#{ waiting for them to get into a scenario where they need a flashlight and blue is just OP with it }

[curseofbreadbear]

animatronicabundance​:

Rockstar Row? It takes the boy a second to remember where that was, as he didn’t have a map from sheer luck of avoiding mapbot somehow, but how could he forget that area of the mall. It was where he acquired his soft bear friend, one of the glass cases had been open that night and he took a chance. Something about the bear just called to him, and while he’s not sure what or why……..he’s glad he had a friend even if it was plush. Now he has two though and he couldn’t be more excited!

“R-Rockst-star R-Row…g-got it!”

His heart races a bit with nerves, would he be able to keep up with the older boy? He was awfully good at running, the tripping with the bunny didn’t count, but he never had to keep up with another kid. At Least from what he remembers he never had to keep pace with another child.

The boys do mostly well though, getting slightly split up by one staff bot but it doesn’t take long for him to get back to being Gregory’s shadow. Almost there…amost-

A familiar red station beckons as the hour hits, but they both are used to this song and dance by now. Gregory and the boy, who’s yet to give a name neither has Gregory but the night has nerves high, make it safely inside. He puts his hand on his racing chest and takes a deep breath once it’s safe to leave. That was their only problem….it was a straight shot to Freddy’s room now.

[If Gregory had to guess, then this kid probably hadn't made sprinting part of his strategy ( unlike Gregory, who never passed up the benefits of a delicious Fizzy Faz ). Maybe he preferred hiding -- with a hidey-hole like that closet earlier, he clearly had some prowess with stealth. In other words, he was Gregory's strategical opposite...he'd have to keep that in mind if they had to pull another stunt like this. It wouldn't do to have him lag behind, after all -- that gave the bots ample opportunity to catch him.]

[This bout of running went without a hitch...for the most part, anyway. A STAFF bot had almost split them up, but thankfully, the other kid was quick-witted. He'd caught up despite the snag in their route, and now they were well on their way to Rockstar Row.]

[...Not without darting into a charging station first, though. One glance at his watch told him that they had a minute, at best, to do so. Moon was on the prowl -- and although Gregory would usually summon Freddy for such encounters, there was no telling what might happen with the new kid around. He worried that Freddy's frantic stomping might send him into high alert -- that was the last thing they needed.]

[Nevertheless, they were safe once again; the Pizzaplex's lights flickered back on, which meant that all they had to worry about now was getting back to Freddy. That shouldn't be difficult, though -- his entire reason for heading to Rockstar Row ( and Freddy's green room ) hinged on the lack of animatronic presence there. They would be safe.]

❝ It's just a straight shot from here. I don't think we have to worry about those bots anymore. ❞ [Gregory glanced over, watching the other kid catch his breath; all this running must have been taking a greater toll on him than Gregory realized. At least they could probably go at their own pace now.] ❝ ...Catch your breath, then let's go. We don't have to worry about running for a while. ❞

[Once the other kid settled down, Gregory led him out of the charging station. He kept a slow and steady pace this time around, but kept a sharp eye out for the animatronics ( or the dancing rabbit lady )...just in case. It didn't seem like they were in any danger, and Freddy was just around the corner.]

[At last, they reached Freddy's green room door; Gregory pulled out his Photo Pass, but stalled before opening it.]

❝ ...This room is safe. Freddy's in there, but he's our friend. He's not like the others. ❞ [He'd already reassured this other kid about Freddy, probably, but it didn't hurt to encourage him again before they actually entered. He seemed really squeamish around ALL of the animatronics.] ❝ Ready? ❞

[pappydaddy]

Oblivious (r.b.)

A/N: Another request down! This one is another Robin request. It's a bit longer than the last one I posted, but it's a bit dry unfortunately. I tried to make it like my other longer fics, but I just felt like this is was meant to be this length. I threw in a funny scene in the end. Anywho, I hope you like it lovely anon💛, I really tried to do your request justice (I loved it btw).

P.S: Not proofread yet. I'm gonna go over all my fics in these upcoming fics to proofread and I will do this fic then

TV Show/Movie: Stranger Things

Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Byers!Reader

Stranger Things/Robin Taglist: N/A

Requested

Warnings: Fluff, a parent being obvious, getting caught getting hot and heavy the backseat. Pretty short in length.

Note: Not proofread yet. I'm gonna go over all my fics in these upcoming fics to proofread and I will do this fic then

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation - my gif -

The cool night breeze rolled in through Y/N Byers’ open window as she and Robin laid in her bed. Late Summer nights spent in bed with her girlfriend were Y/N’s favourite. Having their legs tangled together, their arms holding each other close as they lightly traced random shapes on each other. It was true bliss in her eyes. “You think your mom is back with the movie yet?” Robin broke the comfortable silence with a whisper. Y/N shrugged, pulling her hand away from where it was playing with Robin’s short hair.

“We would have heard her car so probably not,” She answered, shifting as she propped her elbow up. Robin automatically rolled onto her back, gazing up at Y/N with big blue eyes that sparkled in the silver moonlight, the sounds of frogs and crickets filling the silent room again as they enjoyed the company of each other. “Steve is probably taking forever to lock up the store and she’s probably waiting for him to leave so we don’t start without him.” She hypothesized, looking down at Robin again.

Robin hummed, nodding as she pictured Steve fumbling around with his keys, trying each one to figure out which one locked the store door. “He can never remember which key goes to what. We should get him a label maker so he can label them.” She suggested making Y/N snort out a laugh, flopping on her back, untangling themselves from each other completely.

“Are we really going to be that couple that gives friends stationary for presents,” She asked, lulled her head to the side to gaze at Robin who shrugged, pulling a face that asked her why they couldn’t be. “Because those couples are the boring couple that never get invited to any parties people actually want to have fun at.” She answered Robin’s silent question.”

“Fair point.” Robin agreed just as Y/N’s bedroom door opened. The two girls pulled themselves up, looking at the door as Joyce popped her head in.

“Sorry to interrupt girls night, but Steve is here with the movies and I got the snacks, come on out to the living room.” She told them, leaving the door open as she disappeared down the hall, getting Jonathan from his room. Silently, the girls rolled off Y/N’s bed and shuffled out into the living room, being greeted by Steve and Will placing bowls of chips and popcorn on the coffee table that already had a display of soda and water sitting on it.

“Hey, Dingus,” Robin greets Steve as she brushed past him to sit on the couch. “Will.” She nodded at the younger boy, slapping hands with him in a greeting as he sat beside her.

“Hi, Robin.” Steve breathed out, taking a seat in the armchair, cracking open a can of soda, taking a drink. Y/N stepped over his sprawled-out legs, plunking herself down on the other side of Robin, her feet kicking up to rest on her lap comfortably.

“Where are the other kids?” Y/N wondered, looking over her shoulder at Steve as he sat his open soda down, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth.

“Dustin is sick, Max is busy being grounded, Lucas is sulking being Max is grounded, and Mike is at a family dinner with his grandparents,” Steve listed off the location of each kid easily. Making Robin laugh. “What?” Steve asked with furrowed brows as he grabbed a chip, crunching on it instantly before wiping his hands on his jeans, bouncing his knee.

“Oh nothing, it’s just that you’re such a mom.” Robin made fun of him, her hands resting on Y/N’s ankles as Joyce walked back in with Jonathan in tow looking like he just woke up from a nap, the pair sitting on the other couch.

“So, Steve,” Joyce started, reaching for two sodas, handing one to Jonathan. Robin reached over, collecting three and placed them in her lap. “What movie is first?” She asked as Y/N and Will each plucked a can from Robin’s lap, opening them at the same time, both cans hissing loudly.

“Have no idea, let Will pick-”

“Rawhead Rex!” Will interrupted excitedly, shocking Joyce since she obviously hadn’t picked that one up.

“Wiliam Byers, did you pick that up without me knowing?”

“No, please, I don’t like scary movies!” Joyce and Y/N said at the same time.

“Which is exactly why I didn’t pick any scary movies, mister.” Joyce told Will in a semi-scolding manner.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ll protect you from the scary movie.” Robin looked over at her, her tone somewhat teasingly. Joyce cooed at this, tilting her head slightly.

“Aw, you two are so cute together,” She sighed longingly. “Wish I had had someone like that in high school.”

____

“I’m heading out for a date mom,” Y/N announced as she walked down the hall from her room, slinging her purse over her shoulder. Joyce opened her bedroom door, popping her head out just as Y/N was about to walk past, scarring her daughter. “Jesus mom,” She exclaimed, her hand flying to her chest as her heart tried to calm down. “You scared me! I thought you were in the kitchen!”

“Sorry dear,” She apologized, opening her door all the way and stepping out of her room all dressed up. Y/N furrowed her brows at her mom’s appearance. She was awfully dressy for a night home alone. Parting her lips as she followed her mother into the living room, she went to say something but Joyce interrupted. “You said you were going on a date, but I don’t see a car.” She pointed out as she looked out the window.

“I’m actually driving tonight.” Y/N explained before opening her mouth the ask her mother about her plans for the night.

“How progressive,” Joyce smiled, turning to face her daughter again, clasping her hands together. “I love a good feminist moment, you have fun on your date and tell me all about it when you get home.”

“So I can have the car,” Y/N asked tentatively. She had assumed that her mother would take the night to relax as this would be the first night in years she has to be home alone. Joyce nodded, looking at her daughter oddly as she tossed the car keys towards her from the bowl by the door. “You don’t have plans? You seem like you do.” Y/N pressed, not wanting to ruin her mother’s plans.

“Oh, I do have plans, I have a date.” Joyce confirmed as if it was nothing. Y/N sputtered, taken aback by this information and how nonchalantly her mother just disclosed it. She watched her mother walk into the kitchen as if it was any other day.

“If you have a date then you need the car, I’ll figure out how to work around not having a car right now-” Y/N rushed into the kitchen behind her, holding the keys out to Joyce who shook her head, pushing her hand away and cutting her off.

“No, I don’t need the car, he’s picking me up here, you go on your date with the car and have fun!” Joyce told her, grabbing Y/N’s shoulders and forcing her to turn around.

“But, this is your first date since Bob died. Do you want me to stay home in case you need to bail? What if something goes wrong and you can’t reach me or Hopper? What if this guy is secretly a mad scientist connected to the Upside Down? What if he’s just a horrible person-” Y/N rambled, fighting against her mother’s hold as she pushed her towards the door.

“Trust me, Y/N,” Joyce started, opening the front door as Y/N continued to ramble off scenarios that could possibly go wrong. “None of that is going to be an issue. I know this guy, you know this guy. He is perfectly safe and I will be fine. Besides, this isn’t even our first date.”

“Mom-” She tried to say something but was cut off by her own mother all but pushing her out of the house. She let out a shriek, stumbling along the porch.

“Go on your date, Y/N and don’t come back until your date is finished.” Joyce warned, closing and locking the front door. Her face was glaring at Y/N through one of the small windows at the top of their door, almost daring her not to go on the date. Huffing, Y/N turned on her heel and headed off to the car.

____

Joyce’s mysterious date had been pushed into the back of Y/N’s mind the second she saw Robin open her front door. Now, it wasn’t even a thought in her head, all her mind could focus on was the way she felt as Robin’s lips traced down her neck, pecking and sucking as they went. Airy moans left her mouth as she squirmed under her girlfriend, her nearly bare back rubbing against the cold backseat of the car. “Oh god-” She whimpered as Robin’s lips travelled lower, dancing dangerously along the cup of her bra, her fingertips just barely slipping under the underwire. “Oh god!” She gasped when her eyes fluttered open after seeing the flash of red and blue hues on her eyelids.

“Am I making you feel good, baby?” Robin pulled her lips from Y/N breast, looking up at her flirtatiously thinking her exclamation was from pleasure, not fear. Her face fell when she noted the wideness of Y/N’s eyes and flashing lights reflecting off her glistening face.

“That’s fucking Hopper,” Y/N hissed as they both scrambled to sit up, Y/N’s arms crossed over her bra-clad chest. They both tried to squint through the fogged-up back windshield, seeing two figures getting out of the car, the beam of a flashlight clicking on. “Shit, where is my shirt?” She panicked, looking around until Robin threw it at her.

“Duck,” Robin pushed Y/N and herself down as the beam of the flashlight swept over the back window. Grunting, Y/N tried to wiggle around and pull the shirt over her head as Robin watched the beam of light. “He’s looking in the woods, let’s crawl out the front seats!” Robin ushered her, letting her crawl over the console first.

“Something tells me we’re not gonna make it to the front seat,” Y/N trailed off as her eyes squinted at the brightness of the flashlight pointed right at her through the driver’s side window. “Hi, Hop,” She smiled, waving awkwardly. In response, Hopper simply pulled the backseat door open, revealing Joyce standing there, looking confused. “Mom, what are you doing here? I thought you were out on a date?” Y/N froze, her knee digging uncomfortably into the middle console.

“I am on my date, we were heading to the restaurant after the movie when we saw the car looking abandoned.” Joyce explained.

“Your date was with Hopper? You’re dating Hopper?” Y/N asked, shocked as she crawled out of the backseat, Robin following closely.

“You didn’t know that?” Robin asked her as if it was obvious.

“No!”

“Your date was with Robin?” Joyce ignored the two girls, her brows furrowed.

“You didn’t know they were dating?” Hopper looked at Joyce as he pointed his finger at the pair.

“No idea.” Joyce shook her head.

“You two are really oblivious. Everyone knew both of these things,” Hopper informed them with a laugh, earning two glares from Y/N and Joyce. “Well, anyway, we’ve got a reservation-”

“Wait,” Joyce interrupted him. “I thought you guys were just friends-” Joyce pointed to Y/N and Robin who both shrugged sheepishly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked her daughter, slightly embarrassed for not realizing and a bit let down that she didn’t tell her.

“I thought you knew.”

“Well, now that I do know, I want to get to know Robin as your girlfriend so would you guys like to accompany us to our dinner reservations?” Joyce asked, her eyes wide as she hoped her daughter would say yes. She always knew that she liked girls, but she had no idea they were dating.

“Only if I get to drill Hopper with questions to make sure he’s good enough for you.” Y/N playfully glared at Hopper, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Deal.” Joyce nodded firmly.

[errorpeachy]

Helloo!! I just discover your page and even tho you only have one fic I already love itt!!! I finished hxh last night and my heart need more💔💔 could you do a Killua x reader, they know each other since they were babies and their families wanted them to get married, but when Killua find out that’s when he escaped and maybe after that the reader escaped too but they don’t see each other until they are like 20 or something like that. Btw sorry for my English I suck hehehe.💕💕

I can absoLUTELY do this! And don’t worry bb, your English is great💞 I’m doing a scenario for this one~

𑁍 No Take Backs! 𑁍 《Killua x Reader》

“Hey, Hey, Killua!” You shouted, running up to him with enthusiasm. He glanced at you, raising a brow. “What is it, Y/N?” He asked, turning to you. Smiling, you took his hand in yours. “I have something to show you! Follow me!” You said, pulling him along as you walked through the forest that surrounded his house.

Fighting your way into a clearing, you watched him let out a small noise of shock. It was a beautiful, crystal clear lake, one he had never seen before. Flowers surrounded the area and light shone onto the water, making it look drastically different from his dreary house. “How did you find this, Y/N? I live here and even I haven’t seen it before.” He said, looking at you. You grinned, pointing to the scrapes on your knees. “I fell into this clearing when I went exploring. Cmon, let’s swim!” You said, jumping in fully clothed. He paused before shrugging. “Ah, what the heck.” He said before jumping in, making a big splash which caused you to giggle.

“Hey Killua?” You asked, swimming over to him. He looked up at you, shaking his head to get some of the water off of him. He looked kind of like a dog, you thought. “Yeah Y/N?” He answered, powder blue eyes staring back at you. “Let’s stay best friends forever, ‘Kay?” You said, smiling up at him. He turned pink, looking away. “Sure, I guess. You’re not THAT bad.” He muttered, causing you to smile. You were used to his antics, he acted like this ever since he could talk. Even though you two were 12, he hadn’t changed a bit.

“Okay, but no take backs!”

You woke up to the sound of arguing. You were sleeping over at the Zoldyck household, since Killua’s mom practically begged you to stay over. She was almost as protective of you as she was her own son.

Your feet met the cold wood floor of the guest bedroom as you got out of bed. Rubbing your eyes, you fixed your sleepwear before quietly opening the door. You could use Zetsu, however they would all notice it more if your aura suddenly disappeared rather than just moving around. You snuck around to the stair railing, peering between the wooden rails as you watched Killua argue with Milluki and his mother.

“I’m not marrying them!” He shouted, crossing his arms. Milluki rolled his eyes. “You should be glad mother is allowing you to marry someone in the first place, Killua!” He shouted back. Killua glared at him, before looking at his mother. “I want a choice in who I marry! Just cause we’ve been friends since we were little doesn’t mean we’d be a good match!” He said to her. “You two don’t have to be a good match to have good grandchildren. You’re the heir to the family business, and they easily match you in strength. I’m sure you two will have powerful children.” She said, causing him to give her a disgusted look. You were equally as grossed out. Sure, you did have a small crush on Killua, but children was something you definitely didn’t want to think about as a child yourself.

“Why are you even thinking about that?! I’m twelve!” He shouted. You nodded quietly in agreement, thinking it was really weird. His mother had always been a little... odd.

“Because it’s what you should be focused on! You need to take on the family business and marry the right person, and Y/N is that person!” She said, with Milluki nodding next to her. Killua huffed. “Then I’m leaving!” He shouted, storming over to the stairs. Milluki grabbed his arm. “Killua, where do yo-“ he started, but was cut off as Killua grabbed his wrist tightly with his free hand, giving him an ice cold stare. “Milluki. Let go of me.” He threatened lowly. His brother scoffed, grip tightening. In a flash, Killua dug a spare knife out of his pocket and stabbed him in the arm, causing him to reel back in shock. It was honestly a little funny, in a twisted way. His mother rushed over to Killua, pleading in her high pitched voice. He whipped around, and in an instant, she was holding her bleeding face. Her visor was knocked on the ground as she covered her face and called for her husband.

Walking up the stairs, he went over to where you were crouched down. “You’re so nosy, Y/N.” He teased, poking your cheek. You pouted. “You said you were leaving.” You muttered, looking at him. He sighed. “I am. I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you. It doesn’t feel right. I need to get out of this family business and be something that’s not related to assassin life.” He said, patting your head. You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you gulped them down. You got up onto your knees and hugged him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled like vanilla.

“I’m gonna miss you, Killua.”

“I will too.”

Ten years had gone by since that night. After Killua left, you had gone over his last words to you in your head. You decided to quit your family business and become a hunter at the age of 14. Since then, you had been doing freelance jobs and earning money. Life was good. You still had memories of Killua, where you two stayed up and told ghost stories with a flashlight under his soft sheets or splashes around in the clear waters of you two’s secret lake. You hadn’t seen him since he left, but you thought of him often.

Shaking your head, you laced up your shoes. You had a match against some random person in Heaven’s Arena, and you were supposed to go fight in less than a minute. Standing up, you rushed to the tunnel, waiting for them to announce your name.

“And here we have the returning powerhouse, Y/N L/N!”

You stepped out onto the stage, smiling as you waved at the crowd. Scanning the audience, your eyes met a pair of blue ones.

Powder blue.

White hair.

It couldn’t be... could it?

You felt the air leave your lungs. It was him. It had to be. He looked grown up by now- of course he would, he would be 22. You blinked, trying to focus as the fight started.

‘I might as well show off a bit.’ you thought.

The fight was almost criminally easy. You defeated the guy rather quickly before rushing off the stage, not even staying for your victory announcement. Running through the halls, you slammed straight into another person, causing you to fall back.

“Ouch! Sorry!” You said, looking up. The boy had green hair and light brown eyes, as well as a kind smile. He offered a hand to help you up, which you accepted. “It’s alright. You did great in your fight!” He complimented, causing you to smile back. “Oh, thanks! I-“

“Gon! I was looking for you, whe-“ A familiar voice said, pausing. You looked over to see who it was. Your eyes lit up as you rushed over to him.

“Killua! Oh my god, it’s been so long! I’ve missed you so much!” You shouted, hugging him. He turned red, patting your head. “Baka! Don’t say that stuff, it’s embarrassing...” he muttered. You smiled, knowing he was still the same boy you knew long ago. The boy, who’s name you now knew as Gon, looked at the two of you confused. “You know them, Killua?” He asked. “Yeah. We grew up together, but I left to take the hunter exam when we were little and I hadn’t seen them since.” He said. You nodded, smiling at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Gon!” You said, and he nodded back. “Same here!” He said.

You turned to Killua. “Come sleep over at my place! We have to catch up!” You said. He gave a smirk, looking away playfully. “I don’t know, what if people get the wrong idea?” He asked, smirking. You smacked the back of his head. “Ow!” He said.

“Don’t be a pervert!” “Fine, fine, I’ll come over. Only cause you asked.”

Fixing the white sheets on your guest bed, you walked out to see what Killua was up to. He was sat on the couch, watching some sort of TV show about... superpowers? You sat down next to him, leaning on his shoulder. He froze, blue eyes gazing over at you. “What?” He asked, seeing you give him a gentle stare. You smiled softly. “I really missed you, Killua.” You said, hugging him. He turned red, pushing you gently by the head. “Don’t say stuff like that! It’s embarrassing...” He muttered, cheeks pink as you continued to have your arms locked tightly around his waist.

“Why did you leave without me?” You asked quietly, causing him to pause. “I needed to find myself, I needed to become something that was detached from the Zoldyck name. I figured becoming a hunter would do that, and it did. I met some really nice people, Gon being one of them.” He said, gently stroking your hair. You nodded, agreeing silently. You completely understood why he wanted to do that, but something that had been eating you alive for the last ten years had you asking one more question.

“When you said you didn’t want to marry me... was that true?”

His hand stilled, gently resting against your head as he thought quietly. “It wasn’t necessarily true, but I did feel like it wasn’t something that needed to be talked about.” He said, carefully choosing his words. You reached up and gently moved his hand off of your head, holding it in your own instead. “Ever since you left I worried about you. I know you’re strong, but I always thought about whether you were alright or not. I missed you so much- not a day went by with your name not popping up in my head.” You confessed, feeling your face heat up as you buried your face into his chest.

He still smelled like vanilla.

He tended up, his face turning red as he flicked your head. “You’re so embarrassing...” he muttered. “I’m telling the truth, though.” You said softly, looking up at him. He stated back at you, his eyes shining with... love? Was that what it was? It didn’t really matter.

“I’m in love with you, you know. You’re so stupid, making me like you.” He said, looking away as he turned bright red. He looked adorable, his cheeks puffed out due to embarrassment. You smiled, leaning up and giving him a gentle peck on the lips.

“No take backs.” You said, giggling. He rolled his eyes playfully before giving you a gentle smile.

“I’d never want to anyways.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

hey I loved what you wrote for sarahbucky! You are so talented. I was wondering if you are comfortable writing any NSFW content or smut related content for this pairing? If you are I would love you to write something, anything of the sort. If you're not comfortable that's absolutely fine!!

Chasing Water Pumps

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: E Word Count: 5288

Summary: After banishing Sam, Sarah gets Bucky's help reinstalling the boat's water pump.

The water pump sits there on the dock through the morning. It sits there at midday. In the late afternoon, Bucky laughs when Sam almost falls over it as he walks backwards, waving his hands to guide a reversing pickup truck into position. A neighbour bringing spare lumber so they can replace a few rotting boards on the Wilsons’ boat.

Bucky can see—has been able to see all day—that Sam’s itching to just fix the damn pump back into position. Sam’s conscientious, neat, completing one job before moving on to the next, replacing pliers in the toolbox after rewiring the radio, coiling up the cord of a borrowed drill so no one can trip over it. Leaving a hulking piece of machinery just sitting there is killing him. All because Sarah won’t let him touch it.

For Bucky, watching this claim-staking over an old water pump is hilarious. It’s also something he takes absolutely seriously, backing away from the thing the minute Sarah ordered the two of them to quit tinkering and just leave it alone. He’s got no issue ceding to her authority. Oh, he’ll argue with Sam about other parts of the project, but he’s not gonna push back against Sarah. He’s only here for a couple days and she already won his loyalty by letting him bunk on her couch last night. They might be repairing a boat, but Bucky’s not making any waves.

When the sun starts going down and the helpers from the community start heading home to their suppers, almost as many of them shake Bucky’s hand as Sam’s. Bucky feels really good about that. He likes that they’ve become comfortable with him—many of them slapping his Vibranium shoulder as they take his right hand, like it’s just an arm. He likes the lingering warmth of the day and how it’s dried the back of his shirt where he sweat through it. He likes squinting into the sun to watch the vehicles pull away and seeing Sarah standing there, smiling at him. Cupping a hand above his eyes, he smiles back.

“Alright,” Sam says, taking a big step to bring him from boat to land. “Let’s get this water pump back in place.”

Immediately, Sarah comes forward.

“Uh uh, no. That’s not your job.”

“This whole thing is my job,” her brother protests.

Bucky stands on the sidelines, content to witness Sam lose this argument. Getting to study the way the sinking, burning glow of the sun catches on Sarah’s earrings is the equivalent of being handed an ice cream. The breeze that blows her open button-down against her to show him the intimate dip of her waist is the cherry on top of that ice cream. His gaze trails unhurriedly back up to her face and he sees that she’s been watching him admire her. Normally, staring is his default expression, but now his heart hammers with giddy yearning as he holds her eye. She smiles fleetingly before looking back to Sam. Oh right, Sam’s talking. Bucky had kinda tuned him out.

“It won’t take long.”

“No it won’t,” Sarah agrees. “Not if I do it. You’ve messed around with that pump enough for one day.”

“Sarah, come on. Be practical,” Sam pleads. “You can’t do it by yourself.”

“I won’t do it by myself. Bucky here can do the heavy lifting.”

Ok, he’s surprised about that, but when she glances to him, he nods readily. He refuses to meet Sam’s side-eye. He’s sure the message is ‘You traitor.’ Ignoring him, Bucky beams at Sarah.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he tells her.

“And what am I supposed to do?” Sam demands. “Watch?”

“Since you asked,” Sarah informs him, “you’re supposed to go pick your nephews up from AJ’s friend Marco’s house. If they haven’t eaten yet, feed them.”

“But—”

Sam motions indignantly towards Bucky, but Sarah waves away his complaint.

“You asked what I need from you and I told you. Let us get on with what we’ve gotta do here. We’re losing daylight.”

“You heard her, Samuel,” Bucky says, striding to the pump.

The wrench he and Sam passed back and forth while unbolting it is in the top tray of the toolbox when he flips it open. Tucking the wrench into his back pocket, Bucky turns and heaves the pump off the ground. Sarah’s watching. He throws her a smile with a little upward jerk of his chin. She rolls her lips together like she’s hiding her own smile but stands firm until Sam gives up and stalks off across the boatyard.

“You think it’d be cruel to yell after him not to wait up?” Sarah asks Bucky nonchalantly, hand on her hip as the two of them observe her brother’s retreat.

Bucky almost drops the pump before hugging it to himself too tightly, stopping when he hears the metal creak. But he tries to be cool.

“Only if you mean it,” he says.

She spares him a glance that doesn’t tell him either way and walks past, stepping onto the boat.

“You got it?” she asks.

“Yep,” Bucky assures her, adjusting his grip and jumping down onto the deck. Coulda stepped. Wanted to show off. Story of his life since he met Sarah Wilson maybe 36 hours ago.

He follows her into the cabin and she digs through a box of supplies, grabbing a flashlight.

“Might need this soon.”

Her explanation’s unnecessary (the sky’s darkening above them) and Bucky can see the nervousness in it, how she self-consciously plays with the hem of her t-shirt and twists her earring now that they’re together in a semi-enclosed space.

“Unless that arm of yours glows in the dark,” she adds.

“Unfortunately not,” he says with a smile as they duck below deck. His feet clomp sturdily down the steps, but Sarah still looks up at him from the bottom like he might teeter. “You shoulda been there while they were deciding on the specs.”

Sarah laughs, navigating the protruding inner workings of the boat more smoothly than movie spies crossing rooms streaked with red lasers. (Stupidest fucking scenes Bucky’s ever seen.)

“That was in Wakanda, right?”

“Sam told you?”

“He did. I guess you’ve seen a lot. Been a lot of places,” Sarah amends.

For a minute, his throat’s thick. She corrected herself to make sure he knew she wasn’t being nosy about his past. He wouldn’t mind. It’d be fair of her to bring up any worries she had, what with the two of them being alone here. But then, maybe he doesn’t make her nervous in that way. She’s the one who asked him to stay. (Or just told him he was staying more than asked, really.)

“So has Sam,” Bucky points out.

“Yeah, but Sam has to come back here to avoid getting an earful over the phone. Why would you wanna be here? Right here,” she adds, motioning to the spot where the water pump sat until early this morning. Bucky was one of the people who removed it, plus there’s a clear silhouette where the side rests against the boat, inside of which shape the wood’s less weathered, but he’ll be as clueless as Sarah wants if it results in more of this—her hand on his back as she trades places with him to guide him in ahead of her.

“It’s nice here,” he says simply. “Like a holiday.”

The instant he says it, he wants to backtrack. None of this is a holiday for the Wilsons; in spite of the block party atmosphere of the community coming together to restore the boat, they’re doing all this to ensure their livelihood. A good future for Sarah and her boys. She shoots him a benevolent smile like she knows he knows he just put his foot in his mouth. He can only shake his head at himself and carry on.

Squatting, Bucky aligns the holes in the pump’s base with those in the plate it has to mount back onto. They’re a little rusty, but the old blue paint’s just flaking, no problems with the actual integrity of the metal.

“You always do volunteer manual labour on your holidays?” Sarah jokes, putting a hand on his shoulder as she maneuvers around him. She drops to a crouch at his side and directs the beam of the flashlight down onto the pump.

“I like to be busy. I sleep better that way.”

“Until your host’s kids wake you up.”

“Aw, that was no problem.”

“Wrench?” she asks.

“Back pocket.”

Bucky could pass it to her. He could take one hand off the pump, retrieve the wrench, and hold it out for Sarah to grab. Hell, he could take both hands off the pump. The thing’s just sitting here. But he’s selfish, trying to make it look like he has to keep the pump from shifting out of the position he’s put it in, because he wants to find out what Sarah wants. He hasn’t completely thought this through, but some part of him’s saying a good way to find out what Sarah wants is to see if she’ll take the wrench from his back pocket while he’s squatting, jeans hugging his ass.

She laughs softly, looking at the floor.

She slides the wrench out of his pocket.

Now, there’s no actual contact required there, but she has touched him a couple times, so when she asks, “Bolts?” he looks at her in the dim light—flashlight still tilted towards the floor—and tells her, “Front pocket.”

When Sarah elects to maintain the angle of the light by holding the end of the flashlight in her mouth, Bucky thinks she might be capable of cruelty after all; he feels his face go slack at the sight of her lips around a fucking plastic cylinder. The choice leaves her hands free though, which is perfect because she apparently needs to grasp his knee with one for balance while the other goes to his hip, feeling out the line of his pocket. Bucky tries to breathe deep and even. This has gotta be it, the scenario Sam was most worried about when he left them here together.

Mercifully, when Sarah gets her fingers hooked into Bucky’s front pocket, she removes her other hand from his knee and uses it to hold the flashlight. He shifts forward onto his knees so his pocket isn’t pulled so tight and she can get her hand in there. Clearly a bad, terrifying plan now that his dick’s started to stiffen from the lingering image of the flashlight in her mouth and the proximity of her fingers to his crotch. It’s dark. Maybe she won’t see.

“Bolts,” Sarah says, wiggling her fingers deeper. “Nuts too?”

Their eyes meet and she pulls her hand back. Not too fast. Not like she embarrassed herself, saying something she didn’t mean to. Just like she did her bit and now the plan is to see what he’ll do. All he’s really capable of doing for the moment is extracting the nuts and bolts himself, dropping one of each into the raised palm she offers. He takes over with the flashlight and purposely doesn’t touch the end. It’ll drive him crazy if the plastic’s still wet.

“Thanks.”

“Yep.”

He spends three bolts being awkward, just pinching the head of each between his Vibranium fingers to hold them steady while Sarah tightens the nuts with the wrench from underneath the mounting plate. His other hand shines the light right where she needs it. They’re a different team than he and Sam are. Somehow, they can do two parts of the same job in the smallest scale, their hands practically on top of each other without either of them getting in the way. Bucky tries to think about that rather than her leg pressing against his or the fact that the gentle rock of the docked boat reminds him of rocking his hips forward when he… well. Does something he’s trying not to think about.

The wrench is old and though Sarah flicks the adjustment with her thumb to make it grip each nut in turn, it loosens and slips. It makes the task take longer and Sarah have to work harder. With two bolts to go, she sits back and pulls her button-down off, draping it over a pipe. Her t-shirt only catches Bucky’s eye because, even in here, the yellow’s so bright. It’s just the shirt. Absolutely not the shape of Sarah in it.

She leans back in, dropping the second last bolt through the hole. She feels beneath the plate to start the nut up the bolt’s threads with her fingers. With a soft noise of effort, Sarah simultaneously applies the wrench and reawakens Bucky’s erection.

“Sorry for keeping you from dinner,” she says, still tightening in the circle of light he provides. “You must be starving.”

“You have no idea.”

Bucky doesn’t mean for the words to sound the way they do, or maybe he does. Sarah falters, then finishes, but when she leans forward to fit the final bolt in place, the side of her breast presses his arm, and that’s the beginning of the end. Or possibly the end of the middle. Anyway, Bucky lets go of the flashlight and wraps his hand around Sarah’s waist instead. The flashlight must land on its button because the boat goes pitch-black. Why didn’t either of them think to turn the overhead light on? He hears the nut fall from her hand. It’s not one of the nuts he’s concerned with at the moment, so he tells himself they’ll look for it later and focuses on Sarah leaning in to find his lips in the dark.

Kissing her is… Hell, it’s something he’s been thinking about since they met yesterday. When she marched straight over to the boat and then changed her posture the second she spotted him. Bucky appreciates clear body language—it’s something he can do a quick read of and understand. If they’d had more time at that first meeting, of course he would’ve talked to her, flirted with more than a smile, but the smiles they swapped were an effective stopgap until they could end up right here. His mouth on hers. Being careful not to trap her braids under his fingers when he skims them up the back of her neck.

“Um,” Sarah says, breaking away with a shy laugh.

He keeps his hand on her lightly and feels her tilt her head forward like she’s avoiding his eye, even in the dark. Before he can worry that something is wrong, that he’s done something wrong, she lifts her head again and her braids flick, pattering across his forearm like rain.

“You should know,” she says, “since my husband passed, I haven’t really had a lot of time or inclination for this kinda thing, but...”

“That’s ok,” Bucky quickly assures her. “This doesn’t have to be anything. I didn’t mean to push.”

“And you didn’t.”

They sit in silence for a minute before he clears his throat.

“I’ve never… I’ve never had anybody special to me in that way, like your husband was to you, nobody to lose like that. But I do understand… uh, the sort of, um, momentousness… when it’s been a while.”

“You do?”

He can hear humour in her voice. This wasn’t supposed to be a funny conversation. Is he making it that weird?

“Sure. You know about me,” Bucky says quietly. He knows she must. She never asked who he was to Sam to be showing up here, being offered their couch for the night. Never asked about the arm, though he hasn’t tried to hide it. (He can’t remember the last time he just lived like this and the relief is enormous.)

“Tell me about the momentousness.”

He’d like to be able to see her better, but it’s also nice to know she has no idea the way he’s blushing over her request. It’s his own damn fault. Trying to be tactful and generous. Trying to say he knew how she felt, only for Sarah to call him on that. He’s gotta learn that this is not a woman who lets a man speak for her and, if he blunders into doing just that, she doesn’t let him off the hook. And she has a fish business. Who woulda thought.

“Well, it’s, uh…” Bucky rubs the back of his neck with the hand not cupping hers. “It feels like a big deal. Almost like being young all over again.”

“Hey,” she interjects, “some of us are still young.”

He laughs.

“Sorry. I just mean it’s… exciting. You know, thrilling. You wanna do everything at once but you’re also so scared to just…”

“Just…?”

“To just touch her,” he breathes out.

Sarah leans her head back so his hand’s not only touching her neck but holding it up. He laughs again as she straightens. He gets the point; he’s already touching her. So maybe it’s easier than even he thinks it is. Touch. Intimacy. Defiling the belly of a fishing boat with somebody who turned his head so fast he’s the one who needs something bolted back into place. Maybe one on either side of his neck, like Frankenstein’s monster. He sure does feel alive.

“I said I haven’t done this a lot lately,” Sarah says, loosely grasping his wrist. Bucky slips his hand off her neck to line it up with hers, lacing their fingers. “Not that it’s necessarily been that long since the last time I went on a date that ended with more than a kiss at the door.” Abruptly, she laughs. “I’m trying to tell you there’s a condom in the pocket of that shirt I threw over… wherever it got to. If you want this to keep going in a direction where you’d need to use it.”

“Yeah. Yes. I want that.”

“And not just to annoy Sam?”

“Not just.” Bucky smirks in the dark.

“Ok then.”

“I like you, Sarah,” he says as her fingers play with his. He shifts to face her better. “You don’t make things complicated.”

“I think we’ve both had enough of that.”

He can only make a noise of agreement as he comes close enough to feel out her mouth. He’s wishing he’d shaved his face smooth for this—obviously not as certain this encounter was going to happen today, or at all, as the woman who’s been carrying a condom in her pocket—but with a rough tilt of his head as he takes Sarah’s mouth harder, his cheek rubs against hers and she makes a sound into his mouth. A positive sound. An arousing sound. Bucky does something he never does and holds her face in both his hands, metal and skin. Sarah’s go to his hips, hooking into his beltloops, and they both rise up on their knees to press closer.

But she says, “Ouch, kneeled on the wrench,” and Bucky’s only being helpful when he moves his hands to the back of her thighs, running up over her ass as he urges her to her feet with him.

His hands behave themselves a little better when they’re both standing; he keeps them on the small of her back, scrunching her t-shirt in his fingers when she bows into him. He could kiss Sarah for a long time. It’s something he’s always enjoyed, got a lot of practice at when he was young, kissing in the back row of a theatre or savouring every moment until a girl’s curfew with some feverish necking in the alley around the corner from her family’s apartment. Nobody’s counting down the minutes on Bucky’s time with Sarah, so it’s looking like he might be able to just keep dragging his lips across hers for ages, stroking his tongue into her mouth. The geography decides otherwise.

He hears the speedboat’s motor approaching long before he really makes sense of the noise. That happens when the choppy wake hits Sarah’s docked boat, tossing her forward against him.

Alright, tossing him forward. He’s the one whose sea legs are for shit.

It’s evident that she feels his erection against her stomach. She’d have to be really unfamiliar with how this dance went not to notice with the way he’s swelling for her.

“Yeah?” Bucky checks when Sarah digs her fingers into his hips to hold him to her body.

“Yeah.”

He pulls out of her embrace to hunt down that shirt.

“You know, I’ve done this before.”

“I know. I’ve met your kids.” His voice says he’s joking even as his hands move desperately, caressing the boat’s innards in search of soft cotton.

“I mean specifically on this boat,” Sarah confesses, laughing.

Bucky hears a pair of thumps he determines to have been her shoes hitting the floor after the next sound he hears is her unzipping her pants. Wildly, he snatches her shirt from the pipe and dumps the condom out of the pocket and into his hand. He forces himself to calmly replace the shirt where he got it from so she can find it after—just the thought of there being an after has him hardening further.

“It’s startin’ to feel like I’m not so special,” he teases, lurching back to her when the speedboat seemingly swings around upriver and makes a second pass, causing the ground to slope once more.

“You might be,” she teases back. While his legs are tensed to keep his balance, Sarah has to be stretching up on her toes to brush her lips over his. “We’re gonna see about that.”

Her hands curl around the back of his neck as she presses up into the kiss. Bucky groans and gropes for her hips, condom caught between two fingers. His hands run over the sides of her underwear, but it’s mostly skin he touches. Warm and smooth. Kissing Sarah deeply, he traces the soft grooves of stretchmarks, signs of her body’s endurance. She’s given birth twice, lost her partner, come through the Blip and out the other side. This is a survivor’s body. Although she didn’t remove her shirt along with her pants, Bucky breaks the kiss to strip off his. With trembling fingers, he guides her hand from his neck to his shoulder, letting her feel the scars.

Sarah grazes her palm over him. It isn’t hesitant and it isn’t harsh. She touches the place where metal and skin converge the same way she’s touched his neck, his knee. Her other hand strokes over his chest, dawdling to outline his dog tags, then sliding lower. Her fingertips are so light on his abdomen that they almost tickle. The river flows around and against the boat in faint slaps. Sarah’s hand falls to fondle his erection and he gasps into the stillness.

He crowds into her and she presses back against the wall of the boat.

“Is it too cold?” he wonders.

“Cold?” she asks distractedly, popping open the button of his jeans. “No, I’m good.”

Smiling to himself, Bucky ducks his head until they’re almost kissing.

“Ok,” he says. “Well, you let me know.”

His hand wanders from her hip, down, then up her inner thigh. Sarah shivers but doesn’t say anything about being cold, so, breathing harder, Bucky touches his fingers to her underwear between her legs. He can tell she finds his tentativeness a little funny—she exhales a soft laugh—but he needs this short pause to stop him from getting too eager. Though he didn’t want to clarify, he’s figuring that Sarah probably had sex on this boat during her teenage years, and he really doesn’t want his touch to remind her of some adolescent boy’s horny fumblings. Not when the setting’s already bringing up memories for her.

“No heckling,” he jokingly protests.

“I’m not, I swear I’m not.”

He can hear the humour in her voice and he likes the way her words hitch into a panted breath when he relocates his hand to her stomach and nudges his fingers under the band of her underwear.

“Second thoughts?” Bucky asks before he touches her anywhere too interesting.

“Nope. Just a lotta thoughts about you lifting heavy loads off trucks and workin’ a wrench.”

“Yeah?” He pushes his face up under her jaw, kisses there while she tilts her chin to give him room. “You been thinkin’ I might be good with my hands, Sarah?”

He hears her shaky breath when he says her name and thinks there’s a chance he’s not too bad at this. Even now. Not with somebody he seemed to emotionally fall right into step with the instant they clapped eyes on each other.

“No might about it. I’ve been watching you for two days. I know you’re good with your hands.”

Pressing his mouth hard to hers, Bucky slides his fingers down towards warmth and, it turns out, wetness. He groans against her mouth and she jerks his zipper down with demanding fingers. Wedging her hands between his skin and his clothes, Sarah begins forcing his jeans and underwear off together. Even as he’s aching for her to get him naked, he’s gathering her body against his, arm wrapped securely around her back as his fingers slip through her arousal. He curls two fingers inside her and her hips jolt in an apparently automatic attempt to get him deeper. She tries to widen her legs for him, but his hand’s intrusion has stretched her underwear across her upper thighs, so he plucks at them hastily until they fall and she kicks them aside. His own bottom layers are hanging on around his knees. Bucky can’t be fucked to deal with that. He’s punched through a lot of walls rather than going through doors; he knows what is and isn’t a serious obstacle.

Sarah lifts her thigh to his hip and their mouths part with a ragged, shared breath. The Vibranium arm around her supports her—metal fingers clamped tight on the condom between them—as his other hand works her with more pressure when she asks for it in a moan.

“Can I get you off like this, or you want me some other way?” he pants.

It’s like Steve used to say about damn near everything—Bucky could do this all day. He withdraws his fingers from inside her to scrub his fingertips up and down over her clit.

“I’m sure you can,” Sarah says, chest heaving as her hips sway in response to his touch, “but…”

Her hands, which had climbed to his arms after undressing his bottom half, creep lower. The grip of one hand catches in his elbow, thumb to his pulse. The other wraps around his straining cock.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But.”

Insistent on putting on the condom himself, he does it with one arm still encircling Sarah. While he’s tearing it open, he drops his face to her neck again. She sighs as he kisses down her throat and goes mmm when he licks along her collarbone. She’s sweaty, like him.

Though Bucky’s just dying to sink into her, holding her this close is a whole other kind of satisfying. He flicks the condom wrapper away and dips his head, taking hold of the front of Sarah’s yellow t-shirt with his teeth.

“Bucky! What…?”

But her hand pats the back of his head in time with her laughter as he drags the material up until it stays put above her breasts. Tragically, the ghost of Sarah’s horny teenage encounter on this boat possesses him and he’s compelled to mash his face into her cleavage as soon as it’s exposed. He rubs his lips over her breast and she takes the condom from him, reaching between them to roll it down his cock. The feel of her fist makes him grunt into her chest.

“You ready?” Sarah asks him.

Bucky lifts his head and looks at her. It’s dark, but not too dark to judge by her expression that she’s not just asking casually. This isn’t a carefree, youthful hookup—a couple teenagers sneaking onto a parent’s boat or perfecting their hickey-making technique in an alley. Is he ready? He hasn’t been. Not for the occasional assessing stare of a stranger on the sidewalk, or for dating apps and the staggeringly forward pictures people send in response to a simple ‘hi,’ or even for the low-stakes combo of beers and Battleship. But now? For Sarah?

“Yeah,” Bucky states, loud and clear, angling his hips forward when she takes her hands away.

“Alright,” she says, “so am I.”

He kisses her. He believes her.

He grips the underside of her raised thigh with one hand and his dick with the other, bending his knees slightly before pressing up into her. Heat slinks up his chest and twines around his neck like a scarf. Despite the tripping hazard of his pants around his legs, Bucky shuffles forward, holding Sarah so close. She doesn’t make a sound as he fills her, but when he pulls out and thrusts again, an uuuh catches in her throat. God, it feels good to be back in business.

Fingers digging into her leg and her ass, Bucky rocks his hips steadily, huffing sharply through his nose. Sarah’s hands move all over him. They’re on his shoulders, then squeezing his arms; grabbing his hips to encourage him to drive into her harder, then seizing his ass to hold him deep. When he does something good, he feels her tighten on his cock, a quick clutch and release. When he does something really good, she moans so loud the back of his neck tingles and he has to summon every bit of discipline he has not to just let go now.

The feel of the muscles in Sarah’s leg and ass flexing to sync the rhythm of their hips when things get rougher makes Bucky’s eyes roll back. He lifts her off the ground, thighs in his hands as he slings his hips sharply forward. Sarah curls into him, nipping one shoulder as she cups her hand over the metal of the other one. Her breasts bounce against his chest. He pins her between his groin and the boat and feels (and hears) it the second the motion of his hips drags at her clit.

“Bucky!” she gasps. “Don’t—”

“Stop?” he guesses, grinning even as he pants, even as he shifts his feet to make sure they’re gonna stay under him until this is over and he can set her down gently.

Sarah nods rapidly and Bucky keeps the closeness but progresses to fast, shallow thrusts. They should hum, like a machine, like a piston, like a pump, because that’s what it feels like, fucking her and falling for her, doing their dance with just the right friction. How it really sounds is wet, filthy, oh, but her smile is beautiful as she strives, fingers tangled in his dog tags. She comes calling his name. He’s right here, right there with her. She’s clenching so firmly around him that the pleasure might not end and he’ll just have to stay here on this boat, with her, and be Bucky, and get used to the luxury of it making sense again, his name in the mouth of somebody who needs him and wants him and could know him, after a few more nights on her couch and mornings with her kids. He could stand the sound of her name leaving his mouth every single goddamn day, but he’s gonna start with one day, this day, right now.

He says, “Sarah,” and wraps his arms around her, and hopes those arms feel strong.

[annab-recs]

Midsummers Nightmare - JJ Maybank

Rafe seems to have a little crush on you and you do not realize it until it’s too late. You don’t react as he had hoped, and you don’t have the best timing when it comes to telling your friends and boyfriend, JJ.

Requested by @rochyu 💙

Warnings: some curse words; small amount of verbal and physical abuse

Word Count: 2.2k+

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

"I hate your brother." The insult falls from your glossed lips as you roll your eyes at the eldest Cameron who stood farther away from you and Sarah, his blue eyes locked on your swaying figure. Sarah chuckles before nodding in agreement with your statement.

"Yeah, he can be an ass," the blonde in the elegant white dress acknowledges as she grips into your arms gently and spins you two around so that you don't have to be in his line of sight anymore. You give her a small thank you smile as you get back to dancing with your friend. The midsummers music flows through the two of you and together, y'all sway your hips and spin around as giggles fly from your mouths.

"I think he has a crush on you, to be honest." Sarah's sudden words cause your eyes to widen.

"But I'm with JJ." She laughs before leaning into you to whisper in your ear.

"Let me tell you a little secret. I'm with Topper but I'm crushing on someone else too." She pulls away from your ear with the deepest hue of red spreading across her cheeks.

"Who?" Your curiosity is just dying to know but she shakes her head, indicating she will not be speaking more on the subject. You decide not to pester her any further and just vibe to the music with the brown-eyed beauty next to you. All good and fun vibes leave as soon as you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn to see who it is. Rafe.

"Can I help you?" Sarah spoke harshly to her older brother but was soon distracted when Wheezie came running up.

"I just want to talk to you. Please? I won't bother you anymore." The way he spoke sounded like there was something more bothering him and his blue eyes appeared to be almost scared. That in turn worried you and caught your attention so you nodded your head, letting Rafe grab your hand and lead you away from your friend and the crowd that had gathered on the dance floor.

"Okay, so what's wrong?" You asked him as soon as y'all were alone in a room upstairs. He still had that worrisome expression on his face and it just made you even more anxious.

"I need girl advice," he mumbled softly. Relief washed over you as your mind could quit making up worst-case scenarios and focus on the frazzled boy in front of you.

"All right, spill," you instruct, and he nods before beginning.

"Well I like this girl a lot, but I don't know if she feels the same way as I do. I think she does, but I don't know. I feel like something is holding her back."

"Do you think the thing that is holding her back can be overcome?"

"Yes, and if she's scared to overcome it by herself, I'll surely help her." It was nice to see Rafe be so vulnerable and open and it was a side you wished to see more of. As being friends with Sarah for a long time, you had known Rafe for equally as long. You have seen him be nice and sweet but as he's grown, he's become harder and meaner. You don't know why but by the way he's acting now, you see the sweet Rafe you had known when you were younger.

"Have you told her how you feel?" You question as you lean against the wall next to you.

"No, but I have made it so obvious," he states as he takes a few steps closer to you. Absentmindedly, you take steps back as well.

"Rafe, you like this girl. Tell her how you feel. Make your move." You feel your back hit a wall behind you.

"If you say so." His hands lay softly against the sides of your face as your mind tries to understand what happening and when it all clicks, his close proximity to you, how he's always staring at you, how Sarah literally said earlier that she thinks he has a crush on you, how the thing that's holding you back is JJ, it's too late. Rafe's lips are on your own.

You push against his chest to get him off you and your face shows nothing but pure disgust. As Rafe watches your actions, that soft and sweet Rafe you saw previously had left as quick as he came, and his demeanor changed completely. He raises his hand in the air before smacking it across your face.

"Rafe!" He has never done anything like that to you before so to say you were shocked would be an understatement. His hand comes towards your face again and grips your jaw harshly.

"I was going to try to save you from the dirty pogues, but I see that you are the same trash that they are," he spoke through gritted teeth. Using the grip he had in your jaw, he pushed you back into the wall, your head hitting the wood enough to leave you with a pretty bad headache. Your hand flies to the back of your head as Rafe walks over the window, gazing at the party below. 

"Looks like your dirty pogue has arrived. I'll take care of that." And with that, he left. You had no doubt in your mind that JJ couldn't handle Rafe, so you stayed put, mainly in fear. You could feel the stinging handprint on your face, the pounding in the back of your head, and it was almost as of Rafe's hand still had a hold of your jaw.

You sat there as tears brimmed your eyes. You would have to go downstairs eventually and have to face the people you had grown up around. You also didn't want to pass Rafe or his two lackeys, Topper and Kelce. Not wanting to see anyone just yet, you sit and think back on all that just occurred to you. You had never expected the man in the baby blue tux to come on to you like that and you definitely didn’t think he’d hit you.

Scrambling to your feet, you slip out of the room to a bathroom next door to examine your face. You didn’t look too bad. No one should be able to tell anything after you fix your makeup. Thankfully, you had brought some with you in your purse and applied it to where it had been smudged by Rafe’s hands. Your eyes are still tear-filled, but none have fallen just yet. You are not going to let yourself break until you are home, alone. When you finally build up enough courage to go back down and leave, you are met with a bit of commotion amongst the party as you watch JJ shove a guy in a black suit.

“Hey, mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, Kie and Y/n,” the battered blond speaks to you both as he points at you two. He moves his finger towards Pope. “Pope, you as well, all right? Rixon’s Cove. Let’s roll.” His attention goes back to you and Kiara. “All right, girls, come on. Workers of the world unite. Throw off your chains!”

You happily run to your boyfriend and jump into his arms after he and John B salute each other. He spins you around as you three wait for the other two who have to put up a small fight against their parents. Pope runs up to y’all as his father yells from afar and he wraps his arms around John B. Kie comes seconds after, laughing as she runs into JJ’s arms. Pope pulls you into him as the five of you run away from the kook-filled place, but not without John B yelling, “Later losers!”

Soon enough, y’all make it to Rixon’s Cove, get a fire started, and sit around discussing what the mandatory meeting is about. John B explains that the gold in on the island before providing the evidence of Denmark Tanny and how he used the gold and his whole story.

“So, what’s the plan?” Pope questions as he looks at the letters with a flashlight. You look over his shoulder to get a look at them too.

“Good question. So, Sarah Cameron’s coming tonight. She’ll bring an original survey map-” John B starts but is cut off by Kie.

“Hold on. Sarah? Why Sarah?” John B stays silent while JJ mutters, “This is gonna be good.” You were just as confused as Kie. Why was Sarah getting involved in this? She was your friend, but she was not near as close to you as the pogues were and this was a pogue thing anyway.

“Sarah, um, she got me into the archives in Chapel Hill yesterday, and that’s where I got the letter.” John B tells her as you watch the disappointment and betrayal wash over her features.

“You were in Chapel Hill with Sarah Cameron?” She asks as he agrees. Of course, JJ has to make the situation worse with his little comment, “He was mackin’ on her.”

“I wasn’t macking.”

“You were totally macking Sarah Cameron.”

“So that’s what Sarah meant earlier when she said she had a crush on someone else that wasn’t Topper,” You add before the boys go back to arguing.

“I wasn’t macking on her, okay? I was using her for access.”

“There was access, all right.”

“Did you tell her about the treasure?” Kie interrupted the two boys bickering.

“I was just trying to get into the archives.” John B defends himself, basically admitting to telling her.

“Is that a yes?” Kie pushes.

“I- I left out key details.” He still doesn’t deny telling Sarah Cameron about our secret.

“Yo, what? You let a kook in on our secret? What about pogue life? What about the t-shirt company, bro?” Kie continues as Pope and you sit back and watch it all unravel. They all continue to talk as you zone out watching the fire until Pope speaks from beside you.

“Her brother did hit me in the back with a golf club.”

“Yeah and he kissed me, slapped me, and pushed my head against a wall earlier.” The group fell silent at your confession. You didn’t realize you had spilled until the silence came over you.

“He what?” JJ spoke as he walked over to you from beside John B and Kie.

“When did this happen?” Kie asked you.

“An hour or so ago. It was right before we left. I came down and you were going off about coming here. I wasn’t going to bother you with it until later because I know how heated you get,” You say calmly as you grab his hand to make sure he doesn’t get too riled up and angry, but your attempts seem to fail.

“I’m gonna beat the shit out of him,” JJ speaks through gritted teeth as he stands to his feet.

“No, JJ.” The softness of your voice brings him back to where you stand. The tears have come back, and one manages to escape despite your efforts to not cry. The blond pulls you into his embrace where you finally break down, the hurt and pain from Rafe’s actions finally taking a toll on you. Soon, you are wrapped up in all the pogues' arms as they comforted you. Later, you and JJ left for the chateau while the other went to meet Sarah.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” JJ asked you as you laid against his chest, his fingers fiddling with the ends of your hair.

“I didn’t want you to worry about it and if I had told you there, you would’ve fought him right then and there. I couldn’t tell you then.”

“I’m still gonna beat his ass.”

“That’s okay but be with me first. Your time for revenge will come, but don’t insinuate it. Okay? I don’t need you getting hurt more than you already are.” You lean up to rest your chin against the top of his chest as you stare into his gorgeous blue eyes. You bring your hand to rest on the side of his face, and he leans into your touch before letting out a sigh.

“Fine. I won’t do anything until it’s time.” You rubbed your thumb over his cheek softly as his eyes fluttered closed. When he opens his eyes again, they appear to be glossy.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask as you sit up. He follows suit, leaning against the wall.

“I never want you to have to experience what you did tonight.” His sad eyes lock with yours.

“JJ, I’m okay. It’s okay,” you speak softly, running your fingers through his smooth golden locks. You let your hand trail down the side of his face to his arm and finally, it meets his hand and your fingers interlock with his.

“It’s not okay. You may be okay, but what he did was not. I’m not going to let that happen again. I should’ve been there with you tonight, but John B-”

“John B needed you. That’s okay. Let’s just go to sleep and forget about it, all right?” He nods as the two of you go back to laying down. You rest your head back down on his chest and with the soothing sound of his heartbeat, you fall asleep in seconds.

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Phosphene | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x Plus Size Reader (she/her)

✦ word count — 6k

✦ summary — Damian’s plans are never bad; one of them even found the cure to your insomnia.

✦ warnings — mentions of the experience of being fat but not in a bad way, hints of angst, insomnia, anxiety, a little jealousy sprinkled there, Damian being petty, mostly fluff; this was an excuse to write Damian fluff.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

The plan was simple according to Damian, you would have to visit the area where the type of flora the imported species that was causing people to hallucinate lived and wait there until people went to retrieve it in order to catch them.

You had thought he was joking at first, but there were no records left of the shipments that had brought the flower to the country. Without them, catching whoever was behind this would be impossible.

“What if it was your mom again? No offense.”

“None taken.” He swatted a hand. “It wasn’t her, I’ve never seen that type of flower near any of the League’s headquarters.”

“Well, you should take someone else.”

Damian lifted an eyebrow. “Raven will drive me insane, Blue Beetle is unbearable, Beast Boy doesn’t take anything seriously, Flash is...” He saw you wince as he mentioned your ex-boyfriend, “Well, you know how he is.”

“But he’s fast. You could send him on his ow—“

“Absolutely not. I am the leader of this team.”

Ah, yes, you forgot about his stupid pride for a second there. “Cyborg?”

“Busy with The League.”

You groaned. “I will slow you down.”

He now lifted both eyebrows, glaring at you.

“That wasn’t a joke about my weight,” you defended yourself. “I’m... tired.”

“Because you need fresh air and this mission is perfect for that,” he insisted. “It’ll be fun.”

“You hate having fun.”

He ignored your comment. “Don’t make me force you by saying it’s an order.”

You knew he’d never do it. You gave in, everyone around you did so all the time and you weren’t immune to his stubbornness.

The problem with the stupid mission, apart from how drained you felt, was knowing there was nothing you would really contribute. Everything would be easier if Damian would just take Wally, he would save you from endless headaches AND finish the mission quicker.

Damian was already in the living room, waiting for you with his duffel bag in hand and backpack hanging off his broad shoulders. He opened his mouth, about to ask if you hadn’t forgotten anything, when Wally’s voice interrupted.

“Can we talk before you leave?”

You shook your head at Wally’s question. “I would appreciate it if you covered for me with my family, though.”

“We’ll talk when you’re back?”

“Yeah,” you promised. “Be safe.”

“You too.”

Damian pushed the button to summon the elevator, impatient to leave already. You followed him inside as the doors slid open, silently standing beside him.

His glance shifted between the buttons and yourself throughout the elevator ride. He looked like a child who wanted to ask something they knew they shouldn’t.

In your experience, knowing he shouldn’t do or say certain things had never stopped Damian. After three years of being around him almost every day, you were used to his bluntness. You had been told he used to be worse as a teen, but you didn’t really understand what they meant.

Traveling by bus wasn’t something you ever imagined Damian doing. He never had enough time for that, and with the amount of wealth his family had it was also pointless. He had explained it was to go unnoticed with less hassle.

“Are you sure no one will recognize you?”

“Relax.”

Yeah, you wished you could. You had a bad feeling, Damian would dismiss it because you were tired so you kept it to yourself throughout the ride.

As the bus made the first stop, he asked if you wanted anything from the gas station store. Shaking your head, you took time to look out of the window.

As a sheltered kid, you had never been out that much. You had stumbled into being a superhero by mistake, when you discovered you were decent at fighting while at work.

Your family had owned a shop for a while, a client had gotten too aggressive and you broke his nose almost as a reflex. You started training boxing soon after; your mom thought it would be a chance for you to lose weight.

The weight loss didn’t occur, your body type would only change through surgery and you didn’t have the desire to get a procedure. You were fine with your body, and with your personality for the most part.

Something cold fell onto your lap. Looking down, you found your reusable water bottle. When had he snatched it off your backpack?

Damian took his spot next to you. “You look worried.”

You shifted your head to face him, grasping the bottle in your hand so it wouldn’t fall as you shifted your body too. “I’ve never been around nature that much,” you confessed.

“I’m with you.”

That was oddly comforting. Scratch that. It was comforting, period. Damian knew how to do everything, you would trust him with your life and your loved ones’ safety in a heartbeat.

A yawn broke through you. Not now, you thought. Rolling your head to the other side, you rested it on the window, the light would keep you from falling asleep.

Giving in to your exhaustion was tempting, after many long sleepless nights anything would be helpful. You were on a mission, Damian needed you to be alert; that was why you were there, not to fall asleep.

And who even feels the need of falling asleep in a bus but not on the comfort of their bed?

You let the desire of closing your eyes win. Familiar splashes of color appeared against the dark background, slowly fading as they molded with the pitch-black canvas.

Your head bounced as the bus followed what you assumed to be a bumpy road. Your first name was whispered softly, in a tone no one else had ever used. Blinking to adjust to the light, the first things your eyes could make were grey cloth and olive skin.

Lifting your head, you found Damian’s eyes on you. “We are about to arrive.”

”I’m sorry for falling asleep on you.”

He allowed a pause to linger between you. “It’s fine, you said you were tired earlier.”

Rubbing your eyes, avoiding Damian’s face at every cost as you tried to guess what time it was, you found yourself wishing you would’ve bought a watch for these types of scenarios — then again, you weren’t the adventurer from the team.

The place was packed. Couples and families alike were out and about all over the area, Damian had said they would, but you had underestimated how many people he was talking about.

“Wouldn’t it be better if we slept in tents and wore our suits? There’s a lot of people around.”

“That would look more suspicious. We’re here vacationing like everyone else.”

Lifting both hands in mock surrender, you walked past him and into the building.

You let him chose whether he wanted the bed closest to the door or not. He did, throwing his belongings onto the mattress to then pull out a map.

Approaching him, you leaned over to look at what he was seeing. He explained the path you would have to walk through to find the flowers. The hotel was too far away from the area.

“We should sleep. We’re waking up at dawn.”

“I’m not tired anymore,” you assured him.

His eyes lingered on you, silently asking if you were sure. When your only answer was the tilt of your head, he shook his own. “Then rest some more.”

You walked back to your side of the room in order to find some clothes to change into. You hadn’t really packed pajamas, but a pair of leggings and a t-shirt would be enough and had more utility.

You saw Damian pull a pair of sweatpants out from your peripheral view which prompted you to grip your clothes and get into the bathroom so he could have enough privacy.

He was already in bed when you came out, the only light left was the one emanating from the lamp at your right. Dropping the clothes you had taken off into your duffel bag, you turned the lamp off as silently as its switch made it possible.

You laid on the bed with your legs stretched out. The silence, comforting and mildly warm, was your only source of entertainment. It didn’t cross your mind to bring a book or something to pass the time so you would have to make do with your own imagination, the ceiling fan, and the silence.

Exploring the area didn’t sound so bad, but you would attract too much attention by walking around the trees with a flashlight in hand in the middle of the night. Besides, you didn’t know which kind of creatures could be lurking around in the darkness.

You needed a better plan to locate the flowers, and Damian’s permission.

He huffed on his bed. Turning around to lay on his side in hopes to finally fall asleep. He was thankful over the fact that you didn’t need to keep the lights on like Reyes, but frustrated by the fact that he couldn’t sleep anyway.

Groaning, he sat up. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“How did you know I was awake?”

“Your breathing is too even for you to be asleep.”

You sat up on the bed too, looking for your sneakers. Once you had tied the shoes on, you stood up.

Damian threw a sweatshirt on, groaning as his left shoulder cracked.

Seeing you go through your backpack, he placed a hand on your forearm to stop you. “Only bring some water and a flashlight, no knives.”

Quirking an eyebrow, you looked at him through your eyelashes. “You are the one who trained me to use knives.”

“That’s exactly why I know when you should or shouldn’t carry them.” There was a hint of lighthearted teasing in his voice.

Under your feet, the old floor creaked. Walking down the hallway and crossing the lobby had been a cringing nightmare.

The two of you walked in verbal silence, letting the whooshing of the wind and the crickets’ chirping mix with the crushing leaves.

Damian would check the compass from time to time, making sure you were following the right path. The action reminded you of the reason you were there in the first place.

The soothing smell of earth made you feel like you were far away, perhaps in a dream.

Damian burst the soothing bubble by breaking the silence with a question. “Why did you refuse to speak with West?”

“Some things just don’t work out the way we want them to.”

Wally had been a good boyfriend, sweet and goofy. He always cheered you up when you were sad and took you out on cute dates. You had innocently assumed it would be enough forever, how couldn’t it be when he treated you so well?

Sadly, he wasn’t what you wanted in a partner anymore. You wouldn’t call him immature because he definitely wasn’t that; Wally was too... lively, too chirpy, somewhat hyperactive. You needed peace, enough stress knotted your muscles already without the headaches he triggered.

“Sounds like you don’t want them to work.”

“He gets on my nerves sometimes, I think it’s fair to say it doesn’t matter if I want things to work or not.”

“And you wanted me to take him with me instead.”

“He’s better at this than me.”

Damian lifted his bottle of water, lips grazing the edge of it as he said, “You sell yourself too short.”

You opened your water bottle too, shrugging. “He’s the sporty type.”

“I would hope so.”

You laughed against the lip of the bottle, “Why did you ask?”

“I imagined you wouldn’t like to get mauled by a bear without talking to him.”

“Are you saying you will let a bear maul me?”

He turned serious. “You know I would never.”

Silence fell between you again, as comfortable as always.

By the time you arrived at the point where the specific kind of flowers bloomed at, the sky was starting to appear dark blue instead of pitch black.

“Why don’t we steal them and then track whoever comes looking for them?”

“Because we wouldn’t have proof they’re the ones doing it.” Damian added, “But we should be closer, you were right.”

“Say that again?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

Smirking, too pleased with yourself to ruin the moment, you asked, “What are we going to do?”

“Have you ever camped?”

You shook your head.

“Okay. Stay here and make sure no one gets close, I’ll make a phone call.”

“I didn’t bring my knives,” you reminded him.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with a hand, he sighed deeply. “You have your fists.”

He walked past you in the direction you had come from together. Before he could be too far away, you called for him, “And if I’m overcrowded?”

He craned his neck backward to give you a smirk. “Choke some of them with your thighs.”

Looking down at your thighs, you frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

You never found out what Damian meant by that. No one came near the area, seemingly due to how early in the morning it was. If you were to steal some flowers, you would personally do it at night when tourists were busy partying or sleeping.

Then again, stealing flowers wasn’t your expertise.

Damian took longer than you felt comfortable with, but he brought yours and his belongings with him alongside a few other things.

In silence, he slanted his head, motioning for you to follow him.

You snatched your duffel bag from his grasp. “What did you do?”

“I bought the camping essentials I found at the store.”

“I told you I’ve never gone camping!”

“I haven’t forgotten. But last night you wanted to sleep in a tent, didn’t you?”

You shook your head. “I said it because I can stay awake for long periods of time.”

“We’ll take turns.”

You would rather not. Camping as a fat person was a no-no. Well, not really, but many factors could ruin the experience for you and in that case for Damian.

The last thing you wanted was to put up his grumpy version.

You avoided him throughout the day, exploring the area near where he insisted on camping.

He really should’ve listened to you and taken someone else. Someone who wouldn’t get nervous. It wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t have known the reasons behind your reluctance.

Calling it insecurity would be reductive when you were comfortable with yourself. It was annoyance over not having control of the circumstances in which you would go camping for the first time.

“I think we should get some sleep,” he said from behind you.

You would only trouble him. There was only one tent, you didn’t know how narrow it would get and for the past four months, there hadn’t been a single night in which you didn’t end up tangled in the sheets over how much you twisted in attempts to find a comfortable position.

Sleep had become elusive even before you broke up with Wally. You tried every treatment in existence with no positive results, there was simply something wrong in your brain.

Damian was sure you wouldn’t come in if he didn’t force you, expecting otherwise would mean not being familiar with your antics. He didn’t want to pressure you, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing you were out there alone.

You could defend yourself rather well, it was irrational on his behalf to be so worried. His brain chose to nag him about it still so he listened to it.

He found you with your feet in the river, looking at the rippling water as you made slow movements with your fingers.

“It’s nice out here,” you commented, feeling his presence.

He hummed softly, taking a seat next to you. It smelled like a proper river, unlike Gotham’s.

“Did you get some sleep?”

“No,” he admitted, using his fingers to make movements in the water too.

“Do you have a lot on your mind?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“No.”

He hummed again. Your peaceful semblance was a nice addition to the scenery, with the moon shining in your eyes.

“I can take care of the morning roundabout if you want.”

“You should sleep a little first. We can set schedules later.”

You could’ve sworn his voice carried worry.

His sloppy steps halted as he held the tent open for you to get in. With a sigh, you complied and kneeled on the sleeping pad. At least he wouldn’t force you into a sleeping bag.

When he didn’t make a move to lay down, you begrudgingly did so. His ability to bend you to his will was annoyingly astounding — or astoundingly annoying, it changed day to day.

Damian immediately laid down next to you, facing the ceiling of the tent.

Your hand brushed his by mistake. “Sorry,” you whispered. Damian didn’t answer, he was already asleep.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Mission briefings were everything but fun. Damian’s dry orders always made someone complain — or worse, they sometimes forced the leader to repeat himself.

You were dreading this particular one. Everyone was in a prickly mood due to how much the flower thing was stretching and you could only assume this mission would be part two to stopping whoever was placing the orders.

Damian handed you a large box. Opening it, you found a deep red dress in your size.

“Where are ours?” Jamie asked.

“You are not attending the party as yourselves. (Name) and I will tell you when it’s safe to get in.”

“Why (Name)?”

“Would you prefer I take Raven?” Damian mocked.

Garfield shook his head. “But you don’t need a date to go to a party.”

Wally shifted in his seat.

“You want Bruce Wayne’s son to attend a party by himself without raising suspicion?”

Snorting, you only stared at him in hopes he would give more details. Of course he would say that.

You had to give it to Damian, he had good taste. The dress fitted you perfectly, it hid your thigh holster better than you thought it would when you took it out of the box which was a relief.

He had told you to not carry them, but the knives surely would come in handy if something went wrong.

With his hand on your waist, he guided you into the venue. People, eager to impress him, swarmed around him to compliment him and yourself. Their eyes would linger on you, but you didn’t care about what they could have to say; they wouldn’t dare to say it in front of him either way.

You leaned to speak into his ear, “Have they approached us yet?”

“Let’s dance.”

You both made your way toward the dancing area, inpatient for his answer. There was something off about that place and you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

Now with both hands on you, he leaned forward so only you could listen to him. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“I have a bad feeling.”

His touch turned into a grip as the words left your mouth. Your body responded to it by pressing closer to him, hands firm on his shoulders as you searched for his eyes.

“I’m with you.”

Nodding, you barely mumbled, “I never said I was scared.”

His mouth twitched upward. You tilted your head as his gaze fell on your nose. If his eyes continued the path...

Damian was pushed off you. As a reflex, you withdrew a knife from your holster and pointed it at whoever had interrupted.

“Woah,” Wally exclaimed, “It’s me.”

You turned to look at Damian but he was focused on the railway. A gun went off outside, prompting Wally to run in aid of your friends.

You slipped your knife back into the holster before it would grab anyone else’s attention. It would be hard for Damian to explain why his date had been carrying a weapon and you didn’t want to get him into trouble because you hadn’t listened to him.

Approaching him, you wrapped an arm around his waist. “Did they escape?”

Throwing his arm around your shoulders, he answered with another question, “Are you injured?”

“No.”

If looks could kill, Wally West would’ve fallen dead in the middle of Damian’s office thirty seconds ago. Not only had he made Damian look like a fool, but he had also let Marconi’s men escape.

Loosening his tie, he didn’t even try to control his voice. “What the hell was that?”

“Oh, you’re mad because people might know we are acquainted?”

“I am angry because you almost got (Name) hurt.”

“She’s the one who carried knives!”

Damian inhaled deeply, holding his head higher than usual. “There was no need for you to intervene.”

Wally gritted, “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I am the leader of this team.”

“You were flirting with her.”

Narrowing his eyes, Damian placed both palms on the desk. “I’m going to ask you to leave if you can’t separate your obligations with my team from your personal life.”

“So you weren’t flirting?”

Damian shook his head, exasperated.

He left the office before his head would explode. He was supposed to talk to the others too, but he didn’t want to.

His insomnia was getting worse, between his responsibilities at Wayne Enterprises and the newfound ineptitude of 70% of the team, he was close to combust.

Damian was confident in his leadership, he was more skilled than the team could even imagine. If he wasn’t so fucking tired, he would’ve solved this problem all by himself.

His legs carried him to the bedroom area. He had the intention of taking a shower and trying to get some sleep but they went out of the window when he heard your laugh.

Pushing your door open, he stuck his head inside. You beckoned him in, following his movements with your tired eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “I didn’t hurt myself. And I’m the one who carried the knives...”

Damian set his jaw. Sitting down on your bed, he nodded upward at the TV. “What are we watching?”

“The cooking channel.”

“You hate cooking.”

“I hate following recipes for things that don’t need measurements,” you clarified.

He kicked his shoes off, swinging his legs onto the mattress as he rested his back against the bed frame.

Knowing he wasn’t a fan of cooking shows that didn’t entail some type of competition, you surfed through the channels in search of something that wouldn’t warrant you a whiny Damian.

His whining was fun, but you were too tired to not punch him. Remembering what you had wanted to ask since he entered, you breathed in. “Did you fight with Wally for not following your orders?”

“Something like that.”

His dry tone made you shift so you could gaze at him. Apart from his tiredness, he looked really angry still — the frown hadn’t disappeared from his face, his clenched jaw could’ve popped in front of you and you wouldn’t be surprised.

“We’ll catch them.”

Damian stared at you for a prolonged moment, mapping out the shape of your nose and how sunk your eyes were. Your blinking slowed down to a passive rhythm and he felt himself focusing on his own rhythm to mirror yours.

You bit down your bottom lip, gnawing on it. Stretching his hand, he stopped you from drawing blood by pulling your lip out with his thumb. He breathily concurred, “Yeah.”

Your eyes followed the movement of his hand as he withdrew it. Silently handing him the tv remote, you laid on your side, curled up as you went back to stare at the tv screen.

Damian allowed his body to relax as he skipped channels. Growing bored, he switched to Netflix.

You sighed deeply beside him, humming to yourself. He turned the lights off, then the TV.

Harsh knocking against the door woke him up. Looking down at the weight on his chest, he felt his breath hitch.

Whoever was knocking got fed up and forced the door open themselves. “Hey, (Nickname), have you seen Rob—“

Damian placed a finger against his lips, motioning for Raven to shut up.

She nodded enthusiastically, surprised by the tenderness of Damian’s touch as he lifted your head off his chest and placed it onto the pillow.

He left the bed slowly, picking his shoes from the floor and using them to gesture for Rachel to leave the room. He followed her, putting his shoes on once away from your bedroom.

“Did you need me?”

“Is there something going on between—“

Damian cut her off, “You were looking for me. Tell me what for.”

“Victor found a lead.”

Your bedroom door creaked open. Damian turned around to see you tumbling towards the kitchen, undoubtedly in need of some caffeine.

Glaring at Raven, he ordered, “Tell everyone to get ready.”

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Damian deviated his eyes to the side in order to rest them, placing a bookmark on the page. Logan was soundly asleep, with his head against the window like you had been that time on the bus.

He remembered vividly the tremble in his fingers as he moved your head to rest on his shoulder so you would be more comfortable, and the way his heart skipped a beat when you sighed contently against his skin.

Turning to the other side, he saw your hunched over form, hovering over the small table in front of you. How you could have the patience to fill a coloring book in the middle of a flight after such a tiring fight was a mystery.

Wally beside you caught him staring, again.

Damian thought he couldn’t dislike the mission more; oh, how wrong had he been. First, he hadn’t been able to bend the plans this time, the only thing he could do was give orders and split the team in the most efficient manner.

And it had worked, but at the cost of his sleeping pattern getting worse. The mission served two purposes, the first was obvious; the second one was more complicated, he came to a few conclusions — they made all the sense in the world in his opinion, but sense wouldn’t change the fact that he couldn’t sleep without you.

There was something in the heady smell of your shampoo that his monkey brain found soothing. He needed to sneak into your bathroom and check which brand you used. Or ask you. Yeah, that.

You were probably making up with your ex-boyfriend while he longed for sleeping next to you. And he hated it.

Moving your head left to right as you scratched your itchy nose, you found yourself wafting Wally’s sweet cologne.

Wally awkwardly nodded upward. The two of you hadn’t spoken much throughout the mission. You nodded back before scratching your nose again.

“Bored?”

Looking down, you shook your head. It wasn’t even worth mentioning at this point, or feeling some kind of shame for it — what embarrassed you was the conclusion you had come to a few mornings ago.

You couldn’t sleep without Damian. There was something about him, maybe his stillness, that relaxed you to the point of being able to sleep eight hours. Your pre-insomnia self had never slept more than five.

“Then?”

“Lots in my mind. I’m worried about—“

“Robin.”

You whirled your head to look at him, wide-eyed.

“I’m not surprised.” Hurt laced his hushed voice. “There’s always been something going on between you two.”

“That’s not true. And I’m worried about a lot of things.”

“He’s been staring at you the entire mission, he hates me, you said you didn’t trust Alexis and he broke up with her, you always give him the benefit of the doubt when his ideas are bad... I could go on and on.”

“Well, Damian’s ideas are never truly bad...”

“You call him Damian.”

“So?”

“No one else from the team does. He’s Robin to us, we are our superhero aliases to him and nothing else.”

“It’s not like you guys have ever tried to see him differently!” Your indignant whisper-shout surprised you while Wally hadn’t even flinched.

He hung his head backward. “You’re defending him again.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Is that why you worry about him to the point of no sleep? Because I know you never cared about me that way.”

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t love me, I know you did.” Wally gave you a sad smile, “But if I made you choose, you would pick him.”

“I wouldn’t pick someone who makes me choose between them or a dear friend.”

Shaking your head in frustration, you picked another marker and went back to your coloring book.

He had been the first relationship you took seriously, the first person you had truly loved in a romantic sense. How could he say those things? Even if they were true, they were uncalled for.

Wally leaned closer to you. “I won’t get mad, just stop lying to yourself.”

You were the first one to leave the plane after landing. Wally’s words made all the sense in the world, that didn’t mean you wanted them to.

No. The truth was that you wanted them to make sense and that bothered you more. You wanted to believe you weren’t the only one in a dilemma.

A stupid dilemma at that. Damian was your friend, you could tell him you needed him in an entirely platonic way — it would be a nice compromise and a pathetic cop-out at once.

Damian placed a hand on your shoulder as you passed him on your way to the living area. “Can you come to my office?”

“Just let me check my phone.”

Nodding, he slowly slid his hand back until it fell onto your arm for a fleeting second before he withdrew it.

Your skin buzzed the entire time it took you to answer texts from your family. Now that the mission was over, you would be able to see them — and to put up with their reaction to your break up with Wally.

Telling them that you had feelings for someone else wasn’t an option, and explaining it was Bruce Wayne’s son would make you sound insane to them.

Sat directly on his desk, with his cellphone in his grasp and frown upon his face, Damian was waiting for you.

From the doorway, you asked, “Are you okay?”

He didn’t look up. “No.”

The answer took you aback. Without invitation, you entered the office. Closing the door behind you, —carelessly and louder than you would’ve liked— you approached him.

He looked fine. Tired, but fine. You knew for a fact he hadn’t been injured, and the mission had been a success so his crankiness was worrying, to say the least.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like I’m worried?” You saw him nod. “Do you want me to scoop my eyes out?”

“Do you look at other people like that?”

“Yes.”

Damian huffed.

“What’s your problem?”

“Nothing.”

“Stop acting like a brat with me, Damian.”

He put his cellphone to the side, finally lifting his head.“Is that really what you want?”

“Preferably. Your act, whatever thing you come up with on the next minutes, won’t push me away.”

“You are driving me absolutely insane!” He wiped his mouth after having spoken so abruptly. “You distract me, I can’t sleep without you next to me, your stupid ex-boyfriend being so close to you killed me the entire mission—“

“Three days?”

He glared at you. You said it so easily, like three nights of no sleep and headaches were pleasant.

You rested a hand on each of his shoulders. “I can’t sleep without you either.”

He opened his legs for you to stand between them. You did so, feeling his hands on your lower back. “Is this awkward?”

Shaking your head, you wrapped your arms around his neck. “We’ve been in more awkward situations.”

His arms snaked around you, pulling you flush against him. You inhaled the smell that lingered on his clothes, vanilla and almonds with a hint of something earthy.

“Couldn’t you tell me this in my room? Or yours?”

Damian rested his head on your shoulder. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“What did you want?”

“To keep you from spending more time with West,” he mumbled the admission.

You shouldn’t have found it so funny, but there you were shaking out of laughter.

He whined against your neck, “Don’t laugh at me.”

You slipped your fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp. “It’s silly, though, he’s my teammate.”

“And your ex-boyfriend who wants you back.”

“Not anymore.” Feeling him tense under your touch, you elaborated, “He knows I like you.”

Damian’s embrace tightened. He hummed on your skin, nuzzling against your t-shirt. You played with his hair for a few more minutes until he started to get heavier against you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you warned.

He hummed again.

“Damian,” you tried to make your voice come out sternly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be harsh. “You’ll wake up sore. At least let’s go to the living room.”

Reluctantly, he pulled away from you. He couldn’t contain a whine as your fingers slid off his hair, making you giggle. He grabbed said hand, practically dragging you out of the office.

Thankful for not bumping into anyone, you made it to his bedroom. You imagined he had stopped there because it was the closest one to his office.

He didn’t let go of your hand as he sat down on the bed and kicked his shoes off. You had to wiggle your fingers off his to round the bed and lay down without pulling him with you.

As soon as your back touched the bed, Damian rested his head on your chest, sliding his hand between the mattress and your back.

Your fingers went back to his hair, which was what he had been seeking in the first place, massaging circles on his scalp. It didn’t take much for his breath to even out.

When you woke up, Damian was laying on his side, hugging you tightly from behind with his other arm. His light breathing fanned on your shoulder, tickling up to your neck.

Torn between leaving the bed to follow your routine and staying in the comfortable position against his chest, you shuffled as slowly as you could until you were facing him.

Damian had never looked that serene. Anyone who didn’t know him would have assumed he didn’t have a single responsibility or weight on his shoulders if they could see him at that moment with his mouth ever so slightly parted.

Your heavy eyes lid closed. You weren’t sure as to what time it was, you only knew that the light of the day was gone already, but the comfort of Damian’s frame and his light breathing was better than anything you had to do.

Nestling your face on his chest, you felt his hand move down your back.

Sleepily, he said. “We could go out to dinner.”

His deep voice made you feel more awake. Draping an arm over his torso, you joked, “Are you asking me out?”

Now with his hand on your thigh, he spoke more seriously. “More than that. But first things first.”

You hummed. As nice as it sounded, you didn’t want to get up.

Damian pinched your thigh. “Come on, I’ll give you an excuse to wear the red dress again.”

You lifted your head off his chest. “Do you have a fixation with that dress or something?”

“I mean, I bought it for a reason...”

You playfully hit his chest. He smirked, fingers trailing up your thigh, giving you goosebumps.

You sighed, “Do you think the team will say anything?”

“It’s not like I care.”

You knew he cared deep down, but fighting him on it would be losing your time. It wouldn’t affect him either way, not like it would to you if they looked at you differently or judged you.

Damian left a kiss on your forehead. “I’m with you,” he reminded you.

[bonesaldente]

Ferocious I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 10: Trust

last chapter

all chapters

ao3

warnings: nudity, mildly suggestive language

words: 4000+

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note: For… reasons, this is an alternate universe in which space ships have actual showers with water, not just sonic showers. Also, Maul’s cybernetics are waterproof. I don’t make the rules... wait- I do. Also, make sure to read the end notes today :)

_____

Stars, you hate it here.

Everything, from the endless nights to the lack of clean water and the ever-looming prospect of going to prison increases your motivation to somehow fix the communicator yourself and run off before Kenobi can take you with him, leaving him stranded on the planet.

For exactly a decade, just to be even.

“It should work,” Kenobi remarks with very apparent annoyance. “Everything is connected and the power source is on.”

“Well, it’s obviously not working.”

“Thank you for your observation.” He drops his hands into his lap, looking quite defeated. And tired.

While you’ve been keeping some structure in your days, he’s been working tirelessly on repairing that communicator. Until he did tire out, occasionally.

Now was one of these occasions.

“I’m losing focus and I can hardly see anything. It’ll be best to continue when the sun comes back up again.”

Which is precisely what you were hoping he’d say, but you still force yourself to make another snide comment. “Maybe it’ll fix itself while you’re resting and we are magically transported off this planet.”

He pays you no mind and heads to what’s become his sleeping spot over the past days - or has it been over a week already?

“I trust you’ll keep watch?”

You just huff, but don’t refuse his request. It is an agreement you’ve come to quite early on when you both realized that the death of one would make the other’s survival significantly less likely. So while he sleeps, you make sure no animals sneak up and attack him, which, apart from the “dinner” incident a few days ago, only happened once, but still rattled him enough to make him remind you of your duty evry time he went to sleep.

Except tonight, you plan on shifting your attention to something completely different. 

You have not, in fact, come to terms with the probable reality that you’ll spend the rest of your days in a prison of the Republic. Instead, you’ve been observing what exactly Kenobi is doing to repair the life-saving device and despite your lack of aptitude in such things, you, too, see that the communicator should - in theory - work. Kenobi is overworked and agitated; it would only be natural for him to miss something.

Something you might be able to catch and use to your advantage.

 You remain still where you are until you hear his quiet breaths evening out, indicating he has fallen asleep.

“Kenobi?” You whisper into the silence, a last test to check if he is still conscious.

No response.

Your heart beats fast in your chest, all too aware of how pressing time is. For some reason, this man rarely sleeps more than two hours at a time, which could be partially blamed on you for always nagging at him when he isn’t trying to fix the communicator. But then again, you have the feeling that he usually doesn’t have very different habits.

With the kind of stealth only someone who has been trained in these arts could bring up, you sneak across the clearing to where the source of all your troubles and hope lies on the ground.

The device has been taken out of the starfighters cockpit and thus looks pretty out of place and… unfinished. But you know better, having watched the Jedi dismantle and reassemble every little piece.

The metal glints in the shine of your flashlight as you crouch to be on eye-level with the device. At first glance everything seems to be in order, just like the Jedi remarked, but that is not acceptable. Fixing the cursed thing before Kenobi is your only way to freedom and you will not allow your own incompetence to stand in your way.

So you look again. And again.

You shine light into every little corner, every port, under every wire and in between each panel. Time is passing too quickly, you are aware, and your chances are dwindling.

But then you see it.

Tiny and inconspicuous, something organic - a seed maybe - is blocking one of the loose wires from connecting with its respective port. 

You bite your lip to suppress a victorious exclamation, looking over your shoulder to check if Kenobi is still fast asleep.

Heart thrumming in your ears, you take a deep breath to calm your nerves and steady your hand for the task ahead. Cautiously, you lift some of the metal paneling to give you access to the section, fingers weaving through the wires with extra care since many of them are not firmly in place due to the crash and were only pinned to their receptors by Kenobi.

At last, your fingertips graze the disruptive piece of forest that has made it so far into the technology. Slowly, you remove it from its spot, moving the wire back to where it was supposed to connect.

Now let’s try this.

You turn the power on, holding your breath and praying to whatever force there is out there that it won’t make any noise.

A quiet whir is the only indication that the power is flowing, causing a small smile to creep over your hidden features. The display comes to life, faintly glowing blue. You throw looks over your shoulder every few seconds, hastily pressing the buttons to type in the private comm information Maul and all his commanding warriors kept as a backup for emergencies. You have no idea how many emergencies must have occurred in these past weeks, but you hope your message won’t be drowned out by others. This is the only shot you get.

You pick some coordinates that, if your knowledge of space navigation isn’t misleading you, should be a few miles north of your current location, then sign the message with ‘ -S ’ .

You stare at the numbers, forcing your mind to absorb them, then you hit send and a series of green lights tells you it at least went out successfully, meaning all you can do now is to hope that it will be received the same way. 

Kenobi is still fast asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. You almost feel sorry for what you’re about to do, but there really aren’t many alternatives. 

You take out a small vial from a pocket in your belt, filling a syringe with it. It’s been a while since you last used it, but you made sure you always have some tranquilizers on you, and now you’re thankful for that.

On your tiptoes, you sneak to Kenobi’s sleeping form, narrowing your eyes to make out the exposed skin on his neck.

The needle is buried in his neck in a matter of seconds and his eyes shoot open in shock and confusion while his hands fly to his neck.

“Why-”

“Nothing personal,” you assure him when his eyelids droop and his words lose coherence.

Normally, this should knock a person out for at least three hours, but you don’t know how a force sensitivity might influence that. One way or another, you should take off now and get as big a headstart as you can. But first, one more thing.

You give the heap of beige robes that is the Jedi knight one more almost regretful look, then you crush the communicator beneath your heel. Can’t risk him calling for Republic forces while you’re still in the area after all, and you’d have no way of taking the device with you, since it’s hooked up to the ship wreckage.

Why you spare his life, you don’t know, and you’d rather not spend too much time thinking about it. Perhaps you should kill him, after all he’s done to Maul, and why your conscience decides to pipe up now of all times will remain a mystery. You have killed people in less honorable ways, but…

“Ugh,” you grunt, finally turning your back on the Jedi and starting your journey north.

 *

 “Maul! Maul, come here!”

He jerks up, briefly having fallen asleep leaned against the wall. For a second, he fully expects to see your gleaming eyes staring back at him, that’s how familiar the voice is. It takes him a moment to understand that it’s not you, but Loa calling him.

Which is supremely peculiar, because the young woman rarely ever addresses him, let alone command him.

He is out of the room, your room, in a flash, looking over Loa’s shoulder at the message displayed a second later.

Both of his hearts seem to skip a beat.

The message consists of nothing but a set of coordinates, the only indication of its origin the ‘ -S ’ with which it is signed.

S as in… Spectress?

It must be you. There is no one else with access to this line of communication who would send this kind of message.

Loa gapes at the writing. 

“It’s… It’s her, isn’t it? It’s gotta be her, I’m…”

“Set course,” is his only response, sitting down in the copilot’s seat, several scenarios already running through his mind.

“Looks like some type of… forest moon,” She remarks, readying the ship for hyperspace with outstanding speed and routine. You weren’t exaggerating at all when you said she had become a good pilot.

He ponders for a minute. If you are somehow stranded there, they won’t need reinforcement, with their forces stretched thin as it is. But if any threats lurk nearby and he puts your little sister in danger…

He will die by your hand, then. Or his own.

“How long?”

“Estimate of four hours.”

“Very well. I will try to find out what to expect when we arrive there.”

 According to his sources, there has been no Republic activity in the system in question over the past month - that’s what he found out after two hours of vehement research. Really, he already knew that after thirty minutes, but you being so close yet so far from him drove him to bury himself in databanks and records by his spies.

His thoughts travel to a darker place.

He doesn’t know what state you’ll be in when he finds you - if he finds you. And even if you’re fine, everything else is far from fine. Mandalore, the crime syndicate and most of all, Savage…

Something on the dresser that takes up most of the cramped space clatters to the floor when he loses control of the chaotic force inside him and he flinches, immediately worrying he broke something of importance to you. After all, he has taken up residence in what used to be your small quarters on your ship, before everything happened, before you joined the Death Watch, before you saw him again.

When you were still living relatively safe, off the Republic’s radars.

Out of Master’s reach.

It’s been torturing him every waking moment to think that you might meet the same end that Savage did. The speculation of what could have been if he hadn’t reentered your life has become a constant in his mind. Because if he ever has to see the life fade out of your eyes, the way he saw the nightsister magick leave Savage when he exhaled his last breath, he isn’t sure he could forgive the galaxy. He vows to himself, already vowed to himself few days after he first laid eyes on you, that he will do anything to keep that fiery soul safe.

His fingers run over the cold piece of metal that has fallen, curiously examining it. No, not normal metal, beskar . There are letters forged into it, but they look like traditional Mando’a scripture, which he is still unpracticed in reading.

He contemplates putting it into the uppermost drawer, lest it get lost during more daring flight maneuvers, but he hesitates. He’s never opened any of the drawers, despite the very persistent curiosity he felt. The last he’d want is to invade your privacy; you hadn’t even consented to him sleeping in your private space (although he doubts you would mind after he has literally slept with you).

Maul makes up his mind and pulls the drawer open, not intending to even look, but his gaze still gets caught.

He expected to find clothes, maybe, or, knowing you, weapons. What he finds instead is a collection of… trinkets. 

It’s not new to him that you have a tendency to collect items, sometimes out of sentiment, sometimes as a trophy. He didn’t realize you kept them so meticulously stored.

It’s quite endearing, he thinks.

Some of the items he recalls you talking about, but others seem entirely random. His eyes linger on a piece of flimsiplast that looks like a child has drawn on it. 

He is tempted to take it out and hold it into the light, but quickly realizes that it would go against his original decision not to pry.

There is so much personal history collected in that small space. Dozens of untold stories, so many parts of your life that he missed.

He won’t rest until he knows you’ll still be able to tell them.

 *

 Oddly enough, you miss Kenobi. More precisely, you miss his ability to sense danger before it has reached you.

Every little noise startles you, every swish of wind making your heart stop and you increase your speed a little.

By now, you’re nearly running through the woods, less than half a mile away from the coordinates you chose.

Chances are, he has woken up by now. And you’re not stupid; you know it’ll be easy for him to track you down when there is no civilization around. From what your understanding of the force is, he should be able to sense your force signature from a larger distance when there is nothing else to disrupt it. That also means that he will be hot on your tail, so whoever shows up to rescue you better hurry .

With a heavy heart, you turn off your flashlight and lean against a tree while you remove your mask for better air supply and allow your eyes to adjust. It still takes so kriffing long, you wonder if that’ll ever change.

If Kenobi finds you first, it won’t make much of a difference.

You get moving again, slower but also less of a beacon in the dark.

The trees start coming in more sparsely now, until you can actually see farther than twenty feet without trees blocking your view. This allows you to pick up speed again and thus make up for the darkness that is slowing you down, until the landscape is so open that you’re actually running now.

And that’s when you hear them.

Branches cracking somewhere behind you. 

Probably just the wind. Keep going.

The dull thud of feet hitting the ground makes your breath catch in your throat.

So maybe he did wake up earlier than anticipated.

You whirl around, seeing nothing but his black silhouette and desperately wishing for a lightsaber, which you - unwisely - have sworn off after the Naboo incident. That, and running around wielding a lightsaber wasn’t exactly the level of subtlety you were going for at the time.

But now, you could really use it.

“I spared your life!” You yell.

“And destroyed my only way away from here,” he responds, sounding almost hurt as he makes slow steps towards you. You take just as many backwards.

Something in the sky beyond him catches your eye and suddenly, the situation looks different.

“I’ve got to look out for myself first,” you argue. “Surely, you understand that.”

“You know I can’t let you go.”

“I do,” you say serenely, taking a deep breath, then whirling around to make a run for it.

You don’t need to look over your shoulder to know he is following you and, even worse, gaining on you.

The small headstart you got, combined with the distance between you two in the first place isn’t nearly enough, even though you are in great shape and a truly fast runner.

The ship you spotted earlier now flies over your head, approaching the ground and you could laugh and cry at the same time. It’s not just any ship, it’s your ship. Your home, and aboard, you hope, your family.

It doesn’t touch the ground, but it flies low enough to be accessible from the ground while slowing to a speed that should allow for you to jump on, if you could only run a little faster.

Damn, ten years ago this would have been easier.

The blast door in the back, only about twenty feet away from you, slides open, revealing a figure that even in the dark you can make out to be…

Maul.

He extends his hand and you instantly know what he wants you to do.

So, you take a deep breath and jump .

The moment your feet leave the ground you feel the tug of the force pulling you to the zabrak while your own hand reaches forward and you fly through the air, until your hand finally reaches Maul’s.

You are not safe yet, still hanging from the edge of the ship when you suddenly feel a different pull on one of your ankles. Your eyes widen in shock and you try to tell Maul that it’s Kenobi, he is pulling you back, but all that you manage is a terrified shriek when your hand almost slips out of his at a particularly strong pull backwards.

Not this time, Kenobi.

Your determination sets in and you look down to see Kenobi standing still, arms extended to manipulate the force. With your one free hand, you reach for your blaster, aiming and-

The hold on your ankle abruptly loosens and you are yanked on board at once, the blast door sliding shut immediately, drowning out the deafening sound of wind.

You are panting, sprawled out on the floor, not even realizing that you did it .

“Hyperspace, as soon as possible,” you distantly hear Maul say, but the thrumming of your heart is too loud to properly hear his voice, until he somehow sits you up and…

Embraces you. 

Warm fingers run through your messy hair, soft murmurs that you can’t quite understand coming from right next to your ear.

“I’m filthy,” you protest weakly, half-heartedly trying to free yourself from his hold but he only holds on tighter and at last you melt into the affection, burying your face in his neck.

“Is Loa…?”

“In the cockpit,” he instantly calms your worries and you sigh happily. For a moment, everything is alright.

“What did I miss?” You eventually muster up the courage to ask.

His grip tightens so much you can feel his fingertips dig into your hip and you immediately know something bad happened.

“It was… Master. He killed Savage.”

Your heart sinks, the previous relief replaced by a dark type of sadness. There is anger and, most dominantly, fear.

The Sith lord doesn’t intend on letting Maul off, which by extension also means there is a target on everyone he surrounds himself with.

You can’t even find words to console him, only taking in a shaky breath against his skin and whispering, "I'm sorry."

"He's free now."

Eventually, you find the strength to get up, tiredly patting over to the cockpit.

“Hey.” Loa presses a few last buttons, then jumps up and crushes you in a tight hug.

“I thought I would never see you again.”

“You know me better than that,” you retort mildly.

“I suppose so,” she sighs, holding you at an arm’s length. “You need a shower,” she assesses, plucking a leaf from your hair.

Self-consciously you run a hand through the tangles, then look down at your muddy clothes.

“I agree.”

 Maul waits for you when you leave the cockpit, immediately taking your hand as if to reassure himself that you are truly there.

“Missed me?” You joke half-heartedly, doing nothing to hide the way the tension seems to melt from your body at the touch.

“Every minute,” he answers earnestly, not a hint of a joke in his voice.

“Come with me, then,” you offer, making your way to the refresher and pulling him along. As expected, he follows you all too willingly, thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

You don’t even bother undressing all the way before getting under the water stream, suddenly realizing how much you’ve been longing for it. While your clothes soak, the water pooling around your feet turns a muddy brown as the dirt from the forest is finally washed off.

Maul steps in the small shower behind you, holding a hand into the falling water.

“That’s cold,” he states.

“Not for me, it’s not.” You eye his frown. “But we can turn the temperature up.”

The heat does feel good, and not much later you finally attempt to peel off the remaining layers of clothing. Red tattooed hands come to your aid fast and within seconds, your skin is completely exposed, the stress of the past weeks running down the drain along with the dirt and… blood?

You bring a hand up to touch your forehead at the same time that a scowl makes its way on Maul’s face.

“Kenobi,” he growls, but you shake your head.

“That’s from when I crashed the starfighter.” You examine your bloodied fingers with moderate interest. “I think it’s healed already, that’s just dried blood coming off.”

He huffs, lightly running a finger over the area on your face.

“Any other injuries?” His eyes roam your body, not in a sexual, but in a concerned manner.

“None I can think of,” you sigh as he gathers soap in his hands, closing your eyes for a moment as the warm water runs over your face. When you don’t hear another noise from Maul, you open your eyes again, only to find him staring at you with something like bewilderment in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

He responds by crashing his lips into yours, expressing so many emotions through his actions that he otherwise can’t find the words for. You very nearly fall at the suddenness of it, but his arms are wrapped around you in a heartbeat, pressing you into his chest and giving you the skin-to-skin contact you’ve been missing so terribly.

Your eyes water as emotions overcome you, the relief, the sorrow, the uncertainty and… guilt.

When you break apart, his are shining in a similar way.

 You lean against the weapons locker, facing the ceiling while you let the details of your situation soak in. The havoc that was wreaked on Mandalore by the resistant Mandalorians, the coming and going of the crime families, and the looming threat of Sidious’ grand plan finally coming together.

“I have a suggestion,” you begin slowly. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“Go on.”

“The Jedi are not our main enemy anymore, if what you foresee comes true.” You recall him talking about the envisioned destruction of the Jedi order, something that Sidious has been plotting for a long time. “If we give them the right tools to do so, it’ll be them who need to fight him, not you. Not any of us.” Your eyes dart to the cockpit where your sister is holed up.

“Tools, such as… knowledge?” He touches his chin the way he always does when he mulls over an idea.

“Sidious is but one man. He only thrives on secrecy, so if we-”

“A Jedi will never cooperate with a Sith .” He snarls. “Their self-righteousness wouldn’t allow it.”

“Maybe not.” You sigh with exhaustion. “All I know is that the better equipped the Jedi, the higher the chance of them actually defeating Sidious before it’s too late. And that’s why I have another proposition.”

“What is it?”

“We make a small transmission to the Republic fleet, sending them the same coordinates I sent you.”

“You’re trying to save Kenobi?” He doesn’t sound angered, he sounds… surprised.

“As much as I dislike him, he is one of their more capable knights, and it’s become pretty obvious he and his padawan are quite invested in uncovering Sidious’ identity.” 

You are astounded he even considers the idea. 

“Also, helping him could be interpreted as a show of good faith. Might get them off our back for some time, until we figure out who to fight,” you add.

For a minute, he remains silent. Then, his arm is wrapped around your waist and his lips brush over your temple.

“I trust your judgment,” he mumbles. “Do what you believe is right.”

___

SOOO, after a two week delay, I have elected to post once more... my bad. In the next 2-4 weeks I’d like to edit and improve the older chapters because I’m not 100% happy with the writing in them anymore, so because of that there won’t be another update during that time. Don’t worry though, I’m not done yet, the story will go on - just after a short break :,)

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @larawl @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show @brilliantbutbatty @eleine-t1d

[upcloseandchaotic]

We’ll Meet Again

Sooo, surprise? I write sometimes. I don’t write a whole lot, but I figured I’d throw this out there. Enjoy <3

My first time posting a story on Tumblr, my first Y/N fic, and my first Marvel fic. Just out here trying all sorts of new things lmaooo

Disclaimer: Steve and Bucky are not my characters, but OC is. 

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Y/N, and an OC. Implied Stucky x Y/N if you squint.

Triggers: Kidnapping, drugging, fighting, vomiting “Come on,” you whispered to your fiance, Thomas, as you slide your key card through the reader. The reader turns green and you giggled as you pull Thomas in behind you. He chuckles as he starts to walk around, looking at your new office.

You had just gotten a promotion at your job, making you the registrar at the Natural History Museum. You have been working towards this position for about 4 years now, so you and your fiance decided to sneak in after the museum closed to celebrate in your new office.

Thomas placed the champagne and the bag of food and supplies he had brought onto your empty desk and turned towards you, pulling you into his embrace. “Look at you, with your fancy new office,” he said, smiling softly down at you.

“Don’t forget the fancy new desk,” you add, “I paid good money for that fancy new desk.” 

“Oh yes, how could I have forgotten your giant, fancy desk.” Thomas cupped your face and gave you a quick peck, pulling back with a smile on his face. “That monster weighed a ton, I’m pretty sure I’m still sore from carrying it up the stairs here.”

You rolled your eyes and snorted. “You know, if you’re still sore you could just go home. As the doctor likes to say, rest is the best medicine. I’m sure I could drink all of this champagne by myself.” You snagged the bottle and twirled away, sending him a sly look.

“Don’t you dare!” he laughed, lunging for the champagne in your hand. You gasped quietly but twisted to avoid his attempt. This turned into a five minute game of chase around the office, around chairs, fake plants left behind by the previous owner, and various feinting attempts by both you and Thomas. Everything became silent though as the sound of footsteps started ringing in the hallway. You froze mid run, staring at the door of your office with baited breath. Thomas had stumbled but quickly recovered, crouching down behind your desk. As the footsteps got closer you dived behind your massive desk as well, ignoring Thomas silently laughing next to you.

The door opened and you and Thomas stilled, watching the guard’s flashlight flash on the wall behind you and swing around the office. You held your breath until you heard the guard’s footsteps walking away and the door close behind them. The tension you were holding in your body instantly melted away and you sagged against the desk, thanking the universe that you and Thomas were not caught. Thomas, on the other hand, was still shaking as he popped open the bottle.

“Thomas,” You hissed, listening for footsteps.

“Babe, it’s fine,” he said, rising from behind the desk after waiting to see if the guard would come back. He pulled out two champagne flutes and started to pour them. I shook my head but got up as well and started to pull out our food.

After setting up our dinner on the floor behind the desk Thomas held up his glass. “A toast to new beginnings and new possibilities.” You were a little confused but I lightly clinked my glass against his and repeated it softly.

You and Thomas ate dinner, chatting amongst yourselves as you ate. The champagne was a little dry, but did have a decent fruity flavor, so you soon found yourself having a second glass.

“This is really good,” you say as you take another sip, “Where did you get this?”

“Oh, you know, just the corner store near my place,” He offered, his eyes strangely boring into you as you put your drink down on the floor, “Is it good?”

“What do you mean? Haven’t you--” You looked towards the glass in his hand, and started to feel uneasy when you noticed that it was still full. “What’s going on?”

Thomas flipped his wrist over to glance at his watch. “Unfortunately, Y/N, you’ve got about three minutes before the drugs in this champagne knock you unconscious.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You demanded, kicking the glass away from you as you scrambled back, horrified to feel an aftertaste on the back of your tongue and everything started to start rocking back and forth.

“Now, you could make this easier on yourself,” Thomas continued on, as if you hadn’t said anything, “I need some information, baby, and it would be easier if you would just give them to me.” He tilted his head and watched you flailed and fell to the side, still trying to push yourself away from him.

“Wha-- Thom, ” You tried to form the words on your tongue, but they all seemed to mash together as your tongue felt like it was turning into stone.

“It’s all for the greater good,” Thomas explained, crawling forwards towards you, ignoring your terrified squawk. Once he reached you he pulled you up and put you in your new office chair, spinning you to face your computer. You could feel the world spin around you and briefly closed your eyes in a desperate attempt to get it to stop. Your heart had begun to race and sweat started to form on your face and neck.

“You see, Y/N, I’m part of a big organization,” He calmly continued, tapping the start button on your desktop. You blinked blearily as the start screen came up, trying vainly to focus on what was going on. “We’ve decided that the world is a little too...reckless. Humans are so vain and fickle. They need to be controlled.”

You lean your head against the desk, nauseous due to the drugs and his evil villain speech. You weren’t even really sure why he was saying anything to you, you were only really understanding about half of what he was saying.

“We need an item in the collection here,” you heard. You leave your head against the desk but you try and focus as much as you can on what he’s saying, “and you’re going to help us retrieve it.”

“Fuh Ooh,” You slurred, opening your eyes briefly to glare at him.

“Now, baby, don’t do this. We haven’t even gotten to the part where I give you your options,” Thomas cooed, petting the back of your head softly. You go to jerk away but he just lightly grasps your neck before going back to petting it. You grunted indignantly, but decided not to push it. “As I was saying, I need the password to the system. You can either provide it to me, right now, or we can do this the hard way.”

“Nuh,” you growled, straining to push away from the desk. It worked, but you lost your balance and fell halfway out of your chair.

“Wrong answer, darling.” Thomas snarled, grabbing your shoulder and throwing you against the top of the desk. You cried out in pain and saw your vision fill with stars. “Come on now, don’t make me do this, Y/N.” You groaned but laid against the desk, breathing deeply to try and fight the drugs starting to drag you under.

“Oh no, no, no. Don’t you pass out on me now,” he chuckled. You gave a strangled scream as a knife was pulled out of somewhere and slammed into the desk right next to your face.

“Don’t worry about that, darling. It’s not a threat to you as long as you stay awake. You pass out and I’m going to have to keep you awake.”

Why did you drug me then, you thought, trying to pull yourself back from the edge of unconsciousness. Panting, you braced your forearms against the desk and pushed yourself up. Lifting your head from the desk left you dizzy, but the fresh air was starting to stave off the darkness.

“There you go, baby. I knew you could do this,” Thomas encouraged condescendingly. His tone reminded you of an owner praising their dog for sitting. He was just missing a dog biscuit. “Now, put your password in the computer.”

“Nooo,” You groaned, turning your head to where you thought he was and glaring.

Thomas clucked his tongue, fisted your hair in his hands and snapped you back, placing the knife to your throat. “You are reaching the end of my patience, Y/N. Password, now.”

You start taking shuddering breaths as you struggled to push past the nausea and hold back your fear. You were pretty sure that you were going to die in this moment, but fuck Thomas and Hydra. Even though he said you would not be harmed, you were pretty sure that none of the scenarios ended well for you; at least you could keep him away from whatever it was he wanted.

You were gearing up to tell him to fuck off once again when the door to your office exploded, allowing two giant men to run inside.

Thomas pulled you up and out of the chair, holding you against him like a human shield. Not that you were much of a shield, you thought to yourself. Your legs had as much sturdiness as cooked spaghetti, and you were starting to see two of everything.

Even though the man on the left’s face was half hidden in a rugged, but well-kept beard, you could see the fiery determination pull down his features. He took a quick look around and you watched as he evaluated the situation and the chances of this going in his favor.  In his hands was a blue, red, and white shield with a star on it. It was hard to determine the shade of gold his hair was, but you 95% sure it came to life in sunlight.

The other man’s face, on the other hand, seemed to have been carved out of ice and it had come to life. His long-ish brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun, his arctic eyes staring down the barrel of his gun and trained on Thomas, following his every move. The glistening of metal caught your eye as the moonlight seemed to reflect off what looked like the man’s metal arm.

What the hell did Thomas give me, you thought, blinking slowly a couple of times to see if you were in any way hallucinating.

“Captain America,” Thomas replied coolly, taking a second to gather you closer to him, “Asset.” You flinched as he hissed the name harshly in your ear. He pressed the knife closer to your neck and you gritted your teeth as you felt the sting of it lightly cutting into your skin.

“Copeland,” The golden haired man said, lowering his shield in front of himself to stand up straight. “Let her go.” 

“No, I don’t think I shall,” Thomas replied, taking one hand and patting your cheek fondly. You growled and turned to bite him, but that quickly turned into a whimper as he grabbed your chin and dug his fingers in. “Why would I give up my shield? As soon as I do we both know the Asset will just put a bullet between my eyes.”

“We have orders to take you in.”

“For some reason, I don’t think that the Asset cares about that order. As they say, ‘accidents do happen’.”

The man with the metal arm grunted quietly, “Can’t say it would be that much of a shame if something were to happen. But, I’ll back off with the gun if you just let her go.”

Thomas hummed, tapping the side of your cheek with his index finger, as if he was thinking about it. You closed your eyes and breathed in slowly through your nose. Your fear was making your heart race furiously. Bile started to climb up your throat, but you quickly swallowed it back;  you did not need to die because you decided to vomit on Thomas’ shoes.

“No, I think I’m going to stick with my decision.”

“You have no way out, Copeland,” Goldilocks growled, dropping down into what you assume is a fighting stance. “You’d have to go through us to get out of here, and then we have all of the entrances and exits covered with the Avengers. You will lose. Give us Y/N. Now”

“You underestimate the greatness of Hydra, Captain,” Thomas tutted, his hand dropping to reach into his pocket. He pulled something out and held it in front of you. Everything was still swirling together in your sight, but you squinted to get a better look at it.

It was a small glass ball that was filled with a glowing, rolling blue and white liquid. You felt chills run down your spine; even though it looked like something that came out of a Harry Potter movie, you were sure that whatever was contained in the ball was not good.

“What the fuck is that,” the man with the metal arm snarled, switching his gun to point at it.

“This is my Plan B,” Thomas crowed. He started throwing it up slightly in the air and catching it. As you watched you could feel the dread sitting in your gut like a pile of stones. “It was good to see you, Captain, Asset, but it is time for us to go.”

You watched, terrified, as he threw the ball up in the air and let it smash on the ground in front of the two of you. The blue mystery liquid quickly seeped out of the ball and opened up a vortex in front of you. You screamed and closed your eyes as you could feel it start to suck you in. 

Dual cries of “Y/N!” sounded around you as Thomas threw you forwards with him into the hole. The two mens’ cries faded away as quickly as they came though, because as you fell forwards into the space-color rabbit hole, the only thing you could hear was wind whipping past you and your prayers for a quick death.

After what felt like ten minutes of falling, you felt Thomas lose his grip on you and then your body crashed onto something rough, unforgiving and smelled like hot garbage. You gagged and pushed yourself up, groaning at the pain that was starting to flash through your body. Blinking rapidly to adjust to the light, you lifted your head and looked around. You could see some vague figures of people walking up ahead of you and cars on the road. You might not be sure where you were, but maybe someone would help you.

“HELP… HEL--” You cried, trying to push yourself towards the crowd. Before you could get any farther you felt someone grab the back of your hair and slammed you up against the wall. His hand was placed over your mouth in an instant, cutting off your cries.

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” Thomas snarled, “You need to shut up. Now.” 

“Hey! What’s going on!” 

Thomas and you turned your heads, watching as a short, thin blond man ran into the alley, shouting at Thomas to let you go.

“Get lost kid!” Thomas shouted. He let go of you and whipped around to face the newcomer. You cried out as you went sprawling on the pavement, your knees hitting the ground with a loud thud. You flinched and thought that that was going to hurt tomorrow.

“Leave her alone!” the guy cried, bringing fists up near his eye level. He kept switching between glaring at Thomas and looking down at you in concern.

Thomas grunted and swung at him, but the man was quicker and ducked out of the way. They kept swinging and missing between the two of them, but eventually the blond man managed to get in between you and Thomas, not allowing Thomas to get past him. Unfortunately Thomas started getting hits in, quickly driving the man up against the wall next to you. The man, knowing that there wasn’t much he could do, then started going on the defensive, blocking as many hits as he could but still fielding 75% of them.

“No!” you screamed, using the little energy you had left to start kicking at Thomas’ legs.

“You little bitch,” Thomas hissed, stepping away from the man to reach down for you. You screamed, still kicking and hitting him wherever you could reach.

“Leave them alone!” another voice called out from the mouth of the alley, shortly followed by the sound of someone running towards the three of you. The blond man seemed to get his wits about him and stood up, pushing Thomas farther away from you, towards the center of the alley. 

Before you could yell for the blonde man to run, a brunette man wearing blacks slacks and a white button up shirt came flying into view and immediately started to go after Thomas, who had fallen back and was left defenseless against the newcomer. 

You could hear the fight going on beside you but the blonde man crouched down beside you, cutting off your view of it. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You nod, closing your eyes as another wave of dizziness takes over.

“Where did he hurt you? Can you stand up?” The man’s blue eyes were soft as they scanned you over.

“I’m going to throw up,” you warned, rolling over towards the wall. He was quiet as you vomited up your dinner, pulling your hair away from your face and whispering that you were alright.

When you finished, you turned back and groaned as you pushed yourself up until you were sitting on your knees. You looked behind him and noticed that Thomas was laid flat on the ground, unconscious and the other man was wiping his bloody hands on his pants.

“You okay, Doll?” He asked, coming over to the blond man’s side and kneeling down.

You could feel your limbs start to shake and you shook your head, “I don’t feel well, but I’ll be okay in a little bit. I don’t know what’s going on, though where am I? What’s the date?”

“You’re in New York, it’s January 19th, 1935,” The blond man said softly, sending a confused glance over to the brunette.

You inhaled sharply, the date sending you reeling. Your brain was screaming that it was impossible, but the more you looked at their clothes, the people on the sidewalks and the cars driving around, the more you believed it.

You were from 2020, stuck in 1935.

“Where are you from?” The blond asked, a couple of minutes after you had gone silent.

“I’m from a city south of here, in a different state,” you whisper.

“Do you know how to get back home?”

“No… he kidnapped me. I don’t know how to get back.” At the thought of never being able to go back, you feel tears start collecting in the corner of your eyes and a lump settle in your throat.

“Don’t cry, Doll. We’ll figure it out. Until then you can stay with my family. It’ll be tight between you, her, my sister and my Pa, but we’ll make it work. We won't leave you out here,” the brunette sighed, grabbing one arm to gently pull you up. You lose your balance when you go to step forward and immediately the blond goes and supports your other side.

They start walking you out of the alley and you get onto the sidewalk before you realize something. “Thank you for helping me… but who are you?”

“I’m Steve,” the smaller blond man says, smiling up at you, “and that’s James, but we call him Bucky.”

Taglist: @what-just-happened-bro @babiiface95

[chainrattle]

info on seven/rk under the cut !

pre-maw ( arc zero ) ; the runaway kid wasn't always some nameless face trapped within the depths of the maw ; like any child, he came from a family. a beloved child of one to a perfectly normal grandfather and grandmother. his parents whereabouts didn't bother him, since the devoted care of his grandparents was enough. during his childhood he was spoiled rotten, lavished with gifts due to being the only child. one tragic day, however, changed everything when his grandmother passed away due to unknown causes. despite the horrors of the world, outside their little ranch far away from cities and boats, his grandfather went out to bury his wife where she had asked to be buried.

left all alone, the boy waited for a total of a week before he set off to find his elder. a mistake on his part. while searching desperately for his remaining family, the boy was attacked— someone aimed a hit on his head that knocked him out cold. a swelling bump, oozing of blood, now on his head. this hit made him remember little of his past when he finally awoke on the maw. the images of his family now hazy faces that only became more distorted by the day. while he has no clue who gave him his head injury, it certainly caused escaping the maw to be harder.

( in later loops, the head wound heals and becomes less of a injury— making it easier. but there is still a scar on his head from it )

canon ' the maw ' ( arc one ) ; everything that takes place here is when the runaway boy is within the metal walls of the maw. the sequence of events follows canon closely, with him waking up in the children's room and escaping his prison— roaming the depths and killing the granny with his quick thinking. he's captured by the janitor and briefly encounters the feared heroine six before taken away to be moved to the kitchen. an attempt he easily escapes, though he falls once more back to the bottom. calling upon the nomes to help him, rk finds solace in his only friends when they get the furnace ( or known as the 'heart' of the maw ) started. when he escapes through an elevator, the lady is below him.

finally, the boy is in the lady's quarters. where he fends off from shadow kids with his flashlight and finds the statues needed to escape. he makes the fatal mistake of catching the lady staring at her reflection, however, and this proves to be his end. the moment she catches him, she twists him into a nome and he's destined to waddle off, becoming six's meal like the loop wants him to be.

canon divergent maw. in most threads, the story will become canon divergent as the boy interacts with others aboard the maw ; be it monsters or children. sometimes he will meet the same fate despite his partnerships ; becoming a nome for six to eat. sometimes six doesn't eat him. sometimes the boy in blue actually escapes, or the lady kills him where he stands. these different scenarios occur after the first loop, where stuff starts to alter— slowly, but surely.

canon divergent ' pale city ' ( arc two ) ; entering pale city only occurs if he escapes the maw, be it alone or with a partner. either way, seven ( a name he earned on the maw that he heard whispered about ) typically ends up separated ; isolated and alone in a foreign city. in most loops, it's rare he encounters the hunter considering he starts in pale city— but there have been a few times where he travels to that location and gets caught himself. a consistency, however, is that the boy stumbles upon the school quickly. with a hunger for company, he's easy prey for the bullies. while entering the building, he's relentlessly pranked, harassed, and physically harmed— but he pushes on.

not a solid choice to make considering his persistence and cowardice nature ( he can't bring himself to hurt other children ) is what makes the bullies want to keep him. brought to the teacher, seven is forced to stay. it takes five to six weeks for him to finally wiggle his way out of his hell ; be it alone or because of the help of another. with new scars to carry he keeps off the grid for a good while, avoiding big buildings like the hospital until he needs to treat some festering wounds.

by the time he gets to the doctor's in most loops, six and mono have already taken care of him ( or they're currently in the building when he arrives ) and he's free to only deal with the mannequins. but for the most part, he's in and out fast. being sneaky and cautious makes the hospital scene a little easier for him to handle. there's nothing significant in the building for him, though he does linger in the room with all those markings for the longest time.

in most scenarios, it's rare for seven to make it to the tower or lay eyes on the thin man. by the time he's in the streets again, six has usually dropped mono and repeated the cycle. which results in seven dying from the viewers so he can start back in the maw with six. seven is only freed from the loop when it's broken by six and mono ; forcing him to rely on others for his own fate ( and how messed up is that? )

more canon divergent pale city. when seven's in pale city, a lot of things aren't consistent due to the fact he isn't supposed to make it this far. sometimes he sticks with a partner the whole time, other times he's alone the whole way through. occasionally he sticks with mono and six until after the doctor's area ; typically dying in the collapsing building or, if he's lucky, at the hands of monster six ( again, he dies if the loop is to restart, he can never make it to the end with mono and six unless the loop is going to be broken ).

DUE TO THE LOOP in general, and due to seven mattering little in the grand scheme of things ; there's only some consistencies. his past always remains the same, he's always given the head injury, he awakes on the maw first, kills the granny, and is gifted the companionship of the nomes. sometimes the lady kills him, sometimes she turns him into the very thing he loves so much, and sometimes six eats him. the only thing that remains the same in every loop in pale city is seven being trapped in the school ; everything else changes for the most part.

› › » › ›

seven & six ; a friendship that forms despite it all! his fate is intertwined with six's, being the nome she eats when she's at her starving point. but there's more to them than that— with seven seeing bright yellow and feeling familiarity swirl in his chest. she reminds him of the horrors within the maw, yet six also makes him think of doing the impossible. out of all his companions, six is the one he will have always known the longest— even if he's only known her at a glance before. though it's true that the girl's powers scare him, make him debate her morals even, this doesn't stop the runaway from loving six. he can't quite get pass her powers, or ( if he learns ) the fact she ate him, but he can love her despite it. and he always does. for her sake, he even keeps his feelings on her supernatural aspect quite so he doesn't make her feel bad. also, she's a comfort to him due to their shared experiences in the maw— something that they mostly share alone.

seven & mono ; an unlikely bond that should've never formed ( in the loop's eyes ) but it blooms nonetheless. seven's never hung out with many boys before, so he's very shy and nervous around mono upon first meeting him. his typical cold behavior melts fast as he feels the pathetic urge to impress mono, though he tries to hide this well. they both typically have fun swapping stories about six, both viewing her in a slightly different light— which makes it even more fun to discuss. at first that's all they seem to have to talk about ; six this, six that! seven clings to this conversation topic because he wants to keep talking to mono, but they settle into other topics eventually. forming their own experiences together ( like saving six perhaps ) helps make their bond separate from their one with six. of course, like with their mutual friend, seven is uncomfortable by mono's powers— and would definitely be disgusted by the fact mono becomes the thin man. however, he keeps this to himself again. trying to get over his issues with mono during his own time since he really does like him.

seven & five ; five is the kid that seven never feels threatened by, or envious of. she seems to love the nomes just as much as he does, which is something that will tie him to any child, but she also doesn't have powers ; like mono and six have. that fact comforts him in her presence, knowing that she's ordinary just like him. she made it this far by survival skills alone and he's impressed by this fact, along with being taken with her humourous and determined nature. all in all, the boy quickly relates to her and lets five in, her presence lightening the burden on his shoulders. she makes him laugh and smile harder than most and he quite likes their history with water. these two have a lot of things that glue them together, relating in ways seven can't with most of the other kids.

seven & the nomes ; with little rememberance of his actual family, the nomes have fit together to make him a new one. there's a sense of belonging that tugs him to the nomes, feeling understood and seen by the peculiar creatures. the nomes understand what its like to fail, to never be able to taste the fresh air of new lands. seven sees himself in each of them and, despite the nomes usually not being in any real danger, the boy is fiercely protective of his new family. they know his every thought, constantly spilling his deepest thoughts and secrets to them because it's easier when he knows the nomes can't tell anyone. there's lots of trust in this dynamic, and seven sees himself as one of the nomes.

[itsa-lie]

Birth Of A Liar Part Two

||Part One||Part Two||Part Three||Part Four||Part Five||

More of the boy’s backstory, including a cameo from a special someone. Oh boy will that someone hurt.

Trigger warning for abuse, murder, and an unlikely pair-up 

Days went by since that horrible day of his parents death. Days became months, and months became years. How the young boy managed to keep himself alive for that long was a miracle in itself. He mostly would stand outside shops making sad pouty faces until the owner or someone who would give him a half-eaten sandwich or, if he was lucky, a soda bottle. One time a kind man bought him this really sweet grape drink he really liked. It was cold, sweet, and tasted like sweet grapes. He was too young to read back then, but the man called it “Grape Panta” and oh boy was he hooked on it.

Not only would he beg for food and drink, sometimes he would outright steal using his small height to his advantage. The cashier at the local bakery leaves for a few minutes? He’d just sneak in and go around the back of the display and steal a few jelly filled donuts. It wasn’t that hard and if he was lucky he’d be able to steal a Panta too. He’s never once been caught and he is very proud of that.

One summer day as he carries his loot of sweets to his hole, he noticed something odd was going on. Someone was there with him. Kokichi practically dropped his treats in surprise! There was a boy a bit older than him with red hair that draped over his eyes, a small girl with brown hair who looked terrified and holding onto an older girl, and the older girl herself looking around Kokichi’s age with long black hair in ponytails and crimson red eyes. She was the only one not looking scared in this situation, her eyes glued to the boy in front of her as if she would attack any second.

 Kokichi tries his best not to look scared, but does try to intimidate them the best the six-year-old could.

“Who the ever-loving hell are you?”

He’s heard a few grown-ups use this phase outside him hiding place. It seemed to get the job done with them into scaring the other person. Well while it did intimidate the little girl who began to sob loudly, the other two didn’t seem to be intimidated in the slightest, the red eyed girl becoming more enraged. 

“If you do anything to us I swear I’ll-”

“Maki, I’ll take care of this, calm down.”

“Goro stand down, he’s already scaring Hanako.”

“WAAAAHHHH!!!”

The odd scenario going on before Kokichi both baffled and amused him just the same. He hasn’t seen any kids before nor has he played with anyone before. Or maybe he has? Unfortunately as much as he tried to prevent it his memories while his parents were still alive kept coming back fuzzy as if they were going to be forgotten entirely. It would be nice to have some company in this lonely little building. However you can never be too sure.

“Hey I know you’re probably wondering what we’re doing here, kid. I don’t blame you. This was your hole after all.” The older boy, apparently named Goro mutters with a timid laugh. He didn’t want a fight to break out it seems. “But we need your help. You see, some bad people are looking for us and we really need a place to hide. We won’t be much trouble I promise.” The red eyed girl scoffed at Goro’s plea but continued petting and comforting the child in front of her who was sniffling hysterically. Confused but intrigued, Kokichi poked his head out the hole looking around. There seemed to be a group of adults each carrying firearms. That didn’t look good.

“Fine fine, just keep her voice down! There’s guys everywhere out there.”

His loud shout only made Hanako cry more. “You idiot. That’s no way to comfort a child.” hissed Maki as she holds the girl close. “There there...don’t cry...I won’t let anything happen to you...” Kokichi, for some odd reason, felt a warm feeling hearing those words as if he heard them before...somewhere. Hanako seemed to calm down at least. This Maki girl was really great with kids.

“I heard something this way! Come on!” booms a man voice outside walking into the alley. Oh no! Did he hear them? And they are coming this way! Kokichi was able to keep a low profile for so long! Why now of all times and places should he be discovered! Thinking quickly Kokichi started to bark orders.

“You, take the kid behind that sink over there and lay low, kid, don’t worry, I got this under control. And you, big red over here, sit in that darkened corner by the kitchen and stay completely still.” 

The children had no other choice but to listen, following Kokichi’s words exactly. The boy himself climbed up on a shelf above the hole holding a wooden bat in his hand. Yes it was the same hateful bat that that horrible gang member used to kill his father with, but it could still be used for protection. Though Kokichi would never kill anyone and would only knock out the man if he even tried getting in. Outside it would seem that the hole was spotted by one of the men. He leans down to look inside, flashing his flashlight around. All he could really see was a bag of what seemed to be donuts on the ground. Did an animal hide them away here for safe keeping? Defeated, the man gets back onto his feet. “False alarm. Must be a rat or something...” Kokichi gives a sigh of relief to himself and wipes the sweat from his brow while listening to the footsteps get further and further away. “Okay, he’s gone now, it’s safe.” 

The three other children come out of their hiding places like fawn staring out for their mother to give them the go ahead to move. They all sat down in front of the purpleish blue haired boy as they gave sighs of relief. 

“Wow mister! You’re really good at being a leader!” Hanako states with a smile. Maki didn’t want to admit it, especially from how loud and brash this kid was, but she’d admit this kid saved their skin and she was grateful. Goro nodded in agreement with the little girl. “Yeah, you really saved our butts back there, thank you. Maki why don’t you say thanks too?” Maki was quiet, her gaze to the ground, before she finally gives in and rolls her eyes. “...thanks I guess.” The orphan boy blushed from the compliments and the thanks, but pretended it meant nothing. “Yeah yeah yeah, I know I’m like...an ultimate leader and all that.” The red headed boy laughs a bit at the younger’s cockiness before speaking again. “Anyway why don’t we introduce ourselves? I’m Goro Harukawa and this is my little sister Maki.” Maki didn’t even bother to look at anyone, only cradling Hanako softly. “And I’m Hanako!” Says the smallest as she waves her hand in the air. “Hanako was a baby when we found her so we just...ya know...took care of her. Could you believe someone would leave this cutie on a doorstep?”

Kokichi stares at the others with an eyebrow raised. “So if you’re brother and sister what happened to your parents?” Goro’s eyes started to look a bit sadder but continued to smile as Maki grunts and turns away much to the confusion of the young Hanako. “Well our...mother died when Maki was born so...well our father had three sons before me who had grown up or got sent to a boarding school, and he usually had mother by his side so...well...he...”

Maki was looking more and more uncomfortable at what her brother was saying.

“He was already angry at Maki for being born and was...punching her whenever he got mad or would punch me for defending her. So when he saw a defenseless baby Hanako outside he...well he tried to kill her. That was until Maki stabbed him in the back of the neck.”

“He would have killed us! Father’s temper was horrible, you know that! Don’t paint me out to be some sort of horrible murderer!” Maki snapped, her eyes filling with hate. It was enough to even scare Kokichi who glanced back at Goro like he was saying “he said it not me”. Goro stares down at the ground, sweat pouring down his face. “I-I didn’t mean it like that. I was only explaining-”

“Actually,” Kokichi started, a blank stare on his face devoid of emotion. “You’re still a murderer if you had good intentions or not. You still took a life. You’re a murderer.” Goro’s eyes turned as big as dinner plates, Hanako stares confused, and Maki...oh man Maki...was on fire with rage right now. She reeled her fist back before socking Kokichi right in the jaw, his head moving back from the blow. “You don’t know shit about what I am. You don’t know ANYTHING about me. So don’t keep talking out of your ass or else you might be the next one hurt.”

“M-Maki!? What the hell?! I know that was uncalled for but-” Before Goro could finish his sentence Maki was already up the stairs, going who knows where. Kokichi gets back up, rubbing the side of his face that hurt. “You bitch! You’re not the only one who can fight ya know!” Kokichi picked up his bat and tried to run right for her but was stopped by Goro who practically held the boy in the air by the collar of his shirt. Kokichi made a whining sound before Goro put him down again. “Look, maybe you should just...leave her alone for a bit. This whole thing hurts her very much. Heck it even hurts me and Hana.” The boy looked up at the taller boy, skeptical. 

“Didn’t you say your dad was an abusive douchebag?”

Goro’s eyes start to water as he looks down. “...he didn’t used to be...he used to be a kid father until mom died...” The lump forming in his throat made it hard to talk, he holds onto Hanako close who was nestled beside him. “I thought...if we waited a bit longer he would go back to the way he used to be...that’s what I told Maki...we just...had to wait and he’d be loving and sweet again...” Goro was shaking as tears went down his eyes. “It kept us going and made Maki happy but...he wasn’t ever coming back.” Now Kokichi felt like a total ass for what he said. They had that little bit of hope from a lie, just like how he had hope from his own lie that his parents weren’t dead. The boy himself shook as well, his eyes peering to the ground as his body trembles. “I thought lying to myself would make me happy but...this makes it much worse. I’m sorry...” 

Goro feels a bit better and pats Kokichi’s head. “It isn't your fault. I mean if someone came into my house saying they killed their father I’d be pretty freaked out too. I’d probably call the police.” He giggles a little before putting on a comforting smile.

“But sometimes you care about someone too much to let them suffer in lies. You have to do something or someone will get hurt.”

Kokichi was silent, taking the older boy’s words to heart. Even if lies do make you feel better, there were some that makes you feel better for a little while then hurt you in the long run. But what kind of lies are they? How could he tell the difference? Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by his growling stomach. That’s right, he didn’t get a chance to eat his stolen donuts yet. He quickly picked up the bag and starts chowing down. Given he was so young when his parents had passed on, he didn’t really have manners or the idea to share. Well, until both Goro and Hanako stared at him sadly as their own stomachs rumbled. 

“Y-You want some?”

The three of them ate as much as they could and there was still some left over for Maki. They each told each other stories of their pasts and dreams they had until Goro and Hanako fell asleep on a full stomach and cuddled up next to each other on a pillow. Kokichi couldn’t sleep now feeling guilt he made Maki hurt. But it wasn’t a lie, that was the truth! Anyone who kills another human being is a murderer! Was it better if he lied about that too? Well he didn’t want the donuts to go bad or stale so he went up the stairs. The most beautiful thing about this building was the way it would go up to the roof, it would show the most scenic spots of Tokyo. Kokichi didn’t think that’s why his mom hid him in that spot, in fact she probably didn’t know it existed, but he was grateful nonetheless. If only father and mother could see these beautiful sights...perhaps someday...maybe...

As he reached the roof he could see Maki sitting alone. She stares at the busy roads and cars below her, hearing the hustle and bustle of the city. Timidly Kokichi sat on the other side of her also looking down at the ground. She didn’t seem to notice, and even if she did she gave no response. This lasted for a few minutes, only the sounds of the city bellow. Kokichi couldn’t stand the awkward silence anymore before he holds out the bag of treats to her. “Here, we saved you some.” Maki eyed the bag of treats for a second as if she was checking if they were safe or not before sighing and taking the bag. She cautiously took a bite of a cherry jelly filled donut, then took another, and another. Damn these things were good. She ate it pretty fast which made Kokichi giggle a bit before Maki gives one of those infamous stares in which he holds up his hands defensively. Maki seemed to have eaten the rest of the donuts in one sitting before taking the empty paper bag and handing it back to him. “Thanks. It was...oddly tasty...”

“Ah so you do like it? They make the best damn donuts anywhere!”

“I’d appreciate it if you would stop cussing in front of Hana.”

There was a stillness in the night, awkward silence in the air. Finally Kokichi just decided to say it.

“Hey, I really am sorry for hurting you. I shouldn’t have said that...” His hair swayed in the wind as a gust came from the east. “I’m an orphan too. My mom and dad died when I was three. Three gang guys killed them. I...I was too young to do anything so I...hid in that building. I’ve been living on my own ever since...”

Maki looked over at him carefully, her eyes still narrow but at least a bit softer now feeling sympathy for the brash loud child. She then turns back to the city and smiles a little. “It’s fine...honestly you got it worse than me. I at least have my brother and sister. You have...no one. I’m sorry...”

“About what? You weren’t those three guys.” Kokichi states as he kicks his legs over the building’s ledge. But now that he thinks of it...he really was alone. He was too busy trying to survive to notice it but...it hurt. “H-Hey...” Maki started, her eyes still on the city streets. “You don’t have to be alone you know. We wouldn’t mind keeping you company. Like an extended family or...something...” Maki seemed bashful saying this but she meant it. He did help her and her siblings out after all. Kokichi turns to the girl, giving the first genuine smile he had in a long time. “If you all want to you’re welcome to stay. Us orphans have to stick together, right?”

Suddenly he stood up quickly onto the edge of the building, almost looking like he’s about to fall but catches himself pretty quickly with cat-like reflexes. 

“We should start our own orphan gang!”

Maki stares at him worriedly like he was about to fall but calmed down once she noticed he wasn’t going anywhere. “An orphan gang? That does sound fun. Just the four of us, huh?” Kokichi nods his head enthusiastically as he stares back into the girl’s red eyes. “Then we need a leader. How about you? You managed to direct us without getting caught. That was very leader-like. Even Goro would’ve froze up in that situation.”

Now this caught him off guard as Kokichi almost fell forward but moved his weight backwards so he fell on his butt onto the roof’s concrete.

“M-Me?!”

“Yes you. ‘Ultimate Leader’.”

Kokichi crosses his legs, his head down in deep thought. “W-Well...I guess. Mom used to say my dad was a leader in his gang so...”

“Then I guess you have your dad’s genes.”

“No? My dad’s jeans would be too big for me.”

Maki looks at him down founded for a second, then shook her head. “Never mind. Anyway what should the gang be called?” Kokichi thinks for a few minutes, his eyes glancing everywhere to find a name out of anything. His eyes wondered to Maki’s hairbands that held up her pigtails. They almost looked like playing die. He then nods his head again, even more enthusiastic than before.

“We’ll call it DICE!”

Maki really had to get used to this kid’s sudden outbursts. “What does it stand for?” Kokichi blinks. “Stand for?” 

“N-Never mind...” She smiles a little. This dude was an idiot, but a funny idiot. 

Kokichi glances over to Maki noticing her smile for the first time. “Heeey you’re smiling!” Maki looked shocked but then sighs defeated. Damn this kid’s observation skills. “All right, you got me ultimate leader.”

“You’re very pretty when you smile!”

Oh no! Here comes the blush! She stares at him for a moment, her cheeks cherry red. Kokichi noticing this quickly tries to think of a way to fix his friend’s red face.

“S-Stop lying!”

“Nyhehehe! Okay. I’m lying. You got vampire eyes. Are you a vampire?”

Her red face became red for another reason, anger.

“I’m gonna kick your ass!”

Kokichi peeks up from the door to the stairs. “I thought we weren’t cussing in front of Hanako?” Seeing Maki run forward he quickly paniced and closed the door and ran down the stairs.

“SHE’S NOT HERE RIGHT NOW! KOKICHI!!!!”

[mimzy-writing-online]

Some Blind Things I (and actual blind person) Have Done

I talk all the time about what’s realistic for a blind person to do and how to write a blind character who isn’t a complete media myth of touching faces and super powers... soooo, part of that is knowing what kind of things an actual blind person (me) fucks up doing because I’m blind.

These moments include: Me sarcastically telling people I cannot see the thing they’re doing. Moments where I have zero manners. Moments where I do have manners. Making people uncomfortable because they’re staring at me. Great phrases like, “I have too much ADHD to count to eight.” and “It’s literally illegal for me to drive.” and “Wait, who are you?” “That’s not how we talk to people Mimzy.” My cats’ growing concern that I can’t see them or tell them apart but continuing to love me. Channeling my inner Toph Bei-Fong. Updates on the ongoing insomnia writing.

There’s no chronological order to them, I’m not sure there’s going to be any order to them at all, but it’s 3 am and I can’t sleep and it’s called the Late Night Writing Advice Blog for a reason.

(I definitely did not have to double check my own blog title while typing that, definitely not)

Note: This list gets a little long, but it’s a funny read and I was up until 4:30 (this note is from a future Mimzy who’s almost finished posting this, after 1.5 hours)

Additional Note: Feel free to send anons with commentary or reblog with commentary because I would love if someone enjoyed this. Like, these are stories of my life, please appreciate them.

The Things!

-My best friend and I hang out mostly at night because of his 9-5 job, and he still lives with his parents who probably don’t like me so when we hang out we’re mostly driving around on random adventures and coffee/tea runs and late night dinners. 

So it’s night, and my night vision is awful and I have to wear sunglasses anyway because what I can see is painfully bright headlights so yeah I see basically nothing.

With my best friend, I have

1. after asking him a question: “Did you nod at me and I just didn’t see it.” “I did nod.” or after waiting long enough for a response he’ll realize what he did on his own and say, “I was shaking my head no, sorry.”

2. Reaching into total darkness to touch his shoulder and touched his armpit instead.

3. Dropped something from my bag onto his messy car floor and asked him to find it for me because it all looks blurry and grey-black down there, even without sunglasses

4. Sensed he was going for a high five and I gave him a perfect high five. Surprised, he wanted to test it again. I completely missed.

5. “We’re passing the oil refinery, so enjoy hearing, touching, smelling, tasting that.” plus 3 other identical jokes on the same drive. “Hey, can you stop making blind jokes, I’m starting to hate them these days.” “When did that happen?” “When one not-great classmate slash sort of friend made them all the time.” “That’s a shame.” “Blind jokes from sighted people are also super repetitive. The only blind jokes I seem to like are from other blind people.”

6. Him: “You’re rolling your eyes behind your sunglasses, I can tell!” 

7. Once we saw snow once our way driving home from Las Vegas. It was March, it was after midnight, and the warmest it had been at any point in that night was 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4.4 degrees Celsius. That’s a real comparison?? That’s a scary number to an American who’s barely ever left California. We were driving through the mountainy area of California where the temp really drops and for three seconds we saw snow in the wind. Well, he saw it. Something moved, it was small and flaky but like... that was actually snow and I couldn’t see it? (this was three, almost four years ago)

8. Last weekend we drove around the rich neighborhoods to look at Christmas decorations because I love Christmas lights because for ones light actually looks pretty instead of painful and I can see it at night without hurting, so it’s nice. I love the pretty visual things. Blindness will not take the pretty visual things from me! And the decorations just make me so happy and I wanted to do that last year but never did, so we did that this year

9. I also told him about the cripple punk tag on Tumblr last weekend and he was delighted to know it exists because he’s got other chronic health issues including downright awful knees.

Other blind things not directly involving my best friend

1. I have paused writing to ask a sighted person if it’s realistic for my sighted characters to see X item from Y distance away. Usually my dad with his stupidly perfect vision.

2. Realizing I’m forgetting what sighted people can see. It’s been four years since I saw like a normal person. And all my sighted memories are literally blurry from age.

3. But I still have dreams where I see normally. And then dreams where everything is too bright like in real life and I cannot see and what is happening???

At home, specifically

1. I have three cats who I can’t tell the difference between. I have a small black and brown tabby cat. A black and orange tortie cat who is slightly heavy but medium build. An all black cat who is huge and has the longest fur I’ve ever touched on a cat. I cannot tell the difference between them until I’m up close. Especially if the lighting bad.

2. Tonight I almost set my laptop on top of Remy, my brown and black tabby, because I didn’t see here a foot away from me, curled up next to my leg, somehow blending in with my orange and blue comforter. Her concerned look I did see and was horrified by my almost fuck up and apologized profusely for.

3. Cannot see Felix, my black cat, half the time if the lighting is bad and have almost sat on him, put my feet in his face, tripped over him, etc. because he blends into the shadows and oh my fucking god I cannot see that.

Note: Remy cuddles with me all the time. Felix adores me but will not be caught dead cuddling anyone because dignity, but if he’s in my room and nobody’s around to see he’s insistent on cuddling. Rio (black and orange tortie) is devoted to my mum, and she knows she makes me nervous when she suddenly jumps on me and I get really shifty and squirmy and not fun to cuddle with, so we’re cool and I give her pets but she doesn’t usually crawl onto me unless she wants to make my mum jealous.

4. Can sneak up on family members and friends because I move so quietly, so at least there’s that. Not a blind thing, but it makes up for some things.

5. Have walked up to someone I thought was a friend, realized I don’t know them, and the first thing out my mouth was “Wait, who are you?” and then a close friend (and the party host) grab me by the shoulders and say, “That’s not how we talk to people,” and just like, where are your manners Mimzy, wtf, but I never saw that stranger again so it’s okay.

Side Note: blindness aside, I do have a habit of just rudely speaking my mind in not-appropriate settings because I just don’t care and don’t have the anxiety to at least act like I care. They’re very satisfying, but usually very rare moments.

6. Please stop moving things around the house!

7. “What do you mean there are cobwebs?” *Shines a flashlight at the dark corners of my room* “oh my god...”

8. Me, to my family members, “Please close those curtains, light hurts. Please turn off that lamp, it’s too bright in here.” *me, later turns off most of the lights in the house* Family members: “Why is it so dark in here? I can’t see.” *Me, channeling my inner Toph Bei-Fong* “Oh no, what a tragedy!”

9. Mum is the only one who vaguely appreciates my light sensitivity because she also has snow vision (a mild case) and has a little light sensitivity, sometimes, on her bad days.

More Not Quite Appropriate Things!

There are so many things that I say only to realize that there is a very nearby stranger who heard that out of context and it sounded so bad.

1. Best Friend (while I’m walking down stairs just fine, by myself, don’t need anyone’s help, I can do it!) “There are eight steps.” “I don’t need your help.” “I know but--” “I’m fine!” “I’m just trying to help.” “I have too much ADHD to count to eight anyway!”

“I have too much ADHD to count to eight anyway,” is exactly what two strangers heard while walking right behind me.

Why would you sneak up on someone who’s so obviously blind??

2. “Sea foam green is an ugly color anyway.” I was in a mall, it was well lit and I was using my cane and managing with my crap vision, but I managed to see that specific color I hate on a dress right next to me, and the woman walking on the other side of the mannequin display heard that and did a double take on my obviously blind self.

Or so I’m told by my mom who could see what happened.

3. Similar to above, I was in the Artist Village in San Diego, which is a huge tourist trap, and I was sort of a tourist too, but it’s freaking outdoors, so I have the cane and sunglasses. And I’m in an Artist Village (very visual thing) with my parents, so out of place. And this random dude was apparently staring at me. Cannot see him, absolutely no idea which direction my mum is pointing towards, everything is blank and weird and not see-able, but I turned my head and by some miracle looked directly at him and he freaked out and looked away.

4. “Oh yeah, make fun of the blind person!” sarcastically, but loudly, somewhere public after a joke a friend had made that I was actually okay with.

5. “Driving and hiking are my two biggest weaknesses,” said out of context to people who didn’t know I was blind.

6. “I forgot you were blind.” “Well I didn’t.” More channeling of Toph, I think.

7. “Why can’t you drive?” *points to cane* *he does not get it* “It’s very illegal for me to drive.” *does not get it* “They’re blind dude,” classmate says. “Very blind.” “You seem to get around just fine,” says the man who only see me indoors with the very best lighting scenario for my vision. “Yeah, but that’s because I have the cane.” “So?” You seem just fine, he seems to think. How dumb are you? I definitely think. “Why do you need the cane?” “Because I would die if I didn’t have it. I have almost died. People would die if I tried to drive.”

8. Later: “Did he think you could just drive and use your cane to feel the road or something?” “I guess.”

9. More questions from other people who don’t know me very well asking why I can’t drive. “Because it’s illegal.” Their confusion is wondering specifically why it’s illegal rather than thinking I’m not actually blind. I explain the laws in the driving handbook, because I have read it (unlike some people I guess. How did you miss the ‘drivers must be able to see at least 20/40 with their best corrected eye” and I haven’t been in that category for two years.

Note: My day blindness came two years before my vision acuity reached visually impaired status. So, like, two years of wishing I had a cane but thinking “I’m not blind enough” and still being terrified in certain situations and risking my life walking around without one or some sighted guide.

Similar Public Things

1. I can see indoors pretty well so I get by on prescription glasses and no cane (I see 20/70 - 20/100 with glasses) but sometimes the mall is crowded and nobody gives me space and I’m just not comfortable getting so close to people, so I bust out my cane (and maybe my sunglasses too) so I look extra blind and people will give me the space to walk without running into someone.

2. Have also done that just because the indoor lights were also too bright and I need my sunglasses.

3. Have stared at my phone in public with cane/sunglasses, or tried taking photos with it, and I get so many weird looks because blind people see nothing I guess, none of us have any vision at all! (read sarcasm)

4. Walking into a coffee shop I’ve been to before and I know they change their teas all the freaking time. Also got the cane. “Hi, can you tell me what iced teas you have right now?” “Oh, they’re all on that sign.” *blank look* Do you not realize I’m blind? I’m thinking. “What kind of black tea do you have? Do you have any tropical black tea?” (because they usually do and I love tropical black tea, and they did that day too, so I ordered that.)

5. I cannot read menus. Those restaurants that have the menus above the register are awful, evil. Cannot read. In the wonderful days of my childhood I didn’t have prescription glasses for my moderately not great but still mostly functional vision (my dad has perfect vision and no concept whatsoever about what it’s like to not be able to see those things!) So imagine my parents dragging me to restaurants like that and I’m 10 years old and supposedly can read perfectly fine but I cannot read that menu and I think it’s some personal character fault of mine that I just don’t know how to read those kinds of menus, so I have to ask my mum to help me choose a food to order and eat, and then that’s the only thing I ever order any time I ever go back. So, I’m quickly getting sick of those places because I only eat one item there and I want to try something new with a restaurant with those nice hand held menus, but those are sit-down restaurants and apparently they cost more money, sooo...

6. That was a rant I went on with my best friend last weekend

Side note: It’s almost 4 am, my mum just woke up, saw the light on in my room from under the crack of my door and said hi. I’m at a point right now where she just expects it and isn’t one to judge (unlike my dad who has zero insomnia because he has hypersomnia and I don’t know how humans do that)

Side Note Ten Minutes Later: My laptop is at 10% but I plugged it in because dammit I am finishing this tonight and it will have all the things.

7. “Hey, where’s the trash can? I can’t find one.” *also mistakes a trashcan and a human being just sitting still. All the time* “Why not just litter then?” best friend asks, knowing exactly how I’ll respond. “I have manners!”

8. I hate traveling even a little by myself. My orientation and mobility skills with my cane aren’t that bad, but they’re not good enough for me to feel comfortable walking around by myself anywhere that isn’t super familiar with routes I already have practiced and memorized (school, close friend’s houses or apartments, the blocks in my neighborhood I’ve walked 500 times coming too and from school or walking dogs with my parents). Anywhere unfamiliar or wide/open or crowded or God Forbid, OUTSIDE is a source of terror and will not let my traveling companions leave me alone for longer than a few minutes and certainly not walk away on my own.

9. Will not go to bars because I present female and I am visibly disabled and that makes me look like an easy target and why would I risk that unnecessarily?

I’m gonna cut it off here. This is a long post, and I need to just finally go to bed. Goodnight. I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to send anons with commentary or reblog with commentary. I’d like to know that someone liked this.

[millie-ionaire05]

Saudade - Ot 7 | 09

Ot7 BTS

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Rating: M (Mature)

word count: 2,188

Trigger Warnings: Hospitalization (rehab, mental institute). Mental health issues (Text Reason to 741741 if you need to reach out for help). Insinuated M x M (if you squint hard enough). Substance abuse (alcohol, pills | call 1-800-662-4357 if you are dealing with this). Weapons (gun, knife). Smoking (cigarettes, weed). Mentions of suicide/attempted suicide (National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255). Violence (murder/attempted murder). Mentions of blood. Mentions of therapy sessions (these are not accurate representations, please leave it to proper professionals). Mentions of physical abuse (Call 1-800-799-7233 if you are dealing with domestic violence) WE DO NOT GLORIFY THESE WARNINGS/TRIGGERS; THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY, AND DOES NOT RELATE TO ANY OF THE MEMBERS. IF YOU ARE DEALING WITH ANY OF THESE, PLEASE REACH OUT TO YOUR LOCAL AUTHORITIES FOR ASSISTANCE, OR THE NUMBERS LISTED ABOVE.

↤ Previous | 09 | Next ↦

January 14th, 2018 | 15:20

   “I think he’s starting to remember.”

   Yoongi’s words reverberate like a threat in his brain as he downs another bottle of soju, disregarding the shot glass he’d previously been using. The desire to quiet the voice overrides the need to take things slow. Namjoon stumbles, colliding softly with the wall. He shifts, his back sliding clumsily down until his ass hits the ground and he releases the bottle, hearing it roll across the floor a bit from him.

   From his pocket he pulls out the drawing Yoongi had brought and his heart begins to thrum furiously beneath his ribs. A smudge of the graphite used tints his fingers as he unfurls the paper. Swallowing hard, he stares at the dark image, the strokes seemingly etched hurriedly on the page as if the artist felt the inspiration would disappear from his mind before he could finish it.

  As he continues to stare, the raven becomes a blur, Namjoon’s eyes beginning to lose focus. Could things have been different if he had tried more? If he had intervened and forced them to talk it out, would things not have gone so far? Would they all not be so estranged from each other?

   Letting his head fall back as despair washes over him, he turns to gaze over at the afternoon light streaming into his place from two square windows high above a small table and chair set against the container wall. In his peripheral vision, he makes out the tattooing needle, ink and supplies he has stored in that area and sits up, eyes widening slightly. He stumbles up onto his feet, sauntering over unsteadily before plopping down into the chair, his mind now locked on one thought only.

   Tattoo the bird as tribute.

   Even in his inebriated state, he doesn't worry about making a mistake. This was the one thing he was good at. His fingers are nimble, steady as he opens a new needle and attaches it to the nail gun along with the ink. An incessant buzzing soon fills the quiet space as his brows furrow in concentration.

   He barely feels the pain of the needle as it rapidly punctures his flesh repeatedly, delivering the black ink to the space beneath his skin. At the faint sound of police sirens in the far distance, a memory from the prior year comes to the forefront as he focuses on each line and stroke. A memory of him and Taehyung as they’d been tagging a concrete hedge in the middle of the night. After a few drinks, the two had grown bored, looking for something to do. Taehyung had brought a few cans of spray paint and suggested they add a bit of art to the playground not too far from where they were. He hadn’t really been down for that, but Taehyung had insisted and he didn’t want him to go alone. It wasn’t long before they had reached the spot and Taehyung began spray painting the area.

   They chuckled and teased each other as Tae colored the cement, both too busy enjoying themselves to notice the police car patrolling the area. Blue and red lights flashed across the wall, alerting Namjoon first. Straightening, eyes-wide, he tapped Taehyung’s arm, his chin jutting out to the area behind him, simultaneously snatching up his younger friend’s backpack. Taehyung turned, mouth and eyes turning into large O’s before the two began to run.

   Though their feet pumped swiftly, eating up the pavement, they were no match for the police and were soon caught, the officers none too gentle as they slammed them against their vehicle. Namjoon couldn’t help but grin over at Taehyung as the cuffs clicked into place around his wrists. Taehyung returned the gesture with a boxy smile of his own, even as one of the officers opened his bag, the spray cans spilling out onto the asphalt below. His smile dissipates as the officer grows rougher with Namjoon, yanking him harshly, hurting his arm as they straighten him up. It was then that Namjoon noticed the shift in Taehyung’s eyes go from mirthful to worried.

   He had been concerned with how the officer was treating Namjoon, but he had also come to realize that his parents would be notified of his arrest and were not going to take it well. Especially his father. Taehyung’s father was very strict and was known for physically showing his displeasure in the way of bruises and nicks that would decorate his skin.

   Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as if to clear the images from his mind. Letting out a heavy breath, he stands, walking towards a tall floor mirror he has leaning against the opposite wall. He’d placed it there for his clients to check out the ink he’d apply to them. Namjoon turns his forearm towards the mirror, twisting his wrist left and right as he takes in the image he’d permanently etched there.

   A lump forms in his throat, as he remembers receiving a frantic phone call from Jin just a few days after Taehyung and he had been arrested.

   “Slow down, Jin-hyung. I can’t understand a word you’re saying,” Namjoon urged.

   He could hear Jin take in a breath and let it out before he made another attempt to convey his message.

   “It’s Taehyung,” he began again, his voice shaking terribly. “He...Jesus, he tried to kill himself, man.”

   “What?!” Namjoon exclaimed, his heart falling with a thud into the pit of his stomach.

   “Look, we’re nearby,” he’d informed him. “Can-can I just bring him over? I can’t do this on my own.”

   “Yeah, yeah.”

   “Just have a towel and some clothes ready...for both of us.”

   “Wha…”

   But Jin had hung up without elaborating and after a few seconds of staring at his phone, random scenarios accosting his mind, he’d sprang into action, grabbing towels and clothes for Jin and Taehyung. And he’d been right. It had not taken but about ten minutes for them to reach his place.

   After Jin had pounded on his door, Namjoon opened up to the sight of Jin holding up their younger friend. Taehyung raised his head slowly, his cobalt blue hair plastered to his head and face. He moved as if his head weighed tons, his eyes meeting Namjoons almost reluctantly. The dark orbs swam with guilt and exhaustion. Snapping to, he reached forward to help Jin bring Taehyung in.

   The two assisted Tae with undressing and drying up. There was a lavender tint to his lips, his face pallid and devoid of it’s usual tanned color. His skin was icy to the touch. Namjoon shivered fearfully. They dressed him quickly and Namjoon had to bite his tongue to keep from demanding what had happened. He led him to his sofa bed while Jin went into the bathroom to switch into dry clothes.

   Taehyung didn’t speak as he crawled onto the pull out bed, his eyes already fluttering closed as his head touched down on the pillow. Namjoon tucked a thick blanket around him, squeezing his shoulder gently before straightening up. Jin was just stepping out of the bathroom, his dark brown hair slightly dishevelled.

   “Can we talk outside?” Jin questioned, glancing over at Taehyung’s presumably sleeping form.

   Namjoon nodded and grabbed coats for both of them. Zipping them up, they stepped outside, puffs of steam expelling from their mouths as they met the cool Spring evening.

   As the door clicked behind him, Namjoon could no longer wait for the details, demanding, “What happened?” Jin ran both of his hands through his hair in exasperation, his usually plump lips pressed tightly together in a thin grave line.

   “My being there was just pure chance, ya know?” he started, head shaking as he paced back and forth. “I keep trying not to think about how differently this night would have turned out had I not had the fucking sudden urge to go night fishing.”

   “Jin-hyung,” Namjoon insisted. “Just tell me what happened.” He paused, staring at Najmoon, his eyes full of terror.

   “Like I said, I went to the pier to go night fishing, fish bite good in this type of weather.” He closed his eyes, trying to get himself back on track. “Anyway, I had casted my line when I saw the moonlight gleam off of something in the water. At first, I just thought it was a dolphin, but it wasn’t moving. I turned my flashlight towards the object and realized it was a person. I didn’t even think twice. I took off my clothes and jumped in.”

   “Jesus,” Namjoon swiped a hand down his face in surprise.

   “I couldn’t really see their face, I just grabbed them and swam with them to the water's edge. Once on shore, and we were beneath a street lamp, the blood drained out of my body when I saw it was Taehyung. He was so pale, his lips blue. God, I panicked for a moment, but it was just a moment. I performed CPR on him and it worked, obviously,” his hand signaled towards the door.

   “How did he end up in the water?!” Namjoon exclaimed.

   “When he came to, he didn’t want to say, but he finally admitted he had climbed up the scaffolding and jumped in. Since he doesn’t know how to swim, he was hoping he would drown.”

   “What? Why?”

   Jin shook his head, “He said he didn’t want to be a disgrace to his family.”

   “Shit,” Namjoon cursed, biting at his lower lip. “His father must have reamed him pretty badly for him to want to go to this extreme.”

   “Yea,” Jin agreed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the coat.

   “Look, I’ll take care of him tonight,” Namjoon dropped a comforting hand on Jin’s shoulder. “Go home, get some rest. I’ll talk to him. He’s going to be ok.”

   Jin nodded, “Ok. I’ll call in the morning to check up on you two.”

   Jin had left then and when Namjoon re-entered his home, Taehyung’s eyes were open, staring out, unseeing.

   “Tae?” Namjoon called softly, and his eyes refocused and landed on him. “You’re ok. You’re safe now.”

   “He told you,” he whispered, despondently.

   “Of course he did,” Namjoon sat down cross-legged before Taehyung. “We are all brothers after all and we don’t keep things from each other.”

   “Yeah,” he sighed.

   “You want to tell me what happened?” Namjoon probed. “I mean, what made you want to do this?”

   Taehyung drew his body into the fetal position, his brows drawing down tightly.

   “My...my dad didn’t take my arrest too well,” he admitted. “He beat me when I came home and told me I was a disgrace and had brought dishonor to our family. I figured killing myself would restore my family’s honor.”

   Namjoon’s eyes glittered with unshed tears, as he tried to remain strong for his young friend.

   “No. Killing yourself will not restore your family’s honor, Taehyungie,” he told him softly. “Living an honorable life will. Don’t do anything to get arrested again and work hard. That’s all you have to do. Can you promise me that?”

   Taehyung sighed, but nodded. “I promise.”

   “OK then. Let’s get some sleep.”

   Putting down a comforter on the floor, Namjoon curled up underneath a blanket next to the sofa bed, and slept knowing Taehyung was alive and well next to him.

   Namjoon picks up the soju bottle he’d released earlier and throws it angrily at the mirror. What had happened to their brotherhood and their promise to never keep things from each other? The glass shatters, falling in a glittering cascade at his feet. He looks down, his reflection a broken image across hundreds of shards. He catches sight of the white lily tattoo on his other forearm that he’d previously given himself.

   “Namjoon, listen, it’s Jin,” his hyung sighs heavily into the phone. “I got a missed call from Taehyung earlier. He’s been arrested again. He asked me not to tell you, but you know what happened last time and I couldn’t…. You have to get him out. We can’t let his parent’s find out this time.”

   Namjoon replays the voicemail left the previous night, cursing himself for drinking that night and not bothering to charge his phone.

   Namjoon takes the picture of the bird and walks to his kitchen to grab another drink, whiskey this time, pouring it into a short glass. Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he brings the sheet towards it as he flicks it open. The paper instantly kindles, growing brighter as the flame licks up the dry surface. Namjoon’s eyes follow the chard edge as it swallows up the initials that had been scribbled on the back. When there is nothing but a corner left, he drops it into the amber liquid. As the hiss quiets, he brings the alcohol to his lips. The ash and whisky slide down past his lips to mingle in his gut with the beer and soju he had previously drunk. Jin's pale face flashes before his eyes just as he passes out in a heap on the floor.

[pollylynn]

All in the Family—Chalk Talk, Chapter 2: A Two-Shot Caskett Future Fic

Title: All in the Family—Chalk Talk, Chapter 2 WC: 1700

A/N: Can’t sleep. Sad about John Prine. And so an aimless ending.

He has been banished—absolutely banished—from the big bedroom and the surrounding areas. In fact, he is not even allowed on the second floor.  The Mad One insists on Mama, no substitutes, no intruders, if anything resembling normal bed time rituals are to be observed. And he’s fine with that. 

He’s mostly fine with that, except Alexis isn’t going to make it tonight, and she probably will only be able stay the afternoon tomorrow. Even his mother has, of course, gotten held up in the city, so the Official Summer in the Hamptons Kickoff Weekend is slow to get started. 

He’s mostly just feeling sorry for himself for the look of it, though. He’s pleasantly tired with sun and fruity rum drinks—with having a four year old—and he’s glad of the quiet time. And, of course, he loves how entirely Madeleine worships Kate. He revels in every mannerism she picks up from her mother, and he thinks a thousand times a day how lucky he got this time around. 

The only thing—the only thing—he would change about raising Alexis would be to spare her the pain of Meredith’s vagaries. And here, now, feeling sorry for himself just for the look of it, he thinks for the thousand-and-first time today how lucky he got this time.  

It carries him to the French doors standing half open. He looks up at a sky that’s darkening fast. There looks to be a good summer storm rolling in over the water. He can hear Madeleine’s shrieks—happy shrieks, he’s pretty sure—echoing around the master bath, overhead, and Kate’s response to his Do you need an exit? text was a video close-up of the two of them in close-up reminding him NO BOYS ALLOWED. 

It’s been a good day—a lovely day lolling on the giant, sun-baked chalkboard, then slipping into the cool water, only to hoist themselves back up a while later to press their shivering skin into the pleasant warmth of that black, black expanse. 

And they have high hopes for some sleep tonight. Madeleine has to have run the equivalent of a marathon around the edge of the pool to demonstrate her cannon ball, her jackknife, her recently-invented Pony Dog, which mostly involves a kind of gallop, then a spin, then the biggest splash possible. She has done her level best to talk herself out entirely with  mile-a-minute stories, each one illustrated, about her friends at school, most of whom seem to be named Mabel, except for the occasional Braden, Jaden, Caiden, or some other random consonant stapled to a long A sound and a final N. 

She has his gift for character and shameless embellishment, but it’s interesting—it’s interesting—the way she’s into people lately. Heliotrope and Jacquard haven’t gone anywhere—they’re often minor players in her tales from the schoolyard—but they’re definitely more on the back burner than they were even a month ago. 

She’s curious about real people, from her teachers to their neighbors to her friend’s families. She’s nosy and insightful and loves knowing things no one else knows. He hopes she’s destined to be either a writer or a cop, because otherwise she might grow up to be a super villain. 

The first flash of lighting comes as he stands there thinking it would actually be pretty cool to have a super villain in the family. The swipe of its blue-white tongue over the world stirs him. He waits for the thunder and tries to recall if there’s anything out by the pool or on any of the porches that absolutely needs battening down. He’s just stepping through the doors to check when another light—another two lights—sweep across the the glass of  the doors. 

There’s whispering behind him, stage and otherwise. There are giggles and a general air of furtiveness infiltrates the room. He pivots toward the interior of the study and catches them—two very stealthy figures in trench coats. Madeleine apparently has a tiny, devastatingly cute little belted trench coat, and the hem of her Princess Leia nightie is peeking out beneath. To complete the look, they’re each carrying a flashlight. 

“What’s all this then?” he says gruffly, dropping into character with an alacrity that would do his mother proud. “Bedtime violations? I thought we had . . . an understanding.” “It’s a mission,” Madeleine says sternly. “Me and Mama are on it.” 

“A mission,” he nods gravely. “And here I thought this was nothing more than a very tired little girl up past her bed time.” 

“Special circumstances,” Kate’s whisper is conspiratorial. It’s for Madeleine’s benefit, but the look she gives him over the girl’s head suggests there’s something afoot. “The storm—“ 

“Thunderstorm,” Madeleine interjects. 

“Right, baby.” Kate gets a heavy look from her daughter, who is not a baby. He gets a look in turn when he can’t quite stifle a laugh. “We’re going to say goodnight to our friends so they’re not scared about the the thunderstorm.” 

“Our chalk friends,” he says, thinking he begins to see the trouble. It’s one thing for the Mad One herself to happily slop pails of pool water on to one chalk scenario and begin anew; it’s quite another for any of the Mabels, any of the long A, final N crowd to disappear in the rain. “Yes.That’s a good plan,” he finishes, hoping Kate actually has a plan. 

She has a plan, of course, because he’s struck it lucky. He’s allowed to join the mission—after he finds a coat to put on, of course. It’s an old, army green rain poncho he finds in a closet he can’t actually remember ever opening before. Madeleine is disdainful until he produces a heavy Maglite she badly wants to carry. She’s on the verge of another nervous breakdown, but Kate pulls the situation out of the fire. 

“He’s our minion, Mad One.” She drops to one knee and pulls Madeleine into a side bar. “That means he has to carry all our stuff.” 

“Mission minion,” she crows, delighted by the internal alliteration. 

The two of them creep through the doors first. Madeleine tiptoes with about as much stealth as Inspector Clouseau. Kate follows her lead, biting down hard on her lip to keep from laughing. He brings up the rear, lighting a wide arc at their bare feet. 

They flatten their backs to the high wooden gate, then dart from column to column. Madeleine keeps an exaggerated lookout for sneak thieves and curious bunnies and a host of other old friends and foes of Heliotrope and Jacquard. Kate takes her hand as they reach the edge of the chalkboard paint. 

“Are we ready to say goodnight?” she asks gamely, though they hardly need the flashlights to see the girl’s lip quivering and the tears shimmering in her eyes. 

“I don’t want my friends to go,” Madeleine wails. She presses her face into the silvery grey skirts of Kate’s trench coats. “I don’t want my story to go.” 

He steps tentatively into the fray, poncho flapping noisily as the wind gets serious about kicking up. He weighs his options and sets the Maglite on its heavy end, pointing up at the three of them. 

“Hey.” He reaches gently for her shoulder, persisting when she clings tighter to her mother. “Can I tell you a story about stories?” 

“NO!” The word rings out. Mere fabric is no match for the Mad One’s lung capacity. 

“Okay, then. I’ll tell Mama a story about stories.” 

Kate gives him a wry look that conveys a wealth of feelings about this prospect. But lightning jolts the sky, and this is where they are. Kate gives him a Go on shrug, so he does. 

“Mama, do you know how when we go to work—” 

“Daddy doesn’t go to work,” Madeleine can’t resist the tearful interjection. “Daddy stays in jammy pants.” 

Kate’s shoulders shake with laughter. He sticks out his tongue at her and begins again. 

“Mama, you know how when I sometimes go to your work—”

“Not in jammy pants,” she interjects.

“Not in jammy pants, because Mama is a mean Captain,” he adds, even though it’s guaranteed to set Madeleine off again. It does. She howls that Mama is not mean. Her chest heaves, and he relents. “Not because Mama is mean. Because Mama’s work has uniforms. And we tell stories on a big board just like this one.” 

“We do,” Kate picks up the thread. She gives him a look that’s a little sad, because the Board is an infrequent indulgence for both of them these days. “We write and we write and we have pictures.” 

“What kinda pictures?” She tugs at Kate’s coat. “Mama, what kinda?” 

“Oh . . . people and places and . . . pretty jewelry sometimes,” she improvises, looking a little desperate. He sympathizes. All he can think of is bloody implements and scar-faced criminals at the moment.

“But when Mama solves the case—and Mama always solves it—” he reaches down and retrieves the Maglite, “Whoosh!” He sweeps the beam across the black surface, lighting up the purples and pinks and vivid greens for just an instant. Lighting up the curly hair and the triangle dresses, and the lopsided globe on the six-legged desk. “Whoosh! We say goodbye so we can start a new story.” 

“I wanna new story,” she says uncertainly. “For tomorrow. New story.” 

“That’s what we’ll do then.” Kate reaches a hand down to stroke the tear-stained cheek. “Tomorrow—all day—we’ll do all new stories.” 

“But we have to say goodnight to this one.” He steps closer to the two of them. “We can get your pail and Whoosh! Or the thunderstorm can go Whoosh!” He slides an arm around Kate’s waist and makes Madeleine wriggle by tickling under her chin. “Which one, Mad One?” 

She thinks about it long enough that the rain starts to fall in big fat drops. Kate leans against him, her fingers clutching his where they rest on her hip. 

“Flashlight Whoosh!” Madeleine says at last, as she tilts the beam of her own flashlight crazily across her canvas. “Flashlight and thunderstorm. Whoosh!” 

A/N: Aimless. 

[tisfan]

Tentacle-tober Prompts

A/N - so I may have over committed for October. I do that sometimes. Anyway, I’m like five days behind on these, and I’m going to just finish them off as I get to it. This is prompt # 18 Tentacles in Space and a continuation of https://tisfan.tumblr.com/post/188197264098/tentacle-tober-prompt-7 this StarkLord piece (Tony Stark/Peter Quill)

All the story is under the cut for being Very Naughty. (tentacle oral sex and bondage and nipple play)

To be continued, obv. 

Note: Centauri are a Babylon 5 race that I borrowed. They do indeed, have six. It’s mentioned in the show (and even shown once or twice)

Yondu may or may not have a bifurcated dick. I don’t know that the canon is, but I’ve seen a LOT of art with him and Kraglin on that theme.

“So, we’ll just get it attuned to you,” Peter said, holding up the X’toy. “This… this should be bigger.” He shook it a few times, like he might rattle of dying flashlight to align the batteries better, and the X’toy responded by making a soft chirp, and then the center phallus went from a slightly underendowed, purple blob that looked more like a plug than anything else, grew at least four inches, turned brilliant pink, shiny, and shaped like a penis.

“You can switch it up?”

“Sure,” Peter said. He shook it again and got something bifurcated, with a thick ridge and-- were those barbs? “You want to do it A'askavariian-style?”

“Uuuuh?”

Peter switched it up again, and ended with an over-under double-dick in a light shade of blue. “Or Centarian?” 

“Wait, Yondu was Centarian,” Tony protested.

“Uh, yeah?”

“They have two dicks?”

“Come on man, Centauri have six, so--”

Tony’s head spun a little. “That’s unnerving.” And a little disturbing, although Tony couldn’t decide if it was disturbing in itself, or it was disturbing because maybe that was something he’d like to try--

“Centauri ladies have six-- well, it’s complicated.”

“So I’m given to understand,” Tony said. “Let’s try just normal sex, first time?”

“Normal has a lot more definitions out here in space, Tony,” Peter said, smirking.

“Human-style. Earth normal,” Tony clarified, throwing a pillow at Peter.

Peter shook it again, and it returned to mostly normal, if at least two inches longer than the longest dick Tony had ever been fucked with. “This better?”

“Yes,” Tony said, and his insides quivered with anticipation. “So, you just-- what, want me to strip.”

“No, not yet. We have to attune it to you,” Peter said. “Sit here, get comfy, think sexy thoughts. I’ll let it get to know you.”

“Uh, okay,” Tony said. “What-- is there a safe word in this situation?”

“Not exactly,” Peter said. “I wouldn’t advise using it without a partner, at least.”

“That sounds dubious,” Tony commented.

“Yeah, well, it’s, you know, empathic? A little. It won’t turn off until you want it to,” Peter said. “You can literally be fucked to death. Die of dehydration, you know? Or you have to have really, really good control over your thoughts.”

“How do you know all this?” Tony asked.

“Uh, I…” and Peter blushed, which Tony didn’t think Peter could do, “kinda rented myself out for a few months. I needed repairs on the Milano, and--”

“You sold yourself into sex slavery?” Tony’s voice went up a few registers.

“I rented… myself into sex slavery. What can I say, the price was amazing,” Peter said. “And there were some side benefits.”

“Is that where your endurance came from?”

“You could consider it training for the sex olympics, yeah?”

“Anyway, this one’s got a safety feature on it,” Peter said, “which is not quite like a safeword, but-- hehe, butt -- uh, after about half a rotation, it’ll shut down. Just, don’t be on like, one of those planets with a two hundred hour long day. Otherwise, I can take it off you, with a little bit of effort. My thoughts-- totally controlled.”

Tony snorted. “Forgive me if I’m not sure I believe you. I’ve experienced your dirty mind in action, Quill. And you do like to watch.”

“We’ll be fine. We’re in orbit around Baysol III anyway, and its standard rotation is 8 hours, so the worst case scenario, you get four hours. You can handle four hours, I have faith in you, Stark.”

Tony pretended that he was considering it for, oh, all about three seconds. “Okay, then, let’s see what-- an atuning feels like.”

Peter grinned. “Relax. Think sexy thoughts--”

He placed the X’toy on Tony’s knee, and for a long moment, it just lay there, like any other silicone sex toy would, if someone just put it down. No vibrations, no wiggling, no nothing. Just a dildo flower laying on Tony’s--

It moved, and some of the tendrils formed almost-- legs. Crawling up Tony’s thigh. Tony sucked in a breath, flinching away from it, the way all sane people would when something with a dozen legs was climbing up your body.

“Is that thing… clean?”

“I mighta washed it, last time I used it,” Peter said.

The X’toy hooked tendrils over Tony’s shoulders, prodded at his mouth with the bulbous end of the central dick. Tony wrenched his head to one side. 

“Quill, you complete asshole, if this is some kind of sick joke--” 

The X’toy pushed itself between his lips as he panicked. 

“It’s okay, Tony,” Peter said. “It’s completely sanitary. And it’s not going to hurt you, just--”

The central dick pushed into his mouth, an inch, maybe more. Tony pushed at it with his tongue, involuntarily trying to get it out. It tasted…

Incredible.

Like every single one of his favorite foods, liquor, cigar smoke, everything he’d ever enjoyed in his mouth.

A tendril slid over his ear, another one behind his neck. Two of them slipped down his shirt and hooked under his arms. Even more slithered down his body until it had his wrists, cuffed by coils of alien sex toy. 

The central cock pushed in even further, into his mouth, stretching his jaw. More tendrils, small, delicate ones, teased at his lips, tickling and tingling. Tentacles around his head pulled the X’toy even closer to him, until it was like one of those alien parasites from the Sigorney Weaver film, but fucking his throat instead of planting anything inside him.

He hoped.

“Look at you,” Peter said, admiringly. 

Tony lifted one hand to flip Peter off, and that might have been a mistake, because the X’toy tugged and pulled until Tony’s wrists were linked together behind his back, and then went up to thread in his hair, yanking his head back.

Still, the X’toy plundered his mouth, tasting perfect, but--

Tony thought this was supposed to be sexy, but he wasn’t sure that it was. It was weird, and it was a little hard to breathe, and Peter certainly seemed to be enjoying it, watching Tony’s cheeks bulge and his throat work, and the way he was captive in the chair. He couldn’t do anything about it now if he wanted to, the way it had his hands pinned, the way it was wrapped around his neck.

Panic touched him again, and then--

Well, Tony always was a little bent.

Even after everything that happened, he liked-- loved, really -- being helpless during sex. Being forced to stay still and just enjoy it. Tony had trouble relaxing during sex, he always wanted to be the one giving pleasure, he knew how to do that, he loved being praised, he loved all the wonderful little noises that people made. But when it came to his own wants and desires, he tended to shove them off, considered them unimportant, or a side effect, or--

The X’toy sent more tendrils down his body, touching him, probing at his chest, tickling over his ribs, flicked one nipple and when that got a slightly deeper sigh and Tony moving into the touch, it zeroed in on that spot, plucking, teasing, rubbing, coiling around and around. Another tendril, this one soft, wet, flat, brushed over his other nipple like a tongue, and Tony out and out groaned, heat rising in his belly.

“There you go,” Peter said. “It has to find out what you like. And-- look at you, you like being tied up, don’t you? Why didn’t I know that?”

Tony couldn’t respond, of course, but he rolled his eyes.

Peter just laughed.

“Don’t worry,” Peter said. “It’s gonna find everything that you like. Everything you were ever interested in, and everything you never told anyone.”

The central dick thrust deeper into his mouth, and Tony stopped fighting it, letting his eyes drift shut, knowing that Peter liked to watch, knowing that he was watching. A tendril wrapped around his throat, squeezing just enough to feel it, so he could tell each time the central dick thrust into his throat, feeling it on both sides.

The ones on his chest flicked his nipples, sending jolts of heat into his stomach, up his nerves, until he had his back arched so much it was almost painful. His hips thrust involuntarily, seeking friction that he wasn’t getting.

“Awww,” Peter said. “You want some attention here, baby?” Peter’s hand teased up his thigh, and Tony spread his legs to give him access, but he didn’t take it, the bastard, just traced up Tony’s leg, and down again.

The little hair-like tendrils around the base of the central cock continued to explore Tony’s mouth, little zings of sensation over stretched lips. His tongue was tingling. A tendril, wet like a tongue, but narrow, slid into his ear, and for just a moment, Tony tensed again. It pulsed over the sensitive skin of his earlobe, and then-- how did it have teeth? -- it bit the shell, hot air going into Tony’s ear canal, and Tony absolutely melted.

One tendril slid down his belly, a tickling, teasing line that made Tony squirm with anticipation, his dick throbbing hot and hard behind his zipper. Come on, come on--

He groaned, and the central dick pushed, thrusting in, swelling inside Tony’s mouth until his jaw ached, his tongue was pressed down in the bottom of his mouth, he almost couldn’t breathe at all, his eyes were watering with the effort--

Something--

Something squirted into his mouth, like cherry juice and lime, like the finest wine--

And then-- he was on fire, needing it so bad, wanting to be fucked and filled, and to come and to cry out--

The whole X’toy retracted back into its starting, flower-bud shape, laying in Tony’s lap, over his aching dick, while he panted for breath.

“Holy shit--”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “It’s learning you, and you’re… uh, got a dose of the go-juice.”

“It kinda came down my throat,” Tony pointed out. He squirmed, stretching his arms a little, trying to alleviate the pressure of his untouched cock. 

“You gonna go something about this?” Tony demanded, gesturing to his groin.

“No, not yet,” Peter said. “Give it like five minutes--”

“Five--” He didn’t want to wait five minutes, he wanted to be fucked now.

“Use the time wisely, starshine,” Peter suggested. “Take your clothes off an’ hop up onto the bunk. We’ll get you all ready for the fun part.” 

[sinsbymanka]

Update: Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Chapter 34!

Chapter 34: The Rebirth

Full Story at AO3

(Remarkably little angst. Mostly fluff and existential crisis. You’ve all earned it after the last few chapters.) 

Finding her had been a miracle. Maria’s small, crumpled form had barely been visible underneath the snow clinging to her hair, her clothes. When Varric spotted crimson in the beam of his phone’s weak flashlight, he raced toward it without thought, wishing, hoping, wanting… praying they weren’t too late. Her form felt stiff as ice beneath his fingers, worse, she didn’t respond to her name in his mouth, didn’t move until he tightened his hold on her. 

The instant his fingers curled into her shoulder, she made a small, broken sound. Not quite a whimper, but not a scream either. She shuddered under his hands and bucked against his grip weakly. Her eyes gazed ahead, unseeing, into the darkness while she struggled helplessly against him like a bird beating her wings against a cage. His stomach dropped, his fingers gently circling her delicate wrists while she tried to push him away. A quiet sob escaped Maria’s lips and… 

It broke him. Just a little. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it. 

“Maria, stop.” He pleaded into her freezing ear. She shivered, but some of the fight seemed to bleed out of her. “It’s just me. It’s just me, we’re gonna take care of you, baby.” 

Her faint struggles began to cease so he released her wrists and gently wrapped his arms around her waist, cradled her to his chest. “I won’t hurt you.” He promised to the shivering, half-conscious miracle in his arms. “I won’t ever hurt you, Maria.” 

Somewhere above them, Nyx cawed loudly, repetitively, sounding the alarm for the entire rescue party. Maria collapsed against his chest with a broken, weary sigh that could have been his name, but he couldn’t tell. There were other voices calling to each other in the darkness, growing awareness that someone had found something, although who or what was still unknown. They could only hope.

But hope had gotten them this far.

“Varric!” Dorian’s voice cried out from the slope somewhere above him. “Varric, where in the blighted hell are you?” 

“Here!” He pulled his face away from Maria’s chilled skin to yell up over his shoulder. “I’ve got her!” 

He pressed his lips against her temple, one hand gently pushing back the stiff, frozen hair framing her face. He could taste the iron of blood on his lips, her skin frigid underneath his mouth. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He whispered softly. 

Cassandra sent up a prayer of weary gratitude. Dorian appeared beside him like he’d emerged from the shadows themselves, his gleaming dark eyes exhausted and panic stricken while he examined the shuddering woman in Varric’s arms. 

“Venhedis.” Dorian cursed. “Where is Blackwall?” 

“I can carry her.” Bull rumbled. 

“Perhaps. However, we did remove five bullets from your body. I am uncertain if you should even have joined us.” Solas reached past Varric and laid a gentle hand over Maria’s shoulder. The elf’s frown said everything Varric didn’t want to know. “We need to get her back. I cannot treat these injuries, I lack the skill…” 

“Don’t die, you.” Sera blurted, half command, half plea. “Fix her up, right? Elfy shite magic can…” 

“Here.” Blackwall leaned down low, arms extended. 

“Wait.” Solas ordered. His eyes were glowing, a soft green light flickering. “I can dull the pain, put her to sleep, and remove the blood from her lungs so she doesn’t drown in it. It will make travel easier, the rest…” 

Varric could feel the magic working, Maria’s form melting against his, boneless, finally giving into exhaustion and unconsciousness. Solas pulled his hand back and nodded briskly to Blackwall. “Now.” 

Varric didn’t want to let her go. The last time he let her go she… he bit back the recrimination, reminded himself that the snow was only up to Blackwall’s knees instead of his ass, and the most important thing was to get Maria back to camp before she finished dying on them. He shifted and she slipped out of his arms like water until the human lifted her, gentle as a sleeping child, into the air. Bull peered down into her face, rumbled something Varric couldn’t quite make out. 

“She will be fine.” Cassandra stated firmly. “Andraste is with her.” 

Nobody could ignore the triumphant certainty in the Seeker’s voice. Varric almost bemoaned that Cassandra could come through this with renewed faith in her Maker, in some sort of crazy plan. But Maria Cadash survived the vortex, time travel, a demon, a dragon, and an avalanche. Varric… wasn’t quite sure what to even chalk that up to beyond divine intervention. 

“What would be more helpful than Andraste at this moment would be modern medicine, a healer, and removing these clothes before she succumbs to frostbite.” Solas remarked dryly. 

“Cold. Bitter. Biting.” Cole murmured. “Endless. Alone at the edge of the abyss. Falling. Frightened.” 

“We’ve got her now, kid.” Varric reassured him as their search party began the perilous trek back. “We’ve got her.” 

“Yes.” Cole agreed fervently. “They tried to burn her. Bury her. But the ashes were warm and the stone belongs to her family’s hearth. He didn’t know she’d rise.” 

--

“Get her down.” The doctor ordered tersely. “This damn woman. If she’s not falling out of the bleeding sky, she’s stumbling back with hypothermia and Maker knows how many broken ribs.” 

Blackwall lowered Maria onto the cot with great, tender care. For a perfect moment of stillness, it was just Maria alone on the thin bed like a sacrifice left unattended on an altar. Then both the doctor and healer swarmed over her, checking her pulse, listening to her labored breathing. 

“You’re not going to believe this.” Bea trembled beside Varric, his hand on her arm the only thing restraining her from elbowing both healer and doctor out of the way. She had one fist at her lips, white knuckles pressed to paler lips. “This isn’t her idea of a good time either.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” The doctor huffed, pulling the zipper on the sodden, blood spattered jacket. “I’m gonna need a knife to get these clothes off her. They’re soaking wet.” 

Maria’s head lolled to the side and Cole produced his switchblade nearly immediately. The Elven healer snatched it with a reproachful, wary gaze in the kid’s direction before she began sawing through the thin cotton t-shirt. 

“I do not believe we need an audience for this.” The Seeker said sternly. Varric deigned to ignore her even though he knew the statement was meant for him. “A few of us should stay, but surely…” 

“Ria isn’t modest. Or shy.” Bea muttered, eyes fixed on the pale skin slowly exposed under the tattered shirt, more blue and purple than cream. Varric’s stomach rolled at the mess of bruises and scrapes. 

“Varric.” Cassandra snapped impatiently. “I will not risk your…” 

If she accused him of leering one more time he’d…

“But he’s seen her bare.” Cole interrupted, confused. “Warm. Wanting. Willing and wicked and…” 

Well, he could always count on Cole. Bea rolled her eyes and shot Varric a rather reproachful glare, but honestly it was almost worth it to hear the sharp click of Cassandra’s jaw slamming shut. 

“Do hold that thought. I’ll be rather interested in it if she doesn’t choke to death on her own blood.” Dorian shoved past, holding a sturdy pile of fleece blankets. 

“She’s not… she can’t...” Bea’s voice cracked on the words, swinging helplessly around the triage scene unspooling in front of them.

“Not on my watch at any rate. Not after getting us out of that Tevinter shitstorm.” The elf muttered, peeling away the stiff fabric. Her hand glowed as she pressed it to Maria’s skin and paused, seeming to listen to her injuries. “Five fractured ribs of varying severity. At least one punctured her lung.” 

“Sparkler is being unnecessarily dramatic.” Varric soothed with a stern, warning glance leveled at the Tevinter witch’s back. “She’s going to wake up spitting fire, you watch.” 

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince Bea or himself. Maria looked just as small as she had the first time he saw her, unconscious again, although at least she didn’t appear to be flickering in and out of reality itself this time. Back then, he’d felt bad for the poor woman who had been pulled off the mountain and he certainly hadn’t wanted anything to happen to her, but now…

Varric couldn’t bear watching her lay so still as the doctor shouted about lacerations on her head, the healer’s hands glowing blue to stitch up bone and lung. His stomach twisted into anxious knots, thoughts spiraling, conjuring scenarios where she never woke. Where he never held her again, never… 

“Lacerations are minor. Burn on her palm.” The doctor rattled off to the healer. “If you can fix her ribs, it’ll be the hypothermia to worry about next.” 

“Can’t help there.” The Healer muttered as she worked. “Not trained to do anything about that. I could try raising her blood temperature but I’m as likely to cook her…” 

Bea shuddered and the doctor took the switchblade, hacking at the waistband of Maria’s jeans. “I need a warm compress. One of you bleedin’ witches need to heat up some water and shove it in a damn bottle.” 

“No need to be rude.” Dorian huffed. “Vivienne…” 

“I will search for a container, since you are full of hot air darling. See if you can heat those blankets up a bit, hm?” 

“All these clothes need to come off. They’re soaked through.” The doctor pulled the ruined denim away from Maria’s hips, a cruel parody of the way Varric once peeled them off. He shut his eyes for a steadying moment and swallowed against the rising tide of complex, terrifying emotions. 

“There.” The healer said gently. “She’ll be sore for a few days, at least, but she’ll live. Come here, feel.” 

Bea tugged against his iron grip and Varric relaxed his hold enough to let her slip through his fingers. He opened bleary eyes and watched Bea press her palm over her sister’s gently rising and falling abdomen. The terrible rattle had ceased, vanished into the ether. Bea’s shook her head, voice small. “She’s so cold.” 

“Not for long.” The doctor muttered, pulling one of the gently steaming blankets from Dorian’s arms and pinning Varric with his piercing, slightly insane gaze. “You’ll do. Come here.” 

Varric hesitated. Just long enough for a rather large, he’d bet solid money Qunari, arm to shove him forward. Varric scowled back at Bull, but the doctor kept talking, “Body heat to insulate. You’re rather sturdy and you’re not too tall for the cot. Up you get.” 

Oh. Oh shit. “What?” He asked, the question semi-strangled, the thought of curling up next to Maria’s solid, albeit frozen, form enough to render him temporarily, and possibly for the first time, speechless. 

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra scowled, flushing pink to the very roots of her hair. “It is inappropriate and scandalous. The Herald…” 

“Right then. She’ll just freeze solid while we argue about propriety.” The doctor declared waspishly. “We can hope holy Andraste thaws her out.” 

“I certainly don’t want to end up on the wrong side of Cassandra’s ire…” Dorian looked entirely too smug for Varric’s comfort level. “But this seems like an excellent idea. Finish unbuttoning that shirt, Varric. Better shuck the pants too, you’ve got snow all over them.” 

“Ugh.” Sera sniffed, turning her face pointedly away. “Not watchin’ this show.”  

“I cannot…” Cassandra’s voice raised, the start of a rather fine shouting match nobody had time for. 

“I’m sorry.” Bea’s voice didn’t rise at all. It stayed perfectly, completely level. The hair on Varric’s neck stood up regardless and he spared a glance for the woman staring Cassandra down with abject fury. “I thought my mother was dead. Please. Continue arguing about the fucking scandal while my sister loses her toes.”  

Cassandra’s mouth moved, but nothing intelligible came out. Satisfied, Bea turned her sharp as knives gaze to him. “Pants off.” 

She’d given a steely command, one that left no room for negotiation. When Varric didn’t quite move fast enough, Bea’s voice dropped even further, to what he suspected was an even more dangerous octave. “I’m not asking again.” 

Varric wasn’t certain she’d actually asked the first time. “Andraste’s ass.” He grumbled, reaching up to begin unbuttoning his shirt, hastily discarding it on a stack of crates. “Can I keep my damn boxers on or are we…” 

Bea promptly made up her mind to ignore him. “Roll her onto her side.” The doctor advised the healer. “Gently. No use jarring that head.” 

“Varric.” Vivienne’s voice trilled from behind him and Varric swore under his breath. “I take it since you’re undressing that means you’ve finally come to your senses about this outfit.” 

“Everyone’s a damn comedian as soon as the dwarf gets naked.” Varric huffed, unbuttoning his pants. “Let me know if any ladies see something they like.” 

In front of him, they shifted Maria’s nearly nude form onto her side, covering her with the first steaming blanket, lifting the barest corner for him to slither in beside her. Somehow, this seemed far more intimate than the fact that his mouth had been slanted over hers, their tongues twisted together, his face between her legs and his hands cupping her gorgeous breasts. Perhaps it was simply the aching vulnerability, the mottled fresh bruises covering all the skin he’d traced and kissed. 

Maybe it was the blissfully empty expression on her face making her look so much younger, the fresh faced girl in her old photos. The one whose life still may have worked out the way she wanted in a better world, a kinder one. 

If she was brave enough to face down a fucking dragon, he could lay beside her, keep her warm. That had to be the easier job. He definitely shouldn’t be envying her the heroic showdown with the demon that nearly snatched her away.

As calmly and smoothly as he could, with false confidence born of years hiding inner turmoil, he slipped onto the stiff cot and curled against her while they draped a blanket over them. She was icy, freezing to the touch against his skin. His hissed at the initial contact, but he ignored the discomfort and gently, careful of the newly mended ribs and all the terrifying bruises lining her skin, draped his arm over the dip of her waist. He shifted his hips until they fit snug against hers and slipped one arm slowly under her neck. 

The sharp bite of something ever colder than her skin sent him swearing. He shifted, gingerly withdrawing a tarnished silver chain from the space between them, the glimmering pendants nothing more than bits of ice against his fingers. 

His eyes focused on them with a start, at first in stunned disbelief, then in bewilderment. They weren’t pendants or charms, they were rings, a full damn set of wedding rings. There was a diamond large enough to make any debutante swoon and two plain, serviceable bands, a man’s and a woman’s. 

Bea made a choked gasp, hands freezing in the motion of smoothing the blanket over Maria’s shoulder. “Sodding Ancestors. I thought they’d be gone for sure, I thought…” 

Varric gently slid his fingers along the chain, trying to ignore the sharp burst of curiosity. There was zero chance that Fynn Dunhark legally married Maria Cadash, that information would have been in the court records and media coverage for sure. But… he could see how legalities didn’t matter. Not when you were young, not when the woman you loved agreed to take off from everything she knew and make a new life somewhere else. 

Fynn Dunhark may only have had Maria Cadash for a short period of time before his untimely demise. But, he’d fully had his woman, no half-baked life full of lies and secrets. Varric would have sacrificed a lot for that same certainty. 

He’d have taken a bullet too. 

Varric unclasped the necklace with a deft twist of his fingers and deposited the cold chain in Bea’s extended palm. She closed her fingers over them and brought her tight fist to her lips. “I didn’t realize she was wearing them. She’d have been… she’d have been fucking devastated to lose them.” 

The tremor in Bea’s usually nonchalant voice told him that Maria wouldn’t have been the only one distraught. 

“It’s alright Mittens.” Varric angled his form around Maria’s, tipped his forehead against her hair, and closed his eyes. The scent of smoke and iron clung to her, a heady perfume of desperation and sheer, impossible survival. He fought the urge to press his palm more tightly over her abdomen, to drop his lips to her freckled shoulder and kiss each spot with silent, worshipful gratitude. 

To drop even lower and gently press his lips to the interlocking triangles of the carta branded on her shoulder. To make a silent, desperate promise that this time, that part of her life was over. There’d be no going back, no matter the cost. Not after… 

But this wasn’t the time, this wasn’t the place. Dorian balanced his warm bottle of water on the opposite side of Maria’s neck and very gently brushed his tanned fingers over her cheek. Varric smoothed away the scowl that twisted his features and the matching possessive lurch in his thoughts. Hopefully before anyone noticed. 

Instead, he splayed his fingers gently over the soft curve of her stomach. He focused on the gentle rise and fall, the ease of her breathing, so unlike the way she’d labored and gasped in his arms. Without much thought, and certainly without attempting to examine his motives, Varric brushed his thumb lightly, repetitively, in a small arc over her cold skin. 

Solas layered another blanket over top of them and looked to the doctor. “You said there was a burn in her palm?” 

“Odd one. Don’t see how she could've done it, but I guess I’ve got to get used to her doing weird shit, don’t I?” 

Bea snorted in abbreviated, but clear, agreement. 

“May I?” Solas asked cautiously. 

“Be my guest.” The doctor muttered. “Not much I can do for it with our general lack of supplies and I’d rather the damn healer deal with her brain than burns.” 

“Just swelling.” The Elven healer’s fingers lingered over Maria’s head, eyes continuing to monitor Bea’s barely concealed anxiety. “Nasty bump, that’s all. She’ll be right as rain, you’ll see.” 

With a mumbled apology, Solas’s hand lifted the blanket. Varric stilled his thumb, watching as Solas gently turned Maria’s palm in his. Varric could see the burn even through the halo of Maria’s hair, perfect and pristine, a spiraling pattern like a rising sun. 

Varric fought back his own shudder. “Chuckles, that’s not an accident.” 

Nothing so beautiful ever was. Solas ran his own fingers over it and frowned tightly. “Unfortunately,” He confessed, “I suspect you are correct.” 

“What is it?” Cassandra asked, peering suspiciously over Solas’s shoulder.

“The mark of the magic she survived in the vortex.” Solas ran his own thumb over her palm. The second he did, the burn illuminated with a dull, gentle flicker. Varric swore he saw flakes of golden light dancing under Maria’s skin through her veins. “That demon pulled it to the surface, perhaps in an attempt to wrench it from her.”

“It looks almost like the symbol of the Chantry.” Cassandra supplied with a rather firm amount of conviction lacing her voice.

She was right, to a point. It was certainly a sun, Varric would give her that, but beyond that Maria's brand bore little resemblance to the great glowing suns of the Chantry. Her’s had delicate, intricate knots laced within it. A pattern within a pattern, looking more like something Daisy would doodle than anything else. 

“A coincidence, nothing more.” Solas curled Maria’s small fingers over the mark like she clasped something precious within it. “It must have caused her great pain to have it brought to the surface like this.” 

He knew. He’d heard her screaming. Unable to help himself, he brushed his thumb over her skin again, an unsaid apology for leaving her at a monster’s mercy. 

“She’s tough.” Bea tightened her grip on the rings on her hand and lifted burning eyes to Solas. “Ria is tougher than anyone I know.” 

Solas smiled, both kind and sad. “Of that, I have little doubt. We would not be here otherwise.” 

xx

She awoke in pieces, not all at once. The first thing she noticed was the searing heat surrounding her, warmth bleeding through every inch of skin except the tip of her nose, which felt frozen solid. The blankets covering her were heavy weights keeping the sweltering heat in. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so warm, so cozy. She considered opening her eyes, but that seemed… too hard. Her head throbbed in warning so she kept them shut, shifting slightly off an aching hip to…

It was that tiny movement that revealed the second, more important thing. Maria Cadash was not alone in this horribly uncomfortable bed. Someone’s heavy arm rested over her bare skin, her wiggling pressed her firmly against a broad, immovable chest, rough hair prickling her skin. She froze, keeping her eyes shut resolutely, trying to make sense of what had happened. 

Her first thought, one that nearly had her leaping from the bed, was that she’d fallen asleep in Dwyka’s bed, fallen into this pantomime of intimacy while she’d been asleep. It happened before, and somehow that was always worse than laying perfectly still until dawn, waiting for the sun to rise to make her escape. 

But the hand on her stomach was different than Dwyka’s. Undoubtedly Dwarven given the size, but less weather roughened, the callouses in the wrong place, and draped gently over her waist. There was nothing possessive about it, only warm reassurance. 

Fynn, her gut clenched as his name rattled in her head, but that wasn’t right either. Fynn’s hands had been strong, ages practicing the piano at his mother’s insistence after all, but they’d never grown rough with any kind of manual labor or…

Writing. 

Those were callouses from pen and pencil, she’d developed some of her own during her school days, before she’d decided that fighting and crime left better paying marks instead. 

With that thought, bits and pieces began to drift back. Their desperate kiss in the kitchen. His broad arms effortlessly lifting her off her feet, his mouth…

His amazingly talented mouth. The very thought sent a spike of heat right through her in spite of her aching head and stiff limbs. Somebody must have spiked her drink, because clearly she’d been drunk, she couldn’t even remember the main event. Out of all the terrible things that happened to her, that seemed most unfair. If she’d made the critical error of falling into this horribly uncomfortable bed with Varric Tethras, she wanted to at least have the good bits to cling to. 

Why was her bed so uncomfortable? Sodding hell, she felt like she was sleeping on a prison cot. She shifted again, as gingerly as she could, brain trying to fire off what exactly to do next. She needed to open her eyes, needed to break this spell, send him packing, and yet…

And yet. 

She was so tired. Her eyelids felt heavy, her limbs leaden. His breath was warm on her shoulder, his forehead tucked against her hair. She was pressed tightly against him and he felt solid against her, a bulwark against the darkness nibbling at the edges of her mind. She’d been so afraid, so alone, and he…

Emotions she didn’t quite understand bubbled to the surface, fear squeezing her throat. It had been so dark and it hurt. She was so confused, her addled mind trying to keep up, and she didn’t… 

“I’ve got you.” Varric whispered against her temple. “I’ve got you.” 

Everything else returned like a punch in the gut. Haven. The templars, the dragon, Corypheus. Her march through the snow to her doom. Her eyes flew open, startled, taking in the cold dark night surrounding them. In her line of sight, Bea curled up in a tiny ball, her head resting against Bull’s solid chest. He slept too, leaning on the pole holding this makeshift shelter up, eye closed. One arm wrapped around Bea’s shoulders, the other around Sera’s while she snored lightly. 

Alive. Alive, they were alive and so was she. She closed her eyes again, dizzy with relief. If they were alive, then it would be okay. It had to be. 

She could go back to sleep. It would be so damn easy to. 

Behind her, Varric shifted near imperceptibly and Maria’s breath hitched. Sweet Ancestors, his bare legs were tangled up against hers too and…

Maker. He couldn’t be completely naked, could he? Her mind struggled to process the feel of him, but she was still wearing her damn underwear, the underwire of the bra poking against her uncomfortably to remind her of that fact. He had to be wearing his. 

How in the void had this even happened? How had Bea allowed this to happen? Her little sister could hardly be called part of the Varric Tethras fan club. 

Boxers or briefs? Maria’s inner voice questioned, off on it’s own little tangent while she struggled to make sense of the crazy series of events that ended up with her snuggled up quite cozily to Varric fucking Tethras. 

She shifted again, pressing back gently. Boxer briefs, she thought. Had to be. She twisted her hips again, just to be sure…

“Princess.” Varric huffed gently in her ear, voice sleep roughened and deliciously husky. He pressed gently on her stomach and stifled a low laugh in her shoulder. “You keep moving like that, I can’t be held liable for what happens next.”

She fought back a delighted shiver without much success. She felt Varric’s response in the loose sweep of his fingers up her abdomen and the slight pull of his hips away from hers. She felt more loss at that than she wanted to admit. And a brief, electric jolt that was only barely smothered by fatigue. 

“Are we safe?” Her own voice came out hoarse. 

“Seems that way. Been a whole twenty four hours since we ran out of Haven, beautiful. No sign of anything chasing our ass. They probably figured we’d starve or freeze to death without them having to lift a finger.” 

Maybe everyone should have to sleep next to Varric, then, because the man was a furnace. She twisted to sit up and winced immediately, every muscle protesting the sudden movement. Her chest ached, her stomach ached, her arms and legs and…

The world tilted, spun, fuzzed a bit at the edges. 

Varric sat up far more successfully than she had, but she still managed to curl to face him. His amber eyes were dark in the weak light flickering around them in the darkness, lanterns and firelight, his glorious chest completely bare. 

Touch. A part of her commanded greedily. Her hand responded without her permission, lifting into the fraught, tense space between them. This all felt so surreal, part of a dream, and perhaps she hadn’t quite woken… 

“Careful with that one.” Varric’s eyes flicked to the palm of her hand and back to her eyes. “You’ve got some magic stuck in it.” 

Her fingers curled closed, protectively, and she pulled back. Yes. She remembered the sun caught in her palm, her flashlight in the darkness. With her fingers against it, she could feel it there, one more ache among all the others.

He’d burned it into her skin. Seared it to her flesh. Her heartbeat spiked, fear prickled through the exhaustion. “He put it there, he did something to me, he was...” 

There weren't any words. Varric could probably find them, but they escaped her. He’d been like a solid black hole in the universe, like a wound oozing pus and infection, like every nightmare she’d ever had all rolled into one. 

“I know.” Varric whispered, gently placing one of his hands on her shoulder and lightly guiding her back down. “We know. We know who it was. What he is.” 

“What?” She rasped. Varric sighed and made to tuck her smoothly back under the blankets. He was going to get up, going to leave her in the darkness and the cold with nothing but her thoughts and fears, oblivion circling the edges of her vision. The next word fell from her lips before she considered it fully. “Stay.” 

For a split second her words landed into the silence with all the elegance of a ticking time bomb. He stared at her, taken aback by the request she assumed. Certainly unsure how to handle a sick, broken creature clinging to him so selfishly. But she swallowed the tension, quirked her lips into the best smle she could manage. “Keep me warm and tell me a story.” 

Please. The unsaid word echoed in her chest. 

“It’s a shitty story, Princess.” Varric sighed, but he slipped back beneath the blanket, careful to leave a scant inch of sizzling air between their skin. “But I’ll try. It started with Hawke…” 

Varric spun Reyna Hawke into being as smoothly as if he’d done it a thousand times, conjuring the witch out of the freezing night air so vividly, Maria could see her the way he did. This wasn’t a woman lighting her own pyre in the ashes of Redcliffe, crazed and wounded with a manic gleam in her eye. This was a heroine. A champion. Varric’s champion. 

He told the story from where he’d entered it. Pulled out of bed by a panicked three in the morning phone call, shambling up to the ritziest areas of Kirkwall. The shattered glass from the broken window, the light from the silent alarm still blinking steadily. The first Hawke sister, bruised and shaken but otherwise unharmed, the second smelling of smoke and charred dwarf while an elf calmly stitched up his own wound. 

Following the Carta to, of all places, an ancient temple hidden in the Vinmarks. A temple that locked them inside and forced them into the Deep Roads before they could escape. Their desperate fight through the things of nightmares, and Hawke’s blood being the only thing that could open the door. 

It unlocked more than that. Much more.

And in spite of herself, as he spun the tale, she ended up closing that distance between their bodies. She wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, it seemed to be a magic of it’s own, magnetism or perhaps gravity. She didn’t press against him, not like she desperately wanted to, but she couldn’t ignore the soft heat leaching from him to her. 

Couldn’t ignore the way his voice lulled her back to sleep. 

“I swear.” Varric murmured softly into her hair. “We killed him, Princess.” 

No they didn’t. But she was too tired to argue. 

“I’m sorry.” She thought he whispered. But it could have been a dream, one she slipped back into effortlessly. 

The next time she woke up, it was to bitter shouts. There was a weight at the end of the cot, but nobody under the blankets beside her. She was completely, utterly, alone. Clearly, she’d hallucinated Varric Tethras’s gentle arms curling around her, his searing warmth, his muscles and…

She raised her hand to her head, rubbing her face briskly. 

“Ria?” Bea’s voice asked cautiously, breathless with hope. 

“Bea.” She answered groggily, opening her eyes. It wasn’t Bea’s face she met with, but the lined and weary one of Mother Gisele. She swallowed, swinging her eyes down to the bottom of the cot where Bea sat, still as a statue, looking more a mess than she’d ever seen her. Eyeliner smudged, hair askew, lips pale. 

“Are you awake this time?” Bea asked, frozen in place. “Really awake? Varric said you were before but you were out of it still and…” 

“Varric?” Her tongue nearly tripped on the word, a surge of heat rising up her face. “He was here?” 

“They all were.” Gisele soothed. “You are dear to many people, Herald. You’ve had a steady stream of them wishing you well.” 

“What would you have me tell them?!” Cullen’s voice roared. Maria fought back the flinch and pushed herself up, trying to stare into the darkness past Bea. 

“We must find a way!” Cassandra snapped back, a pale figure in the dim firelight. 

“Please!” Jospehine cried out. “We must use reason!”

“Don’t mind them.” Bea dismissed the humans with a wave over her shoulder. “They’ve been at it for hours. How are you feeling? How’s your head? Still remarkably thick?” 

“Shut up.” Maria replied automatically, the banter familiar even as her throat scratched out the words like she hadn’t spoken in ages. “Where are my clothes?” 

“Ruined.” Bea supplied unhelpfully. “But Harding said she had a spare outfit of her own in her camera bag. It’s probably the closest we’ll get to anything fitting you. Hold on, I’ll go find them.” 

As if she’d simply been waiting for something, anything, to do, Bea jumped into motion. She fled into the darkness before Maria had time to ask where exactly her little sister had gotten the coat she was wearing. The thick, buttery leather was far more familiar than Maria wanted to admit. 

“You need to rest.” Giselle said gently. “There is no need to get up quite yet. After all…”

Giselle tipped her head almost playfully to the heated argument happening just outside between Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. “It does not appear we’re going anywhere quickly.” 

“We have time to waste?” Maria asked, pushing herself impatiently into a fully seated position despite Gisele’s tutting disapproval. She clutched the blankets tightly around her shoulders and breathed through the ache in her muscles. Bad, yes, but not the worst she’d ever pushed through.  

“Thanks to you, they have the luxury of arguing. You prevented our enemies from following, but with time to doubt… well, it is easy to blame.” 

Bea reappeared, tossing a bundle of clothes on the cot. “Right. So, I’m gonna warn you that you look like a bannana someone’s kicked around, that’s how fucking bruised up you are.” 

“I’m sure I’ve looked worse.” Maria muttered, dropping the blanket and reaching for the sweater. Even in the flickering lantern light, she could see the marks covering her pale flesh. Deep bits of purple and blue, shadows deepening them into black in places. 

“I’m not.” Bea admitted, folding her arms around herself and watching Maria as she struggled to manage the fabric with her stiff limbs. Finally, impatiently, Bea stepped forward and grabbed it, thrusting it over Maria’s head. “Here, before you strangle yourself.” 

“We don’t have that!” Cullen yelled. 

“She is not saying we do!” Leliana snarled back. 

“In-fighting may be as great a danger to us as Corypheus.” Giselle sighed. 

“I don’t know.” Bea sniped under her breath while she gently tugged the sweater over Maria’s battered torso, taking extra care to straighten it and meeting her eyes with a weak grin. “To my knowledge, our humans have zero dragons and the demon has one.” 

“Where is it?” Panic clawed at Maria’s throat again. “The dragon and Corypheus, the red templars, where…” 

“Nobody has figured out where the fuck we are.” Bea answered. “Varric can’t get his network up and running for more than ten minutes at a time, although to be fair he’s been snuggling you and trying to work for most of the night. For as good as he claims to be at multitasking…” 

There was his name again. And her chance to ask. She plucked the material over Bea’s shoulders pointedly. “What’s this?” 

“It’s mine now.” Bea declared, wicked eyes dancing with relief and mirth. “Jealous, Ria?” 

Gisele cut in with practiced diplomacy. “There has been no sign of Corypheus, his dragon, or the templars. Perhaps he believes you are dead, and thus is satisfied. Or he believes we are helpless and lost.” 

Gisele sighed. “It could even be that he plans another attack as we speak. We do not know the demon’s mind, only our own fears.” 

Maria swung her feet off the cot and pulled the leggings on over her aching limbs as quickly as she could. Jumping from the cot to finish the job was a mistake, the rush of blood to her head making her stumble into Bea. Her sister’s arm wrapped around her waist. “Easy.” Bea whispered. “This was… this was bad, Ria. You really should lay back down.” 

“I’m not gonna sodding sit here and listen to them arguing.” Maria spat between her gritted teeth, fighting the dizziness back where it came from and finishing the job of putting her damn pants on. “This isn’t helping anything.” 

“Another heated voice won’t help.” Gisele advised, a gentle voice laced with steel. “Even yours. Perhaps especially yours.” 

“I agree. The last thing we need is one of your infamous tantrums, Ria.”

She was going to kill Bea. She glared into her sister’s face, holding onto her and pulling on one of her soggy boots, the only clothing left from her misadventure, it seemed. Gisele picked up where Bea left off. “They are struggling to lead because of what we survivors witnessed.” 

“Well, it can’t be worse than what I saw.” Maria snapped, pulling on the last boot. 

“Don’t you dare.” Bea shoved Maria, hard, back onto the cot. Caught off guard, Maria stumbled back onto the thing. It creaked precariously, but before she could turn her temper on Bea, Maria realized her sister’s face was flushed and splotchy, tears threatening in her eyes. “Don’t you dare.” Bea hissed, diving into Varric’s coat pocket and pulling out something glimmering, shining in the dull light. Instead of handing it to her, Bea threw it. The necklace and her rings landed in Maria’s lap. 

Maria blocked out the human’s arguing and focused on Bea, preparing to argue with her instead. She opened her mouth, but Bea stopped her cold. “I saw you die, Ria. I thought I buried you just like I buried Nanna, Dad, and Fynn.”

The well of grief under those two sentences stretched endlessly. Bea ripped her eyes away from Maria’s and stared up at the tarp above them, blinking rapidly. Guilt thudded hollowly in Maria’s chest and she curled her fist around the necklace. 

“Bea…” 

“Shut up.” Bea seethed. “Shut up. I thought I lost you, I thought… fuck.”

Bea whirled away and Maria stood, intent on following her. “I need a fucking minute.” Bea shouted back, voice thick with unshed tears. “Stay fucking put for once in your damn life and give me a second to breathe.” 

Wretched, Maria watched Bea stumble back out into the night. Gisele sighed, watching the slender form vanish. “It is difficult. For all of us, although for her I fear it was far worse. We left our defender behind to save us all… and we lost her.” 

Maria hadn’t been defending anyone. She’d just been trying to survive, blindly acting on gut and instinct. It had been a desperate last stand, nothing more, nothing heroic or courageous. “I wasn’t…” 

Gisele overrode her voice patiently. “And after all hope had fled… she returns. This is miraculous by any standard, and your actions appear more divine intervention than standard heroics. The longer we examine the darkness behind us, the more our trials seem ordained.” 

“That’s crazy.” Maria folded her arms around her aching torso, trying not to shiver. “Nothing about this has anything to do with faith or…” 

“It does seem insane, yes?” Gisele asked sweetly, piercing Maria with her dark eyes. “What ‘we’ have been called to ensure? What ‘we’, perhaps, must come to believe?” 

That ‘we’ of Gisele’s was very pointed and Maria wanted nothing to do with it. She didn’t believe in their Maker, their Andraste, their Herald. Maria never heard the Stone sing or heard whispered guidance from her Ancestors' tombs. The Elven creators apparently abandoned the world long ago, and Maria wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else hadn’t followed suit. They were alone, carving out their destinies with nothing but switchblades and shaking fingers. 

“What ‘we’ believe doesn’t matter.” Maria glared, standing from the cot and steadying herself for just a moment. “What we’re about to do is freeze to death if someone can’t get their head out of their ass. I’m not waiting for the Maker to intervene.” 

She turned her back on the infuriating woman and took careful, measured steps to the edge of the tent. Outside her meager shelter, she saw the Inquisition’s leaders surrounding a campfire, all wearing various expressions of distress, their silence simmering with resentment. 

Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck were they supposed to… 

“Shadows fall…” Gisele’s throaty voice carried from somewhere behind her, loud and clear as a chantry bell on Sunday as she moved to stand beside Maria. “And hope has fled. Steel your heart, the dawn will come…” 

“What are you doing?” Maria hissed under her breath, piercing Gisele with a reproving glare, flinching as the four humans turned to stare. Gisele smiled, mysterious and sly, sailing past Maria without a word of explanation. She continued to sing an old song, a song Maria swore she’d heard in bits and pieces, a Chantry hymn floating out of pretty wooden chapels in Ostwick. “The night is long, and the path is dark… Look to the sky, for one day soon… the dawn will come.” 

Maria gambled semi-professionally and knew she was rather good at it. Still, she’d have never placed money on what happened next in a million years.

It started with Leliana’s clear, bright soprano joining the chorus. Then, Maker’s balls, Cullen. Soldiers. Refugees. Chantry sisters. Children and witches and templars, all of them. The sound roared louder than the ocean, enough to drown the dragon’s screech still echoing in her head, and they were staring at her like she had an answer, like she could do something, anything.

Some of them dropped to their knees like she really was an idol carved of stone, an altar to worship at. Her panicked thoughts insisted she should have fled after Bea, but when she looked behind her to see if that escape route was still open, she saw her sister had returned in silence. The slouched form in the darkness, arms crossed, looked torn between amusement and grave concern. 

She could almost hear Bea scoffing about humans being outrageous. Maria tightened her grip helplessly on the rings in her fist, wishing for all the world she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. 

The song ended, the night sky hanging onto the last piercing note. Gisele turned her dark eyes back down towards Maria, triumph sparking in them as people cheered. “An army needs more than an enemy.” She declared softly. “It needs a cause.” 

Gisele lifted her hands, prepared to preach a sermon to the masses. “My fellow children of the Maker…” She began fervently. “We have survived the trials put in front of us, endured the terror of…” 

She stared, agog, until she felt the light press of a hand against the small of her back. She looked up to pin Solas with her bewildered gaze.

“A word?” He asked politely.

“Only if it has four letters.” She protested weakly, staring back out in stunned disbelief at the crowd.

“Come.” Solas said gently, guiding her into the shadows. “We have much to discuss.”

--

“She’s a wise woman. Worth heeding, at the very least. Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause… or fracture it.” Solas muttered, almost to himself, although Maria understood he was attempting to instruct her.

Maria shivered, although if it was from the cold or existential dread, she couldn’t tell. Solas noticed and extended his palm. A smooth, elegant flick of his wrist summoned a ball of flames, blue and beautiful, in the space between them. Maria stepped closer to the warmth, grateful for it. 

“Can you help me escape her?” Maria asked, only semi-joking. Solas’s fond smile was the only answer before he shook his head.

“The magic Corypheus used against you. The spell that embedded that mark in your hand… It is Elven.” 

Maria lifted her right palm up, still clutching the rings within it. She unfolded her fingers and stared down at the intricate, beautiful sun burned into it. “It looks Elven, I guess.” She muttered, shifting the sparkling rings to reveal the elegant loops. “Not that I’m an expert.” 

“It is the magic that has been inside you since the start, pulled to the surface.” Solas explained clinically. “I assume it is also the magic that created the vortex, the same spell that caused the explosion that destroyed the conclave.” 

And now… now it was inside her. “Fantastic.” She muttered. 

“Do not begrudge it so much.” Solas advised. “I suspect without that magic in your veins, you would have perished then as well. As to how Corypheus survived… that is a mystery.”

Solas sighed and hunched his shoulders, staring down at the snow consideringly. “The only thing that is not a mystery is how people will react when they discover the origin of this magic. Perhaps people will not look past the fact that it is the symbol of the chantry, but there must have been a tool, one he used to harness it, and if it is found…”

“Riots.” Maria sighed. “The elves have it shit enough in all the cities of Thedas.” 

Nanna used to say it could always be worse when they complained about not having enough money to buy nice clothes or go to the movies. They, at least, could afford food and their bills even if they had to work to the bone to do it. The elves… well, there was a reason they were shoved into the alienage projects. Nobody wanted to look at starving children. 

“This is a fucking mess and elves are an easy target.” Maria murmured.

“I agree.” Solas’s voice was laced with approval. He placed a gentle hand on her aching shoulder. “But we can control this narrative. We can tell the story we wish to tell.” 

“Solas.” Maria jerked her chin over her shoulder. “There’s a woman back there preaching a sermon about a dwarven criminal with elven magic in her hand at the head of a human religious movement. I can’t control any of my own story.” 

She hadn’t been able to in years. 

“Corypheus attacking the Inquisition changed it. Changed you.” Solas insisted. Maria shivered again, but this time it certainly wasn’t from the cold. “You are their guide. You are their savior.” 

“I’m not.” Maria protested, wrenching away. “I’m not, don’t you dare go human on me, Solas, or I swear…” 

“There is a place in the North. I have seen it in the fade, a place hidden by magic that waits for a force to hold it…” 

“Is there anything useful in the fade?” Maria asked skeptically. “Maybe a way to get the network up and running so we can call for help?” 

“Varric Tethras will never get our communications up and running without additional technology.” Solas insisted smoothly. “The witches alone, our power, interfered too much. Perhaps, if we had not found you he could have rigged something together, but the stronger you become, the more you recover…” 

Solas reached for her palm, covered it with his own. “The technology we have with us cannot override your magic. Not any longer. I suspect he is beginning to identify the problem as well. If anyone could fix it, I suspect it is Varric, but he cannot do so here.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Maria blurted out. It would have been better, apparently, if she froze to death or simply died in the avalanche. 

“But your magic is, perhaps, the only key to finding our path. Go north, lead them forward. Your magic can unlock our safety, I know it.” Solas pressed. “Only you can do this.” 

“I can’t.” Maria’s voice broke and she shook her head. “Solas, I can’t.” 

“You must.” Solas’s lips pressed into a thin line. “But you will not do it alone. We are by your side.” 

“They won’t listen to me.” 

“On the contrary.” Solas smiled, soft and proud. “I believe you are the only one they will listen to.” 

xx

Three days. They followed Maria through the mountains for three fucking days. Varric thought he’d never forgive her for their forced march through miles of snow, directly into the bitter, biting wind of the north. There was, after all, only so much a man would do for a pair of beguiling eyes no matter how sensuous her curves. Varric Tethras had nearly reached his damn limit. 

In fact, he’d had it with Maker damned everything. The network that wouldn’t connect them to the satellite, no matter what he tried. He couldn’t feel his toes. And he was simply sick of the endless, bleak, whiteness of it all. 

One more day, he thought darkly, trudging after Maria’s crimson hair. One more blighted day, then he was refusing to go one more step. 

Which, of course, was exactly what he’d said to himself yesterday. 

“Can you all honestly not feel that?” Maria asked over her shoulder, perplexed.

“There are lots of things I can’t feel, Princess.” Varric growled. “Would you like an enumerated list?” 

She sent him a withering look. Varric glared back, unimpressed. 

“Darling, all I can feel is that energy coming out of your hand. It’s like standing in the middle of an orchestra.” Vivienne, somehow, still looked elegant in her snug fitted peacoat. The splashes of red templar blood almost formed a chic pattern. She’d be a perfect villain for one of his stories. If he didn’t freeze to death first. 

Maria cautiously approached a cliff. Varric watched, warily, as she danced rather too close to the edge for his taste. If she fell to her death one more time, he wasn’t rescuing her, right hand to Andraste. 

“Please do not fall off that precipice.” Dorian snapped, in tune with his thoughts. “I, for one, do not wish to be the person informing Cullen we allowed you to plummet to your doom.” 

Maria ignored him, reaching out to brush snow from a large stone pillar overlooking the abyss. A matching one, almost like they were man made instead of natural, sat some distance away. Her ineffective swiping revealed something carved into the surface.

“Runes.” Solas smiled down at her, proud as only an old teacher could be. “Well done.” 

But Maria seemed to be entranced by the shapes in the rock. She tipped her head to the side, examining them curiously. She brought her gloved right hand to her mouth and used her teeth to rip off the fleece fabric. Varric caught the slightest flicker of light in her palm before she pressed it to the stone. 

The runes lit up gold, glowing gently, flickering with power. A gust of wind surged past them all, so fierce he temporarily grew concerned it would topple Maria right into the yawning abyss. Instead, it lifted her hair around her face, whipped past them into the chasm, bright lights dancing within it. 

Varric’s breath caught in his throat. The lights seemed to sketch out a bridge, one that turned corporeal before their very eyes. It was made of stone and marble, hanging above the abyss implausibly. The magic picked up speed, circling in clouds in the air, puffs of glitter exploding to reveal walls, towers, trees, gates, all pulled from nothing but thin air. 

“Andraste’s blushing buttcheeks.” Dorian whispered. “Who hid this?”

Who wouldn’t? It was something from another age, from a fairy tale, a fortress fit for a queen, pristine and intact, waiting for someone to unveil it, someone to call it back to life. 

Not a queen, a part of him supplied. A princess. His princess. 

“Skyhold.”  Solas supplied quietly. “Welcome home, Herald.”

[huntertales]

Part Two: You Think You Know Someone. (Pac-Man Fever S08E20)

Episode Summary: Concerned about the physical toll the second trial took on the reader, the boys force her to take a break from hunting until she heals up. So, when the geektastic hacker Charlie Bradbury stumbles upon a case and finds the trio, she talks her way into letting Dean teach her how to be a hunter-in-training. While happy to see “her highness”, the reader and the boys feels Charlie is hiding a secret that could get her killed. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 3,976.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

Sam knew for sure that his brother wasn’t going to be happy when he discovered you managed to sneak out of the bunker, on his watch no less. You never did like to listen to what people told you to do. And instead of letting you sneak off on your own in your condition, Sam caved in to the pressure he felt on what the right thing to do was. He also hoped it would help soften the blow to Dean when you were out on the field and participating in the hunt after being told not to. Sam saw you dressed in your Fed clothes trying your hardest to be quiet, you almost managed to sneak out the door without him realizing...until an unexpected coughing fit gave you away.

Sam was sitting in the library keeping an eye on the security footage after you lied straight to his face about lying down for a little while. He was caught up in trying to find Kevin that he almost forgot that you were trying to pull a fast one on him. All he needed to do was to lean back in his seat ever so slightly to see you standing there in the middle of the staircase, a curse word falling out of your mouth when the both of you made eye contact. Sam thought he could honestly somehow convince you into staying inside and recuperate. Only it ended up with him changing into his own fed clothes after you told him about another possible suspect on the hunt. All you wanted to do was check out the scene and see how Charlie was doing before you promised to be back in the bunker. Sam thought looking after you would help soften the blow to Dean. 

You made it to the crime scene a little after you heard it come through the police scanner. The cops were taping off the scene to keep out a small crowd of people that lingered behind to see what the commotion was all about. You and Sam observed the scene and talked a few cops to see what made a grown made explode over a couple of teenage boys who discovered the body.  They were occupied with some video game they were playing from the noises you heard coming from their phones. Whatever it was, they were too distracted to give you a statement about what happened. You looked over your shoulder when you heard the sounds of two footsteps approaching you from behind, by none other than Dean and Charlie. Sam headed over when he spotted his brother heading your way, and not looking too pleased at who he saw.

"What the hell took you guys so long?" You asked them, ignoring the glare on Dean's face.

“What the hell are you doing here, Y/N?” Dean answered your question with another. He looked over to his brother, wondering what he was thinking to let you out of the bunker and on the case. “I thought you were gonna keep an eye on her.” 

“We’re working the case. Same as you.” You said. You didn’t even bother trying to add fuel into an argument that wasn’t the right setting the crime scene. Instead, you saved your breath and jumped straight to the case. “Jake Hill. Librarian. Went missing yesterday, no relation to the other vic. Coroner already swooped in and scooped up what was left of him.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we met her. Bit of a stickler. Well,” Dean decided to get back to the exact thing you wanted to ignore. “There’s not a body, nothing else to see here, so why don’t you and Sam head on home?”

You smiled slightly, "Still haven't talked to the witnesses."

"Well, we can handle that." Dean reassured you. He looked over at his partner to give her the responsibility. "Charlie, why don't you go talk to the witnesses?"

“But I don’t want to miss the ‘moment.’” Charlie said. But her response made Dean give her a warning glare to scram if she knew what was good for her.

"Come on, Charlie." Sam placed a hand on her shoulder and softy pushed her forward to the direction the teenagers were. He got the hint this conversation was best between you and his brother. "Let's go see if they know anything." 

Dean waited until Charlie and Sam were far enough away to try one more time to get through to you about how dangerous this was. You crossed your arms over your chest and raised your brow, already waiting to hear what he had to say. “Look, sweetheart, I know you’re frustrated, but you’re also sick.”

“I’m not leaving, Dean.” You told him.

"I know you want to help. I do, all right?" Dean said. He was trying his hardest to be empathetic to what you were going through. You scoffed and once again rolled your eyes. "But—" 

“Dean, you cannot take care of the both of us. I need to be out here. And it’s not fair for Sam to have to be benched, too.” You said. “I’m sick. I know. But I’ve been for a while. Morning sickness wasn’t a walk in the walk. I gotta ‘play through the pain,’ right?”

“Come on, Y/N.” Dean grumbled. “Don’t quote me to me.” 

“So,” Your argument was cut short when you heard Charlie come out of nowhere after her talk with the teenagers. “The boys said they noticed something on the body’s arm before it covered them in years of future therapy. Said it looked like a blue handprint.”

“Sounds like something you should read about.” Dean suggested to you. “In a book. At home.”  

“I’m not leaving until we find out whatever’s doing this.” You said, once and for all. 

Dean mumbled something underneath his breath in defeat at your persistence and walked back to the Impala. Seeing him drop the argument didn’t make you feel satisfied, it only made you grow even more annoyed with him. You gave his backside a dirty look as you crossed your arms over your chest. Charlie watched all of this unfold, and, of course, she had something to say. 

"You guys fight like an old married couple." She said. Her remark made you glance at her before you rolled your eyes. "Does this mean we don't have to break into the coroner's office anymore?"

Your expression quickly changed at the mention of something you didn't think of to do. It was brilliant. You looked over at her with a look of happiness. “That’s a great idea.” 

Charlie's face fell when she realized there was more law breaking involved with this case, more than she was comfortable with. Things only got worse for the poor girl when she heard the Impala's engine roar to life, and her ride here was pulling out, stranding her at the crime scene. "Is he leaving? He's leaving." 

“That’s all right. We stole your car.” Sam said. “I think we know where he’s going. Come on.” 

"Cool." Charlie said, the words the younger Winchester said didn't process much in her mind. Until she went spinning around to face the man, a look of surprise crossing her face at what the both of you did just to get here. "Wait, you stole my car?"

Your lips stretched into a small smile, "Sorry?"

+ + + 

The three of you made it to the coroner's office after struggling to find a way for all of you to sit in Charlie's very small car that wasn't meant for all of you. You struggled for a few minutes, but you somehow beat Dean to the place. He arrived fifteen minutes after you did. He picked the lock and pulled out his flashlight, thinking he was all alone, until he found himself jumping a few inches in the air when the light came over three bodies he wasn’t expecting to find. You snickered slightly at his reaction. He let out a sigh from the jump scare and gave you a glare to show you he didn't think the situation was the least bit funny. 

“What took you so long?” You asked him. 

“I stopped for gas.” Dean confessed after staying silent for a few seconds, making your smile grow wider. “Shut up. The body’s in here.” 

You followed behind him when he made his way to the office right across from the double doors. He managed to open the door before all of you found yourselves freezing in your spot at the sight of headlights pouring through the window, signaling that someone was here. You furrowed your brow slightly, not sure who the hell would be here at this time of night. Charlie, who had been nervous about interviewing people all afternoon, took it upon herself to jog down the hall and towards the front of the hospital to see who it was. You tried to get her attention, but she was persistent, turning around the corner and disappearing from your sight. 

You let out a frustrated sigh at the danger she was putting herself into just to see who it was. You waited a few seconds until you decided you were going to drag her back here for yourself. But before you could move, Charlie came running back. "It's the coroner. I got this." 

You warned her to be careful before you made your way into the office to find where those bodies were. Sam headed over to the files to find the ones for the victims. Dean opened up one of the doors to the freezers, expecting to find scraps of the latest victims, only when the both of you peeked inside there was nothing there. As if things couldn't get any more complicated. 

“What the hell?” Dean muttered to himself. Sam looked up from the file he managed to find to see what the problem was. “It’s empty.”

“Uh...they burned the bodies.” Sam opened up the file and skimmed the report to find out way, a reason that made sense to people who had no clue to what they were dealing with. “They think it’s some of, like, outbreak scenario. Even got the CDC to sign off on it.” 

“These folks run a tight ship.” Dean said. He closed the freezer door and headed over to his brother when he began to take pictures of the file for future reference. “Does this mean we need to take ‘silkwood’ showers now, or is this still a case?”

“Yeah. Something about that mark the kid saw rings a bell. Probably have to check the lore—or maybe Dad’s journal.” Sam said, listing off a few possible places to start for research when you got back to the bunker.

You tapped your foot against the floor and told Sam to hurry up before someone caught you. You liked Charlie, you really did. But you had little faith she could handle talking to someone. She had more of the quirky, nerdy personality that wasn't cut out for this lifestyle. However you seemed to be proven wrong when Sam got what he needed and put the file back where he needed it. The three of you managed to sneak back out the door before the coroner Charlie made small talk with headed back to the examination room. Charlie came out a minute later with a smile on her fact at what she managed to accomplish. The easy part was over, now it was time to buckle down and figure out what you were hunting. 

+ + +

All of you made it back to the bunker and got down to business, you and Sam cracked down on going through the Men of Letters books while Dean occupied himself with once again reading John’s journal for any chance his father had come across whatever you were hunting. Charlie made herself useful by crossing off anything that didn’t fit the criteria. You ran a finger through the spine of the books before you found exactly what you were looking for. You plucked it off the shelf and headed back to the table to join the rest at trying to figure out the monster with your list dwindling down to a few suspects.

“Leviathan?” You guessed again. 

“Mm...” Charlie shook her head, hitting a few buttons on her tablet to mark off the monster she had dealt with first hand. “They consume their prey.”

“Well,” You set the book down on the table and dropped yourself back onto the chair next to her, deciding to twist around your guess the other way around. “Maybe the vics were leviathan.” 

“No black goo on either scene, according to the reports.” Charlie said. 

You let out a sigh from all of your attempts that were coming up as wrong answers. You were determined to keep guessing until you got it right. “Dragons. They—” 

“No signs of burns on the vics.” Charlie cut you off, you rolled your eyes in frustration.

“I hate that thing.” You mumbled, staring at her tablet with slight anger at how smart it was. And with envy at how you didn't have one yourself to help you out. “I want one.” 

“Wait a second.” Dean spoke up, seeming to find the answer you were looking for. “Djinn.” 

“Djinn vics don’t get liquified.” You said. “That I know for sure.” 

"No, no, no, no. Not regular djinn. According to this, there is a bastard offshoot. Uh, their eyes light up blue. They pass as humans. All that regular jazz." Dean said, finding the answer in his father's journal the good old fashioned way. "Except these 'leave their victims with a jelly-like insides.’ And, supposedly, when they poison their victims, they leave behind a blue handprint." 

“I hate that thing.” Charlie mumbled. “I want one.”

“So, do these things die like regular djinn?” Sam asked. 

“Silver blade dipped in lamb’s blood, yeah.” Dean said. “Now we just got to find the asshat.” 

'Well, breakthrough means snacktime to me. And I just want to stretch my legs." Charlie seemed awfully eager to jump out of her chair and grab her things. You watched as she talked a little faster with a slight shift in her voice that didn't sound like normal. She tried to play it off like everything was fine, even cracking a joke. "I will pick us some grub, and, unlike you Sam, I will not forget the pie."

You smiled at her little jab at Sam and told her to pick up something good. You watched as she grabbed her belongings and made her way out. You didn't know Charlie for very long, you really only met her once before a few months back. You had kept in contact with her from time to time from emails to text messages. But you felt like you knew her well enough when something was off with her. Like she was trying to hide something. You waited until she headed to the staircase when you spoke of your concerns to the boys, wondering if they felt the same as you did. 

“She seem a little off to you?” You asked. 

Sam nodded his head, “Since the second she got here.” 

+ + +

Charlie still hadn't come back from her supposed snack run when you woke up the next morning. You left her three voicemails after she left and didn't return for two hours, and another one right before you went to bed. The boys tried themselves to get in contact with her. But all you kept getting was her stupid voicemail that was starting to drive you up the wall. You weren't giving up on trying to get ahold of her. After you got ready for the day, you tried one more time in hopes that your worried voice would give her some sense to pick up the damn phone. 

As you were finishing up the voicemail, you felt a tickle in the back of your throat that lead to another coughing fit you managed to have after you ended the call. You managed to compose yourself after clearing your throat and sat back down on the chair in the war room. You twisted yourself around to see Dean heading up the stairs from another part of the bunker. The look that crossed his face was clear he was frustrated with how you were pushing yourself like this. The both of you managed to hide your feelings for the sake of the person you were worried about. 

“Any word from Charlie?” Dean asked you. 

“No. And Sam found out there was no comic convention in Topeka.” You said, giving him a bit of information that left you unsettled. “I don’t know understand. Why would she lie to us?”

“One way to find out.” Dean said. You watched as he patted his pockets before pulling out his cell phone from his pocket, leading you to ask what he was doing. “When I called you from her phone, I turned on her GPS.” 

It didn't take very long to find out where Charlie's phone was after pinpointing her location not too far from where the bunker was. It seemed she had been more local than you realized. She was renting an apartment not too far out of town. At least, that's what her phone was telling you. You hoped when you got there she was as well. Things like this only ended up in two different case scenarios. Either she had somehow fallen off the grid or lost her phone. Or Charlie found herself in some trouble. 

+ + + 

You knocked on the apartment door the GPS was telling you was where Charlie’s phone was located. You called out her name in hopes your voice would make her open the door, but all you got was silence. You pressed your ear against the wood to see if you might hear some foot traffic to signify someone was in the room. It was dead silent. You knocked again, louder this time, but nobody answered after a few seconds. Sam picked the lock and slowly opened the door to inspect inside if there was an intruder, all he saw was something that was setting off red flags. You drew out your gun from the waistband of your jeans when you spotted a few pieces of overturned furniture that only made the knot in your stomach worse.

You followed behind the boys as the three of you cautiously made your way inside the place to inspect it for yourselves in hopes Charlie was still here. You noticed right away nobody was here except for the three of you. You dropped your hand to your side and let out a frustrated sigh at the lack of a red head. As you looked around the place, you spotted something odd on the table not too far from where you stood. You furrowed your brow and headed over to take a seat. All sorts of I.D.s and passports were sprawled around the table. There was even a few more in a lock box right next to her laptop. Charlie was up to something, that was for sure. 

“What the hell is this place?” Dean asked, seeming taken back himself at what you discovered.

“Whatever it is, it belongs to Charlie.” You said. You grabbed one of the passports to see that it was for England. Another one for America, all under fake names you never heard of. You think you know someone. “Or some variation of her.” 

“Who the hell is she—Jason Bourne?” Dean grabbed one of the passports to take a look at one for himself before tossing it back down to the table. “All right, so we got no forced entry, so either it was somebody that she knew or—”

“Djinn.” You mumbled the next possible suspect.

“Here’s all our missed calls.” Sam said. He found Charlie’s cell phone just sitting on the desk right next to the door. If she was leaving he highly doubt she would leave it behind. “Did you find anything on her laptop?”

“Yeah. She’s been making donations through her aliases to Shawnee County General here in Topeka.” You said. Charlie had made one last night just a few hours after she left. And lots more over the past year or so from the looks of it. All to one person. “A patient. Gertrude Middleton.” 

“We need answers. Uh, Y/N and I’ll take Gertrude.” Dean said. “Sam, you keep djinn-digging.” 

Sam traded spots with you when you got up from your seat in front of the computer to head out with Dean to your spot at the hospital to find out who this Gertrude was, and why she was so special to Charlie. Enough for her to be using fake aliases to donate to her. Everyone had secrets they wanted to hide from others. Sometimes it was things that hurt the most. From your past experiences, it was also things that get you killed.

+ + +

“Gertrude’s been in a persistent vegatative state for sixteen years. About a year ago, her condition got worse.” You solemnly stared at the hospital bed ridden woman Charlie had been donating to for quite some time now, someone who lost their life a long time ago. A nurse told you about Gertrude's medical history while she tended to the patient with her daily stretches to keep her body in decent shape. "This ventilator's the only thing keeping her alive." 

“How did this happen?” You asked her.

“She and her husband were hit by a drunk driver. He didn’t make it. They were on their way to pick up their daughter from a sleepover.” The nurse went on to how Gertrude got herself into this position. Dean was curious about the daughter she mentioned. “She was twelve. She got into trouble after her parents’ accident. Nobody’s heard from her since.” You and Dean exchanged a look from the mention of it, the both of you already knowing who the daughter was. Charlie wasn’t helping out any random stranger, she was trying to keep her mother alive. “Folks have been donating to cover Gertrude’s care over the years. It’s a sweet gesture, but the truth is...she’s gone.” 

“She ever get any visitors?” Dean wondered. 

“A couple of nurses said they thought they saw someone in here reading to her, but nobody’s ever officially signed in to visit her. She’s all alone.” The nurse said. “If you excuse me, I have to make my rounds.” 

You slightly smiled and mumbled a thank you for the information that was helpful. All of it was starting to make a hell of a lot of sense now. Charlie wasn't in town for some stupid convention, she was visiting her mother. You let out a quiet sigh from the things you learned about her. The poor kid was trying her hardest to keep the only person she had left alive, even if it was just a body. When the nurse left, Dean slowly approached the side of the bed to talk to Charlie's mother. He wanted to reassure her that her daughter was going to be okay. She had a couple of friends who were going to do anything to make sure she got back safely. 

“You got one hell of a daughter, Mrs. Middleton.” Dean whispered to the woman. “I promise you I will find her.”

Damn straight you were going to make sure Charlie was okay. You didn't care what you had to do in order to find her. Not only did you owe that to her mother, but for Charlie as well. She was a special kind of girl you didn't meet very often. There was no way you were letting her slip through the cracks and become another victim to this djinn. And there was no way you were letting Charlie suffer the same fate as her mother. 

[Next Part]

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