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vampcubus · 4 years

Note

Hi bb! Would you be okay doing hc for tamaki, izuku, kirishima and kaminari x reader where shes kind of insecure bc shes kinda curvy and has a little bit of a tummy and he sees her poking at herself in the mirror? (can be nsfw too if you like!) thank you!

A/N: Hi there, bb! And I can definitely do that for you! I will say that I struggled with Tamaki and Kaminaris a little since I’ve never written for them before and that these… uh, aren’t HCs?? I must’ve misread, so I ended up writing little ficlets for each character instead! I hope you don’t mind 😅

Also, kinda got off-track with Denki’s… I hope you still like it though!

★| Warnings: Implied nsfw! A little angsty. |★

★ | Words: About 800+ each | ★

. . .

Midoriya Izuku

You stood in front of your mirror, staring intensely at your body in your underwear. A shirt hangs loosely in your hand at your side. You’d originally been changing when you made the mistake of catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, making you stop and stare. Most of the time you didn’t have time to worry about your looks anymore now that you were a senior and already doing your fair share of hero work with your near-constant internships with your mentor.

But now…

A frown tugged at your lips as your eyes scoured over your curves, your hand releasing the shirt and letting it flutter to the ground. You stepped forward, hands instinctively moving to your plushy stomach, squeezing and poking at the chubby flesh unhappily. You’d always been insecure about your looks, but with how busy you’ve been lately and your incredibly sweet boyfriend telling you constantly how beautiful you were, you’ve been able to forget about it for a while.

But now you weren’t working, and Izuku wasn’t here right now.

So naturally, your self-conscious butt immediately snatched the opportunity to grab at your insecurities and strike. Had you gained weight without realizing it? You turned to the side in the mirror, grimacing at the way your tummy stuck out a bit more than you’d remembered it. And you gasped when you saw stretchmarks forming around your belly and hips, some around your thighs too. When did you get those?

“Honey?”

You jumped when Izuku’s voice suddenly sounded behind you and you turned to see him standing in the doorway to your bedroom. He looked a bit confused, and his face naturally turned pink at the sight of you only in your underwear, but curious as to you you’d been poking at yourself. You rushed to cover yourself, snatching the shirt from the floor and yanking it on, pulling to hem down to your thighs, stretching it as far it as it would go without tearing.

“O-Oh! Izuku, sorry I was just…! Um… changing!” You stuttered, avoiding his concerned gaze as you covered yourself up, looking embarrassed. You didn’t want him to see you right now, not with how… chubby you’ve gotten. The thought made your eyes water.

“It didn’t look like it. Are you okay?” Izuku asked worriedly, setting down his things and walking over to your anxiously swaying form. He didn’t even have the chance to be shy, too concerned for you to care that you were half-naked.

“Y-yes! I’m fine—just lemme get some clothes on! …I’m sure you don’t wanna see me like this.” You’d muttered that last part mostly to yourself but he certainly heard it.

To that, his face contorted with confusion.

“What do you mean? See you like what? You don’t look any different to me.” He said, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling the side of your face as he hugged you tightly—his usual greeting. But you found yourself ducking out of his arms, afraid that if you didn’t put clothes on soon he’d notice, and not like what he saw.

“I-I, nothing it’s nothing! I n-need to put clothes on first.” You stammered, skirting around him to dig around in your drawers for something—anything to cover up with.

That certainly let him know that something was wrong. Izuku was quick to jump to conclusions. What were you hiding? Had someone hurt you and you were trying to hide it? Did something happen while he was gone?

Izuku came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you from behind, halting your rummaging. You met his eyes in the mirror and you avert your gaze, embarrassed.

“What’s wrong, princess? You can tell me I promise.” Izuku assured you, kissing the back of your shoulder like he always did. You clammed up, pulling the shirt down over your thighs even more, unknowingly making the neckline drop until your cleavage was quite clearly poking out from it. Despite his concern, he couldn’t help but blush at the sight. It also made him more aware of your softness pressed against his chest, your gentle curves under his arms.

“I’m… just…” You started, tears rising again. But this time you’re unable to stop them from trickling down your cheeks. His heart hurts when he sees that you’re crying. He hates seeing you cry. “I’ve just gained a bit of weight, th-that’s all and I was j-just… I didn’t want you to… see.”

Izuku’s eyes widened in surprise, lips parted at your shaky confession. You were insecure about your body? Why? You were beautiful, couldn’t you tell? So what if you gained weight? He probably wouldn’t have even noticed. The fact that you’d been unhappily poking at yourself before he came in, and then didn’t want him to see you just because you thought he’d care made him feel incredibly sad. He sucked in a deep breath.

“Y/N, sweetie, you don’t have to do that. I couldn’t care less if you’ve gained weight! You’re absolutely gorgeous and you’ll always be. Don’t think for a minute that you aren’t beautiful to me, because you’re gleaming on the inside and outside, I love you the way you are.” Izuku hugged you tighter against his chest, kissing your cheek as you sniffled, glossy eyes meeting his in the mirror again. “C-can I see, please? You don’t h-have to if I’m making you uncomfortable, but I’d like to see you. To prove it to you that I love you.”

You sigh, releasing your death grip on the shirt, allowing the stretchy fabric to fling back up to where it was supposed to lay.

“O-okay, if you’re sure, b-but please don’t look too long. I’m embarrassed!” You blurted out, covering your face.

His hands tug at the hem of the shirt, pulling it up and over your head. Now that Izuku looked, you did look a bit thicker than the last time he saw you, but not in a bad way at all. The green-haired boy couldn’t help but blush, his mouth watering at the sight of your voluptuous curves and how plushy and soft you looked. Just like a lil bunny rabbit! God, you were so sexy. He was so lucky to have you. His hands wrapped around you again, yet you remain stiff. Izuku kissed your shoulder and then the back of your neck, moving his head to the other side of you as his hands drifted over your soft skin.

“I don’t see what you were worried about, princess, you look amazing, as always.” He nuzzled your neck, hands slipping over your belly to rub soothing circles into with his thumbs. “In fact, I kinda like you this way, you’re s-so soft!”

You couldn’t help but giggle as he peppered kisses all over the side of your face and shoulder, his fingers playfully tickling you. Your cheeks burned as you took in his praise and encouragement, drowning in the affection he was swamping you with all of a sudden. Izuku muttered an ‘i love you’ into each kiss against your skin.

“You… really think so?” You asked, timidly and his eyes meet yours in the mirror again. An emerald green forest staring back at you with an expression so loving it makes you want to faint. Your boyfriend was the sweetest. No one could convince you otherwise.

“You want me to prove it? Because I’m not afraid to show you.” Izuku purrs in your ear, hands on your hips as his lips meet your neck with a more sensual, and less innocent press of flesh. His freckled cheeks are a dark red, and his gleaming eyes stare into yours with an all too familiar longing. You’ve never felt so wanted before.

“Show me then.” You whisper seductively back, feeling his hips brush against your backside as the words tumble from your smiling lips.

And oh, did he show you.

. . .

Amajiki Tamaki

You glared teary-eyed at yourself in the mirror, your expression a mixture of anger, frustration, and shame. It wasn’t too often you found yourself in your underwear, scowling at your reflection like it repulsed you. You always so busy, and so you never really had the time to be insecure. But yet here you were. It was far from the first time you’ve recognized the fact that you were a little bigger than the other girls, and yet you constantly found yourself surprised by your appearance. Your expression morphed from angry to just… sad, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as your hands came up to squish and poke at your tummy.

Had it always been this… chubby? Or did you gain weight without realizing it? Why did you feel so heavy all of a sudden? Were you not exercising enough? Eating too much?

It didn’t matter the reason you gained weight. Only that you hated it. You hated the way you looked right now and it bothered you, more than it should. You were a fucking hero! Why did you look like this? Your lips quivered, and you slapped a hand over your stomach, hearing the smack echo throughout the room. You grimaced turning in the mirror and trying to suck in your gut. You poked some more at your sides, getting more upset with yourself by the minute.

“B-bunny? A-are you okay in there? You’ve been in there for a while and I um… I’m getting worried.” Came Tamaki’s soft voice from outside the bathroom door, causing you to sigh.

“No, not really, Tamaki…” You admitted, not turning away from the mirror.

“Oh no, can I come in?” Tamaki asked worriedly, hating the thought of you not being alright. Were you hurt? Or did he do something wrong? Why wouldn’t you come out? He even brought you some mochi to share as a surprise treat.

“Yeah…” You sighed, if there was anyone you trusted to see you like this, it was him.

The door opened and an indigo head of hair poked in, his nervous face burning a bright shade of scarlet when he realized that you weren’t dressed. He short-circuited, instantly ducking back behind the door with a stammer, unable to contain his blush and the familiar tingles of arousal from seeing you with so much skin exposed. God, he was such a pervert!

“O-oh, gosh, b-bunny! Y-y-you’re not clothed I—I-I’m sorry! I s-s-should have asked first!” Tamaki blurted with a hand clasped over his mouth.

Perhaps you should’ve called Nejire-chan instead?

You sighed, your heart sinking further as your boyfriend cowered behind the bathroom door. Even he noticed how chubby you’ve gotten, he probably didn’t even want to see you. He was probably grossed out. You couldn’t help the tears streaming down your face now, ashamed and angry.

“Of course, sorry, not even you would want to see me like this!” You sobbed, face buried in your hands as you leaned over the sink.

Tamaki froze from behind the door, his brain drawing a complete blank.

Huh?

What did you just say?

Surely you didn’t just…

You were crying!!!

Tamaki threw all caution and his embarrassment into the wind like the paper-airplane notes you used to pass to each other in class when you first started dating. He swung open the door and scrambled over to you, arms surrounding you immediately, face buried in your shoulder.

“N-n-no, that’s n-not it at all! You l-look beautiful! I was just em-em… embarrassed.” Tamaki stuttered into your shoulder, as you gaped at him in the mirror. “Y-you’re so pretty, bunny, I j-just couldn’t handle it…”

Beautiful?

Pretty?

But…

“Tama-chan, don’t you see? I’m chubby!” You groaned, hands pulling at your plushy stomach as if to emphasize your point.

Behind you, Tamaki lifted his face from your shoulder, confused. He only blushed when he gazed at your beautiful form in the mirror, red cheeks threatening to catch fire if they got any hotter. Or worse, he might faint, and embarrass himself! You didn’t think you were pretty because you were a little chubbier than others? That couldn’t be farther from the truth!

“S-so?” He muttered, meeting your eyes in the mirror. Yours widened at the question, searching his pretty onyx eyes for something. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but you didn’t mind it, and that was a good thing.

And that’s when you realized that he was right; so what? He still thought you were beautiful. And you are once again reminded of why you loved the anxious and incredibly shy boy.

“You’re… right. So what?” You turned to peck his lips, a light pink dusting his cheeks when you do. “Thank you.”

“B-b-but I didn’t do anything!” He stuttered, hands flying to his bright red face to cover his scalding cheeks. They’re so warm it feels like they’ll melt the skin off his palms.

If only he knew just how much he did.

. . .

Kirishima Eijirou

You examined yet another bikini in the mirror of the fitting room, turning and twirling around as if a different angle would change your perspective. You sighed, looking over at the pile of other choices you’d already gone through in the past twenty minutes. You knew the swimsuits weren’t the issue… The problem was you.

You frowned at your reflection, heart sinking deep into your chest. It’s been a while since you’ve gone swimming, so naturally, it’s been a good long while since you’ve had to feel this way. Insecure…

It wasn’t as if you haven’t been self-conscious about your weight before, you’ve had your moments. But in those moments you’ve always had Kiri around to make you forget, drowning you in so much affection you just didn’t think anymore didn’t worry anymore. He forbid it, always making you smile, reminding you that you’d always be protected and loved. In fact, the cherry-redhead sat just outside of the women’s fitting rooms, patiently waiting for you to pick something to wear to a friend’s pool party.

You hear a few soft knocks on the door and Kirishima’s worried voice filtering through it.

“Hey, babe? You doin’ alright? You’ve been in there a while, I’m sure you look great in all of ‘em, but we gotta leave soon!” He calls. It’s a nicer way of saying ‘hurry your ass up before we’re late.’

In all honesty, you might just want to be late, maybe you could come up with an excuse not to swim and just keep a cover dress over your bathing suit? Yeah! That would work, you just have to figure out which one you’re gonna buy, get dressed and find a cover before you left!

“Babe? Can I come in? C’mon, they can’t be that bad!” Eijirou coaxes from the other side of the door with that charming sweet-talking voice of his, but it’s so painfully hard to swallow because he doesn’t realize that you’re the problem.

“I did suggest you just show up butt naked, it’s cheaper and super manly!” He laughs between his sharp teeth, trying to coax a giggle out of you but all he received was silence.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, that was a stupid thing to say. Please let me in? Did you need help or something? Let your big strong hero help you.”

You sighed taking a nervous glance towards the locked door. Kiri always knew just what to say to get you to bend to his every will, so even despite your self-consciousness, you turned to the door with a defeated sigh.

“Fine, but… promise me you won’t laugh, okay?” You relented, hand on the doorknob as he attempted to open it. You stopped. “Okay?” You emphasized.

“I promise, babe.”

You opened the door and tugged him inside, slamming the door back shut behind you. Eijirou stumbled into the small space, having the presence of mind to blush when he caught sight of you wearing a red cherry-print bikini, back turned to him and hands poking unhappily at yourself. His eyebrows furrowed. What were you doing?

“Uh, Y/N?” He started warily, and you meet his concerned eyes in the fitting room’s full-length mirror. “What are you doing?”

You don’t answer, looking lost in thought as you ignored his question and asked one of your own. The randomness of the inquiry and the raw emotion in your voice as you asked it made him freeze up.

“Eiji, I want your honest opinion, am I… am I fat?” You asked, teeth digging mercilessly into your bottom lip to contain the whimpers behind your shaking tongue.

Kirishima stumbled back like he’d been slapped.

“What? You? Fat? No! Of course, not!” He was quick to wrap his arms around you from behind, pulling you into his chest as he did so. You gave him a doubtful look from over your shoulder, still appreciating the contact, but not entirely comforted. “What brought this on?”

You sighed deeply, hands rubbing your temples.

“Did somebody say something? Because if they did I’ll—”

“No, Eijirou I just… I’m just feeling a little insecure I guess. I haven’t had the chance to since I’ve been so busy, and… not in a bathing suit… but now that I am…” You trailed off, eyes dropping to your feet.

“Hey, look, you’re gorgeous in anything you wear, and I’m not going to complain if my girl has a bit more for me to hold alright? Far from it actually.” He chuckled, though his eyes held a softness in them that made you melt into a puddle of sighs. “You don’t even need to try anything else one, I like this one.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to leave.” You smirked, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, but really, I like this one. It’s cute. On you anyways.” Kirishima kissed your reddened cheeks and you hid your face, thoroughly embarrassed. And just as soon as you thought you couldn’t blush any harder, you felt his hands drifting over your thighs, something hard against your back, and a sharp-toothed grin pressed against your neck.

“I think I’d like it off of you better though.” The red-heat breathes into your ear, and you feel yourself melting into his arms and gentle touches, letting him make you forget again.

You were about an hour late to that party.

. . .

Kaminari Denki

You were very aware that your boyfriend had a very perverted mind, and even knowing this you still somehow found yourself caught off-guard embarrassingly often. Right now was one of those times.

“Denki Kaminari, when I get my hands on you I swear to fucking god!” You were currently chasing a short-circuited Kaminari around the pool, arms thrown over your chest as he swam around with your bikini top in hand.

How he had gotten to be this fried was a long, complicated story for another time, but to summarize, that little smug-faced off-brand Pikachu was getting murdered today.

Your face was beet red as you finally gave up the chase, rushing over to the corner of the pool and sinking under the water to your chin, and facing the wall to shield your mortified expression and nude upper body. You had never felt this humiliated! Not only had your boyfriend taken advantage of your unfortunately loose bikini top, flying off after hopping into the water, but there was most of your class in the very same pool to bare witness to it all!

It was bad enough that it took a half-an-hour for your friends to convince you to take off the sundress you wore over your bathing suit and get in the water. And it was nice! For the first ten seconds that you were blissfully unaware that your top had slipped off, and was halfway across the pool by the time you noticed.

You would’ve snatched your top from the water, hopped out and never looked at a pool or any of your classmates again. Well, you would have if s o m e b o d y hadn’t reached the striped floating garment before you.

You sunk even deeper into the water until only your watery eyes peered above the surface, staring intensely at the wall. You realized why Tamaki-san liked them so much.

You jumped when someone sat down at the edge of the pool above you. It was Midoriya, holding out his shirt to you with his eyes respectfully covered.

“H-here, L/N you can wear it to cover up until those two stop being such jerks.” The green-haired boy looked over to Kaminari and Mineta who were giggling at the other end of the pool. You looked up to him like he was some sort of angel sent from heaven.

“Th-thank you! You’re a life-saver, Midoriya!” You took the shirt gratefully, yanking it over your head and covering up your nakedness. You scrambled out of the pool and made a mad dash to where your stuff sat. You threw your sundress over Midoriya’s shirt and your bikini bottoms, grabbing your purse and shoes and rushing over to the exit, trying to keep in the tears. “I-I can give you your shirt tomorrow!”

You heard a few voices call your name but you ignored them, retreating from the scene as quickly as possible. You had tears streaming down your face as you speed-walked to your dorm.

Your breath hitched when you heard someone call your name, and then turned to see Midoriya jogging to catch up with you. You groaned inwardly, slowing to a stop to let the boy approach you. He did help you out back there, the least you could do was wait for him.

“U-um, I’m sorry, I can go change real quick and hand over your shirt—” You started, hand rubbing the back of your neck.

“I don’t care about the shirt!” He interrupted and you stared wide-eyed at the freckled boy in front of you. “I came to see if you were okay, L/N.”

You sighed, wiping the tears from your face and shaking your head.

“No, not really… that was so embarrassing!” You wanted to crawl into a ball right there and just meld into the cement. If only you had a quirk like that! You’ve never been the jealous type, but you were feeling pretty envious of Mirio at the moment. He could hide whenever he wanted to!

You feel your green-haired classmate wrap you up in a towel, and then a tight hug as you tried to calm down. It was a bit awkward, considering you weren’t necessarily close, but you appreciated the comfort he provided in your time of need.

“Thank you, Midoriya.” You sighed, pulling away from the hug and adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

“N-no, problem. I’ll go back and set things straight with Mineta and Kaminari, that was pretty messed up of them.” He offered, eyes friendly and slightly vengeful.

As much as you’d like to permit Midoriya to avenge you, you didn’t want to make an even bigger deal out of this. It’s not like it would make you feel better.

“No, that’s okay, I just… I’m just gonna go back and relax for a while.” You managed a half-smile which he returned with a nod, telling you to text him or Uraraka if you needed anything before heading back to the pool area.

As soon as you stepped foot into your dorm, you launched yourself onto your bed and under the covers, not caring that you were soaking wet. All you cared about right now was hiding.

A little while later, you heard a few knocks at your door.

“Who is it?” You called from under the covers, now dressed in your PJs.

“I-It’s me, baby.” You heard the nervous voice of Kaminari filter through the door, slightly muffled.

“Go away!” You cried, burying your face deeper into your pillows.

The blonde-haired boy flinched, feeling the guilt weigh down heavier against his chest. He felt incredibly bad for what he did earlier, you didn’t deserve to be put on the spot and humiliated like that just because his brain got fried and he got hyped up. He knew you were insecure about your body, and he knew even as screwy as his brain was at the time, he knew how shy you were when getting into the water. And he acted anyway.

Damn it, Denki. We get it, your girlfriend is super fucking hot and you wanted to show her off but seriously, that was a dick move and you know it.

“Look, Y/N, I’m really sorry! I was being a total dick out there, and… and I feel awful.”

Fuck his sorry! You weren’t going to let him off the hook for embarrassing you in front of the entire class!

“Sorry doesn’t make me feel any better!” You shouted back, glaring angrily in the darkness under your safe and cozy covers.

“I know it doesn’t… can I come in? Please? I want to make it up to you!” Kaminari pleaded and you only scoffed.

“Unless you have a huge bag of M&Ms and the second season of (Favorite Show), I don’t want to fucking hear it!”

It was silent for a while.

“Give me five minutes!” He called through the door before you heard him dash off down the hall.

What?

He wasn’t actually going to…

You poked your head out from under the covers, sitting upright. You stared blankly at the door for a few minutes, dumbfounded. And as promised, about four or five minutes later you heard someone clamber through the halls and pound on your door.

“Open up, I’ve got your M&M’s, babe!”

Needless to say, that’s how you made up.

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

not without my muse

pairing: bucky barnes/sam wilson/steve rogers

fandom: mcu

rating: general

word count: 9259

warning: swearing, referenced (canon) character death

summary: Sam celebrates his birthday while on the run. He has a lot of feelings about being away from home, and a lot of feelings about two of his companions. (slightly canon divergent post-cacw pining)

(my best boy sam wilson’s birthday AND on bisexual visibility day 🥳 he is so important to me of course i needed to write something. this is for the lovely Samtember event by @samwilsonfest, and this is also my first time writing the all caps ot3 !! i want to thank my beta-reader for helping me out sm with this, and the horse gc on twitter for cheering me on as always 💖 hope you enjoy??)

read on ao3

This morning is just as the many, many other mornings Sam’s had since he became a fugitive from the government; waking up from relatively peaceful slumber on a stiff mattress and remembering the reality of the ship that is their only refuge. Better than stingy motels, though.

God. Yet another day.

It’s only been three months since Steve and him picked Bucky up; five months since Natasha joined them. Four of them now, harder to stay under the radar, but they’re making it work.

Naturally the blond is keeping an eye on his friend every waking moment, and Sam’s decided to do the same when Steve finally lets himself sleep.

The ex-Winter Soldier is quiet. He seemed happy to see them. Tired. Sam would be surprised otherwise.

And now they’ve landed for three days; that’s the maximum, of course, and they’ll have to get in the air as early as possible, stretching it an extra day isn’t the wisest, but resources are limited and they need to eat, obviously.

He blinks himself awake in the morning sunlight streaming in; the faintest of bird songs outside. Seems to be the first one awake.

Just another day on the run. Except-

Except it’s Sam’s birthday today.

It takes a minute for it to hit him, actually, funny; he’d almost forgotten it was coming up. That’s strange to think about. But as fugitives, that’s still just as much another day, because, well, what is he supposed to do?

What Sam sits up, stares into the empty space in front of him and thinks of, what he wants and needs so desperately is to go home. To his little sister, his nephews.

They have burner phones and it helps. But that doesn’t really feel like enough right now, it couldn’t. He hopes he’ll have the chance to have a phone call today, then, with any of them. Sarah’s voice always grounds him when he needs it, or hearing Cass’ laugh.

Even with burner phones they’re keeping contact short and limited, you can’t ever be careful enough. Maybe Nat’s too paranoid, or maybe she’s just too experienced with this thing. The latter, he’d say. They have to remain untraceable, unfindable.

Somehow, by his friend’s pained face a month ago, when she’d been humming American Pie to herself and he’d sat down, not really saying anything but rather just listened, a soothing sort of thing in the middle of this, he’s got a feeling she understands what he’s feeling right now. Missing someone so badly you can’t get yourself to do anything else.

Speaking of Natasha, soon enough she enters his line of vision and takes the rear seat, reminding him that he needs to get up already. Get ready. Get going. Yet another day.

“‘Morning,” he tells her while stretching, his back aching, which is to be expected nowadays, sadly. Last night was probably the most rest they’ve had in days.

She nods in acknowledgement; not a morning person, he’s aware.

For a split second Sam wonders if she knows what day it is, but perhaps it doesn’t really matter. He can’t remember if he’s told her. Or if she found out on her own with those russian superspy skills of hers.

Ah, well. It’s not like he expects a surprise party. Or gifts or cake or… whatever. He just wishes he’d had more sleep, two weeks of it would be sufficient. One can only dream.

As his friend wakes the Quinjet to life and he himself gets to work at the map, previous locations and small jobs pinned as they go, though, he feels a hand and arm briefly graze his waist as the person passes by behind him.

He reveals himself soon enough; Steve’s voice is hoarser than usual when he tells him, “Happy birthday, Sammy.”

The blond caught a cold recently, which he didn’t even know was possible with the super serum, but he passed by it quickly. Reminded Bucky of the old days, whatever that may have meant.

His friend remembered. And now said friend is standing next to him with a shy smile and looking at him in a way that puzzles Sam. Sort of like he wants to say more. Or like the greeting wasn’t enough, like he was ashamed. Or like he’s keeping something from him. That’s a lot he’s getting from just one facial expression, he realises, but spending every waking moment with someone else makes you familiar, more than they already were, that is.

The smile does make him feel instantly better about getting up at all this morning.

It reminds Sam of Sarah’s voice. That doesn’t make much sense, does it?

But it’s grounding. He likes Steve’s smile a lot; the bigger one even better, when it turns into a grin without all the self-righteousness he puts on when they get down to business, and he just looks wide-eyed and sunny.

And he smiles back easily, feeling his smile form like the warmth spreading in his throat.

God, his eyes are still burning. His friend’s hand hasn’t left his waist, he suddenly realises. Does Steve realise? Should he point it out? He’s probably as tired as himself, he reasons.

“You remembered?” The statement comes out as more of a question, and the man next to him soon turns the smile into a half-frown.

“Of course,” the blond replies, “It’s your birthday.”

His voice is ever so stern. Sam would laugh at his serious demeanor, if he wasn’t still blinking sleep out of his eyes.

“I didn’t expect you to, man. Given our, uh… current situation.”

His friend’s hand still hasn’t left his waist. Huh. He isn’t complaining, though, the touch is… soft. Welcome. It just makes his brain wander, which is a little hard work at 6am.

“You should,” Steve says. He’s smiling again, and turns then, to look at the map lighting up in front of them, “It’s important.”

See, another thing Sam likes about him: the sincerity is overwhelmingly evident, clear when it’s coming from him. He nods, and bites his lip. Both of them seem to contemplate the visual in front of them for a bit. When Bucky’s footsteps sound behind them and he eventually appears on the other side of Steve, the blond still doesn’t remove his hand.

He doesn’t really want him to move it, to be completely honest. Sam likes it there. Perhaps he could touch it with his own. But that’d be weird, right?

A gruff mumble reaches him with its own lieu of a greeting, “Happy birthday.”

Sam finds himself blinking in surprise; slowly, twice.

Ah, well. Steve must’ve told him.

They’re not doing any odd jobs today; missions are there when they need to keep busy, and Nat’s an expert on undercover work. Rather the goal for the day is finding a new hideout for a night or two and stocking up on supplies. Still undercover work, kind of.

This is why they’re heading into the main street in sunglasses, caps and hoodies, keeping their heads low, weapons down and Bucky’s instinct to cover his arm sticks with him, clearly.

“Two hours,” Natasha told them, “We can’t afford to risk anymore. Meet back at the ship.”

They all know the plan, because it’s the same plan, time after time, day after day, yet they repeat it like a mantra. Soon enough, they’re split into teams, the brunette and blonde heading for the pharmacy while he and Steve look over the grocery store aisles.

Sam’s planning to call Sarah; hopefully catch her when she’s home from work, before going to bed, otherwise he wouldn’t know when he’d be able to get a hold of her again. Might be weeks. Going by the sugary cereals reminds him a bit too much of his nephews, in fact, he has to look straight ahead and keep going. He feels Steve’s eyes on his neck.

Speaking of Steve, once they’re in the queue, Sam feels a familiar hand going for his pocket and it certainly isn’t his own.

The blond doesn’t speak a word. He wants to ask, but his friend puts all his focus on paying with his only free hand, and a strange sense of calm comes over Sam, for some reason he can’t begin to explain. This birthday is stranger than he expected it to be.

And the moment disappears again before he knows it; like in the morning, on the ship.

Steve had to let go eventually. Sam finds himself wishing he didn’t.

Even stranger, the blond has an errand to run, he says. Alone.

“You sure?” he hesitates with the question, because surely if Steve wanted him to know he would say, but keeping secrets is sort of out of character for his friend, “We’re meeting Bucky and Nat halfway. We’ll watch your back.”

Steve shakes his head firmly, “I’ll catch up to you, won’t be long.”

He still isn’t saying exactly where he’s going. It worries Sam, just a little bit. Not exactly a fan of letting his best friend out of sight.

But when the blond’s set on a decision, there’s no way anyone can tell him otherwise. “Okay,” Sam decides, “Call me if you need me.”

“Always.”

In response to his explanation of Steve’s absence, he gets a simple tilt of Natasha’s head and Bucky’s face twitching so quickly he’d miss it if they weren’t huddled so close together. The woman doesn’t exactly look happy about it. The taller man, meanwhile, he has the face that Sam knows is his worrying face; he just recognizes it so instantly it scares him a little.

At least his other friends are behaving normally; well, not Bucky, because he’s been considering too many reasons why the ex-Winter Soldier would possibly know about his birthday, and all of them are logical. But it still makes him feel some sort of way. Like when Steve smiles at him.

It takes Sam a moment to register Natasha speaking because he’s stuck inside his head about the two other men, but, “Happy birthday, by the way,” she tells him, a crooked smile and hands in her pockets.

“Thanks, Romanova. Still hate birthdays?”

“Absolutely,” she huffs, “Mostly my own, however. Must be a disappointing one today, though, huh?”

Sam just has to move his eyes to Bucky for a second, who abandoned the bench for the flea market on the other side of the road. He has no idea why.

He wonders if his friend notices. He shrugs in response, “Could be better. I need to talk to my sister.”

Her nod is short, and her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s these types of situations where he knows better than to ask.

And while the brunette’s crossing the street back to them again, the blond also reappears behind them, which is clear by him patting Sam’s shoulder. He’s never been this touchy before. Has he?

What’s the most surprising isn’t that though, rather, it’s when Natasha eagerly continues on, right in the heels of Bucky, and Steve matches his own pace behind them. Then, he hands Sam a white box.

He doesn’t understand. His best friend looks at him expectantly, until it seemingly dawns upon that Sam needs an explanation.

“It’s for you,” he says, smile evident in his voice, no matter how hard he tries to whisper.

“For me?” he asks, because the gesture confuses him beyond words, “I- why?”

Well, this is a birthday present, isn’t it? It can’t be, though. Steve really shouldn’t. It’d be too much trouble to do when they’re literally running for their lives, and the guilt is already showing its ugly head inside his mind.

It’s Steve’s turn to look confused, “For your birthday.”

Right. Right, okay.

“You didn’t have to.”

His friend slows down his pace a bit, “I know.”

“But you still…” Sam doesn’t really know where he’s going with that sentence, to be honest. That feeling in his gut wishes Steve’s hand was touching his waist again. He could easily understand. Explain it away, act like it’s not making him feel certain things and think certain thoughts and making him overthink the blond’s eyes staring back at him behind the shades.

“I wanted to, Sam,” Steve tells him, speeding up again, they almost lost sight of their friends for a second there, “You deserve it. Well, you deserve more, but I- we can’t.”

It’s as if his heart does a somersault, runs a marathon and wrings itself inside out, all at the same time.

Oh.

Sam decides to look at him in question, and his friend somehow knows what he’s saying, “Open it.”

So he does. Inside, he finds a birthday cake. Or rather an oreo ice cream cake. One similar to the one he’s gotten for basically all the birthdays he can remember, all the way back to his childhood. It’s a tradition.

When exactly did he tell Steve about that? He must have, sometime, a long time ago, but he can’t recall when.

And because he’s getting a bit too overwhelmed by this gift, and this day that’s barely even started, he just looks at the cake in shock and tries for the life of himself to look casual about it. He also tries extremely hard to read his friend’s face, but it’s nearly impossible.

“My favorite,” is all Sam can come up with. He feels like a bit of an idiot. But also, he feels like someone needs to pinch his side. And he feels a lot like flying, no wings required.

“I know.”

Steve is doing things to him, and he probably doesn’t even realise.

He wouldn’t expect anything else, he’s a good friend, he’s Sam's best friend, yet the blond putting his hand in his pocket again and the box holding that cake is making his head spin.

He has to stop thinking about it too much. Sam just really needs to talk to Sarah.

Getting through the crowds of people, avoiding any possible surveillance cameras and eyeing suspicious suited men until they realise they’re just accountants or lawyers or bankers, it’s quite some work, but they make it back to the secluded woods where the Quinjet’s waiting - thank heavens for cloaking technology, huh?

He eyes his wristwatch, now might be the best time to try reaching his little sister. There’s coverage, too, it seems.

This is why Sam slows down and eventually stops in front of the entrance, the three of them all giving him a variation of confused looks until he holds up the burner phone as explanation. He hopes they’ll understand. They nod, so most likely.

“Don’t be long, Sam,” the woman warns him, but there’s still a hint of smile there. He returns it with a bit of relief.

The tone rings three times before someone answers. Sam is close to giving up until the sound shakes, and his sister’s voice comes through the speaker and washes over him with the greatest relief he’s felt in a long time, “Sammy?”

He can’t help the grin growing on his face. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Sarah’s giggles remind him of home. And God, does he want to see them again so badly.

He doesn’t regret standing by Steve, but being so far from the safety he knows is terrifying, sometimes. And lonely.

“You’re still causing trouble?” she asks, and yeah, she can always get a laugh out of him, no matter the situation, no matter how long they've been apart. It’s part of their connection, he guesses.

Sam also rolls his eyes, which she can’t see, of course, she’d only tease him more, “Trying to stay out of it, more like.”

His little sister sighs, “Happy birthday. I miss you.”

The relief and nostalgic happiness switches into something a bit more melancholic, the nostalgia frighteningly more heartbreaking. They usually avoid talking about, well, Sam’s current situation, whenever they communicate. It took him a long time of secrecy before breaking the news to his nephews, revealing why he couldn’t visit them at the moment.

“I miss you too,” Sam tells her, hoping his sincerity can be heard over the phone, “I wish I could see you.”

“Me too.”

Speaking of his nephews, it’s not long into their phone calls before some muffled voices in the background make themselves known, and Sarah laughs softly again, some movement can be heard, “It’s your uncle on the phone.”

He’s pretty sure she put him on speaker, because next thing he knows AJ is yelling into his ear, “Uncle Sam! Uncle Sam!?”

Sam bites his lip. He hasn’t got much time before they need to leave, and if he returns to the ship with tears in his eyes Steve will probably look at him with his big knowing eyes and say this is all his fault. He can’t have his best friend blaming himself this much, not right now, anyway.

Because, well, yeah, they’re on the run because of the Accords. He’d never sign that for the life of him regardless of Steve, but Sam also trusts the blond with his life honestly. Since they met Steve’s been by his side, unwavering, and he intends to do the same for him.

And he doesn’t know Bucky… he still doesn’t. He’d like to. But if Steve is willing to go this far for his friend, he’s just as willing.

He shakes the thoughts of his two friends out of his head, for now, sniffles and laughs through the tears threatening to escape his eyes, “I’m here, buddy.”

“Uncle Sam, are you crying?” Cass’ voice comes through this time, he really can’t hide anything from them, can he? “You shouldn’t be sad on your birthday. You’re beating up bad guys, right?!”

Sarah’s laugh overlaps with his own, “Not exactly.”

“Oh, all the time,” he retaliates, “Your mother’s lying to you, boys.”

His sister’s fake gasp sets him back to the lemonade stand they set up together when they were kids, Sam was certain he remembered their mom’s recipe right, and Sarah didn’t talk to him the whole day when he doubted her version. Of course neither of them were right, anyway.

He feels like a broken record inside his head, but the only thing he wishes for is to see her face. Kiss her nose because she found it so embarrassing, but she’s grown fond of it, he can just tell.

So Sam does try to narrate the odd jobs they’ve been doing, making it as dramatic as possible and leaving out all the existential fear and doubt and his tired bones repeating the same protocols over and over. The boys love every second of it.

He knows his sister is shaking her head at him when AJ excitedly interrupts his story of his first visit to Wakanda, “I could be a hero too, right? Right!?” “You can be anything you want,” he tells him, the tears welling up again. In the far corner of his eye he spots Nat returning to the walkway of the Quinjet, leaning against the opening expectantly. She can wait for a minute, he decides.

“Mom! Mom! Uncle Sam said I can be just like him!”

“You can, sweetheart, but that’s for when you’re older, okay?” Sarah’s voice is a bit quieter now, and his nephews both come through with some sad sounding noises, “Your uncle’s job can be- uh, dangerous.”

He nods. That’s an understatement. Of course, none of them can see this, he realises, once again looking towards his friend who’s waiting for him, looking up in the sky in search of who knows what. Redwing’s still checking the perimeter, so they should be safe for now. The blonde doesn’t exactly trust the drone, as she’s told him on many, many occasions, but she’ll warm up to him.

“Your mom’s right,” Sam finally answers, and although he’s not sure he fully believes it himself, he’ll make the best attempt he can to ease his little sister’s worries. God knows how much she’s got to deal with back home, “I’ll be careful, though. I gotta come back and check on you guys.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, “You better.”

Sam smiles. He can hear the tears in her voice, too, “I promise. I intend to keep my promises.”

His sister sighs, she’s not agreeing or disagreeing or… anything, but she sounds a little more calm. A little. He’s trying, but he knows he’s giving himself away, tripping in place and laughing more nervously than anything else.

“I know you don’t have much time, Sam. Just promise me you’re taking care of yourself, okay?” “Always-”

“Did you have any cake, Uncle Sam?” AJ’s voice resurfaces once again, and he laughs at the interruption, “We always get cake for you… we want to.”

The disappointment is clear as day, and very much breaking his heart into pieces that he doesn’t know how to pick up or where to keep. Sam clears his throat instead, and looks toward his blonde friend once again, who gives him a crooked smile and shrugs one shoulder.

They should go soon. Nat’s looking at her watch, but she’s not rushing him, though.

“I know you do, buddy. We can have all the cake we want when I come to visit you, right?” he reassures his nephew, who giggles with his brother in excitement, before his sister’s half-joking disapproval, “I wouldn’t say all the cake, but we’ll see about it.”

He looks away from his friend on the Quinjet, looks at his watch, sees Redwing descending to the ground. Time’s up.

But for some reason, Sam can’t say goodbye before he finds a question popping up in his mind, one that’s been all there all day and confused him to no end. “Sarah?” he asks, she hums in response, “I have to go but I need to ask, does it- uhm… does it mean something if Steve got me a birthday cake?”

A moment of silence again, somehow seeming agonizingly longer than before. “I don’t understand what you’re asking, Sammy, sorry.” He thinks his sister might be frowning in question, but it’s hard to tell. She just sounds as confused as he’s feeling.

“I mean… I don't know. He remembered my favorite cake. And he went on this secret trip to get it?”

Sam laughs at himself, and the thoughts of his friend come back again. The friend he’s known for a long time now, the one who held his hand as they landed in Wakanda, something that he didn’t fully process then because of how the airsickness clogged his ears and made him feel like vomiting, but it’s all he can think back to, now.

He continues, “I just don’t understand why he’d go to so much trouble for me. One wrong move, a wrong person and he could’ve-”, of course, he abruptly pauses, remembering his young nephews still on the line, backtracking, “... you know.”

Sam doesn’t know how long he waits for his little sister’s answer, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting either. She can’t exactly look into Steve’s head, and they’ve never met, anyway. Maybe she’ll tell him to stop worrying and focus on not getting arrested, or worse.

And yet, Sarah replies with, “You’re worth that risk.”

He furrows his brows, “Sorry?”

“You’re worth that risk and more, Sam. To me,” she says, voice confident and filled with the peace of the early mornings he misses so much, “And to him too, I bet.”

Huh. Sam cannot for the life of him think of a response to that.

“You still with me?”

He shakes his head at himself, nods at Natasha, who nods in response and retreats into the ship. “Hm? Yeah, yeah. I am.”

Sarah laughs at him, which is a bit rude, but he doesn’t mind. He’d like to listen to it all day and every day, if he could. In fact, he has to remind himself to make her laugh as much as he can when he sees them again.

He promised to get back to them. Sam Wilson keeps his promises.

“I love you,” his sister says, which is better than saying goodbye. Until next time, more like. See you soon, very, very soon.

It’s only then he feels like he can breathe again, “Love you too.”

See, being on the run in a Quinjet is much, much easier than Steve’s tragically tiny car - not only due to the advantage of having space and proper beds and not having to check in on questionable locations every three days under a new fake name, but also, it has a freezer.

Useful when your best friend decides to get you an ice cream birthday cake.

Sam actually finds it already placed in the freezer, one that’s heavily organized, all thanks to Nat. When he spots the box, he finds himself wondering if their two companions noticed it. If so, they aren’t addressing it.

A silence has settled over the ship now; it’s midday, sky’s clear save for the grey clouds lurking in the distance, and Steve’s taken over the rear so Natasha can take a break. They do it in shifts, because more often than not they have to keep on the move at night, as well.

And while their friend has resided to her bed and headphones, Sam lingers in the kitchen area, interconnected with the main cockpit.

The blond’s back is turned to him. He always taps his foot when he’s concentrating on something, and he’s put on the radio. Marvin Gaye, of course. Sam can’t help smiling to himself.

Steve’s hair has grown ridiculously long now- well, so has his own, not exactly much access to hairdressers at the moment. They could both match Bucky’s hairdo soon, he bets.

Speaking of the long haired man, this is exactly who soon joins him, almost sneaking up on him, his footsteps barely making a sound. Sam was a bit in his own world anyway, he’ll admit.

When he appears on his side, he stands for a moment and moves his gaze in the same direction as his own. Sam wonders if he should make conversation, but the moment’s gone in the blink of an eye when Bucky grabs a beer from the fridge and then comes to learn against the counter like himself.

It’s a rare kind of quiet on the ship.

It feels almost… relaxed. Calm unlike those many strained silences after almost getting recognized in public or nights when Sam finds himself unable to sleep, and somehow, a strange sense of knowing that all his friends are kept awake as well. Steve snores, so the lack of the sound is a giveaway, and Nat is restless, moving around the ship when she thinks the men don’t hear her.

Bucky’s bed is in his line of vision, however, so he knows the longer haired man rarely sleeps these days. At least, when he’s up at night, he’s noticed his friend staring at the ceiling, bedsheet abandoned at his feet and almost looking like he’s holding his breath.

It’s those nights Sam is eternally grateful for the locket his sister gave him; made sure to put her and his nephews on one side, their parents on the other. He can’t explain how, but having them close to his heart when they’re running errands, the anxiety that creeps up on him lessens, a little bit.

And Riley’s army tags. He left their pictures together back at the house, he bitterly remembers, and prays to all the higher powers out there that the agents sent after them haven’t touched that box. That it’s still on the top shelf of his closet, containing the polaroids and every drawing Cass has made him, and his mother’s favorite scarf.

Sam smiles to himself at the memory. She knitted him a million scarves and socks and hats, but that one, it keeps him connected to her. Like, he can put it under his pillow and close his eyes and he can almost see her and her warm eyes and hear her sing him and Sarah to sleep.

Suddenly, his thoughts are interrupted, by the man next to him poking his side gently.

“I got you something,” Bucky tells him, his demeanor neutral, lips showing the slightest hint of a smile that no one would notice. Sam does, though. He does the same when they play chess to pass the time; secretive, trying his hardest to hide his enjoyment of the game.

He blinks at his friend, “Huh?”

The brunette shrugs, “For your birthday. It’s not much, but…”

“I…” Sam doesn’t even know what to say, one minute focused on Steve’s gift and now another gift for him to process, neither of which he expected at all, “Bucky, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Bucky shrugs again. “Don’t care. I wanted you to have something.”

Okay. His friend’s face doesn’t change a bit, but the moment changes, and it’s much like the ship and everything else around them vanishes into thin air. It’s just the man next to him and his stoic face and messed up hair.

“Is that okay?” he asks him, and Sam can’t do anything else than nod. He has to take a deep breath, for some reason, as if his lungs grew three sizes. And it feels like someone lit fire sparklers inside his chest.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course it’s okay. I’m just surprised, is all.”

“Good,” his friend replies quickly, before turning his back to him and walking across the room.

He returns not long after, with a familiar white box in his hands, and offers it to Sam before grabbing the beer can again. Leaning back, taking a way bigger gulp than necessary, eyes seemingly avoiding to look him in the eyes.

He really can’t stop looking at Bucky, though. So he opens the box instead, and finds just how familiar it is. Inside it, an ice cream cake. His favorite. Also, the exact same as the one Steve got him just hours earlier.

This is why Sam looks up at the blond’s still turned back for a moment. He’s whistling to the tune of the music.

Then Sam looks back at Bucky, who still isn’t looking at him, and bites his lip. He finds himself clutching the box tightly, fearing it’s a dream that’ll disappear if he startles awake, but none of it fades away and instead he’s stuck in place because… so, not only did his two friends get him cake.

They got him the same cake. Two of them.

His only guess is that they didn’t plan or… coordinate anything, because it’s not like they had much time in town. They made sure to get something there. For him.

Sam can’t quite contain the grin growing on his face.

And, well, his friend is still avoiding looking at him, so he nudges him with his elbow and hopes his, “Thank you,” doesn’t sound too hoarse or low or nervous even though his voice breaks in the middle. He wishes he could call Sarah again, and tell the boys he’s gotten two cakes this year. They’d be ecstatic. And he could forget his confusion for a bit.

Bucky shrugs once again. “It’s the least I could do.”

Hours pass by until the evening announces its presence, and Sam and his friends are each left to their own devices; Steve’s steering while Natasha’s navigating the map, and while he himself was searching for a podcast to shut the world out for a minute he rather just ends up listening to the rain pattering down around them.

One birthday out of the ordinary, that’s for sure. It’s around ten before he sees Bucky again, but he does appear, with a new can of beer and sits on the far end of his bed. His hair’s still damp from the shower, tied up in a bun.

Sam quite likes it when he does that; well, he likes his long hair, it looks like it would be soft. He doesn’t know how he knows that, but… he just knows.

But he’s always blowing strands of hair away from his face, and this way, you can see all his features, every little thing you don’t immediately notice, every tiny waver on his lips and every glint in his eye.

The glint in said eyes appears when they play chess, of course. When Steve shows him one of his drawings, or when he huffs to himself over the book he acquired on the last flea market he found, multiple states over.

Thing is, it was definitely in his eyes when he handed Sam that box. Maybe that’s why he avoided looking at him after the fact.

And well, it’s got Sam’s heart in a twist. This whole day’s got his heart in a twist, really.

Because he misses his little sister and his nephews and his parents. And Riley’s tags against his chest are pressing too fucking hard.

And Steve and Bucky, they… they’re making him feel… how Riley made him feel. Breathless. Light as a feather. Like he could just look at them and everything would be okay despite everything being very, very much not okay these days. They’re just- they’re like that.

Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad.

Sam can’t be in love with his best friend. Or his best friend’s friend. Or… both?

He can’t be in love, period. Especially not with his partners in crime, so to speak. Yet, he can’t stop thinking about Steve’s smile and Bucky shrugging like it didn’t matter, but it mattered. It did to Sam. It does.

He shakes his head at himself and wonders if Sarah would do the same. Can you be in love with two people at the same time? It feels very real, but he doesn’t know. Maybe it just overwhelmed him. Maybe his birthday this year makes no sense, which he already knew, but regardless. Maybe they were just being good friends, or maybe they remind him of Riley too much, or maybe those feelings have been there all along and Sam’s been closing them off for too long.

Too many maybes. Way too many.

And apparently, Sam ponders over this for far too long, because the grey skies outside have turned significantly darker and Bucky has disappeared from his bed and instead sits down on his own. He already feels his heart jump into his throat.

“Hey,” the man says, a curious sort of look in his eyes, like he’s trying to read Sam’s mind. He can’t help returning the smile he’s given, instantly feeling at ease in the other man’s company. Steve’s still whistling along to the mixtapes in the cockpit, he can’t quite stop thinking about it, but that seems incredibly far away right now.

“Hey,” he answers. Sam’s trying to read the brunette, but he’s not sure how. Earlier, he grabbed a piece of each cake his friends gave him, and it’s an outstanding cake, almost as good as the one from his childhood, but he really couldn’t stop thinking about what Sarah told him over the phone. You’re worth that risk . “Bucky, can I ask you something?”

He nods. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

“Hm?”

“I mean,” Sam’s lips feel dry as he speaks, “Did Steve tell you? I just don’t remember it coming up, so-”

“Not today.”

What… what exactly does that mean?

“I don’t understand.”

Bucky’s face morphs into an expression that seems like he’s thinking hard, trying hard to recall something from a long, long time ago. And that turns out to be almost true, “When you visited me in Wakanda for the first time. It was a month before your birthday.”

That is also true. Sam wanted to go back home, trying to think of ways both he and Steve could hide out there but ultimately deemed it too dangerous. He’d never be able to live with himself if he put his sister and nephews in danger. He just couldn't.

“...Right.”

“You talked about Sarah,” he remembers, and the smile on his face grows a little bigger, “I had a sister, too. Older. You said she worries about you a lot. That her laugh is the best thing you know, that she teases you all the time, but you deserve it most of the time, too. Steve said you guys were talking about going fishing when all this is over, that your parents got a boat, because of your family business, uh-”

“Wilson Family Seafood,” Sam blurts out, because he has no idea what else to say.

“That’s it,” the brunette chuckles low, “I’ve always wanted to try seafood. Never did. Stevie won’t because he’s a coward. But he really wanted to meet your family. I get it, they sound lovely.”

So. Sam is rather speechless. All he’s feeling is the heat rising in his cheeks and hearing the rain growing louder. Bucky’s just sitting there with this big smile on his face and he wants to look inside his head and figure out why he’s doing this to him.

“You… you remembered all that?”

The man shrugs. “I did.”

“We weren’t- we barely knew each other, then. We fought all the time before Shuri treated you,” Sam points out.

“I know.”

“But you remembered my birthday, and my family, and-”

“You had orange juice in the morning,” he interrupts, “Steve hates orange juice. It made you laugh, how much he hates it, it’s a whole thing. Your eyes get all crinkled in the corners when you laugh like that, you could barely breathe. You looked really happy and… carefree. I wished you didn’t leave, that first time. I wanted you to stay.”

Oh. Oh.

“Bucky,” he tries, taking a breath. Sam gets this overwhelming urge to not say anything, and instead lean over and close the space between them. Is he overthinking this? “Why did you get me that cake? And why- how do you remember all of this? I wanted to check on you while Steve was undercover but I wasn’t sure if you trusted me enough, without him.”

The man next to him frowns, “It was for your birthday, Sam, I told you.”

“Yeah, but-”

“And I like looking at you.”

Sam thinks his brain might short circuit. He blinks in pure shock at the words, “What?”

“The sound of your voice is... calming. Beautiful. You know, I only acted like an asshole to get you to talk to me. I wanted you to trust me,” Bucky licks his lips, and although it seems like he wants to say more, he opens and closes his mouth within a few seconds.

The sparklers in his chest are nearly turning into fireworks, and Sam honestly doesn’t know how to hold them down. He doesn’t really want to. But he also doesn’t know if Bucky is… if he’s communicating the same feelings as the ones blooming inside himself.

He should ask. But the man next to him is blinking with his long lashes and a shy smile that makes Sam’s words fail him, and instead he feels compelled to ask something slightly different, “What- what are you saying? I mean what are you thinking about?”

They’ve also been inching closer to each other. And the sound of the rain has faded in his ears, because all he’s hearing is his own breathing mixed in with Bucky’s.

Sam can’t really breathe, maybe because he’s a little nervous that his reading of his friend is purely wishful thinking. It’s only been one day, but he’s fallen in love on his birthday, he doesn’t doubt it anymore, at all. Twice. At the same time, it feels like he’s finally breathing after holding his breath for over a year.

The brunette’s smile turns into a smirk that should probably annoy him, but it doesn’t. Just makes his heart beat faster.

“I’m thinking about kissing you,” Bucky says bluntly.

Oh, Sarah would be thrilled to hear this. But first things first, Sam thinks he might be going crazy.

But he’s not, you’re not . He hasn’t felt that swooping feeling in his gut since Riley, and… God. It just feels right, and he’d curse himself for never noticing this till now. But he’s too distracted by his friend’s statement, and how the fireworks in his chest are spreading to his entire body when he looks at Bucky’s face.

Sam’s already moving closer, “You want to kiss me?”

The other man huffs, “Pretty much. If you’d like that, that is.”

And well, he doesn’t need much time to think about that preposition, “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

They’re already practically nose to nose, it's been a long time since he’s rushed to act on something as fast as this, and he doesn’t even need to rush, because Bucky’s lips are on his before he knows it, and they’re chapped and slightly desperate but it’s just… perfect. Those fireworks, Sam’s seeing them under his eyelids and feeling them in his fingertips and it’s the best feeling he’s ever had, quite frankly.

His friend’s hand landing on his thigh is pretty good, too. Sam pulls back to catch his breath, and he feels lightheaded, all the way up in the clouds. Bucky frowns and pulls him back.

They kiss slowly, putting thousands of thoughts into every single one, and now, he can read the brunette like an open book. They fall into the same pace so, so easily. The hand on his thigh doesn’t move, just traces circles with his thumb, until it freezes for a second when Sam decides to hold it. His friend grins and their teeth clash, but neither of them care much.

It feels like forever and yet nowhere near enough time when they finally pull apart, and his companion runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Sam doesn’t want to let go of his hand. Bucky isn’t moving, either.

Now it’s definitely harder for Sam to breathe, but for a very different reason. He thinks it’s stopped raining outside. The brunette tilts his head and stares at him, not intensely, but a gaze that makes the fireworks reduce to a soft, everburning ember. He wishes he wasn’t lost for words. It all just makes sense.

“What are you doing?” Sam blurts out, eyes not leaving his friend’s. He’d like to keep kissing him, but he also craves a lot more sleep than last night. He was so very wrong about his birthday being just another day, this year.

Bucky’s smile isn’t shy anymore, “Looking at you.”

When Sam wakes the morning after his birthday, to the same walls of the Quinjet and the same hum of the engine and the same thin mattress, he feels like everything’s changed.

Steve’s still taking the helm and Natasha’s still cooking with her headphones on, but Bucky is giving him a sly smile over his coffee, which just makes him miss his lips. Too much.

He thinks the fireworks are changing into butterflies, sort of; he feels even lighter than yesterday, and he also fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. The first thing when he opened his eyes being his friend messing up his hair definitely also contributed to the warmth still spreading in Sam’s body.

It does hit him, did their two companions see them? Realise what happened? They aren’t acknowledging it if they did, and the brunette’s throwing secretive glances at him every so often, which just makes Sam full out blush. Bucky smirks every time.

So, yeah, he’s pretty much floating on pink skies this morning, and his little sister would gag at his cheesiness, but he doesn’t care in the least.

He finds himself touching Riley’s tags with his ring finger, through his t-shirt. The metal’s cold, not burning itself into his chest anymore, like it did yesterday morning.

The bliss Sam’s feeling does hit a slight halt, though, when he opens the freezer to his two not yet eaten cakes. Steve.

It’s suddenly like his brain’s going in hyperspeed again, and the thoughts of the blond man echoes in him from the day before. And fuck . That ‘in love with two people at the same time’ thing? It might be true. At least, he feels it glaring at the back of his neck, begging him to not ignore it.

Maybe his birthday was a little, uh, complicated after all. Still sort of is. Sam can’t stop thinking of the brunette’s breath on his lips and fingers caressing his thigh, but he certainly cannot stop thinking of his best friend’s hopeful eyes as he gave him that cake either, the offended look when he told him he didn’t have to, as if not getting him a birthday present was equal to a criminal offense for the blond.

Just as he thought he had something worked out in the middle of this mess, his two friends are haunting his mind. Dammit.

Sam’s unsure if he should talk to Steve about it, if he should tell him and Natasha about the kiss or not, but coincidentally, the blonde woman decides to do a pit stop. Eerily similar to his friend yesterday, she doesn’t really tell them much about where she’s going, but promises she’ll be back in less than two hours. What the hell, they’re hidden in the thick woods, might as well go for a walk and attempt to clear his head when the opportunity hits.

Bucky brushes his hand with his own as they exit the ship, but the man also rushes to the nearest town (Sam’s got a feeling he’s looking for a bookstore) and so that leaves him with the blond himself.

Steve’s looking with the greatest interest at a squirrel collecting its food when he smiles at him, “Wanna join me for a walk?”

His friend looks up with a smile as big as the sun, nodding, “Sure.”

On the walk, they’re getting creative, let’s say. There’s lots of hiking paths in here, not many people, but they remember caps and sunglasses just to be on the safe side. Generally trying to steer in circles around the paths, circulating the ship, not getting farther away than necessary.

Steve whistles to himself, American Pie , Sam recognizes it from Natasha in an instant. And well, that takes him back to his friend humming to Marvin Gaye just yesterday evening, while Bucky kissed him.

They both gave him the same cake. Wait, wait- why is Sam only thinking about that, really, now? Did they plan it?

Doesn’t seem like it, though, considering they both were rather secretive about it. So they didn’t talk at all about it, and it was just an odd coincidence? He knows now that Steve didn’t have to tell Bucky it was his birthday, because the man remembered from that very first visit, and that still makes Sam a little breathless, to be honest.

But this prompts him to voice his thought stream out loud, “Steve?”

“Hm?”

Their arms brush as they walk, comfortingly close, but still… too far away. Perfect distance for friends, he thinks. But… his heart is obviously telling him otherwise. He can almost feel it getting ready for another marathon.

“The cake you got me,” Sam hopes he isn’t stumbling over his words, recalling Sarah’s reassuring statement within his mind. You’re worth that risk , “Did you and Bucky plan it together?”

He didn’t have much of an idea on how to ask otherwise, but he regrets the question when the blond’s face screws up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

His suspicion was correct, it seems. Coincidence. “Uhm, well… I mean, why didn’t you guys just get me one cake together? I love them both, don’t get me wrong, two cakes is way more than I could ask for in our situation-”

“Buck got you cake, too?”

Steve looks rather shocked. He isn’t frowning, per say, but his brows are furrowed as he tries to process the information, and he slows his pace down until he comes to a full stop, back near the ship. Oh god, did Sam just do something very stupid?

“He did,” he replies, smiling hesitantly still, and his friend automatically smiles back, which makes it easier for him to carry on, “I- sorry. I found it strange that you both got me one and thought you must’ve talked about it. But Bucky didn’t say anything about yours either, so I mean…”

Once again, Sam feels his words falter. He also definitely knows he’s blushing again, hard, cause the warmth is rushing through, but the nerves are getting to him, too.

“I’m glad he bought you one, too,” his best friend decides, his face so earnest and honest and kind, it makes him want to scream, “You deserve more than one. And so much more. I wish we could’ve celebrated properly. I know you want to go home, and I still want to meet your sister, you know.”

He sighs heavily, and Sam truly can’t hide his fondness.

“I think she’d love you,” he tells Steve, because he knows it’s true. Then, he’s unsure if he should continue the sentence. Sam’s thinking of Bucky and his stupidly perfect hair. Then he looks at Steve and his calloused hands, and the words hit him like a train before he can stop it coming out of his mouth, “Not as much as I do, maybe.”

There it is. There wasn’t really much denying, was there?

Sam can practically already feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, and the butterflies down in his gut are bashing in the rush of adrenaline and fluttering their wings way, way too fast for him to keep up.

His best friend kicks around a couple of pinecones on the ground before the statement hits him, then, he looks up again, wide-eyed and in an endearing state of total confusion.

“You… you love me?” Steve asks, bafflement evident in his tone.

Sam bites his lip. “Can I ask you something? Will you be honest with me?”

His friend nods immediately, confusion vanishing for a moment, “Always, Sam.”

He needs to take another deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“Do you… do you think it’s possible to be in love with two people- or, more than one person? At the same time?”

To Sam’s greatest surprise both yesterday and today, the man in front of him takes barely a second to respond, no time to think it through, no signs of doubt, “Of course. I love Bucky, but I loved Peggy, too. I love Sharon. And I love you.”

Steve seems incredibly shocked at his own confession, just as much as Sam’s himself. Those butterflies must be on a fucking rollercoaster or something, at this point.

Strangely, this lifts the nerves within him so easily, just like yesterday. His breath still feels stuck in his throat, but holy shit, he just can’t stop himself from smiling. His cheeks must be burning hot.

The blond looks a bit confused again as Sam chuckles at himself. He has no idea what he’s doing right now, but the direction it’s going- once again, it just seems right. Feels right. He wants to reach out for his best friend’s hand, but waits, “I’m glad I’m not the only one. I just realised- well, I think I might’ve been in love with both of you for a while, but not realised it until yesterday. You and Bucky.”

Steve’s eyes are shimmering with hope, and so he decides to hell with it, he takes his friend’s hand. And to his precious luck, the blond squeezes his hand back, thumb tracing slow circles in his palm.

“You’re serious?” the blond asks, laughing in disbelief.

“I am.”

“ Holy shit. ”

Sam matches his friend’s laugh, and the forest almost bends to their conversation, wind softening and the trees surrounding them like a cocoon, almost. Reminds him of those fairytales his little sister loved so much, that she insisted on him reading for her because he liked making weird voices and changing the tale, much to her annoyance.

The silence between them is the most lovely thing, just like the one between him and Bucky yesterday, full of expectation but zero tension.

Steve clears his throat, “Sammy, I- sorry, you're just the best person I know, this is too good to be true. I didn’t know if you felt the same… I’m not good at that. Uhm, hinting. Or flirting, I guess. I don’t know what to say.”

His best friend is blushing as much as himself. Naturally, there’s only one thing Sam can think about, “Then come here and kiss me.”

The blond doesn’t need to be told twice, and he loves him even more for it. And Steve’s lips are softer than Bucky’s, but that’s in no way… better, or, like. It’s different. But it’s the same fireworks popping up in the dark under his eyelids again, and that’s a sign.

He’s in love with his two best friends. And they love Sam back. And his racing heart hums softly, like it’s breathing out as much as he is, a calm from all the way back home settling upon him. His friend hums against his lips and moves his hand to the hair at the nape of his neck, gently pulling. It gives him a sort of tingling feeling in all his limbs, to be honest.

They do have to pull apart when the sound of twigs crackling on the ground is heard, they have to stay alert, after all, even it could very well be another squirrel. Instead, it’s Bucky, carrying a book under his arm.

He’s giving them that sly smile again, “You’ve gotten smoother than the old days, Rogers.”

Steve blushes profusely. Sam finds himself laughing again, his nerves long gone, and touches his cheek. His friend clears his throat a little more, “You got the same idea as me, Buck. With the cake.”

The brunette joins them in the clearing, lifting a brow in question, “You mean my idea?”

“Shut up!”

“No, no, you learned from me punk, I’m proud of you,” Bucky laughs, and Steve’s about to slap his arm, if their friend didn’t grab the blond’s hand mid-air, “You’re an asshole.”

Bucky looks at Sam in question, and he answers, “He’s not completely wrong.”

His friend shrugs. “You both love me, though.”

“I do,” he nods, and Steve chimes in with, “Sadly, yes.”

Of course, their companion grins like an idiot, “Now we got that settled, will you kiss me again, Sammy?”

Sam is so fucking lovestruck right now, he’s not scared to admit it. Steve’s hand is still on his neck and Bucky’s taking his hand, and it’s nothing less than perfect. Just like a happily ever after, although he has no idea where they’re going after this, but it only matters to him that they’re together, really. He thinks Sarah will love both of them. He hopes they’ll meet someday, at least. And AJ and Cass, they’d be thrilled, oh my god.

The blond interrupts as Sam’s already leaning in, “Hey! I want a second kiss too!”

He rolls his eyes fondly, “Of course, Stevie.”

Well, it’s almost perfect, until a fourth voice makes them all jump, “You lovebirds need a minute before we take off?”

Nat’s smirking, Steve looks embarrassed and Sam laughs, his air mixed with his two companions and the butterflies’ flutter making him warm and tingly, still. Bucky flips her off. Guess some things never change.

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spoiler1001 · 3 years

Text

Heartbeats were a strange feeling, if one was aware of them. Lucien-no that wasn't right- felt his pulse from his scar. He opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by old friends. They looked at him with bright eyes, with Cree being the only exception. She looked at the tiefling with sharp eyes. It was dark, he couldn't tell the time. But as his eyes adjusted to the dark, nobody looked happy to see him.

"You have a friend. Said this was his fault. What should we do with him?" Cree spoke in a low tone. There were quiet sounds of suppressed sobs and soft gasps. It sounded like-

The tiefling turned around and the pulse beating against his scar froze.

Caleb looked awful. His skin was pale, blue veins showing through and his lips blue. His hair was matted and muddy. He was shivering from the cold and shaking from hunger. His clothes were bloodied and he had bruises on his face. The bandages were dangling off of his arms, stained red. Lucien practically could sense the infection growing. He sat in front of the grave on his knees, clutching his clothes to his body. It was at this point that the rain and cold made itself known to the Nonagon, making his hair and red, torn clothes stickbto him like a second skin. Caleb was soaking wet, rain making his clothes even worse for the situation. A small puddle of reddish mud built beneath him.

"What happened to him." The tone was harsh, maybe too much so but the wizard was important to him

Caleb flinched at the sound of his voice. Yes, the voice was too harsh. The Nonagon kneeled next to him. Two fingers were placed under his chin and Caleb let his eyes meet- Molly? Mollymauk fit for the moment, right now. Caleb took a shaking breath. He looked even worse up close. There were dark bags under his eyes. Some of it bruising, some from exhaustion. Green stains colored his skin, matching the grass around the grave.

"What happened to him?" Mollymauk repeated. "He travels in a group." Unease filled his mind. Were they-

"I left. Someone had to- after everyone was saved and Lorenzo killed- someone had to keep watch in case-" Caleb rocked back and forth. "It's just me." Ok so as far as he knew, they were alive. Maybe Cree can scry on them later, but that's not important right now.

"And the bruises?" Molly let his hands grab Caleb's shoulders. There was dried- something- it was nearly impossible to see what it was without light, but it ran down the part of his neck behind his ear, and onto his back.

"Someone tried to grab your coat." Caleb looked away, towards Cree. Lucien stood up. "Find us the nearest Inn with a hot bath. Take him with us."

"As a prisoner?" Cree asked, almost happy at the thought.

Molly hid his frown at the thought. "This man is loyal. He comes with us as a friend. I will make anyone answer for any injuries."

"As the Nonagon wishes." Cree sighed and roughly brought Caleb to his feet. Not healing him, Lucien noticed. He was tired. Coming back to life was...unpleasant. He was tired. His soul felt like it was floating through the air. He needed a nap- or a drink. Getting out of the rain would help. It was starting to sting.

"Bring the coat." Molly added. Cree openly scowled. Caleb wobbled towards him. There was a horse and cart. Molly helped Caleb into the cart and climbed in.

"Is it you?" Caleb whispered. The hope and wonder in his voice was heartbreaking. Molly wanted to bundle him up and tell him it was ok.

"When it's just us? Yes I'm me. I'm Molly, otherwise I'm Lucien." Molly nodded. Caleb let tears fall from his cheeks, leaving streaks in the mud on his face. Molly opened his arms and Caleb buried his face into the crook of Molly's neck. Molly purred and hummed.

"I'm sorry you died." Caleb whispered.

"Just...there's time for that later." Molly promised. "Thank you for staying."

Caleb responded by whispering something into Molly's chest. Molly purred louder and Caleb drifted off to sleep.

Molly placed a hand on the back of Caleb's neck, feeling him breathe. Caleb's hair had grown out well past his shoulders. It would look so nice washed and brushed out.

"Nonagon, is it wise to bring along someone that claimed responsibility for-" Cree spoke up, climbing into the cart that was now moving.

"I made my own choices, both when I died and now. The fact that he stayed says more about his character than me falling. I think such kindness should be returned." It felt weird to Molly, speaking so formally, but he had memories of Lucien again. Had the memories and habits. Even his accent was thicker. "I need to recover my strength in these coming days then we make our way north."

"Finish what we started?" Cree asked hopefully.

Molly frowned. It would take a lot for that trip. "Yes."

The Tombtakers found a nice inn rather easily. They rented three rooms to rest.

Molly settled into a lush room with the mattress being a giant pillow. There the actual pillows were wonderful for heads with horns while the mattress enveloped him. The blankets were silk and felt wonderful against his skin. The walls had beautiful murals of the gods that was allowed in the kitchen. The platinum dragon danced on the ceiling, seeming to sparkle against the candle lights.

There was a door to the side, a bath that could fit five. The wash room was just as painted but with murals of the moonweaver and wildmother hidden in a mural of fields lit by a full moon. Molly stretched out on the bed. Caleb laid next to him, absolutely filthy but solid enough to make Molly want to grab onto him and never let go. His eyes were moving quickly under his eyelids.

Molly let his hand rise, becoming even with Caleb's cheek, but pulled away at the last second, letting it come to rest in the area between them. Caleb didn't let his face change but raised his hand, resting it over Molly's.

Molly hummed and let sleep overtake him.

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

Molly woke up to an empty bed. He lifted his head to look around. Cree sat in a nearby chair, crossleged. There was a familiar orange cat sleeping by his head.

"Your companion is washing. It would be unsightly for one to travel with you to be so…" Cree let her words die out. "How are you feeling?"

Molly felt worse than before but he felt more alive than how he felt when he immediately woke up. Mud was still all over him but he could wait for his turn.

"And the coat?"

"We have it, but you don't expect to wear it." Cree huffed.

"It would be nice to keep for sentimental value." Molly smiled, not mentioning that if someone were to peak in from his old friends, they have something to look on from.

Took a step out into the main room, dressed in nice looking travel clothes. His hair was tied back and brushed while still looking a bit damp.

He wore an off-white shirt, the sleeve pulled up to see dark gray cloth wrappings around his forearms. And black pants. Only the shoes were the same, but they were made for travel. Molly took a moment before looking up at Caleb's face. Oh. He was shaved. Molly had to pull his eyes away. "I need to sleep for one more day, but afterwards we can move out." Molly stood up.

"If that is what you want." Cree sighed and walked out of the room. Molly looked at Caleb. After she left he physically relaxed.

"You look better." Molly hummed.

"Lucien, I do not think she likes me." Caleb spoke carefully.

Molly frowned. "So what? I do. And you are clever."

"She's worried about me outranking her." Caleb raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't exactly at my best last night."

"You were more composed than most would be. We'll see how traveling together goes." Molly hummed, patting Caleb on the chest. Caleb took a step back, letting Molly into the bath.

The door remained open as Molly took his bath.

"Talk to me. I need….I don't know. Just-" Molly sighed.

"What do you wish to discuss?" Caleb's voice was even.

"What happened after-"

"I killed Lorenzo. We saved the others, we came here, dealt with the gentleman. Someone in the group told Cree, but I couldn't be with them anymore. There's a new cleric with them."

Molly sighed. "Did you leave because of the new cleric."

"No. Caduceus is wonderful. Good for them. It's just that, years ago, I had a teacher that said I was not good enough to be a leader and had to be built up. He...asked a lot of me. When you died…" Caleb let out a self loathing laugh, the sound raspy. "I do not handle death well."

"I made a choice to use too much magic. Not you, not anyone else." Molly countered. "And Yasha?"

"She left after mourning at your grave." Caleb shrugged.

"Maybe she'll find us on our way." Molly smiled.

The water was warm. Like flames reheated it before he went into it. It helped with the stiffness of his joints. His muscles relaxed as it became easier to wash the caked mud off of himself. "I know Cree did something to you." Molly said quietly.

"Do not fault her for it. She and I had a disagreement about the people who had the privilege to see you awaking." Caleb froze.

"How bad was the disagreement?" Molly sat up.

"Nothing but a few scrapes and bruises." Caleb shrugged nonchalantly.

"I don't like that. She has no right to say anything given how they abandoned my grave but you returned." Molly stood up and looked around, seeing fresh clothes waiting for him, with a deep red coat.

"I'll be sure to pass along your discontent." Caleb said, almost to himself.

"I can tell her myself but- Caleb…." Molly took a look at Caleb. There was a small trail of blood from the back of his head, behind his ear. Molly grabbed a bit of his red coat and held it to the wound. "Let me guess- Cree?"

Caleb's silence said everything.

"You shouldn't let her walk over you. This can't continue." Molly sighed.

"There were more pressing concerns." Caleb whispered. "I'll get food." He stood up, leaving his notebook open to show about a dozen different spells. Molly recognized a couple of them but they were personalized. None of these spells were anywhere else. Clever wizard. Molly's Lucien instincts told him to protect him because of the advantage he brought. Molly's Mollymauk instinct told him to protect him because of friendship and- nope not going there.

"He's an assassin, you know. Those scars on his arms are the same as Volstruckers." Cree whispered. Slipping through the door as Molly closed the book.

"The what?" Molly didn't care about what she was saying.

"Cerberus Assembly assassins. They hunt traitors. Will kill even their own family. The Gentleman deals with the Assembly from time to time." Cree shrugged.

"That's none of my business." Molly shrugged. Mentally he was trying to will her out of the room.

"It should be. What if he's with the woman who-"

"I doubt that very much." Molly hissed, shutting her up. "Thank you for your concern but issues regarding Caleb are mine and mine alone." So fuck off. Molly added mentally.

"If that's what you want." Cree sighed with exacerbation.

"Yes it is. Leave him be unless I say otherwise." Molly swallowed his anger. He knew that Caleb had a past but he didn't want to know. It didn't affect him. Cree just shook her head and stepped out of the room.

Caleb came back with a plate full of meat and potatoes. Molly perked up a bit and noticed that Caleb had Molly's coat in his arms. The necklace he always wore showed through his shirt. Caleb handed the plate over to Molly. Caleb sat on the bed and looked at the coat.

"The walls are rather thin here. One could hear a lot of conversations." Caleb hummed.

"You heard Cree." Molly facepalmed. "I'm sorry-"

"She's right. I was trained for that line of work, but...I dropped out of school." Caleb took a deep breath. "'Caleb Widogast' isn't even my birth name."

"What do you want me to call you?"

"Caleb."

Molly gave him a smile. "Then Caleb is all that matters. Now eat, we need to gain our strength again."

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

Caleb wore the coat. It was colorfully loud and sparkled delightfully, and Caleb wore it, matching it with the necklace he never took off. Molly loved it. Magic morphed around Caleb. Caleb had written a few spells of his own. There was a tent, a giant cat's claw, a tower. The tower was his favorite. It was warm, colorful.

There were separate rooms for the Tombtakers.

There were intended separate rooms for each of the Tombtakers.

Molly liked to sleep in Caleb's room. Molly was on his way to bed when he heard a conversation.

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

Caleb had braided his hair as he was ready for bed. Cree was sitting on the couch in his room. She was not invited into the room but she was there. Practically purring.

"I'm just saying that the rest of us have a bond. The Nonagon can use us whenever he needs. The rest of us are able to be communication tools for him. It's wonderful. It's like never being alone. It's like letting something devine overtake you."

That made his stomach drop.

"That sounds wonderful to those that enjoy it, but I will have to refuse." Caleb smiled politely, but opened the door for her.

"It is what it is, Bren." Cree shrugged. Caleb froze, causing the lights to flicker in the tower for a moment before his smile dropped.

"I don't know what your deal is Cree, but stop. I'm not stealing your precious Nonagon from you. I am his friend." Caleb glared. "I have no intentions of betraying him."

"I know. I just like knowing who I travel with." Cree smiled and went on her merry way.

Caleb just shook his head.

"She still bothering you?" Molly asked, slipping into the room.

"She's just showing that she's watching me. It's nothing." Caleb shrugged.

"She said a name that bothered you." Molly pointed out. "I'm assuming it is your birth name."

"Title, really. It is no matter. How close are we to Aeor?" Caleb smiled.

"A few days' travel, normally. We do have to stop. I have to go...even a score. A Cerberus Assembly member, she hallowed me out for my magic. She has to die." Molly hugged himself.

"Any way I can help?" Caleb looked Molly in the eyes.

"Stay safe. Stay here in the tower. She's hired some old friends." Molly sat on the bed.

"Who?"

"The Mighty Nein."

Caleb raised an eyebrow.

"They don't look happy about it either." Molly laughed. "Yasha is with them. They look good."

"Do you want me to prepare warm beds?" Caleb rubbed his hands together.

"You are a genius." Molly laughed.

"It will be nice to see them again." Caleb sat down next to him.

"When this is over, do you think that they'd let me back in?" Caleb asked.

"You want to leave?" Molly asked.

"I'm worried about...Cree is worried that I might prove a distraction to you in regards to this team. I might agree, so after this, I might return to them." Caleb shrugged.

"If you go, I'm going. Fuck the Tombtakers." Molly bumped his forehead against Caleb's arm. "They don't get me. You do."

"I've always seen kinship with you, Mollymauk. I was always worried that you didn't see me as such an equal." Caleb ran his thumb over the decorated horns.

"I've always saw you as an equal. I am lucky to have met you." Molly slowly giving Caleb time to back out, let his tail wrap around Caleb's leg, right above the knee. Caleb took a deep breath, let his lips turn up, and those smirking lips pressed against Molly's.

Molly let out a chirp, followed by a high pitched ecstatic noise. Molly pulled Caleb closer and only let him go when he needed to breathe.

"Charmer." Molly smirked.

"Rest, Mollymauk. We have a big day tomorrow."

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

The next day was hard. Killing Vess was easy. Too easy. Maybe the Mighty Nein wanted her dead. Molly danced in the cold, waiting for the Mighty Nein to greet them, his black swords stood out against the snow.

"We never did go waltzing." Molly mused. Caleb, still wearing the large colorful coat, but this time layered with cotton to keep warm. He smiled warmly.

"I can work on adding a ballroom to the tower." Caleb promised. "We can talk about it later."

"Promises, Promises." Molly giggled.

"You two are worse than Yasha and Beau." A familiarly friendly voice rang out.

Caleb and Molly smiled at Jester. There was a big hug with tears in everyone's eyes. Yasha pulled Mollymauk into a bone crushing hug. Caleb watched the hug as a small green goblin jumped into Caleb's arms.

"Caleb! We thought you were dead." Nott yelled.

"I'm alright. Let me set up camp and we can talk." Caleb smiled.

"Just like that?" Fjord asked in disbelief. Both Caleb and Molly blinked in surprise. That voice was new. Neither Molly nor Caleb had any ground to comment, but it was new.

"We are not enemies." Caleb promised. "I missed all of you."

"We missed you too." Jester smiled. "You look good."

"So do all of you." Caleb grinned and summoned the door to the towers. "Welcome to my tower. I hope it is to your liking."

#critical role #mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #widomauk #lucien critical role #cr spoilers #this is the biggest oneshot to date.#but i did it

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duraxxor · 3 years

Text

Character Sheet: That Damn Trio

Uh oh, it would seem Duraxxor has gotten himself in a lot of trouble this time around! He’s been split into three pieces of his former self! Oh the humanity! Well there’s only one thing to do. What’s that? Well, we go on a wild adventure to put him back together, of course! That’s why I have decided to create character sheet to explain and every one of the fragments and their traits. So without further interruptions, let’s get down to the material!

Character No. 1

Name: Daev ( Pronounced just like Dave )

Race: Sin’dorei?

Height: 5′ 8″ ( down from the 6′ 4″ that he once stood at. )

Hair Color: Silver Blonde

Eye Color: None, his eyes are as clear as glass

Age: “ I was only born not that long ago... I jest though... “

Physical Traits: When a person comes in contact with Daev, the first thing they may notice as his youthful appearance. Unlike Duraxxor as a whole, Daev has the physical body of a young adult that has suffered from lack of muscle. Despite this, he seems able to stand straight and maintain himself but is unable to physically apply the strength and running speed he once had. The scar that once dominated his features is now shrunken down and appears to have lining that almost reminds some of a stitching, so to speak. Perhaps even mending? The same can be said about the majority of his black attire that decorates his body other than the sleeve that appears to have torn on the right side. A thin trench coat and a pair of black leather britches that are only matched by a pair of boots below. One can also notice the pair of snake bites piercing on his lower lip that seem to have appeared as he no longer bears even a semblance of the elven fangs gene.

Personality: Quiet and probably the most balanced of his former self. Daev seems to be given the nickname of being the Heart of the Trio. And with good reason considering he is probably the very being that keeps the other two in existence. He is never to quickly jump to violence and seeks to see how people function and feel. Selfless thought and under normal circumstances, kind to those that share a mutual respect for him and his space. Although he is the most attuned to multiple emotions, he has a hard time properly expressing them and it may even come out in a series of riddles. However, he does seem to have something to say for every type of person.

Abilities: Lack of physical strength, Daev has to rely on his mind and quick thinking if he hopes to manage avoiding being killed off with the help of his familiars. It isn’t known whether he retains much of his weaponry training, other than having a dagger tucked away under his coat that appears to have a significance, or perhaps even symbolic value. Despite his familiars having their own personalities, he seems able to maintain control of them in certain moments and can even call them or dismiss them at will. Daev’s greatest ability is that he has so much untapped potential that is it unpredicted what he may learn in his stay within the Shadowlands.

Character No. 2

Name: Randdu ( Ron-doo )

Race: Familiar ( Bat )

Height: Unspecified, look to his Abilities for details

Hair Color: White

Eye Color: A mixture of Red and Yellow

Age: “ Look, man, give me a break. I only look old. “

Physical Traits: You feel a piercing gaze always watching you when you approach Daev with his avian shadow, Randdu. He takes on the appearance of most bats native to Azeroth aside from some defined features that make him appear more like a Fruit Bat from our world, bearing a canine-like snout beneath the leathery wraps that are his lengthy wings. Jagged claws appear to be on both the back legs and wing joints, giving him almost the look a humanoid if not for the fact he lacks thumbs. He is the definition of wild animal with personality.

Personality: The reckless familiar that is highly regarded ( and prideful of himself ) as the symbol of Duraxxor. Randdu is also the loudest and most immature of the trio. He would rather pick a fight and see who is the strongest than listen to negotiations. He also possesses quite the appetite match this need for combat. However, this doesn’t mean he isn’t self aware when he is in over his head, being the quickest to also panic when he feels outmatched, that is until something goes right, then he will simply mock his foe. Warning: He may curse a lot.

Abilities: Despite his reckless personality, Randdu is actually quite the powerhouse. He is physically strong and can easily pick up something that is three times his own size, which is only matched by the fact that he is able to grow and shrink his form based on the energy reserves he has obtained through his vampiric aura. The more he fights and succeeds, the stronger Randdu gets. Claws, teeth, and even a mind piercing screech are at his disposal. However, the magical affinity seems to lie more so in the fact he is able to cast a blaze of shadows about his form, giving him enough speed to perform a Wraith Flight, an ability that projects his vampiric aura outward and making mere contact results in the sapping of one’s raw energies.

Character No. 3

Name: Sphula ( Sph-ooluh )

Race: Familiar ( Serpent )

Height: 15′ 07″ in length

Hair Color: “ Crimson Scales, you uneducated pig. “

Eye Color: Onyx

Age: “ To old for you to know. “

Physical Traits: While Randdu is regarded to be the visible lurker, Sphula sticks to remaining hidden into his time is most appropriate. The lengthy serpent bears a strange familiarity to the Arcane Serpents of Northrend, but with many more rows of teeth and definitive fangs. He also lacks the ethereal skin until certain abilities are applied. Scales, bladed fings, and circular markings that are akin to chains, this crimson familiar seems to be the most colorful of the trio.

Personality: Calm until provoked, Sphula recognizes his own intellect and will exercise it when it is most necessary. More often than naught, he is seen wrapped around Daev, whispering into his ear while chastising Randdu. For once to gain conference with Sphula would mean that you either have earned his respect or there is something of worth about you or upon you that he would sooner have you align yourself to their cause. Unlike the other trio, Sphula is not above breaking the rules in his favor. For he believes logic is more important in the case of survivability in the cruel world of a snake. There is one he deems the most worthy of his time: The Lady in the Red @sanguinesorceress .

Abilities: Not as physically strong as Randdu, Sphula is also a constrictor and has no issue wrapping his long tail around his foes or even applying it in a flailing motion to dispatch someone from approaching Daev. And speaking of which, did you know that snakes can actually jump three times their length? Not just this one, but he can also slip his entire length through objects much like a pocket space just to come out in a near forty yard radius. Sphula is also the strongest when it comes to the use of magic and intellect. He is able to conjure geomancy, hemomancy, umbramancy, and in some cases, cryomancy and pyromancy. But what would a snake be without his bite? Twin fangs possess a potent cytotoxin, which is a toxin that induces tissue necrosis. Keep your hands away from this snakes mouth!

OOC Information Station

Rp Style: When interacting with this blog or even the in-game character, I cannot always guarantee that you will interact with all three of them, just as I also cannot guarantee that one of the other’s won’t squeeze themselves into the RP. Otherwise, I am generally laid back and always up to most themes, including the dark and twisted. I am an adult writer and in most cases, I am not so easily triggered and easy to speak with. Please, don’t hesitate to ask questions as I may have an actual answer for them. I also would like to remind everyone that I have been roleplaying in World of Warcraft for nearly ten years. All I ever ask is your undying patience and kindness in return.

Platforms: Tumblr, Discord, and In-game (Planned)

If you have made it this far, congratulations. Now to get to the nitty, gritty disclaimer warnings and rules.

1. Roleplaying with The Trio means you have agreed to not knowing the original character Duraxxor is the true identity of these characters without the proper knowledge or permission. Should you regard him as Duraxxor, Alphus, Lord Daevara, Myotis, or any other former alias, it will be ignored in-character. Should this become a continuing habit, I will ask you personally to please stop trying to ruin the mystery of the characters. Let’s make this a fun plot for all, old and new.

2. If you are seeking to fix the problem as quick as possible, then you have come to the wrong player. I am wanting this particular plot device to go longer than a few weeks or even months as the Shadowlands is going to obviously take longer than a single year itself. There’s going to be hurdles to make evolve these characters over time. You are welcome to speak about being a part of the plot where he attempts to fix himself though!

3. When addressing particular character questions, please specify who you are addressing to unless it is all the above or the mun. This makes my life so much easier and more engaging.

4. Do not god mod my characters as I would not god mod yours. All of them have their own individual strengths and weaknesses and should be considered only through natural interaction.

5. More importantly, be respectful and patient. This is a brand new concept I am playing with and I really wish to see it through to the very end and want those involved to have fun.

Thank you all for taking the time to read this and I do hope that everything is clear! I look forward to roleplaying with everyone and enjoying the Shadowlands storyline! Happy Writing everyone!

And if you have not read Chapter 1 to the Shadowlands storyline, here is a link to the story is here

#character sheet #That Damn Trio #Daev #Randdu #Sphula #shadowlands

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captainscanadian · 4 years

Text

Better | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 4)

My Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: Bucky has a lot of suspicions. Becca had the answers he needed.

Word Count: 6122

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky x Doctor!Reader, Nurse!Wanda x Platonic!Reader, Nurse!MJ, Doctor!Sam (mentioned)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Abuse & Alcoholism, Surgery, Organ Donation, IV & Needles, Emotional Distress, Physical Pain, Drugs, Hospital Stay, Blood

A/N: Sorry not sorry. Naynay, don’t kill me!

Being in and out of consciousness for God knows how long was certainly not something you were fond of. Not only were you completely unaware of what time of day it was or even what day it was for that matter, you were starting the hate the numbness that had been brought to you by the patient-control analgesia. Even the pain in your abdomen had become bearable now, but that did not help with the emotional distress that came with the numbness either.

When you had woken up from your drug-induced slumber, you had been greeted by an indescribable darkness that had blanketed over your hospital room. The lack of sunshine peaking through the gaps between the curtains were reason enough for you to assume that it was now nightfall. Your first instinct had been to turn over to your side towards the chair next to your bed, a part of you hoping that the man who had been sitting by your bedside when you had fallen asleep was still there. But much to your disappointment, he wasn’t.

You let out a soft groan at the pain that you felt on your side, thankful that the numbness was finally starting to dissolve. You hoped that would give you enough time to feel like a functioning human being for once before the next programmed dosage kicks in.

“Y/N?” The sound of a tired Sam Wilson calling out your name made you let out a sigh. “Are you awake? How are you feeling?”

You reached your hand up to rub your eyes, letting out another groan. “W-Wilson.” You croaked out, your throat had been dry every single time you woke up and you hated it. “Where’s Barnes?”

MJ had been at your bedside within seconds of you pressing your call button for a nurse. “Dr. Y/L/N, you’re awake.” She gave you a warm smile that showed a sense of relief, her coffee-induced talkative sense taking over her in an instant. “I mean, of course I knew that. Dr. Wilson told me that you woke up just before he was paged down to the ER, but I wasn’t going to come in here unless you called me. How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Do you want me to page Dr. Parker for you? He’s on call right now, probably just crashing in an on call room. Or Dr. Romanoff, she’s not in but I can call her too if you need-”

“MJ.” You cut her off as you let out a weak chuckle, wincing slightly at the pain that followed. “The pain’s a little better now but I’m still feeling a little loopy so... I probably won’t be pumping any drugs into my body until the next scheduled dosage. You can start off by telling me what day it is and... can you please get me some water? My throat’s really dry.”

“Oh... sorry.” She was quick to grab your plastic cup and reach over to the sink, filling it up just before the brim before bringing it over to you.

You took the straw between your chapped lips and sipped rather slowly, feeling the water soothe its way down your throat.

“Why haven’t you turned the light on?” You heard the familiar voice of Wanda Maximoff echo through your room as you saw her silhouette by the doorframe. She reached over to turn on the light and you quickly shut your eyes, bringing your hand up to your eyes to shield them from the newfound brightness. “Go home, MJ. I’ve got it from here.”

The younger nurse took the cup away from your mouth once you let go of the straw. “Alright! Goodnight, Wanda. Wait, it’s morning but... ugh, fuck it!” She laughed softly before stomping out of the room.

You let out another chuckle as you winced, moving your hand away from your face now that your eyes were used to the light. You turned over to look at Wanda, who was holding your chart, probably writing down very detailed notes for Romanoff to see during morning rounds. “I must admit I missed you.” You told her as you gave her a weak smile.

“Oh sweetheart...” She set down your chart for a moment before reaching over your bed, gently wrapping her arms around you, still careful not to mess with the wires and tubes that were still attached to your body. Wanda Maximoff had always been a hugger and a good one at that. Even though you might come off as someone who did not enjoy such physical displays of affection, your touch-deprived self had been very appreciative of her hugs and she knew that. “I was just down the hall to check on your father. He’s doing alright, he’s stable, not in a lot of pain and he hasn’t really shown any signs of rejection. He’s... right on the road to recovery.”

You let out a sigh of relief as she pulled back from the hug. “That’s good.” You told her softly, though a part of you was glad that your risky sacrifice had not gone to waste. “Thanks, Wanda.”

Not even a good night’s sleep, three loads of laundry and an early morning workout at the gym had been enough to distract Bucky’s mind from the woman in the post-op ward. At first, he had felt a ping of guilt at the thought of not being there if you had woken up and asked for him. Even his assumption that you would ask for him when you woke up had made him realize how hopeless he was. But he could not help it. He had fallen in love with you, like from that John Green novel his youngest sister had once been obsessed with, slowly and then all at once.

He had managed to call Sam, who was on call that night, and pester him to check on you every now and then. But when a concerned yet slightly annoyed Dr. Wilson had threatened to block his number, while still checking on you nevertheless, Bucky had found himself crashing on his king-sized bed and having a little faith in the hospital staff as he had promised Wanda. No one would let any harm come to you, or so he thought, and he would see you when he returned to work after all.

Despite the fact that he hadn’t set an alarm, he found himself waking up before dawn as always. Perhaps it was the fact that his own body had been so used to such early morning wake up calls, but sleeping into the afternoon had always been a rarity for Bucky no matter how late he had fallen asleep.

Nevertheless, the moment he awoke from his slumber, his first instinct had been to check his phone for any messages from the hospital. He had threatened Dr. Peter Parker, the resident on your transplant team, to contact him in case anything had happened to you while he was not by your bedside. Seeing no messages from the young surgeon made him sigh in relief. But that did not stop Bucky from being worried. After all, his sister had just returned from Philadelphia and from what she had texted him last night, she had found some concerning information that she wanted to share with him.

If any of his friends had found out about what he had done, they would probably label his actions a result of his paranoia; Sam would have called it pure insanity. But Bucky would probably prefer the more rational term: suspicion. He had been feeling suspicious for a while now, ever since the day he had found you breaking down in the supply room on the cardiac floor.

“Y/L/N?” Dr. James Barnes’ eyebrows furrowed as he recognized the familiar female’s sobs that escaped from behind a shelf that held unopened packages of cardiac catheters.

Of course, this hadn’t been the first time he had found you like that. But he knew you well enough to know that you did not break down in tears that easily. He was aware that you had dealt with more than a fair share of struggles over the years, but that had made you tough. You were a strong woman, he noted. So, if something had made you cry, then it had to have been something very serious. It wasn’t that easy to break Y/N Y/L/N.

You sat on the cold tiled floor of the supply room, your back against a shelf as you pulled your knees up to your chest. You could not help the sobs that left your chest, your cheeks puffy, red and stained with tears as you looked up. “J-James?” You quickly wiped away your tears with the sleeve of the waffle-knit Henley you wore under your navy blue scrub shirt, springing to your feet before coming face to face with the dark haired surgeon.

“Are you alright, doll?” He asked, his lips curling into a frown as a look of concern blanketed over his features when he stepped over to you. His icy blue eyes were filled with a genuine worry that not even the strands of his greasy black hair could veil. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head quickly before shrugging your shoulders, forcing yourself to smile a fake smile that you hoped would be convincing enough, though you may have been wrong about that. He had already heard you cry and no smile can make him believe otherwise. Besides, Bucky Barnes knew you well enough to know when even a smile of yours is genuine or when it was not. He was always the first to notice these things. “Nothing, I’m just... tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.”

He furrowed his brows as he looked down at you, clearly not convinced by your facade. His eyes were soft but the tone of his voice rather stern. It was as though he was stuck between the roles of the senior doctor, the close friend and the man who had fallen in love with you, not knowing which role to play at a time like this. “Don’t lie to me, Y/N.”

Bucky had always been able to distinguish himself between his roles though. He had a way of separating his personal and professional lives in order to keep him sane. There was Bucky and then there was Dr. Barnes.

Dr. Barnes would always wear his navy blue scrubs, his hair hanging loose that he usually tucked under his scrub cap when he was at surgery. Bucky, when he’s not in his ‘operating mode’, usually tied his hair up into a small messy man bun. He wore skinny jeans and plaid shirts when he was out and when he was at home, he wore sweat pants and Henley’s. Even his closet had been arranged in a way to accommodate this.

He followed this rule almost religiously though, except for that one time when Dr. Barnes showed up to a board meeting with his hair tied up in a bun with a Hello Kitty hair tie because he let one of his pediatric patients tie it up for him. Dr. Rogers would go on to say that this had been the most human that he had ever seen his surgical robot of a friend; perhaps until the day his beloved mentee had announced that she was donating her liver to her estranged father.

But now the man had found himself a third role, the role of James, Y/N’s James. He did not know what that role entailed, whether he was the colleague or the friend, but he knew that this was the part of him that had fallen in love with her. This was the part of him that was longing to be a part of her life, if she would let him. This was the part of him that was the most human – the better version of him.

You shook your head as you tried to find a way out of his query, only to fail at your own attempts. “No, James... I’m-”

“You’ve been crying.” He had cut you off. “And don’t even try telling me that you weren’t. I heard you, doll.” He had caught you red-handed, after all. There was no way you could hide this from him, or anyone else for that matter.

“I...” You looked down at your feet, noticing that the laces had come undone in your blue tennis shoes. But you could care less about your shoes right now. You had bigger things to worry about, like the life of the man who had given you yours. And at that thought, you broke down once more, feeling your knees grow weak as you slid down against the shelf to sit back down on the floor. You pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your head between them, not holding back the sobs in the presence of this doctor.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Bucky frowned at the sight of you, feeling his heart break to see you in tears. He knelt down in front of you, his soft hands holding your wrists as your hands rested on top of your knees. “Hey... talk to me, doll. You can tell me anything.”

You had always been hesitant to talk about how you felt with others, except to Dr. Rhodes who happened to be the in-house psychiatrist for the hospital staff. One thing that you had learned the hard way from your previously failed friendships was that there was a fine line between sharing and over-sharing. You did not want to cross this line, for that line had ended many friendships for you. It was why you had been so cautious of how close you got with everyone at the hospital.

But keeping your distance from James was not an option for you either. He sounded genuinely concerned for you and his offer had only made you realize how desperately you needed a friend at that moment. Perhaps, using this opportunity to find some clarity about your situation would not be that bad. He was a surgeon, after all. He had dealt with dying patients and their crying loved ones. He would not turn away from you or turn you away at a time of need either. A qualified medical professional, he was. You could trust him as that.

You continued to cry as Bucky took a seat next to you on the floor, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to him. How much of a loner had you been your whole life that even the slightest act of affection had brought you solace? How desperate must you have been for human contact, for you felt calm from the way his hand was rubbing your back in a rather soothing manner. Your touch-starved self could not help but allow yourself to lay your head gently against his shoulder, continuing to cry. “R-Romanoff... has a patient, who came in with... stage 4... cirrhosis.” You croaked out in-between sobs. “She was... telling me how... this patient was from... N-New Hope, Pennsylvania... because she knows that... it’s my hometown and... she was like... it’s a small town, just over two thousand people... and everyone knows... everyone so... Nat asked me if I... maybe knew this man and... she tells me his name... James, i-it’s... it’s my dad... h-he’s...” Before you could even finish your sentence, you felt another sob.

He bit down on his bottom lip as he continued to gently rub your back, trying to calm you down while pondering what you had just told him. “Oh Y/N...” He frowned. You rarely spoke about your parents or your childhood spent in a small town near Philadelphia. But from what he knew about your past, which only Steve had also known, he concluded that things must not have been great for you. Perhaps that was why he was starting to worry about this revelation. “How do you know it’s him, doll?” He asked. “Did you go and see him?”

You shook your head. “N-No... I-I couldn’t... I... checked his file. The information... his date of birth, the home address... it’s the same. It’s the house I grew up in.” You replied as you let out a sigh. “It’s him.”

“But... how did they-”

“I haven’t... spoken to my parents... since I left... NYU.” You hadn’t realized that you had cut him off as you spoke, still sobbing between your words. “I sent my mom... an invite... to my med school graduation... but she didn’t show. I just thought that I would never... see them again... you know? But now they’re here... in this hospital and... I don’t know, James. I feel awful... for not being there for them.” A successful cardiothoracic surgeon at one of the best hospitals in all of New York, but you had no idea that your own father had been ill. You may have had your reasons to leave home when you did but you were doing much better now. Why couldn’t you get yourself to go back home and at least try to make amends with your parents? Perhaps if you had done that sooner, you would have known about your father’s disease a lot sooner and you could have actually gotten him the treatment he needed before things had gotten out of control. “He’s going on the transplant list... I just can’t believe... I missed so much shit in my parents’ life.”

“Y/N, come on, you can’t beat yourself up for that.” Bucky told you as he let out a sigh. “You had a reason to leave home and cut ties with your parents. Besides, if you did reach out to your mother and she didn’t respond, then you losing touch with them is not your fault, doll.”

“But... I was supposed to be better, James.”

He could not say anything when you had said that. He bit down on his bottom lip once more, his hand still wrapped around your shoulder as he held you close to him. Your heads barely touched as he moved his hair away from his face, cautious that a few strands might land on your forehead as he let you lean against him. “How did they... how did they get all the way to Brooklyn from your small town?” He asked, curiously. Bucky was sure that there were many competent hospitals in Philadelphia. Yet the fact that your father had been admitted at the hospital where you worked seemed to be far from a coincidence to him.

He had found out about your history with parental abuse a few years ago, when you had approached him and Steve regarding your suspicion that one of your pediatric patients was being abused. Bucky had been there to support you when you had contacted Child Protective Services and through the whole process that followed. He had helped you and your patient with the formalities before you had come clean to him about your own abuse.

The revelation had caused Bucky to shut down for a few days and he had once again become consumed with guilt for having grown up with so much privilege. Despite the fact that both of his parents worked long hours, they had done their best at being parents. They weren’t perfect, but they had loved all four of their children dearly and made sure they knew how much they were loved. He could not even imagine how any parent could intentionally hurt their child or how anyone could endure such a thing during their childhood and still turn out to be the strongest, kindest, most genuine soul to walk the earth.

No wonder your walls were so hard to tear down. But he could not help but wish that he could eventually do just that. He was falling even further for you. He wanted to shower you with love because that was what you deserved, even though a part of him knew that you might never let him. After all, you still did not think that you deserved to be loved.

“Apparently, he’s seen multiple doctors in Philly before coming here. Natasha said that his previous doctor had read about her study and referred them to her.” You replied with a shrug. “No, they don’t. I had told my mom that I had been matched to do my residency at New York Presbyterian but I did not tell them that I moved to Brooklyn.”

And that was the start of Bucky’s suspicion. He could not help but wonder whether your folks had known about you working here before they showed up. He had no reason to trust them, after all. While they were your parents, it was clear that they hadn’t done the best job at that. While you would not bother to share anything regarding your past, he could not help but continue to be suspicious regarding your parents’ intentions behind them coming to Brooklyn.

Of course, he could not control your actions. He had to sit back and watch as you eventually decided to approach them and offered to get tested to see if you liver would match your father’s. But that still left Bucky with so many unanswered questions, unanswered questions that you could answer for him but he knew that you would not.

He wanted to protect you, in case things did get to that point where you needed to be protected. In order to do that, he needed to know what he would be protecting you from. The only way to do that had been through looking into you and your parents through a private investigator. And that was exactly what he had done when he picked up the phone called his sister last week, asking her to find out your history with your parents in case they intended to hurt you again.

When Rebecca Barnes had first received a phone call from her big brother, she was certainly surprised. Sure, the two of them still had a very close relationship. But it was rare for Bucky to ask her for a favour, let alone a favour that had to do with a certain female colleague of his.

Bucky had not directly told anyone about his feelings for you, even though almost everyone at the hospital seemed to have figured it out. Perhaps he hadn’t been the best at hiding his true intentions with you. But he had told Becca right away that he was in love with you and that was why he needed her help.

The woman was shocked at her brother’s confession to say the least. But she was also happy that he had finally found himself a woman he actually had feelings for. After all, she knew that his love life had been pretty much non-existent since he was in college. He had been quite the Casanova while he was at NYU, but as he grew older, Bucky had grown and been molded into a proper workaholic who barely had time to date. Even when Becca had tried to set him up with her friends, the over-working surgeon had managed to ditch his dates in the name of surgical emergencies. Some of those times were actually legitimate while others were just excuses.

Nevertheless, Becca had gone out of her way to find out whatever Bucky felt that he needed to know. It had only taken her less than a week to map out the woman’s entire life but from what she had found out about this Y/N Y/L/N, she could not help but feel truly sorry. “You might want to sit down for this, Buck.” She told her brother as she set down her briefcase on the coffee table, opening it to retrieve several foolscap files. “It’s going to be a wild ride from start to finish.”

Bucky let out a sigh as he sat down on his couch, fresh out of his post-work out shower and in the midst of towel-drying his mane. “How bad is it, Becca?” He asked her as he bit down on his bottom lip rather nervously. He feared what he was about to find out but he did not regret that he had taken this step.

“I had to work backwards, since I started my investigation by meeting with the Chief of Surgery at New York Presbyterian Hospital and then the Dean at NYU Med. Although I ended my investigation in New Hope, I think we should start there... at the very beginning.” She suggested, completely ignoring his question. Becca could care less about how nervous she was making him feel. After all, it was his idea to have her conduct an investigation that could potentially be illegal. It was certainly a violation of your privacy if anything. “Y/N Y/L/N was born in New Hope, Pennsylvania... it’s a really small town, like the ones you would see on a TV show where everyone just knows everyone. I was able to get a copy of the hospital records that show her mother being admitted while she was in labor. Sorry, I couldn’t get a copy of her birth certificate. That’s... kind of illegal.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” He huffed as he rolled his eyes. “Why would you even bother with that in the first place? I asked you to look into her parents.”

“You told me to be thorough with my investigation, Buck.” She scoffed as she set the hospital records in front of him. “Anyways, I also have school records and what not. But you might feel like those are irrelevant so...” She picked up another folder. “Her father owned a restaurant around the time she was born. It was apparently going really well for a few years, thanks to the town’s booming tourism industry. But the townspeople say that Mr. Y/L/N had an altercation with his chef and ended up firing him. Everything went downhill after that. He eventually went on to file bankruptcy... I got the court documents right here.”

Bucky picked up the documents and skimmed through them, only to notice that you would have been around seven years old when your father had filed for bankruptcy. “Shit...” He let out a sigh as he looked up at Becca. “That wasn’t even the worst part, was it?”

Rebecca shook her head as she let out a sigh. “The family lost pretty much everything after that. Her mom had managed to find herself a job as a maid in a motel but her dad was unemployed. I think the stress of losing his business really took a toll on him. The people I spoke to... they said that’s when he started drinking excessively.” She paused for a moment, allowing Bucky to connect the dots between the past and the present. “I even spoke to the guy who owns the local bar. Apparently, the man showed up every day before noon and left late at night.”

“And they just kept serving him alcohol for hours on end?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. A part of him was pissed at how one thing had led to another and now you were the one paying the price for it.

“Small towns businesses only give a shit about making profit, Bucky.” She told him with a shrug. “But one thing was clear. No one really likes the Y/L/N’s. They’re pretty much known to be rude and... blamed the entire town for how they lost their business.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” He admitted, shrugging. “They couldn’t care any less about their own daughter, for crying out loud.”

“Well, it wasn’t until their sixteen year old daughter went missing for an entire night did the town realize just how fucked up they were.”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide when his sister had said that. “What?!”

Becca bit down on her bottom lip as she pulled out another file, this one being quite thicker than the last ones. “I have a copy of the police report that was filed the next morning. It says that the Y/L/N’s sixteen year old daughter had gone missing. Mom said that she came home from school and hopped in the shower. The water was running for a few hours before she realized that her daughter wasn’t in there... and her bedroom window was open. She had jumped out the window in the middle of a snowstorm.”

“In the middle of a snowstorm?!” He exclaimed, his eyes growing wide at the realization of what that meant. He remembered the words you had said to him that that night when the two of you were leaving the shelter. I know how it feels to be out here in the cold… no food, no warm clothes, nowhere to go. The uncertainty of whether you would get through the night and into the next morning, it’s… the worst feeling in the world and… I just wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. Bucky leaned back in his seat as he rubbed his eyes, not knowing how to process what he had just heard. If he had trouble even doing that, he wondered how you had managed to live through it all. A part of him felt a newfound sense of respect for you, while another part of him suffered vicariously as he heard what had happened to you. “She ran away from them.”

She gave him a nod. “She tried to run away from home but it was a rather spontaneous attempt. She didn’t have any proper clothes or money, no escape plan whatsoever. She had sneaked into her school to keep herself warm and her science teacher... who happened to be there to set up for the school dance the next day had found her crying in the girls’ bathroom. Y/N spent the night at the teacher’s house before Child Protective Services had been called... and she was taken out of her home.”

Bucky was silent, not knowing what to say. All he could remember was that night when he had seen you at the shelter and then the day you had told him about being abused by your parents. He hadn’t realized the extent of it all until now. He felt sick to his stomach just at the thought of how vile it all seemed. And the fact that you had come forward to donate a piece of your liver to the man who had ruined his own life as much as he did yours, he could not help but shed a few tears. “Fuck... she never told me... or any of us... about any of this.” He said as he sighed, still leaning back in his seat as he cried. “She may have mentioned bits and pieces of her past over the years but...”

“Because this is not something you tell everyone you meet, Buck.”

“You know, I’ve always wondered why she was so... closed off. When she first came to the hospital, she was this really determined... feisty... kick ass surgeon. All she ever cared about was work. She would study her ass off and when Steve or Nat would invite her over for drinks, she would turn them down. For someone who’s been through so much shit, Y/N was extremely focused with everything she did... excelled in surgery, had really good judgement... knew when to ask for help. Who would have known how much pain was behind all of that? Even I didn’t know how bad it had been for her.”

“You are right about that.” Becca sighed as she reached over to put her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Y/N was a very... focused and determined sixteen year old who had clear judgement, knew that she was being abused and knew when to remove herself from that. She knew when to seek help. After she was taken out of her home, she spent the next two years in the system. She didn’t move around a lot though. She was apparently very well behaved. She lived with a foster family in Philly until she was eighteen. She was not... looking for trouble, per say. Her foster mom said that she was a really good kid... traumatized but also... determined. She never skipped school, never missed her weekly therapy sessions, never went out with friends, always home and doing homework, stayed on top of her chores. She was a straight A student, it was even a surprise to her teachers... how much she was thriving once she left her parents. And then she was accepted to NYU for pre-med.”

Bucky’s lips curled into a small smile at the thought of how much you had thrived after leaving your hometown.

“She was in the system so she was eligible for funding but she also got a lot of scholarships because she had really good grades. She still worked three jobs while in school... an on campus job as an office assistant, a retail job... and a waitress at a diner in Lower Manhattan. She was on top of her class at NYU, valedictorian. She aced her MCATs, got into NYU Med and... she kept thriving. The Dean himself had written her a reference when she matched with the residency program at New York Presbyterian. The Chief of Surgery calls her a machine... always getting the job done, taking no shit from any of her competition. She was Chief Resident, top of her class again... chose heart surgery as her specialty. The Chief had been the one who recommended her to Steve. She just... she was an unstoppable force.” His sister told him. “She’s... a really amazing person, Buck.”

“I know.” He agreed. “She really... turned her life around after leaving her parents.”

“Speaking of her parents, I found something about them that you might find very... suspicious.” She told him as she handed him another file. “Her mom lost her job at the hotel a few months ago and they don’t have insurance. Seeing multiple doctors in Philly, being treated for liver disease... you know the numbers, Buck. They still have outstanding medical bills in Philly. I don’t think they could afford Brooklyn Hospital or a high profile surgeon like Natasha Romanoff. I don’t think Nat’s all about doing pro-bono either. I wonder how they’re going to pay for all of this because... I’m pretty sure a liver transplant is expensive as fuck.”

Bucky’ eyes grew wide as he looked down at the stack of outstanding hospital bills that Becca had just handed him. “Holy shit... they totally knew what they were doing, didn’t they? I fucking knew it wasn’t a coincidence! I fucking knew it!” While a part him was relieved that his suspicions had been right, he was still horrified by what he and his sister had just figured out. “They tracked her down...”

Wanda Maximoff had always been quite observant. She had a knack for noticing the smallest things, whether it was a slight change in her patients that needed to be noted down on their charts or the slight change of attitude in her friend Bucky’s attitude towards you that could only mean only one thing. But she had always noticed things.

Perhaps it was the way a sleep deprived Dr. Wilson had tried to flirt with Sharon Carter at the nurse’s desk that had distracted her. But Wanda had found herself in the midst of laughter when your mother had exited your father’s hospital room and made her way towards yours. She had been distracted from keeping a close eye on your room that she had failed to notice your mother enter your room, while you were alone and in pain. But most importantly, you had been wide awake.

Thankfully, Wanda had noticed your mother leaving your room swiftly and she had sprung to her feet. “Sam.” She had quickly alerted the doctor, who had also noticed your mother. Neither of them had any idea how long she had been in your room, not that it mattered really. But the moment she heard you shriek in pain and call out to her, Wanda knew that something was wrong.

Sam had sprinted down the hallway to your room as he heard you cry. “Y/N!”

“Sam...” You yelped in pain, in the midst of the never-ending tears, as you looked down at your side to see the crimson shade of your blood spreading across the hospital gown. “I jerked... and the steri strips... came off... the wound opened up, I can’t...” The pain medications had worn off completely, making you feel every bit of pain that you could have felt. “Fuck!”

This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; the words expressly are 'a pound of flesh.

#bucky barnes x reader #doctor!bucky #better #aj writes #buck barnes au #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #tw abuse #tw alchoholism #tw surgery #tw needles #tw pain #tw blood

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okimargarvez · 4 years

Text

REVERSE - 19

Original title: Reverse.

Prompt: Penelope is the new girl on the BAU team and Luke tries to treat her cold.

Warning: A.U., possible OOC.

Genre: drama, romantic, family, friendship.

Characters: Luke Alvez, Penelope Garcia, BAU team, Derek Morgan, O.C. Sam Cooper’ team, Roxy.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 62 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💑😘👓🔦🐶❗🎲🎈👻🎬🎵.

Song mentioned: Amici per errore, Tiziano Ferro.

Reverse- Masterlist

GARVEZ STORIES

19 # Friends elsewhere, friends by mistake...

Since a while, his life has become an endless series of I shouldn't have. The last bullshit, to be added to the bottom of an endless list, was to accompany JJ to prison. He stayed out, but her expression told him everything he needed to know. She is one of his best friends, of course, not like Chrissie... but she has always been a separate matter. However, he cares a lot about her and cannot bear to see her so destroyed. Like there is nothing they might do to change things. They remained embraced in that shabby courtyard for at least five minutes, amid the astonished looks of the prison guards. And it was as if through that grasp he had absorbed his friend's pain. And not only that. Backing to the base, he ran to the bathroom, where he is still, spewing even his soul. He has cleaned up any trace, but his face is too pale for his usually darker complexion. Hair is wet, pulled back. He made no effort to settle down. He doesn’t expect visits, not there, then. Not she, over all.

Already the ticking of the heels should be a good clue, but his brain today has decided not to work and his intuition too. -Luke, are you okay?- Garcia is standing in front of him, in her white dress with lipsticks and mascara (not low-cut), her flower and pink shrug. Her lost expression.

She had just left the toilets when she heard noises from the corridor, noises that she identified with someone in pain. It wasn't any of her, business but then she had that totally irrational feeling and she understood, she sensed that it was Luke. For this she entered without announcing herself, not even considering the possibility that it was someone else or that he was not alone. -You are in the men's room.- he points out the obvious. But she is trying to recover from that unprecedented and so intimate vision. She has already seen him sad, embittered and above all angry, for example when they returned with Reid handcuffed or during the bail process. She never liked this, though. Those black shadows that she had only caught in passing inside his eyes are now dancing freely. He seems to be sick both physically and emotionally. He is completely down. She forces herself to answer him, rejecting the need to hug him.

She stays where she is, on the threshold, without approaching. -I know, you think they'll arrest me for this?- the joke has no effect, not even a half grimace, absolutely nothing. She swallows, but now she is alone in this mess and can no longer look the other way... if she ever succeeds. -Hey, what happened?- she asks, in a sweet, sad, low, sugary, comforting tone. All in one package. Luke turns away from her, staring at the sink. She ventures to look at him. She doesn’t know that her words were like medicine on his wounds. After an endless pause, realizing that he won't get rid of her so easily, he faces her again.

He shakes his head. -Nothing, absolutely nothing.- his eyes are dull, vague, even if Garcia senses that he hasn't cried. Which is already something, but too little. She doesn’t think that he is one who often allows himself to cry. -Go ahead with your life.- he claims. His tone is nuanced, so empty. He doesn't really try to drive her away.

She understands that he needs a shock, to recover, or at least to break trough it. Away the sweetness, then. Hard way are needed, as with one of her adoptive brothers, who loves to bask in self-pity and watch others solve his problems. -Now don't start talking like a woman, Alvez.- here, a little twinkle in his pupils. -You know perfectly well I won't go away.- she says, showing more convinced than she really is. The time has come to take advantage of the skills learned thanks to the theater course recommended at the group's meetings on the creative elaboration of mourning. -Now you understand how stubborn I can be.- she adds, crossing her arms. Luke sighs and she realizes that he has given up. He runs a hand over his face.

He speaks without looking at her. -At least let's get out of here.- his voice sounds so fragile that only by a miracle Garcia doesn’t hold him against her breast, like a mother with her baby. And he's damn sexy in this moment too. They walk along the corridor at a certain distance, until they reach one of the balconies that face outwards. Even that time of the joke about Roxy, he had chosen the outdoors. Perhaps he finds comfort in the caress of the wind. Or maybe when something like this happens, he becomes claustrophobic.

She gives him plenty of time to open up, but he doesn't get the message. He clings to the balustrade and looks down. -Therefore?- she captures his gaze for two seconds. She approaches. -I am aware that you would prefer to speak to anyone outside of me.- she suddenly feels selfish, wanting to be the savior at all costs. She sighs. -You want that I call someone? Rossi, JJ, Emily, Tara, Walker?- with the last surname she doesn’t tear a chuckle from him by a hair. Without knowing it, she almost followed a precise hierarchical order. She doesn't say the right name, of course. She can't be there. He reads in her face the awareness of not being that person.

But Luke surprises her doubly. -No. Please.- his is almost a moan. She clears the distance by a few more centimeters. He too. It's the only way he has, in this moment, in this state, to make her understand that he doesn't really want her to leave. He needs her, her words, her understanding. Even if he could never admit it verbally, even if he hadn't that lump in his throat.

Garcia, never been a profiler, has guessed the right explanation at first sight. -Is it about Reid's matter?- man doesn’t move. -I haven't received any new messages.- she then adds, not knowing how to proceed. He sighs, realizing that she is much closer than he thought. He scratches his head.

-Yeah.- he says. It’s still a result. -You know he can get visitors now.- a nod of assent; of course, it was she who had made a chart to establish the order of the visits and had placed herself at the bottom, even after Walker (moving him to tears). -JJ went to see how he was. I accompanied her.- it should be enough, but now that he has removed the cap, everything flows towards the drain. -They hit him. He is hurt.- he looks away suddenly, unable to bear the eyes of the woman, who foreshadows the worst.

-Oh God.- she covers her mouth with her hands. -Is it so bad? He's not going to die...- an absurd smile appears on Luke's lips. She doesn't even think for a thousandth of a second that it's for happiness or relief.

He nods. -Yes, he's serious, but I don't know how to answer the other question.- she sees him tremble. She puts her hand close to take his, but then she doesn't. -Prisons are a microcosm in its own right, as he would say.- a sob escapes him. It is almost the coup de grace. Because he can't really imagine him in that context. His mega brain is useless in that place; in fact, it could even be a problem.

He watches her move her fingers on the railing. -But he did not even find a friend?- she asks him, keeping her tone soft, so as not to increase, if she can't decrease, his level of anxiety and stress. Luke's look climbs along the curves of her body until he stops in the eyes.

-Two, according to JJ.- he tries to remember the names she said to him. -One is called Delgado and the other... Shaw, I think.- Garcia lights up like a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. She would definitely play the shooty star in the crib.

-Shaw?- she repeats that surname, which had no particular meaning for him. -It won't be Calvin Shaw?- he nods, recognizing the name, hearing the voice of the other blonde in his head. He frowns forehead and eyebrows.

-Why, do you know him?- he can't understand what someone like Garcia has to do with a human trash (of the worst kind) like that guy. He didn't know him, but he read his file, furtively, taking advantage of the fact that JJ was driving. It is partly the cause of his nausea. The idea that Reid was bonding with him...

Garcia shakes her head, a cascade of blond curls. -I don’t, but Morgan...- she doesn’t need to specify who she is talking about. If he knows, better for him, otherwise, it is not fundamental information . -I think he took care of his case. If I remember correctly, it was one of us.- Luke nods. -He killed his Russian contact.- he doesn’t hold back, doesn’t choose to add that detail, but his mouth opens and the words come out on their own.

-Yes, and probably his own baby.- she opens her eyes and looks at him in shock. Now she has all the elements to understand why he is so angry, even if he never thought of wanting to become a father, start a family, carry on the name of the Alvez, with discontent of his entire family, especially of his beloved grandmother.

She swallows, he can hear her sucking the air and holding her breath. -God, was she pregnant?- he breaks eye contact. Absurdly he sees Chrissie with her baby bump, her husband Richard with the baby in his arms, when they announced that he would be the godfather, if he wanted to.

He pushes the image away with difficulty, closing his eyelids. -Considering HCG levels, it would seem so.- he is not prepared for her reaction. Garcia punches the balustrade, probably risking to get hurt, at least to break a fingernail.

-What a bastard!- she exclaims. It is the first time he has heard her say a dirty word. -I'll call Derek and ask him to have a chat with this… man.- she reassures him, but her gaze is bad, another novelty. Can she really hate people? Maybe then she's human. -He is the best in this kind of thing.- she says, full of pride for her best friend.

He can just say one word. -Well.- there is no problem, she speaks enough for both. She comes closer an inch, without noticing, or maybe it's him. He has no certainty, nothing in any area.

-And hopefully in the meantime Emily and Fiona will be able to move the bureaucratic waters.- he nods, feeling a flame developing in his chest. He cannot remain indifferent to her way of expressing herself. But then he hears a familiar sound that catches her gaze going towards the bag, towards the cell phone.

-There is a case, there isn’t it?- a flicker of provocation. Garcia willingly takes the blame (actually not hers) for interrupting his opening moment.

But then she reaches out and finally squeezes his hand, hard. -Luke, trust me.- her gaze is equally intense. -We can save Reid.- it sounds like a promise.

But he can't risk evreything. How would he come out in the event of a defeat? He lets go of her hand and shakes his head. -I wish I could believe you.-

TAGS: @martinab26 @thinitta @shyladystudentfan @pegasus-scifichick @paperwalk @inlovewithgarvaz @the-ellen-stuff @astressedwriter @symphonyashley @kofforever @myhollyhanna23 @tootsienoodles @centiaaa @penelopesluke @dumbdraws @onefail-at-atime @reidskitty13@adorarapril @princesstreaclefanfic @glocknade111-blog @magiunific @fallen-novak @dreatine @hopelessdayydreamer @painterofhorizons @racing-against-the-sunset @majo0803 @vickyd-2012 @writing-whats-that @wearejuststars@klngzeewp @heylittlehollywood @kirstenvangsness @blu3crush@futureperfectmedia-blog @jade-cheshire3303 @life-between-pages @tooshorttobeanadult @xxlonelyghostxx @honeydoodles @pennypeabody @alessiapolimeni @londonrosebooklovingwitch @bbyxk @full-on-fangirl @catlynhoss05 @lushmp3

#garvez #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #spencer reid #tiziano ferro #amici per errore #a.u.

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redfoxwritesstuff · 4 years

Text

Coffee and a Wedding (Chapter 10 of 12)

Happy Tuesday! Please be aware- next week there will be NO UPDATE for Coffee. I’ll be flying to NYC Redeye and Landing early on the 3rd.

On that note, Notice something different in the title? Yeah? Know what that means? That means I’m officially done drafting this story and we know for sure how many chapters we’ve got to look forward to.

Rated M for eventual Smut.

Chapter warnings: Matt is in this chapter? I feel like that’s a warning on its own- Warning- you have to deal with Matt!

Check out the Masterlist for prior chapters. I am always thankful for any Ko-fi donations because lets face it, I drink my weight in coffee and in return you get a shit ton of words.

Clint x OFC

Chapter 10

“Welcome back.” Clint called from where he sat at the small dining table, his own laptop lighting up his face.

Just ‘welcome back’. That was it. No ‘babe’. No pet names. That hurt way more than I expected. He didn’t even look up at me. It hurt more than it should have. I could feel my eyes well up and willed the tears away. This makeup job was expensive. The artist assured me that the layers would hold up through anything. Rain, sweat, tears and even a dip in the ocean. I still didn't feel like testing it until after the pictures over and done with.

It was fine. This is what I wanted. This is how it should have always been. I sniffled. It was a loud and ugly sound, louder than I had expected. Flinching, I regretted it instantly. Way to draw attention to yourself.

His eyes flicked up to me and there was a moment where I could see his face shift through a range of emotions. There was confusion first. After was this weird slack jawed look that was quickly replaced by shock as he stood up too fast, sending the chair falling behind him.

“Holy shit.” I rolled my eyes at his words. Yeah, of course it would shock him that I’m tearing up over nothing. There were countless times I’d taken a verbal beating from an unhappy customer before he’d step in and throw them out without so much as a tear in my eye.

“We’ve gotta go in like an hour or so.” I hated how watery my voice sounded.

“Yeah.” Clint said. “Sorry- I was tits deep in taxes. I’ll get changed right away.” He stood rooted in place though.

“Taxes?” I was thankful for the somewhat random distraction. “It’s not the end of the year yet.”

“Do them quarterly- makes it hurt less- Can I just say you look fucking amazing, babe?”

“What?” I didn’t mean to say it but I’m pretty sure I said it.

“I mean- Holy. Shit. Your hair!” He hurried across the room toward me. “Turn, turn- let me see their work.”

“Okay?” I turned and my mind swam. What the hell was happening? Had he been off all morning because of taxes? What did he think of me then? Were we back to how we were before? “It looks okay? It’s hard to see when they hold that little mirror up...”

“Yeah, babe. Let me- Here, I’ll get a picture of it.” Clint was talking a mile a minute. That was probably a good thing since I was still reeling from the change in him. “I hope Matt’s throwing some big dollars at Sarah’s hair because they went top notch on you.”

Clint slipped his phone in front of me after taking a picture. Sure, the lighting wasn’t great and the focus was a little off but that did nothing to hide the way the strands were pulled back in a comfortable braid. Gems dotted the mass of braided waves.

“Your dress is in the closet- I’ll grab it for you and put it in the bathroom while you grab the other… stuff? You need to change. I’ll change out here.”

~~~~~<3

“Clint?” I called through the door. When I tried on the dress there was a shop associate to help me into it. I didn’t think about trying to reach the zipper or laces on my own. And now I’ve been trying to get it on for the last thirty minutes. We were running out of time.

“Yeah?”

“I need help.”

That’s how I ended up standing with my back to Clint, arms crossed over my chest and holding the dress up and over my otherwise bare chest. I tried to ignore the fact that I was wearing a lace pair of panties that were probably clearly visible above where the zipper started.

Clint thankfully made no comment about my panties or lack of a bra. While the air around us was so much more like what it had been, I could still feel an underlying current of something hanging around us. It was like the river thawed but the ice was still there on the surface. His fingers were cold as he curled them around the tab of the zipper.

With a tug at the base of the zipper’s path and in one smooth motion he was able to pull it up the small of my back. As it moved higher he had to stop, pulling the fabric together with one hand and inching the zipper up the rest of the way. Once the zipper was taken care of, he set to work lacing up the back.

“Time to go.” I said, looking at my phone before slipping it in the clutch style purse.

~~~~~<3

Clint was sitting on a folding chair with a water bottle in hand. Matt had offered him a beer but he had turned it down. Matt’s father also offered him a beer and likewise, he turned it down. I guess drinking before two in the afternoon wasn’t really Clint's thing?

I posed with Sarah for pictures while she was in her robe. The photographer was sweet and kind though their flash was blinding. Every time I caught sight of Clint he looked right at home, lounging in a folding chair or wherever he could find to sit as we were ushered through the spaces.

Finally, we were sent out for the real prep to get underway. We made our way to the beach where somehow we were roped into set up. While we placed chairs and carpets settled into place, Clint resumed the soft touches I had grown so used to since the charade started. It made it even harder to focus on the task at hand- one we never agreed to in the first place- without ruining my dress. Also not helping was the suit Clint wore, tailored and hugging his form, necktie and shit matching the blues of my dress.

By a quarter after three, guests started to arrive. Sarah had said it was going to be a fairly small gathering but as we had been setting out chair after chair earlier, I realized that wasn’t going to be the case. Still, setting out three million chairs did nothing to prepare me for the influx of what seemed to be three million people.

“Our job's done for now. Let’s get a seat before all the good ones are gone.” Clint whispered.

He leaned down and planted a sweet kiss to the top of my head as he wrapped an arm around my side. Leaning into him, I let him lead me to one of the front rows as we settled into the seats. Around us, people I recognized from my teen years mingled with people I recognized from high roller magazines. Sometimes, men wearing expensive suits would come up to Clint and I, recognizing him from some Stark party or another.

Every single time he introduced me as his girlfriend, my heart jumped into my throat. I saw the looks some of them gave us. Some thought I was too young for him. Some thought I was with him for his money. Some thought the only thing I could offer him was sex. The whispers were just loud enough for me to hear. Or maybe that was my own paranoia and self doubt.

Regardless, it was time for everyone to take their seats and for Sarah to say her ‘I do’s. I wished that I could have shown her the pictures Clint had taken before now. I wished I could have gotten her to listen to me. I wished none of this was happening.

It was bitter sweet when the music started and the whole crowd stood to take a look at Sarah as she walked down the path. There was a light blue satin fabric that covered the smoothed sand. Each step left what looked a lot like waves behind her, smoothed out somewhat by the weight of her dress and the short train as she walked.

And she did make a beautiful bride. While the dress she wore was delicate and light and her hair had a perfect wave to it. The sun was reflecting off glittery gems placed in her hair. The same gems were placed in the bundle of flowers in her hand. None of it was as beautiful as the smile on her face.

And it all made my stomach turn. Clint squeezed my hand as the couple at the alter smiled lovingly at each other. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to vomit.

“Breath.” Clint whispered in my ear. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath. A tear slipped out of my eye and I harshly wiped it away.

“You can object.” He pointed out as I let out a shaking breath.

“No.” I whispered back. “She didn’t believe me, she won’t now.”

“I’m sorry, babe.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side as a few more tears slipped down my cheeks.

I sought comfort in Clint’s embrace as Matt and Sarah said their vows, then their ‘I Do’s and the crowd cheered. We stood and clapped and I did my best to pretend to be happy for them. With a deep breath, I prepared myself for a few more photos before it was time for the reception.

~~~~~<3

With Clint at my side, we made a direct path to the bar the moment we had gotten inside the doors. The music was soft and classy for now and there were trays of cocktails set out on tables and on the corners of the bar. Waiters walked with trays full of drinks.

I didn’t take my time with the first drink. Pictures had been a nightmare. I plastered on a wide smile and tried to look happy in the family pictures. I did my best but I’m not sure I ever could have really looked happy.

The dinner was nice and expensive. The toasts sweet and I about cried with joy once it was time to dance. At least then I could pretend Sarah hadn’t just tied her life to a man I had grown to hate over the last few days. I wasn’t one that really threw the word ‘hate’ around carelessly. But I did hate him. God, I hated him so much.

Still, when it was time to gather around and try to catch the bouquet, I gathered with the rest. Clint smiled on and cheered and I rolled my eyes at him. Women pushed and pulled on each other as Sarah took her far too pretty bouquet and turned her back on us.

“One,” She said. “Two, three!” And the flowers sailed through the air.

I was pushed and pulled until I was off to the side of the group. It happened so fast and I hadn’t really cared about catching the overpriced flowers. The bounced once, then twice on grabbing hands only to fall neatly in my half assed reach.

What the ever loving fuck?

There was a showering of congratulations. People who were jealous of me put on bright smiles and made teasing jokes. Everyone kept asking when Clint and I would be planning our wedding. Matt’s father clapped Clint on the shoulder and asked when he would be proposing.

We spent much of the night dancing and drinking. The cake was amazing and the party was amazing. I had almost put the thoughts of the horrible match out of my mind for most of the night. There was a live band and as the sun set, twinkling reflected off glassware and gems decorating the area. In the distance, the moon and stars quickly joined the party, making for the most romantic setting I’d ever seen.

The party went on and I was wrapped up in being with Clint. I indulged in affection, both giving and receiving. It was selfish but I excused it. I couldn’t have anyone else questioning if I was holding back. And I didn’t want to hold back. It was a wedding, love was all around us.

And I was in love with him. I think I was always aware of it, in a sense. But now I felt it in an earth shattering way. Yet it was a soft feeling. A warm feeling. I don’t think I could ever go back to before. Could I survive without the way he ran his hand along the small of my back and he walked by? Could I survive without hearing him call be ‘babe’ anymore?

Before my mind could wade through the buzz of the alcohol to dwell on that, I noticed a gaggle of suits gathered in a circle. Matt was standing among them and they were sharing laughs.

“Most of them were at the party.” Clint offered as he spun me around only to pull me back into his arms. I didn’t think anything of it when Sarah made her way to them.

“What’s this?” Her voice rang out loud enough for us to hear over the music. If we were father from the group, it would have been impossible to hear it at all though. We danced a little closer. “Who are they? When was-”

The rest of what she said was lost to me. At another table some bridesmaids downed shots to the cheering applause of spectators. I watched as Sarah broke from the group, clearly upset and made her way over to us. What happened? What did she see?

“Lexie” She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me from Clint's arms. Behind her, a distressed Matt approached. “I’m sorry. I saw the pictures. I’m so sorry I doubted you.”

“What are you sorry for?” Matt demanded, downing his glass of whiskey and setting it on a nearby table.

“She tried to tell me, Matt. And I didn’t listen to her.” Sarah’s voice was getting louder. People around us were beginning to stop dancing. “I told her to stop imagining things.”

“I can explain, Sarah.” Matt pleaded, reaching out for the bride who only stepped away. “Sarah, calm down. You’re causing a scene. Let me explain.”

Sarah held her arms out and span around in a slow circle, swaying a bit on her feet. She was clearly drunk at least. “Then explain it to us.”

“Clint.” Matt said.

“Me?”

“Clint?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah.” Matt nodded, gaining traction. Clint grabbed a drink off a tray as the attendant passed and took a long drink as Matt opened his mouth to start again. “We had the games set, the drinks, Mozart on the sound system. Real classy.” Clint snorted into his drink, earning himself a jab from my elbow. “Clint called the strippers. Called it ‘a gift’ and that my planned party wasn’t the way ‘real men’ do it.”

“He what?” Sarah gasped and I think I pulled a muscle rolling my eyes.

“How can you believe that?” I challenged.

“I don’t know Clint.” Sarah retorted. “I know Matt.”

“Do you?” Clint asked.

“I know him better than I know you.” Sarah jabbed her finger into Clint’s chest before turning on me. “If you wouldn’t have kept him hidden, maybe I would know him.”

“I didn’t keep him hidden.” I fumbled.

“Oh?” Matt said. “So what, Clint didn’t want you to tell anyone about him? Was he that against being tied to you?”

“Excuse me?” Clint’s voice was getting that hard edge to it, the one I only rarely heard.

“I bet he doesn’t even take you on dates.” Matt said.

“He does.” I was freaking out. This wasn’t something we talked about. I didn’t have a plan for this. We didn’t have a story for this.

“Where?” Matt asked. “When last?”

“You always said you didn’t have time to breath, let alone date.” Sarah offered.

“So what, you date in?” Matt asked.

“What’s wrong with staying in?” I asked. This was getting out of control.

“Stay at home dates are just a cover for sex.” Matt answered. “He’s just after you for sex. All he cares about is sex. So he hired what he called ‘strippers’. I’m pretty sure they were just hookers.”

“Clint’s a good man. He treats me right.”

“So what? You’re after him for his money? Lord knows he keeps saying he has it. Is he giving you all his money? Is that why he has an old watch?”

“Matt- She’s my sister.” Sarah was faltering. I couldn’t imagine what she saw in him but at least she wasn’t against me. Not totally.

“Enough.” Clint said. His voice was low and firm.

“You brought strippers- Hookers- to my- to Matt’s party and want to say what’s enough?”

“Even if I did hire the strippers- and I did not, I did not make Matt try to swallow one’s face. I didn’t make Matt touch them. I didn’t make Matt struggle to carry one to the broom closet where I’m sure they had sex.”

“How dare you- I did not have sex with one of them!” Matt’s face was red.

“But you kissed one?” Sarah challenged, turning on her husband as Clint down the rest of his drink and set it on a passing tray, switching it for a fresh one. “You did, I- that was one of the pictures.”

“But- I- I- I’m not the one who called them.” Sarah slapped him and marched away.

“Look, how am I the bad guy just because Alexis can’t fuck Clint well enough and he needs to watch stripper’s-”

It happened so fast. One second Matt was talking and the next, a crack echoed through the silent air and Matt was crashing to the ground. There were gasps and whispers. Sarah had stopped in her tracks and turned to look, eyes wide.

Reaching out, I wrapped my arms around Clint’s arm. I guess I thought I was going to try to hold him back. It didn’t matter though because he made no move to advance on the man on the ground.

“Stay down.” Clint’s voice was cold as ice and carried through the room as he looked around. His shoulders were squared and his head was held high. He rubbed his knuckles.

“Clint?” I whispered.

“I want to make something vary clear, to everyone in this room.” Clint’s voice carried through the room, projected and full of steel. “You can insult me all day. You can question my means and my finances. You can judge my watch for being a few years old. You can judge me for my age. You can judge me for my business. But I will not stand for anyone talking about the woman I love like that.”

~~~~~<3

With Coffee coming to a close, those of you who are only being tagged in Coffee- let me know if you want to migrate over to any other tag lists.

Tag List: @theheartofpenelope, @winterisakiller, @tnystrk-exe, @bradfordbantams, @ruebx, @hufflepuff25, @0-0-0-0-0-0-0-7, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @toozmanykids, @j-u-s-t-4, @missaphrodite23, @bambamwolf87, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox, @queenoftheunderdark, @wegingerangelica, @myoxisbroken, @coyotesongwriting

#clint x reader #clint barton x oc #clint barton x reader #Clint Barton x Female Reader #clint barton x ofc #clint barton x y/n #clint x oc #clint x ofc #clint x original character #clint x original female character

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tslasvegas · 3 years

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Episode 13: “What a depressing trip to Las Vegas” - Jaiden

I just have one thing to say.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING! It worked! I didn't expect Joey to vote with us. I feel bad about that, but hey, we couldn't see him being sincere. If he told us who the others were voting for, then maybe we would have changed votes. Jaiden was open to it already. Kailyn is probably the one who voted with John for Liv. Maybe she thought he would play and idol or maybe jury management. Anyway, she should have told us.

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Joey got voted out. Which was not supposed to happen this round. Pat and Jeff are just so naive and easily to manipulate. I’m sure they could be convinced to self vote without any real effort. I don’t even want to bother working with them moving forward because of it. But I might have to. I can’t let grudges get in the way of getting to the end game. Honestly at this point I’d be happy going to F3 with Liv and Kailyn. Xavier is too nice. Jaiden is too... out there? Love him, but I don’t want to sit next to him at the end. And Pat and Jeff i just don’t think they deserve to make it that far

I still can’t believe tribal tonight was real. It’s been like six hours and I’m still in shock that Joey finally went home. Like... what??? I’ve been dealing with that dude for three weeks and I’ve held his little secret in until it finally came of use to me, and... now I’m in the final seven. The game has NOT been won yet and while I feel like cheering and celebrating, I need to maintain my focus and center myself as the game is nowhere close to being over yet. We’ve still got at least four tribals to go, but after tonight I might be able to say that I’m exactly halfway through the merge (assuming it’s a final three... dear god please be a final three). Top eight was a really hard mountain to climb and once I lost immunity I felt a little out of touch with what was gonna happen next. I really felt like my time was going to come, and I’m so thankful that it wasn’t. Tbh Kailyn might’ve gone home today had Jeff not told me about a Palazzo chat still being alive and well. I don’t know how I’m gonna turn this bad situation around again but I need to convince Keegan and Livingston to work with me, Kailyn, and Xavier. It is critical now that Jeff or Pat go home because one of them is going to win. Before Joey left, he told me that there is a rumor that Jeff or Pat have an idol nullifier. While a nullifier won’t affect me right now, it’s not something that I want to see in the game going forward period and I want to use that little piece of information to my benefit and finally get rid of Pat. I’ve been saying for SO LONG that we need to get rid of Pat and now the time is ticking down. He has to go as soon as possible, fuck whatever Jeff says. Tbh I want to fly into the final six with no votes cast against me, still. I wonder if I can get Jeff and Pat to target like Keegan or Livingston and I really just need Xavier or Kaitlyn to bring up Pat’s name first before Jeff.. I doubt they have the smarts to recognize the danger that they pose, but we will see... Keegan is DEFINITELY pissed off at me now too. I made the mistake of telling him that I was “a little annoyed” about how tribal went, which was such a dumb thing to say bc tribal went exactly how I wanted it to. I’m playing off the fact that Kailyn must’ve known abt Joey voting for Livingston because her name was on the chopping block too so that’s why it went 4-2-2 rather than 5-2-1 like it was supposed to. I don’t want anybody to know that I was playing for Joey’s advantage which I’m sure people think I have right now lmfao... Anyways really I need to just make Keegan NOT hate me because he’s still part of my plan long term (I think)... he’s really smart tho and I’m not counting him out to win the whole thing but he hasn’t really done much of anything whereas people like Jeff and Pat and Xavier have kinda done a lot... If Keegan isn’t prepared to be fully loyal to me til the end then there’s nothing I can say to him except adios. All I really need right now is an immunity run til the end. I hope that the next challenge is something that doesn’t require a lot of skill because I am INCREDIBLY anxious just thinking about a competition, live. I need final seven immunity because then I’m guaranteed top five... the furthest I’ve ever been in Tumblr Survivor by a mile. I’ll break so many of my own personal records with that one single immunity win. In fact, if I make it to final five, that will be the best I’ve literally ever done in a Skype survivor org. I haven’t done that good since April and it’s just really affirming to me that this was the right decision for me to come back to Tumblr. Aside from winning challenges and making more moves, I also have gotta start fixing my bad relationships. Like I mentioned earlier, Keegan seems REALLY pissed off at me for how things went down with him being left out of the vote again. I can only apologize so many times before I am simply unforgivable. Maybe say sorry less and work to do better??? Idfk. But if Jeff or Pat can just say Keegan’s name, I’ll do what I can to prove to him that I’m loyal to HIM and not them. I hope that the Palazzos are falling to pieces now and realize that the only way to the end is to stick by us and nobody else. Jeff was also pretty mad at me for pushing his buttons a lot today. But honestly he was feeding me utter bullshit. I don’t buy that he was my savior and guardian Angel today, protecting me from having my name come up. I should honestly tell Livingston that Jeff sold him out to me not too long after Livingston said my name in their little chat. That would be hilarious. Kailyn and I are pretty close, but it could be better. I think I tend to revert all game-conversations with Xavier, so I don’t consider Kailyn my main ally unfortunately. If I want to go to the final three with her and Xavier, I need to really work on building that GAME relationship up because as a person I think we vibe well but it’s gonna come down to a couple factors and if she *has* to be sacrificed for me to get further, I can’t do anything but let it happen unfortunately.. As I just said, Xavier is kind of my main strategic ally right now which is super weird to say. He has definitely stepped it up A LOT in the strategic department and I have a lot of respect for him just as a person and I want to try and pick his brain a little bit more. The only thing with Xavier is that he seems to be playing really “safe” right now - I think had the opportunity presented itself to vote for Jeff with Joey, Xavier wouldn’t have gone for it and would’ve wanted to stick strong with voting Livingston instead. Which I totally get, but this game right now kinda requires we make bolder decisions than just what kinda didn’t work last time, you know? Okay now for Pat - god our relationship is just so weird. I have virtually not ties to Pat except the one alliance with Jeff and I feel like Jeff wants to control Pat rather than let Pat be his own player. It’s weird. I wonder if Pat would be down to vote out Jeff but fuck it’s gonna be hard to pull that off. I don’t want to hold off on Pat BECAUSE if I can’t get him out next, I will need him at final six and hopefully final five to serve as a sacrificial lamb or something. I’m wondering now if maybe Livingston needs to go because people are gonna always view Pat as a huge threat to win, even though he might not necessarily do so if he gets there. Livingston... yeah I really don’t like Livingston lmfao. I think it’s because of his super close connection to Rachael but it might also be because he is like, cool and nerdy and a bit of a try hard “around camp” so to speak. What REALLY gets on my nerves about Livingston is that he possesses zero of the charisma to convince me that he sucks at this game but enough social finesse to make me think that he’s actually gonna win if he gets to the end. He’s like, that cool dork everybody was friends with in high school. Even though parts of his game have been lackluster as fuck, he’s still a massive threat to win and I might just need to kick him off to the jury as soon as possible. :) And finally... me! I’m gonna try hard to be unbiased and self-aware but it’s so difficult to do that bc I genuinely don’t know how ppl are perceiving me this time.. I THINK it’s mostly positive but tonight was definitely one of my most negative episodes bc of how stressful I was being before tribal. Just ask Jeff. I think I’m definitely succeeding in getting votes to go my way and I have had a LOT of things go right for me since the merge. From Stephanie leaving right when I needed her to, to the double removal, to the super idol coming out and getting rid of Joey... It’s been so good so far. BUT I’m not being subtle about it. Subtlety is not a strength of mine that’s for sure.. I think I succeeded in being “subtle” about the Steph thing bc I was not making it overly obvious I wanted her out but otherwise I’ve been very clearly controlling other decisions and how certain votes went. Leaving two people I don’t trust in the game (Pat/Jeff) is tough but at least I worked with them on something, right? Joey was telling me so much that he was gonna lose to me and I think he was right. Now Jeff is saying that he’s probably going to lose if we’re in the end, but he doesn’t want to vote me out. Do I trust that? Not really... But fuck, I don’t even know anymore!!! I think if the game was over right now, I’m going to be grilled to DEATH for being fake as hell to Joey. I think that’s gonna come back to bite me so I need to start talking POSITIVELY about Joey to EVERYBODY. Read him for game, not for personal reasons. And maybe I’ll even talk his game up going forward just so that the person who goes into jury at least relays that I made a “good move” voting for Joey to leave (even tho I didn’t vote for Joey hehe). I wonder if people think I’m just playing tjem as pawns and not as real people.. bc these are definitely real people we are playing with here and I recognize that, but honestly in my mind nobody here wants this as badly as me. If that makes me the villain, I’m fine being the villain. But I’m not a human being that will ever play this game with a passion to play humanely. I want to win so badly. I’m going crazy in my own head, the wheels turning in hyperspeed. I’ve never been hungrier for something like I am for this win... I can hold out another year in this environment if I have to. I can and I will 🤠

Darn third world slow internet connection! Anyway, it made others look like challenge threats more than me, so hopefully that gets me through more rounds if they think other people can win more :)

That was a very stressful and very tense immunity challenge. Jeff was the clear front runner for the first five rounds, being the first person to advance in all of them. He’s a quick typer which made me very worried I wouldn’t be able to pull off a win. However, the last round was “Name That Song” and with the help of Siri, I snagged the immunity necklace! Final 6 here I come! This round presents me with an interesting dilemma. Since I have immunity I can be a little more ballsy. So I could throw Jeff or Pat under the bus, try to sway Jaiden, Kailyn and Xavier to vote one of them out. Or I can stick with the OG Palazzo group that is saying (for the fifth time I might add) that they want to stick together. That hasn’t worked out at all yet this merge and we’ve voted 4 people out. Pat and Jeff seem pretty interested in targeting Xavier for being a social threat which I don’t disagree with. But Jaiden is a very strong player. This is one of those rounds where I’m insanely grateful to have immunity because there’s also a bunch of advantages out there. I know Livingston has a regular idol now. But there’s vote steals and extra votes and idol nullifiers out there somewhere and that’s so nerve-wracking. Also, Jaiden mentioned to me that this is the last round for a lot of those advantages and I just don’t think I buy that. Final 7 is a weird place for that. Regardless, I’m fully expecting this to be a wild and crazy tribal tomorrow. Can’t wait to see what happens because I get to sit there looking pretty with my new bling. Xoxo Gossip Girl

I am terrified of tribal today and I have a bunch of different ideas in my head but I just want to survive. Kind of where I am at is I feel like I am getting 7th no matter what because I have never tasted top 6 in an ORG. I could play an idol here at 7, waste it, and then just get fucked at 6. One thing I thought about was "finding" the idol part of the way through tomorrow and then letting OG Palazzo know to build trust. The only issue with this is that the idol nullifier is in play. It could still be on the board. It was on the board when I got my auction advantage. But if it isn't, and Pat and Jeff turn on me, I could be fucked idol or no idol if the nullifier is played. I suppose that Pat and Jeff have both never voted me as far as I can tell, unless I have miscalculated one of the vote counts for the past 2 tribals. Maybe it'd be safer to hold onto the idol quietly and just hope I don't leave with it in my pocket. This is so stressful because if I leave with it in my pocket, I look like an idiot that had the luck to get two advantages but couldn't traverse the game much past that.

Okay so, Jeff is my closest ally at this point. Voting out Joey was our move and I am very happy we did. I don’t express the anger that I’m feeling and I think that helps keep my relationships good with people. I think I’m good with Livingston and Keegan and also Jaiden and Kailyn. I was Xavier out this round but I feel like something is going to happen. No one knows I have an idol which is amazing and I hope I don’t have to use it til final 5 and I have immunity and can play it on someone else for the fun of it. I can’t believe I made final 7 and am actually kicking up playing the game by voting correctly on Joey. I think so far I have 2 of the 4 votes at final tribal council, Andrew and Steph. I think I have a road there, I just hope I make the right decision because I’m still in I a weird phase of the game and anything can happen.

This tribal feels very weird. Jaiden is insisting he hasn’t heard anything at all about the vote. Which I find very strange considering he’s basically been running things most of this merge. Why would suddenly no one tell him anything? Especially Kailyn and Xavier. Seems like those three are fairly open with each other. I could not be more happy to have immunity this round. No matter what happens, I am safe and have not a thing to worry about. I really really hope that Pat and Jeff are being honest and actually voting for Xavier like they say they are. If they’re flipping and voting for Livingston.... I don’t even want to imagine that. But I’m getting some sketchy vibes. Fingers crossed it’s just me being paranoid, though any time I say that something unexpected happens.

Ok I'm calling it, I'm going home tonight ! Literally nobody is telling me anything and it's really quite pathetic to see Keegan, who says we're super cool and good friends and will be friends once this is all over, win immunity and then not make a single attempt to pick me up and flip me to his side. Unless he's so confident that the Palazzo four will stick loyal to the very end... which they probably will, but Jeff is gonna beat all of them in the end and I think they see me as a big threat or something LOL I guess it's good gameplay for them but I hate it either way. I don't really have a lot to say bc now I just feel dumb. I wish I had an idol, but of course, I do not. Anyways, I'm going to have to stick with the fact that people are voting for Xavier tonight and hope my name doesn't come up at all. I'm going to lie and tell Xavier that I'm certain its me or Kailyn tonight and hope he holds an idol if he has it... or plays it on me heh. We'll see though... What a depressing trip to Las Vegas if it ends like this.

The last Confessional :(

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fatedfuturist · 4 years

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things about my interpretation of tony stark. updated june 07, 2020.

here’s my exhaustive explanation for how i am not canon-compliant with the events and characterization of the mcu.

the reason for this is… well, there are several reasons, but i don’t want to stir shit up or just, in general, stomp on anyone else’s love for the mcu. and don’t get me wrong— i do love the mcu! but there are parts i’m critical of for personal reason, as we all have opinions on certain things. bc, yeah, you can love something, or someone, and still be logically critical about it or them.

anyway, here’s where my interpretation differs…

as per stated on my rules: i take inspiration for tony from multiple sources, including the mcu, marvel comics, the television show: avengers assemble, and my own personal headcanons. TONY IS ALSO ASIAN (SPECIFICALLY CHINESE) AMERICAN!!

i will admit that saying this isn’t particularly helpful if people don’t know, specifically, where i differ in terms of my interpretation of our dumbass genius. some of this info is scattered about on my blog, but here, it’s all consolidated into one post.

chen kun is my face claim, and i do use stuff from tony’s story from the mcu as a base. however, there are events and moments from the movies, that i selectively ignore due to personal preference; and then i build on top of my foundation with ideas, themes, and/or events from other sources such as the aforementioned sources listed above.

throwing this all under a read more because, like i said: exhaustive list. very. very. very fucking long. i’m serious– read at your own risk.

howard stark was an extremely abusive and absent father for all of tony’s childhood; tony did actively seek attention and approval from howard because he was rather aware of how famous he was and wanted the acceptance and validation from his dad; there wasn’t much shown in the mcu regarding his relationship with his father, but my inspiration for his father-son relationship comes from the comics;

an example of his verbal abuse: “you don’t want to be a sissy, now do you? stark men are made of iron!” (Iron Man, 1968);

an example of early exposure to alcohol: at age five, howard forced a drink into tony’s hand (which he did drink), stating that it would teach him “to be a man,” and that it’d “put hair on your chest” (Iron Man, 1968);

yes, this means that tony ‘forgiving’ howard in endgame is completely chucked out the window;

tony loses his parents the night of december 16, 1996 (not 12/16/1991), at the age of seventeen;

jarvis, the family butler, was more of a father to tony than howard ever was, and yes, this is why he names his first fully-functioning AI system jarvis;

tony was close with his mother, maria; she was his safehouse, and she taught him to be gentle and loving, and she also taught him the piano, which tony still periodically practices during his own time in private. in an avengers assemble episode, there is a piano in the tower that tony protects twice, which i reckon is because it has connections to his past with maria;

tony ain’t an old grandpa. i don’t see him being older than, like, 35–40 in the present time for my writing (chen kun is 44). this comes from comic and avengers assemble inspiration, which has been fairly ambiguous since they never mention his age. for plotting purposes in the mcu though, yes, he can be like 42–52 if needed.

tony is, by default, single unless otherwise stated. the reason for this is simply because i’m not big on tony / pepper in the mcu, and it’s not because i don’t like pepper (i love her as a character as an individual), but i just saw that the way they were written (so, this, yes, blames the mcu writers) was completely trash; they sort of redeemed it in endgame, but... in general, they had a lot of potential but then some writing choices pretty much ruined the ship for me;

this means that morgan does not exist unless otherwise specified and discussed, though i do enjoy the concert of tony being a dad to his own kid and breaking that cycle of howard’s shitty parenting;

i’m going to be as honest and transparent as i can: i do, for certain, love writing stevetony. they’re my primary ship. not simply in mcu dynamics, but from the comics and avengers assemble. however, like some can attest to, i will never force a ship on anyone. if you express no interest in them romantically? that’s fine. we can write them simply as good friends and comrades. i won’t stop writing or plotting with you if you don’t like them in a romantic dynamic. if you do like it that way? cool. i know it might be intimidating to discuss this given i look like complete trash for them, but i never choose who i will/will not write with based on whether we ship or not;

tony, publicly, hints toward being bisexual and biromantic a lot of the time as he’ll practically flirt with anyone at all times, but he never really openly admits it due to his oh-so ancient internalized homophobia (thank you for that one, howard and societal expectations of the time);

justin hammer is a long time rival in the industry, and often meddles with tony and his work all the time. it’s nothing new. the lack of foundation established in IM2 doesn’t provide much insight into their relationship. long story short (taken from avengers assemble): hammer is a punk bitch who’s jealous and tony is tired of him and will gladly beat his ass any day of the week whenever he drives a tank into his front door (which happens more often than not).

tony is fantastic with children. he loves getting to interact with children because he knows how excited they are to see him and/or iron man (seen in both the mcu and in the comics). this type of attention he’s okay about. if he can inspire children to do good things and be good people and be heroes in their own right, then he’s doing his job;

tony fosters the intelligence and dreams of bright individuals all the time by offering scholarships for high school graduates and post-secondary students, and also provides internship opportunities (equal opportunities regardless of race, sex, gender, religion, disability status, age, etc.)

we only see this occur with peter and harley in the mcu, but there are other kids— like riri williams! tony sees these kids for the bright minds that they have and he wants to help them and keep them safe as he knows these are the brains of the future.

let me run over iron man 3. like i said, i ignore some shit from the movies. tony doesn’t initiate the clean slate protocol, he doesn’t throw the arc reactor into the ocean, and he doesn’t remove the arc reactor from his chest. he will get surgery to get the shrapnel removed because if i were the follow the pain that comes with the comics, tony would literally be always on the verge of death at all times, requiring a chest plate to be recharged constantly to make sure the shrapnel doesn’t get closer– see? that’s a lot and i’m... lazy.

the reason for those choices are simple: clean slate protocol undoes his character progression;

the arc reactor is just a part of him as a person, stands as his heart;

avengers movie nights, (video/board) game nights, and training days exist and you will never be able to pry that out of my hands. tony always shows up fashionably late with coffee and pays for when shit gets broken by thor. team building exercises exist plenty within avengers assemble, including the fact that they share chores and decides who gets to do the next load of laundry from whoever chooses the short stick from the bunch.

tony has had anxiety and depression since he was a child. it just didn’t really flare up and get identified as a real, tangible mess of emotions and thoughts until he’d been kidnapped (and nearly died, at that). it got worse when he failed to address it until after IM3. into the present-day, tony deals with anxiety, depression, and PTSD all the time, but has improved (…sort of) when it comes to handling all of it, and certainly has grown to recognize similar symptoms in the people he cares about;

on another hand, tony has displayed symptoms of ADHD, but it’s not officially diagnosed, and some of these symptoms include, but are not limited to: hyperactivity (staying awake for days on end) and hyperfocus (hyper-focus on work), distractible (easily distracted when he’s not focused on something), rambling (talks a lot and often makes rather intuitive connections due to how busy his brain functions), impulsivity and recklessness (self explanatory), constant need to move around and/or do something (in meetings, he will be moving somehow, whether it’s tapping fingers or feet, or shifting around in his seat);

there are days where he feels inferior due to how human he knows he is (in comparison to most of his team), and other days, he feels as though he’s more machine than he is man. these feelings fluctuate depending on how he’s doing with his mental health, and/or if he hears and/or sees anything about him that points toward either idea;

there is always overwhelming guilt for those he can’t keep safe or people that die; tony doesn’t like to kill anybody (unless it’s robots, because… they’re robots, not human lives); though, if pushed far enough with no other choice, he will throw conventional morality out the window for the sake of protecting all that he believes to be for the good of the world;

tony isn’t jacked. he isn’t captain america fit, but he isn’t particularly thin, either. his body is sort of like a runner’s build (for visuals, refer to valerio schiti’s comic art of tony). i interpret tony’s body as a slight bit slimmer. he exercises, and being in the suit also is its own form of exercise. god forbid we discuss his eating habits, though. and–– he also isn’t short short, but he isn’t tall, either. he sits at 5’10”, which might be a little below the average male, but that’s about it.

speaking of eating habits, simply put: tony can’t cook for shit and that’s it. he’ll try to cook for his significant others’ on the occasion, but he can’t be blamed if he burns everything.

tony isn’t ‘woke’ or perfect, as it’s imperative to remember he grew up as rich and with financial and some social class privilege (since he was rich), despite the abuse and harassment he experienced during his youth. it’s taken him time to recognize this, and he realizes it really doesn’t cost anything to be a better person, which is why he tries to be better when it comes to his tone of voice when discussing certain topics he has no authority to be speaking of, and by taking action with simple manual labour when it comes to chores (so he doesn’t hire other people to do shit for him). he also knows he can’t be a man of ‘all bark and no bite’ when it comes to supporting people and causes, hence why he actively advocates for female and youth empowerment through both words and actions.

in regards to ca:cw events, i would prefer to ignore them. for specific-plotting purposes, this can be dropped, but i prefer the events of avengers assemble when it comes to ‘civil war’. it’s actually really simple:

tony was not honest about his intentions with the team regarding a robot that was initially made for him by howard, which ended up with an ultron reboot that nearly risked loads of civilian lives and the team’s lives;

steve confronted tony about it when they returned back to avengers tower. with tony’s insistence that everything was now fine, steve decided to resign due to tony’s dishonesty and lack of trust in the team;

this splits the team in half, where steve takes— well, they decided to leave since they didn't like tony's lack of honesty— natasha, the hulk, and the falcon to work under SHIELD as the ‘secret avengers,’ and tony, clint, and thor remain as leftover avengers (later with the addition of ant-man and temporarily, spider-man, in some missions);

in the end, they all join back together after learning to appreciate their differences and reconciling under the fact that there wouldn’t be any more secrets that could risk the world, and the team’s safety;

if i am to follow the events of the mcu— between ca:cw and infinity war, he develops nanotech for his armour, which is embedded into his very skin to accommodate for nanobots, which interacts via neural transmissions (visuals here);

tony recognizes that he lost his temper and let his emotions get to him in the moment, which fucked up shit that could’ve been talked through and fixed;

tony is an alcoholic. he recognizes that he always will be, though he’s always working toward sobriety. he certainly relapses every so often when things are rough and he feels as if he has no other options, but he’s aware that relapsing is part of the process of recovery. he has attended AA meetings (alcoholics anonymous), and has been AA sponsors for people in the past;

to skim through the events of infinity war and endgame should these be part of the things you’re curious about (this is getting really long and i’m sure you’re tired of reading this—how have you gotten this far?):

after returning from space, tony took a few months (~ five) to recover from those three months of malnutrition, dehydration, and the wound of thanos’ stab. tony sealed the front of his injury, but he sure as hell wasn’t seen dealing with the back end. during this time, he’s able to regain some muscle mass;

he lives on his own, retreating to the cabin to escape from the responsibilities of being a fallen hero who ultimately failed the people he was supposed to protect.

during the five year gap, he keeps in contact with the other avengers, but very rarely. they’re the only ones who know where he lives;

like i said— tony does not say any of that forgiving bullcrap to howard. victims of abuse don’t have to forgive their abuser, parent or not. let’s just imagine the entire interaction didn’t happen at all;

tony doesn’t die;

he used the infinity stones; but, to maintain consistency with what the mcu established w/ thanos: he sustained significant damage to his right arm, up to the shoulder and neck. it’s gravely scarred. the overall function of that arm also diminished greatly. vision out of his right eye is not as sharp as it once was, either;

a year of recovery and physiotherapy later, tony decides to amputate and go for a prosthetic. he works with shuri and wakandan tech to build an arm;

despite the end of the looming, world-ending thread, tony still battles resurfacing trauma. not every day is happy, but he is working toward recovery. there are days he doesn’t remember chunks of what happened due to the power of the infinity stones; sometimes, he doesn’t even want to remember it, anyway;

tony retires. sort of. for the most part. if the world really needs iron man, he’ll be there;

tony may have handed CEO-ship to pepper, but he still handles a lot of work for stark industries, and that’s what he primarily does post-endgame.

the multiverse and realm-traveling happens a-fucking-lot

#✧ i just want to feel like i’m still living. ≻ headcanon.#well fuck this took over an hour #and now i need to go to bed lmAOOOO #the formatting seems a bit whack bc i just copied and pasted it from my notes #but oh well #MFDSJHFDJSDFS #fuck this got long #long post //#tw: long post

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theplumsoldier · 5 years

Text

FOR YOUR LOVE

Request: @beautifulmonsterseverywhere asked: Yon-Rogg x Skrull!Reader who’s going undercover and he finds out I’m in the mood for some angsty smut

A/N: not sure how much this actually fulfills the original idea since as usual i got carried away but hope you still can manage to enjoy. thanks for the request

Pairing: yon-rogg x skrull!reader

Word count: 2216

Warnings: smut.

As much as any other Skrull with a decent mind, you knew sneaking onboard a Kree cruiser was the equivalent to asking for execution, begging for banishment and in both empires. But you had to; you just had to see him.

Even if it felt like years, it had been much less and what felt like an eternity of pining, had finally gotten to you. So as you walked in the shoes of your disguise, you held your head high and copied the walk and expressions of those you saw in the rammed street, wishing to God you would not run into anyone that was acquaintances with this body.

For reasons of the warlike empire, it had been easier than expected to locate first the infamous elite Starforce Command, thereby your love and after what seemed to be an endless hunt, you ultimately read his name on a door.

How it opened, however, was another challenge, as it seemed to only respond to an iris scan. Figuring only his golden eyes could unlock the entry, you let out an inaudible sigh. This long voyage could not be in vain. There simply had to be another way.

At last, before you would have to figure out a way to get back to your home planet before endangering yourself, even more, an idea unfolded and your eyes lit up. The Starforce commander was of high rank, that much you knew, but there had to be someone he responded to and in an empire of these militaristic characteristics, you gambled your life and bet that that particular someone might be the key.

Like that, your search was prolonged and you grew more paranoid as time stretched, but at last, you managed to find yourself a superior personality. At least, you hoped that was the case, for his blue skin, several soldiers on his tail and supercilious attitude just about made everyone bow their heads with respect.

Lurking from behind a corner, your flesh burned and with a low hiss, you felt your cells regenerate into the desired skin. Upon the complete transformation, you rushed back to the quarters, hoping the incognito would prove useful and not attract too much unwanted attention.

Back in the narrow hall, you found yourself allowed inside with the use of this host’s DNA, the small display flickering green and door sliding to the side. Inside, you were welcomed by the office of a minimalist, tidy and clean, not a thing out of place and it had you inspecting his things closer. Careful not leave any signs of visit behind, you scrutinized what material was visible to the eye.

What it was you searched for, you did not know, and when you could conclude he had no substance of particularly importance laying around, you hastily moved from his desk as the door slid open, taking you by surprise.

Simultaneously to meeting your gaze from the opposite side of the room, his tired figure immediately straightened, putting a rigid and unyielding aura to his self. He still was clad in the familiar emerald suit and you felt your heart flutter, however when the crease pulling his eyebrows closer, he gave you no time to defend yourself before he drew his weapon, aiming at you with his finger hovering the sensitive trigger.

Now how could someone he had just seen, guarded by his minions in the Great Hall, be here in his private offices, looking all bewildered, out of character? Something was wrong, simply not adding up he knew that much.

You paid no attention to the blaster, he was too glorious a sight to rip your eyes from. In a delicate, sweet voice – not at all matching the body that emitted it – you whispered his name, “Yon-Rogg.”

That soothing sound, it was one he would recognize anywhere; only the man who spoke his name was not the first to come to mind when merely listening. The blaster lowered slightly, but his puzzled grimace made you gasp faintly, becoming aware that you were still veiled as whoever this man was.

With what appeared to be thought more than command, you revealed yourself to Yon-Rogg whose golden gaze grew larger at your sublime appearance, the sight of you wildly missed.

In the heart ever so seldom touched, a fire ignited and he could no longer, if even just a split-second, wait to hold you in his arms. And then, like that, a pair of muscular arms wrapped you closely in an embrace.

Putting away his deadly weapon and belligerent stance, Yon-Rogg held his lover close to his chest. Reaching up to trace his fingers across your skin, the flustered commander coalesced your lips in a passionate kiss, letting you feel just how much he had missed you. Although this, to you, was a foreign way of showing affection, Yon-Rogg’s lips attached to yours certainly offered one hell of a magical sensation and he made sure you knew how you had been the one thing he looked forward to when going to bd at night. If he could not meet you in this life, he could make damn sure he could in the other.

“What are doing here?” Retreating, Yon-Rogg distanced you from him, taking in your every feature and you noticed his face still held a perplex expression. When you did not answer his questions right away he continued quizzing you. “How did you get to Hala? Did anyone see you?”

A fragile smile formed on your lips, and you pulled him close again, resting his head against your own. “I had to see you.”

“Did anyone see you?” repeated Yon-Rogg, his eyes blending with the worry in a concoction of wary and warmth, a hint of elation radiating from behind the gold.

You shook your head and swallowing the surprise, the commander nodded.

He then kissed you his way again,

“we need to get you out of here.”

Back at Yon-Rogg’s lodgings you were barely let in before you felt him roughly push you to the wall and connecting your lips, without care for your camouflage. His breath was heavy on your forged skin, chest heaving the same as your own and when he moved to lift you onto his desk, he looked into your eyes only to realize they were not your own.

“There are some things I need to know,” spoke he and backed up to remove his suit, its thorough design leaving little room for much fun.

Tilting your head, your cells imbued and were replaced by the familiar green tissue. You already knew what was on his mind, but decided to break a smile instead, “like how much I missed you?”

His attentive eyes scanned over your figure and his weak attempt to secrete his smile failed miserably, instead; he shook his head at you. “I’m serious–”

“I snuck on board one of your ships outside Pama. No one saw me.”

“And you’re sure of that?” pressed he and you were close to moaning out of irritation, wanting nothing more than for him to be happy to see you.

“I guarantee you. I was desperate to see you, but I was careful,” you insisted and pulled him close to you by his hand, cradling it between your own. “Does that satisfy your paranoid mind?”

At your careless impudence, Yon-Rogg’s head tilted to the side and he sucked in a breath. “Barely.”

“Come on, Yon-Rogg—I like you, but I won’t die for you,” you chuckled and leaned in to place a sincere kiss on his naked skin. While you slid your hand around his back, and your lips trailed down his chest, his hand tugged on your chin.

“I just might for you.”

Looking up to meet his bewitching features, the commander’s brow was creased with volatility and his eyes darkened as he endured the intensity of his mind.

“Don’t say that,” murmured you, barely audible and stood on your feet. This romantic scene, it was one that should never have happened and now that it had, you feared it might cost either of you greatly. This was what happened when you let stubbornness drive you to do illogical things; you were not ready to pay the cost, but here you were, your very appearance signaling otherwise. “I’m here for you now. The rest we can sort out later, yes?”

Yon-Rogg was a man of complexity; perplex, loyal, credulous and worldly at the same time and always looking for something to be suspicious about. He was the kind to worry of all, when in fact, said matters only lived in hypothesis. He wanted to merely nod and agree, it all would be easier in that reality, but it was not his and his mind refused to let him.

With his teeth, he let go of the inside of his cheek and Yon-Rogg’s bare chest heaved as you continued your care for him. “Y/N, you know that’s not me. I cannot go around and about, not knowing whether you’re secure here for the time being. My job practically entails waiting for someone to screw up so I can worry—I can’t just sit here and pretend I don’t fear someone might walk in that door anytime now—”

“Who has access to lock themselves in?”

He seemed oblivious as to why you quizzed him. “Only myself and the highest ranks—”

“Would any superior have any reason to need you or contact you today? Suspect anything and pay you a visit,” interrupted you and clicked your fingers on his belt, it loosening its grip on his waist and thereby letting the pants of his suit slacken.

The very sound was enough for Yon-Rogg’s eyes to flicker.

“Not unless you caused any disturbance on your way here—”

“I can assure you I did not. First thing I did when disembarking was to shift and seek cover. Now please don’t omit that just like you were trained for this warrior life, I was trained for espionage. Blending and adapting is like second nature.”

“I know.”

“Then show me a little faith, dear,” you hummed and genuflected before him.

Yon-Rogg breathed out a sigh and closed his eyes. “You’re going to get me killed one day.”

Liberating him of his pants, he sprung before you and you hummed to yourself, completely forgotten how big he was. In your hand, you tugged on him and swallowed, pumping him some before readying yourself for his length. Hard as rock you went to put a kiss on the side of his head, and your hand went to focus on his balls, resting at the base of his cock when you first wrapped your lips around him. With the tip in your mouth, you lapped your tongue flat against him, listening to the sounds you elicited from him.

“Y/N,” murmured he in a tired voice, needy tone lacing your name as his hand went to your head.

Bringing your hand down to take care of what you could not fit in your mouth, you tightened your grip around him as your fist ran upward, encouraging the blood flow to circulate differently than to its usual course. A slight movement made him spontaneously thrust his hips, and the control you had over him like this only motivated you to go faster, bringing him closer to the edge.

Throbbing, the prominent vein in his cock sparked and pulsated against your tongue and your hand slid around his back to steady him. The pleasure intervened with the apprehensive worry that blocked his mind and he had to support himself on the table, his hand grasping out and taking you by surprise. Chuckling against him, you bopped your head faster and another shiver was sent up his spine. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked harder and went further down his shaft, swallowing around him and a grunt escaped Yon-Rogg’s lips in spite of how he had tried to contain it. These walls were sealed so that each sound was contained safely, yet anyhow, a voice kept insisting he should be worried someone might hear.

From brood, from the rush and from the anxiety, his forehead was sprinkled with pearls of sweat and the crease pulling together his brows seemed constant. The abnormal beat of his heart had his chest heaving much like when he was in combat, the adrenaline feeling just the same and even better when he finally released in your mouth.

What he had, you took it all, your lips still wrapped around his girth as you felt his warmth soothe your throat. Massaging his balls, emptying and sucking him dry he moaned out your name, louder than expected but you could hear the strain in his voice.

You finally allowed yourself the break and swallowed down his cum, before looking up at him. Pleased with his glowing expression, you grinned up at him, the smile spreading from ear to ear and flashing a certain spark across the black of your eyes.

Cussing under his breath, Yon-Rogg pulled you up to meet him and he tasted himself on your lips, your tongue dancing with his in a fevered kiss. He whispered against your lips as you felt him move his feet, “you really are going to be the death of me, Y/N.”

#yon rogg #yon-rogg gif #yon rogg smut #jude law #jude law smut #jude law gif #jude law gifs #jude law imagine #marvel #marvel smut #captain marvel smut #captain marvel #theplumsoldier #avengers smut #avengers endgame #endgame #yon-rogg #yon-rogg smut

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gal-liveblogs · 5 years

Text

So we start off Homestuck 2 with a picture of space. Got some green space clouds. So far nothing I would not expect. Though I see there also appears to be a spaceship of some kind, zooming through all this space. Would this be Dirk’s ship?

. . . Yep. That’s defiantly Dirk’s ship. I’m sure Theseus has some really deep, literary meaning, but the reference flies right over my head. As does most of Dirk’s references. He’s too smart for me.

I find it funny that Jake continues the tradition of emblazoning his face on his things. We saw his alt-self of Grandpa Harley doing at all the time. Dirk, of course, has to scribble out the face of his ex.

Dirk. Dirk, are you wearing a villain cape right now? Is that what you’re doing in this moment? Dirk, please.

He is totally wearing a villain cape, complete with tattered edges. He is also wearing a Heart gi, because Dirk is nothing if not anime.

Jesus Christ, I already see the paragraphs of orange under this. You’re gonna make me read all this, aren’t you. Dirk?

Dirk proves to be as verbose as ever.

So did Dirk really write out all his narration on physical pieces of paper and scatter them over his desk? Did he do that just to be Extra, or is that something he has to do as an Author now? Do they only count in the narrative text if they are actual text and not just his own thoughts?

Whatever the case may be, Rose interrupts his soliloquy.

I have it on authority that decanting is sometimes necessary to ensure a wine is at its best. I like to think that the same was ultimately true of her.

Decanting of a person’s soul sounds particularly ominous, thought I can’t express the exact reason why.

ROSEBOT: I just imagined you wearing an apron over your god tier outfit and almost felt my facial fuselage buckle in such a way as to approximate a fleeting smile.

Glad to see being a robot and also assimilating all her possible selves Rose remains a sass queen.

DIRK: Alright we get it you are literally a robot.

DIRK: No need to keep pointing it out every chance you can get. I got enough of this with the Auto Responder.

ROSEBOT: I'm just playing along.

ROSEBOT: One of the fundamentals of bad science fiction is that any artificial beings must make their inorganic nature known at every juncture they can.

DIRK: Do overly precise and completely meaningless statistics that you pull out of your ass on the fly also count?

ROSEBOT: Oh absolutely.

ROSEBOT: That's one of the first things you just sort of spontaneously learn when being booted up.

ROSEBOT: For example, I've calculated that by making these remarks I have raised the base level of amusement in all my conversations by 36%.

DIRK: Well I don't personally find them very funny.

Dirk has some trauma with robots pulling out bullshit statics. Which makes it all the more fascinating he continues to build robots that can have free thought.

Jesus Christ, it wasn’t just the lighting, Dirk’s shades really are orange now. Hussie may not have known about Kamina when he designed Bro, but Dirk always wearing Kamina glasses has just become a part of his character. So much so that they are even colored like Kamina’s instead of black now. I have to wonder, had Kamina not been a character that already existed or if people hadn’t kept pointing out that Dirk/Bro wore shades similar to an anime character, would Dirk be so anime? Is being anime just a character trait that Hussie gave him because of a funny coincidence and he wanted to play up the joke, or was he always intended to be so anime?

Also is that trashcan literally an inferno?

ROSEBOT: I just thought you might like to know that we're getting pretty close to your chosen crash site.

Do they not know how to land the ship? Does the ship not have landing gear? Do they need to crash for narrative reasons and otherwise would be perfectly capable of landing normally? Is Rose just making a joke?

DIRK: Wait, crash site??

Oh, good, Dirk is as confused as I am. So that rules out narrative reasons.

ROSEBOT: A landing gear appears to have fallen just a little outside the realm of vital.

So lacking landing gear it is! God damn it, Jake.

DIRK: (God DAMN it English.)

Ha!

ROSEBOT: Don't be such a chud, Dirk.

I am afraid to ask what a chud is. Is that like a cuck? I don’t know what a cuck is either. I am also afraid to ask what a cuck is.

ROSEBOT: She's functionally mortal, remember?

Yeah, that really sucks that Karkat, Terezi, and Kanaya all lack godtier. Karkat would complain about his lack of flight abilities, but I’m surprised Terezi or Kanaya never brought up this fact. Especially Kanaya, what with her marriage to Rose. Kanaya would eventually grow old and die, leaving Rose to keep on living. Of course, Rosebot has decided to leave her loving wife behind so in this particular case that point doesn’t matter.

DIRK: You mean to say that you don't think we'd be in peril if it came to it?

DIRK: There's nothing about our situation that strikes you as falling within the bounds of precarity, as far as the rules are concerned?

ROSEBOT: Oh. You're right. I suppose I hadn't thought of that.

ROSEBOT: But I think we can remain calm in the knowledge that nothing particularly heroic is going on right now. At least, not that I'm aware of.

DIRK: ... Right.

Not sure if Dirk’s meaning flew over Rose’s head, or if she’s just choosing to ignore the possibility of Just deaths as a joke.

That doesn't mean this (*gestures to the narrative*) isn't still going to be a thing, though.

I don’t know why, but this tickles my funny bone.

All in all I think you'll find, as far as narrators go, I'm an excellent... hm. On second thought, maybe that's a bit of a problematic phrase. Yeah, yikes, that one's got a sordid history. Best we steer clear of it. We're all lucky I'm around to make those kinds of sensitivity judgements on everyone's behalf.

I’m glad you can recognize that Homestuck fans all have a fight or flight response that that memetic phrase, but I don’t appreciate you patting yourself on the back for being sensitive when you, as a narrator, could not use Roxy’s correct pronouns once they came to light.

It's time to get this story back on the rails, back to what it was always supposed to be. I know it, and you've somehow always known it too. There was something else, some other route that Homestuck was meant to take but then didn't, a way that wouldn't've spent so much time dicking around with stuff nobody cares about. Like seriously, why did we all have to sit through talking about everyone's most intimate and private feelings for two hundred thousand fucking words. That would never have happened in Act 1. Where did it all go wrong?

So Dirk’s grand plan is to go back to the asinine tomfoolery of Act 1? To do away with character relations and feelings and have people messing around with their sylladexes? I must say, I never would have expected this from the likes of Dirk. I thought he was all about the complex thought processes and inner turmoil.

Thank you for returning the narration to classic black, Dirk. It’s so much easier on the eyes.

Channelling my full potential as an ascended player of Heart, I expand my consciousness to commune with the boundless force of collective willpower that is the internet.

Wow, who knew Heart players could become the internet. I mean, I guess it makes sense. The internet is just a collection of people, and Heart is all about the soul.

I was really hoping the command box he made would be an actual command box. I missed out on the Homestuck days of old where the command box was a real thing. It would have been fun to be a part of that myself, but I understand the fandom is just too big for that ever to be feasible again. That’s why it was done away with in the first place, and that was when the fandom was smaller.

The writers came up with e good command, though.

Yeah, I have a feeling Dirk is going to decide to ignore this command and stop taking suggestions. Either that, or he’s going to inform us that he is not making Homestuck, he’s making Homestuck 2.

But I should have known better. People think you can run a story like this? This must be just about the stupidest idea anyone has ever come up with. I'll just have to make up the commands myself from here on out. Seemed to work ok for the other guy.

Yep, pretty much what I expected.

Oh Jesus Christ, what even is this room?

O.K., let’s take things from the top. Looks like we got the beta kids’ entry items, as well as their Aspect flags from Prospit and Derse. Why does Dirk have these things? There also appear to be some cruxite dowels next to them, but they are any of the colors we’ve seen before.

WOAH, HOLD UP, Are those Dave’s copies of SBURB? Or are they Bro’s? Clearly Dirk has just collected a bunch of items from various points in Homestuck’s timeline like some sort of museum. For what purpose, though?

Oh my god, there’s a Tab watering can. I assume it was alchemized, since Dirk mentioned earlier using alchemy to make his rad new shades. I wonder why Dirk has that Skaianet poster on his wall. I would have thought he’d want nothing to do with anything Jake had his fingers in. Then again, there also appears to be a kotatsu with Jake’s bedspread in the middle of the room.

I can’t tell what the green thing is next to the mutated kitten. Or what that other green thing next to the robot horse is either.

OH FUCK ME THERE’S A ROBOT CAL IN THE PROCESS OF BEING MADE. DIRK, NO. WHY. YOU HAVE THE NARRATIVE CONTROL NOW, YOU SHOULD KNOW CAL IN ANY FORM IS BAD NEWS.

Is that... Is that an anime body pillow there at the bottom?

I also keep my FLORA OF THE SUCCULENT PERSUASION in here, so's I can keep an eye on them.

Dirk grows succulents... That is not a character trait I expected of him.

> Continue

#homestuck 2 #homestuck 2 liveblog #liveblog #gal liveblogs

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knock-me-out · 5 years

Text

panic! in the hallway

genre - big phat mess tbh I dunno

characters - p much everyone + some random girl

word count - 1748 words of sheer garbage

requested - nope ! request stuff tho, guys !!

summary - hyun gets cornered by a pretty girl, the other members are shook, ryeo’s possessive and jealous...ki gets hit a lot. it’s a mess. not proofread, some references to shit we haven’t really posted about but there’s enough there that everything should be kinda self explanatory anyways? we’ll get to it.

there’s some crass language and sexual innuendos, keep that in mind.

“It’s Hyunseok-sunbae, right?”

He’d be lying if he claimed he didn’t physically jolt outright, the unfamiliar let liltingly melodic tone catching the leader unawares as he exited the bathroom, blinking vapidly at the owner of the voice for a few ticks longer than appropriate before recognizing, yes, a very attractive girl was looking at him expectantly, and no, it didn’t seem she was being bribed to approach him. He didn’t recognize her, but that was nothing new, Hyun was normally about as clueless about new groups and their debuts as he was when it came to biomechanical engineering, but it didn’t take recognition to acknowledge visuals. She was shorter than he was by quite a bit, petal lips glossy and rose-tinted, a stray speck of glitter from her eyeshadow adorning a high cheekbone, her hair dyed cherry red. He hadn’t said a thing yet, shit, he hadn’t said a thing.

“Yes!” Too enthusiastic, too pressured, and Hyunseok backtracked rapidly, stumbling over his words for a moment, hurriedly bowing briefly in greeting and using the opportunity to clandestinely wipe the palms of his hands on his pants, having already nervously started sweating despite the fact that he’d washed his hands not even two minutes before. “Yes, that’s me. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met before?” It was hard to make the question sound as polite as it should have been, but the simple fact of the matter was that he didn’t know this girl, and it wasn’t altogether too normal for her to approach him the way she had...especially considering their location. The SBS Open Hall was teeming with idols, certainly, but normally groups tended to stick to their own unless absolutely necessary.

“No, we haven’t. I’m Eunmi, I...your sister and I went to international school together? I didn’t hear about what happened until recently, I’m so sorry.” Hyun’s smile faltered at that, but only momentarily, and he cast a somewhat panicked glance over her shoulder to where his members were clustered obnoxiously in the middle of the corridor and diverting the flow of other people, meeting Remi’s eyes and being graced with an inquisitive raise of the brows from the oldest member.

“Ah, I...appreciate that.” What was someone supposed to say to that, now of all times? He’d hardly managed to process through any of it himself, and he wondered for a moment how the information might have gotten out if W.C. insisted on keeping it all so tightly under wraps, at least until they finished promotions.

“Your stage tonight was incredible, by the way! You really are topping the charts right now, especially after such a long hiatus…” Eunmi’s lips pursed, her affect just screaming that she wanted more information on that nebulous ten-month break, but Hyunseok wouldn’t bite. He was far too caught up on the shift in topic; how could someone go from expressing condolences for the loss of a supposed school friend to what seemed like….it couldn’t be. She couldn’t be trying to flirt with him, could she? Hyunseok felt heat crawl to his face within milliseconds of the notion, and he curled his fingers into his palms momentarily. It was ridiculous to even consider; the girls tended to flock towards Dohwan and Remi before himself, even Kiyong when he seemed in an approachable mood...Hyunseok was an afterthought, usually too busy looking nauseated with anxiety at large-scale events to receive more than a perfunctory nod in his direction or a friendly but distracted greeting.

“Everyone’s been working hard, we’re lucky to have such loyal fans, that’s all.” The compliment was brushed off instinctively, but he couldn’t fight back a nervous laugh that was more of an excuse to exhale a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding up until that point...a breath that devolved quickly into a somewhat undignified cough as she reached out.

“Give yourself more credit!” Her hand was on his shoulder, she was touching him, and the heat of her palm was like a brand through the thin and silky material of his shirt. Thank God for makeup, otherwise he was sure anyone within a ten mile radius would have been able to register the cerise hue of his face. Hyunseok shifted his weight, another anxious laugh passing between them until she lowered her hand, ghosting long fingernails maybe just a bit more directly than necessary along his upper arm as she did so. Or was he just imagining that?

No, he couldn’t possibly be imagining the obvious interest in her gaze, the way she flicked her hair over one shoulder, the tilt of her hips.

“With a leader like you, it’s no wonder you guys are right back to your old success, right?”

Yep, he was screwed.

“Is she being paid to talk to him, or what?” Kiyong was bored, and had been announcing it every ten minutes like clockwork, but the introduction of a new potential topic had piqued his interest the moment he witnessed what was occuring. When Hyunseok had been stopped outside the bathroom, it was almost comical how the conversations amongst the remaining eleven members had ceased to spy on the leader maybe a bit less inconspicuously than could be hoped.

“Oh boy, she wants a piece of that.” It was Dohwan’s turn to interject as the mysterious redhead put her hand on Hyunseok’s shoulder, letting it fall only mere seconds after, but it was a touch nonetheless. “Her name’s Eunmi, her group debuted just a few months ago.”

“And how would you know?” Ki snapped immediately, and even though it was more than plausible that Dohwan knew what he was talking about, he’d take any excuse he could to push back when the other knew something he didn’t.

“The leader of her group and I, uh…long story short, they all hate me now, I’m surprised Eunmi’s talking to Hyunseok-hyung at all. She’s gorgeous, though, I’ll tap that if he doesn’t.”

“We aren’t talking about mom’s sex life right now. Or ever, thanks.” Owen spoke up for the first time in a while, having been too distracted by his side conversation with Dae, the latter of which looking as confused as he always did.

“Who are we talking about?”

“Dae-yah, you’re like ninety feet tall, how are you still that unaware of what’s going on?”

“Wait, where’s--”

“Oh my God.” Kiyong’s sharp tone cut through Daesung’s question, and he spoke in English this time around and continued to do as he kept going. Whether or not he was aware of it was unclear, and he grabbed onto Remi’s arm and leaned heavily into him. “She definitely just hit him with the ‘ooh shouldn’t you go back to your members?’ He waved her off, he waved her off. Is it just me or does he look less like he wants to fling himself out a window, now? Ooh, boy, there’s that posture shift -- he’s going for it. It’s like watching some weird exotic bird doing a mating dance.”

Owen and Remi were clearly the only two to pick up on the majority what he’d said, but Dohwan’s brows drew together at the word mating, at least he knew that one.

“Guys, leave him alone.” Seungjae didn’t bother glancing up from his phone as he spoke, thumbs a blur on the screen as he typed out what looked like an aggressively long-winded rant in Japanese. “He’s an adult and can make his own stupid decisions.”

“Your mom’s a stupid decision.”

“Ki, that doesn’t even make sense.”

“Neither does your face.”

Both Jui and Seungjae raised a hand to hit him at that, but only Jui followed through, landing a heavy smack between Kiyong’s shoulder blades that was forceful enough that he choked on the water he had brought to his lips, spitting the majority back out into the bottle and unceremoniously onto his own hand...a hand he subsequently wiped on Dohwan’s jacket.

“She just gave him her number, I think, lady, there are sandwiches for a reason. Good thing hyung's always too nervous to eat during these things or he would have thrown up all over her by now.”

Owen had a point. It was curious, however, that Hyunseok’s affect seem to have shifted in only a few minutes. He’d gone from standing stiffly, face a lot redder than he probably thought it was, and expression akin to being confronted with a dead baby bunny to...confident, at least in Kiyong’s opinion. Hyun was laughing, genuinely laughing at something she said, when Ryeokwon suddenly removed himself from the group and approached Hyunseok and Eunmi without having said a single word.

“Well, shit.”

For once, Ki had to agree with Dohwan.

“No, no, it was the second time he got caught with a girl that--” Hyunseok’s anecdote was cut off succinctly by the approach of Ryeokwon, and he watched as a hardened expression only worsened as the blond reached out for Hyunseok.

“Hyung, we need to go.” He was used that tone again, the ‘I’m going to seem borderline casual but you know I mean it’ sort of inflection Ryeo liked to adopt in public, but it was apparent that Hyun’s hesitation wasn’t good enough for him. Hyunseok’s attention was diverted not only by the dancer now holding his hand, but also by a yell from the direction of the others, to see Jui repeatedly swatting Kiyong upside the head with what looked like an empty and half-crushed water bottle. He didn’t notice the caustic and possessive glare Ryeokwon shot at Eunmi, nor did he witness the nervous manner in which she shied back half a step. When he returned his attention to the blond and the redhead now picking uncomfortably at one of the many bracelets adorning her slim wrists, it was only to concede.

“I, ah, should get back to…”

He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his tone. Eunmi was trying hard to look nonplussed, but there was a tenseness to her jaw that he interpreted only as regret.

“That’s alright...I should get going too anyways, yeah? Well...you know how to reach me.”

Hyunseok wasn’t given an opportunity to respond properly beyond an awkward half-wave before she turned and he allowed himself to be half-dragged somewhat barbarically back to the others, where he was met by an enthusiastic clap on the back from Dohwan and a look of unguarded confusion from just about everyone else.

Seungjae only had one thing to say.

“Your fly was halfway undone the whole time, by the way.”

#🦋#writing #doesn't reflect my usual style and I'm iffy on it but I have to feed the masses #alternative title: ki gets smacked like forty times #alternative alternative title: dae is clueless 24/7 and needs help

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lids-flutter-open · 6 years

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I think I have one main takeaway from the post about John Darnielle going around where someone discusses the way he interacts with his fans. If you haven’t seen the post, it went up yesterday and has about 800 notes now. The dynamics OP describes are things most TMG fans are aware of, and that most fans of Darnielle really admire about him: the way he offers friendship and discusses feelings of meaningful human connection to individual fans much more easily than most people in his position would, for example, and the way that he feels comfortable telling people he just met who deeply admire him that he thinks they are special/talking about God a lot when he discusses connecting to other people in a real way. As someone who has consumed a lot of Darnielle’s content and art, I believe, until shown otherwise, that he does all these things without conscious calculation. He’s open about his history of being traumatized, and he’s been a lot of places and met a lot of people from a huge range of backgrounds, met a lot of people who are in dire straits or who may not live another year, and I think that even when you are recovered from your past and are doing very well that this kind of history affects the way you see friendships. You leap into them, and are earnest about them.

I tend to relate to people in a similar way--I try to pursue friendships and connections as soon as I realize I want them, and sometimes express myself in extreme terms, or hit someone up without warning. The difficulty, when you have trauma, is knowing when to establish boundaries around these needed friendships.

OP doesn’t explicitly describe any sexual misconduct by Darnielle, though their description of him putting his arm around a young fan’s waist while drunk post-concert does tie this to larger conversations of misconduct by authority figures. The main pattern OP describes is one of Darnielle using fans’ devotion to affirm that he is a good person in moments of doubt--reaching out to them one on one when he is feeling emotionally vulnerable and asking that they do the work of a friend without knowing him well enough to actually give him useful advice. He seems to reciprocate by offering fans assurance that they are good people, or god-sent, etc, which I think are earnest assurances on his part and things he genuinely feels. I think he’s grateful for his fans and appreciates the work they do for him. Thankfulness and humility is a big part of his whole thing. The issue here is reaching out to people who are offering so much to you and making emotional one-on-one contact in order to get comfort and reassurance when the power dynamic between you and the person offering you support is so vast. The other thing is that Darnielle cannot reasonably be expected to maintain ongoing friendships with his fans--he is a busy artist--but continues to expect on some level that they treat him as a friend on equal footing when he cultivates these connections. It is nice, but it also sets fans up for disappointment and a lot of pain, because they will never get the kind of emotional work, one-on-one, out of Darnielle that he (according to the screenshots from OP) has sometimes asked of them. Which is what makes him different from an author who writes a kind letter mentioning god and fate and specialness back to a fan--asking someone to reassure you via twitter DM that you are essentially a good person is a weird thing to ask. That’s something you ask of your wife or a close friend who knows you. It’s the classic problem of people with any kind of power--wealth or fame or whatever--not recognizing, or refusing to recognize, the fact that they always carry this power with them, and that some of their friendships will take far more work from them before they can be actually equal.

I think a lot of Darnielle’s fans are aware of his trauma, and are also aware of our own trauma and the way we express ourselves, and so the way he conducts himself with his fans doesn’t often read badly. It’s also true that many many famous people conduct themselves with young fans badly in more overtly harmful ways--remembering the Amanda Palmer or Emilie Autumn fan debacles, or the John Green Tumblr years, when I was first reading OP’s post, my reaction was initially to go “just this? he’s just a man with few boundaries who earnestly sees people as equals.” But that is the kind of thinking that doesn’t help this sort of dynamic from happening again. When men have power, even if they are very self aware or even paranoid about using it badly, I think it is still hard to be self aware enough to not hurt people. I think this is something JD may have trouble with. The takeaway line of OP’s post for me is towards the end; the idea that when people give and give and give to you it’s hard not to take.

For me, I think OP makes a good point. John’s concerts are like religious experiences; I have the same feelings there as when I pray. People singing together about trauma and pain is a transcendent, religious experience. But JD is human, and while I firmly believe (as of right now) that he tries to be self critical of the way he conducts himself with his fans and tries to not take advantage of his own power, I think that one of the things about being a famous musician or preacher or a person with power is that many people without this power gravitate toward you, and that as a result, a person with power can easily become someone who thinks that they deserve people’s time and attention and love and work without reciprocation. Having power--as in, record deals, money, fame--inherently makes it harder to relate to people without these things on an even footing, and it takes more work than many people know how to do. I know rich people who act like this too, know academics who act this way--ask things of people without offering things in return except relatively empty words of praise, because they know they are smart or impressive or famous or rich and people will give them what they ask for. I don’t think it comes out of an inherent personal evil, though egomania can quickly make someone’s personality go totally rotten. I don’t think JD’s personality is rotten, but he is someone with power. My hope is that JD can listen to this critique of his actions and actually put work into setting better boundaries for himself in terms of the personal emotional affirmations he asks from fans. I think he is capable of the self reflection and humility necessary to do that, though as OP says, the ball is in his court.

#John Darnielle #text #tmg #the mountain goats

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permian-tropos · 5 years

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Aftermath: Alternate End (part 15/31)

chronological fic posts

read it on AO3

15. “I thought you had forgotten.”

Rae spends the night in a large but primitive hospice room, with rounded earthen walls and narrowing ceiling flue over a central firepit. Her mind is half-present for every sting of pain as she’s put on a scratchy cot and has ointments smeared over burns on her chest and legs. It becomes a sort of torture, that she can’t fight back against. Then it dulls to an annoyance, and then she’s left alone for a while, and she misses the attention. When she returns to full consciousness, it is less like a light turning on, and instead an arduous process of gathering the energy and nerve to think clearly. An unglamorous behind-the-scenes look at all the restorative processes meant to be subconscious during sleep. This time, she has to direct everything herself.

An anchorite with an eye patch approaches as Rae tries to sit up, and offers her a cup of pungent liquid.

“In your condition, this is better for the dehydration than water,” the woman tells her. “It will settle your stomach.”

It’s warm, but not hot, and has a savory taste mixed with sweetness. Not bad at first, but a bit grainy and cloying, the familiar aftertaste of medicine. She’d much rather have water, but she only thinks about her preferences after she gulps enough liquid down to quench the urgency of her thirst.

Though, once the liquid is inside her, her body can pull the water out, and she perceives this process, as much as she perceives the chemicals relaxing the muscles that might spasm and push everything up. It is an intriguing effect. She remembers being forced to inhale a mist through a leather mask, while her burned skin was exposed. The drug hadn’t dulled any pain, but it kept her from moving.

She puppets her throat and tongue and lips to speak. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. Is Brentin…? The man I was with.”

The woman gestures to another bed on the other side of the firepit. Two other dark-robed monks are standing by it, seemingly reciting chants. Their faces are hidden by hoods, but one of them is very short, and their voice has a higher pitch. A child?

“He is recovering, too. Give him time. Unlike you, he needed surgery.”

Rae pulls a memory out of her mental file. The ground exploding underneath Brentin as he scrambled out of the cave entrance. “On his feet?” The woman nods. Rae explains, “We took a risk with a plume escaping Niima. Not a friend of yours, I’ve heard.”

The woman purses her lips and nods. Her features may be more lined by sun exposure than Rae’s, but otherwise seems close to her own age. “You know Jakku well for an outsider.”

“You don’t have to be here long to learn to watch your step. But…” Rae peers at the woman accusingly. “How do you know I’m an outsider? Last night, was it you who said— I must be new to Jakku?”

The anchorite returns to the central fire and refills the cup of medicinal tea from a cauldron suspended over low coals. She brings it back while restraining a beatific smile. “The Eremite foretold your arrival. An outsider would arrive on this world seeking truth and redemption. After weeks of fruitless wandering, you would come to us at last for aid.”

“Oh,” Rae says, cheeks growing hot. “It seems I’ve stumbled into a prophesy. I’m very flattered.” She accepts the cup and mulls over her opinion on this. She was scornful of Niima’s god complex, so she can’t embrace this wholeheartedly. But then she’d also like to rub it in that worm’s face, just a bit.

Rae Sloane has never been a figure of myth. She is sure she disapproves of the idea. But it would be better to go along with it, just for the sake of convenience? To keep her newfound allies?

“Is the Eremite,” she finally asks, “that man in the shrine?” From the way people invoked the name on this planet, Rae assumed he was a character from ancient legends. It could have been why she thought him a statue at first.

“Essentially. That is his avatar.”

“Right.” Rae swings her legs around to the side of the cot and starts to stand. “I’ll be talking to him eventually, I expect. No time like the present?” Jakku, aside from its thrilling habit of venting steam from cracks in the ground, has been so dreary and dull. Everything is waiting, slipping into a stupor while time eats passing hours, while gnats gather to drink your sweat. Rae is done with that.

The anchorite shoos her back down into bed with reproachful hand gestures. “Oh, no, please, don’t waste your energy. It really would be like talking to a statue. I can lead you to pray before him later, if you wish.”

Rae tries to squash her frustration. She knows she shouldn’t get on the wrong side of another living god, even if she is tired of living gods and their antics.

“The Eremite’s vessel is wracked by agony,” the woman explains. “He proves his worthiness by completely controlling his body, and he only allows himself movement for a single hour each day.”

“Well, who am I to tell him how to live?” Rae mutters, settling back into bed. Of course there’d be waiting involved, in anything quintessentially Jakkuvian. Particularly their religions. Niima forced her and Brentin to wait for hours, bound and blindfolded, feigning submission, until they were almost too stiff to stand. This seems like the same, just inverted.

“Suffering can sharpen your senses, can’t it? You may become aware of your body as a machine, a ship you captain. The Eremite senses beyond himself, seeing far across the world through the vibrations in the ground.”

“With the Force?” Rae asks impatiently. This could be what she’s been looking for. Especially since the ramblings about suffering and self-mastery remind her of the twisted sermons of the Emperor’s advisor, Yupe Tashu, who spurred her on this quest.

Tashu was the one who gave her the name of this planet. Called it the inscription of the Emperor’s Will.

The woman doesn’t respond, and instead stares across the room, her jaw starting to drop.

The other anchorites clam up as well, and the child grips their adult minder’s hand.

The man framed by the door wears the same dark, plain robes as the others. All that marks him as special are the carved bone crutches under his arms, and the stunned reverence from the others.

Rae recognizes that trembling gait, though she doesn’t need to, to guess who he is.

The Eremite takes the steps leading inside slowly, reminding Rae of how she dragged herself up the hill to reach the habit house. Even the placement of each crutch is laborious.

No one moves to help the man; in fact, the anchorites withdraw, the one-eyed woman in particular, whose mouth flattens into a line and whose posture becomes stiff, almost strict.

Perhaps the man is too holy to touch. Rae thinks it won’t add to his holiness if he falls flat on his face, which his wavering frame threatens with every step. What is visible of his features under the hood shows how much effort it takes him to walk. He breathes harshly through his nose, his teeth worry his lower lip as he makes calculations for each movement.

It is clear what he came here for. He approaches Rae’s bedside. She apprehends him warily, again feeling too flattered by the special attention.

The easiest approach would be to play dumb, pretend she knows nothing of their ways. Pretend she hadn’t just been lectured about him by one of his followers. “Ah…” Rae straightens up. “Were you the one who found us? Last night?”

“I am,” the man whispers.

“Would you like to sit?” She indicates the end of her bed.

The Eremite nods and lowers himself down, holding the crutches together and leaning his brow against them. His hands, as Rae noticed before, are deeply veined and wrinkled.

The one-eyed woman clicks her tongue to her teeth in disapproval. Was that for me, Rae wonders, or for the Eremite? But she still can be smug. You wanted me to pray to him, but here he is, paying respects to me.

She much prefers this audience with a god to her ordeal with Niima.

But when the man pushes back his hood, Rae is overwhelmed in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

He isn’t an old man, though his face is deeply marred by lines and veins, the way his hands are. They aren’t the natural marks of age. His skin is tight where it should be loose, clinging to his skull. If the effect were more severe he would look mummified. His hair has gray roots at his temples, but much of it is dark. And his eyes, glancing up at her, are keen, black as the eyes of the mice that Rae and Brentin had to keep dumping out of their packs and boots in the morning after pitching a tent. They were bold little creatures, not meek like their counterparts on other worlds.

And amid all that, there is something… “I feel like I’ve met you before,” Rae says, impressed by her own honesty.

The Eremite is impressed as well. His eyes open wider, and he raises his chin to regard her more openly. “You have,” he says. The voice rings familiar, too. “I thought you had forgotten.”

She claws through her memories, trying to place him, and comes back empty-handed. “Apparently… yes. Yes, I have.”

“Then… don’t let it trouble you. Let us meet again.” He taps his thumb absently against the bone crutch handles, before leaning them against the bedpost. “It is a good meeting.”

Rae considers this. It wasn’t a particularly dignified one for her, though it puts her in his debt. “An eventful one,” she concedes. “Rae Sloane. Formerly Admiral Sloane, of the Galactic Empire.” She extends her hand, then finds it too bare and vulnerable hovering in the space between them.

The Eremite clasps it before she can withdraw. His palms are cold and clammy. Slight tremors in his thin fingers remind Rae of the warning vibrations she learned to detect before what the locals called a plume, where steam unexpectedly jetted up like a tripped land mine.

Rae forces herself to relax. Her anxiety must be from the strangeness of it all.

The man’s grip is gentle, giving a reassuring squeeze. “It is a pleasure, Formerly Admiral Sloane.”

Rae scans the room. The woman with the eye patch has migrated over to join the pair by Brentin’s cot. She has her hand on the child’s hooded head, pushing it down in a deferential bow, while exchanging furtive, meaningful glances with her fellow adult.

“And you are the Eremite,” Rae prompts.

The Eremite nods, and casts his eyes down. “Ah. Well. I cannot stay. My visit has been most unusual.”

“Back to being a statue?” Rae checks the anchorites, notes the woman’s pinched expression, and places her other hand over the Eremite’s. “Shall I speak with you again, later?”

“I insist,” he says, and leans closer. “So I might hear what brought you to Jakku. I hope it is a good story.”

He has noticed her glance across the room, and the corner of his mouth quirks up. They share a moment, an odd spark of intimate understanding. Co-conspirators against stodgy traditionalism, despite how peculiar it is in context. Rae is momentarily entranced. She doesn’t want to mis-categorize her feelings, but does she find him attractive? She admits he would not be conventionally so, to a human. His disfigurement transforms him, almost strips him of his species.

So this is what half a year in a New Republic prison has done to her. She’s been addled by their hedonism and open-mindedness.

“If that’s how I can repay your hospitality…” she offers.

“It would be a fine payment.” The Eremite takes his crutches in hand and rises from her bed. This time, he finds his balance a bit more easily. As soon as there’s enough space, the anchorite woman moves to stand between him and Rae’s bed.

Rae, sure this conversation has broken several taboos, hides a smirk. It might be ungrateful, given the anchorites’ charity, but she deserves to get her way after everything she has suffered. After everything she has had to sacrifice.

This is the galaxy smiling on me, she thinks. This is redemption.

#my post #my fic #gallirae fictober #look im just saying #if sloane is like ''hm i'd hit that'' when rax is actively conspicuously evil #if he's a friendly mysterious object of worship #and flirting with him is a big power move #she might go for it

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silvokrent · 6 years

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All in the Job - 1

In which Glynda contemplates submitting her two weeks notice.

Of all the responsibilities she held, courtesy of her numerous job titles—Huntress, Professor, Academy Liaison, Deputy Headmistress of Beacon—there were some that Glynda could have done well without.

Which wasn’t to say she resented her job—far from it. Ruthlessly ambitious almost to a fault, Glynda relished a challenge, and would have never contented herself with anything short of what passed for the layperson as occupational masochism. Hence why she’d spent the majority of her career fine-tuning the ability to juggle her professional obligations, which included everything from organizing interdepartmental faculty meetings, to sorting out whatever problems Ozpin couldn’t (or didn’t want to) deal with that day. She had distinguished herself early on as a multitasker with a sharp mind, uniquely qualified for the task of corralling her students and putting out the (sometimes literal) fires that were as much a staple of the school year as the homework and detentions were.

No. Glynda enjoyed a challenge. And working at a school for trained killers presented no shortage of that. Destroying Grimm, dismantling crime syndicates, foiling terrorist plots: all occupational hazards, most with which she had minimal qualms.

The caveat, she’d discovered, well into her tenure and past the point of no return, was the political nature of her job. Something that Ozpin had conveniently “forgotten” to disclose when she’d first signed her contract.

Years later, and she had a pretty good idea as to why.

With no small amount of effort, Glynda dug through her handback and produced the necessary documents for the door greeter. “I’m here representing Beacon Academy, as is my employer,” she said. And that was as far as she got before she sneezed.

The porter recoiled, his face creased in disgust. That expression deepened when she none-too-subtly swallowed down the mouthful of phlegm that had dislodged itself from her lungs.

He held the invitation and license at arm’s length, delicately pinched between two fingers. “I should remind you,” he said, “that all guests in attendance are required to leave any weapons outside the building. That includes—”

“Yes, yes,” Glynda snapped, “I’m well aware. As you can see, I’m unarmed.” Unless one happened to look up her dress and notice the crop holstered against the inside of her leg, but really, what was the point of arguing semantics? “I hardly pose a threat to anyone here.”

“Not unless you cough on the buffet table,” he muttered, and Glynda made sure to fix him with her patented Disapproving Teacher Scowl. The porter flinched at the steel in her gaze.

“Your belongings.” He was quick to push the offending items back into her hands, then brush his palms down the front of his vest. “Enjoy the party, Professor Goodwitch.”

I most certainly won’t. But she kept that comment to herself. Glynda inclined her head, once. “Thank you for the—” and she stopped to give a dramatic intake of breath, lips curled in the beginnings of an unmistakable sneeze. She watched through half-narrowed eyes as he pinwheeled backward, nearly tripping over himself to escape the blast radius. Panic, quickly replaced with indignation, colored his face as Glynda delicately pinched the bridge of her nose. “False alarm,” she assured him, in a falsely-cheery voice. And with that said and done, Glynda turned and strode inside.

She blamed the vindictiveness on the store brand cough medicine, half of which she’d downed before leaving her apartment; then, as an afterthought, had shoved the rest of the bottle into her handbag. Given the circumstances, it felt warranted.

The reception, while not on par with the ostentatious standards upkept by Atlas’ and Mistral’s elite, was still headache-inducing. Embroidered, fabric banners canopied the ceiling, fluttering gently whenever the waitstaff scurried by. Backed against the far wall she spotted the aforementioned buffet, and it certainly was a spectacle, wafting clouds of steam from the assorted dishes and hors d'oeuvres. The guest tables were subject to the same lavish treatment, with ornate centerpieces encircled by dozens of candles that flickered whenever disturbed by the motions of a passing guest. Glynda scoffed. Of course they’d have no problem with fire hazards, but gods forbid she be permitted to walk around with an unbrandished riding crop.

And there, tying it all together, branded on every wall lest any of them forget why they were here, was Vale’s coat-of-arms.

The soirée was about the self-congratulatory pomp for the councilors as much as it was a display of gratitude for their sponsors. Election cycles ran on campaign promises as much as they did on bribes and charity, and not a single attendee was under any delusions otherwise. The post-election parties were little more than a formality at this point, a tradition kept alive because someone, somewhere, years ago had convinced themselves that these little displays of wealth and power were enough of a testimony their newly-reformed government wouldn’t relapse into an all-consuming bloodbath.

Glynda snorted aloud, only to regret the gesture when it sent her into a coughing fit.

As Ozpin’s intended successor, she was expected to attend. Sick or otherwise.

At least, she mused to herself, when Ozpin took leave of his office—by death or retirement, though almost certainly the former—she would be spared from the nightmare of having to run for reelection. It was an intentional quirk legislated by the King of Vale in the aftermath of the Great War: not only were the leaders of the Huntsmen Academies automatically granted Council seats, but they were immune to term limits and had to be nominated by a coalition of their peers. Decades later, and it was still something that politicians liked to moan about when gossip grew stale or Ozpin had done enough to piss off his colleagues.

Which was the second reason why she had dragged herself through the snow and consigned herself to this torture: because Ozpin had asked.

She thought “asked,” but truthfully, “begged” was more appropriate.

Ozpin was a great many things—cordial, shrewd, altruistic, and relentlessly devoted to his school—but even his patience had limits. The downside to his position was that while it granted him the political influence of a councilor, it also meant that he was working two jobs under the guise of one. Which wasn’t to say that Oz wasn’t qualified for the task—far from it—only that he was a Huntsman first, politician second. Training fledgling Hunters to defend humanity was something he was peerless at, and never a day passed where Glynda didn’t admire that trait, the circumstances of his curse notwithstanding.

What made these parties (and his job) so unbearable was that his colleagues were a bunch of donkey-faced bastards.

Ozpin disliked them for trying to interfere at Beacon. The other councilors despised him for being untouchable. Frankly, it was a miracle he hadn’t shoved his cane up their nether regions. And unlike Glynda, whose absence would be noted but otherwise inconsequential, Ozpin didn’t have the luxury of taking a sick day. She wasn’t merciless enough to leave him trapped here making small talk in this bureaucratic hellscape, so instead, she’d sucked up her cold and come.

A server extended a tray to her, and without thinking Glynda took the offered champagne flute.

“—gone too far this time! You’ve overstepped your boundaries, and I refuse to sanction this lunacy.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t require your permission to proceed,” came the mild reply, “given that the school is under my jurisdiction.”

Speaking of which.

With a long-suffering sigh, Glynda moved on autopilot toward the conversation, the throng of people around her parting as she brushed past. There was an equal likelihood of that being due to the thunderous expression on her face as it was the mucus that she could feel glistening above her lips. For one treacherous moment, she lamented the fact she’d chosen a sleeveless dress. Her nose was starting to itch.

She spotted them by the windows. Ozpin stood with his left hand braced against the silver pommel of his cane, a half-empty coupe in his right. The man across from him showed his age, slightly hunched and half-balding, and with a rather unfortunate gut that the tweed suit and pleated shirt did nothing to hide.

“I fail to see why this has you so distraught,” Ozpin said. He tipped his head to one side. “We’ve used this procedure for years, and to my knowledge no one has voiced any objections.”

“Sometimes,” the councilman growled, “I wonder if you even bother to read the requisition forms your staff submits before you sign off on them. Otherwise, you’d fully understand my ‘objections.’”

“I review every document given to me, as you well know.” Ozpin raised the glass to his lips, his expression betraying nothing. “If you’d be so kind as to enlighten me on the issue, perhaps I can help mollify those concerns.”

“‘Concerns,’ he says.” The councilman sneered. “As if importing Alpha Beowolves is a mere trifle, and not a matter of kingdom defense!”

Glynda lurked just beyond Ozpin’s periphery. She’d bail him out if it became necessary. For now, though, she leaned against the nearby column, content to watch her friend verbally assassinate the other man.

“That’s what this is about?” A hint of surprise colored his inflection, and Glynda recognized it for the façade that it was. They would’ve been stupid to not anticipate a bit of an uproar over that particular request, which was why she’d offered to have it submitted during the tail-end of the elections. This time of year, overworked and success-drunk politicians tended to say “yes” to the mounting paperwork stack on their desk just to make it go away.

Burrell, bless his shriveled black heart, was apparently the exception.

“We’ve successfully handled live Grimm transport for years,” Ozpin pointed out. “Need I remind you that procurement is necessary for my students, so that they have ample training fodder?”

The other man’s complexion paled by a shade or two. “You’re telling me,” he said, in a disquieted tone, “that you regularly pit your students against high-level Grimm variants reserved for licensed Huntsmen?”

“Of course not.” Ozpin sounded amused. “We have Boarbatusks for that.”

Burrell’s jaw clenched.

“The far more dangerous subspecies, however, are necessary for the research conducted on-campus,” Ozpin amended. He regarded the wine in his glass. “Of which the Council has been made well aware in the past, so why the sudden protests? The containment facilities are up to code. If you’d like, I can produce the documents from last year’s inspection—”

“I don’t know what I find more disturbing,” he said. “The fact that you equate transporting Alphas with Boarbatusks, or your cavalier attitude regarding civilian endangerment.”

It was subtle, and to the untrained eye would have gone unnoticed. She didn’t miss the way Ozpin’s grip tightened on his cane.

“The risks involved haven’t changed, Burrell. Merely your overestimation of them.”

“Entirely unnecessary risks at that,” Burrell spat. “You run a combat school, not Merlot Industries. You’re supposed to be killing Grimm, not u-hauling them into Vale just so your staff can dissect them."

“The now-defunct Merlot Industries was the only global corporation with a scientific agenda concerning Grimm. Since their disbanding, there has been a gap in the field of Grimm research. Our ability to fight them is contingent on our understanding of them, which is why the school’s laboratory work is just as important as its field counterpart.” His expression hardened. “And if you would be so kind as to not equate Beacon Academy with that organization.”

“Why?” Burrell asked. “Because you think that what you’re doing is any saner? Care to explain to me the difference?”

Ozpin rested his glass on the table to their right, both hands now firmly clasped over the cane. “The difference,” he said, “is ethics. Dr. Merlot was a Machiavellian cultist whose obsession with the Grimm led to him no longer following safety protocol, so he could acquire more specimens faster. My staff adheres to a set of strict guidelines when conducting research, so that we may prevent catastrophes like Mountain Glenn.”

“It took the kingdom years to recover from that.” The councilman motioned with his drink. “The losses we endured at Mountain Glenn were substantial, never mind the resources we funneled into that project only for them to be wasted.” He went to take a draught from his glass.

“I’m relieved to see that your concerns about the lien weren’t misplaced. For a moment, I feared you might actually be worried about the casualties,” Ozpin said.

Glynda watched as Burrell proceeded to choke on his drink.

Ozpin waited until he resurfaced from his glass, his cheeks flushed and flecked with beads of wine. He glowered over the rim of his coupe, to bet met with a carefully-neutral expression by Oz.

“What,” he asked, “did you just say?”

“I could be off my mark,” Ozpin acknowledged, as though he were theorizing on the end of a charming novel, and not lampooning his colleague. “But as I understand, you spoke out at length against how much of Vale’s annual budget was allocated to my school. I believe the phrase you used was ‘indiscriminate black hole of lien.’ And while I can agree on a need to review funding distribution, strangely, you didn’t seem to have any suggestions for where that money could be spent otherwise.”

The councilman’s expression was slowly morphing through the entire color spectrum, from a sickly off-green to a now livid red.

“When one of my teachers first sought approval for capturing and transporting Grimm,” Ozpin continued, “we went through a significant amount of red tape. A committee was even formed to not only redefine Grimm trafficking and establish special research permits, but to investigate the motive behind the request. As I recall, you headed that committee.”

“I assume you’re getting to a point.”

Ozpin went to retrieve his glass. “I find it strange,” he admitted, “that after everything else we’ve brought to the school—Ursai, Creeps, Nevermores—you would suddenly object now. A more suspicious man might go so far as to note how coincidental it is that the approval period for the request coincides with Vale’s fiscal review. A timely opportunity to boycott the request on the premise of its potential dangers, and then take the lien that was diverted from us and spend it elsewhere. Some might go so far as to call it a conflict of interest.”

The look Burrell gave him was incendiary. Glynda was surprised Oz’s lapels hadn’t begun to smoke.

“This is all conjecture, of course. I would hate to implicate you in something so scandalous and unequivocally untrue, so shortly after you secured your Council seat. For your own sake, it may be in your best interest to defer to my judgment on the matter, lest more suspicious men subject you to their scrutiny.”

Ozpin raised his glass in a toast.

“You have no right—how dare you—I would never—” Eloquence deserted him. The councilman made a peculiar gargling sound in the back of his throat, like a blender full of rocks. “My concern,” he ground out through clenched teeth, “has and will always be the welfare of Vale’s people. If you think I’ll allow you to jeopardize that by letting one of your crackpot fool teachers hoard Grimm in the city—”

There was a subtle shift in Ozpin’s demeanor. Glynda stiffened. “The professor who oversees them is a highly esteemed and capable Huntsman. It is thanks to his work that major crises have been averted. You would do well to remember that.”

Indignation (and alcohol) did a lot to deaden a person to social cues, and Burrell continued to talk like a man who didn’t care if he woke up with a knife between his ribs. The intensity of Ozpin’s stare didn’t waver. “I remember him now. Fat bloke, rowdy, prone to self-aggrandizement. Rather hard to expect someone like him to manage Grimm when he can’t seem to manage his weight.”

Coming from the man that resembled a walrus in a suit.

But the councilman had found Ozpin’s trigger, and was twisting the knife with each word that left his mouth. “Yes,” he said, his speech slowing, becoming more deliberate. “Your subordinates were always a peculiar lot. For a prestigious academy, your staff does little to uphold its reputation. Trigger-happy celebrities with no sense of decorum”—he gestured to Ozpin’s green suit—“whose willingness to gamble with public safety borders on masturbatory, given how much of your career involves suicidal thrill-seeki—”

“Good evening, councilors.” Burrell jumped. Ozpin gave his own version of being startled, a fluttering tap-tap of his cane against the floor. His expression thawed somewhat as Glynda took up the spot to his left, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Burrell, I never had the chance to congratulate you on your reelection. The Council seat is lucky to find itself occupied by you once again.”

Burrell squinted at her, as if gauging the sincerity of her words. She could practically feel Ozpin’s eyebrows receding into his hairline, and she discreetly stepped on his foot.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” he said at last. He didn’t seem to begrudge the change in topic; not when it meant having a chance to talk about himself. “These last few weeks have been monstrously busy. One wonders how I’ve found the opportunity to rest. You would think insomnia were a prerequisite for the job.”

“A necessary evil. One that we’re all familiar with,” Glynda agreed. “Our work doesn’t sleep, and neither do we.”

“Which is exactly why we need events like this. To indulge and relax. An escape from the stress of our everyday lives.”

Or a source of additional stress, depending on who you asked.

“Not for all of us.” Glynda turned to Ozpin. “I was looking for you, actually. We need to discuss the travel arrangements for that upcoming mission in Atlas. I’m afraid it can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Ozpin made a noncommittal noise. “Too right you are, I suppose.” He accepted the arm she offered him, threading it through hers and giving Burrell the faintest inclination of his head. “Enjoy your evening.”

She ignored the glare that followed them as she steered Ozpin across the room. Waited until they’d put enough people between them before she leaned into her friend’s side.

“Play nice,” she murmured.

Ozpin sighed. “You say that as if I have no self-control.”

“I noticed they let you through the door with your cane. Were you planning on using it, or did I only imagine that look on your face back there?”

He carefully extricated himself from her grip. His arm free, Oz went to take another sip from his glass, his expression the closest she’d ever seen to guileless. “They wouldn’t part an old man from his walking stick, would they?” he mused.

Glynda fought the urge to roll her eyes. “If you keep talking like that you’ll only give Burrell another reason to call for your resignation.”

She didn’t miss that brief flicker of dislike. “Over my dead body.”

“He’d probably find that quite agreeable.” Out of habit, she went to pinch the bridge of her nose, only to belatedly peel her fingers away from the cartilage. Glynda pursed her lips at the tacky feeling. To her surprise, she suddenly found a napkin being pressed into her hand.

“Here,” Ozpin said. She murmured her thanks as she blew into the napkin, while Ozpin looked on, his face etched with worry. “You look like death warmed over, Glynda.”

“That’s putting it charitably.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t stay home.”

“Don’t change the subject,” she snapped, even as she felt the last dregs of chastisement slipping from her. Another sigh, this one a concession of defeat, as she wadded up the napkin and discarded it into a nearby bin. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t come?” she asked instead.

Ozpin averted his gaze, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I merely wish you’d taken tonight to get well. Not that I don’t appreciate the company, only that I’d rather it not come at your expense.”

“It’s a cold, Ozpin, not the plague. I’m not about to be carried out on a stretcher by paramedics.” The sniffle at the end of her words belied her somewhat. “Besides,” said Glynda, ignoring the persistent itch climbing up the back of her throat. “Someone needed to be here to make sure you didn’t ‘accidentally’ maim one of your colleagues.”

The indulgent, vague amusement faded from Ozpin’s voice. “I think I’m capable of being out in public without a chaperone.”

Glynda stood with arms akimbo. “Even I wanted to individually break all of his fingers. I can only imagine what indecent thoughts were going through your head.”

“Then perhaps those thoughts are best left unsaid, for your peace of mind.” Which was about as much of an admission as she’d expected to get out of him, but even so, she wasn’t entirely surprised to see him frowning at his drink. “I’ve spent a lifetime having less-than-flattering comments hurdled at me. There’s very little one can say to me that I haven’t heard before, and even less that can genuinely upset me. But to so blatantly disrespect my staff, and expect me to stand by and tolerate it…”

Wordlessly, Glynda took her champagne flute and tipped its contents into his glass. The gesture of solidarity wasn’t lost on him, and he offered a grateful, albeit humorless smile.

Ozpin inspected the carbonated liquid. “There isn’t enough alcohol in this building,” he said wryly, “that can get me tipsy, let alone drunk.” Nevertheless, he polished it off in three long swallows.

“The downside to having a robust Aura and a magic liver,” Glynda said. That managed to elicit a soft laugh from Ozpin.

“The enhanced resistance to illness and injury is helpful,” he conceded. “Certain other side effects, however, I could do without.” He hailed one of the waitstaff and exchanged the empty coupe for a crystal goblet, fizzing with a burgundy liquid that Glynda couldn’t name. “Beacon’s medical staff are convinced I’m some sort of biological anomaly.”

“Which is code for, ‘they didn’t teach me this in graduate school, and now I’m questioning my education because the headmaster’s medical chart scares me.’” Curse or not, Ozpin’s ambiguous immortality had its share of perks: greater stamina, considerable pain tolerance, and an increased damage threshold for his Aura. It couldn’t protect him from everything, but as far as combat failsafes went, you couldn’t ask for much more.

Apart from asking to not be cursed in the first place, but thousands of years later and the gods didn’t seem inclined to budge on those terms.

“I think most of them have adopted the mindset of ‘the less I know, the better I’ll sleep at night.’ Something that I can’t entirely fault them for,” Ozpin added. He drained nearly a fourth of his glass in a single take. Idly, she wondered how many more of Qrow’s bad habits he planned on picking up.

“Is that actually doing anything to you?” Glynda asked instead.

He swirled the wine in his goblet. “I can become inebriated, if the alcohol is potent enough,” he said at last. “Or if I drink a considerable amount. But I doubt the drinks here have a high enough ethanol concentration to affect me. And as much as it would get me out of…mandatory socialization…I’d rather not spend the night running back and forth to the restroom.”

“If I didn’t know any better”—she did—“I’d say you were trying to get drunk from the placebo effect.”

“Trying,” said a familiar voice from behind, “and failing miserably by the looks of it.”

There was a delayed reaction on her part, where she turned to face the owner of said voice and found the neurons in her brain momentarily forgetting how to synapse. Brought on by a sudden bout of mental fatigue, and the slow-acting cough medicine that was probably doing more harm than good at this point.

“I know the suit looks bad, but you don’t need to give me that look,” he said in mock-affront.

Lucidity returned, and now Glynda partially understood the source of her muddled brain’s confusion. “What are you doing here, Qrow?”

Qrow rolled his eyes. “Nice to see you too.”

If the setting itself wasn’t throwing her off, then his attire certainly was, a worn khaki suit with gold accents that hung loosely around his shoulders and waist, perfecting the scruffy homeless look he had going. His presence here was dissonant enough, without having to contemplate his outfit and who he must have mugged to get it.

A sudden, nagging realization hit her.

Glynda rounded on Ozpin. “You liar. You thought I wasn’t coming.”

His composure faltered, if only for a heartbeat, smoothed over with the image of ageless tranquility and concern he’d long ago perfected (and she’d long ago stopped falling for). “That hardly seems like a fair accusation.”

She leveled him a flat look. “Branwen,” she repeated. “What are you doing here?”

Qrow took a swig from the flask that he’d somehow smuggled past security. “Plus one,” he said, with a sidelong smirk at Ozpin.

He had the grace to look sheepish.

“I can’t believe you.” Glynda couldn’t decide what annoyed her more: that he was so terrified by the prospect of being stranded here, with no one for company except the voice in his head, that he invited Qrow Branwen; or that she’d been replaced with Qrow Branwen. “After all the things I have willfully put myself through over the years for you, did you seriously think that a party was going to be my breaking point?”

“I can’t believe you volunteered to do this,” Qrow said, and Glynda didn’t imagine the brief flash of alarm on Ozpin’s face.

“Meaning?” she asked.

“Meaning you need to step up your negotiation tactics,” Qrow told her. “Because you’re out of your mind if you seriously think I agreed to do this out of the goodness of my heart.”

Tonight was clearly meant to test how much lower she could set the bar where her expectations were concerned. So far, it had yet to disappoint.

“You bribed him.” It wasn’t a question.

“I promised to compensate him as a thank you for going out of his way and doing me the favor,” Ozpin clarified, though he paused to give Qrow a look of mild exasperation. “Something which you seem determined to make me regret.”

Qrow shrugged. “My discretion costs extra. Not that I’m opposed to bargaining,” he said, with a grin that immediately sent a conga line of unholy thoughts through Glynda’s head. A hint of color crept into Ozpin’s face that had absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol in his hand.

She sighed. “I’m already feeling nauseous from the postnasal drip. Please don’t make me vomit, or I will aim for your suit.”

“It’s not mine, so be my guest.” He plucked at one of the sleeves. “A little splash of color would probably liven up the palette anyway.”

She watched as Qrow toyed with a loose thread on the cuff seam. “I know you disdain formalities, but even you have standards where appearance is concerned. You couldn’t have bothered to show up in something less—”

“Offensive?” Qrow offered. He flashed her a razorblade smile, taking the time to indulge in a stretch that showcased the outfit’s shabbiness. “Sorry I didn’t rob a boutique for the occasion. I had to borrow a suit from Tai at the last minute. It’s not like I keep fancy clothes lying around in my closet for formal events, at least not since—”

Not since Summer’s funeral.

An uncomfortable truth, one he clearly hadn’t meant to stumble upon so unwittingly if the way he cleared his throat was anything to go by. A hand reached up to comb through unkempt hair, an idiosyncrasy Glynda recognized for what it was: unease.

It was immediately countered by a second idiosyncrasy: a bracing nip from his flask, which he then pocketed as though nothing had happened.

“Y’know”—Qrow tossed an accusing look in Ozpin’s direction—“maybe if my boss paid me more I’d be able to afford a nice suit.”

“I’m noticing that tonight’s conversations have a theme,” Ozpin said. He was tactful enough to follow Qrow’s lead. “If you take issue with your salary then you’ll have to negotiate with your current employer. Though as I understand it, Signal pays its teachers relatively well.”

“Because my teaching gig isn’t a cover for my super-secret field job,” Qrow said, and he gave Ozpin a light jab in the shoulder. “Come off it, Oz. Like you don’t have a say in what goes on over there at that madhouse.”

“Madhouse?” Glynda asked, at the same time Ozpin said, “Last I checked, Signal has a headmaster that thankfully isn’t me.”

“And she regularly consults you on course content and staffing, which is the reason why I work there. Q.E.D.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You ever had to teach a classroom full of prepubescent kids? It’s like herding lemmings—the attention span of a rodent mixed with suicidal tendencies. You’d think they all have hero complexes with how often they try to throw themselves into the Grimms’ mouths.”

“If I recall, two of those ‘lemmings’ are your nieces,” Glynda pointed out, and she glared in Ozpin’s direction when he had the audacity to smile into his drink. Because enabling the man responsible for impressionable children was such a fantastic idea.

Again, he shrugged. “They’ve got good heads on their shoulders, and between the two of them I’m not worried. They’re not about to go do something stupid; Tai and I made sure of that. The rest of their classmates, on the other hand…” Long fingers reached up and kneaded at his temples. “You’d want a raise too if you had to deal with the bullshit I did.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t spend all of your paychecks on alcohol you could afford a new suit,” Glynda remarked, a tad waspishly. As if to prove her point, he froze mid-motion in the act of snatching an unattended flute from off one of the serving trays. Their gazes met, and he offered her a rakish grin that did nothing to impress, sidling back to Ozpin’s side now brandishing his prize.

“I teach, therefore I drink.” His eyes lingered on the headmaster long enough to at last goad a response out of him.

Ozpin adjusted his glasses. “I stand by my previous statement. And even if I were inclined to believe your salary was insufficient, I’d like to point out that procuring lien has become no less tedious an undertaking.” Qrow cocked a brow, and Ozpin suppressed a sound that bore some distant relation to a snort. “Do you think I have the ability to just magically will money into existence?”

“Yes,” said Qrow.

Glynda found herself making an expression that mirrored Ozpin’s own flat one.

“What?” he asked. “With all the weird fucking shit I’ve seen you do, you seriously expect me to stop suspending my disbelief now? After what you did to me and Raven—”

“Qrow,” Glynda warned.

His jaw shut with a near-audible click of teeth. “Anyone that hears us isn’t going to care, and anyone that would care can’t hear us.”

She grudgingly conceded that he had a point. The background ambiance created by the guests and the music on the speakers was as good of a smokescreen as any for their conversation. There were, admittedly, worse ways to tempt fate.

Didn’t mean she had to give him the satisfaction of being right.

“Unlike him, I’m not about to bargain for your discretion,” she muttered. “At least try to pretend you know what ‘subtlety’ means.”

“Perhaps we should relocate to the balcony,” Ozpin suggested, with a quelling look aimed at Qrow before he could continue to argue for argument’s sake. Years of loyalty won out, and the other man relented with a “yeah, okay” under his breath.

“Believe it or not, my abilities aren’t limited by imagination. They do come with certain constraints.” Ozpin began to herd them in the direction of the staircase. It didn’t escape her notice that he was scanning the crowd, no doubt checking that the coast was clear and they weren’t about to be ambushed by any marauding politicians. Evidently satisfied, he continued: “Even though it bypasses our traditional understanding of reality, magic still operates within definable parameters. No amount of wishful thinking can get around them, however convenient those powers appear.”

“Get back to me when you figure out how to turn water into wine,” Qrow said. “Then I’ll hear whatever you have to say about ‘definable parameters.’”

“He has a point, Oz.” Glynda had the momentary satisfaction of watching them both glance back over their shoulders to stare at her in surprise. “After all,” she continued, “you managed to turn a drunk into a bird.” Her gaze slid in Qrow’s direction. “Too bad you couldn’t give him the magical power of sobriety.”

Qrow flipped her off. “You’re hilarious.”

Ozpin turned to climb the stairs, but not before she caught his amused expression. “Let’s not go asking for miracles, Glynda.”

“It’s when you say stuff like that,” Qrow muttered. “What the hell qualifies as a miracle for someone who can literally break the fabric of reality?”

“It would be more accurate to say I ‘bend’ it,” Ozpin replied, and suddenly Glynda had a newfound insight for where he got his teaching philosophies from. “I thought you would have known that, seeing as we’ve had this conversation before.”

“We have?”

“On more than one occasion.”

“Weird how I don’t remember that.”

“As I’ve mentioned before,” Ozpin said, “the curse allows, and sometimes even requires, temporary violations of spacetime and conservation of mass. As for restrictions, some of them come from not just continuous and voluntary usage, but passive siphoning. With every reincarnation cycle, each new host receives fractionally less magic than before, which limits what I, my predecessors, and my successors are capable of—”

“Oh wait, I remember now.” Qrow mounted the last step and leaned against the handrail. “How do you make magic sound so boring.”

“The same way you make it sound absurd by suggesting I wave my hand and conjure lien from the ether,” Ozpin retorted. Glynda took up the spot to his right, watching the guests mill below the balcony.

“A part of me almost wishes you could, and I don’t mean that entirely in jest,” she said. “Ulterior motive or not, Burrell does have a say in funding. If he chooses to contest the matter we’ll have more to worry about than just Peter’s disappointment.”

“You already got cornered by that greasy jackass?” Qrow stopped fingering the lights wrapped around the balustrade to look at him. “No wonder you were meerkating the room. The hell did he want?”

“The same thing he always does,” Glynda muttered.

Ozpin propped his cane against the railing. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” he said, only to be met with a dubious noise from Glynda. “This isn’t the first time he’s attempted to sabotage me, and it won’t be the last. He loses a little credibility every time he pulls a stunt like this, and he knows it, so I don’t think he’s willing to press his luck. I suspect that tonight was about testing the chinks in my armor as much as it was antagonizing me for its own sake. His way of reminding me that he could be a…threat, if he so chose.”

“Please.” Qrow snorted. “My corgi could kick his ass.”

“Though I suppose,” he went on, in more airy tone, “if our budget was somehow cut, we’d be faced with the interesting dilemma of how to keep the lights on at the school. Of course the Grimm housed in the containment facilities would have to be either killed or released…”

“Transport’s a no-go,” Qrow said. “I mean, if we can’t afford to pay the electric bill for running the Atlas-tech enclosures, and Burrell’s tightening the regs on relocating Grimm, then we’d have to release them somewhere local.” There was a hint of menace in his smile. “How about his living room?”

Glynda opened her mouth, about to weigh in, when she noticed Qrow turn to look down the opposite end of the balcony. Something akin to resignation soured his expression, however briefly, before he sighed and went digging for his flask.

“Speaking of Atlas-tech,” Qrow said.

This time she didn’t have to suffer through the embarrassment of a delayed reaction. Though if she was being honest with herself, nothing short of amnesia could ever make James Ironwood unrecognizable to her. His aesthetic was memorable in a deliberately imposing way, a white tailcoat with navy accents atop a slate-gray military dress shirt. As he neared their posse, Glynda could make out the medals pinned to his uniform, and the Atlesian aiguillettes that denoted his status as a Council member.

“Ozpin!” He reached them in three long strides. The headmasters shook hands. “It’s been a few months. How have you been?”

“Not as well as I’d like, but better than you’d originally assumed,” Ozpin answered, a little cryptically.

Whatever that meant, James apparently understood, because his face lit up. “I’m pleased to hear it.” His gaze fell to her, and he smiled. “You look lovely, Glynda.”

“I have an upper respiratory tract infection and I’m currently coughing up enough mucus to drown a slug.” This time, Glynda did roll her eyes. “Flattery hasn’t worked on me in ten years, James. Try again.”

James held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Keep my distance. Message received.” At last his eyes lighted upon Qrow (who was in the middle of spiking his own glass with the contents of his flask), and his demeanor abruptly shifted. “I didn’t realize that these events were open to the public.”

“They aren’t, and I’m not ‘the public,’” Qrow said, eyes narrowed. “Oz invited me.”

James clasped his arms behind his back. “Glad to see that nothing’s changed since my last visit,” he said, with a pointed look at Qrow’s suit.

Qrow made a noise in the back of his throat. “I think I almost forgot how much I missed you, Jimmy.”

“Behave,” Glynda said. “Both of you.”

“I didn’t realize that you were going to be here,” Ozpin interrupted. He sipped at his drink. “Why didn’t you tell us that you were the Atlas Council’s representative? We would have met up with you upon your arrival.”

“It was a last-minute decision,” James admitted. “Originally we were going to send Hyland, but something came up and she wasn’t available. We couldn’t very well not send someone, so…” He shrugged. “We drew straws. I lost.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the chance to come, with how often you rave about Jacques Schnee’s parties,” Qrow said, unable to keep the contempt out of his voice.

James’ brow furrowed. “Attending his social functions is more of a formality at this point. He’s a useful ally, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“So this isn’t your kind of scene,” Qrow said.

“No.”

“Really. It’s stilted, boring, and mechanical—just like you.”

His jawline tightened. “At least my mere presence doesn’t endanger the people around me.”

Perhaps it was too much to hope for, Glynda thought brokenly, that they could go one night without antagonizing each other.

Qrow laughed, low and dark and devoid of mirth. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I thought my Semblance was going to bring down the building.”

Some of the combativeness faded from James’ expression, replaced with curiosity. “Then what are you doing here?” he asked. “Clearly you didn’t come for the drinks or conversation.”

“Yeah, no, fuck that. I’ve got all the drinks I want right here.” He lifted his flask and gave it an emphatic shake. “Like I said, invitation. I’m here to pull the fire alarm when Oz gives me the signal so we can make our little jailbreak and run for it.”

“You make me sound as incorrigible as the students,” Ozpin said. He pursed his lips. “If you’d be so kind as to refrain from anything that might get me fired, I’d appreciate it.”

Qrow smirked into his drink. “Is that an order or a request?”

“Qrow.” “Order it is, then.” He took a deep draught of whatever poison he’d mixed for himself, grimacing as it went down. “We still need to think of an exit strategy for later. I don’t suppose you can turn on the sprinkler system from here?” he asked James.

“Even if I wanted to,” the other man replied evenly, “my implants wouldn’t be able to remotely access them. They’re only meant to interface with my prostheses, which are a closed system.”

“Maybe that’s for the better,” Qrow mused. “I don’t think this venue has enough rice so we’re fucked if you get wet—”

“How’s Amber doing in Atlas?” Glynda pointedly asked, glaring at Qrow as she spoke. He mouthed a “it’s a valid concern” at her as he retreated into his alcohol.

Years of military conditioning had given him an ironclad grip on his temper, so James merely scowled at Qrow as opposed to dropkicking him off the balcony. “She’s settling in,” he said, his inflection considerably warming. “Though I think the climate is taking some getting used to. On her second day there she left the campus to go shopping in the city; something about blouses being ‘incompatible with the weather’…”

“I told her to pack warmly,” Glynda sighed. “Atlas’ winters aren’t Vale’s. She’s going to get sick.”

“Said the woman in the sleeveless dress.” Qrow arched a brow.

She debated the pros and cons of ignoring that remark, before realizing that he would find a way to lord it over her anyway. “Yes, I’m aware that I’m sick, thank you for stating the obvious. I’d like to point out that I had this cold before tonight.”

“Just saying.”

“Kindly don’t.”

“Is Amber keeping up with her training?” Ozpin politely inquired. He glanced between the two, as if debating whether to intervene, or ignore them and simply let nature take its course. He’d clearly opted for the latter.

“She’s currently enrolled in a few classes at the Academy, and I directly oversee her training whenever I can spare the time,” James assured. “I’ve also asked Winter to step in every so often and give her private sparring sessions.”

Ozpin frowned. “Is that wise, James? I know you place a good deal of trust in your subordinates, but the less people we involve, the safer it is.”

“Amber knows not to use her powers out in the open, and Winter’s only assisting with weapon proficiency. They can still train together if Amber relies solely on her staff. It’ll be good experience for her to spar against an older, more agile opponent.” He clapped a hand on Ozpin’s shoulder. “And even in the event of a worst-case scenario, you needn’t worry about Winter. Atlesian Special Operatives are trained to be discreet with handling sensitive information. I trust her.”

Ozpin considered this. “As long as certain precautions are taken, I’ll allow it.” His eyes crinkled in a smile. “You speak highly of her.”

“Why wouldn’t I? She graduated top of her class and is easily one of my best specialists,” James said. He straightened. “I couldn’t have asked for a better operative. She’s ambitious, loyal, a ruthless fencer—”

“—emotionally constipated, a frigid bitch,” Qrow added.

James closed his eyes and inhaled. “You know,” he said, in a voice clearly strained with effort, “I’m sure if you both sat down and talked about your problems like adults, you would get along.”

He cast him a sidelong look. “I’d rather have you shoot me.”

“That could be arranged.”

“Gentlemen,” Ozpin said, but it didn’t sound like a reprimand. Rather, his voice had taken on an apprehensive quality that Glynda couldn’t quite place. Only when she followed his line of sight toward the stairs did a sense of déjà vu creep over her.

“I wondered where you’d disappeared to,” said the newcomer, a woman in matching black slacks and blazer, with a long sheet of silvery-blonde hair. She regarded the headmasters with an expression that was unreadable, though not unfriendly. “How was your flight, General?”

“Uneventful, but I’m not complaining.” James dipped his head. “It’s good to see you again, Councilor Integra.”

“Likewise.”

Ozpin cleared his throat. “Did you need me for something, Integra?”

“For work? No. At least, nothing that can’t wait until next week,” she said, but with the casual evasiveness of a person who’d been waiting for an opportunity to get their foot in the door, and now had one. “But I did however receive a few concerns I need to address with you.”

“Concerns?” Ozpin echoed. “In regards to what?”

If Glynda had been expecting to hear Burrell’s name coming out of her mouth, she was sorely mistaken. “Do me the courtesy of not looming over the guests. Your combined presence is starting to unnerve people. Either disperse and mingle with the crowd or wallflower if you must, as long as you do it on the first floor.”

Not bothering to wait and see if they’d comply, she turned on her heel and swept back down the stairs.

“…a pity she’s retiring next year,” Ozpin said, after a moment. “I’ve always found her the most reasonable of Vale’s Council.”

James exhaled. “That was unlucky.”

“Well, it’s not like we were making an effort to hide,” Qrow said, his fingers wrapping around the banister. “And Huntsmen in groups do tend to draw attention, she’s not wrong about that.” He swore softly under his breath. “So much for waiting out the storm up here.”

Ozpin’s eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into his cane. “We don’t need to stay for the full duration,” he murmured. “Merely another hour or so.”

“You make your job sound like an endurance test,” Qrow said.

James swapped a look with Ozpin. “It isn’t? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Not the words I would have used,” Ozpin said, peering contemplatively at his glass, “but I suppose anything more accurate would involve profan—”

Glynda sneezed.

It took effort to not gag on the mucus sliding along the back of her throat. With a grimace, she coughed it back down, unable to suppress the knee-jerk shudder that followed. Lifting her head back up, she was caught off guard by Qrow’s rather intent expression, which was now disconcertingly closer than it had been a moment ago.

“Can I help you?” she asked. sandpaper.

He peered at her a heartbeat longer before declaring, somewhat unnecessarily, “You look terrible.”

“You don’t say,” she said through clenched teeth.

Her first thought was that he was clearly more drunk than he was letting on, only to then have that thought fizzle out like a wet firecracker when he reached forward and, before she could flinch out of range, graze his fingertips across her forehead.

She swatted his hand away. “What are you doing?”

“You look really terrible, Glynda.” He folded his arms across his chest, head tipped to the side in feigned deliberation. “I think you might have a fever. We should get you home so you can sleep.”

“For the last time, Branwen, it’s a cold, I’m not going to—” Her thoughts came to screeching halt and hastily backpedaled. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas,” Qrow retorted. “Unless you want to stay here and eat shitty appetizers all night.” He turned to his superior. “You in?”

It spoke volumes of Ozpin’s loss of fucks to give via alcohol that he didn’t even try pretending to object. “James and I will notify Integra and the other kingdom representatives.”

“You’ll notify her,” James corrected him. “It makes sense for you to leave under the guise of taking her home, and Qrow’s not obligated to stay so no one will begrudge him leaving. But I can’t imagine anyone being happy if I left, too. You don’t need a three-man escort.” A rueful smile ghosted over his face. “See to it that you actually do get some rest.”

“You can see to it yourself,” Glynda insisted. There was a part of her that would, in retrospect, take the time to process everything she was saying. Right now, that part of her brain was taking backseat to twenty milligrams of cough medicine and an acute headache. Consequences be damned; she wasn’t about to abandon him. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” she began, “but didn’t we just get done telling Burrell that we needed to finalize our preparations for the Atlas mission?”

Ozpin narrowed his eyes in thought. “We did,” he said.

“If I’m indisposed, you’ll need someone to step in and help oversee those plans,” she concluded. “And who better to take over than the Councilor in whose kingdom said mission will take place? We’re cutting it rather close with the deadline, so the sooner you two leave, the sooner you can prepare.”

She could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen James gape. It was gratifying to know that her underhandedness ranked up there with the discovery that magic existed.

Qrow whistled. “Think it’ll work?”

James scrubbed at his face, before his hand came to rest at his chin. “Like you said, it’s not as if we have any other ideas.” But beneath the cool composure was an earnest hopefulness that he wasn’t quite able to mask, that betrayed just how miserable he would be at the prospect of the alternative.

It wasn’t her most eloquent plan, but desperate times…

“We’ll meet you outside.” A hand snaked around her shoulder before Glynda could protest, and she found herself being guided down the stairs. “Gotta make it look convincing if we want to sell it,” Qrow said by way of explanation. He discarded his partially-drained flute on a passing table. “Try coughing on one of the servers. That ought to do the trick.”

“You’re enjoying this,” she accused, without any heat.

“And you’re not? Don’t try to deny it,” he said, “you wanted an excuse to nope the fuck out of here as much as any of us.”

Even if she had the energy to deny it, she wouldn’t have bothered. It was late, she was sick, and gods, was it really that cold out? Glynda reflexively reached her hands up to wrap them around her arms as they stepped through the doorway. Crisp winter air burned in her lungs, and her breath fogged around her face. She stamped out the treasonous impulse to duck back inside the venue.

“What's taking them so long?” she heard Qrow mutter.

Then, not even fifteen seconds later, they appeared silhouetted against the building entrance. They stopped long enough to exchange words with the porter before crossing the street to join them.

“I can’t believe that worked,” James marveled. “I thought we’d have to—” His eyes jumped to Glynda when she failed to suppress a shiver. “Glynda, you’re freezing. Here”—he was already shrugging out of his overcoat—“I have a shirt on underneath, take my coat—”

“You don’t have to—” The protest died off as he draped the heavy fabric across her shoulders. The effect was immediate, and she allowed herself to sag into the garment, enjoying the residual warmth leftover from his body heat. “Thank you, James.”

His features softened. “Of course.”

Ozpin reached for his glasses. He’d produced an eyeglass cleaner from somewhere on his person, and was now running the cloth over the lens. “James and I were saying that we rarely have an opportunity to get together, outside of work. Would either of you be interested in getting dinner, now that our night is free?” He donned his spectacles, and in the lamplight his smile held a hint of mischief. “It’s the very least I can do for inconveniencing you both.”

Qrow shoved his hands in his pockets. “You paying?” he asked.

“I think I can manage to cover dinner,” he said. “My financial troubles notwithstanding.”

She caught James’ perplexed frown. “Don’t ask,” she sighed.

“It will have to be a restaurant where other guests won’t find us,” Ozpin added. “I imagine they wouldn’t take kindly to hearing that we…exaggerated your illness and used our jobs as Huntsmen to get out of a mandatory event.”

“Oh don’t worry, Oz.” Qrow smirked. “I know a place.”

I like to headcanon that the Wizard’s magic is a bit like the serum used on Steve Rogers, so Oz, his predecessors, and Oscar are all stuck with the side effect of magically-enforced sobriety.

For those of you that that were curious, and want to know what the chapter title translates to:

Latin: veni, vidi, vinavi – “I came, I saw, I drank.”

vīnum – “wine”

– > [ vīn- ] – stem – > [ vīn- ] + [ -āre ] – verb-forming suffix for the present infinitive, “to wine” or “to [drink] wine” – > [ vīnāre ] + [ -āvī ] – conjugated for first-person singular perfect active indicative, “I drank wine” = vinavi – final omission of macrons

I’m pretty sure that somewhere I just made a Latin enthusiast cry, but oh well.

#rwby #rwby fics #rwby thought dump #all in the job #ozpin #glynda goodwitch #james ironwood #qrow branwen #my posts #i speak #oh thank god it's fucking done #i don't even care anymore whether this fic is good or not #sorry for the wait guys

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