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dollscircus · 3 years

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Adenn Baar’ur - Chapter 2

(Merciless Medic)

(Inspired by Stubbychaos Paz x Nurse!Reader fic)

Summary: Finding an injured Mandalorian wasn’t how you expected the night to end; surprisingly forming a strange friendship with “Big Blue” however he begins to realise that you have a connection with another mandalorian which was unknown to you.

Paring: Paz Vizsla x F!Reader. F!Reader & Din Djarin (Siblings)

Includes: Wounds, swearing - Canon typical stuff. Also flirting and fluff.

Words: 2,226

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

A03. (Sometimes chapters are posted earlier on A03)

Tag list is open! Just send me an ask!

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As you woke up, your body felt so stiff. Letting out a quiet and drawn out groan, you turned your head towards the shuffling sounds. Aki and your cots were only separated by a flimsy scrap of fabric, she was always a morning person which greatly irritated you and you curl into yourself and let out a shudder but you let out a yell when the fabric was suddenly pulled to the side and a body dropping on top of you. Aki shook your shoulders while demanding you to wake up while your arm flew and your hip bucked up trying to kick her off. After a few moments of you and Aki yelling and fighting you both stopped. The woman was still straddling your waist when you picked the pillow up and covered your face with it.

“Get up- Y/N. You oughta get up.” She dropped her head so it rested on your shoulder, her breath brushing against your neck. It sent a shiver up your spine so you rolled to the side and that caused Aki to fall next to you.

“Nope. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” You said through the pillow but after you finished you removed the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Aki playfully scoffed and turned her to you.

“Yeah because you took in a patient when you had just done a twelve hour-“ She stopped when seeing your expression, it was tired and soulful. She saw the dried tear tracks under and on your cheeks, her lips parted slightly and her eyebrow furrowed slightly.

“Oh, you had-“ She trailed off as you nodded your head and let out a quiet and sad chuckle, “Alright, get some more sleep.” She leaned in and placed a kiss on your temple.

Aki disappeared down into the infirmary leaving you in the cot again, exhaustion still lingered on your body and mind yet your brain refused to let you fall back asleep. Scrunching up your face and you brought your hands up to your face, cupping your face. Letting out an annoyed groan. Your mind was still groggy as you were waking up so the memories were slowly coming back to you. The thought of Big Blue crossed your mind, your thoughts apron these memories fondly. Smiling slightly as your arms dropped to your side than the memories of Blue mentioning rumours. Rumours about you. You didn’t know if you should be insulted or flattered.

You sat in silence for way too long, after laying in bed for an unknown amount of time. You threw yourself up and off the cot quickly dressing yourself after deciding that you might as well get on with work. You mean, you were already awake. You walked into the infirmary as Aki was sending someone away when seeing you she scoffed and pointed towards the door;

“You barely slept, go back to bed. Medic.” Aki was careful not to say your name aloud. She didn’t know why but you’ve only told your name to her. You never wanted anyone to know your name so you earned the simple name of ‘medic’ or ‘nurse’ around Navarro. However, you must’ve earned a couple of other names that you weren’t aware of.

“‘M can’t sleep.” You scratched the bad of your head, “Might as well work.”

The day went as most days do until the evening - people came in bloodied and bruised you and Aki would patch them up then send them on their way however when it got dark a typically when you would really get the crazies. As you threw away the last bits of bloodies rag, Aki worked to restock the supplies but let out a sharp curse causing you to glance in her direction;

“We’re outta bacta spray.” She groaned while closing the cabinet, “Guess we’ll get some tomorrow-“

You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck, trying to soothe the soreness you felt in your neck. Your whole body was sore, practically begging for you to rest but you continued to work even saying to Aki that you’ll go get some from your usual supple guy.

“You really don’t have to-“ She started, “It’s late and I’m pretty sure Karkolt has a thing for you.” Karkolt was one creepy son of a bitch but small so relatively harmless, you put of a fake smile and replied with a light chuckle that

“I’ll use that to get them for cheap prices then!” Before Aki could protest anymore, you slung a bag over your shoulder and left the building.

Karkolt was your supplier. You weren’t sure where he got his supply’s from but you weren’t going to pass up the discounts you get for having a cute face. Despite how late it was, Karkolt never seemed to sleep so when you arrived at his house you weren’t worried about waking him up. Knocking on the door, you waited for a couple of moments before he opened it without sounding like a horrible person. The best way to describe Karkolt would be unsightly. However, you offered your typical fake smile and tone while greeting him.

“Medic! Lovely to see you!” He greeted, you could smell his breath from where you were standing but you’ve been around him enough time to be used to it.

“Karkolt.” You said, “You got any bacta spray left?”

He smiled, a smile that sent shivers up your spine as he gestured for you to come in. As you walked, his hand hovered over the small of your back. Maker, you were thankful he never actually touched you than all self restraint would’ve gone out the window. Sitting down on a chair as Karkolt disappeared into a separate room, you silence for a few moments while listening to the distant sounds of rustling.

The door slowly opening caused you to jump and your hand to rest your weapon. You've never run into Karkolt’s other customers but you guessed they weren’t all upstanding folks. However, you were presently surprised by who opened the door. Big Blue. It was comical how huge he looked in the door frame, the thought caused you to giggle before greeting him.

“Nice to see you haven’t been stabbed again-“ You said with a smile. He looked you over before replying with an amused voice.

“You following me, Adenn Baar’ur?” Maker, you had forgotten how those words sounded when he spoke them. Please keep speaking. You shook your head trying to rid yourself of that train of thought as you rose to your feet and pointed at him.

“I was here first- Blue. If anything, you’re following me.” Playfully, you tilted your head to the side in mock suspicion before adding, “Besides, I don’t chase after men. Do I look desperate?’ The following few second of silence made you frown but Blue spoke before you could,

“Of course not, mesh’la.”

“Oi, don’t use words I don’t understand. Mandalorian.”

“Or what?” His tone was increasingly playful and you felt a real smile plagued your lips, “You'll throw me across a table?”

Did he just- He did! How did he hear about that? You don’t like fighting- you never go out of your way to start a fight but where you work and who you work with might cause you to. You thought the advent he was referring to was when you had to stop by the cantina to speak to Greef about a payment and one of the hunters decided to get handsy with you. So naturally you threw him across a table- you're deceptively strong and he had to learn that the hard way. You felt your cheek grow warm in embarrassment, is that what you're known for?

“How did you-“ You began to question but much to your annoyance Karkolt returned with bags apron bags in his hands. His presence reminded you, why was Blue even here? Karkolt looked to Blue and greeted him with,

“Ah, I was wondering why you hadn’t picked up your shipment! Nice to see you aren’t dead.”

You glanced up at Blue and he simply nodded at the other man, who seemed to notice how close you were standing to Blue, which you hadn’t even noticed until Karkolt did a double take.

“I wasn’t aware that you too knew each other.” The way he said it was odd, there was annoyance laced in with his fake cheerful attitude. You coughed while moving away from Blue, painfully aware of your actions now. Taking the bags from Karkolt, you pack your own bag while he disappears again presumably to retrieve whatever Blue was here for. You dropped a few credits on a nearby table while throwing the bag over your shoulder. Looking to Blue before leaving you smiled and uttered,

“Goodnight Mandalorian.”

“Goodnight, mech’la.”

“That better be a nice word you’re calling me.”

He followed you to the door, as you stood outside looking in he tilted his helmet to the side as he spoke; “what else am I meant to call you? I don’t know your name.”

“That’s by design. You don’t get that until the fourth date.” You stopped for a second to playfully smirk, “Besides, I don’t know your name either.”

“Also by design.”

“Of course, Blue.”

“Then two dates to go.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, hearing it caused you to bite down a wide smile.

“No this isn’t a date- chance encounter and first time you were stabbed. Not sure about mandalorians but I like my dates to be romantic and not bloody.” You teased but the hardy chuckle from Blue caused you to falter, made even worse by him leaning down so his helmet was closer to your face.

“Then what would class as a date?”

“Are you asking me on one?” Your teasing didn’t give up though, who would break first. Surly not you, you didn’t have an delusions that he was only joking so-

“What if I say I am?“ He cooed, MAKER- dammit. You broke first.

“Then- I would say; I’m almost always at the infirmary. Stop by sometimes.”

“You didn’t answer my question- what would class be as a date? What do you class as a romantic little medic?”

“I dunno.” You tapped a finger on his helmet guessing where his nose was, “Figure it out, Blue.”

Finally you pulled your eyes away from Blue and turned away, hiding the wide smile that shaped your lips and stifling a giggle. You felt like a schoolgirl, giggling over a guy but you said screw it to yourself. This might not be anything, could just be some playful flirting. Whatever this was, it was interesting. You were in a good mood as you approached the infirmary and opened the door. Calling out to Aki but you were greeted by something slightly more concerning.

Standing in the center of the room was a human. You had seen him before- knew he was a bounty hunter. His blaster was pointed towards you, you narrowed your eyes and reached your hand toward your weapon, however he shot at the wall next to you, demanding that you don’t move. Your heart was rapidly beating in your chest, you felt a slight tremble in your hands and legs.

“How may I help you?” You stared, the fear just about visible in your voice.

“The mandalorian- he was here.” You looked him over, finally noticing his poorly patched up wounds and bruised face; You barely hid the amusement at the thought of Blue beating the snot out of him.

“Yes, but he’s not here now-“ You explained

“Where did he go?” He yelled, starting to approach you.

“I don’t know- I don’t follow the people I-“ He was close enough to now so struck the blaster against your skull startling you with the sudden pain, the shock caused you to freeze for a second so you didn’t reach for your weapon. Grasping the collar of your shirt he lifted you up and slammed you into the wall, you couldn’t hear much from the ringing in your ears.

“Where did he go!” He demanded, you could feel him wrapping your weapon and threw it to the side. You grasped his wrists as stared him in the eyes.

“I don’t. Know.” He growled and swung and punched you in the ribs. Winded, you tried to draw in a breath but failed to. Much to your horror, you heard a crack.

“Where.Is.He?” You weren’t a stupid person, so you carried two weapon, a blade withdrawing it you plunged it into his hip. He yelled and pulled back and stared at you before raising the blaster at you. About to fire you raised an arm to defend yourself but the shot never came but a shuffle and loud thud instead.

Opening your eyes while gasping for air, the throbbing pain in your rib kept you from moving too much. The bounty hunter was on the ground while Blue stood above him, relief washed over you as your body tried to fall over but Blue caught you in his arms. You let out a pathetic whimper as the pain clogged his mind.

“So you’re following me?” You teased, your voice was quiet and painful.

“Baar’ur.” He said sadly, “I’ve got you.”

Your vision was fading and your body gave up while you passed out.

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rhosyn-du · 3 years

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Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter Six

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321 Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Chapter Six

The irritation had been building all day, like sand rubbing under his skin, and it was especially irritating because Jace knew he didn’t have a good reason for it. Nothing was actually wrong, just a string of little frustrations that hadn’t let up all day, from the ancient coffee maker in their kitchen that didn’t start brewing when it was set to, meaning he had to go to his morning classes without any caffeine, to discovering he’d left his history textbook at home when his professor announced a surprise open-book quiz, right on through to missing his bus home and having to wait forty minutes for the next one, meaning he walked in the door with less than fifteen minutes before his friends were supposed to show up at his place for a group study session.

“Oh, hey,” Simon said when he walked through the door. “You’re home. I was starting to wonder if I got the day wrong and we weren’t having people over tonight, but then Bat texted asking if he should bring Spicy Ranch Doritos—which, obviously—so I figured you were probably just running late, which it turns out you were.”

“Excellent observational skills.” Jace tossed his bag onto the couch, not looking at Simon, and headed for the kitchen, intending to grab a beer from the fridge. Except when he opened it, there weren’t any left, and he realized he’d completely forgotten to go to the store the day before, because of course he had.

He slammed the refrigerator door shut, taking out his frustration on the appliance. It wasn’t as satisfying as he’d hoped.

“Everything okay?”

Jace spun around to find Simon in the doorway, watching him with an expression that held both wariness and concern.

“Everything’s peachy.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Simon said mildly. “You definitely use the word ‘peachy’ in casual conversation when things are going great.”

Jace took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Look, I’ve had a shitty day, all right? I’ve had a shitty day, and we’re out of beer, and I don’t need you trying to get me to talk out my feelings or whatever it is you’re trying to do right now.”

“Okay,” Simon agreed. “What do you need?”

Jace blinked. “What?”

“You don’t need to talk about your shitty day,” Simon said, moving into the kitchen to lean on the counter next to him. “So what do you need? Lily’s bringing beer, so that’s already taken care of.”

It should have been a simple question to answer, but Jace wasn’t used to people asking what he needed. Jace wasn’t used to considering what he needed.

“I don’t know.”

“What about a distraction?” Simon offered.

“A distraction,” Jace repeated, skeptical.

“Yeah.” Simon was grinning as he hooked his fingers through Jace’s belt loops and pulled their bodies together. “A distraction.”

Jace licked his lips, dropped his eyes to Simon’s mouth. “People are going to be here in eight minutes.” He didn’t have any objections to spending those eight minutes making out with Simon.

Simon’s grin widened. “Guess I’d better work fast, then.”

And then he dropped to his knees.

Jace sucked in a sharp breath as Simon popped the button on his jeans. “What are you doing?”

“I know you’ve had a shitty day,” Simon said, pulling down Jace’s fly, “but you can’t be that out of it.”

Jace let out a soft laugh and let himself slump back against the refrigerator door as Simon took out his rapidly-plumping cock and worked him to full hardness with his hands and mouth.

He was used to Simon teasing, giving him almost enough and then pulling back until he was desperate with it. This was the opposite, with every touch, every lick and swallow driving him relentlessly toward the edge, the frustration of his day bleeding away as Simon blew him with expert efficiency.

In almost no time at all, Jace was struggling to keep his legs under him as he felt his balls start to draw up, and he was so close—

And that was when Simon, the absolute fucker, pulled off his dick to remark with far more casualness than the situation called for, “Did you lock the door when you got home? Because people are going to be here, like, any second.”

Then his mouth was back on Jace’s dick, swallowing him down like it was his job, and Jace was cursing because no, he hadn’t locked the door and any second their friends could walk in and see—Jace, desperate and falling apart; Simon, swollen red lips wrapped around Jace’s cock taking him apart—and that was—it was—

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Jace came with a strangled shout.

Simon worked him through it, pulling back only when a second knock sounded at the door. “Be there in just a minute,” he called, sounding far too composed for someone who’d just given fucking fantastic blowjob.

Simon stood, pressing a quick kiss to Jace’s lips before saying, “Somehow, I just knew you’d have a bit of an exhibitionism kink,” and heading for the door, leaving Jace to fumble his pants closed and try look like he hadn’t just had his brain sucked out through his dick.

“You all right, man?” Bat greeted him as he entered the kitchen, arms loaded with far too many bags of Doritos for six people.

“Uh,” Jace said intelligently.

“Heard you shouting and I figured you must’ve hurt yourself. You were pretty loud.”

“I heard you down the hall,” Maureen added from the living room.

“Yeah, just stubbed my toe,” Jace lied, heading out to the living room. “Somebody left his stats book on the floor, and I tripped.”

Simon flashed him a shit-eating grin. Jace had a hard time not staring at his lips, still red and slightly puffy. “You should really be more careful.”

“Going to go help Maia bring stuff up from her car,” Maureen announced, holding up her phone. “Be right back.”

“You do know,” Jace told Simon in a low voice, “that I’m going to get payback for that, right?”

Simon’s smile grew smug. “Yeah. I do.”

After an hour of going over his notes and rehashing the earlier quiz with Lily, Jace was feeling much better about his history class, and even had some ideas for his end-of-term paper. They all took a break when the pizza they’d ordered arrived, and Jace found himself squeezed between Lily and Simon on the couch.

“So,” Lily said around a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese, “you two ready for your big wedding performance this weekend? Please say no, because I’ve still got fifty bucks riding on you not making it through this without panicking.”

“Your concern is so touching,” Jace said. “I really don’t know what I’d do without such supportive friends.”

“Based on what I saw the night we met, you’d spend a lot more time getting drinks thrown in your face by girls whose names you forgot,” Maia said.

“I did not forget her name,” Jace protested. “I hit on her girlfriend.”

“Not actually better,” Maureen observed.

“Okay, one, I had no idea they were dating, and two, not my fault she flirted back.”

“Just try not to get any drinks thrown in your face at cousin Rachel’s wedding,” Simon said, patting his knee condescendingly. And then left it there, like it was totally normal for him to touch Jace casually like this in front of their friends.

“Would it be cheating if I bribed Simon’s sister to take someone Jace hooked up with as her plus one?” Lily asked.

Jace thought she really didn’t need to. He was already panicking.

“Yes,” said Maia and Bat at the same time Simon said, “Oh god, please don’t.”

“You guys are no fun,” Lilly pouted, reaching for another slice of pizza.

“Speaking of Becky,” Maia said with affected casualness, “I was wondering if you could tell her—”

“Give me your phone,” Simon interrupted, holding out his hand. This had the effect of removing his hand from Jace’s knee, and Jace tried not to miss it.

“Sure,” Maia said slowly, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Why do you need my phone?”

Simon took the phone and pulled up Maia’s contacts. “So you just text my sister instead of asking me to be your messenger pigeon.” He passed the phone back. “Or call her. I’m not picky as long as I don’t have to be involved.”

Maia stared at the phone for a few seconds, then shrugged and put it back in her pocket with a sigh. “Yeah, okay. Fair. I guess I can, like, be an adult about this or something.”

“Good,” Simon said, his hand making its way back to Jace’s knee. No one else seemed to notice, and Jace tried not to react. “Please do it before Sunday so I don’t have to listen to Becky failing to be subtle about asking about you.”

Maia bit back a grin. “She asks about me?”

“Who wants to place bets on how long it takes Maia to actually call this girl?” Lily asked.

~~~

“Okay, you need to turn down the charm a little bit or I think Bubbe Helen is actually going to try to adopt you,” Simon said as Jace returned from his sixth dance with Simon’s grandmother. Jace didn’t think Simon needed to know that she’d used every one of those to grill him on his family, his plans for the future, his intentions toward her grandson.

“Just tell her you’re not into incest,” Jace told him, eliciting a gagging noise from Becky, the only one of Simon’s relatives still sitting at the table with them.

“Your boyfriend is gross,” Becky informed Simon, stabbing a spear of asparagus from her plate.

Jace grinned at her. “Simon wanted me to turn down the charm. I’m just trying to be accommodating.” He grabbed Simon’s hand and lifted it to his lips to kiss his knuckles. It was something they’d been doing all day, exchanging little gestures of affection like they couldn’t quite keep their hands off each other. Which was actually kind of true in Jace’s case.

It had started during the ceremony, Jace bumping Simon’s shoulder when he noticed him start to tear up during the vows. He’d meant it to be lightly teasing, but Simon had simply flashed him a watery smile and taken his hand, lacing their fingers together. Jace’s stomach had made an odd little flip and he’d squeezed Simon’s hand, and they just...hadn’t stopped touching each other. All through the rest of the ceremony and reception, it was a stream of constant little touches that made Jace wish for things he couldn’t have, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching either.

It didn’t help that Simon looked really good in a suit.

“That’s playing dirty,” Becky huffed. “I can’t hate you when you make my brother smile like that.”

“It’s all part of my devious plan.” He threw a sideways glance at Simon, hoping to catch the smile only to find him glaring daggers at his sister.

“Aww,” Becky cackled, “are you embarrassed? That’s adorable.”

“Embarrassed that you’re my sister? Yes.”

“Consider it payback for your presence throughout my entire adolescence.”

Jace leaned in. “Is there a story here? It sounds like there’s a story.”

“Dude, don’t encourage her.”

Becky leaned back in her chair, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “I have so many stories.”

“Oh, look.” Simon said, standing suddenly and pulling Jace along with him. “There’s Aunt Ruth. We should really go say hi.”

“I’ll still have stories to tell your boyfriend when you get back,” Becky called after them. “Jace, ask him about the llamas!”

Jace followed Simon, barely holding in his laughter as they ducked through the crowd of wedding guests, and then through an unobtrusive door that led out into an empty hallway.

“I’m so sorry about her,” Simon said, finally turning to face him and looking genuinely apologetic.

Jace shook his head. “Don’t be. I was having fun. I can see why Becky and Maia get along so well.”

“Because they’re both more than happy to tell embarrassing stories about me?” Simon joked.

“Can you blame them? It is pretty fun to watch you get all worked up.”

“You do seem to enjoy getting me worked up,” Simon agreed with a quirk of his eyebrows. “But my cousin’s wedding really isn’t the place for that.”

Jace glanced around the empty hallway. This was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

He turned back to Simon, a suggestive smile playing across his lips. “You sure about that?”

“Jace.” Simon’s voice was warning even as his eyes flicked to Jace’s lips and back up again.

Jace curled a hand around the back of Simon’s neck. “Because I’m not sure there’s any such thing as a bad place to get you worked up.”

“Literally everyone I’m related to is in the next room,” Simon protested. But he didn’t pull away.

“Fair point,” Jace conceded. He glanced around the hallway, then tried the nearest door. It opened into a room just large enough to not qualify as a closet. Jace raised a questioning eyebrow at Simon.

Simon looked dubiously at the stacks of office supplies that lined one wall, then back at Jace. “How are you so good at convincing me to make bad decisions?” Simon asked before grabbing him by the tie and dragging him into a kiss.

Jace grinned against his mouth as they stumbled into the room. “It’s my superpower. I got bitten by a radioactive advertising executive as a teenager.”

“Fuck,” Simon muttered, kicking the door closed behind them. “You can’t make Spider-Man references when I’m kissing you; that’s cheating.”

“Yeah?” Jace asked, pushing him against the wall that wasn’t occupied by reams of printer paper. “Does it get you hot when I talk nerdy to you?” He tugged at Simon’s shirt, pulling it free from his pants. “Or does everything I do get you hot?”

“Definitely not everything.” Simon nipped along his jaw. “Your ego, for example? Very unattractive.”

“Now you’re just making things up.” He slid a hand down to cup Simon through his pants, and Simon bucked into the touch. “My ego definitely gets you hot.”

“I know—fuck.” He rocked into Jace’s hand again. “I know some guys have trouble separating their egos from their dicks, but I never thought you’d be one of them.”

“Any association between my ego and my dick is well-deserved.” He tugged at Simon’s belt. “Don’t bother trying to argue. We both know it’d be a lie.”

“Yeah, that’s not actually how arguments wo—oh.” Simon cut off, eyes wide, as Jace dropped to his knees.

Jace smirked up at him. “I figure the best way to avoid staining your suit is if you come in my mouth. Unless you’ve got objections.”

“I have exactly zero objections to having your mouth on me.” Simon curled a hand around Jace’s jaw, drawing his thumb along Jace’s bottom lip. “Like, ever.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jace flicked his tongue out to catch the tip of Simon’s thumb and reached to finish unbuckling his belt.

He froze at the unmistakable sound of the door opening behind him.

Jace’s eyes were trained on Simon’s face, so he saw the emotions play out across it in real time: surprise, then panic, then a slowly dawning horror.

“Bubbe Helen!” Simon’s voice just barely managed to avoid being a squeak. “Hi! We were, uh, we were just—” He looked down at Jace helplessly.

The thing was, Jace had always been good in a crisis. No, that wasn’t exactly right. He’d always been calm in a crisis. Probably as a result of having endured so many starting at such a young age.

So, his gaze and voice were completely steady as he took Simon’s hand in both his own and asked, “Will you marry me?”

He heard a voice behind him that sounded suspiciously like Becky mutter, “Oh my god.”

Simon stared. “Wha—uh. Yes?” His eyes flickered up toward the doorway, then back to Jace. “Yes,” he said more firmly. “I will definitely marry you, which is of course why you’re on your knees right now, and…”

His voice trailed off as Jace pulled his ring—his father’s ring, the only ring he ever wore—off his own finger and slid it onto Simon’s. It was a little loose, but not enough to slide off.

Simon flexed his hand, the fluorescent light above glinting off the brushed platinum. And then he was pulling Jace to his feet and into a kiss that held a decidedly hysterical edge.

The kiss was short-lived, interrupted by a very deliberate throat clearing. Jace kept Simon’s hand clasped firmly in his as he turned around, the metal of the ring pressing into his skin a reminder of what he’d just done.

Bubbe Helen was watching him with a decidedly unimpressed look. Behind her, Becky had a hand clapped over her mouth, smothering what could have been either an overflow of emotion or laughter.

“Young man, did you just propose marriage to my grandson in a storage closet?”

Jace pasted on his best facsimile of a sheepish smile and prepared to lie his ass off.

~~~

“Look, I panicked, okay?”

Outside, rain poured down in heavy sheets, obscuring the passing scenery and dampening any other sounds. It made the inside of the van feel cut off from the rest of the world, like they were alone in their own tiny, bubble universe.

A muscle in Simon’s jaw twitched. “You said that already.” He kept his eyes on the road.

Jace’s eyes fell to the steering wheel, where the soft platinum of his father’s ring still rested on Simon’s finger. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

Simon didn’t respond to that, and Jace wished he could see his eyes, could find even the tiniest clue to what he was thinking. He’d barely said anything since they made their hasty exit from the reception. At least Becky and Bubbe Helen had agreed not to mention Simon’s supposed engagement to his mom until he could tell her himself.

The silence stretched between them as Jace stared out into the blurry downpour. The one saving grace to all of this was that at least no one else knew about it. Their friends would never let them hear the end of it if they found out. And Jace’s family, god, that would be a disaster. Izzy would probably try to plan the whole thing and they’d somehow end up actually married before Jace could even explain the situation to her.

“You know,” Simon said into the silence, “I hated you before I even met you.”

Jace didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know if there was anything to say to that. That was okay, though, because Simon kept talking.

“Clary’s been my best friend since we were kids. My mom likes to tell the story of how we met on the playground and spent the whole day trying to build a moat around the swing set so no one else could play on it, but I don’t actually remember it. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t friends with Clary. She’s just always been a part of my life. The best part, sometimes.”

He took a deep breath, threw a quick glance at Jace before continuing. “So, of course I fell in love with her.”

The words hit Jace like a punch to the gut, and he was very, very glad Simon’s eyes were back on the road and he couldn’t see the jumble of emotions that Jace was sure were written all over his face.

“We were in sixth grade when I realized,” Simon continued. “I think I’d probably been in love with her for a while, but it just sort of hit me one day that I was just completely and totally gone for her. And it only took me like ten minutes after that to figure out that she didn’t feel the same way about me, but that was okay. I mean, it wasn’t. That kind of thing never is when you’re twelve.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Or when you’re an adult either, I guess. But it was as okay as it could be because I figured I just had to wait. Clary was the most important person in the world to me, and even though she didn’t love me like I loved her, I knew I was the most important person in her life, too, so I just figured.” He shrugged. “I figured that eventually she’d realize that we could be, you know, more.”

His voice got soft as he continued, “And then she met you.”

Jace sucked in a sharp breath. “Simon, I—”

“I’m glad she did,” Simon interrupted, and he sounded like he meant it. “Even though it sucked at the time. Every time she mentioned you, I just wanted to punch you in the face. Which is why I always made an excuse not to meet you, by the way. I thought if I did and you really were as perfect as she described you, I would actually hit you.”

“I did always wonder about the mysterious best friend who was never around,” Jace said around the odd lump in his throat he couldn’t seem to swallow down. “She talked about you all the time.”

“Yeah?” Simon sounded genuinely surprised. “That’s actually really good to hear. And it makes me even more glad she met you, because her falling for you, even spending so much time with you, it gave me time to get over her.”

The knot in Jace’s throat loosened an inch.

“By the time you guys broke up, I’d actually dated a couple of people who weren’t Clary, and even though I didn’t feel as strongly for any of them as I did for her, I realized that part of what makes our friendship so special is that it is friendship. And I think we might have really fucked that up if we tried to be anything else, so I’m glad we never did, because my friendship with Clary is still one of the best things in my life, and I’m pretty sure it always will be.”

“Is that what you wrote Random Afternoon about? About you and Clary?” It wasn’t what Jace meant to say at all, but he opened his mouth and the words just came tumbling out.

Simon’s let out a soft huff of laughter. “No.” He shook his head. “It’s, uh. It’s not about Clary.”

Jace didn’t understand what was so funny, but he wasn’t going to ask. Just like he wasn’t going to ask who the song was about. Wasn’t going to think about why he cared so much.

“She was my first love, too,” he said instead.

Simon nodded slowly, digesting this information. “I wondered. I mean, when Clary used to talk about you, it sure sounded like you loved her, but once I found out you were, you know, you, I wasn’t so sure anymore.” He was fiddling with the ring, now, twisting it slowly around his finger with his thumb. Jace wondered if he knew he was doing it. “I didn’t think you were a relationship kind of guy.”

“I’m not.” That wasn’t what anyone wanted from him. Even Clary, who really had loved him once upon a time, hadn’t wanted him to stay. And even if someone did want that from him, he was pretty sure now that he wouldn’t know how to give it to them.

“And there hasn’t been anyone since Clary who’s made you reconsider?” Simon’s hands were still on the steering wheel now, his face impassive in the flickering light of passing cars.

Jace thought back to that night weeks ago, when Simon told him that maybe they wouldn’t be a mistake, and just for a second he’d thought—he’d hoped—but of course that wasn’t what Simon had meant.

“No.”

“Of course not. Stupid question.” Simon flashed him a smile, but there was a worried crease between his brows.

The last thing Jace wanted from him was pity, especially over this. “So, tell me about the llamas,” he said, desperate to change the subject.

Simon winced. “Can we just pretend Becky never mentioned llamas?”

“Nope.” Jace grinned. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll get Maia to ask Becky. I’m sure your sister would be happy to share.”

“You’re seriously the worst,” Simon said before launching into a long, involved story about his and Clary’s third grade trip to a llama farm and how Becky had thought it was hilarious to tell them that llamas were venomous.

“So, there I was, just covered in llama spit,” Simon finished as he unlocked their apartment door, “crying my eyes out because I thought was going to die, with Clary shouting at the poor farmhand that her dad was cop and he was going to go to jail for murder. And of course Becky didn’t even get in trouble or apologize. She just started getting me llama-themed birthday gifts.”

“Just so we’re absolutely clear,” Jace snickered, following him inside, “I’m laughing at you, not with you.”

“Which is one of many reasons I should have known better than to let you meet my sister. Speaking of which,” he pulled Jace’s ring off his finger and held it out, “I wouldn’t want to forget to give this back.”

Jace looked at the ring, then back up at Simon, swallowing hard. “You should keep it. Until we break up.” Something flashed in Simon’s eyes, and Jace hurried to correct himself. “Until we tell our families we broke up, I mean. In case you need to, I don’t know, sell the story.”

“Jace, I know what this ring means to you. I can’t just—”

“You can.” He reached out and closed Simon’s fingers over the ring, holding them there. “I trust you to keep it safe.”

Simon stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching. “Okay,” he agreed. “Until we break up.”

Something in Jace’s chest loosened, and he stepped back, letting Simon’s hand drop from his. “Cool. I’m gonna heat up some pizza rolls. You want me to make enough for you?”

“Sure,” Simon said. “Yeah, pizza rolls sound great. Cheeseburger flavor, not triple cheese, though.”

“Obviously,” Jace said, heading to the kitchen. He didn’t think about the ring, or how naked his hand felt without it. Or why it mattered so much to him that Simon agreed to keep it, if only for a little while.

#shadowhunters #shmb2021 #jimon #jimon fic #jace wayland #simon lewis

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workinacc · 3 years

Text

A message to the milevens who think it's funny to disrespect ships and characters that go against your beliefs:

Babe, no. Stop that, get a new hobby, don't bother others and most importantly don't fake scripts because if I were the Duffer Brothers I'd be BEYOND annoyed that a bunch of kids leaked a FAKE script and are presenting it as real.

Remember that Stranger Things is a story written and acted by real people who like what they do and are working their a** off to give us a new season in this years full of disasters.

As a comic writer and story maker I understand how annoying it feels for others to feel entitled to your story and character and put words on your mouth, so please, stop with the fake scripts, ESPECIALLY if you present them as real. That's very gross.

Other than that, calm down with Will's hate. The Byler shippers who hate El just for being Mike's current love interest sure are wrong, and it's a very misogynistic and dare I say childish way of thinking. BUT if you hate Will just because, you are no better.

Don't hate characters just because they don't go on your ships, it's dumb as heck, especially when you remember that the characters are CHARACTERS BEFORE THEY ARE PART OF A SHIP.

And that brings me to another point I've seen one too many times, that Byler shouldn't happen because El would be left alone and sad. El is her own person, and she is learning to be herself and independent. Perhaps my biggest problema with Mileven is that Mike, following Hoppers influence and acting father-like in an almost controlling way, did not let her and that's why she had to go to Max to learn to choose. Heck, she didn't even know how you know if you like something.

If Mileven keeps going, the two need to talk, to treat one another as equals, he has to stop treating her like a child, and she has to put him somewhere else from the pedestal she has him in. That's the only way for the characters to grow and if that's the case, I'd be content with it.

Would I stop shipping Byler completely and change my name to Mileven 4 ever??? Not in a thousand years. Byler would still be my go to, and Will would still be a character I can project to, even if next season things go downhill for him.

The reason why I said that is because I'm begging you for all Milevens that if, in a weird and miraculous turns of events, Mike realizes that he was in love with Will al this time and Will reciprocate his feelings, you guys will keep shipping whatever you feel like, enjoying your ship and making theories and edits and all the jazz. Because you are entitled to! Just be respectful.

To top it all of and because El and Will are siblings now, which means I can't really use the OT3 card , I'mma say one thing:

Mileven is nice, cute even, but you guys need to stop browsing the Byler tag or something, because the theories and comments can be annoying to some, and focus on your own ship and its future. And most importantly, start treating El like person.

Love, a Byler shipper who wants you guys to enjoy the ship and the fandom without hurting anyone in the process

#byler #mileven #El Hopper #will byers #rant i guess #what the hecc was that script fiasco #coming in peace #please dont attack me #she said #faking a distressed tone

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

Video

youtube

Coffee

This is @godsliltippy ‘s fault because she was so kind to me and posted Pocket Virgil to help me through the day. Above is the original three clips, of which Pocket Virgil is part of Clip Two. After watching Pocket Virgil try again and again with no success, I kinda wanted to help him, so this fic happened.

Total meta crack, that really didn’t go anywhere, but hopefully will be fun nonetheless. Certain laws of both physics and worldbuilding were totally ignored, so there may be some brain frying concept-wise.

This is for Thunderfam and for all the kindness you continue to bestow upon me. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You guys are amazing. ::hugs you all::

Leave sense at the door. I hope you enjoy it :D

-o-o-o-

Virgil Tracy was grumpy.

He knew this idea was good an all and he fully supported Lady Penelope when she suggested they document some of their rescues for the general public.

But not once...not once! Did she mention that he would be dragged out of bed before the sun, thrown on a set to perform, and the only coffee they would provide would be thimble-sized, consequently cold and allocated to break times.

At the moment, ‘break’ was definitely a keyword. Sans coffee, Virgil Tracy was quite ready to do something of the kind to the director.

“Now, Virgil, I know you’re tired, but you are the calm brother, the respected peacemaker of the family. Snarling at the camera isn’t quite in character.”

In character? He was playing himself, for goodness sake. He was in character, character sans coffee! Across the studio, he eyed the Tracy villa swimming pool and wondered if there was a possibility of filling it with coffee.

“Can we try again?”

Virgil grunted at the director. Bet he had had his coffee. Bet he was allowed to access that wondrous machine up so high on that shelf. Bet he hadn’t given one thought to how his precious Tracys might feel about the matter.

Yeah, Virgil Tracy was not in a very good mood at all.

The director stood up from the set and stepped away to be half hidden by the camera again.

Virgil lowered Two’s hatch and climbed aboard. All prepared to launch Two with a smile.

He grit his teeth.

Backing her up into her hangar again, he closed the cliff face and waited for the call.

“Action!”

Practised fingers went through their motions and Two cruised out onto her runway under the fake sunlight.

A poke at a control and the palm trees moved aside...not quite the way they did at home, but well enough...and Two taxied towards her ramp.

“Cut!”

Oh, for the love of...what now?!

“Virgil, you are grinding your teeth. I would say we could mute it in post, but you look like you want to kill someone. You’re the valiant hero, the gentle giant, not Hannibal Lecter daydreaming about dinner!” Virgil stared up at him through the windows. Usually, Virgil would be mortified, but it was barely past 7am, he had been up late for a real rescue last night, hadn’t slept well, and there was no damned coffee!

The director stared at him a moment longer before throwing up his hands. “Okay, you know what? Take fifteen, go find some coffee, for all our sakes.” He ended that with a glare and turned away calling the crew to a halt.

Virgil sat there staring at the replica of his ‘bird’s controls. He had been in the real thing last night. Saved sixteen lives.

He was just tired and not really being fair to anyone, including himself.

He just wanted coffee. Please, I just need coffee.

If his inner voice sounded like a dehydrated man in a desert pleading for water, it was just being honest.

The thing was that the crew had coffee. In that machine on the shelf. Sure, the cup was bigger than he was, but it might be just enough to put his brain to rights.

But he couldn’t reach the button to activate it. In fact, the one time he had tried, some smart ass on set had filmed him jumping up, trying to reach it. It had made the rounds until it hit Gordon, who then promptly made sure the rest of the world had the opportunity to enjoy laughing at his brother.

But then Gordon still didn’t know who poured dye in his pool...while he was in it.

The full body make-up his brother had to wear that day to hide the purple was almost worth it.

But coffee...god, he needed coffee. If only he could extend his reach. If only he could grip the cup...

Virgil blinked.

The solution was obvious. Oh my god. He felt like kicking himself for not thinking of it before. You idiot!

There was one piece of equipment he had brought on set that wasn’t fake.

It was here for two reasons. The first was that it was built for Virgil, only he could wear it and it was cheaper to just wear the real thing than to build a poorly functional duplicate. Secondly, Virgil preferred to have one on hand as often as possible, just in case, and since they had been spending so much time in Aotearoa on set, he had stashed one with the lead model maker for safe keeping.

He exited the fake Two and leapt out onto the runway. The fact that one of the set hands saw him and immediately made herself scarce was kind of depressing. He had been a grumpy bear this morning.

But that was all about to be solved.

He eyed the director and, making sure the man wasn’t looking, grabbed one of the discarded thimble-sized coffee cups and slipped away towards prop storage.

It was a hike and he had to dodge wheels and staff who didn’t see him. Those who did all immediately looked at their watches and, just like the set hand earlier, hurried out of his sight.

Maybe he was beginning to get a reputation.

Serve them right for not giving him coffee!

He found his helmet and his exosuit exactly where he expected them to be. Some neurotic librarian type had attached a huge name tag with a barcode onto it.

Virgil’s shoulder mounted laser took care of that.

It was almost comforting to slide on the equipment. The surety of its strength settling on his shoulders, its weight snug at his hips and ankles.

He sighed.

Of course, that one moment of relaxation was interrupted by Steven, the lead model maker, suddenly bursting into the room.

“I don’t know, Scott. That sounds kind of dangerous. The real Thunderbird One might be able to handle you surfing it, but I’m not too sure of the mockups.”

“I’ll talk to Brains. We’ll make it happen.”

“Why are you feeling the need to surf on the outside anyway?”

“Because it looks cool?” Scott cleared his throat. “Ah, because that is what happened during the incident we are portraying and accuracy is important.”

Virgil hunched down behind a scarily accurate model of that moon buggy Scott was always raving about. He dared not move because the wheeze of the suit’s hydraulics was far too familiar a sound to hide from his brother.

But then, since Scott was buzzing around at Steven’s eye height thanks to one of his jetpacks, his older brother really didn’t have a single leg to stand on.

Mostly because he apparently didn’t need them.

Virgil found himself grinding his teeth again.

He really needed coffee.

“You actually surfed on the outside of Thunderbird One?”

“Well, yeah.”

“That is so cool, man.”

“That’s what I said!”

Steven reached past Virgil’s hiding spot and picked up one of the fake explorer pods and Virgil remembered that he was supposed to clamber up the side of an equally fake mountain later in the morning.

Hell, coffee was mandatory.

Fortunately, Steven appeared to have everything he needed and both he and Scott left almost immediately after that, Scott coming as close to raving as Virgil had ever heard him, babbling about surfing on One.

Sounded about right. Scott and Alan might as well have been twins if it wasn’t for their age difference.

They both gave Virgil grey hair.

But then so did Gordon.

John was easier, cool and calm and sensible most of the time. But that just meant that when he did slide off the rails, he did a proper job of it, likely taking most of them with him.

Hmmm, must remember to grab some more hair dye on the way home tonight.

With the coast clear, he secured his thimble cup to his suit and made a run for it.

He made it across the floor to the blessed coffee machine without interruption this time, though he had to admit, his suit was much noisier than he had realised. But a good percentage of the crew were focused on that scene Scott was filming.

He could still hear his brother declaring that he knew his stunts better than any stunt man.

Virgil had to agree. If anyone was capable of surfing Thunderbird One, it was Scott.

The idiot.

Now, not only was he doing stupid stunts to save people, but now just to show off.

Virgil had a good mind to kick his ass. He was as bad as Alan.

No, correction. Alan wasn’t that stupid.

Virgil found himself taking a step in his big brother’s direction and it was only the wheeze of his suit that made him realise exactly what he was doing.

Coffee, goddamnit, he needed coffee!

Without a second thought, he fired a grapple line up to the bench top and was gratified it secured with a thunk. Pulling himself up with the right equipment was so much more efficient than the equivalent pseudo rock climbing he had had to do last time.

Before he knew it, he was up there standing next to the huge dispenser of coffee. He gazed up at it for a moment and blessed its existence.

But unfortunately, Sadie who had been kind enough to set it up for him last time wasn’t available.

Hell, if his assistant hadn’t been called away at the last minute, he would have gotten his coffee that day. As it was, the director had found out about the incident when Virgil arrived late on set and had given Sadie a dressing down that involved images of Tracy brothers falling into giant vats of coffee and being boiled alive.

As if Virgil would be that stupid.

Boiling himself would be such a waste of good coffee.

But there were no more attempts at giant coffees for Virgil Tracy from that point on. It was banned.

So, this time, he had to set it up himself.

He was consequently reassured that yes, he was really good with his tools. The suit hummed in appreciation as he made it do what he needed it to do and despite dropping coffee granules all over himself at one point – he was considering eating them off the counter, but then considered that a caffeine overdose wasn’t wise – he set up the machine ready to dispense some black heaven.

The teacup he had used last time had been pushed away to one side, but his exosuit made it a simple job to manipulate it into position so he could stand on it.

With the extension of his claw, he easily reached up and hit the green button.

It was a pleasure just to hear the coffee machine start up.

He was seriously tempted to take off his helmet and breathe in the gloriousness that was the scent of brewing coffee, but he still had to get that coffee cup into a position from which it would be safe for him to drink.

He may be coffee and sleep deprived but he wasn’t an idiot.

So, he stood there watching the coffee machine make the drink of the gods.

It was a little mesmerising.

And then the process was complete. The machinery quietened and the coffee cup sat waiting for him.

He didn’t hesitate.

It took both claws and a secure grapple to the shelf above the bench for stability, but he manoeuvred the cup down onto the bench top.

Steam fogged up his helmet as he looked down from atop the upturned teacup, so finally, he broke the seals and lifted it off his head.

Oh.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

He almost melted on the spot.

The smell was heady, intoxicating. Drowning in the dark liquid no longer seemed a bad idea.

He leant over a little further.

Ohhhhhhhhhh, it was just too good.

“Virgil! What the hell do you think you are doing?!”

It was Scott’s voice. Unmistakeable.

He would want to take away his coffee.

No.

No!

Not his precious coffee!

His brother flew up onto the bench and alighted without a sound. “Virgil!”

Virgil hissed at him. “Go away.”

That earned him a worried frown. “That’s not safe.”

Screw safe, he wanted coffee. He unhooked his thimble cup from his waist and reaching down, scooped up some blessed, steaming liquid manna.

It was hot.

It was delicious.

He poured it down his throat.

Oh, god, yessssss.

Another scoop and he sculled some more. His tongue scalded a little, but he didn’t care.

More.

He was guzzling like a dying man at water filled oasis.

“Virgil?”

“Virgil!”

And suddenly the coffee cup disappeared.

No, no, no, no, no, no!

He over balanced and would have fallen if it wasn’t for a sudden thunk of a grapple on the back of his suit.

He looked up to find Scott securing his grapple line to a coffee cup hook underneath the overhead shelf as Virgil teetered on the edge of his teacup, barely prevented from falling by the cable’s connection to his suit.

And there was no more coffee.

No.

Please.

“I need coffee.”

Scott floated down to Virgil’s eye level and Virgil realised exactly who had taken the coffee cup away.

The director was standing behind his big brother.

Virgil was in so much shit.

Damnit.

“I just want coffee.”

Scott was frowning at him. “Are you okay, Virgil?”

“DO I LOOK OKAY?!”

Um, that may have come out a little bit louder than intended. But then he was hanging partly suspended from an empty coffee cup hook.

Much quieter. “I just need coffee.”

Scott’s eyes were wide. “I think you’ve had enough coffee.”

No, he needed more. Buckets more. “Please, Scott.”

“Uh, no. We’re going home.”

Virgil blinked. “What?”

But Scott had turned away and was talking quietly to the director.

Virgil caught a glimpse of something shiny out the corner of his eye and turned to find a single drop of deep brown gold suspended from the coffee dispenser.

Coffee!

Without thought he leapt for it.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Scott actually did think, because a yank on that grapple line probably prevented Virgil from being scalded.

“What the hell, Virg?!”

He blinked as he hung fully suspended by his brother’s grapple line, swinging slowly back and forth, one very unhappy commander glaring at him.

Umm, yeah, maybe that was taking it a step too far.

Scott’s words were firm. “Shed the suit and go and sit in the car.”

“Sco-“

“Now.” Blue fire lasered him where he hung.

Virgil gave in with a single nod.

Scott lowered him to the bench top and Virgil dropped the suit with a clatter. He stomped off in a huff as Sadie was called over the PA system to come and assist him.

He only wanted a decent coffee, for crying out loud.

After all, Gordon did get that massive hot dog the other day, and John had slept in his bagel, for goodness sake.

Why couldn’t he have his coffee?

It just wasn’t fair.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #crazy meta #meta crack #meta #nutty is nuts #he just wants coffee

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mandadoration · 4 years

Text

know your place

summary: Mando catches you with intentions to turn you in for your bounty, but you’ve been in the game long enough to know how to deal with someone like him. You’re determined to make the Mandalorian beg.

word count: 5, 128

pairing: mandalorian x smuggler!reader

warnings: slight dub-con elements (aphrodisiac), non-consenual drug use, smut, handjob, sub!mando, use of bondage, mentions of drugs, praise kink, thigh riding, dirty talking, teeny tiny pain kink, explicit sex

a/n: I guess I really have a thing for his cuffs? Also, don’t ask me where this fic is in terms of timeline- I have no idea.

“She’s dangerous,” Greef Karga warns. “You aren’t the first bounty to have gone after her, but I trust you’ll be the last.” He slides a fob and puck over the table.

“What is it that makes her so dangerous?” Mando asks. He views your puck. You aren’t particularly threatening. Hell, you’re even smiling brightly as the hologram of your face spins around. If he’s being honest, Mando wouldn’t have pegged you for a criminal. A farmgirl, maybe, or some handmaiden to some nobility in the Core Worlds. “She’s just a spice runner, right?”

“All spice variants. And death sticks, snuff, sweetblossom, rissle stick, slick,” Karga adds on. “That’s not even all of it. If you can smuggle it, she’s got it.” His tone is unusually serious. It’s no wonder why; this bounty is definitely one of the higher ones. The price tag on her head was lucrative. It’s enough for a month or two’s worth of rations, and then some.

“Really? That many?” Mando asks. “Sounds dangerous.” Most smugglers only chose to smuggle one or two things at a time. It was much too risky to try and transport so much across the galaxy. And by the sounds of it, this bounty sounds like she’s practically supplying half the galaxy. Maker knows how many other criminals she knows. “How’d she survive this long?” Karga shrugs.

“The other hunters refuse to talk,” he explains. “And those are the ones that have come back.” Mando watches your hologram bust rotate, your dazzling smile making you look deceptively innocent. He takes you puck and the tracking fob.

“I’ll bring her back,” he says. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Of course you knew that at some point, the infamous Mandalorian would be coming after you. Several people from the Bounty Hunter’s Guild had tried to cash you in, but you wouldn’t let them. So when you had caught word that he had your puck, you had been on guard immediately. You make far too good of a living to give it up.

But the Mandalorian?

That’s going to be a challenge.

You’ve heard about him in your little (well, not little) criminal circles, watching as some of your clients have been picked up by him. You’re always quick to leave at any sign of trouble. You didn’t become a major supplier of drugs by being careless, stars, no. That’s why when you’re supplying high quality spice to some big wig, you’re swathed in layers of servant’s robes as you stealth through the town, scarf over the lower half of your face.

You make sure that as you go through the city, you keep an eye out for any shiny piece of armor, making sure you bat your eyelashes at vendors and practically sashay through town, keeping a hand under your clothes, where your package was disguised as a pregnant belly. An old trick, but more effective than people would think, especially if you were in a less-fortunate part of town. You’ve even gotten some credits from sympathetic nannies who coo about your faux-baby in the past. You aren’t going to complain. You guess it does look weird when you go to a club to meet your client though.

The guard at the door recognizes you, of course, and you nod at him as you slip through the back door. “Slythmonger,” he grunts. Just because you knew each other doesn’t mean he thought that you were lowly, especially when he eyes your fake belly.

The club is filled with barely-clothed aliens and humans alike, all sickly sweet smiles and big eyes. You stick out like a sore thumb even more, but your clothes blend in with the dark. As you walk through the club, sticking close to the walls, you slip deathsticks to familiar customers who slip you credits in return. You get to a closed off room, knock three times, and slide in, squeezing your belly as you do.

And you stop.

Because your client is staring at you with wide eyes as the Mandalorian sits across from him. If you thought you were out of place, the Mando looks like it even more, shiny beskar stark against the velvet cushions. You immediately slide your expression into one of anger, narrowing your eyes.

“Honey,” you grit out, glaring at your client who gives you a look of confusion. You huff and put a hand on your belly, rubbing it as if you were really with child. “What did you do this time?” You motion to the Mandalorian. At this point, you can hope that your scarf covers your face well enough, and that your client will be smart enough to catch on.

“What?” he asks stupidly. Apparently not.

You slowly stick your hand into a side pouch containing magic powder as you advance to your client.

“You obviously did something, sweetie,” you say, voice low, “if a Mandalorian is here.” You see the Mando tilt his head as he looks at you. You eye him from the side. “Are you with the guild?” you ask him, voice dripping with false fear, protectively covering the package. He gets up, and you tense, but he pulls out a puck and activates it, showing your face. And suddenly you’re glad for the loud, pulsing music because if it had been quiet, the tracking fob you’re sure he holds would be beeping loud and clear.

“I’m looking for her,” Mando says. “She delivers spice to your… husband here,” he says. “Have you seen her?” Either he’s a really good actor, or you’re a better one than him and have him fooled. You gasp and whirl to face your client.

“Spice?” you hiss at him, who honestly looks more scared at you than he did at the Mandalorian. “You’re doing spice?”

“Um, yes?” he stammers out. You sob dramatically, turning away as you try to scan for more exits. Looks like the door you came in is the only one, unless you can somehow fly up and go through the vents before the bounty hunter can snag you.

“I cannot believe this!” you cry out. “I’m due in a month! A month! And you’re out here doing drugs.” Your wailing makes Mando wince. “Where’s the money?” you demand. Your client scrambles to dump out the credits onto a nearby table and you scoop them out and count quickly. “So this is where it goes?” you screech. You tuck them away. The most he could do was pay you for the horrific acting you had to do, pretending that he was your husband. “I was reluctant for you to even start up this… this harem!” you say, motioning to the dark room and the door. “But I draw the line here!” You turn to slap your client, but in the middle of your theatrics, your fake belly drops down and out under your skirt, spilling carefully measured bags of spice all over the floor. The room falls silent as you stare, and turn back to look at the Mandalorian.

“Oh dear,” you say weakly, “the baby.” And you blow a handful of powder into his face, ripping off your servant garb and dumping it over his helmet. Although it wouldn’t as potent with the helmet on, you can disorient him. You burst through the door and sprint out of the club and side door, ignoring a very disgruntled guard as you dash into the streets.

“Get back here!” you hear him shout. Shit, he got out that faster than you thought, but at least the powder worked somewhat. He ran straight into a cart as he left the alley. But you have no time to gloat.

You dart through the annoyed crowd, and you can track where the Mandalorian is from how fast the people part behind you. As you run, you dig in your pockets for anything you can use. You curse when you realize that your only syringe was empty, and you didn’t have a replacement medshot. And you really didn’t want to waste your last vial of love-wallop. That shit was expensive on the market right now. You skid into another alley way, but you go cold as you realize it’s a dead end. You don’t stop running, even as the wall gets closer. At the end, you can see a door on the left. If you got there in time, you did have--

You trip when something tangles around your legs. You yelp as you go down, palms scraping against the dirt. Scrambling back, it tugs on you, and the Mando drags you closer to him.

“Nice acting,” he says, his voice rough behind the modulator. He’s out of breath and taking deep inhales. “Almost had me.” You scowl, and he throws cuffs at your feet, keeping his blaster trained on you. “Cuff yourself.”

Glaring at him, you untangle your legs from the wire he used and snatch the cuffs up. There’s no way you’re letting yourself get caught without a fight. He’s watching you carefully, but you’re fast, faster than him at least, and you chuck the cuffs at him and blow another handful of powder in his face. As he doubles over in pain and disoriented from another dose, you kick his blaster out of his hand and expertly dump your vial into the syringe, and tackle him, climbing on his back as you grit your teeth and try to find a patch of skin. He tries to buck you off, but you stab your needle into his neck before he can. Mando yells in alarm and does eventually manage to throw you off, but it’s working fast, and soon he’s swaying on his feet.

“What... what did you--” he slurs, but he tips over before he can finish. You huff as you toss the empty vial and syringe aside. It shatters as it hits the wall and you crouch down next to him. Mando reaches up, but you simply push his hand back down. He’s too weak to fight back. “What’d you put in me?” You purse your lips.

“Love-Wallop serum,” you answer. “That was expensive, Mando. That’s gonna cost you.” You admire his get-up. If that was really beskar he was wearing, you could afford to hide out for months while you gather more supplies and lie low. “It’s not usually meant to be injected,” you hum, grasping his helmet and tilting it as it glints in the sunlight. “Although, maybe I can change the formula a teensy bit.” You peer at the injection site. It’s a little irritated from the rough jab, but it fades away as a flush creeps up his neck.

“I thought…” Maker, his mouth is dry, and he feels floaty as the serum works through his system. “I thought you were just a slythmonger.” You chuckle.

“When you’re in this trade for as long as I have,” you say, leaning in close, “you learn a thing or two.” You watch as he moans and attempts to get up. A simple nudge discourages him as he plops back on the ground with a soft thud.“Now, how am I gonna get you out of here?” you murmur.

The last thing he sees is your frowning face as you get up to pat the dust off of you.

When Mando finally comes to, his head his aching, and he’s burning up, an ache deep and low in his gut. He’s sees you lounging casually across from him with a watchful eye. Mando jerks and tries to reach for his blaster, but his hands are tied above his head. With his own cuffs, magnetized and stuck to the wall.

This is what they call irony, he supposes.

A quick glance tells him that he’s in some kind of hideout, junk and trinkets lining the wall, and a pile of crates pushed up against another. It’s dim, the only source of light being a lamp next to a cot and what little sunlight that’s being mostly blocked by curtains. He shifts, and realizes all his gear has been stripped from him, including his vambraces and armor so that he’s left in his shirt and pants. Not even his boots are on him. He worries for a quick second in this moment of disorientation that his helmet’s been taken off when you speak up.

“Your helmet is still on, don’t worry,” you say, shifting legs so that one is crossed over the other. You’re not stupid, after all. “What’s your name?” Mando doesn’t speak, but instead scans the room for anything that could help him get out of this situation. There’s a door or some kind of hatch in the far left corner, and another to what he thinks is the refresher, but everything surrounding him is moved far out of his reach in every direction. “Let me ask you again,” you say cooly. You get up, and run your boot up his leg, sending tingles up it and up his spine as he lets out a soft groan. “Tell me your name,” you say, sweetly.

“Din. Din Djarin,” he gasps out before he can stop himself. It’s hot. Much too hot in here even though he sees that you’re wearing a leather jacket to protect yourself from the slight chill. He’s aching, and he wants to dig his hands into your soft flesh.

Where did that thought come from?

“Well, Din Djarin,” you say, and it should be illegal how sinful his name sounds coming from you. “You’re gonna be my little experiment. How about that?” you murmur. You crouch down next to his and rub your thumb on his upper thigh. He bucks up into the air, and you hum when you notice the bulge in his pants.

“What did you put in me?” he grits out, straining against his cuffs. You remove your hand and get back up, and Mando has to bite back the whine that threatens to leave him at the loss of contact. You take off your jacket, sling it over a chair, and pick up a vial of shimmering pink liquid.

“Love-Wallop,” you answer. “It’s usually in a pill form, but my customers complained it took too long to dissolve, so I made it into a serum.” You glance at it and then to him, rolling the vial in your fingers. “Although I am starting to wonder if I can safely make it for injection.”

“You roofied me?” he asks. You make a face.

“No!” you protest. You huff and roll your eyes. “What it’s supposed to do is make you more… susceptible to suggestion and seduction,” you continue. You place the vial down on a table and squat down next to him, and run a warm hand up his shirt. “Enhance what’s already there,” you continue. “You’re burning up,” you note, and use your other hand to palm him through his pants. He lets out a low moan, grinding up against your hand.

“Yeah?” he groans, “That’s what happens when-- stars -- you get drugged.” You laugh, and pull your hands away, laughing harder when he struggls against his bonds to follow you.

“I guess you’re right,” you say amusedly. You reach for your jacket. “Shall I leave you here?” you ask coquettishly. “Let you ride out this little drug trip? Mind you, I don’t know how long it lasts or what happens when you don’t deal with... this,” you warn. You dig the heel of your boot on his erection, just barely enough pressure, but enough to tease him, to make your point. But a moan drags itself from his mouth. His head rolls back, and you’re willing to bet your entire stash of alderaanian snuff that his eyes are rolling back as well. You kneel down to unbuckle his pants and slide them over his hips, grinning when he subconsciously lifts his hips to help you. Maker, you wish you could just snatch that helmet off of him, see who it was and stick your fingers in his mouth. You think that he must have the softest lips, judging from how sweet every sound he makes is.

But you aren’t that cruel.

You are, however, cruel enough to pull his cock from his underclothes and let it go, watching it as it bounces up and leans against his belly. The trail of hair that leads up his hair only fuels your desire to see if the curtain matches the drapes. You absentmindedly rub the tip of cock with a single finger, smearing precum around as it twitches under your touch. You sigh dramatically and wipe your finger on his stomach before getting up, knees cracking as you turn away.

“But you’re right!” you say. “You’re drugged, and I shouldn’t help you anyways, Din Djarin.” You voice drops to a whisper. “Even though I would very much love to help you and your little problem.”

“You can’t- You can’t leave me here,” Mando protests, voice raspy and thick with desire as he eyes your figure. He feels hotter than ever, and sweat is dripping down his neck. You swing your leather jacket back on and turn to face him with hands on your hips.

“Of course I can,” you say. You lick your lips as you drink in how desperate he looks. If it were anyone else, you would leave them, but this Mandalorian intrigues you. Maybe you can… Just this once… “But I will reconsider,” you propose, “if you ask nicely.”

“You expect me to beg?”

“I expect you to ask nicely,” you correct, but your face splits into a feral grin. “But begging would be nice.” Mando doesn’t speak. He’s mulling it over, considering the pros and cons of ‘asking you’ to help him. The need is bubbling in his belly, and his cock is painfully hard. And you know it. Even if you can’t feel what he’s going through, he’s telegraphing his thoughts as he’s clenching and unclenching his fists, squirming where he’s sitting on the ground of wherever he is and canting his hips towards you. “What do you say?” you ask, the smile on your face reminiscent of the one on the puck, bright, but with an edge that screams predatory. He wants to, Maker knows how much he feels like he needs you, but his pride--

“No.”

-- gets the better of him.

As soon as he says it, as soon as he sees your face drop and harden, he regrets it, he wants so desperately to please you, but he bites his tongue and keep quiet, even as his breath comes in pants as he’s thrusting into the air. You tilt your head, frowning. You want to ruin him, make him come apart under your hands; you probably want this as much as he does, but instead you shrug.

“Okay.” And you sit down back in your seat in front of him, legs spread as you watch him.

“Aren’t you going to leave?” Mando asks. He burns with shame under your gaze, and his cock twitches again. You shake your head.

“No,” you say. “I said that you were going to be my little experiment,” you remind him. “I make good on promises, Din Djarin” and give him a sly wink. Mando grits his teeth, and directs his gaze somewhere else, anywhere but your piercing eyes and searching gaze. You hum and lean back. You can wait this out. You’re patient.

This will be interesting.

The sun has set far below the horizon, and Mando’s cock is still hard by the time he finally speaks up.

“Can you…” He clears his throat. He’s absolutely parched, and swallows, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Can you let me go?” he asks. You look up from where you have been mindlessly scrolling through your data pad.

“Hm?”

“Can you let me go?” he repeats. You furrow your eyebrows.

“And why would I do that?” you ask. You put your data pad on the table next to you and get up to stand next to him, looking down. Mando scrambles for an excuse in his rattled brain. He’s pretty sure with the way his temperature is soaring his brain is fried by now.

“I’m sure you’re busy,” he says, and cringes with how unconvincing it sounds, even to him. “And have other things to do.” He doesn’t think too long on that, though, because you take a seat next to him and he catches a whiff of your scent, and he’s yearning for your touch again. He wants you so bad, or your hand, at this point he’ll take anything.

“I am doing something,” you say simply, and lean forward so that you’re leaning against your hand. “Watching you.” You trail a finger up his side. “Waiting. Thinking.”

“Waiting for what?” he breathes.

“Something,” you say with a sigh.

“Thinking about what?”

“How much I would love to wrap my hands around your cock,” you say bluntly, and you scratch your nails down his side. “How I would make you beg for it,” you continue, leaning in close so that you’re right by where his ear would be. “How you would beg for me to fuck you, or beg for my mouth or anything to let you cum.” You slide your hands up his shirt again, palms smooth across his scarred torso, and you tweak a nipple before pulling them back out again, and give his cock one, two, three pumps before you let him go. The lust makes his head cloudy, and at this point, he would let you do anything to him. You lean away from him.

You tease, he thinks. And he can’t take it anymore. His resolve breaks.

“Please,” he whines, and you freeze.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” he mutters, but your grin is hungry as you lean back in.

“Say it again,” you command, and once again, he feels the inexplicable need to tell you everything as you scent fills his nose again.

“Please.”

“Again.”

“Please.”

“Again.”

“Please.”

“Oh Din Djarin,” you whisper, and the effect your voice has is devastating, “all you had to do was ask.”

Mando nearly cums right then and there when your unyielding grip wraps around his cock, stroking him in long, tight motions as you swing your leg over him to get a better angle. The pleasure is overwhelming. You reach over him, somewhere he can’t see, and you pull out a vibroblade and point it at the base of his throat. His pulse quickens, thinking that you’re about to slit his throat, but instead you catch the top of his shirt and slice it off. You throw the blade over your shoulder and you run your free hand all over his tanned skin. He growls when you twist your hand, and he bucks up.

“You’re doing so good,” you moan, grinding against his muscled thigh as it flexes. “So good, Din Djarin,” and it’s true. Although you can’t see his face, you see how his chest is flushed and warm, the blush crawling up his neck, and the way he moans is beautiful. “I wish I could keep you,” you mutter, and hiss when you rub your clit just right against him. “Stars, you’d let me do anything to you, hm?” You kiss his chest and start peppering little nips and bites up his neck, sucking a particularly dark mark right on his pulse point. “Answer me.” You cup his balls and stare at him.

“Yes,” Mando gasps. He’s nearly sobbing from the pleasure, the relief of finally having his cock touched overwhelmingly good, and preening under your murmured praises. “A-anything, fuck, just don’t-don’t stop please--!” His words are choked out as he suddenly cums all over your hand, thick, white ropes coating it and splashing onto your jacket. You don’t stop stroking him, grinding against him as he cums, and the sound he makes is pitiful. It’s only when you cum, white-hot pleasure making your ears ring as you finally stop moving against his thigh, and you’re both heaving in breaths. You pull away, and wipe your cum covered hands in the scraps of his ruined shirt, and you get up to leave, but then you stop when your eyes trail down.

“Are you still hard?” you ask him incredulously. He came so much, but yes, there it is, his cock is still hard and nearly purple at the tip. As if you didn’t do anything at all. The little noise he makes only further confirms it. You gnaw at your bottom lip, staring at his marked chest and neck, and you think that you have another one in you.

Definitely.

And so now you’re shucking off your jacket and unbuckling your belt, slick with desire. Mando is watching you, following your movements and watching as your deft hands push down your pants and kicking off your boots. As you sink down, taking his cock in one fluid motion, and the scientist in you vaguely wonders if the dose of love-wallop you gave him could be transferred via bodily fluids.

That thought is kicked out of your brain as he snaps his hips up and hits that spot inside of you, going deep and so wonderful and it feels like he’s punched the breath out of you. You gasp out a breathy moan.

“Holy shit,” Mando hisses. He manages to get his feet under him, giving him better leverage to thrust into your pussy, watching as you bounce on top of him.

“Yes, yes,” you moan. You hold onto his shoulder, all hard muscle and tensed with how he’s pulling at his cuffs to make sure he doesn’t slip. Mando wishes that he could wind his hand through your hair and pull your head back, to bare your neck and mark you, but his hands are still above his head, and he’s sure he’s rubbed his wrists raw. Your toes curl as he fucks you, eyes glazing over as you spy your reflection in his helmet, and your eyes widen when you see how debauched you look. “Din Djarin, I am never letting you leave,” you groan, rubbing your clit. “Stars, your- your cock,” you yelp at a particularly hard thrust, “fuck!” With your free hand, the one not preoccupied with playing with your clit, you dig your nails into his shoulder for leverage, and dig harder still when he moans in response.

“Do you- Do you do this to all the hunters?” he manages to gasp out, and you shake your head. “Do you let them, let them do this to you? Fuck you?”

“Just you,” you say. “Only you.”

The squelching that fills the otherwise silent room is absolutely disgusting, his hips slapping up against yours, your shirt still covered in his cum. You’re beautiful like this, he thinks, or at least tries to, but all he can do is try and commit the image of you, flushed and hair messy, as you bounce up and down to meet his thrusts halfway, rolling your hips now and then, his mind too jumbled to form worthwhile thoughts.

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts. “Soon, shit, if you keep doing that I’m--”

“Cum,” you breath out, face twisted up in pleasure. There’s coil deep in your core that’s been winding up, and you know you’re close to making it snap. “Cum in me.” And he’s consumed with the desire to listen and hang on to your every word, and he cums. That does it for you too, the feeling of him filling you up, and you grind against him as you nearly wail with pleasure as you orgasm, rubbing your clit in fast, small circles, pleasure rolling through you in waves.

When you finally come down, Mando is gasping for breath as he slumps back down, and you pry your iron grip from him and get up, his soft cock slipping out of you, but you think you see it twitch again as cum drips out of you. As you pad to the refresher, Mando is overcome with sleepiness and exhaustion. He’s been wound up for hours, he sure, that when he finally got his release, his energy is spent. Mando nearly dozes off when you come back with a warm, wet rag, and wipe your cum and his from his body. You wipe the sweat around his neck, running it gently over the crescent-shaped marks from where you had dug your nails in, and he’s taken aback from how tender and gentle you are with him. There’s a soft look to your face as you’re focused on cleaning him up to the best of your abilities, and he thinks that you’re not even aware he’s looking at you. When you pull away, he yearns for your touch, but in a different way this time, and you give him a small smile.

“Sleep,” you command him, and he tries to commit this image in his mind, not the one before, of you in the warm light of the lamp in the corner, glowing with the drips of moonlight filtering in, and once again he listens to what you say, and closes his eyes.

Mando wakes up with a start, neck sore, and he scrambles up when he realizes he’s no longer cuffed, and remembers the events of the night before, dropping the blanket that had been placed over him.

The hot desire that had consumed him is gone now, and instead his legs and arms are aching, wrists raw and irritated like he knew it would be, and he looks around for you.

But any trace that you were there before are gone.

The crates of drugs, your leather jacket and pants, hell, even the furniture and lamp that was in the corner are gone. All that’s left is his armor and a replacement shirt next to him. When he bends down to pick up the shirt, a little jar tumbles out. He reads the label.

Salve, it reads, in what he presumes is your handwriting. For Din Djarin. Compensation for partaking in my experiment. He cracks a grin and puts it back on the floor, pulling the shirt over his head and starts the process of buckling his armor on again, trying to ignore how disappointment rises in him when the tracking fob linked to your chain code doesn’t even let out a single blip. Before he puts on his gloves and vambrace, he smears the salve over his wrists, and watches as the irritation almost immediately disappears. It works better than most commercial brands, he notes, and much better than the one in his medpack, so he tucks it away for future use, then freezes as he pats his pockets. He curses when he realizes.

You had taken all his credits.

#the mandalorian reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin reader #din djarin x reader #mandalorian imagine #mando reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian #my writing #smut

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 4 years

Text

Nothings ever what it seems

Bucky Barnes x Reader AU

Summary: Sometimes how we see things by our own eyes are not how things really are. This a journey of how you should never judge people by what you see.

Warnings: Swearing, bullies, parent’s death, mention of death, depression, lots of angst, but a happy ending.

A/N: This is my little entry for @mermaidxatxheart 500 followers challenge, but I’m pretty sure it doubled by now ;) It’s really emotional and kind of triggering stuff so if you do not feel like reading PLEASE DON’T. But I am very happy about this piece as I always wanted to write something about bullies, as it’s a personal thing for me. I hope you will enjoy it <3

oh and let me tag @idjitmonkey, I hope you don’t mind, but you wanted to have a read at that, so here it is <3

Word Count: 4300+ (wow, sorry)

There are people who loved high school. All the sports teams, cheerleading, friendships that would pathetically last forever. First ‘real’ relationships, sex drive and partying. Oh, and the prom, homecoming and all the shitty things all the girl were so happy about. All those people loved High School. But you were not one of them.

You hated it so much. Every memory you had about this time of your life was filled with sadness, anger or anxiety. You hated everything associated with High School. You never went to any sports events, didn’t care about cheerleading or who is dating who. You couldn’t give less of a shit about fashion, make-up or the parties. Those years were a nightmare for you.

As a shy girl that focused her attention on studying, books and all the ‘lame’ clubs (like history and literature) you were one of the first to be bullied. You tried your best not to show that it affected you, hoping that they would give up eventually. Of course, being a poor kid in a school fool of rich assholes wasn’t helping. You weren’t dressing like them, weren’t talking the same language. You never went out, not to mention that you never had a taste of alcohol or went on a date.

All you ever cared about was your education and all those part-time jobs you started to get when you finally turned 16. You needed the money more than all those stupid parties. Despite having a full-paid scholarship for your school there were still expenses that needed to be covered. Like your dad chemotherapy. Despite him trying to hide all the expenses from you, you knew how much money went into that and how little savings he had. All the money went on you, and you decided that as soon as you turn 16 you will work for yourself. And so you did. After the first year of high school, you gave up on all the clubs and took three part-time jobs. You slept around 4 hours with an extra two on Sundays, but you managed somehow.

Your dad was pissed when he found out that you gave up your young, high school life for him, but he was never more proud of you. You cherished those little moments you had with him. You always gave him the stories you wrote and he gave you the best feedback. You told him some made-up stories of your amazing highschool and friends you had. He didn’t need to know how lonely you were. Nor about the bullies, that seemed to love making your life even a more of a living hell.

HYDRA. That’s what they called themselves. Bunch of guys (and girls) that would start their life by taking all the lunch money from the kids. When they found out you had no actual money they made sure to destroy you mentally. During lunches they would always accidentally tipped their drinks on you, leaving you with dirty and soaked clothes until the end of the day.

But this you could survive. From time to time Steve Rogers and his gang would step up and defend the weak. A captain of the football team and the smartest guy in school has never looked down on you. But he was also from a rich family, that should ‘keep their level’ which means he would never even consider being friends with someone like you.

But there was him. James Buchanan ‘call me Bucky’ Barnes. From what the rumours said he was friends with Rumlow - the head of HYDRA gang - since primary school, but before high school they got into a huge fight. And now became the biggest enemies.

“You ok?” He once asked you, those grey-ish eyes that would hunt you till your last breath - gazed at you. He was the first person that treated you like a human being in this school and your stupid teenage heart decided to fall for him. For someone, you could never have. Someone that was from an entire world. A place where he could happily be a high schooler, a playboy and the most charming boy you ever met. All he needed was just a simple smile and all the girls would give themselves to him. The bad boy looks mixed with a kind heart.

If you wouldn’t be so tired and focused on school and work, you would probably be apart of this group of girls secretly hoping he would ask them out. But you weren’t. So despite trying to make things better, you - the world's biggest disaster - just growled, took your backpack and left with no words spoken to anyone.

The Avengers, as HYDRA called them, weren’t too happy about how you treated their kindness. Natasha Romanoff, a daughter of ahead of the police, cornered you in the bathroom once and made very clear that next time someone saves your sorry ass you thank them.

And that’s how you went on with your life. Having two biggest, most influential gangs in high school hating you. Sometimes you would catch Barnes (you would never call him any other than his last name) glancing at you, smirk under his nose.

So your life continued. It was cruel and tiring but a least you had your dad to make it work. It was him to beg you to go to at least your prom if you missed the homecoming. (you told him you weren’t feeling good). He even bought you a dress online. So when the day came you got yourself ready and was about to head to show yourself all fancy looking to your dad, when you got a phone call from a doctor to come to the hospital as your father was feeling worse.

And this was when your life changed completely. There you were in this ridiculously beautiful dress, watching your dad’s heart stop beating before you were able to show yourself to him. Your world ended that day. At the age of 18, you were left alone in this world. With an enormous bill to pay and an acceptance letter for the NY University. On this day, you closed yourself even more. You didn’t even care about all those mean words from Rumlow or the little smirks and looks from Barnes. You focused completely on studying and surviving. You sold the house your dad still had hoped to keep and with the money you had from it you rented a small apartment outside of NY. An hour and a half drive altogether, but at least something you were able to afford.

When you got that acceptance letter, you promised yourself that your life will change. You will be a better person and actually enjoy uni, even if you would have to work twice as much. You wanted to do it for him. Your dad. But now that he was gone, you had no reason. So before the Uni started you were able to find yourself two surprisingly well-paid jobs.

Journalism was always something you wanted to do. A little dream in the back of your head. Something your dad always encouraged you to do. And now that you were finally about to start your year at your dream Uni, there was nothing that would stop you. At least that’s what you thought. Until your first introduction class to WW2 you decided to take, as you always loved history.

“Well isn’t this Mrs Trouble-maker?” You froze hearing the familiar voice of the man who once helped you. You looked up from the book you were reading while waiting for the class to start. “Of course front table.” He chuckled and smirked at you. The same damn smirk that was hunting you since that day. His hair was a bit longer and he seemed to spend a bit of time at the gym during summer. His eyes, however, were as beautiful as they have always been.

“Barnes…” You whispered, closing your book and looking up at him. “I didn’t know you were going to NY.”

“She speaks!” He laughed, turning towards Steve who just walked in. He nodded his head as a way to say hi and sighed at his best friend. “Year of having classes together and you never spoke to me directly.”

“Buck”, Rogers growled, when the room started to fill.

“You ok, if I sit here?” Your frowned, when he showed to the seat next to you. You shrugged and turned towards the front of the class when the professor walked in. You tried to focus on the class, ignoring the little glances Barnes was sending towards you.

You were more than relieved not to see him in any of your journalism classes. Apparently, it was just this one you both shared. Through the whole summer, you hoped you will never see the people from high school ever again. You hoped this part of your life was over. You could move on. As pathetically as you do it, just move on.

“Miss Trouble-maker!” You cursed under your nose, wondering why gods hate you. “I didn’t know you work here.” A small cafe place was paying quite good money as it was normally visited by rich folks that didn’t mind spending 24 dollars on a stupid latte.

“What can I get you?” You asked trying to stay as professional as possible. You even gave him one of your fake smiles.

“Oi, Stevie, Natasha, look who I found!” You felt shivers down your spine hearing her name. Oh, Barnes was annoying, while Romanoff was just frightening. And of course, she looked even more beautiful after summer. Her always short hair grew longer. And not to mention that she has probably lost some kilos as well. If that was even physically possible.

“Y/L/N”, she greeted you with a grin and you welcomed them as they would be every other customer. “I heard you got into NYU…” Oh, how you hated small talk, especially when there was a line of customers started to appear.

“I’m sorry but the line is getting bigger. Can I help you with your choice today?” You really tried to sound as nice and polite as possible.

“It’s not very polite to not answer someone’s question”, she hissed and narrowed her eyes at you.

“Is something wrong.” You froze hearing the voice of your boss. The biggest chauvinistic, rich boy of an asshole you ever met. He was not much older than you, but because he got rich daddy he became a manager of his own coffee place right after uni. “Y/N the line is getting bigger.” He growled at you angrily. Oh, and of course he hated you. Especially after you declined his offer for a date about four times already. He was just waiting for an excuse to hire you.

“You should teach your workers to answer questions, Jack.” Your widened hearing Romanoffs remark.

“Natasha! It’s so good to see you.” He smiled and went there to give her a hug.

“Come on Nat, it’s our fault!” Bucky chimed in, giving you an apologetic look, which you tried to ignore. “Sorry, man. I was trying to catch up with a friend from school.” You did everything you could not roll your eyes at it. A friend from school. That was a good one.

“Doesn’t justify why the line is getting bigger.”

“Maybe if you helped your workers a bit, it wouldn’t be that bad?” Bucky hissed. Apparently, they both didn’t like each other much.

“I’m the manager, Barnes. I hire people to do their damn job and if someone can’t they probably shouldn’t be here…” As you were about to just ignore them and take another customer in, you froze hearing his words. “Sorry guys for the inconvenience your coffee on me.” He then smiled and turned towards you. “Well on her, as she seems not to be able to do her job!” Your eyes widen. No, no, that was not happening. Why did the world hate you so much?

“Sorry doll, I...:”

“Have you decided on your choice of beverage, sir?” You asked, trying to stop the angry tears from flowing. You were sure that when the day is over you will lose that job. And what’s worse getting a job in the middle of the academic year was a nightmare. Almost impossible.

“Come on, Buck…” Steve murmured and ordered three cappuccinos for himself and his friends. “And we’ll pay.” He smiled and took his card from the pocket of his jacket. “Sorry about it, Y/N.” You nodded and turned around, preparing yourself for the end of the day.

It was supposed to be your time. Journalism was what you loved since you were a kid. An idea of telling someone’s story was so appealing to you. So beautiful and romantic. But now when the end of the year came and you got a yearly reminder of how much you own to different institutions you were sick. The bill for your dad’s treatment wasn’t getting any better. not to mention the still growing rates of your student loan and all the postponed bill were growing as well. You were completely broke and after losing the job at the cafe you didn’t get to find another one. Not a part-time, who would expect students or something which was remotely near uni or your flat. Not to mention that your landlord needed to raise the rent, which only made you realise how fucked up you were. You were able to get extra shifts at the shop but it still didn’t pay the expenses. You needed to make life decisions and this one, to end your childhood dream was one of it.

A year of expenses from University was still better than a future 5 years (mixed Master course) and as much as it pained you to send the letter to the dean you needed to do it. You cried the whole week prior to this decision. You felt even worse when the amazing guy tried to make you stay, promising to try and help you with the loan. But even with the extra scholarship, you wouldn’t be able to make it. So with as much spirit and power you had in you, you thanked him and left his office ending your student career.

“Miss Trouble-maker!” You have got to be fucking me! Since the cafe incident, he tried to talk to you. Even invited to a 4th of July (and Steve’s birthday) frill and theirs. But you ignored him. You didn’t care you were impolite but you hated him. And as much as you knew he wasn’t really at fault for your shitty situation but now you really needed to put a blame on someone. “I missed you at the hist…” He got quiet when he noticed the tears that you had enough of hiding. “What happened?” His voice serious, and there some softness in his feature.

“Leave me alone, Barnes!” You hissed, and walked past him, to the end of the building, really not wanting to make a scene at the corridor. “Just once in your life, leave me the fuck alone”, he was taken back by the curse. For all the years he’s been observing you, you never once cursed. Never. You were a goodie girl.

“No. You’re crying. Come on, tell me what’s happening? Did someone hurt you?” The sincerity in his voice was so annoying. Why was he so nice to you. Why did he even care?

“Why would you care heh?” You growled, not caring about making a scene anymore. He wanted to know. Then fuck it. He will know. “Why would someone like you care? Your whole life is nothing but open doors waiting for you to cross. Why would you give a fluffing fuck about someone like me? You never cared about making my high school life a living hell beside that damn Romanoff and Rumflow. The never leaving smirk on your face haunts me till this day. The way you look down at people who weren’t so lucky to be born rich.” You sniffed and pushed him away from you when he tried to take a step closer. “And when I thought I was finally free from this damn school, you and Romanoff happened again. You walked into my life, making it a living hell again. This one time after this damn prom night, I wanted to start living again, but no, you were always there, with this annoying smirk of yours!” You didn't care that there were people watching the two of you. You were sure you heard Rogers and Romanoff from the crowd, but Barnes stopped them with a shove of his hand. “But I didn’t care. I learned to have my life a living hell, but then you had to come to my work and destroy all of it, with your damn friends!” You shouted, showing at surprised Natasha. “You with your high status, rich kids behaviour cost me my job!” His eyes widen and when he was about to open his mouth to speak, you stopped him. “You have no clue about my life. No idea how hard it is for me to survive every passing hour. Not to break down and just fucking give up.” You shook your head, wiped the tears with your sleeve and turned around. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever game you were playing, you won, Bucky. Congratulations.” It was the first time you called him that and it burnt your lips. “Damn it, everyone is watching… At least I will never come back to this place…”

“What are you talking about, Y/N?”

“I quit. Are you happy now? huh? DOES THIS MAKE YOU HAPPY?!” You shouted, turning back to him. “Life isn’t always as happy and under control, as yours is. Life is shit, Barnes. I hope you will never have to find it out!” And with no words left you run towards the exit, pumping at Romanoff, who had the decency to look sad.

“I miss you, daddy!” You whispered, putting a simple sunflower on his grave. “I… I can’t do this any longer. My life is a mess, really. I'm a mess. You know… I left uni…” it was a month after you shouted at Barnes and left NYU and the first time you came to your dad’s grave. “I could not afford it. All the expenses. The bills, the loans… Everything just kept crashing down. But hey I got two jobs back. Damn it, daddy… I don’t blame you don’t get me wrong, it’s just. It’s hard. And I made a fool of myself and blamed a poor guy for all my problems. He didn't deserve my bitchy attitude, but… It was Barnes.” you chuckled remembering the time you told your dad about a guy you had a crush on. “He really didn’t deserve it. Now that I think about it, he was always nice to me. A bit cheeky and annoying but nice. Well, I guess it was harder not to have a crush on him, right?” You chuckled through the tears. “I think I will leave NY. I may go and live in a small town. You would be so disappointed at me, daddy. I really wanted you to see me happy. I was ready to come to the hospital and show you this damn prom dress, but… I’m sorry daddy.” You sat on the ground and hid your face in your knees.

“I’m sorry.” You jumped on your feet hearing a familiar voice behind you. There was Barnes, with tears in his eyes, and a flower bouquet in his hand. “I didn’t know… No one knew…”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, pretending to start cleaning, the already cleaned grave.

“Please don’t hate me for that.” You frowned hearing his defeated voice. “Nat looked you up using her dad’s access.” You froze, but then you shrugged. No, you didn't care anymore. “Jesus, Y/N, did anyone from school knew? Teachers? Anyone?”

“It doesn’t matter, Barnes.” You shook your head and put your small backpack on, and got yourself ready to leave. “Thank you for the flowers. If you wish you can put them next to mine. He would be happy.”

“Y/N, please.” He cried, stopping you by your wrist. “Please… I… I really didn’t know about your situation. I didn’t know your dad was sick, not that he died… Please.”

“What do you wanna know Barnes? What’s more important, why do you need to know? It won’t change anything.”

“I always looked at you.” He smiled softly. “You were this smart, quiet, beautiful girl who caught my eyes. Damn, I was obsessed with you. I was hoping to see you at the prom, I wanted to ask you out. But you never came, now I know why...“ His gaze shifted at the grave behind you. “I cannot even imagine what you went through… But maybe we can start from the start and I can take you out for a coffee or something?” You looked at him and there was something shifting in your heart. This always confident guy was now all shy and nervous, all because of you. You put your hand on his cheek and smiled.

“I will start everything from the beginning. This is why I’m leaving. Have a great life, Bucky.” He wanted to stop you, convince you to not leave but he knew that he was being selfish. So he watched you go. He left the flowers on the grave and promised to come here every year from now on. And maybe he would be able to see you again.

It has been years since you came to this place. Ten years since you moved away and started a new, better life. You moved to Carlisle and worked in the little library there with some extra job in the small coffee shop. You got your degree in teaching and not journalism and you schooled kids in the little military school there, while you found yourself writing books, one after the other and before you were able to blink you were one of the most established writers. Your books were selling quicker than the freshly baked bread and you were finally happy. You were sending flowers to your dads grave unable to come back there. Until this year. After years you decided to move back to NY. A city you found yourself to actually love. You bought an actual flat in Brooklyn and got a small teaching job at the school there. Despite not having to work, thanks to your books, you still loved doing it.

And when the anniversary of his death came, you finally went there, only to be met with a figure cleaning the grave. You frowned, knowing that you have cancelled the yearly grave caring.

“Hello?” You froze when the man turned around. Despite those ten years, he hasn’t changed much. He has cut his hair from what he had in college. He has become a bit bigger, especially around shoulders. His jaw seemed sharper than before. He changed. From a boy, he transformed to even a more handsome man. But his eyes stayed the same. Beautiful greyish once that always melted your heart. You didn’t remember him being so tall, but when he straightened up he was a good head taller than you. “Barnes?”

“Y/N?” His expression softened, hearing your voice. It was visible on his face that he had not recognized you. Of course not. You weren’t this poor kid anymore. You were good clothes and a bit of makeup. Your hair was well done, and not kept in a loose ponytail. Just like he has become a man, you have become a woman. “Wow… You... “ He coughed awkwardly, which made you giggle quietly. “You look great, Y/n.” He finally said, his voice a bit distant, almost unsure what this compliment would make you do.

“You don’t look bad yourself.” You complimented himself, and you swore you could see a faint blush on his cheeks. “What are you doing here?” You asked, softer now. You noticed the already cleaned grave and some fresh flowers.

“I…” He hanged his head and took a deep breath. “Don’t be mad at me, ok?” You frowned and nodded, letting him continue. “I… Since you left I came here every year and took care of your father’s grave. I felt so bad for how I treated you, and everything, and… Well when you left, this was the only reminder of you.” You felt your heartache at this shy, lost man standing opposite you. He was this confident, smirking and annoying kid anymore. You could see it in his eyes. He went through ups and downs in his life, which made him a different man. “I… Can stop if you want. I’m sorry, now that I think about it, it was invasion of your privacy… Shit, I…” You stopped him putting an arm on his forearm, to stop him from mumbling.

“Thank you, Bucky.” His eyes widen, when his nickname sounded so soft. He swallowed and smiled shyly. “It means a lot to me, really. I… I think I should apologise to you as well. I was unfair to put all my failures on you. you were always nice to me, and I… I think it all just was just too much for me. I’m sorry Bucky for being such a bitch.” He chuckled and you couldn’t help but admit that this made him look even more handsome. So you decided to be a bit bolt. “What do you do after this?”

“Nothing planned, why?” He asked, brows raised, when you smirked at him, trying to mimic his smirk from high school.

“How about I go apologise and say hi to my dad and then we can grab that coffee you promised me those ten years ago?” He gaped at you like you were crazy for a second, but then his face lit up and the most beautiful smile appeared on his face.

“I’d love that doll.”

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 5 years

Text

WhatsApp? Part 7. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you

A/N: I'm back, bitcheees.

Warnings: STEVE BEING AN EMOTIONAL SUPPORT.

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @songforhema, @mikariell95

Read the rest here: Part One Part Two Part three Part four Part five Part Six

If you like to have your readings in order :): H E R E

The Charity Evening was coming way too fast for your liking - you didn't feel ready at all and only two weeks remained. All the things were just suddenly fucking up and you just watched it happen, crumbling down in front of your own eyes.

“I just... Don't know. I am just afraid that I will fuck something up. I can fall and roll down, kill somebody else... Steve, it's just too much. Plus the costumes are not ready. There is just too much going on.” - You sighed into your phone. It was a workday and you took your pause for lunch. Steve had a pretty calm day and he was up for a call. Every time you needed him, Steve was just a knight in shiny armor for you.

“Do not be ridiculous. You will do great, Y/N. Do not try to convince me otherwise. Every one of you is doing great so there is not a reason to be as stressed as you are. Besides, it's not healthy.” - Steve answered in a playful tone and you could hear some city noises in his background. You knew pretty well that he's in Brooklyn, somewhere out there, but even through that, you were staring down every guy that passed your seat. No one felt quite like Steve.

“Are you a nurse or what?” - You laughed and drank a bit of your juice. The sun was shining right at you, but the wind was blowing lightly, so you didn't feel hot.

“I am just concerned about your health. I don't need to be a nurse for that.” - He laughed a bit and you heard a doorbell rang. He just entered a shop.

“So, you're going to be at the Stark Charity Evening. Wow. Should I expect you to show yourself from the shadows?” - You asked and went to pay your lunch with Steve still on your shoulder.

Yeah. Steve Rogers just called you one evening and told you “I will be at the Stark Charity Event” and you went NUTS. Steve FUCKING Rogers will be there somewhere and even tho you knew he didn't know how you looked like, he will most probably see you. You went from “omg I will fuck something up” from “holy shit boy, I am most likely to die that evening”.

“I tend to stay in the shadows. And I don't think this is the evening you want me to show up. Trust me, you just have to wait. Be patient.” - Yes, you talked about seeing each other in person. Steve sounded like that it is everything he wants - yet he had to decline. He truly was a mystery. But mystery with a beautiful voice.

“I just have to try my chances. One day, you will say yes.” - You gave the lady the cash and told her to keep the change.

“Yeah. And that day comes. But if you ask all the time about it, you will feel like it will be a forever. I will be there and I will support you.” - Steve sighed.

---

He wanted to meet you so badly. So badly he just went to an antiquarian and looked for a thing that you might like. He got a sense of what you like and what you don't like throughout the time. Now, it was almost four months of almost day-to-day texting and calling. Sometimes he even tried his chances and flirted with you. It wasn't too often and it was hardly noticeable. But you got a small radar in your head or what, because you knew every single time.

He liked you. For real. Now that your calls were an everyday routine, he was truly feeling something. And he truly wanted to reveal himself during the Charity Event - but he was fucking Captain America and people would go nuts. He thought about it and he wanted it to be private so you had your time accepting that he was a freaking superhero.

So yeah, he would definitely be there, but watching you from the shadows. He knew which choreography will be yours because you talked about it stressing you a lot, so be made sure that he'll be especially on that part of the evening.

"You don't even know what do I look like, Steve." - You chuckled and he heard as you walked through the street as he watched those small things in the store. He wanted some jewelry - a necklace maybe? He was just searching for something at that point.

"So? I will do after the sound of your voice. I know the sound really well over that month." - Steve chuckled back.

"You know I can theoretically do the same?" - You asked him in a tight voice. He knew really well you wouldn't. You respected his privacy as he respected yours. You wanted him to see you that evening, and if he didn't wish to be seen, he knew you wouldn't go all Sherlock Holmes just to find him.

"That's fair." - Steve said. And it just bumped in his eyes. A small necklace. Nothing too crazy or big or scary. Just a simple silver necklace with a little gem on it.

"I thought about it... You said you'll go with James and Sam... I can reserve you some tickets for you to even get there. You wouldn't believe it - Tony Stark himself called us and said that the men will go crazy from our number." - You giggled excitedly. That made Steve frown a bit. Of course - your number was supposed to be slightly racy to get bigger attention and more money. And did he knew from his Captain America forties tour that men loved those ladies and couldn't care less about poor Steve.

And to see someone else flirting with you just because he could not approach you in person? Was Steve even ready for that? The answer was obviously no, but what else could he do that watch if that scenario happens?

"You can. I and the boys will love to see all of you and if you say there's only a tight chance of us actually getting there... It will be good." - Steve answered, lost in his own thoughts, paying for that damn necklace. He was thinking about how he's about to execute the plan - he wanted you to know he was there but he couldn't approach you. How to make it work?

When he looked over the cash in his huge palms, it hit him. A check. Money check for your charity with his own name on it. Anybody could be named Steve Rogers, right? But you would know in an instant, it would not be suspicious and you don't have to see his face.

And he knew he had an account which was made by Tony Stark himself, so everything it took was a... Phone call. A simple call which will bring him hours of being practically tortured by Tony Stark's jokes. But he knew that Tony is ready to help practically anytime he asked him.

"And on what name should I leave it?" - You asked concerned, tearing Steve off his mind.

"What?" - Steve asked, not having a single idea what you've talked about.

"The tickets, Steve. On what name should I book it? On yours?" - You repeated the question with tenderness in your voice. Like you knew that he's thinking about something important. He watched as the cashier carefully wrapped the necklace.

"No! No. Sam... Barnes." - He stuttered. It would be highly suspicious to have three tickets on a super hero's name. You probably didn't notice but some people would. You may be completely oblivious about his identity, but the people could be a pain in the ass sometimes. And Sam wasn't as recognizable as Steve or Bucky since he wasn't in news so often as he and Bucky were. So that was a plan right there.

"Okay. Take it as done. And I'm in front of the office, so, have a nice evening, handsome. I'll call you around six, is that a deal?" - You asked tenderly.

"Of course. Enjoy your day, Y/N." - He stated. So that was it. He was going to your number on the big Event and he was almost out of his mind about seeing you... A whole you. No matter who you'll be.

---

Since then, your day seemed to be better and better. The costumes finally arrived and they were exactly what you wanted them to be. They were truly beautiful. And shorts and shirts? They looked just great. The uniform covered it and it was easily strippable, so you got everything you needed.

Your choreography looked great, you managed to learn to dance on high heels and it indeed looked really sexy, just as Deena told you. You even felt that way and from what they've told you, that was the most important thing.

When you got home and thought about immediately calling Steve. That was usually the thing you did at home. You called him, listening to him on a loudspeaker when you cooked or watched some news. But today, you got something better for him. Something... Sexier and more intimate than everything you've done before.

You carefully slipped into the denim shorts covering you from your knees to your waist, it was practically shorted jeans, and then you wrapped yourself in a shirt, tying it around your waist. It showed only a little of your skin on your belly, nothing terrible. Then you covered yourself in the uniform consisting of a long, khaki green skirt and a fucking tight tux in the same color.

But you needed to say that the makers of those costumes were really good and it was fucking detailed from what you have learned about those uniforms. You indicated that they would be old styled. You remembered that Steve had a thing for old-styled things.

You took the photos almost an hour before everything was in its place and you looked actually good. (To be honest, you could send Steve a photo of you in a potato bag and he would find it sexy, but you couldn't actually know that.) Then, with great expectations and big nerves, you hit send. There wasn't your head, only your body in that uniform, your hip swayed so they would actually have a nice form, your legs pressed together and your hand circling your right hip. You looked like a pin-up model in that one.

Trust the narrator - you looked sexy as hell. And you couldn't know that you'll almost kill him with that photo.

Y/N: So... What do you think about our uniforms? Are they precise enough, Mr. Rogers?

---

They were just playing some monopoly at Tony Stark's tower. It was a nice tradition for them to sometimes gather around the table, all six of them with Pepper, Sam, Wanda, Vision, and Bucky, just to play child games.

Sam was extremely competitive so when he wasn't winning, he was pissed off, complaining about the rules almost all the time. Tony calmed him down with his witty remarks and the others just had fun from it.

"All I'm saying is, this,-" Sam hold some card in front of Thor's eyes and made him look at it. Thor wasn't comprehending with human games. He tried, yeah, but he couldn't get around with the rules. - "Means that you have to pay me. Gimme the goddamn money!"

"I am sorry, mister Wilson. But what if I just want to look around your beautiful land, you know, just to visit it?" - Thor asked and took a swing from his bottle of beer.

"You know, birdbrain. Thor's a traveler. He looks at things and their beauty, am I right?" - Natasha slowly patted Thor's shoulder and smiled, because she wanted to piss Sam off. She was extremely good at it. - "Why should he pay you? He pays with his soul."

"Romanoff, if you don't leave and if you don't stop encouraging Rapunzel, we will never finish the goddamn game." - Tony looked at Natasha, but he couldn't hide a smile. The thing with Avengers playing the games was like this - it always ended up with a huge argument and almost always it was started by Sam. Like the time they played Twister and Sam was extremely sure that Vision was just cheated because he has the power to actually go through things.

Bucky and Steve stopped Sam right before he was about to punch Vision in the face; forgetting about that Vision's body was made from Vibranium and that the punch will hurt him like hell.

Steve usually didn't play with them - he was making small talks, sipping his beer, enjoying being with his friends. This was everything he needed to have a good evening.

When his phone vibrated, he just smiled to himself and opened up without hesitation as he was talking with Clint about renovating his home. They were so caught up in the conversation that Steve didn't even think about covering up the display - so he almost fainted when Clint sighed loudly in the surprise.

“You, man, are full of surprises. Who the hell is that girl and what she is doing on your phone in that piece of clothing?” - Clint pointed a finger at that picture and devilishly wiggled his eyebrows. Thanks to God that it was Clint who saw her, Steve knew that if he asked him to shut up about that, he would. He was a way different than for example Tony Stark.

Steve turned his eyes to the screen as well. And he fucking flipped. What the hell? He was not too away from fainting.

It didn't mean that it didn't suit you. It didn't mean that you didn't look good - you looked too good. For his eyes, it was a dreamy sight from times he had known so well. You were so similar to... Her. It suited you, it made your hips stand out...

At that moment he realized that this is the first time he was you. Actual you. And you took his breath away for a solid few seconds. He took a close look at you. You truly were breathtaking for him. He practically studied the was that tux was hugging your breasts, and how it slowly slipped on your waist and ending on your gentle, delicate hips. That skirt was the true killer, revealing a bit of your bum, but not too much of it.

He sighed loudly and excused from the conversation with Clint. He walked directly to look out of the window, watching your photo. His brain froze for s minute or two. He tried to come up with a nice word, a compliment, something... Anything. But his brain was stuck.

From what he could tell, you were a treat for his eyes. To say that you were beautiful was a huge misunderstanding. You were mind-blowing. Dear lord, Steve couldn't speak for ten minutes straight, he just looked and in front of himself and drooled away from you.

"What happened, old man? You've seen a ghost?" - Nat wiggled her eyebrows and took a sip from her dry Martini. She looked beautiful as ever with her red dress on. Steve couldn't come up with a meaningful answer, so he just showed her the photo of you. Natasha closed her eyes a little, looking at you.

"That's practically a pornography for you, isn't it?" - Natasha giggled. She was drunk a bit, not too much, but she was tipsy already. - "But I got to say, she is beautiful. You're a lucky guy."

"That's for the first time I've seen how she looks like. I still don't even know how her face looks like..." - Steve sighed and giggled. His cheeks were rosy. He had a beautifully dreamy face and it appeared like his eyes started to shine. Natasha was happy for that man.

"Are you gonna tell her?" - She leaned her face into her palm, her full lips were smiling at Steve lasciviously.

"Tell her what?" - Steve answered innocently.

"That you're into her. And not only a bit. You have a huge crush." - Natasha winked. Steve shook his head and in that little moment, she snatched his phone and ran away from him.

"Natasha! Don't!" - Steve ran after her, but Natasha was too quick. She laughed and texted before Steve snatched the phone back. He. Was. Dumped.

Steve: Hey, Y/N, my big friend here wants to tell you that you look seriously hot! Love, Nat!

"I swear to dear Lord..." - Steve looked at her and massaged his scalp. You'll definitely go to tell him to frick off. He just knew. You looked hot. You truly did. But that just wasn't a thing that Steve would say out loud.

He would say: this suits you perfectly. Or: you look gorgeous. He wouldn't say you're hot. That was so overdone and so rude to you. But then his phone rang again.

Y/N: Thank you for that, that's just so sweet! Also, can you show him this one?

Well... If you looked hot in the uniform, according to Natasha, he was seriously considered about her opinion now. You were trying to burn him alive - he would swear that his body's temperature raised by three to four degrees, he was sweaty and he just closed his eyes to breathe it all out.

Those denim shorts... Those fucking denim shorts. He was damned to the deepest for the thoughts that have crossed his mind at that moment. He growled and excused himself.

"You're tearing the party, Rogers!" - Tony yelled with a joking tone.

"Let him be." - Clint pleaded with a smile. Natasha took his side almost immediately. - "He told me he isn't feeling well tonight. Let our pa get some sleep. The next party will be a definite killer." - Nat winked at him. And so Steve walked home in a pace of a world runner.

And he knew that he will most probably die during the next call with the image of you in his head.

#Steve Rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #tony stark #iron man #bucky burnes #the winter soldier #hawkeye #clint barton #natasha romanoff #mcu #hell yea babey #im back #hope you missed me you motherfuckers #love triangle #whatsap

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fanfictionaries · 4 years

Text

Love and Academia Ch. 2 - Bed Shopping and Bars

Pairing: AU Professor!Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Swearing, smut, NSFW/18+ only, mentions of death/violence/suicide

Author’s note: We finally get to meet Professor Bucky! Yay! And there’s a little sexy time as well.

I do not currently have a beta reader so please excuse any grammatical errors. It’s just little ol’ me! Trying my best!

***

If it makes you feel any better, I never really cared for the asshole,” Natasha offered as she fell back onto a particularly firm mattress. Her blazing red hair bouncing around her. She let out a little ‘oof’ at the lack of give. Emily laid down next to her, crossing one leg over the other as she stretched out and allowed Nat to take her hand and intertwine their fingers.

“I wish I had seen what you saw. But, whatever, I guess it’s a good thing I found out now and not further down the line. I would have hated to find him having sex with someone else on our wedding night,” Emily laughed darkly. When Natasha did not share the humor in her joke, she sighed.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Nat scoffed and turned her head to look at Emily, “You’re redirecting.”

“You’re not a certified therapist yet Nat and I can’t afford therapy.”

Natasha laughed, “Yea, well when I am certified I’ll give you the family and friends discount. Then maybe you’ll actually talk to someone.”

“Excuse me ladies, can I help you find a mattress today?” Natasha and Emily sat up to see a sales associate staring down at them, a fake smile plastered across his face.

“Yes, this bed is a little firm. My girlfriend and I tend to lean towards a softer mattress. We were hoping for a king as well—" Natasha held her hand up to the side of her mouth to mock block her words from Emily, “—this one likes to hog the bed.” She winked at the sales associate, a balding man who appeared to be in his mid-forties. The tag on his shirt told Emily that his name was Jeremy and that he was very pleased to meet them.

Rolling her eyes, Emily disconnected her hand from Natasha’s and swung off the bed, “Hi Jeremy, can you please show me your cheapest double mattress?”

Jeremy, looking slightly confused, nodded and turned towards the other half of the store, “Follow me.”

Emily genuinely couldn’t afford to buy a new mattress, especially when she would be covering the rent herself from now on, but she absolutely refused to sleep in the bed that Clint and Sharon had defiled. She didn’t even bother testing the mattress before she handed Jeremy her card and leaned against the front desk.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Natasha asked, twisting one of her short curls around her finger.

“I don’t know. Pick up a shit ton of Chinese food, go home, drink the entire bottle of champagne I just bought then fall asleep on my couch.” Emily had official hit the pity party stage. Taking her card back from Jeremy and signing the receipt, she completed the transaction.

“How long should it take to deliver?” she asked.

“Our policy is two to three weeks, but as you’re local it might be sooner,” Jeremy said, taking the receipt and pen from her and filing them away. With a sigh, she turned and exited the store, Natasha close behind her. Two to three weeks…looks like she’d be sleeping on the couch for a while. As she rounded her car, Natasha blocked the driver’s side door, her arms crossed and a stern expression across her face.

“I’m driving.” she held out her hand for the keys.

“No offence Nat, but it’s my car and you’re not necessarily the best driver. I’m not letting you drive my baby.” Emily attempted to reach around Natasha for the door handle, but the feisty red head swatted her hand away.

“Ow! What the hell?” Emily pulled her hand back and cradled it in her arms, glaring down at the girl in front of her.

“You’re not going home to sit in your sad lonely apartment like a sad lonely person! You’re going to come home with me, I’m going to squeeze you into something tight and slutty and we’re going to go out,” Nat proclaimed, holding her hand out again for the keys.

“Nat, I don’t need—”

“You don’t know shit about what you need. As your therapist, I’m telling you that what you need is to get completely sloshed, dance until you forget about what’s his face, and then make out with an incredibly hot stranger. You deserve to feel like a hot piece of ass tonight.” Natasha continued to hold out her hand for the keys and whooped in triumph when Emily finally relented. She trudged over to the passenger side of the car and let her best friend drive her back to her apartment to, as she liked to call it, ‘slut her up’.

Several hours later and already feeling slightly buzzed from the pre-gaming at Natasha’s place, Emily stood outside of a popular bar in a skin-tight black dress that barely covered her body. She could already feel her heart beating in her feet from the six-inch heels they were shoved into and she kept catching her reflection in the bar window as Nat finished flirting with the Uber driver. Natasha had curled Emily’s long blonde hair in a messy fashion and insisted that the dark smoky eye was necessary. She wanted Emily to look like a ‘bad bitch’ and ‘one hundred percent fuckable’. Emily had laughed at the time, but now looking at her reflection, she realized that Natasha had done her job well. She looked good…really good. Truth be told, she could barely recognize the usual Emily staring back at her in the dark reflection. Natasha was right, she was sure to find a man tonight if she wanted to. But, did she really want to make out with a stranger tonight when this morning she had been in a happy, committed relationship? She never had much interest in random hookups or one-night stands. There was nothing wrong with them, she just always felt like they were a lot more work than enjoyable. Natasha’s reflection appeared at her side as she slung an arm around Emily’s shoulders. She had also donned an all-black ensemble that night, but instead of a dress, the tightest pair of leather pants Emily had ever seen hugged every curve of her shapely legs and a tiny lace top kept her breasts in place. She too wore sky-high heels but, still stood a good four inches shorter than Emily.

“I. Am. Good,” she sighed and swung her hand down, slapping Emily’s ass sharply, “Come on hot stuff. Let’s go find you a nice slab of man meat.”

“Please don’t refer to them as that,” Emily pleaded as she followed her into the dark bar. Inside, music pumped through large speakers and smoke hung in the air from various patron’s cigars and cigarettes. Only in rural Idaho did people still smoke inside. The steady bass of the music coursed through Emily’s veins and the murmur of conversation filled her ears as she and Natasha squeezed through the throngs of people to get to the bar.

“Would you hold my stuff in your pockets?” Emily asked, realizing she probably should have brought a purse. Natasha nodded and slipped Emily’s apartment key, phone, and ID in her back pocket. Emily held onto the cash she had brought, prepared to spend twenty dollars and nothing more. In typical Natasha fashion, they weren’t at the bar for more than two minutes before a handsome man approached her and asked her to dance. Natasha turned to her, obviously looking for permission and smiled appreciatively when Emily waved her off and told her to go have fun. Taking a deep breath, she turned towards the bar and tried to get the bartender’s attention. As she raised her hand to catch his eye, a pair of undergraduates rushed the bar and sent Emily tipping into the person standing next to her.

“Hey! Watch it!” she yelled to deaf ears and felt a pair of large hands on her waist, steadying her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t step on you or anything did I?” Emily asked as she turned around, coming face to face with possibly the handsomest man she had ever seen.

“No, all good here doll.” The hint of east coast accent caught her off guard and sent jolts of arousal through her body. Good God, she thought as she took him in. His light eyes were lined with thick, dark lashes and even thicker dark brows. The strong line of his nose led to a pair of pink lips and a hint of a five-o’clock shadow covered a sharp, square jaw. His dark brown hair hung just above his shoulders, thick and tantalizingly messy. The man was all dark, sharp angles.

“Good, I’d hate to ruin someone’s night,” Emily said, giving the man a shy smile.

“I don’t think you could ruin someone’s night if you tried.” The adonis like man smiled, eyeing her up and down as if he were contemplating something, before extending his hand, “I’m Bucky.”

His compliment and intense gaze made Emily’s stomach flip and she squirmed, feeling a heat building low in her abdomen. She took his hand in hers and felt the warmth of it, rough callouses rubbing against the soft skin of her palm, “Emily, nice to meet you.”

“Can I buy you a drink Emily?” Bucky asked, leaning in closer.

She nodded, her mouth going dry. Holy crap, he wants to buy me a drink, she thought in wonder.

“What’s your poison?”

“Whiskey, on the rocks,” she needed something a lot stronger than the red wine Natasha provided back at her apartment to give her the courage to interact with this man. He lifted an eyebrow and smirked as if she had impressed him. Catching the attention of the bartender, he handed the man a twenty-dollar bill, “Two Maker’s 46, one neat and one on the rocks please. Keep the change.”

“So, Emily, what brings you out tonight?”

“My best friend insisted I needed a night out.”

“Don’t get out much then?” he teased her, smiling mischievously.

“I guess you could say that. She says I work too much.”

“What do you do for work?” At his question, their drinks arrived. Emily took a heavy sip of the amber liquid. The familiar burn felt nice as it slid down her throat. Her conversation with Natasha popped into her head from earlier that night as she delayed her answer.

“I hate small talk Nat. What do I even say to a guy if he’s interested?”

“You don’t have to talk at all really.” Natasha winked at her as she wrapped a piece of Emily’s hair around her curling iron. Emily gave her friend an unamused expression through the mirror. “Alright, alright. Well if you insist on having a conversation with the man before you hook up with him, why don’t you have a little fun with it?”

“Fun?”

“Yea make something up. I do it all the time. You’ll never see them again so what does it matter?”

She could do that. In fact, with the day that she’d had, it might just be a nice change of pace to be someone else for the night.

“I’m a bartender,” she halfway lied. Technically she did bartend, just on the side for extra cash.

Bucky laughed, “And your idea of a fun night away from work is to come to a bar?”

“Not my idea, my friend’s idea, remember?” Emily said, laughing as well.

“Oh, right, right. And where is this friend?”

“She ditched me about five minutes after we got here,” Emily admitted, but not at all upset about the fact.

Bucky nodded his head, obviously no stranger to her situation, “Ah yes, the all too familiar ‘fun friend’ scenario.”

“The very one. You sound like you’ve encountered it a few times.”

“Oh yea—" Bucky took a sip from his glass, “—almost always ends in me taking a cab home by myself before midnight.”

“Almost?” Emily asked flirtatiously, raising an eyebrow at the man across from her as she too took a sip of the whiskey from her glass. So that’s who she was tonight, Emily concluded, coming to the decision that tonight she would try her best to be as far from herself as humanly possible.

“There you are!” Bucky’s response interrupted by Natasha appearing at her side, “And you made a friend.” She eyed Bucky up and down.

“You must be the fun friend Emily was telling me about,” Bucky said politely, shooting Emily a wink. Emily brought her glass up to cover her smile from Natasha.

“The one and only. And you must the guy that’s going to show my Emily a good time.” Natasha tilted her head and leaned against the bar. Emily felt her face begin to heat up and almost elbowed her friend in the side before she remembered—tonight she wasn’t awkward Emily. Tonight, she was bold, new Emily. Just for tonight. So, when Bucky’s gaze shifted back to her, she didn’t even blink when his eyes raked over her from head to toe once again.

“I was hoping on it. That is, if she’s interested.”

“So, are you here on your own…?” Natasha paused dramatically, waiting for their male guest to introduce himself.

“Sorry, Bucky—" he held out his hand shook Natasha’s “—No, I’m actually waiting for a friend. Oh! There he is. Stevie!” He waved to someone behind them and they turned to see a tall blonde man headed their way.

“I’ll be right back ladies,” Bucky said before heading towards his friend. Emily watched as he walked away, appreciating the way his dark wash jeans hugged his hips. The button up flannel he wore accentuated his broad shoulders and did nothing to hide what she could only assume was a muscular build underneath.

“Oh. My. God.” Natasha said from beside her, “That is literally the hottest man I have ever seen.”

“I know right? But I saw him first so for the first time ever, I’m calling dibs,” Emily said, taking another sip of her drink.

“What? Oh, Mister Tall, Dark and Handsome is all yours. No, I’m talking about his friend. If that isn’t 100% Grade A, American Beef Cake, then I don’t know what is,” Natasha drooled, and Emily shifted her attention to Bucky’s friend.

He surpassed Bucky’s already impressive height, and practically dwarfed him in build. The light grey Henley he wore did nothing to hide just how incredibly built he was. His blonde hair was cut neatly and his face clean shaven. Everything about him screamed all American boy.

“I would bet a thousand dollars he calls his mom every Sunday, maybe even his Grandma too…If God is good, he will be single and I will be free to fucking ruin that man,” Natasha practically panted beside her. Emily looked at her friend, not knowing whether amusement or disgust was the more appropriate response to what she had just heard.

“You’re really weird sometimes, you know that, right?”

“We’ve all got our kinks. Now, shut up, they’re coming this way.”

“Ladies,” Bucky and his friend Steve approached them, “This is Steve, Steve this is Emily and…”

“Natasha,” she finished for him, suggestively leaning forward and holding out a hand for Steve.

“Nice to meet you ma’am,” he answered politely. Emily could have sworn Natasha’s eyes grew twice their size at the simple use of the word “ma’am”. She watched in rapt interest as her friend slithered to Steve’s side and ran a hand up one of his large arms.

“Wanna buy me a drink big boy?”

“Um yea, of course. What are you drinking?”

“How about a Read Headed Slut,” she suggested, her words naughty but out of place with the façade of innocence in her expression. Both Bucky and Emily choked on their drinks. Steve’s ears went bright pink at the implication, but he nodded all the same and turned towards the bar with Natasha still attached to his arm. Bucky and Emily turned to each other, sharing an amused look.

“I hope your friend can handle himself,” Emily said, sipping her drink again, trying to suppress her laughter when Natasha’s hand traveled down Steve’s back and onto his ass, causing the large man to jump slightly.

“She’s going to eat him alive, isn’t she,” Bucky commented as he tilted his head, examining the two.

“Oooooh yea.”

Finishing his drink, Bucky placed his glass on the bar and turned to her, “Let’s dance.”

“Okay. Yea.” Emily slammed back the rest of her drink, the burn lightened by the ice that had melted into it. She set her glass on the counter before taking Bucky’s hand and following him out onto the dance floor.

It had been so long since she had last danced. Clint never liked to go out. So, she was nervous when Bucky placed his hands on her waist and started to rock to the beat. Much to her relief, the movements came naturally and soon she had her arms wrapped around his neck, her hips swaying and gyrating to the music. Being this close to the man, Emily realized just how good he smelled. Like musky sandalwood and leather—warm and spicy and all encompassing. His hands traveled slowly and firmly from her hips, one raising to her ribcage, a thumb sitting just under the swell of her breast, the other lowering to cup her bottom. She gasped softly at the touch and Bucky took that as an opportunity to pull her closer to him, slotting their legs together. In return, Emily’s fingers gripped the long hair at the nape of his neck, earning her a small groan that sent shivers down her spine. Raising on her toes slightly, she spoke over the music into his ear.

“Were you serious about what you said earlier?”

“You might need to remind me of what that was doll,” said Bucky, his breath hot against her neck.

“When you said you’d show me a good time.”

Emily had never been so bold in her life. But tonight, she wasn’t the usual Emily. Tonight, she was sexy, flirty, bold Emily. This Emily was looking to make a bad decision. This Emily needed a distraction, a very good distraction, and Bucky definitely fit the role. His hands tightened on her body at her words, and she writhed at the sheer strength of his hold on her. Inhibitions gone, she ran her nose up the length of his neck, breathing in his cologne, before placing a kiss on his jaw. The rough stubble prickled her lips and filled her mind with thoughts of how it would feel other places. When he didn’t protest, she moved her mouth lower, kissing his pulse point, this time nipping the flesh with her teeth and then soothing it with her tongue. When Bucky pulled away, Emily thought she had overstepped a boundary, perhaps misread the situation, but then she was being pulled towards the back of the bar and through a door.

Usually Emily would be opposed to a strange man pulling her into the back alley of a bar, but again, she wasn’t that Emily tonight, and all common sense left when he slammed her against the side of the building and began to attack her neck. The combination of tongue and teeth against her sensitive skin left her burning. She pulled Bucky by his belt loops until he was flush against her, her tight dress and his jeans doing nothing to conceal his hard length between them. Emily pressed into him, letting her hands roam up his front, feeling the hard muscle lying underneath his clothes. Her hands found their way back into his hair and tugged lightly causing a harsh growl to escape Bucky’s throat. His hands, which had been tightly grasping at her hips moved upwards and cupped her breasts firmly. Her nipples hardened under his touch, sending volts of electricity throughout her body. He pulled away from her neck and let the tips of his fingers toy with the neckline of her dress. Emily opened her eyes to see Bucky looking at her, his eyes dark, hungry and pleading, asking silently for permission to continue. Her head swam both from the alcohol and their heated exchange, but she still managed to keep it together enough to nod her approval. At that, Bucky gripped the top of her dress and pulled it down, exposing her bare breasts to him. Emily rested her head against the brick of the building behind her, panting as he placed hot, open mouthed kisses from her collar bone to her sternum before wrapping his lips around one of her nipples.

“Yes,” she hissed, surprised by the neediness in her voice.

Taking her nipple between his teeth, he pulled gently and then released it, “You like that?”

“Yes, oh my god yes. Bucky,” Emily moaned, taking his face in her hands and pulling it towards her. She leaned in, hell bent on kissing those perfect lips, but as their lips connected, he pulled away. His hands left her body and Emily felt a sudden chill as their bodies no longer connected. She stood, frozen, her hands hanging in the air, empty space between them where his face had once been. Opening her eyes, Emily found Bucky braced against the wall behind her, an arm on either side of her head. He looked conflicted, head tilted down, and his eyes shut tight as he breathed heavily.

“Is…is everything alright?” she asked, reaching forward to brush a piece of his hair away from his face. Bucky flinched away from her touch. Emily tried not to let the hurt and rejection she felt show as she let her hands drop to her sides.

“I can’t, I can’t do this,” Bucky said after a few seconds.

As if suddenly aware of just how exposed she was, Emily pulled the top of the dress back up and wrapped her arms around her middle.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have forced you into anything you didn’t want to do. I—”

“You didn’t force—I just. I have to go. I’m sorry.” Pushing himself off of the wall, unwilling to even look at her, he turned away and disappeared through the door back into the bar.

#loveandacademia #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky x ofc #au #professor!bucky #smut

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nymphl · 4 years

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Lie to Me - Hux x Reader x Ch. 16: Guilty & Innocent

A/N: Hello there xD As promised, here it goes chapter 16 of Lie to Me. I’m working on chapter 25, but it’s getting quite difficult right now because whenever I get some time to write, my mom starts talking about just... about everything. And I feel extremely bad to tell her to stop even when she talks for hours nonstop and it gets on my nerves? haha So bear with me just a little more. This quarantine is being harder on her than on me.

Story Summary: Falling for the enemy… That’s probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Letting him live… for he should be dead. And you should’ve been the one to kill him. You had him, right there… and you let it escape through yours fingers. He lived. And now only the time could tell if you made the right decision — more likely wrong — by saving the amnesiac General of the First Order and telling him he was your husband. [Hux x Reader - Hux x You]

Warnings for the entire story: Will contain at times; graphic violence, sex, drugs and manipulation, coarse language and OOCness.

AO3 Tags: from enemies to lovers; eventual romance; memory loss; fake marriage; fake marriage becomes real marriage; rebellion; married couple; canon divergence; slow burn romance; politics; rebel alliance; resistance; first order; OOCness; eventual smut; eventual sex; power play; power dynamics; syndicate; lies; you lie; Hux lies; Hux backstory; manipulation; political alliances; political betrayals; secret organizations; tros fix it; anti tros; nobody likes general pryde.

Wordcount: 3420

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

IT HAD BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE ARMITAGE HUX LAST SAW THAT ARMOR. The only indication he had his words had not gone to waste were the slight and occasional nods he could see through the compromised transmission.

The poor broadcast made it difficult for him to understand the already muffled words because of the gigantic helmet. Yet, he insisted. There was something he needed to know, and it could not be delayed any longer.

Depending on the answers he got, he would have to change his plans drastically. The future — his future, her future and the First Order’s as well and why not the whole galaxy? — depended on what Captain Phasma would say. She was, in no way, a reliable source — he doubted anyone in the First Order could be considered as such —, but the Captain of the Stormtroopers was no Politian.

As a militarist, she was good at following orders, not defying them, and yet…

…they had history together.

And if there was someone he came closer to ever trust, he could say it was the chromium-armored stormtrooper. In truth, she said very little, but more than enough for someone such as himself. Out of the triumvirate — one out of many in the First Order —, Armitage Hux could say he was the best strategist — not blessed with either the Force or physical strength, the slim and awkwardly tall boy had to work on his forte: his brain.

In any case, the possibility of another betrayal — something he quite did not expect the first time around — would not come off as a surprise at this point. He was counting on it. In fact, he planned the probable outcome for each situation. No one could say the General was a man who enjoyed the unexpected — that was why he never had time for people nor relationships; feelings were unpredictable —, and while he adapted quite easily, his distaste for such was immeasurable.

The unforeseen made him feel powerless and everything that did not add for his bright future as Supreme Leader — Emperor, no one could say he dreamed little — was disposable. A controller. Armitage Hux was a control freak and everything — people and feelings included — that could not be controllable was better left behind. Thankfully, Captain Phasma fell in the first category.

“There’s word out there that you betrayed the Order.”

He narrowed his eyes — something she would not be able to see given the transmission.

“Careful, Phasma.”

His strategy was quite simple, really. After his reveal, Captain Phasma would either keep his secret or she would tell the Supreme Leader — or even Ren himself. Or they would read right through her — he could only hope she learned by now how to conceal her thoughts.

Nevertheless, he was ready for any outcome. If the latter happened, his plans would only be hastened a bit.

“The Resistance attacked us in Rioza. They stole the shipment in its entirety. Some believe you feed them information.”

He thought that a smirk would have looked too suspicious. And yet he smirked. The slight tilt of his lips went unnoticed by the Captain.

Instead of giving her an answer — of soothing her fears and insecurities —, he chose silence. And she knew better than to expect a response for such a stupid statement.

“So… You’re coming back? You’ll prove them wrong.”

It sounded like a question — and it was a question; Captain Phasma lacked the intricacies of a more modulated speech —, but it was also a half-assertion. Once he was alive, it was expected of him to come back. The First Order was his life — after all, he had been molded for the position and role he fit in right now; the fact he was at the sore end of the bargain, with less than he deserved was a mere casualty —; he had pledged his life to it.

Not satisfied in taking his life — or almost taking, it would be a surprise when they saw he was in fact very much alive —, those who plotted against him managed to destroy his reputation in the Order.

He almost snorted.

The irony was too good to miss. The poster-boy, the golden General — a Grand-Marshall if they would so give what he deserved and worked so hard for —, was no more than a traitor.

Shaking such thoughts away, he concentrated in her question.

I make no idle promises.

The words were on his tongue, dying to be unleashed. He knew better. Even though he said it once, in a vastly different context, true, the meaning applied for the situation at hand. Suffice to say that Armitage Hux was a man whose distaste for the unpredictable rivaled his aversion to small talk and stating the obvious. If Phasma learned to battle with her physical strength, the slim, tall, awkwardly ginger Arkanisian boy was forced to quickly understand the power of the words.

Instead, he nodded.

Guilt…

You felt guilty before, but it could not compare to how you felt now. It was destroying you to know he had left and was yet to come back. When he said do not wait for me, you thought he meant for the night, not for whole four days.

A monster…

You felt like a monster for not giving him an answer.

But what else could you say? What else could you do? You were caught in your lies once, it was not like you could say you trusted him when you were not sure you did. You were cornered. Afraid and feeling guilty.

You had not realized it before, but you regretted saving him — you thought that was not something that would go away. He was the enemy. He and his precious First Order had invaded your planet — your home. It is true they betrayed him and tried to have him killed — and only the Maker could know why. You wondered if the General knew the truth himself — not the twisted lie you told him.

Besides, he said himself he probably knew about the new virus wreaking havoc in Dantooine, causing the death of so many aliens right now.

He could have lied. He could have said he had nothing to do with it, but he decided to be honest, and so did you.

You just did not expect him to leave for good.

It had been four days since he left. Obviously, you paid no heed to his warning. You had to go back. You had to work. Your coworkers — the few of them who did not stop working — were counting on you; lives depended on you. You had to go back to the Hospital. Your own life and safety meant very little face to the gravity of the situation.

The possibility of getting infected by the disease was no longer a threat — it was confirmed it was spread through the water and only alien species were vulnerable to it. Unlike the Krytos Virus, this one — the alien flu as your coworkers called it — could not be reversed by using bacta in the treatment. And if the most powerful healing substance could not kill it, you doubted anything else would. You had discovered — out of sheer luck or utter despair, you were no longer sure — that a small substance, not found in abundance in Dantooine and already out stock, seemed to alleviate the symptoms and delay the impending death.

Yet, even if the risk of getting sick was nil, at least one healer had been eaten by the crazed aliens quarantined. You would be lying if you said the possibility of being eaten alive did not scare you. However — and you could not help the comparison —, Aquilla would never let it hinder him. You could only hope the General understood it. Saving people was in your DNA, you could not help it.

At least, that was what you prepared yourself for when you returned to the Cave — your own house had been invaded by homeless, sick aliens; something you would not and could not complain about, they needed it more than you ever did —, only to find it empty. D-Five was making dinner for you only. The always so very efficient and proactive protocol droid told you he would not come back that day, but he was ready to be your company and talk about whatever topic you saw fit. The talk did not take place in the next day either, for you were welcomed with the same words. On the third day you gave up on the talk. You would not return to find the Cave empty.

Today, you felt very inclined to stay at the Hospital again.

A tired sigh left you as you entered the refresher. It was a very hot day in Dantooine and even though you longed to get home — if you could call the cold and dark Cave as such —, and get some rest, you knew you had to stay awake to take care of the children in your care.

You splashed cool water in your face, trying to wash away the sleepiness that began to take over you. The mirror placed on the wall showed you a very different face from not even a week ago. You had dark circles under your eyes and your skin lacked the luster of a healthy person. It did not help you could barely eat for the past few days — worry always compromised your appetite greatly.

Placing your hands over your face, you took a moment to breathe deeply and keep your thoughts at bay. A part of you wondered if he died — it was quickly dismissed; he was too smart to die that easily and you thought you would know, you knew when Aquilla died, it was not something rational, more like empirical, you just knew —, and part cogitated the possibility of him going back to the First Order.

I am loyal only to myself.

…and to you.

Is he though?

You shook your head. He would not go back to them. They betrayed him. They conspired to have him killed — or so he said, and could you trust him? Senator Organa was still to get back to you…

…And he said himself you should not wait for him.

It was impossible not to wonder if he was back to the First Order. He was a General and someone of his position — in control of such immensurable power — would hardly let go.

Your thoughts were interrupted with the buzz of your comm-relay. You took it with you as soon as you left home in the first day, too worried to stay parted from it — you had to know what happened to General Organa, you needed to. However, you were afraid of sending a message and it falling on the wrong hands — only the Maker could know how many lives such a message could affect.

Not giving it much thought, you opened the comm-relay only to be greeted by the tired and old face of the woman who invaded your mind more than you would like for the past few days.

“Were the Coordinates right? Did everything go—

You stopped yourself, biting the inside of your cheeks to the point you felt the coppery taste in your tongue. You closed your eyes — well, it was too late to say anything else now.

Kriffs.

If she did not know before that you did not trust your contact, she knew now. In her place — even if everything went smoothly, you would not trust this deserter of the First Order. It was clear that unlike Finn — or FN-2187 and what a dehumanizing way of calling someone —, your contact was not reliable.

I trust him with my life.

As if.

If she noticed your internal conflict, she chose not to comment on it, “Tell your contact we are grateful for all the information he has provided.”

You were not sure if she noticed it either, but you straightened your back. It felt as if a heavy weight was lifted off your shoulders. It felt as if you could finally breathe again. And you took a deep intake of breath. Your lungs burned with the amount of air you inhaled. And yet, you would not trade this sensation for anything else.

With the relief, came the regret.

You were once again guilt-ridden.

You should have trusted him.

You should have believed him.

You should have…

…let go of your apprehensiveness and listened to him. Listened to your heart that wanted so badly to accept his words and not to your mind, that wanted to paint him as the villain of your story.

He was… innocent all long and you were just… Kriffs. A monster for judging him so harshly.

“…not only right, but useful as well.”

Shaking your thoughts away, you decided to actually look at her and pay attention to what she said.

“What took you so long?” you asked, not really sure you overstepped your boundaries. The nature of your relationship was not clear as of yet. However, you had to know. If the cause of her delay was not related to an imaginary — you were such a fool — betrayal on Hux’s part, you needed to know the reason.

General Organa took a moment to answer, as if testing her words. As if testing… you. It was clear she was surprised at your disarray, but once again she chose not to comment on it. If she was preserving your privacy or if she did not trust you to such extent, you did not know.

“A new disease spread in the outer-rim territories kept the Resistance busy.”

Your eyes widened.

“The Alien Flu…” It left your lips in a meek whisper. You knew it was bad, but you had no idea it was spread in planets other than Dantooine. If eradicating a disease in a single planet was almost impossible, you could not say what you expected of part of the galaxy. “Kriffs!”

There was moment of silence.

Senator Organa was most like analyzing your reaction. And you could not say you judged her. In her place, you would do the same — if Aquilla had not spoken about this, you could say the General taught you with his posture, but you knew that silence spoke volumes about a person or a situation.

“Perhaps your contact knows something about the disease and its cure.”

It was your time to keep silent, however brief it was. Soon, the words came to life in your mouth, “No. He doesn’t.”

Her expression was somewhat blank. You had no idea if it meant she believed you or if she thought everything you said was utter bullshit. General Organa did not strike you as someone who trusted others — even if they helped her once — that easily. On your part, you were surprised for defending him so vehemently.

He could be innocent.

He is innocent.

Even if the concept of innocence did not apply to those in an organization that profited by waging War in the galaxy — by those who believed in a project of a fallen Empire, the very embodiment of tyranny and villainy.

Kriffs.

You did not know what to believe anymore. The fact that he simply vanished did not help the tiniest bit.

“I thought as much.” She brought a bottle of water to her lips. It concealed most of her face. “Only someone of the highest ranks would know about that.”

You bit your bottom lip.

She knew.

A shiver ran down your spine.

“Listen.” You swallowed. “I have to go.”

As soon as you ended the transmission and shut down your comm-relay, you left the Hospital. This time you did not care about your clothes or your own sanity — which you knew was lacking right now.

The fact that you did not sleep coupled with the discovery of his… — you had no idea what to call it, honesty, perhaps? — coupled with the truthfulness of his words made your heart beat faster and not only because you were running towards the Cave.

You had to get to him. You had to talk to him. You had to… see him. You were not sure you could trust your words right now. Seeing his face would suffice. However, more than the imperious need to see him, you needed to know.

By now, he already knew if he had a hand in what was taking place in Dantooine and other territories in the outer rim.

Only someone of the highest ranks would know about that.

If he still had most of his accesses to the First Order database, then he knew why they did it — and it was getting increasingly difficult not to understand their reasons; aliens ate humans and humans hated aliens. Only a racist organization, product of that dictatorship called Empire, could unleash such a hateful disease upon the distant and forgotten planets — and how to possibly end it.

Because there must be an antidote.

There has to be.

If you were to find him, D-Five would give you his coordinates. The protocol droid would know where he was. You just had to make him talk.

You ran as fast as your tired limbs would carry you. As fast as your own heartrate would allow you to. Part of you was grateful for his harsh training, without it, you doubted you would be able to stand on your legs right now. Getting almost no sleep for the last few days helped very little.

It was with some relief — great relief, actually — that as your feet brought you to a stop in front of the Cave, and you spotted not only the General, but his partner — was she really a partner or they were only analyzing each other and waiting for the best moment to end not only their partnership but the other’s life? — as well. Behind them, there was a Personal Petite Yacht you have not seen in years.

“You look like shit, hon.”

Pursing your lips into a thin line, you breathed deeply through your nose. You almost — you knew the General would scowl if you did that — placed your hands on your knees to support yourself. Even if it was a short distance between the Hospital and the Cave, you felt like you had run a marathon.

“Aurra.”

The General straightened his shoulders and shut off his electronic cigarette. You shifted your attention to him. You were not the only one who looked absolutely terrible. If you slept little, the General got close to no sleep whatsoever.

His cheekbones seemed even sharper now. Besides not resting properly, you could say he was not eating as well.

If the situation was any different, you could say you were worried about him. Right now, all you could feel was a crushing guilty and extreme relief — he was alive, and he had not gone back to the First Order. And it sufficed.

He had no time to say anything — and you doubted he would —, for she hit her walking stick on the rocky ground, attracting your attention.

“You arrived just in time, dear.”

In time for what?

“Go ahead.” She pointed at the ship behind her. “You two shall leave for Canto Bight.”

The General outstretched his hand for you to take. Even if you hesitated — to depart for Cantonica right now made no sense whatsoever, not with the medical crisis in the outer rim territories —, you placed your fingers upon his. He immediately pulled you into his embrace.

You bit your bottom lip — not risking a glance at Aurra; you had no idea if she still believed you were his weakness and honestly you did not want to let her know there were problems in paradise — and moved one of your hands over his shoulder.

“Do you trust me?” he asked. His voice was no more than a whisper in your ear.

Do I?

Part of you wanted to say you did. If you learned something today, it was that he was far from the lying monster you believed him to be — and you had lied to him as well! You were sure of one thing only — if you wanted to survive, it you wanted to find the cure for that damned disease, you had to trust him.

“Do I have any other choice?”

You expected silence. Instead, you felt the tip of his nose running over the sensible skin of your neck as he breathed in your scent.

“No.”

A/N - See you on Friday. Guys, I’m also posting Lie to Me now on Wattpad. I update every Wednesday xD

#hux x reader #hux x you #lie to me #ltm #armitage hux #general hux #hux #hux fic #hux fanfic #star wars fanfic #star wars #Star Wars Sequels #sequels fanfic #fanfic #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #general hux x reader #general hux x you

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writinginstardust · 5 years

Text

Falling Like Stars | Chapter 3

Pairing: Tyler Jones x reader

Warnings: none

A/N: Do y’all want a lil bit of jealous Tyler? because we got it! But also lots of the soft good stuff because as you should know by now, I am a massive sap.

Word Count: 1464

"What the fuck did you do?" Those were (Y/N)'s first words to me when she met us outside the bar with Scarlett and Zila.

"Got in a fight. No time to explain right now, we've got to get out of here. How'd you do on the clothes front?" I noticed the girls had all changed, (Y/N) now wearing a dark pair of high-waisted shorts and a crop top. Cute. I tore my eyes away and focused on the clothes she was shoving into my arms.

"Those are yours, I hope they fit okay, Scarlett abandoned me and I don't know your size." Her cheeks flushed adorably and her hand fiddled with her hair - A nervous tick I'd witnessed a hundred times though rarely with me. I'd thought the brief awkwardness when she arrived for the mission had passed but she'd seemed nervous since Zila let her out of the med-bay. I wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe I could ask Scarlett about it.

"Thanks." I said and took the clothes from her after an almost uncomfortably long moment. I didn't even need to look at my sister to know she was smirking. "Scar, find out where Cat is and get us some directions while we change. See if you can figure out a way to get Auri across this place without trouble as well."

"Okay."

I spared one last glance at (Y/N). I had no reason but I couldn't help It sometimes. Never had been able to either. She smiled and I felt myself smiling back before Scarlett shoved me off with the others to change.

Their plan to hide Auri was a cargo box. Very original. I didn't have any better plans though and it worked even if it didn't make the journey particularly easy for Kal and I.

My muscles were starting to ache a little by the time we all settled down to sleep and I wasn't looking forward to a night on the floor at all. (Y/N) came and sat beside me though and suddenly it didn't seem so bad. She fell asleep quicker than I'd have thought possible. Probably still exhausted after almost dying less than 24 hours ago.

Her head was turned towards me and I felt her breath warming my face when I turned to look at her. She certainly looked exhausted. Her skin had a certain pallor to it that had never been there before. I thought back. It was there when she'd arrived too. Fainter, but still there. What kind of missions had De Stoy and Adams been sending her on?

As I watched, she shifted. Warmth flooded through my side as she let her weight fall against me, cuddling my arm and dropping her head onto my shoulder. I thought I might combust. We'd hugged in the past, of course - she'd been one of my closest friends for years, but never like this. This was different. At least, I thought it was. It certainly felt different.

After a while the floor started getting uncomfortable. No surprise there. My back was aching and I wanted to shift to alleviate the pain but, with (Y/N) leaning against me, I couldn't. Not without waking her up and I wasn't about to do that. She needed the sleep more than I did. And yes, maybe I did enjoy having her so close to me but that's beside the point. I talked with Scarlett for a while to keep my mind off the discomfort.

I'd nearly fallen asleep at last when (Y/N) disturbed me.

"Er...what's she doing?" My eyes followed her pointed finger to where Auri was...painting? The same strange drawing over and over again on the walls, the floor, the bed. She drew one more, bigger than the rest, in the middle of the floor before climbing into bed and going back to sleep like nothing had happened.

The two of us sat in stunned silence for a few minutes trying to figure out what the fuck that was. (Y/N)'s body was warm where it was still pressed against my side and I didn't think she'd noticed yet. Eventually she just shrugged and rested her head on my shoulder again. Knowingly this time. Did that mean something or would she have done the same to Scarlett or another friend? It was probably just comfier. But what if the contact was as calming for her as it was for me? No. Stop. This was not helping. I was going to drive myself crazy with all these unanswerable questions.

She fell asleep again. Maker knows how. No one else had woken with Auri's little artistic venture so I decided to try and sleep too. We could figure it out in the morning.

And figure it out we did.

Unfortunately, "figuring it out" had somehow led to me being crammed in a crappy hotel bathroom with Cat, Kal, Fin, Zila, and Auri. unsurprisingly that was too many people for such a small space and it was driving me mad. Knowing (Y/N) was on a date with a guy that wasn't me was only making my mood worse.

The sound of laughter, definitely at least slightly tipsy, seeped through the door. They were back.

I quietly seethed as I heard (Y/N) giggling breathily at some whispered flirtation. It was fake. It had to be. But that didn't stop it from pissing me off. I could picture it in my mind. His hands on her waist, his body pressed close to hers, his face tucked in the crook of her neck, lips whispering any number of flirty and filthy things. I wanted to punch something. Preferably the guy whose hands were probably all over her just feet away. But really I just wanted it to be me. My hands tracing her body. My chest brushing hers. My lips saying those things and brushing against her neck. The want was almost too much to bear.

Finally I heard two heavy thumps followed by some precautionary slaps. Scarlett yelled that it was safe and we all eagerly bundled out of the bathroom. My vision tinted red at the sight before me.

(Y/N) was half lying on one of the beds with one of the security guys sprawled beside her. Her hair was slightly disheveled and she was fixing her make-up nonchalantly, seemingly unbothered by the guy's weight trapping her leg or his head on her chest. Well I was bothered. She looked up as we entered and grinned at me. I felt some of my irritation slip away. Only a little though.

"Well that was interesting."

"Sure was." Scarlett smirked at (Y/N) from the other bed. "I never knew you could be such a flirt, you'd think I'd taught you." My stomach churned.

"I've picked up a lot of new skills since Adams and De Stoy started sending me off."

"Clearly." She winked at me smirked. I really hoped no-one else saw. "You boys should get going."

"Yeah, you don't have a ton of time," (Y/N) added. She looked down, frowning. "Can someone help get this guy off me? He weighs a ton."

Kal tugged him off with ease and she slipped off the bed. Fiddling with the hem of her dress - was it really that short before? - she walked over to me, concern clear in her eyes. She rested a hand on my shoulder and searched my face.

"You okay?" She asked gently, her voice quiet, meant only for me.

"I'm fine." It wasn't entirely true but it also wasn't an outright lie.

"If you say so. You better get changed."

I changed as quick as I could, very aware of how many sets of eyes were in the room with me. It felt like I was being watched. (Y/N) had a slight blush dusting her cheeks when I turned back to face her. Could it have been her looking? Yeah, I thought, because obviously there's just no way she could keep her eyes off you. Maker, just because you're constantly staring at her, doesn't mean she's doing the same.

(Y/N) came over and hugged me. Tightly. Still lost in thought I barely noticed but wrapped my arms around her waist instinctively anyway. It felt so right and I wanted to stay like that forever. She pulled away and my mind kicked back in as it protested the loss of contact. Lips pressed against my cheek and I had to remind myself how to breathe.

"Good luck," (Y/N) said with a soft smile and pink-tinged cheeks before nudging me towards the door where Kal was waiting. Heart fluttering wildly, I turned and left. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face for a long, long, time.

Tag Lists: (send an ask if you want to be added!)

Everything: @wonderfilledness @writingbychelle @ad-astraaaa

Aurora Cycle: @aurising

#aurora rising #aurora cycle #Tyler Jones #tyler jones imagine #Tyler Jones x reader #Tyler Jones x you #Tyler Jones Fanfic #aurora rising imagine #aurora rising fanfic #aurora cycle imagine #aurora cycle fanfic #reader insert #Fic - Falling Like Stars

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cruelangelstheses · 5 years

Text

we might be dead by tomorrow

fandom: dragon age rating: T characters: anders, female warden, justice words: 6k additional tags: canon compliant, pre-da2, fake character death, angst, friendships description: leaving the wardens is the hardest thing anders has ever done. a study of what happens if anders “dies” in awakening. a/n: a fic about the friendship between anders and my warden, kallian tabris, and the idea of anders faking his own death. note there’s a brief scene in here that’s directly from awakening with a couple lines changed. i’m actually pretty proud of this one <3 title is from “we might be dead by tomorrow” by soko

read it on ao3

—

Anything is better than being in the Circle, but if Anders had had a choice in the matter, he probably wouldn’t have become a Warden.

It’s a fairly noble occupation; he’ll give them that—risking death just to become a Warden, dealing with nightmares of the Archdemon, shortening their lifespans just so that they’re able to take down as many darkspawn as they can—it’s a fate reserved for only the truly selfless and those with no other options.

When Anders was recruited, he was the latter.

Granted, he thanks the Maker every day that he’s not in the Circle, but being a Grey Warden is just so depressing. He feels sometimes like he’s constantly surrounded by death and corruption, not to mention the horrible twist in his stomach every time he goes underground. He’s caught the Warden-Commander watching him a few times while in the Deep Roads, an eyebrow raised in concern at his shallow breaths as he reminds himself that this is not the Circle. After the third time, he flashes her a grin to cover his panic and casually says, “Is this a bad time to tell you I’m claustrophobic?”

“Well,” she replies, her steel blue eyes gleaming in the darkness, “the faster we move, the faster we can get out of here.”

Warden-Commander Tabris is a fierce woman. She doesn’t walk; she saunters, her head held high and her jaw firmly set, as if daring the world to underestimate her. Maker only knows how many darkspawn have died on her blade. Some say she’s too cocky, too aggressive, too headstrong, too impulsive—but when she speaks, everyone stops to listen, even if they don’t like what they’re hearing. She just commands that sort of attention.

Anders wasn’t sure he’d like her when he first met her, but she didn’t seem to care about his apostasy, and at the time that was good enough for him to follow her into battle. Now, only a few months later, he can’t deny that he’s fond of her. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her, but she recognizes injustice when she sees it, whether it’s against elves or mages or everyday people. She’s angry, but she’s not cruel.

Anders can’t ignore the pang of guilt he feels, then, when he starts to plan his departure.

It’s not the Commander’s fault. In fact, she’s probably the main reason he didn’t leave sooner. But the longer he stays here, the more he sees of Grey Warden life, the less he feels like he belongs. It seems like everyone else is a Warden because they want to be, for one reason or another. Anders is only a Warden because he’s not sure he has anywhere else to go.

It dawns on him at some point, though, that perhaps there are places for him to go. He’s free now, and if he travels out of Ferelden, the templars might have a harder time finding him. Who’s to stop them from deciding that Grey Wardens are no longer untouchable and marching to Vigil’s Keep to capture every mage there?

More than that, however, is something (or, rather, someone) that’s been weighing heavily on his mind since he was recruited: Karl Thekla. When his friend and former lover was transferred to the Kirkwall Circle, Anders swore—to Karl and to himself—that he would follow. It’s been a few years since then, but Karl is almost certainly still there. Even if he isn’t, Kirkwall is an ideal place to go: outside of Ferelden, but close enough that it’s full of Fereldan refugees from the Blight. It wouldn’t be that difficult to blend in with such a large crowd, and there’s no Grey Warden outpost nearby. The city also houses a fairly large population of mages, and with the Kirkwall Circle as strict as he’s heard, there are undoubtedly mages who desire freedom like he did. If helping them means fleeing the Wardens and moving to the Free Marches, then that’s what he’ll do.

Maker, he’s sounding more like Justice every day.

He plans on leaving after they find and defeat “the Mother,” when he hopefully won’t be needed anymore—not as much, at least. He’s sure Sigrun or Oghren would be happy enough to kill a few extra darkspawn in his place. The only person he’s worried about is the Commander.

The next time they return to Vigil’s Keep, Anders finds her standing with her back up against the statue of Andraste in the courtyard. “Anders,” she calls.

Anders starts a little at her voice, having been preoccupied with thoughts of his plan. “Err...yes, Commander?” he says, half-convinced that she somehow knows what he’s thinking.

She rolls her eyes. “I told you, I hate titles. It’s Kallian.” She waves a hand. “Come over here.”

His eyes narrowed in confusion, Anders makes his way over to the statue. He’s not sure why he’s always had trouble calling her by her given name. Perhaps it’s because, as close as they are, he still doesn’t truly feel like her equal. “Am I in trouble?” he asks with a smirk, but he’s only half-joking.

Commander Tabris—Kallian, he tells himself, Kallian—laughs and shakes her head. “You? No. Oghren? Maybe.”

Anders mimics her posture, resting his back against the statue and crossing his arms. “What is it, then?”

For a moment she doesn’t say anything; she just stares at the muddy ground, twirling her dark brown hair. Quite a few strands have come loose from the two braids that frame her tattooed face, but she’s long past the point of caring. Finally she says, “You don’t want to come with me when we face the Mother, do you?”

Anders raises an eyebrow. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t quite this. “Well, no, not really,” he admits. Frankly, the idea of going deep underground to the Mother’s lair makes his skin crawl. “But I’ll do it.” That much is true, too. If she wants him there, he’s not going to refuse her.

Kallian shakes her head, looking like she’s already made up her mind. “No. You can stay.”

As much as Anders hates the Deep Roads, he finds himself saying, “If you need me, I’ll be there. You don’t have to—”

Kallian holds a hand up to stop him from talking. “What I need,” she says, “is for you to be at your best. I don’t want to bring you down into the Deep Roads when you don’t fight as well, and you always look like you’re moments away from getting sick, and then I—” She cuts herself off then, biting the inside of her cheek and looking away from him.

Anders narrows his eyes. “And then you…?”

Kallian scowls. The purple swirling tattoos on her cheeks hide her blush somewhat, but not completely. If he’s not mistaken, the great Hero of Ferelden is actually embarrassed. “And then I...get...worried.”

Reflexively, Anders laughs a little. “You, worried?”

“Yes, me,” Kallian snaps. “Is that so strange? Is it so shocking that I care about you and your wellbeing?”

For a moment, Anders just stares at her, dumbfounded. “I...didn’t realize,” he says lamely. “It’s just...it’s been so long since someone considered me a friend.”

“Well, I do,” Kallian says defensively. “I thought I made that clear. I’ve called you a friend before, haven’t I?”

Anders shrugs, thinking back to when she helped him search for his phylactery, when she fought and killed templars to protect him—when she looked him in the eye and said, You’re a friend. Friends stick up for each other.

“I thought you were just saying that,” he tells her, and it’s the truth.

Kallian shakes her head, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Why do you think I take you with me on every mission? Why do you think I agreed to help you look for your phylactery? Why do you think I killed templars for you without a moment’s hesitation? Why do you think I gave you a damn cat?”

As if on cue, Ser Pounce-a-Lot meows from inside Anders’s pack. Since it’s relatively safe for him to wander Vigil’s Keep, Anders reaches into the pack and pulls the cat out, setting him on the ground in front of him. This gives him time to collect his thoughts enough to answer Kallian properly. Finally, he confesses, “I’ve considered you to be a friend for some time, but...I was afraid you were just, I don’t know, trying to get into my good graces or something.”

For a moment, Kallian just looks at him, her expression unreadable. “Anders,” she says, her voice sounding soft for perhaps the first time since he’s known her. “I’m...not great with emotions, so I’m only going to say this once. These past few months, you’ve been one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” She brushes a few strands of hair out of her face and glances away briefly. “And I just want you to remember that I’m so happy to have known you.”

Her use of the past tense isn’t lost on Anders. “Comman—Kallian,” he says slowly, “why are you talking like that?”

She shrugs and looks down at Ser Pounce-a-Lot, who is winding himself around her legs and purring softly. “You never know what might happen,” she says. “I don’t want my last thoughts to be about all the things I should’ve said while I still had the chance. I don’t want to die with any more regrets than I already have.”

That’s a new one, too—the idea of the Hero of Ferelden having regrets. Anders nods, trying not to picture it: Kallian Tabris, barely over five feet tall but with daggers that have felled dragons, her fire quelled forever. “Well, now you’re just making me look bad,” he says with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I mean, I haven’t...composed an ode for you or anything.”

Kallian holds her hands up. “Please, don’t,” she replies, that familiar twinkle returning to her eyes. “Just...say whatever you need to say.”

Anders raises an eyebrow. “Be careful what you wish for,” he says, only half-teasing.

He knows he should tell her about his plan, but something stops him. Perhaps it’s the fear of upsetting her, but that’ll probably happen no matter what, whether he tells her beforehand or leaves without notice. If he’s being completely honest with himself, a part of him fears that if he tells her, she’ll try to stop him. Even if she doesn’t, it’s probably for the best that he doesn’t tell anyone. There’s no way the templars can pry information out of her if she has no information to give, and he doesn’t want an innocent person to be held accountable for his actions.

“I told you,” he says finally, turning to face her. “It’s been years since I thought of anyone as a friend. I just hope you know how grateful I am...for everything.”

For just a split second, Kallian seems stunned, the tips of her pale pointed ears turned red. Then she grins, all weird teeth and eye crinkles, and claps her hand against his back. “Good! Now that that’s over with, wanna come watch me piss off some nobles? I asked the seneschal to assemble them so we could discuss the darkspawn armies. They should be ready by now.”

Despite himself—despite everything—Anders smiles back at her. “Never miss it!”

Side by side, Ser Pounce-a-Lot trailing behind them, they head into the throne room, Anders taking smaller strides so that Kallian doesn’t have to jog to keep up with him. (I completely sympathize with the dwarves, she said once. You humans are too damn tall.) When they step through the threshold, they find themselves nearly surrounded by Fereldan lords, all chattering nervously amongst themselves. Many of Kallian’s other companions have already gathered. Instinctively, Anders picks up Ser Pounce-a-Lot and places him back in his pack so that no one steps on him.

Kallian sighs and takes a few steps toward Seneschal Varel. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Just as she greets Varel and takes her place beside him, one of the nobles makes his way up the red carpet toward them. “We’ve waited enough,” he says. “Those who are late will just have to be filled in.”

“Lord Eddelbrek,” Varel replies coolly, gesturing toward Kallian, “this is the Commander of the Grey’s council, not yours.” From his place on the sidelines, Anders thinks he can see Kallian roll her eyes at the long-winded title.

“I am fearful for the villages on the plains,” Lord Eddelbrek says, turning to Kallian. “There’s a darkspawn army—army—in the field. And with the soldiers returning to the Vigil…” He trails off.

As usual, Kallian holds her head high when she responds. “The enemy is out of hiding. We must find them and strike.”

“This is no—” Eddelbrek starts, but his words are interrupted by another voice.

“Commander,” an unfamiliar elven woman gasps, sprinting through the crowd and skidding to a stop in front of the seneschal. “Commander!”

“What is it, girl?” Varel asks, still calm.

“A darkspawn army is within sight of Amaranthine,” the woman says, fear in her voice.

Anders exchanges a glance with Nathaniel, his heart dropping. This isn’t going to end well.

“Maker protect us,” Eddelbrek says, shaking his head. “They’re attacking the city?”

“Some of the Vigil’s soldiers are still there,” Captain Garevel adds. “She won’t fall easy.”

“Our forces cannot move quickly enough,” Varel adds, his facial expression giving no hint as to his emotions. “But a small band might make it in time.”

Kallian glances over at Anders and makes a face. They all know what that means.

“But that’s...suicide!” Eddelbrek exclaims, and Anders is inclined to agree.

But Garevel is not to be deterred. “We must try.”

Kallian gives the seneschal a wry half-smile. “That would be me, then? It’s never dull here.”

“Unless the Warden recruiter promised you quiet rural contemplation, you knew what you signed up for,” Varel replies. Anders can’t tell whether or not he took the joke.

Halfway across the room, Sigrun says excitedly, “Fighting a horde of darkspawn with almost certain death awaiting? Don’t even think of leaving me here, Captain!” (Anders can’t relate to that sentiment at all, but he’s glad she’s having fun.)

Varel raises an eyebrow at her, before returning his attention to Kallian. “Who do you want to take with you, Commander?”

Kallian flashes Sigrun a toothy grin. “I won’t deny Sigrun’s request. She’s with me.”

Sigrun sounds practically delighted. “I’m already dead—I’ve nothing to lose!”

Varel, all business, ignores her comment. “Who else?”

At that, Kallian scans her companions’ faces. “Nathaniel,” she says, sounding more serious, “this is a chance to redeem your family.”

A smile graces Nathaniel’s lips—something Anders doesn’t see often. “Initially, I thought you were utterly mad to invite me to join your order. But redemption...a man could die for that, and feel good about it.”

It’s poetic, what he says. Poetic...and final.

“Anyone else?” Varel asks.

Kallian nods slowly. “One more person.”

Very briefly, her eyes land on Anders; Maker only knows what’s going through her head. Then she turns away from him and says, “Justice, you’re with me.”

Justice nods, his voice filled with determination. “As it should be. Our foes will pay heavily for their transgressions. This I swear.”

Varel nods affirmingly. “And so it is decided.”

“I’ll make sure the Vigil’s ale supply is safe,” Oghren says to Kallian with a chuckle. “Leave a few darkspawn skulls for me to kick in, right?”

“May the wind be ever at your back, Commander,” Velanna chimes in. For once, there is a softness in her voice—a fondness.

Anders suddenly becomes aware that it’s probably his “turn” to say something, but nothing even remotely adequate comes to mind, so he does what he always does to deflect his emotions: he jokes. “Oh, I miss out on the suicide mission? Life can be so unfair.” It earns him a tiny giggle from Kallian, but it still doesn’t feel sufficient, so he quickly—and somewhat awkwardly—adds, “But...uh...good luck. Chin up, and all that?”

Before he can even think to say anything else, Seneschal Varel turns to Kallian and says, “The rest of us will stay here. Maker protect you and hold you close, Commander.” He and Garevel both hold their arms over their chest, crossed like an X, and bow slightly.

Though no one has actually said it yet, they’re all thinking the same thing: that this is the beginning of the end, that this battle will lead to the final confrontation with the Mother. They’re so close to finding her hideout; she’s probably sending out these armies to draw the Wardens right to her. The thought makes Anders slightly sick—that she’s just waiting for them, that they could be walking right into her trap.

It doesn’t take long for Kallian, Garevel, and their companions to get ready. Anders stands with his back up against the Andraste statue, Ser Pounce-a-Lot lying next to his feet, and watches as Kallian examines her enchanted swords and daggers, as she fills her pack with bombs and poisons. Soon enough, she meets up with the rest of her group and says grimly, “Are we ready to march?”

“Indeed,” Garevel replies. “We must make haste if we have any hope of saving Amaranthine.”

Kallian nods—and then she steals a glance in the direction of the statue. “Er...just one moment,” she says to Garevel, who raises an eyebrow in confusion and mild annoyance as she runs over to Anders.

“What are you—?” Anders starts, but he’s interrupted by the feeling of the great Hero of Ferelden wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a fierce embrace.

It catches him completely off-guard, so it takes him a moment to reciprocate. She’s a full foot shorter than him, so she buries her face into his chest. “Keep the Vigil safe for me,” she says, her voice muffled.

The hug lasts maybe four seconds, maximum, but it’s the most affection Anders has ever seen her express. When she pulls away, she kneels down on the ground and gives Ser Pounce-a-Lot a scratch behind the ears. “Be good for Anders,” she tells him.

As she starts to turn around and head back to the group, Anders finds his voice. “Kallian.”

Kallian stops in her tracks and glances over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

Anders clears his throat, forces himself to look her in the eye. “Just...come back alive, will you?”

Kallian smiles at him, that familiar spark in her eyes. “Of course.”

—

For a while, Anders isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He’s so used to accompanying Kallian on nearly every mission. He ends up sitting down at the base of the Andraste statue with Ser Pounce-a-Lot in his lap, his little head on Anders’s chest. The cat can probably sense his nervousness.

Deep down, he knows that everything will probably fine—that Kallian will somehow miraculously come out on top, like she always does. He also knows that going on the mission with her wouldn’t have fixed much of anything, because he’d have been just as nervous, but for a different reason. Yet, no matter how much he reasons with himself, he can’t shake the worry.

At some point, Anders decides to start subtly gathering his belongings, though he doesn’t have many. The time to leave the Grey Wardens is rapidly approaching, and he still isn’t quite sure what to do. He almost has enough coin now to buy passage to Kirkwall—Kallian shares the money she earns (or “finds”) with her companions, even if they insist that they don’t want or need it—but something feels...wrong. He’s been through so much with the Wardens, with Kallian. Just up and leaving without telling her feels like it would be a massive betrayal...but at the same time, he already knows that he can’t tell her.

He could leave right now, slip out in the middle of the night and be on his way to the Free Marches by sunrise, but he doesn’t think he can bring himself to flee without making sure that Kallian is alive first. The worry and uncertainty will eat him up if he doesn’t see her waltz back into the keep with his own eyes.

For a couple of days, Anders keeps himself busy—practicing spells, playing with Ser Pounce-a-Lot, reading the book Kallian gave him on the history of phylacteries. He almost starts to forget about the current stakes—that is, until a messenger arrives with grave news: they’ve spotted another darkspawn army marching toward the Vigil.

The next day or two are spent preparing. They have no idea if Kallian and Captain Garevel know of this second army, but most of the people at the keep agree that it’s too much to hope for them to return in time, if at all. It’s up to them to protect the Vigil...or die trying.

Anders starts to wonder, in the hours before the first fireball is catapulted into the walls, if he’ll even get the chance to run away, or if he’ll die here, fighting off hordes of darkspawn. Kallian’s voice rings in his ears, her final request before she left: Keep the Vigil safe for me.

If nothing else, that’s the one thing that keeps him from running. If he dies here, then so be it.

—

The battle is long and hard.

Anders runs almost nonstop from one area of the keep to the next—from the front gates to the courtyard, from the courtyard to the ramparts, lighting darkspawn aflame by the dozens and healing other soldiers as quickly as he can so that they can keep fighting. He loses count of the amount of darkspawn he kills; all he knows is that it’s not long before he can’t go anywhere without stepping on a charred or frozen corpse. Sometimes he has to force soldiers to stop fighting for a moment so that he can heal them properly, before they end up killing themselves simply because they didn’t want to stop cutting down darkspawn for even a second. A few of them outright refuse healing—Anders isn’t quite sure if it’s because they’re afraid of magic or because they want to get themselves killed (perhaps a mixture of both).

Even with healing, the casualties on their side begin to pile up. Every time Anders thinks, That has to be the last of them, more darkspawn appear to take the place of the ones he just felled. It feels neverending.

Anders is fighting alone in a dark back corner of the courtyard when the darkspawn stop coming. It’s late at night, and he almost doesn’t believe it. He waits for more to ambush him, for another armored ogre to barrel through the gates, but none appear. In the distance, he thinks he hears someone say, “It’s over.”

Anders sighs in exhaustion and relief, falling to his knees on the ground. His side and arm are stinging, bleeding through his robes, but he doesn’t have the energy at the moment to heal himself. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, the air rattling in his chest and his heart still pounding in his ears. I’m alive. I’m alive.

Inside his pack, Ser Pounce-a-Lot mews softly, as if to comfort him. Anders kept him close through the entire battle—it felt much better than leaving him somewhere in the Vigil, where the darkspawn could break in and find him. “We’re alive,” Anders whispers, more to himself than to the cat. “We made it.”

When he opens his eyes, his gaze falls on a body lying about twenty feet away from him, even further away from the center of the keep. Slowly, he pushes himself to his feet and stumbles over. If he’s lucky, he might just have enough mana in him to save one more life.

He’s a few feet away from the person when he realizes that they’re already dead—an arrow right through the neck and gore where a face should be. All Anders can tell is that the man was another mage Warden, made obvious by the robes on his body and the staff lying limply in his hand, and that he was probably fairly young, with blond hair.

As Anders stares in awe at the corpse, an idea—a crazy, horrible, brilliant idea—worms its way into his head.

He barely thinks when he does it. He searches the body for any belongings that might identify the man and finds only a ring, which he shoves into his pack. He glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching him; sure enough, they all seem to be preoccupied with cleaning up the bodies at the front of the keep and taking care of the injured. They have yet to notice the desperate mage faking his own death in a faraway corner, hidden by several walls and shadows.

Anders doesn’t feel the need to change the corpse’s robes at all; they look similar enough to his that most people wouldn’t notice any difference unless he and the man stood right next to each other. Still, if he wants the Wardens to think that he’s dead, he’ll need to leave something of his behind.

It doesn’t take long for him to remember one of his defining accessories. Reluctantly, he reaches up and removes his gold earring, suddenly feeling somewhat naked without it. Luckily, the man’s right ear is already pierced, so Anders slides the piece of jewelry through with a sigh. Then, for added measure, he pulls the silver bracers that Kallian gave him off of his wrists and slips them onto the man’s. She’s sure to recognize them.

When Anders stands up and looks down at the body, something still doesn’t seem quite right. Even with all the gore, it feels like someone could still identify the man. If this plan has any hope of succeeding, the Wardens have to believe that this body is the body of Anders.

As he surveys the area again—still no one has noticed him—he takes note of the charred darkspawn corpses, burned almost beyond recognition by his magic, and there he finds his solution. Turning back to the body, he aims a small blast of fire at it. Sure enough, it starts to burn, the robes and skin partially destroyed within half a minute. Anders shoots another stream of flame at the corpse and watches as it becomes even more grotesque, even less recognizable.

For a moment, Anders stops to apologize in his head to the man whose body he just desecrated and disguised as his own. Then he grabs his staff and makes a run for it.

He was already standing near the edge of the courtyard, so it doesn’t take much to hop over a fence and sneak away—everyone else is focused on things that are much more important than searching the fields (which are mostly filled with dead people and nothing else). Still, Anders keeps running until he’s sure that no one can see him in the nearby forest. Only then does he finally sit down, his back up against a tree, and let Ser Pounce-a-Lot out of his pack.

Ser Pounce-a-Lot twitches his ears and meows inquisitively, as if asking Anders what they’re doing and where they’re going. Anders just sighs. He could ask himself the same thing.

Logically, it’s a good plan. The Grey Wardens won’t hunt him down if they think he’s dead; and if the templars come to the Vigil looking for him, they’ll just be informed of his “death.” Sure, they still have his phylactery, but will they even bother with it if they think he’s dead? Regardless, he’ll still be safer now than he was before. He can start over, really start over, in a way he never dreamed would be possible.

A cold gust of wind suddenly cuts through him, and instinctively, he reaches into his pack to grab the wool scarf that Kallian gave him—he’d put it in there to keep from getting blood on it. As he wraps the soft, patterned fabric around his neck, a memory surfaces, of Kallian shoving the scarf into his arms without looking at him and mumbling, “Here. Take this.”

Anders had looked at the scarf in confusion, then at her, and said, brilliantly, “Uh...what?”

Kallian pretended not to care what he thought. She was pretty convincing, too, back before Anders learned to recognize it. That was only a few weeks after they met. “You looked cold,” she said bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest. “So...there.”

Anders had tried not to smile, and failed.

Now, though, the memory just aches in his chest. Which is worse—Kallian thinking he’s dead or thinking he betrayed her?

Though he promised himself that he’d stay behind to make sure she comes back alive, Anders knows that he can’t risk being seen. Besides, if she dies, he’ll be sure to hear about it; and if she succeeds and lives, he’ll hear about that, too.

It takes him a long time to push himself to his feet, and even longer to start walking away from the Vigil. From inside his pack, Ser Pounce-a-Lot meows in protest, and Anders tries his best to ignore it. He’s tired in every sense of the word, his shoulders aching from the weight of those he’s leaving behind—Nathaniel, Kallian, Justice. No amount of apologies could make any of it easier, but still he whispers the words into the wind and forces himself not to look back.

—

He merges with Justice a couple weeks later.

It isn’t on purpose, meeting Justice again. Anders is only a day or two away from boarding a ship to Kirkwall when he encounters a small band of Grey Wardens—plus Justice—that had been sent to clear out some leftover darkspawn north of the Vigil. Thankfully, Justice is the only one that notices him, and he must have learned a thing or two about tact, because he waits until he can get Anders alone to harangue him about abandoning the Wardens.

But when Anders describes his reasoning—that he needed to leave the Wardens to help Karl and other mages in Kirkwall—Justice is surprisingly understanding (though he still doesn’t approve of Anders faking his own death, even after Anders explains that he couldn’t have anyone chasing after him). If it’s to fight injustice, if he feels that it’s for the greater good, he’s willing to make a few just sacrifices. The Blight is well and truly over, and the Wardens don’t need Anders anymore—not nearly as much as the mages do.

Once they reach the same page, Justice poses that fateful question, the question that’s been hanging in the air between them.

Have you thought at all about my offer?

Anders has. Extensively. But then the darkspawn attacked Amaranthine, and Justice went with Kallian to face them, and Anders accepted that he’d have to leave before the group came back. Until now, he thought it was no longer possible.

Do you have the courage to accept my aid?

Anders takes a deep breath and thinks, Maker, I hope so.

—

Anders wasn’t present when Kallian learned of his supposed “death.” But Justice was, and through him, Anders remembers.

It’s a strange phenomenon, remembering something for the first time, something that he simultaneously did and did not experience. He doesn’t know why, of all Justice’s memories, his head has decided to make this one the one he sees first, alone in his room at an old inn near the Waking Sea. The City of Chains lies across the water, a constant reminder of what he had to abandon to get this far.

Kallian and her companions had just finished slaying the Mother and were a few days away from the Vigil when she received a letter one evening. As she read it over, Sigrun, ever curious, had asked, “What does it say?” Kallian did not respond.

Sitting on the other side of the campfire, Justice had watched as the Warden-Commander’s face shifted from confusion to shock, then disbelief, then horror. Her lips formed a silent No, and the letter fell from her shaking hands.

Eyes narrowed in concern, Sigrun grabbed the letter and skimmed over it, gasping a few seconds later. Next to her, Nathaniel glanced over her shoulder, and his eyes widened. Under his breath, he whispered, “Oh, no…”

Justice, sitting on Nathaniel’s other side, was the last to know the content of the letter, but it upset and angered him to the core. “Kallian,” he said firmly, “we must avenge Anders. Those who are responsible for his death must pay.”

Kallian didn’t look at him, didn’t even indicate that she’d heard him. Nathaniel turned to him and said quietly, “The darkspawn that killed him are dead, Justice, as is the Mother, who sent them. Justice has already been served.”

He was right, but Justice still wasn’t satisfied. Anders deserved better, so much better. “Surely there must be something else we can do.”

“They’ll take care of his body at the Vigil,” Nathaniel assured him. He seemed so calm, but his unsteady voice betrayed how he truly felt.

Justice returned his attention to Kallian, whose gaze was trained on the campfire. She bit down on her bottom lip to stop it from trembling and began clenching and unclenching her fists. When she blinked, a tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away furiously. “Fuck,” she mumbled, her voice cracking. Covering her eyes with her hand, she looked down into her lap.

Sigrun put a hand on Kallian’s upper arm. “I’m...I’m sorry, Kallian.”

At that, Kallian let out a rough choking sound. It had been difficult for most of her companions to get used to just calling her by her name, and they still slipped up from time to time. Justice had needed it explained to him—it felt disrespectful not to call her by a title she had earned, a title that indicated honor. But Kallian’s feelings made sense—I don’t want to feel like I’m above everyone else. I want us to be equals, she’d said—and so Justice had made it a point to respect her wishes, and to ensure that others did the same.

Kallian turned away from Justice and rested her forehead on Sigrun’s shoulder. Her eyes were squeezed shut tight, and her cheeks and ears burned bright red, as if she was embarrassed by her own sorrow. Her chest shook with wet sobs, and her lip was curled into an angry snarl, as if to say, How dare they take him from me?

Justice exchanged a glance with Nathaniel. He had known Kallian the longest, but even he seemed bewildered. None of them had ever seen her so broken down. She was the woman who spit in the eyes of the Archdemon, always confident and determined, always fearless, always pushing forward—and here she was, crumpled on the ground with grief so intense it was almost palpable.

Her hair fell into her face, and Sigrun gently brushed the strands away, her brows furrowed and her lips turned down. Kallian’s voice was hoarse. “Why him? Why him?”

When the tears finally slowed down, she didn’t talk; she just stood up from the campfire and fled to the woods. Justice could hear her shoving daggers into trees, taking out her anger on imaginary enemies. None of them stopped her.

At the inn near the sea, Anders lies on his back on the uncomfortable bed, holding the wool scarf to his chest and staring blankly at the ceiling. Nothing he said to Kallian before she left feels like it was enough. He tries to push away Justice’s memories of her in the days after that night—shaken, bitter, somber, her smile much less common and no longer reaching her eyes—but it’s no use. The image seems to have burned itself into his mind, as if to taunt him: You did this. You did this.

He can only pray that it was worth it.

#dragon age #anders #dragon age awakening #dragon age origins awakening #daa #warden #female warden #tabris #female tabris #kallian tabris #my fics

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mrscullensrutherford · 5 years

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OC Interview

My lovely Alvad sis, @oops-gingermoment tagged me in this, and since I have done very little writing lately, I’m throwing back to my original OC.

The rules: Answer the following questions as your OC of choice.

So, this is Scarlett Jean Trevelyan. I began writing her story ages ago and it is a story that is near and dear to my heart. I Didn’t Ask For This was based on a one-shot I wrote and then continued to grow. The fact that Spirit Healers didn’t exist in the world of the Inquisition bothered me. I couldn't help but think how wonderful it would be for Cullen to have someone like that around. (She is also my icon. Though, Scarlett’s hair is VERY long. Typically worn in a braided style, a la Katniss.)

1. What’s your name?

Depends on who you ask. Some call me Scar, others, the Herald, Inquisitor, Inky... I’m not one hundred percent sure anyone knows my name is actually Scarlett Jean Trevelyan.

2. Do you know why you are named that?

I assume because my mother was feeling cheeky. (She runs her fingers through the long bangs that have fallen into her face as a gesture to her hair color.) Though, Jean was my mother’s name.

3. Are you single or taken?

Oh, very much taken. (She takes the hand of her Commander. Her fingers play small circles over his exposed skin.)

4. Have any abilities or powers?

(She laughs and flips her hand over to reveal the mark. It glows green even in the brightly lit library.) Besides me being a mage of rather remarkable note, (the sarcasm is clear in her voice.) Let’s see... I can seal rifts. That’s something, I suppose.

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

Who is Mary Sue? And didn’t you just ask my name? That’s a new one. (She nudges Cullen’s side, “See, people call me anything but my actual name.” I sense a hint of embarrassment coming off of the Commander and smile when I realize this must be an inside joke of some sort.)

6. What’s your eye color?

uhh, blue. (”Saphire,” the Commander intones. She rolls her eyes then turns back to me for the next question.)

7. How about your hair color?

Is there a point to this? Haven’t we covered this? My mother was being cheeky about my name... Red... Scarlet... Maker’s Breath.

8. Have any family members?

My family abandoned me just before the conclave. But, if I’m completely honest, I have found a new family. A better one. One that exists in my heart. (She smiles fondly at Cullen and then her eyes scan the nearby railing. I see a few familiar faces from the Inquisition and as she meets the eyes of her companions, they exchange smiles and nods.)

9. Oh? How about any pets?

(Cullen cannot contain his laughter. Scarlett casts him an irritated glare.) As you know, Ferelden’s have a fondness for Mabari. I have yet to obtain one but that hasn’t stopped someone from going ga-ga every time someone brings one into the keep. And I guess you could say, my horse is a pet. Though, I don’t consider him such. He is my battle companion. He is treated well.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like.

This interview... kidding... I really don’t care for fake people and false pretenses.

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

When I was in the Circle, my one major love was cooking. It’s rare that I get the chance to do it now and if I attempt, people act like I am committing some kind of sin. The Inquisitor surely has better things to do than to take on the job of a servant. (The sarcasm drips from her words.) Pish, that’s a load of... (Cullen clears his throat. Scarlett rolls her eyes but doesn’t finish her sentence.)

12. Have you hurt anyone in any way before?

What kind of question is that? I am the Inquisitor. I dole out justice on a daily basis.

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

Too many.

14. What kind of animal are you?

Uhh, what?

15. Name your worst habits?

I have trouble sleeping. Sometimes I wander the Keep in not enough clothing. This irritates some and gives people something to gossip about. I have never really been the modest sort, so I see no harm in wandering about in my night clothes.

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

My advisors. Cassandra, Dorian, Varric... All of my companions, really. They all have such a fire in them to see real change. It is inspiring to keep that level of company.

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

In the Circle, you will find that sexuality is fluid. We seek companionship above all else. There are some more traditional than others but for the most part, bisexuality is not that uncommon. For men or women.

18. Do you go to school?

I was in the Circle for years. Most of my life has been schooling and education of some sort. And Solas and Vivienne have continued my education here at Skyhold.

19. Ever want to marry and have any kids one day?

Of course, that is every Mage’s hope and dream for the future. We have been forbidden from such for so long. I am hoping to change that.

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

Does Cullen count? (The Commander blushes again. She seems to enjoy making him do so.)

21. What are you most afraid of?

Fear is something I live with every day. I didn’t ask for this mark on my hand and we have yet to learn the extent of its power. I fear the coming days, Corypheus, the Red Templars, the Orlesean court. But fear keeps you on your toes, keeps you ready to face what is coming. There is no good solider, still alive, who doesn’t go into battle without fear.

22. What do you usually wear?

My Inky jammies. (Cullen sniggers.) Mostly leggings and a tunic, but some people have referred to my wardrobe as too casual. I prefer to be comfortable. Though, I do miss my silk gowns from the circle but they are no longer practical.

23. What one food tempts you?

Fish. I am from the Free-Marches where fish is abundant. In Skyhold, it seems to be somewhat of a delicacy.

24. Am I annoying you?

If you were annoying me, I would simply leave. It’s nice to be asked inane and boring questions sometimes. Not many people ask me about myself anymore. It is usually people asking for something or asking about “the Herald of Andraste.”

25. Well, it’s still not over!

Well, let’s get to it it then, shall we?

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

I don’t know anymore. In my past, high born. I am the Inquisitor. I have rank and am leader of the Imquisition. What does that mean when this is all over?

27. How many friends do you have?

A few close companions.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

I love pie. Sweet and savory. Starkhaven is famous for a fish pie that is to die for and I can’t say no to a good apple or berry pie.

29. Favourite drink?

COFFEE!!! I need it to survive, it is essential.

30. What’s your favorite place?

The battlements. I really love the view from Skyhold. It reminds me of the vastness of this world and all of the many people in it. It gives me hope for the future.

31. Are you interested in anyone?

Really?

32. That was a stupid question…

Yes, it was.

33. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

I guess a lake. Though, I do not get the pleasure often.

34. What’s your type?

A sharp mind. A witty sense of humor. Someone who isn’t afraid to show their weakness and be therefore stronger for it. Someone who can keep up with me in battle and has the heart to match their strength.

35. Any fetishes?

Well... (Cullen nudges her in the side, trying to quiet her words.) What? I was just going to say, Templars! Quit poking me.

36. Camping indoors or outdoors?

Camping is outdoors, you silly goose. There is no such thing as camping indoors.

Tagging @headspacedad @littlesnowarrow @valaloy @mightylauren @kaijulover142 @fogsblue and anyone else who has an OC they are dying to share. Just tag me. I want to see them all.

#oc meme #writer ask meme #dragon age #inquisitor trevelyan #cullen rutherford #cullen and inquisitor #cullen and trevelyan

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clansayeed · 4 years

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Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 8: The Big Easy

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Amulet's trail ends in the supernaturally rich city of New Orleans. Still reeling from hers and Kamilah's first real fight, Nadya, Lily, and Adrian travel to the French Quarter to see old friends and meet some new faces.

[READ IT ON AO3]

She meant to fake-awaken from the nap of all naps when Lily returned from her minibar excursion. Unfortunately though Nadya’s just a little too lost in her thoughts; which delays her reaction by enough of a fraction of a second for to be fooling absolutely nobody.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

Nadya combs her fingers through her hair. She may not have actually been asleep but tell that to the nest that somehow spontaneously manifested where she was resting against the wall of the plane.

She plasters on her best ‘ditzy secretary’ face. “Do what?” she asks; pitches her voice just a tad but that’s overselling it.

All credibility pretty much flies out of the window and down the however-many-thousand-feet to the ground below. And without a parachute, poor thing.

“Well first of all don’t gimme that look. I helped you invent it, remember?” Only Lily could chide her enough to actually make Nadya feel bad while simultaneously inhaling a complimentary bag of Korean BBQ chips. “Dos, you shouldn’t bottle it all up inside. And don’t you dare say you don’t know what I’m talking about. I will shove potato chips down your bra.”

Nadya blows a strand of hair up, but it falls back down right in front of her eye. Great, even her hair is out to get her.

“Please don’t. I only packed one.” And Adrian and her will never be close enough friends for her to feel comfortable asking him to swing by Target for a quick bra buy.

“Same girl, same.” But even as Lily kicks up her boots and makes herself comfortable the intent is clear. She’s going to get Nadya to open up somehow, some way, and most likely some time before they start to descend on New Orleans.

After all she’s practically locked in between her seat and the fancy table by vampire thighs of steel.

Crunch. Crunch. Crun—

“I’ll talk about it when I’m ready, Lil’, okay?”

Cruuunnn—

“I promise! Pinky promise, blood oath, anything!” Just please don’t keep chewing like that. She’s very near begging on her knees.

After quickly wiping the flavor powder off, Lily holds up her pinky finger expectantly. Nadya takes it with her own. She means it too, villainous torture methods aside. Some people went their whole lives and then some without someone to care about them as much as Lily cares for Nadya — she knows this and really, her gratitude is unwavering.

But she’s still a little too raw on the inside (and out; her tear ducts may have gone into permanent early retirement by now) to just bring it all up. And so casually, too.

The cabin lights catch on the chains of her charm bracelet. Little sparkles that draw Nadya in; pull her down deep in velvet the same black as the midnight sky, away from the stale plane air and back to New York.

Back to Kamilah.

And Lily — well, she’s Lily. Of course she notices. Just like she quickly acts and lowers their still-linked hands before Nadya suffers the unpleasantness of choking on her heart again.

“I’d say lets head back there —” she jerks her head from the direction she came from, “— and get you a little tipsy for your troubles, but for some reason showing up to a place like New Orleans already drunk feels like blasphemy.”

“And I wouldn’t feel comfortable with the plan if you weren’t completely sober, Nadya.”

The girls look over across the aisle to where Adrian leans back and away from his laptop, a slightly admonishing look in his eye. Nadya blindly seeks out the open bag of chips while offering what she hopes is a smile that says “Yes, of course, I totally agree,” even though a margarita at the very least sounds comforting.

“Actually, since it’s out there, how are you feeling?”

Lily tenses beside her. It takes him a moment to realize what he’s done but Adrian tries to take it back so fast Nadya’s somehow the one who ends up with emotional whiplash. “I mean — about this; the…” he sighs, “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”

Nadya elbows Lily before she can get a word in. “It’s fine,” she tells Adrian with a smile — and if it’s a little strained well… they can’t blame her.

People fight in relationships sometimes. It’s not ideal, but it happens. Does Nadya wish she could throw open the emergency hatch on Adrian’s private jet (freaking out which happened loudly, quickly, and before they had ever lifted for takeoff) and fly her way back to Kamilah to try and work things out by sheer force of will? You betcha.

Is she going to let that stop her from doing what needs to be done to get this Amulet? No. God willing; she and Kamilah will have plenty of time to cool down, talk, and see where they were supposed to go from the place they had left at. But that’s only the case so long as Nadya, Lily, and Adrian get to the Amulet of Nero before Gaius does.

Though… none of them can still fathom the literally microscopic chances that had decided to work in their favor. No really, Lily ran the numbers. By all accounts they should have been prepared for a voyage around the world, sometimes in multiple places (and according to the simulation, at multiple times).

What were the odds that not only was this mythical once-lost-to-history Nadya-was-literally-kidnapped-to-find-it-but-it-only-took-their-collective-squad-like-two-weeks-and-a-couple-all-nighters Amulet of Nero in the States, but that it was currently in the hands of—well—a friend?

Apparently the odds were pretty freakin’ good.

“I’ve failed the universe.”

“Lily, stop.”

“It’s been three days! And all I could come up with was a list of the players from Kavinsky’s private rich-jackass tournament. A list, Nadi’.”

“It’s far more than we had previously Lily,” Adrian had said with a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder, “and for that matter — its more than Gaius could get on his own. So if anything you’ve outdone him; and trust me when I say that doesn’t happen every millennium.”

While it wasn’t the best pep talk in the world it had been enough to get Lily back on track. Her finger scrolling on her mouse faster than humanly possible until she got to the names they needed. Eight billion people in the world and they had narrowed it down to ten. Way to go, Lil’.

Adrian started to write down the names in his hasty scrawl — which had just been a waste of time since Nadya refuses to try and read his terrible colonial handwriting and already has a list of her own transcribed. “It’s still more than would be ideal. But I think the four of us should be… able… hm.”

Hm because of the obvious. Because there were only three people in his office. Because Kamilah is following a lead on the whereabouts of Gaius and while one is arguably more important than the other… it’s good to know his movements. Nadya can’t argue with her logic in that.

She knows their enemy better than anyone. And it means she doesn’t have to be in the same room as Nadya.

“Wait — this name, here.” Adrian had pointed at the screen; Lily had slapped his hand away. “I know this one. That can’t be the same man, though, the odds…”

“Who-what now?” Nadya hadn’t recognized the name at all.

LaPointe, C.

“Someone from your past?”

The very recent past; like very recent. Like, Nadya-adjacent recent. And with time maybe-probably quickly running out they couldn’t afford to wait to fill everyone in on all the juicy details. Or, apparently, wait for Kamilah to return from her trip.

Sometimes Nadya catches herself looking around for the familiar comfort of maroon.

Overhead there’s a soft bing from the pilot’s speakers.

“We’re coming up on Louis Armstrong, Mr. Raines and guests. If you could remain seated until we land, your arrangements have been taken care of as requested.”

Nadya’s heart pounds a little bit faster. When Lily reaches out to squeeze her hand she doesn’t reject it one bit.

After all, she’s doing the first leg of this on her own.

“You can do this. You can totally do this.”

Behind her a family of four jostles her chair so hard Nadya almost spills iced coffee slushy all over herself.

“You’ve survived Ferals, and Vega, and Gaius. You kicked butt at ‘Tech-Xpo.’ You’ve eaten French cheese and danced in a corset and you didn’t even ruin a Lacroix. You’re a force of nature, and you can totally do this.”

And remember, he’s just a vampire. If he tries anything just run outside.

“Would Miss ‘Force of Nature’ like a box to go?”

She’s been in the cool shade of the cafe awning for far too long to even pretend like the red in her cheeks is the heat; but that doesn’t mean Nadya doesn’t look up to the sight of her bemused waitress with a styrofoam box and the bill in her hand.

Nadya must look as embarrassed as she feels because she doesn’t even get to answer before the woman gets in a small laugh. “Whatever yer psychin’ ya’self up for, honey, keep at it. More people could stand to give themselves a pep talk.”

“Th-Thanks.”

‘Bonnie’ (as per her name tag) grins with all the boisterousness she’s had since Nadya first took up her table. When she winks it’s full of energy; enough to jingle her large earrings. Nadya kind of wants to adopt her as a weird aunt? But that might just be the all-nighter talking.

Without hesitation Nadya pulls her purse close and takes out one of the (ridiculously unnecessary) large bills Adrian had given her before she got into her cab. Bonnie’s eyes widen, protest at the ready, but Nadya won’t hear it. “I won’t need the box, but thank you.” She all but has to force the hundred under the woman’s thumb.

If she has another one of the mini mountains of powdered sugar on top of her beignets she’s actually gonna burst. The coffee is totally coming with her, though.

Nadya weaves her way first out of the cafe’s closed-off seating, but it somehow only gets worse from there? New York is full of people; she knows this. But she’s gotten used to working nights, to the emptiness of Raines Corp. after dark — so having to literally fight her way through the sea of tourists is a jarring experience to say the least.

You can do this. You can do this.

Yeah, because her last motivational mantra worked out so well?

This isn’t a vacation (and if it were she’d be too stressed to enjoy it anyway) so she soaks up as much as she can. The ride from the airport to the French Quarter, every street sign and avenue and cool-looking building covered in ivy. A few of the early-riser tour groups she’s passed by have mentioned ‘the history of the city’ and Nadya is kind enough to let herself imagine — after all this is done — coming back here with Kamilah and learning it from someone who was probably there.

It’s the most optimistic feeling she’s had in… too long, actually.

She puts it to good use in her ‘I’m Totally Not Nervous’ act all the way from Jackson Square to the small museum off the side of the St. Louis Cathedral. Smiling to the entrance attendants is a little bit easier. So is plucking up the courage to ask a security guard where she might find the offices to visit a friend.

That no one would think a short girl with glasses almost as wide as her face is up to no good doesn’t hurt, too.

If Nadya’s got her orientation right this is definitely the right office. The window — if there even was one — inside would be facing the stonework of the next door church. Perfect for avoiding direct sunlight.

She takes care in not stepping on top of a small, neatly-wrapped bouquet of orchids in front of the office door when she knocks. Picks it up for good measure because they really are a lovely shade of purple and maybe they remind her of better times.

Of rare blue lotuses and… happiness.

Nadya waits… and waits… and waits… and knocks again? She doesn’t know what else to do. Admittedly they all might have been a little too focused on making sure Adrian and Lily had a place to rest during daylight hours.

For the record Nadya still isn’t comfortable with abandoning her friends to sleep in the cargo hold of a plane — private or not.

This was a dumb idea. Of course he’s not going to be in his office in the middle of the morning. He is a vampire.

But just before Nadya can put down the flowers and pull out her phone, there’s a thud on the other side of the door.

“Kathy, is that you?”

Uh… “No? I’m…”

“Yes yes, payroll said they’d be sending someone up,” another noise follows — this one more like the distinct collision between feet and office desks of which she is all too familiar, “just a moment!”

Nadya realizes she doesn’t have anything prepared to say when the door opens.

When he had arrived late to the Council Chamber for Adrian’s trial, Cadence Smith had looked the very picture of flustered and in a panic. Nadya was pretty familiar with that, too. But apparently that was only a fraction of his anxieties because…

Well to put it in one simple word — yikes.

Cadence pushes his glasses back up his nose to scrutinize her properly. His tie hangs in a messy and loosened knot around a collar half-unbuttoned and his sweater is untucked and bunched at the waist. If she looks down it’ll be too obvious, but it doesn’t even look like he’s wearing shoes.

He pushes the blond mess from out of his eye-line with his entire palm and leaves a smeared trail of black behind — which makes sense given the large and aged newspaper folded in his grasp.

“You’re not from payroll.”

But Nadya smiles up at him, dishevelment aside. “No, I’m —”

Then he notices the bouquet in her hands. Immediately—almost frighteningly—his entire being goes cold; harsh.

“I thought I told you people to stop delivering those.”

“Huh? Oh, no—no I —”

“I don’t care if he’s bought the lot in advance. I. do not. want them. Christ — there’s no way a flower shop is this dedicated to customer satisfaction!”

“Wait, Mister Smith, if you lemme —”

“Burn them. Next time I’ll have security escort you out. Good day!”

The door slams closed in her face before Nadya can get another word in. She’s left there, dumbfounded, mildly offended, and the good mood from her sugar high now soured.

“Mis— Cadence, please!” She knocks again, and again, and quickly screws politeness in favor of pounding on the thick wooden door. “I know you can hear me! I’m not from a freakin’ flower shop!”

But it’s an office; not like he has anywhere to run. He’s just straight-up ignoring her.

She so does not have time for this.

“Adrian sent me!” Nadya shouts at the top of her lungs. If Cadence doesn’t hear her someone must — maybe she can get through to them instead.

But as it turns out she won’t need to.

Even through the blood pounding in her ears she can hear the door unlock. When he faces her this time, Nadya’s ready.

“Adrian Raines sent me. These —” she shoves the flowers through the door into his chest; then points at her feet, “— were already here. I don’t know what’s got you so rude but I didn’t fly all this way from New York to be —”

“You’re the secretary; the one from the trial who convinced them to let me testify.”

Nadya huffs. “Well—yeah, and I’m also the one who’s really tired of being interrupted.”

The more he recognizes her, the more Cadence softens until some semblance of the man she remembers is all that’s left. He has the decency to look embarrassed at his outburst.

In Nadya’s opinion he shouldn’t talk like that to anyone; let alone some poor person stuck delivering flowers. Makes sense why they were just abandoned in front of the door.

“Oh, and I have a name. It’s —”

“Nadya; I remember now.”

Her nostrils flare and Nadya actually feels the telling-off as it starts to rise from her belly to her lungs. But Cadence realizes his mistake as soon as he makes it; he ducks his head quickly. “I’m — forgive me. That was… I just remember who you are, is all.”

Only after she eyes him up to determine his sincerity does Nadya finally nod; once, and curtly. “Fine.”

The vampire turns the orchids over in his hands; plucks a petal crumpled in their not-quite tussle from the stem and lets it fall like a path to his doorstep.

“A… situation, shall we call it, with a lapse in my judgment has led to, well, these.” He smiles; strained and not quite seen in the eyes. “A fellow who can’t take a hint.”

“I get it. My heart goes out to you.”

“Thank you.”

“But we need to talk; like, now. It’s important.” Nadya nods at what little she can see of his office behind his towering figure. “May I come in?”

He hesitates a beat. “I’m a bit… deep in a research project at the moment. Will this take long?” Then, as an afterthought; “You said Adrian sent you — is he here, as well?”

“Yes, he’s waiting out the sun. But we’re already behind as it is and I don’t want to waste a whole day. It took us long enough to get this far… we don’t have the time.”

“You’re being a bit vague, Nadya, even for me. What are you ‘behind’ on, exactly?”

Yeah — she’s being vague and she knows it. Feels like somehow the fact that they’ve not really had to talk about the massive panic their situation is worthy of because they all know the stakes has been a blessing. Nadya knows she has to explain things to get Cadence’s help.

It’s just that saying it — actually telling other people — makes everything that’s happening very very real. And being real makes it dangerous.

It has already been dangerous, says a voice in Nadya’s head that sounds enough like Kamilah to make her lower lip wobble a bit.

“Nadya?”

Not-Kamilah in her head is right. Nadya sucks it up and looks Cadence dead in the eye.

“I need the Amulet of Nero and I know you were the last person to have it — when you beat a man named Kavinsky at poker in Vegas two years ago.”

Cadence defies the laws of nature and somehow manages to look paler than he already was. Which means she’s in the right place.

“How do you… actually, it doesn’t matter. The Amulet is useless to humans.”

“Maybe. But I’m guessing it’s not useless to a psychopathic power-mad vampire king who’s spent almost three thousand years trying to take over the world.”

An eerie calm comes over them as he takes in the weight of what she says.

Cadence steps aside wordlessly. When she crosses the threshold he stops and checks either end of the hall in a way that totally screams suspicious.

When he’s satisfied they aren’t being watched, he closes the door behind them.

He asks her to start ‘from the beginning.’ But does she really know where that is? Does it begin when Gaius finally revealed himself after a year of working in hiding in secret, or does it begin from a time only a few know and fewer remember?

“I’ve found the beginning is often the place you think of first,” Cadence answers her; he sets down a tray and tells her to be careful to not burn her hand on the offered mug of tea, “that, or the place where you enter the story as a character in your own right.”

It’s all very oddly domestic in here; Nadya wouldn’t be surprised to find out he doesn’t bother with an apartment and just lives here instead. Even if the mess is giving her the headache to beat all headaches.

The ceramic warms her from the tips of her fingers outward. It’s hot as heck outside but if there’s one thing she’s learned from Gerard its that the soothing powers of tea are beyond things as silly as the weather.

“It’s funny you say something like that.”

“Why would that be?”

“I don’t really know where I come in. Not… not me, as I am, anyway.” She probably—no, definitely—sounds like she’s a few marbles short of the bag. But it’s nice to be able to admit something so personal to a stranger. Someone who won’t judge her — or if he does it’s not that big of a deal.

“I’m not sure I know who I am lately. It’s… hard to explain.”

Cadence brushes the barest touch of his fingertips over her knee. He looks hesitant, like he’s not quite sure he has her permission, but she doesn’t say no to it. It’s like the man who was so cruel to her in the doorway was a skin shed in the safety of his home.

“You don’t have to explain a thing. I know the struggle better than anyone should have a right to.”

Nadya remembers then; Cadence’s testimony on Adrian’s behalf — exactly why Adrian had been in New Orleans in the first place. They had been so close to the Amulet and didn’t even know it.

She’s a little embarrassed by it, to be honest. “Right, I… I’m sorry,” shaking her head, “that was insensitive of me.” At least she knows her own name.

But the vampire shrugs it off and sips his tea. “The struggle of identity is innate in every species throughout time. If I’ve learned one thing; it’s that.”

It makes Nadya laugh softly. “You must have gotten along with Adrian when he visited.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re both kind to the world.” Kind to others; strangers. But not to yourselves.

Cadence opens his mouth as if to respond; but whatever he plans to say he thinks better of it and changes their course.

“Let’s get back to the Amulet and this… vampire king.”

Which is probably for the best.

She tries to start where things make the most sense — recently, with the Amulet and Gaius’ plan. But that leads to explaining how he was locked up in the first place, which leads to the founding of the New York Council and the Clans, and somehow jumps to the events of the Awakening Ball, and Nadya doesn’t blame him in the slightest when Cadence holds up a finger and grabs a notepad from his nearby desk to start jotting everything down.

It’s a full transparency kind of deal because if Adrian trusts him then Nadya does, too. But some things sound crazy no matter how casually she spins them. So Nadya keeps certain things to herself; the whole Bloodkeeper disaster, her fight with Kamilah, the fact that when she looks at him she can see a woolen uniform dusty with dirt and with embers still clinging to the thick material and a little cut on his forehead that definitely healed a hundred years ago or more.

And to the man’s credit he takes everything in stride. Nods and scribbles down her tale faster than Nadya could ever hope to do herself. He even asks questions here and there; things you’d expect more in a classroom than, well, here.

Though Nadya really doesn’t grasp the enormity of it all until she blinks and realizes her eyes have grown accustomed to a lack of light. She can’t even see the small alley street below his window anymore. Jeez, it’s sunset already?

“And that’s why we need the Amulet of Nero; if Gaius gets to it first and there really is a vial of blood from the First Vampire inside…”

Cadence nods. “It’s an ‘end of the world’ sort of deal. Well… for humans, anyway.”

Did he really need to put it like that? Way to remind Nadya that all her friends are vampires and would probably make it out of everything at least mildly intact.

“So where is it?”

“Where is what?”

Really? “The Amulet of Nero.”

“Oh, well… about that.” No, Nadya thinks in a panic — because nothing good ever started with ‘about that.’

“You have it —” —hello instant nauseating panic, my old friend— “— Cadence please tell me you have it.”

“Had; past tense.”

There’s not quite a word to describe the noise that grumbles out from deep in her soul but it’s certainly not a whoop of joy.

More like an eeeughh of… urrrrghh.

Which is why she’s a little relieved her phone screen lights up blinding and interrupts them before she can start pulling her own hair out.

While Nadya grabs it to read the latest message, Cadence stands and pops his neck in two places. “I have a few calls to make myself, actually. Another tea?”

“No thank you.”

He leaves her with the office door open just a crack.

In truth Nadya wants nothing more than to stretch out on the couch and take a power nap.

No rest for the wicked.

She thumbs her screen unlocked to read a text from Adrian.

[TEXT]: It’s sunset and we haven’t heard from you in a while. Is everything okay? -A

Well — she managed to train him out of the ‘sincerely’ at least.

[TEXT]: I’m surprised I dont have like 5000 txts [TEXT]: shes still asleep isnt she

[TEXT]: No. Her phone died. You didn’t answer my question. -A

[TEXT]: I’m fine [TEXT]: here w/ cadence

[TEXT]: Great news. He’ll give us the Amulet? -A

She doesn’t want to lie to him. But there’s really no good way to soften the blow.

[TEXT]: :|

[TEXT]: What does that mean? -A [TEXT]: I showed it to Lily. She isn’t happy. We’re grabbing a car now. I’ll convince him to give it to us if I have to. Did you explain what’s at stake? -A

Nadya scoffs — kind of very rightfully offended. “No,” she says aloud, but she’s alone so her phone suffers her snark in silence, “I told him I wanted it for my Halloween costume. Yes I explained what’s at stake, Adrian Raines. Ugh.”

So of course that’s the perfect moment for Cadence to return with confusion knit in his brow.

“Is everything okay?”

“Not really.” Nadya peels off her glasses and rubs her eyes. “Just — Adrian’s on his way. Tell me where the Amulet is and we’ll get out of your hair.”

She can’t tell if the pensive look on the vampire’s face is him trying to decide whether or not to help or something else entirely. All she can do is pray, really. Or hope Adrian can convince him. And if neither of those work maybe Lily can threaten him or something.

They should have brought Jax along. Katana and all.

“Actually, send him somewhere else, would you?” Cadence rips off a corner piece of paper and scribbles an address down before handing it over. “That’s where I planned on heading anyway. And this way I won’t have to go into the explanation twice.”

He’s been nice so far; friendly and helpful. And Adrian trusts him — if she hasn’t brought that up enough times.

So why does unease start to tangle and knot itself in her gut?

“Or maybe we could all go there together.”

“Why not save the trip?” He brushes hair out of his eyes with a genuine surprise. “You said time was of the essence.”

“It is.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“I just think it would be better to wait.”

“But —”

Thunk. Thu-Thunk.

A knocking at the door cuts both Nadya and Cadence off at the same time — but Nadya’s pretty sure people knocked nearer the top of doors.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk!

With a long-suffering sigh, the vampire wheels himself around in his chair and makes for the door. “What have I told you about kicking my door? The museum said they won’t be paying for the third replacement.”

THU—

“Christ, Kathy!”

Cadence yanks the door open with more than a little force. The hinges creak and there’s the slight cracking sound of splintering wood — even with his back turned Nadya can see the disgruntled slump of his shoulders. “Great, now look what you’ve made me do.”

“Stop being so easy to mess with,” says Katherine as she enters; beaming immediately at Nadya around the towering blockade of a man. “He’s so fun to mess with, isn’t he?”

All the tension in her extinguishes like a blown-out candle. Leaves Nadya smiling because she didn’t even know how reassuring the sight of a familiar face would be until, well, she’s right there.

Katherine shoulders her way around Cadence and holds out her arms. “Bring it in!” And Nadya most definitely brings it in. Even if her hurry to hug the Nighthunter sends a small stack of papers scattering to their feet.

“Oops…”

Cadence groans. “It’s fine, it’s fine…” And he shoos Nadya away to pick it up himself.

Very little about Katherine seems to have changed over the last year. Though technically Nadya could say the same for herself. The hunter now sports a fancy scar along the edge of her jaw and she must have just recently given her hair a fresh shade of violet but she’s still Kathy and it’s an honest relief.

Wait a second. Nadya pulls back to hold her at arms’ length.

“I tried calling you before we took off from New York. Why didn’t you answer?” Truthfully, they thought she must have been out of town.

Katherine scoffs, mock-offended. “I have a life too, you know. I’m not always looking at my phone.”

“Indeed,” grumbles Cadence at their feet, “but last night you weren’t ‘having a life’ so much as trying to break your own arm.”

What’s worse is that Kathy doesn’t try to deny it. She just laughs at Nadya’s suddenly pale expression. “Don’t worry kiddo,” she teases, “I was just taste-testing for a bartender friend. Had a little bit too much, you know how it goes. I thought I could arm wrestle a stone troll.”

Blink. Blink-blink. “I’m sorry a who-what?”

“A stone… well you’ll see. C’mon Cade, pick it up later. We’ve gotta get going,” with a fist curled in his sweater she hauls the man up against his wishes, “don’t even worry about it. Not like the place isn’t still a historic hoarder’s nest.”

Nadya definitely agrees — but she’s too polite to do so out loud.

Hold on, though. “You know where we’re going?”

Cadence’s left eyebrow arches slowly. “You’re suddenly on board now?”

“Well —”

Katherine interrupts her with a finger and a quick smack to the vampire’s upper arm. He doesn’t even flinch. “Context, Cade, remember? Taller, stronger man tries to take you somewhere only he knows of in an unfamiliar city. What do you do, Nadya?”

“You kick him in the groin.”

“Exactly.”

He looks between the women in brief silence; but they aren’t exactly wrong. “Fair point. I’m sorry for making you feel unsafe, Nadya.”

“It’s okay.”

Katherine claps her hands together quickly. “Come on. I don’t really think you want to leave Raines undefended against Garrus for long.”

“Who is —” you know what, probably better that Nadya waits to learn, “— Lily’s with him, it’s okay.”

“Your friend the newbie vamp, Lily?” asks Katherine. When Nadya nods, though, she’s the exact opposite of reassured. The hunter barely gives her time to grab her purse before she’s tugging Nadya out of the office by her sleeve.

“Oh god — we have to go.”

“What’s the matter? Are they in danger?”

“No,” Cadence laughs behind them; the fact that he’s far more at ease than Katherine though doesn’t make Nadya feel any better, “they’re fine. But Garrus has been perfecting a shooter to give my kind an actual buzz.”

Drunk Lily. Nadya remembers her well… well enough to shiver bodily. Because drunk Lily was one thing.

Drunk vampire Lily, though?

“Maybe we could hurry up a bit.”

If I’d known there were going to be drinks involved I might’ve not been so against it, Nadya thinks, and immediately foresees a great concern regarding the eventual state of her liver by the time she’s (hopefully) settled into a more peaceful life post-Gaius’ World Takeover 2020.

By the time the three of them make it to the Graveyard Shift (which was, in her humble opinion, the height of tacky non-humor — and according to Kathy if she wanted to keep her tongue in her mouth she had better keep that thought to herself) Adrian and Lily are already there.

Lily hugs her first, then goes for Katherine with equal gusto. Cadence and Adrian, however, exchange nothing but a crisp businesslike handshake.

“I was glad to hear your name had been cleared,” the blond vampire says with a hint of shame. Then — watch out world — Adrian crosses the professional boundary and clasps a hand on his shoulder.

“Kamilah told me about how Vega tried to keep you from testifying. I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am that you risked daylight travel for someone you barely knew.”

“You helped me all you could. It was the least I could do.”

At the bartop in the very back a young woman dressed head-to-toe in black leather and lace whips out a (black) fan and flutters it rapidly. She eyes the pair bright and mirthful. “Good ghoulish gods, the sexual tension there is enough to feed a dozen succubi!”

They pull away from each other after a long and uncomfortable pause.

Then Lily’s tugging Nadya forward with maniacal delight. “Ohmygod, Nadi’, come meet Ivy. She’s literally the coolest person on the planet.”

Behind them Adrian splutters; “Wait, Lily —”

And she should really be worried when Katherine joins in; “Ease her into it — ah shit.”

Because ease her into what, exactly?

Lily stops them in front of Ivy’s stool. “Technically not a person, remember?” chides the stranger; and then things start to make a bit more sense.

What Nadya had thought were tattoos or maybe was a decorative grey bodysuit underneath Ivy’s clothes just… isn’t. It’s skin. It’s greying, veiny skin and the muscles beneath that Nadya can see with a little too much ease for her personal comfort. Yes, Ivy is wearing black lipstick, but there’s not a whole lot of lip for the stick. And while the way her eyes seem to actually burn with a strange and pinkish flame is very cool and very up Lily’s alley, Nadya can’t really look at them for long without feeling like the long shadows cast in every corner of the bar are watching her.

“Dude,” stage-whispers Lily while tugging at her sleeve, “Ivy’s a revenant. Victorian zombie goth chick, Nadya!”

Ivy holds up a veiny finger. “Actually that’s a bespelled revenant, sweetie.” And the only solace Nadya seems to be able to take right now is that when the woman smiles she still has a full set of teeth — though some look a little… pointy.

“We’re a little different because we still have our souls… they just don’t belong to us and aren’t in our bodies and will forever burn in some eldritch pit or another.”

Words that awful should never be said so cheerfully.

“But enough about me,” like she isn’t practically preening under Lily’s adoration regardless, “ever meet a fae? This is Garrus; he owns the Shift.”

The revenant jerks her hot pink head behind the bar where the bartender has been devoted to messing with something out of sight — until now.

No, Nadya would have answered if she wasn’t having way too much new information thrown at her like a bag of big supernatural bricks, I haven’t met a fae. She hasn’t, she’s sure.

Since she’s just as sure she would have remembered meeting anyone equally pale — somehow glittering, with the same unnatural symmetry in the face that was both pleasing to the eye and unnerving in impossibility. With eyes as clear as the sky and actual pointy ears that definitely weren’t bought from Lily’s preferred cosplay crafters.

Yup; no way she could forget that.

This is Nadya we’re talking about, however, so she swallows down all of her (many — many) feelings about the current situation and turns on her heel to where Adrian has come to stand just shy of behind.

“I’m gonna need a glass of wine.”

Adrian shakes his head with a small laugh. Back the other way Garrus calls out a cheerful — and slightly Irish(?) so that’s a thing — “Coming right up, darling.”

“Just… one glass though, Garrus.” Adrian feels the need to emphasize, even if its with a glint in his eye. “Trust me. She’ll try to go for the bottle.”

“I handle this crap the way I handle it, Raines.”

“Then don’t complain about the hangover this time.”

A beat. “Yeah fine, one glass only.”

For a bar in New Orleans at night the place is a little barren, but nobody else seems to mind so Nadya doesn’t think about it twice. It gives them more opportunity to spread out at the very least rather than having to lean halfway over the bar to talk to one another.

Ivy joins Katherine and Cadence in the crescent-moon booth closest to the actual bar. Freeing up stools for Adrian and Nadya — though Lily quickly pulls away to jog up a tightly-coiled metal staircase by the back door to, apparently, check on her charging phone and call up Maricruz.

“When did you add the second floor?” Adrian asks Garrus; who now is moving so fast Nadya’s pretty sure he’s getting a little blurry around the edges.

He doesn’t even pause to think. “We finished it a couple of years before the turn of the century. After you and your lady friend had such a hard time finding accommodations I took a real stock in the idea of places more… suitable to our folk.”

Adrian gives an “aah” of understanding, but if he thinks he can just get away with that without being smacked in the arm he’s very mistaken.

“Ow?” He tries to look affronted down at Nadya — it doesn’t really work.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Briefly, yes, in the later 19th century. Why are you so surprised?”

She gives a little shrug. “It just doesn’t seem like your kind of scene.” Yes, the Graveyard Shift is rustic, charming; antique. But it’s also dusty, rickety, and Nadya really doesn’t trust the way those stairs screamed through Lily’s every step.

“Well — yes and no. I enjoy this place immensely; you should have seen it back in its heyday.” He pauses; probably hopes Nadya will say something so he doesn’t have to keep going. But she knows a ‘but’ when she hears one.

“But… we weren’t here for a good time. We were here on Gaius’ behalf to settle some… unsavory territorial disputes between two vampire families.”

“Who’s ‘we?’”

His lips purse. “Kamilah and I.”

Garrus whistles shrilly behind them; breaks the chance for Nadya to go all melancholy before she even starts with a glass tumbler in front of Adrian and a wine on her end. “Thank you,” since she’ll definitely need it, now.

Cadence clears his throat into his fist. “Now that we’re all caught up perhaps I should finish what we started in my office?” He looks Nadya level in the eyes. “I told you I no longer had the Amulet of Nero?”

Adrian looks between her and Cadence with a rising surprise. She hadn’t gotten to that part, exactly, in her texts… thanks.

“What do you mean you don’t have the Amulet?”

“I thought that pretty self-explanatory.”

“Then why are we wasting time here?”

“I don’t have it because it didn’t provide what I needed.” And just like that he and Katherine are back on friendly terms. He swings an arm over the booth behind her and she accepts it with a sigh. “I had heard of the Amulet’s long history with vampires and thought that perhaps it had some sort of charm or hex that could prove useful to me.

“Objects have memories like people have memories. Only people — they live, remember, and die. Their memories are lost forever. But objects are a little like vampires. They just keep remembering.”

Adrian feels her still beside him. He reaches out to her; throw an arm around her shoulder, hug her; whatever gets spun on his roulette wheel of Uh-Oh, the Human is Freaking Out Again. This time, though, Nadya pushes his hand back. Touch is kind of the last thing she wants right now.

Why? He asks with his eyes.

Nadya looks away only because her own eyes want to give him an answer.

Because that means I’m an object, too.

“All that collective history should have been compiled in the Amulet,” Cadence continues, “but none of the witches I hired could help me unlock it. I even prostrated to the Garden Elders, you know.”

Judging by the way their new friends all react Nadya thinks that wasn’t a good call on his part.

“Before they lost the single brain cell they shared?” Ivy asks with a derisive snort. Garrus gets a chuckle out of it at least.

“Indeed. But they couldn’t even…”

Why did he trail off into silence? Doesn’t he know nothing good ever comes of trailing off into silence when it comes to matters of the supernatural?

Cadence’s eyes go wide. If he had a beating heart — he definitely wouldn’t have it now. “Mary Mother of Christ. I think that’s around the time when the Elders pulled the witches from the Quarter.”

He looks between Ivy between Katherine between Garrus; all of whom have gone just as silent and still. Something haunting them behind the eyes just out of sight.

“Do you think the Amulet did something to them?” Adrian asks — and Nadya’s glad to know she’s not the only one royally confused.

The blond vampire nods. “Of—Of a sort. You see, last year’s Mardi Gras was a bit… murder-y.”

“That was only a couple of weeks before the Awakening Ball — and my trial.”

“Lucky we made it out then.” He squeezes Katherine’s shoulder. The look on her face punctuates his optimism with a restrained barely.

“The Garden Coven — the witches of the city — their Elders went a bit…” Cadence tsks for a delicate turn of phrase.

And the hunter at his side doesn’t bother. “They went cuckoo bananas. They used a born necromancer, summoned a bloodwraith using the bones of an equally cuckoo bananas Nighthunter known as the Bloody Hand, and thought they could control him in the form of a vengeful spirit to kill the city leaders and install themselves in power.”

And she thought being chased by Vega was terrifying? Well, it was. But on some level Nadya’s kind of glad she didn’t have to touch any of this with a ten foot pole.

“I know I’m gonna regret asking this…” in fact she regrets it before she even finishes, “but why would they do something so… awful?”

“Fear is a powerful motivator.”

Ivy drums her nails on the table. “One of the Elders, Millet, was really handy with a deck of tarot. But the thing about prophesy — if you don’t have the gift, you just don’t have it. So the forces you call upon sort of… call upon you right back.”

Cadence’s whole world is being rocked; Nadya can totally sympathize. “The Amulet would have been the perfect conduit for Millet’s foresight. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it then.”

“Would it have saved anyone’s lives?” Garrus challenges him to consider it. Cadence does, but no answer at all is all the answer they need. “Shame.”

“So they used the Amulet of Nero and got a vision that drove them mad with… fear. I’m missing something.”

The gears are turning in Adrian’s head so fast steam might start squealing from his ears. “Whatever had been seen would have been tied to the Amulet’s magic.”

He and Nadya lock eyes. The same thought at the same time.

Whatever they foresaw would have had to do with vampires — with the Amulet — with Gaius.

Cadence snaps his fingers, eyes alight and a half-smile of understanding starting to grow on his lips. “The darkness coming has something to do with vampires!” Though when the weight of his words settles in, they’re decidedly less a revelation and more of an omen.

“Oh dear…”

“Before we get—ahem—any more ahead of ourselves,” Adrian cracks his neck and mulls over how best to go forward, “Cadence… what were you trying to open the Amulet for? You said it wasn’t useful, what do you mean?”

The man shrugs. “It was an object with great importance throughout much of recorded vampiric history. If you’ve forgotten that’s… kind of my thing. I hoped whatever lie within — whatever had the kind of power to draw us to it — might be able to jog a memory or two.”

“But it didn’t.”

“I’ll never know. I never got it open.”

“So you got rid of it?” Adrian’s voice raises more than a pitch or two. “If the Amulet couldn’t help you personally it wasn’t worth keeping safe?”

“What? No. But it took quite a bit of money to acquire, none of which was mine.”

As he starts to understand where Cadence is going with his story, Adrian leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

“You took a loan from Carlo. Which means it was left to Isadora when he passed.”

Who are Carlo and Isadora?

“Speaking of…” Katherine looks between Adrian and Cadence expectantly. It doesn’t bode well that Cadence shifts as if trying to inch away at the same time that Adrian takes a long drink.

The Nighthunter groans in frustration. “You guys are idiots!”

Cadence splutters — waves an arm at Nadya from afar. “Well I wasn’t exactly expecting them, was I?”

“I don’t care! That’s the first thing you should’ve done when you found out he was in town. But let me guess — you made tea.” Which is, unfortunately a fact the vampire doesn’t deny. “God, you are such a damn stereotype sometimes.

“And what about you?” She rounds on Adrian next. “You’re smart… ish. More responsible, I guess. Tell me you’re not as dumb as he is. Tell me you called her at the very least.”

From her edge of the booth Ivy looks like she’s taking way too much enjoyment in this. When Adrian’s head hangs she squeals in delight and claps with the promise of more yelling.

“I had more pressing matters to think about.”

“So that’s a no.”

“Correct.”

“That’s a no,” Katherine repeats; growing louder with every word, “to telling the most powerful vampire in the city about your little trip — and with not one, but two vampires staying in her territory for longer than a fucking layover?”

Some clarification on the rising panic bubble blowing up inside her would be awesome, but Nadya has a feeling she’s just not gonna get one.

“Forgive me for caring a little more about the danger of the most powerful vampire in the world more than Isadora de la Rosa.” Adrian almost snarls — Nadya swears she hears the glass in his grip creak ever so slightly.

Judging by the look Kathy gives him she doesn’t regret one syllable; not a single one.

“Its not my forgiveness you’ll need.” She grabs Cadence’s arm and turns it at an awkward angle to look at his watch. “Lucky for you Flechette just opened.”

“‘Flechette?’” Nadya asks — and can’t help but feel like an owl at this point.

Katherine snorts. “Flechette is the front for the city vamps; and they’re headed by Isadora de la Rosa.”

But this is a good thing. They know where the Amulet is. Sure, it sounds like there might be a little arguing along the way but… surely this Isadora woman will be totally understanding, right?

“You don’t have to come, Nadya.”

She looks at Adrian and really can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Of course I do.” Her eyes narrow. You know what I went through for this. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want to?”

“Because Flechette is a fetish club.” Oh.

Well… yes, yes she’s still going. She’s been to worse places than a fetish club; the Shrike, the Shadow Den, kind of… how bad could it really be?

“Well, at least Lily will enjoy it.”

#bloodbound #choices bloodbound #adrian raines #playchoices fanfiction #bloodbound fanfiction #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #lily spencer #oc: cadence smith #katherine nightbound #garrus #ivy #krom #cal lowell

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writeraquamarinara · 5 years

Text

I realize that I’m a day late for a thankful post to end 2018, but yesterday was hectic, and so I figured it would just be better to make a post to start off 2019 instead. While I’d love to throw all this positivity out there onto your dashes, it’s going to be quite a long post, so I’ll be putting it under the cut below.

As always, I want to thank you all for making my 2018 better. Despite it being a hellfire in my real life, you all made me feel so loved and supported whenever I logged on to tumblr and Discord. Being part of this fandom can be stressful at times, but I have to say that it’s brought me some of my best friends in the world, and for that I’m so super thankful.

To @theheavycrown, who welcomed me into the fandom on tumblr and Discord: Thank you so much for being so supportive of all the content creators in this fandom. We would probably fall apart without you.

To @dottie-wan-kenobi, who stayed up with me the first night that we both joined Discord so that I could finish writing my chapter of Little Talks: I love you so much, and I wish you all the best this year. You’ve gotten me through some of my worst times and pushed me to always be a better person and writer. Thank you. <3

To @redundantoxymorons, who always makes sure to check in on me when I’m feeling down: Iz, you’re the most kind, caring person I know, and you never fail to cheer me up when life decides to hit me with a curveball. Thank you for always being there for all the meme minors; I know we all really appreciate it.

To @crepuscolo-writes, whose humor and advice was much needed and always appreciated: Thank you so much for always keeping me smiling while scrolling through my dash. Your commentary? Iconic.

To @justcourbeau, who helped me through so much this year: I don’t think I will ever be able to thank you enough for being my friend. You’re such a light in my life, and talking to you will always bring a huge smile to my face. Sending you so much love for the new year, and hopefully we can finally get that collab going ;)

To @whaticameherefor, who somehow decided to keep me around despite me being the absolute worst beta ever: Thank you for your love and support this year. You’re one of my biggest cheerleaders and I appreciate that more than words can convey. Sorry for being such a mess, lol.

To @itseitheryeetorbeyeeted, who I can always rant with whenever I need to vent: Thank you for being one of my best friends on here. I love your blog so much: cats, PJO, and Bughead? What more could I ask for?

To @ithoughtyoulikedmereckless, who’s so super supportive and kind, especially when I need it most: I’m so glad that you decided to message me a few days ago. Not only because I really needed someone to talk to, but also because you’ve become one of my favorite people. Thank you for being so nice to me. I hope to get the Little Talks epilogue out soon, and only because of all the support you’ve shown me (and it) these past few days. Here’s to a year of not judging our own fanfic too hard.

To @fictitiousoshine, who’s such a wonderful presence in my life: Thank you for always sending me the kindest messages and well-wishes. Wishing you a wonderful and love-filled 2019. <3

To @miss-eee, who always sends me asks and replies to my posts, and overall just makes me feel like my blog isn’t just a pile of utter garbage: Thank you for being so supportive of my writing, and of me in general. I always love hearing your answers to asks and chatting with you. Still haven’t tried those peppermint peanut butter cookies, but I promise that I will very soon.

To @raptorlily, who completely made my morning this year by leaving me so many freaking amazing comments on my fics overnight: Thank you for being such a wonderful reader and supporter. I cannot tell you enough how much your words and comments mean to me, and I often go back and reread them when I’m feeling down. We’re all so very lucky to have you in the fandom.

To @amesjakes, who never fails to provide me with the B99 content my dash lacks: Thank you for being there for me this year. Our conversations are so important to me, as they’ve helped me grow and self-reflect. So much love <3

To @sullypants, whose brilliance inspires me every day: Thank you for being one of my biggest supporters, even when I’m being a bit delusional or stretching the bounds of an art-to-Riverdale match. The art you reblog and comment on is always such a blessing to see on my dash, and you’ve definitely expanded my horizons in the art world this year. Truly, thank you so very much for all you’ve done for me, and the fandom. I really appreciate it. <3

To @panalegs27, whose posts always bring me so much joy: I love seeing your reblogs on my dash, and I’m always so excited when you like or reblog one of my own posts. Thank you for being so supportive of me and others in the fandom.

To @arsenicpanda, whose tags are always a delight to read, especially when reviewing one of my fics: Thank you for being so supportive of my writing this year. I’ve often felt really disappointed by my own writing, and it’s hard to keep going when you don’t have that support from readers, but you were always there to cheer me on with your wonderful comments.

To @awkwardteenwrites, who’s so super kind and runs one of the best blogs around: Thank you for always cheering me up with your posts. Wishing you so much love and happiness in 2019. <3

To @stirringsofconsciousness, who wrote me a fake-dating fic that was so utterly amazing (which you should all read): You’re such a kind, intelligent soul, and we are so lucky to have you in the fandom. Not only are you just a lovely person, but you’re also an incredible writer, and I’m so thankful to be able to read and learn from your work. I’m also not sure that I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for helping me out that day when I was stressed about meeting my new therapist; your words meant more to me than you’ll ever know. <3

To @catthecoder, who wrote me the most wonderful Christmas fic (which you should also go read): Thank you for being so supportive of my writing on AO3, tumblr, and Discord. I’m always so happy to sprint with you, because it’s a great learning experience to read and digest the little snippets you share. Thank you for also just being a super nice person; we always need more of those in the world.

To @jimalim, who created a gorgeous icon for me and had to deal with me throughout the whole process: Your talent amazes me every day--thank you for sharing it with all of us. On top of that, you then go and use said talents to help and support other artists and graphic-makers (in this fandom and otherwise), and that’s so very special. I’m also a not-so-secret lover of Cheronica, and have made it my goal to expand my fanfiction reading of that ship this year; your works are up first. I’m so excited!

I’m sure that I’ve missed a few people, but I feel like I’ve bored you all long enough. To anyone still reading, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for following and supporting me these past few months, and for not unfollowing as soon as you realized what a flaming pile of garbage my blog truly is. Sending you all so much love this year. May 2019 bring you love, happiness, and everything in between.

#happy new year #thank you all for a wonderful 2018 #I hope I didn't bore you too much #blog recs

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spacesave-game · 5 years

Text

Version 1.4 News & other boring stuff

Good whichever-time-of-a-day-it-is! Here’s some irregularly scheduled piece of SpaceSave-related news and some things around it, which affect the development of a new version. It’s been nearly 7 months since the upload of the latest version and around 4 months since last post, so I guess it’s a good time to drop some info. Before we go into specifics, let’s delve into the state of my development process this year. It’s been a long time, so the post is going to be long as well! I’m sorry...

TL DR(I don’t blame you...): SpaceSave version 1.4 is in development and will release later this year. Also – I’m making a new game.

AlSO, A WARNING – TODAY’S SCREENSHOTS CONTAIN DEPICTIONS OF BLOOD. SO, IF YOU DON’T LIKE THICK TOMATO JUICE – BE WARNED.(I made tags, but I’m writing it here, just to be sure)

These last months has been pretty busy for me, in both personal life and game development. I haven’t been working on SpaceSave’s new version at all, right until three weeks ago or so. As I’ve noted in my last post – version 1.3 turned up to be very time consuming for me, so much so that I had to put my new, main project on hold(I still worked on it from time to time, but the progress was minimal) , just so I could finish the update in a timely manner. I eventually did release version 1.3 on time for my self-imposed deadline and the game was upgraded quite considerably, but it left me burned out in the process and with a small feeling of guilt, caused by ignoring my new project. Thus, after uploading the current version, in December, I’ve decided to take a break from SpaceSave and focus on that new project instead(development of which had a pretty major problem of its own, but we’ll talk about it later ). And this is basically what I was doing since last version’s release. Thankfully, that break was pretty rejuvenating – I’ve came back to SpaceSave, ended up enjoying working on it again and are making progress at a nice pace.

Okay, the boring stuff’s over. Below will be an actual info about new version of SpaceSave and... a new project? Well, that turned out unexpected.

SpaceSave v.1.4

As explained in my latest post about the same issue – this update will be much more humble than the last one, focused mostly on bug fixes, since I want to thoroughly test the whole game again. That being said – there will be some snippets of new content. To not reveal too much right now – one new, shorter questline is planned and I’ve already mapped it out, although I still have to create new(well, mostly recycled, but you get the point) assets for that and actually implement it in the game. As for the new stuff that’s already been added(may contain spoilers):

- New... character?:

- Also, now there are two types of soldiers, instead of one(there are also more sprite variations for them as well) on Day 4:

Now, the urban(that’s grey, for normal people) camo is the same type of soldiers that were in the base game with the same skills. The green(I call it “forest”) variant however uses incendiary grenades, which can put your entire party on fire. It’s a small change but should add some variety.

- New Items:

First, there is a new special item that you can get from hidden vendors(what, you didn’t know there were hidden vendors in the game? Well, now you know)

Heretical Book – (Description from the game)

Written in fake blood for better effect!

Use these dark secrets to fully revive an ally!

Since there is a new type of soldier, there is also a new type of grenade:

Incendiary Grenade– (Description from the game)

A real thing. Less damaging than a normal one,

but can put all enemies on fire.

The regular grenade also received a small boost in damage, since it was a little too weak in the base game, especially when you remember that it was supposed to be... well... a grenade.

There is a number of other things that I’ve already added, fixes and tweaks, but I’m going to skip them for this post and leave ‘em for an actual announcement, which is still quite a way ahead. I’m going to do a proper post about it, with a release date, as always – at least two weeks before uploading a new version. For now, the progress is going pretty alright, but I still focus more attention on my new project. The plan is, that I’m going to work on SpaceSave as much as I can, but when I’ll notice that version 1.4 will start to eat up into my main project - I’ll wrap the update up, finish things that I’ve already started to work on and release it. Another alternative is that I’ll manage to do all the work I’ve planned to do for this update(I keep a handy list for stuff like that) and if I keep my current pace – it’s pretty likely going to happen.

To summarize – I guess you can expect a new version, at best, in the early autumn. At worst – somewhere later, but it will certainly be this year.

New Project(!):

Yeah, I’ve been talking about it for quite a while, even in this post. I’m making a new game! It’s been in development since late December 2017, two weeks or so after the release of the first version of SpaceSave, although I’d say that I seriously started working on it after version 1.3, since I’ve finally got time to do so. Before that, I was mostly making assets for it.

In the February of this year, I’ve finally got enough assets to start working on a prototype, since this is a quite a different game from SpaceSave, more complex gameplay-wise. Naturally, I’ve wanted to test out how these mechanics work and how the whole game feels to play. Good ideas on paper don’t always result in an enjoyable game. There was also another thing I’ve wanted to check – the engine. For this project, I’ve decided to use the latest RPG Maker MV and there were two reasons for that:

- Bigger sprite sizes and with these – more detailed sprites – which was the main reason

And obviously...

- I owned it for some time already and wanted to justify the purchase

However, you’re probably pretty well aware about MV’s reputation as an engine that is pretty unstable. By creating a prototype I wanted to see if that’s true, before I started working on it proper. And, oh boy, MV didn’t waste any time proving all the bad rumours about it right, for me. I may have sucked at working with it, but when I did – the engine was slow, menus were janky, graphical glitches were everywhere, more complicated events broke almost every time(sometimes they actually worked, but broke later after no changes whatsoever) – hell, sometimes, after the software update, the entire game could break and I had to update project’s files manually.

In short, it was a mess. It was already March at that point in time and while the progress on the prototype itself was going swell, constant problems in the events for crucial parts of the game were infuriating. Finally, I’ve decided that if I want this project to survive – I need to start over and make it again in VX Ace. I have already made a lot of assets at this point(we’re talking around 86 spritesheets here and that’s only for characters and overworld animations, not counting stuff like tilesets here) and while battlers and animations could be reused no problem – all the sprites made by MV’s standards and most pictures made for MV resolution had to be redrawn. It was a hard decision to make, since it would take a very long time, but I’ve decided to go for it. The only possible alternatives were either keep making it on MV and risk creating an inferior game(at best) or to scrap it altogether. I really like this project and want to see it to the very end, like SpaceSave, so I didn’t want it to just die in such an anticlimactic way. So, for the rest of the March and the entirety of April – I’ve managed to painstakingly remake every single graphical asset that needed it, to fit VX Ace’s standards. T he operation was a success and I’ve finally been able to continue my work! But before that, there was still one thing to do.

When I was busy remaking assets, the prototype for MV was obviously put on hold. However, after I’ve finished working on the asset problem, I’ve decided to complete that version. It was already half-done anyway, so sure, why not - I could still use it to test out the game mechanics, even if some of them will probably be borderline broken. I’ve spent the entire May working on it and finally – on the very first day of June – it was sent to a few carefully selected victims individuals.

The prototype in its barely working state, to my relief, turned out pretty fine. All the mechanics are there, giving me a good blueprint to use in an actual version and its fairly enjoyable. The people I’ve sent it to were pretty positive about it as well. So, everything turned out fine in the end! Now... I just need to actually make the darn game, oh boy...

Anyway, as a reward for you for reading this boring wall of text – here are some screenshots from the described prototype! Please keep in mind, that the screenshots you’ll see below are from a version that will, well, never be released and the actual game will look different, although it will be similar in style and gameplay. That being said – it should give you a general idea about what I’m going for with this game, but remember that it’s VERY WiP. It is also not an announcement(we’re, at the very least, one year before that), that’s why I’m not going to give you any dates, descriptions or concrete information. Sorry, you’ll need to wait some more for that!

Anyway, here are the screenshots. Enjoy(I hope)!

Picture of a robot in that particular screenshot was made by my friend Pequod, who helps me out in art-related matters

BTW. That name of this project is not real and a joke made just for these screenshots. Please don’t ask about the meaning - it’s really bad. Seriously.

Okay, that’s all from me! This post’s length is nearly criminal... Thank you very much for keeping up with SpaceSave! See you all next time, when I’ll, probably, announce version 1.4 in a proper way!

If you want to download the latest version of SpaceSave(1.3), then use this link:

DOWNLOAD HERE FROM A MIRROR OF YOUR CHOOSING

#rpg maker game #RPG Maker #indie game #gamedev #rpg maker games #indie games #indie #RPG Maker VX Ace #update #blood #spacesave

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