to him for a kiss. "Nor I you." As the pair roll through the sweet grass, trying to make up for lost time, the summer light shines a single ray down upon the brick.

Carved upon its surface under their entwined names is the date 9:44 and the phrase "Our Home."

THE END

#dragon age inquisition #barris #ser barris #delrin barris #templars #kissing #romance scenes #li #otp #dragon age #templar #sfw #love #barris x inquisitor

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dracosollicitus · 6 years

Note

you NEED to fix that cliffhanger! please! from 'i should have told you a long time ago' --kthnxbye

Ah yes, the infamous quote prompt from @raissapl :

Read Part One here

I believe @dragonfodder44 @roguecompanion1812 @d4m3r0n @therebeccaw all expressed an interest in a sequel to this!

Part Two: Should Have Told You

With Rey at the mercy of the First Order, Poe was convinced by General Organa to hold off on the rescue mission while they compiled a team to extract their Jedi.

Fine. So “convinced” meant “stunned and dragged forcibly from the cockpit of Black One.” It was really the only way to get him to back down from his plan of getting in an X-Wing and blowing stuff (read: Kylo Ren) up. Poe would like to think that he was reasonable when he woke up from being stunned, but it was hard to describe bodily throwing two junior officers while screaming for a girl that couldn’t hear him as ‘reasonable.’

In retrospect, it was probably for the best that he hadn’t flown off blindly, for they had no idea where Rey was. Her tracker had been removed, and the last coordinates they had for her were the ones BB-8 shared when it arrived four hours after her haunting transmission.

“So, send out a search party,” Poe argued to Leia after Beebee cooed sadly that it had no idea where Rey was. The older woman sighed and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I’m sorry, Colonel,” she said, resting her hand on his arm. “I want her back just as much as you do. But we simply aren’t strong enough to send out a dozen ships to shoot at random First Order ships until we find the one our Rey is on.”

Poe nodded, biting back a snarky response that would probably only lead to another demotion. He wouldn’t be able to help Rey if he were court martialed. “I just.” He swallowed, hard, and fought back tears. “I just wish I knew if she were okay.”

Leia gave him a steady look, her eyes betraying nothing. “She’s alive, Poe. I can tell you that much.” It was what she didn’t tell him that haunted him that night. Poe woke up in a dead sweat at 0200, clutching his mother’s ring, and gasping Rey’s name. He’d had the most terrifying dream, but the longer he was awake, the less he could remember it; the next day passed in a blur, overshadowed by the vague horror of his nightmare.

The transmission Kylo Ren put out 48 hours after Rey’s message didn’t help matters.

“Greetings,” his cold voice issued out from the holo. Poe stood with the other officers in Command to watch; it was playing on every screen in the galaxy apparently. “I have excellent news.” Poe rolled his eyes and clenched his fists. On screen, the Supreme Leader relaxed in a large, black throne. “I know many of you have been concerned over the disrespectful, disruptive antics of a military body with no actual governmental support, a fringe group calling themselves ‘The Resistance’. Many of you have feared that they would gain insurmountable support given their connection to the Jedi Order, the so-called sacred organization from children’s tales and legends.” Kylo smirked, clearly at ease, and reclined against the back of his ornate chair. “But don’t worry. They are no longer in collaboration with the last remaining Jedi. In fact, she’s right here.”

Finn gripped his arm, and Poe realized he’d lurched towards the screen involuntarily.

Rey had appeared on the screen, standing next to Ren’s throne. She wore simple black robes, not terribly different than the grey ones she favored on base, but she looked - well, she looked terrible. They’d clearly dumped make-up on her pale face, but she was visibly trembling, her hair flat against her head, and loose from her usual buns. Poe growled in his throat when Kylo reached up to grasp Rey’s shoulder, and she flinched away from the touch almost imperceptibly.

“The galaxy need no longer fear the Resistance gaining undue support for their ridiculous cause, given that their main selling point is standing here with me. I thank you for allowing me to speak with you today, and I look forward to making another happy announcement to you very soon. Isn’t that right, Rey?”

The last thing Poe saw before the transmission cut out was Kylo’s thumb stroking a circle into Rey’s shoulder. She didn’t even blink, but her jaw set in a stubborn line, her eyes boring into Poe’s from lightyears away.

“What the kriff was that?” Poe demanded of Leia as soon as it cut off. “What was that slimy piece of Sith suggesting, another happy announcement?”

“I think you know, Colonel,” Leia said softly. Her words were no less heavy for their brevity or for their volume, and Poe froze completely, a rush of white noise in his ears. She couldn’t - they couldn’t make her -

What were they doing to her to get her to look so defeated, so pale? What was Kylo doing? If he so much as touched Rey beyond that creepy shoulder hold, Poe would fucking murder him, he wouldn’t miss this time, Force or no Force, that piece of banthash-

“General!” Rose Tico shrieked, interrupting Poe’s dangerous train of thought. “I have-!” She stumbled to a halt in front of the general, gasping for air and holding up a file-drive.

“Yes, Miss Tico?” Leia asked, arching a perfect eyebrow.

“Rey - the transmission - encrypted-” Rose stuttered out the words, waving the file drive. General Organa raised both brows at her, and Rose cleared her throat and stood up straight. “I ran an encryption code against the transmission and unscrambled the source of the message. Kylo was projecting from a ship called Vader II, in the heart of the Ileenium system.”

“He’s near D’Qar?” Finn clarified. He snorted angrily. “Taunting us, the bastard.”

“He’ll be expecting an ambush,” Leia said warningly, lifting a hand to Poe, who’d already opened his mouth to argue going in for the rescue.

“I don’t think so,” Rose said, and then she squeaked, realizing she’d disagreed with the general. Leia gestured at her to keep talking, and Rose did, her cheeks bright red. “The signal bounced around 250 different potential sources. Whoever transmitted it thought no one would be able to decrypt it. I don’t think they’re expecting anyone.”

“We have TIE-fighters that we stole from that freighter,” Connix pointed out, tapping her fingers against her monitor.

“And Stormtrooper uniforms from the defecting troops,” Finn said thoughtfully.

“And I can lift some clearance codes from their system, now that I know where the Vader is!” Rose supplied.

Poe turned to Leia, who sighed and surveyed the collected officers. “Are there any volunteers for what most likely will be a suicide mission?”

Poe’s hand was the first of two dozen to shoot into the air.

“Fine.” Leia rolled her eyes and began to lay out the plan - they’d go in, most of them in TIE-fighters, and Chewie flying the Falcon at a respectable safe distance so that they’d be able to latch onto him during the escape. Poe would drop down in a pod, retrieve Rey, and return to the Falcon with the Resistance flying the TIEs as cover.

Rose managed to pull up a blueprint, and Finn confirmed the most likely location of the prisoner holding cells. Leia wore an expression of distant discomfort when Finn talked of First Order interrogation - having been a guest of Kylo Ren in the past, Poe understood all too well the importance of getting Rey out as soon as possible.

The fact that they hadn’t been swarmed with Stormtroopers here on their base by now was a testament to Rey’s strength - or, a testament to the fact that Kylo wanted something other than information from her, a thought that Poe refused to chase for long.

A hour later, he found himself boarding the Falcon with Chewie and saluting to Leia from the top of the ramp.

“May the Force be with you, Colonel Dameron,” she said gravely. Poe repeated the sentiment, and then raised the ramp. He left his right hand against the hull of the ship as Chewie initiated take-off.

Poe closed his eyes and clutched his mother’s ring tightly in his left hand, envisioning Rey’s smile, her joyous laughter, her shoulder brushing against his in moments of quiet, her voice telling him she loved him -

“I’m coming, Sunshine,” Poe whispered, praying that the Force could somehow carry this promise to her. “I love you, and I’m coming.”

#damerey #jedipilot #ask #quote prompt #sequel #part two #kylo is a creeper in this #there should be a part three #poe dameron #rey #sw

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wat-the-cur · 6 years

Text

(This is an old piece that I wrote after making this post: https://loathsome-aesthete.tumblr.com/post/171322899440/something-that-would-absolutely-happen-if-weyoun#notes ...I was not particularly happy with it at the time, I thought the whole thing felt a bit stiff and cold. I find that a lot with my writing, I do not always mind, but here I thought it was detrimental. Finding it and reading it again, though, I do not think it’s too bad. I thought you guys might like to read it, so I am posting it! I apologise in advance for the horrible grammar, it is a weak point of mine.)

-----

The box was just heavy enough that she had to tuck it beneath her arm, before pressing the doorchime.

"Who is it?" Ezri felt a flicker of satisfaction at the clarity of his answering call, no muted croaking that she would need to have repeated.

"It's Ezri!"

"Please come in, Miss Dax."

Ezri rearranged the box as she entered, only looking up when the doors sealed behind her. The sight of her host hit her like the first step into a cold stream. Six was cross legged on the end of his bed, hunched over a PADD which he held as gingerly as if it were shard of inscribed crystal. He was naked. His colourless skin seemed to glare in the brightness of his quarters and for a moment, Ezri felt that her eyes would be seared. She became vaguely conscious of him looking up to greet her, hitching his bulky glasses up his nose (Julian had made several, barely good natured pleas to treat Six's half blind eyes, to no avail. Six was adamant that the Founders' design not be altered, only assisted).

Ezri would not meet his gaze, as her eyes flitted with uneasy curiosity over his foreign form. His body was patched with openings, their shape not unlike that of the Terran almond. Each was puffed with twin rows of delicate gills, repetitions of those of his ears. Gaping widest was the gilled mouth of his belly, which she now saw was soft, creasing with the curling of his spine. She was dimly aware of the hair, like astrakhan that forked at the crest of his hidden groin and rose over his flanks, but her eyes where suddenly pulled to his knees. Her breath stuttered as she thought she saw pair of hands, second to those cradling the PADD, drumming their long, tender tipped fingers on Six's kneecaps. She then realised that these new hands lay at the ends of his folded legs.

"Oh-ha...I'm sorry." Six's now meek voice brought her exploration to a close. The realisation of her invasive stare burned and she guiltily dropped her gaze to the box she held.

"No, I'm so sorry, it was wrong of me to gawp. You're in your own quarters after all!" The apology rang offensively loud, in the presence of the mild Vorta. As she chanced a look at his face, she was distracted by the quivering of his ears. The gills inside them fluttered and ruffled, like the feathers of a bird, bathing in dust. Ezri's voice shrank, as she felt undeserving of the understanding in his tight smile.

"The Vorta have been educated as well as can be expected, on the comfort of other humanoids." He rose from the bed deliberately, letting her decide where to place her eyes. "We have no cause to feel uncomfortable at being seen this way, apart from of course, the lack of protection. Then again, I know that one, or two layers of cloth are useless against a blade, or a phaser fire." At the edge of her vision, the gills of his belly rippled. "I was inconsiderate, I should have remembered that I was in no state to be seen, before I invited you in." As he finished, He peeled a stiff, grey jumpsuit from the head of the bed and began to ease it over his bare legs. His feet, those elongated hands, popped out from beneath the flared hems.

"There." She lifted her head as Six closed the last snap at his shoulder. "Much better, I wouldn't feel embarrassed about your inquisitiveness, Miss Dax," His brows knitted at the lingering flush across her cheeks, "I must look quite different to a Trill. If I were in your position, I am sure I would have stared, too."

Ezri could tell that her cheeks had not cooled, but she tried to scupper the concern surfacing in his gaze with a lopsided smile. She glanced down at the box once more, before thrusting it towards him with both hands.

"From Garak." A soft and quizzical "oh?" escaped Six, as his own hands tentatively uncurled to receive the box. With a brief grin, Ezri added; "A delivery for Weyoun the Sixth, from a Mr Elim Garak!" She gave a mock salute.

Six did not quite smile, he was so intent on the box, but she was grateful not to have missed the twitch of amusement beneath his eyes. Had she a moment to dwell on it, she would think that many of the crew would likely appreciate the more subdued and genuine nature of Six's humour, compared to the practised laughter of his predecessor and contemporary. Six was studying the box in his hands, not unlike the way in which she had studied him earlier. He rocked it gently, weighing it, his eyes darting about the lid.

"You gonna open it? Oh I-would you prefer I left before you open it?" She had expected him to be jolted by her question, having forgotten she was there. Instead, a small, chipper smile graced him. He looked almost as if he had been waiting for her to speak, to confirm something for him.

"No, stay, let's both see what it is." He said, as he eased his fingers beneath the lid. In truth, Ezri had already guessed what might be inside and she wagered that he did, too, but she politely stepped forward to see the reveal. The lid fell aside, onto the bed and Six deftly parted the protective tissue. A long moment of silence passed, after the rustling had ceased, as Six gazed at the contents of the box.

"An outfit." Ezri confirmed, bouncing once on her toes. "I believe Garak's exact words were; "Miss Dax, thank goodness I've caught you! Here, make haste and bring this to Mr Weyoun. I must confess that each sighting of him in those shapeless dust cloths is moving me closer to my grave than any one of my enemies could ever dream!"" She told his this, because she felt that Weyoun would likely be above getting upset over a slight on his clothing. What is a slight on one's clothing, when one saw nothing beautiful in them to begin with? That did not stop her from worrying that her recounting the tailor's words had been a mistake as she glanced back at Six, anxiously gnawing at his lip. At last, he spoke.

"I wonder if I can pay for this...you know, I think I can." Six set the box down and made for the corner of his quarters that was ever expanding with the valueless brick a brack he liked to bring home. Not all of it was without value Ezri realised, as the Vorta squatted beside an assemble of gold-pressed latinum strips. The small slabs had been stacked into rugged, shimmering towers, as if a child had used them to build a little golden city.

"You shouldn't keep your latinum out in the open like that, someone could see it and try to break into your quarters later-hey, don't, you'll make it scab up, again." She knelt beside him and swatted the air in front of his mouth, trying to get him to release his lip. The flesh, now wet and purple, sprang from between his teeth as he began to speak again.

"There may be enough here for the cost of the outfit, wouldn't you say? If only I had know that Mr Garak was making it, I would have played longer."

"Played longer?"

"Yes, I won it." His voice was growing quieter, but his eyes widened slightly with a child-like pride, as he looked from the latinum to the Trill. "There are a lot of entertaining games to play at Quark's. I believe I was able to pick up the rules of Tongo rather quickly for a new comer." He began to lick his lip rather than chew it, as he looked back at the latinum. He was trying to sooth it.

"You know, I think that if you didn't know that Garak was making the outfit for you, then he won't expect any payment, except perhaps profuse thanks. It's a gift, Six." She hoped her smile was reassuring. She smile wider as Six tried to return it with a raw mouth.

"A very generous gift." He whispered.

"I think it may actually be more of a generous gift to himself, than to you. You heard what he said." That wrung a chuckle out of both of them, brief, but sincere, cosy.

"You should try it on," Ezri said as they stood up, "see if it would have been worth giving Garak all your hard won latinum for."

With a high hum of agreement, Six drifted over to the bed, unsnapping the shoulder of his jumpsuit. Just before Ezri turned away from him, she glimpsed his exposed back and found that, though the nape of his neck was smooth as vellum, that dark and crinkled hair sprouted thickly along the path of his spine. The amount of hair on him surprised her and the thought of one day ruffling him between his shoulder blades flashed across her mind. She readily shook the image away, settling her focus upon Six's collection, which faced her. She peered beyond the bright little latinum city, over the colourful fleet of bottles, holding shards of their fallen brethren and into the country of cheap treasures. She had to choke back a laugh, as she spied among the clutter, a green and scarlet hookah, cracked and opaque with age, crowned by a bundle of naked jumja sticks. An obscene picture.

"I'm decent." Six called her to judge his newest possession.

At her second first sight of him that day, her breath caught again. Ezri had heard that the best tailor is a skilled illusionist. He could shave thirty pounds off a client with just the right cut, or grow them up several inches with the correct marriage of colour and pattern. Looking at Six, clad in Garak's newest creation, she dearly hoped that in was not her imagination that this tailor appeared not to have set out to deceive those who gazed on the Vorta, but showcase him to them.

The set was as minimal as any uniform, a tunic, trousers and boots. Ezri was surprised that Garak had retained the dull colours that he was so used to seeing and despising on this unwitting client. The tunic was of some sort of lush velvet, black, but for a central, herring bone column, which was a dove grey. It dipped just beneath Six's collar and drew to a point at the hem, between his thighs. The higher panels had space in between them, narrowing as they stretched down his breastbone, a screen of dark mesh behind them hinting at the flesh beneath. The trousers, also black, wrinkled almost charmingly at the mouths of the knee high boots, the feet of which seemed to be shaped to accommodate him. (Ezri considered that Garak must have commissioned them from elsewhere). He had even been given new glasses, lighter, rectangular lenses, framed in silver . The clothes that Six had been replicating for himself had been only for the purpose of coverage, impersonal and detached. They had hidden him with their practical shapelessness. This new assemble was wholly a gift for him. The garments hugged Six without squeezing him, the seams sharp, though not distractingly angular, yielding with his form and celebrating the slightness and softness of it. Close, but not boastful, it illuminated him. "This is he!" was what it said. Oh, Garak, you absolute master.

"Fantastic." The Trill's beam shone on the Vorta's modesty. "You look just fantastic."

Six's eyes slowly warmed with pride, happy and careless lines splitting across his face. He rocked slightly on his heels and she felt tempted to mimic him.

"I shall take your word as truth, Ezri Dax." He proclaimed at last, with a chuckle. Ezri was about to jokingly try and convince him that everyone one on Deep Space Nine would call that a mistake, but she withheld from marring the sincerity of the moment.

"I'm off duty, you know." She said. "You could wear it out to a lunch with me?"

"Why not? Here's to hoping I don't spill anything." Six reverently smoothed the front of the tunic, careful not to pull at the mesh.

#deep space nine #ds9 #trill #vorta #ezri dax #ezri tigan #weyoun #weyoun 6 #weyezri #writing #loathsome-aesthete

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