#I will never recover from how he let Anya down

[lapinarystar]

Mouthwashing has me thinking a lot about the inherent horror of actively choosing to stay around someone you know hurts other people, and sometimes you but you care for deeply. I mean- obviously Curly and I are different, and none of the horrible people I've chosen to stay around were Jimmy. Or even truly 'evil' but- bystanding is a scary experience sometimes.

Probably scarier if you have no arms, or legs or skin or ability to talk and are stuck in a ship... but sometimes being a teenager who is too worried to loose someone just because they're awful to others...since they're so...good to you? It can kinda feel like...having no arms and legs. Yeah?

[deathbyday]

𖥔not so gen. mouthwashing relations headcanons.𖥔˚

Written By: DeathByDay

TW - death, SA.

Includes: Captain Curly, Daisuke, and Anya

__________

Captain Curly

• This man is 100% a sucker for romance

• I’ve seen some people say that they think that he’s one to be into PDA, but honestly I just don’t see it

• Maybe a few pecks on the cheek or light hand holding, but nothing more

• He just doesn’t seem that type of guy to me

• But in private? That’s a whole different story

• He’s all on you whenever you want him to be or not, especially in the mornings

• I feel like he’d love to hug you from behind while you sleep, his nose pressed against the back of your neck while his arms are wrapped around right underneath your chest

• Would 100% wake up first like c’mon he’s literally a captain, he needs to (much to your dismay)

• But while you’re still asleep he’d plant small kisses on the back of your neck to try to wake you

• If that doesn’t work, then he’d leave the room before coming back soon enough with a cup of your favorite morning drink. Coffee, tea, milk, water, you name it

• If you came to him during a bad day, rest assured he’s gonna take care of you

• He’s running a bath with the exact temperature you wanted, laying out pajamas for you, along with towels. Probably would put bath salt in there too (if you aren’t allergic and like the feeling of it)

• Acts of service and words of affirmation are his love languages, prove me wrong. YOU CANT

• You don’t understand how bad he would feel after the crash

• Like he can’t be there for you and you need to be the one taking care of him. He just feels pathetic

• You sometimes make Jimmy let you give him the painkillers. You wouldn’t be as harsh as him, of course. Just gently slide it on his tongue and help him swallow, not shoving or pushing it down

• Anyways back to pre-crash Curly

• I think he would adore it if you ever planted kisses on his cheek, neck, or forehead (or honestly anywhere else)

• If you’re shorter than him, you’d have to grab his jawline and bring him down to your level to properly kiss. Trust me when I say he would never recover from it

• Loves kissing your neck, especially before you two begin the day together

NSFW

• Y’all cannot tell me this guy isn’t the most gentlest man in bed

• Always asking if you’re comfortable, moving at a reasonable pace until you’re ready, praising you for taking him so well, etc

• He 100% presses down on your stomach to feel how deep he is inside of you

• Gives you neck kisses while he praises you

• #need that

• I think he’d end up being more serious than silly

• Although he would occasionally chuckle at your whimpers and moans, I don’t feel like he’d actually crack a few jokes

Daisuke

• Ten thousand percent blushes at the slightest contact. Even from your hand accidentally rubbing against his he becomes a flustered mess

• Adores PDA, he doesn’t care

• But of course if you don’t, that’s fine

• Just hold his pinky finger and give him a kiss on the cheek from time to time and he’s good to go

• 100% does puppy eyes whenever he wants a kiss

• You guys could just be laying on the lounge area’s couch and he would give you those eyes. Obviously you gave him what he wanted because who wouldn’t

• When you cuddle, I don’t really see him having a favorite position. He could be the big spoon or the little spoon, he’s happy with both

• When he’s the little spoon, he’d have his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. His head would be smushed into your chest, snuggling close

• When he’s the big spoon, he’d almost always have an arm wrapped around your shoulders while being in a starfish position

• Not to mention the snoring. He snores so loud you can’t prove me otherwise. He would sleep with his mouth open, which makes it even worse

• At first, it was tricky getting used to his snoring. But after a month or two of sleeping together, you couldn’t sleep without it

• Definitely not the one to wake up first. Most of the time, you have to drag him out of the bed to get him up and get ready for the day, leading to him whining and groaning

• Physical touch has this man in a chokehold

• Whenever the two of you actually have to work, he’d be so sad to leave you alone

• But after you two finally met up after, he would blabber about what he did, who he talked to, etc. and you would listen to every detail

• 100% the one to say “gyatt” whenever you pass by him. Even if you have a flat ass he still says it

• If you ended up dying before him, this guy would actually become depressed

• We all know he started getting drunk due to the mouthwash, but that is nowhere near how much he drank when you passed away

• If he ended up dying before you, he would promise you a thousand times while he’s bleeding out that he’d wait for you

• But back to fluff

• Whenever you have a bad day, this guy is definitely not leaving you alone

• He’d cuddle you until you literally explode

• If you were to ever kiss him anywhere on his face, he’d be a blushing mess no matter how light it is

• He genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing and just wings it with you, knowing you’d love him no matter what

NSFW

• He’s definitely a whiner

• You’d have to shut him up by either making out or keeping a hand on his mouth to muffle him

• Soft sex soft sex soft sex

• There’s no way he can take it seriously when you two are in bed. Of course he would try if you were into that, but he’d end up giggling at the end of each sentence

• 100% has a praise kink

• Please tell this man how good he’s doing at keeping you satisfied. He’d be way too embarrassed to do anything more with you if you don’t

Anya

• My poor baby

• She isn’t the best at expressing her love for you, but it’s obvious she loves you so much

• Not very big on PDA, but you do sometimes get a hug or a light peck on the cheek whenever you walk into a room she’s already in

• Will rant to you about how dumb it is that Daisuke won the game in Sorry!. She could honestly go on for hours on end

• You have to calm her down and tell her that it’ll be okay. Never tell her “it’s just a game” because then she’ll get even more upset

• When she found out she was pregnant, she felt terrible. Not just for herself but for you

• What would you think? Assume she’s cheating on you with her assaulter?

• You two were in bed when she finally broke the news to you about Jimmy and the baby. And oh my god you actually almost fought that man

• She had to hold you back from getting up from your spot. After that night, you shot daggers at that man every time you passed him. You didn’t speak to him once, no matter the situation

• You held her in your arms that night, whispering praises into her ear before she finally fell asleep

• Speaking of sleep, she adores being the little spoon while cuddling with you

• Her face smushed into your chest? Your arms wrapped around her, fingers twisting around her hair? It sounded like heaven

• I feel like Anya would be the one to wake up first

• She won’t leave you alone until you did, so it doesn’t take long for you both to be up and ready

• She would mutter petnames against your neck, pleading with you to wake up from your slumber

• 100% makes your favorite drink in the morning and makes it perfect every. single. time

• If you can’t cook, she’ll teach you

• She’s a wonderful teacher and chef. She explains everything to you correctly and soon you actually catch on

• You bake cookies by yourself (under her supervision) and if you burn them, she still praises you like you did everything right

• Whenever you get hurt, even if it’s just a scratch that’s barely bleeding, she cares for you as if you’ve broken a bone

• Both of you are each other’s protectors. She watches out for you, and you watch out for her

NSFW

• She wouldn’t be very talkative, but she would occasionally speak if you ever asked

• Ex: “Use your words, baby.” “Y/N-.. Please..”

• I feel like she’d shed a few tears whenever she becomes overstimulated, or if it’s your first time together

• Let her go as slow as she wants. She’ll eventually become comfortable enough with you, but it’ll take a few attempts

• I’m literally begging you, don’t slam your fingers, dildo/strap, or dick into her. She won’t talk to you for ages

• Don’t do anything harsh while having intercourse. I feel like she’d rather you be soft with her

• She’d be a mix of silly and serious. Drop a few occasional jokes to get her to laugh. But only do that when you two are actually moving at a good pace

• At first, I think she would be serious. If not nervous. But when you guys are finally adjusting to each other, it’s always nice to see her giggle

__________

authors note

I sincerely apologize if anyone was hoping for swansea.. I just couldn’t think of anything for him. Still wanna kiss that grumpy old man though!!

but nonetheless, I hope you all liked this<3

[cherry-pop-elf]

Night terrors

Anya x Reader

Can be read as platonic because we all want to take care of her like we wish someone would for us

AN: As a victim of sexual assault I feel it is important to have a realistic fluff story about the aftermath of it. How it affects the person after it’s been done and how the trauma lingers. How it’s so very important for the person to have a support network. YOU will be her support network. Thank you

Also not to get political but god women in the USA are experiencing a massive increase of assaults so call this projection, or call this training for the inevitable

SUM: Despite surviving that Tulpar adventure, despite all the good karma thrown back at you all, there are just too many many scars to truly recover from

Warnings: Past sexual assault, nightmares, PTSD, whump, abortion, paranoia, it’s gonna be a stressful read, there will be fluff don’t worry, paranoia, inspired/based on my own experiences

“STOP-!”

Anya was screaming in her sleep again.

Woke you up pretty quickly, as you were sharing a bed with her. She was rather scared to sleep alone. Afraid that someone will just break in and take advantage of her. That somehow Jimmy, who long since was dead, will break in again.

“Anya-! Anya wake up! It’s me! Anya-!” You would shake her and try to get her to wake up. To get her out of that terrifying cloud of memories. Her poor face was pale and full of sweat, and she was scared awake by you shaking her. For a fleeting moment she thought it was Jimmy.

As she gave another cry, you reached over and turned on the bedside tables lamp.

She saw your face, and finally took a breathe.

You two weren’t on the Tulpar anymore. Jimmy wasn’t going to hurt either of you ever again. Swansea was home with his wife. Daisuke was home with his mother and father. And she was here with you.

She was alive.

“I….Im sorry-“ Anya sniffled, as you just pulled her into your arms. Gentle with combing your fingers through her hair. Just gentle reminders to not be sorry. To not be sorry for being justified with her fear.

“He won’t ever get you again. I promise.” You would remind her, but she would still tremble.

“Can we check the locks again?” She would ask you, and you would nod. Often times this was the case. No matter how many times she would ask you that question you never got annoyed. It’s good to check the locks anyway. Gotta stay safe after all.

You would both climb out of bed, put on your robes, and go walking around the home. One of your hands was left to be held by Anya’s, as the other would be used to check the locks on everything. From the multiple at front door, from each window, to that of the back door. Each one checked, as Anya would hug at you close.

Was a very nice home, you had to admit. After having rescue finally called, and being saved, the media went nuts. Especially on the fact Curly was still alive. Gave Anya the much needed support to show she was very worthy of a position as a proper doctor. That also meant she got herself quite the hefty salary. Also helps that she now had partial royalties to the book she helped write about the adventure on the ship.

“Every lock is secure.” You explained, as she gave still an anxious look.

“Let’s check each room, and closet. Yeah?” That made her quickly nod.

Now you two were roaming the entire house now. Checking under furniture, in closets, all the nine yards. No stone was left un-turned. You would do it a million times for her. She deserved to have some kind of relief from it all.

“There we go. No Jimmy.” You would give her a hug, and she hugged you back. Still shaken, but at least she was breathing more steady.

The two of you would return to the bedroom, where she did her routine. Checking under her pillow for her sheathed knife, the bedside for her baseball bat, the drawer for her gun, and to take an extra pill to help with the anxiety burst she was having. Her routine.

She would try and lay down, only to dart her head towards the bedroom door. Eyes wide with raw and pure fear.

“I swear I heard him at the door. I swear I did. He said my name he said my name-“ She whimpered, as you would get up. You opened the door, looked around the hallway, and returned.

“Don’t worry Anya. I didn’t hear a single thing.” You reassured, as you would lock the bedroom door for her. Along with putting a chair under the door handle. Even went as far as to double check the bedroom windows, and closed the curtains.

“I’m so sorry-“ She would begin again, as her eyes watered. She felt like such a burden. To have all this fear and paranoia. To the point she couldn’t feel safe when left alone. You couldn’t blame her though. The wounds were still so horribly fresh. Not to mention sometimes PTSD can kick in so many years later. You’ll take the morbid comfort in having it kick in now where you all can handle it now and prepare for the future than suddenly out of nowhere in God knows how long.

It is what it is.

She wasn’t the only one traumatized after all, and she shouldn’t need to apologize for justified fear.

You would pull her back into your arms, and you both laid down. You would turn on the white noise machine for her, to help block the paranoid sounds of voices and scratches from the doors, and would just talk with her. Talk until her medication kicked in to help her sleep.

Didn’t matter what it was. It was just noise to keep her mind distracted.

You wondered how the rest of the crew was doing. How they were dealing with it.

They all had family, so maybe they were doing well. Really should meet up again soon. Can’t be blamed life is so busy.

Curly was back living with his parents and siblings, which they welcomed with open arms. Even his friends before the crew were willing to all share a space to help.

Swansea had his wife and even his kids. Sure he says he’s too old to be traumatized but he keeps checking on his kids way more often now. That’s for sure.

God knows when poor Daisuke’s PTSD will kick in. He may be acting fine now but it’s gonna be a ticking time bomb. It’ll come at him sooner or later. For now his parents were feeling like monsters for pressuring him into that intern ship. He never blamed them, of course. He is even still working under a mentorship with Swansea even. Guess not everything was negative.

Then there was you and Anya. She was the most traumatized of all. There was even the trauma of an abortion. There’s still so many emotions with that as well, but you held her hand through it. Even as far as to move in with her to help. You two had always been very close. Even before joining the crew. You two were always tagged together. Even nicked named her assistant to a point.

You’ll stick with her through the ends of the earth.

“Wanna go visit Curly in the morning? It’ll be Saturday. Maybe we can even invite Swansea and Daisuke.” You offered. Just something positive to look forward to. Something worth waiting for.

“That would be nice.” She muttered, as her own paranoias exhaustion was kicking in. Too tired to even be afraid. Often times how it ends. She gets herself so worked up it ends up being the very same thing that makes her fall back asleep.

“Yeah. We can check out his new prosthetics. Daisuke said he even bought stickers specifically for them.” That had Anya smile. That sweet smile that was hard to come by right now. One that was filled with comfort. Comfort of such an innocent and sweet thought.

“Swansea says he’s also going to attach his own upgrades to it. Not sure how that will work, or what the hell he’s planning, but not gonna lie I need to see if he gives him rocket boosters.”

That got a little laugh from her. The both of you imagining poor Captain Curly flying around in the sky, as Daisuke runs around with some trampoline to try and catch him on.

Just something silly to cut through it all.

Seemed to work, as you could feel her breathing easier now. Her breath not so intense. Was far more steady, and you could tell she fell back asleep. You were thankful for it. Not because she was annoying you. No. Never. But because she needed her rest. She deserves it. She already is working long hours at the hospital, which you bet is because she is trying to avoid being isolated and alone at all cost maybe even reduce sleeping to, so she needed proper sleep more than ever.

And you’ll do your best for her. To help her with it all. You were her little assistant. You’ll do what an assistant does best. Make sure your boss is able to tackle projects easier.

And this project was healing. A project that won’t ever end, will have ups and downs, and be taxing. Over time out the ass and no vacations.

And you know what you say to that?

Bring it.

Thank you so much for reading. This was a more vulnerable piece because Anya really reminded me so much of myself. How I’m suppose to take care of everyone else, while my traumatic abuse is just swept under the rug.

Since you read all the way to the end, maybe take a look at this

National Sexual Assault Hotline:

1-800-656-4673

National Domestic Violence Hotline:

800-799-7233

RAINN (Rape Abuse Incest National Network)

1-800-656-4673

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

1-800-273-8255

You deserve love and support. What happened wasn’t your fault in the slightest. Not even for a single second. You deserve happiness, hope, and to live a long and healthy life. Everything will be ok again. Doesn’t seem like it now, but it will. I promise

[ridingtorohan]

The Tulpar crew's reactions to walking in on you and post-crash Curly

𓇻 content warning. absolutely nothing explicit. can be viewed as dub-con given curly's circumstance, but I promise he consented. anya's reaction mentions sexual assault (jimmy to anya, but mainly she suspects reader did it to curly) and jimmy's mentions abuse (jimmy to curly) and a bit of voyeurism.

𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!

Masterlist

Daisuke handles it like a champ. In the way that means he very much doesn't.

Absolute mess, apologizing profusely as he backs away, shielding his eyes dramatically. Hits the sides of the door on his way out. Both sides. He pin-balled.

Recovers fast but can't look at you in the eyes for a long time without picturing you like that.

"So how does it work when he's, y'know?"

So curious that it's not even funny.

Tries to get Curly to tell him the facts but Curly just does his laugh rattle

Honestly, he doesn't treat either of you differently, but he grins SUPER wide each time you go in to check in on Curly

"Get it, Captain!!!!"

May or may not time you just to tease you about it (gets so red if you tease him back)

Processes then immediately walks out

"Is this what kids do these days?"

Knew about you and curly's relationship/situation so he isn't surprised.

But you'll get his fatherly look of disappointment.

"At least make sure you're not snapping every last bone of his, alright?"

Doesn't tell anybody else because he knew it was consensual from the sounds you both made (he definitely asked Curly afterward just to make sure)

If you take a lot of shift work watching curly, he'll intercept and roll his eyes, "Jesus, let the poor guy rest"

Freezes, processes, then storms right up, eyes wild and voice high. "What are you doing?!"

She all but separates you from curly as fast as she can, tears in her eyes.

Curly sure as hell never protected her from Jimmy but she wouldn't let you abuse one of her patients.

Might be able to be coaxed down.

Shift work with Curly is outright canceled for everyone. At least until Curly conveys that no, he very much wanted that, (head nods go a long way, people).

Anya is still suspicious and weary. It's months before she stops hovering by the door, but a part of her is relieved, too.

The absolute last person you want walking in.

Stands there like a creep, eyes assessing. Memorizing.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He asks layer with a wrinkled nose, as if you're the one with the problem.

Honestly becomes kind of bitchy about the whole ordeal

Watches you a lot more intently that it becomes uncomfortable

Definitely imagines how you looked on that cot with the former captain

Passive aggressive with you afterwards, but fortunately, because nobody is really alone anymore, he can't do anything to you about it. If he had been attracted to you before and the crash never happened, you'd be in hot water.

Curly, however, gets the short end of the stick. Have you heard the audio of what Jimmy does to Curly the second time when giving him pills? Yep, he beats him more routinely

After all, how is it fair that Curly has doomed them all but still gets the glory?

[itsallmouthwashing]

Through Hell, Jimmy's Personal (Band AU Scene- Full)

Songs Used in Context (playlist here): MAYDAY (40), Through Hell (4), Ængus The Prize-Winning Hog (1)

Playlist Expansions (if you want more lore!) One, Two, Three

As results of my recent poll, here is Through Hell, Jimmy's Personal. I didn't realize that I put down a story that was supposed to be for the very end of the story on my poll, so for my own sanity I'm rearranging the timeline so accommodate and have something bigger- so this happened more toward the middle I suppose.

When I do the full-length fic, this scene may be a bit different, but for now this is how Jimmy's return from his bender goes. It's Tulpar's first concert after his return from his (first :)] bender, everyone is on the mend personally but Jimmy is still in his head about what he's done. (fellas, is this taking responsibility?) You'll find out more when we get there in the fic though :)

Please listen to Through Hell (below, or here) so you have a sense of what is going on musically in the story :)

_____P--L--E--A--S--E----E--N--J--O--Y______

It's a tradition in between some songs to showcase everyone and their talents. It gives us time to take a breather, drink water, clear our throats, whatever. Someone takes one for the team so the rest of us can recover, even if it's for exactly sixty seconds. Sometimes 70 if one of us really milks the whammy bar or if Daisuke gets a little too invested in his cymbal finish. Sometimes 75 if I get distracted when Curly wipes his mouth before rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck.

God, his neck.

“Please, give it up for MUSUME!” Curly announces with a flair of his arm.

It’s Anya’s turn. She starts playing a medley of riffs from our warm-ups, trying to keep the crowd juiced as we regroup mentally. Daisuke’s opening a water bottle for her and keeping it in one hand as he sips on the other. 

But she’s tired and sluggish on the stings. He attempts to do jazz hands and water from Anya’s full water bottle spills to the floor. It’s only a little off the top, but it’s enough for Daisuke to attempt shrinking into a moth and living his shortened days on the lightbulb above him.

Thirty seconds is what I give myself to down half the water bottle on the stool behind me. My hand shakes when I put it down, and fifteen seconds is what I give myself to take deep breaths. Five seconds to glance at the setlist in my head. Five seconds to rearrange my thoughts into the key. Another five seconds to breathe. 

Five. Four. Three-

Curly’s hands aren’t supposed to be there. If we just did Mayday, then Decline must be next, and those aren't the starting positions for Decline. I don't have time to double check, not even when Curly mumbles some sort of song introduction that I can't hear because the blood is pounding behind my eyes. Everything is too bright. Everything is too loud. This isn't how it’s supposed to go-

He takes a deep breath and adjusts his stance and it’s a miracle his legs aren't shaking beneath him. I recognize the crease in his brows when he closes his eyes and the hard look of determination to push through when he opens them. 

His hands pick softly at the strings of his guitar where we just finished shredding.

His insides are boiling.

They must be, because mine are too. 

“I’ve been through hell,”

No. 

There's no way. 

This song has been with me the whole time, how could-

“I’ll never be good enough for me.”

Why? 

Where did he find this? 

When could I have let it out of my sight?

“And none of my friends know what goes in my head,”

No, they never could. 

“I’m waiting for the only thing guaranteed.” 

No one but you.

When he points to me as the lights flash it’s enough to remind myself we’re on stage. Thousands of eyes are on me, following Curly’s magic touch as I scramble into place. The key is easy enough to switch gears to, but I feel it all in overdrive. Like someone’s hitting the gas in my mind and its pedal to the metal. Daisuke explodes on his drums, his sound piercing despite the earplugs. I feel the beat through the floor, through my feet, up through my bones and replacing my heart as the hammering in my chest. 

Despite the cheers and wild applause for the debut of a new song, it’s just the two of us. Me and Curly on this stage, in a room of thousands of empty chairs. In a room where the air is so thick it might swallow us whole.

I think I want it to.

“Been a while since I slept right, cause my darkest thoughts keep me up at night-” his eyes are sunken like they’ve always been, if not even more. I don't think he’s gotten much sleep since I've been gone, or since I've been back. 

Curly and his wired lapdog, one roaming the halls, doped out of his mind while his coward of a master was a good boy for teacher. I fought a lot of fights for him- fights that probably shouldn't have turned into fights. But a dog does not know why it bites, except when its purpose is to protect its charge. 

“But I faked a smile even in the end,” 

No one saw us for who we were.

Does he know it’s about us?

I’m staring at him. Most times I need to look down at my hands and find my place. But I see it now. 

It’s standing right in front of me, singing my deepest secrets to the world like they’re a silly joke. A new melody for the public to shape and mold to their own experiences, make love and art to. To be their truest self because it exists.

He shapes them now like clay, his thumbs caked in dried pottery and clothes blotted with water and his efforts. He’s standing from the wheel as he takes away the guards that once belonged to me, wiggle wire carving it from the place it was molded and gentle hands carrying it up and up and up. 

When I see myself through his eyes, that's all my secrets become: pottery.

Shareable. Breakable. Beautiful. 

“I've been through hell-” Just behind us is Daisuke now, smiling as he joins my chorus. When did he have the time to practice this, I realize. When did Anya? 

Anya and Curly join, back-to-back, smiling as they bring the melody up and down in waves that drag me along by knotted hair. I want the image of Curly’s sweat-damp face, smiling as he kills me softly, ingrained in my mind forever.

“Fill me up with a glass of rye until I’m drunk enough to forget,” 

Oh fuck. Dad. God, how could I forget the line about dad? 

A wave of grief hits me, grey and hollow like a ghost coming to haunt me. I watch it move toward me at lightning speed and pass through me just as quickly. And I can't reach back for it. I can't beg for it to brush my skin one more time so I could feel the sting again. 

Remind me that I loved them, I beg despite it.

“Either way I’m fucking screwed-” Curly’s voice snaps me back. He’s doing it now? He’s showing them now? We haven't practiced his screams in so long, I’ve been gone for so long, I’m worried he’ll forget the technique right in the middle. 

I don't know when I took over guitar, or when he took the mic off the stand, but his foot goes to the floor speaker, his silhouette making him an angel descending from the heavens, taking god's fearsome glow with him.

My power move, I realize. The one I taught him at the end of junior year. The one that makes you forget that you’re trying. The one that makes you feel invincible when the heat of the lights hit your skin, the one that makes the girls go crazy.

The one that screams I know what I’m doing. 

“I dont think happiness was meant for me, when all I ever do is seem to fucking complain, so let me be- You’re never gonna change me.”

He has enough time to look at me, smile at me, beam at me, even, before he returns to his blocking. He’s back with Anya for only a second before he’s at Daisuke’s side. He joins on the rise and fall, beaming at me, too, before falling deeper into his drums. 

Oh, fuck. Blocking.

The easiest to fall into is simply letting my hair cover my face and pretend I’m banging my head against the table of air in front of me. I don't know where to move. I don't know what to do with my body except stay frozen and feel everything happen beneath me while my fingers move off muscle-memory alone.

He was always too shy to practice without me and I wonder when he had the time to find a coach. 

But I know a good student studies outside of the classroom. 

I was his coach, I remember. And I abandoned him. 

Did he beg for me when I was gone? Would he scream and stop right in the middle to sob and cry and kick because I wasn't there to give him what he needed? Did he get up in the middle of the night to try again and throw Daisuke’s drumsticks against the wall when he screwed up? Did the garage door rattle with the sheer force of Curly’s pain? 

I think I have to believe he did. Otherwise, I wouldn't believe him if he said he did miss me. 

“I've been through-” Daisuke takes the lead on the chorus this time, letting Curly weave his vocals in like liquid gold on broken shards of a vase. They rise and fall like steady breathing through it all, and I think I need to talk to Daisuke after the show. He’s been holding out. 

I contemplate it, but suddenly don't have the time.

Everything falls silent. Daisuke and Anya and I are still, but Curly is moving his hand just enough to carry the melody. It floats to me in tangible half and quarter and sixteenth notes, all hitting my chest like I’m their staff and they’ve been ripped away from their place in me. 

He’s looking at me. He’s expecting me. 

They all are. Thousands of eyes and then some, stabbing me like I’m standing in a pit and it’s raining needles. 

The mic stands alone in the spotlight. I half expect that if I grab it there's going to be a giant boulder dropping down from behind me. The moment feels too perfectly curated for me; it all feels like a trap. Maybe a bucket of pig’s blood will come raining down instead.

But my hand is already on the stand. My other is grabbing the microphone. 

What am I doing? 

Setting yourself free.

Curly’s hand lifts, holding the pic I gave him when we graduated. Holding my beating heart in his fist. Holding our future in his fingertips. 

A grey pic with a T engraved on one side, the other with the image of a pig’s nose. 

It’s supposed to represent the first song we started and finished together, our finisher for every show, our good friend who struggled from the cranberry bog to bring us hope and life. Ængus, the Prize-Winning Hog.

The image itself is just a long circle with two lines in the middle.

But instead of Ængus, it’s just us again. Two lines in what feels like the vast, infinite space surrounding us. I gave it to him when I was sure it would be just us in Tulpar. Just us carving a name out of ourself in the rock-and-roll obsidian.

I never expected two other lines to rub away at the grooves carved deep into the space I put between me and the world. My only breach was sealed with foam, enough so that if anything punctured it from the inside, everything would come flying out. 

But then Daisuke. And then Anya. 

I’ve used my emergency supply and it wasn't enough. 

And then suddenly I was filled with holes. 

Curly’s hand goes down with Daisuke’s and it rings through me like the morning bell, suddenly reminding me I have somewhere to be. 

On stage. In front of my fans. 

Our fans-

“I've been through- HELL-”

-Screaming to anyone who’ll listen.

“-Faced all my demons,” Curly reminds me at my side. I realize I’ve taken his place on the speaker. My foot is up, guitar clinging to me by its strap and hands clasped around the microphone like a nun begging for forgiveness. In a way, I think I am.

“But I never made it back,” I reply. It's hard to scream when your throat is closing. 

Curly strides towards me as he builds the melody on his guitar. He’s smiling still, warm and loving and inviting. Like he’s welcoming me home. Like I really did make it back. A small leap off the speaker is enough to get me over to the mic stand and secure it in time to get my hands back to the neck of my guitar. 

Daisuke keeps to his own instrument as our voices collide into the chorus, crashing like oceans meeting for the first time since Pangea’s divorce. I want so badly for it to be our lips. I want him here and now on the stage, in front of God. In front of everyone.  

This angel is mine, and his salvation is my own.

When his voice goes just higher than mine, when our voices are the last thing to ring before the applause takes over, I know I don't want to leave again. I never want to leave the stage. I never want to bow-out or step away.

I never want to go through hell again.

He’s panting, we both are, and his chest is gleaming through the open buttons at the top of his button-down. It’s so sheer for a concert, but I guess breathable material is important, even when everyone in the crowd can see your tits from the nosebleeds. 

“Now… who wants to hear about our good friend, Ængus?” Curly asks when he notices we’ve been staring at each other for too long. The crowd cheers and Curly looks back to me, winking. I hope the audience can't tell the difference between sweat and tears.

[writingamongther0ses]

AITA for "Enabling" My Wife

I (50M) married my childhood sweetheart when we were 20 and soon had our only child Ella(22F). Unfortunately, CS died when Ella was 10, leaving us heartbroken and Ella without a mother. When Ella was 13, I married New Wife. NW isn't as pretty as CS, but she is rich and intelligent and has two daughters: Anya(20F) and Draya(23F). She was a little cold to Ella, who has always been CS's twin, and much prettier than Anya and Draya. I assumed that they would just need time to get to know each other.

Anya and Ella thankfully hit it off fast, thanks to a shared interest in gardening and butterflies. NW and Draya were at least polite to Ella, but she kept telling me that they would say nasty things to her when I wasn't around. When I asked, NW explained that Ella probably just got confused due to their accents and the adjustment period. If this is need to know, Ella and Anya are both extroverts, and NW and Draya are both introverts.

Ella never backed down, however, and it got worse when she was 15. Before her 16th birthday, both NW and I suffered financial losses. It wasn't bad that we lost my childhood home, but we couldn't keep our staff and needed to cut down on certain things. We assured the girls that it wouldn't last and that we would just need to work together to manage things until we could hire staff again.

Things soon recovered, but we never got around to hiring staff. Instead, NW insisted on getting new clothes and beauty routines for Anya and Draya. She said that all three girls were approaching marriage age and that her daughters needed the help. I agreed.

Ella protested, however, claiming that she was doing all the housework and cooking. She didn't even have her room back, since some rooms needed to be closed off for heating. NW said that it was fine and it would be good for character growth. I tried to calm Ella down by pointing out how her spouse would be so impressed that she could do everything.

Ella stopped talking to me until last year. Last year, the prince of our kingdom came with Ella to explain that they were engaged. Apparently, Ella snuck out to a local festival that she couldn't attend because she didn't have anything to wear, and they got to talking. The prince apparently even started hanging around the market so he could meet and talk with her.

I was ecstatic until Ella informed me that she was moving out and that we weren't invited to the wedding. Only Anya was invited as a bridesmaid. I was horrified- I always imagined walking Ella down the aisle, having a father-daughter dance, celebrating with her. When I asked why, she told me that I was an enabler of my wife. That I had turned a blind eye to her abuse of her because I didn't want to "rock the boat". When I tried to protest, her fiance spoke up and said that Ella hadn't even understood she was being abused and it took him gently pointing things out for her to realize. So he didn't expect me to understand either, but I had still done nothing.

He didn't let me speak to Ella while the two of them moved her stuff out, which barely took an hour with the both of them. Ella did give Anya her number and assured her that the palace would be safe for her.

Her wedding is in three days, and Anya has moved out after an argument with NW, where she said the same things about me and detailed how she felt NW failed her: from trying to force her to loose weight even though the doctor said she was fine to purposefully destroying her weed garden. She is now living with Ella as her lady-in-waiting from what I understand.

I know there are ways I failed Ella. I should've given her more attention, tried to talk to her more. But I don't think I "enabled" my wife to such a degree that she feels right to cut me off.

What should I do? How can I reach out?

[rebelrian]

The Chasms We Cross - Spy x Family Twiyor One Shot

Biding my time until Chapter 86 releases on Sunday - we don’t know if Endo will resolve this arc in the next chapter so I’m putting this out here first as my speculation of how Twilight and Yor will reunite!!

Summary:

More than gripes, Twilight fears resentment will grow between him and Yor.

Note:

Picks up from Chapter 85 of the manga. Some characters’ fates are just speculated at and this fic may be completely way off from what Endo has in mind…but we’ll only find out when the chapter drops. More personal notes below the cut, only available to read on Tumblr for now.

Spy x Family manga spoilers ahead. For general audiences. Enjoy reading this fanfic!

The Chasms We Cross

by rebelrian

Between his front porch and the door to his apartment, Twilight felt a chasm had formed. Once he crosses the threshold, he would have no choice but to put on his mask as Loid Forger. To be Loid Forger would be to face Yor and Anya as an upstanding, even-tempered family man; a psychiatrist beloved by his colleagues and patients. After the events of that day, Twilight couldn’t say he deserved to be that man, let alone be welcomed in the space the Forgers called their home.

The bullet wound left by Yuri burned fresh on Twilight’s arm.

Ironically, Twilight had Yuri and Nightfall to thank for his escape from the SSS. Yuri, who would have not hesitated to end him if he was faster, even more resilient; Nightfall, who may never recover from the damage she inflicted on her own body trying to save Twilight.

A flash. A bloodied Yuri. “Yor…I’m so…sorry…”

Nightfall, bones breaking, still standing. “…But I’m not afraid. I believe in that man.”

“It’s what makes me strong.”

Twilight heard it all. Wheeler made sure he knew Nightfall’s words even if he hadn’t. In the eye of his adversary, Twilight tapped on the strengths of Yuri and Nightfall who had fallen before him. People who were unafraid to lean on others and be their support in return. He thought of Bond, leaping into a burning building for a stranger’s dog; Anya saving a drowning boy twice her height; Anya braving a full scale hostage attempt; Anya running into Yor’s arms after. Yor.

Yor chasing after a pickpocket; Yor stroking Anya’s hair, ever generous with her embraces; Yor singing a lullaby to him on a park bench, rustling leaves providing soft accompaniment. An autumn night’s breeze. His mother.

With that, he silenced Wheeler once and for all.

The damage done to WISE and Operation Strix is still unknown. He’ll hear more about it from Handler in time to come, but he’s doubtful the SSS lost all the intel with Wheeler. No matter how he looked at it, WISE is definitely compromised, with more agents down to boot.

So where does that leave him and the Forgers? “Lay low,” said Handler. “Carry on with your daily routines until we can ascertain the damage to our operations in Ostania. We got this far…it would be a pity to retreat at this stage.”

Even in disguise, Handler’s hooded gaze remained the same. Unreadable. “Set your family’s hearts at ease.” Those were her last words to Twilight before dismissing him.

He reached their front door. The man paused, unsure whether to enter. Would anyone be waiting for him at this late hour? Surely Anya would be asleep by now, no doubt dreaming of pandas and penguins. But Yor…would she wait for him like he does for her? Would she have had her dinner yet? Thinking back on how they parted earlier this morning, it’s possible she may not be so considerate of him. Could he blame her? If you can do one thing right today Twilight, it’s to not let Yor down anymore tonight. If she’s behind that door, you owe it to her to finish the morning’s conversation.

The man let go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and regained composure.

The white light of their living room flooded his vision as the door creaked open. Sure enough, Loid’s wife was perched on the sofa, twirling her hair. Pensive.

Ruby eyes widened at the sound of footsteps and darted to the tall figure that was her husband. The first thing Yor noticed was the bandage wrapped around his head. Her hands flew to her mouth.

“Loid! What happened?”

Loid Forger gave an apologetic grimace, like it didn’t hurt at all. “Oh, today’s emergency patient was quite the challenge. But it’s nothing that won’t heal.”

In truth, his whole body was screaming to collapse; he was beaten, starving and thirsty. But this was important. This felt larger than him, or even Operation Strix. He owed it to this pure, beautiful woman to set her heart at ease, knowing he will only continue to hurt her once she finds out she almost lost her only living family today. Twilight mustered the last bits of energy and clarity for the day’s last mission.

Yor wasn’t too sure a blow to the head counted as a minor injury and kept a watchful gaze on her husband. Nevertheless, the tangled tension that wrecked her the whole day slowly unravelled and her body relaxed finally seeing Loid home safe and sound.

“O-oh…I suppose that’s why you’re back so late today.” She tugged at the sleeves of her red sweater nervously. Of course Yuri was wrong. Loid wouldn’t be out cheating on me…why do I always let other people doubt my trust in Loid?

Loid hung his hat and coat by the doorway and closed the distance between them in long strides. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call in the day and left you so abruptly this morning…a lot has happened since we…” Argued. If what happened counted as arguing. Twilight still couldn’t make sense of their morning predicament. Yor remained unusually stoic. In that moment, she almost looked…unfeeling.

He suddenly felt self-conscious and ran a hand through the tuft of hair left exposed on his head.

Yor finally responded. “It’s ok Loid, these things happen,” she said quietly.

A beat. A twin ache. Both lonely figures stood in the middle of their living room, appraising each other.

The lady took the first steps; she was now close enough to rest her hand on the man’s shoulder. He inhaled.

“Welcome home, Loid,” she said, standing on the tip of her toes. Ruby eyes met steel eyes, a question forming in the latter pair. But for the first time, Yor did not waver in front of her handsome, perfect husband.

She closed her eyes and kissed him.

Twilight was stunned. The last thing he expected was to be greeted with warmth. He kept his eyes open to see if it was true; that Yor Forger’s plush and soft lips were on his; that her cheeks were not flushed and her breathing was measured. She was not drunk. She was calm and her sincerity was as clear as day. His heart ached at this intimate gesture and he tentatively kissed her back.

When they pulled apart, Yor’s hand still rested on Loid’s shoulder, her other hand held close to her heart. Loid’s steel eyes softened, one hand hovering over her waist.

“Yor…”

And that one syllable did it. The only thing Twilight could do today was falter and falter. His knees gave way and the only thing that stopped him from hitting the ground was Yor’s iron grip. The last thing he saw was a halo shining above her.

———

Twilight woke up to the waft of tomatoes. He was bundled on the sofa and there on the coffee table, was a serving of Yor’s signature southern stew complete with cute chunks of misshapen potatoes. Strips of stubborn potato skin clung sparsely. A first aid box sat waiting in the wings of the accompanying jug of water and plate of warm loaf bread.

Just as Loid sat up, Yor returned to the living room with their tea and took a seat beside him.

“It’s nothing new and not nearly as good as any of your dishes…but you look like you haven’t eaten the whole day, Loid.” Yor’s brow was furrowed.

“I never get tired of your stew, Yor.” It was the truth.

After the first sip, Loid ate the rest of his meal ravenously. He took a bite of the loaf and groaned appreciatively. Yor giggled in spite of herself. She had never seen her husband so unrestrained. So relaxed.

With his appetite satiated, the man’s senses slowly came back to him. Here he was, enjoying food prepared by Loid Forger’s wife even when he abandoned her without a satisfactory explanation. Despite that, Yor Forger took a courageous leap and kissed him for the first time. Welcomed him home. Not knowing Yuri could have died by his hands if he didn’t stop himself. Twilight was starting to feel sick; he didn’t deserve any of it.

“Yor, we need to talk about what happened this morning.”

Yor’s fists were balled and resting on her knees. She seemed a bit stiff, but prepared.

“I-I’m sorry for confusing you earlier, Loid. The truth is…I was finding gripes with you because the girls said it was normal for couples to have them…”

Yor could feel the heat flush up her neck but she forced herself to continue.

“It was foolish of me picking a fight when you’ve been nothing short of perfect, Loid. I’m…actually the happiest I’ve ever been, married to you.”

She didn’t dare meet his eyes as she finished the sentence, so she couldn’t see the tender gaze Loid had for her with each admission. What she did see was his hand closing over one of her fists, his thumb making deep circles, coaxing her fist to unfurl. She flattened her palm on her thigh and let it be blanketed by his warmth. Slowly, she willed herself to meet his gaze.

“Yor, I’m nowhere near perfect.”

Loid looked unrecognizable to her in that moment. He was still…him, but there was a deep melancholy pushing through the surface. Just as sincere as whenever he told her she was already doing her best as his wife. She couldn’t help but tear. Is that really you, Loid? You look like a man who’s lost everything.

He gave a sad smile. “By gripes, do you mean not spending enough time at home with you, Anya and Bond?”

“Well…it could even be…unsweetened omelettes…” She wished a hole would open up beneath her and swallow her whole.

Loid gave a soft chuckle and brought his other hand to her hair, pushing away locks of hair from her eyes. “Bland omelettes and family time are things that can easily be resolved as long as we’re a team, Yor.”

“But if you ever resented me…I would definitely lose all of you. You…Anya…Bond…this home.” Again, the man rose to the surface.

“I’m not sure I’m prepared for that, Yor.”

When he willed himself to remember, the man was no stranger to discord in families. It was a reality he witnessed everyday in his childhood home. His parents wasted no breath firing ammunition at each other whenever they were together. Their words mentioned school, mollycoddling, awful dinner, but even as a boy, he knew his parents were stoking at a deeper ember. One that would never burn out. In the end, their resentment for each other manifested in chasms between all three of them; as fate would have it, his father was gone first; his mother followed after; the boy left alone, marooned on this damned Earth.

Until now.

Yor clasped both of Loid’s hands and mimicked the way his thumbs caressed hers. Her eyes were a different kind of ember, ones that beckoned and drew him in. Yet, he was afraid to approach her.

She spoke in hushed tones, but she did not stutter.

“Loid, I don’t regret being a Forger.”

“We were complete strangers when we first met…and yet you let me into your home and entrusted Anya with me. I’m sure I must have befuddled you many times before, but you never stopped trying to understand me. I never knew a place where I belonged before you and Anya. Both of you have always accepted me as I am.”

What Yor said next surprised him. “This resentment you speak of…I’m not afraid of it. I don’t believe in it.”

“For as long as I want to protect this peace we have together, I’ll never stop trying to understand you, Loid. Even if it’s selfish…I don’t want to leave the Forger family.”

Twilight let her words steep.

To protect this peace we have together…

”But what if you misjudged me, Yor? What if…I let you and Anya down?”

Yor considered this and something retreated in her; the empty stare teased at the coals of her ruby eyes once again.

“It’s possible you have misjudged me too, Loid.”

Her next words took all the bravery she could muster. “But would that stop you from being with me?”

Twilight looked at the lovely stranger before him. She, who always doubted how normal she passed off as when it was really her unfailing honesty and trust that dulled everyone else in comparison. She, a transparent soul that also hinted at an infinity of trick mirrors.

Perhaps she was like him too.

Perhaps there was hope for them still.

Perhaps the man could be selfish in indulging in Loid Forger’s cast.

Perhaps this doesn’t change the way Twilight can be, anymore than what has already changed in his last months as a Forger.

Loid pulled Yor closer to him until she almost fell into his lap. His eyes shone as clear as day, the fog cleared.

“No. I want to stay with you, Yor Forger. If you’ll let me.”

Their faces were inches apart, their breaths tickling each other. There was no more tentativeness. In that moment, they both saw each other. Yor’s words were a whisper before they were lost in the pull of their lips.

“I do.”

———

Notes:

I could be very wrong but I think Wheeler could be killed off soon. The man is too formidable a foil to Twilight and him surviving is danger on all fronts to all characters!! We still don’t know what info he stole!!!!

For weeks since this arc started getting stressful, I was so worried Loid would spiral after the whole incident and distance himself from his family, or even riddle himself with guilt over Nightfall. But after Chapter 85…I held onto a glimmer of hope that Twilight will be a bit more honest and more willing to change his views on relying on others as a spy.

Will Twilight and Yor kiss?? This fic says yes but my guess is as good as any. I’m not familiar with Endo’s other narratives or approaches to romance, but I doubt it’s as slow burn/ambiguous as Rumiko Takahashi (a personal observation since I’m more familiar with her romantic comedy dynamics in shonen stories). I have a feeling Endo might let Twiyor progress a bit and that Twilight will be more forgiving of the contradictions of his role earlier than expected.

Is Yor’s speech supposed to mirror Donovan Desmond? Yes. Could she be the answer to world peace? Probably (I kid). Though while we’re on the topic, wouldn’t it be wild if Melinda Desmond hires Garden to assassinate her own husband in later arcs? And instead of Twilight meeting the final boss first in the final showdown…it’s Thorn Princess.

I have so many feelings and I just can’t wait for Twilight and Yor to reunite!!!!

Perhaps I’ll get on AO3 once I receive the invitation email.

[randomfanner]

Again thank you @breegd for doing the art of my character.

Trigger Warning for Devil Contracts, Mentions of Alcoholism and Ace is down a hand. Also just, general BG3 stuff.

Be prepared for more lore on Anya, including the darker stuff for her backstory I have for my Tav talked about in this post!

Meet Ace, one of the many bastard children of Zeus who has found himself under the employment of the Golden Eye Tavern. He is an Archfey bardlock who once had the dream of punching Zeus in the face.

That never came to be, however he did have great adventurers none the less. One of his many quests even cost him one of his hands! Always one to try and entertain, Ace would spins a different tale of how he lost it. One night our brave hero got his hand bitten off by a dragon, another he proclaimed the poor hero's arm was sliced off by the Ashen Blade of an Ashen Rider. He once even proclaimed that it was lost in the depths of the hells! The truth is not as entertaining a tale. Ace works under Otus due to a debt. In the eye of the public a debt of gratitude. Ace went to Otus after the death of his wife, one that despite going to the best clerics he could find, Ace could not find away to reserve. He had lost his mind from the grief and turned to worst ways of coping... notably the bottle. Otus helped him recover and offered him a job, a job Ace still works at to repay what he is owed for the help Otus offered him.

Parts of the truth were in the lie at least. Ace had come to not a man named Otus, rather a devil named Plutus. After the death of his wife after being unable to revive her. However he had not turned to drinking. He had been searching for away to bring her back to life. He left their young daughter in the care of his parents. Eventually, Ace found his way to the Golden Eye Tavern. Plutus approached him to offer the deal. Plutus would give him information on how to revive his wife, not do it for him simply information on how for five years of labor. After all, a charming, well ventured Aasimar working for you is bound to drum up business. And unfortunate for Ace, he has a wisdom of 8. He took the deal only to be trapped in a web of clauses and loopholes that would add year after year to his free labor. Ace, as of now had been working at the Golden Eye for 26 years. Plutus was right about Ace drumming up business, Ace has very little issue working getting clients to drink, stay and makes the Golden Eye simply glow with Hospitality.... Even if it is the last place that should be consider hospital. Ace is luckily not in violation of his contract with Titania due to the circumstances of that one, however she is letting him lie in the bed he made. Anya had been sold to Plutus as a baby, and well he originally had no plans for the child expect perhaps sell it to a hag, Ace convinced the devil to let him raise the child. Saying she could be helpful. Plutus put him under tight limitations on what he could teach the child but did ultimately agree. Otus would be her father as well of course, because no matter what the child was sold to him. Not Ace.

Ace raised Anya as if she was his own, and admittedly she did help him deal with the ache to see his own child again. He taught her much of what he learned. Many greek myths, legends and tales along with the tales of fey, both how to win their favor and how to avoid getting into their debts.

He is a good uncle, trying his best and he really, really misses his wife.

[withinkandquill-aa]

If anyone knows the best way to go about this, it’s Wolf. How many times had he endured the same thing? How many times had strangers poked needles beneath his skin, filling his veins with drugs that rendered him helpless against his will? How many times had he been pulled too quickly from the stupor, disoriented and confused knowing only that someone had done something to him while he slept. If Wolf did not know, if he could not fathom a way to ease this transition, then there probably wasn’t one.

So, she gives a single nod in response, weaving the fingers of her good hand through his. They would just have to be cautious while doing their best to reassure her - for Anya’s sake as well as their own.

Leading Wolf along, Scarlet follows Jacin as he walks towards the hangar and descends into the hidden basement beneath. It isn’t familiar to Scarlet the way the rest of the farm is. She only came down here once well after the end of Cinder’s revolution, just to prove to herself that it was real, that her grand-mére really had died for a reason and not because of some fairytale her mind had concocted. Then, she all but forgot about it. It wasn’t something she wanted to remember. But from what she can tell, it still looks the same. Well, all but the faint blue-green glow of the now-active suspension tank.

“Scarlet!” Iko squeals. She can’t tell which is more jarring: the way Iko’s voice echoes off the narrow walls, or the force of the hug she’s pulled into. Scarlet returns the gesture with a one-armed hug of her own, effectively hiding a grimace behind the android’s back. “I was so worried! Everyone was sending me updates of course but it’s not the same as being there and I just kept thinking what if and…oh, I’m so glad you’re alright!”

Despite the worry squeezing at her chest and the tension in her muscles as they urged her forwards towards her daughter, Scarlet manages something like an amusing chuckle.

“You were all too worried, really. It’s going to take more than a simple bullet wound to do me in.”

Her good shoulder lifts in a lop-sided shrug, feigning nonchalance to hide the truth: Scarlet had been terrified too. For her own life, yes, but also for Wolf and Anya too. Wolf, who she was sure would never let himself recover from the loss of her. Anya, whose life hung just as precariously in the balance as Scarlet’s and who would never forgive herself if Scarlet didn’t survive. She may not even now that she had.

The conversation doesn’t stretch any longer than it has to. The thought of her daughter brings Scarlet’s eyes back to the suspension tank, its dim blue glow clashing with the bright fluorescents overhead. Pulling herself from Iko’s grasp as sliding past the android, she makes her way to the domed glass window while Jacin studies the information displayed on a nearby netscreen. This sight was more familiar than anything surrounding her now - Anya’s sleeping face, and even the blue of the gel encasing her.

It gives her skin an almost sickly pallor, mutes the fiery color of her hair and the rosy flush of her cheeks, but she looks more like herself now than the last time they saw her. If it wasn’t for the blood smeared across her skin and matted in her hair, the gore staining her clothes a purplish-black, Scarlet could almost believe she was simply sleeping. Almost.

“She looks better,” Scarlet breaths, brown eyes searching Wolf’s expression for the mixed worry and relief she knows she’ll find there. It is the same strange combination filling her now, making her head feel as fuzzy as her body stands tense.

Though…it all has to be worse for him. Their last moments were all hazy in her own mind, marred by pain and blood loss and fatigue, but she is sure every detail is knife-sharp in his memory. She is sure that they are still haunting him even now.

Continued from x; @words-of-tomatoes

[ladyrivia]

Spitfire (Chapter One)

Summary: Anya Donato, a seasoned agent in the DEA transfers from New York to Columbia to take down Escobar. Upon arrival, two particular men catch her eye, Javier Pena and Colonel Carrillo.

No warnings! Except maybe google translate spanish.. Enjoy!

The fierce Columbian sun shined through the windows of the airport, giving Anya a bright welcome as she trudged down the stairs to customs. She dragged her suitcase behind her, duffel thrown over her shoulder carrying the remaining items of her previous life that was not already shipped down to the Embassy.

“Pasaporte, por favor.” passport, please. Digging through the inner pocket of her jacket, she pulled out her passport and required forms, handing them over to the man who was clearly tired of his job. “Gracias señora..Donato.” Thank you Mrs..Donato. He looked over the forms, stamping them and entering something into the system. “Bienvenida a Columbia.” Welcome to Columbia. He gave a tight lipped smile as he gave back her documents.

“Gracias.” Thank you. Anya replied, shoving the forms back into the pocket and continuing what seemed to be the never ending process of transferring to her new station in Columbia.

Anya walked to the ARRIVALS sign, where she was told that an agent would be picking her up. A handsome man walked towards her, his dark brown eyes scanning over your body. Perv. Anya thought, straightening her back and preparing to turn down whatever offer this man had.

“Excuse me señora, did you happen to see an agent on your flight?” Oh. Of course. He wasn’t expecting a woman to be joining. Her eyes narrowed, giving him a glare.

“I am the agent,” Anya dug through your pocket once more, showing him the shiny DEA badge before putting it back. “Señor.” His eyes widened, realizing his mistake, opening his mouth to form an apology, but she quickly cut him off. “Not another word. Can we just go now, I’m tired and ready to get the hell out of this airport.” He nodded, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and walking towards the exit. Normally, she’d argue and snatch her bag back, but she was too tired to care.

He led Anya to his black 4 door SUV, with scuffs and minor dents in it, showing its age. Throwing her bag in the back, she settled in the passenger seat. The car smelt heavily of cigarettes, which wasn’t too different from the car she sold right before heading to Columbia. If you were in the DEA, you either had a drinking problem or a smoking problem, if not both.

“I’m Javier, Javier Pena.” He was still trying to recover from his mistake earlier.

“Anya Donato. Pleasure to meet you.” Her eyes were focused on the city as they drove off, trying to get a sense of the area that she would now be living in. “Got a cigarette?” She looked towards him.

“Yeah,” He took out the pack from his front pocket, opening the carton for her to take one. “Here, lighter is in the console.” He grabbed one for himself and waited for Anya to finish lighting yours before handing the lighter to him. She took a long pull from the cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs for a few seconds before breathing it out, rolling down the window half way to allow fresh air to replace the smoke.

They smoked in silence, letting the nicotine settle her nerves.

“So.. where’d you transfer from?” Javier had never felt more awkward in his life. He normally always knew what to say, but with you he was at a loss.

“New York. Got tired of the snow and the cold.” She felt a smirk form on her face when she looked at him and said, “And I think you boys needed some help down here.” He looked at you, lips twitching into a grin

“Saying we’re incompetent?”

“Perhaps.” The banter eased the awkward vibe in the car, the two continuing to smoke while Javier pointed out places, whether it be a bad neighborhood, a good dive bar, or what she was most interested in, the best food choices.

“And here we are, home sweet home..” The car pulled into the Embassy, the security guards at the gate recognizing Javier’s car and immediately let him through. “I think the ambassador already left for today, I think they said something about a meeting.” He shrugged, clearly having not paid attention. “Let’s get you checked in here then we can get you set up at your new place.” He chucked the cigarette on the ground when he got out of the car, leading to the entrance of the large building. She opted to throw your cigarette butt into the trash can, grumbling something about littering.

“Pena!” A southern drawl called out. “You were supposed to pick up the new agent, not hire a new prostit-” Javi silenced him with a look.

“Agent Anya Donato,” She stuck out her hand.

“I’m sorry ma’am. I’m Steve Murphy.” He shook her hand.

“No harm done, you aren’t the first to assume.” Anya gave a pointed glare at Javier.

“Well, uh, welcome to the team.” Steve gestured to three desks pushed together in the bullpen. “That empty one is yours.” The group meandered to the desks, Anya plopping down in the uncomfortable office chair.

“Tomorrow we’ll have Carrillo get you your gun and fitted for Kevlar. For now you should get acquainted with our favorite narco.” Javier lifted a large box labeled ESCOBAR, putting it on the desk in front of her. Anya sighed, sitting up in her chair and taking the top off the box, finding it filled to the brim with papers.

“Where’s the coffee?” Her northern accent came out with the last words.

“The caw-fee is over there.” Javier mocked her accent, snickering when she flipped him off before retrieving a cup of shitty office coffee.

~

Hours passed, Javier was clicking away on the typewriter, Steve meandering around the office, retrieving information from the different intel groups that were scattered around the building. Anya’s eyes were starting to strain, the words becoming blurry on the paper. She snatched Javier’s cigarette box from where he placed it on the far corner of the desk, he got tired of taking it out every time she wanted to steal a cigarette.

“Don’t you have your own?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow at her.

“We’ve been over this Pena, I would’ve brought my own but Uncle Sam would’ve gotten pissy about it and I haven’t exactly had time to go get my own, nor do I have a car to do so.” Anya took a puff, then quickly took a swig of coffee. Not even 24 hours in and she was already returning to her bad habits.

“How many cups have you had?”

“..4..” She mumbled around the cigarette before looking up at Javier, eyebrow raised again. “Maybe 7.”

“Shit, Donato, how long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.”

“You’ve been pouring over those papers for hours, why don’t we head out of here and go grab a drink with some of the guys?”

“You sure they’ll want me interrupting boy-time?” It was Anya’s turn to raise an eyebrow, she normally isn’t one to turn down drinks, but given the reaction she got upon first meeting her new partners, she wasn’t exactly excited to have to repeat that experience so soon.

“Of course, you’ve already interrupted it here,” Javi gestured around. “C’mon, I’m sure the trip down here wasn’t exactly easy. A few drinks could do you good.” He was pretty much begging her to come along at this point, he wanted to spend more time with her, get to know his new partner before they had to go guns-blazing into some drug lord's hideout.

“I guess so.” Anya put the lid back onto the box, downing the rest of her coffee and throwing it into the trash can near their desks. Javier quickly finished what he was typing before slinging his jacket on.

“You ready Donato?” She nodded and followed him back to his car.

~

The drive to the bar was short, the time filled with her asking clarifying questions about Escobar. Arriving at the bar, there were already other police vehicles parked. When she turned to ask him, he said, “We go here pretty much every night, it’s a good way to wind down.”

“Ah.” Anya and the New York DEA department had a place similar, except it was a 24 hour dinner/bar combo. She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the past. She can’t afford to get emotional, especially when she’s the only woman on a team full of men. The second she shows emotion it’s over. Everything she’s ever worked for, benched and it being chalked up to being ‘too emotional’.

They exited the car, Javier leading her to the usual spot that him and Carrillo liked to sit. It was a corner booth, allowing them to monitor everyone coming in and coming out.

“Why isn’t Steve here?” Anya furrowed her eyebrows at the realization that Steve wasn’t with the group, but she saw him leave shortly before they did.

“He has a wife, Connie. She’s a sweetheart, I think you two would get along.”

“You barely know me.”

“We’ll that’s why we’re here, aren’t we?” Javier gave her a smile, and she couldn’t help but give him a slight grin in return. Approaching the corner booth, Anya noticed a man already sitting at the table, but he stood up upon seeing the two walking towards him. His stare was intense, she could tell he was trying to get a read on her. He was undeniably handsome, but in a different way than Javier. Javier was charming, definitely an expert in flirting and wooing a woman. The stranger was just… hot. His uniform fit tightly around his biceps, a 5 o’clock shadow sculpting his face, a watch decorating his arms that she wished were—

Get a grip, Anya. She cursed herself out in her own head as she ogled at the man.

“Carrillo, cómo estás?” Carrillo, how are you? Javier greeted the man.

“Quien es tu amiga?” Who’s your friend? Carrillo ignored his question, nodding to Anya.

“¿Recuerdas que mencioné que íbamos a conseguir un nuevo socio?” Remember me mentioning we were getting a new partner?

“Soy Anya, Anya Donato.” I’m Anya. She could tell that the man was surprised that the new partner was a woman, him continuing to analyze her every move.

“Colonel Carrillo.” His hand dwarfed Anya’s when they went to shake hands, they were warm, she could feel the calluses formed by years of hard work. Javier gestured for them to sit, him sliding in next to her and Carrillo sitting opposite of them. There was already a bowl of peanuts at the table, broken and discarded shells in a bowl next to it. Carrillo had obviously been munching on some before they arrived.

The waitress came by, dropping off menus and taking drink orders. The men had ordered whiskey.

“Aqua y…” Anya thought for a moment, deciding what drink she was in the mood for. Glancing over the menu, she decided to go with a classic Columbian cocktail. “Refajo por favor.” Water and a Refajo please. Carrillo and Javier gave her a quizzical look. “What? When in Rome..” She grabbed a peanut and cracked it while looking over the menu. Anya leaned over to Javier. “What’s good here?”

Carrillo was captivated by the woman. He certainly wasn’t expecting her when Javier said him and Steve were getting a new partner. While she was shorter than the two of them, she carried herself with the same confidence, even while having to look up to meet his eyes. He watched as she glanced over the menu with her big brown eyes while ordering her drink, the slight shade of pink that crossed her cheeks when they questioned her drink choice. Carrillo slightly tensed when she leaned over to Javier, a sense of jealousy sparking. Reúnanse, Horacio. Get yourself together, Horacio. He cussed himself out in his head.

“If you’re looking to try something local, you could try the Bandeja Paisa. It’s our National dish.” Carrillo grabbed another peanut as he spoke, cracking the shell with ease. He watched her fidget with the peanut in her hand while she looked for the dish on the menu.

“Yeah, I’ll try that. Thank you Carrillo.” Anya gave him a warm smile as she pulled back from Javier, placing the menu on the edge of the table so it was easier for the waitress to grab when she came back. The waitress quickly returned with their drinks and took their orders, Carrillo got a steak and Javier got a burger.

Anya finally attempted to crack the peanut, finding herself unable to. Carrillo noticed and raised an eyebrow, glancing at the peanut then back at her. She tried playing it off as if she was just fidgeting with it.

“Son of a bitch.” Anya muttered under her breath after a couple more tries. She could throw vicious punches, down a man twice her size in hand to hand combat, but she couldn’t crack a damn peanut.

Javier watched her out of the corner of his eye, a small smirk appearing on his face when he noticed her struggling with the peanut. It was cute watching her try to play it off when Carrillo noticed, but he could see the pink return shortly there after. Javier had snuck off earlier to read her file, the ambassador had given it to him and Murphy days prior, but they didn’t bother reading it, assuming it’d be another guy like them. He read about her work in New York, how she helped take down some Cali Cartel members. Anya would go in undercover, taking down sicarios in club’s bathroom in a dress and heels when she would lead them back there for what they assumed to be sex.

After watching her suffer with the damn peanut for a few more moments, he reached down to grab it, easily cracking it and handing it to her.

“Thanks.” Anya muttered, the blush returning to her cheeks, redder than before. She munched on the peanuts while she grabbed another, yet again failing to crack it on her own. Javier chuckled and helped her crack it again. This repeated until they had a cycle of Anya handing him a peanut and him cracking it for her, dropping the peanuts into her hand and putting the shells in the bowl.

The spark of jealousy returned in Carrillo when he watched Anya finally relinquish the peanut to Javier. Es un puto maní. Para. It’s a fucking peanut. Stop. Carrillo returned to insulting himself in his own head, but he couldn’t help s small twitch of a smirk when Anya’s blush returned to her face.

“So tell me about the Rumpus Room.” Javier asked Anya while he cracked yet another peanut for her.

“That shitty place? Finally decide to read my file, asshole?” Anya snorted and took another sip of her drink.

“Call me an asshole all you want but I’m the one cracking your peanuts, gringa.” Javier waved the peanut in front of her.

“Gringa? Come up with something original, lindo.” Pretty boy. She swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Wonder where you learned that one,” He gave her the unshelled peanuts. “You gonna tell us or what?” He took a sip of his whiskey.

“Nothin’ much to say,” Anya said between crunches. “Awful place, smelled like cat piss.” She scrunched her nose. “Wasn’t anyone high profile, just a trafficker of theirs. Put on a tight red dress, strutted into the club and I had him in an instant. Practically drooled over me.” She shook her head. “We danced a bit and I whispered some..” Anya was worried of the reaction she would get, her plan worked well, but some think she’s promiscuous and a whore for how she took down these men. “Something dirty in his ear and led him to the back. Disarmed him quickly and just beat the shit out of him. Nothing special.” She practically chugged her drink, trying to ignore whatever reaction the two men had.

Well, there certainly was a reaction in their pants.

“In a dress and heels,” Javier whistled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Best not.” Anya let out a sigh of relief, neither of these men seemed to care about her unorthodox methods.

“You went in there without a weapon?” Carrillo’s fists were clenched, how could her superiors put her in such a dangerous position?

“Can’t hide much in a skin tight dress,” She shrugged, finishing off her drink. “Though I did hide a knife in my bra. My boss didn’t know about that.” A smirk came to her face. Carrillo did not find any of this funny. No backup or weapons, what if they had caught onto her? Over his dead body would he send—

Para, para, para. Stop, stop, stop. Carrillo pleaded with his mind once more as the waitress returned with refills and their meals.

The rest of dinner was filled with exchanges of stories, both men finding themselves enamored with the lively stories Anya told, the alcohol and time spent together making her feel more and more comfortable with the two. She was hungrier than expected, digging into her Bandeja Paisa.

“My god Carrillo!” Anya praised Carrillo for his recommendation, which was something he definitely wanted to hear again.

It was about midnight when Javier noticed Anya starting to slump, the lack of sleep starting to catch up with her.

“I’m okay seriously, I feel fine.” She felt the alcohol hitting her.

“You’re clearly tired, c’mon carñira, it’s time to get you home.” He groaned when he realized her apartment was empty, that was something they were meant to do before she arrived.

“Qué es?” What is it? Carrillo noticed the look on Javi’s face.

“Her apartment is empty. We were meant to get the essentials moved in before she arrived but with everything—”

“Bendejo.” Idiot. Carrillo muttered. “Ella puede quedarse en mi casa esta noche, tengo una habitación de invitados preparada.” She can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room set up. Javier eyed him, jealousy blooming in his mind. “Que? Quieres que duerma en la misma cama donde te follaste a las prostitutas?” What? You want her sleeping in the same bed you fucked prostitutes? Javier knew he was right, he wasn’t prepared for someone to stay over.

“My Spanish is good but I think I’m a bit drunk, fill me in?” Anya seemed to sober up a tad after nursing her glass of water.

“I may have forgotten to set up the furniture in your apartment..”

“You can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room.”

“Oh. Yeah that.. that works, just need to grab my bags from his car.”

“Consider it done.”

~

“There you go. Take care of her.” Javier gave a slight glare at Carrillo, warning him if anything happened to her. Stop it Javi. You just met her today. She isn’t yours. “Goodnight, carñira. See you tomorrow.” He shut the back door of Carrillo’s car, where he had brought her bags over.

~

The drive to Carrillo’s house was quiet, Anya looking out the window and gazing at the city’s lights.

Upon arrival, he insisted on opening her door for her, wrapping his hand around her waist to make sure she didn’t trip up the stairs to his house. He knew she wouldn’t trip, she knew she wouldn’t trip, but neither said a word and played along with the excuse.

“Make yourself at home, here’s the guest bedroom,” He opened a door on the left. “Sorry about the boxes in there, work seems to follow me home.”

“Oh no worries, I’m the same.” The evidence boxes were neatly stacked in the corner, all of them combined was definitely taller than her.

“Bathroom is through that door,” Carrillo pointed to the door on the opposite wall. “And that door is my room, so if you need anything don’t be afraid to ask.” She nodded. There was an awkward pause between them, before Anya spoke.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Not a problem, I’ll sleep better knowing you’re here rather than a hotel in the city.” Or Javi’s apartment. Both of them knew the unspoken words. She did pick up a few words from their earlier conversation, something about in the same bed as fucking prostitutes let her everything she needed to know about Javi’s habits. “Goodnight, Anya.”

“Good night, Carrillo.”

[retvenkos]

first blood | g.v.

Anastasia: The Musical - Gleb Vaganov x Reader, angst requested by @musicallisto​

tw: unrequited love, mentions of killing, mentions of blood

word count: 1.6k

prompt: “I don’t trust anyone… but you’re not just anyone.”

A/N: i didn’t know how this was going to turn out but you’re right - writing for Gleb is a concept that i didn’t know i needed. and i changed the prompt a bit - i wasn’t planning on it, but i started writing and my hand slipped.

Summary: Love was cruel when it was not reciprocated, and no one in Paris knew that better than (Y/n) and Gleb, sitting in a ballet, watching the Princess Anastasia from afar.

It was funny how much tension was wound in the body of a dancer. Crowds often marveled at the grace of a ballerina - how they seemingly twirled on air, all of the serenity in the world reflected on their painted faces, all of the dazzling beauty collected in their skirts. There was a perceived effortlessness to their dances, and yet, tension lay underneath. A dancer's every limb was flexed as they performed their routine, all of the gravity of the world bearing down on them. It was through countless hours of strife that they learned to balance on the tips of their toes - bruising and bleeding themselves for the facade of peace.

It was funny how tranquil a ballerina looked when poising all their weight on the weakest of muscles. It was funny, but (Y/n) couldn’t bring themself to laugh.

Being a soldier meant many things for their existence. It had made them more harsh, less kind, more dangerous, and less trusting. (Y/n) couldn’t remember the last time they had trusted someone fully, without the knowledge that they were playing the part of betrayed or that of the betrayer. (Y/n) couldn’t remember a time before they had been forged into something ruthless - a weapon that knew no bounds and exercised no mercy. They had been hardened to this world long ago - when they were a child and the universe was changing, folding in on itself and expanding beyond imagine.

People like (Y/n) were born from a gunshot, brought into this world dazed and reeling, restless and crying, still. People like (Y/n) were coiled in on themselves, holding all of the tension of existence between dignified stares and impassive remarks. People like (Y/n) were broken before they were bought, shattered before being made.

People like (Y/n) didn’t fall in love.

That is, until they did.

And it was cruel, what love did to a person, tearing them apart as though they weren’t already broken enough and pulling on the wound every time the person they cared for came near. It was cruel and impassive, and perhaps what made it sting the most was that it reminded (Y/n) of themself. Little else compared to how cold they had become, little else carried the same crushing weight.

Love was cruel when it was not reciprocated, and no one in this world knew that better than (Y/n) and Gleb.

This world was changing, and the time for monarchs was over. (Y/n) and Gleb had been taught that from the moment they joined the Bolsheviks, both of them small things - broken and heaving, still. They hadn't been friends, at first. There was no place for friends, as a good and loyal Russian. There was only duty, and those painful tasks that were a part of it.

Just when (Y/n) had fallen in love was hard to say - for the longest time, (Y/n) did not believe in the word, let alone fathom that it could come to them in the form of a handsome and charismatic young man, their opposite and begrudging equal. Gleb had always been an acquaintance that someone more naive would have mistaken for a friend. It was when (Y/n) found themself fond of him, going so far as to save him before themself, they knew something had changed.

They had believed love to be silly, then, not realizing the dagger it concealed beneath.

Love came to Gleb in the form of a rumor, a ghost of his past that haunted him always - when in sleep and wakefulness. The beautiful Anya, a girl who had the presence of a princess and the eyes of a Romanov, came to Gleb by chance and lingered in his mind. Gleb was tasked with coming to Paris to finish her, like a good and loyal Russian, and when his back was turned, they ordered (Y/n) to see the task to completion.

(Y/n) sat in the back of a darkened theatre, now, and love held a knife to their throat.

They had seen Gleb's love in his eyes before, but here, it was something different. In his glassy eyes lay a feeling too exquisitely painful to be anything other than the sting of love, cruel and chilling. Perhaps it was because he believed himself to be alone, that Gleb allowed for his vulnerability to show; or perhaps it was the dancers with their melancholic beauty that brought such emotion to his eyes. Either way, it was clear by his demeanor that he could not do it. He loved Anya too much to finish what his father had started, and (Y/n) didn't know whether to pity him or commend him for his strength.

(Y/n) thought, once, that it took a strong man to believe in their love. They weren't so sure anymore. How could they, now that his love tore him away from them?

(Y/n) looked at the pistol at their side, concealed but glinting like a grin in the light of day. Gleb would not, so they must. Who would be most hurt by their actions? They were all victims in this cruel deed; they were all at risk of losing something when the pistol fired.

Anya would lose her life.

Gleb would lose Anya.

(Y/n) would lose Gleb, and their love would be dashed upon the theatre floor.

They tried to envision themself at the moment, but their mind would not comply. As though it could not fathom such ruin, for fear of never recovering.

(Y/n) tried to reach for their gun, to secure their place at the opposite end of the barrel, but their hands shook. The ballerina was leaping now, making her grand finale with the most complicated of moves, the most dazzling of tricks. The entire theatre sat on the edges of their seats, dying to see the finish. Love held a knife at (Y/n)'s throat and dared them to think who would draw first blood.

Gleb sat, his mind still conflicted, but his heart made up. Perhaps he would pull his gun, but he could never touch the trigger. 

Say (Y/n) pulled their gun, could they pull the trigger?

(Y/n) slid into the seat next to Gleb, and he jumped at their appearance.

"What are you doing here?"  And there was panic in his voice more than anything else; the fear that if he was unable, (Y/n) would finish the job.

"You won't do it."

"Of course, I will."

"Gleb."

He looked at them, and (Y/n) knew they could never pull the trigger.

"It doesn't need to be done."

And the ballet ended. The crowds roared with applause. Gleb stared at (Y/n), his mind unable to reconcile what he heard with his expectation. People started to leave. Gleb sat rooted to his chair.

"This is a game."

(Y/n) scoffed bitterly, something broken in their eyes. "No, it's not."

"You were sent here after me, and you expect me to believe it's all a lie?" Gleb shook his head as though believing in (Y/n)'s intentions was the last thing he could do. "How can I trust you?"

"We might have been friends, once."

Gleb stood and (Y/n) followed in suit. "You're distracting me, aren't you? Somehow you believe I won't pull the trigger."

"You will?"

He scoffed and pushed past them, but (Y/n) was faster and grabbed his wrist. "I know how it sounds, but you must trust me. We'll tell her she must leave but that she can keep her life so long as she never returns. The others need never know - Russia already runs with too much blood."

Gleb stared at them, and (Y/n) could see in his eyes that he wanted to believe it - like the way one wishes they could fall into a dream and never wake. "Why would you do this for me? We are good and loyal Russians."

"Neither of us is good, but we are loyal." (Y/n) let go of his wrist, but neither made to move. "I know what ails you—" and they liked to believe their love was in their eyes, apparent through the tears "—and I know it's cruelty. I know what you planned to do, and at first, I did not trust it. I have never trusted anyone..."

"...But I am not just anyone."

And it was cruel, what love did to a person, tearing them apart as though they weren't already broken enough and pulling on the wound until they were raw and heaving, still. And it was funny how the tension didn't leave, just fell victim to the flames and burned like a funeral pyre at midnight, cold and alone.

"You never were."

And love drew the first blood.

"(Y/n)..." Gleb cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowed in an exquisite sort of sorrow - something beautiful in the glittering lights of the theatre.

"Tell Anastasia. There doesn't need to be more bloodshed." (Y/n) lowered their eyes and started to walk away. Gleb called to them, some shard of tenderness in his tone that lodged itself in their heart with the promise of staying. (Y/n) turned.

"How can I repay you?"

And his words were naive but spoken from his heart. He did not yet know that telling her would cost him everything - that it would break his heart to let her go. His love would crush his heart, but what else was Paris for?

"You won't wish to."

-- taglist: @musicallisto, @locke-writes, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena // message me if you want to be added!

[shinymooncolor]

I love your sw chats! If you need prompts: something centered around Remus!

Thank you - I’m sorry in advance. This turned a little angsty. But we get happy again. Remus to the rescue - this team would not survive without him.

Characters and universe by @lumosinlove ❤️

My ever shining and supportive ra(e)s of sunshine @wxlfstxrx and @siriuslyqueer. This one is for you guysss.

Sweater weather chat #6

Kuny is hurt. Nado is scared. Kasey and Sergei plans a murder. Sirius is angry. Walker makes a burrito blanket. Remus is the best. Kris is a mom. Remus calls Nado Jackie. He’s the only one allowed to do that. Crouch Jr. is Russian (sue me). We all hate the 🐍

Wednesday 1.22 pm

Eliascookie: why are Nado and Kuny yelling again? They’ve been fighting all day.

Timmyforrealz: they’ve been arguing for TWO days about who’d be the wife in their weird bromance. Also - They’re both totally the wife. It’s weird.. 🤨🤨

Ollibear: well apparently some shop clerk thought they were a couple and nado is mortally offended that Kuny said they weren’t

Nadotheman: IT WAS THE WAY HE SAID IT. Like he wouldn’t be the luckiest fucker alive to land me.

KrisVolley: but you are both into women?

Nadotheman: I know. Still offensive to know you’re not your best mates first pick.

Blizzard: Well we all know that eventually, Kuny is going to marry some Russian model and nado is their live-in, grown-ass man child 😏

Prongstar: He’s probably going on the honeymoon too. It’s weird

Siriusly: are you ladies reaDy to get back home and have your pre game naps... We have a game tonight and I want to beat those snakes

Sergei_81: 💪🏻🤛🏼🦷😡

Blizzard: aye aye captain 😴🥱

RussianGod: hehe we kick ass today!!!

Prongstar: whoooop!!! Let’s end the snakes 🐍

Dumodad: go sleep my babies. We need to be on tonight.

—

Wednesday 8.33 pm

7 missed calls from Nado

Nado: Remus where are you? Can I come to the hospital

Nado: Remus please can I talk to him?

Nado: Remussss

Nado: Is he ok?

Nado: He was down re, for a long time.

Wednesday 9.02 pm

Remus: hey Jackie, he’s okay. It’s not a concussion. Please stop calling - I promise to keep you updated. They might let him come home tonight. He’ll be okay. Are you home? Is someone with you?

Nado: remus he was on the ice for a long time. Are you sure he’s okey? Why can’t I see him he needs me. He’s scared of needles and I know his ab negative!! Do they even have the right blood? I’m ab too I can help! Is someone talking to him? When they do the needle stuff just rub between his shoulders that calms him down and if he’s scared call him zhenya. That’s his Russian baby name!! It calms him. Remus please fix him.

Remus: these are some of the best sports doctors in the world, they know what they’re doing and they’re taking good care of Evgeni. Sergei is here, and he’s explaining everything to him in Russian ok? I’ll keep you updated! But I need to know if you’re alone? I think you should not be. Please take care of yourself ok?

——

Wednesday 9.13 pm

Kris: hey remus, I’m here. Nado is really freaking out. I drove him home but Olli and walker had to help me wrestle him into the car and into his house. Timmy is making us some food and Olli and Cap are trying to keep him from pulling out his hair. Is Kuny alright?

Remus: keep an eye on his hands, one of his ticks is scratching at his palms. They’ve scanned twice and it’s not a concussion. He’s got stitches both on his eyebrow and on his neck and he’s got to be out for a few days. I still don’t understand how he skated off. Tell Sirius to use his captain voice if needed.

Kris: yeah I’ve wrapped his hand up, they froze his knuckles at the rink but he’s kept fiddling with it. Walker rolled him into a burrito blanket and he’s quieted down a bit. But he’s not okay. Do you think Kuny can come home tonight?

Remus: I have to wait and hear, they said it’s depending on his x-ray - if it’s just a sprain in his hand he can come home so we’re just waiting. I’m glad no one here but Sergei understands Russian. I don’t think it’s very nice what he’s sayin.

Kris: fuck man. It was a bad hit. We’re rewatching. He was nowhere near the puck. Crouch and Nott fucking just came at him on purpose and if they don’t get a disciplinary I’m quitting the league. Cap crushed the remote... dirty snakes

Remus: I saw. It was a bad hit. I tried to get him on a stretcher but he insisted.

Wednesday 9.20 pm

Nado: he didn’t recognize me re... after he went down. He just looked at me and didn’t recognize me and I heard his head connect. His helmet was off before Nott threw him. How is he supposed to fight back when crouch swiped his leg?

Remus: I know. But even “just” hitting your head can cause some confusion and I promise you they scanned three times and he’s not got any concussion or bleeding. He’s tough ok? He’s asking if he can go home. Not very nicely might I add. And he flirted with a nurse. He’ll be ok.

Nado: but I heard it crunch. He was bleeding a lot. Is she cute?

Remus: I know, face cuts bleed a lot but he’s got quite a few stitches and he did well. He even got a lollipop and I’m pretty sure at least one phone number. Also Tall blonde with a nice smile.

Nado: is he coming home? Leave the nurse

Remus: I’ll let you know ok? Try and sleep! You’ll need it.

Wednesday 9.25 pm

Remus: hey kris. It sounds like they’re letting him come home. Sergei is going to drive us. Did you get Nado to go to bed? Also, I can stay over night. I think they both need a babysitter

Kris: I think we’re staying. Ava is with Anya and the kids and Olli is already crashed on the couch. Walker actually had to threaten Nado to stay in bed and he’s camped up next to him now. He’s not going anywhere. Timmy and I will crash in the guest room. Can Kuny sleep alone?

Remus: he’s on a lot of painkillers and he’s not entirely coherent. Sergei offered to stay with him to translate but I honestly think his English will come back once he’s slept and recovered a bit

Kris: their beds are like extra king size anyways. We can just make a sleep over in nado’s room. He’s gone and pulled down every blind and the house is dark. I’ve never seen him this stressed out.

Remus: yeha that might be best. Sergei says Kuny is asking for his brother. So I think it’s best for everyone. We’re leaving once Kuny gets his stuff back.

Wednesday 9.55 pm

Sirius <3: is he okay love? I drove here / do you need to stay or come home?

Remus ❤️: hey! He’ll be fine, not a concussion but he still hit his head prettt bad. I think they’ve set up a sleepover and he’s in good hands. I’ll be okay to go home.

Sirius <3: it was such a dirty hit. He was down for a long time. And that Pussy ref didn’t even call a major.

Remus ❤️: coach said he’s contesting it and demanding an inquiry. But it was bad. I wanted to punch his face in. Did you see crouch after? He was laughing.

Sirius <3: I know. I’ve never seen blizzard react like that. He actually tore Nott’s Jersey with his hands.

Remus ❤️: I know, let’s get Kuny to bed and we can go home. I need cuddles.

Sirius <3: me too. Re. Me too. It hurts every time. We would not function without you. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wednesday 10.33 pm

Siriusly: boys, Kuny is home. It’s not a concussion. He’s got a bad hit and stitches and he’s out for three days and a new scan. But he’s back home and sleeping now. I’m not sure how Walker or Nado can sleep with his snores. But he’s ok.

Prongstar: they made a sandwich?

Siriusly: I think kris called it a sleepover but yeah. I don’t think Nado would able to sleep otherwise and Kuny kept trashing until someone was on either side of him. It’s cute. I’ve got pictures.

Blizzard: open fucking season on Nott. Why the fuck did you pull me off @eliascookie? I wanted to punch his fucking disgusting face in. He deserved it!!! Kuny’s helmet was offf before they swiped his legs

DumoDad: kasey, you were right to fight him and he was over the line. But getting you suspended won’t help. We need to beat them through our game

Timmyforrealz: but it was a bullshit call?! I agree to open season on Nott and crouch. Fuck it all of those creeps. They could’ve ended his career ffs

Sunnysideup: I haven’t had a line brawl like that in years. Broke carrow’s nose. Felt good. I’m glad Kuny is ok.

Prongstar: I heard his head hit the ice. It was terrifying.

Bradygunz: how’s Nado handling this? I had to sit on him to hold him back from going after the ref.

KrisVolley: he’s asleep, I think. But it was a long evening. I know they’re not actually related but I swear they’re brothers somehow still.

Sergei_81: I want to kill crouch. He’s hurting on purpose

Sunnysideup: @sergei_81 did he actually say that or did I hear it wrong?

Sergei_81: he did. It was revenge

Siriusly: what??

Sergei_81: crouch was take off Olympic team for too much fight. Kuny got his a and this was revenge. He said so. He want Kuny out on purpose. He not like younger player get a.

Wednesday 10.55 pm

Remus: hi sergei, did you call Kuny’s parents? Did you get home okay?

Sergei: yes I call them. Tell what happneed. And I stay at house. Kuny needs me if he speak. I’m worried about Nado. He thinks his fault. He only pretend to sleep. Can u talk to him?

Remus: I’ll try. Thanks Sergei!

Wednesday 11.33 pm

Remus: hey Jackie, I know you’re not sleeping. I don’t want to call and disturb you but you can always talk to me, ok? It’s confidential as always and I’ve got your back alright. What happened today was not your fault.

Nado: I should’ve been out there with him. I could’ve helped him. Instead I was off somewhere in the other end he’s my line buddy and i failed him.

Remus: Nado you didn’t fail him. Did you see what sergei said? It was a planned hit. They wanted to take him out. It’s not your fault. Please promise me that you understand it’s not your fault.

Nado: he just looked at me. What if he doesn’t recognize me when he wakes up. Re he’s my best friend and I watched his head get smashed on the ice.

Remus: I know it’s hard. And it’s heartbreaking. But the doctor’s checked him ok? He asked for you - or well according to sergei he demanded to be sent home to his brother and cat. Alright, he knows you. Just let his head rest and recover and then you’ll be back to your antics in no time.

Nado: he’s snoring now. Guess something never changes.

Remus: get some sleep and tomorrow I’m gonna have a look at your hands ok?

Nado: thanks rem. Not sure what we’d do without you. ❤️

Remus: always, Jackie. You guys are my family as much as my actual family!

Nado: still gonna kill crouch and Nott. Not care about getting suspension.

Remus: I get it. I think you should see heather tomorrow.

Nado: can I just talk to you?

Remus: yeah, call me when you wake up ok? I don’t care how early. I’m not a professional though, Jackie.

—-

Thursday 8.22 am

Nado; he’s awake. Re. He remembers me. Thanks for fixing my best friend.

Remus: I’m glad to hear it, I’m coming over to check him ok? I’ll bring breakfast.

———-

[witcherslittledove]

All Tied Up

Joey Batey/Henry Cavill RPF - Also on AO3

Rating: E

Summary: All of the things Joey had expected from his first day back on set, he hadn't expected to spend the morning in a harness and chained up. And he really hadn't expected Henry to be staring at him like that. It was going to be a hard day.

CW: Light spoilers for Blood of Elves, bondage, references to torture (for Jaskier not Joey), exhibitionism, masturbation, hand jobs, frottage, multiple orgasms

Thanks to @jaskiertheflowertwink for being my beta!

__________

Joey tugged at the cuffs of Jaskier’s doublet, it felt strange to be back on set after so many months away, trapped in his flat with Madeleine. Luckily, Jaskier was an easy character to settle into, almost like a second skin. The bard was eager to come out and play, taking the edge off of Joey’s anxiety. With Jaskier, he almost forgot how much he fucking hated other people. Still, not even Jaskier could save him from first day nerves, and Lauren hadn’t started his shoot off easy. Joey was diving straight into a torture scene, and he would be spending the majority of the day hung up from the ceiling in ropes and shackles, waiting for darling Anya to come and save him. It wouldn’t be real of course, there would be harnesses and all sorts of wires to make sure he wasn’t injured, but it wouldn’t be comfortable. The harness was already bulking out his costume, and chafing the insides of his thighs.

 And after the mess of the pandemic, Joey wasn’t sure how he felt about losing control and being trapped for the afternoon. It unnerved him. He wanted to be free, and thought of the shackles around his wrists just… nope.

 “Hey?” Henry came up from behind him, a hand squeezing his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

 “What? Oh, yeah. Yeah. I’m fine,” Joey mumbled, staring up at the set. “First day back and all. It’s like being back at school.”

 “You’ll be fine, Joey. You’re an incredible actor and I couldn’t ask for a better bard,” Henry reassured him, his voice low and gravelly in Joey’s ear. It was unreasonably hot. Honestly, Joey knew that Henry was fucking Superman but did he really have to be so godlike, and on top of that he was a complete dork.

 Perhaps Joey could invite him to a D&D game once they were done shooting season two. Would that be too weird? It was probably too weird. They were just colleagues. Christ, Joey hadn’t even seen Henry since they’d finished promoting the show the year before. He really needed to get a grip, and ignore Jaskier’s voice in the back of his head. They were not best friends, and Henry would not want to play a shitty Dungeons and Dragons game with him.

 Okay. Not shitty. His games were pretty fucking brilliant, but Henry would be too busy with his PC games, and his War Hammer and whatever cooler nerd stuff that he got up to in between his work outs and eating far too many chicken breasts and smoothies.

 Jesus Christ, he missed Madeleine.

 He didn’t say any of that aloud, no, that was for the safety of his own thoughts, racing at a million miles per hour. Instead, he channeled Jaskier and laughed, hiding his anxiety behind the more confident mask that had fooled millions of people into loving him. “Now, now, witcher,” he teased. “We both know you don’t mean that, what was it you said? If life could give me one blessing.”

 “Oh fuck that, we’ve both read the books,” Henry groused, rolling his eyes.

 His very, very blue eyes. He was in full make-up except for the yellow contacts and it was just weird to see Henry’s eyes looking back at him from Geralt’s face. It was confusing. Were they Henry and Joey right now? Or Geralt and Jaskier?

 Perhaps a weird blend of the two.

 And it was only the first fucking day.

 Joey chuckled, “Yeah, talking of which, why are you here, Henry? I don’t recall Geralt being Jaskier’s Prince Charming in this scene.”

 Henry shrugged. “It’s your first day, I wanted to see how you are.”

 Joey swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling dry, and he flicked his fringe from his eyes, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He wanted to run his hands through his hair but the poor hair and make-up team would have his balls in a vice if he tried. It was bad enough that he kept pulling at his costume, but luckily he seemed to have made fidgeting into a characteristic for Jaskier. He grinned, settling back into the character more than ever. “So, you came to see me all tied up?”

 Henry, the bastard, winked. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 Joey squeaked, feeling his cheeks heat up beneath the make-up. He tried to laugh it off but holy fucking cock balls… was Henry actually flirting with him? And about bondage of all things. Fuck. He was not going to survive the day, not if Henry was watching him.

 No. It was going to be fine. He was an actor, a professional. He wasn’t going to get hard on set just because his unfairly attractive co-star was watching him. The harness was uncomfortable. He’d probably be in pain and there would be an entire crew watching him. There was absolutely no reason to get hard.

 So… naturally… he got hard.

 Getting into the rigging was awkward and possibly the least sexy thing he had ever done in his entire life, which was really saying something. The shackles around his wrist didn’t hurt at first but his arms became tired quickly. He opted to stay in the rigging as much as he could between takes though. It was better for continuity and, well, if he was being truly honest with himself, he was enjoying the way Henry looked at him. It was intense, not dissimilar to how Geralt looked at Yennefer whenever she entered the room, but this time that burning desire wasn’t directed at Anya, it was directed at him… and Henry wasn’t acting.

 It was all incredibly distracting, but having Henry there made him completely forget about his previous anxiety of being tied up for the morning. Something about the other actor’s presence was grounding and Joey trusted Henry not to let him get hurt, more than he trusted the crew, which was completely stupid and probably the result from some teenage crush. He was lucky that he only flubbed his lines a couple of times, and by the time Yennefer flew into the room, he was aching and desperate to return to his trailer.

 He’d never been so grateful for Jaskier’s baggy clothes.

 “Ah, umm, Lauren?” he stammered, rubbing his wrists. They were sore, and he really needed to stretch out his arms, maybe have a nap too. Fuck, he was really out of shape. Lockdown had really been a curse. “Can we take a breather?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck and giving the showrunner a sheepish smile. “I umm.. I need a break.”

 “Oh yeah, sure. You’ve done brilliant work today, Joey. Let’s take a half hour everyone!”

 Joey all but ran back to his trailer, shuffling awkwardly as he tried to hide his erection as best he could. Occasionally he stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders back so that if anyone saw him then they would think he just needed to recover from the physical exertion of being strung up like a puppet for most of the morning. He was sure that he looked like a state, his doublet was torn and bloody and his shirt barely covering his torso. The makeup team had had far too much fun spraying him with fake blood and dirt. He hadn’t been allowed to shave for a couple of days and heavy film makeup was caked on his face, making him seem bloodied and bruised. His lips itched from where they had been made to look split…

 And everyone was staring at him.

 Fuck.

 He supposed he was usually the one that wasn’t covered in shit. The worst he’d had was the djinn wound from season one, but normally he was all bright doublets and smiles. Sometimes a little bit mucky, but nothing like this.

 And Jesus Christ, he really needed a wank.

 Why on god’s earth had Henry been staring at him like that? Did the bastard know how it affected him? He probably knew. Fuck, cocking shit balls! He was in trouble. Joey was still trying to break into the industry, if fucking Superman lodged a sexual harassment complaint against him then he was done for. He’d never work again���

 But then again, Henry hadn’t been looking at him like he was angry. No, he’d been looking at him like he wanted to eat Joey alive, get down on his knees and get his mouth around Joey’s cock whilst he’d still been suspended in the rigging, the shackles caught around his wrists, unable to move…

 “Fucking cock!” Joey slammed through the door to his trailer, fiddling with the fastenings of Jaskier’s trousers as soon as he was inside. His cock was already leaking in his boxers, throbbing and desperate for relief. He bit back a moan as he thumbed the slit, collecting the precum on his fingers and sliding it down the length of his cock. Waves of pleasure washed over him, and he closed his eyes, picturing Henry’s blue eyes, dark and wanting, his pretty pink lips stretched around Joey’s cock.

 He barely managed to stumble to the bed, his legs shaking, head already spinning. It wasn’t going to take him long, he’d been far too keyed up all morning, and with Henry at the forefront of his mind, he was tumbling towards his orgasm faster than he would have liked. Joey moaned, biting his lip as he stroked his cock, the memories of the day fuelling his fantasies. It felt so fucking good and soon he felt a familiar tug at his core.

 “Joey, are you alright?”

 “Shit!” Joey gasped as he came all over his hand, but the pleasure seeped from his body, leaving him feeling hollow and dissatisfied, “For fuck’s sake, Henry! Fucking knock!”

 Henry was staring back at him, blue eyes, silver hair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and looking like a fucking god. The bastard smirked and crossed his arms in front of his chest, raising an eyebrow. Joey had a sinking feeling in his chest.

 “You- you did knock?”

 Henry chuckled, his low gravelly laugh that sent shivers down Joey’s spine. There was a reason he spent much of their time on set trying to make Henry laugh. It was a gorgeous and beautiful sound, and Joey was completely addicted. He would quite happily spend the rest of his life trying to make Henry laugh… although that made him sound a lot more infatuated than he actually was, right?

 They were just friends.

 And Henry was a very attractive friend, friend? Co-star? Fuck!

 “I am      so    sorry, Henry,” Joey whined, pulling a pillow in front of his face to try and hide his embarrassment but Henry wasn’t having any of it. He sat down next to Joey on the bed, gently pulling the pillow from his hands.

 “Don’t apologise,” he said hoarsely, “I shouldn’t have walked in. I heard you moaning. It wasn’t exactly a hard jump to make… pun intended.”

 Despite himself, Joey snorted and whacked Henry on the arm with his clean hand. “You arse!”

 “What?”

 “I’m actually dying of embarrassment and you’re making dick jokes!”

 Henry smirked. “Sorry, I thought you’d be up to it.”

 “Fuck off!”

 “Oh come now, Joey.. it’s just a joke.”

 Joey whined. “I hate you.”

 And then Henry was suddenly in his space, so close that he could feel the warm tingle of the other actor’s breath on his cheeks. Lips brushed against his ear, and despite already cumming, he felt heat prickle over his skin and he mouth was dry. “I don’t think you do,” Henry whispered, his voice dropping to a low base, not dissimilar to the accent he used for Geralt.

 Joey took a shaky breath, very aware that his cock was still on display, covered in his spend, already twitching, trying to get hard again. “What- What are you doing, Henry?”

 “Tell me to stop, Joey, I’ll leave and we never have to talk about it,” Henry breathed, pressing a kiss to Joey’s neck, nosing along his jaw.

 “I-I… no. Don’t stop…”

 “Seeing you today, chained up, Christ, Joey. It was so fucking hot, and then you were hard. I bet you could hardly resist cumming in your pants like a fucking teenager, and with everyone watching you,” Henry growled in his ear, the actors fingers now stroking along Joey’s thighs, higher, creeping closer to his slowly hardening cock. Joey whined, pressing his head into Henry’s shoulder, “but I think you like that, don’t you Joey?”

 His cheeks flushed red, burning hot right up to his ears. “Fuck off.”

 “Or was it just me watching you?”

 “Hnnng.”

 “Can I touch you?” Henry asked, his voice sounding almost as wrecked as Joey felt, “We don’t have long but, god, I’ve been wanting to touch you since you walked into the reading room that first day all those years ago.”

 “Wh-what?”

 “You seemed so shy, then you started reading and you just melted into Jaskier’s character. It was fucking amazing. You’re amazing.”

 Joey whimpered. “Henry, please.”

 And then Henry’s hand finally wrapped around his cock. The effect was instantaneous. Joey keened, bucking into Henry’s hand as his second orgasm began to build, his poor cock already sensitive but he was craving more, he wanted to feel that overwhelming pleasure that had been so cruelly stolen from him. Henry covered Joey’s hand with his own, gathering a mess of sticky white fluid and then continued to stroke down the length of Joey’s cock.

 “Can I kiss you?”

 “Hmm.. uh huh.. Yup,” Joey stammered, lost to his pleasure, his head feeling hazy, almost floaty, but he didn’t need anymore words as Henry’s lips crashed against his. Moans and grunts and gasps were muffled by the kiss, and Henry shifted on the bed so he was sitting over Joey, one of Joey’s legs pressed against his clothed cock.

 If Joey had any more sense left in him, he might have offered to get Henry off at the same time, but he was too far gone, babbling nonsense in between kisses, curses, moans, wordless cries. Henry seemed more than happy to thrust against his leg, grunting as he moved to suck kisses onto Joey’s neck.

 “Henry, god! Oh fuck!” Joey keened, his back arching off the bed. “I-I… fuck!”

 His eyes squeezed shut as he came, sparks flying across his vision and his head rolled back onto the pillow. His energy seemed to drain as the waves of pleasure took over his body, Henry’s hand stroking him through his orgasm, still rutting against his leg until he came with a strangled moan. Henry collapsed on top of Joey, breathing heavily, silver strands of hair getting in Joey’s mouth and eyes.

 “Urgh, get off me,” he groaned. “Heavy and you have so much fucking hair!”

 “Blame Sapkowski,” Henry grumbled but rolled over, lying next to him on the bed.

 They both stared up at the ceiling, panting as they tried to catch their breaths. It should have felt weird, fucking his apparently not straight co-star in the middle of takes… but, well, it sort of just felt right?

 Joey laughed, turning to face Henry. “Make-up are gonna kill us.”

 “Costume too,” the other actor groaned.

 “And Lauren if we don’t get back…”

 “Yeah.”

 Their eyes met and it was no use. They both reached for each other, their lips meeting once more in a feverish kiss. It wouldn’t hurt if they were a little late… right?

[what-the--curtains]

Alliance

Chapter 9 – The Hunt

(Mando x f!reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: After recovering you set off to find the man who tried to kill you. Killing him proves to be more difficult than expected when the ones you love are threatened, and on the other side of the choice, your own future.

Authors note: One more chapter to go!! Some angst at the end here! Hope y’all enjoy ❤️❤️❤️! (I also did some very average fan art if y’all haven’t seen it yet!)

Tw: sex is alluded to (not depicted), decapitation, force choke

Word count: 4.9k

Tagged list: @crazycookiecrumbles, @seninjakitey

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The planet proved harder to find than expected, despite Anya's best efforts, something was fogging up her tracking causing your coordinates to be constantly in flux. She’d easily lead you past the outer rim, but since then it had been akin to a wild goose chase.

“Any idea who tried to kill you.” Din asks, he'd been exceptionally patient throughout the journey thus far. Never questioning your methods just typing in the new location coordinates calmly and re aligning the ship on its new course.

“Did kill me” you correct, as your hand moves absentmindedly over the healed wound. “but no, I dont. They had a lightsaber though”

“Was it a Jedi?” he asks earnestly.

“Well based on the context clues, I'd definitely say at least Jedi adjacent” you laugh, for a savvy strategist who knew multiple languages you sometimes found yourself questioning if his brain was in fact functioning.

“Why would a Jedi try and kill you?”

“Your guess is as good as mine”

“How do they decide on colors?” He asks after a somewhat awkward silence

“Hmmm” you hum out in confusion, only half paying attention to what he had said.

“The light swords? Ashoka's are blue, yours is purple and the figures, well there's was red” your heart stops.

“It was red?” you ask, sitting up in your seat giving him your undivided attention.

“Ya does that mean something?” He watches your eyes slowly piecing together what he'd just told you.

“That’s impossible, the Sith were defeated. They died with the emperor.” you affirm, your sure red was a common colour used by Jedi nowadays, sure no one had ever seen one before, but there was a first time for everything right?

“So were the Jedi.” he points out.

“Do you always have to be right?” you ask slightly irritated for a reason you couldn’t quite explain. He doesn't respond; he knows a rhetorical question when he hears one but unsure what he had done to upset you. An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air, a sensation you'd never experienced with the Mandalorian before. Not wanting to stew in the quiet you head down to the lower levels and try and calm your frazzled mind. Sitting down you cross your legs, one over the other, as you close your eyes.

On the best of days meditating was a chore, but under the current situation it had become an impossible task. It wasn’t the threat of being ambushed that had you distracted, no something else was playing heavily on your mind. It was what was causing the punctuated silences, forced conversation and overall awkwardness in the atmosphere. It was your own doing. Seriously, who kisses a man whose face they've never seen! Idiots that's who and now it was stuck on your mind. In your defense you thought you wouldn't have to deal with the fallout so quickly. You should have known he’d have insisted on going with you, but you hadn't thought that far ahead, or at all and now you had to sit with the fact that you’d possibly ruined your comfortable friendship by planting one on him. Technically it wasn’t a real kiss,or maybe it was, how did Mandalorians kiss anyways? There you were down the rabbit hole again, this is why you couldn't focus, you curse yourself. Shaking your head you remind yourself it was only done in an attempt to get around him, a strategic move to protect the group, nothing more, nothing less. Keeping that in mind you manage to focus and you feel the galaxy's pulse emitting throughout the ship, inhaling and exhaling with the undulations around you.

Din, bored and missing the usually witty banter you offered him, decided it was time for him to clear the air in regards to the kiss. He hopes by telling you that he knew it was only done to get around him, you’d become more relaxed. The last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable around him. He knew you'd never want to be with someone like him, at least in that way. As he turns around he sees you cross legged floating in the air, not wanting to interrupt he heads back up. Anya lifts her head as he re-enters, looking at him as if she knew what he was thinking. He’ll clear the air with you later, the two of you had plenty of time to talk.

You curse as your journey gets rerouted for what had to be the twelfth time in the past two days. Whoever was hunting you did not want to be found and no amount of swearing or whacking the console would change that. The closer you got to your destination the more you felt the malevolent presence grow. You found yourself wondering if it had always been with you, finding it hard to remember a time when it wasn't gnawing at your conscience. Each time you feel it scratching at your doors you remember Ashoka's words “be careful who you let into your head.” You'd made that mistake once with devastating consequences. You would not be making it again. Your energy was now primarily being spent keeping the presence at bay, not allowing it to penetrate any deeper than it already had. Sleeping only acted as an open invitation for the figure to torture you so you opted to forgo it altogether. Perhaps not the wisest decision, but what other choice did you have.

“The planet’s still a few days away.” Din says, noting the unraveled look in your eyes as you take your place next to him.

“Anything to do on this ship.” You ask, fidgeting in your seat. “like games or something” he doesn't respond “Hey beskar head! You awake under that helmet?”. You ask partially joking, partially annoyed that he wasn't talking to you.

“Yes.”

“Yes to games or yes to being awake?”

“To games” you smile, you never knew if he was actually making jokes or if you were just reading into it. The finer details of his personality artfully hidden beneath the metal exterior.

“Got Dejarik, you know how to play?” he asks, glad that you were back to yourself for the time being.

“I'm alright” you say smiling, you were better than alright, at least you think. To be fair you'd only ever played against one person and she was family and probably inclined to letting you win.

“You're cheating!” he exclaims, his annoyance apparent even through the modulator. Your skills were better than you expected especially after all those years, well either that or the Mandalorian was just that bad.

“How?” you ask, laughing at how frustrated he was getting. It was funny when you beat him the second time, but by gods it was even funnier when you beat him the seventh time.

“The force!” He says clenching his hand as he stares down at the board.

“I don't think the force bothers itself with helping me beat you at Dejarik.” you point out, as he grumbles something indistinguishable.

“Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are.” You tease pointing your finger at him eyebrows raised and a smirk plastered on your face.

“That’s not what I’ve been told,” he responds.

“About Dejarik or?” he laughs it off, but you seriously wanted to know the answer. After Cara told you he was allowed to have sex it was a question that you’d thought about a lot, more than you probably should have, but hey you were curious. Realizing the Mandalorian was now turning the game board over to see if it was rigged, you decide to change games.

“You still got that indestructible spear. The beskar one?” you ask nonchalantly.

“Yes, not something i'm planning on losing” he nods

“Fancy a match?” you offer you needed to work on your fighting skills, practicing on the air only went so far.

“Only if you promise not to slice through my ship.” He says, standing up.

“Only if you promise not to cry when I beat you.” you return causing him to scoff

“Oh im not going to be the one crying” he assures.

You stand in the ship's far corner across from Din who haphazardly twirls the spear in his hand as you open up your saber, raising it waiting for him to make the first move. He stays his ground, you and him were both defensive fighters and you knew he was far too stubborn to change his routine. Leaping forward you land in front of him, your saber making contact with the spear. After a few seconds spent testing his strength you know there's no feasible way for you to out muscle him. You'd have to out maneuver him. He’d seen you fight stronger opponents before so you’d have to think outside the box on this one. You move out from under the spear the release of your counter force causing Din to stumble forward. You turn aiming for his shin, but his arm reaches back the spear stopping your hit from connecting with his armour. You circle round him so you're once again face to face giving him enough time to stand back up. He turns quickly, swinging the spear as he does, aiming for your waist. You jump over the swipe landing behind him, hitting him in the back.

“Point to me.” you say

“No using the force” he says, turning to look down at you, his presence suddenly looming.

“I wasn't, I can just jump really high!” You lie.

“Likely story” he says brushing past you as he moves back to his starting spot

“What was that I said about crying earlier?” you question.

He's got you talking too long and he sweeps your feet out from under you knocking you on your ass and gently tapping you on the head with the spear.

“Point me” he says, offering you his hand.

“That was dirty” you say as he hoists you up.

“Who says we're playing clean sweetheart?” The term catches both of you off guard, but he's flustered himself more than you, allowing you to land the next two points.

“Hope your ego isn't too hurt darling.” you mock back at him as metal and light collide once again.

“It’s not over yet” he says, using all his strength to march you back towards the wall pinning you against it with his spear.

“You need to work on your attack, you leave a lot open” he says, breathing heavily.

“You need to work on a codpiece, it leaves a lot open” you retort, kneeing him in the groin, hard enough for him to drop you, but not so hard that it kept him down for long.

“Not enough beskar” he murmurs, hoping to get the last word in.

“Oh big brag for a man who just lost several games of Dejarik in a row and” your sentence is cut short as the spear taps the small of your back giving him the winning point

“And what?”

“Oh real classy Din, can’t win a fair fight” you say hand on your hip.

“It was fair considering I wasn't going 100%”

‘Oh you weren't” you mock, the smile telling him you were amused and not upset by his antics, the gentle slap on his arm further verifying this. The moments like this were nice, but as you continue to gain on your target they became fleeting. The Mandalorian watches as your ability to focus waivers, your frustration becoming increasingly evident in your training. Miraculously, you hadn't sliced through anything important, but the ship’s interior was constantly needing to be patched up. At least it kept him occupied and out of your hair. You looked like you were fighting a hidden battle, one he would gladly fight with you, if you'd let him. He didn’t know the full extent of your struggle, but he knew the anger he felt simmering inside you wasn't being aided by your refusal to sleep.

Your irritability, although caused by exerting tremendous energy keeping the figure at bay, was no excuse for the times you had lashed out at the Mandalorian. The most recent outburst occurred when he'd stepped on your foot after you had explicitly told him to watch out. In hindsight, threatening to melt his beskar down and turn it into a hearing aid for him so he could stop being such a nerf herder was a touch harsh. Alright, incredibly harsh especially considering he'd attempted to apologize before you went off on him.

“Sorry I threatened the beskar” you murmur sitting down next to him

“Are you going to tell me what's going on?” he asks

“Going on where” you ask

“Well it can't just be air in your head” he jokes, causing you to laugh for the first time in a few days.

“Seriously though , I'm sorry Ive been out of line, and it's not fair on you, you’ve been so understanding.”

“You know what might help with the outbursts?”

“A lecture?” you remark, your tone harsher than intended

“No, sleep, you should try it sometime”

“I'm fine without it” you say, the yawn escaping your lips contradicting your words.

“You should sleep.”

“ You don’t.” you remark hoping to catch him off guard, but he's obviously rehearsed this conversation a few times.

“ I don’t need to.”

“Neither do I.” You lie, almost a year later and you still had no idea how he slept so little, though your current working theory was that he would just take naps under the helmet when he thought he could get away with it.

“No, you can't sleep, there's a distinct difference.”

Not wanting to lash out at him for the third time that day and knowing he was right, you make a swift exit. You push the button that opens up to the tight sleeping quarters where you'd spent many hours lying awake. You were hoping that you'd reached an exhaustion point where your body would just shut down. You lay back on the bed not bothering with the covers, you weren't expecting to get comfortable. Anya had stopped trying to sleep in the same bed as you, usually getting inadvertently kicked or shoved out the bed by your constant movements. Your eyes can’t have been closed for more than a minute when they snap open. Despite their alertness your body's gone limp. What fresh hell was this? As your eyes adjust to the darkness you can only just make out the hauntingly familiar shape sitting at the edge of your bed. You go to call out for the Mandalorian, but no sound is emitted, nothing comes out at all not even air. You watch helplessly as the figure's arm extends ensnaring you in a choke hold, the yellow iris shining out beneath the hood, confirming your worst fear. A Sith. You scream yourself awake, the force causing items to fly to the ground, no doubt alerting the Mandalorian. You bring your knees to your chest grabbing at your scalp telling yourself it wasn’t real, but it didn't matter what you said. The truth was you couldn’t tell anymore all lines had blurred together. You get up off the bed looking around the room already exhausted at having to clean up yet another mess you had made. You lean over picking up the weapons that had fallen off the armoury hanging them back up when you hear the Mandalorian drop down the sound startling you.

“I'm sorry” you mutter embarrassed, not looking up as you move to grab the few dishes currently lying on the floor.

“What did I say about breaking the ship?” he says, chuckling slightly in an attempt to lighten the mood. He bends down to help you but you grab his arm stopping him.

“I made the mess. I'll clean it up.” You say gathering up the utensil and placing them back on the table absentmindedly stroking your throat as you turn to pick up the rest. As you reach for the chess board he grabs your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours, leading you back over to the bed.

“Get some rest, I'll clean up,” he says softly, sitting you down on the bed.

“Stop telling me what to do Din, besides it's not working.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I can’t and unless you can think up a way to make me then were shit out of luck.”

“I can think of a few ways.” he mumbles hoping it was loud enough for you to hear.

“Like what? Knocking me out with a blaster?” you scoff

“ A less violent way,” The words leave his mouth before he can fully assess the pros and cons of what he was offering to do.

“Reciting the entire code of conduct of the mandalore race to me?” Gods, how were you still not getting this.

“A less boring way.” He prays that you either catch on or he passes away suddenly so as to save him from any further embarrassment.

“Oh” you punctuate, lips parted slightly suddenly realizing exactly what was being offered to you “you think you can tire me out?”

“Only if you want.” he says, more confident now you hadn't outright rejected him

“Well I have been dying to see what’s under that armour”

“ You’ve seen it before”, and you couldn't wait to see it again.

“Not all of it”

“The helmet stays on,” he asserts.

“Not what I was referring to.” He stands there for a moment unsure how to proceed, not wanting to have misread the situation. “Well are you just going to stand there or are you not a man of your word?” That’s all the encouragement he needs.

“You want me to stop at any time, you just say so cyar’ika”

Once again the Mandalorian was right ; he was able to tire you out. Neither of you say anything after both at a loss for words, and not wanting to ruin the moment by saying the wrong thing. You fall asleep with his arm wrapped securely around your waist, as the other runs up and down your back. His heartbeat lulling you into a deep sleep, his presence managing to stay off any nightmares, at least for now.

He stays with you long after you’ve dozed off watching your back rise and fall in time with your breathing, he thanks the gods you were finally resting. He intently studies the faint purple markings covering your body, wondering how long they'd been there. His hand then tracing over the scars on your back, he wants to know how you got them. He wanted to know everything. Once this was all a distant memory he’d ask, if you chose to stick around that is. Knowing you won't want to find him in your bed when you wake up, he slides his arm from your waist and quietly, so as not to wake you, he puts his clothes back on. Re-donning his armour he heads back upstairs to check on the ship.

Your body shivers inadvertently at the loss of heat and your eyes slowly open. The room’s still dark, but the Mandalorian had gone. He must have left sometime in the night presumably his way of telling you it was a one off. Knowing Din to be a man of few words you knew talking about what had just happened was fully off the table. You sit up and stretch out, allowing your elbows to pop and your shoulders to crack as you roll them out, feeling a way that you hadn't felt in months. Well rested. Making your way over to the fresher you allow the water to wash over you removing any remaining scent attributed to the Mandalorian. After dressing you head up to the cockpit, slightly bow legged from the night before. You’d had your fair share of lovers and for a human, he was very well endowed and very eager to please.

“How far” you ask brushing any thoughts about last night from your head as you shoo Anya off your seat.

“You’re up sooner than I thought.” He says looking at you. He’d noticed the slight stagger in your walk causing him to smirk under the helmet, but the smile fades when you don’t look down.

“How far are we?” you ask again, picking up Anya who’s refused to move of her own volition.

“Close. About last night” he starts, wanting to make sure everything was okay, and that you weren’t regretting what had happened.

“ Look, we don’t have to talk about it. I know it wasn’t a big deal.” You say.

“It may not be a big deal for you.” you don't know why, but you take that tone as being pointed, referring specifically to your time spent in the rings.

“Why? because I've slept with half the galaxy? Something I did in order to survive an environment let’s not forget you put me in?” you spit out

“ No, I-I didn’t mean,” he starts. It's the first time you've ever heard him stumble over his words.

“ You never do.” You say, shutting him up for the remainder of the trip.

“Dropping out now.’ He says, 5 days, that's how long it had taken to get to where you were going, whoever was on the planet was committed to not being found, or at least committed to having you as sleep deprived as possible.

You step out with the Mandalorian close behind you, the planet's surface reflecting the ship's underlights back into its metal exterior. The mirrored rock had sprouted out into various forms and sharp geometric shapes, resulting in a beautiful, but sinister skyline.

“You sure this is the place? Doesn't look like any living thing could survive here.”

“Yes, I can sense a disturbance. You stay here with Anya.” you say placing a hand on his chest plate.

“No way.” Din responds

“I have to do this alone. It's too dangerous for you.”

“For me?” he says in disbelief.

“Wait here if i'm not back within the hour, leave.” You state ignoring his last question.

“ I'll give you two for good measure” he offers, holding out a blaster for you to take.

“It won't help.” You say pushing it back towards him before pulling up your hood and setting off into the unknown. Once he's sure you're out of sight, he follows you.

You close your eyes, letting your senses lead you through the sharpened planet careful not to cut yourself on the dark obsidian refelcting blurred images of the stars. A rock snaps under your foot and your eyes open. A voice calls out to you, uttering your name.

“Who are you.” you ask aloud, turning to face the cloaked figure who stands before you.

“ That is not important” he answers, lips not moving. Telepathy. So that’s how he'd gotten into your head.

“You tried to kill me I think it's at least relevant.” You return in thought.

“You came alone.” he asks, yellow eyes darting from side to side, despite the power this figure held you send a nervousness harboured deep within him, perhaps you should have brought the Mandalorian along with you.

“ Yes” you lie, hoping your force was strong enough to shield the bounty hunter.

“Good.” he snarled.

“Why did you kill me.” you ask not wanting to beat around the bush

“To see if I could. I needed to see your abilities, you’re stronger than I thought if you brought yourself back to life. The empire is rebuilding”, he offers not clearing the situation up in the least

“The empire died with Palpatine, they’re nothing but warmongering desolates now” you say shaking your head, not believing you had flown halfway across the galaxy for this.

“That’s what they have told you. We have been growing an army, led by the spirit of the emperor. We are seeking those with your abilities to help us rebuild.”

“You’ve lost your mind. The Sith were defeated long ago, the Jedi with them.” You turn to leave, no longer fearing this man, he holds no power over you.

“No” he shrieks, the sound drawing your gaze back to him, the noise frightening you slightly “You cannot leave. You cannot go. You will join us and rebuild a stronger galaxy.”

“I have no interest in joing a cult of fear and genocide.” you state calmly.

“It is more than a cult I offer you, something much better, power.” he was getting desperate, a few more days without sleep and you may have fallen for it.

“Power to what? Give you all the blood in my body so you can commit futile experiments on innocent people. You cannot create force sensitivity nor can you push it on someone who it has not chosen. Join you? No, I'll have to pass. Death and destruction will not be my path.”

“Not yet, but it will be. I see it in you, the pain, the sadness, the loneliness, that will all disappear once you join us.”

“Over my dead body” You say drawing your sabre. A violent clash of red and purple ricochet off the mirrored rock, lighting up the shadowed planets.

“Your grandmother trained you well.” He exclaims.

“ If you knew her then you should know that i'd never turn” You continue the fight. Managing to back him into a rock wall. Holding saber at his throat the light purple hue gleaning in the yellow irises beneath his hood.

“I understand why you ambushed me, not much of a fighter are you.” you snarl, pushing the saber into the robe, the scent of burning fabric filling the air. Then you feel it, the pulse of the fibers interwoven throughout the galaxy, something’s amiss. Something else appears under the glow of you saber, yellowed teeth, smiling under the light. You release him pushing yourself back, he wants you to kill him.

“ Do not fear it, I have seen this moment. It is what begins your reign”

“No” you say aloud to yourself, “No” you repeat turning off the saber and turning to leave.

“If you let me live, I kill the man with you.”

The Mandalorian whose been watching from afar hasn’t heard a word spoken in a while, watching you move towards him he thinks it must be over, whoever this person was, Sith or not, you must have come to an agreement. He almost walks out from his hiding spot when you stop dead in your tracks. He sees you look up, your eyes meeting his but only for a moment, before you pivot back to face the man.

“There’s…” you start.

“Don’t play me for a fool child, I have been playing this game long before you were even a thought in your mothers pretty little head. I know he is here. I know what you feel for him. You kill me and in time you will betray him, but you’d rather that, than lose him altogether.”

There's no thought process, no decision to make. With a flick of your wrist you throw the saber. You watch as it slices through the Siths neck before returning to your hand. You close it as his head tumbles to the ground. If Ashoka's words were a warning this, this was an omen. You had made a choice and now a path of irredeemably evil was laid before you. A path you were not prepared to drag anyone else down.

“I know you're there” you say after composing yourself. “I told you not to follow me.” You say making your way to the Mandalorians hiding spot.

“Are you alright? What did he say to you?” he asks, reaching a hand out for your arm.

“Nothing.” You say dodging him. The less he knew the safer he'd be. You weighed your options in your head on the walk back, but you knew there was only one way to avoid harming anyone. You had to hide away, become anonymous. Fall back into legend, never to be seen again. It was the only way Grogu would be safe, it was the only way Cara would be safe, it was the only way Din would be safe. As the ship takes off you say three words that would change everything.

“Take me home.”

“We're on route to Hoth now,” he says reassuringly.

“No, take me to my home. Grogu is back and safe. Our deal is done. Our alliance is over” You say, eyes plastered to the windshield.

“What did he say to you?” Din stresses, but you don’t answer. Silence was the only way to stop him from convincing you to stay.

“Don’t shut me out” he says slamming his hand on the panel. You don’t flinch, you don’t even look up. “We can figure this out together.” He says softly, if you hadn’t known any better you would have thought he was pleading with you.

“You’ve done enough. Take me home. If you don’t the force will.” He resets the GPS coordinates before standing up and dropping downstairs. Anya muzzles into you as you let out a sigh blinking back the tears you felt forming.

[dayas]

187 + dimya

187. “I know I kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right. Can I try again?” 

Babies. Absolute babies. This was supposed to be pure but I accidentally knocked some spice in so ���👀👀👀 Let’s get it!

—

The grand duchess Anastasia Romanov should know how to kiss by now. It’s just one of those things you know, like how to ride a bicycle or how to match your clothes. Unfortunately, her high and mighty status has robbed her of the opportunities to learn how to kiss the right way. To be clear, she’s been kissed before. A few rushed moments with a couple dukes, sloppy and stunned, overeager because of just who they were kissing. For them, it was a highlight. For her, it was yet another moment that she didn’t gain anything from an opportunity she took, save for maybe some hilarious yet embarrassing commentary from Maria when she returned to the assembly with her face flushed and lips slightly swollen.

The point is, she doesn’t know how to kiss, which is why it’s almost a relief when she sneaks out to the city and finds a club to drop into, because people are kissing everywhere. Literally everywhere. And to be honest, it’s a little much. Okay, a lot much. But it’s better than being holed up in the expansive Romanov palace. Her clothing is tight, absolutely not fit for a princess (or her family’s ideas of a princess). Instead, it speaks to her wilder side. The side that longs for freedom, for a life outside the one that’s chosen for her. Everybody thinks being a princess is a dream come true. And in some ways it is, but in other’s... it’s a nightmare. Trapped in the old ways with no choice but to adhere... that’s not the life for Anya. So she rebels from it, casts it off. It isn’t part of her when she leaves the palace walls.

She slips in nearly unnoticed, save for one stranger who’s gaze seems glued to hers. To her credit, she holds it (although she’s not really sure she can look away even if she wants to). Anya’s never been pinned by just a look before, but this is something else. Someone jostles her and the moment shatters as she ducks around the rest of them, shaking her head at herself. She’s here to have fun, and it’s about damn time that she did.

She ends up on the dance floor, right where she belongs. At balls, she always whirled around, going from suitor to suitor before leaving them all to dance with her father. He certainly wouldn’t approve of the moves she’s pulling right now, but a few likely prospects for the night seem to. None of them catch her eye, although one is brave enough to paw at her waist.

“Hey,” he says, wearing a sleazy grin and she moves away immediately, tensing up. A terse, “Hi,” leaves her lips, but apparently the guy is bad at reading signs because he moves closer.

“Where you goin’? Come dance with me.”

Anya can already see this unfolding and she doesn’t like the outcome, so she thinks up the quickest lie that comes to her tongue.

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend.”

Nice going, Anya. Might as well tell him you’re the Grand Duchess while you’re at it.

“Hey, is this guy bothering you?”

The new voice in the mix is the stranger from earlier. Up close, she understands why she was so mesmerized. He’s gorgeous. The harsh lighting of the club dulls his features a bit, but they’re strong. Dark hair swooped back, a broader build, quite taller than her.

“Nah, we’re just talking,” the other guy responds, and Anya wants to roll her eyes.

“Yes, babe, he is,” she pouts, leaning against him and putting her head on his chest. His eyes widen in minor confusion but her tell him to just go with it. Thankfully he does, wrapping a protective arm around her waist and glaring daggers that look a little too pointed to be entirely fake at the skeeze in front of them.

She can’t explain what comes over her in the moment, but she tells herself it’s for the act. “Babe,” Anya murmurs (mostly because she doesn’t even know his name, which she would use to make this look more real but it’s all she’s got), “thank you for coming back so quickly.” Anya doesn’t give herself time to think, merely leans up and kisses him. It catches them both off guard, but it’s quick so he doesn’t have a chance to kiss her back. And she feels a little bad about it (she’s not the type to go around kissing strangers! Unless they’re super hot, she’s super drunk, and both of them are cool with it), but it’s the lesser of two evils here. His grip on her waist had tightened in that tiny window of time, and he doesn’t relinquish it as he mumbles, “No problem,” to her with a smile that makes her heart beat in a few places she’d rather think about later in her bed. The stranger returns his attention to the guy who is still watching them and growls, “Leave her alone.”

Anya feels a strange flutter in her stomach intensify.

“Oh come on,” the other guy says, reaching out and grabbing her wrist tightly, “We were just talking.” Her instincts kick in, a few years of training for self defense with the guards. She’s done with the audacity, and after the couple of drinks she’s had, she’s a little looser than normal. So Anya cocks her arm back, hand curling into a fist, and punches the sleazy guy across from them right in the nose.

“Ow! Crazy bitch!” He yells, staggering back and Anya jumps into gear, grabbing the hot stranger’s hand and running through the club. Oddly enough, he runs with her, and they escape, spilling out onto the street. They don’t stop running until they reach a park about a mile away, laughing at nothing and completely out of breath. Anya’s hands go to her knees as she tries to inhale and exhale, and the stranger leans against a lamppost as he recovers.

“Where did you learn to punch like that?” He’s impressed, maybe even a little turned on. (At least, she that’s how she hopes he feels). She shrugs.

“You don’t grow up like I do and not know how to defend yourself.”

It sounds sadder and more serious than it is, and concern flickers in his eyes but she physically waves it off in hopes of avoiding further probing or suspicion. She winces, curling her fingers gently. Now that the adrenaline of the chase has worn off, her hand stings.

“Can I see?” He asks.

“Only if you tell me your name,” she answers, and he laughs.

“Dmitry.” Russian. She ignores the little part of her brain that’s happy to have found someone who shares a heritage with her, and the part that figures her family would enjoy that particular fact.

“Anya.” His hands probe around gently, brushing along her skin. They’re cold, but every place he touches erupts in flame, as though she’s thrust certain points into a fire. The constellation pattern of his movements leads to the conclusion that, “It’s not broken,” which makes her sag a little in relief. Explaining how she broke her hand to her family would cause even more trouble than explaining why she was out.

“Thank you,” she says, soft as the light above them. She can see him clearer now, haloed in the glow from the street lamp.

“You’re welcome.”

He hasn’t let go of her hand. He realizes he hasn’t let go of her hand at the same time she does and they both drop away at the same time, awkwardly avoiding each other’s gazes.

After some time, he says, “Well... it was nice meeting you, Anya. Don’t expect too much of your future fake boyfriends, though; it’ll be a hard comparison.”

The cheekiness of his grin lights her up, so she rolls her eyes to hide it. Still, decorum goes out the window when he turns to leave and she says, “Wait!” Her hand shoots out, capturing his wrist. Unlike the man who grabbed her earlier, she’s careful. He can pull away anytime he wants.

He doesn’t.

She clears her throat, steeling herself, and says, “I know I kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right. Can I try again?” 

His face is slightly incredulous but he grins, nodding. She grins in return, placing a hand against his cheek and pulling him down to meet her lips.

This is it, she thinks as his hands fit themselves to her hips, gripping lightly, this is what a kiss is supposed to feel like.

Finally.

Anya’s a quick study, and she picks up on his tricks fast. She may not do extremely well with memorizing dates or words on paper, but when it comes to actions, she can mimic and absorb insanely fast. She lets him in when his tongue slips, giggling slightly into the kiss. His chest rumbles against hers with laughter, but it’s serious business again when she leans into him a little more and bites his lip.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” She asks, breathless, barely able to speak over the wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, her brain keeps repeating.

“A little eager there, Anya,” Dmitry teases, and she pulls away, crossing her arms and arching her eyebrows up at him.

“Let me rephrase then. Take me out of here.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. She’s used to getting what she wants and all she wants is him. She tends to demand things when they’re really important to her, because she doesn’t want to risk the chance of losing them. Of course, if this isn’t what he wants, she’ll be on her merry way. But thankfully for them both, he’s all in.

“Dmitry,” Anya says, laid back in his bed, holding onto his hair because his lips are short circuiting her brain again due to their placement on her neck, “I haven’t done this before.”

She expects another cheeky comment, but all he does is stop, moving his head so he can see her.

“Do you want to?” He asks, and it’s the best thing he could’ve said. She can tell he’s genuine, and she winds her fingers with his.

“Yes,” she whispers, and she means it. He checks on her the entire time, discovering what she likes and what she doesn’t. She, in return, picks up on what he likes as well. And it is so much better than what she thought this would be. Not because it’s him, but because it’s her. She revels in the feelings as they hit her, in every single imprint of his hand on her body.

His head is on her shoulder when they’re done, butterfly kisses ghosting across her skin. She smiles in secret, holding onto one of his hands underneath the covers. When she goes home, she will have to face the music of being out all night. Her parents’ disappointment, her siblings�� worries. She puts it out of her mind to lay there with him instead, worryless.

One night stands are not supposed to feel like that. She’s not supposed to want to stay. But she does. She does.

The grand duchess Anastasia Romanov does not know how to kiss. But Anya does. She can’t forget the feeling, the taste, every single sensation. Dmitry’s light snoring draws a quiet laugh from her, and she burrows down deeper against his side. Tomorrow she can work everything out. But tonight, she sleeps beside a man she’s just met, and yet knows without a doubt that she wants to see again.

In short, she’s screwed.

She falls asleep beaming.

—

That’s all for this ask! Thanks for asking!

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and Go to London chapter 30

Previous Chapters in the masterlist

Triggers: Jealousy; panic attack; body paralysis; anxiety; depression; self-loathing; fainting; crying; cut; bleeding; stitches.

Tag list:  Here’s the incredible people who   showed me support (thank  you    so  much for that) and people who  asked  me to tag them too  ☺️   (I   think  I will write a few chapters  of  this story, if you want me to tag     you, tell me ☺️   ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo   constip8merm8       penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen  littlefreya  wondersofdreaming      alyxkbrl solariumss  sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira   @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog   @lunedelorient​  @michelle-1185​  @madbaddic7ed​     @summersong69​ @kaatelyyynn​

It seemed like it was going to be a good day or at least you thought so. Henry was hagging with Zeus and Hector. Kal stayed with you and you put on some music and dance around the house with him. He'd follow you around excited. After a while, you got tired and sat on the couch with your laptop. You checked your Twitter notifications as usual. It was hard to reply to all the comments, but you tried to select some questions from your fans to answer and maybe retweet something. It caught your attention that lots of tweets were from fans of your boyfriend - which wasn't unusual, you tend to receive some hate tweets and some praising your relationship- but this tweets, in particular, were links to the interview he made recently with Sir Patrick Stewart. You clicked to watch the interview and laid on the couch to watch it, using Kal as a pillow for your head. He sniffed you and liked your face which made you laugh. "Look, that's your daddy," you told the doggy as you watch the exchange of stories between the two actors. Every time the Akita heard Henry's laugh, he'd bark at the screen, which made you giggle. See him that happy talking to an actor he deeply admires and knowing how excited his inner geek must have been in that moment melt your heart. It was around minute 38 of the interview when your mood changed drastically. It wasn't the first time you heard him talk about his ex-girlfriend in a show, but for some reason, this time really bothered you heard him praised the stunt woman he used to date. You understood that he had her in high standards and you had to admit that she deserved that, she was truly great. Maybe it was the fact that he was in a conversation with a childhood hero and spent minutes saying how great she was and the work he's done with her. In that moment all you could see was "This is my Lucy". Those were the words he used on the Instagram video he made to talk wonders of her. "That video is still on there" your mind reminded you, "and so are pictures of them together" it continued. The dialogue went on and the legendary actor mentioned his wife more than once and even mention how she was a musician and a songwriter, "and so it's yours" you said speaking softly. You knew he was a private person, that he wasn't the kind of man who would go and start talking about his partner on public, but apparently, it was ok when it came to her. "Maybe if I work with him I'll get some nice words," you thought later when you saw him praise Anya and Joey as well -which it seemed crazy because you loved those two-. You were not being yourself at the moment. The only time you felt that way was whenever your ex hung out with his ex-friend with benefits told you that still was interested in him - and who was living with him now that you broke up with him. "This isn't the same" you assured yourself. After the interview was done, you left the device on the tea table and stood up and started to walk over the house, trying to calm down your anxiety. Again your demons were bothering you. The voice of your depression telling you you weren't' good enough for him and that he knew that. "What if he has to work together with her again?" "That could happen, after all, he still has her in his contact list" your nasty thoughts continued trying to break you down. "She left him because of lack of time to be together... you think he'd remain by your side if she ever wants him back?" You hated your mental disease. "He would not" you tried to convince yourself. "Fuck you" you shout to your depression as if that'd help. Kal started barking and you went to pet him to calm him down. As you were sitting caressing the dog, the pictures on the living-room's cabinet caught your attention. You walked towards it and noticed two pictures you never saw before. In one of them, there was a group of people sitting around a table full of food plates and they were all smiling to the camera. Henry was in the middle, wearing a bright blue shirt and a mustache and he had his hand on the back of the woman next to him. This woman was wearing a black shirt or dress- they were sitting so it was impossible to know which one- and her hair was tied in a messy bun; she was smiling just like Henry. In the other picture, Henry, a man and the same woman were together in said order. They all were wearing white martial arts clothing. Both photos were framed. "How did I not noticed those pictures before?" you asked yourself. Clearly, "his Lucy" was still important to him. The familiar pain in the throat from the lump was there. You went into the kitchen to drink some water to help it go away. You filled the glass of water and started to consume it. While the liquid entered your body, the recent memories for the photos came back to you, filling you with anger. Moments later, tears rolled down your face. You stood up in the kitchen without understanding why your hand hurt so bad but without being able to mood. You were suffering another of your body paralysis due to a panic attack. You could hear Kal barking unstop. You started to feel dizzy as if you were about to faint. You were still a prisoner of your own body, without being able to move or talk, but the dizziness was new. You heard a distant scream and feel two warm hands grab your face. You put on an effort to focus and saw that it was Henry. He was crying, he quickly let go of your face and grabbed your hand and if you could have spoken, you'd scream from the pain. You started to recover your movements slowly, even though the dizziness was getting worse. You finally could see that there was blood all over the floor. Henry was calling emergencies and you heard him say "My girlfriend has a deep cut on her right hand"; you took a look at your hand and saw a big piece of glass stuck in your hand. Apparently, when you started to suffer the attack and your body began to paralyze, unintentionally you crashed the glass of water, cutting your hand in the process by accident. You wanted to do something but as soon as you moved, your body collapse on the floor due to the massive loss of blood, Henry didn't make it on time to catch you completely, but at least he could stop you from hitting your head against the floor. You woke up on the bed. The dizziness did not go away, but it wasn't as bad as before. So was the hand pain. You saw a man doing something to your hand. He had light blue clothing -scrubs. It took you a moment to put together what was going on. Said man was a doctor and was applying stitches to your hand. - Good afternoon, sleeping beauty- he greeted you - Quite a cut you made to yourself. You tried to talk, but your lips and mouth felt so dry that you couldn't move them to talk. The doctor noticed it and asked Henry - who you realized at that moment that was sitting on the bed holding your other hand- to bring you some water. He went into the kitchen an minutes later appeared in the room with a little bottle and sat next to you and helped you drink the water, kissing your temple. You couldn't remember much of what happened, but you felt a pain in your stomach, the kind of pain you felt when you felt guilty. - What happened, babe? - Henry asked after leaving the bottle on the nightstand. - I... I don't remember right now.- you replied honestly. It took the doctor fifteen more minutes to finish putting the stitches on your hand and then proceeded to cover the hand with a bandage. Then, he grabbed a little flashlight and took a look into your eyes, testing your reflexes. - There's no concusion.- he indicated.- The momentary loss of memory could be due to the big loss of blood. - Will she need a blood transfusion? - Henry asked worriedly - I don't think that'd be necessary.- he said- Eating healthy, drinking water and lots of rest will be enough. - Ok, thank you so much, Doctor.- your boyfriend exclaimed to the professional. You nodded in agreement. After the Doctor left, Henry came back to the room and took his place next to you, letting you put your head on his chest. - I'm sorry, babe. I don't remember much, but it was an accident, that I'm sure of.- you apologized. - Don't worry about it now, just rest.- he said, sighing and then kissed your forehead and stroked your face as you fell asleep.