#Clear water conservation and the fight against black water
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mejcinta · 1 year ago
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I see a strange desire in fandom, bith blacks and greens to turn the greens to discount team black.
Rhaenyra has bastards so Helaena should have bastards.
Daemyra had forbidden love affair so the same should happen with greens.
Rhaenyra lost a bastard son so greens should have a bastard son killed in b&c (even though none of helaena's kids are bastards)
Rhaenyra's bastards were accepted kind of so if Helaena/Alicent was to have any bastards Viserys' would cover them too somehow in spite of wanting Alicent's tongue cut out for even saying luke and Jace are bastards ha ha. What?
Discount team black!
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No, no you're right, though.
Let's be objective and honest here.
If anyone remotely found out about bastards (in line to the Iron Throne) on Team Green's side, it would destroy their cause. Remember, Daeron was approached for an opportunity to name himself king. If he was a clear bastard, what difference would that make from the Strongs controversially being next in line to the throne like Rhaenyra wished?
The Greens had all the tools for legitimacy. Throwing the wrench of bastardy or bastardy rumors in there sort of undermines their fight for survival, but I'm sure it's something Ryan and Sara would do just for a laugh and to pat their backs that these 'conservative, religious, people-for-Trump' characters are hypocrites preaching water but drinking HUGE barrels of wine! I see it happening.
Back to my point. Objectively speaking, I don't see Viserys NOT using bastardy against Alicent or any of his children. He will blackmail them just to give his favourite, Rhaenyra, an advantage. Rhaenyra and Daemon would also jump at any chance to point that out, if they ever found out.
Viserys was more than willing to take out Alicent's tongue in Driftmark, he was looking at her with those bloodthirsty eyes, ready to wash his hands of her at any moment. All he wants is to cling to Aemma's ghost. He never loved Alicent or her children with him.
The bastardy thing would be nothing but drama for drama's sake aside from a major team black jerk off.
Just look what they think and want for the Greens.
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They largely back this headcanon because it sanitises Rhaenyra's political blunder. If the Greens have done it, why should she be punished? They are equals after all, both with the same transgressions.
Hey. I'm not closed to the idea of drama on Team Green's side, but I believe we already have enough set up that's unique, fresh and sets TG apart from TB beautifully.
However, again, I will not be surprised if writers create drama that doesn't make sense, to make the Greens no worse than the Blacks.
Anything is possible.
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artificialqueens · 2 years ago
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Masters of the Scene, Chapter 23 (Bitney Parent Trap AU) - Veronica 
A/N: Hey all! Sorry for the unintended break! When we last left off, Bianca had taken the initiative to confess her feelings, and how much she wanted to be a family again. After trying to deny that she felt the same way, Courtney had finally given in an allowed herself to return Bianca’s feelings. 
Click here for prequels and previous chapters, or here if you’d rather read on AO3. 
Chapter Summary: Family bonding all around. (FYI: While things do get a little spicy in this chapter, there’s no actual smut.)
***
Bianca exited the bathroom, tying the belt on her silk robe. She’d wanted a shower since arriving, always feeling strangely dirty after a cross-country flight, and had just taken full and glorious advantage of Courtney’s spa shower. 
She felt incredible—and not just because of the luxurious spa shower, or the sheer number of expensive moisturizers she’d massaged into her skin. A huge, oppressive weight had been lifted from her chest and she felt better, and lighter, than she had in years. They still had a lot to talk about, of course, but knowing that they were on the same page was exhilarating. 
She padded across the floor to the walk-in closet, where Courtney had helpfully set up her luggage, suitcase open on top of a dresser and every item from the overstuffed garment bag hanging up. She’d even set out a steamer for her, knowing how meticulous she was about wrinkles. 
Bianca pawed through the suitcase for a pair of underwear, catching a glimpse of a red gift box and nearly reaching for it, before realizing that it would be way too much, too soon. 
Slow down, bitch. 
She shook her head, pulling out a pair of plain black cotton panties, then changing her mind and reaching deeper, fingers closing on some delicate mesh. 
Couldn’t hurt to be prepared.
She stepped into the sheer, bright pink panties, sliding them on as she considered what to change into. Most of what she packed was for work; there wasn’t a lot of leisurewear. She made a mental note to do some shopping during the week, pick up some cute things to wear around the house. A fantasy began to take form in her mind, just a simple one: the two of them curled up on the sofa in the family room, a glass of wine in one hand, the other trailing her fingers through Courtney’s hair.
A gentle knock sounded on the door, breaking her out of her thoughts. 
“Come in!” Bianca called, smiling when Courtney opened the door. “You really don’t have to knock. It’s your room.” 
“Well, you still deserve privacy…” Courtney said, smiling back. She shut the door behind her. “I just wanted to check and see if you found everything you needed. Um, towels, and…” 
“Yeah. I got everything I need,” Bianca said. It was true, in so many ways, and the comment hung, pleasantly heavy, in the air between them. “Sorry, I maybe took a little too long in the shower. I know you probably try to conserve water.” 
“Actually, we have a greywater filtration system, so it mostly goes to water the plants. And then any extra goes to a community fire-fighting reservoir. And, um…” Courtney trailed off, sitting on the edge of the bed, pressing her lips together. 
Bianca got the sense that she was stopping herself from giving a full TEDTalk about sustainable water use, and found it incredibly charming. “So…I don’t have to feel guilty about the 45-minute shower, is what you’re saying?” 
“No. No guilt.” 
“Good to know…” Bianca held Courtney’s gaze for a few seconds, leaning against the closet door frame, until an adorable shade of pink began to creep into her cheeks. 
“So, um…” Courtney cleared her throat, looking down, and Bianca got the sense that her mind was running at a million miles a minute. 
“Listen,” she began, wanting to nip whatever intense thought spiral Courtney was going down in the bud. She walked to the bed and sat down gingerly beside her, a respectable distance away. “I know we have a lot of…heavy things to talk about.” 
“Yeah,” Courtney agreed softly. 
“But I think, and I’m not saying we should ignore them or avoid them, but, just, for the sake of having those discussions in a way that feels…uh…safer, I guess—I think maybe we should save those topics for Tuesday. Is that…would that be okay with you?” 
Courtney nodded, looking as relieved as she felt. “Yeah, I think that’s…a good idea.” 
It would be so easy for them to fuck up any progress they’d made, and right now that was Bianca’s worst fear. That she would say or do something to ruin the most long-awaited reunion of her life—one that she’d frankly considered an impossible dream until recently. 
“Okay,” Bianca said with another smile, the tension in her shoulders melting. “Um…are the kids getting along okay?” 
“Totally!” she said. “They went for a swim, and now Danny’s showing Adore the Instagram profiles of all their classmates. I said that wasn’t a good way to judge people and I was quickly told off.” 
“You said that social media isn’t a good way to judge people?” Bianca asked, amused, one eyebrow lifting as she reminded Courtney, “You’re an influencer.”
“Yes, they pointed that out,” Courtney admitted with a sheepish chuckle. “They also perhaps used the term ‘hypocrite’ and possibly requested that I leave the room. Or, well, demanded, actually. Which is fine. It’ll be nice for them to have some time to bond.” 
“Mmm. So…that gives us time to bond, huh?” Bianca asked, tilting her head, fingers playing with the edge of her robe.
“Yeah…I suppose so,” Courtney said lightly, as if it was the first time it occurred to her. Her eyes traveled slowly up Bianca’s body. 
As Bianca met her gaze, a pleasantly tingly feeling curled in her abdomen, the potential for the afternoon blossoming into something wonderful. Courtney looked away bashfully, her cheeks flushing. Bianca’s mind immediately went back to that red box.
“I, um, have something for you,” said Bianca carefully. “Would it be okay to give it to you now?” 
“Really?!” Courtney clasped her hands together, showing the same childlike glee at the thought of a present that Bianca remembered, from so many years ago.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bianca said with a wink, and got up to get it. “I noticed that you wear those Cartier bracelets a lot, and we did some work with them on this editorial shoot recently, so…” 
She pulled the signature Cartier red box from her suitcase and handed it over. She pushed down the pang of her earlier anxiety as Courtney opened the box with a curious smile. 
A small gasp fell from her lips once she opened the box, seeing the necklace laying on a cushion of black velvet. It was a Cartier ‘LOVE’ necklace in the same yellow gold she favored. As the grin disappeared from Courtney’s face, Bianca felt a flash of her earlier anxiety—should she have waited? 
“Bianca,” Courtney breathed. “This is…” 
She looked up, her eyes misty with tears, and Bianca forced out a laugh. 
“Don’t worry, I got a real good discount,” she joked. 
“I…” Courtney began to speak, but then bit her lip. 
“I just, I really want you to know that I’m…all in,” Bianca said softly. God, why did she suck so hard at this? She squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed, only to feel Courtney’s hand against her cheek, lips being pressed to hers. 
She kissed Courtney back, savoring the taste of her, the softness of her touch. When they parted, she took a shaky breath, trying to stop the tears that burned in her eyes.
“I’m all in too, B,” Courtney murmured, nuzzling into her cheek.  
Bianca smiled, her heart finally at peace as she wrapped her arms around Courtney’s waist. 
“And this is…I mean, thank you,” Courtney added, swallowing. 
“You’re welcome.” Bianca brushed a lock of hair out of Courtney’s eyes. A moment of silence passed between them, and Bianca cleared her throat, hoping that she hadn’t made the vibes too heavy. “So…bonding, huh?” 
“Right.” Courtney grinned, giggling cutely. 
Bianca grinned back, dimples deep, finally feeling confident that everything was okay.
“Did you, um, have enough closet space?” Courtney then asked, clearing her throat again, gesturing behind them to the walk-in. “Because if not, we could-” 
“No, it’s fine. And honestly, if anyone ever complains about space in this house, you should punch them in the face.”
“I would never punch you,” Courtney said gravely, adding a coy, “Maybe a…gentle spanking. If you asked nicely.”
“Nice to know that’s on the table,” Bianca told her with a smirk. 
Courtney giggled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. 
“Seriously, the closet’s fine. Thanks for hanging everything. And, um, once I have more stuff, I can always add another dresser or something,” said Bianca.  
“I did have another idea,” Courtney said, putting the necklace down carefully on the bureau. “See, when we first built this part of the house, I didn’t have the barn set up yet, so I had an office with a little recording space and editing bay, but…” 
Courtney opened a door next to the closet, showing Bianca the adjacent office with a computer desk and bookshelves, and quite a bit of unused space.
“But I don’t use it that much anymore, so if you want…”
“Oh, this is perfect,” Bianca said, stepping inside. “That corner over there has plenty of  room for another dresser, some shelves for shoes. And even some hanging racks if we need that.” 
“Sure, yeah, we could do that,” Courtney said. “Or…” 
Bianca looked at her curiously. 
“I mean, it’s been part of the long-term plan for awhile, but before now I didn’t have a reason for it. But, if we knock down that wall, we can make the whole office a giant walk-in and dressing room. It would quadruple the space in the current closet, at least.”
Bianca’s eyes widened in delight. “Are you kidding? Or just talking dirty…?”
A wicked glint flashed in Courtney’s eyes as she reached forward, toying with the silky belt on Bianca’s robe. “With custom shelving…”
Bianca smirked, playing along with a breathy, “Keep going…” 
“Racks of clothes sorted by type…length…color…” Courtney’s hands were on her hips now, guiding her backward into the bedroom until her knees hit the bed frame, where she pushed her gently onto her back. 
“Uh huh…” 
Courtney crawled forward, continuing as her fingers trailed teasingly up Bianca’s thigh, “Floor to ceiling, light-up display shelves for your shoes and handbags…”
Bianca moaned, now only half-kidding as Courtney’s lips found her pulse point, brushing over the tender skin and sending a wave of electricity down her spine. “Fuck…”
Courtney nibbled at her neck, up her jaw, then used one finger to tilt her chin down, leveling a naughty gaze at her. Bianca’s breathing grew ragged as their lips met. She kissed her hungrily, clutching at the loose fabric of her cover-up, wanting nothing more than to rip it away unceremoniously. A warm hand slid up her inner thigh, parting her legs easily. 
A whimper fell from her lips as Courtney’s fingers found the edge of her panties. 
Then suddenly, without warning, aggressive pounding on the door startled her out of her bliss. 
“Hey! Open up!” 
They instinctually sprang apart at the noise, panting. 
“Ugh,” Bianca groaned good-naturedly, “You didn’t tell me you have kids.” 
“Yeah, a couple,” Courtney laughed as the pounding continued. 
“Dealbreaker,” Bianca grumbled, pulling her robe closed. 
“Sorry.”  
“Why’s the door locked?!”
“Just a moment, darlings!” Courtney called, rising from the bed. 
“Good call on the lock,” Bianca muttered quietly.
“Not my first rodeo,” Courtney whispered with a wink. She walked to the door and pulled it open, the kids all but falling inside. “Yes?” 
“Hi,” Danny said casually, strolling in. Adore followed with a knowing grin on her face.  
“Sure, come on in,” Courtney joked, flopping down on the bed. 
“Whatcha doin?” Adore asked coyly. 
“Talking,” Bianca replied. 
“Uh huh, is that what you kids are calling it these days?” 
“You know-” Bianca began, a sarcastic comeback on the tip of her tongue, but Courtney put a hand on her leg and cut in. 
“Are you guys alright?” 
“Yeah, we were just thinking…” Danny said, “Wouldn’t it be fun if we went out somewhere really nice for dinner?” 
“Hmmm, what did you have in mind?” Courtney asked, wrapping her arm around Danny’s shoulders. 
“Well…” Adore crawled forward on the bed as well, curling up next to Bianca. She patted her on the thigh, saying, “Keep your legs closed. Don’t want to give poor Danny a sex ed lesson he’s not ready for.” 
“I’m wearing underwear,” Bianca informed her. Sheer, mesh underwear, but they didn’t need to know that.  
“Good for you, want a medal?” 
“I know all about anatomy,” Danny piped in. “Mum bought me books when I was like 5. They came with little dolls.” 
“Gross,” Adore said, wrinkling her nose. “Also, pretty sure looking at a doll is not the same as looking at your own mother’s bush.”
“Once again! I’m wearing underwear! No one’s seeing my bush!” Bianca insisted, though she made sure to clamp her knees together tightly, and put a throw pillow on her lap for extra safety.
Danny looked at Courtney, cringing.
“Yeah, you were embarrassed this morning when I mentioned boobs,” she teased. “They’re gonna talk like that every day.” 
“Sorry, bunny,” Bianca said, chagrined. She supposed that the way she spoke to Adore might not always be terribly appropriate for Danny.  
“Bunny’s gonna grow up fast,” Adore giggled. 
“Can we just get back to the restaurant?” Danny pleaded.
“Oh yeah. We both really like Nobu,” Adore said. 
“Ahh, sushi, speaking of vaginas…” Courtney chimed in, making Bianca snort with laughter.
“Mum!” Danny said, looking ten times as horrified as he was before. Clearly, he held Courtney to a much higher standard of appropriateness. Probably justified.
“Sorry,” Courtney gave a cheeky smile that said she wasn’t sorry at all. 
Bianca turned to Adore, pinching her thigh lightly. “Nobu, huh? Are you two paying?” 
“I would, if you gave me the Amex again,” Adore offered generously.
“It’s not the Amex, it’s my Amex,” Bianca clarified. 
“Potato, po-tah-to…”
“There’s also that place by the pier, the Malibu Farm,” Danny suggested. 
“More fuckin’ farms?” Bianca asked. “What is it with LA and farms?” 
“We like vegetables,” Courtney said. 
“Oh! Or that one where we went in Santa Monica, some kind of weird fruit…uh…pomegranate? Or kumquat?” Adore said. 
“Fig?” Danny guessed.
“Yeah!” 
“Okay, so what I’m understanding is that you guys are pretty open to any restaurant, as long as it’s expensive,” Courtney said, laughing.
“Yes. Because it’s a special night.” 
“Alright. Well let me see what I can do.” She hauled herself off the bed and pulled out her phone. 
“Why is she calling? Do you not have Open Table here?” Bianca asked. “Are we time traveling to the 90s for dinner?”
“Omigod, I wish,” Adore breathed.
“She’s using her celebrity status to get us a table,” Danny explained. “Since it’s kinda last minute.” 
Bianca nodded. “Ahh, I see. I didn’t realize she was that level of celebrity.” 
“Oh yeah,” Adore said. “At least C-list.” 
“So, what’s the difference between D-list and C-list?” Bianca asked. 
“Money,” Danny said, making Bianca chuckle, just as Courtney hung up and gave them all a bright smile. 
“Alright, we got Nobu at 6:45! Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya!” She climbed back on the bed, tickling both kids, who squealed happily. 
Bianca leaned her head back on a pillow with a contented sigh. The last time they’d all piled on a bed together was when the kids were 4 years old. It was a much smaller bed, in a much smaller living space, back when they were doing everything they could to hold their lives together, clinging to the shreds of their relationship by their fingernails. 
In the back of her mind, Bianca had been a little worried that things might be awkward or strange—after all, the kids didn’t remember their lives before. Would there be an adjustment period? But seeing her family all together, it just felt right.
“I have another question for you guys,” Courtney said, “Since it’s your birthday next weekend…”
“Oh yeah, it is…” Danny said, tapping on his chin, as if it had just occurred to him for the first time that he had a birthday coming up. 
“Yeah, and we’ve been planning a party at the La Brea Tar Pits for Danny…”
“Tar Pits? That sounds like a school trip,” Adore said, making a face. 
“No, it’s really fun!” Danny exclaimed, “There’s a 3D movie and a show all about the Ice Age, and you get to see the paleontologists excavate fossils live! It’s so cool!” 
Adore turned to Bianca, her face contorted into a helpless grimace that told her exactly how she felt about a live fossil excavation. 
“Be nice,” Bianca told her. 
“Honey, it’s okay, I kind of assumed that the Tar Pits wouldn’t be your cup of tea,” Courtney said. “So I think we should plan something special for you, too. I mean, 12 is a pretty big birthday.” 
“Well…I can’t have a party,” Adore said, her lower lip sticking out in a pout, “I don’t have any friends here yet.” 
“I did consider that. Which is why I was thinking that maybe we could start planning something once you’ve been here for a few weeks, and you know who you’d want to invite.” 
“Yeah, maybe…” Adore shrugged. 
“And that means having the party in about a month, which just so happens to be real close to Halloween…” Courtney trailed off. “But, would you like that, or…?” 
“Oh, I dunno, Court,” Bianca said, catching on. “I don’t think she’d be into a Halloween party. All that spooky stuff?” 
“Shut up, I love spooky stuff!” Adore cried. “Halloween is my favorite!”
“Oh right, now I remember,” Courtney teased. “So…then should that be our plan? A Halloween-slash-birthday party, once you’re settled in?” 
“Yeah!” Adore sighed happily, resting her head on Bianca’s shoulder. 
“Fantastic,” Courtney said, pressing a kiss to Danny’s head. “So…let’s get ready for this special dinner, hmm?” 
***
Courtney walked into the kitchen, where Bianca was sitting at the table, typing at her laptop. She looked incredible, in a scoop-necked, hot pink sweater and studded black leather jacket. As usual, her hair was shining, and every accessory was immaculately selected to compliment her ensemble. Her makeup was perfect, too, a glamorous smoky eye and her usual ruby lipstick traded for a brighter pink. 
Even better than how amazing she looked, though, was what an absolute joy it was to see her so casually comfortable at the kitchen table, one elbow resting under her chin, a tall glass of iced coffee beside her. (Courtney didn’t miss the fact that she’d put a coaster under it to protect the reclaimed wood, or that she was using a metal straw.) 
Courtney was flooded with gratitude—that Bianca had taken such extreme measures to come here, to prove her devotion, to be the one brave enough to put her heart on the line when she’d been too terrified, too defensive. For a second, she wondered if she deserved it, that fear sneaking into her stomach when she was least expecting it. Could she ever measure up to Bianca’s expectations?
But then, Bianca looked up from the computer, and her face melted into the most charming, dimpled grin. “Hey there.” 
“Hi,” Courtney said shyly, biting her lip. “How do I look?” 
Instead of a knee-jerk response, Bianca took her time taking in Courtney’s whole outfit, her eyes traveling up and down her body. She was wearing a black sundress trimmed with Spanish lace, gladiator sandals, and a canary-yellow cashmere pashmina thrown around her shoulders. She hoped that the yellow and gold jewelry she had on didn’t look tacky with her shiny red nail polish. She especially wouldn’t have wanted to cheapen the absolutely beautiful gold necklace Bianca gave her earlier, now proudly around her neck.
After a few moments, when Bianca still didn’t offer any comment, Courtney prodded, “So…is it okay? Do you approve?” 
“Yes,” Bianca said simply, eyes raking over her body once more, adding, “You look perfect.”
“Thanks. And you…” Courtney felt her cheeks heating up as she basked in the glow of Bianca’s attention. Finally, she bit her lip, breaking eye contact, trying not to let herself get distracted from the mission at hand, which was a wholesome family dinner with the kids. “Um, are you ready to go, or-” 
“Oh, yeah, almost. Two minutes and I’ll be done here,” Bianca said, giving another dimpled grin before returning to the computer. 
“Sure,” Courtney said. She went over to the stairs to call the kids down, her hand grazing Bianca’s arm as she passed by, the smooth leather luxurious against her fingertips. 
Adore came skipping out first, looking every bit as adorable as her name in a little black denim skirt, distressed jean jacket and tights, a plethora of goth-y silver jewelry, and ankle boots that could have been stolen from Bianca’s closet. But the icing on the cake was her T-shirt that read ‘Favorite Daughter.’ 
“Hi Mum! Whoa, you look hot, nice dress,” Adore said.
“Thank you, baby, and you look absolutely beautiful.” Courtney wrapped an arm around her, kissing the top of her head, right in between her purple space buns. 
“You like the shirt?” Adore asked, fluttering her lashes. 
“It’s perfect. And you are my favorite daughter.” 
“Ooh, don’t let Danny hear that,” Adore teased. 
“Well, he’s my favorite son-and there he is!” Courtney exclaimed, as Danny sailed into the room. He had really outdone himself, wearing a rainbow romper and an assortment of butterfly clips in his hair. 
“Who’s your favorite son?” he asked, hopping up onto one of the bar stools at the counter, crossing his ankles delicately. He’d put on some colorful, glittery eye makeup and carried a little black cat wristlet purse that Courtney had put in his Easter basket the previous year. Blue, heart-shaped sunglasses were stuck into the neck of his romper. 
It made Courtney sublimely happy to see both of her kids expressing themselves exactly the way they wanted, in a way that she’d never felt safe to do growing up. She reached for his huarache sandal-clad foot and gave it a squeeze. 
“You are, without a doubt,” she told him. “And stunning, too.”  
“Aww, thanks Mum!” he said, tossing his hair and giving her a charming smile, so much like Bianca’s that it warmed Courtney’s heart.
“Alright, done,” Bianca proclaimed, shutting her laptop with a sigh. “You guys ready to go?” 
“Yup!” 
Bianca rose from the table, giving Courtney a better look at the high-waisted leather shorts that showed off her long, shapely legs perfectly. She picked up her Birkin from the table and surveyed the kids, saying, “Wow, we are quite a group, aren’t we?” 
“Hashtag fam goals,” Adore said. 
“Uh huh, very that. Although, uh, Danny…” 
Courtney tensed up slightly, praying that Bianca didn’t say anything to undermine his confidence. 
“...You know it’s fall, right bunny?” she finished, and Courtney exhaled, relieved and a tiny bit ashamed for doubting her. 
Danny giggled, sliding off the counter with a shrug. 
“That’s your issue with his outfit?” Adore asked, heading for the door. “That it’s out of season? It looks like a rainbow fairy threw up on him.” 
Bianca swatted her on the butt as she passed, barking, “Be nice!” 
“I don’t mind that description,” Danny said. “Rainbow fairies are cool.”
“Indeed,” Courtney chimed in. 
“I just don’t want you to be cold,” Bianca told him. 
“He’ll be fine. We dress for summer year-round here,” said Courtney. 
“You’re wearing cashmere.” 
“It’s just a wrap, for when it gets chilly later,” she said. “And I’ll share with him if I need to.” 
“Sorry, nobody is gonna ask why he’s got sunglasses on?” Adore asked. “It’s almost dark.” 
“They’re in case we get papped.” Danny put on the heart-shaped glasses and diva-walked to the door, proclaiming, “Let’s go!” 
Adore followed, rolling her eyes, and Courtney’s eyes met Bianca’s, both of them laughing at their kids’ antics. 
Outside, the sun was in fact low in the sky, making everything glow with soft pink light, which they decided they needed to capture, having a little impromptu family photo shoot. 
“Mum, this would be such a good look for your Insta,” Adore said, “Go stand over there and I’ll take your picture.” 
Courtney laughed, handing over her phone and saying, “Okay, but quick, because I’m hungry.” 
She posed where Adore had directed, giving her best model faces while Adore called out, “Yaaaas! Werk! Stunning! New pose! Yaaaas! C’mon angles!” while Danny laughed and clapped. 
“Are you actually planning to use these pictures?” Bianca asked. 
“I guess, if they’re good,” Courtney said, changing her pose again for Adore. 
“Work it, gorge! Stun! Omigod, you’re a model!” 
“Alright, give me that,” Bianca said, snatching the phone out of Adore’s hand. 
“Rude!” Adore exclaimed. 
“Watch and learn,” Bianca said, then turned to Courtney, directing her to, “move a little to the left. Now, think of the shawl as a background to silhouette the dress, so create a nice shape, draped behind you.”
“This feels weird,” said Courtney, trying to follow her instructions without being awkward. 
“No, that’s good. Hold that. Tilt your chin down. Not that much. Look at a spot like…there,” she said, pointing, “and think about something deep… Not that deep, we want model, not astrophysicist.”
“Don’t make me laugh!” Courtney warned, trying not to move too much.
“Just think about, uh…love… Good.” Bianca snapped a few shots, then said, “Now think about sex…” 
Behind her, the kids tittered with laughter, and Courtney felt her cheeks blaze. Bianca reached behind her and snapped, causing them both to shut up instantly, before directing her full attention back to Courtney, who swallowed. The confidence, that air of authority she’d always had, made Courtney’s pulse quicken. 
“Ignore them, listen to me. Yup, better.” 
Bianca’s voice was soft but firm, and Courtney found it easy to go along with her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she imagined that voice in her ear, Bianca’s hands sliding up her thighs. 
“Now, without turning your head, look at me…” 
Courtney shifted her gaze to lock eyes with Bianca, a thrill rippling through her as she did. 
“Got it,” Bianca said, then showed the phone to Adore triumphantly. “See? That’s Insta-worthy.” 
“Oh, those are better,” Danny said, peering at the screen. “Like way better.”
“Exactly. And that’s why you don’t hire a child to do a woman’s job,” Bianca teased, popping her tongue. She handed the phone back to Courtney, eyes sparkling, fingers brushing against hers. 
“Thank you.” Courtney dropped the phone in her bag and pulled out her car keys, letting Bianca take her other hand as they headed for the car. 
“It’s not really fair to compare them,” Adore complained. “I can’t tell her to think about sex and look at me. I mean, I could, but-” 
“Please don’t,” said Danny.
“I second that request,” Courtney giggled, giddy from the feeling of Bianca’s fingers laced with hers.
***
“So…what do you kids feel like doing now?” Courtney asked, after they arrived back home. 
They’d eaten a delicious dinner, but even better than the food was how easy it felt for the four of them to be together. Bianca had been a little concerned when the night began; that nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her not to get too comfortable, because she could—and would—screw it up at any time. Probably by getting into some stupid and avoidable fight.
But so far, it wasn’t like that at all. For most of the meal, the conversation was dominated by the kids chattering happily, across the table from them, she and Courtney only occasionally chiming in. It seemed that both of them were content to simply relax and enjoy the evening, the feeling of being beside each other at last. 
It was the little things that Bianca found herself appreciating. The way she rested her arm casually on the back of Courtney’s chair, fingers occasionally brushing her bare shoulder where the shawl had slipped down. Or the way Courtney would cast furtive glances at her throughout the meal, a naughty gleam in her eyes, anticipation building in her belly for what would happen later, when they were alone. Or even just the way she laughed along with the kids—Bianca had missed hearing her laugh. 
Now, back at the house, Courtney continued, asking the kids, “Do you want to watch a movie, or-”
“Actually,” Adore cut her off. “I’m like, super tired.” 
“You are?” Courtney asked. 
“Yeah, it’s past midnight in New York. I really think I should go to sleep early. Right, Roach?” 
“But I’m not tired,” Danny began, and Adore elbowed him in the side. 
“Don’t you need to rest your foot?” she asked pointedly. “The one that you hurt earlier?”
Bianca smiled at the blatant lie, catching Courtney’s eye and exchanging a secret grin. Adore could be a tremendous cockblocker when she wanted to be, but it appeared she could also be a great wingman. She was really living up to that ‘Favorite Daughter’ shirt.
“My foot?” Danny asked, brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking ab-OW!” 
“Adore!” Bianca scolded, since she’d clearly stepped on his poor foot behind the kitchen island, and it probably hurt like hell, given that he was wearing sandals and she was in chunky-heeled boots. Courtney rushed to his side, concerned.
“What? He hurt his foot, I was just reminding him,” Adore said innocently. 
“Be nice, before we both get kicked out!” Bianca barked, annoyed. 
“Are you alright?” Courtney asked Danny, who was still grimacing in pain and scowling at Adore. 
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to rest my foot, apparently.” 
“Aw, want me to help you upstairs, bro?” Adore asked sweetly. 
“Sure. Thanks, sis!” Danny said sarcastically. 
“Don’t you guys want us to tuck you in?” Courtney asked, her arm still around Danny. She pressed a kiss to his temple.
“No, that’s okay. We’ll manage.” Adore gave a dramatic, exaggerated yawn. “Man am I beat.” 
“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Danny added. Somewhere along the way, he seemed to have caught onto Adore’s unsubtle plan. 
“Okay, if you’re sure,” Courtney said, hugging them. 
Bianca stepped forward to hug both kids and kiss them goodnight as well. 
“Goodnight, guys. Sleep well.” 
Once they’d headed upstairs, she turned to Courtney, a rush of butterflies filling her belly as she took in her soft expression. A lock of blonde hair had fallen into her eyes, the same one that never cooperated, and Bianca reached forward to brush it away. 
“So…” 
END NOTE: Click here to see the absolutely gorgeous artwork that @artificialcandycane made featuring the outfits from this chapter, as well as the kiss at the end of Chapter 16. 
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sweetwatersong · 2 years ago
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luminous, pg, pre eddie diaz/evan buckley, a psychic!AU of the sniper shooting
now on AO3, with expansions and polish!
-
Eddie Diaz expects to die.
He doesn't want to - wants to fight with everything in him to survive, to live - but there's not much he can do about it now, when the gunshot wound is draining onto the truck floor and he can feel his fingertips going cold. Shock, his training reminds him. His body attempting to conserve blood by confining it to his torso.
The same torso with a through and through.
Still, he doesn't want to die. Buck and the ER doctors will do their best for him; he has no doubts about that. Instead he has Buck's hands on his shoulder and Buck's voice in his ears and Buck's mind around his, trying to stop him from falling apart.
He has faith.
-
It’s black. More than that it’s vast and echoing, hollow in a way that says he will never find anything no matter how far he travels.
Eddie doesn’t want to travel. Doesn't want to let go. The thing is, he doesn’t have a choice. There aren’t any stars to help him here. There’s simply nothing here at all.
- charging -
Eddie! A voice in the void; an immense pressure against his shields as if someone’s trying to take the whole weight of his world. Something cold presses against his chest.
- clear –
Hang on! Stay with me! The voice screams – begs – and it’s terrified and unmistakable and undeniable, so Eddie doesn’t. Deny it, that is.
He opens up for the tenuous connection and lets himself be pulled under.
-
He's drifting in the ocean, floating on his back. He isn’t sure if it’s deep or shallow, if there's sand somewhere underneath him, but it doesn't really matter. Even though this place is dark it’s the furthest thing from empty, with water stretching out past the horizon. High above him, like a million diamonds thrown into the sky, are stars. He's safe here.
Weightless, worry-less, Eddie breathes and lets the water carry him.
-
Eddie crawls out of grogginess long enough to crack his eyes open. Ana is there, sitting by his bedside with both of her hands covering his. She startles, a breathless smile on his lips.
He fades out before he can try to return it.
-
The ocean withdraws.
It's been going out slowly, letting him bob a little lower with each undulation of a passing wave. Eddie doesn’t realize what’s happening, though, until a new wave picks him up and tips him, like it expects him to be able to set his feet down on sand and stand. Only thing is, there’s no sand. The water pulls back and without it Eddie is suddenly falling, plummeting into darkness. There's no end to it and the stars are getting farther away and he has nothing to hang onto, nothing to grab -
- Eddie? Eddie! -
- crashing again -
- heart rate dropping -
- the ocean surges back, scoops him up with deliberate care as it crashes into the void made by its absence. He's rising, cradled in salt water, and although it's churning and crowned with white as far as the eye can see he knows he's safe. He’s not going to fall.
He closes his eyes and floats.
-
"I'm sorry."
Buck has never sounded so wretched, so broken. Eddie's heard him screaming with a twenty-ton firetruck on top of him - heard those screams for days after in his nightmares, in quiet moments - and he still can't fathom the amount of pain in his voice.
In the seat next to his bed, Buck rubs a thumb over his eyebrow, closes his eyes. "I did this to you, Eddie. I did something unforgivable to keep you alive." He swallows. "I'm sorry."
When he looks at Eddie his eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. They're pleading - not for understanding, not for Eddie to accept his apology. They're asking for him to keep living.
Eddie can't find words in his gray fog of exhaustion. Can't find the energy to keep his eyes open. He wants to reach for Buck - wasn't he reaching for Buck? - but there's not enough of his body listening to manage it. He manages to tilt his head on the pillow.
Closes his eyes.
Sleeps.
-
He dreams of a falling star.
-
Buck opens the door and Eddie can see the terror still in his eyes.
“Hey.” Eddie squeezes Ana’s hand and she takes her cue, a soft smile curving her mouth as she relinquishes her seat. She hadn’t asked any questions when Eddie had haltingly explained he needed to talk with him. She had already heard from Bobby who got him to the ER in the first place.
Buck looks unmoored when Ana excuses herself and slips out past him into the hospital. Finally he sets his jaw and makes his way to the chair, perches in it. Hunches his shoulders.
“Hey. I – I know I apologized, but I don’t know how much of that you remember. You were pretty in and out of it for a while there.”
“I remember,” Eddie manages. Buck flinches.
“Then I – you, uh, you know about Psionics. I’m one. Not a very good one, but it, uh, it lets me do things other people can’t do. And I, I did something when you were. I made this thing, they, they call it a mental link, because-“
"Buck," he tries. It doesn’t carry any force. How could it? His body is still trying to catch up with the fact that he didn’t die or, at the very least, didn’t stay dead.
“Listen, Eddie, I’ll explain more when you’re – you’re finally out of here, and I’ll stay away from you from now on, I promise, I’ll keep the ‘link closed as much as possible, I just-“ Sixty hours later and Buck is still wrecked at the moment of impact. “I couldn’t watch you die.”
Fear crawls up Eddie’s throat, a familiar metallic taste at the thought of his own death, but there’s salt in it now too. Doesn’t Buck see that? Doesn’t Buck get that?
He doesn’t have enough strength to get his point across here.
Eddie detaches his mind, takes the nearly forgotten half-step back, and straightens up in the sea. Takes a look up at the glittering night sky, takes a breath, and dives down into the dark water. He swims without counting the seconds, without worrying about whether he's going to be able to hold his breath long enough or not; reality only goes so far in this unique world. He swims until the ocean is almost entirely empty of light and stretches out a hand into the deep currents.
Buck reaches back.
This time it’s Eddie who locks his hand around Buck’s wrist. He reorients himself towards the surface and kicks, Buck beside him, bubbles rising around them in silver tangles.
They break through the surface. Eddie relaxes in the night air, glances up at the galaxy spangled across the dark velvet above them. Next to him Buck inhales like he's been drowning for days. His curls are in disarray across his forehead. His eyes are on Eddie instead of the starlight that turns the ocean silver. Eddie wants to laugh and so he does, at Buck's confusion, at the warmth of Buck's skin against his. At being here together.
"You're not the only one who has a little something more," he says, and gestures with his free hand at the sky. Above them the constellations glow brighter, stronger. It’s a pulse of joy that makes the stars seem infinitely closer; as if, should he ask, they'd come dance on the water. Buck's jaw drops.
"You can't make that kind of bond if someone isn't asking for it." He slides his other hand down so it tangles with Buck's limp fingers, lifts to shake them pointedly. "Isn't willing."
"But-" Buck's groping for words, searching through his disbelief and guilt, and Eddie gets it. He does. "You have Ana, and - and I never even knew you were a Psion-"
"You're my best friend." He tightens his grip, feels Buck squeeze back involuntarily. "I was never going to turn you away. Not even if I'm Retrograde. You know war does that to most of us."
Buck's eyes are wide, shocked. "You never said anything."
"It's not exactly like I was expecting a 'link to come into my life."
He's close to laughing again but Buck's expression crumples. "Eddie, man, I'm sorry-"
"Buck." Maybe it's not fair because he's been holding all the cards since he first woke up here while Buck's been digging himself an early grave out of guilt. But Eddie is safe and alive and, if not whole, almost more himself than before he was shot. How ironic is that?
Still, Buck's eyes are still shadowed and heartbreak is lingering just around his cheek, in the corners of his mouth. It's the same look he had after the tsunami: like he can't understand Eddie's faith in him. Like he doesn't think Eddie should trust him to have his back anymore, when Buck has been the one holding him up this whole time.
If he needs a confirmation that Buck's strictly a telepath, this is it. If he were an empath he'd get how absurd Eddie finds the idea of doubting him, how utterly ridiculous it is and how, somehow, Eddie's even fonder of him for it.
"You saved me," he says, simple as all that, because Buck needs to understand that. Needs to know his arms pulled Eddie out of danger and his hands kept Eddie's blood in his body and his mind kept Eddie from sinking into the void. "Everything else we can figure out later."
Buck swallows. Blinks. Eddie grabs his neck with his free hand and pulls him in so their foreheads press together. It means he feels the huge, shuddering breath Buck draws in; feels Buck's arm circle around his waist so he can lean more firmly into the touch.
"All right," Buck whispers. "Okay."
Maybe that’s the best word for where they are now. Okay. Eddie can't see the entirety of the road ahead but there’s a wonderful woman he never meant to hurt who he'll probably wound regardless. There will be reams of paperwork, and explaining things to Bobby, and navigating exactly who he and Buck want to be to each other. He’ll need some remedial Psion lessons to go with the PT so his vitals can find a new baseline and going out in the field won't have their attention split between their jobs and each other. Things are going to come up that he can’t expect; that’s kind of the nature of life. But wherever this road will take them, he can see where it ends up.
One day they'll be able to drift in this private sanctuary, safe in a place between the sea and the stars. One day there won't be anything here with them besides contentment and peace. They'll get there. They will.
Eddie has faith.
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tsukikento · 3 years ago
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Empathetic Chapter 17
Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader
Summary: After your mom, the number 1 hero in America, gets offered a teaching position at U.A., you two pack up your things and head to Musutafu, Japan to start a new life. Pressure for you in America was at an all-time high, and now you’re in Japan, where almost no one knows you, or your family’s past.
This tale starts on your first day of class where your new teacher decides the best way for you to fit in is to fight against the strongest person in your class: Bakugou Katsuki.
Warnings/Genre: This piece will feature some angst and reference to an abusive parent, if you are ever worried about other tw’s feel free to send me an ask and I will let you know. There will also be fluff, slight angst, pining, and slowburn.
A/N: Had to write this chapter three times because somehow everything kept getting deleted!! I’m sorry for my inconsistent posting. Please leave comments, reblog, or send me asks if you like! They always keep me motived :)
(masterlist)
When you came back out for dinner, Bakugou was already sitting at the head of the table, eating away, and chatting away with Kirishima and Sero. To his left was an empty seat, but a plate filled with food.
I wonder if Bakugou made that or if someone nicer prepared it, you wonder as you and Ashido made your way to the table. If Bakugou made it, then damn. However, you wouldn’t be surprised if Kirishima made it or Kaminari who was on dish cleaning duty and needed to put away the leftovers. Regardless of who did it, they still sat you down next to Bakugou in your usual seat.
Don’t read into that, you told yourself as your sat down at the table. Instead, you focused on the delicious food in front of you that you immediately began to chow down on. You found yourself, much like Bakugou, simply eating away while Ashido, Kirishima, and Sero kept the conversation going. Both of you were much too hungry to stop and add your own commentary to the conversation.
Bakugou finished before you and chugged down his water before taking both yours and his glass to the kitchen to fill them back up. Gratefully, you mumbled out a “Thank you” before you continued to eat. Play it cool, he’s just being polite, you told yourself and Ashido proceeded to elbow you and wink.
You rolled your eyes at the pink girl and focused back on what was left on your plate.
Conversation flowed easily until Bakugou came back. The blond placed the cups onto the table before holding up his arms and stretching in a way that clearly showed his stomach. At this point, each of you were still in casual athletic clothes and his simple t-shirt lifted just enough to show his stomach.
It was an action you should be used the at this point. The blond often stretched without a care or used his quirk in ways that ruined clothing. And yet, you still found your face heating up and your eyes glued to the sight.
When he finally sat back down, he leaned in close to you. “I’m ready to go whenever,” He explained before leaning back into his chair and sipping on his water.
“Go where?” Sero, who was to Bakugou’s immediate right, questioned.
You looked to Bakugou, expecting him to reply. Not only were you hesitant to explain the situation and possibly misunderstand what Bakugou was thinking, but the blond typically made habit of answering anyways.
“The gym for yoga and cardio,” Bakugou explained, just like you expected. Luckily, it wasn’t any different than what you thought.
“Really?” Kirishima questioned, his eyes lighting up. “That sounds so manly!” He turned to look at Ashido, “Do you want to go do yoga and cardio too?”
“Um,” Ashido immediately turned to you, concerned that she and Kirishima would be intervening on your alone time with Bakugou.
Part of you wanted to welcome the company, ultimately nervous about having to hold up a conversation when neither you nor Bakugou were all too talkative. However, you spent hours alone with Bakugou each week and it wasn’t awkward then so why would it be different?
Bakugou also hates how couple-y they are so he may be more inclined to talk to me and spend time with me if they are there doing PDA, you thought before subtly nodding to Ashido.
“I’d love to go if Bakugou and Y/L/N don’t mind,” Ashido finally spoke after a few moments.
“I don’t care,” Bakugou measly replied.
“What about you, Sero?” Kirishima questioned, “Do you want to go too?”
“No way,” The black-haired boy replied, leaning back in his chair. “I had interning today and had to chase a villain down seven blocks, ugh!”
“Weren’t you using your tape though?” Ashido shot back curiously.
“So? It still drains me and my poor arms. I could not do yoga like this.” Sero flailed his arms around before letting them fall to his sides, effectively showing how absolutely dead they were. “I’ll just stay here with Kaminari and make him watch the new season of Galactic Guard again or whatever.”
“Your loss,” Kirishima jokes before chuckling lightly. “I’m going to go get changed, be down soon.”
Ashido followed him with the same explanation.
Awkwardly, you looked at Sero, expecting him to say something. You and Bakugou were already changed and had your waters with you, there was no reason for you to go upstairs. Unfortunately, due to the silence and the awkward atmosphere of a nervous you and an ever-rigid Bakugou, the black-haired boy immediately slid out of his seat, claiming to need water. However, you watched as he dropped his empty glass on the counter and simply talked to Kaminari.
You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your water, wishing there was more to do. Thinking on your feet, you stood up abruptly. “I’ll clear the dishes,” You said before stacking the plates and silverware. “Do you want your water anymore?”
Bakugou shook his head so you proceeded to grab his water, place it into your cup, and make your way to the kitchen slowly.
Kaminari and Sero greeted you happily and Kaminari immediately took your dishes.
Their rather boring conversation did not leave room for you to interject, so you simply made your way back to the dining table. Sighing, you grabbed your half-full water and reached for Bakugou’s as well. The blond watched you wordlessly.
You wondered if his lack of comment was a bad thing or if it showed comfortability and a willingness to let you touch his belongings.
As you debated the notion, you silently, almost like you were on autopilot, filled up the waters, and went back to the table. With nothing left to do, you sat back down into your seat and awaited the arrival of Kirishima and Ashido
“Thank you,” Bakugou said as you sat down with the two glasses of water.
“No problem” You replied. Despite this comment being typical for literally anyone to say, it still felt nice for him to say thank you. Maybe it was because he rarely used his manners.
Bakugou grabbed his water from the table and put it back into his bag. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence as you waited for Ashido and Kirishima. The only noise was the people talking in the kitchen and the small group watching television in the living room.
A few minutes passed by before the couple finally emerged from the elevator and greeted you both with wide smiles. Kirishima had on black basketball shorts with a red stripe down the side as well as a red hoodie. Ashido adorned a matching two-piece set of leggings and a conservative sports bra that was cheetah print. She also had on a black zip-up jacket that was currently wrapped around her waist.
You and Bakugou quickly got up from your seats, grabbed your belongings, and slowly made your way to the door. Ashido was by your side while Kirishima ran the kitchen to fill up his and Ashido’s waters. The pink girl moved from being attached to Kirishima’s side and was now attached to yours.
Giggling, she whispered in your ear, “Yet another double date!”
Sheepishly you rolled your eyes and dismissed the thought. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
“What?” Ashido questioned, moving away from you to give you a confused look.
“What do you mean ‘what’?” You shot back.
“I mean,” She began, emphasizing her words, “What does that even mean?”
“What does what mean?” You replied, absolutely clueless to the confusion.
“She’s asking what ‘don’t count your chickens before they hatch’ means,” Bakugou butted in as he stood opposite you by the front door. “Personally, I think it’s rather obvious.”
“Oh, shut it, Bakugou!” Ashido exclaimed, giving the blond a dirty look.
Laughing, you explained, “It’s just an American saying.” You debated how exactly to explain it before once again continuing, “Just because you have, say, 10 chicken eggs, 2 could break before they hatch and 3 more could be simply eggs, no baby in them. So, they saying means that you shouldn’t expect something until it happens. You can’t expect to have 10 chickens just because you have 10 eggs.”
Ashido harrumphed, clearing having trouble understanding. “Sounds dumb.” Something you also expected her to say considering she was the one ‘counting her chickens before they hatched’.
You shrugged, “It’s hard to understand sayings from other countries if you didn’t grow up around them. I’m sure some common Japanese sayings don’t make sense to me.”
At this point, Kirishima joined back in and made quick work of putting on his tennis shoes.
“My mom used to always say ‘even monkeys fall out of trees’ when I made mistakes,” Ashido explained, testing you to see if you would understand a common Japanese phrase.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” You replied after a few seconds to think it over.
“Dang!” Ashido replied as the four of you made your way out of the dorm and to the gym.
“What about this one,” Bakugou interjected. “My dad would say this all the time, ‘the stake that sticks up gets hammered down.’”
Oh, this one is definitely more complicated.
You tried working through the saying out in your brain, sure it had someone to do with being seen in society. “Um,” You began, “The person who stands out will…” You paused, unsure how to finish. Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know.”
“Ha Ha!” Ashido shouted in joy. “It means the person who stands out is often subject to criticism.”
You nodded your head in understanding as she explained.
“How were you so good at those?” Kirishima asked.
“Well, word association is taught in elementary schools,” You explained, reminiscing on the problems you solved in second grade. “For example, we would get something like “cow is to barn as man is to ‘blank’ and we would have to fill it in.”
Ashido and Kirishima proceeded to exclaim “house!” while Bakugou simply nodded, actions that represented each of them rather well.
“Nice!” You laughed, high-fiving the two who guessed.
You rounded the corner at this point, entering one of the school buildings with multiple classrooms. You followed the group as they made their way upstairs and weaved through hallways. Fairly naturally, the conversation died down as the couple of Ashido and Kirishima clung to each other and dawdled behind.
Aggravated, Bakugou led your group, clearly annoyed with how slow they were. Honestly, you were pretty sure Ashido planned this so you could have alone time with the blond.
Trying to utilize this opportunity, you kept stride with the blond. “Pretty annoying, huh?” You asked, gesturing to the couple and silently apologizing for throwing them under the bus and using them as a conversation starter.
“Aren’t they always?” Bakugou replied, looking to the couple before rolling his eyes and groaning.
“Sometimes they are cute,” You shrugged, flashing a smile to the blond. “At least they’re happy, you know?” You asked, attempting to reason with them.
Bakugou simply “tsked” in reply. “Doesn’t mean they aren’t making me nauseous.”
“Very true,” You responded, unable to stop yourself from chuckling loudly. “Especially when they talk in baby voices and make little smooching noises!” You altered your voice slightly to mimic Ashido’s baby voice that you hear her only use with Kirishima.
Bakugou cackled loudly at the comment, clearly amused by your impersonation. “Or when they go off to each lunch by themselves, cuddling under a tree, and then coming back like giddy teenagers,” He added.
“Oh, yeah!” You animatedly exclaimed, “How could I forget? Kirishima ends up staring out the window all of class!”
As your laughter died down, the two of you arrived at the double doors that led to the small gym. Luckily, no one else was inside due to how late it was. In fact, you four might be here past curfew. Despite this, you entered into the gym which had a few different weight machines and treadmills as well as a room to the left that was dim and specifically designed for yoga.
You knew this was the gym that Ashido frequently used late at night but weren’t familiar with the layout. Slowly, you put down your belongings, chugged down a few gulps of your water and made your way into the yoga room. The room had too large baskets on wheels that came up to about your waist. Inside, were blue and white yoga mats with the school’s logo on it. It was for student use and cleaned every week, a small perk for going to such a prestigious hero school. By the time you grabbed a mat, you heard the large metal and glass doors once again opening. Waiting for the couple, you rolled out your mat and brought your water to your side.
Although you did yoga frequently and could easily start your own routine, you figured the four of you would want to do a routine together. Once inside, Kirishima and Ashido quickly came into the yoga room and set up mats.
“I’ll hook up my phone to the projector so we can play a video,” Ashido explained as she plugged her phone into a wire that connected to the projector.
You watched the pink girl search up a yoga routine that was primarily focused on stretching the body pre-workout. The video was about half an hour-long, so you simply prepared yourself by sitting on your knees and waiting for the introduction to finish.
Yoga went by rather quickly, which each of you silently following the video. You were all in your own worlds, thinking about your own problems or simply letting your mind go black as you followed the routine. You could tell it was something your mind and body was craving after a long day of theorizing and sitting at the desk.
Once the routine finally ended, you let out a big breath and stretched your body one final time before grabbing your water bottle to drink from. “Ah, that was so good!” You sighed, completely satisfied.
Kirishima and Ashido hummed in agreement as they rolled up their mats.
“And now it’s time to put that stretching to good use,” Bakugou added, as he passed by you with his own rolled mat. He grabbed yours, which you just finished rolling, and went to put them away. Once done, he made his way back to you and held out his hand to help you up. “Shall we go run?” He asked while he effortlessly pulled you up.
“We shall,” You replied, a wide smile on your face.
Bakugou had never, not even when he was kicking your ass in training, helped your up or touched your hand. Immediately, you felt heat spreading up your face and your heart beating faster.
Ashido, who was putting her own yoga mat into her bag eyed you suspiciously. Subtly, you gave her a surprised look and shrugged your shoulders. Bakugou inevitably let go of your hand after you were standing up straight. He was surprisingly warm and you held quickly went cold without his touching.
In an attempt to play everything off cool, you simply followed behind him, grabbing your bag and moving to the treadmill next to his. You placed your belongings down, took one last gulp of water, and got onto your treadmill.
Bakugou, who had already started, was going at a slow pace and you decided to follow in line with him. The slow speed was an ideal way to warm up your body and prepare you for a faster pace.
You didn’t have to wait long, however, because Bakugou soon sped up his treadmill by two. He gave you’re a clear look and you didn’t even have to take out your earbuds to know he was subtly saying there is no way in hell you will run faster than me.
After a few more strides, you also increased your speed, clicking three times to be running one faster than him.
Almost immediately, Bakugou gave you another look and increased his speed. This game of tug-of-war continued for a few minutes, each of you slowly increasing your speed in order to one-up the other. It was fun when you started slow, and you even found yourself smiling when you were running at a speed just below a sprint. However, you were now sprinting at a breakneck pace and craving this game to stop.
You once again, and quite stubbornly, pressed the up arrow to increase your speed.
Bakugou attempted to groan under his breath, but he was going too fast to have control over his voice and you clearly heard the roan of indignation. The blond pressed his finger onto the up arrow and increased his speed just as he had done before. This time, however, he notably did not go past your speed.
The both of you were now running at the same speed, and although you were tempted to go up at least one more to irk Bakugou, you knew it was best not to. It was all down to endurance now.
You focused your attention on running, moving your arms to help your speed, and focusing on your breathing to make sure you were taking in big and consistent breaths.
“Woah, Bakugou and Y/N-chan!” Kirishima’s voice rang through your ears. Despite only being two treadmills over and a total of 12 feet, you could barely hear him. “So manly!” If you were looking at him, you would see him send a cheeky smile to Ashido before increasing his own speed.
However, you were all too involved in your own competition to worry about him.
You felt your legs burn and crave for a break. You felt so hot that you were sure you were steaming. In fact, you saw steam.
Steam? You looked to your left from where it was coming and saw steam emitting from Bakugou’s palms. You could have gasped in surprise if you weren’t so already short on breath. The next thing to smelled was an intense caramel. Or is it burning sugar? You questioned as you realized it was coming from the blond next to you.
It smells so sweet, you thought, clearly distracted. It made you think of caramel apples at amusement parks, chewing on the delectable treat as you walked around, surrounded by vibrant lights.
You inhaled deeply, trying to take it all in. Suddenly, you tripped. The floor fell out from under you, and you did not have enough speed or traction to keep up. Quickly, you clutched onto the railings and got back up to speed. The difficult action, which would surely leave bruises on your arms, lasted only a few seconds. Although Bakugou noticed, he didn’t say anything, so you simply kept up with running.
However, now your body ached even more. All you wanted to do was stop and you couldn’t drag your brain away from the idea. You felt your limbs begging to slow down and you could no longer deny the request. Reluctantly, you slowed down the treadmill with a sigh. Bakugou immediately noticed the action and shot his arms up with a small “woop!” in excitement.
At least seeing him so excited was worth it, you thought as you finally stopped the treadmill.
With exhaustion running through your veins, you got off the treadmill and made a beeline to your water. Your legs gave out and you sat against the wall, arching your back to give your lungs room. You chugged a few gulps of the cool beverage before you brought your hands above your head. It was the best way to get air into your lungs and control your breathing again.
Bakugou quickly joined you, copying your actions but while standing up.
“Good job, guys!” Ashido exclaimed, giving you both a thumbs up as she jogged at a much more reasonable pace.
You returned the gesture before grabbing your water again. Slumped up against the wall, you closed your eyes. Mentally, you made a note to not go out running tomorrow.
While you rested, you heard Ashido and Kirishima turn off their treadmills and join you against the wall. They chatted amongst themselves while Bakugou sat next to you.
Immediately, the caramel smell emitting off him wafted into your noise and filled your senses with euphoria and anxiety. He smelled so good, and yet you were certain he was much closer to you now. You could practically feel his body heat against your left arm.
The chatter from Ashido and Kirishima provided white noise, while Bakugou’s sweet aroma and warm body provided the ultimate guide to sleep. Your tired body craved it and you slowly felt yourself falling deeper and deeper.
Too tired to notice, you slowly leaned to the left, your shoulder eventually touching Bakugou’s. It was slight, a small brush of skin, but the blond immediately noticed the action, who stared at your sleeping body which found comfort in the purchase of his body.
You weren’t sure how much time passed when you were woken back up. In fact, you didn’t realize you fell asleep until you were waking up and opening your eyes to the sight of Bakugou’s own crimson orbs.
Quickly, you noticed the feeling of a warm arm against yours and moved abruptly away.
You could feel the heat spread from your neck to your cheeks and ears. If you weren’t in such shock, you would have also been certain that Bakugou’s own cheeks blushed pink. You shook your head in confusion, pushing away the ridiculous thoughts that came to mind.
“S-sorry!” You stuttered out, your voice barely emitting a sound.
“It’s fine,” Bakugou confidently laughed, brushing off the topic. “I just thought you would want to head back soon since you are falling asleep.”
“Uh, yeah,” You mumbled, “Thanks.” Looking away, you set your eyes on all your belongings and began picking them up. Sometimes it was difficult to look him in the eyes. Despite how warm and entrancing they were, they made you feel hot all over and spread nerves all throughout your body. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stood all the way up and awaited Bakugou.
It only took a moment for the blond to stand upright after you. Gingerly smiling, you turned and made your way to the door.
“You guys coming?” Bakugou asked, walking backward so he could face the couple.
“Later,” Ashido mumbled, waving him away as she continued to smile at her boyfriend.
Bakugou hummed in acknowledgment and turned to you, a signal to open the door into the empty hallway.
“Today was fun,” You remarked, sparing a glance at the blond as the metal door eased closed. “Although I am sure tomorrow will be tough.” You paused, thinking over your schedule, “At least I only have class tomorrow.”
Although you were too nervous to look long, you saw the blond smile shyly and nod his head. “Yeah, I’m just glad I am done with the assignment due in English tomorrow.”
“Ah,” You replied, “How I wish I only had English assignments instead of extra Japanese assignments.”
“You’ll need to learn if you plan to stay here,” Bakugou remarked.
You scoffed, “I would argue that my Japanese was quite good already.” Rolling your eyes, you spared a teasing smile to him.
“What about when you are given a paper report and expected to read it all in minutes? Or when you have to write a report after a mission?” Bakugou shot back.
You groaned loudly, simply imagining how torturous a kanji-filled report that you would need to run through quickly. “Maybe you’ll be nice enough to write my reports for me?” You joked, opening your eyes and pouting in an attempt to look cute.
Bakugou blew air out his nose in a short laugh. “Bold of you to assume that I would even hire you to work at my agency.”
“Rude,” You replied, knowing full well that this was all a joke. “I think I would be a good hire, I could keep you calm during idiotic interviews or meetings too.” You looked into his eyes, “So, you want to start your own agency?”
“Need to if I’m going to be number one,” Bakugou curtly answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Well,” You began, “If I’m still in the area, and you are in desperate need of a hire, I would be happy to help.”
“Thanks.”
A small laugh and a brief look had your insides twisting. You once again felt hot. However, you were now, luckily, in the cool air of the night. You calmed yourself as the two of you approached the dorms.
Bakugou took a few quick steps to get ahead of you to reach the door. He moved to the side so you could enter in first and you smiled and nodded politely.
However, when you entered the dorm, your mood quickly changed. Practically every student was in the living room, some standing, some sitting. Most notably, Aizawa-sensei stood in the dining room, leaned up against the large wooden table, and clearly lost in his thoughts. Multiple sets of eyes turned to look at you. Your anxieties pooled in your stomach as you looked at your teacher.
Is it that bad that we are past curfew?
You felt Bakugou’s body pressed close up against yours. You were too scared to move, so the blond had to squeeze in. He was about to jokingly push you out of the way until he noticed the concerning scene in front of him.
You had no time to think about how comforting the action was, especially as he placed your hands onto your shoulders. He squeezed the slightly, but you were unsure if it was an action that was supposed to make you feel better or to make your move. You stumbled forward, but the blond hardly moved.
Aizawa cleared his throat and moved from his perch at the table. Silently, he approached you. “Let’s talk outside,” He whispered so only Bakugou, and you could hear. “Just you,” He elaborated, looking into your eyes.
You gulped and let Bakugou push you away so Aizawa could reach the door and lead the way out. You only snapped back to reality when your shoulders were suddenly cold at the lost touch.
“Okay,” You mumbled, stumbling to follow after your teacher. Maybe he was going to lecture us separately? You wondered, clinging to the hope that this was a simple scolding and not a disastrous event.
It must be my mom, what else would it be?
“Is my mom okay?” You immediately questioned when the door Bakugou closed was finally shut.
“Yes,” He abruptly replied, “Let’s talk this way.” He led you around the building to where there were multiple benches.
“My siblings?”
“Sit,” He spoke and motioned at a long bench.
You sat quickly, hoping it would make the news come quicker as well.
“There is no easy way to say this,” He began, “Please just listen.” Aizawa rubbed his eyes, clearly drained. “There was a prison escape at the North-Western prison. A total of 117 inmates escaped and are being rounded up. Your father is one of them.”
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bookishofalder · 4 years ago
Text
Night Changes [Seven]
Summary: An unexpected attack cuts the final tethers of restraint for Poe and the reader.
Warnings: Language, violence, blood, mentions of attempted assault, choking, injury description (note RED cuts to skip past uncomfortable parts if preferred), Smut—PiV, fingering, squirting, oral. W— +14K.
A/N: If there was ever a chapter I would beg for feedback/thoughts, this is it. Please tell me you like it. Oh god, soothe my worried mind.
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It was tempting, the urge to roll your eyes as the man before you moved to stand too close. You smirked, waiting to see if he was serious in his attempt to corner you or if he would scamper off the moment you pulled your knife from your thigh holster where it was hidden beneath your dress.
There was a darkness in his gaze that made your hand twitch at your side, and here you had thought Canto Bight would be relatively uneventful. But it appeared you caught his eye and your disguise as just another casino patron worked because he had followed you unexpectedly into the foyer off of the main ballroom, where you had gone to wait for Poe and Temmin to return.
The three of you were here for intel promised by a very wealthy ally, so dressing the part was important for blending in with the privileged crowds. You were sure the man before you thought you weak enough to bully, a rich girl he could take advantage of.
You were annoyed, wishing you’d gone with Poe instead of Temmin, that you hadn’t offered to keep watch for any signs of your enemies because you felt you were the least suspicious of the three of you. BB8 stayed with you, but when you’d seen the man following you over your shoulder you told the droid to hide and it had zipped behind a potted plant in the corner of the foyer, beeping coyly.
You had first assumed he was a guard, perhaps about to tell you that you were in the wrong place if you were looking for a fresher, but when he stepped around you and blocked your path you quickly realized he was something else entirely. His suit, you could tell now from close up, was immensely expensive and he reeked of cologne.
There were two hallways over his shoulder, one which Poe and Temmin had gone down to meet with the contact, and the other which branched off to various parts of the greater building. Both were quiet, and so you knew not to expect any sudden interruptions that might save you the trouble of having to incapacitate the man.
But, you could easily handle one lone wolf who bit off more than he could chew.
Which was why it came as a very great surprise to you when you felt another presence behind you, but before you could do more than stiffen you felt pressure against your spine; a second man had snuck in and was pressing a knife to you. Now you understood that the first man wasn’t blocking your path; he was distracting you.
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So less of a lone wolf, more of a predator with a partner. Bile rose in your throat and you glared at the man in front of you. He smirked now, taking another step toward you so that both men were almost pressed up against you, sandwiching you between them. “You’re a pretty little number.” He hissed, one hand shooting out to grab your throat.
You wanted to fight, but the knife at your back was a heavy warning of what could happen and you knew you needed to play your cards right. No pun intended. You’d been cornered before, of course, but always by First Order officers. Rich men who wanted what they couldn’t have were not on your list of experiences before this, and you wondered how best to deal with them.
“Fuck you,” You seethed, and the hand at your neck tightened fractionally. More of a threat than anything else.
His words though were a clear threat. “No, we’ll fuck you, doll.”
The way they got you onto the floor, the ease and swiftness of it, told you they’d done this together before. It sickened you, made fury rise inside of you and you wanted nothing more than to pull the knife from your holster and drive it into the hand at your throat. You made a noise, a growl, and the man with the knife finally spoke up.
“She’s a wild one, probably best to knock her out.”
You were going to kill them. Whatever happened, their blood would be soaking into this plush carpet before the end of the night. The first man moved so that he was straddling your chest, his weight on his hunches, and grinned down at you.
“Don’t worry, we’ll have our fun and be on our way. We aren’t going to hurt you so long as you don’t struggle.” He immediately contradicted himself when the hand at your throat tightened, pressing at the sides in a way that cut off airflow without completely crushing your throat. They wanted you to pass out.
You went limp, conserving your energy as you scowled up at the man. The reality of your situation was now enough to cause panic to bubble up; Poe and Temmin hadn’t been gone long. The contact would invite them for a drink, chat with them briefly before passing along the intel. They would find you here, after.
No, that couldn’t happen. It would kill Poe, and he wouldn’t be able to leave until he found the men. You whimpered, black spots started to dance in your vision and you saw, from the corner of your eye, a blur of orange and white zoom down the hallway your squadmates had ventured not long ago.
The second man was already getting excited, his free hand brushing over your face, touching your lips. Even without any air coming in, you tried to bite him. He jerked his finger back, cursing, and the man holding your throat threw his head back to laugh loudly, the pressure releasing in his distraction. You think he started to tease the other man, but everything was confusing now and instincts overtook your body, pulling in air-too much air, too quickly.
Scream.
Yes, you needed to scream. One good, long one that someone would hear, or at least loud enough to scare them off of you in case someone did come looking for the source. You kept pulling in air and it was painful your vision blurring, and you think you were about to pass out. Faces appeared in your mind. Two very distinct, very familiar faces; Charlie and Poe. Your protectors, your family, your love.
Just like that, you had what you needed to find the strength to scream.
It came out in one long, very loud wail, the sound of it echoing off of the walls and back to you before you passed out.
“POOOOOEEEEEE!”
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+
The Martell family moved off, having given their words of sorrow and sympathy, and Charlie tightened the arm he had secured around his mother’s shoulders. She was the strong, silent type like him; whereas you always took after dad. He was keeping close to mom today, providing her with the support she needed and knowing that you were being well taken care of by the one person who could provide the tender love you required.
Charlie glanced around the room as mom took a sip of water, seeking you in the crowd. His eyes landed on Dad's green armchair in the corner, where you were curled up in Poe’s lap, face pressed into his neck as you shook with sobs. He could see his best friend whispering to you, his hand rubbing up at down your back, no doubt repeating words of comfort. He must have felt Charlie’s gaze, his eyes flicking up suddenly before he smiled sadly.
In many ways, it was a beautiful thing to behold the love which you and Poe had for one another. Even as young as you all were, no one could doubt or question that you were both made for one another-except, of course, for yourselves.
Charlie could almost be jealous if he hadn’t spent years around you and seen how natural it seemed to come to you both. He couldn’t be angry that his best friend loved you so deeply, that he knew what to do to comfort you, to care for you, knew when it was needed without Charlie even needing to ask. Hell, even dad had noticed, mentioned it to Charlie during that last visit...
Dad was smiling at Charlie, who sat in the chair next to his bed in the medical facility. It was a nice private room, the kind that the staff made a little homier because it was where the terminal patients came to live out their last days. Mom had taken you and Poe with her to get tea in the nearby lounge, leaving Charlie alone with dad one last time. He sighed, admitting to dad now that they were alone that it didn’t feel fair to lose his father at sixteen. And you were barely fourteen!
Dad chuckled sadly, “I want to stay more than you know, son. I have to tell you, Charlie, that I’m already more than proud of who you are and I know you’ll continue to be a remarkable person. I told your sister the same, but she’s still young, she’ll need more reminders,” Dad paused to take a breath and Charlie waited patiently, taking hold of one of his hands. “I know you’ll always take care of her, put her before anything else. Even the fight, it comes second to her. Though I expect you’ll have help. Wish I could have been around to see those two get married one day.”
Charlie grinned, “You noticed them too?” His father nodded, eyes bright despite the sickness. “How could anyone not, I suppose. Except them.” Charlie added, rolling his eyes fondly.
Dad laughed again, “They’ll realize it when they’re ready. You’re all too young for love anyway,” He joked, giving Charlie a mock stern look. “Just make sure that whatever they do, you focus on your own happiness too, son.”
He squeezed Charlie’s hand weakly, he smiled at his father, “I promise I’ll take care of her, dad. And mom, she’ll need me more.” Dad nodded, his eyes a little wet but so filled with love that Charlie could only stare at him for a few minutes before continuing. “You want me to beat him up when they do finally kiss, though?”
Another weak laugh, followed by a wink, and then Charlie spent a few more minutes talking with his dad for the last time, before eventually mom, you and Poe filtered back in.
He felt a lot of love and joy despite the fucking misery of it, until Dad's eyes slipped shut the final time and you all kissed him before stepping out to leave mom alone with the nurse. You were wrapped around Charlie, who had carried you out of the room, and he passed you over to Poe, asking his friend to take you home while he took care of mom. Poe pressed his forehead to Charlie’s before doing just that, his own eyes leaking tears.
Now, Charlie wondered if Poe had stopped touching you since that day. Perhaps he simply switched between carrying you and keeping his arm around your shoulders, anchoring you down in safety and love, letting you grieve while keeping you from falling too far into the darkness.
Poe met his eyes across the room, wordlessly asking ‘do you need me?’ And Charlie smiled back, shaking his head. Because Poe was already doing exactly what he needed him to, cooing softly in your ear as you trembled and cried quietly, protecting you while Charlie held up his mother and in turn, she held him up, thanking him for being strong, for loving so hard.
Charlie thought he could love as much as he wanted, it would still never compare to the love between Poe and you. It made him smile.
+
Poe was walking with Temmin at his side, the contact leading them through the extravagant hallways to the room where their source would pass over the intel promised to the Resistance. Intel that could help track down a man that had something the General needed. He was an ally to the Resistance, not a neutral or ‘for profit’ type but a true ally who pushed through funds for them as much as intel. Coming in person to the casino he owned, dressed to the nines in finery that felt foreign, sitting over a glass of champagne-it was the least they could do.
And Poe had to admit, the moment you’d stepped out of the fresher on the small ship Black squad had taken to come to Canto Bight, he’d become gleeful over the necessity to dress up. Because you were gorgeous, dazzlingly so in a golden, glittering dress, your legs bare, hair styled loose, a touch of make-up on your face. He thought you were so beautiful, and he wanted to tell you but didn’t trust himself to say it right, so he’d grinned before turning away and letting out a low whistle. Calling ‘looking good, sweetheart’ over his shoulder.
They were approaching a large, ornate door that the man leading them gestured toward, indicating their contact was on the other side. Poe thanked him for his help, but before he could move the final steps to the door a familiar sound suddenly entered the hall; BB8 was zooming towards him, beeping frantically.
Exchanging a curious look with Temmin, Poe dropped down to one knee as the droid rolled to a stop before him. Despite Poe’s fluency in binary, he was only catching words due to the panicked, too-fast rate at which the droid communicated. He gathered ‘attack’ and ‘knife’ and wondered if BB8 was telling him you had stabbed someone.
It wouldn’t have been the first time on a mission you’d done so.
“Buddy, slow down, I can’t understand you,” Poe hushed the droid, “Say it again, slower.”
The droid repeated itself, slowly.
Poe was moving before he finished. “Captain, go in without me. BB8, stay with him.” He ordered over his shoulder. He heard Temmin’s worried affirmative reply. And then he was running, faster than he had in his entire existence, blood roaring in his ears. Poe ran because the message was clear.
You were being attacked.
And he didn’t like how BB8 had phrased it, saying you ‘couldn’t breathe'. He didn’t know if he was about to find you with Storm Troopers or undercover First Order fighters, but regardless being unable to breathe didn’t sound like their usual treatment of suspected Rebels. It only drove him to run faster through the twisting hallway, forgetting his expensive clothing or even the importance of remaining undercover, his focus solely on you now.
You had offered to stay behind. Because it was the best option, and Canto Bight was an easy enough place to blend in. So who had made you?
Poe half expected to round the final corner up ahead and find you waiting for him with your enemy incapacitated, or otherwise in a standoff he would have to join in on the fight with.
He never expected anything like what was about to happen.
Before he reached the end of the hall, an ear-splitting shriek filled the air and Poe’s veins turned to ice, his breath catching.
“POOOOOEEEEEE!”
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You had never made a sound like that before in your life, and blind, all-consuming rage overtook every facet of Poe’s being-whoever, whatever, made you scream like that was about to fucking die. He came tearing around the corner and his eyes fell on the most gut-wrenching, heart-stopping sight-you, laying still on the floor as a man straddled your chest, one hand wrapped around your throat. A second man stood next to you; both men had their backs to Poe and appeared to be watching you...
Were you dying? Dead?
They didn’t hear Poe coming, neither of them even turned around when he pulled the knife from the inner pocket of his jacket and leapt at the standing man. He slit his throat without thought, already looking toward the man still straddling you, who had released his hold on your neck to peer around curiously. He looked just in time to see his friend collapse to the floor, had enough time to jump back in fear, mouth opening in horror.
It didn’t matter, though. His futile attempt to block Poe only served to aid his aim, so that the knife he slashed out could be thrust down and into the soft flesh between his collarbone and throat. Poe snarled, slamming him back into the wall to ensure he didn’t fall onto you, before yanking the knife out and finishing him off with a firm swipe of the blade over his throat, cutting through the tendons and blinking when a spray of blood landed on him.
Stashing the knife back into his pocket and glancing up at the closed door, Poe stumbled forward and dropped to his knees next to you, adrenaline coursing through his body and keeping his hand steady as he sought out your pulse point. He could already see bruising bleeding over the soft skin of your throat, darkening it, and he felt his rage ebb away into a panic so severe that he almost missed the steady beat of your heart.
“Oh fuck,” He gasped out, a modicum of relief seeping through the panic. He scooped you up quickly, spinning around and making his way toward the hallway opposite the one he’d just come from. He groaned when he realized he wasn’t sure where to go, which door led to an exit-you had the entire place memorized. But you were breathing steadily in his arms, still passed out, and Poe needed to follow his gut on this because you’re life depended on him getting you to the safety of the ship.
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He couldn’t cut through the casino, so he opted to simply try each door in the hall ahead until one of them lead to a room with a window he could climb out of. Kare was waiting on the ship, he could send her in as backup once he was out. It was the second door that he shouldered through that lead to him gasp in relief-it led onto a patio, on the ground floor. He glanced around, confirming no one was in sight before tearing off at a run, holding you tight in his arms. Everything was happening in such a blur.
He tapped on his comm, “Kare! Please tell me we have bacta shots on the ship.”
Her voice crackled through in alarm, “What’s happened? We only have spray-“
“Shit!” He growled, “I’m coming back with the Major-she was attacked, get out the medkit and prepare to head to the casino and wait outside for Temmin, he needs to have a backup-“
“You got it, Commander!” She replied swiftly before the line went dead and he knew she’d have switched over to Temmin’s channel to give him the update.
When Poe boarded the ship a few minutes later, Kare was waiting at the top of the ramp and gasped at the sight of you in his arm, passed out. She paused, eyes on Poe “Whose blood is that, Commander?”
“It’s not hers,” Poe replied, setting you down on the only bed the tiny ship had and picking up the medical kit Kare had left out for him, “I killed two men. Make sure Temmin and BB8 get back here with the intel, I’ll have the ship ready to depart.” She confirmed she heard him before running down the ramp and out of sight.
Poe set to work quickly, first tugging a rolled blanket from the end of the bed and covering you with it, then seeking out your pulse to confirm it was still beating steadily. He then uncapped the bacta spray and gently tilted your head back; exposing your heavily bruised throat, and carefully opening your mouth.
“Oh my sweet girl,” He sobbed out, first spraying into your open mouth so that the spray would drip down into your throat and reduce the swelling, then again to the outside skin. It would help, he comforted himself, “My sweet, sweet girl, I’m here. I’ve got you, please, please be okay.” He pleaded, his voice a strained whisper as he stroked your hair gently off of your face, waiting for the spray to do its work. He thinks he kept talking, while his eyes watched your face, every second torture until he saw movement behind your eyelids.
“Mmm,” You moaned out a strangled sound, your face tightening as you registered the pain. Your eyes suddenly snapped open and he saw panic flash there, a fear he’d never seen on your face before that shattered his heart right in his chest.
“Baby,” He whispered, bringing his face over yours so you could see him clearly, “It’s me, I’ve got you, sweet girl. We’re on the ship, we’re safe.” He promised you, dropping his hand to hold yours under the blanket. You gazed at him for a second, then dropped your eyes to search over him and he glanced down, realizing he was...still covered in blood.
“Ah-okay?” You wheezed, your voice was scratchy, but your brows pinched together in an expression that cleared up your meaning.
“I’m fine,” He assured you, leaning down at pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t try to speak until we get you looked at, okay? Does anything else hurt?”
He drew back to watch your face, but you shook your head slightly to indicate you were okay. He cupped your cheeks then, needing to touch you, to feel you alive and warm under his now trembling fingers. You noticed his shaky hands, one of your own coming out from beneath the blanket to reach up and stroke his jaw.
A shuddering, retched sob tore out of him as you did this familiar comforting gesture, attempting to ease his pain when you were the one that had been harmed. Tears no longer threatened, but spilled from his eyes as he leaned over you, his face inches from yours, “My sweet girl, y-you scared me, there, thought I-I-“ He broke off, unable to even say the words. You kept caressing his jaw, the motion soothing to you as well, he gathered from the expression on your face. “I killed them. Both.” He admitted. You responded by merely widening your eyes slightly, then shutting them in understanding.
He watched you for a few moments, then let his own eyes shut as he lowered his head and pressed his forehead to yours, trying to reign in his emotions so that he could get the ship ready to go home. He pulled back when you attempted to speak again, your voice a little clearer thanks to the spray.
“L-love you.”
Poe ran his thumbs under your eyes to wipe away the tears that spilled, “I love you,” He replied, turning his head and pressing his lips to your hand, “So, so much, my lovely girl.”
+
When Tahla had first walked onto the ship after Temmin and Kare had successfully landed back on base at D’Qar, his expression was so fraught with concern you’d squeaked a little from your spot on the bed, wanting to tell him you were fine despite your voice box rejecting the attempt. Poe had disappeared into the cockpit with Temmin and Kare when they finally boarded the ship on Canto Bight, BB8 in tow, and you think he must have overstated your injury when he’d called into base.
“Well, that sounded extraordinarily wretched, let me take a look,” Tahla joked, his features relaxing, and he sat at your side on the bed. Poe was behind you now, his body acting as your pillow, a comforting position he’d taken up the moment the ship landed and the rest of Black team had departed to get the intel to the General. “This is going to be uncomfortable, but try not to make noise, okay?” His eyes were on Poe when he spoke at first, dropping to you when he posed the question. You nodded your understanding and decided to lose yourself in thought as he gently started feeling along your throat.
When you first came to, the only thing you had been aware of was the pain in your throat. You’d felt movement at your side and panicked, thinking you were still under attack, only when you opened your eyes you instead met the most heart-wrenching sight of your life; Poe covered in blood, looking down at you pale and panicked, his eyes wide with fear. Seeing him like that hurt worse than the pain in your throat, though that was certainly in a strong second place.
When he admitted he killed the men, you regretted only that you hadn’t been able to fight them off yourself, or at least been able to help him take them down. You didn’t want all of that to sit on his shoulders. You comforted yourself at the moment by telling him you loved him, testing the words on your tongue, despite knowing he would take them at their usual meaning and not how you truly meant them now.
But you could wait a little longer to tell him properly.
“Alright, Major. The good news is that you’re going to be okay and the spray will combat any long-term damage to your vocal cords,” Tahla was looking into your mouth now, a light shining in his hand as he inspected your throat. “Bad news is that I can’t administer a Bacta shot this far into the injury, so you’ll have to allow it to heal on its own over the next couple of days.”
“F-fuck.” You stammered, and Poe’s hands, which were clasping your shoulders, tightened fractionally in response. A silent, loving, admonishment. Tahla laughed, stowing away his light before giving you a final once over.
His eyes moved up, meeting Poe’s instead, “That’s not your blood, right?”
“No,” Poe replied, his voice quiet, “No. I killed them. BB8 found me, told me (y/n) was being attacked. They were...I didn’t hesitate.”
Fuck, he sounded so dark and haunted, you wanted to take away his worry, take away whatever memories he had now from the attack. You were tired though, your eyes beginning to droop now that you were home and safe and in the clear of any permanent damage. Tahla gave Poe a nod that suggested his approval over Poe’s handling of the men who attacked you, his eyes darkening for a moment, and then your eyes closed completely.
Poe’s hands immediately moved, adjusting you in his arms. How he was able to tell you were ready to sleep you’d never know. He was lifting you before you could even consider offering to just walk since your legs worked just fine. But you let yourself curl into his hold instead, your face pressing into his neck. He began to walk and you let the gentle motions soothe you further, lulling you towards sleep.
Tahla spoke from somewhere behind your head, where he walked next to Poe, “I’m going to give her a few days off, pull her from the field for a week minimum-I’ll check on her in five days, see if her voice is good enough for the field.”
“Listen, man, thank you for coming. I know it’s overstepping to demand a specific Healer-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Tahla interrupted, “I’m glad you did ask for me. Scared the hell out of me though, Poe.”
Poe sighed, “Sorry about that.” He didn’t elaborate even though you wanted him to explain why he’d caused Tahla to panic, what he’d said to have your friend run into the ship like he thought your head was about to fall off.
You also wanted to thank Tahla for coming, but you were too sleepy. Instead, you let the way Poe carried you to ease you closer and closer to the blissful release of sleep, not realizing until you heard a door whoosh open that the Healer was gone. Poe lowered you onto something soft and you peeked out beneath your eyelashes to find you were in his room.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you,” He murmured, pulling his blanket from where it was folded at the base of his bed to cover you, his hands still shaky. You reached for him then, grabbing hold of his hand, and Poe stilled, gazing down at you. “What is it, sweetheart?”
You cleared your throat carefully and kept your voice as low as possible when you spoke. “Sta-y with me.” You saw the words hit him, his tension releasing so quickly that you think he nearly collapsed as he joined you on the bed, laying cautiously next to you. The only part of him that touched you was where your hand had grabbed him; now, you tugged him closer and shuffled, burrowing into his side and tucking your head into his neck.
You didn’t care that he was bloody or you were both still dressed in the fancy clothing-you just wanted him close. Needed him, not only for yourself but also for him, so that he knew you weren’t upset with him in any way, so that he couldn’t lick his wounds alone and convince himself that he messed up.
You needed him to know that you still trusted him. Always would.
He shifted so that he could circle his arms around you, holding you tight against him and breathing steadily, hard enough that you knew he was fighting off tears again. Your poor, kind-hearted Poe. He took things so hard, loved so fiercely. You didn’t understand how you deserved him when you were young or now. You just felt so fucking safe now, he was all-encompassing safety and love and you wondered again how you could have thought badly of him, to ever have run away.
“Sweet girl,” He started murmuring again, whispers as he stroked one hand over your hair soothingly. You weren’t sure if he knew you were still awake, it had been so long. You remained still, hoping he would never stop speaking so sweetly to you, letting his words lull you. “My brave, beautiful girl. So strong. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again. I love you, maker I love you...”
You wanted to say it back, but you fell asleep to the soothing rumble of his chest as he caressed you in the night, rocking away your nightmares and keeping you every bit as safe as he promised.
+
Poe woke early, light only just filtering in his thin window because he was too warm. At first, he was confused as to why he felt so restricted, so heavy until he looked down.
Stars.
You were tangled around him as he lay on his back, your arm hugged around his waist, head resting just below his sternum, legs entwined with his own. And he was still wearing his suit, the fabric not as breathable as his flight suit, and tighter too. As he gazed down at you, still peacefully asleep, further warmth pooled in his chest and belly.
‘Stay with me.’
Maker, three words and you knocked him clean over and he was ready right then to tell you he would never leave your side again if you asked him not to. But he’d managed to reign himself in slightly before curling around you protectively, unable to keep himself from touching you in gentle, soothing motions. He’d fallen asleep faster than he’d thought he would.
Now, he realized that if you woke up you would find him still covered in the blood of the men he’d killed. He needed to get himself into his fresher and clean up. With slow movements, he was able to extract himself from your grip and climb from the bed. He covered you in the blanket so the temperature change wouldn’t go as noticed and wake you up. He watched you for a minute as you slept, then quietly grabbed a pen and piece of paper, jotting a note down in case you woke up.
‘In the shower. Don’t leave, please.’
He set it next to you on his bed, then grabbed some clean clothing and stepped into his fresher, the door closing behind him silently. He bypassed his mirror, not interested in seeing how he looked, and went straight into the shower, turning on the water and flinching at the brief burst of cold before the temperature evened out. He scrubbed himself clean and avoided looking at the floor, at the swirling blood and grime disappearing into the drain. He had enough images in his head. It wasn’t that he hadn’t killed before, because he most certainly had-both from his x-wing and in ground combat. But he had never taken a life so viciously, so intimately. And it wasn’t how quickly he’d done it that scared him, it was how okay with it all he was.
They were hurting you, at the time he’d thought they’d killed you, he had no choice. No option but to end them.
He considered working in the field with you now, what that would look like. Would he start throwing himself in front of you and breaking protocol as he had in the woods of Takodana? Like he’d gotten angry at you for doing all that time ago when you’d first come back to D’Qar and had taken out that Stormtrooper with his gun levelled at Poe’s head? Was the fight...
Maker.
Was it worth losing you for?
The answer came fast; no, no it wasn’t. And that scared him because he’d always been ready to die for the cause, for the Resistance, to abolish the tyranny of the First Order. You and Charlie and he had all grown up with that single mindset, to get old enough to join and then fight until the war ended or you died.
And now all he could think was that he would rather lose the war a thousand times over than lose you.
When he stepped out of his shower and dried off, Poe was reeling. He was going through the motions-pulling on his socks, his shorts, his favourite tee. But internally he was reminding himself of everything he’d accomplished as a Resistance fighter. Of everything you had. Even after losing Charlie, you both kept fighting without question, for him, for yourselves, for the cause.
But...wasn’t the saying in your family that family came first, then the fight, and then everything else? When had he lost sight of that and forgotten that with great love came the equally great threat of losing it? But he couldn’t just leave, would never even consider it, no and he knew you wouldn’t, not for him or anything. There was nothing in the entire galaxy that would make you stop fighting. Which left Poe with the greatest question of all-what the hell was he going to do?
He didn’t have an answer, not even a vague idea, so he tabled the internal battle he was waging and stepped out of his fresher to check on you. His heart stuttered in his chest when he found you splayed across his bed, head hidden under his pillow, one leg kicked out from under the covers. You had always looked so peaceful when you slept, and memories surface of the countless times growing up, waking in your bed and watching you sleep. He’d usually wake up before you, sometimes he’d sneak out to hang out with Charlie, other times he’d enjoy the quiet and calm of your room.
The last thing he wanted to do right now was to wake you up, and so Poe made his way to his dresser to search through options for you to wear. Even the idea of you going alone into your room to shower and change made his heart drop, his need to keep you safe and close was so great. He picked out one of his shirts, a pair of athletic shorts you could tighten the waist of, and after much debate with himself, a pair of his briefs. He’d let you decide if you were going to wear them-he just wanted you to have the option.
He went into his fresher and set the clothing on the vanity, starting a little when he emerged and found you watching him with bleary eyes. He smiled tentatively, suddenly nervous under your gaze, but after a small pause your face lit up, eyes brightening and smile wide, melting his heart in his chest.
“Good morning,” Poe sat down on the bed next to you, brushing a hand over your face to wipe away stray hairs, “Try not to speak too much, sweetheart.” He gently reminded you, his eyes dropping to your darkened throat.
You made a face, scrunching your nose, and Poe chuckled softly. He watched you yawn before pushing yourself up, moving to sit next to him and raising your hand to tentatively touch your throat. You winced before flicking your gaze up to meet his, offering a small smile, “Hi,” It was raspy and quiet, dry enough that he realized you needed some water. He leaned over and grabbed a glass bottle from his mini-fridge, handing it over to your waiting hand.
He watched you gulp the water down in small bursts, happy to see swallowing didn’t appear to cause you too much discomfort. “How do you feel?”
“M’fine,”
“You up for a shower?” Poe asked, and your eyes widened slightly in response and he started sputtering immediately, heat flushing his cheeks, “I mean-you can shower, I uh, that is, I put some clothes in there for you-and I will wait here. I showered already.”
Stars, he felt about fifteen all of the sudden, embarrassment flooding him over his unintentionally suggestive phrasing. He scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw, glancing at you to find you holding in your laughter, amusement evident in your expression.
Poe rolled his eyes, recovering himself, “Very funny,” But he laughed, cheered by the smile on your face as you climbed out of his bed and made your way into his fresher. Your dress was crumpled and flat from sleeping in it, and your hair a tousled mess.
Even still, you were truly beautiful.
You looked over your shoulder at Poe before closing the door to the fresher, and he patted the bed, “I’ll be right here if you need anything.” He assured you, and a wave of relief flashed over your face as you shut the door.
Poe got out of bed, taking the time you were showering to tidy his room, including making the bed. He thought about everything that had happened and realized he wasn’t even remotely aware of whether the intel had proven as useful as the ally had claimed, having passed it off to Temmin and Kare to get into Leia’s hands. The fact that his droid hadn’t returned however told Poe that BB8 must be helping to decipher the intel, and Poe reasoned he could find out once he’d taken care of you.
When he heard the water shut off in the fresher, he started to fret over how to best do just that. He supposed it would be ideal for you to remain in the quiet space of his room, where you could avoid speaking too often or loudly. He wanted to keep you close...but then the doubt crept in and he began to question whether you would even want to stay with him, or if he was already being too overbearing. Maybe you were right now looking at the clothing he left out for you and shaking your head.
The fresher door opened a few minutes later, as Poe was tying on his boots, eager to get food from the dining hall and bring it back to the room for you both. “Anything you want from-uh...” He froze, eyes landing on you dressed in his clothing, his shirt much too large and-and you’d decided to only put on the briefs, the tighter fabric only just peeking out below the hem of his shirt.
Poe hadn’t thought of a chest band, not until this very moment when he could see your full breasts outlined against the light grey fabric. He swallowed, dropping his eyes to the floor as heat crawled up his neck.
If you noticed his reaction, you didn’t comment. You crawled back onto his bed, pulling a throw blanket over your legs before settling into the cushions happily, “Pancakes. Definitely pancakes, please.” You whispered, voice slightly improved now that you had some water.
It was entirely without thought that Poe leaned across his bed and placed a gentle kiss to your temple, before jumping up and promising to return with all the pancakes he could carry.
+
Poe sat with his drink held firm in his hand, his eyes flicking around the crowd before he sighed and settled back into his seat. The usual table, though this was the first time he’d been back to the Cantina since the funeral. Tommy and Rico had asked him a few times, of course, but he’d refused, never feeling quite ready to return.
Today though...he’d come because it was your birthday.
He’d have a drink for you. Even though he had no idea where in the fucking galaxy you’d gone.
And it wasn’t for lack of trying, but no matter who he went to, no one could or would give him your new assignment. You’d been clever and covered your tracks enough that you made sure anyone who would have helped Poe couldn’t see your assignment.
He’d never been more miserable in his life, never more angry with himself. He’d said awful shit to you and then disappeared for a few days to collect his head, thinking of how he’d apologize.
He’d wanted to tell you he loved you.
Instead, he broke your heart.
And you up and left before he could even begin to start making amends.
He was on his last possible source at this point, a person he hadn’t even wanted to go to. But Vanya had been kind to Poe, said she could try and see if anyone she was close with had the access needed. He told her he’d be here tonight, having a drink in your honour, if she wanted to stop by and let him know how she’d got along.
He just needed to find you, and then he would say everything he should have before, apologize to you and promise to make it up to you for the rest of his fucking life. He missed you so much it hurt, it hurt more than losing Charlie. You had disappeared in a way that almost made it feel like you had died as well.
He was starting to feel dead inside.
He glanced up, seeking Vanya out, and met the eyes of a woman at a nearby table, who shot him a friendly smile. He gave her what was probably more of a grimace in return, dropping his eyes to his drink. He wasn’t sure he was ready for...anything like that.
After a moment, he looked back up and saw Vanya walk in. She spotted him and waved, beginning to make her way over. As she grew closer, Poe could see the hard set to her jaw and felt his heart sink into his stomach-he could already tell she’d been unsuccessful.
When she sat down across from him, she heaved a great sigh, her eyes casting downward to look at her hands. “I’m sorry,” She looked up at him after a moment when he made no reply, “She’s smart, didn’t leave a lot to chance.”
Poe waved his hand, “It’s not your fault in the least, Vanya. I appreciate you trying.”
“I’m sure she’ll come back, once she’s grieved enough, had a chance to think things through.”
He wanted to laugh, but instead only grunted, “You didn’t get a chance to know her, but she’s more stubborn than...” He broke off and rubbed a hand over his face. Vanya’s face had fallen as the unspoken name sat between them, and he felt a surge of sadness for her-she had really loved Charlie. “I said...well, I don’t blame her for leaving. It’s already been a couple of months, she’s not coming back. I just wish one person in this fucking place could tell me more than ‘she’s alive.’.”
Vanya leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she bobbed her head in agreement, eyes kind, “Poe I saw you-both of you-that night when we first met here. I saw the way you looked at each other-“
Poe tried not to glare, frowning into his drink, “Yeah? And what do you think you know now?”
Vanya ignored his tone, unbothered, “I saw how in love you both were. That kind of love...it doesn’t go away. Not forever. She’ll come back.” And with that, Vanya dipped her head and let loose a wave of fresh tears as thoughts of how Charlie was never coming back sat in the air.
He reached across the table automatically and took her hand, squeezing. “I’m sorry, Vanya. Look, thank you for everything. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me, alright?”
She smiled then, her eyes misty, but remarkably already recovering from her emotional moment, just the kind of tough lady Charlie loved. With a farewell hug, Vanya departed and left Poe alone at the table again. He sat for a minute, his drink nearly finished, and thought of all the times he sat here and took for granted what he had. Silently, he wished you a happy birthday wherever you were in the universe and hoped you weren’t even half as lonely and miserable as he was.
When he finally looked up again, the pretty woman at the table not far from his caught his eye again, and this time he smiled more broadly at her, tilting his head in question. She gestured at the seat next to her and after only a brief pause, Poe decided it was time to give himself a break from the monotony of grief and pain and loneliness and just escape for a few hours.
He joined the woman, Smiling in a way that didn’t feel real at all.
+
“This is nice, me getting to talk and talk with absolutely no interruptions-“
Tahla flinched when you kicked him under the table, and you stifled a giggle. Stars, it wasn’t as painful as when you’d woken up last night, but your throat still hurt. It was stinging, scratchy sort of pain when you made too much noise, but you found you’d been able to hold a low conversation with your friend over the past hour with minimal issues. It was just the laughing that did you in.
Poe had reluctantly dropped you off to the dining hall for an early dinner after you’d spent a good ten minutes convincing him you could handle going to dinner. He’d then been called away by BB8 to see the General, and you’d watched him actually contemplate what to do. It had almost been funny, but it also made butterflies erupt in your stomach-not for the first time that day. You shooed him away with the promise that you’d seek out Tahla or Temmin so that you wouldn’t be alone.
He’d been so attentive since you woke up, setting out clothing, then by bringing you breakfast and lunch and confining you to lounge on his bed all day. Despite your injury, it had kind of been one of the best days you’d had in years. It had felt a lot like old times, curled up in bed with Poe. The silence was comfortable as you read and he typed up his mission report, though the emotions running through you were entirely new.
It was a lot, emotionally, the last twenty-four hours. As traumatizing as your attack was, you felt like you were being best-taken care of by Poe and felt a little overwhelmed at how good he made you feel. He sensed everything you needed, right down to catching you when you’d be stuck on a page for a little too long, your thoughts turning inward, and he’d press a soft kiss to your hair, run his hand over your jaw, whisper sweet words of comfort.
You wanted to comfort him, too, for having to do what he did. For having to suffer through the worry of how injured you were and if you would recover. You didn’t know how to make him feel better, exactly, but you sensed that the more he took care of you the better he felt in turn, so you allowed him to fret more than was necessary.
And every time he touched you? Well, that was the thing, now that you’d encountered darkness where, for just a few moments you thought you were going to die, you realized you needed to tell him how you felt, finally. You weren’t sure how to bring it up, though, and ended up going back and forth in your head all day trying to decide.
“Lost in your head again, kid.” Tahla’s hand came to rest over yours from across the table; you glanced up from staring into your soup to meet his gaze. He looked extraordinarily understanding considering this wasn’t the first time it had happened during this dinner.
“Sorry. I guess I-I’ve never been attacked like that before. I’ve had, you know, guys pinch my ass or whatever and had no problem kicking the shit out of them if Charlie or Poe didn’t get to them first, but this was...” You trailed off and ran a hand over your face, then sipped your water to help soothe your throat as you spoke. “This wasn’t enemy forces, this wasn’t some guy in a cantina too many drinks in with a shit moral compass. This was-“
“Attempted assault,” Tahla said bluntly, squeezing your hand again. You gulped, then nodded, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry that you went through that, (y/n), I really am. I wish I could say something more insightful.”
You sighed heavily, waving off his concern, “The worst part is that I passed out before I could...and Poe didn’t say what he did, but I saw Temmin’s face when he was getting off the ship last night. I don’t care how he killed them, I just hate that I couldn’t help, that I couldn’t take away some of the responsibility from him.” You had another couple spoonfuls of your dinner, eyes on Tahla as he thought over your words.
“You know,” He began slowly, tapping his free hand on the table, “Poe basically said the same thing to me when he got me on comms last night. That he wished he’d prevented you from being hurt at all, that he failed in protecting you. He was so worked up, so upset, I thought you were close to death. He really loves you.”
Setting down your spoon with a clang, you sat up straighter before, quietly, replying. “Of course he does, and I love him. We’re a team, one of the best. We get the job done, always have. That’s why I’m freaking out, Tahla,” You flinched as your voice raised too high and your throat burned. You switched to a whisper, “He dropped everything mid-mission to save me, then brought me to the ship. He still...He sent in Kare, but it wasn’t exactly protocol.”
Tahla suddenly grinned at you in a bright, knowing sort of way that made you want to kick him again. Your scowl gave you away, “Don’t kick me, I’m just...I can’t believe you don’t see it. Don’t you realize-aren’t you in love with him?”
You blinked across the table; were you that obvious? If Tahla was calling you out, did that mean others, Poe, had figured you out? “Kriff, Tahla, why are you always so fucking blunt.”
“That’s not an answer.”
You glanced around wearily to ensure you wouldn’t be overheard, “I am, but I just got him back so I’m trying to time it-”
“Maker, I bet he tells himself the same thing and that’s why you’ve both been so fucking blind. You realize he cut down your attackers with his knife?” You stared at Tahla in surprise, “Then he carried you back to your ship and freaked the fuck out until he got you here, not to mention how he told the Healer on call to go to hell and only send me to look at you?”
“I-I, but-“ You gaped. You’d known some of the pieces, of course, but hadn’t realized the extent of Poe's panic.
Tahla laughed, not unkindly, “You want to know what we all used to say back home growing up?” He didn’t wait for your reply, seeming to understand from the expression on your face that words didn’t exist for you right now, “We said, ‘never mess with Poe’s girl’. Remember when Gus broke up with you, said some rude shit to you? Well, he ended up with a black eye for it. Poe’s always loved you. And since I’ve been here these past few weeks, it’s like you two are already a couple.”
You still didn’t know how to reply, so you were incredibly grateful when his pager went off and he glanced down before releasing your hand. With an apologetic smile, he began to stand, and you joined him-no longer hungry-and met him around the table. He pulled you in for a hug, his face schooled to a more neutral look when you pulled back slightly to peer up at him.
“Thanks for everything, Tahla. I’ll be sad when you leave next week.” You admitted softly, and his smile grew.
Leaning down, Tahla pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek and then turned his head slightly to whisper in your ear. “I’ll come back for the wedding, of course.”
And with that, he pulled back, winked at you, and then walked off toward the far doors of the dining hall. You had half a mind to follow him and kick him just for the hell of it, the cheeky bastard, but instead, you pushed your seat in and turned to head back to your room, hoping Poe would be done with the General and would give you an update.
When you walked into the hallway and spotted Poe coming along, a weirdly decisive sensation seemed to settle in your stomach, solidifying the moment his eyes found yours from several feet away. His face broke into a relieved, wide grin and that was it, that was the final cord snapped.
It was almost funny.
You saw a modicum of confusion knit his brows together when you suddenly marched towards him, jaw set because you were trying to reign in the intense emotions now bubbling up inside of you. “Sweetheart?” He said, frowning further when you grabbed his arm and started toward the direction of your rooms. You didn’t speak, afraid of opening your mouth and just word-vomiting every thought you’d ever had, and so you pulled him along silently.
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him assessing you, trying to figure out what set you off, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth as he considered. When you got to the first empty hallway, you couldn’t contain yourself any longer. You halted, releasing his arm and spinning to face him straight on. Poe opened his mouth, but before he could ask you a question, it just...came out.
“I love you,” You sighed it, lower than you’d have liked to say it because of your damaged vocal cords, but he heard you. You knew because he stiffened like a board and his open mouth slackened almost comically. “I-I’m in love with you, Poe Dameron, and I always have been and I can’t hold it in any longer.”
You bit your lip to prevent yourself from babbling, holding his wide-eyed gaze steadily. Finally saying it aloud was about a million times better than it had felt to simply admit it to yourself. You felt like you could float away just for getting the truth out, though a level of anxiety began to grow the longer he stood silent before you. But you knew his eyes, every expression they’d ever held, and you could see that he was processing your words, that they grew brighter and brighter until movement caught your eye and you glanced down to see his fingers twitch, and then he was moving.
Poe reached up and caught your face gently in his hands, closing the distance between you both so that your bodies were pressed together. He gazed at you in wonder for a moment. “Oh my sweet girl,” He crooned softly, and you were melting into his touch, your heart was surely about to burst now, and then- “I have loved you in every eternity that has ever been, and will ever be. You are everything, sweetheart, everything to me. I should have...should have told you so many times before this.”
And then Poe Dameron slotted his lips over yours and kissed you deeply like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it. It was like coming home. You were rooted to the ground now, his kiss anchoring you, his gentle caress over your cheeks sending fire into your veins that conflicted with the euphoria in your mind.
Because Poe, your Poe, was kissing you. Handsome, tall, broad and strong Poe. Your best friend, your soulmate, was kissing you and you didn’t think you could ever stop now. Your lips parted for him the same moment he did for you, and then you were tasting him and Stars, did he ever taste good. Like home-warm, a smouldering fire on a rainy evening. You knew he liked what he found in kissing you when he groaned lightly, his hands settling at the back of your neck and pressing you closer against him, deepening the kiss as your tongues danced, and you whimpered in response.
With a gasp, Poe pulled back and you saw more than love and adoration on his face, now you saw desire too. Real, heated desire.
And fuck, that pollen had absolutely nothing going for it, you saw that now. Seeing just a sliver of what desire truly looked like on his face, you knew it had all been a huge illusion brought on by the poison, during that mission. You were burning under his gaze now, every cell of your body alight and happy to surrender, responding to him before he’d barely moved. His hands were still on you and you realized yours were in fists at your sides so you reached up and did something you’d always wanted to do-sinking them into his curls.
“Fuck,” He rumbled the moment you gave a slight tug, his eyes fluttering closed briefly, a twitch appearing in his jaw. When he looked at you again you swear you burst into flames. “We need to...talk. In my room.” Before you could reply, he stooped and clasped his hands to the back of your thighs, lifting, and you realized he wanted to carry you.
And you were going to fucking let him. You pressed yourself against Poe and allowed him to guide your legs to wrap around his waist, whimpering again when his hands gripped your hips tightly. You leaned forward, wanting to kiss him. You could see how determined he was to focus, to get to the privacy of his room. You nipped along his jaw as he hurried along, grateful the halls were quiet but truly you wouldn’t have cared if he bowled people over at this point. His hands flexed as you kissed him, pressed you even closer against him when you lightly sucked on a spot on his neck that tasted as delicious as it looked.
“Stars, Poe,” You whispered, playing with his hair still. “I love you so much.”
“Let m-me show you, how fucking much I love you, sweet girl.” He panted in response, stepping through the doorway to his room and laying you onto his bed. The door shut and locked at his command, sealing you into the privacy of his quarters. He pulled back to gaze down at you, eyes wide, then reached up with one hand to very lightly trace along your neck. “And no one is ever going to touch you again.”
He said it with such strength and conviction you could only nod, even though it was a tall promise to make given the lives you lived. Because you believed him; that he meant he would do anything in his power to keep you safe. When he lowered himself down over you and started to kiss you again, you relaxed entirely for probably the first time in your life.
Burning never felt so good.
+
Poe was kissing you. You were kissing Poe. It was, it had to be, a dream. But if it was a dream how could it feel so intense and real and right? How could kissing you possibly be as perfect as this? He felt like he was whole again-like his heart tripled in size the moment you told him you were in love with him and then every moment with his lips pressed to yours only continued to make it grow.
Yesterday he’d almost lost you, or at least thought he had, and now you were tangling your fingers in his hair and moaning underneath him as you kissed, your body trembling. He’d never been as hard as quickly in his fucking life, could feel himself pulsing where he was pressed against your leg. He wanted to be embarrassed but the look on your face when he’d dropped you onto the bed told him you were thinking the same thing as he was now, just as overwhelmed and needy to get as close as possible, skin to skin. To finally tear down every single barrier-mental and physical-between you and come together, be together.
Which was probably why it seemed to take no time to rip one another’s clothes off until Poe was only in his briefs and you were left in the briefs he’d given you that morning to wear.
“Oh sweetheart,” He murmured, his eyes running over your every dip and curve and swell, the smoothness of your skin calling to him. He was laving his tongue over your nipple the first time you cried out, the sound strangled and broken enough that he pulled back and looked at you closely. “You can’t be loud, sweet girl. I want you to, trust me, but you have to be a good girl. We don’t want to hurt your voice any more than it already is, okay?”
“O-okay, I’ll try.”
Poe hummed, “Tell me the moment you want to stop. We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable-”
You slid one hand out of his hair and dropped it between your bodies as he was speaking, coming to grip his length over his underwear. Poe broke off with a hiss, automatically thrusting into your hold. “I’ve b-been waiting my whole life for you, Poe Dameron.” You sighed, releasing his erection and tracing your hand along the planes of his stomach and chest. “Never stop. I’m yours and I never want to stop.”
A possessive feeling, one that had always lingered in the background when Poe was with you, increased tenfold at your words, further driven by what had happened yesterday. He growled before capturing your mouth in another, more fierce kiss, his tongue exploring you as he ground his hips down a little.
When he finally pulled back, you were gasping and even more flushed, your chest heaving as you looked at him. “You’re mine,” He repeated, bracing one arm on the bed and trailing the other down to tease over your centre, dipping below the band of his briefs. “I’m yours, too, sweet girl.” And he locked eyes with you as he pushed two fingers inside of you, gasping out at the blissed-out, contained moan you allowed yourself and the feel of how tight and wet you were.
Your hips bucked when he pressed in deep and curled his fingers, playing with you until he found a spot within that made you just about shoot off of the bed. With a wicked grin, he started to tease that spot and watched your face as you came undone bit by bit for him.
It was the most vivid, raw experience of his entire life. Every single moment soaked into his mind and became a permanent, detailed memory-your little whines and pleas, the roll of your hips, the heat of your slick and how he could smell you, just the right amount of sweetness. It was all so much more than the sex you’d had during the pollen exposure. Every other sense had been cut down and pushed back during that, but now they were all operating on full levels and it felt so right. It enabled Poe to work you through to your orgasm with ease all the while just about ready to cum in his underwear as he did.
“Shit, you are fucking beautiful, sweet girl,” He moaned, adjusting the arm he was bracing himself with so that he could clamp that hand over your mouth. He sensed you were close, could feel your tight walls clenching, and wanted to protect you from harming yourself if you forgot you couldn’t scream. “Cum for me-I’ve imagined it so many times, need to see you cum for real, for me. I’ll keep you safe, go ahead, let go.”
He felt your lips part behind his hand, then your entire body went rigid and you came hard, back arching until a significant amount of wetness soaked his hand, and the bed, and you started to whine and shake from the intensity of it all. Poe growled as you came, glancing down in wonder to see more wetness pool and realizing you were squirting, and he hadn’t known you could do that.
“Fuck, baby, is that for me? You perfect little thing, you are the hottest fucking woman. Holy shit!”
You slumped into the mattress with a huge breath, the warm air hitting his hand and he moved it so that you could catch your breath. With care he slowly removed his fingers from you, looking from your blissed-out expression to your soaked underwear, to your essence all over his hand. He quickly removed your panties, then shuffled down the bed, even more turned on now.
“I just, fuck I need to taste you real quick, sweet girl.” And he dove into your folds before you could respond, taking care to avoid your sensitive nub, and licked you like it was his last meal. You tasted fucking delicious and he didn’t want to stop, pushing your legs apart he cleaned up every drop you’d leaked while you whimpered for him.
“Sh-shit,” You cried, voice low, writhing against his hold on your hips. “Poe, please. Please!”
Poe pulled back, licking his lips, and grinned up at you. “You okay, sweet girl?” You nodded and he rose, eager to get you over the edge again so that he could lick up everything you gave him. “Please what? What do you need?” He crawled back up your body, chuckling when he felt your hands pushing desperately at his briefs.
You cleared your throat, “You. Always needed you, Poe.” You whispered, your voice so filled with emotion you nearly knocked him over. He took over pushing his briefs off and then reached under you with both arms, securing your body before lifting you, changing positions so that you were sitting in his lap. His length pressed against your thigh as you settled.
Poe stroked some stray hair out of your face and kissed you softly, holding you against him and savouring the moment. He’d never been so filled with emotion and pleasure before, every woman he’d been with over the years simply could not compare to the power and love between you and Poe, and it was terrifying. Sensing his apprehension, you drew back from the kiss and stroked along his jaw soothingly and Poe took a moment to simply drink you in.
“I never knew anything could be like this,” He admitted, now running his hands all over your body, pausing to squeeze his favourite curves. You smiled at him, pupils blown wide with lust, your expression telling him you agreed. “I’ve wasted so many years, (y/n). I’m so sorry.”
“No,” You shook your head, dropping one hand to seek out his length and holding it gently in your hand, lining him up. “No, we aren’t apologizing for our mistakes anymore. It’s you and me now, Poe, you, and, m-me.” You lowered yourself, your scratchy voice breaking off into a sigh of content as you slowly sunk onto his length.
Poe had pictured being with you like this many times in his life, certainly more than he’d like the admit. But even combined, none of those fantasies could come close to how it felt to bring your bodies together, the fucking ecstasy, the sight of his cock splitting you open as you slowly took him inch by inch. Your hands tangled in his hair again as a low, continuous whine fell from your lips. Your face was slightly scrunched as you tried to relax and accommodate him, and Poe was enraptured, watching everything with his hands at your hips.
You were devastating. And you were his.
Poe hurled headfirst into oblivion as you settled fully on his lap, a groan escaping as your tight heat clenched around him, and it was all he could do to speak, to just tell you how perfect you were. “Baby, oh fuck, I love you,” He leaned back slightly, dropping one arm to brace on the bed and then gripping your hip with the other. Poe set a slow and deliberate pace with his feet pressing into the baseboard of his bed. He rolled up, then back, his cock dragging halfway out before sinking back into you as you gripped his shoulders and whimpered above him.
It was sensual, soft, each movement like a slow dance, your hips rolling down to meet his in perfect harmony with his thrusts. You were biting your lip, eyes locked on Poe’s, and he could feel you flutter around him every time he groaned; so he let himself make noise, let you hear how good you made him feel, grunting and cursing with every blissful motion.
Even though the pleasure kept mounting Poe didn't want to rush this, so he moved at the same pace for a long time. Occasionally stopping completely when he was fully inside of you and relishing the sensation until you whimpered and he would move again with a grunt. It was divine, perfection...you. It was all you.
“Poe,” You whimpered as you moved one hand from his shoulder to push into his curls, urging him toward you as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. He kissed you slowly as well, licking into your mouth, over your lips, drinking up your moans, until eventually it wasn’t enough for you and you made a noise in your throat, a little frustrated sound that made him smirk. Made him even fucking harder.
Without warning he sat forward, brought both hands to your hips and slammed you down onto his cock, using his strength to lift and drop you. “Sweet girl,” Poe grunted as your head tilted back in a silent cry, “That’s it, cum for me, let me feel you, baby, please.” He was desperate to feel you cum on his cock, pulling out and then slamming you back down, meeting you halfway as you struggled to hold in your noises, and Poe let loose another round of groans that seemed to propel you straight over the edge.
Your body curved forward as you came, one of your hands shooting to cover your own mouth as you sobbed in pleasure. He kept moving, watching your face rapturously until a strong clench around his cock drew his gaze downward. He had a moment to recognize what was about to happen before roaring in delight as you squirted for him again, the hot wetness coating his lap. The room filled with the wet slapping sounds of your body meeting his and Poe had to actively work not to cum, setting his jaw and gripping your hips with almost bruising strength.
“Ahh,” You whimpered, your legs going limp. Before you could fully collapse into Poe, he flipped you onto your back and started to fuck you into his mattress while peppering you with soothing kisses, “Oh Poe, more!”
He was right there, nearing the edge and yet savouring every deep thrust into your tight cunt. His movements were getting sloppy now, and he wasn’t even trying to hold back his noises because you felt so fucking good and this was so perfect and he loved you so much.
“Oh baby, baby-” He slammed into you one last time, dropping most of his weight down onto you and filling you deeply as he began to cum, his hips stuttering. You were moaning for him, weakened legs hooking behind his ass to draw him closer as he filled you, “I love you, I love you, I love you-“ He couldn’t stop saying it now, his head dropping to your shoulder-careful to avoid your injured throat-he just kept repeating himself between grunts.
As he started to come down from the high, he realized you were speaking, your voice a whisper in his ear, hands stroking his hair. “I love you too, Poe, my Poe,” He was gasping now, everything that had transpired catching up to him in the clarity of post-orgasmic bliss and your words brought his emotions back to the forefront.
He made to move back, only you stopped him, keeping him close. He looked at you, “You okay, my sweet girl?” Stars, you looked fucked out in the best ways and he swore he could cum again just at the sight of you as drunk on him as he was on you.
You nodded, giving him a soft little smile, “Just stay inside me a little longer.”
Fuck, you were going to kill him, you were so hot.
As much as he liked the idea, he didn’t want to stay on top of you and crush you, so he considered carefully before rolling you both, settling himself into the bed as you lay atop him, whimpering at the movement before resting your head on his chest. He’d started to soften inside of you, but remaining in your warmth kept him semi-hard, not something he’d ever done before and yet he decided at that moment he wanted to do it all the time.
“That was...you are perfect, you know that? Dreamt of you my whole life and that was better than I ever could have imagined.” Poe beamed at you when you looked up at him, your eyes bright. He had never been so radiantly happy in his entire life.
You reached up and ran your hand along his jaw, “Says the man who made me squirt. Twice.” You gigged, and he gazed at you for a moment before responding.
“You’ve done that before, yeah?”
When you shook your head, Poe felt a mixture of both surprise and pride swell within him, and you read that in his expression. “Yes flyboy, that was all you.” Another throaty giggle, which then morphed into a full cough as you hit the limit on your poor vocal cords.
Poe was up in an instant, carefully slipping from you and hurrying to his fridge to get you water. He passed it to you and then went into his fresher to get a warm washcloth. You were gulping the water gratefully when he returned, your eyes raking over his body with a level of possessiveness that made his cock twitch. You wanted him to yourself as much as he wanted you to himself, that much was now abundantly clear.
“Alright, sweet girl, let me take care of you,” He whispered, running the washcloth gently through your folds and tidying you up. You cooed softly, relaxing into the bed. When he was satisfied, he lifted you into his arms and carried you into the fresher to set you on his toilet. “You pee, I’m going to change the sheets.” And he wiggled his brows at you, earning him another big smile that settled right down into his oversized heart.
A short while later Poe Dameron was laying in his bed with you held in his arms. This was not the first time in his life that he drifted off to sleep with you, but it was the first time you were both nude and satisfied and so wholly consumed with your love for one another.
It was the first time he would wake in the middle of the night, hard and aching, only to find you already awake and needy for him, moaning when he rocked his hips into you and fucked you slow.
It was the first time since Charlie’s funeral that Poe would sleep entirely at peace, wrapped around his soulmate.
+
If you thought making love with Poe Dameron was perfect beyond expectations, it almost made it unfair how fucking good he was at eating you out.
You’d both woken late the morning after coming together and felt ready for more-you wanted him inside of you again. Only he insisted he hadn’t gotten anywhere near his fill of tasting you last night. Now he was happily lapping between your folds with his skilled, hot tongue and absolutely wrecking you, one hand clamped over your mouth to keep you quiet because he knew how fucking good he was.
You saw it the first time he’d made you squirt and then watched it solidify when you admitted you’d never done so before. It was hot, seeing the mixture of passion and cockiness, skill and care. You fell more and more in love with him throughout the night, when you came together and fit so perfectly, and now you were about ready to beg him for his cock before he killed you with his mouth.
When you came again for him, you were spent and though you did get wetter, you didn’t squirt. He didn’t mind, eagerly drinking up what you did give him before moving to kiss your thighs, then eased your legs together and began to massage the aching muscles. “Such a good girl,” He praised, his muscular figure drawing your eyes. You hadn’t realized how talkative, how much noise he would make, and it was the hottest shit. His groans were downright sinful, were what sent you rocketing into your orgasms the night before. “I should keep you here all day, wet and ready for me.”
“Fuck,” You replied, the words shooting straight to your core even after all of the orgasms you’d had. You sat up, struggling slightly and Poe reached out and gripped your arms, lifting you in another show of his strength that made you kind of dizzy with lust. “You’re insatiable. But we’re having lunch with Tahla, remember?”
Realization flashed over his face and he glanced over at his wrist comm next to the bed, relaxing when he saw there was still time before lunch. “Shit, I forgot. He’s leaving soon though, right? So I don’t want to bail.”
“Next week,” Poe moved to sit next to you, both of your backs against the wall now. He pulled the blanket from where it had been kicked to the end of his bed to cover you both. “He said something...that sort of made me realize how stupid I was being, right before I saw you yesterday.”
Poe turned his head to face you, his arms circling your waist and tugging you close to his side, “Oh? What did our wise, filter-free friend say?”
You giggled, then cleared your achy throat, “I had said I was going to miss him when he left and he told me he’d come back for our wedding.” You thought Poe would laugh with you, or at least scoff, but instead, he’d gone quiet and his expression turned inward in a way you couldn’t read. You hesitated a moment before tilting your head into his line of sight, though his mind was clearly a million miles away, “Poe?”
He looked at you then, for what felt like the first time in your life because of how intense his expression was, filled with love and something you couldn’t get a read on.
“I’m sorry,” He began, shaking his head a little, “I just...you are the love of my life. I meant everything I said last night.”
Warmth filled you as he spoke; you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to him saying such perfect things to you. Saying he loved you. “I know, Poe, I meant everything too.” You assured him, brushing your hair over his forehead to push back some stray curls.
Poe nodded, his expression still intense, eyes bright, “We’ve lost a lot of time, sweet girl. But I don’t want to waste another minute. I-” He paused, and you were growing increasingly confused. When he suddenly pulled away standing up to cross his room, your curiosity spiked, confusion at an all-time high.
Until that is, you saw what he was doing.
He was pulling something out of the inner breast pocket of his flight suit, lifting a chain and then turning to you back at the bed. He glanced between his hand and you once, stealing himself before dropping down to one knee next to the bed.
“Maybe he won’t have to come back for our wedding,” Poe opened his palm to reveal exactly what you knew he kept in his flight suit, “Maybe he’s here just in time. Marry me, (y/n). I love you and I never want to spend another minute without you. You are my soulmate, so please marry me, sweet girl.”
Your eyes fell from the passionate look on Poe’s face to his mother’s wedding band that lay in his outstretched hand.
+
34 ABY - Aftermath of the Battle of Takodana - D’Qar
Climbing from his ship with his adrenaline running high thanks to the success on Takodana, Poe turned and gasped when saw his droid, the orange and white blur zooming over to him. “BB8 my buddy!” He cried, dropping to his knees, “It’s so good to see you!” He looked the droid over, happy to see it looked to be in good shape.
BB8 beeped, excitedly explaining what had happened to it, “What? Saved you? Where is he?” He asked, the droid responding quickly and Poe glanced up, eyes landing on the defected ex-Storm Trooper who had saved Poe. Holy shit!
Finn spotted Poe at the same time and began running forward, “Poe?” He called, and Poe rose to his feet and started towards him, still reeling in surprise that Finn was here, that he was okay.
Poe felt himself grin, “Oh no!”
“Poe Dameron, you’re alive?”
Rushing up to Finn, Poe gasped out, “Buddy!” He pulled his new friend in for a hug, “So are you!” And he looked well enough, thankfully, too. Poe had worried he’d been captured back by the First Order after he couldn’t find him on Jakku.
“What happened to you?
“What happened to me? I got thrown from the crash. Woke up at night-no you, no ship, nothing,” Poe released Finn, pointing to him and then to his droid, “Listen, BB8 says that you saved him.”
“No, no, it wasn’t just me-“
Poe stepped closer to Finn, needing the man to understand, “You completed my mission Finn, I-that’s my jacket.” His gaze dropped to the jacket-his jacket- that Finn was wearing.
Finn glanced down, “Oh,” And he started to take it off and suddenly, Poe realized he didn’t need the jacket back, that Finn needed it more.
“No, keep it,” He punched Finn’s arm affectionately, “It suits you.”
Finn stopped and straightened, his eyes roving over Poe once again, “I still can’t believe your alive, Poe.”
Poe laughed, grasping his friends' shoulders, “You’ve got no idea what I have to live for, Finn. Dying ain’t an option.”
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loosesodamarble · 3 years ago
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congrats on your milestone!! if Fruit Punch is still available do you think you could write something for Vanessa or Magna?
Thank you, Sol! I'm so happy about the milestone (especially since it gives me an excuse to write for others)!
Let's move onto your order though: one Magna Swing-centric oneshot, coming in hot!
I decided to go with Magna since the song of the fruit punch request is High Hopes by Panic! at the Disco. It's fitting for the Black Bulls but Magna especially (in general and recent chapters).
..........
Born a peasant. No wealth or title. Low in mana. Expected to achieve little more than survive.
Despite the hand dealt to him by fate, Magna still dreamed of doing something more with the life of his that others deemed worthless. He desired to fight on behalf of and protect others.
“You sure you’re gonna make it, Magna?” one of Magna’s friends asked, his tone skeptical.
“Ha ha. Yeah,” another piped up. “Magic Knights only care about our status and mana. And you’ve got neither.”
“Aw, shaddup!” Magna groaned. “I’ve been training for a long time now! I’ll definitely get in!” he assured the group, grinning and nodding all the while.
…..
Magna glared at his adversary, a smirking young noble.
The bastard thinks he’s going to have an easy win, huh? Taking a deep breath, Magna took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his jacket. “Prepare to lose to a peasant!”
“We’ll see how long you last against true power,” the young man stated.
Magna clenched his hands at his sides. Refusing to give in to the taunt, he bit back a retort. The mockery was just another motivation to win, he told himself.
“Begin!” the referee shouted.
Two grimoires opened.
“Fire Magic: Exploding Fireball!” Magna screamed while throwing the spell with all his might.
“Water Creation Magic: Liquid Dam!”
A wall of water shot up between Magna’s spell and his opponent. There was a burst of steam when the spells collided.
“I suggest you give up now, peasant,” said the noble, smirking and tilting his head to the side. “Or do you plan to become a laughing stock for continuing this fight? That might be the only way your pathetic name gets remembered!”
“Like hell! I’m shooting for the stars here!” Magna announced without a hint of shame. I know I’m not getting into the Golden Dawn or Silver Eagles. But I still have a chance with the other squads. I’m going to show them what I’ve got! “This is gonna be my victory!”
The noble threw his head back, laughing. “A couple of bold claims means nothing if you can’t live up to them! Water Magic: White Water Blast!” He created a ball of water, swirling with white foam, then launched it in Magna’s direction.
Then here’s my counter! Manga compressed mana between his hands. The heat rose and a red glow reflected in his eyes. “Fire Magic: Exploding Buckshot!”
A barrage of burning streaks flew towards the noble’s spell. Water and fire clashed in the middle, creating a large burst of white steam and black smoke. Magna immediately dashed into the smokescreen. He focused on sensing his opponent’s mana. When he felt a spell coming, he jumped out of the way while still advancing forward. It helped that the steam and smoke were thick, meaning aiming through it was difficult enough.
I’ve gotta conserve mana where I can, Magna thought. He squinted to make out his foe’s outline on the other side of the smoke and steam. Goad him into using more spells than me. Minimize how many I use. He formed a fist. It may look pathetic to them but it’s how I’m gonna fight!
Magna cleared the smokescreen and came face-to-face with his foe.
“Gah! Stay back!” the young man yelped.
The noble generated a mass of water which Magna batted away with his Grand Slam spell. With the opening made, Magna threw his fist into the youth’s jaw.
“How dare!”
A torrent of water slammed in Magna—whether or not the noble intended for Magna to inhale some of the water was up in the air—and drove him backwards. The battle turned into a relentless beat down on both sides. Magna got soaked time and time again. Yet he continued to charge forward and threw every punch he could get in. Spells were used sparingly if he was having trouble closing the distance. It dragged on with neither side giving an inch.
I’ve gotta finish it! Magna took a slow, deep breath to focus himself. I don’t know how much he has left but I’ve got half of mine left. And if I let it out all at once…
Magna ran towards his opponent. The noble cast a water blast spell. Magna pivoted around it. Mana charged in his hand. He got in arm’s reach.
“Exploding Fireball! Point blank!”
BOOM!
Despite it being his own spell, Magna was thrown back and into the wall. He cracked one eye open to see how his foe fared against it.
No way!
His opponent still stood, a wall of water halfway evaporated in front of him.
…..
When Magna heard his number called, he hesitated to step forward. For all he did, he didn’t go all the way and didn’t show off the best of him. He walked up, heart sinking to his chest.
I’ll take anything. Any squad. Magna held his breath and refrained from blinking so he wouldn’t miss a thing. Just give me a chance!
Then...
One hand, as well as Magna's hopes, raised.
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clanoffetts · 3 years ago
Text
Like Real People Do, Chapter 2
series summary: Kyra Esson, a pilot trying to forget her past, takes Jango Fett up on an offer. It's supposed to be her last hurrah before she settles down, but she can't seem to leave the bounty hunter, no matter how hard they both try.
word count: 2.2k
warnings/tags: swearing; yearning; slow burn; fluff; uh oh jango catches feelings; eventual smut (but not for awhile); severe misunderstanding of Slave I’s layout
series masterlist (coming soon)
“Good morning, Mandalorian.”
The Mandalorian sits silent and still at the bar in the cantina, and if Kyra didn’t know better she’d think he’d been sat there all night. “Good morning. I trust you’ve made your decision.”
“I have,” Kyra says. “I’ll go.”
The Mandalorian’s helmet turns slightly to look at her. “Very well.” He stands, turning to leave the cantina, trusting Kyra to follow.
“My name is Jango Fett,” he says as soon as the two of them are clear of the early morning (or, more likely, overnight) patrons of the cantina. “Yours?”
“Kyra Esson,” she replies, holding her hand out for him to shake. Jango takes her hand, the leather of his gloves rough and his grip tight. “Good to meet you, Jango Fett.”
All the man does is hum in agreement. “Are you fine with taking my ship?”
Kyra is slightly confused- wouldn’t it make more sense to take hers? But a Mandalorian would know more about bounty hunting than her, and she knows from the stories not to question one. “Yeah, I guess that’s fine.”
“We will leave as soon as you’re ready,” Jango says. “You won’t need food, I have plenty.”
Kyra’s face contorts slightly, her brain littered with questions once again. Which will probably be a normal occurrence with this Jango Fett, she thinks. Kyra grips the straps of her backpack again, mentally checking over what she knows is inside. “I’m ready.”
Jango’s head tilts slightly, but he nods. “You fine walking to my ship?”
“I think you both over and underestimate me, Jango,” she replies. “I can walk to your ship.”
As they make their way through the town, the twin suns still rising, Kyra tries to figure out why she trusts this man. She didn’t the night before, that’s for sure. Her gut wasn’t screaming ‘run!’, and that’s enough for her to follow this armored man to his ship in the middle of nowhere.
You can handle yourself, Kyra reassures herself. You’ve got your blaster and your blade, and you can outsmart him if you need to. Kyra doesn’t believe that, not really, not when she looks at the broad man ahead of her. And, Maker, is he broad, the armor adding to his muscles, but armor can only do so much. Kyra tries to scold herself, she knows not to think of co-workers that way, but this man…
No, she tells herself, averting her gaze down into the sand. He’s just a mirage in my desert, nothing more. Kyra laughs a little at herself, Maker, I’ve got to get laid.
Jango’s ship was far from the outskirts of the settlement, and Kyra can’t quite figure out why. The ship is nothing special, no one would want to steal it, not even in these parts, and he obviously had enough credits to utilize the hangar in town. The passenger compartment was small compared to that of Kyra’s ship, and the cockpit was even smaller. She lugged herself and her pack up into the cockpit after Jango.
“Bunk’s back there,” he says, taking a seat at the controls. “That’s where you’ll sleep.”
“And you?”
“Here,” he says with nonchalance, flipping switches and pushing buttons until lights flash and the ship groans.
Kyra shakes her head. “I’m not taking your bed from you, I’ll be comfortable in a chair.”
“No, you will take the cot,” he insists. “It isn't about your comfort.”
“Fine,” Kyra huffs. She pushes past Jango in the pilot’s seat, leading herself up to the “bedroom”.
The bed is much like the rest of the ship- torn-up, creaky, and not much to look at. The quilt that sits atop the thin mattress is almost in tatters, the fabric strained and the batting pushing out at the seams; the pillow isn’t much better. A far cry from Kyra’s room on her own ship, but it’s not the worst place she’s slept, and certainly not the worst ship she’s spent her time on.
“To your liking, princess?” Jango’s voice over her shoulder makes her jump, but he just chuckles. It’s a deep, rumbling sound, slightly distorted by the mechanics of his helmet. “Is it?”
“Fit for a queen,” she replies. Kyra drops her pack onto the bed, and pushes back past Jango. Her shoulder collides with his armored one, and the man doesn’t budge. And, kriff, it kind of hurts. She’d heard stories of beskar but, goddamn, it can’t be that strong.
Kyra sits in the copilot’s seat with her arms crossed over her chest, eyes flicking to Jango who takes his place in the pilot’s chair. She wants to get comfortable, take off her boots, take out her braids, and drag that sad quilt from the bunk into the cockpit to watch the stars. It’s the only thing that’ll take her mind off not being the pilot, off of not being in control, but she can’t , she’s stuck sitting stiff in the seat in her uncomfortable, sand and sweat covered clothes from the trek this weird man dragged her on. How Jango sat there, looking somewhat comfortable in thick canvas and armor after walking across a Tatooinian town, Kyra couldn’t figure out.
“Taking off in three, two…” Jango’s voice is monotone as he fiddles with switches and presses at buttons until the ship groans and lifts off the sand.
The swirl of sand is beautiful, kicking against the windows of the ship until it rises out of reach, but Kyra’s heart quickens when she can’t see out of the windows. Kyra’s hands have to keep themselves busy on the armrests throughout the take off, as if she was sitting in the pilot’s chair of her ship, in control of everything. Of course Jango has it under control, you can’t fly a ship like this and survive if you don’t, but with every shutter throughout the take-off process, Kyra’s skin turns impossibly whiter as she grips at the metal of the chair.
“Nervous, girl?”
How the fuck did he notice? Kyra swears that visor hasn’t done anything but face dead forward since the takeoff sequence was initiated. “I don’t know you, Fett,” she says. “For all I know, you could fly like a Coruscanti.”
“That an insult?”
“One of the worst on Pamarthe.” Jango just hums.
The ship leaves the atmosphere as smooth as it can and Jango readies for the jump to hyperspace. “You strapped in, girl?”
“Yeah.”
“Jumping in three, two, one.” The stars that surround the ship shift into brilliant streaks of light, before churning together into the throws of hyperspace.
“It’ll be two standard days,” he tells her, checking over the systems a final time before finally sitting back in his seat.. “I know,” Kyra responds, it’s her homeworld, after all. “You have a shower? The sand’s a bitch.”
“Through there,” he points down a passageway. “But I’m using it first.” Kyra rolls her eyes, and Jango catches it. “This is my ship, girl, don’t forget that.”
“Never,” Kyra responds. “Then I’ll be in the alcove you call a room.”
“You’re not too great at the whole insult thing,” he calls as he climbs down the ladder. “I thought they were ruthless on Pamarthe.”
Kyra stands there, the gears in her brain desperately trying to conjure something that wouldn’t be heard on a primary school playground, and failing miserably. “Shut up,” she mutters, making her way back to the bunk.
-
A shower shouldn’t take that long. But here she was, surrounded by her cleaned and polished weapons and her pack that had been reorganized on the bed she’d fixed to her liking. And that man was still in the kriffing shower.
“All yours, girl,” he calls up the ladder, finally. “Not much hot water left, though. Sorry about that.”
“I’m sure you are,” Kyra groans, lowering herself and her comfortable clothes down the ladder from the cockpit. Sitting in the space below is Jango Fett, in almost all his glory. He’s missing the armor now, clad only in a pair of sweatpants. Here she was thinking Mandalorians were conservative.
It’s dim in this part of the ship, but as Jango sits at a workbench, hunched over a rifle, she can make out a few large scars set into the tan skin of his back, one in a perfect line parallel to his spine. His damp curly hair decorates his head and a little down his thick neck, and probably even further down his chest, she thinks, and he’s obviously quite toned from the fighting that landed him in his scars. Kyra’s eyes snap away from him quickly, and she continues into the ‘fresher. I’ve got to get laid, she tells herself again. Bad.
The fresher is as small and dingy as the rest of the compartments of the ship. There’s a towel and cloth folded nicely on the counter in what she hopes was a gesture for her because, if not, then too bad.
The water isn’t hot, not in the slightest, as Kyra quickly runs some of the scentless soap through her hair and down her body. The least this rich man parading as a poor man could do is let her borrow some soap for her freezing cold shower.
Kyra steps into the legs of her sweatpants, securing the drawstring at her hips and then pulls her shirt over her head.
“Pamarthe didn’t do so well,” Jango comments, as she walks out of the ‘fresher. He’s wearing a plain black long sleeve shirt now, and reclining against his workbench.
“Huh?”
He nods at her shirt. “Oh,” Kyra says, realizing the shirt is that of the Pamarthen limmie team, the promo shirts from last year’s Galactic Cup. “Yeah, I don’t care much for limmie.”
“Limmie? You mean bolo-ball?”
“No,” she laughs. “I mean limmie. Mandalorian boy is secretly a Core-worlder?”
He shakes his head, finally cracking a smile. “Just what my father called it. People back home made fun of me, too.”
He’s handsome when he smiles, a far cry from the stern features of his resting face, Kyra notices. She smiles back, just happy to have established some kind of rapport. “I don’t really keep up with the game. The shirts are nice, though, and when your team sucks, the shirts are cheap.”
Jango gives a hearty laugh at that, and nods. “I can imagine.”
“Really? I thought Mandalore was pretty good at limmie.”
His smile dims a little at the mention of the planet Kyra thought to be his home. “Yeah, I guess. I’m not from Mandalore, though.”
“No? I thought, well, the armor kind of screams ‘I'm from Mandalore’. ”
He smiles a little. “I’m from the sector. But not from Mandalore, no,” he explains. “They don’t teach Mandalorian history on Pamarthe?” he jokes.
“Wouldn’t be of any use,” Kyra responds. “We’d have slept through that class, too.”
Kyra leans against the wall near the ‘fresher door and immediately wishes she hadn’t. It was an uncomfortable position, but she didn’t want to shift, she wanted to look smooth for some reason. It really wasn’t working.
“Not a bunch of scholars on Pamarthe?” His tone is jovial, but his features aren’t, he’s back to serious.
Kyra chuckles a bit, trying to draw out the joking man she’d only just met a few minutes ago. “Only when it comes to ships.”
“Should’ve figured,” he replies, and it seems as though the joker is no longer, he’s back to just Jango. He then turns on his heel to face the bench, back to work on his rifle before Kyra could even process what he said.
Just when I thought we were getting along, she thinks. No matter, she climbs up the ladder and walks through the cockpit, stopping to focus on the blue of space for just a moment.
Back by her bunk, she hangs her clothes up to air out from earlier, and flops down onto the bed. Her body, now that it has a break, seems to cry out from the strain of wading through sand and then carrying her up and down that Maker-forsaken ladder on the ship.
The front-side pocket of her pack holds painkillers, and Kyra opens the container, popping the little pill into her mouth and swallowing it dry. The pillow she lays her head back down on is thin, Jango must have to fold it in half every night to even feel it underneath him. The cot isn’t much better, if she lay on her side she could feel springs dig into the meat of her hip, but if she lay on her back she was forced to stare at the cobwebs that didn’t seem to bother Jango Fett.
Not a lot seemed to bother Jango, but a lot about Jango bothered Kyra. She didn’t want to be rude, but damn she was nosy. Why strike up conversation to just turn around and act like nothing happened? Why insist she sleep on this stupid cot if not for her comfort? Just why, period?
Kyra sits up now, digging her datapad from her backpack and setting it up on her stomach, and presses play on a holovid romance about a Jedi and a shopkeeper to drown out the sounds of Jango sanding something down in the hold below.
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eastertag · 4 years ago
Text
Role Model
@fallenfurther gift for @willow-salix 
Gordon was standing at the door of John’s room, peering in with a smirk on his face. Alarms bells went off in Alan’s head as he headed over to investigate. Peeking over his brother’s shoulder, his eyes fell on the subject of Gordon’s curiosity. Knelt on the floor, in a sea of beauty products, was their nephew with Selene’s hand mirror lying before him. The child was staring into it with a purple pencil gripped in his hand. He glanced up at them and waved happily.
“Alan!”
Alan’s mouth dropped.
“It gets better every time he looks up.”
Gordon grinned while fighting to suppress his laughter, which might distract their nephew from his work. The boy turned back to his reflection, before dropping the pencil and picking up three more. Selene was not going to be happy if she saw this mess.
“Should we do something?”
“You mean beside laugh?”
“Selene’s going to be mad.”
Gordon strode boldly into the room and slipped his phone from his pocket. Crouching, he lowered the phone to the child’s level. Their nephew, seeing the camera, leant back and posed. He had a big proud smile that Gordon eagerly captured from various angles. He flicked through them quickly to confirm they were in focus, knowing he would show them to his nephew when he was older, before tapping on the messenger app and pulling up his chat with Selene.
Gordon: You might want to check your room sometime soon.
“She’ll be mad, alright,” Gordon confirmed with a smile, “but not with us. Scott has a LOT of grovelling to do.”
Alan just stared as Gordon casually retreated, leaving their nephew to continue. Hurried footsteps sounded behind them caused Alan to turn. Worry plastered his eldest brother’s face and Alan felt sorry for the man.
“Have you seen-”
Gordon strode out of John’s room, interrupting Scott and throwing his thumb over his shoulder.
“He’s in there.”
Scott rushed into the room only to halt at the sight of his son. The fear that had filled him when he’d first noticed his son missing was replaced with complete shock.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Gordon jeered from the door, not wanting to miss a second.
Scott would have glared at Gordon if he was able to tear his eyes away from his son. Kneeling down by the dresser, which the boy had somehow managed to climb, he reached forward and gently turned the child’s head to get a better look.
“Daddy!”
“What have you done?”
“I like Selene.”
The innocence of the response made Scott close his eyes and take a breath. He adored his son but sometimes it was hard. The child was a mess. It appeared he’d tried to replicate Selene getting all glammed up for a date, only without any of the skill needed to do so. What Scott suspected was mascara had been brushed through his eyebrows and across half his forehead. Red lipstick, which currently lay crushed on the floor, was plastered around his mouth, with a red streak on his front tooth. To top it all off, there were thick blue and purple smudges on his cheeks with large purple whiskers cutting across his face under his eyes. Then there was the mess on the floor. The child had managed to get hold of Selene’s makeup bag and up end it. Half the stuff had been opened, from three lipsticks, one destroyed and two with small fingerprints on, multiple pencils were scattered about, their colourful leads probably shattered inside. Palettes of powders were scattered, the colours blended with nail scratches in them. Those same powders dusted the floor, along with various other colourful streaks, made by the grubby fumbling fingers. There were very few items that had survived unscathed from the toddler’s eager hands. Scott didn’t know where to start. There was no way he could hide this from Selene, but maybe he could at least salvage something and clean up the floor before she found out. A cough from the door made him turn. He swallowed. The witch was standing at the door between his two brothers, hands on her hips.
“I can explain.”
Her eyebrow rose. Scott stood, ready to try and salvage the situation with a dimpled smile and some pleading, when his bottom knocked the dresser. Even his speedy reflexes were no match against gravity. One of the perfume bottles toppled, having been knocked to the edge by his son, and shattered against the floor filling the room with its floral scent.
“Uh oh,” chimed his son as Scott put his head in his hands, his heart beating fast at the thought of creating not just a mess but a hazard for his boy. He sighed, turning his blue eyes on the witch.
“I’m so sorry, Selene.”
Eyes on the floor, Scott quickly used his shoe to drag all the pieces of glass towards him and out of reach of his son. Glancing at the dresser, he moved a second perfume bottle away from the edge before crouching down and collecting up the shards in his hand. Footsteps walked around them, before returning with a sigh. A small binbag was held open before him and Scott carefully dropped the glass in before taking it so he could drop the smaller pieces in as he went. The whole time he’d had half an eye on his boy, who had paused with the change of atmosphere in the room. The perfume pooled on the wooden floor had become a new target of interest and his hand went straight into it. With glass in his own hands, Scott was powerless to stop it. Arms scooped up the child. Scott turned to see Selene balancing the boy on her hip and taking in the child’s face.
“I like you Selene.”
A smile crossed Selene’s lips. “I like you too.”
“I think he means ‘I look like you’.”
John stepped into the room, having assessed the scene from the doorway. He ignored the glare his wife sent his way. Glancing down at his brother’s guilty face confirmed it really had been just an accident. Though the presence of his youngest two brothers, and the smirk on Gordon’s face, suggested they hadn’t done anything to stop, or help, the matter. John slipped into the en-suite and grabbed a fresh roll of toilet paper and the makeup wipes. He passed the wipes to Selene, who took them and fell back onto the bed with the child. Expertly slipping a wipe out one-handedly, she started attacking the boy’s hands to stop him spreading the mess further. Ripping the roll open, John spiralled a load around his hand, before tearing it off and dropping it onto the pool of perfume. As much as it would evaporate away, he’d rather help it along, the smell already filling the room. Scott wiped up the boards with the tissue, throwing the sodden lumps on top of the glass when finished.
With the floor dry and clear of glass, John watched his brother tie the bag and dump it in the bin. John made a mental note to discard it immediately. A grunt from the bed had John turn around. Selene was now wiping their nephew’s face, who was very upset about it. John’s heart softened at his pleading, even though the child was the cause of all this, it was hard to be mad at him. Instead, John turned to the toddler’s father. He made the most of the extra few inches he had on his brother with a downwards stare. He held out his hand to the man.
“Phone.”
Scott sighed, slipping his mobile out of his pocket and placing it in his brother’s palm. Right now, he had to do everything to avoid John freezing all his accounts in revenge. His mobile was passed to Selene.
“I believe you know the access code for this. Order everything you need. Replacements for all that has been damaged as well as anything that takes your fancy, Scott owes you.”
Scott scooped up his son as Selene tapped the screen and immediately got to work.
“Come on, mister. Let’s finish cleaning you up. Order more wipes and remover, Selene. I’m going to need plenty to get all this muck off.”
“Already done.”
The witch didn’t even glance up. Carrying his son into his brother’s bathroom, he perused the various bottles on the side. He selected a bottle that appeared promising before plonking his son on the toilet seat. Selene had gotten the worst off, though there were still some faint whiskers from where the liner had been applied extra thick. Popping the lid off the bottle, Scott squeezed the cream onto a cotton pad and rubbed it against his son’s face. Hands pushed against his arms as distressed cries of ‘no’ filled the small room, the child really not happy that his hard work was being erased. Rubbing the pad along the black lines of mascara, it thankfully began to fade. The pad became darker with each wipe, and Scott relaxed slightly as he carefully scrubbed his toddler’s skin. After a few minutes he sat back and surveyed his son. The child was pouting but appeared clean. Rummaging in a drawer, Scott retrieved a clean flannel and dampened it with soapy water. One last wash for good measure and Scott was satisfied. He rung out the cloth, stepped out the bathroom and lobbed it into the laundry basket. Scott ignored John’s eyeroll, though the scattered makeup had been picked up and floor cleaned in Scott’s absence. He was going to be John’s least favourite brother for a while. Turning back to his son, who was just as grumpy as his uncle, Scott wanted to start the day again. Retrieving his son, he hoped the strop would be short-lived.
“Okay sweetie. Next time you want to look like Aunt Selene, you have to come and ask me, okay?”
The toddler nodded, excitement sparkling in his blue eyes. He was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, clutching a bag containing the ruined makeup. Selene turned to her best friend, who was perched on the table before her.
“We shall start with nails. Scott, I want my toes painted purple.”
Stretching out her leg, she unceremoniously plonked her foot in his lap. Selene watched the commander of International Rescue route around in her box of polish for all the shades of purple, before presenting them to her. She pondered for a moment.
“The deep purple with glitter.”
Scott put the rest back before shaking up the selected bottle. The polish had been a gift from a friend. The deep indigo paint contained a conservative amount of glitter, so it appeared like stars on her nails. It reminded her of a night sky. After unscrewing the cap, he placed his fingers around her ankle and carefully started to brush along her nails. His face was a picture of concentration. Happy he was going to do his best, Selene turned to her nephew. She held up the small selection of child safe nail polish John had ordered the previous month, after seeing the boy’s interest in hers. Gods, her man was amazing. Her nephew’s eyes widened as he reached out to touch the colourful bottles. His eyes flicked back to his father.
“Which colour do you want on your toes?”
“Like Selene.”
“You want purple too?”
He nodded, his eyes smiling up into hers. Selene singled out the lilac one in her hands and presented it to the boy.
“How about this purple?”
The child paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. He could see it wasn’t the same one she was having applied. Flicking between the two colours, he finally agreed with a nod.
“Perfect. Now, I’m going to need you to hold very still now. Your toes are small.”
She grabbed his ankles and pulled his feet onto her lap, forcing him to lie back in the process. He giggled as his head landed in John’s lap. Slipping off his shoes and socks, Selene could hold his foot in one hand. His nails were tiny, but she was skilled. After a quick shake of the bottle, she offered her other foot to Scott, before getting to work on her nephew. With a steady hand, she gave each nail a coat of colour.
“Keep your feet still while they dry, and I’ll do a rainbow on your fingers.”
With the boy’s feet held in her lap, she made the most of the colours that came in the set. His thumbs were painted red, then his fingers were orange, yellow, green and finally blue. The only colour that hadn’t been used was pink.
“How about we paint your Daddy’s nails with this one?”
Her nephew turned to Scott, uncertain glee in his eyes. A nod from Scott had the child giving her a dimpled grin. The man had no choice and offered his hands out in sacrifice. A quick check of the child’s nails confirmed they were dry. Slipping her nephew onto her lap and cuddling him close, she offered him the bottle.
“How about we do it together?”
“Please don’t,” groaned Scott, “if I have to have pink nails, at least make sure they are neat.”
“You don’t have a say in this,” John stated, not even glancing up from his tablet. Scott’s death stare bounced straight off her man.
Selene passed the brush to her nephew and encased his hand in hers. She guided it towards his father’s thumb. Chuckles bubbled out the child as they stroked the pink polish over the nail. It wasn’t easy, Selene had to push against her nephew at times, but it was fun. The uneven edges and accidental coating of the skin around the nail made it all the better. Once finished, Scott scrutinised his fingertips while slipping off his shoes.
“You might as well do my feet too.”
A socked foot landed in their lap. Her nephew screwed up his face.
“Ew. Smelly.”
Selene threw her head back, laughing at the betrayal as John sniggered beside them.
“Traitor.”
Her nephew stuck his tongue out at his father as he yanked off the sock. Scott’s feet didn’t actually smell that bad, and it wasn’t long until he had a complete set of badly painted toes. Giving the child a squeeze, she shifted him round to face her.
“Ready to look like me?”
“Just what we need, a mini-Selene.”
Selene shot her husband a glare, only to be softened by the affection held in those stunning emerald eyes. Damn. Dragging her eyes back to her nephew, she unzipped the bag of damaged makeup and retrieved an eyeshadow palette. John had done a marvellous job of cleaning them up and salvaging what he could. Within the slim case was an array of purple shades, with black and silver to the side. There were large gouges in the silver and darkest purple where little nails had gotten in. Selecting a light purple, she started dolling up the boy. He fidgeted, eyes screwing up each time she brushed his eyelids, but she managed to give them a reasonably even coat. A second palette contained shades of red, which she used as a blush on his cheeks. There was no way she was going to be able to line his eyes, so used the black eyeliner pencil to shape his eyebrows instead. Finally, she retrieved the bright red lipstick that was now half the length it had been that morning. A few gentle strokes against his soft lips and he was complete.
“Perfect!”
Reaching over, Selene stole John’s tablet and brought up the camera app. Her nephew smiled; his dimples enhanced by his rosy cheeks. She snapped a few photos before passing it back.
“Same colour again on your hands?”
“If you please, Scott.”
Selene held out her hands as her nephew crawled off her and over to John, who scooped him up into his own lap. Fingers prodded the tablet and whatever John had been doing was put to the side, as sound of a game came from the device. The kiss John planted into his nephew’s hair as he watched what the child was doing proved he didn’t mind the disruption. Selene knew how much the child meant to John, as well as every other Tracy on the Island.
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the-lady-writes-what · 4 years ago
Text
Gilded Cage, Part One
Summary:
Keigo Takami, AKA Hawks, has turned villain and you don't know why. After a run-in with the League of Villains, you give chase after the former hero. When you end up taking a bullet to the knee, you're surprised that Keigo not only left you alive, but has taken you to his secret lair. He's built a special cage for you. He says it's to keep the League from coming after you, but you can't help but wonder if it's true or if he just wants you for himself.
Content: Kidnapping Sorry. No smut this time, but it'll be in the next one. Stay tuned
Villain!Hawks x Hero!Reader
(You're a pro-hero whose quirk is basically bending metal. Think Toph Beifong from Avatar: The Last Airbender)
PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3
This part does not contain smut (See above mentioned note). For smut, please follow the links for Parts 2 and 3
                                                       ---080---
It was hard to walk down the halls of Endeavor’s agency these days. The news of Keigo Takami’s, also known as Hawks, betrayal hit Japan’s hero world like a tsunami. It turned into a question of who the next hero will be to go against their moral code and become a villain. Your workload had increased in the drama and paranoia that followed after Keigo’s sudden villainous change. Endeavor worked you down to the bone, but that was because he must have seen you as useful. Your hero name? Iron Maiden on account of your ability to bend metal, such as iron, steel, and copper. Netting bad guys was a whole lot easier when you could wrap them in a fence or trap them with a lamppost.
You finished the afternoon’s paperwork before heading to the breakroom for some lukewarm coffee. You half-expected Keigo to be sitting on the counter where you used to find him. He used to be a fan of Endeavor’s, so he frequented the agency whenever he felt like it. Of all the time you got to see him, it became evident that he wasn’t there to goof around Endeavor’s office. You should have known better than to encourage his casual flirting, but you couldn’t help yourself. Keigo was the first guy who turned your way after a dry spell in the romance department. It had been months since you last had a date, and even if Keigo was joking, it was nice to have a conversation with someone that didn’t involve hero work.
If only you knew back then that his over-confident smile belied an insidious plan to turn to the other side.
Keigo didn’t hurt people. Much. It wasn’t a great comfort to know that he at least didn’t go around murdering people as soon as he became a villain. That didn’t change the fact that he had become one of them. He robbed banks, caused collateral damage to the cityscape, and set the hero society into panic mode. Nobody knew who would switch sides. Heroes and civilians were starting to look at each other with suspicious eyes ever since.
You fixed yourself a cup of coffee when the cellphone on your hip went off. You immediately stopped what you were doing to pick it up. Shocked, you found your boss’s name and number on the screen. You didn’t hesitate to hit ‘receive.’
Endeavor’s voice came loud and clear, even over the sounds of fighting.
“We need you over by Central Park. Takami’s new crew showed up, and we need your quirk to help round them up!”
“On my way, sir.”
Central Park was at least ten miles from your location. Even if you speed, you won’t make it there on time by car. Not this close to rush hour. Of course, you had other methods of getting to where you needed to go. You pried open the nearest window and lept threw it. Part of your hero costume involved strips of steel wire you could sling around with like that American comic book character. Sailing over the city and swinging in between buildings was much faster than any car. You arrived at the scene with the villains terrorizing civilians trying to enjoy their day at the park. You spotted three of them charging at you as soon as you hit the ground. They were nothing but mooks. Clustered together, it was quick work wrapping them in a bundle of wire. You spotted others and repeated the process. Keigo was nowhere in sight. You heard the sound of flames engulfing the trees. Pillars of red and blue flames shot up in the distance. You found heroes to take care of the villains you’d already captured before heading towards what should have been the epicenter of the fighting. Endeavor was busy with Dabi, and there seemed to be no other villains in sight. Still no sign of Keigo anywhere.
“Endeavor!”
You dodged a blue fireball just in time. You hoped that Endeavor would order you to go elsewhere. Five more minutes, and you’d be cooking in your costume.
“Takami headed west. I leave it to you to apprehend him!” Endeavor was so focused on his opponent that he didn’t turn towards you when he gave the order.
You had to dodge more flames, both Dabi’s and Endeavor’s, to head towards Keigo’s last known whereabouts. Away from the smoke and flames, you found a trail of red feathers. There was a moment where you stopped to wonder if Keigo had been injured and left behind some feathers by mistake or if he was deliberately mocking you. However, you didn’t have a moment to linger on that. You followed the trail of feathers regardless if it was a plot.
Keigo made it easy for you to follow. That should have been your first red flag. You were so focused on getting him in handcuffs that the apparent beeline to him was so fucking clear as day. You picked up the feathers as you went. You had a fistful in each hand by the time you reached the end of the park. Your trail went ice cold.
That is until you spotted the shadow of bird wings graze above you. Your head whipped to the sky. Hawks swooped down, nearly knocking you down to the ground. His wings grazed you. He perched himself on a branch far above you.
His appearance was vastly different from the last time you saw him. He wore an all-black suit with a red and gold tie. Pewter rings were on his fingers. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but his smile was the most unnerving thing about him. You lashed outwards with your arms, the metal from your gauntlets catching him by the ankles.
“Keigo Takami, you’re under arrest. You have the right to—”
Keigo didn’t let the mild impairment weigh him down. His wings couldn’t be easily held down by you. He flew straight towards you. His height never hid the fact that he was powerful. He plowed you into the ground. The wires unwhirled around his feet and let him soar above you.
“Get back down here, bird brain!” You lashed out your wires again in hopes of pulling him back down to earth.
Each time Keigo moves just a little bit out of reach. You already spent so much on capturing those D-level cronies that you didn’t stop to think of conserving your limited amount of iron wire. Keigo’s wings took him high above to where your weapon couldn’t reach him. He smirked down at you before taking off.
You ran after him, going so far as to hopping over the chain-link fence and following on foot. Your wires came in handy twice today as you soared from lamppost to lamppost, tracking Keigo’s aerial movements. Citizens yelled words of encouragement as you chased after Japan’s new most wanted criminal. The air stung your cheeks, and you could feel your eyes watering as you sped faster between rooftops.
Keigo made the mistake of flying to close to the building whose roof you just scaled. There was a split-second decision. You could stop and let him get away, or you could take the chance. You lunged for him, limbs scrambling through the air to find purchase. Your hands grabbed his suit jacket. Hauling yourself upon his back, you managed to secure your legs around him and put his neck in a headlock.
“As I said before, you’re under arrest!” You screamed as the wind busted your eardrums.
Keigo merely looked over his shoulder at you. His smile was cheeky as ever.
“Really, Princess? The way I see it…you’re the one at my mercy. Unless you got a plan to get us both safely on the ground without bashing our brains on the concrete.”
You growled as Keigo caught you. You didn’t think this far ahead.
You screamed as Keigo flew up towards the sun at lightning speed. Light burning your eyes, you had no choice but to shield them. Keigo used your distraction as the opportunity to shift your weight off his back. All too late, you felt your legs and arms loosen around him. Soon you were plummeting back to the ground. With any luck, your wires would find purchase on something and save you from falling to your death at the last minute. At the rate you were falling, good luck.
You were ten feet from meeting a concrete rooftop when Keigo reappeared. He wrapped you in his arms almost in a possessive manner.
“You’re way too pretty to let splatter. Come on. I’ve got a much better place to finish this!”
His clever hands worked your phone from your belt. Keigo dropped it on the ground, where it shattered several feet below you. Your only chance of survival was to let him take you where he wanted and not get your brains to plaster the sidewalk. His wings soared over the city. You once imagined being in his arms like this. It only made your stomach churn with the thought of what he was going to do to you once you were where he wanted you.
Keigo dropped down in the industrial district. Factories surrounded you. The smell of iron and diesel filled your lungs. But of all the places he picked, why did Keigo go where you had the most advantage? Didn’t he realize that with all of this metal, you were the one with the home-field edge? You didn’t have the time to ask or react when he pulled out the gun from his jacket.
In a flash, your life flashed in your mind. You didn’t stand there waiting to die. At least, you were going to make sure they say you died fighting to your last breath. You charged for Keigo, metal whips whirring to life.
BANG!
It was over. Except instead of sweet oblivion that came with death, you found yourself bleeding on the ground. Your blood pooled around your knee, where he shot you. The pain was exquisite as the bullet lodged itself in your knee cap. You weren’t going to be standing on that leg for a very long time; you could forget about fighting. Keigo’s black shoes came into your line of vision. From shock, you got onto your elbows to look at the bastard.
“What…the hell?” You ground your teeth. “I didn’t picture…you to be the sadist. Going to kill…me…slowly? Is that how you roll now?”
Keigo put his gun away. Then, he reached into the other side of his jacket. When his hand came away this time, he held a syringe.
“That was just to keep you from fighting me. I’m going to get you patched up real quick. Just as soon as I give you your medicine.”
Keigo was faster than you. Your hand shot up to grab him, but the needle was already in your neck. He squeezed the trigger and pumped you full of the drug. It took a few minutes for it to kick in. By the time he had you in his arms again, your head was spinning. A moment later, you finally found that oblivion you were looking for earlier. This time, you were reasonably sure you’d wake up this time, and you weren’t going to know where he was taking you. And that was the scariest thought you had before passing out in the former hero’s arms.
When you woke up, you noticed the stiffness in your leg. Your favorite color draped the bed you laid in. Your hero’s costume was gone and replaced with a negligee you wouldn’t own even if you had a boyfriend. It, too, was in your favorite color. The lace hem barely touched your upper thigh.
Further down, your right leg was held in a cast. Your foot rested on a pillow. As your vision cleared, you got a better picture of where you were.
It could have been described as a room if only it had more than one wall. Where plaster walls should have been, stood solid gold bars. The floors were marble tiles. There was a dresser, a desk, a lavish set up on a vanity, and a familiar coffee table on which sat a widescreen T.V. Every item in your cell was made of either wood, fiber, plastic, or metal you couldn’t bend, including the bars. Squeezed between the actual wall and the cell bars stood a small room. With its door closed, so you couldn’t discern its purpose yet. Footsteps came down the hallway. They rounded the corner. Keigo smiled at you like you were a pretty bird in his cage.
“You’ve been asleep for a while now. Doc had to give you an extra shot so you wouldn’t wake up in the middle of your surgery. Sorry I had to bust your knee cap. You can be so stubborn sometimes.”
“Why am I in a cage? Why am I dressed like this? Just what the hell are you on?” You started to get up from the bed, but it was difficult to swing your leg over the bed when it was in a cast.
“In reverse order,” said Keigo, “I’m not on any drugs. I thought you would look cute in that negligee, and it’s in your favorite color. I put you here for your protection, and honestly, you look damn good in it.”
“Why? Why the hell did you do any of this?” You still struggled to move your damn leg.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’d hate to come in there and show you why.”
His eyes held a glimmer of that charm you once fell for, but there was a predatory light that eclipsed it. Keigo leaned against the bars, stroking the beams.
“Solid gold. It took me a long time to find enough money and resources to build this thing. A pretty little cage for my pretty little bird.”
“Just how long have you been saving?” You wanted to know how long he had wanted to put you in here, yet you still dreaded his answer.
“A couple of years. My original idea was to take us on a cruise. It probably would have been much more romantic, but things come up. You change your plans. Ideals become tainted, and you have to find new ones.”
“What happened to you? You were the number two hero! Some so many people looked up to you. There are still people who believe that this is just a rouse to capture the League of Villains. How could you do that? How could you betray everyone’s trust?”
Keigo didn’t say anything. He held his head down as if lost in the thought. He braced his forearm against the bars as he leaned his head against his arm. Inhaling a long breath,
Keigo let out an aggravated sigh. When he looked up at you, you saw a different man. “Let me ask you this, Princess. How could somebody’s parents sell their kid to the government? How could anyone take a small kid and turn them into a child soldier? For what? So they can pat themselves on the back and say that they’re morally superior to the villains. They take kids from their parents and steal their childhood. And when those kids grow into adults and realize what a shitty system they were raised in, they stare up at you surprised that you had enough of their bullshit.”
“T-Takami…”
“I realized too late that everything that was supposed to be mine was taken from me. My family. My name. My childhood. For what? So I can be number two behind a man like Endeavor. Have you spent time with the bastard? I never noticed it before, but all of a sudden, it becomes clear that society cares less about a hero’s moral code and more about their ability to beat down the nail that sticks out. Ever wonder how his youngest got that scar?”
You nodded. You vaguely remember hearing Endeavor talk about his youngest son.
“It turns out Endeavor pushed his wife around so much that she went mental. She burned the side of Shoto’s face because it reminded her of the man who knocked her around and forced to have his four kids. Does that sound like hero material to you?”
Blood drained from your face. It made sense…in a way. You never met Endeavor’s youngest, so you couldn’t verify the truth or not. For all you knew, Keigo was pulling it out of his ass to make you sympathize with him.
“Why didn’t you go to the authorities? There must have been someone who would have investigated it.”
“By the time I found out, nobody would have believed me at any rate. Endeavor might be a bastard, but he’s still the number one hero. I’m just the rejected garbage the Safety Commission doesn’t want to clean up.” Keigo unlocked the door to your cage.
“Why are you telling me this then?”
Keigo crossed the “room” and picked you up from the bed. You couldn’t move your leg without feeling a jolt of pain go up to your thigh. There was no way for you to struggle. “Because I made a deal with the League. As long as I keep you by my side and you don’t go anywhere, they won’t touch you or your family. I’m afraid you won’t be seeing much of the outside world for a while. At least until Shigaraki accomplishes his goals.”
“You know he’s crazy, right?” You sneered.
“Yeah. Little bit. He’s also the first person who made any damn sense when I realized how badly they screwed me over,” said Keigo as he carried you down the hall.
There were a few rooms that he walked past, but he stopped at the end of the hall. He kicked it open. Your heart fluttered like you were his bride; he carried over the threshold. Your stomach churned with guilt rotting inside it. You shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts for the man who turned into a villain and kidnapped you. He confessed to planning to keep you as a prisoner for however long it took for that maniac Shigaraki to complete his mission.
Keigo brought you to an actual bedroom. It was a little more sparse than the cage he planned to keep you in. He must have spent more on you than himself. Looking around, the bedroom contained a giant bed and little else. He had you sit on the bed for a moment. Keigo pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows before gently grabbing you and laying you out. There was a contraption hanging from the ceiling that he pulled down using a thick cord. He slipped your leg into a sling and adjusted it to your comfort before Keigo left you to pull clothes from the dresser. He disappeared into the adjacent bathroom didn’t return until he was half-dressed in a pair of black sweatpants.
Small scars littered his chest and shoulders. From what, you dared not ask. You remembered his words about a stolen childhood to be raised as a soldier. You wondered if they were true. Your mind was plunged headfirst back into the present when Keigo crawled under the sheets with you. Your face went red.
“Relax, Princess. I’m not going to do anything,” he mumbled. He turned off the lights.
“Then why am I dressed like this?” You asked in the dark.
You felt Keigo’s weight make the bed dip. He settled on his side so he could snake his arm around your waist. He snuggled uncomfortably close, but he kept his hands mostly to himself or above the blanket.
“Because you look damn cute in (fave color). I like looking at you.”
His breath against your skin created goosebumps in its wake. Your eyes eventually closed to sleep. As you drifted off, you asked yourself: How long could you live like this?
                                                       ---080---
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ethanlivemere · 3 years ago
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Half-Life²: Anticitizen - Chapter 3
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
_____________________
Chapter 3
Trespass
The true citizen knows that duty is the greatest gift.
The true citizen conserves valuable oxygen.
The true citizen cooperates with his Civil Protection team.
The true citizen’s job is the opposite of slavery.
The Consul’s brief messages echo across the pavement, each one followed by a hollow chime. It has an almost hypnotic effect, as I find myself staring up at the cluster of screens hanging over the intersection. It’s an Orwellian sight to behold: the citizens going about their day while the Consul’s watchful gaze looks down from above.
The true citizen embraces the Universal Union.
I think back to my encounter with the Vortigaunt. It had been a shock to hear English words coming from the mouth of the alien. Its voice was guttural and rough, and it continually made insect-like hissing and clicking sounds, but it spoke English nonetheless. Quite eloquently, even. Vastly different from Black Mesa, where the hisses and clicks had been the only components of their communication. But perhaps the bigger shock in seeing the Vortigaunt was not what it said, but the way it spoke to me. Like I hadn’t killed dozens of its kind in Black Mesa after seeing them slaughter my coworkers. After such hostility, I expected this Vortigaunt to charge up a bolt of green energy and attack me, and my instincts wanted me to reach for a weapon I didn’t have. The last thing I expected was for it to greet me as an ally.
“Your presence gives us hope, Freeman,” it had said. “As you saved my kin in the border world, so shall you save us again on this miserable rock. For now that the lesser master lay defeated, the greater must also fall in time.” Ah, so that’s how it is, I thought. When I killed the Nihilanth, I freed the Vortigaunts from their enslaver, and now they expected me to do the same once more. I remembered the slave camps and factories on Xen, where, for just a brief moment, they didn’t attack me – until the Nihilanth’s Controllers arrived and forced them to fight. They must have realized I was their one hope for freedom. A freedom which, ultimately, was very short-lived.
The Vortigaunt then walked to the contraption that held another one of its kind in its dark liquid. It placed its two-fingered hand against the glass and, despite its alien features, I could see sadness fall across its face. “The Vorti-cells drain power from my kin to support the Combine’s machinery. Those who enter them seldom emerge. The few who do are weakened almost to the point of collapse. Truly, it is a fate far worse than the shackles I bear.” The shackles were different from the ones worn by the Nihilanth-enslaved Vortigaunts. Instead of shining green, they were a dull gray. Their design remained very similar, though. Wrist bracelets, a collar, but also a sort of codpiece that I didn’t remember seeing on the Nihilanth’s slaves. Apparently the Combine deemed it necessary to cover the Vortigaunts’ loins – even though they housed no visible organs of any kind.
The Vortigaunt proceeded to grab a broom from against the wall and told me it had to resume its duty or suffer punishment. It seemed rather ironic, almost comedic even, that an alien race powerful enough to power factories was also being employed to sweep the streets. Recalling the instructions Jeremy had given me, I asked the Vortigaunt if he knew how I could get to the Manhack Arcade, where Barney was supposed to meet me. “Ah,” he responded pensively. “The Manhack Arcade. The hall of the unwitting executioners.” He proceeded to give me clear directions. I was to go to a place he called the Stenographer’s Chasm and then continue in a straight line. I wondered what he meant by ‘unwitting executioners’, but before I knew it, he had already said his goodbyes and disappeared around the corner.
The strange encounter had left me confused and a bit shaken, but I resolutely continued my journey and followed the Vortigaunt’s directions. I had a hard time imagining what this ‘Stenographer’s Chasm’ could be, but I could never have imagined what it turned out to be. An enormous, Combine-modified warehouse consisting of one long room that extended far into the ground, filled with rows of workers perched on stools behind desks, frantically typing on typewriter-like machines. But the stools and desks weren’t on the ground: they were mounted onto single, suspended rails that ran across the room. There were multiple levels of these rails and desks reaching all the way to the ceiling and down into the chasm. The workers had nowhere to go. My guess was that at the end of their shift or when their quota was fulfilled, the rails transported them to a place where they could safely dismount their stools. Until then, they could do nothing but work. I didn’t know what it was they were doing. What kind of paperwork could the Combine have? They didn’t seem like the type to bother with those kinds of things too much. Then again, an intergalactic empire is bound to have some unavoidable paperwork. Probably keeping track of resources and the like.
More disturbing sights awaited me, though. It all began at a building that produced a continuous sound of whirring and chugging, like a giant steam engine. Looking through the window, I saw a black and white tiled hall that was filled with enormous, diagonal pistons moving back and forth. At their base, people were working on the large engines that seemed to drive the pistons. I then realized that the engines weren’t just large, the figures knelt at their base were also small… they were children. Children, no older than twelve, were working on heavy machinery under the watch of Metrocops. And that wasn’t the only factory where children were being forced into labor. A bit further down the street was a smaller brick building that housed a large furnace. More children were stationed at a conveyor belt that lead into the furnace. They took white, ellipsoid objects from barrels and placed them onto the conveyor. They weren’t being burned in the furnace: they reemerged out of the side, attached to the ends of poles, and were transported into another machine. I had seen the white objects before on the brown-robed, flamethrower-wielding beings in the station and on posters that Jeremy had referred to as ‘Cremators’. These were Cremator heads. I tore myself away from the windows and continued my way through the industrial area. I never looked through another window again.
The factories eventually made way for a busier commercial district, which is where I find myself now. It’s the busiest place I’ve seen in this city, apart from the military parade. This must once have been a street with many successful shops, but now most of the display windows stand empty. One of the buildings still in use houses the same ration dispensers I also saw in the station. Another one showcases multiple television screens, all of which display the Combine logo.
“Can you believe it? Free TVs!” says a citizen gazing through the window.
“Don’t get too excited,” his companion replies in a cynical tone. “Those things only have one channel: the Consulcast.” He points over his shoulder at the cluster of screens overhead, where the Consul’s many faces are still naming the values of a true citizen.
But the Consulcast nor the free TVs are the reason why there is so much traffic on this street corner. In fact, I’d wager the Combine strategically placed those here so that as many citizens as possible would be exposed to the propaganda. The real eye-catcher everyone seems to be here for is across the street: the Manhack Arcade. It’s a large building that forms the corner of the street. Completely Combine-made, no recycling of old buildings. The people in the street flock towards the wide entrance on the corner, which is flanked by two Metrocops. Above it hang a number of yellow posters and banners and even more screens, all showing Combine logos and imagery.
I wonder if I should go in. Jeremy told me Barney would meet me at the Manhack Arcade, but it’s unclear if that means outside or inside. It seem risky going into a Combine facility, but it doesn’t seem like the citizens get scanned like they did at the checkpoints, and I could probably slip by the two guarding Metrocops unnoticed by hiding in the crowd.
I wait a little longer, hoping Barney will show himself. The clouds have gotten darker still, and before long a light drizzle starts pouring from the sky. Not only am I not dressed for rainy weather, I also want to avoid getting into too much contact with this water, which, judging from the greenish color of the clouds it originates from, could have all kinds of toxins or undesirable pH values. And so, when an exceptionally dense group of people approaches the entrance to the Arcade, I join them and walk past the Metrocops without either of them giving me a second glance.
Inside is a corridor that leads to the main room. Like the Stenographer’s Chasm, it’s long, tall, and extends down into the ground. Instead of rails with desks and tired workers, this room is filled with catwalks leading to strange machines. Citizens queue in front of them and when it’s their turn, they step onto a pedestal in front of the machines, grab hold of two control handles and lean forward to place their heads in some sort of virtual reality display built into the arcade.
A screen above the player allows bystanders to follow the game. A citizen near me has just started: at first, the screen shows only a grid of red lines in a black void. Then, the grid bends and reshapes itself into a three-dimensional environment that resembles a ruined building. Several humanoid shapes appear in yellow and orange tints, like heat vision, but with a clear red outline to them. The player navigates the environment, seemingly flying, and moves towards the outlined targets. The targets start moving around, trying to evade the player, but eventually he catches up to one. It’s not clear what happens, but when the player bumps into the target, the red outline disappears and a score of one hundred appears in the bottom right corner of the screen. “Ha ha, got one!” the player exclaims. Another nearby player is already at a score of eight hundred, when one of the targets suddenly rushes at him, holding up some kind of long object. The screen goes black and the words ‘GAME OVER’ appear on the screen. “Damn it!” the man shouts. “I was almost at my high score!”
Something’s not right. The way the targets move – it doesn’t look like a video game character. Much too erratic and lifelike. And from what I’ve seen of the Combine so far, I doubt they would put effort into providing ground-breaking AI technology for their panem et circenses. The Vortigaunt’s words echo through my mind: ‘the hall of the unwitting executioners’. I can put two and two together, but I don’t want to. I refuse to believe that what I fear is true. People slaughtering their own, cheering while they do it – and without ever realizing what they did. Or, at least, I deeply hope they don’t.
I don’t want to stay here any longer. Watching these innocent people enjoying the Combine’s twisted games turns my stomach. I have to find Barney. But how can I simultaneously hide from the real Metrocops and try to get Barney to see me?
As I pace through the room, I notice a Metrocop eyeing me. It’s hard to tell with the gas masks, but it seems like his gaze is following me. Is he Barney or a suspicious guard? I try to act inconspicuous and wait for a signal. Suddenly, the Metrocop turns away and walks towards a door. He interacts with the locking mechanism and it opens before him. He throws another prolonged glance in my direction before stepping through, out of sight. I wait. The door doesn’t close behind him. I cautiously make my way to the door. It leads to some sort of backstage corridor, clearly a ‘staff only’ area. I can’t see the Metrocop. I look around the Arcade one last time, but none of the remaining guards seem to notice me, so I enter the corridor. It’s cold and dark, and my footsteps are loud on the metal floor. I arrive in a small room with one of those Combine consoles. The wall is lined with a rack containing dozens of small, deactivated drones whose purpose I can’t discern. I hear the door I entered through close.
“Hey, you!” I hear from one of the neighboring corridors. A Metrocop – the one I followed in here – enters the room. “Do you have your identification?” He menacingly steps towards me. Seems it wasn’t Barney after all. Tough luck. “You are not supposed to be in here. I need to see your identification.”
Well, I seem to have gotten myself into a sticky situation. The Metrocop is trying to drive me into a corner, drawing his stun baton. “Overwatch, restricted incursion in progress in sector 8. Permission to enact civil judgement?” he says to seemingly no one. There’s a short blip and a burst of static following his question. I’m not thrilled about the prospect of ‘civil judgement’, so I decide not to wait until he gets his answer from whoever Overwatch is. I place my hands on my head, feigning surrender, while I scan the exits. The corridor back to the main Arcade hall is sealed and I can’t tell where the others lead, so I’ll have to trust my instincts.
Either the Metrocop has received his permission from Overwatch, or my eyes darting around the room have made him suspicious, because he suddenly swings his stun stick at my head. I try to duck and the blow lands against my elbow, sending a shock through my entire arm as blue sparks fly from the weapon. In response, I kick at his shin as hard as I can. He grunts and loses his balance, and I take the opportunity to dart down the nearest corridor. I hear the Metrocop’s heavy boots give chase behind me as he mumbles a status report to Overwatch. I round a corner, praying I won’t run into a dead end. I see a T junction ahead. Suddenly, I hear a deafening bang behind me, and the sound of a bullet hitting metal. Damn. He has a gun. I have to reach the junction as fast as possible. No time to look which way to go. As the echo of the gunshot fades out, I speed off into the left corridor just before another bullet plunges itself into the wall.
Suddenly, my surroundings open up into a larger room that’s two thirds Combine architecture and one third concrete rubble, remainders of whatever building was here before they installed their Arcade. I could get out through the collapsed walls and floors, but I’d be an easy shot. There’s also what looks like a Combine elevator with a bright red button inside it. I have milliseconds to make a decision. How far behind is he? Can I pull it off?
I slam my fist into the red button, rush back out of the elevator and then dive behind a half-collapsed wall. The doors close and the elevator starts to rise as I flatten myself against the concrete, bent rebar poking into my shoulder. My left arm is numb from the shock of the baton. I hear the Metrocop charging into the room. I hold my breath and pray he falls for my trick. It’s a trick as old as time. He stands still and I wait, my heartbeat ear-deafening.
“Subject is headed for top floor, secure perimeter around elevator.” I have to keep myself from sighing in relief. He isn’t gone yet. In fact, he seems to just stand still in front of the elevator. He must be waiting for the elevator to reach its destination. If he waits for the top floor units to report an empty elevator, my cover is blown.
“Copy,” he says. My functional right hand grabs hold of a loose chunk of concrete near me. I hear him walk a few steps, and then a couple of beeps. “Elevator power disengaged. Heading to your location.” With that, he walks out of the room, and I can finally breathe again. They don’t know the elevator is empty yet. They think they have me trapped in an unpowered elevator. Now to finally get out of here.
Easier said than done, as it turns out. The ruins are a concrete maze, and I constantly have to watch my step. It doesn’t help that the rain that seeps down through the broken ceilings makes everything slippery. The downpour has changed into an outright storm: the water beats down loudly on the concrete and every now and then a roaring thunderclap tears through the sky. Meanwhile, I guess the Metrocops discovered I wasn’t in the elevator after all, because I suddenly hear the cold, disembodied female voice – Overwatch, I assume – echo through the air once more: “Individual, you are charged with anti-civil activities: 63 criminal trespass, 148 resisting arrest, 243 assault on Protection Team. All local Protection units: code alert: locate, contain, prosecute.”
I spot one of the lambdas painted by the resistance group on a pillar. It leads the way down a slope of collapsed floor into a sub-street level area. Knowing the Metrocops are looking for me again, I try to speed up my pace a little while heading down – a mistake. The wet rubble gives way and I lose my footing. The world spins around me as I slide and tumble down the slope. I try to shield my head with my arms. I roll over the floor after reaching the bottom before coming to a stop.
I lie on my back as my surroundings come back into focus. I’m in some sort of underground sewer chamber: I see a ladder on the wall leading up to a manhole cover and there’s a grate in the ceiling through which light and rain pours down in a small waterfall, though the ground I lie on is thankfully dry. I do a quick damage report: my palms are chafed and I’ll undoubtedly have a few bruises, but no lasting damage. I’m lucky I didn’t hit my head on any of the protruding edges of the concrete.
I become aware of a sound, just barely audible over the storm. It sounds like a fire – no, more like a flamethrower. At the same moment, I notice the dancing orange light on the brick wall, and my nostrils are assaulted with the stench of burning flesh. I immediately jolt up. Pain shoots through my back at the sudden movement. I look around and immediately spot the source of the sound: there’s a Cremator standing on the opposite side of the room. The two lanky, leathery-skinned arms sticking out of its brown robe carry a heavy flamethrower which, I notice for the first time seeing one up close, is connected to a spherical fuel tank in the middle of its stomach with a thin tube. ‘Flamethrower’ might be an incorrect word, however. Instead of producing flames, it shoots the green particle jets I also noticed being used to clean trains in the station. It must be some sort of corrosive liquid that only affects organic matter. The source of the orange light on the walls turns out to be a burning pile of charred flesh being sprayed by the Cremator. The flesh is being set ablaze by the green particles, but not only that: where the jets hit the flesh directly, it seems to blacken and disintegrate. Despite the fact that the corpses have turned black as coal and have been turned into an amorphous, ever-shrinking pile, I can still make out just enough to see that these were once people.
The Cremator stops what it’s doing and turns its white, oval head towards me, alerted by my sudden movement. Its tiny, expressionless eyes lock onto me. I hear mechanical breathing from the Cremator’s mouth-tube as it steps closer. It tilts its head like a curious animal before it points the nozzle of its weapon towards me. I could try to run, but I doubt I could get far enough to evade the scorching cloud. I briefly wonder if I should not have moved an played dead. It probably wouldn’t have saved me from being disintegrated.
“Cremator! Stand down!” A Metrocop charges in and stands between me and the Cremator. “This prisoner is property of Civil Protection and is to be transferred to Nova Prospekt for processing.” The Cremator tilts its head again, then turns around and returns to its previous work. The Metrocop turns around to face me. I should be worried, but I’m not. Despite its distortion, I have already recognized his voice. I once again hear the click of the mask detaching and am greeted by Barney’s smug grin. I’ve never been happier to see that stupid grin.
“So Gordon, is this what you call ‘not drawing any attention to yourself’? You’ve got practically every Metrocop in the sector looking for you!” He reaches out and grabs my arm to pull me onto my feet. The numbness from the stun baton is almost gone, though it now hurts from the fall instead. As I rub my elbow, I glance at the Cremator. It seems to be minding its own business, but I don’t feel comfortable hanging around near it much longer, and I wonder if it’s a good idea for Barney to unmask himself and be so friendly with me in its presence. Barney follows my gaze and says “Don’t worry about him, he won’t bother us again. They’re not too bright, these Cremators. Mindless synths. They were made to be janitors, primarily. Destroy biological waste, contain the Xen infestation…” He looks down at the charred corpses grimly. “… clean up after the Civil Protection patrols.” He beckons me and starts walking. “The reason he was about to disintegrate you is because you are not a registered citizen or Combine unit. So to him, you would have to be either a Xenian creature or a very lively corpse. Either way, you were considered ‘unauthorized biological mass’ and had to be disposed of.”
We enter an underground utility tunnel. The sounds of the storm fade away as we follow the cables and pipelines down the dimly lit corridor. “You’re lucky I found you,” Barney remarks. “Those Immolators of theirs can give you a nasty burn. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the Arcade, I was held up by unforeseen complications on my shift. I had just gotten back to Dr. Kleiner’s lab when I heard the local CP units go crazy over some guy causing trouble at the Arcade.” He flashes me a smirk. I tell him what happened at the Arcade, with the Metrocop I had thought was him. “You got baited,” he replies. “Some CPs will bait citizens into breaking rules, like trespassing, just so they can enact some civil judgement.”
We march through the underground network in silence for a while before I cautiously bring up Jeremy. Barney sighs sadly and lightly shakes his head. “Yeah, I heard what happened.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, seemingly choosing his next words carefully. “Listen, Gordon… don’t worry about it, okay? I can probably pull some strings to make sure he turns out okay.” He doesn’t sound all that certain. “Either way, don’t blame yourself. Each of us knows the risk in what we’re doing. We’re all prepared to... go all the way for our cause.” I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Barney is being uncharacteristically serious and grim. This is not the same man I knew before Black Mesa. Then again, the same goes for myself.
His face lightens up again and he slips back into his usual grin when we go down a side tunnel with another lambda, at the end of which is a short staircase with a metal door. “Well Gordon, looks like we’re finally here.” He opens the door and the sound of machinery pours out. Not harsh, loud and aggressive, like the Combine factories, but light beeps and clicks over a soft hum. A familiar sound that invites me inside. The sound of science.
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Consul screens
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Stenographer's Chasm
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Piston hall
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Cremator factory
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Manhack Arcade exterior + Citadel
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Manhack Arcade interior
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Cremator
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Underground
And for the first time, there aren't just images for reference, but also sound: here is the original Vortigaunt voice.
As always, really excited to share this new chapter of Anticitizen with you. We've finally reached Kleiner's lab, so from now the story will start picking up pace. And as always, please let me know what you think :)
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thejamesoldier · 4 years ago
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A Single Frayed Rope
AO3 Link
Chapter 3
A/N: sorry for such a long gap between uploads, i’ve made this chapter extra long as an apology! with the pandemic and having to figure out a stable financial situation, its been super rough for me, but coming back to write this fic made me feel good for the first time in a long time :) I hope you enjoy!! xx
Chapter 4 - Horseshoe Overlook II
First order of business is to wash.
You've never been so soiled in your entire life, and you're pretty sure your stench could be picked up at least a mile off if the burn in your own nose whenever you take a breath is anything to go by. There are a million things you want to focus on besides bathing -- like finally getting some decent fucking hours of rest, but you work to pace yourself and not give in to the scattered anarchy your brain keeps descending into whenever you let it go blank for too long. Breaking off small pieces of a larger horror is the only way you're keeping yourself sane at the moment. The previous hold you had on your impulses is frayed down to nothing now that the ropes are gone and you have the freedom to do things as simple as itch your nose. It makes you twitchy, off-kilter in a way that sometimes yanks you out of your own mind. It's like pushing with all your might against a wall of stone that suddenly turns to air. It's a reaction you weren't expecting, and its exhausting.
One of the girls -- or women you should say, volunteers to take you down to a river near by to wash. Freckles. Pinned curls. Kind. Mary-Beth, your memory supplies as she leads you to a secluded spot away from what she warned was a more heavily traversed part of the bank.
You say nothing on the hike down the hill the gang has mounted itself atop of, though Mary-Beth doesn't attempt much conservation. Arthur, who at first had out right refused to let Mary-Beth go anywhere unescorted with a 'wild crazy woman', eventually relented after receiving a firm but undecipherable look from Hosea. It was an effort on your part to care even a little, all you wanted was to fucking clean yourself, rebuffing the disrespect of a man who had no high-horse to give any sort of morality speeches from was the least of your concerns.
"Watch your step here, the ground's a little loose," Mary-Beth warns as she lifts the front of her dress up a respectable amount in order to see where to place her feet.
Again you say nothing, only follow her example and lift the filthy hem of your own skirt and try to walk in her footprints across the patch of mud. You hug your change of clothes tighter to your side (those of which were donated by Mary-Beth this time) with your other hand as you both slowly make your way out of the slippery vat, and onto a shore of grey pebbles. Thick green growth encases you two in a private alcove where the river branches off in a tame half-circle detour before rejoining its main body down stream. The sound of the bubbling water, birds chirping in the canopy above you, and the sun splintering through gossamer emerald leaves would have made you smile in any other circumstance. Nature this untouched is rare and beautiful yet you can't find it in yourself to care, there is no room in you to feel joy right now. It's all instinct and survival, you feel so...rabid. Maybe feral is a better word for it. You simply don't feel all that in control of yourself, like if something unexpected were to happen, you'd react like a wild animal -- fight or flight and nothing inbetween.
In all honesty you feel a bit crazy. There is this buzz in your brain that peaks when you're nervous but never quite dies back down when you're not, it only returns to this constant unnerving hum that's begun to reveal itself as an opposing force to your effort towards a clear present mind.
"Um, Miss?"
It underlies everything you do, like you're getting constant shots of adrenaline every minute. This excess energy burns like poison in your veins and you know it'll sicken you eventually, but even if you wanted it to stop, you wouldn't know how to turn it off.
"Miss? Are, are you okay?"
It's a sign you're spiraling but hell if you have any mental space to pick at that particular ball of yarn on top of everything else. And holy fucking hell I time traveled --
"Y/n?" Mary-Beth's voice echoes a little over the noise of your turmoil, and you find yourself unsure if you turned to face her too fast or too slow as your vision swims.
Time violently warps then and you're grasp on sanity in turn takes a sharp slip -- the world is suddenly tipping itself upside down and you're falling, falling, falling...
You try to remember how to breathe because suddenly you can't.
"Wait," The word wheezes itself from your lungs as your mouth opens and closes in attempt to slog air down your throat, "Wait,"
Mary-Beth pales and you know you're scaring her, and if you could you would try to reassure her that you're fine but you honestly can't remember how to speak --
"Wait!"
-- so you continue to stand there and shake, repeating a sound that tastes like a word but you're not sure --
"Wait! Wait!"
Mary-Beth stands there another beat before making a run for it. She sprints by you the way you both came, and the second you're alone you collapse to the ground, knees digging into the pebble shore through the soiled fabric of your dress, fresh change of clothes forgotten as both of your hands start to claw at your throat, trying to breath -- why can't I breathe ?!
"Wait!"
As you gasp and hyperventilate, struggling to remember where you are and how you got here, it dawns on you that what you feel crawling under your skin and suffocating your throat is panic. You're...you're panicking. You thought you were taking this nightmare one horrible bite at a time why -- where did this tsunami wave of panic come from? You were doing so well holding it back, holding on, why --
Firm hands are suddenly gripping your shoulders and it takes you too long to realize that there is a small group of people standing around you, above you, closing you in, trapping you -- you're trapped who are they what do they want ?!
Your vision blacks out though you can still feel things, still hear things though it comes to you in disconnected pieces, out of order.
"WAIT!" You cry into the black, voice hoarse and broken as you try to breathe around the sound that won't stop coming from your mouth, your face feels wet, "WAIT!"
--
Kieran was shaken when Mary-Beth -- a complete worried mess -- discreetly came up to him at camp, whispering about Y/n being unwell by the river. And now as he slips through a patch of mud before forcefully parting thick shrubs into a small alcove, he sees her kneeling on the ground, hands at her own neck, struggling to breathe. Kieran's heart plummets down to drop out of the bottom of his feet.
"Y/n?!" He goes to his knees in front of her and grabs her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. Mary-Beth keeps her distance, covering her quivering mouth at the scene.
"WAIT!" Y/n yells, though it comes out as more of a hoarse whisper then a scream.
"Y/n! It's me! It's -- it's Kieran! You remember me?"
"What do you all want?! Who are you?! Why are there so many of you?!"
Kieran and Mary-Beth exchange a look, its only the two of them in the clearing. No one followed them down.
"Th-there's no one else but Mary-Beth an' me, see look! Just me right here in front of you -- there you go, see its just me, you see me? Then look, behind me, right there, see Mary-Beth?" Kieran coaxes gently, watching the logic he's laying out for her slowly collect the mania that scattered the sense in her eyes.
--
Realization dawns on you at the same time your sight returns. You let Kieran carefully take a hold of your wrists and pull them away from the red abused skin of your neck. You let him ground you, you let yourself acknowledge sensation one piece at a time: the pain in your knees from the pebbles digging in, the ache in your head, the raw skin of your back, the dryness of your throat, the burn in your tearducts -- and suddenly, before you can bottleneck it into a trickle, the whole world comes rushing in on you at once.
The smell of moist dirt, the sound of running water, the warmth of the sun, the caress of the wind against your wet cheeks, the privacy provided by all the surrounding vegetation. But even with all this reality, the figures remain. You're scared to look up, scared to stare at anything but their feet. Kieran's voice is getting more desperate though, you have to look up -- have to let him see you're recovering. With a shaky in take of breath you raise your gaze so it lands squarely on Kieran. In your peripherals these...figures, don't do anything but stand there. In fact they don't speak, don't move, don't even look like they're breathing. As Kieran fusses over you, his voice slightly muted as the ringing in your ears refuses to recede completely, you chance a glance over his left shoulder. As soon as you shift your eyes over to the figures they disappear, or more like blur, like its a trick of the light. You can still see them in your peripherals, just not the ones you're trying to look at directly. You slide your eyes back to Kieran, and notice that the figures you just tried to look at reappear.
Your breath struggles to find a comfortable rhythm as this new horror piles onto your fresh panic. Have you lost your mind? Is this part of time traveling? God, like time traveling wasn't enough to stop your heart, now you see ghosts?  
"Breathe, you're breathing that's good -- in through the nose out through the mouth, that's it," Kieran instructs, attempting to not to let you look away from him again, his hands gentle where they cup the outsides of your arms helping to dictate the pace in which your shoulders rise and fall.
You let out a shuttering breath and watch Kieran's own chest fill and empty, trying your best to match his movements. Eventually you do manage to wrangle your palpitating heart back down to a normal rhythm, and with this steadier beat comes your sense. The figures remain, though once you close your eyes to take one last large inhale to truly settle yourself, they're gone when your lashes lift again. Your hands are clutching the outsides of Kieran's forearms and you release them instantly, as if burned. A flush of embarrassment rises up to lick at the skin of your neck, it heats up your collar as you try to give Kieran a reassuring smile that ends up being more of a grimace than anything else. Kieran's face, previously pinched tight with worry, relaxes though so you figure you calmed him enough. The guilt hits you like a sledgehammer when you catch sight of Mary-Beth over Kieran's shoulder standing a few steps away, looking for all the world like she'd seen a ghost.
You wonder if that's what you looked like when you first saw the figures. You hope it was less alarming, though you figure having a full blown panic attack negated any possibility of that.  
"Y/n?" Kieran says softly, hands no longer touching you but still hovering just in case. The guilt guts you again.
"I'm fine," You murmur through a tight throat. At the doubtful look Kieran gives you, you add, "Now, I'm fine now."
You shift your gaze back to Mary-Beth and feel your cheeks heat at the realization that at your most vulnerable you were watched, made a spectacle.
"I'm sorry if I scared you, I-I didn't mean to, I, I haven't ever -- that's never happened to me before," Comes your wobbly explanation, all heart and no thought.
Mary-Beth hesitates a beat, taking a visible gulp to steady herself, before making her way closer only to kneel down beside Kieran in front of you. You flinch at the proximity, shame weighing your head down so much it lowers.
"I was only worried is all, didn't know what to do to help," She starts, voice shaky but kind, always kind, "I'm glad I went to get Kieran."
"Thank you, it -- I'm grateful for your, um, discretion."
"Sure thing, Miss," Mary-Beth nods, a soft smile lifting one corner of her mouth.
"Y/n, you can call me Y/n."
"Okay," She says with a breathy laugh, still a little shaken but being incredibly generous about it as she attempts to hide it.
There's a pause where you knot your fingers together, gathering the courage to face Kieran.
"Thank you Kieran, I --,"
"No thanks necessary," Your face jerks up at him at his words, his face goes soft at your surprise, "My Ma used to...worry, like that, after my Pa died."
"O-Oh." You mumble, utterly overwhelmed but you're not sure by what.
Silence throbs between you three for another moment before a twig cracking in the distance snaps all three of you out of your shared stillness.
'I-I best get cleaned up or the whole gang will think I murdered Mary-Beth," A nervous laugh catches in your throat, the muscle and delicate skin over it sore and red from all the scratching you did to it.
"Right," Kieran says, remaining kneeling with you as Mary-Beth rises to a stand.
You stare at Kieran for a moment, waiting for him to process what you said.
"Right!" Kieran's voice cracks as it finally sinks in and in a mad scramble that makes Mary-Beth giggle, he makes his way back through the brush leading back to camp.
He slips in the bit of mud on his way out of the alcove and this time, you join Mary-Beth in a timid laugh at Kieran's expense.
--
After washing yourself with a bar of crudely made soap Mary-Beth provided you, you slip into your shift and frock trying not to shiver. It takes you so long to figure out how to tie yourself in, guessing what layer goes under what, that Mary-Beth -- who had washed and dressed too -- approaches you to help.
"Still feeling...worried?" Mary-Beth uses the same term Kieran did when describing your panic attack as she steps up behind you to tie the strings of your skirt properly. You're grateful she attributes your lack of knowledge on how to properly dress in these period clothes to you still being a bit unsettled.
I mean you still feel quite shaken, but you have your nerves under control -- steady.
"I'm much better now, thank you," You assure as she gently turns you around to then adjust the frilly collar of the blouse that's been lent to you, "Thank you Mary-Beth, for everything."
She slows her ministrations for a moment and lets her gaze drops to yours, the weariness that sat in her eyes earlier fully evaporates, like mist under the high noon sun.
"You're a good woman, I think, at least no worse than the sort I'm familiar with. We shall be friends, Y/n."
"Okay," You allow, unsure what else you could say to that, though the sentiment does lighten the weight in your chest a little.
You guess she's okay to trust at least on some level, she was the one who regularly fed Kieran and you when you were still considered prisoners. Never tossed curses or insults at you either.
"Come," She urges as you both collect your soiled garments off the ground, "Let me introduce you to the other ladies, I promise they're much kinder than you might be expecting. Even the men, though a bit rough I admit, are mindful of us at the very least and quite sweet at their best."
You doubt you'll ever see them that way, in fact you'd bet your life on it, but you keep that to yourself as Mary-Beth leads you both out of the alcove and back up to camp.  
--
The other women aren't too bad.
Tilly is young and sparky, Karen is loud and lonely, Abigail is protective and torn, Susan is stubborn and proud, Molly is insecure and loyal, and Sadie is broken and hard. You match your personal interactions with them, with the impressions you had of them while tied up, reminding yourself to never forget everything they did or said to you while you were the enemy. They take to you easily enough you suppose, though Sadie keeps to herself and Susan -- or you should say Grimshaw, believes herself a level above them all. Not unlike Molly who hadn't even spared you a glance from the perch she'd claimed in Dutch's tent planted in the center of camp. Mary-Beth seems closest with Tilly, Karen, and Abigail, absolutely determined to pull you into their tight knit group and brush off any doubts they had about you being an O'Driscoll whore. You allowed her to do this but only to an extent and only out of respect for Mary-Beth, you didn't trust them -- barely trusted them to be civil like they are being now. In the end it was Kieran who you felt safest with, felt like you could really breathe around. The only ally you had in this place -- an equal.
You seek him out once the sun starts to set after kindly refusing Mary-Beth who offered a place for you to rest with the other women. Kieran is with the horses, though he's got his eyes on the tree line opposite of where he stands. With a twang of worry at how focused he is, you follow his line of sight but only see tree trunks and shadows cast by the setting sun.
"Kieran?" You call tentatively as you walk up to him. He jumps, completely startled, and whips around to face you.
"Oh! Y/n I, I didn't hear you,"
Your eyebrows knit at his expression, "Is something wrong?"
"No! No, I was just, uh, waiting for something."
"Waiting? Waiting for what?"
"Well, my - my horse, Branwen, she's -- well she's quite a loyal girl. Found me at Colter she did and followed us down from the mountains, saw her when we was walkin' behind the wagon. She hasn't had the nerve to approach the camp, what with all the noise and the unfamiliar herd of horses millin' about."
"I didn't know horses were that loyal," You say in quiet astonishment, you always thought that kind of stuff only happened in those cheesy horse flicks.
"Oh yes! If you treat them right and earn their trust and respect, they'll do almost anything for ya."
Your eyebrows jump lazily at this, "Go figure."
"What?" Kieran asks, confused at the term.
"Uh nevermind, so, have you a found a place to sleep?"
"Sleep?" His throat sounds dry all of a sudden.
You stay silent, waiting patiently for a response, wondering why he's become so skittish. He licks his lips, maybe a nervous habit, and can't seem to look you in eye.
"Well, yes I have, but surely Mary-Beth has found you somewhere suitable."
"I don't trust any of them to not kill me in my sleep."
Kieran backs up a step as if you'd struck him, "Mary-Beth wouldn't --,"
A harsh huff blows from your lips.
"No she wouldn't. I, I don't feel like I could sleep among so many...strangers." Comes your quiet admission.
Kieran observes your face for a moment, really takes in your expression.
"I know how you feel," He pauses, fiddling with his sleeve cuff, "How about you sleep while I watch?"
Your head snaps up and you eye him with potent suspicion, but before you can comment or become truly alarmed Kieran trips over himself to clarify.
"N-Not watch you! Not like that! Christ alive no, m-more like watch your back -- stand guard, that way you can sleep without havin' to worry."
Something very close to amused fondness rolls through your chest and clears out any doubts on Kieran's intentions. A giggle escapes your lips at how flustered he is at the notion of what you'd initially thought he meant.
"How about we take turns, I sleep for half the night, and then you for the rest? That way we both get sleep without having to freak out."
Kieran looks like he's about to argue, but he watches you place your hands on your hips very very deliberately, and relents with a sigh.
"Oh alright, but I have first watch!"
You break out a triumphant smile, a real one, and give his left shoulder a friendly punch.
"Deal!" You confirm.
Kieran rubs at the place where you punched him, a bit confused at the gesture but still finds himself laughing with you.
It turns out Kieran picked a sleeping spot near the outskirts of camp behind one of the wagons far from where anyone would disturb you. Some sort of campfire set up for whoever was on guard duty sits a couple paces away. The fact that there was a twenty-four hour patrol routine frayed on your nerves more than you wanted it to. It reminded you that these people were hunted, that if something were to happen you'd be caught up in it as well, even be killed because of it. The idea of dying for these people made you sick, but you never let yourself think about it too long or your anxiety rose to dangerous levels.
As you settle down on the bed of hay that serves as your bed, Kieran plops down cross legged behind you.
He gives a weary sounding sigh, "You know folk'll talk, with us sharing the same sleeping space an all. You sure you want to deal with that?"
You twist around, finding yourself staring at Kieran's hunched back as he picks at the grass near his ankles.
"I don't care what these people think of me. They can say whatever the fuck they want," Kieran jumps a bit when you curse, "I trust you, I only care what they say if you care Kieran."
A pregnant pause grows between you two then, something cold twinges in your chest.  
"Do you? Care?"
"I care only for what might be said about you, I know you say it don't matter, but we're already hated. The women at least seem to like you, you -- you could be one of them, be part of the gang I mean."
You sit up and put a hand on Kieran's shoulder, gently urging him to turn to face you.
"Kieran you have been my only ally since all this started, I could care less about being part of this," You wave your hand vaguely to the camp.
"Well you should care, what other option do we have? We know too much about them, we can't ever leave. You understand that don't you?"
Your face begins to drain of blood. For some reason you hadn't thought of it like that. These people weren't just hunted, but they hunted as well. You knew their faces, could identify them if asked to. You knew their names, their habits, their whereabouts. They'd never let you leave this gang, not alive.
"Oh my god," You say in quiet horror.
Kieran notices this but remains silent, sharing your sentiments. The need to travel back to your time becomes even more of a priority than before if that's even possible. You needed to find a way to escape, and hopefully you could help Kieran get free too.
"We'll find a way Kieran, I promise I'll get us out."
Kieran firmly shakes his head, turning back to face forward and away from the determination in your eyes.
"There's no where for me to go even if we did manage to escape without bullets in our backs. I have no money, no trade, no skills."
"You've said you're good with horses!" You try but Kieran only shakes his head again.
"You have to have some sort of reference or be known to be respectable to work at a stable, even one in a town and especially on one of them fancy ranches. Plus I'd wager that by the time we would have the means to escape, our faces'll be plastered up on wanted posters along with the rest of the gang's."
You try not to blanch further at this, not having considered that either.
"We have to try and work our way into this gang Y/n, its either that or die. I know this kinda life, done it before, I know our options and I'm tellin'em to ya now."
Kieran shifts to look at you over his shoulder, his gaze insisting things you don't want to hear.
"It's the only way."
There's a sting in your eye that you swiftly ignore by blinking hard against the feeling. Your breath shutters out through your nose, and without another word you lie back down. Kieran watches you do this, his mouth parting as if to speak but he shuts it and turns back around. Silence reigns once more, a gap stretching between you that's worrisome. Keeping the nerves out of your tone, you promptly break the quiet.
"What did you do when they took you to the O'Driscoll hideout to convince them to let you be part of the gang? What did you say to try and convince them of my innocence? You seemed so sure you could untie me when you came back." You ask in a murmur, having been wondering about this since Kieran came rushing back to you tied to the tree, whispering about being free now.  
Kieran shifts a bit and huffs, "Well I first swore I'd never seen you until you were being tied next to me behind that wagon in Colter, but they didn't believe me. So I then said that Colm didn't usually stick with one whor -- uh, lady of loose morals, that he liked, er, variety. They again said they didn't believe me, so I told them the truth. Any woman Colm spends a night with usually doesn't come out of it unmarred."
"Unmarred?" Something in your gut sinks in horror.
"They always leave pretty roughed up. He's not, he's not gentle with 'em. And I said that if you was his, if he had...acquainted himself with you and often enough for you to know some of his personal secrets, you'd have been in a much worse state than they originally found ya in."
"You mean besides being naked and freezing to death?" You scoff, disgusted with this Colm person and starting to understand why everyone in camp seemed to hate Kieran and you so much thinking you associated with that kind of man.  
Kieran clears his throat, "Besides that."
There's a pause, then, "Forgive my lack of delicacy, but you were found n-naked? Why? If you don't mind my askin' of course!"
You manage to choke out, "It's a long story."
"How did, how did they take you back to camp?"
"I don't know, all I know is that Arthur is the one who saved me. Though I wish he'd left me to die instead of bringing me here."
"Mr. Morgan saved you?" Kieran asked in disbelief.
"Yeah," You confirm rather sourly, "The one who doesn't seem to have a merciful bone in his body."
"Well I'm not dead because I shot an O'Driscoll and saved his life at Six Point."
You take a moment to consider this information.
"Owing a life debt is not the same as mercy." Comes your stubborn rebuff, refusing to give Arthur even an inch of sympathy in your mind.
The both of you quiet again, and this time the silence isn't heavy with unspoken words. Just before you're about to fall asleep, you find the extra fabric of Kieran's coat with your fingers, and twist the rough material into your closed hand. Your dreams consist of a warm chest pressed to your front and the worn fur lining of a coat wrapped around your back, a pocket of safety tucked between an arched neck and a stiff flipped up collar...
--
You wake to the noise of the camp, birds twittering high in the trees, and Kieran's jacket laying over your body that's curled tightly in on itself during the night.
With a sore grunt you sit up, body still aching from all the abuse its been through. Kieran hadn't woken you, he'd let you sleep through the whole night. You feel a flare of guilt and frustration rise in you, followed quickly though by begrudging fondness. You should have known he'd do something like that, the softie. Getting to your feet, you wipe the stray pieces of hay stuck to your skirts off and groan internally at how uncomfortable it is to sleep in these old fashion clothes (thank god they hadn't stuck you in a corset). Though its leagues better than nodding off tied to a tree. Once you make your way into camp proper, Mary-Beth bumbles up to you all smiles and simmering questions about how you slept last night while leading you to a wooden pail that she informs holds the water the women use for their personal hygiene.
"Heaven forbid we're made to share with the men!" She exclaims good-naturedly as you approach the mini bathing station set on a stool by the women's tents.
You watch Karen finish splashing water in her face before scrubbing and rinsing her teeth. She spits the water out onto the grass beside her and not back into the pail (which you are grateful to see), then scoots over with a mumbled good morning directed at you when Mary-Beth ushers you forward to do the same. You hope that you can get your hands on some soap that is possibly softer against your skin than what you used yesterday by the river. If you don't wash your face twice a day you know you'll break out, and though acne should be the least of your concerns right now, the familiar motion of splashing water on your face pushes the domestic thought to the forefront of your mind. As you dab your face dry with a clean cloth that Mary-Beth hands you, distractedly you wonder if the water you are using was cleaned or prepped in any way. Surely washing your face with river water wouldn't do your skin or your tastebuds any favors. Fighting a grimace, you scrub and then rinse your teeth but find that while the water doesn't taste like algae as you feared it might, it doesn't taste like the bottled water you have in your fridge at home either.  
Once you're done, you thank Mary-Beth for her guidance and are about to turn to go find Kieran, when Karen appears at your right and hooks her arm through yours, pulling you over to their tent where a small crude vanity is set up.
"Do you wear makeup Y/n?" Karen asks, "Only Mary-Beth, Tilly and I use this station, though Grimshaw likes to sometimes steal the face powder and pretend she's not wearing any, the old hag."
You don't know what to say, a bit shell-shocked at the familiarity they're employing, as you catch a glimpse of Molly across camp, just a step outside of Dutch's tent, carefully applying red lipstick. She brings the pretty little decorated hand held mirror she's using closer to her lips to inspect her work, turning her face slowly from side to side, utilizing the early morning sun's soft glow.
"Uh, sometimes," You start but quickly backtrack when you realize you know nothing about the makeup from whatever time period this is, "But not enough to really know how to do it myself, my --,"
"Yourself?" Karen interrupts, Mary-Beth and her both stilling in their fussing to face you, "You mean you had someone to do it for you? What, you some kind of heiress or somethin'?"
The questions make you nervous, but you school your features so as to not let that show.
"No, nothing like that. My older sister did it for me, she always liked to dress me up in things." You lie.
"Oh a sister? That must be nice, what's she like?" Mary-Beth asks, not unkindly.
Fuck.
"Like all older sisters I guess, she's nice until I borrow her stuff without asking." It's vague but believable, you hope it convinces them.
Karen lets out a snort and Mary-Beth shakes her head with a smile.
"Sounds about right," Karen says as she directs you to sit.
"I-I really don't think make-up is necessary," You warn as Karen begins to rummage through the little that's laid out in front of you.
"Lord's sake! We need to get into town, we've got barely nothin' left that didn't freeze to sludge up in Colter!" Karen grumps, completely ignoring you and continuing to search finger through the tiny bottles and tin trays.
Mary-Beth laments Karen's statement with a sigh, neatly pinning a curl up into the mass she'd collected into a bouquet near the crown of her head, using a corner of the mirror you've been sat in front of as a guide.
"Uncle was sayin' yesterday that he'd been meaning to go into town today, maybe we can catch a ride with him." Mary-Beth suggests.
Karen rolls her eyes, "Let's hope that out of us women, one of us can drive. I wouldn't trust that ol' geezer to steer a spoon into a bowl."
You're about to once again attempt to excuse yourself and look for Kieran, when Tilly walks up to the girls and you with a distinct scowl on her face. She plops down under the awning of the tent, pulls out some sort of sewing project and sets to work without a word.
"What's wrong Tilly?" Karen inquires almost as soon as Tilly had sat down, ignoring her show of clearly wanting to be left alone.
"Grimshaw." Is Tilly's only response though this seems to be explanation enough for both Karen and Mary-Beth, they both groan in sympathy.
"If you don't want to wear any make-up, let me at least do something with your hair," Mary-Beth pleads, turning back to you, as Karen elbows you off the stool when you duck away from her hand holding some sort of powder puff.
"Um,"
"Just a brush through then? Your hair is, well it's just a bit tangled." She furthers as Karen leans in close to the mirror and starts putting on what seems to be this era's version of eyeliner.
"A bit? It looks like rats have taken up occupation in there." Karen scoffs as she holds her eyelid taught with one finger and uses her other hand to drag a fine brush along her lash line.
"Karen!" Mary-Beth admonishes as Tilly giggles down into her sewing across the tent.
You only sigh, still uncomfortable with them pretending like they didn't all hate your guts a couple days ago. Except for Mary-Beth. You sigh.
"Okay." Your surrender is met with a wide grin from Mary-Beth.
"Mary-Beth loves to do hair," Karen explains unnecessarily as she moves onto her other eye.
You're then sat on a different stool facing out towards camp, and Mary-Beth begins the long grueling process of brushing out your hair that hasn't seen shampoo in over a week and a half.
--
It's around mid-morning when Mary-Beth finally finishes with your hair. You're a bit surprised she stuck with it, you thought after about twenty minutes with only a small portion of your hair untangled to show for it she'd give up. But she was oddly determined. Karen and Tilly had gone to ransack Pearson's wagon in search of breakfast and brought back a few loaves of bread with a can of peaches. They laid the pre-cut slices of fruit heaviest with juice over the loaves of soft bread they'd thumbed open. It was delicious. After a week of only eating crumbs it was comparable to heaven. Once you finish, you ask if there is any left that you could take to Kieran.
"The O'Driscoll?" Karen scoffs, licking her fingertips clean of peach juice.
All previous good will she'd been building with you disappears. They had all watched as Kieran and you suffered and did nothing. A fuzzy memory of Karen tossing a still lit cigarette bud in Kieran's face resurfaces and it sours your frown into a hateful scowl. These women are not your friends, a part of you feels ashamed you let them trick you into thinking that, even for a moment.
"He is not an O'Driscoll."
Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly freeze at your tone, Karen seeming at a loss for words at the look you're giving her. All previous levity dives into insufferable tension.
"Sorry," Karen apologizes in a voice very unlike the brash snark she'd been using all morning.  
You don't say another word, you only collect the last loaf of bread, the near empty can of peaches, and storm off in search of Kieran.
You find him coming out of the treeline near where the gang's horses graze, with a new horse in tow. Kieran has a smile on his face. As you make your way over to him, avoiding contact with anyone else, you realize you've never actually seen Kieran smile before. This time Kieran sees you coming and the grin on his face grows, it warms your heart, reminding you who your true friend is.
"Is that Branwen?" You ask through a smile of your own, walking around the herd to one of the hitching posts near the hay wagon Kieran is making his way over to.  
"It is!" Kieran replies as he gently guides his horse to stop before the post, giving her dirty mane a loving pat, "Been coaxin' her to me all morning."
"She's pretty," You offer as you come to stand next to him, being careful not to move too fast, unsure how to handle yourself so close to a horse.
"Oh she looks like a two cent nag with all the filth she's got collected in her coat."
"Well I can tell from the," You gesture with the peach can towards the mare, "Colorings, that she'll be super cute when she's all clean."
Kieran blinks furiously at the terms 'super' and 'cute', but you rush into another sentence in the hopes of distracting him from your odd terminology.
"I brought you breakfast," You present the bread and the peach can to him.
He looks down at your offerings and only stares, "That's kind of ya, but where did you get it? Did Pearson give it to you?"
You shake your head, "The women shared it with me."
Kieran stares at you for a moment, then blinks up at your hair, seeming to just know realize it isn't in knots anymore.
"Oh," He says dumbly, "Oh."
"So, breakfast?" You say again, trying not to laugh.
"I should really care for Branwen first," Kieran begins to say but trails off at the look on your face.
"Thanks for waking me up last night to switch guard shifts," You muse, rolling the peach can between your fingers. Kieran's eyes drop to watch the motion and he gulps, "Really appreciate waking up feeling like a worthless friend."
You know you're going hard on the guilt trip, but you can't help it. He's easy to tease but you are truly peeved he didn't wake you.
"We had an agreement Kieran," One more moment and --
"Okay I'm sorry!"
There it is.
"I knew you wanted me to wake you up to switch, but I couldn't help it! You looked so tired, I just couldn't do it." He whines.
You pretend to ponder on this, shifting your weight to sit in one hip.
"I'll only forgive you if you eat first, then you can care for Branwen."
Kieran looks so genuinely torn by this you almost relent, but he caves before he makes you feel guilty and grabs the food from you. You stay, wanting to make sure he eats it all.
"Wait!" You cry as he stuffs the entire loaf into his mouth.
He startles and stares wide eyed at your outstretched hands.
"You're supposed to put the peaches on top," You pout, "That way the juice sinks into the bread and it isn't too dry."
Kieran only shrugs at this, chews the bread for another moment before swallowing (though you feel like he should have chewed a mouthful that big a bit longer; seriously that must have hurt going down), before sticking his fingers into the can to scrape out the last few slices of peach. You roll your eyes at this.
I guess men will be men no matter the time period.
"Okay I'm done, can I wash Branwen now?" Kieran asks your permission, though you suspect this is done more out of fond spite than anything else.
You find yourself rolling your eyes yet again as you snatch the can from him, and answer him anyways, "Yes."
Kieran gives you a quick thanks before rushing back over to Branwen, cooing at her sweetly, before starting to remove the weather worn saddle from her back. You place the can by your feet, ready to sit down in the grass and watch Kieran for the rest of the afternoon, even offer to help though you don't the first thing about cleaning a horse, when someone clears their throat behind you. You swivel your head over your shoulder and find that its Mary-Beth. She looks sheepish at best, guilty at worst. The softness in you hardens.
"Um me and the girls were wonderin' if you wanted to ride into town with us," She waves a hand towards the main entrance of camp and you see a wagon hitched and ready to go. Karen and Tilly are sitting in the back looking at you across camp, while the elderly man they called Uncle and Arth --
"I'm fine." You decline automatically when you spot Arthur sitting on the driver's bench next to Uncle, fiddling with the reigns.
Mary-Beth pauses, her expression tensing like she had expected that response. You hear all the noise behind you quiet, you know Kieran has turned around to listen.
"And usually that'd be fine an' all but, we need to get you clothes of your own, seeing as you can't keep borrowin' ours." You must make some sort of face because she steps forward, voice thin with nerves, "We don't mind! It's just we don't have many outfits to spare, it'd be more laundry, more work. Plus we wanna put what money we have left together to get you something to wear of your own."
"I don't need your charity," You snarl before you can stop yourself. If they think a new dress is going to make up for almost two weeks of torture --
"That's not what this is! It's..." She sighs in frustration, though you have a feeling she's not frustrated with you.
"They're tryin'," Kieran murmurs behind you suddenly. Mary-Beth looks up at this and for a startling moment you think she might cry.
"Yes, we're tryin'," She says on an exhale, giving Kieran such a profound look of gratitude it makes you consider her offer, "An' we don't know your sizes, or we'd save ya the trouble of the trip. Though, we thought you might like an afternoon out of camp."
Before you can put the pieces together yourself, Kieran crouches down to get eye level with you and bumps your shoulder with his.
"This is good Y/n, it's a sign of trust. They're lettin' you outta camp." He tells you softly, meaning the words for your ears only. The look he had in his eyes last night reappears now, it makes you want to hit something.
Your gaze gravitates back to Arthur sitting in the driver's seat, smoking with his hat tilted low over his eyes and looking for all the world like a hero straight out of one of those old western movies. He resolutely doesn't look your way even though the entire rest of the wagon, including Uncle, are staring unabashedly at Mary-Beth and you.
"It's not a sign of trust," You whisper, turning your head towards Kieran so only he can hear you, "It's a test."
Without another word you rise to your feet, trying not to wince at the ache still present in your back.
"If I go then Kieran gets to come too." You state firmly -- nonnegotiable.
"Of course!" Mary-Beth agrees quickly.
Kieran makes his way back to Branwen though, who had been standing so patiently behind you this whole time, and begins to lead her towards the water pails kept by the herd.
"I'm staying," He says, and at your look of minor betrayal he adds, "Gotta clean up my girl, plus I'd have nothin' to do in town."
You know he's only saying that to avoid conflict, because no matter what Mary-Beth agrees to, you have a feeling Arthur wouldn't approve of both O'Driscolls coming along. Your bitterness grows distinctly more potent. Your heart clenches painfully in your chest when Kieran gives you an encouraging smile, nodding his head towards Mary-Beth urging you to go.
"I'll be fine, now go!" He says when you refuse to move still, unsure if you can.
This was in part about sticking with your ally yes, but also you didn't feel safe going with them if Kieran wasn't by your side. Who's to say Arthur wouldn't suddenly decide to beat you even though he'd chosen not to before? You didn't know him, didn't know them. You only trusted them to do what they'd always done, and that was be cruel and unfeeling towards you. Mary-Beth less so than the others but still. Arthur terrified you the most out of all of them. He had such anger in him, the kind that made a man destructive to himself and others. Whatever other complexities he might have, he is undoubtedly dangerous and that's the last thing you wanted to defend against right now.
"She'll go," Kieran says for you when you remain quiet.
Your eyes close as you struggle to contain the knot of emotion roiling in your gut.
"Okay," Mary-Beth murmurs, unsure.
"When I get back," You say, voice low, as you turn to face Kieran, "I'll want to see Branwen in all her glory."
Kieran gives you a ghost of the smile he'd had earlier, and nods in acquiesce.
Without another word you pivot on your heel and walk towards the wagon, brushing past Mary-Beth. You hear her scurry to catch up with you after a few beats, though you make sure to keep your eyes down at the ground as you approach the wagon, unable -- or more like unwilling, to let anyone see the riot of emotion wrecking havoc in your eyes. Once you reach the lip of the wagon Mary-Beth waits for you to climb up, before hauling herself up too. You sit on the right bench across from Karen and Tilly, Mary-Beth sliding in next to you.
"I can't believe we're going to see civilization," Tilly suddenly starts as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon jerks forward, "It feels like weeks since we did."
"Yeah, Valentine, the very embodiment of civilization," Uncle interjects with a wet sounding cackle, "You ladies are gonna love it!"
"Okay then," Arthur starts as he pulls the wagon out of the cluster of woods that hide the camp, "Let's go!"
Everything in you turns to stone at the sound of his voice, so many conflicting experiences with him -- with that voice, jamming themselves to the front of your brain all at once. You're so tense Mary-Beth tenses beside you too. Before awkward silence can settle over the group, Uncle twists to face the women in his seat.
"Ladies! Sing us a song!"
It seems to be the right thing to say because after a short chorus of giggles, Karen cues the girls in with a nasally but not unpleasant song about a girl in Berryville. They sing loudly, carelessly, and happily, relishing each other's company, the sun, the fresh air, and the views. Refusing to enjoy anything, you keep your gaze down on your hands that pick at the material of your skirt. Maybe this whole thing is a blessing in disguise. There are bound to be newspapers in a town right? They had books in camp so you know printing presses existed. You could possibly figure out where the hell you were and what time period you were in. It had occurred to you that asking Kieran for the date not just by day, but by year would come across as odd, even if he would tell you without many questions. The last thing you wanted to do was compromise the trust Kieran had in you, your only ally. You still have your eyes glued to your lap when you hear a panicked,
"Woah! Woah there!" A stagecoach comes barreling past the front of the wagon, Arthur having to pull the reigns up short to avoid a collision, kicking up huge clouds of dust that descend down around you.  
"Look at that coach! He's...he's all over the place," You hear Uncle mumble under his breath.
The women are still singing, though slightly distracted now as you all crane your necks to see what the commotion is about. Arthur encourages the wagon's horses left onto the main road where, just ahead, the horses of the runaway coach come to a reeling stop and with an audible snap, break free of the reigns.
--
"Oh goddammit! Oh shit, the horses!" Comes the cursing from the coach driver.
Arthur slows the horses to a walk as they come upon the stopped coach, one of the shires -- a big white stallion -- takes off in a fury towards a thin copse of trees on the other side of the road. Before he can grapple with shoving down the instinct to help the man, Tilly pipes up from the back.
"Is one of you gonna get that feller's horse?"
"Oh I got lumbago! It's very serious," Uncle immediately deflects without hesitation, like he had the excuse ready.
Arthur refrains from saying anything especially cruel to the old man in response, knowing he'd only make himself look like a fool. A part of him wants to push the wagon into a full gallop, leave this small choice behind him in the dust. He feels her eyes staring holes into his back though, and it makes him uncomfortable. Out of spite he wants to ignore the man, just to prove to her -- to himself that he can...that he's still cruel and angry enough to ignore a person in need. Arthur growls internally at himself. He has no idea what he's on about. With a sharp inhale and a quick clench and release of his jaw, he wordlessly hops out of the wagon, tossing the reigns at Uncle and getting the petty satisfaction of watching him fumble to catch them. Arthur lets himself do this despite feeling like he's chipping away at something important, something he needs to protect himself. Because if he's not angry he's empty...but she's staring --
"I'll see what's going on." He says through a tight jaw, promptly interrupting his own train of thought, "Lumbago, really," He mutters petulantly to himself as he makes his way over to the driver.
The stagecoach driver, catching sight of Arthur coming round to his side of the coach to help, hops down from the driver's bench and lands on shaky legs.
"You alright there friend?" Arthur inquires as the driver steadies himself against the side of the coach looking like a colt just learning to walk.
"Oh hey! You couldn't help me get my other horse back from over there, could you?" The driver says in leu of a response.
Arthur ignores the lack of manners, taking in how frazzled the fool truly is. Must be new.  
"Sure, no problem." Arthur says, briefly thinking of stealing the horse but waving the thought away as quickly as it appeared -- old habits.
"Thanks mister, its the white one over there." The driver instructs with a sigh of relief.
Arthur isn't sure how to feel about how simple -- how easy being kind is, it feels so foreign yet familiar, so natural and good that for a moment Arthur's heart stops. He actively ignores his thoughts and her watchful eyes from the wagon, following him as he makes his way across the road and into the smattering of trees where the white shire has taken refuge. Arthur coaxes the stallion to him easily enough, the beast coming up to him only after Arthur made him move his feet a little to earn his trust, show him he was the leader. He grabs hold of the dragging reigns and checks to make sure the horse didn't hurt his mouth by stepping on the reigns when fleeing or when he ripped clean away from the coach. The horse's soft mouth seems a little tender but no serious damage has been done, lucky beast. Arthur clicks at stallion to follow and leads them both back to the stagecoach driver currently wrangling the other shire back into the coach restraints.
"Here, here you go." Arthur announces himself and the returned horse.
The driver whips his attention over to him, stopping his fussing over the horse's tack, and exhales heavily in relief and gratitude.
"You're a gentlemen, sir, a gentlemen!" He exclaims as he takes the reigns from Arthur.
Arthur's chest aches at the praise, like acid in his stomach -- unworthy.
"No, not really...I was just," Arthur glances over his shoulder at the wagon, "Tryin' to impress the women."
He hears the girls giggling at this, though he knows which one of them remains silent.
The driver gives a hearty chuckle, "Well, anyway, thank you!"
Arthur nods at the man, biting back the warning about the shire's sensitive mouth and to go easy on the reigns next time, and heads swiftly back towards the wagon.
"C'mon!" Uncle urges as Arthur hauls himself up into the driver's seat.
"To Valentine!" Karen cries as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon lurches forward.
Arthur's grateful no one is bringing up --
"You're turnin' into a regular ol' fairy godmother there, Arthur!"
The urge to push Uncle out of the wagon takes a fierce hold of him. He only tightens his grip on the reigns instead.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur grits out, delivering Uncle the most unfriendly glare in his arsenal.
"It means you've gotta heart!" Mary-Beth interjects from the back, "A small one perhaps, hidden deep inside, but a real one!"
Her words are a surprisingly odd comfort, but they mostly confirm his fear. Its simpler if he's just fury and hate. The idea that beneath all that is something truer than what he is now, that's something he absolutely does not want to deal with right now. Or ever.  
"And you haven't! You repulsive old lizard!" Mary-Beth crows at Uncle, the girls all murmuring their adamant agreement.
"Lizards have hearts!" Uncle argues weakly, though Mary-Beth doesn't dignify that with a response.  
"Well Arthur," It's Tilly this time that speaks up, "I'm proud of you."
God were all of them gonna praise him like he just saved a newborn child from certain death? He doesn't think he can take much more of this. Arthur attempts to remind them all who he really is.
"To be honest, if you lot hadn't been here, I probably woulda robbed 'im." He says, hoping to regain some semblance of the intimidating image he'd carefully curated over the years. A bit concerned it could be knocked so easily, and over an act as simple as helping a stranger.  
Uncle wheezes out a dark chuckle at that, Karen joining him, but Mary-Beth speaks up again strangely determined to drive her point home.
"Well, you didn't!"
Arthur wonders belatedly if this is Mary-Beth's way of trying to endear him to the her, who has remained silent this whole exchange and ever since she got in the damn wagon. Something twists suddenly in his gut but Arthur smothers it on reflex, dawning his armor of anger. Good, he thinks, let her fear me, and laughs along with Uncle and Karen as they cross the railroad that circles through the town and lumber past what looks to be the station and post office.
"Smell those sheep!" Tilly says as they pass by a couple sizable livestock pens at the same time Arthur hears Mary-Beth promptly snap out her fan, and begin beating it quickly against the smell of shit.
Karen gives a hearty scoff, "Or is that Uncle?"
"Oh very funny," Uncle grouses in a slump beside him.
Arthur can't help the grin that spreads across his face.
"This looks like a decent little town." Mary-Beth insists even as she continues to vigorously work her fan.
"Other people," Tilly groans, "Finally!"
"Look at all that snow on the mountains! Sure don't want to be back up there," Mary-Beth points out, everyone in the wagon turning to glance at the icy peaks in the distance and all sharing a collective shiver.  
"You think we should have asked Molly to come with us?" Tilly wonders after another moment of taking in the bustling town.
Arthur is quickly assaulted with the image of Molly walking past the livestock pens getting mud and shit and who knows what else on her shoes, most certainly ruining the hem of her dress, and almost lets out a bark of laughter. Molly O'Shea would rather die than be subjected to an afternoon in a town like this. Karen, as Arthur knew she would, jumps at the opportunity to tear into the Irish woman.
"Oh no, Miss O'Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes of us, or to do any real work. She's a society lady now!" Her tone bleeds heavily with sarcasm and bitterness, Arthur wonders if Dutch is aware of how much animosity lies between some of the women of the gang. Sure they all bit chunks out of each other once in awhile, but this divide between Molly and the other ladies was far wider than Arthur felt was smart to ignore.
"Okay, take a look around ladies," Karen buffers on, not lingering on the negativity she created for too long, "Let's see what we got here."
They're all silent as they keep an eye out for possible opportunities. Arthur carefully navigates the wagon down the main road of Valentine, weathered wooden buildings sinking in mud line the path, paint chipping, signs swinging in the slight breeze, and folk coming and going. He catalogues a sheriff station, a general store, a hotel, a saloon, a gunsmith, and even a doctor's office. Not bad for a livestock town. The sounds of horses whinnying in a decent sized stable at the end of the street catches Arthur's particular attention. He perks up when he spots a good place to park the wagon near a building under construction adjacent to the stables. Maneuvering slowly to their destination, he stops the wagon with a gentle 'woah' to the horses once he's brought the bulk of the wagon out of the way of traffic.    
"Alright! Here we are, just like I said," Uncle boasts as everyone stands to unload, "The cultural center of civilization, man at its finest!"
Arthur only rolls his eyes at Uncle's attempt at humor and effortlessly hops down from the driver bench.
"Uncle, what're we doin'?" Arthur asks before the old fool spews anymore nonsense.
"Well, we're gonna do what any other self-respecting maniac does," Arthur signals a stable hand over to feed and water their horses as Uncle talks, pushing a few dollars into the boy's dirty hands, "Put the women to work."
Karen snorts, "With pleasure, we'll start at the saloon."
As Arthur comes around to the back of the wagon, he notices Tilly struggling to find her footing on the lip of the wagon under the layers of her dress. He quickly offers her a hand which she immediately takes.
"Thank you Arthur," She murmurs in gratitude as, with the help of his hand to steady her, she easily braves the large gap between the wagon and the mud below.
He nods at her once she's landed safely on the ground, but grunts as she thanks him again. She shouldn't waste her kindness on him. Arthur tries his best not to look at her as the women all gather together after unloading off of the wagon. He finds himself quite annoyed that the urge to is so insistent.
"Alright," He begins once Uncle finally makes his way over to stand beside Arthur who in planted firmly in front of the ladies, "Remember to stay outta trouble and don't get yourselves noticed."
Mary-Beth hooks arms with her as he talks, though he only makes eye contact with Tilly and Karen, avoiding her side of the group entirely. Karen rolls her eyes at him and when he's done, playfully pushing past him before motioning for the other women to follow.
"We know Arthur, you don't have to be such an over protective nag about it."
A noise of unfiltered indignation rips itself out of Arthur's mouth at her words, something embarrassing between a scoff and a squawk.
--
"See Arthur's not so bad," Mary-Beth murmurs in your ear as she leads you after Karen and Tilly who are striding confidently towards a building with literal swinging doors, "A right mother hen when given half the chance!"
You try not to let her words irritate you. She means well, you can acknowledge that, but her continuous attempts to humanize Arthur are more annoying than helpful. It feels like you are being forced to forgive a man that has purposefully tried to terrify you and while never having beat you, was okay with watching others do it. No amount of helping strangers or chivalry will convince you he wouldn't kill you dead without hesitation if he felt it was necessary.
You only hum at her claim, still largely uncomfortable with the physical familiarity the women keep attempting to engage you in. It takes all your strength to stop yourself from yanking your arm out from the loop of her's. Mary-Beth must sense your unease though, and wordlessly releases your arm. You're grateful she doesn't comment on it.
"C'mon ladies!" Karen exclaims, still leading you all up the street, "Imagine we're in Paris!"
"I imagine Paris and Valentine are easily confused," Tilly remarks rather sharply, her mouth twisting a little as mud squelches under their feet with each step.
You raise an eyebrow at the comment, sympathizing with her remark as you narrowly avoid stepping in a vat of what you assume is horse shit. It certainly smells foul enough, plus the flies are a dead give away. Eventually you all stop before the rickety steps of a saloon that looks like its come straight out of a movie or a high budget reenactment set. The swinging doors, the drunk piano playing wafting out from inside even though you dare say its only noon, completes the the full effect. You stand there a moment and just stare at it, stare at the people walking in and out, at their clothes, at the way they walk, at the way they talk, just everything. The town really cements the fact that you are no longer in the year 2020. An odd mixture of adrenaline and anxiety shoots through your veins then, and its difficult to process it all.  
"Newspaper," You hear yourself mutter as you continue to stare wide eyed at the saloon.
Mary-Beth hears you and turns to shoot you a questioning look.
Realizing you had just said that out loud, you blink back an embarrassed flush and clear your throat.
"I'd like to check out the newspaper that kid was selling, the one we passed on the way into town. I don't need to buy one, I just want to look."
"What are you checking for?" Mary-Beth asks, suddenly becoming very guarded, the most you've ever seen her in fact.
You panic a little, "Just the date and where exactly we are. I'm not from around here, not really familiar with this part of the country."  
Her eyes sharpen and proceed to methodically take apart your expression, examining every twitch and blink like it held a secret. You figure she's weighing whether or not this will be a threat to them -- to the gang. It further emphasizes the void between you. They would always be a them. It would never be a we.
"Alright, I'll come with you. Then we can go get you some new clothes." Mary-Beth eventually agrees, turning to wave at the other girls -- signaling your departure, before Tilly and Karen enter the saloon.
You both trudge along in silence, your anger flaring up at this blatant display of distrust despite all of her efforts so far to prove to you she's 'trying'. Once again you attempt to not to let all the emotion get to you. Trust goes both ways, and no way were you going to take the first step. If they wanted to earn your respect, it would have to be their necks they stick out first, not the other way around. You finally make your way to the boy holding up one of the newspapers he's selling, shouting today's headline. At your approach his eyes light up at the prospect of a customer,
"What will it be ladies? Two copies or one to share?"
You feel a little guilty at getting his hopes up, but you dust off one of your best customer service smiles and watch as he takes it in, a bit shocked at the easy generosity of it. Poor boy's probably used to getting snuffed all day, you can relate, having worked your fair share of minimum wage jobs.
"I'd like to check something actually, just a quick peak at the date if you wouldn't mind?" Comes your question dressed heavily in your matching costumer service voice -- tone smooth and low and friendly.
The boy blinks at you a moment -- stunned, then his cheeks promptly color a splotchy red. Thoroughly flustered he glances at Mary-Beth, but his blush only deepens as she hits him with a lovely smile of her own.
"W-Well I --," The boy begins to stutter.
"I don't even have to hold it," You interrupt before he can refuse, taking advantage of him being caught off guard, "But if I could just take a quick gander at the top right corner there..." You trail off as you do exactly what you're currently suggesting, and lean in slightly to squint at the date.
May 17, 1899, it reads.
1899?! You kick your customer service skills into overdrive, years of using it the only reason why your face doesn't crack into full panic as you force yourself to read a little more.  
The State of New Hanover, The Heart of the Heartlands
This is before they officialized the fifty states, the American civil war happened about three decades ago. Oh god.
"H-Hey are you gonna buy or not?" The boy attempts to assert himself, swinging the newspaper behind him, looking adorable with his face the color of a tomato.
"Unfortunately not, but your kindness is very much appreciated." You sooth, voice like honey, as you give him one last smile -- making it as stunning as possible, before turning away and heading back down the street.  
You make it a few strides out of the boy's ear shot before Mary-Beth elbows you gently in the side. Glancing up, you find her giving you a conspiratorial smirk.
"You never told us you could work a man," She remarks, raising one of her eyebrows in arch amusement.
You can't stop yourself from scoffing, "Man? He was barely thirteen."
"Well either way, I can tell you have a lot of experience handling people."
A shrug serves as your answer, you guess working a minimum wage job does leave you with a certain skill set. Though why Mary-Beth is hinting that it can be utilized in more unconventional ways is beyond you. Eventually you both make it to the general store. You stumble in your stride when you spot Arthur and Uncle sitting on a bench out in front of the store, sharing a large glass bottle of strong looking liquor you assume is whiskey. That's what all the cowboys in the movies drink right? It seems fate loves a good cliché.
For the first time since being tied to the tree, Arthur and you lock eyes. The two of you freeze, Arthur mid drink and you mid step. The whole world seems to grind to a halt as your gazes wrestle, the feeling in your stomach akin to the breath before the first drop of a roller coaster. The moment ends abruptly, before either of you are ready, and at the same time you step in a huge pile of shit, Arthur spills nearly the whole bottle of whiskey down the front of his shirt.
"Fuck!" You squeal in disgust.
"Goddammit!" Arthur curses loudly as he shoots to his feet so the alcohol doesn't splash onto his crotch.
Mary-Beth puts a scandalized hand over her heart at the fowl language, and Uncle coughs his way into a fit of laughter. In a squeamish panic you try in vain to wipe the shit off your shoe, though you only manage to make it worse as the mud proves to be even messier and smears the shit higher up the leather of your shoe. You can hear Arthur continuing to grouch and curse as he shoves the bottle at a wheezing Uncle and leans forward, plucking the fabric of his button-up off his chest in an attempt to stop it from sticking. Almost like an afterthought, Arthur begins flapping the shirt gently as if that'll help it dry faster.
"Better get you some new shoes as well," Mary-Beth suggests through a tight throat, trying her best not to laugh at your expense.
You level her with a very unimpressed glare (which does end up making her giggle) and squash your way to the stairs leading to the store. Once on solid ground you amble your way up onto the deck, trying your hardest not to stare at the sliver of exposed torso Arthur is revealing as he continues to hold his shirt off his stomach, the cotton completely soaked in alcohol.
Taught skin, a trail of hair, a muscled iliac furrow...
"Actually, Y/n?" Mary-Beth calls from behind you, you swivel around and realize belatedly that she hadn't followed you up, "I'm going to check on Karen an' Tilly in the saloon, why don't you an' Arthur go purchase some clothes together? Then we can all meet back up later!"
It shocks you that you feel slightly betrayed by her at the suggestion. You chance a glance at Arthur from the corner of your eye and find him staring at Mary-Beth much like a deer stares at headlights. Great. You valiantly reign in a groan and without another word, turn back around to push your way into the shop. Arthur is least likely to do anything harmful to you in front of a witness like a shopkeeper anyway, the sooner you get this over with the better.
--
Arthur spends another moment squinting suspiciously at Mary-Beth, who only smiles innocently at him before all but skipping off towards the saloon. Uncle has now devolved into slapping his knee in between taking swigs of what's left of the whiskey. Arthur wonders why the Almighty sees fit to test him so vehemently. After a moment of reflection he figures its the least he deserves considering the extent of his sins. Grumbling to himself, he tries not to stomp after her into the general store, mentally calculating how much money he has left on him as he shoulders open the stiff door. Upon entering the shop, the owner looks up and gives Arthur a polite if slightly confused wave -- probably recognizing him from when Arthur came in the shop earlier with Uncle. The shopkeeper promptly goes back to describing, with what sounds like great enthusiasm, various different outfits for...Y/n...to consider.
His heart reels at simply saying her name in the privacy of his own mind.
She's holding herself stiffly, probably as uncomfortable as Arthur is and for as many different reasons as Arthur is too. With the way her head is bent and her eyes track the movement of the shopkeeper's finger as he drags it across page after page, he can tell that despite her studious expression and how easily she nods along with what's being advertised to her, she's overwhelmed. Arthur isn't sure how he figures that exactly, but he does. Fighting with himself for a moment, he debates on whether or not he should insert himself into their conversation. He doesn't want her to misinterpret him and think he cares or anything, but she is taking forever and the slide of his wet shirt against his chest is growing more unbearable by the second.
"Just pick what you like best and get on with it," He grumbles at her, not too unpleasantly as to alarm the shop owner, but firm enough to encourage her to hurry the hell up.
Arthur had taken a few steps forward before speaking, it placed him very close to her side. Closer than he'd meant. He expects fear or hatred to color her expression as she turns to look up at him, but instead her face displays a confusing mix of gratitude, deep mistrust, and most hilariously the embodiment of the word: HELP. It honestly gives Arthur a headache to look at, not envious of the turmoil she's clearly experiencing right now in the slightest. He blinks at her for a moment before shifting his gaze down at the catalogue and flipping back a few pages.
"Do you prefer skirts, dresses, or pants?" Arthur bites out, not quite believing he's doing this, and stares pointedly at anything but her.
"Pants!" She answers in a rush, like she'd just been told she'd inherited a few grand from a dead relative.  
"Okay," Arthur drawls as he quickly finds the female pants section, the options limited to two different cuts, both of which look exactly the same to Arthur but he was never one for fashion (or so Dutch tells him).
"Pick," He instructs, sliding the catalogue back under her nose at the same time she leans in to take a look.
Arthur's temper rankles at how nice the warmth radiating off of her feels against the chilled skin of his chest, even through his soaked shirt. She takes a moment to consider the two different pants, and after what sounds like a defeated huff sheepishly points to the second one. The shop keeper nods and scribbles something down on a notebook he'd grabbed from a drawer behind the counter. Wordlessly Arthur then flips to the significantly more diverse selection of shirts and blouses, blushing furiously as he passes the women's undergarments.
Why in all hell had Mary-Beth not done this with her? She's a woman, surely that would make this more comfortable for Y/n?
But the woman in question seems unconcerned as she scans the options Arthur has displayed for her, nibbling half-heartedly on the fingernail of her right thumb as she appraises the many different tops. Arthur grits his teeth against the softness rising him. They need to hurry this up or he fears he'll...he'll...well he doesn't know, but he knows whatever it is, it's a final kind of feeling and god Arthur fears it. With the hand not pressed to her lips, she points to a plain looking button up, the cheapest one.
"Another." Arthur blurts.
He doesn't realize how that sounds until she shoots him a very indignant look.
"Pick one more for colder weather." He clarifies, mystified he had managed to say that without missing a beat and without stuttering.
Her temper relaxes back down to its usual simmer and she returns her gaze to the catalogue. After a few moments of silence she taps Arthur's hand that's spread wide over the upper edge of the book, calloused fingers holding the catalogue open flat on the counter for her. He snatches his hand back so fast it startles the shopkeeper. The owner gives the two of them an odd look but remains quiet, still wanting their money. She turns the page and points to the second least expensive shirt. It's of a similar cut to the first she'd chosen but the material is wool instead of cotton.
This process repeats for the coats, socks, shoes, gloves, and most embarrassingly -- undergarments. All the articles of clothing she chooses are the cheapest available. Something prickles in Arthur's chest when he realizes she's trying to be considerate. When the shopkeeper asks about her sizes though, she seems at a complete loss for what to say. It's like she's never shopped for clothes before. Though deeply curious, Arthur refrains from asking her anything, feeling like all the energy he had this morning has been thoroughly drained from him even though its only an hour past noon. He's exhausted and he doesn't quite know why.
The owner gives her a measuring look, eyeing her body proportions as best as he can from his spot behind the counter. The shopkeeper is not a proper tailor, so the wrinkle in the man's forehead isn't anything but confusion, and thus Arthur finds himself getting more and more agitated the longer the man stares at her. A breath before Arthur says something stupid, the owner turns and goes to retrieve the garments in the sizes he believes will fit her best. It only takes a couple moments, but its a couple moments too long to be left relatively alone with her. The tension between them is so palpable he could cut it with his hunting knife. The feeling worsens in intensity with each beat of his heart, nearly rising to insurmountable levels before it swiftly plateaus at the arrival of the shopkeeper, who returns with multiple garments draped over his forearm.
"Here Miss, go and try these on to make sure they fit." He instructs politely, nodding to a door down the hall just around the side of the counter.
With a quiet thanks, she collects the clothes and makes a beeline for the dressing room. Arthur doesn't realize his eyes follow her retreat, sticking to the dressing room door even after she disappears behind it, until the shopkeeper clears his throat. Arthur only scowls at him in response and orders a replacement shirt for the one he'd been wearing.
Thank god I didn't ruin my blue one, Arthur thinks as he pays for his new two toned muted grey and red button-up, and all the items Y/n had gotten.
Hosea and Dutch like to tease Arthur about his favorite blue and white striped button-up he's been hauling around for years now. It has holes, the seams are loose, the colors have faded, and it has permanent stains on it, but something about it feels...comfortable. More comfortable than anything else he's ever worn.
(Arthur refuses to acknowledge the fact that it's the first garment of clothing he bought for himself with money he'd earned all on his own, hence why it means so much to him.)
Arthur tries not to pace as he waits for Y/n to finish trying on all her various new clothes. He knows she has a lot to get through but --
"Oh," Arthur finds himself saying, easily gaining the shopkeeper's attention, "Her shoes?"
The shopkeeper raises a finger as his memory sparks and quickly goes to retrieve the humble looking pair she'd picked out earlier. When he brings them out, informing Arthur he'd given his best guess on the size, Arthur nods his thanks and takes the pair from him. Before he can second guess himself, he makes his way over to the dressing room door. Weary of the owner's eyes on his back, Arthur raps his knuckles in two deliberate consecutive knocks against the aging wood of the door. A series of sounds that suggest Y/n had been thoroughly startled puts a grin on Arthur's face without his permission.
"Your shoes," He starts, "I'm leaving them outside the door."
Arthur then demands himself to tell her to hurry up, but no words form, in fact his lips once again act against his will and gently press shut.
"Oh, okay," She replies tensely.
He hovers by the door another moment before the intimacy of talking to someone -- a woman no less -- like this really registers with him, then he thinks of how this probably seems to the shopkeeper and deep color promptly rises along his cheekbones. Arthur takes a shaky step back, then another, until he's in the front of the store pretending to browse the meager collection of pocket watches.
--
You wait until you hear Arthur's footsteps fully recede from the door before continuing to fumble with your undergarments. You have never so desperately wished for a simple modern bra in your life. The shopkeeper had suggested a corset of some sort, but with the clothes that you had picked -- pants, and a 'decidedly unfeminine looking' set of button ups according to the owner -- wearing a corset under all that seemed more of a hinderance than anything else. You'd ended up choosing a version of whatever shift thing you are currently wearing, as it provided enough support for the girls but didn't constrict you entirely like you figure a corset might. Most of the time spent in the dressing room has been you struggling to shuck off your current clothes without resorting to simply tearing them all off. Though you have been spending an equally egregious amount of time trying to correctly adjust all the little strings and ties and clips of your new shift. The slim bloomers you are wearing were made to be worn with the pants you'd ordered, and they were simple enough to slip on, though the extra fabric you'd have to get used to. You wonder idly if this is what it feels like to wear boxers as you finally finish securing your shift and pull the pants up the length of your legs. They fit surprisingly well, a little tight around the ass but in all honesty, at this point you don't care. You just want this torture over with.
The rest of your clothes you try on with more ease, everything fitting okay except for the coat that was about ten times too big but you find you kind of like it that way. Making sure to carefully remove your shit covered shoes without dirtying your hands, you gingerly place them by the door before replacing your used socks with your new ones. You gather your previous clothes up, hoping the shopkeeper has a bag of some kind you can use, and open the door. Infinitely grateful that no one else has walked into the shop, you quickly slip on the shoes Arthur has set neatly in front of the door like he'd said, and immediately find that they're too small. Ignoring your slight flush from all the changing and nerves from trying on so many foreign clothes, you approach the shopkeeper and politely request the next shoe size up. He nods and bumbles to the back again. When he brings you the next pair, you apologize for being such a hassle and quickly exchange shoes. You drop the new pair to the floor and lower to kneel as you stuff your feet in, praying these fit.
"Can we get something to wrap all this up?" Arthur's voice rumbles through you, like the bass notes of a song played at one of the clubs you used to frequent a lot your first year of college.
You clench hard against the urge to jump at how close he is, not having heard him come over as you'd been focused on figuring out how your new boots laced up. They reminded you a little of modern day men's work boots, comfortable and well suited for all the wilderness trudging you figure you'll be doing. The shop owner hands Arthur a few sheets of brown parcel paper, which Arthur immediately tosses down at you. You catch the squares of paper before it hits your face, ignoring his rudeness and weighing how helpful he's been to you in the shop against the desire to say something satisfyingly nasty.
Noticing your restraint Arthur wordlessly brushes past you, broad shoulders barely seeming to fit through the doorway of the dressing room, before closing the door firmly shut behind him. While he changes out of his wet shirt, you struggle to wrap up all your new clothes neatly, feeling bizarrely like you're wrapping a Christmas present when the shopkeeper hands you a rudimentary string to tie everything together. After you finally manage to wrangle all the clothes (save for your oversized coat and all that you're wearing out of the store) into a compact enough bundle, you take the second sheet of paper and repeat the process with your soiled clothes and ruined shoes. You feel bad about the shoes since you'd borrowed them, maybe you could scrub out the shit? Though you don't know how plausible that will be without the aid of stain remover and fabric softener.
You've just finished organizing all your belongings when Arthur emerges from the dressing room in his new shirt. The colors suit him, the fabric hugging him in all the right places too. With his dark hat, tan over coat, and heavy footfalls due to his boots, he almost --
Deeply alarmed at the direction that particular train of thought was going, you angrily remind yourself he's a bloodthirsty killer who would not hesitate to end your life if he thought it was necessary. Despite all that though, he did just pay for your clothing and help you navigate the shopping process with little to no complaints. Torn between saying nothing and thanking him, the habit to be courteous, ingrained in you by your mother, wins out.
"Arthur," It's the first time you've said his name, at least in direct address to him.
His name tastes dangerous on your tongue, a thrill not unlike taking a shot of something strong knowing you're already well over your alcohol limit. You'd stopped once you'd stepped out of the shop behind Arthur and he pauses with his back to you, going completely rigid, having just been about to wake up Uncle who lists precariously in a drunk stupor on the bench where you'd both left him.
"Thank you." That's the second time you've thanked this man, not fond of the fact that its slowly becoming a regular occurrence.
Arthur turns around after a moment and his eyes, shaded under the brim of his hat but very much visible now where they'd only been dark with violence before, are the first things your gaze is drawn to. They're really quite a stunning color, blue shot with green, like an ocean tide caught in a shallow tide pool. The brimming emotion in him blunders against the stiff wall of that anger you'd first caught a true glimpse of when you were tied to the tree, it holds an avalanche of sensation back. You marvel briefly at how it's held so much back for so long.
"You owe me thirty-two dollars and thirteen cents." He says in leu of accepting your gratitude with any sort of grace.  
You only glare, already having expected that he'd ask you to pay him back, though you figure it's the very least he could do after watching you suffer for nearly two weeks straight despite being completely innocent with no proof otherwise save their paranoid suspicions. Not to mention being wrongly accused of being an O'Driscoll and almost getting shot in the face by his gang leader for the apparent crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time! Unlike Arthur, you let your emotions flow freely, righteous fury undisguised and plain to see rotting away the last traces of the odd domesticity you'd formed with him in the shop.
"You, are one of the most fucked up assholes I have ever met." You say in a tone of voice you had only ever used with your abusive ex.
Instead of being taken aback at your words, you watch something in him rise to meet your anger -- a broken kind of relief overtaking his features, like he's finally back in his comfort zone. Something he's familiar with, something he's good at. It simultaneously sickens you and breaks your heart. Everything only ever defined in extremes when it comes to him. Before you two can really tear into each other though, the call of your names by a familiar voice pauses the cataclysmic collision that is moments away from occurring.
"Arthur! Y/n!" Mary-Beth pants as she jogs up to meet you both on the shaded deck, "Oh, Uncle! I didn't see him from over there," She huffs out in a laugh as she closes the distance between the three of you.
It doesn't take long for Mary-Beth to pick up on the truly foul mood Arthur and you share. Her face falls.
"Did, did the shopping not go well? I see you've..." She trails off as she takes in your new clothes.
You suspect in an attempt to lighten the mood, she puts her hands on her hips in mock disappointment and shoots Arthur a significant look.
"What in the blazes have you dressed her in Mr. Morgan? She looks like a ranch hand!"
Arthur seems to struggle to swallow the worst of his temper, apparently not wanting to take it out on Mary-Beth.
Oh so Mary-Beth deserves to be spared but not you?
Your bitterness towards him promptly deepens and suddenly you're exhausted. You miss Kieran -- no, actually you miss your home. You miss your own time. You miss your friends and family.  
"Don't look at me, she picked it all out herself!" Arthur deflects, holding his hands up in surrender.
Mary-Beth purses her lips at this claim but does eventually shift her gaze over to you. She immediately notices that your energy has plummeted, but you can't summon the will to care.
"But if you like it Y/n, then that's all that matters!" Mary-Beth rushes to assure, worried her comment about your fashion sense but more so your previous conversation with Arthur is working against her efforts to find some middle ground with you, to start building some semblance of trust.
You let her search your eyes and put together the realization that she failed. In fact you imagine instead of taking one step forward, you've taken three leaps back. But why bother with them anyway? There's no need to deal with these people any more than strictly necessary. You will find a way to return to your own time, and you're determined to figure it out by any means necessary.
--
Thoughts? Share them if you’d like!! xx
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mommymooze · 4 years ago
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Coffee is Delicious
Hubert x reader
Mentions of fighting/battles/death  Coffee beans are mutilated 
Your heart is pounding strong and steady as you continue to develop and perfect your lance skills while mounted on the back of your Pegasus. All members of the Black Eagles Strike Force hone their skills constantly, never knowing when they will be called to battle against their enemies. Rising with the sun, you consume a hearty protein filled breakfast followed immediately by sweat laden muscle building exercise. Allowing a brief cooldown while you drink plenty of water to compensate your body for the fluid loss, you then spar and develop your lance techniques.
Lunch is spent socializing with your friends as best you can. Mostly you observe them, too shy to comment or draw attention to yourself. Watching everyone laugh at Caspar’s antics, nodding while all are complimenting Dorothea on her latest opera performance, and hiding your snickers as they give Linhardt a difficult time for just being his obnoxious self.
The next several hours are invested in your magical development. Practicing lower level spells, learning new spells, building your casting abilities and increasing your focus and concentration. Next you are sprinting to the stables for Pegasus or horseback riding. Finally, you clean up, have a light dinner and spend time with friends, or continue research.
If you check the dictionary for the word Shyness, there is a picture of you hiding behind a book and Bernie hiding behind you. Carrying on a conversation with a single person is manageable for you. A war council meeting with 10 or more people? You can manage to be present at the meeting. Participation is out of the question. Entering the room, you take a seat, placing your hands and notebook in your lap. Visibly above the table only your eyes and head move to the direction of the person speaking. Copious amounts of notes fill the pages of the notebook. Thoughts, perceptions, even recommendations on how to carry out tasks that are brought up at the meeting. After a meeting one day when the only two remaining in the room consist of you and Hubert, he asks to see your notes. He is quite aware of your hesitancy to address a group.
“These are excellent observations. Why did you not bring them up during the meeting?” The dark mage inquires, already knowing the answer.
“I, uh, did not want to interrupt. I just…” your voice fades to silence and you can only focus on your notebook on the table.
“May I suggest that you sit next to me during tomorrow’s meeting.” Hubert begins, “If you will allow me to discretely view your annotations, I will offer your thoughts in such a way that no attention or scrutiny will be directed towards yourself.”
“Sure.” You shrug. Not that you would ever disagree with him. You have heard Emperor Edelgard state too many times that Hubert is an extension of herself and any order or direction from him is the same as if she had proclaimed it herself.
Hubert rises and dismisses you. Skittering to your room you drop your book, fall lengthwise on the bed, smash your pillow into your face and scream. Hubert, your crush, noticed you. He appreciates some of your observations and you are invited to sit next to him. It takes you a few minutes to get your breathing under control and the flush to fade from your face.
Quickly throwing on your sparring garb, you run out to meet with Ferdinand for lance practice. Both of you obtain a healthy, challenging workout as he also educates you on the finer points of his presentation that he had made during the council meeting. You actively banter with him, bringing up some notable flaws and considerations which he appreciates and will review your logical points.  
The Strike Force is embroiled in a particularly rough battle close to the Oghma Mountains. The air is cooler there to begin with, however with it being Guardian Moon with temperatures below freezing, the winds tear through your clothes like frozen daggers of ice as you fly on your Pegasus. The close knit group is responding to the reports of a large quantity of enemy forces entering into Varley territory.
Your coal black steed swoops low, hooves barely clearing the ground as you direct your lance into the chest of an enemy cavalier. Just as the winged steed is directed to head back into the skies, an enemy mage strikes with a flash of purple light blinding your vision. An experienced flier such as yourself should have no problem hanging on, however the frigid temperatures combined with flying at dizzying heights and speeds have allowed the unforgiving chill of the weather into your limbs, your hands too numb to firmly grip your saddle, you are thrown from the back of your steed. The screams of dying soldiers the last thing you hear before you lose consciousness.
 There is no camp as they planned to arrive, fight, and return. The Empire’s Elite forces decide to detour further into Varley territory, where roads are better constructed and Inns are not too difficult to find.
You are carried from the field after the battle concludes. The healers asses your condition. A concussion and aftereffects of being struck by black magic. Your resistance has greatly improved since the academy days and you will recover without any permanent damage.  
Traversing the fields and undeveloped countryside on horseback is slow because several riders have to double up. Ferdinand offers to carry your unconscious form, however he has injuries of his own to care for. Hubert mounts his mages warhorse and is assisted with securing your unconscious form in front of him. He wraps his large cape around the both of you to assist in conserving warmth between you. Your Pegasus is given to another rider more accustomed to traversing at great heights, they scan the countryside and lead the way to safety.
The exhaustion from battle washes over everyone as they ride with little conversation heading east, eagerly anticipating a warm meal and soft bed for the evening.
Hubert checks your positioning, your back leaned up against his chest, your cheek pushed tight against his sternum.  
A soft voice mumbles from within his cape. “Yumm. Smells so good. Coffee.”  
The hand around your waist shifts slightly. “Shhh. Rest. You have a concussion.”
You snuggle closer to him in your haze. “Hubert’s voice is so deep and sexy. Mmmm.”
The dark mage’s eyes cast about him, nobody appears to be close enough to hear you but him.
The horse jostles you both as it steps into a dip of the ground and he tightens his grip around your waist.
“I want to have coffee with him. Stare into his gorgeous chartreuse eyes. Delicious.” You murmur.
The troops finally meet up with the road, the travel now much quicker with even ground for the horses to traverse. Hubert rooms with the Emperor while you are in a room with Linhardt and a few other injured soldiers.
 You arise quite early in the morning, having slept through much of the ride here. Running down to the stables you check your Pegasus, relieved that he is quite healthy. Heading back inside you grab breakfast and a large coffee, finding a quiet corner to sit and try to recall what happened that led you to finding yourself here.
A few others of your group are scattered about the room. You half-listen in on their conversations. You take your dishes back to the counter and obtain a refill. As you return to your seat, you are followed by Hubert.
“Might I join you?” he requests as he stands across the table.
“Absolutely.” You quietly answer as he takes the seat across from you. The coffee is too hot to drink, you wrap both hands around the cup, warming your fingers nicely.
“Are you feeling better today?” Hubert asks, bringing his drink to his lips for a sip.
Your eyes are riveted on his. You realize that you are gazing at him far too intensely, suddenly you’re looking away and breaking out in an embarrassing blush. “Yes. A bit of a headache. I feel much warmer. I recall the cold was getting the best of me. I should have stayed on the ground when my fingers started becoming numb. I hope I did not cause any major problems.” Bringing your cup to your lips, the coffee is still boiling hot. How can he drink it like that?
“Not at all.” He smiles, taking another sip.
The room begins to fill with the rest of their group. Linhardt sits next to Hubert, placing his plate filled with sweet rolls and cup of tea onto the table. “I can’t wait to get back and get some proper sleep.” The healer frowns. “Someone talks in their sleep and wouldn’t stop rambling about coffee all night long.” The cleric’s green eyes drill holes into you. You weakly smile as you raise your cup to cover your face and hide behind it. You sort of know you talk in your sleep, but this is the first time someone understood what you said. Mostly you were told you mumble. Just another reason to hide away and keep to yourself.
 The journey back to Enbarr is uneventful and quiet. Your Pegasus is not exactly thrilled to be grounded most of the way back, however the weather is cold and you do not wish to be chilled so soon again. Arriving home, you slip back into your regular routine, working on your muscles and skills. The weather is cold, wet and dreary, you must forgo riding for several afternoons.
Heading to the kitchen you decide a cup of coffee would be the perfect warmup on this chilly day. As you enter the always busy room, the cooks are bustling about, preparing the meat and vegetables for the next meal. As you finish preparing your drink, pouring it through a clean cloth filter, Hubert arrives to obtain yet another cup of his favorite caffeinated beverage. With too many people around you don’t speak, but you do wave to greet him.
“Afternoon.” The dark haired mage grumbles. “The weather is cold and miserable. Best for staying indoors by a warm fire.”
You nod slowly, gripping your cup firmly.
“There is a decent fire in the library should you need further assistance in combating the weather’s chill.” He says before the noise of grinding his coffee beans makes talking impractical.
You nod as you leave, heading to your room.
 You mull over Hubert’s suggestion to sit by a warm fire instead of freezing under your blanket in your cold and damp room. Summoning your courage, you decide it is to your benefit to seek a warmer location while you are studying, no matter who or how many others may be occupying the room. Turning the corner to where the fireplace is located in the library, you are surprised that only Hubert is here, occupying one of the more comfortable chairs in the room. The smell of the burning hardwood fills the room, adding to the warmth of the blazing flames. The other occupant does not raise his head from his reading as you sink into an overplush chair that comfortably hugs you. The upholstery is warm, immediately making you feel secure and relaxed. Placing your still warm coffee cup on the arm of the chair you open your reading material to where the bookmark holds your place. Concentrating on your book, you only raise your eyes to reflect on a particular passage or to imagine the depths and runes of the spell you are studying.
Reading a particular dark magic spell you look to the other spellcaster in the room. Your mind conjures up the last time you observed him cast this spell, perfect concentration reflected in his face. His posture is immaculate, leaning slightly forward, his right arm fully extended creating the runes consummately while his voice deeply and powerfully orders the incantation. The purple luster of magic gathering in front of him, quickly growing in magnitude and power as the spell bursts forth, striking and eliminating the enemy. Unconsciously you let out a sigh of awe.
“Pardon?” suddenly his eyes are focused on you, his brows raised.
“Your spellcasting is fabulously perfect.” The words are out of your mouth before you realize you had said them out loud. Your cheeks burn with the heat of a blush as you desperately resist the urge to bury your face in the pages before you.
“Thank you.” He muses.
Both parties return to their reading, the only sound in the room is the occasional page turning and the popping and crackling of the fire.
A throat clearing ahead of you draws your attention from your book.
“Should you wish to further your development of your reason magic skills, I humbly offer my assistance.” Hubert proposes for your consideration, not looking up from his reading.
“To increase my abilities aiding the cause toward our Emperors victory, I accept your proposition.” You smile widely.
There is the slightest smile that flashes across Hubert’s lips that you are thrilled to bear witness to.
 Hubert joins you in the spellcasting section of the training grounds when he finds the time. Your stomach flips every time he touches you to correct your arm position, your stance, standing behind you to watch your rune manipulation. By the time he leaves to head to his next appointment you are tomato red and breathless.
 Today is one of your longer learning sessions and quite productive. After dinner, you decide to retire to the Library to procure a book Hubert recommends that covers additional spells and manipulation of runes. The two comfy chairs are taken by others, thus you make do with alternate seating on the couch that faces the fireplace directly. Placing your coffee cup on the end table you open the tome and become immediately immersed in its contents. The other occupants of the Library leave without your notice.
Hubert greets you as he enters the room. Taking a seat on the other end of the couch, he places his coffee on the end table, opens his book and begins reading.
After reading quietly for nearly an hour you are deep into the section dissecting rune manipulation and you find there are a few passages that are not quite make sense to you. You stop to take a sip of your now very cold coffee, nearly choking on the nasty liquid.
Hubert looks over to you. “Are you all right?”
“Cold coffee.” You stammer and catch your breath. “Actually, I have a question about this section here…” You say, holding the book between you, scooting a bit closer to him as you point out the section. The dark haired mage slides next to you so that you both can review the passage. He carefully explains the runes, their order and how the instruction of the manipulation contributes to the verbal incantation thus giving the magical energy and power to the spell.
Everything suddenly clicks. Smiling brightly in your frenzied joy, you turn to Hubert and give him a peck on his cheek.
Your gasp as your eyes go wide as realization hits you regarding your most recent action.        
Hubbert’s gloved fingers gently grasp the side of your jaw, turning your face toward him again. “I think you meant…” he hums as his lips gently meet yours in a soft kiss. You grab his lapels, keeping your lips pressed together until you find the need to breathe again.
He slides his arm around your shoulder as you lean into his chest.
Hubert presses his lips to the crown of your head. “I find you delicious as well.”  
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fedtothenight · 3 years ago
Text
this competition asked to write a short story in the dystopian genre and my entry's below - don't rb!
the sweetest fruit
The boy gasped, straining against the padded frame of the jeep just as the vehicle slowly came to a halt. ‘Look!’ he shouted, pointing at a spot about a hundred feet from the group. ‘Look, Mum! That’s so cool!’
Half-instinctively, his mother had already grabbed a fistful of his tank-top, ready to yank him back. She had spent the entirety of the trip sitting as still as possible, facing forward, eyes stubbornly fixed on the self-cooling top of the car in a pointless effort to fight her motion sickness: her patience was already wearing very thin without her eight-year-old personal safety hazard trying to get himself killed.
‘Ethan, for the love of God,’ she snapped. ‘I already told you to stop leaning over the frame! Do you realise how dangerous that is?’
‘No, Mum, you’ve got to look!’
‘Emma, darling,’ her husband whispered, a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘You should really look at this. It’s magnificent.’
Whatever it was, even her fifteen-year-old daughter - who had spent the last thirty minutes texting her friends back home without so much as a glance at the scenery - was jaw-slacked, so she slowly got up on her wobbly knees and peered over her shoulders.
In the shadow of a tree, protected from the sweltering heat, two lions were feasting on a zebra. Perhaps belatedly, as it’d taken her a second to drink the sight in, she realised that the poor thing was still alive: writhing as blood, red and hot and pulsing, gushed out from where the bigger lion - the male - had bitten into its back.
The smaller one, the female, soundlessly sank its teeth into the dying animal’s neck, and the latter gave one last weak kick, finally falling limp. When the lioness stood again, it was almost impossible, from this distance, to see her eyes amidst the bloodied mess on her face.
‘Oh, my God, Matt,’ Emma said. ‘This is beautiful. Nature truly is beautiful.’
‘You don’t really get to see this kind of show anywhere else today,’ their guide said from the driver’s seat. He sounded proud, as if he’d hunted and fed the zebra to the lions himself.
Alberto wasn’t wrong, Emma reasoned. Given that they were parked in the middle of the privately-owned biggest North American savanna, he - or rather, his employer - was the one effectively feeding the lions. Like feeding mice to cats. She glanced at her children, glad they could have a window on a reality that was long gone. To think it would have taken a trip around the world to watch this spectacle - imagine the motion sickness then! If only, she considered wistfully, there could be a way of replicating glaciers just as accurately.
‘Honestly, it seems a bit unfair that they get to eat real meat,’ Ethan said at the dinner table a few hours later. He was picking at his plate, moving the fried grasshoppers they’d been served for dinner around, but not really eating any. ‘While we are stuck with insects and microprotein or whatever.’
Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. She was tired and sunburnt, her sensitive pale skin suffering under the blistering sun of the region, so different from the temperate weather back home North. She had a splitting headache, too. She was, yet again, at the so-called end of her tether. ‘Ethan…’
‘You should be glad you get to eat at all,’ her daughter said at the same time. ‘There’s a reason it’s illegal to eat meat. These animals are here for show, anyway. They were originally from Africa.’
‘Shut up, Becca,’ Ethan mumbled. ‘Everybody knows there are no animals in Africa. There’s nothing there.’
Becca’s cheeks were tinted pink, eyebrows furrowed. ‘Of course there were animals. There were animals everywhere before the Climate Crunch.’
‘Both of you, stop it,’ Matt interjected. ‘Ethan, your sister is right. You should be grateful that we are here in the first place. That said…’ He leant forward, voice down to a whisper: ‘I have a surprise for you. Or, well, Richard has a surprise for us. When he arrives tomorrow, he’ll bring us real meat. Bovine meat.’
‘But it’s illegal,’ said Becca.
‘It’s technically illegal,’ Matt acknowledged. ‘It’s not if you know how to get some and no one from Animal Conservation finds out. Do you think our president only eats insects? Please, Becca. Use that big brain of yours.’
‘Yes,’ Ethan snickered. ‘Use your brain, Becca.’
‘That is too generous,’ Emma said. ‘Inviting us here in the first place was, when even he hasn’t gotten here yet. Now this. I wouldn’t know how to repay him.’
Truly, all she felt was jealousy. Her guts twisted with the sheer force of it. Yes, she had known that Richard was comfortable. The gated, heavily guarded estate spanned for thousands of acres, comprised the 5000sqt villa they were staying at (five bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a cinema, marble floors and solar panels on the rooftop), an indoor swimming pool inspired by vintage photos of Amalfi, two indoor tennis courts, and the savanna they’d explored earlier in the day. ‘The biggest conservation area in North America since they repurposed the Midwest,’ he’d bragged in a video call, two weeks before. ‘You will love it. The holiday you deserve. Make yourselves at home.’
But meat? He could get meat?
Matt’s family had designed DeNuketify, which was basically the only effective way of purifying ocean water from whatever nuclear waste Japan kept spewing so that it could be used and, most importantly, drunk. They had managed to flee the continent with the last handful of greencards about the time her family did, too, taking their precious Queen’s accent with them to found Nova London. She was the governor of Nova London now, for God’s sake. The bloody queen herself was long dead but she was alive, and yet, yet - they had never had meat.
‘We don’t have to, Emma,’ Matt said. ‘We just need to remember how lucky we are to enjoy this meal, this house, this holiday. Look at that,’ and he nodded towards the TV screen again. ‘Actually, Alexa!, volume up!, I think the Italians have finally surrendered.’
The war correspondent’s voice grew louder. She - they, Emma reminded herself: Becca always told her not to assume anyone’s gender - was wearing a dust mask and reading from a bundle of documents. ‘The last military hospital in the island of Palermo was destroyed four days ago by a Canadian airstrike,’ they were saying. ‘The rebels surrendered soon after, followed by the group of extremists in the Nebrodi island. Etna had already surrendered last year.’
‘It’s important to remember that these actions were necessary to finally put a rest on the instability of the region,’ they added. ‘Canada will fund a complete restoration of the Southern archipelago. The remaining civilians will be provided with a shelter and then, when the time comes, a suitable job. Nova Italia will be the sixteenth Canadian state, the fourth offshore. There are also hopes to extract petroleum from the seabed of the sunken city of Gela.’
‘Watch them make it into a holiday hotspot,’ Matt commented. ‘The weather is still nice there.’
‘Ooh, I heard about this.’ Becca picked her phone back up and started furiously typing away. ‘There’s this journal entry soldiers found over there, under the rubble, that’s gone viral. It was translated into English. Wait, I’ll pull it up. Alexa, volume down.’
‘I’m not sure I want to hear it,’ Emma said, uneasy. ‘We’re on holiday. Should we not watch a movie? Something funny?’
Becca waved her away, as if she was an annoying fly. ‘It’ll be good practice for my drama class.’
Matt didn’t help—he simply shrugged, half-apologetic, as if to say: Let her do her thing.
Becca made a show of clearing her throat, too, before she started reading from her phone—her high voice now grave, studied, as if she were speaking to a larger audience: ‘I wonder what peas taste like.’
Right then, the scene on screen changed to footage of what looked like a destroyed village, something out of an apocalyptic movie. Emma found herself unable to look away.
‘Nonna used to say that her own great-grandmother grew them in her garden. Figs, too,’ Becca read. ‘They say they were the sweetest fruit.’
Emma wondered if this journal was actually written by a child or a teenager. It didn’t sound like an adult at all. She couldn’t help but picture a girl, a brunette, not much older than Becca, perhaps a rebel, or a trainee nurse on the sweet cusp of adulthood, holding this journal of hers, or perhaps a gun. It violently reminded her that her own daughter, too, would have to serve her time in the Forces in three years.
On screen, the Canadian soldiers walked among the ruins, zigzagging between torn up clothes and discarded weapons, surely looking for surviving rebels under the rubbles.
‘Isn’t it silly that we can hear the fighters overhead and that all I can do is think about food?’ said Becca. ‘I wish we could also eat figs and be happy.’
On screen, the camera zoomed in on a long-forgotten man's shoe, some crumpled photographs, on a pile of bodies in black bin bags.
‘Grandma - I miss her - left me a poetry book, too, from T.S. Eliot. I hope the book is with me when I die, so I can give it back to her when we meet again, afterwards. So I can tell her that T.S. Eliot was wrong.’
On screen, one of the soldiers approached and showed a little trinket to the camera: a bloody, heart-shaped locket that must’ve once been golden, hiding the miniature pictures of two brunette children that would never have a name.
‘That’s enough,’ Emma said. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘Stop reading.’
‘The world may have not ended with a bang, but it didn’t end with a whimper, either: the world didn’t end at all. Sometimes,’ Becca finished reading, ‘I wish it had.’
‘What a load of rubbish,’ Matt scoffed. ‘Everyone should feel lucky to be alive. I bet this journal is a fake. Alexa, turn the TV off.’
As the screen faded to black, Ethan finally popped a grasshopper in his mouth. ‘I can’t wait to have meat tomorrow.’
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atths--twice · 4 years ago
Text
Snowed In
Mulder and Scully find themselves snowed in after he refused to listen to her when she suggested they leave the area. Supplies are low and the temperature is continuing to drop
On Twitter last year, two pictures were posted from Darkness Falls, one of my favorite episodes, for the bottle episode feel to it. Added to the photos was - “What if they are upset with each other and get caught in a snowstorm? Does anyone want to write this fic?“ and my mind began to spin.
I adore Mulder and Scully stuck somewhere because of weather or some crazy situation they have found themselves in. It’s probably one of my favorite things. Hope you like it too. 
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Of course it was snowing. Of course it was.
After a flat tire had slowed them down, the planned two day trip into the woods had stretched into four days, and now it was snowing. The wind was whipping through the little cabin, causing the freezing air to chill the occupants inside.
Mulder paced back and forth as Scully watched him, annoyance and irritation pouring off of him in waves. The one lone light they had in the room glowed brightly, casting his shadow across the walls. His anger and constant motion was ratcheting up her own anger. When she could take no longer, she stood up and blocked his path.
“Just, sit down,” she said venomously, and he stared at her hard, before pushing past her and resuming his pacing. “Mulder …”
“Scully, stop. Just … stop,” he said, shaking his head, not looking at her, his hands moving to his hips.
“I told you that if we-”
“Spare me, Scully. I don’t need to hear this again. You’re like a broken record.”
“I’m like a broken record? Who the hell kept saying that coming up here would be a snap? Who said that we would be in and out before any major weather conditions caused a catastrophe? Not me — you. Despite the warnings from the sheriff and despite the fact that this time of year snow is not unheard of, you insisted that we press on. So don’t tell me that I’m the broken record, when that’s all you’ve been since I met you.” Her eyes flashed, and she was breathing hard when she finished speaking. He stared at her and walked closer, towering over her smaller frame.
“If it bothers you so much, then why don’t you leave? If my repeating things or my drive to pursue the truth is too much for you, why are you still here?”
“Oh, here it comes." She shook her head and crossed her arms. “It’s always someone else’s fault, right? Fox Mulder could never be wrong, so it must be someone else. Am I to blame this time, despite my own warnings to you that it was looking like it might snow? I was ready to leave here five hours ago, which would have put us past this storm and safely heading down this mountain. We have the car we found parked outside, but it’s likely buried by now. So instead of driving back into town, we are stuck in a blizzard. On top of it all, our food supply is low and we don’t have much gas left to support the generator.”
As he stared at her, his eyes flashing with anger, the radio in the corner sputtered to life. Static filled the room, and they both turned to look at it, before Mulder hurried over and she quickly followed. Turning the knobs, he tried to tune in the signal. Finally, something came through, a woman’s voice, and Mulder grabbed the hand microphone.
“This is Special Agent Fox Mulder, who is on this frequency?” The voice faded, and when he turned the knob again, the voice was once again clear.
“Agent Mulder, this is the National Park Service, what is your location, please? Over.”
He grabbed the map in front of him and they looked at it together. Both of them touched the spot where they were at the same time and he looked at it closer.
“Our location is Bison Pass, west of Falls Forest. We’re in a loggers cabin. Rations are low. Over,” he said, and Scully’s heart pounded, worrying about their food supply.
“Agent Mulder, we have your location. Sir, if it hasn’t reached you yet, you are in for a hell of a storm. Should blow in and dump quite a lot of snow your way. Do you have supplies? Over.”
“Enough for two days, maximum. Generator is running low on gas and if the snow piles up, we won’t be able to get to it. We need an evacuation plan. Over.” The radio rang with static again, the wind blowing hard against the cabin, and then it sputtered off.
Mulder threw the handset down and covered his face with his hands. “Well, that was a fucking mess.” He stood up and started  to pace once more.
“She knows our location and about the storm. They will send someone.”
“Before we freeze to death? It could fall for days. She didn’t say how long it was going to snow." He stopped pacing and shook his head. The light flickered and they both looked at it, holding their breath as it dimmed and then glowed again brightly, allowing them to breathe.
“We should take stock of what supplies we have, in case the generator goes out, we’ll need candles and flashlights at least,” she said, staring at the light.
“Yeah,” he agreed, and she looked at him. He did not glance her way, but began to gather items and place them on the table.
Forty five minutes later, they had gathered everything at their disposal. Six long candles, two boxes of matches, three flashlights, and two packs of batteries. They had two cans each of soup, corn, peas, beef stew, refried, black, and kidney beans, a large bag of pasta, two bags of beef jerky, and three gallons of water. They looked at the supplies and then at one another, as the wind blew louder.  
“I’m sorry, I should have listened,” he said quietly, reaching out and touching her hand.
“Yeah, you should’ve,” she said, as she pulled her hand away.
“Scully …”
“No, Mulder.” She cut across him and pointed to the table. “This is all we have for who knows how long. It might only snow for a night, but the roads could be impassable for days. Days. How are we going to survive on that amount of food for days? And water, Mulder. We need water.” She began pacing and shaking her head. “If the generator stops and that small heater turns off …” She finally looked at him, but his eyes were on the supplies.
“I know, Scully. Food we could do without, but I’m worried about the heat." Looking up at her, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t …”
“Listen,” she finished for him, her worry overtaking her anger. Sighing, she sat down at the table and put her face in her hands. Mulder sat beside her and clasped his hands together.
They were quiet for a while, each with their own thoughts and worries. Finally, he stood up and began to gather their sleeping bags and all the extra blankets in the room. He dropped everything down onto one cot, before unzipping each sleeping bag, and then rezipping then together.
“What are you doing?” Scully asked, although she knew the answer to the question. They would need to conserve body heat. Sleeping close together was the best idea, but the thought made her feel uncomfortable.
“It’s going to get very cold in here, Scully,” he said apologetically. “We’re going to need to stay warm.” She nodded, and he smiled slightly.
He moved the cots together, laid the large sleeping bag across them, and added the extra blankets on top. Scully picked up her backpack along with Mulder’s, looking through them and finding their gloves and extra clothes, especially socks. Laying them on the table, she set the backpacks back down onto the floor.
“You need to layer up,” she said, as Mulder walked up beside her. She handed him the long underwear from his pack and the socks. “Put them on over your other socks.” He nodded and headed to the bathroom.
While he was in the bathroom, she quickly undressed and added the layers under her own clothes, shivering in the chilly room with the loss of her warm clothes. Putting them back on, she added her extra pair of socks and picked up her gloves, as well as Mulder’s.
He came out of the bathroom and she handed him his gloves. He nodded as he took them, sighing as he did. She stood up, heading to the cots, unzipped the sleeping bag, and slid inside. She zipped it up again and shivered in the cold flannel, as she put on her gloves.
“Keep the light on?” he asked.
“Probably a good idea,” she said, turning onto her side. He stepped over to the cots and got in beside her. She felt him shiver and she knew they needed to be closer. “Mulder, move closer, back to front.”
He did as asked and then put his arms around her. The blankets were heavy, helping to take off the chill, but still she shivered. Mulder pulled her closer and sighed close to her ear.
“I am sorry, Scully. I wouldn’t choose to be way out here with a storm raging outside,” he whispered, his proximity causing her to shiver, but not solely from cold. He put his leg over hers, and she jumped. “Sorry.” He said again.
“No, we need to be as close as possible, it just startled me,” she said, shifting against him.
“I thought the best thing to fight off the cold, was to lay naked with someone else, preferably already inside a sleeping bag,” he deadpanned, and she sighed.
“Not always. And keep dreaming,” she shivered again, and he laughed quietly. The wind howled as they lay close together trying to keep warm and worrying about what was to come.
__________________
“Kidney beans?” he asked, and she made a face. “Well it’s that or black ones. So, dealers choice.” She pointed to the black ones, and he opened the can, not bothering with plates, they shared the can between them, plus some beef jerky.
The snow fell the entire night, to the top of the door. They had no tools to dig their way out and no chance of making it once they did. Staying in the cabin and waiting for rescuing was the only option. The generator stopped running mid morning and the room had steadily gotten colder throughout the day.
They had eaten the refried beans and some beef jerky for breakfast, skipped lunch, and now they were eating before they went to bed. The candles afforded light, but once they blew them out, they would be plunged into darkness.
“I will never complain about cold Chinese food again. Or cold anything for that matter,” he said, making a face as he ate a mouthful of black beans. She shook her head and closed her eyes, swallowing down a bite of beef jerky. “At least we have food, I shouldn’t complain.”
Opening her eyes, she looked at him and sighed. He gave her a half smile and she shook her head again. “You know, the snow will act as an insulator in a way, but it’s still going to be really cold until they find us. Let me see your hands.” She took off her gloves as he set the beans down and removed his own gloves, letting her check his fingers. They were warm and pink, no frostbite … yet. Squeezing his hands, she let them go and they put their gloves back on.  
“You want more of this?” he asked, and she shook her head. He finished the can and set it down. “I’d suggest a game of cards, but I’m not sure we could hold them while wearing these gloves. Maybe strip poker?” She gave him a look and he smiled.
“They’ll be here soon, right?” she asked softly, and his smile faltered before he rubbed her arm and stood up, picking up the flashlights and turning one on and blowing out the candles.
“I really hope so, Scully,” he said in the near darkness. They both got in bed, turning the flashlight off and clinging to one another for warmth, the blankets pulled tight around them.
“When I was ten, my father and I went camping,” he said quietly, his limbs wrapped around her like an octopus. “It was spring and unseasonably warm during the day, but very cold at night. I thought it wasn’t possible to feel colder than I did those nights, but this … this is by far, the coldest I’ve ever been.”
She shivered against him, and he pulled her closer. His lips touched her ear and he breathed softly. “I’m so sorry, Scully. I know I’ve said it before, but I truly am.” She gripped his hand and nodded her head.
_______________
“Let me see your feet,” she said to him the next night, when she noticed he was grimacing as he paced slowly around the room. He looked at her and she raised her eyebrows. Sighing, he walked over to her and sat at the table. She knelt down, taking off her gloves, untied his shoe and took it off along with his socks, causing him to wince. “Oh, Mulder.”
His toes were red and cold to the touch. He winced again as she tenderly felt at the beginning stages of frostbite. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked and looked up at him. He met her eyes and shook his head. “Is it both feet?” He nodded and she sighed as she stood up. Going to her pack she took out some lotion and walked back to him. Sitting on the floor, she put his foot in her lap and warmed the lotion in her hands before softly rubbing his toes, causing him to hiss.
“I’m sorry,” she said, going slower and more carefully. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked again and he exhaled with a gasp.
“I thought it would be okay. It’s not so bad … oh, Scully,” he hissed again, and closed his eyes. “Maybe it is worse than I thought. I should have told you.”
“Hmmm,” she said, massaging his foot until it felt a bit warmer. Putting both pairs of socks back on and then his shoe, she left the laces loose, and then moved on to the next foot and did the same thing. His gasps of pain tugged at her heart, but she continued because it had to be done.
Both shoes back on, she wiped her hands, put her gloves back on, and stood up. She touched his face as he looked up at her. “Anywhere else hurting? Your ears? Cheeks?” Feeling them, he made no sounds or movements to suggest they were hurting, though they did appear a little red. She would keep her eye on them. Moving down, she held his hands and took off his gloves, examining his fingers. “They look okay.”
“Well, at least there’s that ray of sunshine,” he said sarcastically, and she stared at him.
“It’s not a joke, Mulder.”
“I know, Scully. I just … once the sense of humor goes, it’s time to pack it in, am I right?” He smiled and squeezed her fingers before putting his gloves back on. She stepped back and looked down, her own toes beginning to feel cold, but she would see how it was tomorrow before she raised any concern.
“We should get you under the covers. Let’s lay a blanket at the end of the bed, doubled up to keep our … your feet warm tonight.” He nodded and they headed to bed.
In the dark and quiet of the room, he sighed, his arms holding her tightly. She leaned back into him, feeling he had something to say. He sighed again, and she waited.
“I almost drown once, when I was eleven. This boy at the lake was bigger than me, and he was playing rougher than I was used to. He held me under the water, and I panicked, flailing around and kicking at him. I could hear him laughing above the water, and I seriously thought I was going to die, Scully,” he gave a shaky sigh. “I remember the feel of the water going into my lungs. I scratched him, hard enough to draw blood, and he let me go. I pulled myself up, coughing and retching, vomiting out the water I had swallowed. He was shouting about the cut I’d given him, and I was fighting for my life. I could hear my mother calling me, and she came running down just before he grabbed me again. She helped me out of the water and held me as I continued to throw up, telling that boy to get the hell away from me.”
Scully had tears in her eyes as she lay there, her own memories of near drowning experiences rising to the surface. She knew that feeling and how terrifying it was. Holding on to his hands, she waited for him to finish.
“I didn’t tell you about my toes, Scully, because cold toes are not as bad as nearly dying,” he whispered, and she turned over, finding his eyes and feeling his face in the black darkness.
“We aren’t going to die here, Mulder,” she said forcefully. “They know where we are, and they’ll be here soon. I know it.” He nodded against her hand, and she held his face in her hands. “We aren’t going to die here.” She repeated and he nodded again, pulling her close. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head in his neck, hoping the words she said were not empty ones.
________________
There was a pounding noise in her head and she moaned, seeking out the warmth she had lost in the night.
“Five minutes,” she heard Mulder grumble and she moaned again.
“Agent Mulder! Are you in there?! Agent Mulder!” More pounding and Scully slowly opened her eyes. Sunlight was streaming through the tops of the windows, the only light visible from the snow piled high, and she blinked her eyes against it. “Agent Mulder!!”
“Mulder!” she said, pulling away and sitting up, frantically trying to get out of the bed. “Mulder, they’re here! Wake up.” She got out of the bed and fell as she did, her toes like pins and needles.
“Scully?” he slurred. “You okay?”
She got up, hobbling to the door. “We’re here!! Please, help!” she called out, seeing many booted feet through the window. A face appeared as someone lay down in the snow.
“We’ll have you out soon ma’am,” he said and stood up again.
“Thank God,” she whispered, shaking her head. Limping to the bed, she looked at Mulder, who had finally sat up, his eyes wild. “We aren’t going to die here.” He smiled, and she sat next to him, reaching for his gloved hand.
______________
“Gin!” Mulder yelled, slamming down his cards, and she rolled her eyes.
“We’re playing Go Fish, remember?” She laughed and he made a face as he picked up his cards. “So, you got any 2’s?” She asked snidely, and he huffed as he gave them to her.
“Still think we should be playing strip poker,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. She threw a pretzel at him, and he laughed as he picked it up and popped it in his mouth.
They were in a hospital, both being treated for the beginning stages of frostbite. Nothing serious enough to warrant alarm, but enough to have kept them there for the past three days. Tomorrow they would be leaving and they were both feeling a bit punchy.
Mulder grabbed the deck of cards and begin to shuffle them.“When we get home, we should go out and celebrate being alive. How about a Mexican restaurant? We could get tacos … and a side of black beans.” Looking up at her, he grinned, before ducking as she threw a handful of pretzels at him. “Beef jerky then?”
The nurses outside the room must have wondered what was so funny, as they both laughed loudly and Mulder shouted, just before a dozen more pretzels hit the frosted glass doors.
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mimiwrites2000 · 4 years ago
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Betrayal
Aruani week 2020 - Day 2 - Betrayal
AO3 ~~
Pairings: Armin x Annie
Rating: Mature
Words count: 4223
Summary: 
They met in an alley, a narrow, foul-smelling passageway, in the middle of a cold night
A few months later, he found himself walking to that place, the place where his life crumbled and was reborn, and just like last time, she was waiting for him.
a journey of lies and deception, desires and emotions
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He walked down the street, one street-light bulb was flickering on and off with blips. Loud, tall buildings contouring both sides of the road, fluorescent squares of college students’ rooms queued in lines, inundating the moon’s light. The music gashing from cheap speakers leached out from the opened windows, belching ear-deafening tunes by another random mainstream singer, disturbing the serene night. The startling, overabundant alcohol aroma could be smelled from where he stood, mixed with a suspicious scent of sweat and other things he didn’t want to think about.
It was surreal how this exact same place, a few months ago, was vacant, deserted, abandoned enough to commit a crime and get away with it, a perfect place to find a victim bleeding to death.
He turned right and stepped into an alley, so narrow, invisible to anyone who didn’t know it existed, dumpsters crammed in crocked lines, a black cat jumped from one, sneering at the unwanted invader. A tiny circle of an igniting orange made him aware that he wasn’t alone, that yet again, she was here before him.
“You’re late,” she said, letting out a breath of smoke, he smelled strawberry, adding another aroma to the blend, this type of cigarettes that he never heard of before, with fruity flavors, masking these deathly pillars with sweet, sweet aromas, feigning a compelling innocence.
“I’m not, you’re just early,” he retorted, stepping towards her. Red cascades leaked through the cracks in the concrete walls, smearing the ground, his ears picked up the whiny voices of a victim, calling for help- he shook his head; the red and the voices vanished, he knew he was hallucinating, maybe depriving himself of sleep for the past three days finally exacerbated his senses, or maybe awakened old memories from the depths of his unconscious mind, memories that he tried to bury and forget they existed.
In the reflected light of the moon, he watched how her fingers delicately curled around the pillar of paper, her scarlet-drawn lips circling around the tip, before another cloud of fatal fumes left her lungs. The sting aroma of iron sliced through the air, red, thick moisture oozed from between her fingers and from her eyes, trickling down her pale cheeks before dripping onto the ground, mixing with the excess stench water of botched trash bags, its intense color fading.
He shook his head again, and the blood disappeared, the artificial-strawberry smoke infiltrating his nostrils. He forced his attention back on why he came here in the first place, he promised himself to finish the business, easy and quick.
She lobbed the burnt cigarette on the ground and stomped it with her leather boots, leaving it crinkled-dead on the ground as she took her time striding to him, her arms crossed, and her hips swaying.
He didn’t move, but his eyes caught the rim of her red and black checkered knee-length skirt move from side to side as she inched closer to him. If he doesn’t say anything, he will lose again to her, he will surrender to her touch and get lost in her eyes, so he greeted her: “Annie.”
“Ah, I see you’ve discovered my real name,” Annie mimicked, a smirk in her voice, even though her face was as stoic as a stone, “didn’t like Maddie? I thought it suited me.” She halted two steps away from him, looking straight into his eyes, the only resemblance between them, those ocean blue eyes.
“It wasn’t hard to know who you truly are, you’re not exactly secretive,” He was trying hard to not glance at her lips.
“I am, I am,” Annie  contradicted, “you just did your homework of digging into files, or did you…” she took another step, close enough to feel his breath on her face, and she heard his heart racing in his chest, “or did a little friend of yours help you?”
“I don’t need help from anyone,” unlike you, he almost spat out, but he held himself from doing so, he still had a lot to glean out of her, one step at a time.
Annie raised an impressed eyebrow at him, with a fake preaching voice she praised: “Look at your smart ass, I wonder what else you know, you’re smarter than you let on,” She eyed him up and down, he was wearing a dark blue suit with the jacket on, even though it was a hot, humid summer night, but the upper buttons of his shirt were left undone, no tie to be seen.
“I’m a respected scientist.”
Annie hummed.
“I graduated from Harvard.” He added.
“Same goes for me.”
He snorted, an actual, authentic laugh, she was a professional liar, one who slipped lies as if they were nothing, she could concoct anecdotes that never existed, she could fathom a smile that was no different from a candid one, hiding her poisonous fangs behind her lips, she could cry tears of pain that she never went through, she could feign the role of a victim, lay on the ground in this same alley, drenched in her own blood, crying in soft, hurt moans, praying someone would peak into this unseen passageway. She would mistake a drunk man to be her knight in shining armor, or two college students whom hormones were out of control to be two angels who descended from heaven to save her.
Annie clicked her tongue and pouted: “Someone didn’t do their homework good.” She ran her tongue on the inside of her upper row of her white-pearl teeth, an apprehensive expression on her face, but he couldn’t tell if it was fake or real, “I remember you, you used to wear glasses.”
He froze, his heart skipped a beat and shuffled through the following three.
“You were always rushing from one class into the other, you must’ve had a busy schedule.”
He swallowed.
“No wonder we graduated in the same year, even though I’m a year older than you.”
He remembered, and he wished he didn’t.
He took a step backwards, this closeness to her made his mind buzz with timely-wrong thoughts, things he shouldn’t think about when he was in the presence of this woman.
He cleared his throat, he tapped the heels of his feet on the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to the other: “Technology? Really? Is that what you wasted four years studying?” he knew his words were in vain, he knew exactly why she majored in that, she was the living proof that computers will take over humanity in no time.
That a time will come when privacy will be a fantasy humans can only daydream about, that holding a phone is no different than holding a bomb, a place where all your info rests unbothered, until the delicate fingers of a hacker taps some keys in a remote place, and everything you once had, is gone.
Same goes for teenagers, business companies, doctors, or maybe a conservative, illegal lab.
“I missed my graduation,” Annie dodged his question, her head lolling to the side, her lower lip curling outward.
She’s faking hurt, again, he had to remind himself, otherwise he would trust her external emotions, “Let me guess, you were busy hacking into a bank or something?”
Annie gasped and put her hand on her chest, right above her heart: “How dare you?! I was beside my father before he died.”
“That’s a lie-”
“How can you be this heartless?”
The crack in her voice, the blip on the last syllable, all was an Oscar-worthy act.
She sniffled, though no tears were seen, before she shook her head and scrounged: “I thought you were the good person.”
For a moment, he wanted to strangle her throat and shake her until everything he needed to know was out of her, to shake off all this charade she was putting up, this charade that got worn out and had holes in it, or maybe it was already shredded from the beginning but he was too blind to see it. He blamed her hands, her soft touch, her moist lips, he blamed her, she was the one who blocked his vision, the one who blurred his world into a dizzy, vast rollercoaster loop, a never ending one.
But this was the end of this wild ride, and he was getting off of it soon enough.
Annie didn’t wait for an answer, she walked past him, but he was quick to react.
With one swift motion, he pushed her to the wall, slamming her back into it, she gasped, and before she could fight back, he held both her wrists above her head, “In a hurry to see Reiner and Bert?” he sneered through his teeth.
Even if it was swift, he glimpsed panic flash in her eyes, and he knew he hit a nerve.
“Looking for your next victim?” He hit the nerve again when he felt her pulse quicken underneath his grasp.
“Says whom? The one who plays with chemicals?”
For the first time since the beginning of the meeting, he heard her tone change dramatically; abhor soaking each syllable, her voice was choked behind her teeth, her breath was hot on his face.
“You can’t get enough, Arlert,” She seethed, venom dripping from her tongue when she said his name, hatred enveloped her first phrase.
Arlert rose his eyebrows, he was trying to keep his cool, to not lose it, so he focused on one thing: “You finally said my name, my real name that you knew from the start, from that night.”
That night, when he found her in this alley in a puddle of red, her limbs twisted in pain. He wanted to call 911, but she didn’t let him, she begged and pleaded with him to not call anyone, tears of implore mixing with tears of pain, merging with the trails of blood on her cheeks, before her eyes rolled to the back of her skull, and her body slackened against his own.
That night, he carried her home, he showered her in his bathtub, cleaned her cuts and washed dried blood off her cheeks and out of her hair, cleaned her clothes in his washer, and tucked her in his blankets, on his own bed.
“Huh,” Annie ’s voice brought him back from the far lane of his memories, “you’re used to being called Mr. Arlert, aren’t you? The way they call you at work.” her nose was pointing to the sky, “do they pay you enough?” she asked, “do they?”
“It’s rude to ask people how much they earn.”
“Or maybe it’s rude to ask people how much they get for altering humans’ genes?”
Her comment threw Arlert off, and in a second, their positions were switched; his back pressed into the wall, the ragged stone digging into his skin through the thick fabric of his suit.
His heart was beating against his ribcage, each beat sending painful jolts into his veins, and he finally saw the fang sticking out from beneath her smirk, that fang that she kept well hidden from him.
His knees shook under his weight that seemed to amplify under her glare, her hands on his shoulders screwing him in his place, and he wasn’t scared because she exposed him, he knew before-hand that she sneaked into each notch of his files and belongings, that she most likely memorized every substance in the countless drugs he made, the names of his crewmates, and the names of the hostages that were experimented on.
After all, one hostage must have meant something to her.
She had enough time to dive deep inside of him; to uncover every secret about him, she had four full months to do so, and she didn’t waste a minute of them.
She slept in his bed for these four months, had three meals on his dining table daily, she no longer was a guest, he got too accustomed to her presence that he couldn’t imagine how he managed to live on his own before.
But here he was, imprisoned in her cage-alike arms.
Annie glided down her hands down his chest, and even though she was no longer pining him down, he couldn’t get himself to move, to shift a limb, or unclench a finger from his clutched fists beside him.
She rubbed small circles on his shirt, watching how the fabric dented under her fingers, and she imagined them on his bare skin, trailing shapes on his chest, on his back, on his cheeks and running through his short, blond hair.
Beneath the shirt, thunder-shaped fire was kindled on his skin in the trace of her finger tips, the skin burned and charred, but he didn’t move, he didn’t run even after she pressed her thigh into his, and he felt a cold, hard thing pushing into his flesh.
Annie waited for a reaction, a flicker of an eyelid, a twitch of a lip, a quick breath, but nothing.
She smirked, so even after he knew she was armed, that she had a gun in her hand reach, he kept his I’m-cool act up, “You’ve got guts,” she said, not backing away from him, but she did lean her weight off of him.
Arlert almost breathed in relief; her body against him was making his already fucked up mind buzz with horrible thoughts that he shouldn’t be occupied with while his life was on stakes.
But he didn’t get to relish in it; Annie stepped on her toes and bent closer to his face, her hands resting on his shoulder once again, though this time her touch was soft, delicate, like a feather, and even though he knew it was hopeless, a tiny candle of hope was lit inside of him, a tiny farfetched wish that maybe, he could get her back to him.
The sirens in his mind belched and ordered him to turn his head away from her, to do something about her, to not surrender, but he was too frozen to oblige; and when Annie  brushed her fingers against his lips, these sirens were too loud to comprehend what they were shouting anymore.
“You’re not running, you’re too used to it,” Annie looked into his eyes, and something flashed inside of them, a thing so intense, a thing that was her only fear. She escaped his gaze and averted her eyes, leaning towards the lob of his ear, a smirk pulled on her lips when she got a shudder from him, and she was itching to weaken him further, to make him crumble and bow to her, to melt him into a puddle underneath her feet and watch her reflection in it staring back at her.
She pressed her lips against his ear and whispered: “You got used to that.”
“Stop it.” Arlert teemed from between his teeth, his fists clutching tighter, he thought his fingers’ bones would crush under the pressure.
“You liked it when I called out your name,” she pressed her frame into his, her voice dropping lower, her cheek rubbing against his, “when I moaned your name-”
“Stop it.”
“In your bed.”
His back was as stiff as the stone behind it, the heel of his feet digging into the solid concrete ground beneath, his teeth gritting into a powder, and his breath was quick and shallow, his ears drumming each time his heart sent blood circulating in his veins.
His hands on his sides sweating and on fire, they were near the edge of sprouting up and engulfing her frame, to run them all over her back and in her hair, to feel his skin against her, her body arching into his, pressed into his, his fingers emitting notes from her that were music to his ears.
Just like that night.
“Armin,” Annie whispered, so low, her voice breathy, her fingers trailing down his neck, “Armin,” she planted an open-mouth kiss on his neck, and he trembled, “Armin,” her fingers reached the short hair of his undercut, “Armin.”
“Stop.”
She stopped.
But her hands on him lingered.
Armin, who squeezed his eyes shut, was trying to control his breathing, trying to slow it into a rhythmic melody, but it was impossible with Annie this close to him, he wanted her to step away from him, to let him breathe.
But he also didn’t want to let her go, if anything, he wanted to wipe that ridiculous red lipstick and break the tie holding her hair up in that small, tight bun, he wanted to repeat what he did the morning preceding that night, bring her breakfast in his bed, feed her with his hands, and listen to her story, pausing every now and then to wipe her tears with his fingers, until her tears were spent and her story was told.
He shook his head, all of it was a lie, he couldn’t let himself fall into that deep hole again, it took him long enough to pull himself out from it, it was all a lie.
Annie withdrew from Armin, and he couldn’t hold back a tiny sigh of relief, but when he opened his eyes, he wished he didn’t close them in the first place.
Her hair was down, and the blood-red lipstick was smeared around her lips in a failed attempt to wipe it off, leaving a trail of smudged red on her sleeve.
He really shouldn’t have closed his eyes, he shouldn’t have given her another chance to deceive him, to curl her snake-tail around the last bit of his senses.
When he looked into her eyes, they were dead, prosaic, and they didn’t suit her shoulder-length golden hair, her angel-sculpted face, these were the eyes of a criminal hunting the only good memory he had of her.
And he wanted to lurch his fingers into her eyes sockets and embowel them of these foreign eyes.
Without breaking eye contact, she reached beneath her knee-length skirt and pulled out the gun he felt a minute ago and pointed it right between his eyes.
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Annie said, watching Armin’s eyes widen, the truth that he’s living his last moments sinking in.
Armin closed his eyes, feeling the cold metal pressing between his eyebrows, and counted.
One
Two
Three
Blue
Four
Soft
Six
Golden
No, five
Gracious
Seven
Eight
A click of a gun
Nine
“I really loved you that night,” she confessed.
Ten
The cold metal was no longer on his forehead, and when Armin opened his eyes, Annie was pointing the gun to the sky.
And the look in her eyes, a sad blue streaked by darker ocean-like hue, and maybe it was a trick of light, but he could swear he saw them glistening with tears.
“I really did,” She said, before she pulled the trigger, a wire shooting from the gun barrel, clutching into something above with a clink, and in a second, she was no longer standing in front of him.
A minute, five minutes, an hour, or maybe a couple, Armin lost track of time and sense, and he wasn’t snapped out of it until he heard the sirens of police echoing in the distance.
His legs were numb, and his throat was dry.
Armin walked out the alley the exact moment the cars pulled out next to it, he was tired, so tired, he just wanted to go back home and sleep for three days straight, but he knew he won’t be getting any rest for some time.
“Put your hands up!” A female voice commanded, and Armin acted like he was told.
Multiple uniformed police officers bolted out the car, one of them got closer to him, her gun already pointed at him, but the moment she got a clearer look at who he was, she dropped the gun and placed it in the waist belt she was wearing.
“What exactly happened in there? Are you ok?” She said, she gestured for the other police officers to go into the alley. Even though she was much taller than Armin, she had to bend her back to get a look at his tilted down face.
“I’m sorry, I failed, Mikasa,” Armin said, he finally looked up, his eyes looking straight into hers, and he didn’t realize that he probably looked like shit until he noticed her frowned eyebrows.
“We thought something bad happened to you,” Mikasa sighed, “the mic, we could no longer hear you and-”
“What?” Armin asked, his hands already reaching into the fold of his jacket’s collar, before his fingers touched the small circular device.
“We didn’t lose connection, but the sound suddenly got muffled and- oh.”
Mikasa got her answer as Armin held up the tiny, wireless device, now covered with dough-like substance.
“Shit,” Armin hissed and wrangled the tinkered-into-uselessness device to the ground, he ran his fingers over his sculp, tugging at the roots of his blonde hair, he turned around from Mikasa and huffed, not only did he fail to rat out Annie to the police, a wanted hacker that they couldn’t catch for years, but this hacker knew all about his plan from the very beginning.
She knew he was mic-ed, and she knew he was there to betray her.
Just like she betrayed him.
“What about the tracking device?” Mikasa inquired, crossing her arms.
“What about it?” Armin regretted the question the moment it left his mouth.
“You tell me, we found it two miles from here down the street, and we were in full panic mode because we had no idea the whereabout of you and her.”
“Oh…” Armin’s mind was short-circuiting with all the excuses he prepared for this question, but unlike when he first thought of them, now they sounded lame and unreal.
“Besides,” Mikasa took a step closer to him, looking around, making sure that her words were audible to only him, “what’s going on between you two?”
Answers rolled in his head one by one.
Lovers? No, too cheerful, too innocent.
Friends? Friends don’t strip you and fuck you senseless.
Enemies? That’s a strong term to describe what they had.
“I was behind her father’s death,” he didn’t choose to say it, nor did he think of it, it just slipped off his tongue.
Mikasa’s eyes widened, she blinked, and crooked her head to the side, as if waiting for Armin to tell her it was all a joke of some horrible sense of humor.
When he didn’t budge, she inched closer to him and whispered: “Does anyone know about it?”
Armin shook his head.
“Let’s keep it that way, you already have enough on your shoulders, and you breached our contract; you get her, we let you go, but if you don’t…” Mikasa sighed and pulled out the cuffs hanging from her waist, and Armin, without questioning it, held out his hands to her, “Armin Arlert, you’re under arrest for helping out a wanted criminal, and for illegal experiments in an unauthorized lab.”
Armin let out a slow, long breath; even though his life technically was over, and his career had turned into dust, a sense of relief washed over him.
All of it was over.
No more stressing out about being caught, no more pressure to keep working from the shadows.
He knew this would happen one day; he knew it too well.
It was just a matter of time.
Guilt gnawed at his stomach as he saw disappointment in Mikasa’s eyes, his childhood friend taking his hand and guiding him to prison, the place where he would most likely spend the rest of his life in.
How ironic.
She opened the passenger door of the police car for him, he got in and before she closed the door she whispered: “Don’t worry, I got you.”
Mikasa tapped on the car’s roof, and the wheels started spinning; Armin in the backseat, his hands cuffed, and a police officer taking him to wherever next was to happen to him.
Armin threw his head back and let out a groan, he fluttered his eyes shut, trying to let the events of this one night to sink in, this was all just a nightmare, an actual real life nightmare that he was trying to avoid it for the past nine years or more, but here he was in the back seat of a police car, alone, waiting for whatever the next days held for him-
Wait
He was alone.
In the backseat.
Who in hell would let someone under arrest alone in a car with just one police officer, who had their hands full with driving?
Armin looked into the rear mirror and was met with piercing blue eyes, already watching him.
Ones that were similar to his own eyes, but female features framed them.
Armin’s jaw opened; this nightmare was only getting ridiculous with each passing minute.
There was no way Annie Leonhart was in a police officer attire and driving this car.
But she took off the hat, flung it outside the window, and her golden locks flew around her face, and Armin wasn’t mistaken; it was her, and her only.
Annie put a shushing finger on her lips, before she turned her gaze back on the road.
Armin slanted back in the seat, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.
.
.
.
UM HELLO
ok wow I'm so excited that I've finally shared this with yall, it's really something new to me and certainly out of my comfort zone
I really hope you liked it and I hope I delivered the story in an understandable, clear way, because as I said, this is new to me, feedback is appreciated!!
OK HELLO GUYS COME JOIN ME ON TWITTER UWU
sometimes I post art there, warning: I'm not good at it
one last thing, this was written for Aruani week 2020 on tumblr, go through the hashtag and see what others created! really awesome art so I highly recommend
ok that's it have a good day/night
byyeeee
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luminescentlyricist · 3 years ago
Text
🍃 Aether 🍃
The strings were thin, but the boy knew there was no way he would be able to escape them, binds of spider-silk and plant fibre that his sisters had once woven into their dresses. He was only a small nature spirit, and there was nothing much that could be done against the behemoth army that met his tired eyes over the horizon line. This was what his fate was: Gaea had decreed it, and so it would be. Those few who had dared to rise up against his mother were being sought out, some captured and tortured and interrogated to an inch of their lives.
The high-pitched whine in his ears was torture enough, but to see his brothers dying right in front of his eyes was horrifying. He could do nothing at all, and that was somehow more devastating than fighting. Hoshi's vision swept over the field, spires of flame licking at the trees.
There was never supposed to be fire.
Hoshi had been made to heal and create and nurture and *grow,* but that was far behind his sisters. He'd live, of course, if he could protect his Core. The glowing ball of energy in the centre of his corporeal form was what sustained him, so no damage to his flesh would ever harm him. But all the young spirit saw was orange and black, and all he heard was screaming. He wanted to go deaf and blind, if only to have release.
One of his sisters - one he had never known, as it turned out - had eventually dragged him away from the epicentre of the fighting, but that was long ago. Too long, it seemed, for he had been forgotten. She had planned to torture him. The ash from the raging fires stung his eyes, but he forced himself to keep them open. If he dropped his guard down his Core would be crushed and he'd never open them again. Every so often, there was a sharp burst of sound, not unlike a water balloon popping.
He allowed himself to blink, but only then. Every burst was a spirit's Core shattering, and that wasn't something he wanted to watch, even with half-lidded eyes in a battlefield so packed he couldn't tell where it was coming from. His vision blurred with tears, and with his every twitch and movement another string seemed to catch on his clothes. If he were going to survive, he needed to keep as still and calm as possible.
Hoshi was sure that he was being watched, in some way. With another flinch, another death, he clamped his teeth to his lips in a fearful bite. Sure, his teeth weren't all that sharp, but something translucent and pallid pink in colour trickled down from where there might have been blood. It bore the colour of cherry blossoms, but it was far more sinister than the flowers themselves. It appeared to be... sap. Running his tongue over the wound, his gaze travelled back to the sky. There wasn't much hope left for him, he feared.
His wings appeared to already have been damaged when he fled from the scene at an earlier time that day. At least he thought it had been earlier; with the sky blotted out in fierce swathes of grey clouds, there was little to no indication what the time of day was. His feathers ruffled, just a little, but it shot pain through his spine so intense he couldn't help but exclaim. With a gasp, words blurted from his lips, a run-on sentence that expressed his hurried pain more than screaming ever could.
"I wish I'd never come here I don't want to be her-"
Like a veil fell over the battle, for a moment, everything was silent. He gasped, taking in the heavy air that made his heart burn and his head spin. But the vegetation and the wings of others did nothing to help filter it out, and the young boy could do nothing but watch and attempt to hold his breath for a little longer. He didn't know what had happened to his wings, but he felt heavier and more sluggish than any creature blessed with flight should.
They had likely been cut to pieces by the bramble walls he could make out, rising from the haze in gnarls of vine to attack his brothers and sisters alike. There was no mercy on the field, and the bloodbath was only beginning. His world was slipping away from underneath him, but his siblings were thick in the middle of it. It wasn't really clear what was going to happen to him, but Hoshi had all but accepted that he'd never escape the fight. He was fighting his own body, fighting not to go limp, and fighting the smoke that crawled into his airways, stinging like a noxious poison. A more natural herbicide.
With a cough enough to shake the tree he was bound to, the boy doubled over, heedless of the binds. They sliced into his skin, causing that same weak colour as before to coat the strings. He was shuddering and pathetic, but he refused to close his eyes and have the darkness smother his light. That would be a cowardice that he couldn't afford. Sure, he was likely going to die there, but the slimmest chance in the world that he wouldn't was enough for him. He began to think, conserving his energy as much as possible.
The glow in his Core even dimmed, and it became abundantly clear how little time he had left.
Hoshi's body was giving up on him, and his breath only came in laboured, short bursts. He didn't know how many of his brothers were left in the battle, but it hardly mattered because of the stench of death. Blurring figures darted around at supernatural speeds, doing whatever they could to fight. In a closer examination of the figures, they were even letting themselves bleed, hardening their sap-blood around the feet and bodies of their assailants as a temporary immobilisation tactic.
He had figured out, however, that he could manipulate his own, and he attempted to harden it around the deceptively harsh silken weaves that kept him tied down. After that, he twisted his body even more, even though he knew it was jeopardising his chance at getting away if it didn't work. His natural body was being destroyed, and it would start to matter very soon if it was too damaged to let him escape. It wasn't as if he could reform and heal without the clear sky.
The sap slowly thickened over the strings, so he would be able to manipulate them without moving his body. The glossy coating also contained as much of the strands as possible, so that he could protect himself from further harm while he was trapped. But there was no real way he could stop the bleeding once it had started, due to his bound hands, and there was always the looming possibility that he had gone too far in his naivety. Luckily, he was quick-working and always had been.
After a few moments, the boy began to cry from the smoky fumes in the air, breathing becoming even more shallow than ever. The situation was easily deadlier than it could've been, but Hoshi was weak and his thoughts were following suit. He moved as if he were in slow motion, becoming jerky and disoriented. His struggling caused the hardened material coating the strings to crack and crumble, taking with it the razor-thin threads and freeing the nature spirit from his restraints.
Falling from the tree onto the scorched earth beneath it, Hoshi's first tear dripped down onto the black. It spat and sizzled, regardless of the fires not straying to his captive area. He found himself unable to stand, as his legs were too weak, so he collapsed onto his hands and knees at the first attempt. Staying low, he wheezed in breaths, trying to draw his focus away from the stuttering rise and fall of his chest. The colourless liquid of his steadily increasing tear streams mingled with the pale, rose-like hues in his blood as he braced himself for what he was about to do, knowing that he might have had no option left.
He spread his wings, and a crack echoed out into the choking darkness.
Despite the pain, despite the ash, he moved on. Dragging himself by the beats of one wing, he retreated into the darker parts of the forest and away from the battle. The boy's legs were dangling limply, knees roughly scratching up from the dirt. His Core was whole, undamaged, and he could breathe a little easier. But with such a combination of factors working against him, there was little he would be able to do to save himself if he wouldn't stop bleeding. Light was all he needed, and his one wing would help him heal faster than a natural human ever could. Nothing else could save him, but it was what he was least expecting to find.
Using a combination of limping, crawling and flying, Hoshi ventured deeper still. He didn't expect to fly, because his left wing felt as if it had been left to dangle in its shoulder 'socket', pulled out and torn just enough to be barely functional. Tripping, stumbling, he never stopped even though the forestry seemed dense enough to be infinite. The boy's quest for refuge was absolutely hopeless. His sap-blood created droplets of light pink, hardened to resemble small gemstones on the floor. It was almost beautiful to his deluded mind.
But there was no beauty in bleeding, and even less in death.
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