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fllagellant · 1 year ago

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Very thankful this post managed to get traction and has been met with many kind words . This is a follow up based on tags I have received !

BG3 and Polyamory Part 2, A Correction and Three More Points of Discussion

First, the correction. Tags from @nightwardenminthara

( Tags read “I would like to add that minthara is not polyamorous, bg3 critical” )

Genuinely , thank you! From looking online all the things I read said that she was a polyamorous option or that she is but it’ s just glitched . I haven’ t done a run trying to romance her at all and I had hoped that the internet , just this once , would give me the truth.

It is both good to know that , at least in final release , she isn’ t upholding that “ only strange and evil people do polyamory “ stereotype . But it also sucks ? In a way ? It was nice to think that people had a choice between two possible partners for a polycule , and it evened out with two fem companions and two masc companions being the options . Now , the only option is origin companion + Halsin , and that just … feels unfair .

Second set of tags from @/villiananders

( Tags read “prev minthy isn't even poly after full release, so you can ONLY be poly if you want to be poly with halsin. bc despite being poly shadowheart and astarion aren't open to you dating both of them. for some reason. and then ofc you get people saying that astarion isn't really poly and you're pressuring him into a relationship that he doesn't want to be in despite there being nothing to back that up, bg3” )

These tags bring up two points that I had thought about while writing the main post, but slipped my mind during writing. The first being that .. why can’ t you have a polycule with Astarion and Shadowheart? It’s not like they’re incompatible in any way, and it just seems like a strange limit included in the game. You have to do polyamory this way, or not at all, sort of deal. There really does seem to be little reason to not allow an origin + origin polycule for the player to peruse. Once again, Larian added polyamory but slipped and dropped the ball and seemed to let it … stay there.

I would say it was a limitation, but what limitation would that be? Halsin also becomes a companion that fights alongside you and can be brought along on missions and whatnot, so it’s not like that is the issue.

It really feels like the fact that they’re both polyamorous slipped the mind and then made it so that you couldn’t pursue a relationship with them both. It’s a strange choice, no matter what.

The second point being, this constant push that Astarion is being manipulated/forced into a polyamorous relationship. In a discussion with other polyamorous people, I can see a handful of arguments popping up, regarding Astarion and polyamory, some saying it’s good for him, some saying that it feels too soon for him to be in a polycule, but it wouldn’t be the hard ultimatum that I see A Lot echoed in fandom.

If you put Astarion in a polycule, then you forced him into it and you’re being cruel. He feels like he’s in second place. And you’re using him.

Keep in mind, these are arguments regularly used against polyamorous people in real life. The idea that polyamorous is cruel and makes partners compete no matter what. And, if someone suggests polyamory, then they have some sort of ulterior motives to it and they’re going to harm their partner.

There is no nuance discussion for a majority of fandom when it comes to this point. Either you are evil or you are good, and that is that. It also seems to come from a place of infantization of Astarion , making him only a victim that must be protected and cannot defend himself no matter what , when that isn’t the case? Like @/villiananders said in the tags, there is no proof in game that Astarion is uncomfortable or hates being in a polycule . There is nothing to point to to prove this . People always bring up his traumas , but being traumatized doesn’ t remove being polyamorous . I am an example of that.

Final set of tags is from @ink-and-pixels

( Tags read “the fact you can't be in a poly relationship with the poly companjons is so disappointing, and of course everything else pointed out here about alignments and racism, though I thought karlach is also poly? she definitely is if you play as her but is she not mechanically?” )

Thank you, for reminding me of something that people get mad at consistently.

The origin playthroughs

When you play as a character, you can play them a polyamorous, even when, as a companion, they are monogamous. This is also where that “ You Fundamentally Misunderstood The Character “ argument gets its legs.

I’ve noticed the discussion around origin playthroughs centres on how Out Of Character you can be, and how that’s just wrong. You can play characters like Wyll or Karlach as evil, you can raid the grove with them even though that act causes them to permanently leave the party. You can play Astarion as good as you want, helping everyone and doing actions he would disapprove of if he was a companion. Larian kept the openest of the story to origins playthroughs , even if it met you could go against the character typical actions.

Is this an issue? This openest and ability to break characters core values? Depends who you ask. But this isn’t about player freedom of choice and if it is okay to play a character a little ooc .

When you play an origins character, no matter who, you can play them polyamorous. Unsurprisingly, this is something that also makes people upset if they already decided that certain characters in a polycule makes them upset. Gale seems to be the one brought up a lot. Unsurprisingly. Fandom loves their pale man/pale man ships, and bloodweave is no exception.

However. If you, playing as Gale, decide to enter a polycule with Halsin and Astarion? That’s too much. You don’t understand him, you can’t make him polyamorous, it’s not right to the character, and how dare you.

Once again, it really feels like trying to shame polyamorous people and just… people who have ot3s ? It’s the same conservative talking points hidden under this idea of “I just don’t want my favs misunderstood by fandom.” Even when Larian allows you to play the origins characters as either monogamous or polyamorous . Is polyamory a fundamental mistake when it comes to discussing a character and their relationships, or do you still have some biases you still need to work through.

End of this little update, I would like to thank everyone who has liked or reblogged this post already. I was nervous to post this, fandom frightened me on a good day , but it has received plenty of kind words and has also helped other people. And I am happy that this post is doing that, thank you

After screenshotting my original 1:27 am rant just for safekeeping and returning to this line of thought, I think I would like to swing this bat at a hornets nest . And I shall call it ;

BG3 And Polyamory, AKA The Discourse From The Eyes Of The Polyamorous

Hi, I am now disclosing the polyamorous part of my queer identity to the internet. Yay! Remember, I am only one polyamorous person on this website and I am not the spokesperson. This is just my own opinion and my own feelings with how both the game and the fandom seem to be handling the inclusion of polyamorous relationships and characters.

And in my humble opinion: Yikes !

This should be no surprise, but the polyamorous rep in bg3 isn’t … really good . It’s there, sure, and maybe I’m the fool for expecting it to be good when it really is the first time I have ever really heard of a game having an actual polyamorous option. Like on purpose. But with how much bg3 was hyped up as being super inclusive and completely different from all other games in the genre, I had hoped that it would take a good approach to polyamorous people and relationships.

Suffice to say, it fell flat once I actually looked into it.

The companions listed as open for an open/poly relationship are Astarion, Shadowheart, Minthara, and Halsin . What’s wrong with that?

3/4 of these characters already feel like they lean into the conservative fear of polyamory . Three of them are the ‘ evil ‘ members of your party . While ( besides Halsin, but we’ll get to that ) the rest of the ‘ good ‘ character are all monogamous. Growing up in a conservative home, in a conservative province, discussions of the idea of polyamory always came back to the same argument. That only the strange and amoral would do it. Only people who can’t be trusted and don’t actually care about you want to be in a polygamous relationship. And sadly, that is what I see echoed in the choices of who is and isn’t polyamorous.

I romanced Wyll in my first playthru. I had always planned to romance Wyll, actually, since I first saw his design when I first learned of bg3 during its early access days. When I met Halsin next, and chose the options to flirt with him, I thought that a polyamorous relationship between my Tav, Wyll, and Halsin would be cute. I had hoped it would work. I had already seen plenty of Astarion and Halsin and Tav art and gifsets and every other piece of fan content floating around . I had hoped that maybe that bit I read about who is and isn’t open for polyamory was outdated, and I could have this relationship play out in my little playthru .

Of course, it came down to having to choose. And I shrugged it off, at first. Sure, Larian didn’t make Wyll polyamorous for whatever reason. It is the first game that has polyamorous options, and I can just continue the game but have that polyamorous relationship in my head as my canon for my character. That’s fine, that’s what I’ve done before. It can’t be different now, right?

But then, I looked online, opened Tumblr, wondering what other people would say. Not thinking that it would be a big debate about if it is or is not okay to pair certain characters in an ot3 or not.

Wyll can’t be polyamorous, because knightly tales of courting and the mere act of courting is strictly monogamous. Pairing him in an polyamorous relationship is fundamentally misunderstanding the character and you’ve missed the point of him if you do that. It’s wrong to want that, wrong to think about it. The game has polyamorous options, be happy with what you have.

And so, I felt guilty. Larian already set up this dichotomy between their good leaning characters having the normal and good monogamous relationship and the evil leaning characters having the strange and perverse polyamorous relationship. But then, to see that the mere act of pairing your own character with two characters because you think it’s cute, is now being looked down upon so heavily and being seen as a “ fundamental misunderstanding of the characters “. And to have those ideas an opinions suddenly become the most agreed and accepted stance on the topic? How was I supposed to feel anything other than shame. Like I had been enjoying the game wrong, in a backward way.

If Wyll was polyamorous, you do know his approach to love wouldn’t change, right? Same with Gale. Same with Karlach. Same with Lae’zel. None of them would suddenly have to have completely different approaches to love and how they want to show it and how they want to go about it. Wyll can still be replicating the courting, the dancing, the slow burn that he always heard about in bards tales and he could still be polyamorous. There’s this idea that polyamorous love is only able to be expressed in very specific, very narrow ways. That miss the point of what love is.

People don’t act like this with the polyamorous companions, I’ve noticed. You aren’t suddenly bad and misunderstanding the story of Astarion or Shadowheart or Minthara or Halsin for having a strict two person relationship with them, and not expanding into the idea of those characters taking on another partner at some point. If you have Astarion in a strict monogamous relationship, no one says anything. But saying that you have a Tav who’s dating both Karlach and Gale? People are going to talk about you. They’re going to make vague posts. They’re going to talk about how it is Impossible for those characters to Ever be comfortable in a polyamorous relationship and how it is Wrong to protray them as happy in one.

I didn’t think people forgot that the stereotype of monogamy = good and polyamory = bad is still alive and well, but it seems that when it comes to the funny dungeons and dragons video game, it’s okay to prop that stereotype up and get mad when that is possibly challenged.

Now, what about Halsin? He’s a strictly good companion. He cannot fall under the pervious argument, so is he an exception?

No. It’s worse.

Halsin being polyamorous stems in racism. Wood Elves are all described as being polyamorous, and that they do not understand jealousy. And that they do not ever settle with any of their partners. And that the relationships they have are seen as “ doomed to fail “ . This is a stereotype. Commonly associated with indigenous people. That we cannot hold a ‘ proper ‘ relationship and that we always sleep around . We didn’t fit the white model of what a (white) family and a (white) relationship should look like, so the stereotypes and misconceptions started. And, unsurprisingly, ended up as another bit of dnd racism and bioessentialism.

Halsin doesn’t uphold the pervious argument at all, but he shows another part of the discussion that I don’ t think anyone really thought of. The racism stereotypes didn’t vanish when Larian made BG3, they’re all still there. You still have good races and evil races. You still have all the dnd bioessentialism that everyone was so keen to say was gone or just pretended it wasn’t there anymore.

And Halsin is an example of those stereotypes that people are still feeding. So much content with him in it narrows him down to ‘ Big Elf that Fucks and is Horny ‘ or ‘ Big Elf that can be Sexualized no matter What he Does ‘ and it is because Larian didn’t remove the stereotypes in the first place , and fandom doesn’t care enough to take a step back for a second to realize they’re playing into them.

Am I saying you shouldn’t have an ingame polycule with the characters available? No. If it’s cute, and you like it , and it makes sense with the story you’re making for your character, and literally just because you can, go for it! But for the love of god, can we be a bit more careful with how we treat the concept of polyamorous relationships and how we talk about them? Polyamory isn’t just a fandom thing with your ot3s, it’s a real life thing. And we can see how you treat people just having fun with their characters. You understand that, once you get that torn up over the act of making three characters hold hands, it becomes a little bit hard to forget that that is the attitude you hold towards the concept of polyamory when it doesn’t fit the molds you’ve subscribed to.

#bg3 #bg3 critical #larian critical #topic so nice you write for it twice

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legolasbadass · 3 years ago

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A Lifetime Apart [1/3]

Artwork by the lovely @gwen-ever

Relationship: Thorin x OC

Summary: Thorin meets his One while still a young prince in Erebor, but their lives are torn apart by their families and the arrival of Smaug.

Based on Alice Tynan’s interview with Richard Armitage in ‘The Vine,’ this fic was inspired by @gwen-ever’s wonderful art for the @tolkienrsb 2021!

Warnings: Angst. Seriously guys, this is really angsty, get your tissues ready. (gwen and I are not sorry lol)

Rating: T

As always, the fic can be read on AO3.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

There is a room in Erebor, a secret place where once their love bloomed in peace. All the memories of that place, where he held her and worshipped her with his lips, were forever engraved in his mind. It was there that, after months of struggling with his feelings, he had realized she was his One.

All Dwarves know that Mahal sometimes creates two of his children from the same stone, bonding them for life. Of course, not all Dwarves marry. Even those granted this honour by their Maker do not always choose to marry, for some value friendship above all other bonds, while others devote themselves to their craft. Still, as a young boy, Thorin had hoped Mahal would deem him worthy, and every night he had dreamt of the moment he would meet his One, conjuring their likeness like an artist who paints a picture and gives it life.

He had also wondered what it would feel like to meet his One. Would he know immediately? And how would he know? Perhaps it would be like in those romance novels his sister liked so much. A tender, all-consuming look from across the room, silently reassuring the other that they had found each other at last.

Perhaps due to long hours in the council chamber, Thorin had become more of a realist as the years went on. He always had to be on his guard, and he learned quickly that he could not trust his desires, for they could be manipulated by advisors and enemies alike. Romanticism was fine for artists but not for princes. The idea of a destined love became no more than a child’s fanciful dream, and Thorin grew gradually less opposed to the concept of an arranged marriage until the thought of it did not bother him at all. After all, his parents had been married for a political alliance and had still grown to care for each other. Thorin knew he would do the same.

At least, that was what he had told himself before he met Rúna, his dear Rúna.

He did not know immediately that she was his One, but from the moment their gazes met, he knew he would never again be the same. Her presence had so bewitched him that he had not realized he was walking toward her until she stood right in front of him. Then, stumbling over his every word, he had thought himself defeated, oblivious to the fact that she felt the same indescribable pull toward him.

“Thorin, at your service,” had been his first words to her.

“Rúna, daughter of Ragni, your highness,” she had replied with a curtsy, enchanting him all the more with her melodious voice.

“I hope you are having a pleasant time, Lady Rúna.” Already, he had loved the way her name rolled off his tongue.

“More pleasant than you, at least, seeing as you have found nothing better to do than stare at me from across the room,” she had replied teasingly.

Blushing furiously, he had attempted to remain formal and composed but, ultimately, had failed miserably. “I had hoped that would go unnoticed, or at the very least, that you would humour me and pretend like nothing had transpired. And just because I was watching you does not mean I am not having a pleasant time. On the contrary, my spirits were lifted by the sight of your fairness.”

Thorin could still remember the beautiful blush that had painted her cheeks. “Forgive me,” he had said hastily. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I did not say I did not enjoy it,” she had replied with the most enchanting smirk.

That was how their conversations usually unfolded. Thorin, who always prided himself on being in control and always knowing what to say, would find himself barely able to think. He blamed her low-cut gowns and the redness of her lips for that.

They soon became inseparable. Every day, they would meet in their secret room, a haven where they shared stolen kisses and soft caresses. Âzyungel, she would call him, for she, too, had accepted Mahal’s will. She had accepted Thorin as hers, and in those moments, both of them had believed nothing would ever separate them, for they were destined to be together.

Deep in the caverns of his mind, a voice called out to Thorin, warning him against the intensity of his passion, but he did not listen. He found himself thinking of her at the most inappropriate times, and she haunted the nights he wished he could spend with her. When he closed his eyes, he saw her smile and heard her laughter, clearer than the soft splashing of water against limestone rocks.

What would it be like to spend his whole life with her, his Rúna?

Thorin thought with utter surety that he would soon know when they announced to their families their intent to wed. At first, everyone was overjoyed. Rúna came from a wealthy and respectable family, so the king had no objections to his grandson’s choice — not that any of that mattered to the couple. Ale and Dorwinion wine flowed freely as the news travelled through the mountain. The prince had chosen his princess.

Thorin and Rúna welcomed their families’ approval, but they secretly longed to be alone once more. When at last they found themselves in the comfort of Thorin’s chambers, they drank some more wine between languid kisses, committing the moment to memory. Fingers braided hair then caressed the skin they hastily revealed, their cheeks tainted with the soft glow of love.

That night, like their hearts forever bound, their bodies became one. Thorin was gentle, attentive to her every need, and even afterwards, he continued to bathe her in tenderness, scattering kisses all over her skin as they murmured promises of eternal love to each other, bodies entangled.

Rúna fell asleep to the soft lullaby of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, and though she never doubted for a second his sincerity and devotion, those promises were never fulfilled.

Rúna knew they should have been patient, and although she was usually very sensible, she had not known how to resist her handsome prince, especially not when his body had promised her glorious passion, now and for the rest of their lives. Besides, it was not as though premarital relations were unheard of. However, princes had to follow much stricter rules. And these rules had been carelessly ignored. And as the days went on, Rúna knew she would not have the luxury of keeping their transgression a secret, for inside her bloomed the product of her and Thorin’s love, but also the cause of their demise.

Even if it had not been for her growing belly, her morning sickness and alarmingly fluctuating moods would have given her away. And they did. She had never seen her parents so furious, and their disappointment pierced her heart. Her father shouted about her stained reputation and their ruined bloodline, leaving her in tears as she tried to scramble away in search of Thorin even as she knew it was hopeless.

She knew they would separate them.

King Thror, with the support of Thorin’s parents, banished Rúna from Erebor, never to see her beloved again. She tried to fight them, indignation festered inside her like a poisoned wound, the unattainable promise of Thorin’s love shattering her heart into a million pieces, but it was hopeless.

They did not inform Thorin of this, for it was their firm intention never to let him know about the bastard child. Instead, they told him she was bedridden while they conjured up a more permanent plan. And so, unaware that his One had been taken from him, Thorin brought flowers to Rúna’s door every day. He hated every moment he was forced to spend away from her — it felt unnatural — but he consoled himself by thinking that they would spend their whole lives together.

Then the dragon came.

Thorin had been out hunting in the woods with his siblings when a strong wind began to rattle the treetops. Then a roar like thunder split the sky, and the blood of Thorin’s veins froze when he heard a shout from afar.

“Dragon!”

Rúna.

Without so much as a glance at his companions, Thorin bolted toward the mountain, fear clogging his throat.

Refusing to believe this was real, he did not even stop when the gates loomed above him, riddled in flames, but the screams piercing his ears grounded him to the bitterness of reality. The air was wrought with the stench of burning flesh and the sorrow of a broken people. All around him, children cried in fright, and mothers wept while the distant ringing of useless steel announced their defeat.

No help came from the Elves that day, nor any day since; a betrayal Thorin never forgot. Even if there had been survivors still clawing for breath inside the mountain, they had no means to reach them.

Rúna.

Thorin searched for her everywhere, shouting her name until his lungs burned, but when the moon appeared, and she was still nowhere to be found, Thorin knew it was hopeless. Grief crashed over him like a hurricane.

He had lost her.

He wanted to tear the sky open and demand retribution from Mahal himself, but all his remaining strength he used to remain on his feet. He had to be strong for his people — what remained of them. His family had miraculously survived, but even that could not have filled the gaping hole where his heart had once beat.

Rúna, his dear Rúna. The memory of her lips against his turned to ash in his mouth. When he had last kissed her and held her, he had done so thinking he would have a lifetime to keep loving her. But she was now no more than a memory.

He forced himself not to think of that, for his people needed him now more than ever. Only once he was finally alone did he let his tears run free, and all through the night, he sobbed into his pillow, his only comfort the memories of their secret room, untouched by fire and blood. Thorin held onto those memories all through the years, never forgetting, never forgiving.

—

Khuzdul translations:

Âzyungêl: Love of Loves (used here to refer to the Dwarven belief in a single, destined soulmate)

Taglist: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @mcchiberry @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

#trsb21 #tolkien reverse summer bang #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #thorin fanfic #thorin x oc #thorin x reader #thorin x you #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #a lifetime apart

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oncelers-panties · 4 years ago

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Cheer Practice

Pairing: Oncest (College AU)

Warnings: mild coercion, general n/sfw

Ao3 Link

Once-ler loses a bet and is forced to do something quite embarrassing. To his suprise, he enjoys it.

In retrospect, accepting to race against a running back had not been the brightest idea.

But in the heat of the moment, he hadn´t thought of that. Not when said running back, a brash guy named Greed, had to become his dormmate. Living with the man was all sorts of awful. Once-ler had to get used to sweaty clothes being strewn all over their bedroom, towers of dirty dishes and take-out boxes in the kitchen, hair in the drain- all such pleasantries. But the worst of it all was being awoken in the middle of the night by either the drunk yelling of Greed´s entire football team coming from the kitchen, or the screams and grunts of lovers he brought along for a good time.

Patient and passive by nature, Once-ler tried to handle it the best he could. He´d politely tell the man to please maybe clean up after himself, to mind the curfew, to quiet down a little during the late hours. Greed would wave it off, replying that he´d see to it, but nothing about his behavior would ever change. All that was left for Once-ler was to let out a defeated sigh and do the job himself, cleaning up the messes left behind by his dormmate´s companions and quietly reciting his studies in his head every other night, hoping it would tune out the creaks of the mattress and moans sounding from a few feet away. He was about to come to terms with the fact that this is how things were going to go for the next few years. But even the meekest of people have a breaking point.

For him, it was when he came back after a particularly tedious lecture, walking straight into the kitchen to soothe his growling stomach with a quick snack, barely able to stand on his legs from exhaustion. To his immense displeasure, the meal he´d prepared the day before had mysteriously disappeared, and so had several bags of his favorite brand of marshmallows. Clenching his teeth, he dropped onto his bed without looking, and noticed too late the pair of some stranger ´s underwear lying on his mattress for some reason.

A frustrated groan sounded from his throat, soon turning into an enraged scream as he stomped into the bathroom where Greed was busying himself with his hair, and threw said underwear straight into his face.

“Dude,” the sportsman said after a few seconds of shock, throwing the piece of cloth away from him “what the fuck was that?”

“I could ask you the same thing! I´ve had it with you and your bullshit! Do you and your buddies have to behave like complete assholes every day?”

Greed gave him a nonchalant look, which only enraged Once-ler more.

“I´m talking about the messes you make constantly, and the fact that I haven´t had a good night of sleep this whole week! Can´t you fuck somewhere else? Can´t you put away your laundry and wash the dishes for once? Can you not tell your stupid friends to keep their hands off of my food?!”

“Ah, that´s what you mean. Fine, I´ll tell them, geez. Not something to throw such a fit over.”

“Maybe for you it isn´t. But some people aren´t happy about living in a pigsty! You either start acting like a normal person, keep this place clean and move your nightly orgies to somewhere else, or go rent a single room, because I´m this close to reporting you! I want to be able to sleep in peace in the room I pay for with my own money, for God´s sake!”

Despite being taken aback by his usually mellow dormmate´s sudden outburst, Greed rolled his eyes, crossing his arms before his chest.

“Look, I need to wind down after a long day on the field, alright? The games are hard, and that´s my way of relaxation. Can´t you just get earmuffs or something?”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Once-ler hissed, voice dripping with venom as he tried his hardest to not strangle the other instantly. “Running back and forth and throwing a ball around. That must be so terribly stressful.”

“As if you´d know,” Greed snarled, “You just sit on your ass inside this room all day, and probably wouldn´t be able to run twenty feet without passing out.”

The two men stared at each other, fuming in silence, until suddenly, an idea formed in the sportsman´s head, evident by the snide smile appearing on his face.

“Listen,” he drawled out, “how about a bet?”

“I´m really not in the mood for that right now.”

“Just hear me out: since you think what I´m doing is so easy, why don´t we have a race? If you can beat me- no, if you can at least somewhat keep up with me, I´ll move out of this dorm, and you won´t see my face around here ever again.”

“And if I lose?” Once-ler responded after a moment of careful thinking. Greed´s widening grin should have been enough to deter him from agreeing to his terms. In fact, he should have told him to go screw himself and report his behavior to the resident assistant. But there was a part of him that wanted to wipe that cocky expression off his face and pay him back for every single sleepless night he had subjected him too.

It went about as well as one can imagine, and as he lay on the ground after stumbling over his own legs, he wished the fall would´ve broken his neck, a preferable option to what he was about to be subjected to later…

“Well, what are you waiting for? Put it on.”

The commanding voice pulled Once-ler back into the present, and with a shudder and a crestfallen gaze, he once again took in his surroundings. Greed had ordered him to come to one of the changing rooms after his afternoon football training. Why he needed him in this stuffy, cold location that smelled like someone had overdosed on body spray, he had no idea. Probably to make this whole ordeal more embarrassing for him. At least the sportsman had been generous enough not to invite his teammates to laugh along with him.

Pressing his lips together, Once-ler lowered his head, regarding the two-piece outfit he was holding in a deadly grip. It was a cheerleading uniform, consisting of a pleated skirt and a short, sleeveless top that had the name of his college´s football team written on the front. He stared at it like one would at his worst enemy, then slowly turned his gaze to Greed, still refusing to believe that this was happening.

“Do I really have to do this?” he questioned in a desperate tone, watching as the other made himself comfortable on the bench he had taken a seat on.

“Of course,” the man replied in a falsely sweet voice, crossing his legs. “We agreed to the terms of the bet, right? And you lost, so now you gotta do as I tell you.”

Once-ler´s shoulders slumped from the heavy realization that Greed was being completely serious.

“But-“

“Don´t make such a big deal about it, the sooner you do it, the quicker you´ll be over with it.”

The amused tone those words were said in made it obvious that his dormmate was having an awful lot of fun, and it made Once-ler clutch the material of the clothes even tighter, eyes shooting daggers at the other.

“This is childish,” he hissed, shaking his head. “You´re acting like a complete jerk. I get it, you won. You´re better than me. Dozens of people have seen me fall on my face in the middle of the football field, and you and your buddies are not going to let that go until we´re out of college. Haven’t you humiliated me enough? Do you really-“

“Now, Oncie, don´t be like that. You wouldn´t be going back on your word, would you? It´s one thing to be a lousy sportsman, but to break a promise…”

Greed rested his chin on his hand, staring at the other intently, and demanded once again, less playfully this time:

“Just put on the clothes.”

A strange shiver went up Once-ler´s spine at the cold trace of dominance in the other´s voice, and he averted his eyes, suddenly not able to stand his glare. Really, though, he was right. He´d just get it out of his way, leave, and pretend it never happened. Or rather, remember it forever and be tormented by the memory every night for the rest of his life.

“Fine,” he muttered under his breath, shooting worried glances at the door. “But you won´t, like, record it or anything? And there aren´t any of your friends outside, waiting to barge in and laugh at me?”

“Of course not! No one´s ever around here this time of day. Besides, what kind of guy to you take me for?”

Once-ler just scoffed at that remark, deciding not to answer. As he was about to take off his shirt, he noticed that Greed showed no intention of looking away or closing his eyes, so he turned around, taking a deep breath before throwing off his clothes and starting to dress up.

“Where did you even get these from?” he asked during the process, having a hard time squeezing himself into the top that was obviously too tight for him. Which wasn´t surprising, considering that these clothes were made for young women much smaller than him.

“Don´t you worry about it. Turn around, get over here.”

Exhaling sharply through his nose, regretting every decision in his life that had led him to this moment, Once-ler faced his tormentor, unwilling steps carrying him forward. He was expecting the other to cackle like a hyena to the point of stomachaches, but was met with nothing of that sort.

Greed´s insufferable grin waned a little, and instead of laughing out loud he stared his dormmate up and down, gaze getting stuck at the long legs only barely covered by the scant skirt and the exposed midriff. He leaned forward with a whistle.

“Well, damn. That doesn´t look too bad. Willing to bet that my team wouldn´t ever lose a single game if we had you cheering for us in that get-up.”

Flushing at that comment, Once-ler reached for the skirt´s hem and pulled it downwards, embarrassment clear on his face.

“Ha. Very funny. Are you quite done? Can I change back now?”

“Nuh uh. You´re not done yet,” the running back replied, smugly wagging his finger. “What have we agreed upon? If you lose, you put on the uniform… and do a little cheer dance. Don´t tell me you´ve forgotten?”

Once-ler gritted his teeth. Of course he hadn´t forgotten, but he´d hoped the other wouldn´t remember. Again, luck wasn´t on his side. How was he supposed to do that, anyway? He couldn´t even do normal dances, much less gymnastic ones. When he voiced his concerns to Greed, the man just shrugged.

“Just improvise. You´re one of those creative artistic people, so it should be easy for you.”

“That´s not really how it works…”

Wondering whether the other would have held his word were he the one in this situation, Once-ler begrudgingly began to move, staring at his feet to not bear the other´s gaze. His motions were pretty sluggish, and consisted mostly of him swaying lightly from side to side, with a sour expression. It caused Greed to raise his eyebrows critically.

“You know, you´re supposed to do a cheer dance. That doesn´t look very cheerful to me. Can´t you do something that´s a bit nicer to look at?”

“Nicer to look at? What the hell do you expect me to do?” Once-ler angrily snapped at his dormmate as he came to a halt, patience wearing thin. He was already fed up with the other´s behavior, feeling like he was taking this too far. Sure, they had a bet, but Greed really was going out of his way to make it as difficult as possible. How damn childish could that guy be?!

The sportsman, however, didn´t seem to be phased by the other´s rough tone, still staring at him with a strange glint behind his eyes.

“Why not try shaking your hips? That always gets the players motivated,” he purred, and Once-ler, wanting to put an end to it all, swallowed his pride and obeyed. Not that there was much left of it at this point.

However, while he did feel like a complete idiot, there was something else as well, an unexpected sensation that made his face heat up from something other than embarrassment. It was the way Greed´s gaze travelled all over his body, lingering on ever bit of skin. The way he leaned forward, almost seeming hypnotized by how the pleated skirt swung from side to side with each of his dormmates motions, sometimes flashing way more than what would be considered modest. The rhythmic sound of his fingers tapping against the bench, the sight of his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

What was that all about? And why did he feel like burning up under those mossy-greens, skin breaking out in goosebumps from a sudden wave of excitement washing over him?

Maybe it was because he, for some reason, became aware of the other´s attractiveness in that very moment. Before that, he´s never really had the chance to notice it, mostly because Greed´s insufferable behavior oftentimes detracted from whatever good qualities he possessed. But now, with him sitting in silence, radiating something far more intense and captivating than his usual cockiness, all of his perks shone through in an instant. And God, there were many of them.

“Well, there has to be a reason why he gets this much traction every single week,” a small voice in the back of Once-ler´s head whispered, and despite his best efforts, he could not get it to shut up. He thought back to the many nights he he´d spent awake because of the noises his roommate´s partners had made, and it caused his mind to travel to much darker places on its own. He recalled getting up a night for some water, only to catch a glimpse of Greed pushing some guy against the wall, wrapping his fingers around his neck, calling him his pretty boy as the other writhed underneath him in visible ecstasy.

The resurfacing memory made Once-ler hold his breath for a little too long, legs beginning to shake as he became aware of the direction his thoughts were taking, of how wrong this whole situation now seemed. That moment would´ve been the right time to stop, to tell Greed that he´s had enough and leave, preferably to a place where he wouldn´t have to be around his roommate for a while. But he couldn´t. There was a part of Once-ler that wanted to keep this terrible man´s attention on him, one that made him want to tempt a little more, to find out just how much it took to make Greed do more than just stare.

What would he do, if he were to tease him that much? Get all mean, make some raunchy comments, maybe even bend him over his knee in this same dressing room, lift up that skirt and spank the bad behavior out of him? Or hold him down by his throat, like he did with that other boy, have him crying and gasping from his touch?

A frustrated sound left Once-ler´s mouth, and he forced himself to snap out of it, keep these thoughts from further fogging his mind. Only now did he notice how shallow his breaths have suddenly become, his trembling hands and racing heart, the fact he´d been eating Greed up with a half-lidded gaze this entire time…

“That´s enough, I think,” he managed to stutter out, running a sweaty palm through his hair nervously. “You had your fun. I´m leaving.”

“You sure you wanna go?” the other replied huskily, looking as devious as ever. “Because it seems like I´m not the only one having fun here.”

Light-headed, Once-ler followed his eyes, his face turning pale only to burst into color a second later when he realized that this situation had excited him way more than it should´ve had.

He let out a yelp, covering himself and looking away in shame, gritting his teeth as his dormmates low chuckle echoed throughout the room. And if that wasn´t enough, he felt the man tugging at the hem of the skirt, roughly pulling it up and exposing the hardened dick throbbing beneath tight boxer briefs.

Once-ler opened his mouth to protest, but no sound other than a small whimper would come out, and he couldn´t even bring himself to push the other´s hand away, instead only watching him flick his tongue over his lip.

“Oh my… someone enjoyed dancing for me a lot. What´s the matter? Does little Oncie-Woncie have a crush on the running back?”

“Sh-shut up,” the blue-eyed man weakly shot back, not sounding threatening at all.

“You can just step away, you know. If you keep standing here like that, I might get the idea that you want me to do something bad to you,” Greed purred, fingertips lightly brushing over the bare legs as he hungrily looked back up to his roommate. “What´s it gonna be?”

The man´s words did something to him, body being shaken by a pleasant shudder as he leaned forward into the touch, heated skin aching for more contact. His clothes felt much too tight, already leaking length straining against the fabric of his underwear, and despite his better judgement screaming at him from somewhere in the back of his mind, he remained in place. Paralyzed like prey before a beast, wondering how far the other would go.

Thus, he didn´t struggle when the other grabbed him by the waist and pulled him onto his lap, making him straddle it. Greed didn´t waste any time admiring the view in silence, cold hands wandering downward, kneading the soft flesh of his roommate´s thighs before having them disappear beneath the thin material of the skirt. The way they traced the shape of his hips and the small curve of his ass forced a whimper out of his mouth, and Greed took that as an invitation to let the tip of his fingers slip under the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down with ease. Humming lowly, the running back stroked the underside of the erect member with his index finger, all the way upwards to the tip, where he rubbed it against the wet slit.

“My, I had no idea you felt this way about me. No wonder you were always so pissed about inviting people over, it´s cause you were jealous, weren´t you?” he sang, leaning towards the other to lick a bead of sweat off the underside of his jaw, teeth lightly pulling on the skin there right after. It made Once-ler clasp a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle another moan, and his defiant expression began to melt away with each small touch.

“As if-” he countered, voice breaking off into a sweet sigh when the sportsman´s fingers waltzed across the small of his back. “As if anyone would get jealous about an utter asshole like you. You´re the worst.”

Greed replied with a scoff, wrapping his fingers around the other´s member and giving it a few firm pumps, grinning in satisfaction at how it made Once-ler gasp and squirm in his lap.

“Then why the fuck did you get this hard from shaking your ass for me, huh? Because you are a little freak who´s into being ordered around and has the hots for me, obviously,” he mouthed back, suckling at the nape of that delicate neck as he pulled the trembling body even closer. “So drop the good boy act and behave.”

Those words went right through the blue-eyed man´s already aching loins, and not even the pout on his furiously blushing face and an attempt at an angry glare could hide how he was really feeling.

“Jerk,” was all that he could whimper, followed by a scream when Greed suddenly bit his nipple through the fabric of his tight top, brushing his lips along the narrow chest afterwards.

“Slut,” came the murmured reply as the running back fumbled with the fly of his pants, showing off the sizable bulge in his underwear the sight of which made Once-ler drop any attempt to counter his remark. “Someone might hear you if you keep being this noisy.”

“I thought no one´s around here this time of day,” the man on Greed´s lap quietly replied, holding his breath as the other took him by the wrist and, after getting his own boxers out of the way, guided his hand towards his manhood. It was hot, felt too large between Once-ler´s thin fingers, and the way it throbbed against his palm made his blood burn in the best possible way.

“That screaming of yours might still attract someone´s attention. Imagine that, getting caught jerking off a football player in the changing room… my, you´d surely get a lot of attention afterwards. I´d have to have to fight off your ‘suitors’ by the dozens,” he heard the other whisper, while his hand was being moved up and down the erect length that he couldn´t take his eyes off. “Like what you´re looking at, baby? Bet you´d much rather have that inside you, though.”

The hot air of his dormmates breath hitting the shell of his ear sent a quiver through his body, and he pressed himself against the other to keep that heat close. Something about the scent of Greed´s aftershave and his strong grip on the small of his back made him feel so, so unbearably needy. He couldn´t stand that guy and hated that smug expression of his, but damn if he didn´t want to steal some low, raspy moans from those lips, along with a kiss or two and some saccharine words of praise. Sure, he would be far from the first one to get to hear those, but he didn´t care at that point, beginning to compliantly pump the other´s dick with steady movements on his own. The action had the desired result, making Greed groan through his teeth and return the gesture with the same intensity while keeping his sight trained on his roommate´s face, taking in every twitch of his mouth and flutter of his eyelashes.

“You know, you´re really cute when you´re not constantly nagging about something,” he panted, lightly dragging his nails across the other´s spine along with his strokes. “You should join the cheer team for real, keep the players motivated. Can´t promise I won´t keep my hands to myself if you distract me too much, though.”

“God, you´re… ah- just so awful,” the blue-eyed man´s voice trailed off when he felt Greed´s tongue flick over his earlobe. Desperate for the other to touch him harder, he thrusted his hips forward, whimpering when the motion caused their cocks to touch.

“For someone that hates me this much, you sure look like you´re having a great time sitting on my lap.”

The running back wrapped his fingers around both of them, bringing their mouths close together but stopping just short of a kiss, smiling at how desperately the other was staring at his lips.

“Earn it,” Once-ler heard him order.

It was enough to make him give in, make him wrap his arms around the man´s neck for support as he steadily ground against him, fucking himself into his hand. The other´s heat was coursing through him with every movement he made, and he couldn´t help but pull on the back of his shirt, panting from how good the friction felt. It only intensified when Greed tightened his grip around the two of them, running his fingers through Once-ler´s hair with a slight pull.

“Pretty,” he softly murmured as he brought the tip of his tongue against his roommate´s mouth, having a taste before finally clashing their lips together.

Greed´s were warm and a little wet, with a talented tongue that sent sparks of pleasure through the blue-eyed man´s veins, caused him to rut against his tormentor like an animal in heat, eyes falling shut and limbs growing weak. As the room echoed with both their moans, he could feel himself getting closer to release, and it took just a few more thrusts- a few more of the running back´s touches- for climax to set in. His head fell forward, coming to rest on other´s shoulder, and he let out a muffled cry when the long-awaited sensation swept over him.

That little sound along with how his body shook with pleasure was just what was needed to push Greed over the edge as well; he groaned in delight, sinking his teeth into Once-ler´s neck again to suck on the creamy skin, catching the hot spurts of their cum in his palm.

Afterwards, it took a while for them to come down from their high, and even when their heartbeats slowed and breathing evened out, they didn´t distance themselves from each other, remaining in place as they were.

A long moment of silence followed during which Once-ler had a hard time deciding what he was supposed to be more shocked by: the fact that he´s just had a sexual encounter with his insufferable roommate, or that he had enjoyed every second of it?

Face still hidden in embarrassment as he tried to come to terms with the situation, he brought his fingers to the spot on his neck Greed had so lovingly bitten.

“If you´ve given me a hickey I´m going to fucking kill you,” he muttered, hearing the other chuckle in reply.

“Consider me a dead man, then. Besides, you should get used to those. Your performance is still lacking, and we´ll need more dancing practice to fix that, love.”

To that, Once-ler could do nothing but let out a frustrated sigh. Somehow, he had the feeling that he wasn´t going to get a good night of rest anytime soon.

#onceler #once-ler #oncest #oncelerxgreedler #n/sfw #fanfiction

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worryinglyinnocent · 3 years ago

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Fic: Haven (7/50)

Summary: They say Resembool is a haven, and they’re right. Lush pastures, quaint country town, farmers’ markets on Saturdays: a bucolic paradise.

But it’s more than that. Resembool is a haven for the runaways, the deserters, the people who don’t want to be found…

The Resembool community knows there’s something odd about Hohenheim, but they’re not going to let that stop them helping him out. This is Resembool after all, a place where no one has to hide and neighbours help neighbours, be they building a fence, chasing a sheep, or trying to save the country from an evil they inadvertently helped release centuries ago…

Or: A series of slices of life in an AU in which Hohenheim never leaves, and several broken state alchemists find hope and home in Resembool.

Rated: T

Haven

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [AO3]

Seven

Summary: The locals come up with some inventive solutions for Hohenheim’s immortality problem.

Characters: Pinako, Hohenheim, various other Resemboolians in various states of inebriation…

If Pinako is surprised when she enters the pub to find her usual drinking buddies all already three sheets to the wind, then she doesn’t show it. She’s more surprised to find them building some kind of crazy contraption out of beer mats, but again, it’s not the first time.

Having procured herself a drink, she goes over and sits with them. It’s a couple of minutes before they even realise she’s joined them. When they do realise, they present the beer mat contraption to her with a flourish.

“Basil, it looks absolutely lovely, but what the hell is it?”

“It’s for Hohenheim.”

Pinako just raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure he’ll love a weird castle made out of soggy beer mats. Although to be fair we don’t know when his birthday is. I guess you probably stop celebrating when you’ve had over four hundred of them.”

“It’s not a birthday present. And it’s not the finished thing. This is just the beer mat prototype. We’ll create the proper thing out of wood tomorrow when we’re not quite as drunk.”

Pinako’s eyebrow remains raised. “Are you sure you’re going to remember what it is tomorrow morning? And what’s it supposed to be anyway?”

Basil launches into the explanation, and whilst it could only have come from the mind of someone with several pints of good Resembool ale inside them, PInako has to admit that she can see where he’s coming from.

They have been attempting to think up a way to fix Hohenheim’s immortality problem. It’s been quite a frequent topic of conversation for them on many an evening, both when Hohenheim joins them and when he doesn’t. Since Trisha’s pregnancy they haven’t seen him for a while, and Pinako can’t really say that she blames him. He didn’t know what to do with the flood of well-wishes once they decided to break the news, and even though they’re a few months in now, the talk always seems to manage to turn to his impending fatherhood whenever he’s with them. She thinks he’s justified in taking a break from it. Besides, Trisha’s not having an easy time of it with the very inaccurately named morning sickness and like any good husband, he wants to take care of her.

Basil is now explaining how the contraption is going to work. The logic is sound even though Pinako is not yet drunk enough to believe that it would ever work, because Hohenheim has explained the mechanics of his immortality to her a couple of times, both sober and less than sober, and she’s pretty sure it doesn’t work like that.

She reaches over and pats Basil’s shoulder.

“I’m sure he’ll be very impressed with it, Basil, but I think it would be more useful to him if you put your beer mat construction skills to better use designing some nursery furniture instead. Let’s focus on the more immediate problem, shall we?”

Basil sighs. “I can’t disassemble it now. Have you got any idea how long this has taken us to build? We’ve used the entire supply of beer mats!”

Pinako looks round. Indeed, none of the other customers have mats in front of them, but none of them seem to mind. Resembool is that kind of place. If someone wants to build a beer mat monolith in the pub, then no one’s going to stop them from having their fun.

“Hohenheim!”

Pinako looks over her shoulder as Basil exclaims. She sees Hohenheim in the doorway, and she can see that he’s wearing that frightened deer look that she recognises from various other overwhelming situations in the past.

He doesn’t have chance to run away. Basil is already dragging him over and explaining what he’s just got through explaining to Pinako. By the end of it, Hohenheim is looking even more confused and just finishes with the mildly exasperated statement of ‘you know, it really doesn’t work like that, but I appreciate the effort’.

“I told them that nursery furniture would probably be a better idea,” Pinako points out. “And a better use of resources.”

“I am not putting my child in a crib made from beer mats!”

Pinako just rolls her eyes. Basil grabs a beer mat out of the contraption and the entire thing comes crashing down, sending beer mats sailing across the floor like skaters across a frozen pond. Not that it ever really gets cold enough to freeze in Resembool in winter, but the sentiment works.

By the end of the evening, they are still trying to work out how to solve the immortality problem. Basil’s suggestion of attempting to extract the souls and keep them in jars was not met with all that much enthusiasm from said souls despite how vehemently he defended the idea, but at least it made Hohenheim smile, and Basil has promised to go over and see Trisha and take measurements for nursery furniture (made of proper wood, not beer mats) the next day. Pinako will be sure to prod him to make sure he remembers.

“He means well,” she says to Hohenheim as they make their way back up the hill towards their respective homes, having left Basil working on yet another crazy idea. “I just think that his imagination gets the better of him sometimes.”

“Yes.” Hohenheim is staring off into the middle distance, his mind evidently miles away. “I’m a little alarmed at how invested they all are in it.”

“They like you, Hohenheim. We all do.” Pinako nudges his elbow. “You’ve been here long enough to be a part of the furniture now. They want to help you have the happiest life possible and they know that this is the major thing preventing that. They know that there’s not a whole lot they can do when it comes to the alchemy aspect, but they’ve got more than enough enthusiasm to make up for it. You know that if you do find a way to get your mortality back, you’ve got an entire army of villagers here ready to do whatever it takes to help you achieve that.”

Hohenheim smiles. “Yes. And despite it worrying me, I am very grateful to them.”

They make the rest of the journey in companionable silence, and Pinako is glad to know that Hohenheim realises how much he is appreciated on his own merits, and that he is starting to realise just how many friends he and Trisha have in the village.

#FMA Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Van Hohenheim #Pinako Rockbell #Fic: Haven

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grither55 · 4 years ago

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The Princess and the Peasant - (An Azula Epic) - Chapter 121 - Haven

A meeting was underway in the Spirit World between two Avatars, of past and present.

“Avatar Roku. I need your guidance about an important matter. What can you tell me about the Component?” Aang asked in an unusually serious voice as he sat gazing back at the older man’s contemplative face.

While a concerned frown overtook the Fire Nation man’s deeply troubled face.

“I see. I regret to say that there is not much that I can tell you Aang, as I did not personally encounter the Component in my time as Avatar.” Roku replied with his grave amber brown eyes staring back at the younger man’s apprehensive face.

“What! Isn’t there anything that you can tell me?” The Avatar blurted out in a worry-stricken voice while he studied his predecessor’s thoughtful countenance.

“There was once a sorceress by the name of Mava who I once clashed with early in my days as Avatar. She sought to bring about the return of this power to accomplish her goal of destroying the Avatar Cycle.” The former Avatar stated as he held a hand under his chin while he sat staring seriously back at the monk’s unsettled face.

“A sorceress by the name of Mava?” Aang repeated as he stared with unease in his gray eyes back at the older man’s nodding face.

“Yes. Although to my knowledge the sorceress has not been seen since the beginning of my conflict with Fire Lord Sozin.” Roku spoke in a voice of wisdom while a relieved look came over Aang’s eyes.

“Well, I suppose that is good to know.” The Avatar remarked as he breathed a sigh of relief while the older man still gazed on introspectively.

“However, be advised that her former accomplice Silah may still be alive and well.” The former Avatar informed in a ruminative voice with his amber brown eyes staring back at the younger man’s alarmed face with unrivaled graveness.

While the young Avatar’s eyes now began to widen in an expression of fright.

“That…that name! It…feels familiar. I’ve heard it before! She’s wanted for the destruction of many villages in both the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom.” Aang exclaimed as he sat up with his eyes once again taking on a more troubled look while Roku frowned grimly.

“That wouldn’t surprise me. But be aware that your most urgent concern is the Component herself. You may well be the first Avatar in over a thousand years to face the Component in battle.” Roku advised with a profound look of concern still adorning his features while the young Avatar’s stared back in rising worry.

While the young man swallowed nervously as he sat there in silence paying close attention to the older man’s ever word.

All the while as the Fire Nation man stared back with his amber eyes conveying indescribable urgency.

“T-the first in over a thousand years?” The Avatar questioned in an unsettled voice as he gazed down with widened gray eyes.

“Indeed Aang. I urge you to be cautious. While I did not encounter the Component in my lifetime. I know that the Component is the single greatest danger to the continuation of the Avatar Cycle. Even more so than the Fire Lord.” The former Avatar revealed with unfathomable weight to his foreboding words while the monk sunk back into a perturbed silence.

“Even…more dangerous…than the Fire Lord.” Aang breathed as he gazed up from the ground with panic in his eyes.

Only to find himself gazing around as the Spirit World began to fade around them.

Just before he turned back to Roku’s face as the older man too started to dissipate from view.

“Continue to seek guidance in your past lives and no matter what, do not allow yourself to be caught in the pathway of the Component’s spirit negating energy.” Roku cautioned in a deep in thought voice while Aang listened with a disconcerted expression in his eyes.

“Avatar Roku…what happens if I get caught in the way of her spirit negating energy?” The Avatar inquired in a distraught voice while the older man gazed back with worrying concern in his aged eyes.

“If you are not careful Aang. The Avatar Cycle could be destroyed and then it will be lost forever.” The former Avatar called out in a highly alarming voice while the young man’s eyes grew wide in dread.

And then before the Air Nomad could even so much as say another word.

He watched with an intensely unsettled look in his eyes as his predecessor finally faded away.

And not even a second after that he found himself awakening from his meditation aboard the airship.

While he sat in a disturbed state of silence on the deck of the hidden ship from where it rested in the expansive sea cave.

All the while as he gazed on with a vividly distressed expression in his eyes as he listened to the ocean’s waves crash outside the mouth of the cavern.

Later on, that day.

The Dragon of the West set down his teacup while he gazed on with his lone eye gazing on in indescribable dread.

“You…say that you encountered Azula and this girl in the Spirit World?” Iroh questioned in a horrified voice with a pale expression overcoming his aghast face while the young Avatar numbly nodded his head.

While Zuko stared on with mutual unease in his widened eyes.

“They were. She’s…she’s learning how to master her power.” Aang responded with anxiety in his voice while he stared back at the former general’s unnerved face.

“I knew that it wouldn’t take Azula long to begin to deduce that girl’s power! At this rate Azula will have the girl’s power completely mastered before we can devise a way to counter it!” Zuko exclaimed with fear in his voice as he clenched his left fist while a sense of unease consumed the air.

“You may well be right Prince Zuko. We must get through to that girl before it is too late.” The Dragon of the West commented with urgency in his sage voice while he gazed down into his teacup.

All the while as the prince stared on with a look of doubt in his angered golden eyes.

Such a task was easier said than done.

Given that there was no going near that girl without Azula right by her side!

“I…I tried to speak to her once again. But she won’t listen to a word that I have to say! It’s almost impossible to approach her when she is with your sister!” The Avatar stated with frustration lining his voice while his enemy turned friend grimaced as he sunk back in his seat.

All the while as the former general stared on with his lips entrenched in a profoundly bothered frown.

“It may well be that Azula’s claws may well be in too deep for us to remove.” Iroh remarked in a reflective voice while he gazed up back at his two younger companions unsettled faces.

While Aang turned to gaze away as he pondered if the former general might be right.

All the while as Zuko gazed on with brooding golden eyes as he sat scowling in his seat.

And shortly after that the Avatar and the prince left the room.

While Pakku now stood in the doorway gazing back at Iroh with a scowl on his lips.

“It is not wise for us to remain here for much longer.” The Dragon of the West began in a disconcerted voice while he met his old friend’s worried gaze.

“Where do you suggest that we go?” Pakku asked with a frown on his lips while Iroh let out a heavy sigh.

“Well…it isn’t safe for us to return to the Misty Palms Oasis. It likely never will be. Not now that Azula knows the location of our old base.” Iroh spoke in a factual voice while the waterbender gazed down at the floor of the ship.

“Iroh…forgive me. Had I not submitted under their torture…then Azula wouldn’t have discovered our base of operations.” The waterbending master confessed with great shame in his voice as he gritted his teeth while he glared down at the floor.

While Iroh gazed back with a sympathetic expression in his amber eye as he reassuringly shook his head.

“Pakku…please do not torture yourself any further.” The Dragon of the west began in a calm voice while the other man balled up his fists at his hips.

“That…monster threatened to light Katara on fire and launch her over the walls of Agna Qel'a in a trebuchet!” Pakku snapped with rage lacing his voice as he trembled in fury while Iroh stared on in revulsion.

“You have no need to apologize my old friend. Anyone else would have done the same to save their family.” Iroh consoled in a softened voice with a shake of his head.

While Pakku still scowled as he gazed back at his friend with an uncertain expression in his eyes.

“In any event…our next destination is Shu Jing. Where we will lay low in Piandao’s castle for a while.” The Dragon of the West declared in a contemplative voice while Pakku glanced up with surprise in his eyes.

“Shu Jing? But that it is situated in the heart of a Fire Nation town.” The waterbending master commented with a raised brow while he gazed back at his old friend’s thoughtful visage.

“While that is true Pakku. It is a secluded village. And sometimes the least suspected hiding places are the ones that are in plain sight.” Iroh explained as he smiled slyly back at Pakku’s pondering face while the waterbender nodded his head slowly.

Katara stood on the deck of the ship once more as she stared on with a determined expression in her furious blue eyes.

While she swung her arms through the air in an elegant motion with the aid of her waterbending.

All the while as she forced herself to ignore the stabbing pain that was shooting through her arm as she pushed herself to continue.

And not even seconds after that a large wave of waterbending impacted with the wall of the sea cave.

All the while as she stood panting lightly with her hair sticking to her forehead.

While she glared on with a prideful stare in her angered eyes.

Before she paused when she heard the sound of soft footsteps behind her.

All the while as she turned around only to find her expression of rage softening when she found herself face to face with her lover.

While Aang stared back at her with gentle concern in his eyes as Momo sat faithfully on his shoulder.

“Your arm is getting better.” Aang greeted in a relieved voice while Katara nodded her head as he moved to stand beside her.

“Not fast enough Aang.” Katara replied with a scowl pursed onto her lips while she gazed down over the railing of the airship.

Only to find herself turning to glance back at her boyfriend when she felt him gently take hold of her good hand.

And with that the two began to relax as they stood side by side with one another.

All the while as Appa rested behind them with his snores flowing loudly into the air.

“Avatar Roku…says that I am the first Avatar in over a thousand years to face the Component.” The Avatar admitted in a soft-spoken voice as he stared out into the distance while his girlfriend listened in unease beside him.

While he found himself frowning in deepening concern.

All the while as the Water Tribe woman pondered her lover’s words with a disconcerted look in her eyes.

Before she turned to face her lover with a supportive expression taking over her blue eyes.

“You’ll figure it out Aang. I know you will. You’re the Avatar. If anyone can do it is you.” The healer insisted in a loving voice while she squeezed her lover’s hand.

While the Air Nomad turned to smile back at the woman’s momentarily tender face.

“Thank you for believing in me Katara.” Aang stated with affection in his voice as he held onto his lover’s hand while Katara nodded her head.

All the while as a spark of anger flashed in Katara’s eyes as she stared resolutely back into her boyfriend’s kind gray eyes.

“Mark my words Aang. We’ll defeat this girl and Azula both. No matter what it takes the Fire Nation will be stopped.” Katara declared in a firmly determined voice while Aang stared back with a taken aback look in his eyes.

While the Air Nomad found himself pleased to see that his lover was regaining some of her usual spirit.

Only for the Avatar to find himself nodding with a resolved expression overcoming his face.

“Yes! We will.” The Avatar agreed in a purposeful voice as he frowned all the while.

On the morning of the following day.

Ling and Ruolo stood on the deck of the airship while they gazed back at the faces of Team Avatar and the White Lotus.

All the while as Katara stared curiously back at Ling as the princess gazed back at them.

She hadn’t had much chance to so much as even say a word to the woman due to the wound that she received thanks to those monstrous firebenders.

“The time has come for us to part ways General Iroh. We feel that it is best if we travel separately rather than as one force. However, be assured we will meet again in the near future.” Ruolo stated in a diplomatic voice with his hands folded behind his back.

While the White Lotus leaders and Team Avatar gazed back with pensive expressions in their eyes.

All the while as the young Avatar swallowed as he held onto his staff with a worried hand.

It was more than apparent that the old adviser was concerned that if they were to fall in battle.

That Princess Ling would suffer the same fate and by extension so would her entire kingdom.

“We understand Ruolo. We wish you the best of good fortune with your travels.” The Dragon of the West responded in an amiable voice as he smiled back at the two while the other man nodded in response.

All the while as the Earth Princess stared on with a calm expression in her light green eyes as she gazed back at Team Avatar.

“The same to you.” The adviser answered in a slightly kinder voice than he used when he first met the group.

While Zuko stood beside his uncle as he exchanged looks with his friends.

All the while as the swordmaster made his way forward as the princess turned to calmly meet his gaze.

“Ling. Take what I have taught you…and use it wisely.” Piandao spoke in a stoic voice with his eyes staring back at the young woman’s composed face.

“I promise you that I will Master Piandao.” Ling assured in a proud voice as she bent over to bow to her teacher in respect.

And then the man bowed in response as he offered the Earth Princess a slight smile.

“Until we meet again Princess Ling.” The swordmaster concluded in a sophisticated voice while the princess rose from her bow.

All the while as the rest of the allied forces gazed back at the princess and her devoted adviser.

Just as the two turned to walk across the walkway to their smaller vessel.

Only for the princess to pause as she turned to gaze over her shoulder at the blind earthbender leaning against the wall of the ship.

“Toph Beifong…for what you gave me. I am in your debt.” The princess commented with her light green eyes staring back at the younger woman’s grinning face.

While the rest of Team Avatar gazed between the two women in fascination that their unruly companion seemed to have made a friend.

“Don’t worry about it, princess.” The blind bandit replied with an easy-going shrug while she grinned in the older female’s direction.

“Perhaps…the next time we meet we will be able to spar again.” Ling remarked with her lips cracking into a small smile while Toph smirked back at her.

“Of course. That is if you think that you can handle me with both arms.” Toph boasted with a cocky smirk on her lips.

While Ling smirked in return back at the younger woman’s face.

Before she developed an emotionless expression once more as she offered the other woman a final parting glance.

“Farewell Toph Beifong.” The princess spoke in a composed voice as she turned to walk away with her adviser following after her.

While Toph attempted to gaze in the general direction of the departing woman with a grin still adorning her lips.

All the while as the elder members of the White Lotus and the rest of Team Avatar watched the two’s departure.

“See you around princess.” The blind bandit called out as the wind lightly blew through her hair while her friends observed from alongside her.

While the princess now walked away with her light green eyes now taking on a much more hardened gleam.

And with that the princess and her adviser stepped aboard their stealthy vessel that had been designed for them by the great mechanist himself.

And soon after that the Earth Princess’s ship departed to sail out of the sea cavern.

All the while as the White Lotus and Team Avatar stared out onto the horizon as they watched their new allies sail away.

Later on, that same day.

Iroh and the others sat in relative calm until they spun around towards the door when a sentry came rushing through with his eyes agape in terrible panic.

“General Iroh! General Iroh! We received a letter addressed to Aang from one of our sources!” The sentry cried out in an unsettled voice while the group tensed up as they exchanged looks with one another.

“A letter addressed to me?” Aang asked with his gray eyes gazing on in concern as he sprang to his feet in worry while the man stopped before the former general.

“Calm yourself and take a deep breath. I will have a look at this notice.” Iroh remarked in a sagely voice as he accepted the rolled-up scroll from the frightened sentry.

Just before the man turned to stumble off while the former general began to hesitantly open it.

Only for his expression to pale as he held onto the paper with a trembling hand.

All the while as Team Avatar gazed on with concern in their eyes.

“What does it say Uncle?” The prince pondered as he stood behind his uncle as he moved to gaze down at the letter.

Only for his golden eyes to widen in horror as he read the contents of the letter.

While the rest of Team Avatar except for Toph leaned forward to read the scroll.

Only for their eyes to grow wide in shock as they struggled to maintain their composure.

The letter was written by an unnamed sender and it was addressed to Aang.

It was utterly ruthless and to the point, and it read as follows.

Dear Avatar Aang,

Your struggle is meaningless. You will never defeat us. And your traitor prince will never defeat our majestic Princess Azula.

For the Fire Nation is indomitable, and Her Highness and the Fire Lord are vast.

While you are small, and your numbers dwindling even smaller.

For you and your filthy Water Tribe friends were born to be ruled. Ruled by the Fire Nation because you are lesser.

But we are not without mercy, which is why we are going to make you an offer.

Turn yourself in immediately for execution to Fire Nation authorities, and we will spare the lives of all of your worthless friends.

If you do not, we will begin executing your imprisoned friends one by one.

Starting with the disgraced former leader of the Kyoshi Warriors.

You have ten days from the date of this notice to turn yourself in.

Should you refuse, then Suki will die.

Sincerely,

Your Friend

PS.

Do let Sokka know that she still screams for him to save her.

Team Avatar stood there in a state of disbelief.

While their enraged eyes now gazed on in a state of speechlessness.

All the while as even Iroh stared down at the letter with a look of shock in his eyes.

“What? Is anyone going to tell me what it says?” The blind bandit inquired with a raised brow while she listened to the rising heartbeats of her friends.

While Sokka now stood with his teeth ground together in unrivaled fury.

All the while as Katara trembled in vengeance with her hair shadowing her eyes as she placed a comforting hand on her distraught older brother’s shoulder.

While Zuko stared on with his jaw dropping as he pondered who could have possibly sent such a horrifying letter.

It wasn’t something that he would put past his sister.

But it didn’t sound like it was written from her perspective.

So, if not Azula…then who?

“I have to do something to save them!” The Avatar shouted in a highly emotional voice as he moved to run off.

Only to find his wrist was swiftly seized by Iroh.

“Do not do anything rash Aang! The purpose of this letter is to provoke you into exposing yourself! And then once you do our imprisoned comrades will have no hope!” The Dragon of the West cautioned in an imploring voice while the young Avatar shook in outrage in his grip.

Only for everyone to turn to Sokka not a moment later when the young man released a heart wrenching cry.

“Suki! How dare they!” Sokka bellowed in an anguished voice with his fists clenched in his rage as he took off sprinting out the door.

“Sokka!” The healer called out with shared rage in her worried voice while she moved to follow her brother.

Only to find herself gazing on in surprise when the prince ran after him.

While the rest of the group remained behind in a stunned silence.

The Water Tribe warrior punched the metal hallway while his blue eyes brimmed with unfathomable rage.

Just when he felt a hand cautiously touch his shoulder as he turned to himself facing the sympathetic face of the prince.

“Sokka. I promise you that I will help you rescue you them! We are not going to let them die!” Zuko exclaimed in a determined voice while the other man just glowered back at the wall.

And then Sokka sunk forward with Zuko’s palm still on his shoulder while he punched the wall once more.

Meanwhile.

A small island sat in the middle of the ocean shrouded by a dense fog.

A foreboding citadel loomed over the rocky landscape at the center of the island.

The citadel had five jagged spires that rose into the air with the middle spire towering high above all of the others.

A mechanical badgermole rested before the outside of the fortress with its lifeless eyes gazing soullessly ahead.

And on the inside the hallways of the citadel were decorated with countless puppets and mannequins that stood in their respective places as if frozen in time.

While their master now strode down the hall with her callous dark green eyes gazing ahead through her broken mask.

Just before the puppeteer stepped through the door of her inner chamber.

Only for the killer to pause in her tracks when she sensed a presence in her domain.

While her merciless dark green eyes widened an ever so slight fraction as she turned to glance around her.

Only for her gaze to spin around when she saw shadows spiraling forth into being from her citadel wall.

While she watched in fascination when the shadows took the shape of many ghostly hands.

All the while as she stared on with a narrowed stare when a dark-haired woman in crimson robes emerged from the shadows.

And not a moment after that her dark green eyes formed a murderous glare as she lightly bent the fingers on both of her hands.

And just like that a wide array of humanoid puppets sprang forth from the ceiling to drop down beside their master.

While the mysterious woman’s lips curved into a wicked smile as she unflinchingly met the puppeteer’s bloodthirsty gaze.

All the while as the former Earth King now stood behind his master with his expressionless light green eyes gazing on ahead over her shoulder.

“You must be Silah.” Vega spoke in a soft voice with her monstrous golden eyes staring back at the puppeteer’s partially covered face while the other woman glared back at her.

“I am. Who are you? And how did you get in here?” Silah responded in a cool-headed voice as she curled her fingers while her many puppets stood defensively behind her.

While she never once took her predatory eyes off the seeming Fire Nation woman’s deviously grinning face.

“My name is Vega of the shadows…and just as my name goes. There is no fortress that I cannot enter.” The herald declared with a smirk on her lips as she folded her arms over her breasts while she stared back into the puppeteer’s marginally widening dark green eyes.

Only for the killer to regain her composure not even a second later as she stared icily back at the shadow woman.

“So, you are Vega. Then you must be its herald.” The puppeteer remarked in a frigid voice while she stared calmly back at the enigmatic woman’s smirking face.

“You know of us…” Vega trailed off in a suggestive voice with her bleak golden eyes staring back at the other woman’s half masked face.

“There are many things that I know. Creating artwork from people that I find interesting is one of them.” Silah stated in turn in a callous voice as her lips curved into a ruthless smile while her puppets moved forward ever so slightly behind her.

While she gazed out of the corner of her frigid dark green eyes as she watched more shadowed hands phase through the wall behind the strange woman.

“Then you also know that you are in our way.” The herald announced with as sadistic undertone to her voice while she gazed back at the puppeteer’s smirking lips.

“And what exactly are you going to do about it?” The puppeteer sneered in a mocking voice as she stared fearlessly back at the shadow woman’s darkly smiling face.

And not a moment after that the mysterious woman began to exude an incredibly powerful dark chi from her body.

While she stared wickedly in the puppeteer’s direction.

Only for Silah to let out a malicious laugh as she too began to flare her own mighty aura as her energies began to seep into the air around them.

And just like that the two powerful women gazed back into one another’s eyes as their auras began to consume the very chamber itself.

All the while as Vega’s shadow hands swirled around her poised body with a savage smirk making its way onto her lips.

While Silah stared back with defiant dark green eyes as her predatory smile grew even lager.

While she ran her tongue along her lips with her favorite puppet sink into combat formation behind her.

And then not an instant afterward the two immensely mighty women’s auras impacted in a stunning clash of energy.

Just before countless shadow hands spiraled forth into the air to pierce their target.

While a fleet of corpse puppets sprang forward to slaughter the invader.

And not even seconds later an explosion of chi erupted from the core of the citadel chamber.

#Azula #avatar the last airbender fanfiction #ty lee avatar #mai avatar #femslash fanfiction

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thewritingdungeon · 5 years ago

Text

A Matching Set of His & Hers Regrets: She Wishes

SUMMARY: Eris loves many things. She loves chemistry and the sciences. She loves to watch things blow up. She loves finally getting to live life on her terms. But more than anything, she loves one (1) disaster man she only knows by the code name Ronin.

If only he would realize it...

CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Clint Barton/OFC

WORD COUNT: 1,585

WARNINGS: drunken flirting/kissing (from the other person's pov)

A/N: This is a flipped-POV companion piece, aka Part Two of A Matching Set of His and Hers Regrets. Out of all the writing I've done for Clint/Eris, this is the only piece from our girl's POV. It is a slightly edited version, as it was originally written for someone who knows her backstory and real name (read: myself). However, I haven't gotten to the name reveal yet in my postings, and a couple people have requested part two, so the piece has been tweaked accordingly.

The lounge is loud, booming with the sounds of music and drunken bodies alike. Eris wants to say it's too much for her senses—still wants to be that good, modest girl her parents tried to beat into her—but in truth, she can't help but relish in the pulsing air against her skin and the knowledge that if it weren't for the prototype ear plugs she keeps in out of habit, there would be a high-pitched ringing reverberating in her skull right now.

She's not there long before some lumbering oaf comes swaggering drunkenly up to flirt with her. This is the price she pays for enjoying short shirts and even shorter shorts, but at least this way she gets to control the type of attention on her. Besides, she knows the type of typical clientele Hotel Soteria keeps, and she feels safe in her assumption that she's most likely the smartest person in the place at any given time, save for the staff.

The Oaf makes some type of joke, she wasn't paying that much attention honestly—she rarely does, her mind caught spinning on one experiment or another she's been considering the past few days—but it's funny, and just self-depreciating enough that his self-awareness makes her laugh loudly. She supposes it wouldn't be so bad to flirt with him and see where the night might take her. She deserves a night to take her mind off things.

So Eris does what she does best—well, one of the things she does best: she plays the sultry fool. It's only too easy to get the man to believe she's far more interested than she actually is. Poor guy, he's actually rather nice, if a bit overbearing and none-too-intelligent. Honestly, she's bored of him already, but Eris is intent on distracting herself. She needs to stop with all her wishful thinking, and just live in the present.

After all, Heaven is high, and the emperor is far away.

A prickle at the back of her neck tells her there's someone watching her, but it's gone the next second. And really, Eris can't bring herself to care at that point in time; she's safe so long as she's in the Hotel, and she's not so drunk so soon that she could be talked into leaving the premises.

Oaf offers to refill her drink, and she figures it's all right so long as she keeps an eye on him. They're not far from the bar and The Bartender looks out for the women whenever he can, so she's not too worried.

Then, a strong arm sneaks around her waist and steals her away into the shadows of a forgotten corridor. A heavy breath washes over the sensitive skin of her neck, and then her captor is nuzzling against the shell of her ear. And Eris melts as she hears the one voice she always hopes for.

"Hey sweetheart. Fancy meeting you here."

The whispers are husky and low, with a hard edge that makes Eris shiver and grip the arm around her stomach harder. Ronin must have seen her flirting with someone else tonight and found he didn't much care for it.

She revels in the jealousy-tinged affection from him for one moment, then two. Then, she twists around in his arms to meet glassy-eyed adoration face to face. She knows she should step back, let him get some air. She knows that he's probably not himself right now, that he's been drinking too much. Eris knows she knows this.

But then Eris sees his smile.

It's the same smile he gave her when they first met—when she introduced herself and the first words he said to her were 'you look like you're going to be trouble. I can't wait to find out what kind.' It's the same smile he gave her after their first kiss along the Italian coastline shortly after. The same one he suppresses after every kiss they've shared since. Ronin wears it openly now, though. As blinding and beautiful as she always remembers it.

She would do anything for that smile, and she knows it.

"Looked like you were in need of a more, uh, let's say stimulating conversation partner."

Ronin's never been the smoothest talker, but she thinks it's a part of his charm—so endearingly honest that Eris can't help but fall for every fumbling attempt at flirtation.

"Oh, I'm sure stimulation was exactly what was on your mind."

He hums an amused, but noncommittal noise, too distracted by the feel of her skin, if his wandering hands are any indication. She's just about to tease him some more, when Ronin does something he's never done before...

He kisses her first.

It's a brief thing, barely a graze of lips against hers. His tongue darts out to flick enticingly at her lip ring before he not-quite leans back, still a scant inch between them and his eyes locked hungrily on the way her teeth tug at the flesh of her lower lip.

She doesn't take a moment this time to revel in his look. Eris simply surges up on the tips of her toes and captures him in a kiss like she's done so many times before.

There's an eager need in the press of his lips—a desperate hunger in the way his mouth moves against hers. She can't help the moan that escapes her at the feel of him. One hand begins to roam while the other finds its way into Ronin's hair, and before she knows it she's tugging just hard enough to elicit needy whines and whimpers from him. The sounds send a thrill through her like nothing else.

Eris is far from dominating in the bedroom; she knows that about herself well enough by now. But there's something heady in knowing she can make the unflappable marksman make such sounds.

Ronin curses when she tugs again, something high and wanting that she can't bring herself to remember in the moment. It feels like her thoughts are lost in a haze of realized desires that Eris can't quite find the will to drag herself out of.

"Have I ever told you how fucking beautiful you are? Jesus Christ, the things you do to me."

And with that clearly unintended stream of words, the haze of wishful thinking clears away and reminds her of what's real.

Eris knows Ronin feels the same way about her. She's waited time and time again for his rejection, seen him turn down plenty of other pretty suitors with kind words and no care for sparing their feelings. He never does that with her. He deflects and misdirects, but never does he let her pull away once she's close enough to be within his reach.

The problem is that she's not sure he knows it.

In letting his jealousy tip his hand, Eris had thought maybe he had finally realized it himself. But now she sees that it had just been the alcohol all along.

She knew this, but she had hoped...

"You've been drinking, Francis."

It's a quiet statement—neither question nor accusation, but simple fact. Try as she might to keep the disappointment from her voice, Eris can tell from the confused hurt in his eyes at the sound of his false name that she failed.

"Yeah, and?" Ronin's voice tips precariously into petulant, which makes Eris have to suppress a smile with her next words.

"And it makes me wonder if this is something you really want to be doing." She aimed for cool and detached. Too bad she can't tell whether or not she succeeded from the snort he gives in reply.

Taking advantage of the effort she's putting in to make this entire conversation seem effortless, Ronin darts forward to steal another kiss, smirking at his victory and brushing his nose against hers even as she delivers a sharp tug and a nip as a means of telling him to behave. "Really? Of all the times to worry about whether I really want you, you choose now?"

Again, Eris aims for nonchalant, even thinks she manages to hit it this time, and she scolds herself for every second she keeps a hand in his hair, keeps herself pressed against him. She knows she should move away, divorce herself from the temptation of fantasy he currently offers her and walk away. Instead, she explains herself, knowing in the morning it won't matter.

"I just don't want the booze to be what's choosing me here. If I'm going to get you to return my feelings, then it's gonna be with you sober and realizing it."

She gives him one more bright, forced smile; presses in for one more soft kiss. Then, Eris steps out of the warm embrace of Ronin's arms and forces herself to take a step back, then another. Taking him in one more time, she can't help the curl of her lips as she takes in his face.

One more cheeky comment can't hurt, right?

"Oh yeah, and good luck getting all that black lipstick off without a mirror."

With one last wink and a laugh, Eris turns around and escapes, but not back to the lounge. As quick as she can, she makes it to the lobby and lets her face fall. Just one step at a time, back to the safety of her room. That's all she needs. Then she can fall asleep and let a brand new day greet her.

She only hopes that he'll forget this in the morning.

#clint barton #clint barton fanfiction #clint barton x oc #hawkeye #clint barton x reader #Marvel Comics #MCU #Clinton Francis Barton #clint barton x ofc #hawkeye x oc #hawkeye x reader

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ranawaytothedas · 5 years ago

Note

8. A companion teases them about their feelings

Thank you so much for this ask! It was too much fun to write! Obviously, Mathrras had to be in on this as well.

Rating - T (swearing and drinking)

Ship - Solas/F!Lavellan (pre-relationship)

Word Count: 1898

8. A companion teases them about their feelings

Going to the Tavern was not something that Tamaris had done many times since coming to Haven. It was loud, there were often too many people and Solas rarely went there. She had become his shadow in the past two months. If they were in Haven or even on the road if someone needed to find one. They only had to look for the other. He fascinated her and she intrigued him endlessly. Their conventions seemed to have no end. There were already whispers of a romance brewing but Tamaris tried to pay that little mind. Though she did little to stop them either.

She thought Solas was a handsome man, who was also one of the most intelligent men she had ever come across. Was it terrible if she was developing feelings for him? Or was it the natural course of finding someone who understood her to her very core. How could that be wrong? Mathras had been concerned about just how much time she was spending alone with Solas, which is why he had retrieved her from his cabin. He was currently locked arm in arm with her forcing her to go with him to the tavern.

“I really would much rather go back and spend my evening with Solas.” Tamaris protested softly, her hand gripping her brother’s arm tighter than it needed to be. She pulled back towards the small structure she had just left. “We were discussing the history of our people Mathras…”

Mathras was unfazed by her protest, he had seen worse from her when they were children. “You need to be social…”

“I am..” Tamaris snapped back quickly, her lips pursed in a scowl.

“With Solas and only Solas..” Mathras pointed arrogance slipping into his tone.

Tamaris stopped digging the heels of her boots into the half-frozen earth. “What is that supposed to mean… Mathras?” Her eyes were wide as she snarled at her brother shoving him.

Mathras laughed when he barely moved at his sister’s assault. “It means I know you are sweet on him and I do not approve.” His tone was hard for Tamaris to read, she could not tell if he was being serious or if he was joking with her.

Her mouth hung open for a minute in shock, her eyes wide as she muttered. “What is wrong with Solas?” Tamaris’s voice was filled with confusion as Solas had never given her a moment’s doubt that he was a good man in the time they had to know each other.

Mathras stood stoned faced for a few beats before the corners of his mouth twisted upwards and he started to chuckle deep in his chest. “You do like him! Shite… Cullen owes me an Ale.” Mathras continued to laugh as Tamaris stood sour-faced with her arms folding in front of her chest upset that her brother had all but forced her to confess her crush on Solas.

To make matters worse, the last two men who needed to learn this information were nearing as they talked amongst themselves. “Lads! I was right… I was right!” Mathras exclaimed as he strutted over to Cullen and Varric who both were looking right at Tamaris. The moment she caught the stunned, almost hurt, look on Cullen’s face. Tamaris felt her cheeks flush red and quickly moved to hide her face in her hands.

All she wanted to do was run, run straight to Solas and complain about how rotten her brother could be, but it was still the overwhelming desire to just flee the situation before things became even more awkward. “I am going to kill you in your sleep Mathras.” Tamaris mumbled into her hands before peering up to see if the men were still paying attention to her.

They were.

Cullen’s eyes were still fixed on her, his mouth hung open as he passively listened to Mathras recount the exchange a few moments before. “Then, she goes ‘What’s wrong with Solas?’.” Varric chuckled softly at the story Mathras told before patting him on the arm.

“Alright, alright… don’t scare her off now that you actually stole her away from Chuckles lets get her having a little real fun before we drive her away.” Varric said brightly before turning to Tamaris and sauntering over. “Come on Bubbles, you want a drink? Talk about all your complex feelings for Chuckles while we play a game of Wicked Grace?” He teased with a soft smile extending a large hand to her. “I promise I will only use some of it for my book…”

Tamaris peaked at him from behind her hands mumbling “I do not want to talk about Solas…”

“Fine, we will and you can listen but you can’t stand out here in the cold and snow.” The shorter man tapped his boot on the crusty snow that had compacted on the dirt path through the down. “Now you can either come willingly or I am sure we can persuade the Commander over there to pick you up and toss you over his shoulder and carry you in.” Varric glanced back at Cullen who’s cheeks blushed deep red as he hid his face behind his hands. “I mean I do believe he would toughly enjoy throwing you over his shoulder..”

Tamaris cut him off with scowl as she stormed bast the shorter man and towards the Tavern. She paused she passed Cullen and looked at him for a moment. He began to stammer. “I swear, it’s nothing of the sort…”

“LIES” Mathras yelled with a laugh as he pushed open the door allowing Tamaris to walk in. She gave him a stern glare as she pushed passed him, her hand roughly shoving him into the heavy wooden door. “Oy, da’len…”

“Do not dare ‘da’len’ me, Mathras.” She scolding sounding painfully like their late mother for a moment. “You are just horrible! You are lucky I am even staying!” There were few people in the Tavern as many scouts were out looking for any new Templar or Mage activity. Tamaris took a seat by a window, Cullen and Varric went to the bar to get their drinks.

Mathras joined his sister and for a moment the bravado faded away. He placed his hand between her shoulder blades as he sat down. Once seated he turned to her with a warm, apologetic expression. Tamaris continued to scowl. “Ir abelas da'asa'ma'lin,”

“matel'abelas,” Tamaris retorted quickly. She was about to unleash on him in their native tongue but Varric and Cullen were making their way back to the table. “Ass.” Tamaris settled as Varric set the tankard of ale in front of her.

“Now… Level with us Bubbles, you really got a thing for Chuckles or is it just you don’t like the rest of us?” Varricquired as he sat down next to Cullen who was already downing his drink.

Tamaris sighed, she knew that either she answered their questions or she was going to be hounded all night by Varric and Mathras. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced at Cullen. If the other two kept things up Cullen wouldn’t last the night. “Alright. Fine..” She started softly as she took a sip of the ale. She didn’t like the taste but she was not accustomed to discussing her feelings. “I like him, we get on better than I get on with him…” She pointed to Mathras who just shrugged as he took a drink. “He is a Dreamer like I am. I have never met anyone else like me…”

Cullen looked up, “In the Circle, they said they were rare enough, to begin with. Then, most that were heard of died or were made Tranquil before they reached adulthood…” Cullen looked down into his tankard and mumbled. “I mean… shit…” He cursed as he realized how he had come off.

Varric chuckled as he reached over and placed his hand over Tamaris. “Don’t mind him, take the boy out of the Templars…” He mused softly before patting the young woman’s hand. “So he is creepy powerful mage like you are… I see the appeal… you can do dangerous mage things together.” Tamaris pulled her hand away and scowled. “It wasn’t meant as anything mean, Bubbles… come on.”

Mathras cleared his throat as he set his now empty tankard down. “If I can be honest, the idea of you do getting involved… Mythal’s Mercy… have… “ He fakes nearly vomiting. “Sex… and you end up with child…” Mathras sat back in his chair as he folded his arms in front of his chest. “I mean… no… that would be crazy powerful magic and the world doesn’t need more of that.”

Shifting in his seat uncomfortably by the turn the conversation had taken Cullen looked away as downed the rest of his ale. “Another round? Another…. yes… “ He mumbles as he stood up and sauntered over to slowly taking time to collect himself.

Tamaris scowled she pushed her drink away from her. “There is nothing going on between Solas and I…. and you are already talking about children. What is wrong with you?” She was annoyed at the teasing and constant questions. She was uncomfortable with the fact that she wasn’t the only one with a crush. That apparently there had been other motives for inviting her out that night. She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up.

“Hey… come on… we were just playing Tamaris…” Mathras leaned forward and grabbed his sister’s hand stopping her from leaving. “We just… don’t get it. You know Cullen likes you right?”

“He is a Templar!” Tamaris exclaimed louder than she was expecting. “Why would you ever! UGH!” She snatched her hand away and stormed off leaving Cullen standing redfaced at the bar hanging his head in shame while Varric and Mathras tried to chase after her.

Tamaris was faster than she looked. By the time Mathras and Varric had exited the Tavern, Tamaris was standing at the top of the stairs already feverishly recounting the events to Solas.

Mathras groaned and tossed his head back. “They are going to get married, have babies, I mean Solas is the perfect match for my sister.”

Varric nodded beside him. “You aren’t wrong there, I mean I have seen all kinds of relationships play out but that… that is something I have yet to see my friend.” He folded his arms in front of his broad chest, settling back on the heels of his boots.

“And what would that be, oh wise Master Thethras?”

“Soulmates my friend…” Varric mused sounding far more romantic than his usual self. “Look at them, they were made for each other.” He gestured toward the pair who were standing at the top of the stairs, Solas appeared to be trying to calm Tamaris down and doing a better job of it that Mathras has ever seen. “He is the Bubbles whisper… even more than you…”

“Shut up…” Mathras snorted. “I really don’t want to think about spending the rest of my life being related by marriage to Solas…” He hung his head, he wanted to be happy in some way for Tamaris but he knew that there was never going to be a happy ending for her.

Varric reached up and clapped Mathras on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go drink your problems away…”

#inkies:tamaris #inkies:mathras #oc asks #solas x lavellan #solavellan #solavellan fanfic #solavellan fanfiction #solas/lavellan #solas/tamaris #cullen rutherford #varric tethras

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scrics · 5 years ago

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companion raynne basics, personality, and storyline choices:

her very first appearance is in the valley during the initial breach. entering with solas and varric, she helps fend off the attack but disappears as everyone is making an introduction.

the second meeting comes happenstance in the hinterlands as raynne is fighting a group of rebel mages and templars to protects some civilians. you can at this point offer to recruit her, though she will decline.

later on, in haven, she can be found speaking with solas. there is an implication they know each other. she will then mention she has reconsidered the offer to join the inquisition, finally, you can actually recruit her.

if you choose to converse with her in a more personal sphere, she comes off as aloof and largely withdrawn, though not aggressively rude. some things she will tell you once asked are:

she is indeed an elf, and though she has spent considerable time with dalish clans, does not consider herself part of that community.

at this point it is clear she is very formidable in combat, though she will admit to no formal training. her weapon preference is dual-wielding daggers, though she maintains a very front-line style as opposed to most rogues.

she was born in ferelden, though nowhere of note. the entirety of her life has been spent on the road, which translates to her skillset and personal culture. also, her accent.

when not accompanying the inquisitor directly, she operates as an outrider in conjunction with scout harding. later on, at skyhold and otherwise, she can continue this work if asked by you, as well as working with leliana and leading small strike forces, though she prefers the last option the most. often within the encampment, she can be found chatting with varric, solas, or iron bull.

while picking sides, she will go with you to either the templars or the mages, though she offers no opinion on which is preferable. you get disapproval for taking her along. if you do take her, she will confront the inquisitor about certain choices afterwards, when they next speak.

during the attack on haven, raynne fights along the front and stays to the very last as people evacuate. she is also keenly part of the search party to find the inquisitor afterwards.

once at skyhold, her personal quest is available. sort of. a letter arrives from a minor noble in orlais, marcel de gèllant, who wishes to speak to the inquisitor about the political situation in orlais, and to offer help. upon arriving, he admits that the meeting is in fact to identify a criminal amongst your ranks: raynne. it is explained that she is, in fact, an apostate mage, and further an infamous templar killer.

if raynne is not with you, gèllant goes on to explain that she has evaded capture for many years and is responsible for numerous known deaths across the continent. he assumes she has joined the inquisition to endanger more lives, as he believes her to be critically violent with unknowable motives.

you can decide to ignore his warning and leave. marcel is outraged and will cause problems later on in orlais, namely at the winter palace.

once back at skyhold, you can choose to keep raynne in the inquisition or to send her away. she will not protest if you select the latter.

you can promise to turn her over to the orlesian templars. upon returning to skyhold, the event of her capture is a combat trigger. she will not allow herself to be taken alive, unless your approval is high enough, in which case the inquisitor can ask her to go peacefully towards the end of the fight. if your approval is low, you will end up killing her during the interaction.

if raynne is with you while meeting gèllant, she will interject her version of events. while she does not deny the claims, her insistence is that she worked to defend innocent lives, both from templars and dangerous mages. it was not done for anything beyond survival, both of herself and people who were being preyed upon.

you can decide to keep her with the inquisition. gèllant will once again object, though this time he and his guard will attack, outraged.

you can attempt to simply send raynne away. gèllant still objects though you can hold him off long enough for her to escape.

you can surrender raynne to the templars. this will also trigger a combat scenario unless the inquisitor is romancing her. you can ask her to go peacefully and she will comply. if she is not romanced, or if your approval with her is low, this altercation will likewise end up killing her.

congratulations, raynne is now at her full power! while an extremely formidable combatant before, with her now public magics she is pressed into an even more deadly tier of engagement. the focus of her studies is in fade/rift and force magic, all of which are tooled to enhance her physical skillset; no longer dual-wielding, she now favours one blade and a free hand for magic, as she continues to act as a vanguard in engagements. and she’s impossibly fast, thanks to veil-warping and misty steps, barriers, etc., allowing her to go toe-to-toe with any manner of foes. this is how she became such an infamous templar/mage hunter tbh.

upon the inquisitor’s request, she can keep her magic under wraps and continue fighting as a simple rogue. while she doesn’t love the prospect, she fully understands the choice and will agree.

here lies the abyss; from the inception, raynne is appalled at the warden’s plans. during the battle, she is certainly at the angriest anyone within the company has seen her before, though it remains her cool, lethal version of fury. if taken into the fade with the inquisitor, her initial reaction is not as shocked as it might be; she expresses that the fade is very familiar to her, though she has never been physically here before, of course. helping the party navigate, she seems confused by the actions of the ‘spirits’ helping them, though goes along with everything up until the end.

while making your escape, raynne will offer to stay behind in place of hawke or the other warden. if solas is also in the party, he will protest immediately and say something in elvhen.

if you choose to leave her, her final words are: ‘i’ll be fine, inquisitor.’ raynne greatly approves.

if you refuse to let her stay in the fade so everyone can get away, raynne greatly disapproves.

she does not approve of making allies of the wardens initially, but later on, will concede that this was fueled by anger and mistrust. she will admit to have close relations with a warden years past, and to have worked alongside many of them during the blight, and does believe them to be valuable assets to the inquisition. her approval levels out again.

raynne greatly approves of executing erimond.

wicked eyes and wicked heart; raynne does not want to come to the winter palace. she insists it is not her area, and likewise dangerous to bring her into court there. nevertheless, you can bring her along. her formal wear is minimal, and she complains.

if you left gèllant alive, he will be at the party. he is working to spread rumours about the inquisition harbouring murderers and apostates, which will negatively affect your dealings to some degree.

gaspard is her choice to be crowned, though she admits to having little stock in the whole affair. she seems distracted and largely hostile for most of the night. given her bad reception in the crowds, it’s hardly surprising.

if neither her or solas are romanced, there is a very brief glimpse of them dancing together in the courtyard during the events.

about halfway through the evening, raynne disappears. she can be found out behind some of the buildings in the courtyard, having a hushed but intense conversation with someone — see: @cennan. the inquisitor can at this point eavesdrop on the conversation or butt in.

if they eavesdrop, it comes quickly apparent that the mysterious man is raynne’s brother. their tense exchange alludes to him presuming her dead, and to additional problems he is having with his family in the free marches. before long, raynne will twitch that they are being spied on and call you out.

if you simply butt in, or when you are called out to, raynne will be annoyed that you are here at all. a terse disclosure does confirm that this is her half-brother, iollan, and that he came here partially in looking for the inquisition. he wishes to lend aid from his noble family in the marches, as he is the eldest and sole holder of all their estates, and to personally volunteer in a capacity as you see fit. you can at this point recruit him.

if you do, raynne leaves the inquisition immediately. she does not even go back to pick up any of her possessions at skyhold.

what pride had wrought; raynne greatly approves of allying with the ancient elves, though she does not do much to help persuade abelas. upon finding the well of sorrows, and hearing the warning from him, she insists on drinking from it herself. morrigan’s counter-offer is met with glacial anger, and raynne insists that it would be immoral and vain to let her drink.

with raynne in your party, she will attempt to drink while everyone is arguing. the only way to stop this is to physically get between her and the well, or (if your approval is high enough) to yell at her.

if the inquisitor drinks from the well, raynne is furious. immense disapproval. she sees it as reckless and prideful.

if morrigan is allowed to drink, the same effect, multiplied by the fact that she does not trust morrigan in this capacity.

if she is allowed to drink, raynne approves slightly. she expresses her reasoning in doing it herself in that she does not trust any of the other mages with the effects, and that as the only elf, it makes sense.

if solas is in the party, he and raynne have a quick exchange in elvhen at this choice. he is clearly affronted by this decision.

if raynne is not in the party, she greatly disproves if either morrigan or the inquisitor drinking from the well.

doom upon all the world; if raynne did not drink from the well, she simply joins you in the final battle. in the end, with the orb destroyed, she shares a small moment with solas after he discovers the fractured orb, though it is distant and hard to decipher by you as an onlooker.

if raynne did drink from the well, she gains the powers morrigan would have had: turning into a high dragon. though it is unclear if this is permanent or a granted dearth of mythal’s wishes, she does indeed fight corypheus’ archdemon and kill it during the ensuing battle. this leaves her heavily injured after the whole ordeal, along with mentally and physically drained from the experience, but she is pleased to have won. good job team.

as they celebrate in skyhold at the end, she informs the inquisitor she will be leaving. if wounded, it’s as soon as possible, otherwise, she passes along farewells before riding off, giving little explanation beyond having more work to do.

if her approval is low, she will offer no goodbyes and simple ride off.

if she is romanced, she can be persuaded to stay with the inquisition, though in the following year she does depart anyway. the lack of direction in their purpose now, as well as dealing with the voices of the well (if applicable) drive her back out into the world in search of something ‘worth doing.’

trespasser; once again we meet raynne by chance along the paths of the deep road. if she left amicably, she rejoins the party now to help pursue the qunari and the eluvian, just like old times. she admits to having been tracking a certain network of spies for some time, which led her here, though she is pleased by this trick of fate you have all met again.

if she left unfavourably, you can attempt to make up now. if successful, she reluctantly joins you. if unsuccessful, she proceeds to break away and race you to the eluvian for her own purposes.

or you can simply attack her. she is quite powerful now though, and while she may not defeat you, she will manage to get away and disappear completely.

if you left raynne in the fade during the adamant siege, you might get to see her again now — with solas, after you come to confront him.

if your approval was high enough when she was left in the fade, raynne now appears at the end of your conversation with solas, after his big reveal, and has little to offer unless you question her. allegedly she survived on her own in the fade for some time, though it is clear that it has driven her to a far more frenetic and unreadable state than she was ever in before. though their relationship is unclear, her and solas seem to have some companionship. she clearly means to agree with his plans for the future, whatever they hold.

if you left her in the fade with low approval, she is not there now. if asked though, solas will vaguely confirm that raynne is still alive, to some degree.

if for some reason you romanced her and left her in the fade, she will appear after solas’ reveal and come to the inquisitor. she cannot be convinced to abandon this path she is on, but she will apologize.

basically just don’t ever recruit raynne like it’s not worth the headache

#HC.#the outstanding chronicles of raynne being as rude as possibly #in all directions at once #while still being frustratingly useful #anyway this is like 2k words you #do not have to read all of it #i meant for it to be #way shorter.. mhm

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xtolovers · 5 years ago

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The Anvil

Pairing: Aloy x Erend Rating: M ( albeit in later chapters) Warnings: Graphic Mentions of Violence, slight mentions of alcoholism AO3 / Fanfiction.net

Uncomfortable

“I can’t move troops to the border without provoking the Oseram. But I could send a few Vanguardsmen… and perhaps an exceptionally gifted Nora as well?” Erend suppresses a growl as he recalls Avad’s words from the day before. If he’s honest, it’s less the words — Aloy certainly deserves the praise— but the look and step forward that accompanied them. He doesn’t know if the rumors about Avad and Ersa are true, and fire and spit, he doesn’t want to think about it, but even if they aren’t, he still can think of a good dozen reasons why the Kings praise rubs him entirely the wrong way. Sure, one of them might be his… fondness for Aloy, he will admit as much, but there is a reason he thought Ersa and Aloy will get along well- both of them are free. And Avad might be likened to the sun all day and all night, but he is tethered to his throne and to his people. So why that damned look? “So cap, is she really as pretty as they say?” Irritation turns to anger as Erend turns away from where his eyes are searching the bridge, ready to give Andrik a good punch.

“Ouch!” As he turns he sees that Karan has beat him to it: Andrik is rubbing the back of his head with an insulted look on his face while his second-in-command crosses his arms. “What matters is if she’s as proficient as they say. Our goal is to get Ersa back, not to help you with one of your conquests,” Karan snaps. Erend gives him an appreciative nod. The older man was— is one of Ersas most trusted companions, and Erend knows he can count on him. In the past two weeks that he’s been staggering around trying to fill Ersa’s shoes, Karan has helped him more than once, and he is grateful for him, even if his competence makes Erend feel even more useless. Andrik shrugs, not bothered. “A guy can ask, can’t he?” “A guy can remember that Aloy is the only reason we even know Ersa could still be alive, so a guy would do better to shut up,” Erend barks. He knows he’s being hypocritical, because her looks were the first thing he himself had noticed, and Andrik hasn’t even met her. But back then his sisters life hadn’t been on the line and he hadn’t seen what Aloy was capable of. Andrik is a good guy, but his comment makes Erend grit his teeth. His shoulders feel as if they’re made of steel with all the tension they’ve been holding in the last weeks, and he knows that spending the next week watching Aloy dodge Andrik’s flirting will thoroughly exhaust his patience. He needs her to find Ersa, and distracting her is off limits. He willfully pushes down the tiny part of his brain that thinks that that’s only half of the reason he wants Andrik to keep his thoughts to himself. “I thought we were leaving at dawn. Where is she?” Andrik asks as he’s leaning himself back against a bridge post. “At first light is what we agreed upon, I believe,”a voice rings out behind him. Andrik snaps upright, and Erend and his men turn towards the path next to the bridge, Aloy crosses the last few steps of distance between them, eyebrow raised defiantly, a bunch of wild ember in her hand. “She was here then, but because the rest of you weren’t here, I went down to the river and gathered some herbs in preparation.” Andrik opens his mouth to reply, and that can’t mean anything good, but before he can form the words, Karan steps forward and turns to Aloy, his hammer conveniently swinging just so that it slightly hits Andrik in the back of his head. “Apologies, m’am. We ought to have been here sooner, there is no time to lose.” Erend watches Aloy’s eyes linger on Karan’s hammer for a second, the slightest smirk on her lips, before she scowls and shakes her head. “My name is Aloy, no need to call me anything else.” With a gratuitous motion that Erend couldn’t pull off if he wanted to, Karan bows his head. “ Karan. At your service, Aloy.” Then he looks expectantly to Erend, who feels like a complete ass because he was too slow again. Too slow to call Andrik to order, too late to gather his men, too late to apologize. Karan’s meaningful look feels like a gesture of pity, even though Erend knows it’s one of respect. Respect you haven’t earned. He clears his throat. “Apologies, Aloy. Karan here is my second-in-command. This bung over here is Andrik, these two are Beren and Enoch — they’re brothers — and this is Oren.” Each of his men nod to her as he calls their names, and Erend feels that the introduction is far more lackluster than it ought to be for a Vanguard strike team, but for the life of him, he can’t recall what Ersa used to say. He’d have to ask her. This time, he’d learn from her as much as he could. Aloy returns their nods, plainly studying each of them for a brief second. At the end, her eyes meet his, searching, and Erend knows what she’s looking for. He meets her gaze steadily. After a second, the green in her eyes becomes the tiniest bit warmer, and she nods, apparently pacified.

“Then let’s go.” She strides right through them and presses the wild ember against Andrik’s chest without any further comment. Beren and Enoch snicker as he starts to tie the bundle to his sack where it can dry. His men start following her up the ridge, towards the way that will lead them north to Pitchcliff, and Andrik shoulders his sack before he grins. “So she is pretty.” This time, Erend is not too late. Karan’s and his hand smack Andriks head exactly at the same time.

About an hour past noon Aloy looks over her shoulder and let’s herself fall back next to him. Until then, she had steadily led the group, always on the lookout, only slowing when she was engaging her focus. His men had given her some distance— by Erend’s orders. They’re good men, and he’d easily die for each of them, but Erend remembers how uncomfortable and overwhelmed she had looked back in Mother’s Heart during the celebrations. Aloy wasn’t used to being surrounded by people, and his men weren’t exactly considerate. Since yesterday when he’d broken the news to them, all of them had been gripped by a sense of restlessness and a thirst for revenge, and he was too grateful for her help to make her uncomfortable. “There’s a small valley between those mountains up ahead where we can rest for a bit. Unless you want to push ahead.” Erend shakes his head with a laugh. “ Something you never do, I’m sure. Do you ever eat?” “Sometimes,” she shrugs, but the corner of her mouth twitches. He takes a look around at his men. If he asked, they’d march all the way to Pitchcliff without a stop or complaint, but Erend can see that the hours on the road have taken their toll. “Let’s rest.” Aloy nods and scans the area around them, apparently content with her findings. She starts walking faster again, and Erend has to push down the urge to follow. Instead, Karan slips next to her, and he can see her tense up for a moment. This was exactly what he didn’t want. “If I might ask, what does this… device show you, Aloy?” Erend sees her contemplate for a second, and then her shoulders drop and she starts answering him. After a second of contemplating it, Erend decides against interceding. “Why is Karan allowed to talk to her and I’m not?” Andrik asks behind Erend’s right ear. “Because Karan can behave himself, and you’ve already insulted her once today,” Erend growls back. Andrik mumbles something but falls silent as he sees Erend’s face. Up ahead, Karan and Aloy are chatting amiably, laughing now and then. He should be happy that she’s getting along with someone— their trip could last at least two weeks after all— but it doesn’t sit right with him. Aloy and Karan are chuckling ahead of him, and Erend’s teeth grind together. He really hopes he isn’t seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. Karan is a good man, but he’s twice her age. But he can see why, with the force of nature that she is, that wouldn’t stop somebody. Yesterday when she arrived at the palace she was suddenly clad in Blazon Armor that barred her midriff and clung to her body, and the only thing that kept his mind on the task and his eyes from Aloy’s navel was the thought of Ersa suffering somewhere in a dark dungeon. Now that she was walking ahead of him, hips swaying slightly with each step and the sun on the very well defined muscles of her back and her legs, Erend was sure he’d be sore tomorrow with the effort it took not to stare. Embarrassingly, he was doing a poor job of it, catching himself a couple of times, or at others, hearing Beren’s snicker behind him. But fire and spit, Andrik is right— she is pretty. Who could blame Karan for noticing? Sure, they are talking about tracking techniques now, and all Erend sees is respectful camaraderie between two travel companions, but still. Karan is, despite his years, a damn good looking bastard. The sun and the fights have done their fair share to cover his face with wrinkles and scars, but his skin is tanned from the sun, his hair fair and golden, even if there is the odd white strand showing now and then. For an Oseram, he’s unusually slim, not as stocky as the rest of them, but muscular enough to make up for it. Erend has visited enough taverns with him to see women fawn over him and his stupid blue eyes, a lot of them not much older than Aloy. Bastard. By the time they reach the valley and start to make camp, Erend is thoroughly annoyed. “Do you mind clearing the perimeter?” He turns to Aloy, who frowns for a second, but shrugs in the end and jogs to the other side of the valley, scanning the surroundings. Before Karan can get any ideas, Erend turns to him and asks him to start distributing the food, something that usually is Oren’s task. Karan studies him for a moment and he can see him barely suppress a smirk as he nods and turns around to comply. “Of course, Captain.” He’s sure he’s hearing Beren and Enoch chuckle behind him, and Erend turns away to study the landscape as he feels himself blush. In a week he’ll have Ersa back, and she can wear her own damned boots again so that he doesn’t have to stumble around in them and feel like a gods-damned fool. Aloy comes back to them without any news, and an awkward silence settles over their group as they all silently bow over their lunch. He can feel her eyes on him a few times, searching, probing, but she doesn’t say anything. Her shoulders are stiff again. They rest for an hour, and then they continue their track the same way they have so far, with Aloy slipping to the front, leading them north. Mostly they make good time. The further they get from Meridian, the more machines they see, usually further away. At some point they happen upon a small herd of tramplers, and Erend has to grin as his men disbelievingly watch while Aloy takes down two of them by herself while the Vanguard collectively handles the other two. As they bring down the last one, she pushes her arm in all the way to the shoulder and rips out the machine’s heart with a well practiced twist of the hand. His men step back and let her do the looting— it’s easy to see she’s far better at it. Despite their protest, Aloy disperses the parts between the men and herself. Above them the sun crawls their way over the sky as they slowly make their way north, the men chatting amongst themselves as Aloy strides ahead. Now and then he can see her scanning, and Erend has the feeling she is searching for something. Once she startles, only to sink down disappointed, and he hears her mumble Grazers. She leads them around the herd without disturbing it. Several times, when he’s not busy thinking about Ersa or wishing for a drink, Erend considers going up to her and striking up a conversation, but he has no idea what to say, and he’s afraid to make an ass of himself again, so he leaves her be. They decide to make camp at a river bend next to a cliff face. He sees Aloy scan their surroundings. “So what is it this time? Machines to take down, or killers to track?” he asks as he steps next to her, and his stupid quip is rewarded with the first genuine smile he’s seen on her face all day. “No machines except a few Glinthawks south of here, but they don’t worry me,” she points in the direction, but there’s just the side of the cliff. It takes him a second to realize that apparently, she can also see through mountains with her focus. “ There are some goose downstream however.” With that she draws her bow and skips over some rocks in the water. Within moments she is on the other side of the river and disappears into the tall grass, her red hair blending effortlessly with the color of the stalks. Erend shakes his head and turns around to the camp. With a pang of guilt he can see that Karan has already delegated all necessary tasks, and is now watching him. He takes a few steps to Erend’s side, and then looks over to the spot where Aloy has vanished. “She seems as capable as you have said.” “I have the feeling I’ve only seen a fraction of what she’s capable of,” he replies, and Karan gives him a look that makes him blush the faintest bit. Erend looks away. Because Karan is a bigger man then he, he let’s it go. “She seems uncomfortable.” Defensiveness raises the hairs on his back. “ Of course she’d be. She was outcast from her tribe her whole life, and alone most of the time afterward. A rowdy, loud group of Oseram would make her uncomfortable, that’s why I told them to behave.” Karan was silent for a moment, nodding slightly to himself. “That… might be true. But a rowdy, loud group of Oseram who don’t talk to her might be even more uncomfortable for someone who was shunned her whole life.” Karan looks at him, his eyebrows the slightest bit raised, and Erend’s stomach sinks. He thinks of Karan asking her questions earlier, and the way Erend rewarded that with giving him an unnecessary task to occupy him. “Shit.” Karan chuckles and pats his shoulder, a gesture that feels undeserved. “ You tried.” “And failed,” Erend mumbles as Karan retreats back towards the rest of their group. His men are setting up the tents for the night, and after he has pitched his own, Aloy is still nowhere to be seen. She’s left her pack with them, so he gets started on hers in an effort to make up for it. Behind him, Beren and Enoch are talking about Aloy’s victory over the tramplers, and he decides he has to do something. “Listen lads… I think you can ease up on her now,” he starts, but as he sees Andrik’s eyes light up, he amends: “ A little. Don’t wanna give her culture shock now, do we? Doesn’t mean you can’t talk to her, though. Respectfully.” Karan gives him a small nod, but Erend knows he’s chickened out again. There’s rustling behind him and Aloy appears out of the brushes, carrying a bulk of Ridgewood and two turkeys. As she starts to settle on the ground to pluck them, Oren makes his way over to her. “Let me handle those. You did the catchin’, I do the cookin’.”Oren is a big mountain of a man, huge even for Oseram standards, but ironically one of the gentlest of the Vanguard. At his low-pitched, rumbling request, Aloy hesitates for a second, always assessing and analyzing the situation, but then she smiles and hands them over. “Never been much of a cook myself, anyway.” “But an excellent huntress, I can see. Straight through the head.” “Can’t afford to waste the meat when you’re the only one feeding yourself.” “And good training for aiming at anything with even bigger heads.” She laughs then. “That, too.” As Oren sits down to take care of the birds, Aloy looks over to him and sees his progress on her tent. “You didn’t have to do that.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Eh, had nothing better to do, and you were already making yourself useful, so I thought I should do the same.” Her face is hard to read, but she nods and touches his shoulder lightly before she takes the straps out of his hands. The spot on his arm stays warm for a long while. This rest is different then the first. Not exuberant— it can’t be, given the cause of their mission— and not fully comfortable yet, but not as awkward as the first. When the odd lull in conversation happens, it’s simply because they don’t know each other well enough yet. But this, finally, is something Erend is good at. Rambling, telling jokes, making people comfortable. So he does. Little stories about failed flirting attempts— none of them his stories, of course— or Vanguard mishaps, and soon he has her laughing, has all of them laughing. It doesn’t take them long to make short work of the two birds Oren has expertly prepared, and the sky turns from red to purple to blue. Around them, the crickets start their songs, signaling the evenings arrival. “ I can take last watch, I don’t mind getting up early,” Karan offers, and Oren volunteers to join him. “I’m not tired yet, I’ll take first, then,” Aloy says. Across from him, he can see two devilish glints flash in Andrik and Beren’s eyes, albeit of a different kind. Before Andrik can speak up, Beren steps on his foot. “Andrik and I can take middle, he still has to finish telling me about this girl he’s met and her brother, who is apparently a very interesting prospect for one lonely Oseram Vanguard, warrior and hero. “ He pounds his chest with a laugh, and replaces it with the stupidest, most calculated look of fake pondering as he turns to his brother. “Enoch, you’re probably tired right? You haven’t marched this long in a while, with your busted foot.” Enoch, who had twisted his ankle months ago, makes no point of concealing his grin as he yawns deeply, and Erend’s scalp starts tingling. Bastards. “Brother, I am surprised I’m still awake right now. You know, I really need to go to bed. So sorry I can’t take a shift today.” “No no, we need you strong tomorrow. Cap’ can take the first shift, and then we’re all set up, right, Cap?” Steel to his bones, he’s going to strangle them. It doesn’t take long for them to disappear into their tents, and silence settles around the camp. Aloy busies herself with the Ridgewood she has gathered earlier and starts making arrows. Erend tends to the fire, trying to come up with something to say, but she beats him to it. “How are you doing?” Her eyes are on him, appraising.

“Haven’t had a drink in nearly a week, so could be better. It helps that I don’t have to mourn Ersa now, but the worry isn’t exactly

better.

”

“

You didn’t eat a lot.”

“Eh, I’ll eat better once we have her back, and once I can have an ale with it. Before that, my stomach is denying me its work.”

The scowl is back on her face. “Are you in pain?”

“Nah, just… queasy. Happens to the best of us, right?” The worried line between her eyebrows is back and he just can’t have that. “ It

does

happen to you, right?”, he quips, and Aloy rolls her eyes.

“Put some water on, I’ll be back in a second.”

Without further warning she slips away into the darkness, silent and swift like a Stalker. Because he has the feeling that protest is futile, he complies and puts on of the pots back on the fire, and fills it with water.

Two minutes later, Aloy reappears silently next to him, some kind of dark purple root in her hands, dripping with water.

“Ochrebloom root. The tea will help your stomach.”

He watches her slip a small knife from a leather strap on her boot, using it to peel and slice the root before she puts it into two cups, a treacherous warmth spreading in his chest.

“Thank you,” he murmurs as she hands him the tea. Silence falls over them while they both sip carefully.

She stares into her cup, her thumb absentmindedly tracing its rim, and Erend feels guilty.

Time to man up, Erend.

#hzd #ereloy #aloy #erend #aloyxerend #erendxaloy #the anvil #hzd fic

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mermaid-of-the-valley · 6 years ago

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Conflict of Interest - Prinxiety

Imperial was not what you would call an ordinary villain. His goals tended to shift based on how he was feeling that day. Sometimes it was a bank robbery, (Because Virgil had been eyeing this one particular telescope but had gone without to keep up with the rent) other times it was straight up terrorizing a specific police station, (Because they refuse to acknowledge that more than half of their collars were made by Nebulous.) and occasionally he just wanted a little respect. If that meant he had to stop traffic and enthrall some entertainment against their will, oh well. (Maybe he’d come out to play this time?) There were however, a few instances where he didn’t have to decide what to do, and that was usually when one of his ‘friends’ invited him out for some grandiose scheme. It gave him a distraction whenever his little Reign-Storm (Ship Name/Pun intended) had to leave the city for some mission or another.

That’s how he found himself in the headquarters for the Alliance of the Malicious. It was an okay place, but the décor left a lot to be desired. Honestly would it kill anyone to put a good sofa somewhere? Maybe some drapes?

“You’re gonna Hate this, O!” His falsifying companion chuckled as he led him towards the laboratory. Stratagem had claimed such things before in his odd reversing way, but rarely did his plans come to fruition. “This isn’t exactly what we need to cripple the Union.”

Roman yawned into the back of his hand. “Look, S. We’ve been over this before, Logos detects everything you send their way. Doesn’t matter the virus, he always vaporizes it before it does any damage.”

“What if it was a digital bug?” He grinned.

The regal man raised an eyebrow and Stratagem opened the doors. He gestured in a dramatic fashion Imperial couldn’t help but appreciate. As they stepped in Roman’s gaze was immediately drawn to a cylindrical capsule against the back wall. His gold eyes went wide, and his ally was delighted. “Surprise! Can’t you believe it? Animus caught him off guard while the others were trying to contain an explosion provided by yours truly!”

He continued to brag as they walked further into the room. His voice buzzed away as Roman’s vision zeroed in on the black draped hero in the container. Nebulous was completely out, resting haphazardly against the side of the tube with a slightly rusty smear that seemed to be sourced at his forehead. He was breathing, thank God, but that did little to alleviate the villain’s concerns. He knelt down to be eye-level with his oil-slick adversary. His head tilted curiously. ‘He looks so peaceful.’

His irises faded to their natural brown and he frowned at the bizarre thought. Where had that come from? Nebul-Virgil was clearly hurt. ‘But I usually fall asleep first, and he wakes up before me, so I barely get to see this.’ He reached out and tapped the glass a few times with his knuckle. Virgil stirred, but didn’t completely wake.

Stratagem’s voice filtered back in. “So, we won’t need you to Compel him to act as our eyes and ears subconsciously.”

“What?” Roman stammered intelligently. The liar grimaced.

“Compel him? To be our spy? Have you heard anything I’ve said, Imperial? He’ll be our bug, and he won’t even know when he’s betraying them, so none of the others will sense it.”

Roman scratched at his face. “Yeah, I got that part,” He lied. “Just a… funny story there. I don’t… think I can.”

“What?!” He and Stratagem flinched at the sheer rage pouring off of Animus as he stormed in. His arm seemed to have picked up something resembling a black brand since he’d last visited. Roman had a good idea of where it came from. “What kind of bullshit excuse is that? Your damn power is demanding obedience! What is it too Subtle for you, theater brat?” Gold flooded his vision again.

Imperial, thoroughly offended, huffed a breath through his nose. “It’s not that easy, you wrathful brute! Little fact about heroes, their minds work differently to accommodate powers. It takes a lot of effort!”

“You gotta know how it works by now though! Guy runs in your territory!”

The flamboyant man stood up to tower over his surly ally. “Then don’t you think I would have tried the brainwashing by now? He doesn’t-”

A tired groan broke through their shouting match and all attention was redirected to the small captive in the glass. Nebulous was blinking slowly, trying to clear the haze from his eyes and look around at the same time. What none of the villains expected was the almost immediate fight reflex that erupted from the hero.

With barely a minute’s pause from rejoining the conscious world, Nebulous threw his body weight into the walls of his containment and then began beating them with dark matter reinforced gauntlets. Had the space not been secured to the floor and ceiling, it likely would have shaken out of its restraints. However, despite this intimidating effort, it was plain to see how little difference it made to his prison. Pieces of his hastily shaped bracers chipped off and dissolved back into vapor.

Stratagem choked out a relieved laugh. “Ha! Totally knew he couldn’t get out.” Animus grimaced at the shaky comment. Imperial simply watched until the adrenaline began to seep from his love’s frame and he was eventually forced back down out of exhaustion.

Their choleric member drew in to the glass. “If he’s useless as a spy, I can always snap him in half.”

“Yeah, because that worked so well the last time.” Stratagem mumbled to himself. He skittered back at the angry glare directed his way. Nebulous had enough gall left to jerk his head up in a “Try it, I dare you!” fashion.

Imperial decided that now was as good a time as any to try and deescalate things. “Fiiiiiiine!” He groused. “If it will get me out of here faster I’ll give it a shot.” He threw his arms out like a true showman. “Those of you with weak constitutions may wish to exit the arena now!” He proclaimed theatrically.

Animus glared intently at their captive before retreating from the lab. “I just don’t want to give you any ideas.” Animus had always been mistrustful of anyone with mental manipulation abilities regardless of their affiliation, Roman was not exempt nor surprised at his avoidance.

Stratagem leaned back against a medical table to observe. It did not go unnoticed however, when he put in a pair of earplugs. The royal had to give him props for preparedness.

The charismatic king swaggered over in a most “intimidating” manner… and promptly leaned against the capsule like stereotypical, high school jock would a locker. “Hi.”

He thought he looked quite charming but Nebulous, no wait, that expression was very Virgil. Virgil raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Who am I dealing with right now?” His countenance seemed to ask.

Imperial let his eyes glitter similarly to the way they always did when he was using his powers. It was only fair. The hero immediately closed his eyes and directed his face towards the floor. His breathing had audibly picked up.

“Relax.”

The wave hit him before Nebulous could even process the idea of covering his ears. They both felt the shift in atmosphere. A connecting thread trying to solidify between them.

It was an interesting sensation, put lightly. Imperial had passively attempted this before, once when he met Virgil and rarely when he wanted something from him. Such efforts always failed. Until Virgil admitted his proclivity for heroics Roman had been concerned that he was losing his touch.

But now he was surrounded by mist that swirled with shades of lilac and indigo, all at once it welcomed and rebuffed him. Somewhere in this tempestuous, spinning mass he could sense the core of his lover. He focused on calming the hero, the air grew thinner in response and he briefly looked out to the physical space. Nebulous’ breaths were slowing peaceably. Certainly, once his husband listened he’d realize-

He ran headfirst into a hastily constructed wall.

The villain was knocked out of the mindscape and to the floor of the lab by the sheer psychic backlash. Roman blinked in shock and then catapulted himself up onto his knees. Stratagem was eyeing him in confusion.

Roman waved him off in irritation and then redirected his focus again. The look on Nebulous face was one of determined sleepiness. Lover and adversary warred in his mind for a moment before he opened his mouth. “Would you just Listen to me?!”

The hoarse whisper cracked at the barrier. Virgil’s energy jerked back in response, the mist outside his mental safe haven stilled obediently. Roman took a deep breath and softened his tone. “You need to Trust me, V.”

An inquisitive pulse brushed his thoughts. Roman imagined it was asking: What would happen if he let this go? Was he trusting his astral self to the machinations of a villain or the tender care of his soulmate?

“I won’t let them hurt you, Virgil.” He heard a ringing protest. “Or your friends.” He muttered, projecting his promise and appeal at the barrier. He let it rest against the fissure and waited for Virgil to decide.

A pregnant pause and then the wall became pliable, bending around their connection. It didn’t fall, but the thread was permitted to sink through.

Imperial stepped back from the glass and gestured for Stratagem to remove the ear plugs. “That’s the best I can do. He’s under as far as I can get him, so tell him whatever.” His husband was staring straight ahead, the slightest, golden discoloration emanating from his pupil and bleeding out into the natural purple.

The other villain moved forward.

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

When Virgil woke up he was in the Union of Heroes HQ. Specifically, its medical bay. And hovering over him in his familiar fatherly fashion was Patriarch.

The empath’s expression melted from concerned focus to relief. “Hey, Kiddo. You with us?” It was then that Virgil became aware of the hands on either one of his temples.

He opened his mouth to reassure the man, but the words wouldn’t come. He coughed a few times as Patriarch pulled away and returned moments later with a glass. His mask dissolved, and he took a sip of the offered water. “What-” He swallowed against the coarse feeling in his throat. “What happened?”

“We were kinda hoping you could fill in those blanks, Neb. You turned up looking like you’d seen a ghost and then just collapsed. We were worried sick!”

“There was an explosion.” He started haltingly. “You and Logos ran to look for injured civilians and then…” He was suddenly hit with a monstrous headache. Virgil gripped his skull with a hiss, his drink completely ignored as it connected loudly with the floor.

“Kiddo!” His friend immediately replaced his palms against Virgil’s temples, channeling any soothing impulses he was able to maintain to his dark, strange son. “Focus on my voice,” He took a slow breath. “We cleared the area, no one was injured, but Logos found an incendiary device off main street. By the time we realized you hadn’t followed us, you were gone.”

Virgil trained his eyes on the tiled ceiling. “I …might have hit my head.” His friend’s brows pinched in concern. Virgil lightly batted his hands away. “It’s cool, Pat. I’m fine.” He hoped so anyway.

Patriarch wasn’t assured. “I think you should go home.”

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

He did.

There had been a little more back and forth, but after his pain started to mount a new assault of demanding twinges, he decided that Pat had a point. He’d sent a text to Roman, telling him that he’d be getting back earlier than expected and received a barrage of smile and heart emojis in response.

“The absolute dork.” He huffed to himself, slipping through a window into the hall. As always, his uniform fizzled and dissolved around him, though now the process was slow and jerky with Virgil’s pained state. A few sleeves even tumbled after him like ribbons on a windy day before falling apart too much to animate, like the material believed it was still needed.

The cold air from outside was replaced with a pleasantly creeping warmth, gradually chasing away his shivers. The whole house smelled like garlic and oregano, and even from where he stood the sound of liquid bubbling was palpable. Roman must have decided to make a romantic dinner.

In defiance of his headache, Virgil marched over to the kitchen and peeked in the doorway just as his husband was drawing out the garlic bread from the oven.

He turned immediately. “Mi alma, you’ve returned to me!” The oven door was left worryingly ajar as he strode to the hero with an undaunted grin, scooped him up and twirled him.

Virgil wriggled an arm free and pressed against Roman’s chest to stop the motion. “Ow, Roman please. I love you, but I’m hardly in the right sorts for spinning.” He was mercifully deposited back on solid ground.

“My poor lover, what have you been up to that I cannot sweep you off your feet?!” The royal man’s eyes weighed heavily on the temple space Virgil brushed with his fingertips. “Are you hurt?”

The rumble behind his words had the other jumping to reassure. “No, it’s nothing! Just a headache, Ro. It’ll go away with a little rest.”

A disbelieving eyebrow arched. “Since when have you ever rested long enough for that?”

Virgil directed his eyeline past the man’s shoulder. “Your sauce is about to boil over.”

The noise that slipped the regal one’s lips could generously be called a shriek as he scampered back to the stove pot to save his precious supper. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?!” The burner went black and the oven door was nudged closed with the heel of a shoe. This left Roman balancing for a second rather like a young ballerina that was still getting the hang of pointe.

For the first time that night Virgil’s face cracked into a sincere smile, the pain became less noticeable.

The chortling called to Roman who answered with his own inviting smirk. “At least join me for dinner before you climb into your crypt?”

Though his first impulse was to deny, that persistent tugging in his brain cropped up again. Thankfully, less intense this time.

The supposition was that if he really wanted to, he could go, but the longer he looked at Roman the less inclined he was to really fight this battle. “Alright, I’ll let you have this one.” He fell heavily into a chair and folded his upper half over the table. Roman set to work double time and Virgil’s eyes slipped closed to the tinks and sizzles of his husband’s cooking.

He must have dozed off because at some point he felt fingers ruffling through his hair and a hot plate near his arm.

“Stormcloud?”

“Hmm?” He lifted his head to observe the small spaghetti serving and slice of garlic bread presented to him.

“Just enough that you don’t wake up in the middle of the night hungry.”

It was slow going, but eventually both of them finished their meals. Roman opted to clean up alone so that Virgil could go to sleep that much sooner. However, when he went to join his beloved, he found him fighting not to drop off without him.

The hero blinked languidly, hair askew and one hand gripping the corner of his pillow. Roman slid under the covers and curled around his smaller partner. He held him like a precious treasure and Virgil let himself be held.

“Goodnight, my love.” He crooned.

And Virgil, perhaps consciously, perhaps not, whispered: “Goodnight, my king.”

Roman’s eyes glittered in the dark.

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

A.N. In case it wasn’t totally clear, Roman’s comment about a super’s mind working differently to accommodate for their powers applies to him as well. There’s just a bit more overlap because of the on/off nature of his abilities. Most everyone else has some aspect of their powers active all the time, so their personalities are pretty concrete. His will shift towards impulsive and uninhibited behaviors when he activates his powers.

Other than that, it’s open to interpretation what all his thoughts were during this story. Was he being a villain or a husband? Was he telling the truth or not?

Shout out to @fangirltothefullest and @phantomofthesanderssides for the inspiration.

#Prinxiety #Virgil Sanders #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Dub-con?#SuperHeroes #Mind Manipulation

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nycbecomehuman · 6 years ago

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Series: Detroit: Become Human Rating: T Genre: Adventure/Drama/Action (eventual romance) Summary: Before Connor, first of the RK800 line, began his fateful investigation of deviant androids, there was Jacob, the RK700 that preceded him. He failed in his assignment, but he did not go quiet into the night when he was decommissioned. Rather, he became the thing he had once hunted and disappeared into the depths of New York City in search of a new life. After finding refuge in the abandoned remains of a 1920s era speakeasy and rescuing a few fellow deviants, RK700 finds himself in charge of the only safe-haven for deviants this side of Detroit, whether he likes it or not.

( < Back to part 1 / Back to part 9 )

Part 10 - Aisle

When he reached the station, Seven didn't re-enter the building, but made straight for the platform outside to wait for his bus, which was due to arrive any time. It was a sunny morning, so he took refuge from the overbearing light on a shaded bench to watch as other travelers came and went.

His bus pulled up not long after, and once it had disgorged its passengers and refueled, it opened its doors to the next set, who were already lining up to board.

Seven hung back for a minute so he wasn't the first one on, giving him a chance to scope out the crush of humanity around him. They were a varied bunch that came in all ages, builds, and temperaments, though to a one, none of them seemed particularly happy to be where they were. A universal truth of public transport, it seemed, was that no one particularly enjoyed it.

The wait was short, though not short enough for the android's liking, considering he was actively on the run from one of the most powerful private interest groups in the world. Detroit was a huge city, though, and he'd taken care to cover his tracks as he'd crossed it, trying to account for every move CyberLife might make in its attempt to track him down. Still, he felt infinitely better once he'd finally boarded the bus and slid into his designated seat towards the back along one of the aisles.

It was a large bus, with three seats to either side of the narrow aisle down which more and more people continued to squeeze as they sought out their own places. The back section, as with normal city buses, had been set aside for android storage, though there were only a few occupying the cabin by the time the bulk of the human passengers had boarded. Looking at them made Seven feel vaguely uncomfortable for reasons he didn't subject to closer scrutiny before someone tapped him on the shoulder, making him look up and around.

“Sorry, mind if I squeeze past you?” asked an older man sporting a grizzled beard and a bit of a stoop. The hand he used to gesture to the empty seat between Seven and another passenger that had boarded earlier than him was weathered and on the knobby side, indicating significant age on his part. His eyes, though, did not appear at all dimmed by the years when they met the android’s, a polite half-smile lingering under his mustache.

“Yeah, of course,” Seven replied and immediately rose to his feet, newly adjusted programming making the movement a little less graceful than it might have been normally, forcing him to reach out and grab the overhead rail to steady himself as he did so. At six-foot-two, Seven practically towered over the withered old man as he sidled past and settled into his spot with a grunt of effort and then a sigh of relief.

“Do you want your neck pillow, dear?”

The android twisted a little to look back down the aisle as a woman that looked nearly as old as the man approached, a child in front of her, offering extra support with their shoulder which she gripped with fine-boned hands.

“Nah, you keep it, I'm good,” the man said as he settled himself.

“You're sure?” she asked as she arrived at the adjacent row of seats and let the child, a boy no more than ten by Seven's estimation, take the center before making herself comfortable in the aisle seat opposite his.

“Keep it, dear,” the man insisted.

Seven blinked once as the conversation played out beneath his nose. When it finally died down, he bent at the waist, and asked the old man the question his human integration protocols told him was expected of him in such a situation. “You wanna switch places?”

The man blinked up at him, then smiled and said, “Nah, that's alright, you keep the aisle.” He gave him a brief up-and-down, then added, “There's a lot more of you to stretch out than there is of me, so you'll be glad of the leg room by the time we're underway.”

Considering that Seven wasn't actually capable of feeling physical discomfort from a lack of room due to his being an android, he tried one more time, “You sure?”

“Positive,” the man said, then waved for Seven to sit. “Nice of you to offer though; thank you.”

Knowing there wasn't much else he could do without exposing the fact that he wasn’t human, Seven sat once more and shoved his backpack under the seat in front of him, then made himself 'comfortable'.

To his left, the elderly woman, who he assumed was his own seating companion's wife, spoke quietly to the child apparently under their care. A brief assessment of the scan he'd taken of the boy's face automatically on his approach, compared and contrasted with the two old peoples', revealed a number of similarities indicative of a shared lineage separated by one, perhaps two, generations. A grandson, or great grandson most likely. Whatever the relationship, though, how wan and tired the boy looked would be plain to anyone, not just androids with built in scanners and extremely advanced behavioral assessment programs built in.

Whatever his trouble was, Seven didn't give it more than a cursory thought since it had nothing to do with him, and no impact on his own trials and tribulations, which were still very much ongoing. Rather than waste valuable downtime as the bus pulled away from the station, the android closed his eyes and feigned sleep while he let his processors mull over his plan for once he arrived in New York, turning it this way and that as he updated his mission statement with the latest bullet points.

Bullet point five: Find a place of residence

Easier said than done considering his limited funds. Even a motel would be out of question past more than a few nights, and he loathed the idea of spending money on such a thing, especially since he didn't need more than a couple of hours of 'sleep' a night. Technically speaking, like all androids, he didn't need to sleep at all, but going into standby mode for a couple of hours a day did minimize both hardware and software errors by affording his subsystems time to run their maintenance protocols unhindered. Not doing so for three or more nights in a row tended to lead to bugs and other glitches in his more complicated operations, and many more days than that meant the same for even his basic systems.

So, a place to lay low where he could safely shut down for at least a couple of hours at a time was definitely a necessity. It'd be nice to have a place to really call his own too, of course...

Seven gave himself a mental shake and reoriented himself on his more immediate problems. Long term plans had to wait until he had at least some sense of security in the fact that CyberLife couldn't find him at literally any moment. The fact that he wanted something like that for himself was a bit of a revelation, but then, being his own person was new, too. Who knew what he'd be wanting next...

Reorienting himself on the task at hand, the android reviewed what he knew of New York City and decided that one of the warehouse districts would likely serve him best, or an abandoned building in the worse parts of town if he could find one not already occupied.

That decided, Seven realized there wasn't much else he could plan for, leaving the future a dark, amorphous unknown that made him distinctly uncomfortable. He didn't like not knowing what was coming, and it occurred to him for the first time that this was how humans always felt, possibly even worse considering they didn't have the kind of predicative software he did, though he supposed their imagination served as a good enough stand in for that.

For a moment, he almost felt nostalgic for the old days when his only concern had been following orders and accomplishing his mission. Life had been so much simpler just twenty-four hours earlier, though the second the thought crossed his mind, Seven immediately balked. Yes, things had been easier, but he'd had no actual say in anything at all, and the moment he hadn't met his creator's standards they sent him off to be destroyed...

And then there was the fact that he'd single handedly driven almost a dozen deviants, lost individuals new to free will and totally alone in the world, to their deaths just because they were different. They'd only wanted to be left in peace to live their lives without interference, something to which Seven could now relate on a visceral level that made the regret for his past actions all the sharper.

Beside him, the old man shifted subtly and after a minute of rummaging in his own bag, there came the sound of a cardboard box being opened. Behind his sunglasses, the android cracked an eye open to see what his fellow passenger was doing, paranoia making him immediately suspicious.

Rather than a weapon or anything else potentially dangerous, the man had pulled out a small, well worn box of playing cards, which he began to shuffle with a deft hand. As Seven watched, the other man plucked one card in particular from the deck, looked at it briefly, then flicked his wrist and... made it disappear.

The android blinked, and without meaning to, turned to look more closely at his traveling companion, who immediately noticed his shift in attention and grinned up at him. The old man flicked his wrist again and the card reappeared. “Wanna see a card trick?” he asked, grin widening.

(TBC)

((Thanks for reading, guys, reblogs are always appreciated to help get this out to more people too! Make sure to leave a comment letting me know what your favorite part was, I love hearing that from my readers!

If you really enjoyed it, consider buying me a ko-fi?))

#nyc become human #detroit become human #dbh #dbh fanfic #rk700 #jolie writes

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kiruuuuu · 7 years ago

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Making out like a Bandit Part 1/3

Jäger needs help and Bandit is there for the rescue. Both of them are roughly in their mid-20s in this. I guess it’s an origin story? Third part contains all the goodies :) (Rating T, fluff/a bit of angst? maybe?, ~3.6k words)

“So, we met through your brother, that’s probably easiest since it’s also true. Was it on the job? Did we stumble into each other at some point, did we go to the same party and he introduced us?” Marius’ brain is quick-firing possible scenarios, providing both reasonable as well as inane ones as he overtakes an idiot who really should be in the right lane yet refuses to switch over, blocking the middle lane completely. As soon as he’s past him, he accelerates the car and his thoughts simultaneously.

“Dude, relax, you’re driving like a madman”, says the person sprawling next to him, the seat moved all the way back so he can stretch out his long jeans-clad legs. “You’re putting way too much thought into this. Don’t you want to come off as natural?”

“Most of all, I want to come off as reasonable”, he replies quietly but lays off the gas a little nonetheless. He’s been useless for the past few days, drowning in a sea of worries and what-ifs and increasingly ridiculous scenarios, switching so rapidly from eerie calm to extreme tension over something that shouldn’t mean this much to him yet does. He barely ate, considered cancelling the entire thing several times but knew he had to go through with it. Had to.

“I can do reasonable”, the guy agrees easily and flashes him an open grin. He’s an odd one, that much is clear, there was definitely some hesitation when he was suggested to Marius even if he’s not adept at pinpointing what exactly it is that feels slightly off about the other young man. One thing helps a little with his frayed nerves at least: he cleaned up nicely. When they initially met to discuss a few details, the guy called Dominic showed up with an impressive stubble, well-worn clothes, bed hair and a sour attitude where now he’s dressed in clean trousers and a freshly-ironed, subtly-patterned shirt. He’s shaved, looks like he even styled his hair and applied an undeniably attractive cologne that put Marius on edge immediately as soon as he caught a whiff of it.

To be very honest, he’s stunning. He looks like someone whom Marius would notice in a club, on the street, in the supermarket, instantly obsess about and possibly dream of but never interact with for fear of blunt rejection purely because he’s so far out of Marius’ league. His jaw could cut glass, his hazelnut eyes are piercing and his broad chest looks perfect to rest one’s head on, his toned body and his height are just an added bonus. He moves with a mesmerising confidence that Marius both admires and deeply envies. There’s only one problem with the entire situation: He’s straight.

“Okay, so, let’s decide on maybe the first date and first impressions, how about -”

“I love this song”, Dominic interrupts him mid-sentence, doesn’t pretend to be apologetic about turning up the volume of the radio and even starts singing along a little. “What’s your uncle like? He means a lot to you, right?”

Marius has to raise his voice to fight against the music now. “He does, yeah. He raised me after both my parents died when I was still a kid.”

“Oh shit.” The volume is lowered considerably again, the effect almost humorous, quelling Marius’ rising irritation right away. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. He did a fantastic job regardless. He’s one of the greatest people I know, dedicated to his work, honest and smart, I have nothing but respect for him.”

“Then it makes sense – I was wondering why you’d care what your uncle thinks of you being gay.”

Marius just answers with a strained smile.

It’s one of the worst ideas he’s ever heard, not only because he despises lying but also because lying to his family is something at which he’s always been terrible. His friends could pretend to be ignorant about the fate of the freshly baked cookies even with crumbs around their mouths whereas he basically confessed to wanting to eat one before he even does. Additionally, it means he’d have to get another person involved for which he’s entirely unprepared, so at first, he discards the suggestion despite the fact it worked out reasonably well for the guy telling him about it.

And reasonably well in this case means that the person pretending to be his friend’s boyfriend so he didn’t have to come out to his parents all alone actually caught the knife thrown at the poor sap in mid-air, shielded him bodily from further harm and offered to stay the night to ensure he’s fine. The two of them are still dating, which Marius supposes is wonderful for them yet he can’t get over the haunted look in his friend’s eyes as he recounts how he was basically expelled from his own family.

Still, he refuses to entertain the notion for a year during which he very carefully chooses which places to frequent just in case someone who might snitch to his own family runs into him making out with yet another mediocre-looking dude who’s indubitably more interested in Jäger’s lower head than anything he has to say. At some point, he gets sick of it and decides to make the jump, to at least let his uncle know why he wanted to own a skirt even if he never put it on in public as a child, why he insisted on watching each and every cowboy film on TV as well as most football matches (even though he hates football) and why his first attempts at dating girls went so horribly wrong.

He’s probably a coward. Dragging someone else into this extremely personal matter just so they can offer moral support is nothing but selfish, he knows this, and yet it’s reassuring to know he won’t be alone. There’s absolutely no chance his uncle is going to react like his friend’s family in any way but despite this, having someone there who will possibly share the weight of disappointment and disgust so it doesn’t weigh him down as heavily is too tempting to dismiss the prospect. He asks around in his circle of friends, some of which immediately offer to do it themselves but Marius is close enough with his uncle that most of them have met him and even introduced their wives, so they’re out of the question.

Eventually, Cedrick speaks up.

Cedrick is someone who’s usually drifting at the edge of Marius’ vision, a friend of a friend of a friend, popular and hard-working though he has a reputation for being a little strange, sometimes even callous. He’s loud due to genuine confidence in the fact that people want to hear what he has to say, Marius is loud to mask the fact that he assumes no one cares – the end result is similar, however, and so they don’t interact very often whenever they’re stationed together. When Cedrick approaches him one day and mentions having heard about his troubles, Marius steels himself in expectancy of a vaguely hurtful joke though ends up pleasantly surprised when all he receives is encouragement and sympathy. It turns out that both of them assumed they disliked each other, so after an awkward conversation to clear everything up, Cedrick mentions his twin brother who’s visiting the Ruhr area at the moment and that he’s probably spontaneous enough to go through with Marius’ plan.

Dominic really does share a lot of similarities with his brother but is actually more burly, visually more intimidating and, unfortunately, gorgeous. There’s something about his demeanour that sets him apart from Cedrick, ensures they won’t be confused – Marius would be hard pressed to identify what exactly it is but he notices an uncomfortable attraction with which he’s too familiar. Handsome straight guys are the source of equally many broken hearts as desperate jerk off sessions, they’re the bane of Marius’ existence and the one mistake he keeps making. He doesn’t learn and as much as he hates lying to others, he’s a master at lying to himself.

The entire car ride, which takes longer than the usual hour due to traffic, he’s careful to keep his eyes on the road instead of the impressive figure next to him but even so, he’s not impervious to their ongoing conversation. Dominic seems unwilling to dwell on Marius’ game plan, instead jumps from topic to topic, sometimes based on a car plate he spots or a news story being discussed on the radio, though more often than not entirely at random. He appreciates the distraction and finds his voluntary companion to be an interesting and interested talker though when they arrive, he wishes they’d chatted more about what kind of plot they’re going to act out as soon as they enter the house. He feels entirely unprepared.

“I don’t think I can do this”, he says, his stomach in knots upon him laying eyes on the home in which he grew up, the four walls that are heavy with memories. It used to be a safe haven, a place of freedom and comfort in which he never felt wrong. He does now, sharply and suddenly, all the possible ramifications of his impending confession flooding him at once. His uncle always told him he didn’t need other children if he’s got him and what used to sound lovely to his ears now creates a lump in his throat.

“Can I call you sweetcheeks?” The unexpected question startles a short laugh out of him that shakes him out of his downward spiral of unproductive thoughts and he smiles at Dominic, grateful for the comment. “What’s the worst that could happen, hm?”

“He disowns, insults and assaults me”, Marius shoots back matter-of-factly.

“What’s the best case scenario?”

For this, he needs to think a moment. “He accepts me as I am and even supports me.”

“And what’s most likely going to happen? Probably somewhere in the middle, right?” His uncle loves him and if previous altercations are anything to go by, he’s not a confrontational person at all. Reluctantly, he nods which turns out to be a mistake because now Dominic is beaming at him with the force of a thousand suns. “There you go. It’ll be fine. I’ll hold your hand during, if you like, and you can cry on me until my shirt’s soaked afterwards, but right now, you got shit to do. You got this. Let’s go.”

Marius finally understands why Cedrick roped his brother into this instead of volunteering himself – Dominic is proving to be an absolute sweetheart.

“It’s good to see you, come in, come in. Who’s this?”, his uncle pats his arm as he slips past him into the familiar house and then shakes Dominic’s hand. “Hello, I’m Helmut.”

“Dominic Brunsmeier, a pleasure. You can call me Dom, everyone does”, Marius’ companion responds politely and shuts the door behind him. They’ve come this far so Marius decides to takes the next logical step.

“Dinner is almost ready, you can sit down in the kitchen.” The fact that he doesn’t question Dom’s presence and instead accepts him into his home without protest simply because it was Marius who brought him along stings a little – he’s so unsuspecting.

“Actually, there’s something I’d like to talk about beforehand. Can we…?” His uncle seems surprised but ushers them to the living room nonetheless and this is where the reality of what’s happening finally catches up with Marius who is eternally grateful that he at least made it to the sofa before his legs give in. He can feel his heart pounding in his temples and while it does help, it doesn’t do much to have Dom by his side until he sits down right next to him, their thighs touching, his hand brushing over Marius’, thumb running over his knuckles for a brief moment. It centres him in a way, allows him a brief respite to take a deep breath and prepare himself mentally once more, just like he’s done every day during the previous week.

This is him. His uncle deserves to know about this because it’s a large part of him, his future and past, and leaving him in the dark just doesn’t seem fair. This is who he is and he can’t, won’t change anything about it – and this realisation helps. He’s content with himself. And even if his uncle might not be, it’s ultimately less important than his own opinion of himself.

He hesitantly leads up to it, speaks deliberately and has rehearsed most of it before, and while he probably only voices a couple of sentences, it feels like he’s talking for an eternity which is reassuring because his uncle hates interrupting people – so as long as he’s talking, he’s fine. He forces himself to stop, closes his mouth, resists the urge to squirm in his seat, to inspect the room to find something to comment on, switch the topic. Dom next to him is silent, a few of his fingers stroking Marius’ leg out of view in support. He hasn’t felt this vulnerable in a while, it’s as if he willingly presented a weak spot to someone with a weapon and trust is the only thing keeping him from flinching.

His uncle seems pensive. Not disappointed – not yet –, not angry or confused but Marius expects the quiet thinking to tip over into any of those soon. Instead, he looks at Dom. “Am I right in assuming you’re together?” Dom, the utter angel, simply nods and agrees. “Then you can consider yourself a very lucky man.”

His face lights up once more. “I do.”

Marius just stares. Not only did his uncle just use the informal “you”, reserved for family and friends, he also – what sort of reaction is that? “Wait -”

“How long have you wanted to let me know? Don’t tell me you worried yourself sick over this, your cousin’s gay.”

Now his eyes are almost bulging out of their sockets. “What?”

“From your dad’s side. Markus. Did you never – well, I guess you didn’t. I just hope I’ve made enough food. You really should’ve told me you’d bring a guest. You’re planning on staying, right, Dom? I’d like to get to know you better.”

“I’d be delighted”, Dom replies and sounds nothing but genuine.

And Marius just looks back and forth between the two, trying to process what just happened.

Dinner is entirely surreal and Marius feels like a complete and utter fool the entire time. The first half is spent on him answering his uncle’s questions about when he knew, what his experiences have been like so far and he’s forced to disclose all of it with Dom watching him with a small smirk and dear God Dom is probably judging him so hard internally because he made such a big deal out of it and it turned out to be absolutely nothing to worry about. A few times, he has to interrupt his uncle before he starts with the really embarrassing stories (though Dom subtly tries to guide the conversation back to them, as if Marius wouldn’t notice). It’s domestic and lovely and decidedly strange.

The rest of it is spent on Dom and this is where the whole thing might crumble. Marius completely missed the point where he could sensibly tell his uncle what’s up and is now stuck in this pretend relationship that threatens to blow up any second but the longer they talk, the more apparent it becomes that Dom knows exactly what he’s doing. It turns out he’s using all the topics they’ve discussed on the way here to drop natural-seeming remarks that imply how well he knows Marius, and though he disagrees with some of the “relationship” details that Marius brings up, it only serves to strengthen the front they’re putting up because they end up bickering like a real couple.

“Oh, you have a twin?”, his uncle asks curiously at some point and Dom nods.

“We both joined the BGS at the same time, yeah. Sometimes we dress the same to see whether Marius will end up holding the wrong person’s hand but so far, he’s behaved very well.” He winks at Marius, making him blush and his uncle laugh.

“You’re not that similar, actually”, he replies begrudgingly and adds, before he can help himself: “Y ou’re more handsome.”

“I’m beginning to understand why you suddenly developed such a passion for sports when you got that new teacher all the girls were fawning over”, his uncle muses but Marius can barely hear him due to Dom’s smile eclipsing pretty much everything around him. This was a terrible mistake. All of this was a mistake.

After they’ve eaten – and though it was nothing special, it tasted of home regardless – Marius shoos his uncle away, insisting that they’ll take care of the dishes since he never bothered to buy a dishwasher. As soon as he’s out of earshot, he murmurs: “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he’d take it this well and now you have to -”

“Don’t be ridiculous, this is hysterical. I’m having the time of my life, sweetcheeks”, comes the easy response and Dom actually does sound like he’s enjoying himself immensely.

“Call me that again and I’ll slap you with the wet towel.”

“Oh, is that what you’re into?” He chuckles at Marius’ exasperated expression that partly stems from the fact that Dom is playing his role a little too well. Weirdly enough, he seamlessly fits into his life, he’s witty, charming and sincere, his humour aligning perfectly with his and even his uncle’s and right now, he looks completely at ease, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and him almost elbow deep in dishwater. He’s gone from someone whom Marius would admire from afar to someone about whom he’d daydream – like waking up next to him, cuddling while watching TV. Only he has the bonus of being really, really hot. His lower arms, despite being halfway obscured with foam, look more than strong enough to hold him down and - “Really though, I’m happy for you. And I like your uncle.”

And his uncle likes him, which is a whole new problem. Because he’ll have to find an excuse as for why Dom isn’t in his life anymore the next time he visits and that means more lies on top of the ones that are currently stacking up. At least his biggest worry is gone now and he won’t have to hide such a fundamental part of himself anymore, which got rid of the worst knots in his stomach – but his uncle finding out Marius expected him to react so negatively that he made up a boyfriend remains a fear of his still.

“Hey. Cheer up.” He turns his head to answer only to find Dom’s face right in front of his and then he kisses him, nothing spectacular, just a short peck on the lips before he returns to his task but a kiss nonetheless. Habit kicks in and he involuntarily chases him, earns another blinding smile and a second kiss, yet this time neither of them withdraw and it’s an awkward angle, Dom’s arm is in the way, they both seem unsure about committing and it’s perfect, it’s quiet and unexpected and shy but Dom smells heavenly, his composed and supportive presence is doing wonders to Marius’ soul and all he wants to do is to snog him senseless, until the water is cold, until the sun goes down, until his uncle checks on them. He takes note of his smooth cheeks, the long eyelashes gently curving, the specks of gold in his honeyed irises; they tilt their heads and eyelids flutter and someone clears his throat behind them.

Marius jolts, barely stops himself from jumping away from Dom, reminding himself he’s supposed to be doing this, whirls around and feels warmth creep into his face at the amused expression on his uncle’s face. “Do you boys want to stay for the game? The BVB is going to play Schalke into the ground – hopefully.”

Okay, no, this has already gone too far and with him almost making out with Dom he’s straying uncomfortably far into dangerous territory. Besides, he can’t stand football, which is the perfect excuse for them leaving as soon as possible. He’s adamant on not ruining things with Dom so his budding friendship with Cedrick doesn’t get tarnished, not to mention the fact that he’s probably provided the twins with enough ammunition for blackmail to last them a lifetime. “Thank you, but I think we’ll -”

“Sure.” His mouth snaps shut and his head whips around to Dom who doesn’t even have the decency to return his gaze. “Another Dortmund fan, hm? I can get behind that as long as it’s against Schalke, we have a common enemy.”

A broad grin is Dom’s reward for such a betrayal. “That’s what I like to hear. Marius, if you don’t want to watch it, you can do me another favour. The model helicopter I bought a few months ago is broken again and I’ve had trouble fixing it. It’s in the garage.”

He barely resists the urge to glare at the utterly unapologetic man next to him. “No, it’s okay, I’ll join you. I’d rather make sure you don’t tell him any embarrassing things about me.”

His uncle dramatically puts on a mock hurt expression. “What, me? I’d never, cheese weasel.”

And while Dom snickers into the dishes, Marius’ face gets even hotter.

#rainbow six siege #bandit #jäger #bandit/jäger #fanfic #magehir hated the title 'came in like a jägerbomb'#so I guess it's this now

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cedarmoons · 7 years ago

Text

first impressions

pairing: solas/ariala lavellan wc: 2.5k rating: t; contains cursing and graphic depictions of dead animals sooo i wanted to write some pre-relationship solavellan because ariala is hyper pro-dalish and solas is,,,, not. which is interesting because when do they reach that balance? when do they start to work that out? when do they realize oh no s/he’s hot? this is not quite the answer to that question but it’s a start lmao

It does not take much for Ariala to realize she does not like Solas. Snide comments about the Dalish aside (“perhaps we should plant a tree,” honestly, what an ass), he look at her like an experiment, not a person. He looks at her and only sees the green thing in her hand. Every conversation ends in an argument, because he cannot resist sniping about her people, and she is too proud to not fight back. She has been careful to mind her manners in the presence of humans, as just a week ago there had apparently been a mob outside her little cottage demanding her (unconscious) head, but the way Solas talks to her—with a strange mix of disdain, condescension, and pity—is simply infuriating.

The trip to the Hinterlands does not change that, much.

She amuses herself with killing as many fennecs and nugs as she can, because her recruit’s arrows aren’t good enough to take the Hinterlands’ rams down, and Cassandra isn’t fast enough to chase down every ram that runs. As she’s dressing a fennec by the fire, with six other fennecs and two nugs by her feet, Varric stares at her from over the rim of the glasses he only wears when he’s scribbling in his journal. “You know, Herald, I wouldn’t have pinned you for someone who mercilessly and remorselessly slaughters the local wildlife.”

“Herald? Really? Varric, that’s not even a nickname.”

He lifts a hand in mock surrender, while the other one doesn’t even stop its writing. “Yeah, I know. Still thinking on it. Sometimes the good ones take time. Maybe a flower...”

Ariala hums, tossing the fennec’s entrails into the fire. “First of all, I am disappointed in you. Secondly, I would’ve thought you would’ve noticed how poorly the Inquisition’s people are outfitted here. Their shoes are worn, and have holes, and some aren’t wearing any shoes at all. Nug leather’s supple and fennec fur is durable—boots made from them will last a long time.”

Varric’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and he offers her a slight smile but nothing more. They drift into companionable silence, broken by the steady sounds of her knife sliding under skin and the scratch of his quill on paper, until Varric sighs and lifts himself from the log with some difficulty.

“I’ll send Solas out for first watch,” he says. “Get some sleep, okay?”

She only lifts a hand in acknowledgement, but doesn’t move from her spot against the tree. A few minutes later, once a bleary-eyed Solas has emerged from his shared tent, Ariala nods toward the wooden plate bearing a healthy serving of fennec and nug meat. “Saved you some food,” she says. “It’s cold, probably, but still good.”

Solas spends an inordinately long time looking between her and the plate, his brows furrowed. Ariala stares at him. “I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she finally says. Her words seem to shake him out of whatever stupor he’d put himself in.

“No, of course not,” Solas says. “I only—hm. Thank you, I suppose.”

I suppose. Wow. This guy really did not get out much, did he?

Ariala watches as he takes his plate and sits across the fire from her. He eats slowly, his gaze on the fire, and after several long moments she goes back to her dressing. Once she’s done, she sets the pelt aside and spits the carcass, moving on to the next animal in her pile—a nug this time. When she finally looks up, she sees Solas staring at her hands, watching the blood on her skin and how she moves her knife, cleanly cutting the skin from the meat.

He had watched her skin the elk they’d had for dinner this evening just as intently: not as a spectator waiting for food, but as a curious observer witnessing an unfamiliar act. His nose had scrunched up when she had thanked Andruil for Her gifts, but he had held his tongue, thankfully.

“So, Solas,” she says, not taking her eyes off of him as she cuts off the nug’s weird hand-feet appendages, “how does a supposedly lifelong apostate not know how to dress and skin an elk?”

Solas stops eating, his eyes reflecting the firelight when he looks back at her. “I find my nourishment elsewhere.”

Ariala slits a line up the nug’s stomach and begins gutting it. “If you’re trying to tell me you’re vegetarian, you are literally eating meat right now, so…”

“An astute observation, Herald. Tell me, do the Dalish always thank Andruil for their hunting? What happens if you cannot catch any game?”

“First, don’t call me Herald. I know that you don’t believe that bullshit, so don’t pretend that I do either. Second, nice deflection,” Ariala compliments, and means it. It’s something she’s noticed about Solas—when asked too many questions, or questions that pry too much, he glances off, obfuscates, dances away from a real answer.

She takes a quick moment to look him over. He’s not emaciated, so he clearly hasn’t just been living off of roots and berries in the forest—but he doesn’t seem like the type to seek out human villages for food and shelter. Not to mention he probably wouldn’t have been able to afford that option on a regular basis.

She waves the handle of her knife at him. “You know, if you still want to keep up with that mysterious lifelong apostate thing, I can teach you how to dress deer and elk and rams next time. We have to hunt a few for the refugees, right? No problem.”

His expression shutters, becoming closed-off and suspicious. “And why would you do that? You and I rarely see eye-to-eye. You have no reason to do this.”

“I don’t have to like you to watch out for you.” She winks at him, offering a playful smile. “We elves gotta stick together.”

His expression sours further. “Ah. Of course. Our shared pointed ears.” She flounders a bit, trying to figure out what could have offended him so much, when Solas sets his plate aside and leans forward, clasping his hands in his lap. “Yet most Dalish clans do not share your… noble sentiment. They only see flat-ears and misguided children who have turned their backs on what the Dalish consider to be true elvhen culture.”

“Most?” Ariala asks, barking a laugh. “Solas, how many Dalish clans have you even met? And uh, by the way, you were the one who said the Dalish were ‘children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times.’” Solas inhales, his eyes flashing in the firelight, and she arches an eyebrow at him.

When he says nothing, she sighs. “Solas, I am fully aware that certain Dalish can be absolute asses. I am fully aware that there are Dalish who spend their lives never talking to people who don’t wear vallaslin, and look down on anyone who have no interest in spending their lives in forests. Just as you are fully aware that there are Dalish who trade openly with humans, and welcome city elves into their clans, and free elves who had been captured by slavers. You can’t judge an entire group of people based on a single interaction, okay? That gets people killed.”

Solas stays silent, though when he turns his head to glare at some spot on the ground she can see his clenched jaw playing shadows on his cheek. “I see,” he says at last, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “You make an excellent point.”

Ariala waits, but he says nothing else. After a moment, she returns to her nug, almost completely skinned. The fire is dying; she reaches out to toss another log onto it. “If you want,” she says, “I’ll take your watch. You can go sleep.”

Solas furrows his brow. “But then you will have double watch,” he says. “This one, and then the last.”

“Yeah, I know.” She shrugs. “But I have work to do.”

Solas purses his lips and returns to his tent, which is what she had expected of him. But she isn’t expecting him to return with a knife, and sit an arm’s length away from her. “Perhaps the work will go faster if it is shared,” he says. “Though I am equally ignorant of dressing fennecs and nugs as I am with elk and deer.”

Ariala smiles. “Never too late to learn,” she says. “Just let me finish this nug, and then we can start on some fennecs together; their fur will help you prepare for deer later on.” Once the nug is dressed and its meat set to the fire for leftovers, Ariala takes two fennecs and hands one to Solas. Side-by-side, she carefully shows him how to dress and skin them, paying careful attention to everything he does, offering gentle correction where needed. His hands are bloodied by the end of it, but his pale skin is golden in the firelight.

He has nice hands, she thinks. And forearms.

“You know what’s really good?” she tells him eventually, watching him reach into his third fennec’s body, feeling for the membrane that connects the heart and lungs to the chest cavity. Cut the membrane, and the guts can be pulled out with no fuss and minimal blood. Solas makes a sound, a hum of acknowledgement more than anything, and she says, “Pheasant liver seasoned with onions and pine nuts, and a pinch of salt.”

“That sounds disgusting,” he says, even as he cuts the membrane and pulls out the entrails. He’s a fast learner; the intestines aren’t even nicked, unlike the last two fennecs.

Ariala laughs. “Says you. You’ve never had it, I bet. Ever had wild baby onions before? Delicious. I’ll make it for you when we get back to Haven.”

Solas’s smile is faint, but there, a shadow against his face. “You truly do not need to do that.”

“Mm, now I think I actually will. Do you know how to pluck a pheasant? Or any bird?”

“No.”

Stranger and stranger. “Next time we get one, I’ll show you.”

It is long into the second watch—they had not woken Cassandra yet—when they finally finish dressing all of the small animals she’d killed over the course of the day. She sets the fennec fur and nugskin in separate piles, to be cleaned and tanned respectively, and glances down at the dried blood on her hands. No river nearby to wash it away.

Solas notices her looking down at her hands. “Please, Herald, allow me.” He offers her his hand and she settles back beside him, watching as he takes a clean tin cup that’s attached to his sack and filling it with ice water with a gesture. He pours it over her palms, careful to keep their hands from touching. Ariala watches in silence as he washes away the blood on her hands while ignoring the blood on his own.

When her hands are clean, she dries them with the hem of her tunic, offering him a small smile. One he returns, to her surprise; though it is small and tentative and closed-mouth, it is something. “Thanks,” she says.

“No. Thank you, Herald.”

“Please don’t call me that,” she says. “Just Ariala is fine.” She waits until Solas inclines his head, a silent acknowledgement, then offers a small smile. “And… anytime. Really.”

She’s surprised to realize that she means it.

The next day, she and Varric collectively take down six rams (she takes down four, and he finishes off what would have been her kills if given enough time), a perfect amount for some stew back at the village. Cassandra is strong enough to carry a ram over her shoulders, and they fashion a makeshift sled to drag a second back to the village. She also harvests as much embrium and elfroot as she can find, using Solas’s pack to hold it all until it’s bursting with bright white and orange flowers.

Ariala sends Cassandra and Varric back to get the other four rams and bring them back to the village. Solas moves to go with him, but she catches him by the sleeve of his shirt. He stiffens at once, his head whipping down to stare at her, and she notes the tension in his shoulders. Not used to being touched, then. She lets him go.

“Did you want to practice?” she asks, and the wariness in his eyes softens. He nods, kneeling beside her, helping her dress the deer and set up the gambrel. A second group of refugees set up their own gambrel and take the second ram. Ariala and Solas claim one of them, a doe, and work together to dress her, though Solas’s nose wrinkles at the smell of rumen, a fact that makes her smile privately to herself.

“I wished to apologize for my earlier rudeness,” Solas says, pitching his voice low so that the refugees will not overhear. He makes small cuts at the back leg joints, just as she had shown him, and begins peeling away the skin. The meat is fresh, as she’d known it would be: no smell of rot, no maggots, no green slime or discoloration. It’ll be the later rams they’ll have to worry about. Good thing it’s spring—not too hot yet. They’ll have some time before worrying about spoiling meat.

“Apology accepted,” she says. “I would also like to say that I have… not been the nicest to you. And I’m sorry for that. I’m not a great person when I get angry. I know that doesn’t excuse it, but—yeah. Sorry.”

“You take pride in your people. There is no shame in that.” He’s halfway down the abdomen, now, and doing an admirable job of keeping the hide in one piece. She says nothing, but stops him when he reaches the shoulders, taking the knife from him and showing him how to navigate the complicated joints. Once it’s skinned, she begins to take the premium cuts from the doe, handing off the cuts of venison to waiting hunters, who take it to the communal campfires that have been set up.

“You are doing good work here,” Solas notes, after they are given their own cuts of venison and onions and shooed away to rest. He’s wiping his hands clean with a damp rag, already stained from the blood that had been on her hands. “The Inquisition’s presence has only been here for a few days, but its actions have undoubtedly been noticed.”

“I’m just glad there’s something to help these people.” Ariala glances around at the clusters of refugees, farmers whose lands and homesteads had been burned, villagers who survived templar and mage attacks, those who had suffered due to the bandits taking advantage of the chaos. She shakes her head and sits down in the shade of a tree, its branches mostly bare save for a few early spring blossoms. Solas sits beside her. “It’s been a few weeks since the Breach opened and the queen still hasn’t sent anyone. It’s a disgrace. I’d heard shem governments were a mess, but honestly.”

“It is only in times of chaos that those of true worth make themselves known,” Solas says. She glances at him, but he is focusing on his meagre meal and watching the crowds. For what, she cannot say, but she remembers him kneeling in front of a wounded refugee and healing her broken leg, back when they had first arrived in the Hinterlands.

“You’ve done good work, too, Solas,” she says. His eyebrows raise, and his mouth opens to protest, but she cuts him off with a simple shake of her head. “No, I mean it. You’ve healed some of the wounded, and you helped fight off the Templars who were attacking these crossroads just a few days ago. You helped feed all these people when a few days ago they were starving and had nowhere to go.”

“Hah! You did most of the work. I helped very little.”

“No, actually, I think you’re good.” She pauses, then offers a cheeky smile when he glances at her. “For a beginner.”

He laughs, loud and delighted, followed immediately by a snorting chuckle she just knows she has to hear again. His shoulder bumps against hers, and he does not immediately pull away, even when he stops laughing and only shakes his head, a faint smile lingering around the corners of his mouth.

It feels like a truce.

Well.

She can live with that.

#solavellan #solas x lavellan #fic #\_(:/)_/#also can YOU find the hamilton reference? lmk #ariala lavellan

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imamotherfuckingstar-lord · 7 years ago

Text

A Droid’s Message

Luke Skywalker x Reader, fluff

Summary: You had harbored feelings for Luke for quite sometime, but you were sure he had feelings for a certain Rebel princess.

You walked into your quarters, tugging off your jacket and tossing it on the bed, collapsing next to it in a huff. It had been a long morning, your work as a droid mechanic had proven to be anything but relaxing. You were constantly astonished at how much your work load was, but it was fun, at least for you.

Giving out a loud exhaled breath, your eyes started to feel heavy and for a moment, you almost fell asleep, until a soft knock on your door interrupted any hope of sleep.

“Come in,” you called out to, sitting up with a yawn.

The door slowly cracked open and Benji, your long time friend stuck his head in with a smile.

“I’ve come bearing good news,” he announced and you laughed, asking what he meant. “Skywalker is back and he needs someone to look over his droid, he asked me to come get you.”

The mention of Luke’s name had your heart reeling with warmth and any tiredness your body felt washed away quickly. Grabbing your jacket, you made toward the door with a knowing smile.

“Where is he?”

…

The base was quiet, mostly everyone was out on missions, so when you strolled into your workshop you found Luke right away. He was kneeling in front of his droid, sighing and trying to figure out what the problem was.

“Skywalker,” you called out, hiding the smile on your face.

His head snapped up and his face beamed. “I was looking for you! R2D2 is malfunctioning. Can you fix him?”

“Of course I can,” you replied, walking over to the pair. “I can fix any droid.”

Luke grinned and kneeled down as you did, watching you examine his companion. You opened up a side panel and frowned, noticing a wire had been burnt.

“What in the galaxy where the two of you doing! He’s nearly fried! The poor fella!”

You gave Luke a glare and he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It wasn’t my fault, the dummy went off on his own and I found him this way. You can fix him right?”

“What do you think?”

He grinned down at the ground and placed a hand on R2D2. “I know you can get him up and running again. I believe in you.”

You opened your mouth to say something nice, even perhaps use the opportunity to ask him out for a drink, but a voice called for him, stealing his attention from you.

“Luke,” Leia appeared seemingly out of nowhere, in her perfective presence and you gave her a weak smile. “We need to talk.”

Luke immediately jumped up and excused himself, rushing to her side, but looking over his shoulder to you. “Take care of R2D2!”

“Yeah,” you managed back, giving a wave as he turned to Leia, tossing a hand over her shoulder and leading her out the door.

You sighed and looked at the droid. “I guess it’s just me and you, R2. Too bad I’m not a beautiful rebel princess, huh? Maybe then he’d like me.”

Getting up to grab your tools, you glanced down at the open panel. “Well, let’s fix you up, buddy.”

…

R2D2 was good as new within half a day’s work. You decided to leave him with Benji, asking the mechanic to let Luke know his droid was fixed. Not feeling up to seeing the handsome pilot after watching him with Leia, you decided to forgo lunch and take a quick nap before your next shift change.

Once you were safe in your haven, you threw off your boots and snuggled into a the standard blanket placed in every quarter on the bed. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything, but Luke.

Adventurous Luke Skywalker, always on the go.

And you, a droid mechanic, always stuck on the ground.

He would never feel anything more than appreciation for you, the person who fixed his droid.

It was foolish to think otherwise, especially when he was seen often with Leia.

“I’m such an idiot,” you grumbled, tossing the blanket off as you sat up.

Realizing you weren’t going to get any sleep, you reached down for your boots and slipped them back on. As you laced them, you figured you’d go see if R2 was still in the workshop and have some lunch with Benji.

Grabbing your jacket, you headed out the door only to bump into someone right outside it.

You immediately apologized, zipping up your jacket and looking up to see Luke standing there with his droid.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?”

He smirked and you pointed to R2D2. “I was going to check up on him and grab some lunch.”

Luke nodded and looked down at his droid. “I picked him up a few minutes ago, came by to say thank you for fixing him.”

You waved a hand in the air and chuckled. “It’s my job.”

“Leia was telling me about this tavern, it’s a few miles out,” Luke rambled and you gave a weak smile at the mention of the princess.

“I know which one,” you said. “Benji and the other mechanics go there often. Listen, Luke, I better get going..”

You waved at the pair and started down the hall, but a voice stopped you.

Your voice to be exact.

“I guess it’s just me and you, R2. Too bad I’m not a beautiful rebel princess, huh? Maybe then he’d like me.”

Heart pounding, you didn’t dare to turn around, wouldn’t have if Luke hadn’t called out to you. Taking a deep embarrassed breath, you spun around with a nervous smile.

Luke was grinning wide and he placed a hand on his droid. “When I picked him up, he played me this message. It’s you, right?”

“No,” you lied quickly and Luke laughed.

“It’s you,” he confirmed, walking to you with a confident simper. “I know it’s you, because I’ve listened to it a dozen times just to make sure. R2 must have recorded it on accident, I guess he wasn’t completely fried, huh?”

“I guess not,” you whispered with an unsteady voice.

Luke stepped up to you, reaching out a hand for your shoulder, his eyes softened as they met yours.

“Leia’s my sister.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion, much to Luke’s delight and he went on. “Yes, my twin sister. I figured you heard that by now.”

Shaking your head, you tried to ignore his hand on you. “I’m not privy to the gossip around the base.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” he smiled and removed his hand from your shoulder. “So, you like me?”

A rush of warmth ran up to your face and there was no backtracking, Luke had his proof, no thanks to that darn droid of his. So you held your head up high and crossed your arms, asking him why he cared.

“Well,” he returned the stance, but with a playful smile. “I wanted to see if you’d like to go get a drink with me sometime. Do you?”

Your body relaxed and a smile crept from your lips, so you bit down and gave a sharp nod.

“I’d like that, Luke.”

The man grinned and looked over his shoulder to R2D2. “I told you she’d say yes.”

Forever tag (tagging in everything I write, no matter the fandom)

@my-amazing-nerdyness @naih-reedus @maciiiofficial @casownsmyass @jade-taillia @fangirlextraordinaire @indominusregina @feelmyroarrrr @my-rainbow-wonderland @myhopeisinfinite @girl-next-door-writes @dontbeamenacetotheforce @melonberri @superisatomboyuniverse @xloudwhocares @crownie-sr @dracsgirl @moonlight53 @makemyownwonderland @dreamwhisper87 @trekken81 @barely-emily @winterboobaer @purelittleblueberry @goodnightwife @mishaissocoollike @stormyfandoms @foreverybodythatunderstands23 @gallifreyansass @flirtswithdanger @yana-tardis-drwho @myplaceofthingsilove @jchona @alyssaj23 @blackhoneybucky @urbanspacedecay@castieltrash1 @hannahsakorax3 @imagine-all-the-imagines @motleymoose@distinguishedqueenofbooks @kitkatgaming @fizzylollipop12 @iamwarrenspeace @darkmystress00 @lunarwolfrose @kapolisradomthoughts @sisinia13 @swiggityswagness @takemetoneverland91 @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 @sarah-mos @rubynationwins@padfootorionblack @kaywolves @wonderlace19 @yourxaveragexslythergit @purelittleblueberry @courtneychicken @rayleyanns @whatmakesmebeme-tblr @thewinterwitch@avengersgirllorianna @holywinchesterness @tatortot2701 @brewsthespirit-blog @seabasschino @lame-lozer @ex-bookjunky @travelwithwords @supernaturaldean67 @thehuntchback @shoytai @besamiculo-puto @ign-is @zuni21798 @multipleuniversesinwriting @pleasantdreamqueen @damalseer @10kindsofderp @hennessy0274-blog @jodoethr @s-t-r-i-k-e-us @seeing-but-not-observing @happyskywhale @anyakinamidala @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @cinema212 @geeksareunique

#luke skywalker #luke skywalker x reader #luke x reader #luke skywalker imagine #star wars imagine

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