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kindredcandy · 3 years ago

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Tolerate | Lucien x reader

Summary: the Night Court treats Lucien like garbage and you can't figure out why he puts up with it. Aka, I took some self deprecating things he said canonically and ran with it.

Words: 1785

TW// bullying, scars, mechanical eye, kissing, the inner circle is a bunch of assholes, insecurity, mocking trauma.

A/N

Just a note that the inner circle is super out of character in this! This is a really short oneshot. If you want a part 2 where they go back and face the IC I can totally do that! I just liked ending this part where I did.

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"You should've just gotten an eye patch. It would've looked better." Cassian recommended, a strange note of malice in his voice as he placed another layer onto his sandwich.

"He can't see through an eye patch. Besides, wasn't that what the mask was for?" Rhys said like it's obvious.

"At least the mask covered the scar." Nesta muttered in a low voice.

They were mocking him. All of them had been taking digs at Lucien for the past hour at least, and ignoring your attempts to shut it down. Whenever he visited the Night Court they took it as an opportunity to tear him down as casually as they could, gaining some sort of satisfaction from hurting someone who had relation to the Spring Court. You didn't know why Lucien even bothered to visit anymore. You would've stopped coming a long time ago if they treated you the way they treated him.

At first you thought he must've done something to solicit it, surely the Night Court wouldn't take it upon themselves to insult an innocent fae? But as you got to know the unmated male, you realized there was no merit to their hurled remarks. You seemed to be the only person in the circle who would even give him a chance, and with that chance he had stolen your heart.

You couldn't admit it to him, knowing how he must view you. Your friends relentlessly insulted him at every opportunity, he would have no reason to feel anything pleasant for you. Even if your shared conversations were the highlight of your day.

"I can't decide what's worse, the scar or the freaky eye." Cassian pretended to study Lucien, as if it was very important to rank his flaws from best to worst.

"Guys, that's enough." You said.

The redheaded male had been casually ignoring their taunts up to that point, focused solely on eating and exchanging a line or two when they managed to say something that wasn't an insult.

"It's fine, Y/N. I'm used to it." Lucien said plainly.

His eye whirred as he looked up from his food to meet your gaze. It made your chest ache to know he was used to it, and he just ignored it. If you had been in his shoes it would've torn your self esteem into shreds, the way they constantly pick out every perceivable flaw they can.

"No, they're being rude." You said, pointedly looking at Cassian and Rhys. They didn't seem particularly phased by your scolding, though they had the sense to not meet your burning stare.

"We were just trying to help." Cassian says in a lame excuse.

"No, you were being rude." You repeated, harder this time.

"Y/N," Lucien interrupted and it sounded more like a warning than him calling your name.

You turn back to him, surprised he was so against you defending him. Nobody had stood up for him in a long, long time, and it was time for someone to do it.

"He hasn't done anything to deserve this treatment." You saw the lame excuse rising up in Cassian and cut it off before he could start. "It's not just suggestions. You wouldn't talk to Rhys like that."

"Y/N." Lucien said, hard enough to make you jump. "I. Don't. Mind." He pronounces every word, handsome face drawn into something sharp.

"You don't deserve it." You said, aghast.

"Right, because he wasn't involved with the Spring Court at all." Rhys snarked, eyebrow raised.

"We've been through that already." You groan, frustrated. One of your hands slaps down on the table, the other gestures. "Feyre was involved in the Spring Court too. That doesn't make her a criminal, and it certainly wouldn't solicit this."

There's a beginning of a snarl in Rhys at the mention of Feyre, but he holds it back, settling for a brutal glare that would have you cowering under normal circumstances.

"Y/N. Alone, please." Lucien stands up, tossing his napkin on the table and walking into another room.

You sigh, following him into an empty sitting room. Under normal circumstances your heart would've been beating faster at the thought of being alone with him, but today it was pounding with anger at the injustice done toward him. He rounds the loveseat and stands in front of the unlit fireplace, the dimness of the unoccupied room adding to the feeling of privacy. Lucien stands still, a contrast to your frustrated pacing.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked and you paused, staring up into two incredible, yet different eyes.

"Why am I doing this? Why are you putting up with it?" You retaliate, confused.

"I told you, it's fine."

Something in your heart cracks a little, because you know this isn't Lucien. Where was the clever fox, too snarky for his own good? Where was the emissary who tolerated nothing from anybody? You had seen Lucien when his guard dropped, seen him when he was actually himself. You knew he could dish it out as hot as they served it, he could put every one of the inner circle members into their place and yet he stays silent. Says it's fine.

"It's not fine. Lucien, why are you doing this?" Your voice is soft, teetering on heartbroken. His head drops back, staring at the ceiling for a long minute.

"It's best for the courts to maintain good relations like these." It's a fake answer. You can tell his years of training helped him formulate a lie like that. "Besides, they're not entirely untrue, either. The things they say about me."

Your jaw drops. "Lucien, they say horrible things about you. None of those are true." Your eyes dart around his face, scanning, searching him. You're caught somewhere between being too nervous by his beauty to make eye contact, and being too enraptured to look away.

"They are. What they say about the scarring? I know what I look like, Y/N. You don't have to lie to me."

Your throat tightens and the forewarning of tears press behind your eyes. He's telling the truth. He truly believes that he looks as horrible as they tell him he does.

"They're lying." Your voice shakes terribly, betraying every emotion you were feeling. "How could you believe that about yourself?" You ask in disbelief.

Lucien looks confused at the honesty and emotion displayed on every facet of you. The way you were so upset had him moving closer, auburn brows drawn together. "Y/N–"

"Tell me the truth." You interrupt. "I know it isn't just because you believe they're right. Even if they were right, the Lucien I know would still stand up for himself. Tell me what's going on."

There's not room to argue or lie with the tone you took on, even if your voice was heavy with emotion. Lucien steps towards you, closing up the space so he's less than a foot away from touching you.

"The truth?" He said it like it was a warning. "The truth is that I put up with it so they'll let me visit the Night Court. I don't fight back because they would ban me if I made a fuss."

It's horrible and yet you know in the back of your mind that he's probably right. They only let him come around because he's complacent and doesn't question them.

"Why do you want to visit here so badly then? How is it worth it to tolerate this?"

His russet eye darts between your own, his mechanical one whirs trying to keep up with it. He's weighing something, feeling the air before he says whatever it is next.

"Because of you."

Your heart stopped. There weren't many meanings one could attach to that, aside from the obvious, but you still tried to rationalize some other way that he couldn't love you like you did to him.

"Because I need to be near you to continue living." He explained, taking the smallest step closer when you didn't harshly reject him immediately. "I know I don't look like them. I know this is miserable to look at, and you're so beautiful, you deserve an undamaged male."

"Lucien, shut up." Your breath fanned across his face in a whisper. "You're the most beautiful male I've ever set my eyes upon. I'm the one who is undeserving of you. Both in appearance, and in everything else."

Lucien steps closer, his gaze lost between your eyes and now glancing to your lips, wetting his own with his tongue.

"You're a terrible liar." He whispered so close that the air kissed your lips, even if he hadn't yet.

"It's a good thing I'm not lying." There's a hint of a smile pulling up the corners of your mouth.

A tanned hand comes up to brush your cheek, sliding to cup your jaw. He pulls you in just as he leans in to meet you himself. Plush lips capture yours in a careful, gentle embrace, sending spiders attacking every nerve ending in your body. His lips ghosted above yours, brushing and igniting every vein inside of you with molten fire. Lucien hovered just enough to tickle, then leaned in and pressed him to yours, making your eyes roll back in your head when his teeth sunk into your lower lip. He was playing with every sensation humanly possible, and you wouldn't be surprised to find out that the heat burning inside you was truly Autumn Court magic transferred through his touch. He was too much, and not enough. You clutched the front of his jacket, tugging him as close as you could.

You'd wanted this for so long, and so long had you thought it was nothing more than a dream. The feel of his heat, his body against yours was the fantasy that lulled you to sleep each night. Everything you dreamed he would be, everything you wished you could have was in the palm of your hands and the tip of your tongue.

He pulled back first, decades of self control outweighing your recklessness. His forehead leaned against yours, a curtain of red hair falling along side your face, his breath panting across your sensitive lips

"How long–"

"A long time." You panted, answering.

His hand shifted from your jaw to sweep your hair behind your ear, the tenderness and affection in his eye nearly made you weak.

"Lucien," You start, the question had been weighing on you, honestly since you met him. You never anticipated that you'd be close enough to him to ask. "Is it terrible that I think the scar makes you hotter?"

He breathes out a genuine laugh, pulling back to look at you. "Cauldron, boil me."

#acotar #a court of mist and fury #a court of frost and starlight #a court of thorns and roses fanfic #fanfiction #acotar one shot #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #a court of wings and ruin #lucien x reader #lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra fanfic #acotar oneshot #lucien vanserra deserves better #he's also super hot

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majesticwren · 2 years ago

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The Wolf and The Snake

Lambert!The Witcher Game x OC!She-Witcher

A/N: I don't know what this is. It happened. And now we are here. I am through my third replay of The Witcher 3 and Lambert is my fav boy. So. Here we are. There's sort of a plot for the future, doing this mostly for the smut. 💪

Words: 4.9k.

Trigger Warnings: Mention of Canon Violence, Mention of Death, Mention of Tavern Brawl, Swearing, Lambert is His Own Trigger Warning.

Tags: @errruvande

Masterpost Playlist

Chapter 1 - Smile of The Wolf.

The unrevealing shape of a woman hid under a shredded, long and dirty cloak.

She sat in the corner, in a forgotten tavern of a small village she forgot the name of as soon as she stepped through it. She only knew she was in the heart of the muddy, smelly swaps of Valen.

She kept to herself, her face hidden under the deep hood, her hands covered by thick gloves. She didn’t appreciate people seeing her features. Especially, since she didn’t appreciate questions.

She was a woman, but her beauty was tremendously scarred due to her occupation, and she didn’t have the elegance and composure of any maiden, but the one of a swift thief and skilled killer.

More than that, her eyes glowed of unnatural golden light and had the stretched pupil of a cat – or of a snake – instead of the round one simple humans had. It was the clearest sign she bore of her nature. She was a Witcher.

People didn’t trust her kind, even when the most honourable people she met were Witchers and their sole duty and reason to exist was to help others – not without compensation, of course. Although, even for that, it depended greatly on the jobs and the morality of the Witcher taking the contract. Even less, though, the common people trusted a woman of her kind.

Most never heard of the possibility of a Witcher being a woman. Because cases like hers were the rarest. Not many women survived the Trials. And now that most of the Schools were extinct and Witchers were left scattered and lost, to find one like her was almost impossible.

After all, crossing the path of any Witcher was a rare event.

All of that betrayed her nature, and the medallion she kept around her neck with pride branded her as a Viper.

Her name was Calanthe of Dyfne.

She wasn’t ashamed of her school and their ways. She had great pride in what she was. And she never missed what she could never have because of what she had to become.

Cala found a way to be at peace with her nature and she was sworn to her oath, but more importantly to do good. She decided a long time ago she wouldn’t sell her sword in a heartless and mindless manner. She always chose her contracts well and worked only for instances where her intervention could make a difference.

Even if times had changed and sometimes choosing seemed a privilege and doing good appeared to be only a dream.

Once, she had a home. She had brothers and they had a mentor. There was a time now almost lost in her memories and faded into dreams, where she almost never felt alone. The summers were spent working and the long winters were waited out in the company of her loud group of Vipers. Her family.

Every year they had to celebrate funerals. Death was never a new element to Witchers. But being stranded and forgotten, treated like rats. Being exiled from their lands, knowing their home was burned and destroyed… Knowing that many of her brothers were slain. It was something heavy enough to break the strongest of spirits.

And now it’s been so long since the last time she felt safe anywhere. And she had lost everyone.

A contract brought her there.

A woman wept and prayed for someone to help her get rid of her abusive husband. If not for herself, she begged to help so her children could grow free from abuse.

A simple job that she executed in the blink of an eye. Men weren’t usually a threat to skilled, trained Witchers. Even when armed. Even in reasonable numbers. Especially when they pissed her off.

During her career, she picked many similar contracts, trying her best to save innocents from tyrants, and evil people. There wasn’t much, in that world, that enraged her more. Fighting monsters gave her adrenaline. But fighting bad people blinded Calanthe with violence and made her bloodthirsty.

Though, she had to learn to live her life in hiding. Which meant she had to be careful not to drag attention to herself. So, she had to learn to seal her emotions away just so she could always be in control of the situation. And she had to develop the skill to disappear quickly from hotspots before anyone could trace her.

Generally, she wouldn’t have hung around the place where she had worked for long, but that was an exception. Since Cala didn’t accept the crowns the woman wanted to pay for her services with, knowing the woman would have needed it more to feed her children, she insisted for Cala to find a comfortable corner and warm food at the tavern her father’s owed.

She couldn’t bring herself to refuse the hospitality.

She thought to herself: how bad could it be to have some warm food, replenish her provisions and rest a while?

Cala still decided she would have left in a hurry later that same night anyways. Darkness was always the best friend a Witcher in hiding could have.

So, now she sat there, quietly enjoying the music that lightened the mood in the tavern, eating her chicken and potatoes soup, and drinking fresh milk. She was granted a table all to herself, in the corner behind the counter, from where she could have a clear view of the entire room, and close to an easy access exit in case she needed to run.

People around her chattered and laughed. Some played gwent, some danced, some guys in the back of the tavern were fist-fighting just to pass the time and everyone seemed to be merry.

It was a small moment, but Cala deeply enjoyed it, more than she would have ever expressed out loud. For a second she imagined that her brothers were sitting next to her all around the table.

It was a shot of a memory or a desire. Uncalled for and uncontrolled. A sudden emotion she didn’t ask for that stricken her on the spot, leaving her a breathless victim of her own mind.

Her chest tore open, as she imagined being sided by Letho, her closest friend.

What would have they talked about? What stories would have he brought to her? Would he be proud of the warrior she became and the names that followed her as she spread her venom across the lands, carrying forward the traditions of the Vipers? Would she be proud of the man he became?

She was sure they would have laughed loudly and they would have eaten plenty, passing the time people watching, probably only to end up their evening picking a companion to charm so they could share them in bed, as it happened many times in the past.

She gulped the bitter feeling as one would do with a disgusting bite of food, imposing control on her spiralling pain. Cala raised her head and, brushing rudely her hand on her face, she erased any trace of emotion.

She wasn’t in those lands only because of sporadic contracts popping up attracting her interest. She had a specific goal.

Calanthe couldn’t keep herself away when the news that Letho of Gulet, the Kingslayer, her dearest friend and brother, was dead.

She knew people always talked a lot, and trusting rumours was dangerous, but his medallion did appear someplace that wasn’t around his neck. That was what concerned her.

As soon as Calanthe found out she sprinted on a mission to retrieve Letho’s medallion. The thugs that had it swore he died in front of their eyes, hit by two arrows in Lindenvale, but of course, she wouldn’t have believed it until she saw his corpse. The news could have been about him being torn apart by an old and powerful Leshen and she wouldn’t have believed it – let alone two simple arrows.

And if Letho indeed had died, she was determined to give him a proper funeral.

Another piece of information was given to her, just before she proceeded to kill the leader of the group of supposed murders. Another Witcher with white hair and a wolf medallion was present. He was the one who suggested to them to take the medallion as proof. And he was the one who was left with Letho’s body.

And there was only one Witcher matching such description: Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf.

Of course, when she arrived in Lindenvale she couldn’t find any trace of Letho. The villagers had to burn some corpses because of a quarrel, but no one matched his description. But then again, no one seemed to remember to have seen anything in particular.

So, she had a trail to follow and questions to ask. Even though crossing paths with another Witcher was her last option and the last thing she wanted to do.

But then there was the feeling she had. It was soft like a whisper to her ear, yet clear as an earthquake under her feet. Calanthe could not explain it, but she knew Letho was alive.

She didn’t know anyone as well as she did him. They came from the same lands and went through the Trials together; they had trained together and survived the collapse of the School of the Viper. And they had been friends for decades.

They were between the few survivors left of the Vipers and she just knew he wasn’t dead. She had to believe it. She had to hope for it. And even if that peculiar feeling was only an illusion, she still grasped upon it.

As said, Calanthe had no intention to think otherwise until she had proof that Letho’s body laid still and cold six feet under. And even then, she wouldn’t have rested until his remains were burned on a pyre of green flames and then scattered through the lashing winds and snow of Tir Tochair mountains.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realised how firmly she was gripping the spoon she was holding.

Her food was now cold.

As much as the atmosphere in the tavern around her, that suddenly changed. The loud, light-hearted chattering left space for unsettling whispers. The music was still playing, but the musicians on stage were clearly distracted. No one danced. The fistfights had ended.

Everyone’s attention was diverted to the man who stood by the counter.

The stillness of the quiet dawning upon the room was almost unbearable and eery.

More than anything, she had the terror that that sudden change in the energy surrounding her, which she used as part of her disguise earlier, could now help to make her more evident.

Calanthe sent him a quick look, careful not to focus too much on him.

He was tall and had the well-built body of a warrior. The lean shape of his figure suggested he was used to fighting with strength and speed, over sole brute force.

He had pale skin and dark, short hair.

Her medallion started trembling softly, a clear sign there was magic close to her, but she decided to ignore it. After all, it was not her job to establish the identity of every stranger walking by.

She just needed to remain unnoticed.

Before the attention she was giving him could be discovered, she looked away and assumed a relaxed pose, extending an arm on the back of the bench she sat on, trying her best to diffuse any sort of weird energy coming from her corner that could attract attention.

“Greetings. What can I get you?” The Innkeeper welcomed the stranger with a gentle smile.

“I just need to get some supply for my journey and I’ll be on my way. I need some fresh bread, maybe some fruit and some cooked meat.”

“I don’t have much left to sell. Many travellers come by here. I’ve got some fresh eggs-” The man scoffed an honestly amused laughter at the innkeeper’s offer as if there was a joke everyone was supposed to know. “No. No eggs. The first and last time I agreed to stock up on them they broke quickly and my saddlebags ended up smelling of rotten eggs for days. Had to buy new ones.”

“Oh, my apologies.”

“Why? Wasn’t your fault, old man. No one teaches people that eggs are not suitable food for long journeys.”

“Well, in regard to meat I can only offer a warm dish of chicken and potatoes soup for you to eat here.”

“Please, no. I rather not waste too much time.”

“We are welcoming, simple folk in these parts. Don’t feel threatened.”

“I don’t. Believe me, old man, someone will have to cut my balls before I’ll be afraid of common folks. But I do not want to run into trouble regardless.”

There was something in the way the stranger’s tone would bend under such mocking sarcasm. It was blunt and rude, but he clearly didn’t seem to care.

“Your kind is welcomed here, Master Witcher.”

A Witcher?

Calanthe choked on her own breath as she registered that information. She looked over. It was impossible for her not to bring her attention to the man to study him some more.

Shame she couldn’t see his medallion or any other detail if not the fine making of his armour – made to be protective but mostly to allow him to be quick, or some of his weapons.

If she had paid more attention before she would have seen the two swords he carried. It was a Witcher trademark, a steel and a silver sword, one to kill beasts, one for monsters. The Vipers were different, they carried two swords as any other Witcher but were also trained to fight with the fangs – two sharp, short blades. That didn’t restrict the ground at all she didn’t have enough information to know which School he was a member of. He wasn’t one of hers for sure.

The way he acted surprised her though. It appeared as, even under his stoic, rude ways, he appreciated the innkeeper’s words.

And although she understood what rarity was to find kindness towards her kind, she hoped he would keep to his plan to sail through. If he agreed to stop by, she knew he would have found her.

If her medallion was vibrating, his must be doing the same.

She passed her tongue on her teeth and leaned closer to the window. It was simple, if the other Witcher had agreed to accept the offer of a warm meal, then she would have let him have it, leaving that place. She had her moment of peace after all.

“Speak for yourself!” A man abruptly interrupted the two and her thoughts. Her eyes shot in the direction of the spitted hatred. The resentful words were followed by a clutched fist hitting a tabletop. And then a man stood up.

He was clearly a commoner but was armed. Maybe a thug? Or a mercenary? Valen lands were packed full of criminals, especially since the beginning of the War. Though it didn’t matter, he was clearly looking for trouble as he moved closer to the Witcher.

Calanthe rolled her eyes to the ceiling so intensely that she assumed it could be heard.

Stuff like that was a regular happening. People didn’t like Witchers because they had a bad reputation, but they needed them, which was the main reason why Witchers weren’t completely outcasted. Though, sometimes, someone felt brave and big enough to face a Witcher.

Even if they were in the right – rarely it was the case –, commoners should never face someone like a Witcher. They were beasts, a creation made possible by bending their humanity to push it closer to the nature of monsters so they could fight other monsters and succeed. They were often stronger than the wildest beast and unafraid to fight anything.

A cocky man and his friends would have never made a Witcher back off.

Shit like that never ended well. People generally died and the bad reputation of Witchers only increased.

“So, what do we have here? Another witch-fucker?” The man approached the counter, surrounded by his drunken friends.

The Witcher didn’t even flinch, he stayed sprawled on the countertop as he was before, arms stretched on the wooden surface, well away from any weapon, as relaxed as ever.

“I don’t know-” he began. Cala couldn’t see his face entirely but she felt the thorny sarcasm in his voice, “are you asking out of curiosity, or are you making a poor attempt to insult me?” The Witcher turned, offering a sharp, sarcastic smile, his golden eyes shined through the room with a dangerous light. “I fuck witches alright? I fuck about anyone I like to. I’ll fuck you too if you won’t be careful.”

For the first time, she saw his face. He had large, deep scars running on the right side of his face. One was shorter, covering only his temple, the other ran from his wide forehead to his chin. His features were not elegant or attractive, yet there was a form of charm to him. Even when his words were so unpleasant.

After all, every predator had charm.

His eyes were small but bright and he had a pronounced nose that had been broken in the past. His jaw was underlined but the shadow of a short, black beard. And on his full lips was printed a cocky smirk.

If he was poorly attempting to diffuse the situation it clearly didn’t work.

The man stepped forward, pointing a finger towards him. “You are a disgrace! Why are you here, monster? We do not want you here. We had enough of your kind for years.”

That got his attention. As the Witcher raised his torso and turned towards the man. Cala tried to make herself appear smaller and invisible. Now one of her hands reached for the window, grabbing on its wooden frame.

Crap. The last thing she needed was for someone to rat her out to a man she didn’t know.

Most of the people surrounding her were enemies regardless, but other Witchers were the only thing she could truly fear.

Though, as the Witcher moved slightly, she saw his medallion glisten in front of the light of the close by lit torch.

That was what stopped her from quietly sliding out of the tavern and disappearing into the night.

He was a Wolf. A Witcher of the same School as the one she was tracking. And maybe he knew where she could find Geralt.

Calanthe released a low grunt, loosening her hold on the window frame.

“And if you didn’t have your ears full of horse shit you would know that I am leaving as soon as I get some food.” The Witcher didn’t know manner. And he clearly didn’t know how to lower his head. He didn’t want trouble, yet his tongue ran dangerously quickly, as his badly hidden anger that now tensed his wide shoulders. “Back off and I will leave.”

His words were like a spark that hit explosive fuel, the brawl started immediately after.

Those men were not prone to reason. But they wished to prove a point.

Plus, how sweet was the testosterone blinding their judgement to the victorious idea that they could have been considered saviours of the village?

Though, they should have thought about it twice. Maybe if they had been sober it would have helped. Because the only thing they would have gotten out of the entire situation was probably death.

And she shouldn’t have cared. It wasn’t her business. It wasn’t her fight.

If she stayed in her dark corner, in hiding, nothing would have happened to her. Sure, some men would have died. Maybe the Witcher would have gotten hurt but she would have remained safe. Because all that she needed was to then track the guy, sooner or later he would have brought her to what she was looking for.

Though, acting passively would have only meant waiting longer to get her information. And if there was the possibility that Letho could be alive, she knew she had to find him sooner rather than later, to avoid his situation changing.

She also rathered to act sooner because her worry was consuming her. Even in case, she had to deal with mourning, she rathered have a clear answer on the matter soon.

Also, there was a very remote chance that the Witcher could get hurt. It was a very small percentage, but still possible. And he was a lead. She could not let him slip through her fingers just because she was used to getting out of situations.

And If the Gods willed so that her path crossed the one of such a huge hint for her research, then seemed a shame to let it go waste.

Calanthe released another grumble, wondering why, when she was minding her own business, she still had to intervene to help solve other people's problems. Though there was part of her that could not do otherwise, helping was imprinted in her DNA.

As a clay mug was thrown towards the counter, she got up, moving quickly.

She jumped behind the counter just so she could grab the Innkeeper – whose fault was only to be too kind at times. Cala made him bend so he could find cover behind the solid wood and hidden shelves that separated them from the brawl.

She exchanged a determined look with the old man that was a clear order not to move, as she then leapt forward, landing next to the Witcher.

He fought with his fists – cocky – against blunt axes and clubs. Possibly he knew that making them taste his steel blade would have resulted in their death.

As honourable as it could appear that he was trying his best not to hurt those dull and ignorant men, the smirk he had printed on his lips didn’t disappear, making her doubt his true intentions.

She greeted one of the men with a heavy elbow hit directed to his face. He was on the ground in a second.

Then, as the Witcher's attention moved to her, she saw one of the drunken behind him taking advantage of that window of distraction to try and hit him on the head with his club.

Cala quickly placed a hand on the Witcher's shoulder pulling him closer and she conjured a Quen sign, wrapping them both under the layer of a yellow magic shield that not only protected him specifically from the blow, but that exploded to impact, creating a small force wave that pushed the men back slightly.

She then finally revealed her face, the two blades on her back and the medallion she brought, siding the other Witcher.

“You see our medallions. You know what they mean.”

“Means you’re stinking trouble-” the man who ignited the fight spit to the floor.

As the Witcher next to her breathed in to reply, she pushed a hand in front of his face. His bloody rude ways were the very same reason why they both were in that situation now. So, no, he wasn’t allowed to speak.

“And we have no quarrel with you. We will leave.” She looked up at the Witcher next to her, receiving a crossed look. Not that she cared.

“It was seven of you against two of us. Three are already on the floor and we were not even armed.” He stated the obvious, with a not-so-well-hidden threat between his words.

Calanthe raised her eyes to the ceiling and then she slowly raised her hands in a peaceful gesture. “Choose wisely, let us pass.”

“Do not come back.” He hissed with pure hatred seeping through his words.

Cala only nodded, before she turned towards the door.

She hated how people treated them. They were needed. Often sought. And there were always fewer and fewer of them. Still, people treated them no better than any regular, disgusting ghoul.

The problem wasn’t being outcasted or misunderstood. The problem was that nowhere represented a safe place where to be a Witcher. And also, that people were often stupid. That included Witchers too.

She crossed the muddy ground, directed to the stables where she knew she could find her horse. The heavy steps that followed her betrayed the presence of the large man behind her.

“I didn’t need protection.”

“Sure, you didn’t. But they did.”

“They would have gotten what was deserved.”

“And what was it?” she turned abruptly towards him, not afraid to face his anger, “bad bruises, maybe injuries that may have never healed properly, even possible death, because of what? Your fucking pride?”

“They attacked me!”

“Boohoo, I ruined your party.” Calanthe pointed a finger to his chest, looking him right in the eye.

She wasn’t much shorter than him. Nor she was much smaller. The body of a Witcher was the one of a machine built to fight – even for a woman. Even then, she wouldn’t have backed off regardless. The only traits that would indicate the softness of her being were on her face. She had the beauty of a doll and extremely kind eyes. But then again, that beauty was hidden behind scars considered hideous by most.

“I don’t even know your name but I know for a fact you are an ass-”

“The name is Lambert.” For some reason, he offered a grin.

She stood in front of him speechless, for a second, then she shook her head ignoring the answer he felt the need to give to a question she didn’t ask. “You could have resolved that situation easily-”

“I don’t even know your name but I know for a fact you’re a pain in my ass.” He openly mocked her without hesitation.

Calanthe let her arms fall to her sides, as she released an embittered sigh.

He was an idiot. There was no other explanation and she didn’t need to know anything else.

“Fine.” She decided to drop the argument knowing perfectly well it wouldn’t have brought her anywhere and she better wash her hands off it, since she wasn’t his mentor and his shitty actions were not her concern. “You are a Wolf.”

He nodded. “And you are a She-Witcher. Never met one before.”

“Believe me, nothing different from what you are.”

“Do you have a cock?”

His abrupt question startled her. “No.”

Lambert offered a sharp smile, uncovering his white teeth. Even his grin appeared like the one of a wolf. “Well then. We are different, uh?”

Calanthe rolled her eyes. “To the point. I am looking for Geralt of Rivia.”

As soon as she pronounced that name Lambert finally appeared serious as if his attention was finally caught on something that could wipe his idiocy out of his face. “What do you want with him?” He quickly hissed, sharpening his eyes.

“None of your business. Tell me where he is.”

“You don’t tell me your name,” he started circling around her, “you don’t tell me your business. Yet you expect me to reveal important information to you about one of my brothers.”

She was too tired for that shit. “My name is Calanthe of Dyfne. I am of the School of the Viper and you might have heard of me as Medusa.”

“I’ve heard of you. Stories. Thought you died.”

“Well, clearly not. And I am looking for someone. Geralt might know where I can find them.”

“Who is this someone?”

“I can’t tell you.” Calanthe felt his eyes cruising on her person as he stepped back in front of her. He had his arms crossed to his chest and with one hand he massaged his chin to give himself a pensive position. Lambert then shrugged, shaking his head. “Sorry, darling. I have no idea where he is.”

“You are lying.”

“Trust goes both ways.” He offered another annoying sharp smile, as he did to move over her to reach for his own horse as if the conversation was finished.

Calanthe slid in front of him, trying to stall him a second longer. “Wait.”

“Why?”

“What if you accompany me? You don’t have to tell me where we are going. That way you’ll know I won’t hurt your friend.”

“Oh? I thought you didn’t like my company.”

“I don’t.” Only the idea of how irritating he could be was enough for her to almost decide to part ways and find another path. But then she remembered her priorities. “But I need to see Geralt of Rivia.”

“What if I am busy?”

“Are you?”

“I might be. My time is not free.”

“Fine. I’ll pay for your services.”

Lambert's golden irises glimmered in the dark. His smile became almost dangerously sharp. “Two-hundred crowns. And when we’ll be close, I’ll keep hold of your weapons. All of them-”

“Deal.” She jumped ahead without even considering how high his price was. Though, Lambert raised a hand in the air stopping his index very close to her mouth, as to shush her. “I am not done. When we’ll be almost there, I want to know what you want with him.”

“I told you-”

“In detail.”

Calanthe rolled her eyes. Then she took a deep breath. And then she exhaled all the air in her lungs, just then nodding. “Fine, whatever you want.”

It was worth it. Any price was worth paying to find Letho. Though she was not sure about letting another Witcher know of her plan.

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noctuaphoenix · 3 years ago

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vigilant-shadow·:

//Continued from here with @noctuaphoenix

“Don’t speak more than you have to.” Came a clear instruction from Xiao as he worked on bandaging the other’s wounds as best as he could with what supplies he had on hand.

Just what did this guy manage to get himself into? He wondered. The man in front of him looked like a seasoned warrior, and one glance around him proved that fact when he spotted a claymore not too far from the man. This alone would have been a cause for concern, but Xiao was sure enough in his own ability to overpower whatever did this.

“There. That should hold long enough to get you to Wangshu. We can fix you up further there. Can you stand up?” He asked, offering a hand to help the stranger as he himself got up from the crouching position he was in.

Diluc opened his mouth, about to respond only to shut his mouth, instead quietly observing the man who was working so diligently on his wounds. He’d at least managed to fend off his assailants, but were it not for this man’s timely arrival, Diluc doubted he would’ve made it to the nearest village or inn. He’d already thanked him however; he’d just have to find some sort of meaningful action that would truly express such gratitude, such as a gift, or a favour... though such thoughts would have to be put on hold for now.

“𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐲. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.” He reached out and took the man’s hand, pulling himself up from the ground. He was a little wobbly trying to balance himself, but with his assistance he managed to stand properly. “𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. 𝐈... 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐡𝐮.” He didn’t want to burden this man more than necessary.

//Continued from here with @noctuaphoenix

"Don't speak more than you have to." Came a clear instruction from Xiao as he worked on bandaging the other's wounds as best as he could with what supplies he had on hand.

"There. That should hold long enough to get you to Wangshu. We can fix you up further there. Can you stand up?" He asked, offering a hand to help the stranger as he himself got up from the crouching position he was in.

#vigilant-shadow #« canon » they burned every shred of innocence #it refuses to format properly #for no reason #i hate this #injury tw

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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years ago

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Tom Hiddleston - BAFTAs

A/N - It’s time for Tom Hiddleston head-canon time because I cannot keep my mind quiet. Please enjoy, I have no idea what this is. :) I do not know Tom Hiddleston, nor do I claim to. This was inspired by Tom at the BAFTAs.

Warnings - Panty-thieving, heavily implied smut, cursing, slight public embarrassment? 18+ rec.

Summary - Tom thieves your panties after you rile him up the night of the BAFTAs, and he doesn't anticipate the consequences of keeping underwear in his pocket on the red carpet.

Tom has a huge night. He’s at the BAFTAs, presenting, and you’re going on the carpet with him, partly to make up numbers but mostly because you’re his girlfriend and therefore he insists you be everywhere important with him. :’)

However, from the second you put on your chosen gown, things have gone severely downhill. And through no fault of your own. Well, debatable...

He growled like a feral animal the second he saw you at the bottom of the stairs, your dress hugging you in all the right places, and in his favourite colour, perfectly matching his monochrome suit. His grip on your arm became intense, even walking from your house to the car.

He looked fucking incredible in his suit with his hair long and his beard that tickles you all the right ways, and it makes him look so tall. You weren't sure how you'd be able to keep your hands off him, and you don't. You didn't even plan on restraint.

When you got in the car, that’s when things started to get worse. He wouldn’t tear his eyes off you, his hand gripping your leg brutally, his blunt nails digging into the satin and gossamer of your dress.

“What’s wrong Tommy?” you asked coyly.

“You know what.” He snarled.

“Then do something about it.”

Definitely the wrong thing to say. You’ve never heard him emit such a sound, one of such anger and barely tethered restraint.

“I have a suit to consider, my darling. It’s very expensive.”

“I dare you.” You whispered. Only because he’d be disappointed if you didn’t try.

You moved your hand to his leg next, dancing your fingers along the inner seam of his trousers. His entire body shifted, his legs clenching, his lips pursing into a thin line. Then come the featherlight kisses to his neck, nothing more than a sign of affection. But when you brushed his sweet spot, it was over.

“Stop fucking riling me up, would you?” he practically shouted. Even his driver discreetly coughed. Tom never swears.

“Tom I’m doing nothing.” you answered steadfastly. “This is what I always do.” And it was true. This is what you do every time he has an event, gently caressing his legs and kissing his neck and throat every so gently. But this time, apparently, it got to him.

“Yes but this time it’s different, ok?”

“How?”

“Because I want to take you over my fucking knee and spank you for looking so sexy, but at the same time I just want to ravish you the way I couldn’t at home because of these damn awards.”

You just looked up at him, blinking with doe eyes, thinking up your next move, your next words, but your fingers grazed him in just the right place without even meaning to, and you leaned in to peck him on the lips. You were done for the second you kissed.

“Fuck this,” he purred, slamming his mouth hotly onto yours, pushing you back onto the seat, yanking your panties off from beneath your gown, his hands instantly exploring you.

Your driver did two extra blocks so you could get yourselves sorted to actually step out and enter the event looking halfway respectable and as though you hadn’t just been fucking in the back seat.

That’s how you got here. On the carpet with your panties in his pocket, little more than a soaked, shredded scrap of silk in amongst his handkerchief and mints and phone.

You swan around on the carpet, posing with a coy smile on for all the photos, kissing Tom's cheek innocently from time to time. You keep quiet, simply his girlfriend, but you can feel his eyes on you even while he's taking photos.

You stop for a few interviews as well, only speaking when spoken to in order to profess your love for Tom and how talented he is, how honoured you are to have been invited, how wonderful it is that he's presenting a segment tonight.

Until you reach the last interview on the carpet, and in the cold, Tom turns away to blow his nose so he doesn't sound weird.

"What you got in there?" The interviewer asks, noticing that it's hard for him to get his hankie back into his pocket for some reason.

Sadly, in the moment, the one thing he direly needs to remember slips his mind, and he paints a smile onto his face, and begins to pick items out one by one.

Breath mints, throat lozenges, a tissue, air pods, a mask, a mini wallet, house keys, a pen, and...

"Oh my God." you mutter under your breath when he withdraws the last item.

You bury your head into the shoulder of his blazer, your eyes scrunched shut, but you feel the bright crimson blush burning his skin and clawing up his cheeks. You've never cringed so hard.

"Well, um, yes, so... Thank you very much, and we— yeah, we'll be off. Enjoy!" His voice is so strained on his hasty words and his clutch on you is so tight it starts to hurt as he steers you far away, and pelts it down the rest of the way, off the carpet and inside.

You're pinned against the wall the second you're out of sight, your panties balled up in his hand as he raises them to his face momentarily.

You're gushing and whimpering with his hold on your dress, and you're so exposed with just your dress on, but can't even care.

"Tom," you whisper, leaning in to kiss him. He greedily kisses you back, and is bundling your skirt up a second later.

“Think it’s funny do you? I’ll show you just how funny it is.” he growls into your ear, and you're absolutely finished.

It's safe to say you're just a smidge late for the main event...

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston baftas #thomas william hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston one shot #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston baftas 2021 #loki imagine #loki x y/n #loki #loki x reader #loki smut #tom william hiddleston #Tom hiddlesbum #tom hiddleston hot

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simplytheevebest · 2 years ago

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The Beginning of the End

Author's Note: This is canonical, a take on what happened after Farah learned Aster Dell wasn't evacuated. Sad and angsty.

Characters: Farah Dowling, Saul Silva, Rosalind, Ben Harvey, Andreas of Eraklyon (mentioned)

Pairings: no obvious, light Silrah

Warnings: Mentions major character death (canon), mentions death in general and the bodies Farah finds/shows in the show

It’s the screams. They’re wretched and shrieking and ugly, just like their owners, and Farah feels relief leak through her veins with each one, a satisfaction that wells within her at another mission completed, another job well done; Rosalind’s smile is thin but proud, and it shouldn’t bolster Farah as much as it does. She turns back to the blaze, letting her own lips quirk into a triumphant grin.

It’s the screams. Because they change -no, they spread, they double and twist, bloodcurdling and raw, agonizing, painful. She never knew burned ones to be capable of such pain. They’re almost human. She flicks her gaze to her commander, wondering if she too has noticed, if it’s a cause for concern; Rosalind’s lips are pressed thin and pursed in displeasure, brows furrowed just that tiniest fraction that means something isn’t right. Farah follows her line of sight to the sweeping moors below them, where a lone dark figure races desperately to reach them.

Adrenaline and fear threaten to choke her. Saul’s projecting so vividly through their bond she isn’t sure he’s even aware, and it hardly matters the reason: her specialist is in pain, he needs her. He’s screaming too, calling out to them, voice rubbed raw with strain and emotion, bellowing in vain.

“Farah!”

The screams grow louder, wails echoing into the empty, unforgiving air.

“Please! They’re people down there! Stop!”

He’s too late. He asks them to stop even as he knows -she knows- they can’t. Farah’s ears ring with the admission but her mind feels oddly calm, empty, as she turns to Rosalind, expecting to see her own horror reflected on that wizened face. But she’s not at all shocked to discover it isn’t, that Rosalind’s expression has settled into that careful mask of resignation. Farah isn’t sure if she means to deny it, or admit it, so she does the only thing she can. She casts her mind’s magic as far as she can reach, through walls of flame and crumbling stone to the origins of those shrieks; it’s enough to drop her to her knees.

Her mind echoes with pleas and cries for mercy, fear and dread and death searing through her veins, threatening to choke her. She feels the moment some lose their will, lose the fight, lose their lives, feels every ounce of pain and suffering they have caused. Willingly. Mercilessly. Unknowingly.

There are hands on her shoulders, her arms, hauling her to her feet unkindly, and Rosalind’s voice, harsh and resolute, speaking of sacrifice for the greater good. Farah surprises herself when she shoves roughly at her mentor’s unhelpful hands, her own breath loud in her ears. Rosalind raises those hands placatingly, hands stained with the blood of the innocent, hands that so readily reached for Farah, for Saul, Andreas, Ben, Rose, and dragged them down with her, hands that shaped them and ruined them. Farah feels the moment she loses control, sees the flicker of fear in her commander’s eye and she knows, a split second before she does it: there’s no going back. If she does this, it’s over. She has to mean it.

And she does.

The rage spills over, the agony, the betrayal and pain and hurt, drowning out and fueled by the screams at her back, clawing at her, ripping, bruising, shredding at her mind, her lungs, her heart. It breaks, the grief all-consuming, suffocating, a swirling tempest that Farah has no hope of controlling. Tears spill down wind-burned cheeks; Rosalind squares her shoulders, the fear gone, arrogance in its place, demanding to know what Farah plans to do, what she thinks she possibly could do.

Farah’s never been a match for Rosalind. She’s been beaten back, bruised and broken down again and again for the crime of weakness and humanity and guilt. She’s been brought to her knees over and over, forced to concede, forfeit, surrender to the superior fairy’s will. She is a fairy whose powers rely on emotion, on thoughts and dreams and opinions yet she’s never allowed to have her own, forced to berate herself for enjoying time spent with her companions, belittle herself over shared jokes and stories, betray herself when Saul’s smiles give her hope and his touch gives her peace, too afraid to entertain her own feelings. She selfishly covets their bond not as a tactical advantage but as a shared connection, proof of their devotion and dare-she-imagine love, but she has never allowed herself to do any more than imagine, never allowed herself to think or God-forbid say what she feels, to anyone. Connections are weakness, relationships are weakness, and-

“You, Farah Dowling, are weak enough without worrying about those pesky little things.”

“Think very carefully,” Rosalind warns, threatens, and Farah feels her resolve snap, the moment everything she’s been holding back, denying herself, comes crashing through her barriers. It’s without hesitation she replies.

“I don’t have to.”

Rosalind screams. Her scream is enraged, not pained, bitter and angry, twisted and warped by loss and regret. If she fights back, Farah can’t feel it. She feels nothing, nothing but the pain and agony of the lives she’s taken and as little remorse as Rosalind felt for tricking her into taking them. The remorse will come later, there’ll be time for everything later, but for now, as Farah nearly collapses at the overuse of magic, caught almost immediately by her specialist’s quick reflexes, her mind still dizzy with the screams.

“Survivors,” she gasps, pushing weakly against Saul’s chest, gripping at his sweater out of desperation and need, “We must- we have to-”

“There won’t be,” Saul chokes; there’s blood on his cheek, in his hair and streaking from a split lip. The knuckles that brush her own cheek are bruised, the skin broken.

“We have to know. I have to know,” Farah demands.

Saul is right. They reach the village but it’s too late, the flames losing ground, losing momentum as their relentless destruction reaches its end, no more ammunition, no more fodder from the homes and land and people it’s so ruthlessly consumed. Farah forces herself to keep walking, one foot in front of the other, forces herself to look, to take it in, burn within her memory all that they’ve done. The first visible victim has bile rising quickly up her throat. A mother, burned beyond recognition only identifiable as vaguely human in shape and clutching an equally unrecognizable bundle. Saul’s hand on her shoulder is strong, grounding, but she can feel it shake and tremble; her throat burns, her eyes sting, there’s a scream stuck tight in her throat, and she clenches her teeth hard enough to hurt, but it doesn’t help.

“What have we done.”

“We didn’t know-”

“It doesn’t matter!”

The tears streak quickly down her cheeks, too quickly to wipe away or ignore, though Farah tries, swiping roughly with the back of her hand. She stands quickly, knocks Saul’s hand from her shoulder; her voice is tight and thick with the emotion threatening to choke her and her voice breaks, breath hitches.

“We should have known.”

She lets out a breath, shaky and slow, trying to keep the tears at bay, trying not to break down into heaving sobs.

“We should have questioned her Saul. We knew something wasn’t right-”

“We couldn’t have known,” his tone is just as broken and desperate to make her understand -make himself understand.

“We should’ve,” Farah repeats, ripping restlessly at the ragged braid down her back, tangling it, stray pieces curling haphazard around her face. She stamps her feet on the ruined ground, wants to kick at something, punch, hit, scream. She sniffs hard; still clinging to some semblance of control. She can hear the crunch of Ben’s boots nearby, checking far more diligently than they are. She digs her fingers into her hips, gripping hard.

“Where’s Andreas?”

Saul sucks in a breath; Farah doesn’t look at him, her concern on the destruction around them, trying to clear her mind, but when he doesn’t answer, she looks up.

“Saul?”

“He knew,” her specialist blurts, and his breathing grows ragged, uneven and too quick. “He knew, I- I was trying to warn you all but he- he tried to stop me he said- Rosalind knew and orders were more important.”

His gaze turns wild, desperate and pleading and broken; the tears mingle with the blood still leaking sluggishly down his temple.

“Farah I- I had no choice.”

It’s because of Farah they’re in this mess, her blind devotion and- and bloody stupid idealization of Rosalind leading them all astray, leading them down paths none of them have any business being on, and now this. It’s because of Farah Rosalind is incapacitated, a loss of control and magic she hasn’t experienced in a long time, perhaps a blessing, perhaps a vulnerability, but only time will tell.

She’d lost control, but she hadn’t broken down. Not yet. It’s coming, like a storm on the horizon, she can’t run from it, but she can’t embrace it, not yet. Not when it’s Saul breaking down, not when Saul is the one in agony now, the raw emotion streaking through their bond like daggers to her heart and ice water in her veins. Farah catches him when he falls, bears his weight and wraps her arms around his shoulders, tight.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

It’s not.

It isn’t.

And it may never be again.

#fate winx saga #eve best #farah dowling #fate the winx saga #saul silva #silrah #ftws #rob james collier #farah x saul #ben harvey #alex macqueen #ken duken #andreas of eraklyon #tw character death #long post #tw angst #fate fanfic

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captainsimagines · 4 years ago

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To Topple A Giant || Chapter Three

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 3 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this chapter: sexual harassment (slight); talk of sexism/misogyny/canon violence; mentions of drug use; mentions of depression

Word Count: 8,900+

The Compound, 2023, 3:16pm

It probably would have been better to grieve as a group, to help each other in understanding what just happened, to lean on each other. But the second you saw Clint fall to his knees without Natasha beside him, soul stone in hand and face miserable, like he saw a wandering ghost in need of help, you started to walk backwards off the platform.

You stumbled and teetered before finding balance against the railing. No one seemed to notice you, all wrapped in their own suffocating grief, and you abandoned the group to run across the grounds of the compound. It wasn’t until you ended up by the lake that you realized you were crying, tears flowing but face tough and angry, chest heaving as you came to a stop. You just stared at the ground, shaking hands still gloved and teammates still back at the compound and - oh, god Clint, oh god, oh god, oh god.

Chest still tight and finding it harder to breathe, you shut your eyes and leaned against the nearest tree. Several minutes flew by, the only sounds that of your suit’s fabric stretching and retracting as your breathing grew slower. And the grief that enveloped you almost instantly turned into fury, and it hurt, it hurt, but you were just so damn angry that you found yourself wishing it was you. Natasha didn’t deserve this, and neither you, but you would give anything to just believe for a second that this couldn’t be real.

But you all knew the risks. This was inevitable. And you were so angry.

Voices startled you from your thoughts and you watched your teammates pace toward the dock, ideas bouncing from one head to another as they strategized ways to reverse this. But Clint quickly shut them up, telling them that no matter what they did, a sacrifice was a sacrifice and that was the end of it.

“It was supposed to be me.”

And finally someone said it, because it should have been anyone but Natasha, and that thought caused bile to burn your throat and why in the world could you not control your breathing?

You ran from your spot, legs carrying you to the gardens and burning as you increased speed. You collapsed near the lake, shredding your suit until you were left in the comfortable t-shirt and leggings underneath, sounds of the garden ringing in your ears.

The time of day could be told by the purple and orange streaks painting the sky, evening dew on the plants near your feet and the sound of a cricket’s chirp cutting through the silence. You counted the hours this way, focusing on the colors and sounds of the outside world that for some reason, didn’t feel like your own anymore. Guilt latched onto your core as you found yourself falling into the therapeutic senses of it all, eyes closing and a silent plea of ‘I’m so sorry, Nat’ escaping your lips. The tears you had shed hours ago were now dry, creating a minor strain of your skin, noticeable as you moved your face.

Legs dangling from the dock and eyes simply watching the sky change shades, you barely heard the soft footsteps behind you. And you smiled, surprised that it took your teammates this long to recognize your absence.

Thor grumbled below his breath as he sat beside you, his feet barely touching the water. You swung your legs together, impossibly empty yet consumed minds working behind such sad eyes.

“You want to jump in and freeze? It’s autumn, it’s cold, we’ll probably die from hypothermia.”

Your body lunged forward lightly as a tiny laugh left your throat, a small smile twitching on the corner of your lips. “Yeah, I’m down.”

Thor grinned at your equally dark response, reaching over and gripping your hand in his. He rubbed small circles into your knuckles and resumed watching the clouds shift.

You looked down at your conjoined hands, wondering why he came after you in the first place. Still, you squeezed his hand back and relaxed in the feeling.

“Doesn’t seem worth it anymore.”

Thor turned his head, “She traded her soul for trillions of others who had no choice.”

You mumbled, “Still isn’t fair.”

Thor scooted closer to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, grinning when you accepted the invitation to lean into him.

“None of this fair. We have one more fight, Y/N.”

You sighed, ready to complain and run back to the compound to lay under a mountain of blankets, wallowing in self-pity and increasing depression.

“Look at me,” Thor instructed, gently pulling away from you. “I know what you’re feeling. I too want to sleep and never wake up.”

Your face dropped, sympathy flooding your eyes. You raised a hand to lay your palm on his cheek, wiping away the stray tear he had let slip. “You don’t have to be so strong.”

Thor leaned into the feeling of your warm hand and he gave you a sad smirk. “I know. But it’s all we know how to be.”

Thor could sense your depleting energy, and as much as he wanted to carry you to your bed and wrap a blanket around you, cup of tea ready and some comedy movie on repeat, he had to persuade you. There was one more fight that needed to be fought.

“Breathe, and think of the first thing that brings you comfort. Lean into that, let it give you strength, and use it.”

You turned to him, prepared to protest, but Thor simply gripped your face in his hands, allowing you to do the same. He rested his forehead against yours. “Think and use it.”

You nodded, still apprehensive to the idea, but you shut your eyes and thought. New and old friends. It could have been anything - Natasha’s final and unknown farewell, Wanda’s loud laugh as she fought Sam (who was on Steve’s shoulders and her on Bucky’s) and tried pushing him into the water, or even Tony’s face as he realized he forgot to put the lid over the blender before turning it on - anything, but you held onto the first flash of joy your mind recalled.

The sudden image of Steve’s face frightened you. Not because Steve himself was scary, but because the more you thought of him, the more prepared you were for the final battle. You had something to fight for. Someone. You simply saw Steve - Steve who tucked his knees up to his chest when he sketched the trees outside his bedroom window - and how he would put his pencil down and march toward you because ‘don’t you ever knock?’, and push you out of his room as you laughed and apologized at the same time.

“Use it,” Thor repeated. You opened your eyes.

So you wiped your tears and changed back into your suit, hair now held in a ponytail and new gun on your hip. Your breath hitched as Bruce lifted the gauntlet to put it on, his eyes swimming with fear but also determination, and you found yourself glancing at Steve. He felt eyes on him, and he found yours, and something alerted you of the shift. Perhaps this was his last straw, it was yours too, but this was different. You wanted to go back to Thor and ask him to help you find that memory again, ‘tell me to imagine Steve again, Steve with his soft face and gentle hands, Steve who doesn’t look like he’s just seen a ghost!’. A perfect stranger, and before you could ponder such a drastic change, Bruce began screaming in agony. You stood behind Tony, allowing Bruce’s screams to fuel your energy, because you had one more fight.

Just one more.

A Forest in Iowa, 2025, 6:47am

You awoke with a strangled groan, a crick in the neck that needed to be remedied by a quick snap to the opposite side and a very numb ass. You dreaded having to remove your arms from the warmth the blanket provided, but the quicker you turned the car on you could relax. You leaned over and did so, the tingles along your lower back and bottom begging you to get out of the car. Steve was startled awake from the sudden rumble of the engine, alert within seconds and examining his surroundings.

You practically crawled out the car and stretched every muscle, even muscles you didn’t know could become inflamed, and started walking around the campsite while rubbing your palms on your sore ass. Steve joined you outside after a few minutes, laughing at the random stretches you were performing.

“Laugh all you want, Rogers but if I don’t get this knot out my ass then any danger we encounter you’re taking out alone.”

“Do you need help?”

You snapped your body back up, an involuntary loud cackle rising from your throat. “That would be a treat.”

Steve rolled his eyes and began stretching himself, arms bent and raised behind his head as he tugged on his elbows. “I just meant in general. Not specifically your ass.”

You giggled at his innocence, walking back to the car and grabbing the blanket you had regretfully crawled from. You wrapped it around your shoulders and made your way back to Steve, extending your right leg out and dipping your upper body down to continue the stretch. You heard the sudden ‘pop!’ of your hip, surprising both you and Steve. You screamed in slight but joyful surprise, pulling yourself back up to look at Steve. He just stared back, amazement and a little concern in his face. He scrunched his nose and smiled wide.

“That hurt?”

You shook your head ‘no’ and extended your left leg now, bending down and stretching the same way. Again, ‘pop!’

And Steve had to walk away in complete astonishment, hands covering his ears and a comical expression on his face, because it just sounded so weird.

You stopped at the first secluded diner you stumbled upon, barely open for the morning and understaffed. There was a lonely waitress behind the counter folding napkins and cleaning the leftover coffee grounds someone forgot to clean before her. She looked about thirty, slightly dark circles under her eyes, but presented a cheerful smile as you and Steve walked through the door. If she was surprised with two Avengers walking into her place of work, she did an excellent job at hiding it.

“What can I get you two?”

You took a seat on the light blue swivel chair at the counter and flashed the waitress a kind smile as you spoke. Her name tag read ‘Martha’. “Coffee and tea to start with, please.”

She clicked the coffee maker on and went to retrieve a kettle from the back, leaving you and Steve alone.

“You hungry?” you asked.

Steve plopped down in the chair beside you, already grabbing the two sugar packets he would put into his tea. “Starved.”

You rolled your eyes, “You were the one who refused the last granola bar.”

“You said you were hungry.”

“Aw, you starved yourself for me?”

Steve huffed in annoyance, playing with his sugar packets and head hung low to avoid recognition from incoming customers. You stared at him longer than usual, studying the way his jaw ticked every so often and how he would sniff at nothing only to pass the time and countless thoughts. You reached over and grabbed a handful of sugar packets, piling them in between you and the super soldier, and began constructing the base of a tower. It seemed to snap Steve out of whatever thought he had, and he quickly became interested. He helped steady the base, careful fingers adding to the height. You two worked in silent cooperation, little giggles filling the empty and quiet diner.

Martha returned with two mugs and went to grab both the freshly made coffee and tea. She watched as you and Steve constructed your sugar packet tower, a smirk on her face as she poured your drinks. “Anything to eat?”

And it was one of the best meals you had. The sheer amount of grease on those sausages and hash browns warmed your once empty stomach and meshed with the coffee in the most delightful way. You almost wanted to ask for seconds, those scrambled eggs not nearly enough, but the longer you stalled the longer the ride on the freeway was going to be.

You paid and left a generous tip, finishing the remaining amount of coffee in your mug. Steve had gone to the restroom, your sugar packet tower still standing tall and proud. It didn’t seem like Martha was going to knock it down any time soon. The bell over the front door dinged with a new arrival, the cold air from outside making you clutch your hot mug tighter.

You glanced over your shoulder out of instinct. The man looked to be in his mid-forties, a trucker no doubt, and had only the slightest hint of an unwashed smell. He took a place at the counter a few seats away from you, throwing his hat down and begging Martha to bring him a coffee of his own. You took a sip from your mug.

“Woah, you’re an Avenger, aren’t you?”

Busted.

“Nope.”

The man scooted a few seats closer, eyes now wide awake. He pointed at you in an almost accusatory manner, but voice still cheery. “No, seriously - I’ve seen your face in the news and everything!”

You set your coffee down and saw the look of pity Martha was throwing you from across the counter. “You want a picture or something?”

The man laughed now, a nasty smirk on his face. “Or something would be nice.”

Your face scrunched and your shoulders immediately tensed. “You better not be implying-?”

“Woah, hey, no harm here! I just mean, you’re here alone and I’m here alone…”

You looked away from him, taking a big swig from your mug. The burn down your throat was somewhat therapeutic. “I’ll do the picture or else I start screaming.”

“I’d love to hear that.”

Steve rounded the corner when he heard a full-on conversation he was sure just started during his absence. He almost cursed himself for leaving you alone during such an important mission, even if it was to urinate. He could have had you standing outside the men’s restroom just to feel more secure of your well-being. Still, he remained behind the wall and listened to the conversation. If Steve was to interrupt before you could get your own kicks in, then he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

‘I had him on the ropes!’

‘Excuse me for assisting a teammate!’

‘Get bent!’

Yeah, Steve would let you kick this person’s ass and brag about it instead of yapping at him.

You groaned, hoping the loud sound would make the man retreat back to his breakfast. “Bet you would.”

But it seemed to encourage him more, and he stepped closer to lean on the counter and bump your shoulder with his. You kept your eyes trained on your abandoned coffee.

“C’mon, I’m just a lonely trucker trying to make ends meet. I think I deserve some kind of reward.”

You put on your best fake smile, tilting your head towards him. You flashed your teeth, a great distraction for him as you reached into your pocket for your throwing knife. “That picture offer seems to be wearing very, very thin, dude.”

He placed his dirty hand on your shoulder, squeezing as he spoke in a low whisper. “Guess that’s for the best.”

His hand was immediately twisted from your shoulder, the sound of his instant wail frightening poor Martha. You knew what had happened, and as chill as ever, you swiveled the chair around casually.

The man groaned in discomfort, “Woah, hey! - oh my god.”

Steve’s single hand was crushing his, digits begging for mercy as each second Steve squeezed even harder. He could feel the man’s knuckles start to crack painfully. “Yeah, ‘oh my god’. Touch her again and I’ll total your truck.”

The man shook his head violently, “We were just talking!”

“Nuh-uh,” you chuckled, elbows resting on the counter behind you.

“C’mon Cap, you gotta believe me!” The man tried to sprinkle some humor on the situation, which only caused Steve to shove him into a booth, hand still gripping his.

Steve towered over him now as the man had no choice but to fall back into the booth. “That’s just it - I don’t.”

The man looked from Steve’s face, to yours, to his own purpling and bruising hand. “What are you two doing out in the middle of nowhere anyway? Danger nearby?”

You stood from your seat and stood beside Steve, arms crossed and a smirk on your face. “Look, bud - tell anyone you saw us and you’ll regret it.”

And like the idiot he was, even with Steve’s hand cramping down on him, he still countered. “Are you threatening me?”

Steve couldn’t believe this guy. Of course, he could squeeze harder and just yank this guy’s fingers clean off, but he wasn’t that evil. The guy was just a creep and a pervert, which in Steve’s moral compass, called for a few cuts and scrapes and not a permanent disability.

“Yup, and I tend to have some creative ways of framing people.”

“C’mon, I know you can hit harder than that!”

Steve threw a few more punches at the cushion Bucky was holding up, boxing gloves nearly sliding from his fists because of their large size.

“One more, there we go!”

Bucky lowered the cushion as Steve threw his last punch, racing toward the bench to fetch Steve’s inhaler and hand it to the younger boy.

“I could have gone longer.”

Bucky smiled at his best friend, “I’m sure you could have but you were about to pop a lung and I love you too much to see you go out that way, pal.”

Steve took a drag of his inhaler at the same time he tried to wrap his arm around Bucky’s neck. But the older boy was quicker and lunged out of the way, taking a celebratory light jog around the ring for such minimal effort on his part. Steve just glared at him, a small smirk forming as Bucky started chanting.

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, defenders of America, the world, we avenge the fallen!”

Steve let Bucky exaggerate, inhaler finally working enough for him to take a big swig of water. “You really think we’ll save the world?”

Bucky held his chest and laughed loudly, “America isn’t going to war anytime soon, pal. Let’s focus on rescuing dames from bullies and perverts first!”

“Captain, you gonna let her-?”

You snapped your fingers in his face to get his wandering eyes back on you, “I’m speaking to you.”

Steve couldn’t hide his grin, a slight blush growing on his cheeks due to your authoritative tone. He had heard you speak this way countless times, roughing up some guy on the opposite side whenever they proved difficult. Although you weren’t currently throwing punches, Steve was proud nonetheless.

You continued, “Tell anyone and I’ll tell the cops you tried selling us drugs.”

The man’s eyes widened comically, “What? I don’t even have-”

You reached into your back pocket and revealed a tiny baggy half-full of white powder. Martha’s tiny giggle reminded the man that he had an audience, a possible witness, but her overall lack of involvement was enough to know he was alone in this. “Come again? You were saying something?”

The man gritted his yellowing teeth, “No fucking way.”

You jiggled the baggy closer to his face, watching in amusement as he whipped his head to the side as if it was poison. “Way. I’ll stash it in your beloved truck where only the dogs can smell it.”

Steve, hands still gripping the man out of instinct, was completely shocked. He watched the baggy in the most peculiar way - analyzing its size, crumpled appearance, even the way the tiny specks of white dust latched onto the moisture inside, resembling salt or sugar. Obviously he knew what product you handled, but he had never seen it up close and personal unless he was in the evidence locker room. Maybe ‘shock’ wasn’t used with negative connotation, because Steve wanted to both laugh at your threat and snatch the baggy from you to ensure no other soul saw you handling it.

The man looked from both you and Steve, determined expression falling as he ran out of viable options. He sighed in defeat, “Okay.”

You snatched the baggy away from his face and pocketed it. You smiled at him with such brightness, as if you hadn’t just threatened to ruin his life. “Cool, nice meeting you!”

Steve let him go and walked back to his original seat to pick up his coat. He ignored the annoying babbling from across the diner, choosing to grab your belongings too and smiling at Martha as he took his leave. You rushed after him, turning back to wave at Martha.

“Best coffee ever, Martha!”

You settled into the car and continued your drive fairly easily, a comfortable silence between you two. Steve didn’t know if it was the jitters from the coffee - not like he was really affected by caffeine anyway - or the effects from the uncomfortable situation he should have pulled you from sooner, because next thing he knew his voice was an octave higher and cracking. “So, you just had that shit in your back pocket this whole time?”

You choked on your laugh and covered your mouth, looking up from your phone and at him. You shared the same playful look in your eyes.

You shrugged, “You never know when you might need it.”

Steve shook his head but kept the same tiny grin, “Do you…?”

The playfulness somewhat subsided, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. The seatbelt was digging into your right breast and side of your neck. Steve waited for your response, the question an entirely personal one. He was about to retract it, apologize and focus on the freeway for the remainder of your trip, but you cleared your throat.

“Once. But I was young, curious, and it burned like hell so I didn’t do it again.”

You were fourteen, still unsure of yourself and the world around you, clinging onto the inner child your environment was beginning to kill. You remember running through the mansion, the ranches, random hotels and random weddings - a dozen other children and teenagers running alongside you, each avoiding interaction with those their guardians had told them to avoid. And you remembered the day you wanted to enter your bedroom to retrieve your little iPod shuffle, the door resisting as you pushed. Your strength ultimately won, revealing a bedroom floor full of all types of guns, grenades, and automatic rifles. You didn’t scare easily, you never had, but that angered and annoyed you greatly. That was your room, your own sacred space to avoid confrontation, and it had been tainted. You had stepped over the guns carefully and reached your bedside table. Attaching your headphones to the device and clicking shuffle, you had almost missed the packages of drugs laying on your white bedsheet. Where you slept.

More out of anger than curiosity, you had carefully poked a hole in one of those taped packages and rubbed it over your teeth and gums like you saw some of your father’s men do. The sensation was weird, more numb than anything, and although you wanted it to taste like the flour you used for baking, it didn’t. So you picked a small portion under your pinky nail and sniffed. It burned, similar to when you burped and the carbonation came back up through your nose, and you wanted to scream. An instant headache, an unknown high, and a very angry Seda appeared around the same moment.

“Why do you carry it now?” Steve asked.

You snapped yourself out of the flashback, “My father knows we’re traveling by car. We’ll be arriving in the next day or so. He could call at any time and tell me he needs someone taken out in whatever state we’re currently passing through.”

Steve hummed, face showing discomfort. “Taken out? Do you often plant drugs on innocent people?”

You huffed, “Hardly innocent. Just drug dealers or other smugglers that got on his bad side.”

You played with the button to roll down the window, watching the moisture from water droplets begin to dry and leave their smudge. You continued, “Quick drop into a glove compartment or someone’s pocket while they’re distracted usually does the trick.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed, “Guess I can understand that.”

You left the window slightly open, the cold air nipping at your cheeks. The smell of rain was prominent. “I do my research before, you know. I don’t just frame random people.”

Your soft voice suddenly hurt Steve, almost like you were accusing him of thinking of you as evil. Whether you discussed your undercover work with him or not, he would never assume you escaped morals. You were an Avenger after all, and even though no one knew, Tony used to have a huge part in the decision-making process with Fury. And if Tony had seen something in you, then he trusted him. “I know.”

“Thank you, by the way. I may not look it, but he did scare me for a sec.”

Steve sighed, “We’re partners, Y/N. I would never let anything or anyone hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes at his sincerity, smiling toward him but avoiding his gaze. “Still… thanks.”

“No problem. Your playlist this time?”

You passed the next several hours listening to mostly instrumental music, the foggy and dense atmosphere of each state you drove through providing the same calm feeling. It was winter after all, and although California didn’t have quite as much snow as the midwest, it certainly had rain. The drive consisted of small talk about your surroundings, about your friends, about the most random things you could fill into a twelve hour time stamp. You played with the seat warmers, laughing when Steve jumped a foot in the air when his got a little too hot for his liking. And his cursing. When you first met Steve, he didn’t curse all that much unless it was in the middle of a fight or when he was truly angry. But now, especially after these last couple of years, his vocabulary expanded to new inappropriate lengths. You didn’t mind, no, it made the conversations all that more interesting.

So when Steve grumbled under his breath as he spilled crumbs from his granola bar onto the passenger seat (you had volunteered driving the sixth hour in), and mumbled “jesus fucking christ”, you gave him such a bright smile with equally bright eyes that had Steve scrunching his eyebrows together and he leaned away from you, a blush crawling up his neck.

‘What?’

‘You took the lord’s name in vain.’

‘Yeah, so what?’

‘Over a granola bar.’

‘... I see your point.’

You stopped about an hour away from the hotel, legs cramping and backs strained but overall happy that no one else on the journey recognized you two. There had been that kid who paused in the aisle of a small gas station, wide eyes staring up at both you and Steve as you reached for a bag of chips. Steve had crouched down to his height, chatting for a few seconds before giving him a small fist bump. You smiled at the kid, bringing your finger up to your mouth to mime a tiny ‘shh’, and followed Steve out the store after paying.

You spent the next few minutes stretching, the sudden pops of your hips causing Steve to create as much of a fuss he had done before.

‘Is that normal?’

‘It’s a ball and socket joint, they crack.’

‘So violently?’

‘It actually feels awesome.’

The California air was musty this season, humid and wet. The smell of various weeds and tree bark overpowered anything else, and although there was moisture in the air, the coldness dried your eyes. You found yourself blinking multiple times to accumulate some tears, and you reached into your backpack to reapply some lip gloss. You donned a simple, forest green tracksuit with a knitted sweater over it all, layers and layers to combat the cold breeze. Steve wore a similar knitted sweater, but he seemed less fazed by the cold than you were.

“So, how much do you trust this person?”

You snapped your head up from your lazy resting and asked Steve to repeat his question. Once heard, you shrugged and answered. “About ninety-five percent.”

Steve chuckled and wrapped his arms over his chest, “Will it ever be a hundred? C’mon.”

You grinned back and took a deep breath, chilly air slightly burning your sinuses. “They took a bullet for me once. And they didn’t have to.”

You were meeting your main contact of the mission. Maribel, a childhood friend, a friend who ultimately took a bullet for you to keep your undercover identity a secret. You could have been compromised, forced to stand trial in front of your father and his men, but she took the fall. After going off the grid and living in Madripoor for about six years, she had contacted you after the snap. Her relief, and her eagerness for revenge, all were to your benefit. So you fed her any information you could, both vowing to fuck with your father in any means. And since you were the only person on the inside with ties to the Avengers, having Maribel be an insider with no ties ultimately helped prepare your case. Two sides, two people with shared experiences, all truth. And you were going to do everything in your power to clear her name and get her a good deal.

“So, why isn’t it a hundred?”

“I haven’t trusted anyone a full one-hundred percent since SHIELD was compromised.”

Steve’s voice dropped a little, but you could still make out his teasing tone. “Do you trust me?”

“It wavers.”

“Wait-”

You interrupted and pointed toward the trail hidden by the trees, “There she is.”

Maribel had changed immensely since you last saw her. Her natural ginger hair was now dyed a dark brown, her freckles seeming to have multiplied and draped themselves from her cheeks and down her neck, over her shoulders, etc. She wore all black, leather jacket and leather boots, loose strands of hair blocking the view of shoulder buttons and shoulder pockets. She looked younger, more refreshed in her natural glow, healthy even. You found yourself breathing a sigh of relief, chest tightening with genuine love as she flashed you a wide smile. You gave her a tight hug, patting her back and welcoming her back to the states. She smelled of the bushes she had to track through to get here.

She released you from her tight grip and looked over at Steve, giving him an almost teasing look. “Heard you were invited. Nice to meet you Captain.”

Steve shook her hand, “Pleasure’s all mine.”

She chuckled and winked at him, “Y/N inform you about me? How do I sound? Look?”

Steve seemed to be affected the same way you had, an involuntarily reddening of his cheeks giving him away. “Like a possible ally.”

Maribel scoffed playfully, “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Status?” you asked.

Maribel handed you the file she carried, “Hotel is secure. Neighboring cities have no alerts about your arrival or of the upcoming celebration. Everything’s pretty quiet.”

You smirked, looking over to Steve in recognition of what that meant. “Of course it is. He wouldn’t dare kill any U.S citizens on American soil.”

“Heard he got sloppy,” Maribel sang, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“Let’s hope it’s to our benefit. You meet up with the agent in charge I told you about?”

Maribel nodded, “Torres is set up a few miles from the venue. He’s been running surveillance for about three days already.”

“If you can’t get into contact with me, Torres is your second. Got it? He reports back to Sam.”

Maribel agreed, “Got it. So, what’s the plan for the rest of the week?”

“Steve and I will draft a report tomorrow morning and send you the encrypted file.”

“Can’t wait. It’s nice to see you again, Y/N,” she smiled, bringing you back into a tight hug. Steve simply stood to the side, listening around for any disturbances.

“Likewise,” you spoke, sad to watch her walk away and back toward the hidden path. Her feet crunched on some fallen leaves purposefully. You suddenly remembered the bit of information that could be useful if Maribel were to encounter an old foe.

You called out to her, “Oh, and if anybody asks - Steve is my boyfriend and you’ve known about it for three years now!”

Steve hid his face behind his hand, looking down to his feet to avoid Maribel’s teasing and humorous expression. “Lucky you!”

The hotel was nicer than you expected, the pictures on google doing little to showcase just how grand it really was. With some of your savings and a little money under the table from Fury, you were able to book a single bedroom with two beds for five nights. Obviously, the wedding night wasn’t counted as the two of you were going to have to haul ass immediately, but five nights in this grand arena seemed vacation enough.

From the outside, it seemed like any chain hotel, but the inside provided a more Gothic feel. It compared to a Vegas type, but also your typical breakfast inn. It was an odd combination, but you figured they had that liberty since it was a really quiet part of the city and didn’t see many regular customers.

You lugged your suitcases through the elevator doors and pressed the button for the seventh floor, looking around for the security cameras in the corner. You spotted the red light blinking and immediately smiled and waved.

“Steve, say hi to Bucky.”

Steve looked at the camera and raised an eyebrow, giving a small wave. “You know regular security can see us, too?”

“Can’t hear us, though. Neither can Bucky.”

“So, if I were to call him a thousand bad words right now, he wouldn’t know?”

You squinted at Steve as the elevator dinged, “He can still read our lips.”

“That adds to the fun!”

The room was big enough to set up an extra pull-out table and computer in the corner, the only separate part being the bathroom to the side of the entrance door. The beds were both queen sized, multiple throw pillows scattered on top and two bedside tables in the middle.

You rushed inside and threw your suitcase carelessly at the foot of the bed closest to the door, and ran to leap in the air and land face first on the cushy mattress. “Heaven!”

Steve picked up your suitcase and set it against the wall, “Glad to see you’re already making yourself at home.”

You rolled over and pressed some pillows to your chest, “You ever plopped yourself down onto a hotel bed? Do it!”

Steve tilted his head slightly, reluctant to the idea. “What if I break it?”

You burst out laughing, “Oh my god, I didn’t even think of that.”

Steve sighed, shoulders sagging as he gave in. “Promise you won’t laugh if I break it?”

“Do you know me?”

Steve rolled his eyes and braced himself against the wall, pushing himself off and leaping into the air only lightly, crashing onto the bed the same way you did. The bed creaked and made a horrible sound. But it held, the wood proving stronger than you thought.

“Okay, I see the pleasure in that,” Steve laughed, face still smushed inside the mountain of pillows. You lay in your own beds for about an hour, naps wholeheartedly enforced.

A quick knock on your hotel door snapped you from your short slumber. You rolled over with a groan, looking over your shoulder at a still snoring Steve. His age was catching up to him alright, because he totally should have woken up from that. You opened the door and greeted Torres, allowing him to step inside. He lugged in a hotel cart with a heavy drape over it, careful in not hitting the doorway.

“Agent Y/L/N, it’s so great to see you again!”

Now Steve was awake.

“You too! I thought our last rendezvous was cut too short,” you teased, sticking your bottom lip out and giving him puppy-dog eyes. Torres blushed under your gaze but shook his head at your flirting.

“Well, here we go again! Got everything you need right here.”

He revealed the desktop computer and multiple other monitors, radios, a printer, and earpieces.

“Looks like Christmas morning,” you joked, helping Torres set up.

“Sorry for waking you, Captain. Sam said I had to deliver all this before nighttime.”

Steve waved his apology off, “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for doing this.”

“Anything.”

You went over the itinerary for the rest of the week and once Torres announced his leave, you handed him the extra key card you had asked for.

“If you need anything, or we don’t radio in at the times we set up, you use it. Okay?”

Torres gave you a sincere smile, tucking the key card into his coat pocket. “You can count on me.”

Once Torres left the room, Steve spoke. “Watch him barge in when one of us is showering.”

“Let’s hope we don’t scar the poor kid.”

It took about two hours to set up all the tech and connect it all back to the compound. You video chatted with Bucky and Scott and discussed the itinerary tomorrow. You double-checked mic connections, triple-checked police reports filed within the last few hours, and reviewed spy cam footage Torres had taken of the ranch. It was basically homework.

“We have to set up our backstories, our so-called relationship, you have to know everything.”

Steve hummed, tapping his pen on the table. “Where do we start?”

“They might ask why you help me in the first place.”

“Fuck America, that’s why.”

You stuttered, voice timid and eyebrows high. “O-oh?”

Steve laughed at your reaction. He leaned in with confidence, “I mean, your father grew up close to a similar time I did. He’s old fashioned, no?”

“Kind of. He’s old so he hates the new clothing styles, women’s rights, the works,” you shrugged.

“Wow, he sounds worse the more you speak about him.” You rolled your eyes at Steve and his sarcastic tone. “So I can say America just changed way too much since I came out of the ice.”

You nodded and rapidly wrote the basics of the backstory into your notepad. “Okay. But I hope you know you’re gonna have to play into that conservative part, especially with him and Seda.”

“What do you mean?”

You smirked at him and cocked an eyebrow, “You gotta be drowning in toxic masculinity.”

“Fuck, really?”

You almost wanted to lean over and slap his shoulder. It was then that you realized how disconnected Steve really was to this whole situation, never once meeting your father or his minions. He didn’t know the shit that went down when he was in hiding, only the basics, and scaring him now didn’t seem like a great idea.

“Really. You’re playing the role of my boyfriend in a male-dominated drug war. They think you’re in charge, which is technically correct to assume. Your rank is higher, your status is higher, so your personality needs to match that or else you won’t gain their trust.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, “I don’t know the first thing about disrespecting women.”

You snorted, “I’m gonna be honest and say that was the most adorable shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Stop it.”

You spoke with your hands, fingers dancing as a way to sprinkle some sensitivity on the issue. “Order me around. Tell me when it’s time to leave, be possessive if anyone wants to get my attention, interrupt me.”

“Y/N, I don’t think I can do that.”

“You technically already do it.”

Steve blinked, “Excuse me?”

You lowered your voice to explain, “You’re my Captain. You give me orders on the field. You shut me up when I’m too loud or turning something serious into a joke.”

He shifted again, “But I don’t do it to dominate you.”

“I know you don’t. Trust me.”

“So, I gotta become an asshole?”

You nodded, “Yes. But you need to know your limits.” You handed Steve multiple files for him to examine.

“Ramirez is one of the rare ones that loves his family, especially his wife and daughters. You can’t be an ass in front of him.”

Steve grinned as he read, surprised with the restraint Ramirez and his men were able to achieve. “Guess that’s a little relief for me.”

“And White is too much into his own product all day to give a shit.”

Steve paused before he spoke, licking his lips in hesitation. “What happens if your father goes overboard?”

“Shit,” you mumbled, tumbling into the compound and practically crawling to the first floor. You didn’t know who was home or who was visiting. Wanda, Steve, Natasha, Vision, and Sam were on the run for more than a year now - Scott and Clint were on house arrest (which you were also, technically) - so you truly did not know if your cries for help would be heard. You had practically begged to accompany Wanda or be with Bucky back in Wakanda, but because of your undercover status (and the fact that your father still did not know you aided Captain America in hiding an assumed fugitive), you weren’t allowed to leave the compound without permission. The memory of the separation was almost as painful as the gunshot wound in your abdomen.

You clutched the side of your stomach and crawled through the doors.

“Arrrgh - is someone home?”

And with a stroke of luck, Rhodey rounded the corner just in time to hear your plea.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, dashing across the room to help you sit up. “What happened?”

“They were getting too suspicious,” you said, wincing when Rhodey pressed a nearby blanket on your wound. “I couldn’t give them Steve’s location.”

“Are you talking about your father and his partner?”

You nodded quickly, helping Rhodey apply pressure.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, alert the medics. First floor,” Rhodey stammered, the sight of your blood making him a little queasy in the morning.

“I’m gonna kill him if he got one of my kidneys - I was saving that, you know?”

Rhodey involuntarily laughed, quickly covering his mouth. You brushed it off and let him know that if you were still able to joke, he was able to laugh.

“Take your mind off the pain, what happened?”

You sighed, shutting your eyes in distress. “You know that the main players in this game are me and Steve. My father decided that it was time to meet the star-spangled man, time to meet who is distributing his product behind the back of the U.S government.”

Rhodey rotated the blanket to dab with a clean side. You continued speaking.

“I told him Steve wasn’t active at the moment - not a lie, by the way. But the more I told him that I had no way of being in touch with the dude, the angrier he got. Seda fired a warning shot into my gut, I guess.”

“Shit… I can’t authorize any more solo trips without back-up, Y/N. This has gone too far,” Rhodey sighed, adrenaline lowering once he saw a few medics burst through the door.

Hours seemed to pass before you awoke. The doctors found no serious damage, your stitches were already healing with the help of Tony’s new tech, and you were up and walking within hours. A slight pinch in your gut bothered you, but other than that you pulled yourself out of bed to go search for Rhodey. You heard voices talking over one another, all angry and authoritative. You tip-toed into the room just in time to see Rhodey end a call and turn back to the group of people he was talking to in person. Your breath hitched when you saw him, face still rugged and more tired than you remembered, but still gorgeous.

“Steve?” you quietly muttered, all eyes darting toward you. “Wanda?”

You tried to run over to them but were caught limping. Still, Wanda rushed over and enveloped you in a tight hug, noticing the way you twisted your hip outward to avoid full contact.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” Rhodey said as he came over to hold you steady.

“What happened to you?” Steve asked, his hand now resting on your blushing cheek. You studied his blue eyes carefully, scared that this reunion was going to last for only a few more seconds, his warm hand making your stomach knot. He had a full beard now, hair longer than you remember, and he filled in his suit more. You were so unbelievably happy to see him after everything that went down.

You patted his chest with a soft chuckle, “Finally ripped that star off, huh?”

Steve’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but you could see a glint of tenderness.

He placed his hand over yours, “Who’s ass do I have to kick?”

You waved your hand in the air. “Family drama.”

Rhodey didn’t let that explanation fly, though. He informed the rest of the team of what happened to you, Steve’s anger building.

But you quickly silenced them, “I’m alright. I’ll deal with it later. What threat do we currently face?”

After their brief update, you were ready to go back to bed.

“So, you’re telling me that we gotta fight this big purple dude because he wants Vision’s stone? Sure, why not?”

“I really hope he doesn’t go overboard.”

Steve repeated the question, however. “What do we do?”

You sighed, picking at the potato chips to your side. “If you’re feeling uncomfortable, or I am, we’ll just squeeze each other’s hands.”

“Like a safe word?”

Your smile grew slowly as you registered his innocent words. “Yes, Steve, like a safe word.”

You popped a chip into your mouth and leaned back into your chair, “Wow, you’re on a roll with that adorableness.”

Steve rolled his eyes and stole a chip from your bag, “Shut up.”

You pointed at him and smiled wider, “See? Toxic bitch.”

It took a moment for Steve to register his previous words, “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven.”

You dusted off your fingers and handed him even more files, “Alright, so we know that to make it in this drug game, you gotta have connections everywhere.”

“Understandable. What are we looking for tomorrow?”

“Drug lords love to conduct business in the middle of huge events. Big distractions mean more leeway.”

“But tomorrow?”

“We’re going to cut them off. Swipe their ID’s.”

You elaborated, “To survive in this business, you have to have ID’s to get anywhere and everywhere. We’re looking for fake press ID’s, fake police ID’s, even fucking farming and landowning ID’s or… licenses, really. Those two give us the proof of ownership for certain lands.”

“Just swipe them?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“My father keeps them all in a little safe inside the wall. It’s located in the study. Just his and Seda’s.”

“And they won’t notice they’re missing?”

“Word is that they’re not planning a move until the day of the wedding. Meaning, they’ll be cut off when they open that safe. We have to keep the product from moving or else our agents won’t find the tangible evidence when we give them the green light.”

Steve wrote in his notepad. “So, we’ll focus on the hacking-?”

“During the rehearsal dinner.”

“Gotcha.”

You grabbed the bag of chips and ate a few, the silence still comfortable. You spoke, stealing Steve's attention from the files. “This is gonna work, Steve.”

Steve thinly smiled and reached over to steal the bag from your hands. “As long as we don’t get caught.”

The steam from the bathroom practically whipped Steve across the face, the smell of lotions and perfume overpowering the natural odor of the hotel air conditioner. He groaned as he searched his suitcase for his pajamas.

“You couldn’t have left me some hot water?”

You scoffed, towel rinsing your wet hair. “It’s a hotel charging two hundred a night. If you don’t have hot water, then we’ll go down there and ‘Karen’ it up.”

“Funny,” Steve mumbled, pushing past you and locking the bathroom door. You stood, arms slightly raised in confusion, expression mimicking those in comedy shows. If there was any hidden camera, your eyes scanned for it.

“Uh, what’d I do?” you mumbled to no one in particular. But you brushed off Steve’s sudden change in attitude and sat for the next thirty minutes hand drying your hair in sections and watching television. You were invested in an episode of Kitchen Nightmares that you barely heard your phone ding. You unlocked your phone, laughing under your breath at the group chat messages.

Bucky: Kill him yet?

Peter: bet she will by wednesday.

Wanda: Ridiculous, all of you

Y/N: Twenty bucks says he kills me.

Bucky: hey are you even allowed to bet on this?

Wanda: Seems fair since you’re so sure she’ll crack

Peter: She’s more sneaky

Y/N: He mad right now

Bucky: He’s always grumpy before his bedtime

Y/N: dude it’s eight

Peter: lmfao

The same fog of heat exited the bathroom as Steve opened the door and you murmured a quick ‘I told you so’ for him to hear. He ignored you, rubbing his eyes as he plugged his phone to his charger and crawled under his blankets. He sat up, though and reached over to grab his sketchbook, knees coming up to substitute as a flat surface. You snuggled into your blankets after turning the television volume lower and placing the remote closer to Steve’s bedside table. You brought the blanket up to your chin and hummed peacefully.

The sounds of Steve’s pencil prompted you to open one eye. His tongue was between his incisors and his eyes were squinted slightly, hair only a little wet from his shower and the tip of his nose pink.

“Drawing always seems to ease your mind, huh?”

Steve didn’t look up from his drawing, “It’s relaxing. I have control over it, so…”

You thought his explanation was weird, but you understood what he meant. “I wish I could draw. It seems fun.”

Steve paused his movements and glanced over at you, “Do you want to learn?”

You stretched your legs and moaned loudly, “What? You want to teach me how to draw an eye tonight? I’m warning you.”

Steve shook his head, “Right, I don’t think I have that much patience.”

You snorted, cracking your knuckles absentmindedly as you searched for a more comfortable spot. “Mm, maybe some other time?”

“I know you sing, though.”

You flopped back over to face Steve, elbow now propped up to hold your weight. “How in the world do you know that?”

“You sing sometimes, in your room. It was quiet, but you would sing along to some song on your earphones.”

You scrunched your nose and chuckled, “And you were just outside listening?”

Steve paused his movements again, “What? It was pretty.”

You sank back down into your pillows and drew the blankets higher. “I feel like you saw me naked.”

Steve scoffed, “Totally not the same thing.”

You teased Steve further, “I’m exposed.”

A throw pillow hit your side out of nowhere. “Stop it, I was being serious!”

You grabbed the pillow and threw it back at him, “I haven’t sang in a long time. I hum mostly.”

Steve caught the pillow, and resumed his sketching. “Well, you should definitely sing more.”

“Thank you, my number one fan. I’ll take that into consideration.” You sighed and closed your eyes again.

“Why did you stop?”

You winced but quickly covered it by taking in a deep breath, eyes still closed.

“You’re still fuming about it. You’re still fuming about your image being ruined. Good ol’ Captain America as a secret, undercover drug dealer!”

Steve finally showed proof of cracking, hands gripping his hair harshly. “Y/N, I said don’t start! I’m finished!”

But you persisted, now screaming and countless, frustrated tears tainting your red cheeks. “You can’t fucking stand me because I tarnished that fucking star on your chest! I made you look bad to a bunch of fucking criminals!”

“Guess I just didn’t feel like it anymore.”

Steve didn’t want to ignore that, he wanted to dig deeper, but even with much persistence pinching the tip of his tongue, he remained silent and accepted your answer. He glanced your way a few times throughout the next couple minutes, finding your chest fall into a steady rhythm as you drifted off. He turned a page in his sketchbook, quickly brushing the surface clean of any dust before starting the outline of your sleeping form.

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years ago

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 6

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 6 - Ruin

Words: 5.9k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mentions of war/death, kissing, a healthy dose of the ‘sharing a bed’ trope, ANGST, sexual education because who doesn’t want to read about that in fanfiction, vague description of a female medical procedure

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

A softened sigh left me, knowing it was probably time to let Poe say his piece. He’d been so silent until now that I felt compelled to hear what had been stirring inside his mind while I’d held him in quiet contempt.

“Alright. I’m listening.”

He flicked on one of the dimmed lamps next to the bed, a gentle glow illuminating the room, watching as he proceeded to carefully extricate himself from under the sheets, the soreness as a result of the rehab we’d performed today now evident in his concentrated expression.

I drew myself up into a seated position on the sofa as he made his way to sit on the small table at my front, not attempting to meet my eyes until he’d slowly placed himself down on the metal. His face was less than a meter from mine, pupils drifting upwards until finally, our stares locked.

“I’m sorry,” he declared, his words heavy. “I understand why you’re angry. I get it, okay? Years of battle after battle, fight after fight, it becomes difficult to consider those working under the First Order’s control as people. People with families, loved ones, even children. They appear as targets, there simply to be eliminated. And it’s you or them. Either you perish, or you put the rational thought into the back of your mind and fight back.”

Poe glanced down, fixated to the floor, his jaw tight. “I do think about it sometimes, the people I’ve... murdered. I’ve spent sleepless nights wondering if killing in the name of freedom was a good enough reason to send people to an early death. When you don’t see their faces it’s…. easier. You don’t see the bloodshed, the corpses. You just see the fiery explosion of their ships fading into the black void of space.”

I stayed rigid in the sofa, hands clutching the into cushions. It was difficult to hold down the simmer of anger that boiled in my stomach, since everything so far only reinforced what I felt like I’d determined hours ago. Even while my demeanour remained stormy, Poe continued.

“All I heard in my childhood was my father reminding me of the way he and my mother fought for what they believed to be right. Both of them lived and battled through a time like ours, under the thumb of a regime hungry for power, sparing no innocents in their pursuit of it.” He became lost in memory, the aura drifting around him stained with a subtle sorrow. “‘People were hurting. People were suffering. Your father and I couldn’t sit and do nothing.’ That’s what my mother had told me, a child of two, as her reasoning for joining the Alliance in their efforts to push back against what threatened all type of freedom in this galaxy. My parents offered to sacrifice their lives on the tiniest shred of hope that me, and every other being on every planet, would see peace in their lifetime.”

His eyes finally shifted back to focus on mine. They were determined, yet soft, the chocolate fibers of his irises melting together. “I just... wanted to be like her. Like them. I wanted to do what they did. I wanted them to be proud of me, to have faith that their legacy would live on after they were gone. To provide freedom and peace like they had. Even if that meant sacrificing my own life, even if that meant killing those who opposed it. I had to. I had to join the people that wanted the same thing as me.”

A growing ferocity began to radiate, his voice severe. “I witnessed so many of my fellow soldiers, my friends, die thoughtlessly at the hands of others. And I wanted them to feel the same pain that I felt. Is it hypocritical? Of course, I know that. Is it cruel? Yes, murder is rarely not. But it's in the name of protection, defiance against control from an overpowering force. Those who fight with the First Order, who take over planets and kill innocents for the sake of power, they know what they’re doing. They know the consequences, the outcome, the hold the galaxy will be strangled under if they succeed. And they do it anyway. Our cause isn’t more noble, it’s self-defence. We’re trying to protect the ones who aren’t able to fight back, and those who don’t deserve to be born into a world that will crush them into submission.”

Poe’s features turned darker, leaning in close. “I will never stop thinking about the lives I’ve taken. I will never not hold myself accountable for the sins I’ve committed. But I will also not sit and do nothing. I don’t need you to accept it, but at least try to understand. You and I want the same thing, in the end, to save as many people as possible in our short lifetime. I’m just doing the best I can to see that through.”

While I instinctively took a breath in preparation to speak, nothing came. He’d rendered me speechless.

I had no reply to give, no counterargument, no flaw to point out. His honesty floored me, raw emotion and long-felt guilt rising up for me to observe so openly. The pain behind his eyes seemed so much more acute than any of the other injuries he’d sustained, not trying to shield it from my view as he spoke.

I tried to find words, anything to articulate my forgiveness. Because I did understand. He’d made me see it, the same anguish over death that I felt. But he’d also made me realise what a coward I was.

Against the people who would kill him or control him, he fought back. While I hid myself away under the guise of selflessness.

I thought I was the hero of my story, giving up my home, my old life, for the benefit of the downtrodden people of this planet. In reality, I was a scared little girl, too gutless to push back against those I, and so many others in this galaxy, feared. And here Poe was, putting himself in harm’s way, every day, in the hopes that he could take away our fear forever.

He began to rise in front of me, taking my lack of reply as an answer in itself. He seemed despondent, his face sullen as he turned to limp back to the bed.

A different kind of fury coursed through me, fury at myself for how easily I’d judged him, at how cruelly I’d treated him.

I couldn’t let the night end this way.

I picked myself up from the sofa and quickly lunged at his wrist, pulling him to face me. He was surprised, glancing with wide eyes to where my hand had caught him, then to my face. I tried desperately to convey it there, everything I wanted to say, struggling to find my voice. Poe waited for me to speak the words I clearly had sitting on the edge of my tongue, but everything I conjured didn’t seem to be enough, the jumbled thoughts swirling incoherently in my mind, never letting me quite grasp onto them long enough to form exactly what I needed to express.

Tension filled the space between us, thick and overwhelming. I soon began outlining the lines of his face, the crease currently stuck in his brow, the curve of his nose, the contour of his jaw, the arch of his lips.

My hands found themselves catching each side of his face, pulling his mouth to mine in a desperate kiss.

I’d held it back for so long, too long, now unable to deny the burning urge to melt my lips into his. He was alarmed at first, his mouth frozen from movement as he comprehended my sudden attack.

Yet quickly he was syncing his lips fluidly with mine, a hand rising to clutch the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His casted arm curled around my waist, pressing my body into his, feeling the heat radiating off his chest.

The fire in my lower abdomen roared into bright red flames again, spreading into the rest of my body like molten lava. He tasted even better than I’d imagined, our tongues beginning to find each other through parted mouths. Fingers moved into his hair, hungrily grasping at the curled strands, causing a low moan to seep from his throat. The sound made me even more forceful in my need for his lips to be connected with mine, barely having time to breathe in-between our eager kisses.

I wanted to have him, all of him, so deeply it was painful, the searing burn lighting up in my veins.

Don’t do this Alexys. It will ruin you.

My breath hitched as I reluctantly pulled away, looking up, seeing his pupils swollen. He was cautious then, moving his hand from my neck to push a strand of hair behind my ear, almost if at any moment I would flee from his embrace.

And that’s what half of me was begging to do, the other screaming at me to lock our lips together again. I felt split into two, a cracking beginning to divide me roughly in the middle.

I could see Poe searching through my gaze, trying to assess my thoughts, whether it was safe to continue. He leaned in gradually, testing my reaction. I didn’t recoil this time. I didn’t want to.

His lips melted into mine, less insistent than before, although somehow just as intimate. Inhibitions lowered, my hands slid down to his chest, noticing the hard muscles underneath my palms and feeling the fire inside me surge. I wanted to feel the bare skin underneath, to have it pressed against my own. To explore the other parts of him covered by clothes. To forget even for a short time that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this.

Poe gently withdrew, leaning his forehead into mine. “I know.”

“Know what?”

He exhaled a long breath. “I know you don’t want to do this.”

I replaced my hands to his cheeks. “You have no idea how much I want this. How much I want you.” The truth of the words made me feel both vulnerable and safe, for the first time giving in to the yearning I’d hoped to keep locked inside my chest.

He tensed, a slight tremble in the arm that curved around my body. But his face grew sombre, almost... sad. “You don’t. Not completely. I can feel you wanting to hold back,” he murmured. “I can feel your fear.”

I swallowed hard, unable to refute him. “…I’m sorry. I want to. But I just… I can’t."

We both looked down, my confirmation making the tone of our connection shift. He was silent for what felt like a long time, and we stayed motionless in our embrace, neither wanting it to end, knowing it was inevitable that we would have to part.

“Why?” he breathed. “Why are you afraid?”

I wanted to be honest with him, like he had been for me, so much the sensation felt like it was clawing out from inside me, determined to burst through the skin. But there was a barrier there, one I had forged long ago. Unyielding and impenetrable to anything or anyone.

Although, I felt another realisation simmer to the surface of my mind, one that was not nearly as exposing, but still true.

“You’re going to leave. And I have to stay here. I don’t… I don’t want that to hurt any more than it has to.”

It seemed to hit him then, like he hadn’t let the thought enter his mind before. The awareness of our predicament shone brightly in his eyes, a light switch flickering on.

His hand moved to my cheek, grazing his thumb softly against the skin, my heart throbbing inside its cage at his light touch. I watched as eyes scanned over my face, back and forth, as if memorising the features. It was then I knew he’d come to the same conclusion.

It wouldn’t be long before we would part, most likely to never see each other again. If we went any further, if we crossed that line, the pain of saying goodbye would become so much more unbearable.

Almost simultaneously, we let our hold on each other loosen, the disappointment in the air almost palatable on my tongue. The smouldering inside had burnt out, suffocated by the gloom weighing heavy in my chest. Poe took my hand in his, his eyes pleading. “Can I ask one thing of you?’

I moved my head in a slow nod.

“Sleep in this bed with me tonight. Just sleep. I promise.” It was an earnest request, his face imploring and unguarded.

In contempt of the voice in my head bellowing at me that this was a terrible idea, I agreed. “Okay.”

Together we tentatively walked to each side of the mattress, making no rush to slip under the covers and settle into the pillows. I faced away, fearing if I looked at Poe's charming face any longer, I would surrender to the pull of desire that never seemed to relent. I didn’t know how I was ever going to be able to fall asleep like this, his body radiating an energy that vibrated into the space between us, keeping me all too aware of his presence.

There was movement, a dip in the mattress, Poe’s arms curling around my torso, pulling me close. His face buried itself into my hair, the warmth of his gradual exhale sending charged shivers down my spine. Placing my arms over his, silently accepting his embrace, I felt my heart thump a calming glow through my chest, all the way to the end of my limbs.

I’d never felt so peaceful, so whole, becoming lost in the comfort of his hold, wishing I could bask in it forever.

But reality bit at me, cold and uninvited, reminding me of the goodbye I would have to give soon enough.

We were still entangled when consciousness came again, the dim light of early sunrise leaking through my window. Poe’s arms circled around me, my body fitting perfectly into his.

He was still asleep, his face resting just at the back of my head, slow breaths bristling into my hair. I relished the feeling of it all, trying to commit it to my memory.

I stayed there, motionless, waiting for time to run out, knowing I would be chasing the feeling of this in the months, maybe years, to come. Thinking about his future absence made me terrifyingly lonely, even with his arms wrapped around now.

Eventually the seconds ticked down to my chronometer alarm buzzing, rustling Poe awake from his slumber. I assumed he would begin to move, pulling away, this one night that bonded us together finally ending. Yet he stayed as unmoving as I had been, the only indication he had awoken the increased depth of his inhale, a small tense of his muscles. I went to move, to switch the screeching sound off, but he clutched me back into his chest, squeezing tight.

As much as my heart thumped at the pressure of his hips into mine, the noise of my alarm was grating. “Let me turn it off,” I whispered. “I’ll come right back.”

Poe loosened his grip reluctantly, allowing me to reach over to the screeching machine and mute its sound. I settled back comfortably into his arms again, as he nuzzled his face into my neck, lips faintly placing a kiss on the skin.

“Poe… please… don’t…”

His sigh whistled past my neck. “Come with me, when I leave.”

It annoyed me, his fleeting demand so easily spoken. As if I could suddenly give up all that encompassed my life before he appeared, the beings that depended on me. But his voice was so sincere, so entreating in the early morning, that the irritation dashed away from the forefront of my mind.

“You know I can’t do that.”

He acknowledged my answer in the shift of his body from around me, moving himself out of the bed we had shared for the night and leaving me alone underneath the sheets.

It burned, the unprecedented disconnection of his shape from mine, my chest forming into a black hole in the realisation I might never feel him that close again.

I wanted to let my emotion to take over, to give in to the pain that rushed to me now as the finality of our night cradled together became evident. But I refused to release it, my resolve from the night before holding strong. I knew I’d made it harder by giving in to Poe's innocent plea of sharing a slumber within his embrace, but I wasn’t going to let our farewell completely ruin me.

With a forced composure, I rose from my bedside, focusing on the appointments scheduled to fill my day. Through my haze I recalled many of them being young female patients in need of birth control. I would somehow have to shut Poe away, wanting to give these women the privacy they deserved.

Poe and I appeared to use the ‘freshers at the same time, the searing heat I usually liked being showered with restrained no matter how high I pushed the temperature button. Eventually I’d readied myself for the workday ahead, deciding on a pencil skirt and lightened blue blouse tucked into the waist, working my hair into a ponytail.

It was when I’d begun making breakfast, for both myself and all the company that I kept in the clinic at the moment, that Poe emerged back into my quarters in a set of dark black hospital clothes. I glanced at him only briefly as he entered, hearing him pull out a chair, not daring to look at his face yet.

“Smells good,” he uttered, breaking the silence that existed in exemption to the sautéed chicken eggs and nuna bacon sizzling in the large pan in front of me.

“It’s almost ready,” I remarked, feeling completely the disconnection between us in his tone. Half of me was glad he accepted the separation we needed to make, the other mourning the severed bond we had formed in the connection of our bodies. But I had to let it go, whatever was left of the fragile link that survived the night.

I continued preparing the hot meal, separating the foodstuff between Poe and Vixur’s crew. Once I’d gently placed a share in front of Poe at the table, a smile meeting him fleetingly, I took the rest with me, balancing the four dishes on my hands and forearms, moving cautiously through the hallway.

With impeccable timing Vixur and his students were conversing between each other, obviously having woken just before I came to greet them.

“I’ve got breakfast for you all,” I announced, setting it down at the meeting table across from my computer. It was generally used as a place I could sit with patients and their families when giving them their diagnosis or explaining treatment plans, but today it would have to work as a secondary dining table. All four men jabbered back thankyous as they moved quickly to sit and eat, their appreciation evident in the way they gulped down the meal without hesitation. I returned to my quarters to find Poe picking lazily at his food, only a few bites eaten.

“Does it taste bad?” I asked from behind him, before circling to my seat at the table.

He looked up swiftly, as if I’d startled him. He must have been deeply lost in thought not to hear me treading down the hallway.

“It’s delicious,” he urged. “I’m just… not that hungry.”

“Are you feeling alright? Are you still sore? Are you-“

“Alex, I’m fine,” he interrupted. “You can’t fix a bad mood with any of your treatments.”

I looked at him curiously. “Bad mood?”

Did I do that to him?

“Did you not sleep well?”

He didn’t answer me right away, a subtle scowl settling in his lips. “It was actually... the most restful sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

I fought the urge to beam at him, a smile waiting to form, but the gloomy expression he wore held it down. I had to agree with him - it truly was the most comfortable rest I’d experienced in recent memory. And knowing I would never feel that peaceful, dreamless slumber in his arms again made me fully understand why he was frowning.

“Thank you so much for the meal Alex. I just... don’t have an appetite right now.” Poe rose from his seat and took his plate to clean, his sombre mood spilling into my body and taking over. Wringing his hands dry, He turned back to me. “Is it still alright if I keep using your office to continue working on BB-8?”

I nodded. “It would actually be preferable. Most of my patients today are women, and I need privacy for their appointments. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out, okay?”

Poe understood what I’d only hinted at. “Sure thing. I won’t step a foot out that room without your permission.”

A kind smile formed on his lips, but it fell as he moved from my quarters, leaving me to my breakfast, which now seemed extremely unappetizing.

“Well, Kaia, you’ve got a couple of options,” I started. It was my 5th appointment of the day, and I was starting to lose all hope in the young generation that followed mine. “You can get the implant, which lasts 5 years and protects you from pregnancy. But it can be a painful procedure, and unfortunately the implant itself is quite expensive. There are injections which last 3 months, but you’ll have to see me again in that time frame. I know that’s hard for you being from the South village. But there’s always prophylactics, which your partner has to use, every separate time you want to be intimate.”

Kaia was a 17-year-old human girl who had obviously not been taught any helpful sex education. Although, that wasn’t uncommon in these villages.

“But, like,” she began to question. “Can’t he just, like, not, um, finish in there?”

I drew in a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time I’d explained this today. “Technically yes, if he withdraws from you before that moment comes, it does lessen the chance of pregnancy. But Kaia, there’s a lot of fluid already leaking from him before then, fluid that can contain sperm. It doesn’t protect you. Not fully.”

Kaia was thoughtful, taking in my words. “But what if he doesn’t want to use the sheath?”

“Well... that’s his decision. But then you have to make yours. A decision that you’re more than allowed to make. One night could lead to either a future of motherhood or even diseases that could cause a great deal of damage to your body.”

“Ew,” Kaia recoiled. “I mean, I get what you’re saying. But Miss Jago, haven’t you ever been so swept up in the moment that you didn’t think about any of that?”

My jaw clenched, catching me off guard with her question. None of the other women had posed it to me. “It’s not been an issue for me,” I said flatly.

“Because of the birth control, right?” she surmised. “Which one do you use then?”

Oof, caught me out again.

“I don’t have the need for it. Kaia, this is not about me-”

“Wait, what?” she gasped. “But you’re so pretty?”

I soaked my voice in its professional tone. “This is your appointment Kaia, we’re not here to discuss my personal life.”

Kaia refused to comply. “But you’ve done it, right?”

I sighed, irritated. “Yes Kaia, but we took all the necessary precautions.”

“Well that doesn’t make it sound very fun,” Kaia huffed.

I tried desperately to hold back the aversion wanting to show on my face. It hadn’t been fun. It was clunky, awkward and somewhat painful. And I felt a spike of envy that this teenager already seemed to have had better experience with the opposite sex than I did.

“Look, your options are there. If I had to choose one, and I was with a partner I could trust had nothing that could spread to me, I’d go with the implant.”

She contemplated my advice, pulling her hands up to let her chin rest on them. “I think you’re right Miss Jago. But my parents would never help me pay for it.”

“That’s alright,” I replied, already knowing the home situation Kaia found herself in. She’d made the trek to my clinic alone, without her parent’s knowledge, just to see me for this single reason. I doubted they even knew she had a boyfriend. “How about I put the implant in today, and we figure out payment later?”

Kaia’s face lit up, eyes brimming with delight. “Really?”

I smiled at her and nodded.

“Thank you!” she squealed, face barely containing her excitement.

Really, this was for both her benefit and my own. I wasn’t about to face her parents when it would ultimately be me providing the news their daughter was pregnant. I didn’t want Kaia to go through that, a young pregnancy in a poor village after her parents would most likely cast her out.

“Remember I said this can be a painful procedure, and you’ll be sore for a day or two afterwards.”

Kaia nodded, understanding, yet unable to hold back her joy.

I worked my way through the process of setting her implant, my mind on autopilot while I thought more about the question Kaia innocently queried. I’d never come close to the type of desire that would have caused me to throw away all caution and rational thought. Not until-

“Hey Alex!” I heard from the other side of the curtain I’d drawn for Kaia’s discretion. “I know I said I wouldn’t come out until you said, but I’ve got something I need to show you.”

Poe’s voice was exuberant and proud, annoyingly unaware of the fact I had my hand in a very delicate place. My eyes shot to Kaia’s, her cheeks already flushing red with mortification.

“Poe!” I fumed, not hiding my anger. “I asked you to do one thing!”

I sensed his panic from behind the fabric separating us. “Kriff! Sorry!” His voice changed when he spoke next, a hurried whisper. “BB, come back here! We can’t show her yet!”

A streaming mechanical movement could be heard in my periphery, turning my head to see a shadow moving along the bottom of the curtain. I took the moment to stop what I was doing, covering Kaia with a sheet.

I was thankful I did that when the BB-8 droid slip through a break in the drape, caring little for what Poe had ordered him to do. His little head sat hovering above his balled body, for the first time actually staying in position. The photoreceptor, which looked like a singular eye, was also finally lit as he zoomed closer. While an impressed smirk started to beam as I realised Poe had managed to get his little friend working, it was rapidly overtaken by irritation at the droid’s lack of courtesy.

Poe was cursing under his breath, then apologetic. “Alex and uh, patient, I am so sorry. BB, get out of there!” BB-8 let out a few indiscernible beeps, a language I didn’t understand, although Poe seemed to. “I don’t care! They need privacy. You can see her later!” he hollered.

The droid made what sounded like a high-pitched huff as its head dropped, like it knew it had been scolded. Its head swivelled around on top it’s body and rolled away, again sliding through the break in the curtain.

“Come on, back this way.” I listened to the combination of footsteps and mechanical whirring move back into the hallway, a door eventually clicking closed. Looking apologetically back to Kaia, her face was still stunned at the intrusion.

“I am so sorry. I told him to stay put until my appointments were over. It’s okay if you want to stop for a moment,” I offered, trying to stay as calm as possible.

Kaia blinked purposefully a few times before being able to focus back to me. “No it’s okay. I’m ready.”

I admired her composure, while I remained silently boiling under the surface.

“What the hell Poe?” I snarled, barging into my office where Poe sat, seemingly interrupting a conversation he was having with BB-8. I’d clawed my anger into submission for the rest of Kaia’s appointment, but now it was ready to surge outward.

Poe stood, arms held up in surrender. “I know! I’m sorry! I didn’t think, and it was just really bad timing.” BB-8 beeped in what sounded like agreeance, rolling around from behind the office desk into my view.

“It was the worst timing!” I snapped. “That girl was 17, in a very vulnerable position, and you scared the living daylights out of her!”

“I know, and I can’t apologise enough Alex, really!” His face was pleading, brown eyes soft yet desperate. “I was just so excited about BB working again, and I wanted to show you.”

His sincerity disarmed me, my fury sizzling down, suffocated by his apology. I took a slow breath in, eyes closed, reigning it in further. “Please don’t disregard my instructions again,” I grumbled.

He nodded, as did BB-8, and my eyes focused on the droid. He was oddly cute in his appearance, his small beeps already annoyingly adorable. “Hello,” I greeted, all frustration now clean from my voice. “My name is Alexys.” I kneeled down to his eye level and he immediately wheeled directly in front of me, beeping somewhat of his own introduction.

“He said it’s nice to meet you,” Poe clarified, still hesitant at the easy change in my mood.

I looked up at him, curious. “You can understand those sounds he makes?”

“Most of it,” Poe answered. “It’s a form of Binary. Having him with me for so long helped me grow accustomed to the pitch and time changes in his beeps.”

My eyebrows rose, fascinated. “That’s so impressive.” BB-8 squealed in uneven time, his eye looking over to Poe, who almost looked bashful. “What? What did he say?”

He shot BB-8 an irritated look before meeting his eyes to mine. “It’s nothing important. His circuits are still a little fried.”

I wasn’t convinced, but then again I didn’t speak droid. "I'm glad you got him working,” I said earnestly, pleased there hadn’t been any type of casualty from his crash.

Poe sighed, relieved. “Me too. He’s the best co-pilot I’ve ever had.”

BB-8 whistled happily, evidently pleased with the praise, and its sweetness made me smile.

“Alexys?” Vixur suddenly called, his voice echoing down the hall. “Are you back there?”

I left Poe and BB-8 without a word, finding Vixur standing at the hallway entrance, his clothes smeared in dirt and dark grease. “Everything okay?”

Vixur nodded, evidently tired, still an accomplished grin filled his face. “We’re done actually. The comm-tower’s fixed.”

I wanted to smile back, to show my appreciation for his hard work, but it all became too hard to fake anymore.

This was it, the beginning of my goodbye to Poe. He would now be able to contact the Resistance, his friends, and he would soon be gone from my life just as suddenly as he arrived.

I forced the tears back as I hugged Vixur, doing all I could to hide my pain and show some kind of gratitude for the selfless work he had done.

Somehow Vixur sensed the turmoil simmering through me, patting my back softly. He pulled out of our embrace, speaking softly enough so Poe wouldn’t hear. “You needed this done for him, didn’t you?”

I nodded, the sadness hard to contain on my face. Vixur’s own expression was sympathetic as he squeezed my arm reassuringly. I didn’t need to explain anything, he just seemed to know.

“If it’s meant to be, you’ll find each other again.”

I drew in a long breath, furiously smothering the need to cry. I wanted to thank him more, for giving his time to me for little in return, but I couldn’t say the words out of fear the sudden sorrow would overwhelm me if I spoke out loud.

Vixur understood this, giving me a caring smile as he took his leave. “Well, we best be heading back to the village. I’ll see you sometime soon Alex. If I don’t, I wish you luck.”

And he was gone, the clinic door closing behind him, leaving me frozen in dread. A large part of me was reluctant to tell Poe the ‘good news’, but he’d waited long enough for his rescue from this planet.

I didn’t need to turn around to know he’d slinked out of the office to find me stuck where I stood, BB-8’s soft whirring following him.

“The comm-tower is ready, isn’t it?” Poe asked gently.

I forced myself to smile as I turned around, Poe’s expression not showing the relief I would have expected.

“Sure is,” I replied, the hint of quiver in my voice. “You can finally go home.”

I saw Poe’s lip tremble as he too attempted a smile, the disappointment in his eyes more indicative of his actual reaction to my answer.

Neither of us spoke for a long time, BB-8 looking back and forth quizzically, a few unsure beeps finally pierced in Poe’s direction. The sounds knocked us back into reality, as I moved to find the transmitter I’d stashed back into my tech station after determining its redundancy days ago.

The memories felt foreign, like they were from a different age. So little time had changed me so much, making me feel the most unstable and fragile I had felt in so long, on the verge of tipping into an overwhelming pain.

Poe had watched me in silence, unmoving. I eventually shifted the transmitter into his arms, an extremely aged, large box with an array of dusty buttons poking out of the rusted metal.

“It’s old, but it still works,” I insisted in a monotone, the emotion sucked from my voice. Poe only nodded, and gave me one last despairing glance as he turned away, carrying the machine into the study, BB-8 trailing behind him.

When the door closed, I couldn’t hold onto it any longer, the overpowering misery bursting free, its icy presence consuming me in a singular moment, the cold burn stinging as a few tears trickled down my cheeks.

What did I tell you?

The tears came faster at the sound of the voice, it’s condescension only making the suffering more excruciating.

No.

You’re wrong. I’m stronger than this.

I wiped away the errant tears defiantly, pulling myself together at the seams that had broken a few minutes ago, calming my breathing, trying to settle the trembling on inhale.

I’d made it through so much worse, pushed past crushing loneliness, fear and sadness, to make myself more resilient than I was behaving now. And I wasn’t going to let myself be caught in this vortex of emotion any longer.

I will not let this ruin me.

Next Chapter

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#poe dameron #poe dameron x original female character #kylo ren #kylo ren x original female character #star wars #star wars fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x female reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x female reader #I SWEAR KYLO IS COMING OKAY THIS IS A SLOW BURN

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im-thinking-arson · 3 years ago

Text

Hi wow depression is a hell of a thing.

I'm sorry for the relative silence here, considering everything that has been going on in the last (roughly) year and a half it has been really hard to focus on any creative outlets. Everything has felt pretty heavy as I have been piecing together what exactly happened to myself and the people I used to share a community with.

Although my former FC is basically non-existent at this point, I feel it is appropriate to say that I no longer associate with its' leader @morganaux (sernoudenet on Twitter and formerly here) and to clarify why.

I have been struggling with what to even say about the situation. There are so many layers that I don't honestly know if any single cross-section could explain all there is to unpack. When it takes multiple people six months to explore everything they know as fact... I think that shows its not so much of a 'he said, they said' scenario as the few people who still support Morgy have tried to claim.

I feel guilty not speaking up sooner, considering this person is a member of the FFXIV community who I'm fairly sure some of my mutuals follow. Its so hard to speak out when he publicly acts innocent, like he has quietly moved on and refuses to acknowledge what he's done.

The reality feels so cold in contrast, with the knowledge I have- that he has done this multiple times before, burning down or wearing down those he has hurt with false sincerity; claiming innocence, claiming people misunderstand the significance of the intentions behind the knives in their backs, claiming he is the truest victim of the mess wrought of his own actions.

He quietly retweets fan art, cute animals, head canons, and all kinds of fandom things- but also others' tweets to identify with their own traumas- the same traumatic thoughts and feelings he incites in others through a mixture of gaslighting, lashing out, and playing the victim. He tweets passive aggressively about people he feels the victim of, (justified or not) even amid posts about his dearly beloved OC.

At this point I should just block him and try to scrape all memory of what I went through from my mind, but un-fucking-fortunately I know him too well to believe it's over when it's over. He still makes passive aggressive tweets about people he hasn't talked to in one, two, ?? years, a person who was a good friend to him for 10 years before he scapegoated them to maintain his own sense of righteousness.

Seeing as I witnessed him maintain not one, not two, not three- FOUR venting channels in his own discord, including at one point one specifically made for sh*tting on a single person, defending it's use and encouraging others to participate saying 'this is how victims cope'...

I know it's not over, and if he had a single shred of...anything... He could leverage against me he would have already tried to 'cancel' me. I'm not turning my back again to see if he decides to throw another knife.

For a long time I wanted to believe I had simply misunderstood the situation, that his intentions weren't so self-serving. The more I saw, the more I heard testimony from others that matched my own, the more I began to un-repress and process my own memories and connect the dots... And the less sense his own account made.

While I tried to maintain my friendship with him I ignored all the red flags, my own rise in anxiety, the isolation I felt. I felt so much pressure to fit into his equation, to be a supportive friend, to keep track of how he was feeling that I stopped taking care of my own mental health.

All the while he got angry for people not checking on him when he asked for space, threw a fit when anyone failed to accommodate his whims, and even accused his three closest friends of purposefully excluding him by taking screenshots without him in them or even hanging out together when he was offline..

And he would have people believe that most of the issues he was involved in centered on his friends not communicating with him. But in my case at least, nothing could be further from the truth.

I told him I felt uncomfortable with the fact his (at the time) friend had publicly lashed out at me in his discord server for stating my opinion. He suggested I work harder to befriend this person, that he couldn't and wouldn't approach his friend about it because he wasn't a FC member and only there as a friend of himself and his two closest friends.

He lashed out at a former friend (and FC mate) of mine -on my behalf- because they wouldn't stop messaging me while I was at work... And when this person subsequently put me on blast thinking I had put him up to it I mentioned considering posting my side of the story- to initially be shamed (by the person mentioned above) for suggesting I protect myself, stating it could make things worse for the people who had already publicly attacked this person...

I approached him about another former friend of his angrily ranting about a character I had though at the time they knew I was planning to RP (I had spoken about it both in-game and in a discord we all shared) because I didn't know them well enough to feel comfortable saying that made me feel uncomfortable and unwelcome in the space. I approached my former friend because I knew from experience he took things like this seriously and he was the one who had invited this character TO role play in the first place.

He reacted by telling this person he had no idea why I was upset, asked them to address an issue they had no context for - prompting them to write an apology, and then reinforced their worry that I hated them by saying I "probably disliked them since [I] hadn't written them an apology" in return. I had thought they both wanted to drop the subject because he stopped responding about the situation.

He decided the situation was resolved and kept inviting us around one another for at least four months while keeping up the illusion that I disliked this person despite me trying to remain friendly- and said nothing about the situation until AFTER he had nuked his FC and almost everyone was done with his bullshit. I had asked him to be honest about the situation and finally got "[name] thinks you dislike him" ???

(I might add more details about these situations because it's honestly much more of a mess than it might seem, but I'd probably have to write a fucking book to explain everything well in-sequence of events.)

But those examples aside, I told him up front that the favoritism he showed and my concerns being glossed over was messing with my head, that I didn't know if I felt safe in his FC, that the whole situation was making me feel like I was losing my grip on reality, that at one point feeling like I was being discouraged from defending myself was beginning to make me feel su*cidal. These are things he knew.

He reacted to this ignoring both cause and effect, ignoring me unless I reached out first or it concerned RP, continually inviting me to hang out with people he knew I felt uncomfortable with (or vice versa) and normally turning down anything I invited him to do otherwise- including several times that I offered to help him with Eden or dungeons he wanted to farm when he previously said he was free to do so. A couple of times he declined saying he was waiting to see if he could convince another friend... and then threw a fit about 'no one wanting to help him' despite declining my offer and not reaching out to me after his other friend declined (I was still online but he decided to vent on discord instead).

Behind my back he talked shit about me, enough that someone who had known him 10 years and was familiar with his behavioral patterns qualified it 'constant' bashing, whenever I came up in conversation. And even included confronting me about the three situations I mentioned above in a plan he was working on to 'fix' his FC, as if he thought I was reaching out to him to stir up drama.

Eventually it came out that the friend I mentioned in the first example was emotionally abusing his friends (and I found out later told him two of them were talking shit about him- prompting HIM to lash out at them). One of them mentioned that person had still been talking shit about me 6 months later on a private account and when I got upset that THREE people I had thought were my friends didn't tell me, I made a few jokes in poor taste (that I do now regret) about the situation to try and prevent myself from having a mental break down.

The person he led to believe I hated left the discord server at that point and he decided to divert some of the blame for (in his words) 'being worried for this person's life' -whom he had attacked over the situation- to me... blaming them leaving and him having trouble contacting them on me.

I told him if this former friend was indeed attacking people and he was so worried we needed to talk about the situation, since in other situations his response was to ignore the hurt caused. He blew up about me messaging him at work, he blamed me for every situation I had brought to his attention. He went to his mods to rant about me and sent one of them to scope out the situation in hopes they could shut me up.

This is the friend of 10 years, who quickly became concerned and not for the reasons he had hoped. They shared a few screenshots of things said to gaslight me behind my back as the conversation progressed. Eventually the other mod jumped in and, knowingly or not proceeded to gaslight me FOR him, based on what they were told. By him.

They reinforced everything he was saying in guise of a neutral perspective and my efforts to prevent a full-scale breakdown failed. I lost all grip on reality for several days- in which at some point I wrote an apology to him for accusing him of several things that were later proven true- and one thing he, himself, proved he'd lied about to the other person involved.

I spent almost two weeks in a self-imposed social break to sort everything out and attempt to cope with what I was told was reality. I fell into the deepest depression I've been in since I had to run away from home, and honestly if it wasn't for my wonderful SO and our house mates, I might have really hurt myself.

It turns out another situation had been brewing parallel to my own. People had been coming to the social mod, the friend of 10 years, with their own worries about him. Almost every. Single. Member. Including at least four people who came forward with fears that if they did a single thing that he interpreted as an insult or threat they would find themselves exiled, called out, and ranted about in a jumbled mix of truth and fictional-malice until their own friends turned on them to support his victim complex.

These four people came forward on the condition that their names be kept anonymous to protect their identity. He didn't take kindly to this, quickly demanding names so they (his mod team) could handle the situation. The mod refused, knowing he has a history of lashing out at any criticism against him and to protect those who were already afraid of bringing the problems up to Morgy.

He reacted by lashing out at this person, claiming they ruined his life, and attempting to weed out those who had spoken out against him by kicking anyone he didn't feel 'safe' being around from his FC. He posted a message in his FC discord about resuming his 'reign of terror'... Which, even if it was a joke, was in in poor taste after pruning his FC of anyone he didn't think could be convinced of his 'good intentions.'

I missed this first culling of his FC members, I assume, because I had apologized and at the time submitted to his version of events. He approached me soon after I noticed the changes in the discord and FC roster; claiming he really wanted to work things out and remain friends- going as far as to say he was so nervous about my reaction that he was shaking.

I wanted to take him at face value despite everything that happened because yeah, I did want to believe he was sincere, that he was a good friend, and that all of it had been an unfortunate misunderstanding. And at first I did until I started talking to other people who knew him and getting their side of the story. Nothing he said added up. Between first-hand testimony and over a hundred screenshots from multiple people the ONLY things that were clear and consistent were that he lied and fit his narrative to whatever he wanted to achieve.

He tried to reduce conflict by omitting information, he controlled people's perception of one another by how he spoke about them and how close he let them to himself and others, he built a support group by polarizing his friends against his 'enemies' and if anyone had a problem with him... They were wrong, and got added to the pile of 'aggressors' he had accumulated over the years, to be bashed and spit on for years to come.

He may have sensed my change in opinion when I directly asked him to help me reach out to the person who thought I disliked them- managed to come to an understanding and we mutually apologized for the situation... Without his meddling. Or maybe when he realized I was still on talking terms with the people he had lashed out at and directly asked him why he had kicked people who did absolutely nothing to him... Or it could be that I kept in contact with the person who 'ruined his life' by trying to protect his friends from him. I don't know.

While we were still talking he tried to identify with me and bond over the feeling of loosing the FC, a group of people that despite the anxiety, and pain I had felt in the environment he'd built I did deeply respect and care about... Despite the dissolution of that group and the abuse I suffered being -at the core- his own fault. He even went as far as to say my description of the PTSD and fear I was experiencing described exactly how he was feeling, too.

As our conversations further weighed on my mental health I had to take a break from interacting with him. I was honest again, with what I was told, what I knew, and asked him for honesty about the situation... What he had said about me behind my back and why because I wanted to hear it from him. I wanted to see if he would acknowledge the harm he caused both to me and the rest of the (former) FC.

He never did, and probably won't. He asked for some time to tend to his own stress levels and mental health and then blocked me on all social media and discord, and kicked me from his FC without ever making an effort to reach out.

Of the few people who are still close to him, one of them suggested that "maybe he just decided he didn't want to be friends anymore." But after him begging to have a conversation to iron out all the facts, claiming to be so anxious about such a conversation going well that he was 'shaking', admitting that what he did hurt people and that my being wary of him was understandable, asking me -directly- to let him know if he did anything 'shady', and stressing he REALLY wanted this conversation to take place when we were both able to handle it because of how important he felt it was...

I feel like its fair to say that him suddenly cutting off all contact isn't quite so simple. He could have done that at any point. Before pointedly ignoring my concerns, before gaslighting me, before blaming me for the results of his own actions, before accepting an apology for accusing him of things he did legitimately do, and certainly before directly telling me had no real problems with me, that he it was super important to him that we remain friends, and that I deserved his honesty.

I'm not going to try and tell anyone who they should be friends with or not. Frankly, people can change and in a lot of cases experiences with individuals will be different.

But on that same note, if I had known then what I know now I might have saved myself from roughly two years of anxiety and avoided the state of dissonance I now find myself in. I still have moments where I want to doubt the things I experienced first hand. My mind is still trying to repress my own memories to cope.

A part of me still cares about him despite everything because as far as I knew, he was my friend and I am still trying to reconcile what I found to be true.

At this point I feel like I should say please don't harass Morgy if you read this, but honestly? If you have any reason to hold him accountable go for it. He needs it. And if you have any gut feelings about him or anyone in his circle please listen to it. The few supporters he still has are willing to ignore anything he has done previous to the fall of his FC and have shown they are willing to debate and accuse people who speak out about legitimate concerns involving him.

If anyone has any questions I am willing to answer them and share the proof I have.

And in the off chance anyone wants to (further) argue with me about my experiences or whether or not I suffered enough to be considered a victim, please Google some images of a hand giving the middle finger. But if after that you still really want to play stupid games? I can find you some stupid prizes.

I don't owe him my silence. Or peace of mind. The only thing I owe him is to be as entirely, brutally, honest as possible given the information I have. I think it's a fair offer considering the mind-numbing volume of honesty he -still- owes all of us.

- - - - -

I may add more onto this. Unfortunately the entire situation is a lot more complex, but I wanted to get the backbone of my own experiences out there and there is so much bullshit it can't all be seen from any one direction. A lot of the circumstantial evidence loops back into other situations and makes it hard to comprehensively represent everything on any sort of singular timeline. As I said in the beginning there is a reason it took a small group 6 months to piece it together.

I am far from the only person hurt, and the entire situation was a mess with people feeling unnerved or pressured into going along with his agenda. For the most part now that I have more context I don't blame most of the people involved for their own actions. I fully support those who can't or won't come forward about the situation whether they just want out of his drama, or are afraid to come forward.

#ffxiv community #ffxiv rp #Morganaux #Morgy #Ser Noudenet #ffxiv twitter

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