#11K WORDS WHAT THE HELL POSSESSED ME ON THAT DAY. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

evelzzzk · 2 years

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Dragons eat Seahorses series: Our fire binds us - Female OC Velaryon Reader x Aemond Targaryen (Chapter 5)

Chapters Masterlist

Okay, this is another lengthy one BUT... it's filthy, kinky and dirty, it really is. And I guess this is what you need, my dirty little potatoes. I'm just a humble servant, fulfilling your deepest and dirtiest desires :> Enjoy!

WARNINGS(!): Smut, 18+ NSFW, heavy paraphilia (blood fetish), fire kink, oral sex (both m! and f! receiving), slightly sub! Aemond - he's a bit tender here but kinky as hell, masturbating, changing of dominance dynamic

ENGLISH IS MY 2ND LANGUAGE.

Word count: approx 11k

SUMMARY: After an eventful feast, the day of your wedding with Aemond has finally came. Surrounded by a rather humble gathering as for royal conditions, you swore each other love for eternity, sealing your bond with the blood of your own dragons. That blood oath will prove to be seminal as you both gained the upper hand against each other, possessing the power of one another’s most deadly beasts in this realm. During the wedding night, the two of you as newlyweds decided to bring to life Targaryen House words: Fire and Blood, turning your bedroom into an experimental field for your deepest, most perversive desires.

Playlist: Track 1, track 2, track 3, track 4, track 5, track 6, track 7

Cool breeze of Blackwater surge chafed your cheeks, reddening them, your plump lips became bright pink, cyanosed almost. Cold tide brushed your feet covered in fine leather slippers, making you shiver and you clung even tighter to firm arm of your father who led you to the field altar. The nuptial took place at the beach upon The Red Keep as it was more proper than The Sępt; The Faith of The Seven didn’t quite accept an Old Valyrian ordinance, but it was an ancient Targaryen custom nonetheless. The ceremony was remarkably modest by royal standards, even in Westeros, but you knew perfectly why. Westerosi weddings never ended well in any way, there was always had to be some kind of discord to put it mildly, but most often the celebration was sealed with death or couple of deaths, generally guests were the victims. Moreover, the bedding – the most repulsive ritual you could imagine, it made your head spin at the very thought, luckily, you weren’t the one to have same feelings about it. Aemond has strictly forbidden this wicked tradition to be performed, he wouldn’t stand taking you in public, in front of thousands of onlookers and most importantly, to the delight of his unappeased brother. Aegon was obviously the most zealous one who insisted on carry on with the ceremonial in spite of all.

- Really, brother...? You can't just violate an age-old tradition – Aegon grumbled over Aemond’s head, tantalizing him.

- I can and I will – younger Prince ignored older sibling's whining, studying some illustrations persistently.

- I am your King, I can force you to fuck her in front of everyone. Or I will do it, properly – Aegon smirked insolently, knowing full well what kind of reaction he will get.

Aemond smashed his head upon the table, holding it robustly, a slight sound of gritting teeth and cracking neck was audible.

- If you touch her, I’ll spike your miserable head on one of Iron Throne swords. And I will gladly sit on it afterwards – One-Eye hissed menacingly, loosening his grip and letting go his brother. An impudent grin never left Aegon’s face.

- You’re such a bore. Why can’t you have a fun for once in your life? It’s your wedding after all. Me and Helaena enjoyed ourselves during the bedding – young King brushed himself off and reached for jug of wine, his constant companion.

- You enjoyed it so much that you had to work yourself off with some whore after and you left Helaena crying alone - Aemond felt visibly disgusted at the memory of that fateful night. He had to endure his sister’s distress, consoling her and suppress his anger towards older brother.

- My, Elaena’s cunt must be really divine if you’re defending her so much – Aegon chuckled lightly, taking a large sip of alcohol. Younger man didn’t respond as he walked away, heavy clank of his boots filled the space.

- I will take her, one way or another! And she will beg for my cock to fill her! – Aegon’s sonorous yell caught up his brother’s back and hitched to it like a bat, sucking out his patience.

Your heart thumped like a little humming-bird’s wings as you approached quite small assembly. The ceremonial was rather cameral, the only witnesses of your nuptials were your parents, Rhaenyra and Daemon along with Jace, Baela and Rhaena. Of course, Alicent couldn’t be missing as well as Aegon and Helaena, even their twins, Prince Jahaerys and Princess Jahaera, though you were sure they would have preferred to play in the gardens right now, as children do.

Skirts of your gown fluttered in the sea gale, a silver mist of richly ornate in lustrous emblems of little seahorses and dragons. A smooth facture of material hugged your figure nicely, straight boat neck exposed your shapely shoulders and collarbones, long sleeves fell in cascades down your arms. Thick, teal-blue cloak protected you from morning coolness, whereas the color represented your Velaryon roots. Your dark hair were neatly combed in a sophisticated updo, your mother, Rhaenys, when she was braiding your strands, claimed that she had very same one when she married your Lord Father.

Speaking of whom, Corlys passed your hand to your about to be husband, Aemond warm palm heated your own cold one, reviving your pulse, a blood rush flushed your pale skin. He looked like the happiest man in the entire realm, his only eye shined like a lone star in cold night sky, it could enlighten a whole town. His lips curved in a glimmering smile when he kissed the back of your hand piously, like it was some kind of relic. He wore a silver refined doublet, matching to your dress and a crimson-red cape, same one he had at feast the night before. Brightness of the material underlined his creamy complexion and elicited the luster of his cool blonde hair even more. His hair, his damn long, silky hair, tied up in low, loose ponytail, which only sharpened his already rough jawbone. You had to fight the urge to lick his jaw all along, it was so tempting.

The Grand Maester disrupted your fantasies when he began his speech in High Valyrian. The words slipped away from your ears, soon learnt, soon forgotten, although you knew their meaning perfectly, it was your mother language after all, as it was for the others. Well, not for everyone to be precise. You watched Alicent’s confused expression as she tried to understand the context of sentences and you were amused when she frowned but her lips remained curved in a courteous smile, as if she put on a brave face. You knew The Queen Dowager earnestly tried to learn High Valyrian to honor her husband’s custom, but at the same time she always defined it as ‘ancient’ and ‘not very practical’ and after some time she quit learning, claiming that she never had enough patience for foreign languages. Your mother, on the other hand, seemed to be deeply moved, tears were streaming down her cheeks and she wiped them off with tissue every single moment. Deep down inside she was truly happy for you, even though she would preferred you to marry someone more worthy and with a better reputation than that of being a Kinslayer. However, you were apple of her eye, only daughter she had left, the only child alive. She treasured you more than anything, more than her dignity or status, more than her Red Queen, even if it seemed that you were daddy’s little girl. The Seasnake, on the other hand, was dead serious, but his eyes betrayed his pride – he managed to live to see the marriage of his youngest child. Altough he also wished his future son-in-law haven’t killed his beloved grandson, the heir to Driftmark. But Corlys had to suck it up, because he was the main proponent of your engagement with Aemond when you both were much younger.

You deeply regretted that your sister, Laena, couldn’t see you all dressed up in your bridal apparel as she always laughed at you, that she never couldn’t imagine you as a lady-wife. She would understand you tough, you both had a peculiar familial tendency to marry riotous Targaryen Princes that could either worship you like an old goddesses or destroy you like The Doom wrecked Valyria. Speaking of the devil, Daemon looked at you with grudge, he still obviously couldn’t get over your decision, his rancor was consuming him. His fists were clasped, veins popped on his wrists and forearms, shoulders were tense and his chest rose up with heavy, rapid breathing. Rhaenyra saw her husband’s commotion and she grabbed his arm, squeezing it gently, giving him a meaningful look. The Black Queen knew your demeanor and she trusted your common sense, respecting your choice, although she didn’t agree with it. But she was well aware that she had no right to tell you who you could love nor who you could claim. Though out of two evils she probably would prefer you to become a Daemon’s paramour, even presented to the court than to marry her son’s murderer. She gave you a cordial, slightly nod and you bowed lightly in response. Rhaenyra was invariably your Queen, she didn’t had to worry about your allegiance, no matter who was your bed companion.

Daemon sighed with resignation in response to his wife soothing, his eyes were filled with sadness and remorse. Despite this, there was still tension in the air. You knew that Laenor, your older brother, would defuse the situation perfectly. And yes, you knew well he was still alive, but Rhaenyra has forbidden you to reveal this secret to your parents, even if it meant alleviating their suffering. But something told you that Rhaenys knew, she took up the cudgels for her daughter in law, when your father accused her of purposely murdering Laenor so she could marry The Rogue Prince and that was somehow...strange. Perhaps your mother preferred to last in false unconsciousness, calming her conscience. You envied your brother, he got a chance to start fresh, even being married and cuckolded, he got to live a new life, being happy with ser Qarl, enjoying himself in Essosi lands. This was something you could never afford but you were happy for him nonetheless, he could finally taste the freedom of being his true embodiment, he was free to love another man without any prejudices. He was always a good brother, a shield you could lean on, he defended you from every harsh look or rebuke given by your parents. You missed him deeply and you detrained your longing partially by exchanging letters with him, he wrote under fake nickname, pretending to be your secret admirer you met during Stepstones battle. It made you giggle like a little callow girl, when you saw your mother indignation and father’s curiosity when they happened to receive your correspondence – The Seasnake even quipped that he will have to break off your engagement with Aemond if your mysterious lover continue to pick you up in such way. Laenor really got into his character when he was describing his adventures or ‘how much he longes to see you swing that sharp sword of yours again’. He regretted greatly that he couldn’t show up at your wedding but you promised him that one day you’re going to visit him and together you will fly over the eastern skies on your dragons back. And yes, Seasmoke resided on Driftmark after Laenor’s getaway, but that beast was no fool – he wouldn’t allow anyone to claim him as he still sensed his only Master was alive, at least that was what you thought. You vowed that you will bring Seasmoke together with you, you were heartbroken seeing his despair over the absence of his master.

An emphatic grunt of Maester snapped you out of your meditation, drawing your attention back to your soon-to-be husband. Evidently the real part of ceremony has begun, now was the time for you both to take an oath – luckily you gave up cutting your hands and painting your faces with bloods like some cavemen. Instead, you proposed you will drink your dragons blood – you would taste Vhagar’s and Aemond Carantes. And this was not without reason – your mother told you stories and some theories about blood magic when you were a child and it always fascinated you. Your ancestors claimed that, for example, you could gain a bigger control over your dragon after drinking his blood and experience almost a complete unity with it as this ritual involved the dragon becoming an extension of its rider's body, obeying every command, every impulse it received. A total control, impossible to achieve in any other way. That way you risked Aemond gaining power over your own mount, but you had to take every possible chance to subdue Vhagar, because this might save your life one day and let you be on the front foot. Of course you haven’t mentioned any of that to your Prince and he just thought that you’re very into valryian customs and you wanted to make your wedding more unique.

Aemond looked into your eyes intensively as you took a sip from your goblet, a scarlet liquid hit your palate – you didn’t have the foggiest idea what dragon blood might taste like and it surprised you positively. You expected something raw, nasty, rotten even. But it was... sweet, a bit bitter at the finish with metallic aftertaste. You gulped more greedily, but you almost threw the goblet as the liquid hit your neurons; a lancinating pain tore your muscles, your head was spinning chaotically, you thought you were going to pass out in a moment, feeling your legs drowning in sand. And then you saw it. Fire, a streamer of fire, coming out of your...jaws? You looked down. You were burning down an entire army, stench of burned skin and armor hit your nostrils, shrill screams of soldiers buzzed in your head. Then your gaze landed on the stronghold before you and it looked strangely familiar. Soaring towers and bridges, distinctive arches... Sunspear. You were in Dorne. A female voice coming from your back ordered you in High Valyrian to stay away from the castle. Visenya’s voice. Vhagar’s first rider. But then the vision cracked like a shattered mirror, revealing dark cliffs and a narrow isthmus, overwhelmed by a raving storm, dark surroundings enlightened only by thunders striking from above. Storm’s End. You were chasing someone, thick cloud of fog covered winged shape, much smaller than yourself, a baby dragon. And out of nowhere, when you lost a sight of it, a little fire streak flushed your head. It was Arrax. He fled once again, disappearing high above, getting out of the storm. You were enraged, you craved nothing more than to crush his small body between your massive teeth.

- No, serve me Vhagar! Dohareas, Vhagar! – you heard your Master’s pleading yell, Aemond tried to halt you by pulling reins sharply, but it was too late. You emerged from behind the clouds, your jaws were wide open. You had this little lizard in the crosshairs. One swift move and...

- NOOOO...! – you screamed stridently, not realizing that the sound actually came out of your mouth, now everyone was staring at you being aghast by your sudden outburst. You moved your numb hands weakly, feeling loose facture of sand, slipping between your fingers. You were kneeling, shivers ran through your whole body, tears dripped down your cheeks unconsciously. Your goblet laid on the ground, leftovers of Vhagar’s blood stained the sand.

- My love, what happened? Are you alright? – Aemond grabbed your arms, lifting you up slowly, there was serious concern on his face, his intent eyes searching for any sign of injury on your body.

You peeked at his cup and froze – half of its content was gone; you glanced at his lips – burgundy redness covered their fragile scarfskin. You couldn't resist running your finger over them, he took your hand gently in his and kissed it, still looking at you worryingly.

- You drank it. You drank her blood – you whispered as if you still weren't aware of it.

- Yes, my love. As you ordered before, remember? – he smiled so charmingly that within the blink of an eye you forgot he has just gained the power over Carantes. And he could use it to harm you. Or even to kill you. You wondered only whether he had visions concerning you and your dragoness. What did he see? Was it something intimate or embarrassing? You tried to guess by reading his face, but you couldn’t tell as his expression remained without a single flaw.

You gazed at Maester, he stood beside you both dumbstruck, his mouth agape. He knew what just happened and what it meant. But before he could express his apprehension in any way, you deterred him, not wanting him to betray your true intentions.

- Please, Maester. Continue – you urged him and he smiled faintly, proceeding further ceremony as if nothing happened. Rest of guests was still a bit confused but no one dared to question anything and resumed their wistfulness.

Maester carried on delivering his speech, entwining your and Aemond’s hand. Then it was time to finally take the oath as sublime High Valyrian words coated your ears. From now on you were one – one body, one soul, one blood and you will stand together as husband and wife until death tear you apart. You passed the point of no return as you realized what it meant. An eternity with a man who could become either your shield or a mortal enemy.

You sealed your union with a kiss, a passionate one and you could still sense dragon’s blood on his lips as your tongues danced fiercely. Sound of loud applause interrupted your tenderness and you giggled when you broke off your lips from his at last. Your mother approached you, bathed in tears and hugged you tightly, her warmth deluged you like a flood.

- My youngest daughter, my only child left, finally became a lady wife – she sobbed, when she let you go reluctantly.

- Mom, please stop. See? Now I’m crying too – you both laughed through your tears.

The idyll was interrupted by Aemond’s grunt as he took your arm and slung it over his neck, lifting you up. You gasped slightly at the strength of his grip.

- It’s time for you to be with your husband, in private – he announced, smiling mischievously. You blushed, you knew deep down inside what privacy he meant and craved.

You left the assembly, carried by your newlywed husband, caged in his strong embrace. You glanced back for the last time. Rhaenys nodded at you reassuringly as your father held her firmly, rubbing her arm as if he wanted to comfort her. A moment later everyone started to walk away, towards The Red Keep, following you in a distance. You were informed that after the wedding negotiations will take place, in The Small Councill room. Of course, you and Aemond as newlyweds weren’t allowed to attend them and you were left alone to celebrate the evening and your wedding night in peace. Young Prince was lucky enough to be the groom on that day, because Rhaenyra would surely send him to the final judgement before The Seven themselves.

You were quite impressed with Aemond’s strength and perseverance as he carried you persistently all the way to The Keep without a single sign of tiredness or exasperation on his statuesque face. Years of training his swordsmanship skills were certainly not in vain. Ultimately you both reached the castle and he took you to his quarters which were basically now yours, not letting you out of his squeeze for a second. Being a second son surely had its drawbacks, but that rascal had literally an entire floor for himself, including a large dining room, not a smaller bathroom and of course an enormous bedroom with a huge fireplace where he loved to sit by on the cozy armchair, reading his favorite philosophy books. There were even hanging gardens in the form of a terrace in the middle of what looked like a courtyard and the cherry on top – a broad balcony overlooking the Blackwater Bay, where he liked to relax himself after a whole day of intensive sword training. He had his own little paradise inside these stone walls, a shelter where he could escape from the world and no one or nothing would bother him. His chambers were located in the left wing of The Keep while negotiations were carried out in the Hand’s Tower on the opposite side of the building, so you were sure that no one will disturb you and on the other hand none of the gathering would hear your… obscenities. Though you were sure Aemond would do his best and make you scream so loud that everyone in the capital would hear you.

When you crossed the threshold of the dressing room, a retinue of servants was waiting for you, ready for your orders. The Prince let you go at last and placed you gently on the ground, smiling at you heavenly. May the Gods curse his charm, damn him.

- Get my wife ready for the supper. I want her to look absolutely perfect – he commanded the maids before he took your hand and placed a chaste kiss upon it and winked at you afterwards rakishly. He walked out of room, leaving you bewitched by his spell. Damn him.

As instructed, the servants began to prepare you for the evening, taking off your previous gown and bathing you in ridiculously expensive oils, scrubbing your body thoroughly, even though you had already taken a bath this morning. When you've been drained of the wetness, they began to dress you up and yes, you wore Daemon’s gift - revealing more than concealing black, lacy dress made of half-transparent trailing material, with a provocative V-shaped neckline and deep cuts at each of your sides. Your long, shapely legs were exposed by high hem slits, reaching up to the upper part of your thighs. To maintain a semblance of decency, your ‘dress’ was covered with black, silk coat, or rather some kind of a robe, tied up in your waist. If you hadn't worn it, there’d be quite a chance that Aemond would lose his appetite for food and start to eat you on that goddamn table instead.

When you were ready, you were taken to the dining room, your long, dark hair fluttered in the wind, encircling your bare collarbones and cleavage, dress skirts brushed the floor. Servant opened the door and he stood there, at the head of the table, waiting for you so he could pull up a chair for you. At first glance you thought he was wearing his usual black leather attire, but no, it wasn’t certainly usual. The different stitching added a touch of sophistication, and you had the impression that the fabric clung even more to his slender yet muscular frame, emphasizing his broad shoulders and arms, and the belt accentuated his narrow waist. His hair was still tied in a loose ponytail, exposing his sharp as broken glass jawbone and lips now curved in an enticing smile. Damn him for the second time.

He gestured you to take a seat and when he helped you take your place, he brushed lightly your neck with his fingertips and walked away smirking as he saw your eyes closed at the sensation. Apparently he was going to take up the baton that night and be the seducer. How tables have quickly turned, you thought.

As he took a seat on the opposite side of the table, he snapped his fingers and servants began to serve foods and drinks, all of your favorites as you have noticed. Venison (roe) roast in honey-mustard sauce, delicate chicken broth with peas, eggplant and zucchini mousse with croutons, caramel pudding with white chocolate and even your beloved lemon cakes. You stared at all those dishes in horror - did he intend to get you into food pregnancy? And what was he thinking, how are you going to do anything in bed after that if all you might want to do after eating all this is to take a nap?

Maid poured a wine into your goblet – a sweet red from Dorne. Bastard remembered everything.

- My favorite wine, it's nice you remembered – you remarked bitingly as you took a sip, looking at him piercingly.

- You’re my wife now, I have to spoil you as much as I can – he smirked also drinking the liquor. His gaze never left your cleavage, exploring your boldly exposed skin between breasts, now covered in goosebumps. You felt your face got reddened as a fresh beet as his eyesight did not budge, you grunted trying to regain your balance back and nervously fixed your hair. Prince only smiled slyly seeing your visible confusion.

At last you got to eat a portion of venison roast, enjoying its exquisite taste as little pieces of meat literally melted in your mouth and you sighed with contentment at the sensation. Aemond seemed to be pleased as well as he observed your reaction, he loved to give you pleasure in any possible way, even if it meant coddling your taste buds.

- My love, I'd like to announce something to you. My Queen Mother decided to give you the title of a Princess as you are married to a Prince now. She wanted to celebrate your entry into our family and Aegon approved it. The edict will be issued today – he broke the silence as you finished your meal. You snorted with contempt, sipping your wine obdurately – What is it, Elaena? I thought you’ll be happy, it’s a great honor…

- Maybe it is for you, but I didn’t earn it by birthright, even though my Mother is a Princess – you interrupted him in a halfway, you felt irritation was growing in you – I am a Lady of House Velaryon who just happened to be drawn into Targaryen family by a fractious Prince – you said the last words winking at him knowingly.

- Ah yes, Lady Elaena Velaryon, proud and self-confident as always. Careful, don’t choke on that pride – he added with a slight mockery in his voice – You don’t have to use that title officially… if you don’t want to. But accept it, it would be a great pleasure for me, having a chance to addressing my wife with such dignity.

- Aemond, I don’ need…

- Enough! If my beloved step-sister, Rhaenyra, was able to pass the title on to her bastards and make those unworthy brats Princes, then you deserve it all the more. End of discussion – he banged his fist on the table, pursed his lips and casted you that specific look. You knew that gaze too much, first time he looked at you like that was on that eventful night, when his Father was still alive.

- How many times do I have to say sorry, woman? You know well that little punk was asking for it, he was provoking me and he got what he deserved – Aemond was pacing around your chamber with anger, sipping from his goblet in one hand and the other one was clenched into a fist – I shouldn’t apologize at all, everyone knows the truth but my Father prefers to last in a lie, because Rhaenyra is his favorite, she always was. He’s been always treating us like useless puppets, me and Aegon - there was obvious pain in his voice, pain and regret and you couldn’t disagree with him on this subject. Viserys wasn’t really a good father, not to say feckless, he always favored his firstborn, forgetting about his sons and put little effort into their upbringing. On the other hand Aemond was always an apple in the Alicent’s eye, he was her beloved boy and she was the one and only to stand for him. The feeling was mutual, as he always respected his mother greatly, never letting himself to disappoint her or offend her by any kind of disrespect.

- And maybe you shouldn’t give him more reasons to treat you like you’re invisible by insulting your own nephews and his grandchildren? – you snapped back, not caring about his excuses or resentments. You knew that Luke’s provocation wasn’t a sufficient pretext for such behavior – I’m not the one you should apologize.

- I don’t care. I don’t seek for appreciation. I am the one who spent years on studying philosophy and history, who trained hard enough with blade to become one of the best swordsmen. It is I who rides the largest dragon in the world, who holds an affection of the most beautiful woman whoever could imagine. It is I who should be the King… And I am ready to do everything to make that woman my Queen, who will stand beside me, but apparently she doesn’t even care – he turned around to face you, a reproach was written on his face and his only eye was breathing with fire.

- I know that being a second son is a heavy burden but you’re getting above yourself – you scolded him, snatching a goblet from him and you drank the rest of wine to the lees. He looked at you offended.

- You are my burden, the biggest of them all – he hissed and crushed his lips against yours before you could say or do anything.

The kiss was fiery, scalding almost. His tongue broke in by force into your mouth, dominating you, not letting you win by any chance. When he broke the kiss at last, to take a breath, his lips landed on your neck, leaving wet, sloppy pecks, nibbling delicate skin with his teeth. You moaned silently at the sensation, feeling light pressure between your thighs. He knew exactly where to strike to placate you. Goddamn wretch.

- Aemond, stop… I… uh… Gods…! – you screamed when all of sudden one of his fingers brushed your folds, still covered in undergarments, pressing them lightly.

- Shh. Be quiet woman, I’ve heard enough of this – he silenced you with another kiss, this time more it was more evanescent and he lifted you, squeezing your ass deliciously as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

He placed you on the verge of bed, pulling your bottom closer to the edge and kneeled between your legs. He wrapped the skirt of your dress up to your hips as if you were some kind of a present he couldn’t wait to unwrap. His hot breath stroked your inner thighs and axils as you were getting already drenched and the only thing you dreamed of at the moment was him to lick all of your juices until you would be dry as a fallen leaf and sated. He must had seen you through because a moment later he tasted your folds with a long, slick lick of his tongue as if you were an appetizer. You moaned protractedly, grabbing his hair and pulling his head closer to your core.

- My, my… you are already so wet for me… - he kissed your clit and licked it teasingly. Another thirsty moan left your mouth – I’m glad that I skipped the dessert at this damn dinner. I have something far more better right here – he purred and returned to licking you, kissing and devouring you like a starved man, your juices were glistening on his chin and he greedily drank them up, coaxing more and more of your delightful moans.

And he was looking at you exactly like that, like a starved man who finally got to eat something after weeks of starvation, while gobbling you between your legs.

- What did you see? When you drank Vhagar’s blood? – he snapped you out of your otherwise pleasant thoughts. You grunted as you felt your throat completely ran dry. He must had spotted that because he smirked suspiciously seeing your abashment. Did he know about what you were thinking just a second before?

- Uhm… I saw… I saw everything from her perspective… When she was burning down surroundings of the Sunspear in Dorne with Visenya on her back… She turned the whole army to ashes… And then… I saw you, how you tried to stop her from… from… Oh Gods, don’t force me to say this. That’s why I burst out all of sudden… - you sighed heavily and you took one of lemon cakes to sweeten those bitter memories. He hummed pensively, obviously the memory of Lucerys was still haunting him like a shadow.

- And what did you see? – you asked timidly, afraid of what secrets he managed to obtain from your own dragon.

- Hmm… Mostly moments from your battles in Stepstones. You were so brave, Nēdenka-prūmia (Braveheart), so fearless. But I saw also other things, much more pleasant to watch…

- What thing…? – you inquired him, afraid that you know what he meant. He only smirked roguishly seeing your instant dismay – What was the other thing, Aemond?

- I saw you bathing in the Driftmark waters I think… completely naked - he grinned with wild satisfaction, watching you flush a juicy blush. Oh Gods. It was your routine were you were a bit younger, you used to sneak out of the High Water at night, to take a bath in the nearby sea, to be alone. The coolness of the sea tides refreshed your body and relaxed it and it was the only thing you needed after a whole day of training or studying. Carantes constantly accompanied you during this activity, watching you from a distance and protecting you from prying eyes.

- Carantes was looking after me and protected me from any onlookers… Good old times – you muttered, sipping your wine in embarrassment. He laughed delightfully at your remark.

- Then maybe I should join you in such bath sometime? She would rest in peace while I would guard you no less carefully – he chuckled, rising from the chair and started walking towards you. You moved uneasily in your seat.

- Don’t be afraid, little doe. I’ve prepared another kind of bath for you now. Come – he stretched his arm and helped you stand up, the enticing smile never left his face.

- But the dessert…? – you hesitated for a moment, looking back all on those sweets waiting for you to consume them.

- My love, you are the dessert. You don’t need any of these to make yourself more sweet than you already are – he licked ostentatiously the frosting of cakes from your fingers, like he couldn't embarrass you more. He took your hand gently afterwards and led you to the bathroom.

He opened huge double doors and a large, gilded tub appeared before your eyes, filled with something dark… You stepped closer and the light from the many lighted candles around illuminated its contents for you. You froze. The bathtub was filled with blood.

- Don’t worry, it’s not human – he rushed to explain when he saw your dread. You looked at him stupefied.

- If it's not human, then whose is it? – you asked, not sure whether you wanted to know the answer.

- It’s dragon’s blood, Carantes and Vhagar’s, but Vhagar’s mostly – you gaped your mouth being even more flabbergasted – Don’t look at me like that, darling. I didn’t take it from them by myself. I asked the keepers from the Dragon Pit to do it. They were a bit surprised by my request, but they did quite well I must say.

- You want me to bath myself in their blood? Have you completely lost your mind? – you stared at him wondering whether he was soft in the head.

- Elaena… We may be not bound by blood, but our fire binds us. And this will seal our bond, it’s our dragons that make us invincible and you know what they say about Targaryens… - he whispered to your ear, licking your earlobe softly. He stood right behind you and his hands ran down your arms, making you shiver all over. He grabbed your waist and pulled you even closer to him, so your back were pressed to his firm chest, you felt it raising in a deep breath.

- I know what do they say. That you’re closer to gods than to men.

- Exactly. And now you’re one of us, a true Targaryen, ñuha jaesa (my goddess). Consider it as some kind of an initiation – with one swift move he peeled off your robe and it fell on the floor softly, leaving you in a translucent, defiant ‘dress’. But evidently it wasn’t enough for him as his nimble fingers untied the clasps on your shoulders, sliding the material down your arms, exposing your completely bare form to him. Chills ran through your entire body when you realized how much you were defenseless now, you had no way to defend yourself, he could do with you whatever he wished. His hand pulled back your hair, his lips were leaving soft, wet kisses from your jaw to the crook of your neck, his other hand gently traced your curves, exploring the mold of your breasts and the cavity of your waist. You gasped silently, his touch was as light as a feather, teasing your nerves and as blunt as a whip blow at the same time.

Moments later he stopped and took step forward, facing you. He stretched his arm and you caught his palm, letting him to guide you to the bathtub. You took a deep breath before you stood with one foot in it, still faltering.

- Slowly, let yourself get used to it – he cooed, helping you take first step in. You dipped one leg, still holding his hand tightly, feeling tepid, dense liquid sucking you in. You fizzled at the sensation and after a moment you took another step and now both your legs were floundering in quaint fluid. Aemond lowered his arm, keeping you strongly as before, letting you bend down and you immersed yourself fully, leaving your head above the surface. Your whole body was covered in burgundy red, some of your hair strands were coated in blood and tangled a bit. You shivered, still not believing yourself that you were doing this.

- How does it feel? – he asked, smiling lightly, his hand caressed your cheek gingerly. His eyes observed you carefully, looking for any signs of fear or discomfort.

- It’s… strange – you managed to murmur after a while, your skin was slowly getting used to viscosity of blood.

Prince only chuckled slightly in response and began to undress himself. And you got to admit it was quite a view. You watched his every stretched muscle and tendon as he took his leather doublet off, your gaze lowered to his abdomen – few veins popped out, making paths to his venter. You guessed he must had been already aroused, the sight of your naked body covered in burgundy was something he must have craved for a long time. When he stripped his trousers your guesses were confirmed – his manhood was pretty rigid, wobbling a bit in the air. You turned your head back, abashed like a little, inexperienced girl, which you most certainly were not. He smirked incredulously seeing your unexpected confusion and as if nothing had happened he entered the tub, sitting himself on the opposite side. He closed his eyes at feeling of sticky liquid, wrapping every inch of his statuesque silhouette and hummed with content. This man really was uncanny and unpredictable in his desires.

- Come here, my love – he stretched his arms towards you and grabbed your hips, pulling you closer to him, so now you were straddling his lap. Your folds were rubbing mercilessly against his thigh and you wanted desperately to gain some friction but he stopped you by squeezing his hands on your waist warningly. You whimpered pitifully but you didn’t dare to push your luck on him, not yet.

- Drink it – he brushed your lips with his fingers dripping with blood. You opened your lips obediently and sucked the fluid off his digits greedily with a loud pop at the end. He smiled being satisfied with your responsiveness and tucked some of your loose hair strands behind your ear.

- Good girl, such a good little dove – he praised you and crashed his lips against yours in a open-mouthed, sloppy kiss. Remains of blood were dripping down your chin and stained his mouth, he growled at the sensation. When he broke the kiss he stared at you meaningly, pushing you further his upper thigh.

You started to grind yourself against him, rocking your hips in a steady rhythm. You felt wetness gathering in your core, as you were rubbing your needy cunt against his tense muscles. Aemond groaned feeling your growing arousal, but he didn’t let you stop, clutching your hips strongly and forcing you to move faster, harder. You squealed as his pelvis started to scrub your clit, teasing already oversensitive bud, but you needed something more, you needed release and you couldn’t reach it by mere stimulation. His cast-iron dick stroked your groins irritatingly and you were ready to give all the treasures of the world for him to fuck you with it, to stop bantering you. You grabbed his cock and squeezed it firmly, your hand was stroking it at a deadly slow pace, not letting him hasten you in any way.

- Fuck…! – he hissed being annoyed by your ponderosity as you were vexing him on purpose. But you were also merciful, you couldn't torment him indefinitely, you wanted pleasure as well and you were willing to do anything to get it.

You raised yourself and positioned on his crotch, head of his member was brushing your folds leaking with slick. He stopped your hand as you wanted to aim it at your core. The vision of fucking you in the tub filled with blood somehow restrained him, even if he craved to do it for a long time, his eyes betrayed his concern – he wasn’t sure whether you wanted it knowingly and if you were ready for it. But you resolved his doubts when you slipped the tip of his cock between your folds and a moment later his entire length sank inside of you.

A sonorous yell escaped your lips when you felt him tearing you apart, you weren’t as prepared and stretched as you thought you were. You slowly sticked yourself on him, feeling every inch of his hard member wiping your walls ruthlessly. You started rocking your hips at a leisurely pace, wanting to spin out your insides for him more, your hands landed on his strained torso to gain some support. His hands rested on your hips, holding them steadily but he didn’t force you to move faster neither pressured himself into you deeper as he remained resistless. You looked into his eye – a pure love, was flowing from it, this was gaze of a madly enamored man, ready to give himself to his beloved, to give up his power and control in order to you take the reins. You had to admit, you were quite surprised by his sudden surrender as he almost always dominated, he loved to be in possession, in fact he was the most possessive man you knew and now he was at your feet, Aemond goddamn Targaryen, One-Eyed Prince was at your every command.

In your boldness, you allowed yourself to take off his eyepatch, he didn’t seem to be amazed by that as he didn’t stop you at all, a sheer glimmer of sapphire lit your field of view and it was so beautiful, enlightened by the candlelight. Then you pulled the velvet ribbon off his hair, blood on your hand stained them, griming the perfect silver-blonde hairdoC. Later you smeared his cheeks and the rest of his face with scarlet red, painting smudged patterns, like on the face of a warrior before battle. He chuckled at your tomfoolery, kissing your skin from neckline down to your sternum.

You resumed your hips movements, they were more rough and quicker now as you fucked yourself on him relentlessly, your shameless moans increased as well. His hands held your waist and small of your back robustly, but still he didn’t do anything to take over control or impose a rhythm – he liked that he wasn’t in charge, you could tell by his languid look. He was breathing heavily when he wasn’t kissing you feverishly, his lips attacked your breasts, nibbling your hard nipples, you tilted your head back sinking in pure ecstasy and you changed the angle of your moves unintentionally, he groaned feeling your pussy squeezing around him more tightly. You loved the way your bodies were rubbing against each other, all leaking and dripping with blood, clammy liquid sticking to your skin, your hair entirely messed, disheveled, blotchy in burgundy red. His cock was slamming into you incessantly and you tried your best to rock your bottom to get the best friction you could, but it was insufficient, you needed his assistance to reach your pleasure. He saw your helplessness and smiled encouragingly, caressing your back gingerly as if he tried to soothe your restlessness somehow.

- Let me help, byka hontes (little bird) – he cooed into your ear, licking the earlobe. You clutched your hands around his, allowing him to gain control and he started to push his length into you vigorously, sticking you like a piece of meat on the spit.

You screamed loudly as his cock was piercing you like a sharpened spear, ravaging your already strung walls, hitting all the right spots. He took advantage of opportunity and seized your clit with his thumb, circling it nimbly, making you stick your fingers into his shoulders painfully, leaving deep bruises. He didn’t stop pounding into you at breakneck speed, blood was spilling out of the tub, forming quite large puddles on the floor. You felt your cunt was clenching around his cock in chaotic waves, you were pretty close to your climax. Aemond threw his head back at the sensation, panting heavily, not stopping his frantic thrusts, his fingers were sinking into delicate mold of your middle. You decided that his exposed neck was the perfect place to relieve the tension of the upcoming orgasm and you drowned your teeth into his pulsating artery, licking it and leaving a huge mark in the color of a ripe plum. He hissed at first but after a moment he chuckled amusingly, visibly enjoying that little dose of pain you gave him. He slapped your ass sappily, kneading your buttock like it was a piece of dough. You laid your nose in the crook of his neck, whimpering quietly, your nose was tantalized by his scent of musk, sweat and dried blood. Only moments separated you from the peak, you couldn’t stop trembling, he kept on rutting into you like a fasted animal, maneuvering your hips at a deadly pace.

- Come, my love. Milk all over my cock – he ordered, looking into your eyes piercingly, sapphire in his eye socket gleamed blindingly and as if by magic you carried out the order, your walls clasped around his dick turbulently, a wave of your climax washed over you like a flood, your whole body shivered and if it weren't for Aemond and his strong arms you would have fallen and drowned in that bloody grease.

He was still holding you tightly when you came from your high, your juices trickled down his shaft, milking it entirely. Something for you was missing, he stopped moving, but he didn’t pull out of you, his member was still hard, even growing inside of you, you could feel every vain popping on it. You looked at him questioningly, being afraid that maybe he didn’t enjoyed it as much as you did and for the very first time you have failed him as a lover.

- What’s wrong, my Prince? Why didn’t you…

- Shh, ñuha jorrāelagon (my love). Tonight all I want is to satisfy my newlywed wife, your pleasure is far more important for me than my own – he hushed you, peppering your face with tender kisses, hugging your still shaking body as he wanted you to feel safe within his solid embrace.

- Oh no, no, no, not on my damn watch – you scrambled out of the bathtub using remnants of your strength, standing on your still wobbly feet, you almost slipped on the blood pool, but at the last moment you grabbed the edge of the tub and saved yourself from a painful fall.

- Easy, Princess. Don’t hurt yourself – he hopped out too and wanted to grab your arms to secure you, but you pushed him away in an offended manner, being enraged by him calling you like that. You really hated that title.

- Don’t call me… Ugh. Lay on the bed – you ordered him peremptorily, still frowning. He grinned amused by your grimace but he obediently laid on his back on the bed, his jolly smile turned into a shifty smirk as he was waiting impatiently for your next move.

You took one of candles from the chandelier and approached the bed slowly, all of the sudden his cheeky smirk faded into a wry face, his only eye was scared of what you might want to do with that candle. Now you were the one smiling cunningly as you kneeled with one leg on the bed and you brought little flame closer to your stomach, heat was stroking your skin but you didn’t feel obvious pain – it was rather something between tickling and pinching, quite pleasant feeling you had to admit.

- Elaena, what are you doing…?! You’re gonna burn yourself! – he squalled as you literally applied the blaze to your abdomen, testing the waters. Nothing happened, it didn’t left any marks or reddening, it didn’t hurt at all – it was like a feather stroke. Aemond was staring at you flabbergasted, his mouth were wide opened in shock and you continued playing with candle, guiding it to your breasts now, teasing sensitive nipples. It was weird, but it felt good like glowing coals touching delicate twigs.

- It works… I didn't believe it until now, but it's really happening – you whispered, fascinated by glimmer dancing on your curves jauntily.

- What works…? Can you tell me what the hell is going on? – Prince was still seemingly confused by your discovery.

- Blood magic, ñuha valzȳrys (my husband). We’re fireproof now, you can thank our dragons for that – you smiled reassuringly and tipped the candle slightly, just enough to drop a little bit of melted wax on his venter. He hissed silently at the sensation as it left a sticky, small stain but he didn’t seem to be hurt in any way, quite the opposite, his expression told you that he enjoyed this in his own fashion – See? Nothing happened, I’ll show you that this can be enjoyable, but you have to obey me and follow my instructions – you teased his pubis around his stiffened cock which was twitching at your peculiar caress.

- Nyke dīnagon ribazmoqitta ābra, jaeses issi caras (I’ve married a mad woman, the gods are cruel) – he whimpered when you chafed tip of his length with fire, giggling like a frenzied sorceress.

- Īlon issi ribazmoqitta valzȳrys, ao gīmigon ziry hen se rhaenagon (We both are mad, you knew it from the beginning) – you tutted, letting few more drops of wax drip down on his cock, covering it in tacky, white tallow. You bowed your head and licked it off thoroughly, your tongue swept his entire manhood from the shaft to the tip, not leaving a single bead. When you finished, you kissed the head fondly and looked at him afterwards, checking his reaction. He was rapturous, his eye closed in a pure bliss, and his hands grasped the sheets to relieve tension.

- Remind me your House words, dear husband. Fire and blood, isn’t it? Ao teptan nyke ānogar se kesan tepagon ao perzys (You gave me blood and I will give you fire) – your promise was like a blessing and a curse at the same time for him; a threat and a delight. You glanced at him one more time before you continued your ‘tortures’ – he was waiting dutifully but you could tell that if you prolonged the anticipation he would jerk your head off and force you to swallow him whole and you weren’t going to give him his power back, it was too addictive.

You brushed his entire cock with candle flame, watching it quiver haphazardly, enjoying this little botheration. You observed as his skin grew juicy red, his head was deep purple probably because of overstimulation. Before he could do or say anything, you put out the flame with your lips, swallowing the candle and licking it through suggestively and when you finished you threw the useless thing on the floor. Aemond was literally begging you with his eye, with his whole face expression to stop tormenting him and fuck him with your mouth already.

You graciously put his misery to an end when you started to lick tip of his dangling cock, gradually at first, your tongue swirled over it briskly, gathering all the precum which was leaking in large amounts and you used it to provide a better glide for your hand. He tasted somewhat salty with strong musky aftertaste, it was a very quaint flavor but it made your pussy clenching at the sensation every time nonetheless. When you added your hand movements, rubbing all the way down his shaft and spreading his juices, he was moaning like a wounded doe, pleading you for more. He was at your complete mercy, you could do whatever you want to him or his member. His groans made you wet again, you could feel your liquids soaking down your inner thigh and you desperately searched for any kind of friction, your finger instinctively wandered to your exposed clit, making small circles, just to ease the tenseness a bit.

Guttural moans were escaping your mouth while you were pleasuring yourself with one hand, the other one kept on grinding on your husband’s manhood, your lips sucked every drop of his juices he gave you, licking, stroking and nibbling his entire length. Your head was swinging back and forth his stiff dick, which you swore was getting harder and bigger in your mouth, making it almost impossible to swallow it in a one smooth move. You tried your best to keep steady, yet rousing pace without having to take a breath or choking but apparently this wasn’t enough for him, he needed more, he needed you to take all of him, to hit the back of your throat to release himself fully.

He grabbed your hair, gently at first and started guiding you into his length, forcing you to gulp him down inch by inch deeper. You let him take the control as you felt it stimulated you more, your two fingers were brushing through your drenched folds, searching for more attrition. His hand was imposing an ever faster pace, your head was bobbing, his cock was nudging your palate at a harsh pace, causing you to gag slightly. You had to breathe through your nose, preventing yourself from strangling, tears were welling up in your eyes but strangely you liked it, the feeling of being used fueled you even more.

- Such a good girl, taking my cock so well… As if you were made for it – he praised you, groaning at each poke of his penis at your back throat. He didn’t slow down with his hand, on the contrary, he even added gentle thrusts of his hips, hitting your mouth with full strength.

You couldn’t stand the tensity between your legs, captivating your core like a prisoner, your digits sneaked into your wet slit, moving in a frenzied rhythm. You groaned pitifully as he was fucking your throat, using you like a common whore and you could only masturbate yourself to reach another release somehow. But you loved it, you loved every second of it, even if you were almost choking, crying and felt humiliated in some way. You loved to give him pleasure, to cherish his sizable cock, you loved his taste, when he was leaking with arousal caused by you. You loved hearing his praises of how beautiful you were when you were sucking him, how you were good at it, no woman who taught him sexual techniques could be compared to you and he would throw himself into Vhagar’s fire just to feel your lips around him once more.

Aemond was nearly close to his end, you could tell by all veins popping out on his dick, how taut it was and it was so cast-iron that it almost hurt you like a whip tearing apart your poor throat. His grip on your head was still heavy as his pushes became more chaotic and out of order. You felt your release coming too, your heated, bedraggled cunt started to squeeze around your fingers, all you needed to come was that one more ‘shot’.

- Fuck, I’m going to cum… so hard… Take all of it, take all of my seed… - he cried breathily and you nodded obediently, ready to receive everything he would give you.

Few more thrusts and pokes of his cock at your throat later he came, shooting his warm cum into your waiting mouth, making sure none drop would be wasted. You swallowed it willingly, licking your lips greedily, but several trickles of white fluid were running down your chin anyway, he certainly did not spare anything when he released himself. A moment later you also reached your climax, the second one that night, but this one swept you off absolutely, you ran out of steam as you fell to the edge of bed, you felt like you were going to faint any minute, you were so exhausted.

Aemond pulled you to him closely, holding you in a secure embrace, as you both laid against each other, panting heavily. He caressed your back tenderly, a pure bliss was written on his face and yet his vigilant eye made sure you didn't drift away, his soft voice whispered sweet nothings into your ear to keep you awake.

After a while, when your dizziness faded away, you looked around the bed and sheets. They were stained with dried up blood, now becoming more brown, as well as your bodies, entwined in a strange matter, your husband clearly liked to curl his legs and arms around you in whatever way he only could.

- My, we’ve made quite a mess – you said, still not believing that this was all because of your doings, although you had to admit that this pleasure was worth such a muddle. Prince chuckled heartily at your remark, kissing your nose affectionately.

- Now everyone will believe that we’ve consummated our marriage and I took your maidenhood – he grinned seemingly being proud of himself.

- They'll sooner believe that you’ve butchered a dozen of maidens on that bed – you chortled bluffly, until your belly ached. Aemond guffawed together with you, both of you were in tears now.

- Ñuha byka sorrea. Ñuha mēre se mērī drēje jorrāelagon (My little witch. My one and only true love.) – he oozed compliments into your ear, peppering your whole face, neck and cleavage with pecks. He was literally bursting with emotions, you've rarely experienced this version of him. And you liked that one, not that you were picky, you enjoyed his usual defensive and secretive attitude as this was an essence of One-Eyed Prince, but you were proud with yourself that you managed to open him up enough to trust you fully and not being afraid of showing his all feelings to you.

When you rested a bit and gained enough strength to get up from bed, Aemond ordered servants to prepare another bath, this time an ordinary one with water and to change the sheets to clean ones. Then he carried you to the tub, placed you gently in steaming water and washed your whole body, scrubbing carefully every inch of your skin in order to get rid of refractory blood stains. When he cleaned you up, he popped into the water as well and did the same with himself and you tried to distract him by splashing on him and cackling like a little frolicking child who just found the best new fun to play along. But you had it coming when he spouted an entire jug of water onto your face and kissed your lips passionately after to silence any of your protests or grumbles.

At last he helped you to get out of the bath, drying your skin and wiping off all the moisture. You were already feeling drowsy and literally falling asleep in his arms as you barely remembered him carrying you back to bed. All you remembered was the hazy sound of his whisper lulling you to sleep.

- Ñuha laiko ābrazȳrys. Mērī ñuhon. Syt sir se va moriot (My beloved wife. Only mine. For now and always).

*****

Next morning you were obliged to bid farewell to the guests and you went to the main courtyard to do your duty. Aemond decided to stay with Aegon at The Keep to ‘do not rub salt into injury’ and you were almost certain that his older brother wrung every piquant detail of your wedding night from your husband as his disgusting curiosity was never satisfied. You only hoped that your Prince was sensible enough to keep the most peculiar things, including bloody bath and fire play for himself.

You hugged your mother whole-heartedly, dissolving in her maternal warmth. Rhaenys made no secret of leaving you with a heavy heart, but she had to after all.

- My sweet, little girl. My heart is breaking at the very thought of leaving you in this nest of vipers. But that's the way it has to be, you have to be with your husband for now – she wailed, stroking your arms fondly – And remember, one signal from you and I'll come with Meleys and set them all on fire – and there she was, The Queen Who Neves Was, but should have always been.

- Do not forget about Vhagar. You have now control over her – your father interjected, joining in a hug. You wanted this moment to last forever, for your parents to stay in that pose, in a loving embrace. But you had to let them go ultimately.

Lord Corlys kissed your forehead for the last time and guided his wife to the ship, moored in the dock. Next in line was Rhaenyra, who visibly felt out of sorts, but she embraced you kindly and wished you luck, congratulating you on your marriage once more. After this rather short courtesy she rushed towards Syrax who was waiting impatiently for her Mistress near the coast.

Jacaerys alongside with your nieces, Baela and Rhaena approached you and showered with tender hugs and kisses, Jace even assured you that you could count on him as your own brother and that he would help you whenever you needed it. You were so moved by his sudden promise that you kissed both of his cheeks and held him so tightly that you might have broke his ribs. After a short moment he peeled you off him, chuckling lightly and kissed your forehead before he and girls followed their mother, mounting Vermax and Moondancer.

You were left alone with none other than The Rogue Prince. Daemon looked at you longingly, a shadow of pain was written on his face, but he stood unwavering, not moving an inch towards your direction.

- How did the negotiations go? Rhaenyra seemed to be a bit… uptight – you got close enough to him so he was within your arm's reach. He rolled his eyes at your apparently rhetorical question and smiled contemptuously.

- You know how they went, little doe. My wife would never humble herself before the Hightowers and that usurper cunt of a king on the throne and I would rather throw myself to dragons than to allow any of it – he spitted through his teeth, words oozed from his mouth like a lethal poison. He has never hidden his contempt for The Greens and he was the last person to bow himself before an enemy.

- Daemon, I want you to know…you and Rhaenyra, that you don’t have to worry about my loyalty. I will never betray you and will always stand by you no matter what happens. And I am ready to follow you into battle, even if it means abandoning my husband and fighting against him – you laid your hand on his firm chest, your other one grabbed his forearm to highlight your words. His listless gaze turned into more sentimental one, a familiar sparkle lit his irises and you knew that glance full well. He always looked at you like that whenever he wanted to console you or to just take care of you.

- I know, Ziry-zaldrīzes (Dragoness) – he cooed, his warm breath brushed your neck as his lips stroked your cheek, his touch was featherlight.

His fingers caressed your jaw gently before he kissed you slowly, passionately, savoring every bit of it as if he wanted to keep this moment forever. You leaned forward, deepening the kiss, your hands brushed through his short, silky blonde hair. You wanted him to stay with you so badly that you were ready to sneak out to some boondocks for a little while, so you could both enjoy yourselves, away from the world and from prying eyes. But you knew it was impossible, he already had his Queen to whom he was faithful and to whom you were no match, you were always just a backup option, the second one in line. At least that was what you told yourself so far.

- Kesan jiōragon ao hen hen kesīr, sesīr lo īles se mōrī run nyke gaomagon isse ñuha ābrar (I will get you out of here, even if it was the last thing I’d do in my life) – he finally broke the kiss and brushed his finger over your bottom lip, unable to bear your doe look – For now, try not to brawl around too much – he pecked your lips for the last time, smuggling a small piece of paper into your hand. You looked at him crestfallen but he didn’t say anything as he walked away, trying to curb Caraxes whims who apparently couldn't wait for his master to order him to soar up, wiggling his exorbitantly long neck and screeching.

You watched as The Blood Wyrm rose up, spreading his large wings widely and disappeared into thin air with Daemon on his back. You sighed with resignation, looking at the paper in your hand. You unfolded carefully sealed note and you froze the second your eyes landed on written words.

‘An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged.’

And that's it, how do you like the Fire & Blood theme? :D I hope your imagination enjoyed every bit of it! And guys, Blood&Cheese is coming! I need to warn you, I haven't read the book yet and I doubt I will, because I don't really like the the way it's written, the chronicle format is something I try to avoid to be honest. But I'll do my best to not mess up events too much as I already have read a lot of summaries and other stuff and I think it's going to be okay :D That's not it, because in next part you're gonna get... Aemond&Aegon duo! A brotherly competition in fucking you blind. I know I supposed to write this as a separate fic, but I thought it fits the theme of the series very well. And Aegon is such a little, flithy shit, it's going be so much fun writing threesome fic including this wretch :D

Thanks for reading and I will appreciate any kind of feedback in comments!

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themculibrary · 8 months

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Fics With Titles That Start With D Masterlist 2

part one

darkness will be rewritten (ao3) - princessironspider natasha/tony N/R, 104k

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dear mr. fantasy (ao3) - iron_spider T, 46k

Summary: (ENDGAME SPOILERS. BUT I'M CHANGING THINGS.)

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He grits his teeth and turns around, and before he can even begin to trudge over towards Peter’s room, he’s stopped in his tracks.

By a door. In the middle. Of the living room. Straight up and down like a monolith, just beside the glass coffee table.

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Devotion (ao3) - MarshmallowNerd bucky/wanda T, 11k

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Summary: Soulmate AU: Anon said, "I dunno, just more Steve and co. realizing how badly they messed up and trying to repair relations."

Roger's team hurt Tony once, T'Challa, Rhodey and Pepper weren't going to let it happen again.

Dodgy Chinese in LA (ao3) - orphan_account clint/tony T, 7k

Summary: Tony adopts all the things, builds them nests, and acts like a mature adult for once. Ceiling!Clint admires him from afar… or just the vents, which aren't all that far, really.

Dominance (ao3) - Nat_Nav natasha/tony, happy/pepper E, 10k

Summary: Tony took another sip, drinking in not only his bourbon but the very attractive Miss Rushman as well. “What?” He said and Natalie smiled softly, her eyes not leaving him once. Tony felt something in his chest at that smile, a feeling that he’d never felt before. He then started to turn his head between Pepper and Happy, he then gestured to Happy. “Give her a lesson.” He said and left the ring, leaving Happy to give the seemingly tiny woman a lesson in boxing.

Don't Let Your Life Pass You By (ao3) - Memories_of_the_Shadows tony/sam T, 5k

Summary: Moving on is sometimes the hardest thing you have to do. It helps when you have people you know along the way.

Don’t Look Down (ao3) - NamelesslyNightlock loki/tony M, 256k

Summary: When forced to decide between the lives of Tony Stark and Iron Man, Steve Rogers chose wrong.

Tony is left to deal with the consequences, but it’s not like he’s helpless, and he certainly isn’t alone.

do you ever get the sense, you're watching someone else? (ao3) - inmoonlightigetseasick mj/peter T, 9k

Summary: Michelle has a theory. It’s one of her less researched, more mystical-intuitive ones, but a theory nonetheless. It has something to do with putting together the pieces, something to do with observation.

It’s junior year, but her SATs are the least of her worries. She’s the captain of the decathlon team and her star player is always skipping meetings with covers worse than whatever he uses to hide the scrapes and bruises he comes back with.

Dragging You Down (ao3) - AraniaArt, Kamiki steve/bucky E, 81k

Summary: In a divergence from the canon storyline, Hydra experiments with occult legends of a more demonic bent. When Bucky is captured at Azzano, something more insidious than a knock-off super soldier serum is done to him, but the full effects take some time to completely set in. Bucky struggles with building impulses and an increased libido while trying to keep his interest in Steve from boiling over and ruining Steve’s chance at the life he deserves.

Drawing gold from the dark (come inside) (ao3) - viverella clint/natasha T, 21k

Summary: “Hey,” he says. He puts his most winning smile on his face and says cheerfully, “You here to make a bad decision?”

The corner of her mouth curves upwards in a hint of a smile and she says in a soft voice that makes something jolt under Clint’s skin, “I was hoping to, yeah.”

OR: that AU in which Clint runs a tattoo shop that Natasha stumbles into one day and then keeps coming back to, and Clint gets maybe a little too invested and Kate teases him relentlessly.

Drawing Near To Your Heart (fanfiction.net) - NCISVILLE pepper/tony T, 9k

Summary: Pepper just broke up with her boyfriend and needs a plus one pronto for her brother's wedding. When she enlists the help of her boss, Tony Stark, will they draw closer together like he wants?

drowning, please rescue me (ao3) - mabonwitch pepper/tony, clint/tony M, 11k

Summary: Clint is fucked up after Phil dies. Tony has some ideas about how to help.

Dreams Do Come True (ao3) - captasha007 steve/natasha M, 114k

Summary: “Come in!”

Her heart jumped hearing his voice, making her more nervous, so she slowly opens the door and enters the office.

And God almighty, can she just die?

Because there, standing behind a desk, was Steve Rogers aka the asshole who spilled coffee on her blouse earlier. The guy who she yelled and cussed out.

Yep, kill her right now.

During Business Hours: A Filthy Coffee Shop AU (ao3) - samanthahirr steve/bucky E, 25k

Summary: Unemployed artist Steve takes a job managing the worst coffee shop in Brooklyn, where the floors are greasy, the coffee beans have expired, the espresso machine’s been sabotaged, and the owners might be Russian Mafia. But the job comes with a few perks, like a generous paycheck, reasonable hours, and one super-hot customer whom Steve can’t resist having dirty, filthy, bad-idea sex with in the bathroom.

Steve is pretty sure this job is going to kill him. But what a way to go….

#themculibrary #marvel #mcu #masterlists #ficsd #ficsd masterlist

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hawkbucks · 4 years

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Through The Years (a.k.a the fic I’m surprised I finished) Wordcount: 11014 Relationships: Natasha & Tony, Natasha/Pepper, Tony/Bucky A/N: C*v*l W*r simply does not exist. Originally posted to my original blog. Inspired by an anon who I hope can see this again someday.

Barely beta’d and beta’d barely. Please let me know of any typos. Summary: Tony brings home Natasha one day, proclaiming her to be his new sister.

Natasha takes this all in stride.

Tony is 8 and Natasha is 12 when Tony brings Natasha home for the first time.

“Mamma!” he brightly exclaims as soon as Maria opens the door, holding up one of his hands that is intertwined with one of Natasha’s. “This is Natasha! She helped me while I was walkin’ home from school today.” Before Maria can say anything, Tony is already rushing past her, dragging his newfound friend into the living room with him. He leads her to the rather lavish, cream-colored couch that’s bigger than necessary and tells her to sit down, letting go of her hand.

“Some’a the kids at school were followin’ me and sayin’ bad things to me,” Tony starts to explain as he takes off his patent leather shoes, remembering what his mother said about tracking dirt into the house. “But Natasha made ‘em go away. Then she said she’d keep walkin’ with me so that I’d get home all safe. She was really awesome!”

Natasha’s pale cheeks flush, almost as if she’s embarrassed about the praise Tony is singing about her. She quietly takes off her own battered and beaten shoes, a neon blue bandaid sitting right above her left ankle. With her wild red hair and skinny arms, it’s hard to think of her as someone who would be able to shoo away a group of rowdy 8-year-olds.

Tony finally joins her on the couch, sighing as he sinks into the cushions. “Mamma, I think Natasha should be my sister,” he says with a decisive nod. “I like her. She can have the room nex’ to mine and everything!”

Maria’s head still feels like it’s spinning from Tony’s explanation of what happened, so she settles for a smile as she walks over after locking the door. “It is good that Natasha helped you, ‘Tonio.” She rests a caring hand on Tony’s cheek, and he leans into it with childish affection. “I have no doubt that she would make a good sister–” she glances at Natasha, whose flush seems to have gotten even deeper– “but she probably has a family of her own, bambino. You bringing her here… what if her parents are worried?” she gently scolds.

Tony’s eyebrows furrow as guilt spreads across his features. “Oh.” That’s all he says.

Before Maria can offer any soothing words, Natasha speaks up. It’s so soft that Maria has to strain her ears to hear her: “I don’t have any parents.” Both Maria and Tony turn to look at her, but she keeps her gaze on a spot on the carpet a few inches to the right of the coffee table in front of her. “No family. Well, I live with an aunt, but…” Natasha bites her bottom lip. “She’s not very nice.”

Maria’s heart clenches at how raw the girl looks like right now. Her eyes hold a deep sadness that she is far too young to be harboring.

Tony doesn’t even think before he wraps his arms around Natasha’s shoulders, a soft distressed noise leaving his throat. He continues to hug her until Natasha pushes him away, the beginnings of a smile on her face.

And yet, Maria notices, the smile does not reach her eyes.

(Howard snorts, gesturing vaguely with a crystal tumbler in his hand. “Another child? Anthony is already a handful, and you want to bring in another child?”

Maria’s jaw sets, eyes alight with a determined flame. “I am not asking that we adopt her, Howard–not yet. I am asking that we at least give her a place to stay.” She shakes her head, thinking back to the scene on the couch earlier. “I would not feel comfortable sending her back to her aunt. She almost cried, Howard. At the very least, she should be able to sleep without being scared!”

It isn’t until Howard looks at her, eyebrows raised, that Maria realizes how passionate she sounded. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Just know that she is your responsibility.”)

Tony is 10 and Natasha is 14 when the papers go through and Natasha goes from being a Romanoff to a Stark. It’s kept quiet from the press, thanks to Howard’s exorbitant amounts of money.

Maria hugs her, warm and motherly. Tony excitedly latches onto her side, talking her ear off about all the cool things they can do now that they’re brother and sister. Hell, even Howard begrudgingly says something about how she does seem like a nice girl.

All of that, of course, makes it harder for Natasha to tell them the truth: she’s a spy. And an assassin. Or at least she was. She blurts it out the second they step foot back into the house. It’s better they know now, she thinks, instead of years down the line. She would never do anything to hurt them–never–but they deserve to know. If it results in her being kicked out, well… the past 2 years have been the best of her life.

Maria, at first, is horrified. She immediately ushers Tony away while he’s still too shocked to protest (To protect him, Natasha realizes, from her. Just in case). Natasha braces herself, ready for Maria to yell and scream at her, but all she does is sigh heavily, eyes turning downcast. “You are so young,” she says, sounding pained, “and you do all that?”

Natasha inhales, eyes flickering between Maria and Howard. “I used to. The organization–the place I worked for, I ran away.” She waits for any interjection, any sign that she’s not welcome in the house anymore–not welcome around Tony–but none comes. So she continues. “I guess they never caught up. I lied by omission, I guess. Doesn’t make it any better, but I figured I should tell you guys now.” More silence. “And, just so you know, I wouldn’t have hurt any of you.”

Surprisingly, it’s Howard that speaks up next. “Why don’t you work for S.H.I.E.L.D?” he offers.

“Howard!” Maria gasps, scandalized. “She just got out of that life and you–and you want to put her back in it? And she’s so young–”

“S.H.I.E.L.D is a hell of a lot safer a bet than whatever hack job organization she was running with originally! They must not be that good if they can lose a child,” he shoots back. “Protection–we can protect her there. She can help this country, atone for her past!”

Maria’s face is openly appalled. “She is 14–”

“I’ll do it,” Natasha interjects, jaw set in determination when Maria and Howard–mom and dad, she corrects–look at her. “I’m proficient in over 7 different styles of martial arts, along with receiving specialized marksman training. My entire life, I grew up immersed in the arts of espionage.” She squares her shoulders, like she senses a challenge. “I can do it.”

(“You’re an assassin. Does that mean you’ve killed people, Nat?” Tony asks, innocently enough, as he scribbles down measurements and observations about a weapon he’s taken apart to study.

An ugly sound tears itself from Natasha’s throat, somewhere between a snarl and a growl. “Don’t ask that question, Tony.”

Tony flinches. “Sorry. Sorry, I won’t–sorry.” He bites his bottom lip, worrying the already fragile skin there.)

Tony is 14 and Natasha is 18 when Tony gets accepted to M.I.T.

Natasha insists on accompanying him under the alias of “Natalie Rushman.” They fudge her papers, place her in classes that’s she’s never going to have to attend, and put her up in an apartment off campus. Howard asks about what’s going to happen should they need her at S.H.I.E.L.D. She says they should be fine, but if it’s truly an emergency, then they can call.

She hangs out around Tony, saying that she’s his old tutor who was positively ecstatic when she found out that Tony would be attending the same college that she does and decided to take him under her wing the second he stepped on campus.

Tony resists at first, saying that it feels too much like she’s babysitting him. “I’m not 8 anymore, Nat,” he grumbles as he spins around in one of the spinny-chairs he has in his dorm. “You don’t need to protect me everywhere I go.”

Then a few days later, because the universe likes laughing at him, a bigger, older student tries to pick a fight with him. They taunt him, saying that he only got into M.I.T because of daddy’s name and daddy’s money. He can barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears; all of the shit he’s been through, all of his hard work, and there are still people out there who only see him as Howard’s brat, Howard’s son who relies on dad to do everything for him.

He turns around to shout something back, something even more inciting, but Natasha’s already there–and she has the bully on their knees, twisting their arm around their back. “That’s not very nice,” he hears Natasha whisper, venom dripping from every word. “I know you were trying to invoke him. Trying to get him to swing at you so you have an excuse. That’s pathetic.” She lets them go and they fall face-first onto the ground, a puff of dirt billowing up. Some students stop to watch. A couple have their phones out.

“Go,” she says coldly, stepping over their body. “Don’t let me see you around him again.”

Tony whistles as they get up and scurry away, not daring to look back. “I take back what I said,” he says, shoving both of his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I guess it’s good to have you around.”

She gets him into a headlock and ruffles his hair.

Tony is still 14 and Natasha is still 18 when she meets Rhodey, Tony’s roommate and future best-friend-for-life for the first time.

He’s nice, she determines when Rhodey greets her with a genuine smile and a firm handshake. “I’m glad there’s someone else looking out for Tony. It feels like a full-time job sometimes,” she says, placing a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

Tony shrugs her hand off, pouting petulantly. “I’m not that bad.”

Rhodey laughs again. “Tones, you wrote an angrily-worded letter to a teacher after you said they, and I quote, ‘explained thermonuclear dynamics like a drunk orangutan.’”

“Because they did!”

Tony is 15 and Natasha is 19 when they decide to tell Rhodey the truth.

“It’s only fair that you know, man.” Tony continues fiddling with his seat, making himself go up and down and up and down. “You’re gonna have to sign some NDAs and stuff, but yeah. Technically Natalie is my sister. And she’s the best spy in the business.” There’s a hint of pride in that last sentence.

Rhodey’s eyes narrow as he looks from Natasha to Tony and back to Natasha again. “This feels like an elaborate practical joke,” he mutters. He further scrutinizes them, but apparently finds no evidence to support his thoughts. “So, Tones, with all of this…” he looks at Natasha, “is Natalie even your real name?”

Natasha simply smiles.

Tony is 17 and Natasha is 21 when Tony graduates M.I.T with a degree in electrical engineering.

She takes a jet straight after finishing a mission in Germany. Sure, she’s a tad bit sleep-deprived and she has some bruises on her ribs, but like hell is she going to miss Tony’s graduation.

“Good job.” Natasha takes off his cap and ruffles his hair once again. “I’m proud of you.” Howard and Maria have already given Tony their congratulations; she can still see Maria’s lipstick stains on Tony’s cheek. No matter how much he scrubs, they wouldn’t come off.

Tony beams up at her with so much pride and admiration in his face that it feels like she’s the one that’s graduating. “I should thank you, you know. Um, you really… you really helped me.” When Rhodey wasn’t available, it was Natasha who helped him deal with the stress of his entirely-too-large workload. It was Natasha who listened to him list off his insecurities–his fear of never being good enough–and helped him work through them. It was Natasha who guided him with a firm, yet gentle hand. “I’m… I’m glad that you stayed with us.”

Natasha smiles. “I’m glad that I stayed.”

Tony hugs her (not seeing her wince) before running off to join his friends.

Tony is 20 and Natasha is 24 when their parents die.

Tony freezes when they’re told the news. She can almost hear the gears in his brain turning, trying desperately to comprehend what he’s just been told. Then, he runs to his room like a scolded child, slamming the door behind him and rattling the pictures hanging on the walls.

Natasha’s shoulders deflate. Maria and Howard might have not been her biological parents, but they were there. They took care of her–spoiled her, in her opinion. Any normal child living a normal life probably would’ve never worried about getting enough to eat or having enough clean clothes to wear, but Natasha is far from normal. All of the things they gave her were precious.

(Okay, maybe it was more Maria than Howard, but at least Howard gave her a place in S.H.I.E.L.D and never really complained.)

She gives herself 10 minutes before she goes after Tony. As she approaches, soft sobs slip out from underneath his door (which still has the T-O-N-Y stickers in red and gold they stuck up there on his 11th birthday), and it makes her heart squeeze. It seems… wrong for Tony to cry. He’s usually so full of life that it just… it’s wrong.

She gently knocks on the door thrice. Tony doesn’t respond, but she opens it anyway.

The room is pitch black, save for the moonlight filtering in through the window. Her eyes land on Tony’s trembling form, curled up on tightly on his bed that he looks more like a blob than an actual living person. “Not now, Nat,” he croaks, sniffling.

Natasha sighs, walking into his room and sitting down on the edge of his bed.

He shies away.

It hurts, but she tries not to let it show. “Tony, I’m not going to let you sit there and wallow–”

“Don’t pretend,” he cuts her off.

She swallows. “Don’t pretend?”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not affected!” he snaps, looking up at her with puffy, bloodshot eyes. “They were your parents too, Nat. My mom was your mom too.”

Natasha feels the wall she doesn’t even know she put up crack. She doesn’t–she didn’t–she can’t cry. That’s weak. (A small voice at the back of her head–Maria’s voice–tells her that it’s okay to cry. It’s natural. She shouldn’t hold it in.) But Tony’s words bounce and bounce and bounce around in her mind.

She watches as Tony rubs at his right eye with the heel of his palm.

“I’m not pretending,” she says, voice cracking at the end. She feels a tear slip out. “I’m not pretending.”

(The funeral service, to put it nicely, sucked. No one really knew who Natasha was, just that she seemed to be a friend of Tony’s. No one consoled her. No one told her that “Howard and Maria should be proud that they raised such a fine child.” Everyone focused on Tony. Everyone only knew Tony. She doesn’t resent him for that. She’s not jealous. But it would’ve been nice to hear someone–anyone–tell her that everything’ll be alright in the end.

She gives the paparazzi deadly glares as she escorts Tony away from the service, hiding his face with her black jacket. “Vultures, all of them,” she hisses.

Underneath the jacket, Tony chuckles.)

Tony is 21 and Natasha is 25 when Tony becomes the CEO of Stark Industries, taking over Obadiah, an old family friend that Natasha never particularly liked.

“I don’t know,” Tony says, scrubbing the side of his face with his hand. “I’m not sure if this’ll work.” He stares down at the prototype of a missile system he’s working on. Jericho, he calls it.

“The weapon or the demonstration?” she asks from her spot curled up on a couch he has sitting down in the SI lab, scrolling down some webpage that claims to have the juiciest gossip on the most relevant celebrities of today. It’s her guilty pleasure; sue her.

“Both,” Tony admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s always been charming, he’s always known how to play to a crowd, but this would be his first major sale since… since the accident. It’d be his first major sale as the CEO. He needs to prove himself. Needs to show everyone that he’s more than just Howard Stark’s son. He’ll be the one to bring about world peace.

He can’t see it, but he just knows that Natasha is rolling her eyes. “It’ll be fine, Antoshka. You’re a smart man.”

He preens. Just a little.

“Plus, Rhodey’ll be there, right? It’ll be impossible for you to make a fool of yourself then.”

He pouts. Just a little.

Tony is still 21 and Natasha is still 25 when they meet Virginia “call me Pepper” Potts, a potential candidate to be Tony’s personal assistant.

“You should hire her,” Natasha says breathlessly after Pepper leaves her interview. She watches as the other’s perfectly styled ponytail swings side to side. “Her previous experience is much more extensive than the other candidates, plus her references had nothing but good things to say about her. She seems like the kind of professional, put-together person that you desp–”

“You think she’s pretty~” Tony lilts, giving her a shit-eating grin. He barely manages to get out of range when she swipes at him and laughs. “Don’t worry, I was already planning on hiring her anyway. She does seem like–what were you going to say–’the kind of professional, put-together person that I desperately need’?”

Natasha scoffs, kicking at his shin.

“I smell an office romance!” he giggles.

She kicks at him some more.

(Natasha does end up asking her out, but makes it clear that Pepper doesn’t have to accept if she doesn’t want to.

Pepper accepts, thankfully, and their first date is spent at eating at a deli and feeding the ducks at Central Park.

As Pepper laughs, Natasha thinks she’s never seen anyone more beautiful.)

Tony is 22 and Natasha is 26 when the Jericho demonstration does not go fine.

Rhodey calls her in a panic, saying that they lost Tony in Afghanistan after being attacked.

Her blood runs cold, heart plummeting to her stomach. She’s already lost Maria and Howard. If she loses Tony too, then… she doesn’t know what she’ll do. Her tentative relationship with Pepper is put on hold as she commandeers one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s jets and makes her way to Afghanistan as quickly as she can. Pepper, of course, has questions. Many of them, in fact. Such as: what is S.H.I.E.L.D and why does she seem to have so much pull in there? What is she hoping to achieve in Afghanistan that the U.S. Army can’t? Who is Tony to her?

Natasha promises to answer all of her questions when she comes back.

“It’s my fault,” Rhodey mumbles in the humvee on their way to the base, wiping tiredly at his eyes. “I left him alone. If I was with him–”

“You would have gotten killed,” Natasha says sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on Rhodey’s knee, “and that wouldn’t help him at all.” His guilt rolls off of him in waves, and she can tell that it’s eating him alive. She knows how that feels like.

Rhodey shakes his head and sighs for what seems like the nth time today. “Let’s just hope we find him.”

“That’s all we can hope.” She tries not to think about what might be happening to Tony. If his kidnappers were ballsy enough–powerful enough–to get to him past an armed escort, then there’s no telling what they’re capable of doing to him.

Tony’s not a trained spy. He doesn’t have the pain tolerance built up through years of harsh training. And he’s–he’s so stubborn, so firm in his stances that Natasha thinks nothing short of death would get him to cooperate.

She tries not to think about them finding a limp, breathless body.

(“They keep telling me to give up,” Rhodey whispers to her when they’re alone, an edge of frustration to his voice. “They keep telling me that he’s dead. That it’s a waste of resources–a waste of my time. But he’s not dead. I can–I can feel it, you know?”

Natasha nods solemnly. “I know.”

For both of their sakes, she hopes that he’s right.)

Tony is still 22 and Natasha is still 26 when they find Tony wandering the desert, 3 months later.

It’s Rhodey that spots him first, doing a double-take when he sees a figure frantically waving their arms in the sand down below.

“Tony?! Oh my god, that’s Tony!” he yells so loudly that Natasha is sure that they didn’t need the headsets to hear him all the way in the cockpit. “Land! Land right now!” He looks like he’s seconds away from jumping out of the helicopter himself, the vein in his neck bulging.

They land quick, the helicopter’s blades roaring above their head. She doesn’t even have time to unbuckle her seatbelt before Rhodey’s already jumping out, running with a couple of other soldiers towards… towards Tony.

By the time she’s out, Rhodey and Tony are embracing like a father and his child, Tony’s arms around Rhodey’s neck. Rhodey holds Tony tightly, bringing him close like he’s afraid Tony’s gonna fly away if he lets go.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she hears him sob. It breaks her heart. “It’s my–it’s my–”

“No, Tones, no.” Rhodey pulls away from Tony, cupping the man’s face in his gloved hands. A bolt of shock jolts through Natasha’s body when she takes in how skinny his face is. “S’not your fault. None of this–none of what happened–is your fault.”

Tony closes his eyes and shakes his head, not believing a word of what Rhodey says. Natasha takes that time to kneel down next to the duo. “Hey, Tony,” she says softly.

Tony’s eyes fly open. “Nat?” His voice sounds downright pitiful as he stares at her with disbelieving wide eyes. “You’re… here, am I hallucinating?”

Rhodey manages to laugh, although it’s more to lighten the mood than to express amusement. “No. She’s really here. Stole a S.H.I.E.L.D jet and everything.”

“Commandeered a jet, Colonel Rhodes,” she amends.

Rhodey grins. “She stole it.”

Tony doesn’t say anything, looking at the both of them in a dazed confusion, mouth slightly agape. “So–so… this has nothing to do with how I haven’t had anything to drink for the last few days?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow.

A split second later, she finds herself with an armful of Tony. He’s shaking so badly that Natasha is afraid he’s gonna turn himself into the sand that surrounds them. Rhodey is stroking Tony’s neck, whispering comforting words as Tony continues to shiver.

Part of Natasha hopes that the people who did this to him are still alive.

She wants to kill them herself.

Tony is still 22 and Natasha is still 26 when Tony tells her about the arc reactor and the shrapnel. About Yinsen. About him being Iron Man.

“I shouldn’t be alive,” he says, sounding far too fragile than she’s comfortable with. If she takes a step closer, he looks he might break. “Unless it was for a reason. I’m not crazy, Nat. I just finally know what I have to do, and in my heart… I know it’s right.”

Natasha swallows. Her little brother–god, that’s weird–is out there, barely old enough to drink, risking his life on a daily basis to try and make up for the things he did before, all the weapons and the bloodshed and… and it reminds her of her.

She has yet to see if that’s a good thing.

(They also decide to tell Pepper and Harold “Happy” Hogan, Tony’s sort-of bodyguard, the truth about their relationship.

“Oh. So, I’m dating your sister,” Pepper says calmly, but Natasha knows that she’s exploding inside with even more questions. Happy looks at Pepper weirdly, like he can’t believe that peppy, sprightly Pepper is dating brooding, silent Natasha. Natasha can’t say she blames him.

“Okay. That’s… okay. I’ll be good to her, Tony.” Pepper smiles reassuringly, but Natasha can tell it’s more like she’s reassuring herself than her brother. It’s not everyday that you find out that your girlfriend also happens to be the adopted sister of your boss who could probably buy your entire life with a snap of his fingers.

Yeah. She can see how that might be strange.

“You better be!” Tony exclaims with no real heat behind it. He likes Pepper too much to actually threaten her.)

Tony is still 22 and Natasha is still 26 when they find out Obadiah Stane was behind Tony’s kidnapping and subsequent torture.

Natasha wasn’t there when Pepper pushed the button that fried Obadiah, but god she wishes that she was.

(Tony reveals who he is shortly after.

“Is he always like this?” Coulson exasperatedly asks Natasha. The reporters are busy yelling and screaming and shouting, nearly trampling each other in an attempt to get closer to Tony. Tony looks over at the two of them and actually smiles, that idiot.

Natasha smirks. “You have no idea.”)

Tony is 23 and Natasha is 27 when Tony starts dying from palladium poisoning.

He doesn’t tell anyone. Only J.A.R.V.I.S knows. Rhodey… Rhodey kind of knows. The only thing he’s aware of is that the palladium burns quick, it burns ugly, and it leaves a stupid-looking futuristic crossword puzzle crawling up his neck.

Tony goes on a bender. Starts drinking heavily even though he would barely touch a wine cooler when he was younger (thanks to Natasha). He shows up to board meetings sloshed and his signatures are barely legible.

(He locks himself in his lab and sobs, clawing at his chest and cursing the ironic powers that be for bestowing upon him an object that simultaneously saves and kills him.)

He makes Pepper C.E.O when she comes down to his lab to confront him about his recent behavior. Immediately, she asks if he’s okay. She places a cool palm on Tony’s forehead. “You’re scaring me, Tony,” she chokes out. They haven’t been working together for that long, but she sees Tony as the little brother she’s never had. “The way you’re acting… it’s like you’re dying.”

Tony scoffs, swatting away Pepper’s hand. “M’not, don’t worry. You won’t be getting rid of me that easily.” Now would be a good test of the acting skills Natasha taught him when they were younger. “Just… I don’t think I can handle the stress of running SI and, you know, doing the other thing at the same time.”

Pepper nods stiffly. She doesn’t fully believe him, he can tell, but she also doesn’t want to push the matter further. She steps back, giving Tony space. “C.E.O?” she sniffs, the corner of her mouth curling up in partial amusement.

“Yes!” he enthusiastically shouts, sounding relieved. “Ms. C.E.O, I think we need to celebrate!” He waves a hand, and DUM-E comes rolling in, chirping happily while carrying a platter of sliced meats and cheeses. U follows close behind with a bucket filled to the brim with ice, a bottle of expensive champagne, and 2 crystal wine glasses.

(People start to speculate as to why Tony would step down as C.E.O of SI when they’re just starting to build their stocks up again. Pepper, poor Pepper, is just pretty enough that they start saying she’s Tony’s illicit lover who’s taking advantage of his loneliness to take over Stark Industries.

“As if!” Tony throws the paper into the trash, hands clapping together the second it lands. “I don’t see how people can believe this bullshit!”

Pepper snickers, daintily covering her laughter with a hand. “I know! You’re not even my type.”

Natasha strolls over, pressing a kiss to Pepper’s temple. “We all know you prefer redheads.” She sits herself down in Pepper’s lap, tucking her head under Pepper’s chin.

Tony groans, turning his entire body away from the affectionate couple. “My god, get a room!”)

He lets Rhodey take the Iron Man armor. He wasn’t even drunk; all he had in that flask was a bunch of apple juice, but acting drunk was cathartic in a way.

He hears the pain in Rhodey’s voice when Rhodey tells him that he doesn’t need to do this.

All he remembers after that is a bright flash, Rhodey taking off, and then darkness. He doesn’t know how long he lies in the rubble that used to be his living room, but he does know that he’d fucked up.

(“You’re dying,” Natasha hisses, slamming both of her hands down on his desk. Despite the sting in her words, her eyes are soft, if a bit calculating. “Does anyone else know?”

Tony doesn’t even flinch, eyes looking around the room–looking at anything but her. He expected this kind of reaction. “No,” he grits out. “Only me. And J.A.R.V.I.S. And now you. How did you know?” He swore J.A.R.V.I.S to secrecy and made sure to leave nothing lying about that could even suggest that he’s ill.

“We know the symptoms of palladium poisoning, Antoshka,” Natasha says, gently now.

Tony tilts his head. “We?”

At that moment, the door slides open. A rather severe-looking African-American man walks in, a patch over his left eye. “You’re not an easy man to get an audience with, Stark.”

Tony’s face flashes with betrayal, and Natasha would feel bad for being the one who put it there if she didn’t think that Tony needed this. “I told you, I don’t want to join your super-secret boy band,” he mumbles, sinking in his seat.

Fury grins.)

He synthesizes a new element, thanks to Howard (and somewhat thanks to the pain-in-the-ass Nick Fury).

It feels good. His blood no longer feels like acid and he can breathe, damn it.

He’s never felt better.

(“Natasha was the one who recommended you, you know,” Fury says, tapping his fingers on the metal desk melodically.

Tony thinks back to Natasha calling S.H.I.E.L.D a “circus run by monkeys–except that monkeys would probably do better!” and snorts.

Fury picks up a pen and twirls it slowly, never taking his eye off of Tony. “She sees something in you, Stark. I don’t know what it is, but she sees something.” He places the pen down with a click. “Don’t disappoint her.”)

Tony is 24 and Natasha is 28 when the Avengers are assembled.

Natasha can’t say that she’s fond of the way Steve talks to Tony like he’s not deserving of his title, but she tries to keep her cool. The last thing she needs is for them to bombard her with questions as to why she’s so defensive of Tony.

But, just to let the others know that Tony is under her protection, she lets them see the way she brushes his bangs from his eyes, the way she allows him to sprawl over her on the couch, and the way she generally lets him get away with things that she would flay other people alive for.

(“You think she likes Stark?” Steve grunts, leaning his hip against a table in some lab that S.H.I.E.L.D set them up in and crossing his arms. Things could get complicated if she does, and they really don’t need anything else to add to the volatile stew that is their team chemistry.

Bruce clicks his tongue and makes a show of stepping away from Steve. “Sorry, but I’m not about to get involved in that kind of speculation,” he says, although his tone doesn’t make him seem actually apologetic. He rubs his hands together. “But, um, speculation about that blue-glowy thingy? I’m all up for that.”)

Their confusion amuses her. Yes, she know all about the theories they have about her and Tony’s relationship. (She tries not to retch every time she hears one.) They need to tell the others soon.

But for now, she supposes she can have some fun in confusing them even more. When Pepper visits, she makes sure to up her usual affectionate gestures whenever they’re in eyesight of one of the Avengers. Back hugs, kisses on the cheek and temple, and whispers of sweet nothings in Pepper’s ear.

(“Perhaps they are all in a relationship together,” Thor offers, shrugging his shoulders. “It is not an uncommon practice on Asgard, as long as all parties consent. I have seen relationships that consist of more than 2 people.”

Steve stares at the table. Bruce continues to tap at some hologram. “Speculation,” Bruce sighs out.)

Tony is still 24 and Natasha is still 28 when Tony does something stupidly heroic–emphasis on stupid–and flies a nuke into a wormhole.

The right side of her head is matted with blood and sweat, and the left corner of her mouth stings like nothing else. Her head continues to pound as she throws the scepter to the ground. Everything fucking hurts.

But none of that pain compares to watching as Tony falls out of that wormhole, body limp.

(She’s just glad he was able to fall out before it closed, because if he got stuck up there, she’d have to live knowing that she’s the reason.)

Thor swings by, carrying her down to the ground, but her eyes stay glued on Tony. She knows she’s gripping onto Thor’s bicep a bit too hard, her nails digging into his skin, but he’s a god. He can take it.

Banner, thankfully, doesn’t seem inclined to let Tony turn into a red-and-gold splat on the pavement as he catches Tony’s falling body before it hits the ground. She rubs at her forehead, stress building up in the back of her head.

She, Thor, and Steve run over and kneel near his body. Thor rips off Tony’s mask, revealing his pale face, both of his eyes closed. Quietly, she gasps, sitting down on the backs of her legs, eyes raking up and down his body. She takes in the damage done to his suit and prays that Tony’s just unconscious instead of… instead of something else.

Steve leans over Tony’s chest, trying to hear a heartbeat or the sound of breathing or anything that would say Tony’s alive.

Tony doesn’t open his eyes.

Before Natasha–or Steve, if the way he’s staring intently at Tony’s mouth is anything to go by–can start on CPR, Banner roars and Tony is jolted awake with a gasp.

“Alright, hey!” Tony says weakly after being informed of their victory. “Good job guys. And Nat!” He does a pathetic attempt at a finger gun, barely able to lift his hand more than a few inches off the ground.

Natasha snorts. She’d hit him on the forehead if she wasn’t afraid of some underlying injury.

He struggles to swallow, smacking his lips before talking. “You ever try shawarma? There’s a shawarma joint about 2 blocks from here.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Steve smile. Maybe they’ll get along after all.

Tony is still 24 and Natasha is still 28 when Tony is thought dead after an attack on his Malibu mansion–an attack that Natasha knew was going to come, but couldn’t do anything about.

“He could still be alive,” she says as a statement rather than a bid to placate, wrapping her arm around Pepper’s waist as they stare out of a window in some hotel room that Pepper booked. She’s seen Tony get up and dust himself off after a near-death incident one too many times for her to be comfortable with, but it gives her hope that he’s survived. It’s gonna take more than a few missiles and half of his mansion to take down Tony.

Pepper wipes at the corner of her eyes. “I’m going back to the mansion in the morning–or what–what was the mansion. I’ll see if… if there’s anything we can save.” Her sniffles die down, and she leans into Natasha’s hold.

(Then Pepper tells her about the message Tony left her. He’s alive.

That’s all Natasha needs to know.)

Tony is still 24 and Natasha is still 28 when Pepper is kidnapped, injected with Extremis, is subsequently removed of any trace of Extremis, and Tony gets the shrapnel removed.

Tony dusts off DUM-E and U and Butterfingers, cooing something about how they’re okay, how dad’s here. “I’m still Iron Man, you know!” Tony says to the both of them, twirling around in his seat before fitting a DUNCE cap on DUM-E.

“You’re a child, is what you are,” Pepper teases. She bites her bottom lip afterward to keep herself from bursting into another round of tears. It’s been an emotional sort of week.

Natasha kisses her cheek, returning her girlfriend’s grateful smile. “I agree with Pepper.” She tucks a stray lock of Pepper’s hair behind her ear.

“Unfair!” Tony protests, bursting their reality bubble. “She’s your girlfriend, of course you’re always gonna agree with her!”

Tony is 26 and Natasha is 30 when Natasha finds out the truth of how their parents died.

Steve gulps. “I don’t think we should tell Tony about this,” he whispers to Natasha, hand on her forearm. They’re so close to finding Bucky–so goddamn close–and this revelation certainly throws a wrench into their plans. “If he finds out, he would never–”

Natasha swallows down a ball of fury. “Tell him,” she says sharply, looking at him with as much fire as she can muster. He blinks, grip loosening. “You need to tell him. You think his reaction right now will be bad?–” she shakes her head, glare never leaving his face– “It will pale in comparison to his reaction if you keep hiding this from him and he has to find out himself.” She thinks back to her own painful confession she made back when she was younger, the kind of confession that can break families. She’s just grateful it didn’t break hers.

Steve purses his lips. “Why can’t you tell him then?” He holds out the flip phone and waggles it insistently.

She pushes it to the side, unwilling to let Steve run away from this. If she was able to make that confession when she was 14, he can do it now. “It’s not my best friend that did this. I’m not the one using Tony’s money to fund this chase. Tell him, Rogers.” She jabs at his chest with a finger, ignoring the way he winces. “Or I’ll make you.”

Steve closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, exhaling slowly on the last one. He flips open the phone with just enough force to not break it in half and dials a number. “Tony?” he says into the receiver, eyes flickering to Natasha, “We need to talk. In person.”

A satisfied smile works its way onto her face.

(The smile drops when Steve turns his back. She clutches at her chest, a burning in there she hasn’t felt since that cold December night.

It wasn’t actually James, she tells herself, he was brainwashed. It wasn’t actually him.

She breathes in shakily. It wasn’t him.)

Tony is still 26 and Natasha is still 30 when Tony finds out the truth of how their parents died.

His eyes turn into steel and his walls build themselves back up. “Fuck off, Rogers,” he snarls, words turning into knives trying to find a chink in Steve’s armor. He starts to walk off, but he’s stopped when Steve grabs his wrist. As much as he struggles, he’s no match for Steve’s enhanced strength. “Let go.” His eyes flash dangerously and the bracelet on his other wrist beeps, ready to call the Iron Man armor.

“Tony, he was brainwashed–used by HYDRA,” Steve desperately says, staring Tony in the eyes in hopes that those words would sway Tony’s feelings.

“He killed my mom–” Tony’s voice cracks on the last word.

Steve shakes Tony’s wrist, tugging him closer. “It wasn’t him. He was being used as a weapon. Tony, please,” he pleads.

Tony blinks wetly. “Does Natasha know?” he asks quietly.

Steve nods, confused. “She–she does. Why?”

Something blazes in Tony’s eyes. “She told you to tell me, didn’t she?” His tone is borderline accusatory. “Would you have told me if she didn’t ask you to?” he asks, searching Steve’s eyes. He wants his answer to be yes. He wants to know that his trust in Steve wasn’t misplaced, because honestly? This is… this is a fucking mess.

Steve stays silent.

He lets Tony’s wrist slip out of his hand as Tony walks away.

(“He told you,” Natasha bluntly says as she enters Tony’s lab, J.A.R.V.I.S turning down the Metallica blasting from the speakers.

Tony throws a screwdriver across the room, probably breaking something that costs more than what most people make in a month. “I wish he didn’t. Could’ve–could’ve just left me in blissful ignorance.” He angrily runs a hand through his hair, curling into himself.

Natasha walks over, picking up a screwdriver for herself. “You would’ve wanted to know, Tony. Don’t lie to yourself.” Like Tony, she throws it. Except this time, it embeds itself into the wall, startling Tony. “Steve was right. It wasn’t him.”

“How can you defend him?!” Tony explodes, standing up from his stool so quickly it knocks over.

“Because I’m not being a child, Tony!” Natasha snaps back, heart squeezing when Tony flinches and steps back, nearly tripping over the stool. “I told you–Steve’s been telling you–it wasn’t James. I know you’re angry. I was angry. But, Tony… you can’t blame him for this.”

He looks away, jaw clenching. “Just go.”

“Antoshka–”

“Go!”)

Tony is 27 and Natasha is 31 when Steve brings Bucky home.

She finds herself getting quite close to the ex-assassin. She helps him adjust to the modern era, whether that means accompanying him whenever he ventures outside or simply making a list of his basic needs. Sometimes they spar; it’s nice to be able to test her skills against someone on the same level.

(Tony is still awkward around the other man. Outside of regular arm maintenance sessions, the most Bucky gets from him is stilted smiles and jokes that fall flat. It’s enough to make even her cringe.)

“How… how can I get Tony to be more comfortable around me?” Bucky asks quietly, swirling a glass of orange juice as the both of them stand in the communal kitchen.

Natasha raises an eyebrow as she looks at him. Where in the world did that question come from? “You just have to give him time.”

However, that seems like the wrong answer as a gentle crease forms between his brows. “Give him time? After what I did to him, I don’t think all the time in the world could help.” He lets out a breathy laugh, sounding near hysterical at the thought of Tony disliking him.

She has to bite her tongue to prevent herself from saying that she warmed up to Bucky just fine even after what he did. “Why do you seem care so much?” she asks, genuinely curious. “You’ve never tried to talk to him before.”

Bucky shuffles on his feet, flushing just slightly. “He’s kind,” he starts, “an’ generous. From what I’ve seen, he’s… he’s a real hero.” He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, already sufficiently embarrassed. “He doesn’t deserve to be scared in his own house.” Vulnerability shines through his voice.

Natasha thinks there’s more to it than just that, but she leaves it be. “He’ll come around.”

Tony is still 27 and Natasha is still 31 when Tony starts coming around. (Natasha’s refuses to take credit for it.)

It starts as Tony actively trying to converse with Bucky more, seeming determined to talk to him for longer than 10 seconds. His smiles become less and less forced, and his jokes actually get a laugh now. Hell, sometimes he even brings Bucky coffee in the mornings (though it’s obvious that Tony himself hasn’t slept yet).

Routine arm maintenance used to take 10 minutes; Bucky could go down to the lab and come back up before the commercial breaks for Cake Boss are over, but now? It drags on for hours as they talk and talk and talk about anything and everything they can think of. Bucky always comes back up with a lovesick look on his face (and Clint and Sam razz him about it any chance they get).

Tony even starts to invite Bucky to the Lord of the Rings and Star Wars marathons he hosts for a local community center near weekly; in fact, he starts calling himself Bucky’s official teacher on the pop culture of the 21st century. It’s not unusual to walk in on Tony excitedly explaining the plot of Stargate Atlantis or giving a basic rundown on the accuracies and inaccuracies used in shows like Star Trek to Bucky.

And Bucky listens to all of it, a smitten smile on his face.

Their shoulders and elbows touch whenever they sit together on the couch. They trade whispers and shy smiles like they’re the only people in the room. Bucky looks at Tony like he hangs the sun, while Tony looks at Bucky like he’s the moon and stars all wrapped up in one person.

It’s so obvious to everyone but them.

(“Do you think Buck’ll ever make a move?” Steve whispers to Natasha, sounding like a tired older brother as he glances at Bucky and Tony get close to each other on the couch and start their oft-talked about Mythbusters session. “Hell, do you think either of them’ll make a move?”

The corner of Natasha’s mouth curls up. “I doubt it.” She knows the both of them. They’d rather do a little dance around each other until the day they die than confront the other about their feelings.

Steve’s eyes hood, unamused. “Yeah. I doubt it too.”)

Tony is still 27 and Natasha is still 31 when Bucky tells Natasha how he feels (as if she didn’t already know the second Bucky threw those heart-eyes in Tony’s direction).

“He’s gorgeous, Natasha,” Bucky groans during one of their yoga sessions. He blows a strand of hair out of his face, grumbling something about ponytails and their uselessness.

Natasha hums, lowering her pelvis down to the ground, switching to the cobra pose. “He is handsome, isn’t he?”

Bucky follows her lead. Something in his back pops, and he hopes it’s a good kind of pop and not the you-messed-something-up-bad pop. “He has–he has the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Natasha glances at him, expression unreadable, and he stiffens. “I mean, uh…” He thinks back to what the other Avengers have whispered about Natasha and Tony and frowns. “…You don’t–”

“I don’t have a crush on Tony, no,” Natasha says, irritated. God, they really need to tell the others soon. She loves Tony, she really does, but not like that. Ew. “You’re good for him, though.”

Bucky nods, his hair bun wagging up and down. He didn’t even know that he was searching for Natasha’s approval, but he feels so much better now that he has it. “Thanks. I’m… I’m hoping that I can make him happy.”

(Then he clears his throat. “So, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I said that he had a nice butt?” he tries to joke, but Natasha can tell he’s being serious.

A significantly more taxing, intense regime pops up in her mind. Totally a coincidence, she swears.)

Tony is still 27 and Natasha is still 31 when they decide to tell the Avengers the truth.

Pepper is there for moral support, holding Natasha’s hand and whispering encouragements into her ear.

“Oh, man,” Clint mumbles, fiddling with an arrow he retrieved from his quiver. “So, those rumors… oh man, that’s bad.” He refuses to look either Tony or Natasha in the eye, instead settling for staring at his scuffed boots.

Tony snorts. “Yeah. It is. We’ve been meaning to tell you guys, it’s just that we keep forgetting. Y’know, ‘cause we’re idiots–” Natasha gives him the stink eye– “uh, actually, I’m the idiot. I’m the only idiot.”

“It makes sense,” Bruce says, twiddling his thumbs. “You two are too close to be just friends, but you two are obviously not like that. Yeah, I see it.”

Tony beams at Bruce. “I always knew you were the smart one, Brucie!”

Bucky, meanwhile, seems to be having a breakdown in the corner of the room. Steve is trying futilely to calm him down. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he cringes, face scrunching up.

“Said what?” Steve tilts his head to the side.

“I told… I told Natasha I thought Tony had a nice butt,” Bucky admits, head hanging low.

But he must’ve said that louder than he thought because everyone turns around to look at him. Bruce manages to look sympathetic, but Clint and Sam are wheezing and slapping their knees. Thor looks like he might die of embarrassment along with Bucky–a side-effect of being empathetic, Bucky supposes.

“You think I have a nice butt?” Tony blurts out, cheeks turning a rosy red.

Before Bucky can reply, Natasha stands up. He gulps and all but leaps out of his seat. “I’m gonna go–” he breathes out, sounding terrified– “I’m gonna go!” Steve can only watch as Bucky bolts out of the room, hair frazzled and his jacket slipping off of one of his shoulders.

Natasha cackles as she sits back down.

Tony is 29 and Natasha is 33 when some aliens land on earth demanding the Infinity Stones.

Despite Bucky and Natasha’s protests, Tony hops on one of their spaceships.

And doesn’t come back down.

Tony is still 29 and Natasha is still 33 when she witnesses everyone around her turning to ash.

She wonders how she’s going to tell Tony about Sam. About Bucky. She chokes on her grief.

Looking up at the sky, she hopes that Tony was spared–she hopes that he’s alive.

When Steve tries to talk to her, all that comes out is a sob.

Her tears hit the forest floor.

Tony is still 29 and Natasha is still 33 when he finally makes his way back down to Earth after near a goddamn month of being missing.

Rhodey and Pepper rush to his side. Thin, is the first thing that pops into her mind, far too thin. The next thing is how much good a heaping plateful of Maria’s risotto would do him. She shakes her head at that thought and jogs over to join the trio.

(”Nat,” Tony croaks, sagging into her side as she takes Steve’s place. “Nat.” He looks up at her through thin eyelashes, his cheeks sunken, with a sickly grey undertone to his skin. “You’re okay.”

“I am okay,” she whispers, frowning as she wraps one of her hands around Tony’s wrists. Definitely too thin.)

Tony is still 29 and Natasha is still 33 when all of them start to look for a way to reverse the snap.

Natasha watches as Tony slaves over some blueprint, hooked up to an IV drip. Trying to get him to eat, drink, or rest is near impossible short of shoving the food and water down his throat or sedating him. He squints at the holographic screen in front of him before yelling, frustrated, and swiping it all away.

She gets up and walks over to him as he curls up into a ball in his wheelchair. “Let Bruce take a crack at it.”

“It’s outside his area of expertise,” he mumbles, form shivering slightly.

“I know. But you at least get a break.”

(”Are you… really doing okay, Nat?” Tony asks around his mouthful of peanut butter sandwich. It was less of a struggle to get Tony to eat this time around, but Natasha suspects it largely might have been out of pity.

She pauses with her glass of water halfway to her mouth. “Am I fine?” she ponders. All those people. Gone. The family that she’s built up. Gone. She could’ve done more. Something. Anything to spare them all from the pain of losing a loved one–a spouse, child, sibling.

She takes a sip, closes her eyes, and recomposes herself. “Yes.”)

Tony is 32 and Natasha is 36 when they take a small stroll down to the convenience store that’s only being kept open due to its diligent owner and the fact that Tony drops a couple hundred bucks in there every time they go.

“Can I ask you something?” Tony picks up a Snickers bar and turns it over, checking under the flap for the expiration date. Even with half the world gone, they’re still pretty careful with stocking non-expired products, but Tony doesn’t particularly feel like gambling today.

Natasha hums, throwing every variety of Lays into her shopping basket.

“When are you gonna propose to Pep already?” He lets the question rush out before ducking behind the shelves. He’s learned to never underestimate the force at which Natasha can throw things, not even when it comes to cellophane bags that are more air than actual product.

“Tony!” she growls, going on her tiptoes to look over the aisles and find the tell-tale tousle of Tony’s hair. She finds him cowering next to the Sour Patch Kids and launches a well-aimed bag of barbecue flavored chips at his head.

“Just propose!” he whoops, laughing as the bag bounces off of his head and tumbles down onto the floor.

She joins in on his happiness, and in the back of her mind she realizes how much she misses this. How much she misses being normal. Or as normal as someone like her can get, anyway.

(”We should get married,” Natasha casually says as she and Pepper lounge on the couch, watching old, old videos on YouTube.

Startled, Pepper jolts upright, looking at Natasha with wide eyes and her mouth agape. “Are you– are you being serious?” She looks like she’s torn between kissing Natasha senseless or yelling at her because what kind of proposal is that.

“Not right now, of course, because I know you would want to invite everybody…” she trails off, the ‘everybody who was dusted’ lingering in the air. “But we should, at a point.”

“Do I at least get a ring?” Pepper ribs.

Natasha shows off a kiwi-flavored Ring Pop. “Brand new. In its wrapper, even.”)

Tony is 34 and Natasha is 38 when Tony bursts into her and Pepper’s room in the middle of the night, eyes wide and bright off of the high of a brand new discovery.

“You won’t believe this!” he exclaims as he excitedly jumps into their bed like he’s 10 again and trying to wake Natasha up on Christmas morning. “You won’t– I can barely believe it!”

Pepper grunts, displeased, while Natasha’s eyes flutter open. She’s known Tony long enough to know that he won’t stop babbling unless someone sits down and listens to him. “What?” Her voice is rough from sleep, and she can barely see past the blur in her eyes, but that doesn’t stop Tony from tugging her up into a sitting position.

“You remember Scott?” He’s breathless, giddy. “His entire time travel thing?”

She nods slowly. “Yes. You called it bullshit.”

“Except that it isn’t!” He points, index finger trembling, towards the wide open door, a pale blue light washing over the doorframe. “I think… I think I figured it out.”

Natasha scrambles out of bed so quickly that she nearly knocks Tony off and pulls on one of Pepper’s jackets that’s hanging over a chair. “Show me,” she says, voice stained with hope.

Tony smiles.

(”Antoshka,” she breathes out, fondness seeping through in every syllable of the endearment. “This is amazing.” Her eyes roam every inch of the blueprint, hungrily soaking up every single detail from the notes written in tiny font to the side of the screen to the giant, green text proclaiming the success rate to be 99.9%.

He engulfs her in a sudden hug, and, as soon as it happens, it’s over, his hands resting on the sides of her biceps. “We can bring them back!” His eyes shine, and she too begins to feel a prickling behind her eyes.

“We can bring them back,” she repeats, grinning proudly.)

Tony is still 34 and Natasha is still 38 when they get the time machine up and running, having spent countless hours engrossed in heavy lifting and wire connecting.

They have a plan. 3 teams. 6 stones. 1 chance.

“Come back safe.” Pepper presses a gentle kiss on Natasha’s cheek, tucking a lock of red-blond hair behind her ear. “Bring them back. We’re going to have a summer wedding.”

“I fully expect to be the best man!” Tony pipes up from where he’s talking with Steve and Rhodey, looking at the both of them with a hint of wistfulness in his eyes.

Pepper smiles at him, biting her bottom lip like she always does. “We wouldn’t have anyone else.”

Natasha draws her in for another kiss.

(”Vormir, right?” Clint twirls his sword.

Natasha nods. “That’s where we find the soul stone. Rhodey and Nebula will take care of the power stone.”

If Nebula’s jaw clenches at the mention of Vormir, of 2 of her teammates going there, not fully knowing the price that is to be paid, no one notices.)

Tony is still 34 and Natasha is still 38 when Natasha and Clint land on Vormir and are faced with an agonizing choice.

They argue for what feels like hours, trying to justify why it should be them and not the other, until they stand together, forehead to forehead in one last comforting gesture.

Then, Clint flips her onto her back, knocking the wind out of her. “Tell my family I love them,” he says, ready to start running towards the cliff.

Natasha turns the tables, bringing him down harder and faster. “Tell them yourself.” She sprints, braid whipping in the wind.

It’s a scuffle, a full-on brawl as they try to beat the other to the edge, to be the one who gives their life for the salvation of the universe. Clint gets close, so, so close. He can taste the ice in the air, the snow, the iron that’ll fill his mouth once his head makes contact with the ground. He jumps.

Natasha tackles him, slaps the other end of her grappling hook on Clint’s waist and comes to an abrupt stop as Clint holds onto her wrist in a death grip, keeping the both of them suspended in the air, braced against the cliffside. “Damn you,” he chokes out, pulse racing. He reaches out towards her with his free hand, but the stress on his hip is too much, too painful, he retracts it, holding back onto the wire of the grappling hook.

She looks behind her, at the ground below. “Let me go,” she says. There’s no fear in her eyes, and that scares Clint shitless. She looks reassuring, accepting, expecting.

“No.” He grimaces, the strain of keeping both himself and Natasha from plummeting starting to take its toll. He’ll hold onto her all day if he has to. Some of the others will come. They’ll find another way. There has to be another way. “Please, no.”

She nods softly, understandingly. “It’s okay.” He can barely hear her over the blood rushing in his ears, but her words just serve for him to tighten his grip more.

Before he can react, she kicks off of the cliffside, tearing her wrist from Clint’s grasp.

He’s forced to watch as she falls.

(The wind rushes around her, cold and biting. Her heart threatens to leap out of her chest. Clint becomes nothing more than a speck in her vision.

She spreads her arms, thoughts racing at a million miles per hour in her head. No goodbyes, no apologies. People like her don’t get happy endings. She was foolish for thinking that she might have been the exception.

She hopes that Pepper will forgive her. She hopes that Tony will forgive her. She hopes.

In her last second, she thinks only of her family.

And she smiles.)

Tony is still 34 and Natasha is– Natasha is… when they come back.

Tony’s the first one to notice. “Where’s Nat?” He tilts his head to the side in question. Could she be running late? A bit odd, but given how experimental this entire process is, it’s not entirely implausible.

But Clint looks at him with so sorrow and grief and apology in his eyes, his jaw wound shut so tightly that Tony’s almost afraid he might turn his teeth into dust. He thinks he knows what might have happened. He hopes to god that he’s wrong. “Clint?” he ventures again, “where’s Natasha?”

Clint looks away, his adam’s apple bobbing and throat clicking as he swallows.

That’s all Tony needs. His hands start to tremble and terrible, hiccuping sobs start to pour out of his throat as his eyes glue themselves onto the ground. His knees buckle, and he would’ve fallen onto the ground had it not been for Steve’s steadying hands.

After all they’ve been through.

He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

(Pepper shoves her face into the crook of his neck, bawling her eyes out as she hugs him fiercely, like he might disappear too. Her snot and tears get all over the fabric, but instead of being disgusted, he rubs her back soothingly, his own tears rolling down his cheeks. He can’t help but to think that it should’ve been him instead.

As he holds Pepper in his arms, he wonders, briefly, if this was how Natasha felt whenever she’d comfort him after a bad dream or when Howard was a bit too harsh. “We’re gonna be okay,” he croons.

It doesn’t really hit him until he’s staring out over a lake with the other Avengers that Natasha is well and truly gone. She’s not gonna tease him anymore. She’s not gonna be the one to listen to his incessant ramblings when no one else will. She’s not gonna make him her signature borscht or spends hours with him eating pepperoni pizza and watching trashy reality TV.

He’s known her for all of his life.

When she died, a piece of him did too.)

Tony is still 34 and Natasha is dead and gone, and she’s never coming back when Thanos comes into the future with his dumb golden armor after Bruce snapped his fingers using the gauntlet Tony built in his basement–take a goddamn seat, Thanos.

Everyone comes back.

(Except Natasha.)

Everyone helps.

(Except Natasha.)

Everyone is relieved to see each other again.

(Except Natasha.)

He fights, just a touch too much on the side of recklessness, blasting and carving and flying his way through swaths of Outriders. He falls. He gets bent, dented, bruised, and scraped, but he finds his way. He even manages to give Bucky a relieved kiss when they cross paths.

Carol is close to the time-machine-van when Thanos issues his orders to blow everything up. He braces himself as he lands on his stomach.

The Gauntlet tumbles and tumbles and Thanos reaches for it, but he tackles him, effectively buying them some precious few seconds before being punched back out. He glances at the good, ol’ Doctor Strange out of the corner of his eye while Thor and Carol are busy doing what they do.

Strange holds up one scarred finger, and Tony knows exactly what he’s supposed to do.

He rushes at Thanos and fumbles with the Gauntlet. He’s pushed away, flat on his ass as Thanos smirks, relishing in his victory over the weak Terrans. “I am inevitable,” he taunts.

Snap.

Nothing.

Tony holds up his right hand, the Infinity Stones taking hold in his makeshift gauntlet as their power courses through his body. 1 chance. “And I–” he takes a rattling breath– “am Iron Man.”

He snaps his fingers.

Tony is still 34 and Natasha is waiting on the other side for him as he sits against the metal carcass of a ship.

Rhodey has tears free falling down his face as he places an armored hand over Tony’s left cheek, and Tony would laugh, tease his platypus about being so emotional over him if he wasn’t in so much fucking pain. His entire right side is burnt so badly it’s numb, and the nerves that haven’t fully died yet are giving off yeah, we’re hurt super goddamn badly signals.

He can’t even talk.

Bucky and Pepper rush over, and Jesus Christ, Bucky basically slides on his knees for the last couple of feet. “He’ll be fine,” Bucky says, although it’s more of a statement than a question. Figures that Tony would fall in love with the one person who’s more stubborn than he is.

Pepper shakes her head and reaches out to grab Bucky’s metal hand with her own. She doesn’t say anything, just reaches out to rub at Tony’s shoulder.

“He’ll be fine,” Bucky insists.

Tony starts to slip, slip, and slip, his breaths becoming more ragged and his chest becoming tighter. His vision starts to fade, and he feels… peaceful. Like all of this weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.

“He’s at rest,” Pepper whispers.

The last thing he registers is Bucky’s chapped lips pressing against his forehead.

Tony was 34 and Natasha was 38 when they saved the world.

Somewhere, they meet again.

#WHOAAA Y'ALL REMEMBER THIS.#I took Civil War and slammed that sh*t into a blender lol.#NOT IN MY HAPPY FIC >:(#I combined the original post and the Endgame add-on so it's a bit easier to read.#11K WORDS WHAT THE HELL POSSESSED ME ON THAT DAY.

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fraddit · 3 years

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Here we are! The last ten fics in my five part rec list! Again, there's no rhyme or reason to this list, these are just like the title says, buddie fics that make my brain go !!!

Since I started this series, I've obviously been reading more fics. So, I'll probably just continue adding posts periodically. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I did.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

the heart beat so loud, we could not ignore by wonderfool (T, 14k)

Post 4x06/4x07, speculation for 4x08 “Change can be scary,” Buck says, “but we want your dad to be happy. Adults can get lonely too sometimes. He has a lot of friends at work, but he might be looking for someone who…can be a partner. Someone who worries about him and supports him when he’s feeling sad. Someone who loves him.” “But he already has you.”

the kiln-blaze in my body by lamardeuse (E, 17k)

It’s nearly six months before Buck tells anyone.

This is one of very favorite post shooting fics.

this life that we’ve created (or: how silvia rodriguez learned to believe in fairytales again) by @evcndiaz (T, 3k)

“So, just to be clear: You want to make a—” she glances down at her papers, “—Mr. Evan Buckley your son Christopher Diaz’s guardian in the event of your untimely death.” “Yes, that is correct.” “And you… don’t want to tell him about it?” “Eh,” he says. Eh, like he’s not breaking Silvia’s brain. “I’m sure I’ll tell him eventually.” or; eddie makes buck christopher’s legal guardian told from his lawyer’s perspective. because why not

Those Two Firefighters by DarkFairytale (T, 35k)

#thosetwofirefighters starts to gather a following on social media, as everyone tries to figure out if those two cute firefighters from the 118 in LA are a thing or not.

to keep still holy (your kiss upon my mouth) by @oatflatwhite (T, word count varies)

A collection of kiss prompt ficlets from tumblr.

What it says on the tin, and they're all great, but the one I’m specifically recommending is Chapter 9: “we shouldn’t do this” but they do so, anyway. (1.4k)

Two Minutes For Roughing by ok_thanks (M, 11k)

They trade for a winger after Buck’s second season. When he walks into the dressing room a few days later, Buck freezes in his place. Chim and Bobby are huddled in the corner, openly staring from their stalls. “Who the hell is that?” Bobby simply shrugs. “Eddie Diaz. New winger out of Dallas.” or: the hockey AU that literally NO ONE asked for

wherever we’re together, that’s my home by @woodchoc-magnum (M, 19k)

Set post-5x06 “Brawl in Cell Block 9-1-1”, in which Buck is struggling and unwilling to let anyone in (until Eddie takes matters into his own hands).

Wide Awake (Better Not Fuck This Up) by riverlight (T, 3k)

“Eddie,” Buck says, voice cracking a little. “Eddie. Are we gonna talk about the fact that you kissed me, or are we still ignoring that?”

you touch me once and it’s really something by @nogamediaz (G, 2k)

Alarm washes over Buck’s features. “Eddie, I think she saw me. She’s coming over here.” Later, Eddie is going to wonder what on earth possessed him to do it, but in the moment he is seized with sudden clarity. “Do you trust me?” he asks, looking Buck directly in the eye. “What—of course—” Buck doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Eddie cuts him off with a kiss.

Your Fingerprints Smeared on My Heart (Lead Me Back to You) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (E, 89k)

In 1880, Evan Buckley of the arriviste set is sent out west to oversee his family’s railroad and recover from a broken heart - and meets Eddie Diaz, cowboy. When fate tears them apart, they make a promise: find each other again. In 2018, Buck walks into his fire station in Los Angeles - and meets Eddie Diaz, new recruit.

It took me so long to post this last part that this fic went from wip to complete. But, every time this fic updated, I stopped what I was doing to read the new chapter. The premise is basically a trap designed specifically for me and it was just as good as I was afraid it would be.

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie fic rec #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 #911 fox #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #fraddit buddie fic recs #shut up fraddit

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emotionallyits2009 · 4 years

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deancas fic rec list!

hello everyone! happy christmas to those who celebrate it, my gift to you is my fic rec list that i said i would make like a month ago. the only thing it is organized by is canonverse vs alternate universe. tried to cover a variety of subjects but there are in particular many fics of the genre “postcanon where cas is human and he and dean live together and slowly finally get their shit together” because i know what i’m about, son. HOPE U ENJOY. and if you wanna talk about any of them or rec me other fics please do. :)

Canonverse:

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo, 30k, explicit “Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.” There are many fics set in a post-canon universe where Cas is human and he and Dean live together and slowly fall into a relationship. Imo this one is the best of the best of that genre. This was one of the first fics I read back in July when I was getting Back Into Supernatural where I was like oh fuck I’m like in this. Dean builds Cas planters and bookshelves and a chicken coop and they fight and work through it.

Cuckoo And Nest by komodobits, 10k, explicit For a long time, Castiel thought that every earthly possession other than the immediately necessary was excess to requirement. But Dean – Dean who named his car, who keeps a photograph of his mother in his wallet, some thirty-plus years after her death, who still has the crumpled ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with a sleeping pelican emblazoned on it from the Microtel outside of Roanoke where he first kissed Castiel, clumsy and unsure, under the unsteady fluorescence of an exhausted bathroom bulb – is sentimental. It puzzles Castiel, where Dean draws the line between what is meaningful and what it is worthless. Really Gets the dynamic of Cas doesn’t think Dean wants him to stay/Dean thinks Cas will leave the first chance he gets. Also a nice example of Cas thinking he’s not wanted if he’s not useful/powerful and being told otherwise. Another all-time fave!

lonely hearts by outphastthemoat, 4.5k, gen He thinks he might give up having his own anything just to be able to step foot inside the room next door and sit on the edge of Dean’s bed instead. This one is for the CAS GIRLS who know what LONELINESS feels like.

Helionneiros by aeli_kindara, 24.2k, mature In which Dean visits his mother, and Claire takes Cas on a hunt. I’m always on the lookout for more fic with Claire and Jack. Jack doesn’t show up until the end here but the relationship between Cas and Claire is really nice.

Crawl by aeriallon, 11k, explicit It’s been almost four years since Castiel left Kansas; he'd eventually settled in an island town where he has a job, a house, and a life without the Winchesters. Every winter, Dean drives down to the coast to see him. Another fic where Cas is human but in this one he took some time for himself and got some distance from the Winchesters! He gets to be competent and weird as a human and we love that for him. I must warn you all that this fic contains one use of the phrase “making love” which would normally put me right off but it’s still worth reading. The first of a three-part series.

home where you hold me by microcomets, 1.6k, gen Cas and Dean, in the moments between their battles, ache for quiet spaces. Technically this is a coda to 10x20 but you don’t need the episode for context. Short and very sweet.

Build a Home by domesticadventures, 20.1k, teen After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them. He doesn’t. This one is so cute it’s like what if once they were done saving the world Sam and Dean actually invited other hunters to move into the bunker with them. Obviously Dean wants that to include Cas but doesn’t know how to use his words.

the taste of gravel in the mouth by deathbanjo, 22.4k, explicit This is what Cas gave up Heaven for: greasy diner food, shitty motel rooms with even shittier cable, long car rides spent in complete silence except for the same six tapes playing over and over again, and a burnt-out husk of a man who can barely hold a conversation anymore. Angst fic! They go on a road trip and Dean is severely fucked up post-Mark of Cain.

Unknown Quantities by xylodemon, 8.6k, explicit No one ever tells Dean anything. Another nice getting-together fic.

Creature of Habit by trinityofone, 5.2k, teen The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them. Or: How Cas developed some bad habits, and Dean coped surprisingly well. This one is ancient by destiel standards (written during season 5) but it manages to nail the married couple vibes they give off in later seasons. Cas is a bitch and Dean likes him so much. <3

The (Mostly Accidental) Courtship of Dean Winchester by Tuesday, 11.2k, mature Angelic marriage rites were never intended to go quite like this. Another old one that is a lot of fun! They get Accidental Angel Married and if you don’t enjoy dumb fanfiction tropes like that I don’t know what to say to you.

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit by pyrebi, 4k, teen In which angelic marriage bonds are apparently stupidly easy to trigger, Cas wages multidimensional war in Heaven, Dean can't catch a break like ever, Sam rather enjoys being a dick, love saves the day, and nobody consummates anything. The OTHER accidental angel marriage fic written in 2010.

Crazy Diamonds by pantheon_of_discord, 24.8k, explicit A week ago, Dean was pulled out of Hell. Now, he’s apparently woken up in 2018, and the angel that a mere twenty-four hours beforehand had threatened to chuck him back into the pit is sleepily pouring himself coffee and wearing Dean’s second-favourite Zeppelin shirt. It all seems like a perfect happy ending, but with Hell’s scars still so fresh, Dean can’t imagine how he could have possibly gotten there. At the same time, the Dean who went to sleep in the bunker, right next to Cas, wakes up on Bobby’s couch in 2008. He’s instantly bombarded with questions by a Lilith-obsessed brother and a man who’s been dead for years, and must decide between keeping his finally-perfect life intact, and the lives he could save by re-writing history. Regardless of these choices, both Deans are trapped in the wrong decade, and their only way back lies with a Castiel still very much under Heaven’s thumb – one who might find the future Dean describes difficult to believe. Time travel is FUN. There’s an excellent part where (minor spoilers) future!Dean is like, “Guess what, asshole? You like me so much you marry me!!!!!!!!!!!” to 2008!Castiel that made me laugh out loud the first time I read it. Also just a good reminder of how most problems in life are temporary and if you could go back in time to talk to your younger self you’d be like, “Hey man. Chill out. You get through it.”

The Path of Fireflies by museaway, 63.7k, mature After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years. There’s a lot of amnesia fic and djinn fic out there were Dean wakes up ~suddenly together with Cas~ but I like this one in particular because he’s initially very confused and kind of a dick about it until he acknowledges that being with Cas makes him happy.

take the long way home by dothraki_shieldmaiden, 95k, explicit Three months ago, when Dean decided to retire, he thought his life was going to end up differently. He'd thought that he might get to have it all, Sam, Cas, Jack, and nice little place to live. Instead he gets Sam and Jack off on their Summer of Love Tour, radio silence from Cas, and a never-ending road trip consisting of himself. Still reeling from the loss of his grace, Castiel travels the country in search of hunts. Driven by a need to prove his usefulness, he pushes himself beyond all limits of endurance. Together, with the help of a few friends, a crumbling Victorian house, and a stray cat, Dean and Castiel patch themselves back together and create a home together. Do you wanna read almost one hundred thousand words of Dean and Cas having extremely intense feelings but refusing to voice them aloud? Haha of course you do that’s why you’re here. There’s also a lot about Cas adjusting to being human and being depressed about it which might resonate if you’ve ever felt weird about having a body. To be honest the author could stand to use a few more commas but there were also half a dozen moments that made me put my phone down and drag my hand slowly over my face and whisper “oh my god” to myself which is like, the ultimate measure of a good fanfiction so it gets to be on the list.

like moses and batman and james dean by saltyfeathers, 31.6k, explicit dean used to turn tricks. over a decade later, he met cas. Have you seen the fanon (apparently pioneered by Mr. Jackles “Original Deankin” Ackles himself) that Dean used to prostitute himself to feed himself and Sam when they were younger? Are you interested in exploring that concept in fanfiction? Well, this is the only fic you need. Mind the tags on this one! It’s not what I’d call happy but it’s good.

Some Assembly Required by narrow_staircases, 47k, mature It’s September of 2005, and Dean Winchester, in an attempt to outrun old mistakes and painful memories, finds himself in southern Kentucky on a wild goose chase. He’s completely certain this weird religious movement he’s “investigating” is a hoax, despite the miraculous healings people report, and he’ll be back on the road in a day or two. Things are looking up when he meets Cas, an awkward (and gorgeous) graduate student who’s actually doing honest-to-god research into the local tent revival meetings. When that research takes a weird and personal turn, Dean’s left to face two very serious realities: one, this may be a real case after all, and two, he’s fallen way harder for Cas than he should ever have let himself. Stanford-era AU of Dean trying to avoid his father and getting in over his head on a case.

Alternate universe:

And This, Your Living Kiss by opal_bullets, 57k, mature Only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet Jack Allen is just Kansas mechanic Dean Winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. Not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen. Until, that is, a string of coincidences leads Dean to auditing a poetry course with one Dr. Castiel Novak. The professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia's foremost expert on the poetry of Jack Allen. Mundane AUs in this fandom have to be really, really good to catch my attention and this one is! It’s exactly what it says in the summary and the characterization is spot-on.

Out to Drift by deathbanjo, 20.9k, mature Dean drives a black car with a loud engine. He lies too easily. He keeps a gun in the back of his jeans, and Castiel isn’t sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Dean has killed someone before. Two people in fucked-up unstable situations meeting and forming a connection. Honestly guys I really just love deathbanjo.

#fic #deancas #destiel

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years

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They've Made of Our Bodies a Bleeding Stair

Jesper and Kaz try to retrieve Inej from Ketterdam without being recognized and murdered—and without Kaz getting ransomed back to Ravka as the the wayward Sun Summoner.

11k | Sun Summoner Kaz AU pt. 2 | Jesper/Kaz, Inej, past Kaz/Darkling content note: non-linear narrative, explicit sex, roleplay of past rape

“I want you to be him.”

“Of course,” Jesper replies. Then, articulately, once his brain’s caught up, “Uh. What?”

“The Darkling.” Kaz has turned his face away. He’s looking at the ramshackle marriage bed that takes up the bulk of this room he’s lured Jesper into. He unerringly picked the right closed door, too; he skipped the squeaky floorboards, as if he knew the exact layout of this—but it’s Kaz. He knows everything, even some dilapidated house in the Kerch countryside. The bed was probably a masterpiece of craftsmanship, when it was carved from some dark wood, a thousand years ago or whatever. The way it looks, it must’ve been old already when the previous owners of this farmhouse got it, and from the state of the house, they abandoned this place decades ago. Quite a lot of the furniture’s missing, either sold off when the place was left or stolen afterwards, but that bed was too worthless already.

The mattress is still there too. Probably fucking teeming with moth larvae and maggots and their combined accumulated shit, so it doesn’t bode too well for Jesper, how forcefully Kaz is staring at it.

“Please say it doesn’t involve the bed.”

“You said yes,” Kaz rasps, which is all the information Jesper needs to start gagging. Fake-gagging, for now, but if he sees even one wriggly little worm he’ll…

Bed. Darkling. That still doesn’t really… Want you to be him—oh—

“Yes, Jesper.” And how the hell with his ramrod tense back still turned towards Jesper—Jesper, who’s done nothing at all, hasn’t said anything except to register his displeasure at the idea of bathing in insect faeces and their squirming little manufacturers!—how the hell Kaz has realized that Jesper’s figured out what he probably means—it must be a confidence trick. Kaz likes those. But how—yeah, it’s not the point, but trying to understand whatever magic Kaz is using on him right now is much, much better for Jesper’s sanity than dwelling on the fact that Kaz might just have insinuated that he wants Jesper to pretend to be the Darkling, specifically the Darkling from that time he told Jesper about back in the Little Palace, the time he threw up after. The time he thought he could suppress his discomfort with touch long enough to seduce the Darkling into a partnership—seduce seduce, which means he wants—to flirt with Jesper? To sleep with Jesper? Is he actually saying he—

Oh. There’s a cracked mirror on the wall above the bed. That’s how Kaz saw his face.

Jesper would chalk the hallucination up to a hangover, but he’s not even drunk. Neither is Kaz, unless this old ruin of a farmhouse they broke into this morning is hiding barrels of wine the local youth haven’t made off with yet. Also, if he was hallucinating Kaz propositioning him he would—well, Jesper at least hopes he’d have enough self-respect not to make himself a stand-in for the man who bought and imprisoned Kaz for two years, controlled him by using his fears and modifying his body and cutting him off from every other person in the whole court, taking every single object he could have used to protect himself, and whatever those weird spines in Kaz’ chest are he’s probably responsible for them too. Jesper would not, actually, like the first and probably only time he’s allowed to kiss Kaz to be some kind of revenge-by-proxy thing where he recites the Darkling’s lines while Kaz swallows back bile, and then Kaz beats him up. Or murders him. It’s pathetic, but Jesper always imagined that kiss a little sweeter. Kissing over Haskell’s corpse. Kissing over the Darkling’s corpse. Kissing over the corpse of some other piece of shit who’s stupid enough to try using Kaz as their possession.

“Just warning you, I don’t have the costume or the script, so don’t expect something worthy of the Komedie Brute,” is what Jesper says instead.

Kaz’ eyebrow quirks. “You’re acted before, haven’t you? Improvised. You can flirt your way into anything. That was the main reason I kept you around.”

“You kept me around because I’m gorgeous, funny, and an incredible shot. I just play myself, if it’s seduction! Why would I improve upon perfection?”

“This isn’t seduction. He’s already locked me in the Little Palace for months at this point. Two escape attempts have failed. This is… speeding up the process,” Kaz says, nonchalantly enough it makes Jesper want to puke.

Which won’t help anything. He’s already agreed. And Kaz doesn’t care about moral objections, only practical ones. “I need more info. I haven’t actually met the Darkling.”

“You’ve met powerful men. You’ve met men who believe their righteous cause entitles them. You’ve met men mired in greed and vengeance—you’ve met me.”

“I like you.”

“Pretend you don’t, then. You used to complain about me in the Slat—of course I know, I knew everything that went on in the Dregs. You hated the way I seemed to know everything, and held it over you—so does he. You disliked my single-minded focus, the way you all seemed like pawns to me, my mockery. The way I held myself as something far superior to you. That’s a start.” Kaz limps a slow quarter circle around Jesper, and his dark eyes are burning with loathing. Jesper would hold him if he could. “You’re not asking why?”

“Uh, now that you mention—”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

Jesper sighs. Of course. He’s never expected anything else. Then he stands up straight, assuming his best the stick in my ass is so long it’s knocked the word fun from my brain pose that hopefully may pass for authoritative and slimes out, “What business, Mr Brekker?”

“Sun Summoner. Or Sunshine. He figured out Brekker’s a fake name on the first day.”

“Kaz Brekker’s a fake name?!” Jesper should have seen that coming, really… what does he even know about Kaz Brekker, truly? Except—

“It’s a name. It’s real enough. It’s feared. It’s mine.” Kaz’s eyes travel over the cobwebbed wall of the farmhouse bedroom, as if he was searching for the next lie to spin. Except that isn’t one of Kaz’ tells—Jesper’s seen him bamboozle and convince marks of the most stupid tales, and when Kaz wants them to believe him, he looks earnest. Young, depending on the role he plays, old, eager, stupid or wise. He doesn’t bother lying to Dregs, or rather: he doesn’t bother convincing them, usually. All his words are backed by the brutality of his cane. Who could be stupid enough to question even his weirdest utterances. “It just happens not to be one I was born with.”

“So what you’re saying is, the Darkling’s just not Kerch enough to get you?” Jesper grins. “Ketterdam, really—you know, I always really liked that about the Barrel, that healthy dose of ‘You are who you want and we don’t give a fuck to correct you.’ Anyway. Got it. You’re Kaz Brekker, but he’s a dick. Mr Sunbeam, what brings you into my office this evening?”

“The fete, Aleks.” Kaz shrugs off his coat, and then the purple kefta, too. He holds out the kefta in front of him, like he’s expecting Jesper to put it on. Well. That’s as good a start as any, and so Jesper turns and lets Kaz dress him into the robe he never wanted to wear.

“Then he says, ‘You must be nervous. After all, there are few gatherings in the Ketterdam slums that involve such spectacle.’” Kaz has sanded down his rasp somewhat, sounding almost smooth and seductive. He goes into a spiel of the Ravkan court and the inferiority of the Barrel that thankfully, he carries all by himself. Jesper wouldn’t even know what to say, except ‘Stop talking shit about the Barrel, you prick’ and that’s not exactly in character.

Kaz’ eyes periodically dart down to Jesper’s hands, and he realizes he’s fidgeting with the hem of the kefta’s sleeves. He stops.

“I am ready,” Kas says in his normal voice. His normal talking to a mark voice. “I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.” He stands up straight. Equally on both his legs. He winces. He’s not holding his cane, Jesper realizes. He’s not wearing his gloves. “I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.”

“Uh… great. We’ll be great together. Do great things. Better partners than enemies. Some of those rumours even freaked me out, you know—that kid with the wind-up toy in his throat—”

“Think before you speak, Jesper,” Kaz hisses. “Never let me lead. Never give me control. Every word is a cue to corral your prey where you want it—whether a compliment or a barely-there hidden threat.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Sometimes.” Kaz meets Jesper’s eyes. The tense mask of his face breaks into a smirk. “To be honest, I find the subtle craft of manipulation is wasted on you. You’ll obey anyway. Let’s go back to the start, and focus.”

Jesper shrugs off the kefta again and then lets Kaz dress him, again. He does his best imitation of Kaz, of that early Kaz before Jesper learned how he takes his coffee and before he saw the brutal twist of his face, that one time when the Dime Lions had Jesper on his knees and shoved a gun in his mouth. He plays the imperious tactician in his office who told his goons to drag Jesper up four flights of stairs with a bag over his head, ready to be shot for his debts, and then sold him on the one thing that gave his life meaning.

He insults Dirtyhands’ father and mother to his face, and gets really into it, too: Ketterdam’s full of idiots who’d miss the love of their life because they were busy trying to pry cobblestones off the streets to sell for half a sausage, and the harbour’s so filthy even the fish won’t fuck in it—keeping the brothels in good fish-ness, haha. Because the fish rent rooms so they don’t get fishy sex diseases from the water. Do fish get diseases from sex?

“Kill me now,” Kaz moans, and that one’s probably deserved.

“Anyway, my Sun Summoner, I’m sure you’ll perform well,” Jesper says with just the tiniest hint of slime.

“I am ready. I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.”

Jesper moves slowly, idly: not caging him in against the bed yet but definitely implying he can and will.

“I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.” Kaz swallows. “‘That means a lot to me. You mean a lot,’ is what you say now.”

How come the Darkling’s not constantly slipping on his own slimy slime trail?

“That means a lot to me.” Jesper gives Kaz a deep, smouldering look. The pockmarks on his cheeks. The jumping muscle in his jaw. The hint of a pained grimace from standing unaided. The boyish grin when he’s totally fucked over another gang boss and gets to gloat. The vicious hatred when someone touches his Crows. Licking powdered sugar off his gloves. “You mean a lot.”

And that’s it. The way Kaz looks at him—this is when the Darkling makes his move.

“I have been waiting for you for so long,” Jesper purrs smarmily, closing his eyes, moving in for the kiss, and—Kaz isn’t there anymore.

It was a single step backwards, because Kaz has hit the edge of the bed already, face blotched with humiliation, and the way he looks at Jesper is—angry is the least terrible interpretation. If he backs out now, Kaz is going to kill him for pitying him or catering to a weakness that honestly—how is not wanting this weak? But Kaz is Kaz, and Jesper’s just Jesper, and—

“Focus,” Kaz hisses. “You own Ravka. You will own the Sun, too. You have waited for this triumph—take it.”

“Why don’t we take this to the—” fuck you, Brekker, for making me say this— “bed, then? Take off your clothes. Don’t be scared.”

That’s a good dig. The kind of insult that looks super caring, unless you know Kaz enough to understand he sees any crack in his image as a dangerous failure. Jesper’s getting the hang of this malicious flirting thing, finally. When this is over, he’ll need to scrub the slime off himself twice.

Kaz looks at Jesper while he disrobes. At him, Jesper hopes against hope, at the real person he’s roped into his worst scheme yet with a goal that’s still totally obscure; at Jesper and not the asshole he’s imagining in his place. Kaz’ eyes trace his cheeks, dance over his shaved head, catch on the lips.

Jesper takes off his boots and gun belt, and the kefta. He undoes the fly of his trousers, pulls his dick out, and stops. He glares at Kaz, daring him to object to the attempt at making this slightly less miserable—Jesper’s the Darkling, he’s in charge, so Kaz can fuck off with his masochism. He’s done undressing. He’s not taking off his shirt or trousers. That layer of cloth stays on.

But Kaz doesn’t object. He stands up straight, naked, brittle, wincing, and then glancing away he mutters, “Ignore the antlers. He hadn’t done that yet.”

Fucking Darkling.

The antlers stick out of Kaz’ collarbones, uneven tines of—possession, mutilation, and Jesper’s eyes catch on a tiny set of grooves on the left one. The scabbed-over cuts underneath. The bruise from the gunshot. And even despite that horror, Kaz has a nice chest. Serious muscle, a street map of scars and a smattering of dark hairs—it feels weirdly improper to stare at him, so Jesper’s eyes dance down to his knobbly left knee and the softly twisted right thigh with its knots of scars, up to the face where he’s biting his harsh pretty mouth, and down again. His dick is nice, fat but not too long, rooted in a tangle of dark curls.

It’s utterly limp.

It’s pathetic, how much that hurts. Of course he isn’t into this. Of course he doesn’t find Jesper remotely attractive. Of course this is just some weird masochistic proxy powerplay for him, some attempt to prove he’s stronger now and can bear it or whatever the fuck, and Jesper’s just the sad stupid body he’s using to enact it.

And of course not even that is enough to make Jesper bow out. Kaz asked.

“Do you want me to suck you off first? Get you in the mood, even a little?” It’s not just for Kaz, that offer, though the whole thing will probably be less painful and awkward if he manages to coax out some arousal. It’s not for younger Jesper, who fantasized about being ordered to blow his boss as penance more often than he likes to admit. No, this is so Jesper can bury his face in Kaz’ pubic hair for a minute. And cry.

Kaz raises an eyebrow. He sounds arch and ice cold when he asks, “Jesper, do you think the Darkling would suck my dick?”

“He should have. Saints, what an asshole,” Jesper shoots back before he can think. “You need a better class of lovers.”

“By which you’re of course implying that you are much better than Aleksander Morozova, the General Kirigan, the Black Heretic, eternal Conqueror and crowned Emperor of Greater Ravka, Salvation to Grishadom, Master of the Fold and He who chained the Sun, et cetera and so fucking on and so fucking forth the Darkling himself?”

“Given I just offered you a blowjob without bringing useless power shit into it, yes.”

“Wrong data, incoherent formula. Correct answer.” Kaz’ grin is crooked. Inordinately fond, and Jesper would have settled for no longer desperately hiding terror but this is—

Yeah.

“I’m going to try to make this roleplay as realistic as I can, but I don’t know if I can forget enough about how to have sex to sink to the Darkling’s level. Also, you don’t happen to have the address of that Grisha Tailor who mutilated you back there? I need them to make my dick look weird. Corkscrew, maybe. Some warts. It’s probably green. I’d peg him for advanced neurological syphilis but I am about to sleep with you, so— ”

“Did you know, Jesper, that the Darkling always wears a gag when he has sex?”

“Shutting up now, boss.”

“Don’t shut up,” Kaz replies instantly. Very, very instantly. “Just keep your disparagements somewhat plausible. And… rare.”

Only to jolt me back, he’s asking. “Got it. So I guess I’m supposed to loom over you a little? How close do you want me?”

“I’ll need to—” Kaz turns around and bends over to root around in the pockets of his coat, and it’s even weirder, worse, looking at his ass when Jesper knows Kaz doesn’t like him back. Kaz tosses over a tiny bottle. Oil. “Give that to me. Tell me to prepare myself.”

“Just saying it once more, boss. You don’t have to go through with—”

“Stop thinking about the Kaz Brekker you know,” Kaz hisses. “Stop anticipating my reactions. Stop caring. You are the Darkling. You have been waiting for the Sun Summoner for decades. You’ve formed your picture of them. This delinquent flinching little rat you bought doesn’t quite fit, not his limp, not his fear of touch, not his pathetic need to assert himself, but, well… you have time. He’ll learn how to make himself fit into the space you provide him. He’ll become your Sun Summoner.”

“Have I told you yet that I’m going to kill that piece of shit?”

“You’ve mentioned it, once or twice. In the last hour.”

Jesper bares his teeth: a grin, but not. A promise. “Good. I’ll hold his mouth open while you stuff him full of black powder and set him on fire.”

“Stop stalling, Jesper. That won’t make it any easier.”

That won’t make it not have happened.

“If you’re sure this will help.”

Kaz nods.

“Lie down on the bed, then. Is there a—no, no pillows here, roll up the coat and slide it under your hips.” Jesper turns his face away, listening to the timid, stuttering squelches of Kaz stretching his asshole. Jesper doesn’t know what would be worse: if, after everything, he can’t get it up… or if he can.

Well. He’ll have to. His dick will just have to obey the dictates of the situation, just as Kaz’ body was made into the Sun Summoner. He’s young. He’s still looking at Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, naked, who asked Jesper to sleep with him, and that’ll have to be enough. They’ve gotten this far. They’ll force their way through. That’s how you do it. That’s how you gamble. How you lose big. Kaz might have once tried to explain to him something about sunk costs and throwing good money after bad, but Jesper ignored him that night and lost a hundred and twenty kruge to Specht, and he’s never looked back.

“Okay, Mr Sunshine. Let’s consummate our fucking partnership,” he grinds out when Kaz has gone quiet, takes the bottle to slick up his own uncooperative dick, and carefully, he climbs on top of Kaz. The clothes were a good decision: Kaz barely flinches when he kneels in-between his legs and pulls the sleeve over his hand to carefully guide his right knee to rest on Jesper’s thigh.

Kaz is staring up at his face, breathing, just breathing. The antlers in his collarbone frame his bright face—brighter than the candles should allow, like maybe—and his focus is rigid and he’s breathing, breathing quickly—

“Is this teaching you anything yet?”

“Not really,” Kaz rasps, after too long. “Or—I think—maybe it was—” he glances at Jesper’s pathetic, unhappy limp dick. His face twists. “I thought you were into me.”

This is— “I love you. Kaz Brekker, whoever you are. I don’t give a fuck about this Sun Summoner bullshit. I love you. I love you,” because this is—Jesper can’t do this. He can’t. His elbows are locked: he can’t drop his body any lower. He can't go lower than this. “I love you,” until it’s finally over. “I love you. I love you.”

☼

“And I’m telling you again, I don’t know what he does Tuesday evenings,” Jesper hisses.

“You were still with the Dregs, three months ago!” Kaz is wiping his cane clean. It didn’t even really get dirty—they mostly used kitchen knives to do the deed, and in the case of a maidservant who unwisely came to work in the middle of the night, a bullet that Jesper’s already collected and reshaped into something functional, because he might not get to buy new ones. Desperation. Frugality. The Kerch are rubbing off on him. It’s good, though. The fact he’s cleaning the wood is all the confirmation Jesper will likely ever get that Kaz does like the new cane Jesper made him from a cute straight rowan sapling, reinforced with the metal scavenged from all but the most essential buttons on their hodgepodge of clothes. At least there’s one thing of Jesper’s he values. “How can you not know the behavioural patterns of your boss? Are you that brainless?”

“No-one knew what he was up to! He barely came by the Slat. He wasn’t that interested in us.”

“You worked for Per Haskell, Jesper; you worked for that man for years—for nearly as many as I did, when you ran off to Ravka—and now you attempt to convince me you barely know his name?” Kaz still doesn’t look quite as harsh as he used to, or maybe that’s just Jesper hankering for their past. Well, he didn’t used to explain his plans to Jesper as if he was an imbecile—but then, he didn’t used to need Jesper. He had more stooges back then. Now, he only has one. Ally. Friend.

If it’s as weird for him, though, as it is for Jesper being back in Ketterdam after he didn’t die on his revenge suicide plot and the city didn’t, either—well, he might still get murdered for stealing the Sun Summoner or skipping out on debts or something completely unrelated, and Ketterdam’s… well, she’s weathering having her ruling class torn apart twice in short order, once by the Darkling’s conquest and now, by the slow collapse of the Darkling’s overstretched realm after he’s lost his saint/weapon/doll.

The Barrel’s fine—as glary and miserable as it ever was, anyway, but though Kaz would probably insist most of the Mercher’s Council had their hands in gang business one way or the other, their reach was indirect, mediated and secretive enough for the chaos tearing up the Geldstraat not to trickle down as quickly into the slums. And anyway, the involvement of the merchers only ever made life worse for most people. The plight of the rich can only be a blessing.

Right now, they’re inside a nice place in the Zelver district. Close enough to power to feel the death throes, and even disregarding the political manoeuvring and debris and panic everywhere, just looking at the house from the outside made Kaz twitchy, somehow.

His energy almost matched Jesper’s trigger finger.

It’s Haskell’s house, so that unease makes sense.

Haskell’s expensive secret new house far outside the Barrel that they’re despoiling now. They looked as out of place in the beautiful Zelver district as any Barrel rats, with their heads shorn close to the bone so they’ll look different enough to not get recognized and faces wiped with dirt, dressed in a melange of Ravkan clothes they haven’t found a chance to replace yet and tawdry Barrel flash for everything else.

Kaz was wearing two coats when he entered the house, an old rose and amber paisley trench that even Jesper admitted is hideous, though now it’s splattered with blood that actually really ties the colour scheme together. Still gross though, and luckily slung over the chair. Along with the purple kefta Kaz hid underneath, the one he still hasn’t given back. Or burned, which is what they did to the other Ravkan overcoats. On the streets his two coats bulked up his frame so much he looked like a kid that Jesper’s never met, dressed up to play a gangster’s role. He looked nothing like the Sun Summoner anymore, and only somewhat like Jesper’s imagined baby Dirtyhands crawling out straight from the harbour, fifty kilos sopping wet and ready to kill a man and feast on his entrails.

Now, he’s stripped down to a ruffled red shirt over a green undershirt—he conspicuously shunned the yellow one next to it on the washing line—and light blue pinstripe trousers. The shirt is a little large in the shoulders, and he’s cuffed the trousers. They stole everything from a cottage on the edge of Ketterdam. Not quite Barrel flash, but almost—alike in style but with better fabric, something a town edge kid probably bought to look like a cool gangster. Or something Jesper would have bought to look special for a very special date. If he squints, he can almost imagine—it’s the morning after, and—

Ever since the Little Palace the idea of Kaz naked has totally lost its lustre. The idea of his muscular but scrawny, scarred chest, his wiry tattooed arms, his ambiguously demonic hands—it’s all overlaid now with a flimsy ugly sleeveless yellow paper taffeta gown. With normal hands, kept bare as humiliation.

But maybe—maybe they sat together, not on a log in a forest but on a sofa this time, and then in the morning Kaz was cold and he stole all of Jesper’s clothes to wear over his own. That’s much better. (Maybe he just wanted Jesper naked all day…)

Jesper won’t let the Darkling steal his fantasies, too. They’re—

Ouch. Fucking ouch.

Jesper really shouldn’t have added tiny spiky worms to the side of the cane, but Kaz’ indignation was just too funny.

“Let me make this clear—” Kaz rasps, once he’s regained Jesper’s full attention. Half-full. ‘Like he’s plundered Jesper’s wardrobe’ is still such a good look on him. “We are both hunted. Neither of us can afford to be caught outside on the streets of Ketterdam and let whoever saw us live. If we’re going to make Haskell’s house our temporary base of operations, we need to make his death as inconspicuous as possible. We cannot safely anticipate which of his visitors to eliminate and which to fool unless we know whether they, in turn, may be missed.”

“Well,” Jesper mutters. “Mitki might come by. If the neighbours don’t chase him off.”

Kaz raises a single, dirt-encrusted eyebrow.

“Mitki’s the newest lieutenant. Might have made it this—”

“Not Anika? I can understand why a flake like you didn’t rise in the Dregs ranks, but she—”

“Ambush. Dime Lions, five weeks after you disappeared.”

“Rotty?”

“Slit throat. Still no clue who did it.”

“Specht? Pim? Neeta? Big Bol?”

“Razorgulls, knife, last year. Bullet to the head, same day. Hellgate. Hellgate.”

“Muzzen? Ruk? Keeg?”

“Another ‘Gull stabbing, just before I left. Hellgate, again. Keeg just disappeared, though. Might still be alive somewhere over the True Sea, if he’s clever. Not that he was, he’s probably floating, poor sod.” Jesper shrugs. After a while, it just gets too much: the beginning of the Dregs’ end is seared into his brain, but there aren’t enough synapses for the tenth—or fiftieth—dead friend to hurt as much. “There’s a reason why I didn’t think twice about running when I lost those fifty thousand. Like I said, boss, it’s been a shitshow since you left. Haskell never wanted for new ones, since he got his kids fresh off the street, but he just stopped giving any shit whatsoever, and since you weren’t there to pick up the slack… well, I can see why he didn’t care, now.”

Jesper spares a bitter look for the mountain of kruge next to Haskell’s foot, the mountain he offered Kaz as soon as he saw him, long before Kaz even tried to hack off both his hands and feet with a dull meat cleaver. Long before Kaz had to settle for cutting down to the bone and then wrenching Haskell’s extremities from their sockets by sheer force of hatred, while Jesper puked into the kitchen sink. The mountain he’d never have amassed as the boss of a gang as shambolic as the last years of the Dregs.

The mountain that’s going to pay off Inej’s indenture tomorrow.

Haskell allowed her to rot there. It’s only fair he pays for her freedom with his life.

“Everyone we could use is gone. And you…” Kaz tips Jesper’s chin up with his cane. The world shimmies a little. “You, of all the old Dregs, survived.”

Jesper shrugs again. This is too much to confess to Kaz, of all cruel bastards, probably far too much, but—they’re sitting in the living room of Jesper’s former boss, the man who sold Kaz out to the Darkling and used the prize money to live in luxury, while letting his gang die on increasingly pointless ill-planned errands. The other end of the table is still flecked and puddled with slow-drying blood—not to mention the corpse, or corpse-pieces, laying there—but over here, they have a bottle of expensive whisky they found in a cabinet and they’re trading swigs from the bottle, all bitter and clean.

“I didn’t take it too well, when you and Inej just disappeared, and then my friends kept dying. Might have gone on a couple of benders. Might have lost some games. Might have lost some fights. Might have had some sexual encounters with people who turned out to be massive creeps. Consequently, I may not have been technically around to be asked to go on some of these errands, or perhaps I just didn’t notice because I was drunk.”

“Jesper.” Kaz doesn’t even sound surprised. Wow. Thanks for having faith in me, boss.

It’s not really that humiliating, though, now he’s said it out loud. He spent two years making bad decisions and occasionally braiding Inej’s hair. Kaz spent that time getting turned into a doll. Who can say what’s worse? He takes another deep gulp and grins. “You know me, boss. I need some external structure in life. I really need a commandeering asshole dragging me into his schemes to be my best self.”

“And yet, you outwitted the Darkling.”

“That wasn’t difficult, to be fair. Tell them I’m Grisha, search the Little Palace, shoot Kaz Brekker in the head, get executed…” Jesper trails off. When the silence grows teeth, he takes a pull of whisky that’s so desperate it makes him cough, but Kaz is still letting him stew.

They don’t really need to talk about it, though. No value in going over what happened in the Little Palace. No value in discussing anything. Everything is fine now. Yes, Jesper did want to kill Kaz. Yes, he’ll die for Kaz.

And they both know why.

Kaz steals the bottle. It’s incredible, actually, Jesper was just holding it—well, maybe he’s a little more drunk than he thought, but Kaz would probably like being complimented on his pickpocketing. “I didn’t even see you steal that bottle,” Jesper says.

“I’d be angry you’re drunk,” Kaz rasps. “But you’ve been completely useless at all stages of the current plan so far. And the previous one, by your planning—I always forget, in my amazement at what you accomplished, that you failed.”

He says that, but his cheeks are flushed pink with alcohol. His pupils are wide when he looks at Jesper. He raises the bottle to his lips and tips his head back, swallowing what should have easily been ten more swigs of whisky. Thieving bastard.

☼

When Jesper awakes on Haskell’s second softest chaise longue in the receiving room—neither of them was particularly eager to climb into Haskell’s bed, and, in Jesper’s case, not particularly still able to walk up the stairs either—his mouth is dry, his bladder full and the light is poking his brain even through closed curtains and eyelids. And Kaz—he searches the whole house after finishing his business, but yes, it’s true—Kaz is gone.

So are his cane and his current Barrel flash coat and the kefta, which means Kaz is probably safe. Well. As safe as the escaped Sun Summoner can be. Not kidnapped, at least. More alive than anyone stupid enough to cross Kaz’ path.

He’s taken Haskell’s kruge, and left a note.

In Kaz’ sharp hand, the note reads, “STAY.”

It’s underlined three times, and on the back side Kaz has written, “or you will die,” which to be fair is pretty ambiguous.

‘Die’ as in, ‘I mistrust your competence and assume you’ll get yourself killed if you move a finger?’ Or as in, ‘I’m warning you I won’t go out of my way to save you?’ Perhaps it’s a straightforward ‘Disobey and I am going to personally murder you and piss on your corpse?’ All are very real possibilities, knowing Kaz.

To really understand the message, Jesper needs to get into Kaz’ mood when he woke up—hungover, but how much? Enough he hates the entire world, or so much he hates Jesper more? Also, his current way of thinking. Jesper’s usefulness. A point in favour is the fact that Jesper saved him from a fate worse than death, but on the other hand, Jesper forgot to extract a deal from him and Kaz is so Kerch it hurts, which means he’s pared down solidarity and reciprocity and love into exchange, into deals, and all Jesper’s offering are the first three. They shared a bottle of whisky next to the corpse of their old boss, though, and in general Kaz looked like he was having fun more than once on their dirty, miserable long trek out of Ravka. Way more fun than he had in the majestic Little Palace. Also, Jesper’s incredibly likeable. He’s beautiful and funny and stupidly in love with Kaz without asking anything in return, so really it only makes sense that Kaz has finally succumbed to his charm.

(He dug his hand into Jesper’s hair, that night on the fallen tree and twice afterwards, but—maybe that was only to make Jesper squirm.)

Well, he enjoyed Jesper’s company while they fled from Ravka to Ketterdam, at least. That’s the crux of it.

So why would Kaz anticipate that Jesper might want to run anywhere? There’s a well-stocked kitchen here. A far more sensible assumption would be that Jesper might want to make some waffles or go on a morning jog. No, not that one. Enjoy a lavish breakfast. Have a bath, perhaps, after spending two weeks crawling through the Ravkan forest and the Shu countryside and stowed in the belly of a wine cargo ship and then countryside again, this time Kerch. Jesper’s feet hurt just thinking about it, and that Kaz managed to get here, even at the half-speed they settled on, speaks to—well, the same bull-headed masochism as always, but the fact he still refused to even consider stealing a cart or horse or approach any larger settlement before Ketterdam means he must be even more terrified of the Darkling than Jesper can imagine. He refused to leave any trace whatsoever. (And yet he’s back in Ketterdam, the one city in the world he was connected to before the Little Palace, because…?)

Ketterdam is the only city, village, collection of buildings and people they’ve been to for weeks, which means it’s the first chance Jesper has to gamble, but—even he knows not to stake anything on the possibility there’s someone left in the Barrel who doesn’t know about Jesper Fahey, he who owes Pekka Rollins fifty thousand kruge and just skipped town, kill immediately with extreme prejudice.

Well, Rollins is dead now—the only gang boss courageous or aggrieved or hungry enough to try and covertly resist the Darkling, go figure—but whoever’s head Lion now probably won’t even let Jesper try to spin an argument about how he really owes that money to ‘Pekka Rollins’ Dime Lions’, not any successor organizations. No such luck, and anyway, people stupid enough to bounce on their debts are fair game to any gang in the Barrel. They don’t cooperate on much, not even for mutual benefit, but murdering dishonest gamblers? That’s a team sport.

Jesper’s last recklessly suicidal plan worked out fantastic, so maybe he should find a card table. His luck’s turned. He could win millions.

Which Kaz definitely would anticipate, and warn him away from. Kaz is a buzzkill. Just because Jesper’s going to get murdered on sight in the Barrel…

Because Jesper’s gonna get murdered on sight in the Barrel.

If Kaz wants to rebuild his status in the Barrel, there’s no bigger liability than Jesper. And Kaz wants to, surely. He worked his way up inside the Dregs carefully and diligently, spent more time than anyone sane would inside a tiny attic office adding up numbers, and sucked up to an utter piece of shit like Haskell, just so he could one day become a Barrel boss. And now, to rise again, he has to cut off the dead weight.

Which means Jesper.

That’s why he left.

It’s not even a betrayal. They don’t have an agreement for life after reaching Ketterdam, let alone one that says Jesper can follow him forever and ever just like in the good old days. Inej—but Inej’s actually useful to a new Barrel boss, as soon as her indenture’s paid. Jesper’s the weak link here. Jesper’s screwed.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t go down fighting. He knows the way to the Menagerie—the quickest way, the scenic route, the paths least commonly trafficked by Pigeons and the ones usually avoided by staadwatch or gangsters. He knows Kaz well enough to guess which one he’s taken. If he hasn’t woken too late—and by the sun’s position, it’s still early in the morning—then he has a chance to pass Kaz off and… insult him? Beg? Cry? Sell his father’s soul for a position in the new Dregs? Maybe he’ll just have to wear a Komedie Brute mask for the rest of his life and it’ll be fine. He’ll figure it out later.

Jesper draws his shoulders up to his ears while he scurries through empty alleyways, the collar of his fancy pseudo-Barrel flash coat turned up. He’s almost glad that Kaz made him go hatless and shaved bald—thoroughly unstylish and un-Jesper enough he might survive the morning—but there are drawbacks to the disguise in the damp chill.

Also, the disguise isn’t good enough. After some minutes, Jesper notices that some clusters of metal stay at roughly the same distance to him. Eight clusters of—round, small, definitely mostly kruge with a few Ravkan coins thrown in. Thirteen guns. A rifle. Two of the coin clusters are fairly close together and move in unison. Jesper’s dealing with seven shadows, then.

That’s—a lot.

Jesper’s had a little more training being a Durast now, but what he could really use now is combat training. He hasn’t even been in a battle in over a month, unless you count handing Kaz knives while he carves up Per Haskell, and since Jesper had to puke right after, you probably shouldn’t. He’s fought rabbits. Jesper’s sure fought some rabbits in Ravka. Two deer, too.

He could probably escape his pursuers. It would take time, though, time Jesper doesn’t have when Kaz is leaving him behind without a word. He’ll just have to kill them quickly.

At least there’s one of his favourite surveillance detection routes nearby. One of the rare aboveground tunnels in Ketterdam, not used by Pigeons for obvious reasons of creepiness and also because it just leads to a big courtyard behind a factory: a courtyard that’s easy to escape, when you know the gate’s lock is broken. Kaz showed it to him, just weeks after Jesper got recruited, after the second time the ‘Gulls got the drop on him and beat him to a pulp. In the courtyard, he made Jesper shoot some sparrows and some pigeons to prove his worth. Not crows, though, and for a year Jesper believed that detail was just thrown in to test whether Jesper would obey nonsensical orders. It’s still a plausible explanation.

He’ll just have to ask Kaz, after he begs him for a role in the new Dregs. After he kills these seven pursuers.

If.

He catches the first man off-guard and blows his head off when he exits the tunnel, but after that, it’s a stand-off. Jesper, hiding behind a massive wood barrel for cover, against six men ducked into the mouth of the tunnel.

Jesper manages to pick off another man by firing into the tunnel and blindly redirecting the bullet into the first nook, but the second attempt at using that trick doesn’t hit anything, and neither does the third. He has eight bullets left now, and five enemies. Even Jesper can tell that’s bad odds.

Retreating across the courtyard, though—the first few meters are fine, there are enough wine barrels and he can just dash from one to another, slightly nudging bullets off their course so none hit him.

Those guys have far too many bullets left, though, by the time Jesper’s forty meters away from the gate. Forty meters without cover. His pursuers aren’t bad shots either—likely Dime Lions, because there’s no way a Liddy would ever get so close that Jesper has to redirect their bullet—and they’re cautious enough that only two of them are crouched behind that barrel next to the tunnel, now, while the rest are still hidden inside.

This might get a little tough—but if Jesper starts manipulating bullets more obviously, will that information travel to the Little Palace? They know the Sun Summoner escaped with a Fabrikator. Is he painting a target on Kaz’ back?

Is he—

Bloodcurdling screams and groans, and Jesper’s too far away to hear any thwacks but his senses have expanded and he knows that metal coating intimately. Knows that cane.

Kaz emerges from the tunnel opening, Inej behind him, and—

Boom.

The Dime Lion’s shot him.

Right in the chest, and Kaz stumbles, falls to his knees.

Keels over.

Jesper shoots wildly while he runs over, whirling the bullets around the barrel that the Dime Lions are hiding behind—two left, Kaz wouldn’t have let any of the ones in the tunnel escape—desperate to hit something or at least keep them distracted and scared long enough to get there, or for—Inej’s pulling Kaz back by his coat, and she’s still wearing a sheer Menagerie dress, she probably doesn’t have any knives to protect—nothing’s hit yet, nothing’s hit, and all Jesper’s bullets are in the air whizzing around but he’s not hitting anything and Kaz is down and Kaz—

Kaz pushes himself to his knees, and then he stands up.

He’s breathing hard, and in the ugly rose/amber/bloodstain trench there’s a hole above his heart, sooty and burnt, but he’s still alive, Kaz is alive, he’s—

“What are you?” a Dime Lion gasps. Jesper’s finally got a bead on her. He sinks three bullets into her head.

“I just killed…” The other one is less lucky, and Jesper only manages to hit his stomach before he runs out of airborne bullets. He’ll die, but it won’t be quick.

“I crawled out of the harbour before. I’ll do it again,” Kaz rasps, and before the Dime Lion manages more than “Dirty—” a wet squelch informs Jesper of his demise.

That’s all of them.

“Kaz, you—” Inej’s much quicker at Kaz’ side, but he moves away before she can touch him to check his injury. Moves quickly enough he’s probably not on death’s door. He is a good actor, though. She looks at Jesper, and he’s about to join her in begging Kaz to get some medical aid, at least, but then Kaz shrugs off the ruined trench coat.

“Those kefta aren’t entirely useless,” Kaz rasps, grinning like an amused fucking asshole who almost gave Jesper a heart attack.

And then, Inej wraps herself around Jesper.

“You’re alive! I was terrified,” she shouts against his chest, slapping his back and grabbing as if she can’t decide whether to kill Jesper or never let go. “I thought you got yourself killed! You just disappeared, no word, I thought—”

“I may have lost a game where the stake was fifty thousand kruge?”

“You—Jes—” Inej squeezes him harder. “I told you to stop. I’d rather have you, with me, than have you die trying to pay me off.”

“I almost won! But there was no chance I’d get out of it, without indenturing myself, and—it all worked out, didn’t it? You’re free! Which reminds me…” Jesper takes off his own coat—blue and green and purple wave patterns, very fancy, a bit on the small side for him—and lays it onto Inej’s shoulders. It suits her, too—it drowns her a little, sure, but the way the coat reaches down to her ankles looks regal, and anyway, Kaz is a good sewer. He’ll fix this. “Can’t have you catching a cold.”

Before she can reply—tell him again she wasn’t worth risking his life and freedom in every card game he could for two years, when she definitely is, she’s Inej, he’ll do anything for her—he runs away and searches the dead Dime Lions for a new coat for himself, all their money, the rifle, and picks up the used bullets too. Knowing Kaz, he’ll want them to leave this place soon, and Jesper can’t very well try to convince his boss he needs to keep his sharpshooter around when he has no bullets left.

Speaking of—Jesper saunters over to Kaz when he’s done. With his most careless grin, he says, “I want my goodbye kiss before you ditch me.”

“I left you a note,” Kaz rasps. “I should have remembered you can’t read.”

Which as good as counts as a promise that Kaz didn’t intend to leave him behind: that, and the adrenaline of an easy gunfight has Jesper grinning widely. This is the life he wanted. The life he yearned for during the last two miserable years. The Crows are back, baby. He asks, “What now, boss?”

“We leave. Before anyone comes to investigate those gunshots.”

“Novyi Zem?”

“No,” Kaz rasps, just as Inej says, “They’ll let us drown.”

“They what?”

“Move.” Kaz starts limping past the factory, and then doubles back one street over—in the general direction away from the sea. Jesper and Inej quickly flank him. “I went to the Fifth Harbour before I paid off Inej’s indenture. It’s near empty. Old man there said no boats go to Novyi Zem or Eames Chin right now, and no boats come back. Because nothing gets unloaded. Kerch ships can’t dock there. They all get stranded at sea.”

“People started running when Ravka cut us off from the continent,” Inej mutters. “Before the invasion. And now the Darkling’s gone, the Kerch Grisha are either running or dead.”

“Too many refugees, apparently. Something about culture and scroungers and economic migrants. Novya Zem’s closed its ports to Kerch.”

“But I’m Zemeni—”

“You’re just a person. Those borders don’t exist to help you. The harbour watch don’t exist for you, the government doesn’t exist for you—if there’s a choice between cementing their power and your life, every bureaucrat worth their salt will choose the former.”

Jesper wants to argue, but actually, he’d trust Kaz over Novyi Zem a million times. Kaz saved his life when Ketterdam and Kerch would have swallowed him whole. Novyi Zem isn’t any different. “So we’re stuck in Ketterdam, then, where I’ll get shot on sight and you’ll easily get tracked by the Darkling. I only remember one safehouse that’s still uncompromised, as of last month anyway, unless you think we should go back to Haskell’s, boss?”

“Inej,” Kaz rasps. “That shop over there. Buy us a cart. We’re going to Lij.”

“What’s in Lij, boss? Why Lij? Where is Lij, anyway?”

But Kaz doesn’t answer him. Even aboard the cart, directing their new donkey with a seemingly perfect grasp of the roads leading to a small southern Kerch town none of them have ever been to, he refuses to elaborate. He looks tense, though. Jesper reshapes his many new bullets while he walks alongside. If there’s a fight waiting for them in Lij, they’re going to win.

☼

Kaz paces the length of the room. Window, door, window, door—there’s not much space beside the marriage bed, and the air draft of his passing caresses Jesper’s shorn head.

He’s put back together now, dressed in his socks and his boots and his underpants and his trousers and his gloves, though his torso’s only covered by the open purple kefta. Despite the cane, he limps more heavily than before he trekked for weeks through the Ravkan forest. He’s not fully recovered yet, if he’ll ever be.

Jesper’s on the floor. He climbed off the bed—off Kaz, after he ruined Kaz’ stupid get proxy-raped by the proxy-Darkling again plan. He said what he said, and the silence that followed was all the answer he’ll get, and then he sat down on the floor. It’s as good a place to wait as any. Probably more hygienic than the bed, anyway. He watched Kaz dress, until he almost looked like the Barrel lieutenant they both wish he was still allowed to be, and now he’s watching Kaz Brekker Dirtyhands the Sun Summoner pace holes in the old dusty floor of an abandoned farmhouse an hour’s walk outside of the small Kerch town of Lij.

He’s not getting murdered, though. Not for what he almost did. Not for what he said. That’s as good as this was ever going to go.

“It was worse this time.” Kaz directs his rasp towards the floor. He doesn’t stop moving. “I froze. Why was it—it was you. I knew you were—you’d never—with you it should have been more tolerable. Not worse.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss.” Jesper still can’t decide whether he should be ashamed that he was too squeamish to go through with it. Kaz doesn’t seem as angry as he could be, that Jesper totally fucked up this whatever-it-was-supposed-to-be. Not the mocking disappointment he doles out at Jesper’s predictable failures—gambling, distractibility, lateness, no impulse control and so on—and not the seething hatred when Jesper does something he hasn’t anticipated.

“I turned it over and over in my mind. For a year. What I did wrong. How I could have turned this to my advantage. How to excise this weakness. I thought I’d found—but there’s nothing.”

Jesper would offer to brutally desecrate the Darkling’s corpse again, but it clearly doesn’t help. Kaz won’t let this go. Never mind that he was a teenage thief imprisoned in a palace. Never mind it was him against the whole entourage of the most powerful Grisha. The man who crowned himself Emperor.

Sometimes you’re just fucked. And there’s nothing you can do. Life isn’t fair.

“There is a way to beat him,” Kaz hisses. “And I will find it.”

“You did. Sort of.”

“What—”

Jesper grins a shark-grin. “You’re not in Ravka now, are you?”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why doesn’t it? No, boss, listen—he didn’t beat you alone, either, right? He had his Tailor making you into a doll. His Fabrikators locking your cage. His soldiers. Hell, Haskell selling you out—so really, it’s your victory that I found you.” Now that Jesper’s trying to explain his gut reaction, it just seems more and more logical. “Why can’t you have your own gang? You practically rescued yourself. You took a look at a boy who’d have gotten shot in a few weeks because he couldn’t pay is debts and he couldn’t stop fucking gambling—you had me dragged up to your office. You took that chance. You saved my life so I could save yours. That’s… planning ahead. Planning years ahead. Well done.”

Kaz finally, finally stops pacing. He sinks into the mattress just slightly to the right of Jesper, so he can sprawl out his legs without making contact. He looks at Jesper, but he’s silent, and his face isn’t giving anything away.

At first, that makes it feel like he’s actually listening. Actually considering what Jesper told him, and agreeing. Kaz is a quick thinker, though. He doesn’t need this long to realize that Jesper’s correct, which means he’s coming up with counterarguments—arguments why actually, he’s still weak or whatever and needs to force himself—and Jesper really, really can’t watch him do this to himself again. Why this, anyway? Why is this the weakness he fixated on?

“Why is that creep so obsessed with making you touch people, anyway?”

“Because it’s easy. Necessary. Even a child does it. Touch is what makes us human, and the Sun Summoner is human, whatever lies he tells himself,” Kaz recites. His eyes are bright. Wet.

“Bullshit. You terrorized the Barrel for years and it didn’t matter at all that you never touched anyone. It was just you. It didn’t even really sink in for me, that you don’t touch people, until I saw the way he dressed you up, how miserable you were.” That’s probably a good place to leave it, but Jesper’s livid. Jesper could mince and mangle fifty Darklings with the pure force of his loathing, and there’s not even a single one around here. That energy has to go somewhere. “You’re trying to tell me the Ravkan fucking palace couldn’t change protocol a little and adapt? If it never mattered in the Barrel, it never mattered at all. He just picked something. If you’d been allergic to shellfish, that’s the only food he would have served you, and he would have said you’re weak for your windpipe swelling up. He wasn’t able control you because touch made you weak. When you’re in control, it doesn’t matter. Because you fucking kill whoever touches you. You don’t bow to them. They bow to you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. He doesn’t look away from Jesper, though. He just stares down at him, with his eyes still wide and still wet. He mutters, “You’ve turned quite opinionated in my absence, Jesper.”

“In your presence. I’m quoting your words back to you—sort of, it was about the cane, and I’ve forgotten half of it. But you were right. You were always right.” Jesper laughs. “See? Now you’re teaching yourself through time and space! Your masterplan is incredibly fucking elaborate!”

“My—I’m not falling for it.” Kaz is grinning, though. “If I agree now—by this time tomorrow you’ll have done something incredibly stupid and you’ll throw the whole Everything I do is your triumph because you saved me thing in my face. I’m not responsible for your awful jokes!”

Pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, Jesper wails, “My plan! My ingenious plan! Foiled by the dastardly Dirtyhands, oh no!”

Kaz laughs at him. Kaz laughs, and laughs, and Jesper joins him.

It takes a while before Kaz stops, gasping for breath. No-one in Ravka’s ever told a good joke, Jesper decides, because he’s made way funnier jokes before that Kaz didn’t even chuckle at, but gift horses and mouths and so on. Colour’s returned to Kaz’ face: his cheeks are blotchy and red, even after his breathing’s evened out. Kaz mumbles, “You know, that’s exactly how I imagined it.”

What? Oh. Jesper’s sprawled on the floor, leaning back on his elbows, his shirt pulled out of his trousers—his trousers, which are open, and he still hasn’t tucked away his dick. He forgot. There were more far important things to do, and now… well, he probably looks more debauched than Kaz in his purple kefta, with just his prick exposed to the chilly night-time Kerch air while he lounges on the ground. He ghosts a finger over it.

“Do you want me to—do you want to watch, boss?”

“I’d—” Kaz swallows. “Saints.”

Jesper turns a little, so Kaz can get a better view. He doesn’t undress, in case that’s an integral part of the fantasy, just gently trails his fingers down his still-limp dick—though it’s definitely waking up now—and looks up at Kaz.

Kaz doesn’t meet his eyes anymore, but that’s fine: more than fine, when he’s alternately looking at Jesper’s cock and at Jesper’s lips. Jesper darts out his tongue, and Kaz’ pupils blow even wider. Jesper licks down his palm and starts jerking off in earnest. “Hey, boss,” Jesper mutters, and when the head jerks up Jesper blows him a tiny kiss.

“What do you think about?” Kaz rasps.

“I just look at you. That’s enough. I like your face.” The tiny quirk of his lips, the way his eyes dart back down. “What are you thinking about, boss?”

“I didn’t expect you to enjoy this as much.”

“Seriously, boss, I know you’re not that stupid. How many times—”

“Not me,” Kaz mumbles. He gestures obscurely at the room. Jesper. The wall. The floor. The floor again. “This. It’s—not proper. Demeaning.”

“I wasn’t feeling demeaned until you started talking—”

“I was going to make you my right hand, once I took over the Dregs. Not my whore—”

“You were?” slips out, small and breathless, before Jesper remembers that this is for Kaz. This for him to enjoy. The warmth expanding in Jesper’s ribcage can wait. “There’s nothing bad about this. You like it. I like it. I don’t see anyone else in this room, and even if—a very clever guy once told me that you don’t bow to the world. You make the world bow to you.”

☼

It’s scratching that wakes Jesper. Scratching like the sharpening of a knife, quick, impatient, desperate—but it’s Kaz who’s on watch right now, Kaz who found this shallow cave they’re spending the night in, and Kaz wouldn’t let any danger come this close unnoticed. Unfought. Kaz wouldn’t just leave Jesper to his fate—would he?

He wouldn’t. At least not yet.

Kaz is sitting at the mouth of the cave. The moon drenches his matted dirty hair in its white glory, his handmade trousers, his naked wiry chest. His chest which he hasn’t bared for a second since Jesper gave him the kefta, even pulling off the Sun Summoner chemise that they tore into threads while still wrapped up in both of his coats: but now he’s half-naked, head bending down to look at those tines sticking out of his clavicle. Those antlers, those keratinized tumours, those bone cancers. Whatever those mutations are, he wants them gone.

In the right hand, he’s holding the knife that Jesper made from buttons so they could cut the blanket into trouser-shapes. In the left hand, he’s holding one of the protrusions growing from his body.

And then, he starts hacking again.

Viciously, helplessly, like a sick rabbit mutated into its own trap. He misses, once, and the knife sinks into his collarbone: but silently he tears it out again and cuts at the cancerous bone, and the knife’s sharp but the only dents that Jesper can see are tiny, glowing, lighting up the knife that’s flecked with his own blood.

☼

Jesper stirs the potato chunks. Thankfully, the old hearth still works, at least after he and Inej fed it with firewood they brought from the market, and so he’s cooking potatoes in butter and water. He mashes them up with some heavy wooden implement he found in a cabinet, once they’re soft enough—he washed it of course; he doesn’t want to eat moth shit—and then Inej passes him a wooden board of carrots in neat small identical pieces. Show-off. Jesper loves her so fucking much.

“Careful, don’t let it burn,” she says, twirling her knife, and Jesper—well, he meant to stir the pot of what’s apparently becoming stamppot. He did. He didn’t mean to think of how he’ll get Inej and Kaz out of Ravka—

And that’s when Kaz limps into the kitchen. He wasn’t still asleep when Inej and Jesper went into town to get some food—as if the Bastard of the Barrel ever sleeps in, even when he’s far from his titular Barrel—but he begged off the trip. He told them to say they’re working for Johannus Rietveld, if they’re asked, who’s apparently inherited this farm, but—they weren’t asked a thing, anyway, and who knows what Kaz did in the meantime. Who knows what weird cover identity he’s cooked up that they haven’t yet had to invoke. And whether it’s weirder than the one Jesper just created.

Jesper gives him a tender little smile. “Had a good morning?”

“No.”

“Because of last—”

But Kaz can read Jesper at least as well as he can read himself. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he rasps. “You’re the least terrifying person I’ve ever met.” Which probably means Yes, I’m rattled, but I won’t take it out on you. Too much.

“Thanks, darling.” And obeying Inej’s sharp elbow, he goes back to stirring the potato mash, and the slices of rookworst smoked sausage she’s dumped into another pan as well. “We decided Inej needs a proper homecooked meal, now she’s free, and we both haven’t eaten anything worth eating for ages, either.”

“You cook?”

“I grew up with my Da. It was either him or me. We traded off, if you want to know, and I’m pretty good apart from when it mysteriously turns into charcoal. And we didn’t find any Zemeni spices in the Lij market—this isn’t Ketterdam, and this old trader I talked to, she said it’s because maritime traffic to Novyi Zem is down to trickles at this point there’s a real dearth of spices, she couldn’t get them at any reasonable price—”

“Don’t burn the stamppot,” Inej orders.

“Anyway, we found a recipe tacked to the wall behind the oven, so that’s what I’m making now. Something super Kerch. Stamppot—you’ve ever eaten it?”

Kaz makes a sound that’s deeply indecipherable. Jesper can’t even tell whether it’s mournful or happy.

“Anyway, we’re almost done. Spinach now, please—Inej made me stick to the recipe, you know—and then the fried sausage and some salt and… you’ll stay with us for lunch, right, even if it isn’t royal Little Palace fare?”

“We ate unseasoned burnt rabbits in the forest,” Kaz replies curtly. He’s gotten over whatever strange emotion took hold of him, then.

“Yeowtch, they were awful. Why didn’t you remind me to take them off the fire. I know how to smuggle us into Novyi Zem,” Jesper says, carrying the deep pot over to their chosen clean bit of floor. Next to the windowsill, so Kaz can sit down with a little less discomfort—the house has been cleaned out apart from the marriage bed, really, and making Kaz go in there now… Making Inej go in there now, when it’s where last night he and Kaz had sex… And it’s not like they were loud, but who knows what Inej read into them pacing around each other for an hour. This is much less awkward. Besides, Jesper’s recently had some great experiences with floors.

Inej doesn’t stop playing with her knife, even after she balances her stamppot served on woodboard on her knees and digs in with her slightly bent spoon. She hasn’t set it down all morning, even carried it into town when they went looking for something to eat, and while she’s been supervising Jesper’s cooking—making sure he’s reading the recipe, keeping him on-track, bickering with him over unclear or illegible instructions—she’s been twirling it around her fingers. A truly remarkable feat, given that it’s the piece of shit knife that Jesper cobbled together from coat buttons, and he didn’t know what he was doing at all except that it should probably be sharp. Inej really needs to talk him through the finer points of balance if she wants him to overhaul the thing.

“They’re not letting in any more refugees from Kerch, you said,” Jesper starts setting up the explanation for his ingenious plan, while he passes over Kaz’ portion and another spoon he dug out from the bottom of a cabinet and small-scienced back into shape.

“The rich Kerch started running first, when the Darkling advanced. Anyone who’d ever had a Grisha indenture… They probably got in. They had the money. As for the rest… well, we’ve all heard of what happened in Fjerda, unless we’re Jesper and too busy drinking and playing Makker’s Wheel—”

“Hey! I was trying to pay off your indenture,” Jesper complains, while nibbling on his surprisingly decent if underspiced potato mash. “I’m Zemeni. They’ll let me in.”

Kaz still hasn’t touched his food. He hasn’t put it away either though, hand cradling the board instead of throwing it at Jesper. Maybe it’s because he’s too curious about the plan. Jesper should have waited, but he was too excited, and now Kaz is frowning as he replies, “So you keep saying. How does that help us? I assume you wouldn’t leave the two of us behind, after all that trouble you took.”

It feels good, to hear him say that. Almost good enough to forgive that Kaz doesn’t like his lunch. “That’s where my plan comes in. I’ve finally figured it out. If we’re married—”

“We can’t marry each other,” Kaz rasps. Before Jesper gets too sad about that, he continues, “In case you haven��t yet learned to count, we’re three people now.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been thinking it over for so long. But divorce exists, you know so I was thinking that our story should be—and I’ll write to Da, but I thought you should probably agree first—I married one of you and then fell in love with the other but I still loved both, so I was trying to—”

Inej coughs. Laughs. Yeah, she’s definitely laughing at him, and then she says, “You’re going to tell your father about your marriage in a letter—your multiple marriages, because not only did you get married without inviting him, you already traded in your wife for a younger, prettier model. You lothario!”

“If you think that Kaz—actually, are you younger than Inej?”

Kaz, spoon in mouth, glares down at him.

“I’m trying to save our lives here. I’d appreciate some cooperation! And Da will forgive me, when he sees how happy I am with my new bonebreaking gangster wife and my old knife-twirling gangster wife who I had to divorce for petty bureaucratic reasons. Do you like it?”

Another spoonful of stamppot disappears into Kaz’ mouth. His eyes are closed while he chews, and then he looks away. His voice is hoarser than normal when he mumbles, “It tastes exactly the way I—it’s good.”

“Better than unseasoned rabbit charcoal. Anyway, it might throw the Darkling off our scent some more, if we disguise Kaz as a woman—and don’t be sexist. Women come in all shapes and sizes, no-one’s going to suspect a thing. Also we’re from Ketterdam. If any woman like Kaz can marry anywhere, it’s here. It’ll be a scandal, if they refuse to honour our marriage. Letting a few poors drown outside Zemeni borders, sure, but breaking the mutual recognition of administrative documents?”

Jesper is actually pretty proud of his reasoning here. That makes it even more annoying when Kaz rasps, “No-one will ever believe I’m your wife. I can’t even touch you.”

“No-one’s going to believe I love you? Are you sure?” Jesper flutters his eyes up at Kaz.

“He has a point, Jesper. You won’t be the first desperate refugee forging a marriage to leave.” Inej twirls her knife again. “You’ll need to act the part.”

“We’ll just tell them the truth.”

“Which is?”

“You don’t want to be touched, and if they have a follow-up question, they’d better direct it to the barrel of my gun. I’m not letting anybody non-consensually grope my beloved Kerch wife. Never again. Not over my dead body.”

“Won’t they think it’s weird if Kaz—sorry, your beautiful Kerch wife doesn’t let you touch him?”

“I don’t care. I told you. Let the world bow to us. I love my ingenious, vicious Kerch wife, completely independent of any physical contact we may or may not ever have. I respect my stubborn loyal deadpan Kerch wife far too much to cross those boundaries just for social custom. Also, my sweet murderous Kerch wife has a mean right hook.”

“Thankyou for the demonstration of your acting skills,” Kaz rasps drily, scratching his spoon on his serving board for the last flecks of stamppot. “We’re not going to Novyi Zem, though. There are more amplifiers than just the Stag he forced into me, and we’re going to find the rest. I’m going to tear apart every miserable molecule in the Darkling’s body, cell by fucking cell.”

“And you just let me keep talking?”

“It was entertaining.” Kaz licks his spoon, and then the board. Any second now, Jesper will tell him there’s more left in the pot. “Write your Da. We’ll keep your plan as a backup, in case everything goes horribly wrong. You’ll need a ring, though, to make it official,” and Kaz starts rooting through the kefta pockets.

Jesper can’t breathe. Is Kaz really…? He can’t breathe until he looks at Kaz’ stretched-out, gloved hand, and—

“How the fuck did you steal that one?! I was just wearing it!”

#jesper fahey #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x jesper #dimtraces makes things #shadow & bone #shadow and bone

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

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2020: A [Fandom] Summary

2020 was a pretty rotten year, let’s face it, so now I’m safely away from it for good I’m stealing something @gumnut-logic mentioned to me and summarising all the things I managed to make this year! Let’s start 2021 on a nice positive note... look at all the things I managed to do in the world of fandom!

FANFICTION:

In 2020...

I published 69 works, 66 of which are complete - all for Thunderbirds Are Go

Which came to a total of 268,863 words (Tumblr-only scenes and short stories came to a further 29,764 words which put my grand total up to 298,627!)

My most popular fic on tumblr was Out Patience with 60 notes (wow!!)

My most kudos’d fic on AO3 was Bedtme (Should Not Be 4am) with 62 kudos!

My most favourited fic on FFN was Grounded with 13 favourites!

My longest fic was Long Way From Home, which is incomplete but on 30,902 words published so far (longest complete fic was Grounded on 21,100 words)

(I have not included Tales From The Heart as everything that was posted this year on my blog was written and archived on AO3/FFN in 2017-2019)

FANART:

In 2020...

I posted 12 completed drawings, across 6 fandoms (and across 3 blogs...) - Bleach, D.Gray-Man, Marchen Awakens Romance, Naruto, One Piece and Thunderbirds Are Go

My most popular was “Return of the Dragon” with 114 notes (over a hundred!!! How???)

In conclusion, Tsari has been one very busy bee this year! Links to everything are below the cut if anyone’s looking for a refresher, or thinks they missed something!

And because I am only human and love validation - if you have a favourite thing I’ve written (or drawn) this year, tell me what it is! Can just be the name (although if you want to tell me why that would make my night, I can’t lie), I’d just love to know what people particularly loved :D

COMPLETED WORKS:

Phobos John looks at his brothers, and worries. Rated: Gen/K+. Family. John, Scott Words: 1k; published January 2020

Treasured Family Scott’s day hadn’t gone well, and was about to get worse. John doesn’t care for that, and Alan makes a good accomplice. Episode tag: 3.22 Rated: Gen/K+. Family. John, Scott, Alan, Gordon Words: 2k; multichap - completed January 2020

Wax and Feathers Sometimes limits need to be broken. But a limit is there for a reason, and breaking them has consequences. Episode tag: 3.20 Rated: Gen/K+. Family. Scott, Gordon, Virgil Words: 4k; published February 2020

Hero They say you should never meet your heroes. Failure to comply may result in getting tongue-tied, or a failure of the brain to mouth filter. Episode tag: 3.24 Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Outsider PoV, Scott Words: 1k; published February 2020

Fall He’s not there, until he is. Episode tag: 3.25 Rated: Teen. Angst/Hurt/Comfort. Scott, Jeff Words: 900; published February 2020

Bedtime (Should Not Be 4am) The first night home should be relaxing, but for Jeff it’s anything but as he readjusts to being back on Earth, and five sons who’ve grown up without him. Episode tag: 3.25/26 Rated: Gen/K+. Family. Jeff, Gordon, Scott, John Words: 3k; published February 2020

Blank Slate Jeff finds that there’s one relationship he can build from scratch. Episode tag: 3.25/26 Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Jeff, The Mechanic Words: 1k; published February 2020

Apple Juice How hard is it to get a drink? Harder when younger brothers insist on interfering. Rated: Gen/K+. Family. Scott, Virgil, Tracy brothers Words: 1k; published February 2020

Firelight For Buddy and Ellie, camping is a beautiful way to live. Rated: Gen/K. Romance. Buddy, Ellie Words: 500; published March 2020

An Important Part John’s care packages sometimes contain a very special box. Rated: Gen/K. Family. John, Tracy brothers Words: 1k; published March 2020

Grape Juice or Wine A function that serves alcohol and a teenage brother. Just what Scott needed. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, Alan Words: 700; published April 2020

Chess Master Gordon has a prized possession. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Gordon, John, Tracy brothers Words: 700; published April 2020

Heroes Made of Gas A spaceman and his stars. Rated: Gen/K. Family. John, Jeff Words: 700; published April 2020

Caretaker Scott’s week from hell couldn’t just finish without throwing him a final twist. Rated: Gen/K+. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Scott, Tracy brothers Words: 1k; published April 2020

Riding the Dragon | Return of the Dragon Part 1: Scott was excited, and John was not, but who really got the last laugh? Part 2: Ten years later they’re back, and this time Alan’s up for the challenge. John isn’t about to let Scott forget about their last adventure, though. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, John, Alan, Tracy brothers Words: 4k; multichap - completed April 2020

Fresh Air When the standard methods of dealing with Scott don’t work, Virgil has to resort to something a little more creative. Rated: Gen/K. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Virgil, Scott Words: 2k; published April 2020

Unexpected When it came to the next generation, Scott didn’t think it would happen quite like this. Rated: Gen/K+. Family. Scott, John, Gordon, EOS Words: 1k; published April 2020

Awe The Shelbys were probably expecting a certain beautiful Lady when Gordon asked to bring a plus one, not an older brother. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Gordon Words: 1k; published April 2020

Thrill Seeker “Launching a rocket into space most days not enough of an adrenaline kick for you, kid?” Rated: Gen/K. Family. Alan, Grandma, John Words: 1k; published April 2020

The Tale of Scotty-Bear When Lee Taylor bought a bog-standard teddy bear for his best friend’s baby, he probably didn’t expect it to be quite so popular. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, Tracy brothers Words: 1k; published April 2020

I Just Can’t Wait To Be Free When Scott gets stuck, Gordon’s the only one around - too bad he can’t stop laughing. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Gordon, Scott Words: 1k; published April 2020

Splatter Scott was going to regret leaving him to handle Gordon alone, especially when paint got involved. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Gordon, Scott Words: 2k; published April 2020

Revenge (Should Be Piping Hot) The only aspect of his appearance Virgil cared about was his hair. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Scott, Tracy brothers Words: 1k; published May 2020

The Rules of Engagement Even acts of immaturity between brothers have to follow rules. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, John, Virgil, Gordon, Alan Words: 1k; published May 2020

Night At The Opera Surely an invitation to the opera was better suited for Virgil? Or one of his other brothers? No? Okay, then. Wait, what do you mean he had to wear a suit? Rated: Gen/K+. Friendship/Family. Scott, Lady Penelope, Parker, Tracy family Words: 10k; published May 2020

Nothing See: Was space supposed to be this dark? A mission to rescue the crew of a freighter goes horribly wrong. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, Tracy Family Words: 8k; multichap - completed June 2020

Strays Her Ladyship collects strays. Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Parker, Penelope, John, Gordon Words: 1k; published June 2020

Pulse Touch: Earthquakes suck. Badly. Especially when you’re still in an unstable building when the world crashes down. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, Gordon, Tracy Family Words: 11k; multichap - completed June 2020

Melt Smell: Snowy rescues are always the worst. Always. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, Virgil, Gordon, Tracy Family Words: 11k; multichap - completed June 2020

Silent Taste: They say you should ask for help when you need it, but what can you do except suffer in silence when asking for help will destroy your family? Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, Tracy Family Words: 12k; multichap - completed June 2020

Tremor Hear: Not everyone worships the ground International Rescue walk on. Rated: Mature. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, Hood, Tracy Family Words: 14k; multichap - completed July 2020

Hollow Sixth Sense: Two teenagers and a night hike in the middle of nowhere is a recipe for disaster. When trouble strikes the clock starts ticking, but there’s no International Rescue around to pull off a miracle. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, John, Jeff, Tracy Family Words: 11k; multichap - completed July 2020

The Six Foot Club Outgrowing Gordon was an inevitability, but Alan hadn’t given much thought about the respective heights of his other brothers. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Alan, Virgil, Gordon Words: 800; published July 2020

Out Patience There are three Tracys in the hospital and only one of them should be out of bed. Rated: Gen. Family. Alan, Scott, Virgil Words: 4k; published July 2020

Grounded Scott didn’t enjoy the trash mine rescue at all, but he enjoyed the consequences of it even less. Episode tag: 3.22/23 Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Scott, Tracy Family Words: 21k; multichap - completed July 2020

Human Scott needs to stop taking his helmet off first chance he gets - one day, his luck will run out. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Gordon, Scott, Grandma Words: 4k; published August 2020

Not Alone John makes a miscalculation with unexpected consequences. Rated: Gen. Family/Friendship. John, Scott, EOS Words: 4k; published August 2020

Cracks Under The Surface History likes to repeat itself and the human brain likes to find patterns. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Scott, Jeff, Virgil Words: 4k; published August 2020

Divided, United Waking up bound in a dark room is never good news, but the absence of the brother he saw shot in front of him just makes it worse. Rated: Teen. Angst/Hurt/Comfort. Scott, Virgil, John Words: 6k; published August 2020

For A Brother When it came to protecting family, there were no limits. Rated: Teen. Angst/Hurt/Comfort. Virgil, Scott, Kayo, John Words: 7k; published August 2020

The Only Course of Action John’s job is to watch and listen, but sometimes he’s also the last resort. Rated: Teen. Angst/Hurt/Comfort. John, Scott Words: 4k; published August 2020

Noise Was that racket supposed to be blaring from their comms? Alan hoped not. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Alan, Virgil, Tracy brothers, Kayo Words: 1k; published August 2020

His Collection The Hood knows what he wants, and will stop at nothing to get it. International Rescue have other ideas. Rated: Teen. Humour. Hood, Scott, Virgil Words: 1k; published August 2020

3am A desire for water in the early hours of the morning leads Sally Tracy to a revelation. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Grandma, Scott, John Words: 600; published November 2020

Liminal After the rain comes the sun, but there’s a special moment in between. Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Parker, Scott Words: 1k; published November 2020

One More Stuffed Toy The arcade is loud and chaotic, but John doesn’t care, because his brothers are with him. Rated: Gen/K. Family. John, Tracy Brothers Words: 1k; published November 2020

After Sundown Scott didn’t let Alan help with the big things, but he didn’t say no to the small things. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Alan, Grandma, Scott Words: 1k; published November 2020

Same Old Song and Dance Dealing with a sick Scott was a challenge that Virgil had honed into an art. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Scott Words: 1k; published November 2020

First Time It should be Dad, but it’s John instead and he wouldn’t change it for anything. Rated: Gen/K. Family. John, Alan Words: 800; published November 2020

At The End of The Day After a long, tiring rescue, Virgil just wanted coffee, a shower, and his bed. Gordon had a better idea. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Gordon, Scott Words: 1k; published November 2020

Deserving Who looked at the world and said “this deserves to be saved?” A family of youngsters who’d lost too much already. Rated: Gen/K. Family/Friendship. Colonel Casey, Tracy Family Words: 800; published November 2020

His Sons Jeff had been gone eight years. He’d missed his sons growing up into young men, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still the same boys he’d left behind. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Jeff, Tracy Brothers Words: 900; published November 2020

Faulty It was supposed to be a pleasant, quiet evening. Then the multilingual tirade started in the kitchen. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, John, Tracy Brothers Words: 1k; published November 2020

Indescribable The sky is blue, the grass is green, Scott Tracy is a big brother. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott Words: 700; published November 2020

Simple Success Any success is worth celebrating, even if it isn’t one of the biggest, most impressive feats in IR history. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, Tracy Family Words: 1k; published November 2020

It Calls Me Scott was born to fly. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott Words: 700; published November 2020

Words Not Said (But Still Heard) Gordon didn’t remember much about his time in the hospital, but he remembered the song. Rated: Gen/K. Family/Hurt/Comfort. Gordon, Scott Words: 1k; published November 2020

Unexpected, Not Unwanted It might not have been her intention to end up with five sons, but that didn’t mean she loved them any less. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Lucille, Tracy Family Words; 1k; published November 2020

Snap There was a whole mountain of paperwork, but a certain annoying younger brother refused to leave him in peace long enough for him to get it done. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, Gordon Words: 1k; published November 2020

The Box In The Locker Reuniting families is one of the best feelings in the world, especially when one of the ‘family members’ is the child’s best friend. Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Virgil Words: 800; published November 2020

Night Out Gordon learnt two things that night: Scott was an affectionate drunk, and sometimes people throw bar stools for no good reason. Rated: Teen. Family. Gordon, Scott Words: 2k; published November 2020

In Your Shadow “Tomorrow, they’re not gonna say ‘that’s Gordon Tracy, the Olympic Champion!’ Tomorrow, they’re gonna say ‘that’s Scott Tracy’s little brother!’, and I’m gonna say ‘damn straight I am.’” Rated: Gen/K+. Family. Gordon, Scott Words: 2k; published December 2020

The Sound of Thunder(birds) The sound of a Thunderbird should be a sound of hope and reassurance, but not everyone hears it that way. Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Scott Words: 1k; published December 2020

Too Far It’s not normally Virgil that Scott has to pull up for misconduct. Episode Tag: 3.06 Rated: Teen/K+. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Virgil, Scott Words: 2k; published December 2020

Steady Hands One boat. Two brothers. A life-or-death game of Jenga. Rated: Teen. Family/Friendship. Virgil, Gordon, Scott, Chaos Crew Words: 8k; published December 2020

Get Some Sleep, Scott There was no cure for self-destructive idiocy, but Virgil still had a trick - or rather, a last resort - up his sleeve when Scott went too far. It hadn’t failed him yet. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Scott, Gordon Words: 1k; published December 2020

ONGOING WORKS:

Desert Sands On the way home from a rescue Thunderbird One and Scott disappear from Thunderbird Five’s sensors, leaving International Rescue scrambling to both discover what happened and find them. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Scott, John, Tracy Family Words: 13k; Chapters: 7/?; updated September 2020

Long Way From Home His brothers are missing. In their place is a family of strangers, the only explanation that makes any sense is beyond comprehension, and the only solution is impossible. Scott Tracy’s never been so far from home. Rated: Teen. Family/Friendship. Scott, Tracy Family Words: 30k; Chapters: 7/?; updated November 2020

Toffee Gordon is a lover of many things. Toffee is not one of them. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Gordon, John, Grandma, Scott Words: 8k; Chapters: 4; updated November 2020

TUMBLR-EXCLUSIVE WORKS:

Dream A FabFiveFeb2020 ficlet using the prompts Scott+Dream Characters: Scott - February 2020

Short Snippet An abandoned wip with implied character death Characters: Gordon, Scott - April 2020

Heavy Metal A short ficlet inspired by the episode of the same name. Characters: Alan, Scott - April 2020

Random Scene A short scene with dark!John and EOS Characters: Jeff, John, EOS - May 2020

Random Scene A Thunderbirds/Detective Conan potential idea Characters: Gordon, John, Scott - May 2020

Random Scene A Thunderbirds/Percy Jackson potential AU Characters: Percy, Gordon - May 2020

Random Prologue Where Scott ends up in jail for murder Characters: Col. Casey, Scott - July 2020

WIP #46 Scott gets caught in an avalanche. Characters: Virgil, Scott, John, Grandma - November 2020

WIP #47 Scott gets caught in a serious plane crash. Characters: Gordon, Scott, Virgil, Alan, John, Col. Casey - November 2020

WIP #48 The original, and terrible, version of my published work Grape Juice or Wine. Characters: Alan, Tracy Brothers - November 2020

WIP #55 A post-series fic focusing on the aftermath of Jeff’s return home Characters: Jeff, Gordon, Grandma - November 2020

WIP #56 A sequel to my published work Hero. Characters: Neil (OC), Henry, Bee, Scott - November 2020

WIP #59a | WIP #59b | WIP #59c A squabble between brothers results in a whole pile of angst. Characters: Scott, Alan, John, Gordon, Virgil - November 2020

That One Scene | That One Scene #2 Two scenes from a movie rewrite Characters: Jeff, Hood, Scott, Gordon, Virgil, Alan, John - November 2020

Is- Is That My Blood? Scott’s trapped in a cave-in, and there’s too much blood Characters: Scott - November 2020

Random Scene AU Crime drama-esque scene with canonical character death Characters: Grandma, Scott - December 2020

Random Prologue Where Scott is Not Okay and just wants to go home Characters: Virgil, Scott - December 2020

Crack When a storm gets too intense for Thunderbird One to fly, Scott has to hunker down and wait it out. Characters: Scott - December 2020

Holey Scott There is a hole in Scott where there shouldn’t be Characters: Virgil, Scott - December 2020

FANART:

Dragon!TB1 A dragonified drawing of Thunderbird One, based on a Flight Rising fandragon - January 2020

Return of the Dragon A snapshot moment from my fic of the same name - July 2020

Night Out A snapshot moment from my fic of the same name - November 2020

The Missing Hair Gel An imagining of Scott without any hair gel - December 2020

Six Boys, Six Fandoms A collection of six drawings of six favourite boys from six favourite series! - December 2020

Dragon!TB2 A dragonified drawing of Thunderbird Two, based on a Flight Rising fandragon - December 2020

#thunderbirds are go #2020 summary #fanfiction #fanart

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jlf23tumble · 5 years

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Hi jen! I know usually anons have specific requests but could you rec me a couple of fics ? Just something you think it's really great! I'm not feeling too well and i need to get out of my head for a while. (Thank you in advance!)

oOh, mannnn, that sucks, but I feel ya!! This is mildly tricky but also incredibly easy: you don’t necessarily need or want anything super angsty or kinky because you don’t feel great, and canon’s probably a no go (which is a shame, I’d be rec’ing that pube fic HARD bleepin’ CORE), so you need some good AU material that’ll err on the side of distraction, methinks. Because I’ll bet that you’ve read most of these, I’m gonna give you a few more than two, and if you HAVE read ‘em all anyway, come back over and tell me a little bit more about some parameters, and I’ll do another pass. These are just off the top of my head, but I can search with the best of ‘em, goddammit, even my own spotty bookmarking. Under the wiggly line, in no particular order.

Tuxedo Dress-Up, by Blake/ @newleafover, 11k, E. Louis is an aspiring song writer by day, a make up artist for drag queens by night, and masquerading as a full time real estate agent for his third most famous (and first most handsome) client Harry Styles.Or, five times they fail to fuck in a closet, and one time they get it right. (I will not rest until everyone has read this one!!!! I can rec it for pretty much every single scenario, and I barely restrain myself, I’m telling you)

Sing You Butterflies, by objectlesson/ @alienfuckeronmain, 22k, E. Harry’s a clumsy unicorn who accidentally stomps on a witch’s garden and is turned into a human as punishment, so he wanders into a nearby village covered in glitter, still figuring out how to walk on two feet, and meets the fairy-tale-fine Louis, who has to teach him how to live as a human and stop him from eating soap. (I’m putting two from Phoenix on here, but rest assured I’d rec all of hers, too, this is just an adorable fantastical story that completely immerses you in another world that’s still rooted in this one? talent, I tell ya...and I HIGHLY recommend all of P’s fic, she’s writing drabbles in so many universes if you want to explore)

Take Me Under the Blue, by objectlesson, 19k, E. Louis hasn’t even seen his legs yet. He doesn’t know how they work or how long they’ll be. Maybe they won’t suit the rest of Harry at all, and he’ll have to grow into them or something. It doesn’t matter; Louis has loved Harry for a year with scales, so he can’t imagine wonky legs putting a damper on his attraction.He supposes he’ll just have to find out. In the meantime, he wonders how the fuck he got here, in his squelching wellies about to save the love of his life from the sea and take him to bed and bang him for the very first time.It’s sort of a long story. (when I heard about this one before editing, I was scurred...but it’s so fucking GOOD, I’d read so many more installments, and I say this as someone who hates fish dick stories, p.s., there’s no fish dick)

just call me inspiration, by @hereforlou, 51k, E. The truth is Louis knows he’s going to hell, if there is such a thing, but it isn’t because he writes erotic fiction for a living. If anything, it’s because his muse, the reason he’s inspired to write about people shagging in increasingly creative ways everyday, is the sweetest, loveliest, most genuine (and completely oblivious) future children-book illustrator in the world. Or, the one where Louis is a writer, Harry is an art student, and they inspire each other in very different ways. (Just me as Liam, that’s all I’ll say)

Tied Down, by @ham-palpert, 48k, E. The most interesting case in Liam and Niall's careers falls directly into their laps, courtesy of an epic fuck-up of one Harry Styles, partner to the almost-infamous drug dealer Louis Tomlinson. The investigation yields an unexpected yet satisfactory outcome for Liam and Niall. For Harry and Louis, however, things are far more complicated. (A twisty mystery, and all is NOT as it seems, so read the tags and push through chapter 1; it’s more of a tense drama, if you want to go down that path)

Alien Roadtrip!, by @helloamhere, 16k words, E. For the first time in his life, Louis doesn’t know where he’s going. Harry doesn’t mind. Or roadtrip with desert feelings, too much snack food, and empty motels. Harry is definitely absolutely not an alien. That would be ridiculous. (great dialogue and miles of smiles/laffs in this one, plus you can pretend it’s related to that area 51 nonsense if you really want to)

I’m reading a couple of WIPs that might pull you in, too:

Harry Styles Cooks..., by @sunsetmog, 52k, E. In which Louis Tomlinson can’t cook, there’s a very special shower curtain, and Harry Styles used to be a baker.Or: Louis owns all of Harry Styles’ cookbooks, and he never intends to cook a single thing out of any of them. (this one is updating fairly slowly, but that’s okay, it’s literally Christmas every time I get that nota, AGGRESSIVE SIGHING OVER HOW MUCH I GRIN LIKE A LOON WHEN I READ EACH INSTALLMENT)

Cards Are Dealt, by @loutmlnsn, 26k, E. Louis likes his life; he likes his job, he likes his house, he likes his town and he loves his cat. It’s not exciting, per say, but it’s comfortable, predictable and quiet. It’s normal. It’s what Louis has always wanted out of life. What Louis never wanted out of life was an A-list actor for a neighbour, who at first glance appears to possess all the values that Louis detests in a human being. An AU in which Louis is a nurse, Harry is an actor, and first impressions matter just as much as everyone keeps saying. (I’m actually reading a few wips, but I tend to notice when they update...I don’t bookmark them until they’re done, though, and this last one just updated yesterday, so check it out! Harry Styles Cooks is my fave wip of all time, I will never forget I’m following it, lmao)

#fic rec #get better soon angel!

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softboywriting · 6 years

Text

Falling For You | Shawn Mendes Fic

Summary: You’re Shawn’s personal assistant and after a misunderstanding with fans he get the idea that you could be his fake girlfriend to avoid being roped into a messy publicity stunt with a girl he doesn’t like. The thing about that is, both of you have feelings for each other that are less than fake and acting on them while pretending brings out the truth.

Word Count: 11k

| Masterlist in Bio |

The moment you check into your hotel room and get settled Shawn is knocking on the door that joined your rooms. You open it and roll your eyes at him because you figure he’s just up to his usual shenanigans. He always did this when hotel rooms had shared doors. You think he secretly liked the idea of sharing a room even though he always insisted he hated sharing them.

“Yes? How can I help you?” you ask in your most formal voice, teasing him.

“Can you do something for me?” Shawn asks as he pulls his ring off his finger. It’s the one with the two overlapping feathers that he had gotten in Japan last year. He never took it off. Not even to shower as far as you knew.

Your eyes go to his hand and then to his face. Okay this wasn’t a joke, he was seriously asking you to do something for him. “Yeah, what’s wrong?” you ask as he holds his hand out with the ring in it.

“I want you to hold on to this while we’re doing the press tour here.”

“What?” You look down at his ring and he back up at him. “Shawn, you never take that off. What’s going on? Did something happen?”

Shawn pushes the ring into your hand and curls his fingers over yours. “Last time I was in Europe for a while I ended up losing my other one. Remember how fucked up I was?”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t here for that. I do remember you telling me you lost it though. But are you sure? I mean if you never take it off then how could you lose it?”

“Please,” Shawn says softly, squeezing your fingers a bit. “Just humor me and hold on to it.” You sigh and agree to do as he asks. If would give him a piece of mind what would holding on to it for a few weeks hurt?

_______________

Four days. That’s how long it took before fans noticed his ring was missing from his hand and that it was on a chain around your neck. You thought nothing of putting it on a chain you picked up in a corner store for a couple bucks. You just figured it was safer on you than sitting in your luggage in the hotel. Big mistake.

First, fans noticed it was gone from Shawn’s possession. That sparked a huge discussion across multiple social media platforms. You had seen everything from theories that he lost it, gave it to someone, or left it at home. Shawn didn’t bother to address the topic as it wasn’t that big of a deal to him. He knew where it was. That was what mattered.

Then...then you were pulling off a hoodie you had been wearing because it was getting pretty warm that afternoon and you happen to be wearing a v-neck shirt that showed the necklace. For some reason a couple fans snapped pictures of you and someone pointed out that you had the ring. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. You were his personal assistant, you had his things on you all the time. This wasn’t anything new. Hell, you carried his wallet and his phone sometimes, it wasn’t a big deal.

But to fans that ring meant something. It meant something that you had it and you were wearing it around your neck. That ‘something’ was that you and Shawn were hooking up. Which was not the case at all, but try telling that to an irrational fan who thinks Shawn owes them his loyalty. Go on. Try.

So here you are now, standing in Shawn’s hotel room with Andrew and Geoff parked on the small couch near the window while Shawn laid out on the bed with a pillow over his face.

“This is insane,” Shawn groans. “Why is this such a big deal? It’s just a ring! She’s just wearing it to keep it safe like I asked her!”

“Yes, we know. You’ve told us at least a dozen times now,” Jake says with an eye roll. “Have you tweeted about it yet? Maybe if you explain the situation...”

Shawn pulls the pillow from his face and cuts Jake a glare. “As if that would help. I hardly think tweeting anything will calm down ravenous fans.”

“Then just take it back and wear it,” Andrew says as he flips thru his phone, reading more theories and things of that sort. “She won’t have it. Problem solved.”

“Yeah but then you’ll open a whole new can of worms. People will just think he took it back to calm down the drama. They’re still going to think we’re dating...fucking...whatever they think we’re doing. The damage is done,” you sigh defeatedly.

“So we just wait it out?” Jake asks.

“Yeah pretty much,” you shrug and sit on the bed next to Shawn.

“Well, I’m done worrying about it then. Ignore it and it will go away right?” Jake says as he and Andrew stand up. Andrew just sighs and shakes his head as he agrees half heartedly. “Let’s go get dinner. You guys wanna come or do you want us to get anything?”

“I’m good,” Shawn grumbles and you just shake your head. The two of them leave and as soon as the door clicks closed Shawn grabs the back of your shirt and pulls you back to lay beside him. “What if we were a thing?” he asks.

_______________

Rolling onto your side, you just stare at Shawn. He couldn’t be serious. The idea of the two of you being a thing makes your heart race and you don’t know why. Sure you’ve had a crush on Shawn before, who hasn’t? But you put it in the past, putting your job before that nonsense. You made sure not to mix your feelings with your work. Shawn and all the guys on his team and all of his friends were off limits. No way no how. You were not going to get messy like that.

“You can’t be serious, Shawn.”

Shawn rolls on his side to face you and suddenly your heart skips and you wish it wouldn’t do that. “I don’t mean like for real. I mean just for show.”

His words make your heart sink, but in a good way? Or was it a disappointed way? This was already going to be bad. Shawn should just stop talking. Him and his sweet smile, soft eyes and gentle words would make you do almost anything. He had to be stopped.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea for like a thousand reasons. Why would you want a fake girlfriend?”

Shawn sighs, rolling back on to his back. “Andrew and Justin want me to get involved with this girl Cailey. Remember that dinner meeting I had to go to a few weeks ago? It was about the two of us pretending to date or something. It’s supposed to help me stir up interest for the new album and she benefits by getting attention for her modeling career and stuff.”

“Are you serious? Shawn, didn’t you say no?”

“I tried to. I mean I told them I didn’t want to do it but her manager was pushy. We’re on the verge of a decision and it’s out of my control. I don’t like her though, I don’t even want to be around her. She is actually the worst person ever.”

You reach over and lay your hand on Shawn’s chest. “It’s not a good idea. Andrew isn’t going to buy it, and I sure as hell don’t think Justin will. They’re going to know it’s not real.”

“I can convince them. We can convince them. Please, I’ve never asked for something so important before, I need this.”

“I could lose my job. I-I don’t know Shawn...”

Shawn grabs your hand and holds it over his heart. “You’re the only one who can help me. The interest is already there, the suspicions from fans and media. We just have to supposedly slip up and kiss in public or something and Andrew will think we were just lying to him. I’ll make sure you don’t lose your job.”

You curl your fingers into his shirt and he looks at you, eyes begging you to say yes. You take a deep breath and close your eyes as you lean into him and press your head against his shoulder. This was so goddamn risky, but you weren’t going to standby and watch him suffer a PR stunt for months on end with a girl he didn’t like.

“Please,” Shawn whispers and you relax your hand against his chest.

“Alright. Fine. We’ll do this, but you really have to help me sell it. I want the whole nine yards, the whole girlfriend experience with the one and only Shawn Mendes.”

Shawn chuckles and runs his hand through your hair, bringing your head closer so he can kiss the top of it. “You got yourself a deal. I promise I’ll keep you safe if it all goes to shit.”

“You better.”

“I promise I will.”

You let out a sigh and lean back to look at him just to see he’s smiling like an idiot. “So what do we do first?”

“You wanna get dinner? I think being together without the team might stir up some more rumors. Why not start now?”

“Seems innocent enough, but do you think Andrew will just get pissed we went out among the current rumors.”

Shawn sits up and crawls off the bed. “That’s what I want. I want him to be annoyed but suspicious. Then we can ‘accidentally’ kiss in a few days or something and really get Andrew to buy it.”

You get up and grab your shoes from where you toed them off by the door earlier. “When you kiss me you better warn me, and no tongue.”

“What! Oh come on you can’t ask for the whole girlfriend experience and forbid tongue,” Shawn chuckles. He walks over to you and stops you against the wall beside the door. “We have to sell it, y’know?” he says as he makes a lewd licking motion inches from your face.

“God you’re gross,” you laugh and he grins.

“What? You think my tongue is gross?”

You shrug and slide away from him to grab the door handle. “I think you’re gross in general.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t I believe that for one second?”

You open the door and head out toward the elevator and Shawn follows close behind you. “I don’t know, maybe because you’re a weirdo? You’re totally gross.”

Shawn pushes you as you step into the elevator, causing you to stumble forward. “Hey!” you yelp and he walks you against the back wall. Just like that, he’s up against you, pinning you in with his forearms on the wall behind you, face leaned down only inches from yours. His breath is hot and your heart is racing. It was too real. There weren’t even people around. What was he doing? Why was he doing this?

“Save it for the cameras,” you mutter, swallowing thickly. Your eyes dart between his mouth and his eyes as you try to read him. Either he was a really good actor or he was actually turned on and really wanted to kiss you.

The bell dings on the elevator, signalling your arrival at the lobby. Shawn leans in and you think he’s about to kiss you but he doesn’t. He licks your cheek and pushes off the wall to run out of the elevator and into the lobby. You’re left standing there with a wet cheek and a heart that was about to explode. A second passes and you snap back to reality just in time to rush out of the elevator to see Shawn waiting for you by the doors looking smug as hell. If this was Shawn’s idea of a fake relationship, you were screwed.

_______________

You and Shawn found a diner that served some local dishes and each of you tried something you could hardly pronounce. Both dishes ended up being really good and you were pleasantly surprised. Dinner wound down and it didn’t seem like anyone had noticed the two of you, which was the goal of course. So Shawn suggests going for a walk, saying there was a park not too far away that he remembered driving by on the way to the hotel when you all arrived.

So here you are walking side by side as the sun goes down and basks the budding trees and soft grass in a golden glow. Spring in Sweden was absolutely gorgeous, if not a little chilly in the evening.

Shawn bumps his hand against yours and you bite your lip, looking the other way at a tree that had little white flowers all over it. He does it again and you twitch your fingers against his. It’s permission enough and he slides his hand into yours. It’s warm and you find your fingers sliding into the spaces between his.

“No one is around,” you mutter and he squeezes tight.

“You never know when someone will appear.”

You swing your hand and he chuckles. “I think you just like holding my hand.”

“Nah, I’m just trying to sell our relationship.” He grins and lifts your arm up and spins you around out in front of him. You twirl around, ducking under his arm and he pulls you back in close.

“I’m kind of cold,” you say with a small shiver.

“I can fix that.”

Shawn drops your hand and steps back to take off his denim jacket he has on over his pink hoodie. You reach for the jacket and he shakes his head, dropping it on the ground to pull his hoodie up and over his head with both hands.

“This will be warmer,” he says passing you the hoodie and picking up his jacket to put back on.

You slide your arms in and pull the soft pink fabric over you head. It’s a little loose on you but it’s warm, very warm. Shawn was like a furnace and you had no idea how he didn’t over heat every ten minutes when he wore layers.

Shawn looks past you and you turn to look at whatever he was staring at. There is a small group of girls standing by some trees nearby with their phones out. You look back at Shawn and he’s smiling, knowing everything was falling into place.

“You can come over here!” Shawn yells, waving at the girls. They giggle and jog over, chattering excitedly to themselves as they approached. You step back, staying quiet as they fawn over Shawn.

“Can we get a picture?” they ask and Shawn smiles.

“Yeah, of course. Here, give me your phone,” Shawn says and takes the first girl’s phone. He angles it so you’re in the background and snaps the picture. He does this for each girl, making sure you were visible in almost every photo. He was such a little shit. He knew exactly how to play this game and you were almost shocked at how good he was.

A couple of the girls keep glancing at you and then talking quietly. They weren’t even discreet. You knew they were talking about you. Shawn finishes signing one girl’s phone case and looks over at you just as one of them asks, “Is that your assistant?”

“Yeah, she’s great. She keeps me on track and out of trouble,” Shawn chuckles, motioning for you to come closer. You do and he puts his arm around your shoulders. “She’s the best.”

“Is that your hoodie?” someone asks and you look at Shawn for an answer.

Shawn doesn't answer and instead he just grins and thanks the girls for being such great fans and says the two of you have to go now, that it was getting late. With that the two of you walk away and the girls go the opposite direction.

Once you’re out of earshot, Shawn leans down and whispers, “How long before Andrew sees those pictures do you think?”

“Oh god, less than a day.” You laugh and shake your head. “He’s going to kill us.”

“Probably.”

“We’re really doing this huh?”

Shawn pulls you close and rubs the top of your head, messing up your hair as you approach the rental car the two of you were using to get around the city. “We’re really doing this,” he says with a chuckle and you nod. You sure were doing this.

_______________

A few days pass and no one says anything to you or Shawn. Everything goes on as it usually did. You think Andrew just missed the pictures or something, or maybe he just didn’t care. Either way it’s bothering you and it’s all you can think about. So here you are, sitting all alone in the lounge at an after party for some european awards show that Shawn performed at and stress drinking a rum and coke.

The place was crawling with celebrities and usually you’d be near Shawn politely socializing, but you just can’t be bothered tonight. It was fine, you weren’t looking for a new client anyways, so socializing wasn’t top priority for you anymore. You could just sit and worry until Shawn was ready to leave.

“Hey, what are you doing over here all alone?” Shawn asks as he plops down on the loveseat beside you, interrupting your thoughts about how you were going to lie about your relationship with Shawn when someone inevitably asked.

“Avoiding people,” you laugh as you take a sip of your drink. You look around and shrug. “This just isn’t my scene anymore, you know that.”

Shawn leans his head against your shoulder and you lean your head against his hair. He smells like cologne and the floral scented product he used to style his mess of hair. It’s nice. Comforting.

“Do you wanna get out of here? I��m sure no one will notice if we slip out the back.”

“You really think no one is going to notice? I’m pretty sure people will think it’s strange that the guy who just put on an amazing performance just up and disappeared.”

Shawn shrugs and grabs your hand, standing and hauling you up against him. “This isn’t really my scene either, I don’t know these people that well.” He looks around the room and shakes his head. Almost everyone he knew was busy or had already left for another afterparty. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going sneak out the fire exit behind the bar and if anyone asks I’ll say I wasn’t feeling well so my assistant took me to the hotel.”

“This will never work,” you giggle and he just grins like a kid.

Before you know it you’re being pulled through the crowded after party and toward a door labeled emergency exit that was behind the bar counter. Shawn pulls you through the little opening on the bar without the bartender even noticing because he was too busy trying to get some girl’s number. Thankfully there isn’t an alarm on the door because you’re sure Shawn didn’t even consider that.

The second Shawn pushes the door open and the two of you step out into the alley behind the event center, you get soaked. It’s pouring rain and your dress clings to you as the water soaks in quickly causing little rivers to run down your arms, into your cleavage and down the back of your dress. You may as well have just stepped into a shower fully clothed.

Shawn runs out into the middle of the alley and puts his arms out with is head back as he spins in a circle. He yells into the night air and it’s swallowed up by the roar of the downpouring rain. You can’t help but laugh and he looks over, grinning like an idiot because he know you’re laughing at him.

He really is a sight to see. His hair is plastered to the sides of his head and forehead. The light gray suit he was wearing was dark charcoal gray now as it has become fully soaked, and you just know as soon as Lydia, his stylist, comes to pick it up in the morning that he’s going to get yelled at.

“It’s pouring! What are you doing!?” you yell over the increasingly loud thunder that rumbles in the distance.

Shawn splashed forward and grabs your hands, pulling you out into the middle of the alley and you step in a puddle that covers your shoes and you squeal as the cold water rushes over the tops of your feet. Every inch of you was soaked to the bone, and Shawn looked about as happy as a pig in mud. He lifts up some of your hair off your shoulder and smiles. To have him look at you like that...it made the line between a real and fake relationship pretty blurry.

“You look like a drowned rat.”

Your jaw drops. If anyone could ruin a moment it was this guy.

“Oh as if you look much better!” you scoff, running your hand through his hair and shaking it, just to watch the rain smooth it back down on his forehead immediately. “You look like a mop that’s been put up to dry in a rainstorm!”

Headlights light up the alley entrance a few feet away and you turn to look and see if it was someone coming down the roadway. They were just stopped at the stop sign on the corner before turning left down the alley adjacent. It was a reminder that someone might find you out there, and that you should get going and stop dilly dallying in the rain.

“We should call a cab or something,” you mutter as you attempt to wipe the water from your face but it’s no use.

“Let’s get somewhere dry first. I don’t think my phone is waterproof,” Shawn says as he pulls his very wet phone out of his very wet pocket. “Yeah, no, this is busted.”

You start to open your purse but immediately close it upon seeing what the rain has done to Shawn’s phone.

Shawn pockets his phone and walks toward the entrance of the alley. He looks up and down the street for any sort of shop that was still open at this time of night. Of course everything was dark but the streetlights.

You walk up behind him and take a look too before suggesting going back inside.

Shawn shakes his head, taking a few steps down the sidewalk. “Hell no. We’re going to the end of the block, I think there was a McDonald’s up that way when we were driving here.”

Shawn comes back and puts his arm around you and the two of you head down the street. It’s not far before the next cross street and sure enough, Shawn was right. There was actually a McDonalds a little ways down on the cross street. Leave it to him to know exactly where food was but not to know what time he had to be anywhere or literally anything actually important.

You roll your eyes at how unbelievable he was and the two of you head for the bright parking lot.

You push open the front door of the building and Shawn hurries in after you. You’re dripping all over the floor, leaving a small river as you head to the bathrooms, waving politely to the employee at the counter who gives a sympathetic look. Shawn ducks into the men's room and you head into the ladies to do whatever you could to get dry.

Almost twenty minutes later and you we some semblance of dry. You had ended up stripping down to nothing in the handicap stall so you could wring your dress and underwear out over the toilet to get most of the water out of them. You had a moment, standing there on the cold floor, your dress hanging on the assistance rail beside you, that you look down and realize you’re wearing nothing but his ring on the chain around your neck.

There’s some sort of symbolism there but you can’t put your finger on it. You push the thought aside before you allow yourself to get too caught up in it. You had to focus on getting dressed and getting dry. Afterall, you were naked in a McDonald’s bathroom in a foreign country. There were bigger issues at hand then a ring on a chain.

You put your clothes back on and toss your tights in the trash, giving up on them completely. You set your shoes up on the small counter under the air hand dryers and turned them all on. A few twists of your hair, wipes of your face with surprisingly not crappy paper towels, and you were almost presentable as a human being again.

When you exit the bathroom Shawn is at the front counter ordering. He’s in his slacks and his black button down. You spot his jacket hanging on a nearby chair along with his socks and you take a seat until he comes over.

“I got us some chicken sandwiches and fries. I hope you’re good with that,” Shawn says as he sinks into the chair next to his wet jacket. “If not you can get whatever you want, I have my card.”

“No, chicken is fine,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Did we actually just leave an upscale after party to come to a McDonalds in Sweden at midnight?”

Shawn grins big. “Sure did baby.”

You snort, leaning back in the chair and shaking your head in disbelief. “How did I ever get stuck with you?”

Shawn leans forward and props his head up on his chin. He really has to stop looking at you like that. It wasn’t good for your heart. “Well, I think you applied for a job with your agency and then they sent you to Andrew who interviewed you and-”

“I know how I got the job!”

“Well maybe if you knew you shouldn’t have asked,” he teases with a smirk.

You roll your eyes and look out at the rain coming down in droves across the parking lot. It didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. “I guess I meant, how did I get so lucky to get to be your assistant and stuck with your wild and crazy ways. I’d worked for two other people before and they were just boring as hell. All I did was sit around all day and make and remake schedules.”

“You were meant to work with me,” Shawn smiles.

He reaches across the table and hooks his finger through the chain around your neck. He tugs it toward himself and you lean forward, not wanting it to break. You’re so close, his eyes are on your lips and yours are on his. The tension is thick and your throat feels like it’s closing up as your heart is about to burst.

“Our food is ready,” he whispers, grinning as he drops the necklace and stands up to go to the counter.

You sink back into your seat and stare at his empty chair. He couldn’t do this. You couldn’t do this. If he was going to play with you; tease you, whatever this was that he was doing, when no one was around to see, then you were going to call off your deal. You couldn’t have your emotions played with. Not by him. Not like this.

Shawn sits back down, setting the tray of food on the table before you and you look down. It looks good enough, although you’re not sure you feel like you can eat, but you manage to consume a little of the food while you talk about how tomorrow afternoon the two of you and Andrew have to catch a flight to Paris.

You chuckle to yourself at that. Paris. The city of love. Also the city of no paparazzi. You were going to have to work even harder to ‘expose’ this fake relationship now. God...it felt like it wasn’t going to work, like everything was working against you, but maybe that was okay...maybe it wasn’t meant to be like this. Maybe things weren’t supposed to work out.

_______________

The rain let up enough that you and Shawn could run out to the car you called for to take you home. There was only one ride service in the area you were in that ran late in the morning and they charged an arm and a leg too. Thankfully Shawn had no problem with paying the steep fee but you sort of felt bad for anyone who needed a ride so late. It seemed unfair that they jacked their rates up for late night driving...which made you wonder if the driver was just upcharging because he recognized Shawn. In that case. What a dick.

It’s nearly 2am when you arrive at the hotel. Shawn grabs your hand in the lobby and your heart beats double time as he drags you to the elevator. Again, no one was around to see this show of familiarity. You clench your jaw. You had to say something sometime right? But maybe not yet.

Shawn drops your hand in the elevator and you look over at him as he watches the floor numbers creep higher and higher. His profile is astounding. You look away, down at the floor.

Why did everything have to change? Last week you were content being his assistant and bossing him around at meetings and shows. You were perfectly happy that you had put aside the little (huge) crush you had on him when you first started, and he had to go and ruin it by asking you to be his fake girlfriend. Which, by the way, didn’t seem so fake now. At least not for you anyways. When this was all over you were going to be so fucked. So completely fucked because it wasn’t going to end in some fairytale romance. Shawn was not actually going to fall in love with his assistant. That didn’t happen. Life wasn’t a Hallmark movie, but damn you wish it was.

The moment you get to your room door and open your purse you realize you don’t have your key card. You had switched purses for the event so you would match your dress. The key card was in a pocket in your other purse.

“Guess what,” you groan and Shawn looks over as he pushes open his door.

“Hmm?”

“My keycard is in the room.”

Shawn pushes his door open with a grin. “Come on in then,” he bows, waving his arm out into the room dramatically. “Madame forgetful.”

“You’re a jerk,” you laugh.

You push him in the chest and he just chuckles, letting out a little oomph as his back hits the door.

Shawn walks in and goes over to his suitcase and starts undressing. He tosses his jacket on the back of a nearby chair and starts stripping down quickly, wanting to be rid of the still damp clothes. He stops as he gets his pants undone and looks over to where you’re standing transfixed by the bathroom door.

“You alright? You’ve seen me undress before?”

“Yeah...no, um...” You look away from him because your mind was starting to wander and that could not happen. “I don’t have any clothes is all. They’re in my room and I can’t get in? I’d like to be dry too.”

“Oh, right. Hold on.” Shawn leans over his suitcase and digs through it for a moment. He fishes out a shirt and a pair of boxers. “These might fit you?” he offers, holding them up.

It wasn’t like you had a choice. It was his clothes or your damp cold ones. The latter seemed far worse for sleeping.

You take the clothes and go into the bathroom, pressing your back against the door. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You had to remember you were his assistant. Not his real girlfriend. This meant nothing. Wearing his clothes was a necessity right now.

You start to change and you try not to think about the fact you were going to be wearing his clothes, more particularly, his boxers, or that you were going to be sleeping in his bed. You scoff to yourself as you set your purse on the counter. Your phone and one of the check in forms that you had the door code to the building written on falls out.

The check form... from the check in desk!

You could just go to the lobby and ask for a new key card. That was if someone was down there, and even then they were probably trying to snooze. You feel like you’d be an asshole if you went down there so late.

You bite your lip and look over at Shawn’s clothes on the hook where you placed them when you walked in. Your clothes are on the floor in a heap by the bathtub. Well, you were already undressed...you may as well just stay with Shawn and not bother the nice front desk person so late at night.

Sighing, you pick up his shirt and pull it on before you slide your panties down and off. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror. His shirt sits at almost your mid upper thigh, just enough to cover your bare bottom half.

What if you walked out there like this?

No.

You turn around and grab the boxers off the counter. Shawn might push the boundaries with all his out of sight attentions but you weren’t going to do it too. The last thing you needed was for this ordeal to go any farther and end up with both of you making a mistake that couldn’t be undone.

Shawn knocks on the door and you snap out of your thoughts, jerking around at the rapt knocking. “Hey, you okay in there? You’re not like sniffing my shirt and getting off or something are you? Because as weird as that is, it’s kind of hot and-”

You open the door to find him leaning against the doorframe with a smirk on his face. He knew what he was doing, and he always loved to tease you before this started, but now he seemed to like to make it far more sexual. The little shit.

“You aren’t funny.”

“You’re mad because I found out your dirty little secret.”

He leans in and you think he’s going to say something really dirty that is going to make you flush like a tomato. He grins and you are about to push past him, wanting to avoid whatever his mind would come up with when he whispers against your ear. “Go pick out your side of the bed. I have to pee, now move.”

_______________

You wake up to the sound of snoring. Deep but soft rumbles coming from behind you. You’re warm, too warm. Shawn has his arm around you and you’re pulled back against his chest, legs tangled with yours.

“Shawn,” you whisper and he stirs, snoring coming to a halt.

His arm tightens around you and he buries his face in your hair. His hand slides up and down your stomach under his shirt you’re wearing and it makes you shiver. You know he’s asleep, and he’s been alone for a long time, and that he must crave the physical intimacy as badly as you did these days. So you try not to blame him for the cuddling and you try not think too far into the cuddling.

“You’re skin is soft,” Shawn mumbles against your head. Maybe he wasn’t as asleep as you thought.

“Thanks, but remember what I said last night?”

He groans, slipping his hand out from under your shirt as he rolls onto his back. You made it very clear that you were not allowed to cuddle if you were going to sleep in the same bed. Obviously unconscious Shawn paid no mind to that what so ever.

“We have to get packed, it’s almost nine in the morning. Our flight leaves at noon for France.”

“You’re ice cold,” Shawn says with a smirk. “I know you want to cuddle longer.”

“Shawn, come on.” You roll your eyes.

His arm snakes around your waist and he pulls you against his side. “Don’t act like you don’t love it. I distinctly remember waking up at six this morning and you were all over me.”

“I was not!”

“You were too.”

Shawn reaches over and grabs his phone off the nightstand. He brings up a photo of the two of you in bed. The light is low and soft from the windows and you’re curled up with your head on his chest, your hand over his heart. It’s sweet, intimate...weird. Wait a minute.

“Why did you take that picture!”

“Well, I figure if Andrew doesn’t say anything by the time we’re done in Paris, then I’ll accidentally post this to instagram. Nothing says relationship like some sweet cuddles, and you are really selling it.” He turns the phone so you can see the photo again. “Look at your little hand over my heart and my hand in your hair as I kiss the top of your head. I mean it’s perfect and-”

“You better delete that as soon as Andrew calls off the deal with Cailey. I mean it. I don’t like when people take pictures of me and specially not when I’m sleeping, you creep.”

“I prefer the term boyfriend.”

“Fake boyfriend.” You snort and push away from him, throwing the covers back. “Get yourself dressed. I’m going to the lobby to get a new room card so I can pack and we can get to the airport.”

“No breakfast?”

“You can get something on the way.” You stop at the mirror on the back of the bathroom door and you tie up your hair.

Shawn puts his arm over his face and you roll your eyes.

“You better not be going back to sleep.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what’s wrong? Get up, get moving. Come on.”

“You look really good in my clothes, that’s what’s wrong.”

You swallow hard and turn away toward the door. You leave without another word and head to the lobby to get a key card.

Paris was going to be the last stand. If nothing happened in Paris then you were calling this whole thing off and Shawn was going to have to stand up to Andrew and Justin alone on the Cailey ordeal. You couldn’t go on with Shawn saying things like that behind closed doors. This is not what you agreed to. You agreed to pretending around other people, not pretending around each other.

Your greatest fear is that Shawn was pretending when it was just the two of you so that you could really make it look convincing when you were together. But even worse would be Shawn actually falling for you, and all his actions weren’t pretend. Both thoughts made your heart ache.

_______________

Paris. A beautiful city with grand architecture, art and culture. A place where romance was around every corner. The city of love. How ironic.

You stare out the window of the van you're riding in to the hotel from the airport. The plane ride had been fairly short, only a few hours, and Shawn was seated near Andrew the entire time. Thank God.

However you weren't so lucky to be seated away from Shawn now. He was right beside you while Andrew and Geoff sat in the seats in front of you. You knew you were being cold and distant toward Shawn, not having spoken since this morning, but it's what you decided was best. If you were going to feel something for him then it'd be easier if it were feigned annoyance and not a heart wrenching crush.

Shawn bumps his hand against yours on the seat and you pull away. He chases, placing his hand right next to where you've placed yours on your leg. He wasn't going to make this easy for you.

You glance down and then over at him. He's not even looking. The little shit. He is staring out the window with a smile on his face. You inch your hand away, turning your attention back to the passing shops and cafes.

Shawn clears his throat and you know he wants you to look over, but you won't. Not getting your attention that way, he opts to slide his hand up your thigh to meet your hand once more. This time he hooks his pinky with yours so you can't pull away so easily.

This gets your attention. You side eye him and he's grinning at you. The way he was grinning would make you think holding pinkies was the most risque thing to do in the back of a van.

Honestly he was too cute and you could feel the icy barrier you put up around your heart already start to melt. So much for that plan.

Shawn holds your pinky the entire ride to the hotel and you just let him. He was going to find away to be touching you anyways, may as well let him.

Checking into the hotel is a nightmare. The clerk, while speaking English, had a very thick accent that Andrew struggled to understand. When he finally sorted things out, you find out that one of your rooms was already booked and there was an error in the online booking agent.

Geoff suggests finding a new hotel but Jake and Andrew don't want to do that because they'd chosen this one specifically for it's security.

“I'll share with Shawn,” Jake says and Shawn groans.

“No offense Jake, but you're the heaviest snorer I've ever met. I'd never get any sleep.”

Andrew sighs, knowing this couldn't be easy.

“I can share with Shawn. Then you can all have your own rooms. I don't mind. ” You shrug and look at Shawn. “It’s not like I haven't had to share with him before. Remember the flooded hotel a few months ago?”

Shawn throws his arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him. “We can get a rollaway bed for you just like before. It'll be fine.”

Andrew looks skeptical but agrees to the arrangement. You and Shawn exchange looks when he turns his back. Both of you know he's suspicious now. Perfect.

_______________

Shawn wants to go out for lunch and you know he won't bother inviting Andrew or saying anything to Jake before the two of you leave. It feels so bad, sneaking out of the hotel to galavant around the nearby shopping district. You can't say you don't love the thrill of it though.

Shawn reaches for your hand, bumping against it a few times for permission before he goes for holding it. You give in quickly, knowing what he wants and he threads his fingers between yours.

You know that this is going to be your last outing together before Shawn is booked up for the rest of the Paris promo. He has a fashion gala, a pop up merchandise event, a performance with a local radio station and an interview with another radio station.

You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back. It was now or never. Whatever happened on this outing had to be big and attention grabbing. You don't dare ask yet, but the way he's looking at you says he might have a plan.

_______________

The two of you can't settle on a place for lunch which ends up with you walking around a small park nearby until one of you caved.

Shawn still has his hand in yours as you walk along a rose bush lined path. The park was gorgeous and in full view of the Eiffel Tower. Everything felt like a dream and you didn't ever want to wake up.

“Crepes are such a classic lunch. I don't know why you don't want to get those,” Shawn says, continuing your lunch debate that lead to the walk in the park. He really wasn’t budging on the crepes idea.

“It sounds heavy,” you sigh, it’s only the third time you’ve said this.

Honestly crepes sounded pretty good but your stomach was in knots. Nerves were getting the best of you and you can't take it any longer. Shawn was going to do something and you needed to be prepared. You were going to have to ask him what his plan was.

“You could get a plain one or just ham and ch-”

You stop, placing your hand on his chest and he stops mid sentence. He looks down, covers your hand with his and you can feel his heart racing just like yours. You pause, just a moment, taking in the slight intimacy before you speak.

“What are we doing?”

“We're walking in the park and debating lunch?”

“No.” You close your eyes. “I mean what is the plan for our outing? What are we going to do to get caught?”

Shawn stares at you for a moment, as if he had forgotten that you were just out on a lunch date for appearances. He seemed to forget a lot that you weren’t his real girlfriend, but you did too.

“I don't have a plan?”

“You have to have a plan.”

“I don't. We'll just make it up as we go.” He curls his fingers around your hand that's still on his chest and he brings it up to kiss your knuckles. You flush and he grins, knowing he caused that.

“How about we skip lunch and get some ice cream? It would be far more romantic to eat ice cream in the park. “

Shawn pulls away, hand still in yours as he starts running toward the other end of the park. You stumble along with him, giggling and struggling to keep up.

“Shawn! I'm going to fall! Your legs are too long I can't keep up!”

“I’ll catch you!” Shawn laughs, doubling back to scoop you up and spin you around a few times while you squeal to be let down. “I promise I’ll catch you whenever you fall.”

“Psh, you are such a mushy softie.”

Shawn places you down in front of the ice cream vendor cart and kisses the top of your head. “Sorry, I’m so soft.” He pokes his firm belly and makes a bleh noise. “I’m a regular stay puft marshmallow boy.”

You roll your eyes and step up to the cart. Shawn throws his arm around you and tries to order in French. It’s embarrassing.

“Deux Chocolat?” you say pointing at the chocolate ice cream. The vendor smiles and scoops, announcing your total in English and you thank him as you hand Shawn his little dish.

The two of you sit on a little bridge that goes over a creek that joins two ponds in the park. It faces the main street and the two of you remain in a comfortable silence as you watch cars and bikes and people with pets pass by.

A group of people nearby seem to be noticing you and Shawn. They’ve got phones out, failing to be discreet as they snap pictures of you. Your heart races and you elbow Shawn, nodding to the crowd. Shawn scoops up some of this ice cream and holds it out for you. “Open up,” he grins and you roll your eyes. “Open. Come on.”

You open your mouth and let him feed you, giggling as your lips close over the icy treat. “It tastes just like mine,” you say and he scoops another bit. You laugh as he makes airplane noises and ends up getting chocolate all over your lip and chin. “Hey! Watch where you’re putting that!”

Shawn parks his spoon in his cup and grabs your chin, swiping his thumb over the mess. He’s looking at you, eyes locked with yours. His lips part and you struggle to breathe as he leans in. “I’m going to kiss you,” he whispers, voice hardly audible. Just like that, his warm lips meet yours and he licks the ice cream from your lip. His hand goes into your hair and you lean into him, dropping your ice cream in the creek as you grab his face.

Making out in public wasn’t something you ever wanted to do. It just wasn’t something you were totally comfortable with, but Shawn...well...he was an exception. Besides. You needed to get people’s attention. You needed rumors to spread. What was more rumor confirming than making out in public?

Shawn breaks the kiss, rolling his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he says quietly.

“W-what? Was the kiss that bad?” you whisper in return.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head a bit. “The kiss was perfect. You're perfect.”

“Shawn, you're just lost in the moment.”

“I'm not,” he says as he leans forward and kisses you softly. He kisses between words as he says, “I've never been so happy in my whole life than I am when I'm with you. I just had to open my eyes.”

You pull away this time and he chases your lips a bit before settling on bumping noses. “When did you know it wasn't pretend anymore?”

“As soon as we started. My brain got the green light to make you mine and I couldn't stop it. I wanted your attention all the time, I didn't care if someone was watching or not.”

Shawn moves back and pulls you in front of him so you're between his legs where he's sitting on the edge of the bridge. He tucks your hair behind your ears and wraps his arms around you.

You bring your arms up and grip the back of his shirt, burying your face in his collar. “This feels unreal. I never thought you would actually do this. You're like a Disney prince, you can't be real.”

“I am real, and you're my princess. Now, come on princess, we have some rumors to confirm,” Shawn chuckles and stands, lifting you up so your legs are wrapped around his waist. He walks you past the crowd of fans with the biggest smirk as he bumps his nose with yours. It's one of the first times you've seen him practically ignore fans, but you couldn't be happier.

_______________

The moment the door closes to your shared room, Shawn presses you against the wall and kisses you hungrily. Your hands go to his belt and he bites at your lip for encouragement.

“Shawn?!” Andrew yells through the door.

You halt, fingers freezing on Shawn's zipper. Oh right. Andrew didn't know yet. If you didn't answer then he would just go away?

Shawn makes a shushing motion and creeps away from the door, taking your hands to lead you to the bed. Andrew knocks again and you feel sick to your stomach. Shawn's phone buzzes and you reach around and pull it from his back pocket.

“Its Andrew. He said he knows we're back. Answer the door.”

Shawn growls and goes to the door, ripping it open and glaring at his manager. “What? We went for lunch.”

Andrew steps in and Shawn walks over to you. He holds his phone up with a picture of the two of you kissing. “Let's talk.”

After ages of discussion, an agreement is made. Shawn would still have to walk the red carpet tomorrow at the KIT Fashion Gala with Cailey, and he would have to appear on the talk show she co hosted in a few weeks. But they wouldn't be selling the relationship angle now that you as Shawn were very publicly an item.

You and Shawn spend the rest of the day in bed, lazily kissing and exploring each other while discussing what you wanna do as soon as you get home from the press tour. Mostly he wants to show you Toronto and Pickering, introduce you to his friends and family, and fuck you senseless but that last part didn't require being back home.

_______________

Lydia and her team show up early the next morning to get Shawn fitted and dressed for the gala. You're up when they come knocking on the hotel room door and Shawn isn't, so you answer.

“Oh my God the rumors are true!” Lydia squeals as you open the door dressed in Shawn's tee and your underwear.

“Yeah, surprise!” You laugh and Lydia gives your cheeks air kisses as she and her team haul in a bunch of racks and cases.

“You two are adorable. He couldn't have chosen a better woman,” Lydia gushes as she starts to unpack.

Shawn sits up in bed and runs a hand through his sleep mussed hair. “You trying to steal my girl, Lyd?” He laughs.

“I got a girl, but if you want to share...”

“Oh you know I'm not good at that,” Shawn says as he stands and stretches, giving you a great view of that glorious ass of his. “Shower and a shave first?”

“Of course, wouldn't want your stink on these fresh suits.”

Shawn feigns hurt and you giggle.

Lydia unzips a few of the carrier bags and glances over at you. “What are you wearing tonight?”

“Me? Um, just one of my regular dresses probably?”

Lydia shakes her head and goes over to the second rack her assistants rolled in. “No, you're not going to be dressed like the assistant. You're Shawn Mendes’s girlfriend, you have to show up in something nice.”

“But I don't think anyone is going to care what I'm wearing. I'm not on the red carpet.”

Lydia laughs and holds on to the rack. “You're kidding right? He is not actually walking with Cailey is he?” You nod. “Well fuck that little tart. You're wearing this.”

She pulls a long black v neck sleeveless dress. There's a little jewelry set hanging with it on the hanger. You stand up and go over to it, running your hand over the front of it. It's got a little thin white belt around the waist with a little gem encrusted detailed feather as the clasp.

“This is too nice. I'm not sure I can wear this.”

“You can and will. Come on, try it on.” Lydia tugs at your shirt and you turn your back to her and pull your shirt off. “You don't need a bra, here,” she says passing the dress to you off the hanger.

You step into it and Lydia zips the back up. It's just a hint loose along your bust line. You turn and Shawn steps out of the bathroom in his boxers, scrubbing his hair dry with a towel.

“Hey Lydia, I was thinking...wow,” Shawn says dropping his towel and looking you over. “You look stunning.”

“It's just a dress,” you giggle, smoothing the front down.

Shawn crosses the room and grabs your hips, running his hands up and down your sides. “It's a damn good dress. Are you wearing this tonight?”

“Yes, she is,” Lydia answers for you. “And your suit will match.” Shawn looks back as Lydia pulls a black suit down that has black silk accents. “I was thinking we do a black suit with a floral button down under it. I've brought several options.”

“Let's get to it then,” Shawn smiles, looking down at you and kissing your head. “Tell me your favorite and I'll wear it okay?”

“Alright.”

“Perfect. Andi and myself will work with Shawn, Dana you help fit that dress to her and we'll get this show on the road,” Lydia says and claps her hands together. It was going to be a long day.

_______________

The KIT Gala was just like every other event you've been to with Shawn. Loads of famous people, douchebags with cameras, no so douchebag professional photographers, constant blinding lights and fake conversations. It's just another event.

That's what you tell yourself anyway. You've got nerves like never before. You've never been Shawn's girlfriend at an event before. You've never been paid any mind until you put that ring around your neck and everything kicked off.

You touch the ring, it's on a long chain that dips into your dress that's layered with a few other simple chains to complete the look Lydia picked out for you. Shawn had insisted that you keep holding on to it, and you would.

The car stops and Shawn slides his hand off of your thigh. “This is my stop. I guess I'll meet you inside,” he says heavily.

You give him a weak smile, knowing he doesn't want to go out and walk in with Caliey. The door opens and Shawn takes a deep breath, stepping out and the crowd gets a little louder. You smile, glancing around at the people taking photos from beyond barrier gates. It was never dull going places with Shawn.

A moment passes, just a quick second and you realize the car should be pulling away now. Shawn is out but the door is open still.

“Give me your hand,” Shawn says, leaning into the car.

“Shawn no, I'm not getting out here. Go meet Cailey.”

“Babe, get out. I'm not walking with her. You're in an Armani dress and decked out in more diamonds then I can count. I'm walking with you.”

You grab Shawn's hand and scoot across the seat. “Andrew is going to be pissed,” you laugh softly.

“He shouldn't have let me ride with you then,” Shawn smirks and you stand beside him, scooting to the side so the door can close.

The second that the press realize who you are, they go wild. It's a million questions a second, photographers yelling to look from every direction. Shawn threads his fingers through yours and walks you to the first stop along the long red carpet.

Endless photos and poses later and you and Shawn reach the entrance of the building. You look back and see Cailey walking alone, posing in the most over dramatic ways and you roll your eyes. She's in a long while dress that really just washes her out and you're glad she didn't walk with Shawn. It would have been a horrible match.

“You doing okay?” Shawn whispers against your ear as you step into the quiet building.

“Yeah, just a little bit overwhelmed. I'm glad it's over though. Did you see Cailey?”

“Oh yeah, she looks pissed.”

“Well I mean you ditched her.”

Shawn pulls you aside and grabs both of your hands. “I want nothing to do with her. I don't care what Andrew said, Cailey and her team would spin some story out of us being together any way they could. I wouldn't let that happen, I love you too much to let you get stuck in drama like that.”

“You love me?” You ask, not sure if you heard him right.

Shawn is silent, realizing what he just said.

“Shawn, you said you loved me.”

“I do. I love you. Oh my God.” He grabs your face and kisses you softly. “I absolutely positively love you.”

“I love you too,” you giggle, unable to contain yourself. How long had you wanted to say that to him, lord only knows. “I love you so, so, much, but is now the best time for us to be confessing this?”

Shawn looks around like he'd forgotten where the two of you were. There's a couple reporters with their phones out nearby but you can't be bothered.

“Can you do something for me?” Shawn asks with a grin and you say sure. “Will you hold on to this ring for me?”

Shawn slides his rose gold pinky ring off his finger and grabs your hand. He slides it over your ring finger and brings it up to his lips to kiss it softly.

“Shawn, what in the world...”

“It's a promise ring.”

“Shawn this ring is like eight hundred dollars, this is not a promise ring.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. “It is today. It’s to remind you that I love you and this isn't a dream, even though it feels like it might be.”

“You're such a sap.”

Shawn shrugs and slips his arm around you as Cailey passes by, giving a nasty look in your direction. You just grin, so smug that Shawn has your whole heart and you have his.

“Come on, let's go get dinner and then get yelled at by Andrew. The sooner this is over with, the sooner I can get you out of that dress.”

“Shawn!”

“Don't think I won't rip that dress open in the car. I've waited long enough for you,” Shawn smirks and you slap his arm as he walks you into the huge dining hall of the event building.

“Fine. I won't rip it. But as soon as we're alone together, I wanna see you in nothing but my ring on that chain around your neck.”

“I think I can manage that.”

Shawn leans down and kisses your cheek, giving your jaw a little nip that sends a rush of heat over your whole body. “Good girl,” he says smiling against your skin and you know that this was only the beginning with a whole new Shawn you had yet to explore and you know you'll be falling in love with over and over again.

#Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes #my fic #falling for you

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mojoflower · 5 years

Text

Involuntary Invisibility

I’ve read a few fics with this rare trope, and this is what I found when I searched my bookmarks. Anyone know of any others?

and with thy lips dispell this curse by paranoid_fridge No rating. 10k. The Hobbit. Bagginshield.

In a word where neither the One Ring nor the Arkenstone exists and all survive the battle, Bilbo encounters a strange, magical creature while helping to evacuate Dale for the coming winter. He thinks nothing of it initially – but then he watches his own arm pass through solid wood and sees Thorin’s eyes widen in fear and call for him.

“I’m right here.” Bilbo wants to say, but cannot make a sound.

Not when he has been cursed to disappear.

My bookmark: Wow, turning invisible involuntarily is some scary stuff...

Invisible Man by shinkonokokoro T. 21k. Merlin. Merthur.

"You are capable of more?" "More? Your majesty?" "More types of spells. More brain cells as well?" "Yes," he hissed. "Protect yourself." "What?" "Carl, shoot him."

Getting captured by Uther doesn't quite have the results Merlin expect.

My bookmark: Lovely story. Modern royalty au, if you will, where, instead of executing Merlin, Uther makes him play invisible bodyguard, with a lot of emphasis on "You no longer exist." Merlin is terribly amiable, which is funny, and doesn't actually manage to keep his mouth shut when he bodyguards. Arthur creatively names him Voice.

In Visibility by cat_77 T. 14k. Avengers. No pairing.

He was used to slinking in shadows, hidden from sight. This was just ridiculous, really.

My bookmark: "Hey, I figured out several important pieces of data with this little adventure," he protested.

"Such as?" Bruce prompted. Clint knew he was in trouble when Mr. Mellow looked pissed.

"Sitwell is an excellent liar, Fury still has the Gameboy I gave him for Christmas like six years ago, and the World Security Council wants to carve me up like a lab rat," he recited. He considered it an accomplishment that he was able to get any words out at all the way Nat still held him in place, fingertips carving into his skin.

Tony leaned back against the nearby counter and mused, "We figured out some stuff while you were out too, wanna know what?" He didn't wait for a response before he ticked off on his fingers, "One, you're an asshole. Two, the field around you is shrinking. Three, the World Security Council wants to carve you up like a lab rat, or possibly a frog because I doubt they've made it past sixth grade Biology, let's be honest here."

In Plain Sight by oldenuf2nb M. 38k. Harry Potter. Drarry.

Draco Malfoy had stopped believing his wishes would be granted long ago. He could perhaps be forgiven for being startled, then, when one of them came true.

My bookmark: Lovely: the Board decides to do away with the Slytherin House and Hogwarts fights back. Meanwhile, Pansy is terribly injured by a curse and that makes Draco the last Slytherin standing. "He's the last," the voice tells Harry. "There isn't much time." Draco starts by using a disillusionment Charm, but it quickly becomes involuntary invisibility. But Harry's watching, and doesn't want him to disappear entirely. UST, although it isn't sex-heavy at all. There are some shining bits, however, like this bit, after Draco's injured and somewhat stoned: ******** “And that mouth…” he exhaled slowly. “Such a pretty mouth, Potter. Such a pretty, pretty mouth. Makes a man want to grab handfuls of your horrible hair and kiss that pretty, pretty mouth until it’s all soft and puffy and swollen.” Malfoy abruptly released the hold on Harry’s jumper and smoothed the bunched fabric with his hand. “I mussed you,” he noted, his eyes drifting closed and the smile returning to pull at his lips. “I mussed Potter. Although, Potter is usually mussed.”Harry was frozen in place, staring at Malfoy’s face, his heart racing. /What the hell had that been?/ he thought, finally pulling back. Malfoy must be heavily drugged. It was the only explanation for what had just happened.

Who said that? by coconutcranberries (orphan_account) No rating. 33k. Teen Wolf. Sterek.

Stiles has a very unique superpower, in that he doesn't exist. He's invisible, untouchable, unhearable-is that a word?-and just not there. He feels like a ghost most of the time, although he can't walk through walls (he tried, the wall took offense and his nose paid the price) and he can still trip over his own feet. He blends perfectly into the background and no matter how hard he tries, nobody knows he's there.

It's a lonely life, he's not gonna lie.

But suddenly something changes. Stiles is part of a group project which includes probably the most explosive combination of people in his class. These people don't notice when he waves a hand right in front of their face-how could they when he doesn't exist? The possibilities are endless.

Oh, this is going to be so much fun.

My bookmark: Such an interesting idea: Stiles' power is to make himself not exist... AT ALL. So from the time he's 8, he's vanished from everyone's awareness, all records deleted, everything. Only his dad can see him (and even that is periodically unreliable). But then suddenly, Derek sees him one day, which starts a chain of events that leads to him feeling hopeful once again about being able to interact with the world. It's kind of tragic, I mean, think of the loneliness, the skin hunger, the sense of abandonment involved in being non-existent for 8 years. But it eventually works out.

In Time of Trial by Shine M. 38k. Merlin. Merthur.

Uther fears his son's power, and Merlin has helped Arthur flee to escape imprisonment. Now the two of them must fight to regain Arthur's rightful place in Camelot.

My bookmark: Wow, what a fantastic story. 36k words never went so fast. This is the one where Uther's old friend Aelfric comes to visit and slowly drips poison into his ear until he's convinced that Arthur is going to try to depose him and take the crown. When he orders Arthur to be taken to the dungeons as a traitor (and killed on the spot if he struggles), Merlin races ahead of the guards to rescue Arthur. (Luckily, he's been practicing a spell that makes things invisible. Unluckily, he has to spring it on Arthur with no warning at all and convince him to be silent and still while the guards search his room around them.) And thus is magic revealed.The pair go on the run, and eventually settle near Tintagel, where all the Druids live, and begin preparations to fight back. Arthur allows himself to act on his attraction to Merlin (I'd rate this an M), perhaps because now that he sees that Merlin is a powerful warlock, he sees them as being equals. Also, there's no doubt of Merlin's loyalty, considering how they got out of Camelot.

Merlin's Moving Castle by KrisEleven G. 49k. Merlin. Merthur.

As a result of some very unfortunate decisions, Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot, is cursed by Morgana (also known as the Witch of the Wastes) and becomes fully invisible to anyone who doesn’t possess magic. Forced to abandon his kingdom, he begins his quest for a remedy to his unfortunate condition and comes across the quite charming - and even more annoying - Merlin who may be the only one able to save Albion, if only Arthur can convince him to try.

My bookmark: What an amazing story. I kind of expected a rehash of the Howl's Moving Castle plot (which would have been fine, as I adore the story), but instead the author used only pieces of it and built something entirely new and totally belonging to Merlin and Arthur and their world from the show. There was a surprising amount of action (Merlin first meets Arthur during a fight and flight) and it culminates in an enormous battle. But in between, it's Arthur, learning to be patient and getting to know some new people... learning about the world through their eyes. It's just beautiful.

Beyond the Mirror's Edge by VivacissimoVoce M. 49k. Harry Potter. Drarry.

Harry Potter is dead! A spell goes wrong in Advanced Charms class, leaving nothing but a charred ring and a pair of empty shoes. Draco Malfoy must figure out what happened and try to bring Harry back.

My bookmark: interesting premise!The one where Harry is hit by a protection charm gone wrong and only his shoes are left. Dumbledore's Dead/Alive device only wavers with the needle halfway between the two when it's questioned, and no one knows where Harry is or how he's half alive. "The small wooden box with the life-death dial was mounted on the wall outside of the Charms classroom, with Potter’s shoes encased in a glass box beneath. The needle stayed resolutely fixed between the two indicators, but no one was sure what it meant."And then Draco hears, "Can anybody hear me?"Draco looked up and checked down the table. "Beg pardon?" he asked Pansy."I didn't say anything," she looked up in surprise."Anybody, please, if anybody can hear me please say something!"

Unseen by astolat M 11k. Harry Potter. Drarry.

When he wasn’t wearing it, he got jumpy, always waiting for someone to come at him wanting something—and now they did it even more urgently, if they ever saw him, because most of the time, nobody did.

My bookmark: #not involuntary invisibility#but i'll tag it that way#for my own purposes

What it says on the tin, really. Draco is the only one who notices that Harry has turned himself into a ghost and is "haunting them all before his death". He carefully takes the Cloak, just for 24 hours, challenging Harry to see if he can do without it. Of course, Harry's never heard a challenge from Draco that he hasn't immediately and fiercely accepted. But it's HARD. As Draco, in a weird combination of rude and kind, coaxes him through the week, Harry learns to be seen again, is shown how to protect himself, and finds himself falling for Draco.

we are tangled by drunktuesdays T. 6k. Teen Wolf. Sterek.

"Derek was at your house?" "For like ten seconds," Stiles said. "I'd say it was weird, but is anything about Derek ever not weird?"

My bookmark: invisible!derek!!!

Invisible by chappysmom G. 86k. Sherlock. No slash.

John had had the knack for as long as he could remember.

It wasn’t that he could become invisible, exactly. The laws of physics worked quite well in his vicinity, thank you very much. It was just that people tended … not to see him.

My bookmark: Invisibility not actually involuntary, but this has always been one of my favorites.

#involuntary invisibility #fanfic recs #mojo's fanfic recs #sterek fanfiction #drarry fanficiton #merthur fanfiction #sherlock fanfiction #hobbit fanfiction #avengers fanfiction

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rex101111 · 5 years

Text

Under the Light of the Fireworks

Summary: Baiken is tricked into humoring Anji by going along with his plan to join a festival that happens to fall on her birthday. As the day goes on, and Anji pulls her through more and more of the festival, she actually starts to enjoy herself. The day is long, but full of joy. More than she could have imagined. More then she thought she deserved.

A/N: aw HELL WOULD YOU BELIEVE THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DONE IN MARCH??? Like this is a super late birthday fic for Baiken that was supposed to be another chapter of "swipes", meaning short and sweet, but somehow ended up...over 11k words long oh God. I blame @sevi007 and @broken-clover on here and on AO3, Sevi for infecting me with whatever demon possessed her to write two super long one shots one after the other, and clover for posting a bunch of really cool B-day headcannons for Baiken that I simply had to include here.

Okay, super long, super corny, super fluffy.

ENJOY!

Anji had a way of moving when he was happy that more like floating than any kind of walking. His feet barely touch the ground as he flies from place to place as his attention changes focus.

Finding himself in the middle of a festival always seemed to magnify that trait, Anji practically soared in the midst of the throng of people standing around near food stalls and playing simple games.

Baiken would have thought it endearing, if she wasn't the one being dragged by the arm as he did so. The only reason she wasn't yanking her forearm out of his grip and finding the nearest bar before he dislocated her shoulder in his exuberance was because he somehow managed to get her to promise to play along with him until nightfall.

Baiken would have rather let her birthday pass with a minimum of fuss, march 5th was just another day, just another sunrise, but leave it to Anji to want to celebrate.

She should have known what he was planning when they first reached the town two days ago, the signs of people setting up some sort of party evident on every street corner and store front. People milling about smiling as children ran between their legs in uncontained excitement.

Somehow he managed to keep the façade that they were just stopping for a much needed rest after a grueling few weeks of travel and job (and head) hunting going until they reached their inn room.

Just as she was about to lay her head down for a short nap he sprang his trap, "Baiken, you know your birthday is coming up, right?" His faced stretched into a fond grin, "or did you forget again?"

"What if I did?" She groused irritably, her head a few measly inches away from sweet, downy relief. "It's just another day in the year Anji, let it go." She glanced at him to see his arms crossed over his chest while he leveled an unimpressed look at her. "Oh knock it off." She waved her hand in his direction, not in the mood for his pouting. "If you want to make a thing of it just let me sleep and we'll go to a bar tomorrow evening."

"We did that last year Baiken."

"I know, and what a wonderful time we had."

"Be serious." He admonishes, sitting himself on his side of the futon. "It's not just any day Baiken, its one day in the year that's all about you." Anji smiled and spread his arms as he spoke a bit more passionately, "a day to be happy and indulge! We can go bar hopping, see the sights in the town, maybe even…join the festival?"

Baiken was nodding absentmindedly as he went on, long used to his tendency to go on tangents but stopped and whirled her gaze to him when he mentioned a festival. "…Anji."

"Yes?"

"Where did you hear about there being a festival in town?"

Anji was silent for a long minute, clearing his throat before he gave out an utterly unconvincing smile. "I…heard some of the inn staff talking about it!"

"No you didn't."

"A few children were raving about it on our way here!"

"Try again."

"…there was a sign?"

"Anji."

"A few weeks back," he relents with sagging shoulders, smile sheepish. "I heard a few locals talk about it after we finished up that job," he gestured vaguely with his hand, attempting to remember the exact one. "You know…the one with the smuggled rhinos?"

Baiken was still having trouble trying to parse how in the hell that lunatic managed to stuff those animals into a storage locker without anyone catching wise, but she nodded absentmindedly.

"Right, well, I asked about it while on the way back from getting our payment squared away, and imagine my surprise when the date happened to line up with your special day!" He grinned with all his teeth at her with this announcement. "What are the odds?"

"Not low enough for my taste that's what."

Anji scoffed affectionately at her. "Come on Baiken, it's serendipity!"

Baiken turned away from him, pulling out her pipe and lighting it as she glared at the wall. "It's a pain my ass."

There was silence, for a moment, Anji apparently taking a moment to choose his words for the first time that night. After a minute or so of this, the samurai heard soft foot falls coming towards her, before she felt the weight of Anji's back on her own as he sat down and leaned on her.

"Would it be so bad?" He muttered quietly. "Having fun on your birthday?"

Baiken sighed. "Anji, I am not going to drag myself around that many noisy, drunk, rowdy assholes stuffing themselves with cheap food just to have fun." She pushed that last word between her teeth with another puff of smoke. "If you want to go, be my guest, but there's no way you can get me to join in on all that bull-"

"You owe me."

Baiken stopped short, something in his tone…awfully familiar. She turned her head to look at the back of his, eye narrow with suspicion, "what did you just say?"

"That job from a while back, with the rhinos." He turned his head so she could see the sneaky little smirk that snaked its way onto his face when she wasn't looking. "You owe me."

She knew that damnable smirk, that smirk he gave to people he conned and needled for information. The smirk he had when he was opposite someone he was about to metaphorically lift by the ankles and shake until what he wanted from them shook loose.

A smirk he had when the smug bastard knew he was getting exactly what he was looking for.

She had been on the receiving end of that smirk on more than a handful of occasions, none of them pleasant, none of them she managed to escape. Still, she gritted her teeth, determined not to go down without a fight. "Anji-"

"If I hadn't pushed you out of the way of that rampaging beast," He effected dramatically, the smirk unmoving as he went on. "You would be one lung short, on top of everything else."

"I swear Anji don't you-"

"What an ignominious fate that would have been for the lone samurai, done in by an animal so blinded by tranquilizers and dehydration it couldn't tell the difference between a tree and a wall."

"You can't be serious-"

"Good thing I was there and acted as quickly as I did." He turned to her fully, smirk growing into a toothy, shark-like grin. "In fact, such bravery and quick thinking deserves a reward, methinks."

Baiken frowned and scowled for all she was worth in the face of the overwhelming presence of that grin, but she knew she was beaten when he leaned in to rest his forehead against hers and his gaze sunk into hers.

She sighed with sagging shoulders, "fine." She glared full force at him, the display having a minimal effect on the suddenly giddy dancer. "But only until sundown, then I'm finding the closest bar and drinking myself fully blind."

"Deal!"

So here she was, getting dragged from stall to stall, a heavy bag of greasy food in her hand, a piece of overly sugary candy held between her teeth, and a headache growing behind her nose.

"It's too bad no one is selling any paper fans." Anji lamented as he munched on one of his own snacks. "Used to love running around with those as a kid."

"Three hours to sundown Anji." Baiken muttered, eyebrow twitching as a few screaming kids ran past her throwing freshly fallen leaves as they went. A few yellow leaves stuck themselves in her hair, Baiken taking a deep breath through her nose. "Three hours, don't waste them by being an ass."

Anji tutted and laughed as he pulled the leaves from her hair, "that's no look for a birthday girl." The scowl she sent him bounced right off his cheery grin. "Come on now, we still have a lot to see!"

Baiken groaned as he moved on and she followed. "It better not be another damn food stall, I have enough oily shit in this bag to grease a truck engine." She bit through the hard candy she held in her teeth with a loud crunch that scattered a few rowdy kids that got a bit too close. "No candy either, I can feel my teeth rotting out of my skull."

"Got you covered." He took the bag from her and used his free hand to hold it and guide her through the crowd, waving hello to people that passed them. A few older couples, hand in hand as they were, gave them encouraging smiles and waves that Baiken ignored on principle along with the heat in her cheeks. "I got just the thing to get you to enjoy yourself."

Baiken scoffed but said nothing, merely following Anji as he leads her by the hand. Her eyes wondered as she did so, taking in the sight of people with colorful masks and families sharing food with each other. Game stall owners laughing as the various guests failed the simple tasks but gave them small prizes for trying.

It almost made a tiny smile pull on her lips. Almost.

As soon as she turned her gaze back to Anji he stopped with a smile and looked to the side, "there!" She followed his line of sight to see another game stall, the one where you were tasked with knocking over a stack of bottles with purchased balls. "Just what I was looking for!"

There was currently a pair of very young children, a boy and a girl no older than 10, possibly siblings, giving it their all to hit the bottles. Baiken and Anji stood by quietly and waited their turn, the samurai unamused by the dancer's idea. "Seriously Anji?" She whispered so the children and the stall owner wouldn't hear. "You know these games are always rigged."

"Probably." Anji agreed with a whisper of his own. "Doesn't mean we can't give it a try…besides." His tricky smirk came back. "If it is rigged, the owner probably didn't have people like us in mind when he fixed it."

Baiken blinked at him, a bit taken aback, before chuckling. "Yeah, could be good stress relief."

"Among other things." Anji laughed lowly, watching the girl line up her last shot more carefully than before, her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she squinted at her target, and tossing her ball as hard as she could. "Good one." Anji muttered approvingly as the ball hit the stack of bottles dead center…and failed to make them fall.

"Sand in the bottles." Baiken whispered lowly, so as not to be heard over the loud despairing of the children and the smug condolence of the man behind the table. "Just enough to weigh them down from being knocked over, but still enough to make them move slightly so nobody says he glued the bottoms."

"That is no way to run a game." Anji scolded reproachfully, walking closer to the stall with a paper thin smile on his face, "a lesson is in order, methinks."

Baiken followed closely at his heels, already smirking in anticipation

"C'mon mister!" The boy pleaded with the owner, "just one more ball?"

"Forget it!" The man waved off the children as they looked up at him with shining eyes. "If you want another go, you pay up like good little brats." He scowled at them like they were trash stuck on the heel of his boot. "Otherwise, scram!"

"But we won't have enough money for food!" The girl argued, a hopeless scowl on her face. "We already spent so much money here!"

"Not my problem." The owner sneered at her, fish eyes squinting, before lifting his gaze to see Anji and Baiken, his face morphing in a blink to a welcoming tone. "Welcome folks! Give me just a moment and I'll be at your service!" He leaned down to bare his teeth at the children, as if the two other adults couldn't see him. "Now scram I said! You're bothering costumers!"

"But-!"

"Kids." Anji said calmly, putting a gentle hand on the girl's head, smiling serenely. "Let us have a turn while you think about what to do with your money." He looked back at the stall owner, his smile sharpening with every word. "I promise we won't be long."

The children looked at each other confusedly before nodding and taking a few steps back for the dancer and samurai to stand in front of the stall.

"Hello and welcome to my game!" The owner said jovially, as if nothing happened. "Simply knock the bottles over and win a prize!" He pointed to the various shelves and stands and hooks carrying all sorts of rewards, from dolls to keychains and even a wooden practice sword. "The less balls it takes the bigger the prize!"

"Sounds delightful!" Anji grinned easily, eyes sparkling with excitement. "How much for a shot then?"

"Its three world dollars for 5 tries!" The owner provided a small bowl with the tiny plastic balls, setting it on the counter in front of him. "Get it in one shot for the grand prize!"

"Marvelous." Anji produced the needed money from his pocket, and grabbed one of the balls, aiming for the stack, a sharp gleam in his eye. "Here goes…"

First try missed by a wide margin.

Second got a bit closer.

Third and fourth just barely missed, the owner smiled encouragingly.

Anji moved his last shot between his fingers for a moment, as if considering, before shrugging and flicking the ball forward, hitting the bottle stack straight on with some measure of force.

The bottles wobbled for a short moment before settling, remaining upright.

"Darn." Anji snapped his fingers in exaggerated frustration, "thought I had that one."

"No worries sir!" The owner assured with a crocked smile, "you can always try again!" He turned his gaze towards the samurai, his smile stretching across his face in what he must have thought was a show of kindness but reminded Baiken of a rat looking to steal a block of cheese. "Or maybe our beautiful lady here would like to have a go?"

Baiken rubbed her chin, making a show of deliberating by scratching her chin and humming low in her throat, before shrugging, "why not? Might be fun."

Anji slid close to the owner, cupping a hand over his mouth as he whispered loud enough for Baiken to hear, "you know," he started conspicuously with a wide smile. "It just so happens that it's her birthday today!"

The owner's eyebrow's climbed over his hairline, "that right?"

"I know! What are the odds!" Anji very pointedly ignored Baiken's scoff. "So, there any chance for a small kindness?"

The owner narrowed his eyes at the dancer, "you don't expect me to just give a prize away do you?" He gestured towards his selection again, nose pointing at the ceiling. "I still need to make money tonight you know."

"Oh I'm sure you've made plenty."

"Sorry miss, what did you-"

"What she said!" Anji interjected quickly and a bit too loudly. "Is that she's sure we can reach a compromise." Anji snapped his fingers. "Oh! Okay here's an idea for you!" He pointed at the bottle stack. "You said if I managed to knock that stack over on the first shot, I'd win the grand prize, right?"

"Yeah?"

"So here's my suggestion," he pointed at Baiken. "If she can manage it in one shot, you give her…" He held up a hand and moved it in the air for a moment as he thought. "Two? Yes, two." He held up two fingers with a guileful grin. "Two prizes if she can knock that stack over in one shot, sound fair dear sir?"

Than the owner looked at her. Really looked. His eyes going from her clothes, to her sword (Anji couldn't convince her to part with it), to her eye (and eyepatch), to the stump of her arm, and back to her clothes (lingering on her chest as if the missing eye made her blind, she made a note to punch him on her way to the bar), before looking back up.

He had the look of someone who thought he was going to get away with something, Baiken had to make a very concerned effort not to smirk. "That it does." The grin that climbed up his face made the smirk harder to hide. "In fact, how about we make it three?" Anji raised an eyebrow at him. "It is her birthday, as you said, so why not?"

Anji laughed, "oh sir, you are far too kind!"

"Though you'll pay double." The owner continued with the same grin and pleasant voice. "Still running a business here, you see."

"How about I pay triple," Baiken offered as she stepped forward with a sharp little smile of her own. "And you give me four?"

You could practically see the dollar signs light up in his eyes. "It's a deal!" He produced another bowl with gusto and moved aside to present Baiken with her target. "Feel free to buy as many as you want miss! Though the price will remain the same, of course." He chuckled lightly. "Now go on! Give it your best-!"

A rush of air passed him, making his clothes billow violently around him, followed by a crash glass and wood.

"-shot?" He looked behind him to see a horrifying sight, the bottles utterly destroyed along with the wooden table they were set on. The only remains being a few scant shards of glass…and several tiny piles of sand.

There was a small, circular hole in the back wall of the stall. Someone further back in the city complained of a broken window.

"H-how in the-"

"Got a good throwing arm." Baiken said blithely, face the very picture of content, smug innocence. "So, that was, what? Fifteen?" She reached into her kimono and retrieved two ten dollar bills. "Keep the change."

"You- Y-you-!"

"We had a deal I believe." Anji interjected, ignoring how the look of shock on the owner's face gave way to anger. "Four prizes right?" He lowered his head so he was nose to nose with the man, grinning as his face went so red it glowed. "Don't you try to weasel out~"

"Like hell!" The man flinched away from the grinning dancer, clenching his teeth. "Y-you two cheated!" He pointed a finger at Baiken, who was horribly unimpressed with his attempt to be intimidating, voice cracking in outrage. "That throw wasn't normal! You must have used some trick to do that! I'm not giving you shit!"

"Ever heard of throwing stones?" Anji said lowly, his grinning face stone like as he straightened and looked down the bridge of his nose at the suddenly sheepish stall owner. "Before you start accusing people of cheating…I suggest you check your house isn't made of glass." His grin turned razor sharp. "Or, rather, full of sand."

The man's face turned purple, eyes finally darting to the piles of sand littering his stall. "That's-! I don't know-!"

"Don't lie to me." Anji muttered, his grin lowering into an indulgent reproach. "Or I might be tempted to call a security guard over to check this place out." He turned away and made a show of looking through the passing crowd of people for the telltale shine of a badge. "I wonder what they would have to say about all this?"

"Fine!" The owner hissed, eyes darting left and right to look for any guards nearby before sighing in defeat, "fine. You win, just take your damn prizes."

"What was that grand prize you were going on about?" Baiken asked, clearing her throat to stop from chuckling at how thoroughly Anji and her tore this scam apart. "That'll be the first."

The owner seethed with contempt as he went to the back wall, glaring at the hole Baiken left as he passed it, before retrieving the wooden sword. He practically shoved it in her face as he returned. "Here."

Baiken took the sword with a scoff, opening her mouth to complain about this so called grand prize when she took a closer look. Not just any wooden sword, but a bokken. Tachi sized and smoothed to a near mirror shine, the wood flawless and well crafted.

She hadn't seen one in decades.

"Where did you get this?"

"Some colony escapee traded it to me for a place to stay a few years back." The owner grumbled as he crossed his arms. "Said it was worth more than gold, forgot to mention selling Japanese goods outside the colony was illegal at the time." He shook his head. "Still, works as an eye catcher doesn't it?"

Baiken glared at him as she placed the sword in her obi with care, it's weight felt right next to her katana. "it was wasted on you."

"Whatever." The owner waved her off and glared at Anji. "Three more prizes, hurry up."

"Alright," Anji made a pacifying gesture with a chuckle, and a wink in Baiken's direction, before he leaned in and looked through the selection before he grinning and pointed at a small, rabbit eared keychain. "That one, if you would please."

Baiken had to choke down a laugh at the scandalized face the owner made. "A keychain?" His face turned a shade of puce. "You put me through all that for a damn keychain?"

Anji waved him off pleasantly. "It was the principle of the matter." He raised an eyebrow at him, "besides, where do you get off, getting insulted?" Anji motioned towards the two bills Baiken deposited on the counter which the owner had yet to touch. "You are getting payed, after all."

The man starred at the money as if it burned his house down and pissed on what remained. "For God's sake…" He grabbed the money and glared back at the two. "Just pick the rest of your prizes," he said the word like it was trying to melt his tongue, "and get the hell away from me!"

He took the keychain and flung it at Anji's face. The dancer caught it without flinching.

Anji shrugged with a gentle smile, pocketing his keychain before looking at the samurai, "take the rest, birthday girl, I'll settle with what I have."

The owner choked on thin air but chose to say nothing.

Baiken looked over the selection again, eye nearly glazing over at how utterly cheap this entire thing was; plush animals of various sizes, kitschy keychains, it was tacky enough to make her want to puke.

No wonder those kids were so keen on this place, only children would-

"…Huh." Baiken scratched her chin, ignoring the odd looks the owner and Anji were shooting her, before looking around until her gaze fell on the two kids from before, their eyes shining with admiration. They must have been standing there this entire time, watching and waiting patiently for another go.

Baiken figured that was worth a small reward.

"Hey kids." She called out, the two children snapping to attention, the awe from her throw finally leaving them. Baiken pointed at the prize shelves with a casual stab of her thumb. "Take your pick."

The kid's eyes shone like a firework.

The owner looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole.

Anji's smile threatened to split his face in half.

(-----)

An hour later, they were both still laughing. Anji's keychain dangling off his finger as he gesticulated with unbidden glee. Baiken's hand rested on her newly acquired bokken, fingers brushing the fine, polished wood of the pommel as she snickered at her partner.

"And his face!" Anji put his forehead in his hands as he nearly giggled at the memory. "Goodness his face! I thought he was going to leap over the counter and try and strangle the both of us!" He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and sighed, "oh I'm never forgetting today, that was priceless."

"You're making a scene Anji." She nudged him with her elbow reproachfully, though she was holding in her own laughter. "Calm down, you're acting like we took down a mega death Gear."

"Hardly." Anji waved her off with another chuckle, "that one didn't have half the brain to be Gear." His smile grew as a snort escaped her before she could stop it, which earned him a harder elbow nudge. "Don't act like you weren't enjoying yourself either," he raised an eyebrow at her with a smirk. "You think I missed that little ki boost you did for that throw?"

She sniffed imperiously, pointing her nose up as she answered blithely, "why kill when you can overkill?"

"Hah!" He shook his head. "Honestly that's your answer for everything."

Baiken had a very clever comeback on how that answer tended to be the right one on the tip of her tongue, but a touch to her shoulder clogged her throat. Reflex kicked in a half second, grabbing the hand while she spun on her heel, sending the person who snuck up on her crashing to the ground back first, before drawing her blade and putting the sharp edge to the neck of the…mailman?

"Miss Baiken, I presume?" The mailman groaned up at her, his face straining to display a servile smile through what could only be a haze of pain. "I have a delivery for you…ow." The young man slowly picked himself out of the small crater Baiken threw him into, squeezing his eyes shut in strain before opening it to see an apologetic Anji offering a hand. "Oh, uh, thank you, sir."

"That'll teach you to sneak up on people." He said with an indulgent shake of his head as he helped the man up. "Especially people that could kill you in their sleep, eh?" The delivery boy nodded in a sudden panic, looking behind Anji to see Baiken looking decidedly unapologetic. "Now, you said something about a delivery?"

"Oh! Right!" He reached into a bag hanging off his shoulder, bulging with various parcels and packages, before pulling out a package, covered in colorful wrapping, along with a bright blue ribbon tied in a bow, and just about big enough to require both hands to hold.

It had a small tag attached to the ribbon, reading "happy birthday" written in English cursive.

"The hell-"

The Mailman cleared his throat before he started to recite what was obviously a well-rehearsed speech. "The Illyria delivery service, Asian branch, is proud to present Miss Baiken with a birthday parcel!" He started with what Baiken would guess to be his 'costumer service' voice, cloying and cheerful with an undercurrent of being completely done with his lot in life. "This precious gift was sent by one Sir. Bridget, who wishes to tell you he looks forward to your next meeting!"

"Bridget?" Baiken mumbled, a bit taken aback at the mailman's display, she looked at Anji with a questioning eyebrow, "isn't he in Europe or something? How the hell did he find us in some no name town in west China?"

Anji was making a point of fiddling with his rabbit keychain, moving his fingers over the plush pink and white fur.

"…Anji?" Baiken asked, an edge of suspicion resting on her tongue. "How did Bridget know where to send this package?"

Anji was quiet for a moment more, making a few vague hand gestures as he deliberated his answer. "Well…he's rich isn't he?" He asked with an uneasy smile, still not looking at her. "I'm sure he could have pulled a few strings to find out where we were headed."

"…we only decided on this course a few weeks back." She pointed out calmly, the edge growing sharper. "A course we haven't told anyone about…right, Anji?"

"Well," Anji started again, slowly turning his head to look back at the samurai with a nervous grin. "I…might…have sent him a letter a short while after we decided to come here…a letter which," he swallowed a lump in his throat when Baiken started to glare at him. "Which…may have had included a few fleeting details of destination." An awkward second past as he cleared his throat again and looked away. "Might have. Possibly. Maybe."

"Anji-"

"Excuse me?" The delivery man spoke up nervously, looking between the two of them before clearing his throat. "Are you going to accept this parcel? I kinda have, uh, other deliveries to make so…"

"Give it here." Baiken grumbled, taking the package from the young man, rolling her eye as he produced a form and pen for her to sign it. She put the gift under her arm before she made a quick squiggle and no sooner had she returned the pen to him he was off like a shot. No doubt wanting to keep as great a distance as he could from the crazy lady with a sword. "Wimp."

"Can't blame him dear, you tend to leave a certain…" He trailed off as she glared at him again from the corner of her eye. "…Impression." He sighed, "I was careful about that message Baiken, you know how I do things." He put his hands in his sleeves. "Besides, why shouldn't he be able to tell you happy birthday? I happen to remember you took a bit of a shine to him!"

"It wasn't a shine." Baiken groused irritably, though with significantly less heat as she recalled they boy's gentle and carefree smile. "I was just impressed he could handle himself in that situation while wearing a damn nun habit and using a yo-yo as a weapon." She made a quiet hum in the back of her throat as she looked over the ribbon and cheerful tag tied to it. "…he's a tough kid."

"Whatever it was, he sure took a liking to you." He nudged her gently with an elbow. "I know for a fact he would have felt terrible if he found out he missed your birthday."

Baiken was quiet for a second, moving the parcel around in her grip for a moment, considering every crease of wrapping paper and flutter of the ribbon as the late day wind blew it about.

She sighed, and started walking towards a bunch, the sounds of Anji following behind her with light, most certainly dance like, steps accompanying her.

She sat on the far end of the bench, Anji placing himself opposite, and put the package between them on the bench.

She spent a few minutes more looking at it, before Anji cleared his throat.

"…you know it's not going to jump up and bite you, right?"

"I know that." She bit back, eyes still locked on her present. "I just hope the kid didn't send me anything…weird."

"Why would he do that?"

"Nun habit and Yo-yo Anji." She emphasized emphatically, raising her gaze for a moment to meet his before going back to the present. "Plus, he's a rich white kid." She poked the package a few times. "Buddha only knows what goes on in his head."

"If you're not opening it," he grabbed the box himself and took hold of one end of the ribbon, "then I am." He swiftly undid the ribbon, and began working on the wrapping paper, Baiken looking over his shoulder as he slowly revealed the, rather ornate, box under it all. "…Well, his choice of gift box is unique enough."

Unique was one word for it, the lid had an elaborately designed inlay that was colored gold, the rest of the box was a vibrant cerulean shade so bright it hurt the eyes to look at. Baiken had a sneaking suspicion that this little box was probably worth more than she could make in half a year…provided she turned in a bounty every single day for that duration.

"Fucking hell Bridget…" Baiken muttered with a shake of her head, the corner of her mouth twitching up again. "The kid's sweet, but he doesn't have a lick of sense in that head of his."

"Aww you do care!"

She punched him on the shoulder, "shut up, and give it here." She snatched the box from his grip and put it on her lap, carefully working the lid open, putting it aside before she looked inside. Baiken had honestly no idea what to expect from it, her normally sharp mind drawing a blank.

Murderous intent was easy to pick up, attacks she could see coming from any direction.

Kindness though? How could anyone predict what kindness would look like? From where it would come from and when? And why? Not her, that's for sure.

(All those years with Anji barely made a dent, she realizes, then dismisses the thought before it could weigh on her mind.)

So when she reached in and found her fingers touching paper, she could only pull it out in confusion, "letters?" She asked, taken aback, moving the three pages in her grip back and forth as if to discern a hidden meaning, "he sent me letters?"

"That's it?" Anji gaped at the paper, before snatching the box and looking inside, "that boy has more money than sand on a beach! He must have-" He stopped himself as he looked inside, laughing quietly, "ah! There we are!"

He pulled out a small item; a tiny, bright red silk bag tied shut with black string, holding something within that was barely visible from the outside, with something on the front embroidered in golden silk.

(Baiken recognized it as the Chinese character for hope.)

"A bokjumeoni!" Anji cried out in delight, facing Baiken with a bright grin as he held the bag up to her. "A Korean good luck charm! Haven't seen one of these in ages!" He looked it over, running his fingers over the fin material that made it up with an appreciative hum, "looks hand sewn too…"

"Korean?" Baiken mumbled, still taken aback at the gift and all the work that must have been involved in making it, "that means-the tuner? When did she-" She held her tongue and looked around, seeing a few people fliting this way and that in front of their bench without really taking notice of them, but deciding not to take a risk. "He find the time to make this?"

"Things have been calmer lately, maybe Kum had found time?"

"Can't be…" Baiken mumbled, looking over the latters in her hand, leafing through them until something caught her eye, the family crest of the Kum family. "Well I'll be damned, since when did Bridget have contacts in Korea?"

"Why don't you read the letter and find out?"

Baiken looked between the letter (written in what was clearly rather stiff and unpracticed, but still understandable, Japanese), and her partner holding the small lucky bag between his fingers as he smiled at her encouragingly. "…sure, why the hell not?"

She put the other two pages down and focused on the one with the Kum crest and started reading:

Dear Miss Baiken, I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and good health-

"Fucking hell, keigo sounds even stiffer coming from a foreigner-"

"Baiken."

"Fucking fine hold on!"

-and without undue stress. I myself am fine, and would like to first offer my apologies for being unable to offer my congratulations in person to you, things in my family are…complicated at the moment, and require I remain in Korea for the time being.

However, when Sir Bridget sent this missive, I knew I must do something for the grand occasion.

"Grand occasion? I got older by a year and he's making it sound like missing a coronation…"

-Though the gift is small, it is hand made with the finest silk I could acquire. It is partly a gift for your birthday, and as a mark of thanks for keeping my life during the information flare incident. Without you I would surely be dead and my family ravaged beyond repair, I could never thank you enough.

Baiken stopped reading for a moment, rereading the thank you over and over, as if it would start to make sense, before scoffing, "saves my whole civilization from being turned into living weapons and thinks I should be thanked…" She looked aside at Anji, who was wearing a gentle smile. "Oh shut it."

Inside is medicine and a few pieces of candy, very precious candy I assure you, picked from my personal collection, I hope it is to your taste. The mark on the front is my wish that you never lose hope, in your goals or your future. The Japanese people have a long and storied history of raising from the ashes of death ever stronger.

I know in my heart that you must be the same.

Happy Birthday,

Kum Haehyun.

Baiken was quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed to the name at the bottom, Kum's actual name, and all the risks she took in putting it there rattling in her head. All for the sake of an honest happy birthday.

Anji offered her the red silk bag to her on an open palm, smile genuine and calm, and she took it, looking closely at the 'hope' on the front, how carefully it was stitched, every part precise as an ink stroke, a tiny smile on her features as she tucked it into an inner pocket of her kimono.

She cleared her throat before she faced Anji again, "anything else in the box?"

"Just this." He held up a small book, about the size for fitting in a pocket, leather bound with the words "enjoy the meal!" scrawled in English on the cover with shaky strokes. Anji opened it and leafed through the pages, another grin (she was starting to lose count of how many he's had today) spreading on his face as he did. "It’s a recipe book!"

"What?" Baiken muttered incredulously, grabbing the book from him and going through it, seeing the connection between the meals as she did. Namely, two connections in particular; one, they were all things easily made on the road with provisions one could find on the move.

And two, they were all Chinese dishes.

"No way…" Baiken huffed in mixed annoyance and amusement as she looked at one of the two remaining letters and saw, to very little surprise, that it was written in simplified Chinese, along with a small "chibi" cartoon sketch of Jam Kuradoberi herself on the bottom edge of the page. "Huh, been a while…"

"We should have stopped at Hong Kong to see her." Anji said in lighthearted melancholy, taking the recipe book back from Baiken to leaf through the pages again, "just looking at all of these is making my mouth water."

Baiken shrugged her shoulders, she and the restaurateur hadn't had the best interactions in the past, but Anji seemed to really take a shine to her, always insisting on stopping by her place to eat whenever they could. She and her had managed a pretty good rapport on those occasions, even having a few friendly spars…but not nearly friendly enough for Baiken to expect something like this.

"So," Anji started mildly, absently flipping pages in the pocket book, "are you going to read her letter, or is your Chinese still needing work?"

"I'm fine." She grumbled with a shake of her head, not enjoying the remainder of the headache it was to learn to read Chinese, speaking it was hard enough without confusing Cantonese and Mandarin, and grabbed Jam's letter to start reading, "let's see…"

Greetings Baiken! Happy birthday! I can't believe you didn't tell me about it! I had to find out from Bridget just a week ago! You wouldn't believe how big of a fright it was to see an English butler in my restaurant while I was about to close! HE DIDN'T EVEN ORDER ANYTHING!

"Fucking hell even reading this is giving me a headache…"

"Be nice."

"Say that to me about someone who hasn’t broken one of my ribs by 'accident.'"

Anyway, I'm sure you and Anji are busy having a good time by the time you get this letter, so I'll be short about it: I figured going from town to town doing mercenary work means not having much of a chance to sit down and eat good food (not as good as mine anyway), so I looked through my old family dishes to whip up a good list for you two! And no excuses about 'not having time' to cook them!

I've timed myself and each dish should take, at most, half an hour to get ready if you have everything you need, so eat properly, or else I'll beat some sense into you! And don't think I won't! I know exactly how to deal with a pecky costumer!

"It’s a wonder her place hasn't burned down." She stopped when Anji gave her a look, "…again, I mean."

One more thing, I would like to wish you a peaceful year, the both of you, and for things to not weigh down your soul. I know how you are Baiken, I know how brightly and fiercely and recklessly you can burn. Please, just don't burn yourself out, alright? You know how I worry don't you? You don't want that on your conscience do you?

"This chick is less than half my age and acts like she's my damn grandma."

"You are smiling though!"

"Shut it!"

Right, enough out of me! You just take care of yourself! And have fun!

Wishing you the best (and a pleasant meal!),

Kuradoberi Jam.

P.S.: YOU STILL HAVEN'T TOLD ME HOW TO BAG A HOTTIE LIKE ANJI! I KNOW YOU HAVE A TRICK BECAUSE ANJI CAN'T STOP LOOKING AT YOU-

Baiken quickly crumpled the letter in her hand, face glowing red, "what is she, a teenager!? Where does she get off being this boy crazy!?" She slammed the balled up letter on the bench with no small amount of force, scaring off a few early bird drunks that were walking near. She looked aside at Anji, face still burning, only to see him with an unbelievably smug smirk on his face.

"A hottie am I?"

"Don't let it get to your head." She groused, looking away and scratching the back of her head, peaking at the crumpled up letter out of the corner of her eye as Anji picked it up and straightened it, "that girl's got noodles for brains, least when it comes to finding a date."

He chuckled as he looked over the letter, "maybe so!" He smiled softly as he reached a certain paragraph, "she's got a good eye for metaphor though," he looked at Baiken with an appreciative glance that made her chest feel tight and warm. "Brightly burning…suits you."

Baiken held his gaze for a long while, the heat in her cheeks refusing to subside, a need to dismiss the notion trying to rise in her throat but failing to go anywhere. Instead she looked back down at the box that started all this, grabbing it to take another peak inside, finding nothing. "So…that's it from this thing?"

"Looks like it," he held up the book and motioned to where she stowed the lucky bag on her person. "All that's left is one last letter, which I'm guessing is from the young, rich sir himself." He looked at her lap, where the last letter sat unassumingly, as if it was there since this morning, catching a few cursive letters in English before she took it in her hand. "Well then? What does our young friend have to say?"

Baiken rolled her eye at him, feeling her blush subside as she looked down at the letter and began reading:

Hello miss Baiken! It's been a really long time since we spoke hasn't it? Even before the Valentine incidents right? That was rough on everyone, but especially on the Japanese. I've sent a bit of help after the fact, but I'm still feeling a bit guilty that I wasn't there to help myself.

And help you of course! I heard from Kum you were a real hero there! Good job!

Baiken's mouth twisted, unsure whether to drop or lift in reaction, before she sighed and kept going.

When I got the message from Anji about where you were headed (please don't be mad at him for that by the way? We just want you to be happy today!), I REALLY wanted to come over myself, maybe bring along May and Jam and a few others, so we could all party together!

Then Jam said she was too busy with her restaurant, and May was too far away, and getting to China from England is more trouble than you would figure…moreover, I remembered how you were, back then, and I guessed a big party wouldn't be you…cup of tea so to speak. So! I came up with this!

Kum's charm and Jam's book are pretty nifty huh? Those two are REALLY good at gifts!

Baiken's lip curled upward without her even noticing, she cleared her throat to get rid of the half smile, some odd feeling raising in her chest.

Mine is pretty cool too though! It's a magic box! Well, more like a ki box, actually. See, its' lid is made of a certain kind of clay from Tibet that reacts to ki. If you infuse it with a bit of ki, it'll shut the box tighter than any lock! And only you can open it! You could put stuff you want to keep safe in there, like money or stuff, since you can't exactly carry around a safe with you.

Everyone deserves to feel safer about their stuff, right?

Baiken watched Anji pick up the box and putting the lid back on, before infusing it with his ki. He tugged at the lid for a moment, and it didn't budge an inch. He sent an impressed thumb up at Baiken, who chuckled before continuing to read.

Next time you feel like traveling, come visit! You'll always be welcome at the estate, both of you. I really did miss you Baiken, you helped me out more than you think. It doesn't have to be any special occasion either, come by anytime you feel like. I just (a few words got crossed out, Bridget having trouble finding the words he wanted to use) want to make sure you're okay, you know?

Anyway, I've been rambling on long enough, right? I'll let you off to enjoy your birthday! Make sure Anji spoils you! But don't eat too much cake! (you'll have stomach ache for WEEKS)

Baiken let out a full bodied snort at that little remark, Anji grinning wide enough to hear.

Wishing you the best birthday, with lots of gifts and fun,

Bridget.

Baiken looked down at the letter for a long while, head rattling with thoughts and feelings but unable to put them in an order that made sense. She looked at the other two letters, one wishing for her to have hope, the other to be kind to herself, and finally at the last still in her hand, who wished for her to be happy.

A lump formed in Baiken's throat, making her feel ridiculous, only more so when she felt a slight wetness in her eyes which she rubbed away fiercely. She heaved a long sigh and leaned back on the bench, starring ahead at the setting sun, focusing on the blurring reds and yellows that began to slowly give way to purple and blue as late afternoon walked towards nightfall.

"Baiken?"

She looked back at Anji, seeing him gaze at her with some degree of concern, his body visibly letting go of stress, as if he was forcing it to relax so as not to scare her off. This only made the lump in her throat jam itself more firmly, refusing to be ignored. Fuck it, she'll bite the bullet.

"When…" She started, mouth twitching in uncertainty, not looking at Anji as she felt heat crawl up her neck. "When did so many people…start giving a shit about me?"

(She doesn't care if someone judges her, never did, but at this moment, for this question, she only wanted someone who would take her at face value. Someone who would be honest with her, straight to the point when she demands it.

Who better than Anji?)

Quiet stretched between them, the noises of the festival and the people around them fading into the background as she found herself holding her breath for his answer. Was she wrong? Was she seeing things where there was nothing?

Did these letters mean…nothing? They had too, or at least have the wrong idea, none of this makes sense, why would they care if she ate or if she was happy? Why would any of them care?

Anji hummed of a sudden, effectively pulling her out of the mire before she sunk too deep, making a point of scratching his chin in thought, "if I had to guess…" He started lowly, considering. "I would have to say…around the same time you started giving a shit about them."

Baiken blinked at him for a short while, taking him in. She searched every inch of his expression for jest, for humor, any hint that he wasn't serious, that he has been just telling her what he thought she wanted to hear.

She looked for that smug air he had as he conned the game stall owner, that feeling he was pulling at strings and pushing her buttons.

Every bit of him was clear as crystal, his eyes unclouded and face straight and serious.

He had no lie for her…at least not now.

She said nothing yet, gathering the letters in her hands and moving her fingers over the edges.

(Bridget clinging to her for a good hour, talking her ear off, begging her to show him how to be tough like her. He looked at her as if she had an answer for everything that plagued him.)

She put the letters on her lap for a moment, grabbing hold of the box and prying open the box lid.

(Jam giving the both of them a discount, seeing the ragged state of their clothes and her mentioning off hand they haven't slept in a week. She looked besides herself with worry born outrage.)

She folded the letters neatly, putting them inside.

(Kum exiting from her "disguise" after putting everything back as it should have been. Standing before her and then kneeling in the dirty, blood drenched grass. She put her head to the ground, not caring for the state of her fine clothes, and croaked out a tired "thank you" before passing out.)

She put the lid back, letting out a pulse of ki to lock it securely, before putting the box in another pocket on the inside of her kimono, right next to the lucky bag.

(The kids from before, eyes shining with gratitude as they held their two prizes, bowing to her with wide smiles and genuine joy as they rushed off, yelling for their parents to see what the "pretty samurai" won for them.)

Leaning back on the bench again, she once more gazed at the sunset, the colors less blurry then before, coming closer and closer to a unified splash of dark blue. The lump in her throat went down, some sense of peace, of acceptance (however minor), passing through her lungs as she took a deep, cleansing breath.

She closed her eye, feeling the early evening breeze pass through her hair. "Maybe." She allows, after a moment. "It makes sense…I suppose."

"Glad to be of help." He joined her in leaning on the bench and taking in the breeze.

Neither of them said anything, enjoying the moment of peace as families started to filter out of the area and towards a hill a bit further ahead, if Baiken had to guess either to see the sunset, or some last event for the day she didn't care to hear about before.

Now that she thought of it, she was surprised Anji hadn't dragged her there yet. It occurred to her that he might actually keep his end of the bargain and end this nonsense at sunset, leaving her free to depart from this place and find herself a bar.

So long as she didn't say anything stupid…right.

"Almost sundown." She muttered, eye still closed. "If you have anything you would like to do here, better be quick about it."

Anji hummed quietly, "well, yes…but, see that event comes a fair while after sundown." He chuckled lightly, unbothered by missing whatever he had planned last, "a deal is a deal though, and I am a man of my word." He picked himself off from the bench with a groan, rolling his neck. "So, I think I'll leave the rest of the evening to the birthday girl."

She opened her eye, looked at his back as he stretched and looked onwards, towards the grassy hill were it seemed the whole damn city decided to go to. She waited for him to turn to her, smile carefree and inviting.

"…for the sake of argument," she began, wearily, "what was the last thing you had planned for today?"

His smile nearly split his face, his eyes seeming to glow in the dying daylight as he answered with one word, "fireworks!"

Baiken let out a scoff, shaking her head in dismay as she chuckled at him, "seriously? Fireworks to end off my birthday?"

"Why not?" He asked, grin still plastered on his face. "What kind of festival would it be if it didn't end on fireworks?"

She eyed him with doubt, the want to wash her hands of this and get drunk growing by the moment. The day had been long, even barring the letters, her feet were sore, her stomach ached from some of the food, and her head was beginning to pound slightly in protest.

"…or we could call it a day?" Anji started, eyeing her worriedly, somehow sensing her reservations. "No need to drag yourself on my account Baiken," she glared at him, he laughed. "Any more than you already did that is!"

She watched him, watched as his grin shrunk and turned kind and patient, waiting for her.

She sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead.

"Sure, I could go for fireworks."

So much for not saying anything stupid.

His eyes widened and his grin returned tenfold, he grabbed her hand and started power walking towards the hill, Baiken regretting her ill-chosen kindness more and more with every step.

(----)

Where Anji was keeping a blanket to sit on, she didn't know. But she was glad for it, the grass seemed wetter than it should have, so she sat gratefully on the blanket where Anji spread it out, claiming a 'spot' for them on the hill as families and young friends gathered around them, all holding their breath in anticipation for the coming display.

Baiken hadn't seen fireworks for a good long while, the closest she came to that was when she was out looking for gunpowder for her weapons. Sitting on hill with Anji, she actually found herself looking forward to it, for if there was one thing the Chinese had to be proud of, it was their fireworks.

"If I didn't know any better," Anji teased as he sat himself next to her, "I would think that you were excited."

She contemplated jabbing him with her elbow again to get him to be quiet, but the day had exhausted her more than she thought, so she settled for touching her shoulder with his, before leaning on him fully with her head against his. One could hear his teeth clacking against each other as he snapped his mouth shut.

So they sat, quietly watching the moon rise and the lights of the festival dim. Anji had wrapped an arm around her, Baiken adjusting herself to have him hold her more securely. Soon the crowd around them silenced as well, friends calming down their drunk fellows and parents shushing excited children.

An elderly man stood on a stage a distance away from them, shouting into a megaphone to be heard by the gathered crowds. From what Baiken remembered of Cantonese he was saying something about welcoming spring and departing from the last dregs of winter, but she was just tired enough to find it too much trouble parsing words from noise, so she let most of his speech flow right past her to the people behind and around, content to wait.

Soon he was done, and signaled to a few men behind him who stood next to various rockets and as one they began to light fuses.

The night shattered and exploded, shards of color and light falling and scattering among the stars. A flower garden of fireworks bloomed above her, in a thousand shapes and shades, for a moment it seemed to fill the entire world.

Back then, years ago, there was only red and blue violent light tearing through all she knew and all she held dear. The light from back then was a dead thing, a display of death utterly passionless and void of meaning beyond destruction.

Not this, not this work of dedication, surrounded by the whoops of joy and excitement from children and adults alike.

She lost herself in the display, for a moment all she lost was simply waiting for her elsewhere, for a moment, shorter than a heartbeat, she was…no, not whole, not even happy.

She was, for the first time in a while, for less than a heartbeat, at peace.

Soon, the moment ended, the light continued to burst above her, but she was back on the ground. She was sitting on a ratty old blanket her partner found who knows where on some grassy hill, watching a fireworks display being put on by some no name town she will probably forget in a week or two.

Still, it was damn good fireworks.

"Worth missing happy hour?"

"Only barely." She answered automatically, making herself more comfortable on his shoulder before letting out a content breath. "We are still finding something to drink though." She lifted her head from his to turn to him with a smirk. "And you're paying for…for…"

Her train of thought sped off ahead of her, leaving her lacking in words as she stared at him, or, rather, what he was holding in his hand. The darkness of the early evening, only briefly illuminated by multicolored splashes from the sky, made it hard to see, but from she did see, it looked like he was offering her a small Sakura branch.

"Happy birthday Baiken." He whispered, only barely audible over the fireworks, as he handed her the branch, cold metal kissing her palm as she took it. She moved it around her fingers, stopping when a shred of blue light caught a pointed tip. "Not bad eh? Couldn't have those three upstage me, now could I?"

"I…" She found her tongue sluggish and unwilling to respond for a moment before she let out a scoff that sounded like a laugh. "I thought all this," she motioned towards the crowd and the fireworks, "was my present."

"Nonsense." He waved her off easily, almost insulted. "Today was your party, which was a result of divine coincidence." He purposefully ignored her clicking her tongue at him. "What you have there, I had been planning to give you for a long while now."

She fought a losing battle with a smile as she looked his gift over, slowly realizing what it was, "but…a hairpin?"

"Not just any hairpin!" He announced with glee, pointing to the thing metal end, "but a stiletto knife disguised as a Sakura hairpin!" He spread his arms out in pride, "if you ever find yourself needing to surrender your sword, you'll always have a backup!" He grinned in satisfaction. "And in the meantime, you have something lovely that compliments your hair perfectly."

"Anji…"

"Practical and fashionable!" He went on, pulling out a familiar looking metal hand fan, "just like this little number you got me this year!"

Baiken stilled as she saw the fan, her face heating up at the remainder that he was still carrying around her silly little gift. She doesn't think she saw him use that thing in a fight even once so far, depending on Zessen, but still he refused to part with it, walking everywhere with it to show it off.

She looked back down on her gift, moving the sharp tip between her fingers, and even pricking her thumb to check how sharp it was. (Very, it would seem, freshly sharpened even.) She laughed, not sure about what to do with all this noise that decided to flock around in her chest, before looking at him again, "when…when was the last time I ever used a damn hairpin?"

"Never, if I remember correctly." Anji answered cheerily, scaring another laugh out of her, "but…never too late to try something new, right?"

He was looking at her with a hopeful little smile, eyes shining and cautious.

She brought the pin up to eye level, taking in every minute detail. What she thought were Sakura petals were actually made of metal themselves, and shone with the fireworks. They were heavily detailed, tiny patterns etched into them everywhere she looked. The knife seemed to emerge from the petals like a root, naturally growing out until it thinned at its razor sharp point.

Must have cost him a pretty penny, and it made her head throb for a moment, before she laughed despite herself, holding the pin close to her heart as she looked at him again with an amused smirk. "Well…help me put it in then?"

Anji grinned even wider. "I'd love to."

He gently plucked the pin from her, removing the tie holding her pony tail, letting her hair fall all around her face, before he gathered it into a loose bun at the crown of her head, and slowly putting in the pin to hold it together.

He leaned back to look at her, eyes widening before growing soft, the light of the fireworks washing his face in shades of bright blue and green.

"How…how does it look?"

He smiled wide at her, eyes shining both with affection and the exploding lights above them, "beautiful." He muttered, reaching out with one hand to cup her cheek, slowly leaning towards her. "You're beautiful."

This is the part where she would say something sharp, something rusty and bloody to disengage. Where she would dismiss him utterly and thank him coldly and get up and find herself something to drink and try with all her might to forget this gentle flame licking at her heart. This is the part where she would go to sleep so drunk the first she would do in the morning is throw up, and never speak of tonight ever again.

He would let her, she knew, would let her lean away and end it before it began. He would smile in the morning if she did that, he would play along, he would join in her in pretending tonight never happened. Pretending that she always had that Sakura hairpin.

She didn't do that.

Instead, she closed her eye, and met him half way.

It was hardly their first kiss, but she couldn't remember the last time their kisses were this…quiet, this gentle. She was used to the kisses that came with sex, hungry and angry and demanding, leaving her breathless and gasping and fired up.

This was a simple press of lips, gentle and unhurried. The world could wait, the world didn't matter, the coward and his monsters didn't matter. There was only them, at this moment, on the hill, kissing under the bloom of the fireworks.

By the time they finished, the fireworks had died down, and people had begun to grab their things to leave, but she couldn't find it in her to join them. She leaned her forehead against Anji, to content, to calm to move away.

"Can we stay here?" She asked quietly, her gaze peering into his, the moon shining in his eyes. "For a while longer?"

"For as long as you want." He whispered, adoring, in devotion, utterly at her mercy. "We'll stay here till morning if you wish."

That broke the spell a bit, and she laughed at him. She leaned back to share another quick kiss, feeling him lean into her. "Don't push yourself." She said, a bit breathless, pecking him again with a smile. "Not going to sleep on a grassy hill tonight, got a perfectly good inn room remember?"

He laughed at himself for a moment, leaning away to wrap his hand around her and bury his face in her hair. "Of course." He took a deep breath of her, letting out in a content sigh as he held her a bit tighter. "Of course…"

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, letting herself indulge a bit in the embrace. "Thank you…for today." She leaned more heavily against him with a sigh of her own, "I know I didn't act like it…but it was actually pretty fun, so…thank you, really."

He was quiet for a long time, tightening his grip on her, as if to make sure she was actually there, in his arms with him under the stars. Finally, he placed a kiss in her hair, "anytime."

She tried to find more words to say, to thank him, tell him how much today meant. How much she needed those letters, how light her heart felt all day with him, but she could find nothing that was enough.

Instead she sighed, placed her forehead on his collarbone, "planning a birthday for you next year is gonna be a headache."

Again, he was quiet, before he chuckled softly, "let me ask you something, a little less than a year from now, when I wake up on the morning of my birthday, will you be the first thing I see?"

Her throat clogged up, but she refused to sound chocked so she cleared her throat before she answered. "Probably."

"Then don't worry about it."

This time, with her face burning to her ears, she allowed the silence to cover them both, letting her birthday end on a quiet note.

The moon shone fully and brightly above them, and for just a moment, for less than a heartbeat, she needed nothing more.

#Guilty Gear #Baiken #Anji Mito #Stuff rex wrote #Under the light of the fireworks #heck this was a long one #longest thing I ever wrote on my own #nice

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justsomewhump · 6 years

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Whump Profile

I was tagged by @killian-whump, who knows how much I love doing those things! Thank you, dear!

Name: For personal reasons, I don’t want to disclose it publicly.

How old were you when you first realized you liked guys getting hurt?: Kinda hard question... when I was younger, I was always trying to find a way “around it” and not straight-up admit I liked “guys getting hurt”. Like, when I made up stories in my mind, I always weaved the plot so that there would be no other way for it to go than them being hurt. But that was in the “middle stage”, like when I was in elementary school, I’d be like, “And then he got hurt and started bleeding :D”

What was that very first scene you remember gave you those glorious butterfly feelings?: That’s quite possibly that Digimon episode where Yamato (Matt) is lost in a snow blizzard and finds refugee in a cave, but he’s still too cold and shivering, so his digimon, Gabumon, takes off his... fur coat, whatever that was, and covers Yamato so that he wouldn’t freeze to death. I must have been around 6-7 at the time. Yamato ended up becoming one of my all-time favourite characters, as well as probably my very first whumpee - being subjected to as much whump as a 7yo could make up XD

When and how was it that you realized “Hey, I’m not so messed up in the head!” and that there’s a definition and community for this sort of thing?: Well I have killian-whump to thank for that. I distinctly remember going through my notes of my non-whump blog one day, and seeing a “killian-whump liked your post” note, and an icon with Killian from 5x13, with blood on his face and all that. I was intrigued, and checked her blog. Kinda got shocked at first, wondering how she would even like that that much, even if she clearly said she loved the guy... but I couldn’t stop visiting her blog, even with the 80 posts or so she had at the time, so I ended up following her. I don’t remember exactly how things went, to be honest... but I started chatting with her, then I made some gifs for her blog that she posted “anonymously“... then ended up making this blog, unable to keep all my whump thoughts secret. The rest is history :P

What’s your favorite whump trope?: Oh, man. My first impulse is to say clutching their chest, partly because of broken ribs or something, partly because there’s a wound there they’re trying to keep from bleeding out. I couldn’t really choose, I think. I also love spiritual possession and sexual whump...

What’s a whump trope that you hate?: I’m gonna copy killian-whump’s answer to that, pretty much, and answer with death, along with extreme gore and eye/fingernail torture.

What’s your favorite whumped character?: I haven’t really explored the character of many whumpees, and even my original ones sound shallow now, but currently it’s Killian Jones from Once Upon a Time. Apart from the fact that I’d been loving the character to bits, he then went and got marvellously tortured, being a perfect little defiant stoic woobie... How could I not?

What’s that whumped scene(s) that you’ve watched over and over again. (We know you do it and we understand): I’m so glad there’s that little “s” over there because I’d feel so bad if I had to choose... *cracks knuckles*

- Pretty much everything with Killian in OUAT, over and over again, but I’ll put these below, where I was rewatching them before I realized what whump is and that it’s okay to like it.

- That scene in 2x11 where Gold beats the hell out of Hook, and though there’s not that much blood, for me it’s also marvellously angsty as well, so I remember watching that one a lot.

- That scene in 4x15 where Ursula wraps Hook in her tentacles and squeezes him a bit.

- I almost forgot the heart theft and heart squeezing scenes from 4x08 to 4x11 and I feel ashamed. How could I?!

- Jamie’s rape and torture scenes in Outlander 1x16 (is that the episode?)

- One specific lady whump scene in Game of Thrones 1x02. I’m on the verge of feeling bad because of how many times I’ve watched that one.

Bullet or stab wounds?: Stab wounds, cause they’re usually bigger and you need more hands than one to stop the bleeding, and the hands get all messy and bloody... yes. I am actually a bit bummed that Wish Hook got stabbed, but in his memories as Rogers, he remembers being shot. And I’m like... why you gotta change this?? Let me enjoy my preferable whump when headcanoning about him! XD

Fevers or Hypothermia?: Oh, I love the classic “sweating like crazy and trembling and being covered with a blanket and maybe being a bit delirious” thing, so yeah. One of my favourite parts in The Hunger Games is Katniss describing how Peeta behaved while burning with fever.

Emotional or physical?: Well, obviously, both, but if I had to choose, I’d choose emotional, preferably over past physical whump. I mean, there’s a reason I’ve written 11k and 9k words for two different fics respectively, focusing on the aftermath of heavy whump. If mainstream media ain’t gonna show me whumpees having PTSD, I’mma do it myself.

Injured and asks for help or tries to cover it up?: TRIES TO COVER IT UP. I have such a huge love for stoic whumpees, as I mentioned above... one scene in my first big “original” idea for a story has the whumpee injured somewhere on his upper back and leaning on a wall, while his sister is talking to him, oblivious to the fact that he’s bleeding to death because the whumpee refuses to take his jacket off... until he pushes himself off the wall and walks away, and his sister, to her horror, sees blood on the wall and asks him what the hell’s going on, and before he manages to say anything, he collapses. I just love this kind of shit so much - but my absolute fave is them ending up collapsing and being forced to ask for help, barely getting the words out because they’re in too much pain by now.

Lastly, does anyone know about this addiction of yours?: Apart from people here, technically, no. A friend once said she was writing a story which was an OC going through torture and stuff, so I guess she likes whump too without realizing it. However we never happened to talk about it since, but I guess she got that I’m also kinda into it? But you know, we haven’t actually discussed it in detail.

I’mma tag @hookaroo for this one ;)

#personal #meme #whump meta #srta

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wildernessuntothemselves · 2 years

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ive never anticipated a story so enthusiastically than u releasing the part 4 and after going thru 11k words (which is the most amount of words ive ever read in this entire month), im literally raging rn.

if im gonna be honest, for ur past yandere stories, ive mostly focused and favoured the smut part more but for yamqn, esp with the latest update, for once, ive never felt so invested in reading a story before, the way u convey their feelings without having to write long paragraphs abt unnecessary details... yeah ur my top favorite writer rn.

first and foremost, fuck beomgyu.

beomgyu literally dehumanized her ━ striped her of her basic human rights, chased away her suitors, manipulated her into thinking yn wasn't pretty enough, then use that to his advantage and make yn sell her body to him. although you did put warnings for the nc part, i will admit that part made me wanna throw beomgyu into the deepest depths of hell.

with all his red flags waving high and proud right in my face, if i had to pick the worst one, it would be the fact that he didn't actually care about her at all. he saw her as an object ━ something to be claimed and possessed, something that he expected to obey to his every order. and the fact that he roped his entire family into this just it even sicker, like his parents and sister agreed and encouraged their sickening son's immoral behavior? the apple really doesnt fall far from the tree.

my heart literally broke into pieces when lord taehyun failed his plan like i was abt to throw my pc into the wall when beomgyu mentioned that he would send maids to guard yn's room while he was gone OH speaking of maids.... what they did to yn was equally sick. i understand that they're under his control, but to accept to participate in such a cruel act? do they not have any sense of decency left in them? (just gonna let this slide and close an eye cuz i dont know what went on behind the scenes)

can everyone just please give a pat on the back to lord taehyun cuz DAMN is he committed. honestly if i could i would've just gave him a hug and treat him to the finest things and give him the happiness he deserves. unlike beomgyu, he was SERIOUS about yn like he actually sees her as a human, sees her as a person who he can build a future with and a potential romantic partner. its like the realization that she finally had an opportunity to escape the hellish life she had within the castle beomgyu held her 'captive' in. but then again, the risk of leaving her former life behind, leaving her (ex?) lover behind for a new life that she might get adjusted to with a stranger she knows very little abt (im sorry taehyun) is too much for her to take, so i understood why she hesitated when taehyun asked if she wanted to run away.

anyways i could go on and on but its 1am and i gotta sleep but again, i absolutely loved ur new update!!!! and i look up to u a lot!!!!! im not sure if theres gonna be a part 5... but i hope so! plz dont stress urself out and have a great day ahead mort!!!! (also quite random but can i be 🤓 anon? if it isnt taken?) cheers!!!!

i know this story is already so big without the chapters being 11k 😭

i totally get it. i also mostly focus on the smut when i read stories but when the story grabs my attention. it makes the smut sooooo much better

i don't agree that beomgyu doesn't care for her or that he necessarily thinks of her as an object. I feel like in his own way, he really does love her, but he loves himself more. he'd do anything for her except let her leave him, and he really thinks that he is the best thing for her. she wants someone to provide for her? who better to do it than a prince? who would love her more than he loves her? her family that sold her to him isn't to be trusted to find her a good husband. no other man is good enough for her, especially not taehyun who he believes is cruel and sadistic. he doesn't think of her as an object but he also doesn't trust her to make her own decisions. he thinks that as the man he should be the one protecting and providing for her and he feels he's been doing that all his life and yet she still won't be with him. it's all very selfish but that is beomgyu's core personality trait :')

beomgyu's family share differing sentiments on oc. the father's stance is clear, he thinks she's just a whore for beomgyu. the mother just wants to please her beloved son and doesn't care about oc. wonyoung likes her but her loyalty lies with her brother and she won't go against him to help her

as for the maids, they really have no choice. you think a maid can say no to a prince? they could lose their lives 😂

taehyun has been the perfect knight in shining armor. we've definitely not seen the last of him. but what will he make of oc not being a virgin anymore? will he still want her?

there definitely will be part 5. there are about 4 chapters left in the series

#thank you so much babe #put a huge smile on my face #🤓 anon #mort talks #yamqn

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runawaymarbles · 7 years

Text

Black Sails Fic Rec

Silver/Flint

shaking at the sight by vowelinthug | 1k | T |

two pirate kings, united vs. an entire island's naval forces.

the island didn't stand a chance.

look for something left in this world by vowelinthug | 2k | M |

it’s a nice day for a white wedding

too bad they aren’t having one

yer mother darns socks in hell by youatemytailor | 4k | M |

Christ, Flint thinks. He fucking hates Freetown.

el cuentacuento by straddling_the_atmosphere | 4k | NR | +Silver/Madi

At the end of the day, John Silver is an unreliable narrator.

Or: a storyteller’s story.

show me the way to go home by vowelinthug | 8k | NC-17 |

set during 2x4, in which Silver and Flint take a much-deserved time out and enjoy a drink or seven

and they both learn a valuable lesson about each other

namely that neither one has ever had any chill whatsoever in their entire goddamn life

let us possess one world by vowelinthug | 8k | NC-17 |

They return to Nassau after their defeat of the British Navy, only to be met by Agitator Billy and his propaganda machine. This is why Captain Flint tries not to let other people decide things.

In which: Flint wears a disguise, Silver tells a terrible story, one bathes the other, and only one man died the whole night which is, like, definitely a record for them.

What's in a Name? by Craftnarook | 9k | NC-17 |

Some conversations in the dark between Flint and Silver, set during episode 3x09. They have a moment alone in the Maroon camp, after Mr Scott's death, and what begins as curiosity and sharing develops into rather a lot more.

you are the queen and i am the wolf by vowelinthug | 10k | NC-17 |

They call him John the Giant.

Flint calls himself James the Early Risk for Heart Failure.

Don’t Fear the Ships (Fear the Black) by farasha | 11k | NC-17 |

“You can’t read sea charts.”

“Can’t is a strong word.”

Flint teaches Silver how to sail. As with everything they do, there’s a lot more going on unspoken.

Or, Silver tries to convince Flint that it would be a bad thing if he died.

ya filthy animals by vowelinthug | 12k | NC-17 |

Flint and Silver could be rulers of an illegal organization, major mob bosses, kingpins, criminal masterminds, etc.

But then they could also be petty shoplifters who like to drink during the day and fool around on their houseboat.

With Nothing On My Tongue by RosieTwiggs | 14k | NC-17 | +Silver/Madi

“Silver thinks: Maybe God likes it when I fight with him.

He wonders now, whether he’s been playing into God’s plan all along. Because no matter how angry he gets, how defensive, how many “fuck you”s he flings to the heaven, isn’t it all just proof that he still believes God is there, despite it all?

Silver doesn’t know how to counter that.

Maybe he doesn’t want to anymore.

Blue all in a rush by twofrontteethstillcrooked | 16k | NC-17 |

There were dozens of questions Flint wanted to ask. He chose, "Did it not occur to you I would find out you were here almost immediately?"

st. augustine is that way by vowelinthug | 18k | NC-17 |

James Flint had yet to meet a conversation he couldn’t avoid.

John Silver had yet to meet a routine he couldn’t disrupt.

(post-show domesticity, with oranges)

we must unlearn the constellations to see the stars by lacecat | 19k | M | + Flint/Thomas, Silver/Madi

Silver wakes up each time to a different day in his past.

He thinks that if this is his purgatory, he can’t say he doesn’t deserve it.

Sail These Roads and Back Again by neverfaraway | 20k | M

James has fled the New World for the Old, shed his name and found quietude in his solitary existence. That is, until his favourite worst memory appears on the farm track, collapses upon his sopha, and refuses to be shaken loose. While Corsica smoulders and war becomes ever more likely, Flint and Silver enter a war of their own: to reclaim their past and forge an uncertain future.

gonna need a bigger boat by lacecat | 20k | Not Rated

“You really want to say that, when you’re sitting across from a man who lost his leg to a shark?” Flint scoffs. "There is no way a shark took your leg!" "Of course not," Silver says, smirking. After he draws the silence out, for what feels appropriately dramatic enough period of time, he adds, "It was two sharks."

Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more by Craftnarook | 22k | M |

In the year 1725, or thereabouts, John Silver finds himself driven by a storm into an inconsequential little port town, barely a speck on any civilised map. Returned to the life of a drifter, tired and rough around the edges, he is resigned to waiting for the weather to pass before he can sail on again to the next town, and the next, and the next. That is until he overhears a conversation in the inn about a local fisherman, one Captain Barlow, and his tall tales of tempests and becalmings, devils and sharks, and Silver finds a new future opening up to him, haunted by the spectres of his past.

John Silver Can’t Get There From Here by Apetslife | 33k | Series, G-E | + Silver/Madi, Anne/Jack

Or: Fuck Treasure Island, And Also Actual History, And Probably Season Four Canon, Too

“He is so terribly in love with you,” Madi murmurs to him from out of nowhere, sitting easy in the curve of his arm in the shade of their small porch.

Fifteen Men in September by ballantine | NR | 34k |

Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! Drink and the devil had done for the rest Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!

A Black Sails origin story for the song.

turning saints into the sea by lacecat | 86k | NC-17 | + Flint/Thomas, Silver/Madi, Miranda/Flint

They say she arrived in Nassau during a hurricane. They say that she brought with her a priest she had kidnapped to father her children, whom she then turned into storms to guide the direction of her ship. They say she has sworn to kill as many men on this Earth as she could, that she bathes in the blood of young children ripped from their mother’s breasts to attain immortality, doomed to serve the seas forever in return.

In reality, Silver has seen Flint conjure exactly zero storm-like offspring, but she does know how she speaks with the sort of conviction that if she were a man, they would write books about her. There’s a stiffness to her posture that speaks of someone who might better be found in a London parlor rather than a dusty brothel in the Bahamas, and yet she has a fierce temper that rivals any man’s on the island, a dangerous look about her like the air rippling over fire.

Silver/Flint/Hamilton(+)

The Isle of Hope by ElDiablito_SF | 16k | M |

When a heartbroken John Silver arrives in Georgia ten years after the events on Skeleton Island, he doesn't quite have it in him to face Flint. Instead, he concocts a scheme to befriend Thomas, and gets more than he bargained for in exchange

The Tether Series by stele3 | 58k | M |

“So you did find him,” the man says faintly. When Thomas looks up he finds himself caught in perhaps the strangest regard one person has ever given another, a gaze that absolutely does not dissuade Thomas from the notion that a feral, scavenging animal has broken into their home.

Smallpox Verse by vowelinthug | 70k | T-NC17 | + Madi

post-finale, where everyone learns a valuable lesson about communication and smallpox. (no one actually gets smallpox.)

The Canterbury Tales by Wind_Ryder | 133k | NC-17 | +Madi

Pirates. Attacking Georgia. A part of Thomas wants to believe that there’s nothing at all relating the events outside to the events in his personal life.

But when he turns around and sees John Silver slipping in through the backdoor, he very much doubts that’s the case. “Tea?” Thomas asks blandly, throwing the latch and shutting his blinds like a good Puritan man.

Flint/Hamilton(s)

the stars and she who runs with them by alovelylight | 1k | G |

When she declared Peter Ashe a traitor, her heart beating fury into the expanse of her body, she knew this was what James felt like. The constructed castles of civilization falling to the ground, dragons from the dark breathing out and destroying all the lies they hold dear. This was what she wanted; this would be her peace.

Time Covers All Things by lilithi|ien | 12k | T | +Silver/Flint

She imagines it will be liberating to take a new name, to adopt a new life. The next day, as she steps off the gangway onto the island sand, she tries to leave who she was behind like a snake shedding its skin. She can almost get away with it. How Lady Hamilton becomes Mrs Barlow.

The Witch Queen of Nassau by shirogiku | 12k | NC-17 |

After James is captured by the Navy, it falls to Miranda to organise the rescue. Nothing goes according to the plan.

Revenant by BethWinter | 18k | T |

After Charlestown burns, Abigail Ashe meets a man who says he was a friend of her father’s. He gives her a choice.

The Far Waste of the Waters by more_night | M | 22.5k | + Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi

James McGraw removes Skeleton Island from his mind.

Somewhere in Boston by redwhale | T | 29k | + Laura Moon/Shadow Moon

Mr. Wednesday tries to recruit the dread pirate Captain Flint for his war against the New Gods, and runs afoul of Thomas Hamilton in the attempt. Meanwhile, Shadow just wants a new goddamn book to read, is that so much to ask?

Soon after, on the trail of Wednesday and Shadow, Laura and Mad Sweeney find themselves in a charming bookstore in Boston...

Unaccommodated Man by kvikindi | T | 27k |

It is at this point that, for the first time, Thomas Hamilton begins to consider that he has gone mad.

The Sundering Sea by x_art | 137k | NR | Flint/Thomas

Stepping into the foamy surf, gasping at the force of it, the surprise of it—it had been breathtaking. Thomas had been that for him, his boundless sea, and he wasn’t ashamed.

Max/Anne (+)

you'll always paint my sky by mapped | 2k | T |

She still loves Max, and it gets harder and harder to deny it to herself.

(Anne through the second half of S4.)

histoire à tiroirs by straddling_the_atmosphere | 3k | T | +Max/Eleanor, Max/Idelle

histoire (n): a story, a fictional tale, a narrative account, a lie

Or: Max and shifting sands

Bounteous by willowbilly | 4k | M | Anne/Max/Mary/Jack

It’s a queer hurt, almost like the relief of peeling off an old scab, to feel her heart pulling in three separate directions and to feel it expanding to encompass the whole damn rest of the compass rose rather than be so fragile as to rip itself asunder. Anne never would have thought, before, that she’d be this fucking caring. That she’d had such a deep well of love waiting untapped within her, way down.

kintsugi by princejake | 6k | T |

Anne nestles into his shoulder, her hair brushing against his cheek, and suddenly Jack can breathe properly for the first time in weeks. Here they are, together, in balance as they’ve been from the beginning. Complete again.

When he opens his eyes Max is watching them from across the street. Her posture is carefully neutral, but her eyes are… solemn. Stoic. Filled with a kind of barren peace. She always could convey so much with just a look.

Something twinges uncomfortably behind Jack’s breastbone. /Oh./ Perhaps not so in balance after all.

Other/Misc/Gen

no man’s land by rhllors | 2.5k | T | Jack/Anne/Mary

The man on the deck looks back at them, considering. He’s handsome but he oozes violence; armed, scarred, tall, hair slung round a bandana, the same colour of a recently opened wound. “I’ve heard of you,” he says, with an infliction she’s not familiar with: somewhere from the continent, not French. Perhaps Holland. “The name’s Read.” he continues, eyes tracing the rim of her hat. “Mark Read.”

armed with the past and the will by whimsicalimages | 3k | T | Silver/Madi

The language of winning and losing, this language that men favor – Madi can speak this language, though she disagrees with its precepts. Success takes different forms, and failing once does not mean failing forever. It does not even mean failing the next time.

Gone to Port Royal by Apetslife | 3k | G | All the pairings

Definition of Valhalla 1: the great hall in Norse mythology where heroes slain in battle are received 2 : a place of honor, glory, or happiness : heaven

same bottle, same gun: two shots by AstronautSquid | 5k | T | minor Flint/Thomas, Max/Eleanor

„I will walk,“ Flint interrupted her objections. „You have just maneuvered yourself into a position of considerable power on this island, and now you have gone and cast aside a man the island admires and fears. It won’t do for you to be seen sharing a horse with me like a wounded young girl.“ Eleanor stared up at him; a wounded young girl full of curses, with a rifle resting like a sleeping babe in her arm.

[Nassau, 1708. Eleanor Guthrie remembers a moment in the life of Lieutenant McGraw. Captain Flint doesn’t.]

what’s a king but a heavy name by thatsarockfact55 | 51k | T | Mr. Scott/Maroon Queen, Madi/Silver, background Flint/Silver

In the quiet night, one stranger tells another what he has always known: “I have been so many names, Long John Silver, and if not for love I would be no one at all.”

One story of a spirit, a slave, a father, and a pirate king, told in seven parts.

Winds of Change and Chance by PanBoleyn | 60k | T | (eventual Silver/Flint, Miranda/Thomas, Flint/Hamiltons, Flint/Silver/Miranda)

In which a thief and his daemon make their way onto a pirate ship, and vastly underestimate how hard it will be to get off again.

Well, the thief does. His daemon had a feeling this might happen.

#black sails #black sails fic rec #silverflint #flinthamilton #silverflinthamilton #flinthamiltons #maxanne #maxanor #op #rec list #fic rec

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