#so she picks up those scars in the third game instead of the second as originally planned | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jangofctts · 4 years ago

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Mirrored Heart (captain rex x fem!reader)

rated: 18+ explicit

word count: 5.6k

warnings: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, blow jobs, clone space racism?

a/n: ANYWAY HERE IT IS. ive had this draft saved since like a year ago and just now finished it. anyway kwjrkejh here YALL GO. also thank you @jango-fettish FOR LETTING ME BORROW SYRENA

It's curious.

Well, you, as a whole are curious—completely outside the realm of what Rex considers normal. As far as senators go, that is.

You're grumpy for one—worse than Skywalker and far more snide than Kenobi—a near gargantuan task bordering impossible. Wit and cleverness come to you easier than breathing, but it's your unwavering kindness towards himself and his brothers that sticks out like a blaster burn against alabaster white walls.

He passed it off as a joke—some sort of mockery. Rex’s existence has been full of them. The past year it’s been made glaringly clear as to what the clones are to the people of the republic—tools. Mindless war machines dressed with flesh and bone, heart and sinew instead of durasteel and a circuitboard. Humanity has been skimmed over with excuses and debates over the hollow argument that clones were created for the sole purpose of war—nothing more. Ignorance is bliss when you are not the one fighting tooth and nail for petty skirmishes and the survival of your family.

Ithyea, your home monarchal planet, is a newer member of the Galatic Republic—one of the firsts to advocate for clone rights—cutting through each argument with the steel headed javelin of hope and determination. Controversial in the eyes of the galaxy but no less than true. Yet with controversy, comes chaos.

Wedged between Takodana and the Cerean Reach hyperspace lane—it’s an essential key to accessing more neutral space sectors without stepping on any toes. While the planet does mirror the size of a larger than average moon, there’s nothing but grandeur with the cutting edge advances in space travel and military innovations. An arts district too, one that’s presented multiple times for the Senate apparently. Rex has yet to see it. It’s an easy guess as to why Ithyea has gone under pointed attacks from the Separatists—it’d be foolish not to try.

And of course comes the intergalactic mess of politics. You are not Ithyea’s first senator. Or second…or third. Just in the last six months, three of your predecessors have been picked off—two disappearances and a suspicious poisoning sandwiched between them. Which sides these assassinations stem from is anybody’s guess—a mix of both perhaps—all to silence and stamp the voice of your people out.

Heavy are the shoulders that wear those abhorrent senatorial robes, and Maker did it take some convincing for another Ithyean to step to the chopping block. It’s just…no one thought it’d be you. The infamous captain of King Arrian Felian’s elite guard—trained in combat levels high enough to contend some of those within the ranks of the Jedi Order. When your name comes up in conversation, it certainly doesn’t scream diplomacy.

Rex is not surprised that you hold the current record of Ithyean senators for surviving the longest. Evading an astonishing two attempts on your life by the skin of your teeth. You were just downright lucky the third assassin missed their mark. Sure, the blade of Syrena Aster skimmed the right side of your cheek and left behind a nasty scar to remember her by, but kriff—even with your background and low levels of public presence, you’re a high priced target. Whoever placed an order with the Heretics, really wants to see you six feet under.

Rex hasn’t been given the full report on exactly who the Heretics are—a rag tag bunch of untrained Force users and skilled assassins from what he’s gathered—but regardless, this attack is just the beginning. Until the Senate and the Jedi are able to retract the price on your head, you’re stuck under protective custody. Usually ushered away into the Jedi Temple or tagging along with General Kenobi and Skywalker. Despondently, no matter the circumstances of your protection, it can’t shield you from the dreadful invitations to senatorial luncheons.

And yes, you tried to slip by for this one.

You don't brush elbows with other senator’s like many of the members in the Jedi Order and your own cohort do. In fact, you actively avoid even speaking to them unless necessary, let alone stand in the same room with seven of them. Odd for an elected official of diplomacy such as yourself to be so cold shouldered—Rex would think senators wanted to mingle.

It's curious because you're standing in plain sight and yet no one pays you any passing thought. General Kenobi and Skywalker hold the majority of their attentions, shoulders already taught with exasperation at keeping everyone from tearing out each other's throats for, kriffing five minutes. Yet you...you are completely at ease, leaning up against a stone pillar, observing the unfolding chaos from afar with a keen eye.

Before Rex realizes he's stepping towards your position, you glance over and dip your chin in greeting. The ghost of a smirk pulls at your normally grim facade—his heart skips. "Captain."

"Senator," he mimics, posting himself to your right. There’s still a thin, healing scab from the assassin’s blade that extends from the swell of your cheek to your ear. Ouch. “Enjoying the evening?"

You snort. "Hardly enjoying it, Rex."

Stars—you shouldn't be allowed to say his name. Your words are razor-sharp like a jagged vibroblade, meant to jab and pierce through armor—tear a person to pieces without having to lift a finger. Everything about you is rough, gritty, brutal, unbecoming of what a senator should be, but—

You mouth his name, purring out the singular syllable with such tenderness that it's like a punch to the gut.

It's hard to swallow and he needs to clear his throat—an embarrassing act on his part, but your attention has already returned back towards the meandering senators. "How d'you mean?"

"Well," you sigh, "let's just say smalltalk isn’t my strong suit."

"Aren't you senators s'pposed to like diplomacy n' such?"

Your thumb smoothes over your bottom lip in thought as you shrug. "Diplomacy? Sure. Politicians? Can’t say I like them. I just—"

You wave your hand around, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. "I just don't understand why they can't say what they mean. Telling someone to have a nice day shouldn't entail certain death, y'know?"

"Speaking from experience?" He teases, gently prying into that harder than beskar wall you've created for yourself. There's fissions in your foundation and he means to tear it down all for just a mere scrap of information.

Your eyes flick over, your lips curling into a vulpine grin. “Perhaps...Though, it was partially my fault, I have to admit.”

“You’ll have to tell me the story sometime, Senator.”

You nod. “Yes, one day—when there aren’t so many political ears jumping at the chance of gossip.”

A swell of laughter interrupts your chat, your attention gravitating to Obi-Wan—ever the charmer with the crowds. The end of your mouth pulls into a frown as you sigh and carefully scratch at your brow with the back of your thumb. Rex might be pulling at straws, but what he mistook as you being standoffish may just be your nerves. Socially awkward and flustered when speaking in such an intimate setting.

Rex’s first instinct is to reach out and place a hand over your shoulder in comfort, but he’s not sure how you’ll respond to the touch. Flip him over your shoulder probably—

Instead he forces himself to jumpstart the conversation—something to distract from your anxieties. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“ His heart beat kicks up into a flurry of wild beats as you turn you head. “What uh..wh—did you want to become a senator?”

He likes it when you smile—like you’re letting him on some sort of coy secret. You shift your weight and shrug. “The king asked me personally. I’m flattered he thinks I’m clever enough—insulted he sends me to these abysmal gatherings like some sort of show pony.”

Rex chuckles. “Yeah, can’t say I like ‘em either.”

“Although…” Your thumb runs over your lip again, a sparkle of mischief igniting behind your eyes. “As a senator, I do get the occasional tidbit of gossip. Here, I’ll catch you up—“

The captain startles when you snatch his elbow and yank him closer. Maker he’s glad for his helmet because your lips brush against his earpiece as he leans down to reach your height.

“Look." You whisper, nodding casually in the direction of a particularly young senator with a shock of white hair. She's swathed in a pool of royal blue silk, much too large for her tiny frame, and all but hanging off Skywalker's arm with glittered nails filed into points. "That is Senator Ceci Paare of Corellia. She looks innocent, no?"

She does. Wide, crystalline green eyes stare up at the Jedi Knight as a pretty giggle escapes past her ruby painted lips. Skywalker grimaces.

"I quite like her," you continue with a sly grin. "Even if she does try to influence public opinion by an invitation to bed."

There's no time to process as you focus in on an older man. His hazy blue skin, ash white lips and vermillion green eyes cut an almost nightmarish profile, accentuated by mountains of black robes. Rex can’t recall what planet the senator represents. The senator holds his head stiffer than rebar to keep the ornate golden circlet from slipping off, his white lips curling in distaste as Orn Free Taa of Ryloth places a meaty hand over his slender shoulder.

"He is Lord Tal’en Sol Ra'ah. Cunning, but sympathetic to the pleasures of gambling."

It's a game to you—of perceptions and nuances only a trained eye can roll over. Rex expects nothing less. This sort of thing has been hammered into the very essence of your being since you were little—reading an enemy before they can strike. It works on politicians marvelously well.

Truth be told Rex should be paying more attention—but the closeness of your face to his helmet is maddening. His heart twists and coils as your bare hand skims along his gloved one—kriff. He’s not gonna make it before he bursts into a thousand little pieces.

Rex’s spell of lovesick yearning recedes as you swear under your breath. It was only a matter of time before someone approached your little corner.

"Oh, Maker save me," you hiss under your breath as a young Mirialan saunters over, the swatches of rich red and brilliant gold accentuate his violet skin like a bloody bruise. "Pretend you're speaking with me."

"I am speaking with you," Rex snorts.

Your hand waves in dismissal as your brows stitch together, hands balling into fists. Your jaw clenches as the senator in question puts on a dazzling smile. You look downright panicked. Rex has witnessed you face down numerous senators older than dirt and close to blowing away in the wind with plucky fervor, assassination attempts, being held captive, and you're frightened…by this?

This is too good.

Rex has half a mind to help you, wheel you away from your little predicament, but his intrigue with seeing your oh-so-solid resolve crumble is much too valuable and entertaining to pass up. He's going to remember this for years.

"Rex."

"Senator," he mimics, not at all frightened by your poisonous glare. "Some diplomacy might do you good."

You begin to snarl out a threat but are decidedly cut off by your object of horror planting himself before your hiding spot. You cower into the corner like a boxed in loth-cat. "Ah, my favorite Ithyean! I had begun to worry you would not make it, my dear friend."

"Senator Lin," you sigh. The smile you offer is tight and thin; a nervous one much in the same way one would be if presented with a box of toenails for a birthday gift. “How pleasant to see you."

Senator Lin’s deep violet lips part with an easy smile. He waves a hand in dismissal, his silver rings glinting in the warm lighting. "Please—call me Toluka. No need to bother with such formalities between companions."

Rex suddenly understands your trepidation with the Mirialan—he’s slimy. And, not to mention, not at all ashamed with the lecherous looks as his eyes sweep down your body. Rex clenches his teeth and folds his arms behind his back. He’s regretting not heeding your warning now…

Try as you might through brutal small talk and chilly answers, Senator Lin refuses to take the hint. A dark plume of venom green lashes through Rex’s chest as the Mirialan places a friendly hand over your shoulder. You grimace as Rex bristles and glares through the visor of his helmet.

Senator Lin’s lips pull into a gaudy smile as he glances at Rex and then at you.“My dear, don’t you know? It’s not worth wasting your time with a clone. After all, they’re all the same person. How boorish—come join us at the table.”

Your teeth bite into your cheek as your temper, like the silver of blade through the darkness, cuts through your steely irises. With poised nonchalance, you lift your hand and pinch Senator’s Lin’s fingers between your own and pry them off your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Your campaign, valuable as it may be,” Lin continues, “is a useless endeavor. They are not our equals and never will be--you must know that."

Rex forces himself to remain calm—collected and certainly not imaging a thousand and one ways he’d like to see his fist breaking the fragile bones of the senator’s face.

"Fine buttons stitched upon your shoulders do not compel your worth, Senator,” the harshness of your words is a blow straight to Lin’s ego. His well-groomed brows furrow drastically as his tongue struggles to play catch up and find words to repair his shattered pride.

There’s no chance for Senator Lin to regain his footing as your snatch Rex’s wrist and sweep him out into the hall. Rex can feel your anger roll off of you in waves, frighting and holding the same caliber of roaring waves thundering against black, craggy rocks. It’s a miracle the night didn’t end with your hands wrapped around the senator’s throat or a blaster shot through the chest.

When you reach the lower halls of the cruise ship is when you release Rex’s wrist. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and release a long, dramatic sigh.

"You are worth far more than that pompous ass," you say with enough edge to slice through a droideka's shields. "He has no right to say those things to you."

“It’s alright,” Rex soothes, placing a hand over your bristling shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.”

Your features scrunch up into a wince. “That...that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through more of it, Rex.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and loosen the heavy outer robes strung around your shoulders. You shrug out of them and fold the thick swaths of fabric over you arm—revealing the under layers of your uniform. You toss the bundle of fabric to the floor with a disgusted grimace and sit on the cargo crate closest to your left.

“Really—it’s ok.” Rex assures again. “I—“

You hold up a hand and shake your head. His mouth snaps shut. “I won’t hear it. To me you are nothing short of perfect and I refuse to argue about it. Maker knows I already do that for a kriffing living.”

There’s a fragile lull in the hollow space—the distant chatter of voices and strange music collecting in the corners. You stand once again, toe to toe with the Captain and there it is again, that elated pitter patter of his heart thrumming through his veins. The nerves of being so close to you—you sweet face and not being able to touch you.

“Let me see your face.”

His hands come up to the edges of his helmet without hesitation, a hiss of hair escaping the seal once he pries it off. You smile and take a step closer until the only thing separating you and him is his helmet.

Rex’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into your hand you gingerly place over his jaw. “I wish the entire galaxy could see you through my eyes,” you whisper, the warmth of your soft palm radiating out and warming his entire body.

It’s a matchstick to kerosene—his helmet clatters to the ground and there’s only a second to spare as both hands move to cup his cheeks, dragging him into a mouthwatering kiss.

He hasn’t kissed many people—save for those rare times at 79’s, head swimming under the haze of one too many shots of Corellian fire whiskeys where he could barely distinguish his ass from his hand. Those drunken make-outs were nothing like this.

No—this…this is what a kiss should be like.

He dreams about you all the time—so constantly ravenous that all he can feel some days is pure ache. Every and all words that spin around his head starts with you and finishes with his pounding heart close to bursting free from his ribcage. Not in the same way a flood rips through an unsuspecting village—more like the brilliance of a thousand doves, marble white plumage thrashing free from their gilded cage. Your lips taste like the core of a newborn star—scorching and yet still so sweet upon the tongue the same way caramelized sugar sticks to the roof your mouth. You are his first and last everything.

There’s a certain kind of tragedy hidden beneath your tongue, fragile promises and the eggshell thin shards of hope stapled to the roof of your mouth. Rex will take it—seize any threadbare strand and run with it—spool it into the palm of his hand until you’re wound so tightly together it’ll be impossible to untangle.

Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, you part and leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up his jaw. Rex groans and hugs you closer, you humid breath blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

The words on his tongue crumble to ash once he nods in agreement. Your kisses dip lower, not even stopping when the reach the edge of his chest plate. Stars, you’re…he never entertained the idea that your lips could look so divine in contrast to the battered plastoid. When you fold onto your knees his heart leaps to his mouth, a flare of arousal flashing through his groin.

You rest your chin over his codpiece and smile. “Do you like seeing me on my knees, sir?”

Rex huffs and studies at the opposing wall—

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your fingers find the claps over his codpiece. “Can I take this off?”

Rex jerks his head in a yes but grabs your wrist. Not a rough hold—a tentative one as hesitation swirls in his eyes. “Don’t—don’t have t’ do this for me—“

You quirk a brow. “I want to because I like you, Rexy.”

A rosy blush blooms over his sharp cheekbones. The captain nods again.

The codpiece clatters to the ground and immediately you move your hand to palm him through his blacks. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. There we go.

Biting your lip, you pull down his blacks as far as the plastoid plating allows, greeted with the hard length of his cock, beautiful and flushed a rosy brown. Fuck—he’s thicker than you thought. You wrap your fingers around the base, delighted by Rex’s airy gasp as he throbs in your palm. A bead of liquid shines at the tip and just the sight of it makes your mouth water.

Moons—you should’ve done this sooner.

With a stuttering inhale, Rex trails his forefinger along your cheek and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingertips skim lower and lightly pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes lift to meet his. “You—you sure?”

You answer with a kiss over the dip of his navel, the skin searing hot under your lips. Rex curses and rolls his head back onto his shoulders when your palm slides up the length of his cock and then back down. Your grip is firm and tight as Rex slumps onto the crate, goosebumps rushing up his exposed flesh. Stars, when’s the last time he’s gotten release like this?

You lean forward and lick a languid line from the velvety skin of his balls all the way up to the tip. Rex’s hips jolt. You purse your lips and suckle at the head, dipping your tongue over the slit then down to trace the ridge of his frenulum all the while your hand rolls up and down his shaft. Rex tangles his fingers into your hair with a hiss. You open your jaw a bit wider and take him down a few inches into the wet heat of your mouth, feeling your lips stretch around his cock. You you drag the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft to make the thickness easier to swallow down, but he's still only halfway into your mouth when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck—" Rex moans as his hips strain to remain still. “S’good—such a good girl.”

You glance up, eyes devouring the attractive length of his clean shaven throat and the underside of his chin. Rex swallows and let’s out another little sound. You whine softly in return and slip a hand into your pants, pressing your fingertips against your throbbing clit as you start to carefully bob your head up and down. Yeah—your jaw already aches just from holding his cock in in your mouth but fuck it—it’s worth it.

Rex's chest heaves with exertion as he mindfully rocks his hips up, pushing and rolling his cock deeper into your mouth until his shaft is nearly seated all the way in. Ditching your own pleasure entirely, you swallow around him, forcing down the urge to gag and simply hold him here. Allowing him a moment to just enjoy the soft warmth of your mouth before launching into the main event.

Rex murmurs your name and strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re beautiful—so pretty like—like this..ah—”

You pointedly hollow your cheeks and suck, his flattery warming your chest with pride. You swallow around him another time, squeeze his shaft, your fist following your mouth as you lift up then back down to the base. You grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you pull halfway up and let Rex rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans of your name.

Soon enough he’s twitching in your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as his head tips back onto his shoulders. The gloved hand sweetly cradling your cheek slips to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers into you hair to anchor himself. He’s close—quiet gasps and broken curses tumbling out, hips unconsciously rocking into your mouth in search of release.

Rex whimpers your name, his leg jolting as you work your jaw wider and swallow him down, the dark curls tickling your nose once it brushes his groin. “Oh, fuck.”

You hum around him, delighting in the mumbled praises. Almost there…That’s it.

He’s dangling on the precipice—on tiny shove away from euphoria—

“Wait—“ Saliva dribbles down your chin when his cock pops out from your swollen lips, throbbing from the unintentional tease. “Maker—shit.”

If not for the gloves covering his hands, you’re sure they’d be turning white from how tightly he grips the edge of the crate. His eyes are squeezed shut, slightly bent forward as he falls away from the edge of his release. Rex sucks in a steadying breath, amber eyes meeting your confused ones.

“I don’t—can we—“ Rex’s eyes flit and focus on anything but you as he stutters and works up the courage to ask for what he wants. “Do we have time—“

You rolls your eyes and rest your cheek on his thigh. Silly man. “You wanna fuck me, Rexy?”

“Kriff, yes.”

You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I don’t think they’ll miss us."

Rex doesn’t complain when you take his hands and yank him onto the grubby floor and over your senatorial robes. He props his back against the crate as you shuck off everything below the waste and clamber into his lap. His hands, warm even through the leather, land over the swell of your hips and wrench you closer until your front presses up against his chest plate.

The rough prickle of his stubble is, in all sense of the word, addictive. He tilts his head to kiss you, the slick touch of his tongue on your bottom lip adding jet fuel to the fire low in your belly. Rex groans and cups your jaw, holding your mouth open to dance his tongue along the length of yours. You whine and shudder as he purses his lips and lightly sucks on your tongue before you both part.

Rex drags his teeth over your bottom lip as you both pant for precious air. His dark lashes sweep up his cheeks when he looks at you. This close you bare witness to the dazzling color of his eyes—crystalized pearls of amber over the crackled bark of pine tree in the midmorning sun. Muted gold threaded through the brown like fine lace and the slow shimmer of the sun dappled through water. To think such a man like him is dredged through the bloodied mud of war is despicable.

You blink away the swell of tears prickling at your eyes and kiss him once more. Sighing, you whisper down, mouthing soft nibbles and teasing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Rex squirms and rock his hips up, your cunt clenching around nothing. You need him.

“Rex,” you groan. You slide your hand between your bodies and grab at his thick length. Rex gasps into your mouth, long fingers clamping onto your waist in a death grip. “I want you.”

“I’m yours.”

Your nibble at his earlobe as you grind your hips against his length, the folds of your cunt teasingly out of reach. “Touch me, Captain.”

Rex tears off his vambraces and gloves, hand wedging between your thighs, touching the very tips of his fingers to your throbbing clit. You whine and clench your jaw—the pleasure is raw—sizzling electricity that crackles with the deadly promises of your pleasure. It’s as if you’ve had the breath knocked out of your lungs the second he bears down a bit more on your clit, drawing tentative circles, each completion sending a shockwave of tightly spooled ecstasy through each and every nerve. You nearly sob as his fingers slip away.

“So wet already,” Rex moans as you tip your head back when two of his fingers begin circle your dripping cunt. They’re thick and long and perfect. Your hips stutter as your cunt easily accepts his fingers, the heel of his palm slotting perfectly against your pussy to stimulate your clit.

Maker you’re seeing stars as Rex rocks his hand into you—the bend of his fingers the perfect angle to catch all the right places that make you tremble. He kisses your cheek and moans your name into your ear, all low and gravelly—

Your body seizes up tight as you soar, plummeting off the edge only to tumble so fast and so hard that tears prick the corner of your eyes. Rex peppers kisses over your cheeks and runs his free hand through your hair, purring praise and adoration as you shudder—your mouth parted in a silent cry as you cum and dissolve into his hands.

When you suck in a steadying breath and open your eyes, Rex is gazing upon you with starstruck eyes—pure adoration that makes your cheeks flare hotter than the surface of two mini suns. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re not sure you deserve to be looked at like this…

However, you’re impatient and running on stolen seconds. As much as you’d like to just simply stare at him—there’s not enough time. Rex wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slides the tip of himself through your soaking folds. Each stroke against your still throbbing clit makes you buckle into yourself, but the angle that your knees are propped over his hips means you're stuck here.

Rex pauses and cups your cheek. His thumb scrapes over your cheekbone. “You want this?”

You place your hand over his and turn your head to mouth a kiss over the lines of his palm. Oh, fuck yeah. Kind of him to ask as if hadn’t just cum over his fingers but—no. “I need you to fuck me, Rex. That’s an order.”

Rex huffs out a low chuckle and bumps the crown of his forehead against yours. “As you wish, Senator.”

Rex runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds again, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the hard plastoid as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s in no small. You’ll feel him for days, you’re sure of it as your cunt swallows inch after inch.

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw his clenched tight as sweat beads at his blonde hairline—Stars above, he’s a sight, struggling not to loose control the second he’s buried inside of you. Desire tickles up your spine, tugging at the fabrics of your being until all you can focus on his how Rex isn’t moving. You shift your hips in tiny, almost imperceptible motions, and squeeze around him.

“Damn—“ A ragged moans slices through his words as your gentle rocking morphs into needy jolts. It’s easy to fuck yourself onto his cock like this, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. “Fuck, cyare, you’re tight.”

You smirk and grab at his sculpted shoulders—it’s the push he needs. Rex snarls your name, cups his hands under the globes of your ass and pulls you off his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust before Rex sets a pace, fevered and rabid All pent up energy collecting over the weeks you’ve known each other. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what feels like ages.

You squeal in surprise as Rex pushes you onto your back and hoists your legs around his hips. Rex buries his nose into the crook of your neck and moans your name like a sweet prayer wrapped in honeycomb. Rex shifts his weight, widening his knees to sink deeper into your cunt—his stubble tickling your throat as his staggered exhales burn hot over your skin.

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, scorching through each and every veins with the catastrophic brilliance of an imploding star. Shit—

“So good t’me—so perfect,” he huffs into your ear. Rex turns his head and steals a kiss. “Feel fuckin’ good stretched around my cock."

You clench around him hard as Rex’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s barely any build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that sweeps through your body, from your aching center down to your toes. It steals away all the air left in your lungs and leaves your clutching his arm and shuddering for a hold in your own reality—the steady warmth of his body that’s unburdened by armor a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.

His gentle, and pliant kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth over your neck and collar bone as his hips struggle to keep a definitive pattern. Rex’s curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star.

“Where can—can I?”

You grab at his head and whine his name. “Anywhere—in me—you can cum in me.”

With a loving caress over back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, he reaches release. Rex’s moan is airy as his eyes slam shut and captures your mouth in a sizzling kiss. He’s twitching in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over your robes you lay over. Whatever.

Rex nips at your skin as the last dregs of pleasure jolt up your spine. Neither of you say a word as Rex’s hips come to a slow. Time trickles through your fingers like sand through an hourglass half empty but instead of rushing to dress, you choose to lie on the ground—two halves of a mess someone’s been meaning to clean up for the better part of a long while. You feel at home here—content as your fingers run up and down the back of his head, a bit irked by the armor still covering his back. You’re terrified of the months to come—but at least you have each other. After all, gardens will bloom and flourish with fresh blooded love and wild mistakes sculpted from passion forever if you believe hard enough…wont they?

#we out here #yeehaw #my writing #captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #ct-7567 #captai rex #clone x reader #clone trooper x reader #the clone wars #tcw #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #star wars #sw

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mochikeiji · 4 years ago

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Troublesome Baby

↠ Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Reader

↠ Warning: SMUT! Slight size kink, nipple play, overstimulation, hint of breeding, Akaashi wanting to make his baby know how pretty she is and how wrong people are about her.

↬ Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: Pissing a delinquent is never a persons choice. And what pisses off Akaashi most was when people picked on you instead of him.

⇢ Day 2: Delinquent

A person's feelings can be confusing. One minute they're saying they like a good guy who knows how to keep track in time and hs his future planned out and the second they're liking someone whom their parent's had warned them about.

If you like someone who was always up to no good, are you a masochist? They would ask. Are you out of your mind? They would scold. Do you have any idea how this'll affect your life? They would judge.

You'd like to think otherwise of people who wore tattoos, have so many scars, are always picking fights or having that gangsta stance and aura. You prefer to see them as still a human being with a cold outer shell in order to protect themselves from the cruel world, shielding their gentleness deep within.

It was cliche; a bad person getting soft for one person. But that's how it is even in reality. Sometimes, we can only be vulnerable to the ones we trust the most. And the ones we trust the most are the loved ones.

And those who we love, never deserve how they spit at the world.

That's how Akaashi was with you.

Everyone was shock by the time the former first year had a drastic demeanor change. He was timid, reserved back at his first year in highschool. Polite, and what you'd expect to have an astounding school performance. Hey never would've thought that joining the volleyball club would change someone so idly.

They always thought they were a team filled with passionate players who loved to play fair, but it turns out they loved to get rough around games and outside matches.

Roughness was never Akaashi's agenda. But with a stoic facade and built, athletic feature, he fits in perfectly to look like someone you should stay away from. Still, he kept on being the reserved person he was by hiding his wounds underneath his uniform or volleyball jacket. He doesn't admit it outloud, but he was insecure about his beating wounds.

The times where he and the team would go on random beatings after losing a bet or if someone dares to mess with anyone close to them happened often. Now that word was spread that you, sweet little you, happened to be the pretty faced setters girlfriend is targeted by many disgusting comments.

No man would want to tolerate that or will tolerate their beloved pummeled onto the ground. From all the members of the team he was voted to be the most terrifying one, he doesn't stand down from a fight especially for his baby, he wouldn't stop until the person who made a worthless comment about you, the person who would make you look down at yourself, the person who would make you cry is at their mercy.

His delinquent phase soon carried on until he reached his 20s. Even though now he was an editor and his teammates had their own domestic lives and jobs ahead, they kept up with their ways to earn a bit of cash during the night. Minus Bokuto on some occasions due to his volleyball tournaments world wide, it was mostly just him and the former third years. Even the two females had managed to know their ways into the dangers in joining as long as it helped them raise the cash up a bit.

And that leads the scenario now, you cleaning up his wounds again at the peak of 1 am in the morning after a misunderstanding beat down the past hour. He came home more bruised and bloodied than before— that meant they were outnumbered. Usually, it's Bokuto who would bark at the people who would mess with them. He was known to be feared due to his popularity, but inside the group, it's really just Akaashi who was the monster amongst all of them when he was angry.

You didn't know how long you were going to tolerate this. Him always coming back to you with new scars drawing his skin and you patching him up. It was always like this since highschool, but as you grew, people get tougher, bolder. This was too much.

"Keiji, please stop doing this."

Dabbing the cotton on the alcohol a little and tapping his skin gently to avoid stinging him, you were sat on your study chair whilst he was sitting on your shared bed. You were already trying to hold in the dam from breaking as you had been cleaning all his wounds for the past minute, but as you do, they only seem to get bigger and painful for you to bear.

"I don't want you to keep getting hurt."

Finally putting ointments on his arm, he uses his free hand to cup the side of your face, and raises you too look into his eyes. Ones that weren't feral as they were a couple of hours ago.

"They were bad mouthing about you, I wasn't letting that slip."

"But it's fine! People bad mouth about me a lot even before.."

Inside it still stung. To be growing up mocked by society in any way they see flaw in you. You were always an insecure woman up until now, any little words from others can make you into a brawling mess. What more if some threatened you, you'd be a fleeting coward.

Akaashi knew that about you when you began dating. At first he didn't pay mind into it, but the more he got to know what a kind and loving person you were, he realized just how cruel people can be to those with soft hearts. He hated those to the bone, he would never tolerate that kind of person throwing a pile of crap to someone above them.

"I just don't want to keep thinking one day you won't be coming by the door because of this..I'd rather you just stop being like this after years than to get more bruises. I don't care about the money, Keiji, I earn a lot too."

Your trembling figure was obvious, he knew how emotional you get for whenever he gets reckless, and how you over think of the things the people he has placed back in their place said about you. He never liked the fact you tried to be strong for him so many times and not even reaching out for comfort from him.

"Baby."

He cooes softly, moving away the medical kit from your side and hoisting you up from your chair with ease, allowing you to straddle his lap. You were easy for him to carry considering the height difference, thus making him more protective of you seeing as you look like a small child in fear.

Protesting softly at him to put you down since he was just freshly fixed up, Akaashi let's your head fall on his naked shoulder blade with his hand behind your head, giving your hair a slow stroke down to your back.

That's where you started to cry on his skin.

"I don't care about the money that much, I just hate it when someone threatens or mocks you without even having to know you."

He hears you sniffle at his skin, your tears wetting a small patch on it along with your face. He hushes you for a second before patting your bum, indicating he wants to see your face. With head lowered, you pulled away from his shoulder, sniffling down the tears while roughly using your wrist to wipe your eyes.

He grabs one of your wrist as his soften eyes met your red ones. He lowers your hand down to your lap, with your other one following as he was the one to wipe your tears away.

"It hurts me to have them say such things and have you crying like this. You have no idea how far you are from what they say."

The both of you took a small pause, letting him squish your cheeks with his thumbs rubbing underneath your eyes as small, left over tears escaped. Your hands below pressing against his bandaged abdomen, wondering how much trouble he's gone through just for you with a new batch of tears ready to fall.

"You don't cause me trouble, baby. I did this because you didn't deserve it. It was my decision, not yours or anyones. You will never be the reason for my troubles."

He was an observant guy, any little sign of of your body he knows what's going on. He slides your hands up from his abdomen, to his chest and placing them on his shoulders for you to hold onto. Tilting his head a bit to get an angle of your view, he gives you an adoring smile at the sight of your lips slightly pouting out and your eyes wide and glossy.

"You look cute right now."

Blinking away the blurred vision, your heart thumps a little from the way he was looking at you and his small compliment. You loved it when he gave you a lot of assurance and reminders about yourself. Even in times where they seemed unnecessary.

His finger tracing your cheeks to your nose, tapping at the tip making you shut your eyes and crinkle a little. When he groaned at the shift of your hips now snugging against his growing bulge, he quickly places his hands on your hips to hold you in place.

Your eyes popped out, stammering apologies saying you didn't mean to do it on purpose while gripping his shoulders. You hear him sigh out, worried you might've hurt him but soon vanished when you felt his hands sliding down once again to your bum.

"Why don't I show you how pretty you really are?"

He moves from his position. By instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he lays you down on bed and pushes himself up.

"W-wait, your wounds."

"I'm fine, baby, don't worry."

His hands found their way down to your pajama shorts and pulls them down with ease. He let's his shirt that you were wearing on as it only fueled his arousal at the sight of you looking smaller compared to him.

Thighs shaking and biting back a moan when his index finger slid down on your clothed slit, he repeats his actions upwards and downwards until you shortly got the middle part of your panties wet.

"Just enjoy and relax for me."

You clutched the pillow underneath your head when his finger started to press in your clothed slit, his warmth radiating strongly against your sensitive regions, it made you grind shyly on the finger teasingly trying to intrude your entrance.

He bites lip at the delicious sight and pulls his fingers away, spreading your legs apart so that he could settle himself on his stomach and his face near your lower lips. Sliding your panties down almost too quickly, he pushes your inner thighs to spread for him, giving him a better view of what his teasings done to your body and blowing cool air on your twitching hole, drooling with more arousal.

He hears a small whimper from you and looks up, you covering your mouth with the back of your hand, and your other fisting the sheets. Giving your inner thighs a kiss to calm you down, he winks at you before repeatinf his early ministrations on your now bare pussy.

"You're so easily aroused."

It came out like a breathy whisper from his lips as he watches his finger slide up and down. The thought of you tight and clenching to nothing makes him want to plunge in immediately.

He hums pleasingly at the sight and slowly inserts his index finger in. You moan out loudly in surprise, hiding your face to side and not wanting to look down thinking you might just cum from the sight. He began pulling his finger out and then pushing it back in, he wiggles a little inside of your hole loving how warm and wet it was, until he inserted a nother finger in to stretch you.

"Keiji!!"

He thrusts both fingers in with a decent pace, not wanting to go fast knowing how sensitive and easily you'll cum. His mouth was watering at the sight of his fingers being swallowed in your small pussy, and leans his face down with his other hand spreading your lips and giving it a small kiss that made your hips jolt up as he began to attack your clit.

"K-keiji! Too good!"

His free hand holds one of your thighs way to keep you spread amd at his mercy. The two fingers inside of you thrusting erratically when you tightened around them, now hearing the sloshing noises and his mouth sucking you to death.

He watches your head move from side to side and your chest heaving from his treatment. He can feel his own cock painfully erect inside his pants and moves bit, moaning against your clit at his boxers friction, and your hands finding their way to his hair and begging him not to stop.

"Keiji! Please, please, don't stop! Please, I'm close!"

His fingers beckoning inside of you knowing what he was now pressing at and flattens his tongue on your pussy before smirking up and saying,

"Go on, pretty girl, cum for me."

Hearing his voice was like a knock out for you as your hips arched up and the grip on his hair tightened. The pads of his fingers pressing and teasing your sweet spot until you were cumming hard for his mouth to take in.

He pumps a few more thrust until your orgasm faded. You whimpered from the additional thrust and grabbed his wrist to stop.

"Too much, Keiji.."

Hungry eyes raking your sweating body and wet folds, his pants getting unbearable at the moment and zips it down immediately along with his boxers, letting his cock free and breathes in the cool air as it hits his cock that made it twitch in need.

How much he wanted to keep eating you out despite being sensitive, but the need to be inside of you caves in as he hovers above your quivering body and attatching his lips with yours. He slips in his tongue to deepen the kiss, grinding his cock against your wet slit as you moaned inside his mouth from the much needed friction and something inside your needy cunt.

But Akaashi wanted to savor the moment, he knows you were a virgin. He's only fingered and eaten you out during the years of relationship. Even though the thought of having his cock a taste of your cunt drives him insane, he wanted to make sure every part of your body was touched, kissed and adored like he promised.

"Mmh!"

Fingers now tweaking your right nipples as your legs tried to close themselves from now having to be stimulated from your torso, to his hard cock still grinding tantalizing. But his body was in between them, and his mouth was practically eating your whines and mewls for him. Seeing how sensitive you were getting over the little touches he was giving made him moan against your lips. His hand moves to tweak your other untouched nipple and pulled a little, your back arching as he releases his mouth from yours letting you moan loud.

Your back still arched giving him a quick access to suck on your erected nipple, biting softly yet playfully in synch with his pinching on the other nub.

"KEIJI! HAH— PLEASE!"

Trying to move away from his mouth and fingers by pushing his head gently, he uses other hand to pin both of your smaller ones above your head and releases your nipple with a pop, shivering from the air.

He stops playing with the other one and moves there to suck on it. His finger moving to the soaked one and pulling it softly. You trashed on his hold as he continued to assault your breast. Not seeing the way his eyes are now getting half lidded at the sight of your teary ones from the amount of pleasure and the sound of your pleading singing in his ears.

"AH! Keiji!! Please— no more!"

But he knows how much you didn't want this to stop. If you really did want to stop, you would've used your safe word. But just smiles at you fondly, letting his finger move from breast to breast and pulling and pinching quickly.

"Mm, I just love," he pulls a little harder on your left nub, but not to painfully for you, "How your body reacts to me." you hear his chuckled laugh when he stops to massage your breast alternatively, leaving you whimpering from how skillful his hands were.

"You're getting cuter and prettier as time goes by."

Shamefully, your walls clenched from his words. He knows judging by how you bit your lip and shutting your eyes and grins at you. He knows how much you loved getting praised and told all the lewd things he wants to do to you.

"You'll be prettier with my cock stuffing inside you, won't you, baby?

Hands trying to pry his stronger ones away so that you can hold him, hide on his skin and let him ravage you. He does however, using both his hands, he separated your arms and pins them at the side of your head and proceeds to attack your neck.

"Baby."

He cooes at the side of your skin, cock now lubed from his pre cum and yours with the tip just poking on your lower lips impatiently.

"Please..inside, Keiji, please."

Yours legs widened themselves, preparing for what you've both been wanting that evening. He laces his hands on yours, the position you now had more vulnerable for him and he wanted nothing more than to take you and make you feel protected and pleased.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay?"

Lips pressing on your forehead as you relaxed on the sweet sensation, but as seconds went by, your body tensed when he entered the head of his cock in, inching slowly his hard length.

Akaashi's hands gripped yours harder when he feels your cunt fluttering and hugging his member tighter than he expected. His breating becoming ragged so he started leaving trail marks of love bites on your neck to calm the both of you down from the foreign feeling.

Each mark he gave came with a soft praise, telling you how good you were doing taking his cock perfectly and how beautiful you were breathless underneath him. He told you, you were doing a good job holding in and with that you let out a shaky breath before telling him he can move.

Thrusting out slowly, letting your juice slide freely on his cock before thrusting back in with force, enough for you to choke a moan. His hips taking their pace into what he knows is bearable for a first timer like you, but the way he was clenching his jaw tight indicates how much he wants to have his way and fuck you like he was on a rut. You were so tight and small compared to his impressive length that it was getting painful for him to be in a vice like grip down there.

It was a struggle to take him, but at the back of your head as you feel his cock move in and out of you felt so right, you wondered if it could be more pleasurable as it is. His face was alarming to you so you rubbed your thumb on his hand letting him pause and exhale harshly. He didn't know he was holding back so much to the point he forgot how to breathe.

"Are you okay?"

He panted above you as you stared in daze and in euphoria from being stuffed. Trying to stay grounded, you attempted to grind your hips to rile him up, only for him to growl and thrust in, forcing your hips down with a squeal from your lips.

"Don't do that."

"But you're struggling."

He breathes through his nose, he hates to admit it but he had to hold himself together not to take you like a freak in bed. He reminds himself that tonight was about you and only you. How wrong the words were of the people he's beaten for you.

"It's fine, I don't want to hurt you."

Nuzzling his nose on your cheek, he hums happily on your skin when you press your cheek in reply. As your eyes stared at each other, you knew how gentle your Keiji was with you. You knew he would never hurt you even if he could. He wasn't going to.

"Please Keiji."

Moaning wantonly when your shifted your hips in a good angle for his cock to thrust on, you looked at him with pleading eyes and drooling mouth.

"Please go harder."

Groaning on your skin, he thrusts in suddenly, lettinf your back arch once more as he placed his chin on your chest and licks his lips in hunger.

"You asked for it, baby girl."

The thrusts he was making was now audible inside your room; his balls slapping below your bum, your cunts lewd juices being messed up on both your bodies and your moans slowly becoming screams.

"KEIJI!!"

His mouth found their way back on your nipple, biting roughly and licking away the pain followed by a good sucking. Hips never faltering or holding back anymore and engulfs your shaking body.

"Fuckers were so wrong about you, love. Look at you,"

Your mouth was drooling from the side, hair messed up in display on the pillow that made them look soft and angelic on you, eyes, your hands holding onto him tight with your body jiggling up everytime he thrusts in.

"You look absolutely ravaging."

He lets go of your other hand and places his on the back of your leg, hoisting it up and placing it on his shoulder, letting his cock piston deeper into you and making a mess out of you.

"I can't even move a lot from how small and tight your cunt is."

He laughs breathlessly as he aims to find your sweet spot again. You were trying to pull away from his hold but with your thigh up on his shoudler, you were stuck taking this all in like a good girl.

"I think I may be too lucky to have you in my life."

The tip of his cock was now kissing that spot that made you scream out in the blue, Akaashi cursed when your cunt clenched his raging member as he kept aiming at your precious spot.

"Fuck, do you like that, baby?"

"AHN— YES! PLEASE, PLEASE, I WANT TO CUM!"

Sobbing for the much needed orgasm, your body gives up and lets the male above you use it to please you both.

"Fuck, my hips can't stop."

He buries himself at the crook of your neck, moaning near your ear, edging you close to your release to the sound of him. He lets out small whimpers and groans, his cock twitching violently inside you with his thrusts losing their rhythm.

"Baby girl."

"KEIJI, SLOW DOWN! AHH— I'M GOING TO CUM!"

The heat in your stomach felt different from your previous orgasms. This felt hotter, tighter, and a whole lot messier. But Akaashi showed no mercy and carried on,

"Cum for me, baby."

The freed hand he had a minute ago now being a teasing bastard and rubbed your swollen clit. Pinching and rolling all four of his fingers on, making you scream and thrash. Panting with the thought of dying frkm the immense sex he was giving until the last line made you scream without a sound,

"I'm going to cum inside."

Your eyes rolled sinfully at the last line, your bodh ascending above not hearing Akaashi gasp from the way you came and groan as both his cock and abdomen get soaked from your cum and your stomach filled with his thick load and kept thrusting in a slower pace. Your cunt spasming on his member, milking him dry until you were taking all of his load in.

Exhausted, his body stills and lays a bit above you, not wanting to squish you with his member remaining inside you. Sniffles can be heard coming from you as you calmed down from your high, Akaashi stroking your hand that was still clamped on his and peppered you with small kisses and sweet confessions.

"You did so good."

"That's my baby."

"Always so beautiful even like this."

You other arm came and wrapped themselves on his neck, pulling close to you as you inhaled his masculine scent, anchoring you down back to earth before coming to realization on how damp your bottom was.

"I—"

"Squirted?"

Blushing, you buried your head on his neck followed by a laugh from your boyfriend, listening to you blabber multiple apologies.

"I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, I liked it," He captured your lips with kiss, kissing you lovingly and a little longer before pulling away only to give you small pecks repeatedly, "It was sexy."

"You sound so different when you use that word, Keiji.."

"But it's true."

He didn't bother pulling out after you pleaded him not to. Even if it was your first time, it was addicting to have something fill you up to the brim. It made you feel snug and full, and it felt right. Akaashi wasn't complaining on the cock warming, in fact he held you closer to his chest and twirled your hair nonetheless.

"You're really not what they describe you, love," he admires how the dim light from your room manages to create a good lighting that made your skin glow. The hairs that sticked to you forehead after the intimacy you both caught up made you look like a soft baby with eyes looking at him full of love,

"I can't even describe you anymore."

Your eyes trailed down to his wounded torso from his face. Even though he was tainted, Akaashi was sculptured beautifully like no other. But inside you prayed that he wouldn't go home another day with freshly opened wounds just to defend you as you traced your fingertips on each bruise and scar.

He spots on and grabs one of your hands and pulls it in for a kiss on the knuckles, "I promise, I won't make you worry anymore."

Smiling, you snuggled on his chest pleased and full of bliss, feeling his lips kissing the top of your head repeatedly and his arms hugging you closer to his body.

"Keiji?"

"Hm?"

Pressing your cheek on his chest, you looked up to him and asked, with a small tint of blush on your face in embarrassment, "Um..W-why did you you know...In me?"

For a second he blushes as well, but in the end he seemed to be smiling excitedly as you missed the way his eyes glanced somewhere down your stomach.

"So I can have another pretty baby to love."

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ephemerlskies · 4 years ago

Text

constant craving | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: drabble series, angst, unrequited love, idiot!jungkook, idiot!oc, basically everyone's an idiot

⇢ word count: 1.7k

⇢ warnings: unreciprocated pining, explicit language, themes of hopeless romanticism (!!), (slightly) unedited

⇢ summary: your best friend decided to confide in his best friend on how to win his girlfriend back after a fight. you tell him exactly what to say to her, however he is unaware that what you were saying was a sincere delivery of your once undeclared love.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: hello my little loves!! this was definitely ;) not ;) an impulse write and release ;) ;) sorry for being so inactive lately. i've been focusing on myself (i know how cliche that sounds but it's true). anyway, enjoy this incredibly angsts fic i wrote at 2 am for absolutely no reason at all other than i'm an emotional sadist and a masochist. love u!!!! <3

part one: control

He was coming over for the third time this week. Third time. Three times is two more times than he'd gone over his girlfriend's house, but you did everything in your power to convince your inconvincible heart that it meant nothing. Friends see each other more than their girlfriends, right?

It was making a racket in your chest, that muscle that strained much harder for a man who had his pumping for the girl of his dreams.

But, he was coming over for the third time this week.

The first time he said this visit ranked, in his words, 'out of the question' on the degree of necessary that he come over and show you Star Wars. You played a good game of reluctance when asking if it was the entire series or just one movie, and in your head, you hoped to God it was the entire series. For him, you'd watch the series four times over if it meant you sat through this outrageously nerdy movie next to the even more outrageously nerdy love of your life.

The second time was particularly funny to you. He called while you were cooking dinner, almost as if he was in stride with you in a way that was an ounce too synchronized to be platonic, and asked if you were whipping up a delicious meal that he could mooch off of. Knowing he was a terrible cook, plus the fact that when he begged so politely you felt your posture unbind into to a puddle, you more than happily obliged.

This time, the circumstances made it harder to say yes, but not yet impossible. And it was a second or two before you heard that knock on the front door that had your once pounding heart come to a complete halt. It was still, waiting for you to make a decision.

Since it was Jungkook, of course, you'd say yes. And your heart would continue beating. Beating, as in sending sharp jabs that stained the inside of your chest with bruises. Beating, as in when the time came, the final blow of your constantly craving heart would devastate your entire being.

"Thank you so much, ___. God, I'm such an idiot." He walked in with all the confidence of someone who was a bit too familiar with your company. Jungkook's feet reintroducing themselves to your floors in the same manner as he would the night before, and the night before that, and the countless nights you kept secured in your collection of memories. As if he belonged there; as if he was coming home.

"An idiot with a great friend." That last word nearly withdrew the bile you had been ever so gracefully holding in.

"Yeah yeah." And he was comfortable with that same word, 'friend', that deepened your bruises into scars. He had absolutely no clue. Idiot. "I can't believe I broke up with her. I was so angry and acted on that instead of logic. Fuck, why would I do that to myself? I love her."

"Well, you never know. Maybe..." You hated yourself for not resisting the selfish temptation that was about to fall from your lips. The words you've been internally screaming to him to leave her and fall in love with you instead were diluted to something much more tame when your tongue formed them into sound.

"Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you guys are better off apart? To, um, grow or whatever."

"No." He said that with too much certainty and too little hesitance and just enough conviction to sink another wound in the organ exhausting itself in your chest. "She's the one. I know it"

"Jungkook."

He looked at you with all the earnestness of a man who carved his utmost and unchanging dedication to her. A look that any love-induced sap would kill for. A look he would never direct towards you.

Your eyes weren't under your control as of now. The glue that held them to his eyes, his lips, his hair, and every other part of him you dreamed of was more than a marathoned yearning. It was an adhesive twelve years in the making, not showing the slightest sign of wearing away.

"The way you love is something to die for..." And then he smiled at you, but still not for you.

You were utterly crushed.

"She'll take you back in a heartbeat. I mean, she has a brain, so of course, she will. Anyone would."

I would.

"I hope you're right." The couch was four feet wide at most, but there was an impressively vast space between you and the man who was sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what to say? You know I suck with words."

"Uh... Yeah. Of course. Anything."

If breaking hearts were a crime, then Jungkook would have much to atone for. You'd be convicted as a willing accomplice for holding on this long. Up until this point, you've let every small glance, every shy smile he sent your way, every eyebrow twitch conveying a meaning only you knew well enough to retrieve him from whatever awkward situation he needed rescuing from, every accidentally brush of his hand against yours, every purposeful embrace that lasted so long your tears stained his right shoulder string you into a knot of miserable, unrequited love.

And up until this point, you had hope he would choose you.

Each ring of his phone worked in tandem to reduce your undying devotion to Jungkook into a compressed seed of denial.

I don't love him. He's just my best friend.

Your pulse pronounced itself loudly in your ears, as a not-so-gentle reminder of how much you hated him for loving him. Somehow, your heart beat faster. Then again, anything was possible when it came to him. Anything except the miraculous event of him hanging up, declaring his love for you, and living in the land of happily ever after that only existed in your deluded imagination.

"Hey Irene! I'm so fucking glad you picked up."

He gave you that look. With the arched eyebrow, his widened doe eyes, and the slightly hung jaw, you read each feature better than words and nodded to signal you knew exactly what he needed.

"I'm sorry about what happened." You said, in a whisper, though the deflated volume of your words carried no implication of the unbridled sincerity sealed in them.

"I'm sorry about what happened." He repeated, laying down that same Irene-contrived smile on you that fostered a smile of your own, knowing fully it surfaced as a reflex from hearing her voice.

"It might be crazy to try this, because I don't know how you feel."

If the thing people say about your life flashing before your eyes during encounters with death, then you were sure your heart was about to consume its last pulse of blood. The scenes of you and Jungkook spending your Friday nights when you were a ripe city dweller in your shoebox apartment doing everything and nothing at all had convinced you that you were certainly about to go into cardiac arrest.

"It might be crazy to say this, because I don't know how you feel." Jungkook was so many things, however emotionally perceptive was not one of them.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you." Those words tasted sweet despite fermenting in a chamber of your heart you kept preserved since, as you said, the very moment you met him.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you."

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

He repeated your words, but dehydrated all of your sentiment from them. You were left with the remnants of the feelings, and none of the words from him you were so desperately starved of. He took them right from your throat, along with the very breath that seemed to keep returning because of Jungkook, molded them into his own, into a sequence of sounds that were meant for Irene. You were left hungry, breathless, and forever wanting.

Irene must have been smiling right about now. Who wouldn't smile hearing those things from someone like Jungkook?

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Then, you began to ask yourself another question.

If you make me complete, Jungkook, will my story ever end?

You knew the answer to that. You swore your heart beat in a morse code that told you everything you needed to know.

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Jungkook looked to you, before Irene could form the proper response, and smiled. It was the third time he smiled at you today because of course, you were keeping track. You knew it was his own physically linguistic version of a 'thank you' or a 'you're a life saver' but somehow, to you, it translated to something similar to a 'goodbye'.

Your legs miraculously rose and carried you to the back porch. The sun was just beginning to dip in the horizon, proliferating a warm orange that was about to subside to an indistinguishable and unpredictable dusk. Whatever color came after the sunset, you were ready to accept it, to memorize how it reflected against a world without the possibility of him. And even though the night will always embody undertones of orange, it was time to focus on the colors around it.

It was time to let go.

a/n: i might make this into a drabble series!!! if anyone would be interested in that please let me know :)) thank you for readinggggg <3

#bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts writing #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #bts drabble #jungkook drabble #jungkook #constant craving #rubycoast

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fairestwriting · 4 years ago

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title: piece of my world

word count: 1562

summary: Phoebe shuts off the game before she goes to bed, but it doesn’t seem to end there.

commissioned by @invaderphoeb ! hope you enjoyed it and thanks so much for the support <3 also available on ao3 here !

guidelines for commissions are here, in case anyone else is interested

That game had an interesting prologue.

Phoebe chuckles when she switches the phone off, letting her face meet the mattress for a second, smiling. She had fun with it, there were more chapters to look into later, but for now the prologue would have to be enough — It was that long already, all of its parts stretching far into the night.

She yawns, turning around on the bed, now laying on her back instead of her stomach. It had been her friend’s idea to have her play it, knowing her love for Disney movies and its villains, and she’s grateful for the recommendation. It had been a fun night.

But naturally, everything needs to come to an end, and this far into the night, Phoebe really needed to get some sleep.

Hopping off the bed, they leave their phone on the nightstand and dig into their closet for a couple moments before retrieving their favorite pajama set, changing without thinking about much of anything. They hang the clothes they’d been wearing previously on the chair near the desk, then get under the covers, snuggling up until they’re comfortable.

Pip, their dear teddy bear, had been resting on the nightstand, next to the phone, but soon enough it’s in their arms again, squeezed tightly as they nuzzled it with a small smile.

It’s funny seeing how the personalities of the villains translated into these characters, how they held that sort of familiarity she felt when she watched the movies, but turned into something new and refreshing. She didn’t know exactly who was who yet, just a handful of scattered names her friend had mentioned to her, but seeing some elements on the character’s designs, she had a couple of guesses here and there.

It was an interesting game, really. Phoebe was excited to play some more in the morning, she thinks, and drowsiness began to cloud her mind.

That cat, Grim, with his blue flames a boasting, prideful dialogue, and the headmaster Dire Crowley, with that mask and flashy blue clothing, stay in her mind for a bit. Kind of like they’re staring at him through water, Phoebe sinks into the pool of her thoughts, slowly fading away as sleep takes over, and they don’t leave.

What a funny game. She wonders which characters she’d get to know in chapter one — Which villains were personified there, and how. Crowley’s words, in that specific tone of voice he had, echo along incomprehensibly, and she thinks of this one red haired boy who had chased after Grim in the story.

In Phoebe’s blurred vision, he’s running like that, in those robes. She wonders where he was headed, briefly.

. . .

“What happened here?”

“Where the hell did this come from… who is this person?”

“Are they conscious? Everyone, step away…!”

The world blurs and unblurs, everything darkened with the still not faded unconsciousness of Phoebe’s brain — Not many thoughts run through her mind, is she dreaming? The place around her can barely be seen, but it doesn’t look like her room.

No, it doesn’t look like her room at all.

It’s purple all around, odd lighting comes from a chandelier and hanging lamp lights in a sort of lavender or reddish tone. There are windows on the walls, decorated with intricate framing that looped in all sorts of arabesque-like designs, long dark purplish curtains covering their corners, mirrors all around.

Near those walls, coffins floating ominously, emanating glow from a circle on their very centers that kept fading in and out, with all those people around him too, Phoebe notes vaguely, but he can barely move. He feels something poking at him, first at his wrist, then on his face—

“What are you doing? Don’t touch them like this, or it’ll be off with your head…!”

What…? Phoebe tries to open his eyes, but it’s difficult. The voice is eerily, slightly familiar, the line definitely so, taking her way back to watching the classic Alice in Wonderland in a rainy night, curled up in blankets and holding her—

The teddy bear. Where was it?

“Oi, it looks like they’re waking up…” A rougher, deeper voice comes into play after a couple of steps, Phoebe still can’t see right, but she knows there’s a man looming over her, intense eyes that stand out between darker skin and hair.

Her vision unblurs slightly, for a moment. She sees the slash of the scar across his eye.

“This looks strange…” A faraway mutter by an analytical voice, quiet yet it calls for Phoebe’s attention, she sees another tan man on the borders of the crowd, long hair cascading over his shoulder. A shorter one with white hair and red eyes standing by his side. “Kalim, stand behind.” He says, it comes out commanding, misplaced when it came to the image he got through

“Ehh, Jade, what’s going on? Did the entrance ceremony just get interesting?” Another faraway sound, a giggle among many other mutters.

“Mm, it seems so, Floyd.”

Blur again, but it doesn’t last too long before it leaves again, and the faint shapes of other people come back into Phoebe’s field of vision. The voices around Phoebe don’t stop talking, gawking at them like they’re some sort of lab rat to be experimented on, they want to stand up and tell them to back off, to ask where the hell they are, what sort of dream is this? But they can’t move at all, every limb feeling like it’s been cemented onto the floor.

Despite the way their eyes kept darting around, not even their lids could stay fully open—

“What the hell is that…” Someone else is giggling, leaning forwards, a sly smile with orange hair and red eyes.

“Shush, you’re gonna get into trouble, and we didn’t even get sorted yet..!” A person nearby, short dark hair and eyes of the same color, scolds them.

Phoebe is mostly trying to move. Wiggling fingers or toes, squirming, but it’s like they’re trapped into their own body, fading in and out of consciousness, only one foot into the bizarre dream, and the other…

“Has the headmaster not said he’d check where that person came from?” The voice near the one Phoebe could link the name Floyd to asks, just a tad closer, had he taken a couple steps towards them? “I don’t believe I see him anywhere.”

“Super weird, huh. I like it.” That Floyd drawls, sounding just on the edge of a giggle. “Hey, Jade, d’you think they’re from anywhere we know? Maybe some first year who just passed out here?”

“What are you… you two, get away from them, what excuse would you tell if they found you hovering over an unconscious body?” A new, unfamiliar voice perks up. Looking around drowsily, Phoebe finds the source of that duo, two tall teal-haired young men, a third, smaller and silver-haired one popping up between them through the crowd. “Keep away. This is not our problem to solve—”

“Eh, but Azul likes getting up on other people’s businesses, doesn’t he.” Floyd laughs.

“Now’s not the time for this!” A new voice scolds — the boy who’d said that familiar phrase, off with your head, she finds out he’d been small, red haired, and…

Realization hits even through the haze. Was that the game’s prologue?

“Really, where is that headmaster…”

“You know you can’t trust that guy, all he cares about is…”

“But it’s more interesting like this, right? Entrance ceremonies are so boring…”

Murmurs and more murmurs around them. Phoebe resigns herself to the dream. Maybe she’d wake up. Maybe she’d tell her friend about it tomorrow morning, laughing about how easily the game had trickled into her head, turning into this weird frenzied fantasy.

Because it wasn’t real, right? There’s no way something like this could be!

“Silence!” Another voice — One easily recognized, even before the eye-catching figure of a man in flashy garments and a bird mask steps in hurriedly. It’s that headmaster Crowley, his eyes glowing slightly in the dim light. “Don’t crowd around the unconscious person like this—”

“But do you know where they come from?” The scarred man with a deeper voice says, but takes a step back anyway. The headmaster looks around, frantic.

“Of course! Of course I do, perhaps they’re a student, just…”

“Is that… is that teddy bear glowing?”

The headmaster gasps, Phoebe feels a spark of energy hitting her mind again — Her teddy, she pleads in the back of her mind, trying to move, to look around, and she finally sees Pip, laying right next to her, who would now, but a soft glow emanates from the plush of its body. Phoebe’s efforts go towards stretching her arms to grab it, just hold it again, but it’s still impossible.

“This doesn’t look good.” The headmaster says in an uncharacteristic, quiet voice. “Students! Kindly do step back, I’ll be taking them to the infirmary?”

“But are they a student?” The bossy red-haired boy questions. “Headmaster?”

The voices begin to melt and muddle together like ingredients stirred into the same strange syrup — Phoebe sees glowing eyes through a mask very clearly as her body is picked up, internally panicking before the teddy bear is also taken from the floor and placed within her arms.

It doesn’t take too long for everything to go black again.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst oc #commissions tag #dire crowley #riddle rosehearts #jade leech #floyd leech #leona kingscholar #jamil viper #lis writing

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 4 years ago

Text

The other world pt 5

You were just about to give in till another light swung down from the side and knocked into Squalo's head and threw him off of you, causing more blood to decorate the new clothes you wore.

You struggled to stand up but slowly you managed. You walked over to his body, your face screwed up in disgust as you saw that the impact had completely caved in his head, at this point you couldn't make out his face.

You then paced over to his boyfriends corpse which had several holes through it. With little hesitation you grabbed the ring and pocketed it before going over to the pile of your old clothes and picking up the handle before running out of the building as all the remaining lights blew up. You slammed the door shut and let out a huff. Just glad that you made it out alive.

You were wounded and tired. You really didn't want to have to jump through barbed wire hoops for a third time but if you didn't then you were better off as a dead failure. After all this was no longer just between you and the puppeteer, the souls of your parents and the three women were also at stake. You pulled yourself up the stairs with all the strength you could. Deep laboured breaths escaped your mouth as you felt your body wobble like jelly.

"Oh dear…" Abbaccio gasped as he saw your bloodied form come into view.

"What happened?" He asked as he rushed to your side but you refused to respond.

"(Y/n)?" His tone was that of horror. He could see that this was really getting to you.

"I need… to keep going" you wheezed as you took your last step before falling to the ground, you tried to get back up only to fall again.

"(Y/n) stop, you need to rest" he said.

"No!" You hissed as you clawed into the dirt, trying to drag yourself forward.

"Stop it! You are going to kill yourself!" He yelled.

"But the eyes" you retorted.

"I'll get the last pair" he replied.

"No I need to do this!" You argued.

"Listen to yourself (Y/n), you sound like a spoiled brat! I'm not just going to sit here and let another person I know die!" He yelled.

"But I need to do this… this is my job. If I lose then I'll be trapped here for an eternity with that monster" you explained as you got up on your knees and stood up.

"Besides how hard could the last trial be?" You said as you dusted yourself off before tearing up sections of your clothes to tie around your wounds.

You looked at your surroundings and noticed that the night was dimmer than usual. You looked to the sky and noticed that the moon was slowly eclipsing, the shadow already covering half the moon

"That's strange… I've never seen a lunar eclipse in this world, have you Abbaccio?" You said as you began to walk toward the long flight of stairs that wound around the house.

"No I've never seen one either, I don't think it's a good sign so we should hurry up before it's fully eclipsed" he replied as he followed you.

As you reached the stairs a shiver ran down your spine. The attic had always been such an ominous and mysterious place for you, both in the real world and this one. Abbaccio took a step onto the first of the stairs which worsened the panic attack you were having.

“Please stay down..” you wheezed.

“I really don’t want to feel these stairs rock more” you continued to explain to Abbaccio

The real owner was a man by the name of Mr Nero. You would often be sent to deliver his mail to him but he would never open the door or respond. However at night you would be woken up by the loud creak of the rusting staircase, by chance you had actually seen him but you wish you hadn't. That image of seeing the albino male glare at you with piercing red eyes through the window shook you to your very core.

You sighed as you took your first step, the rusty metal stairs threatening to collapse underneath you. You took another step and the steps made a loud screech. You took another breath before frantically running up the rest of the steps. Your heart raced with fear and dread. It seemed so childish to be afraid of the attic but you knew what ever lurked beyond those doors was a monster among monsters.

The faint sound of a vinyl stuck on repeat echoed from beyond the door. You swallowed your saliva and brought the sliver of courage you had remaining to open the door. As you entered the room you noticed how dusty the place was, like no one had been in the attic for a decade or so.

You saw the faulty record player in the corner and cautiously approached it. You took the needle off of the vinyl.

The door slammed shut and the scratching of thousands of little claws patterning across the room became president. You turned around frantically in search of the source but couldn't see anything. You turned back to bump straight into a tall male who had been standing behind you. Permanent smile sewn at the side of his lips only became more haunting the more you looked at him.

"Well well, you finally decided to visit us" his deep green dreadlocks swayed as he cackled but still he managed to emphasize us in such a way that made you even more scared then you already were. You could only assume this was the cioccolata you had heard about.

"My my (Y/n)" he spoke with false concern in his words as his green button eyes dangled along the loose black thread. He grabbed your arm and inspected the shark-like bites on your hand before you shook him off and began to pace away from the puppet of a man.

"Your injuries must hurt… why don't you let me take care of you?" he eerily lulled as he took methodically large steps towards you.

"No thank you, it's just a scratch" you declined before tripping over backwards and hitting your head on the edge of a tray carrier, the contents spilling around you.

Syringes, knives and various other pieces of surgical equipment falling around you. All of which were not sterile, covered in blood and rust.

"You know you should really be more careful with yourself… Diavolo wouldn't like you all torn up like an old rag doll, now would he?" he scolds as you turn away from Cioccolata's gaze. On the floor you saw a ball rolling on the floor, maybe that was the last eyes, you looked through your pendant and sure enough it was. You reached out to grab it but another hand snatched it from the shadows. A low growl echoed as the second figure emerged from their shadowy hiding from behind the green haired creep. He walked towards the maniac of a man and he gave his head a pat as he looked at the pendant you wore.

Like a dog he crawled across the floor, rags covered most of his body but what skin you could see was littered in bruises, burns, scars and stitches. Discoloration of his skin was prominent. His button eyes were a glossy lavender. He was more like a Frankensteinish monster than what was meant to seem human.

"Cheater" he snarled as he held the ball between his teeth which caught the attention of the man in white.

"Oh… is that right Secco?" He hummed before reaching out to you with his bony fingers and tugged at the necklace until the leather snapped off, with little care on how much it hurt you.

"You're absolutely correct Secco, she's cheating" he hissed.

"How am I cheating, there was never such a rule against this?" You asked as you finally stood up.

"In Diavolo's world we are all at his mercy my dear" he chuckled as he poked your nose.

"That wasn't an answer" you stated but yet again he ignored you.

"How about you play a game with my rats?" He asked.

"I'd rather not… I hate rats, I find them absolutely terrifying" you replied, squirming underneath his scrutinizing gaze.

You quickly tried to snatch the ball out of Secco's mouth but failed. His skin began to literally crawl, like something was squirming inside of his body. Through his stitches creatures tried so desperately to escape this form. Sharp teeth began to eat through the disgusting disguise that Secco truly was until the fake puppet burst into a swarm of filthy rats.

Like a ripple in the water they scattered in all directions. You let out an ear piercing scream as you felt their wire like fur brush against your skin. You had lost complete sight of the ball until you saw it in Cioccolata's hand.

You quickly tried to snatch the ball out of his hand but you instead caught a strand of string attached to him without realizing, accidentally pulling all the fine stitching that held him together. Bony ringed tails wriggled like tendrils as more rats fell from his body. Loosening the fine stitching even more until the large rodents began to fall to the ground.

You saw one had caught the ball and began to scurry away. You tried to chase it however they all kept their distance, like you and all of them were like the same side of different magnets. Sick of their game you leaped to catch the blasted rat but they all avoided your landing to the wooden floor. Splinters from the wooden planks that barely passed as an actual floor scraped against your skin. The filthy creatures crawled on top of you.

You cringed at the feeling of how their paws clung to your skin, the goosebumps on your skin only made the sensations feel all the worse by ten fold. You thrashed your body around to get them off of you. While some were thrown off others had a tight hold on you.

Managing to get to your feet you stumbled around in a desperate attempt to free yourself from their filthy paws off of you. Some still managed to keep their grip and began to crawl up your face, using their revolting bodies to obscure your view.

You slam into every wall to try to get them off but it seems impossible. You keep trying to knock them off, only to hear your steps on metal and the floor shake under you. It was all a part of the devious rats plan. The sheer force of their colony tackling into you caused you to lose your balance and topple over the rails, only then your sight was restored to watch yourself fall to the ground far below.

You seemed to blackout just before you hit the ground. For only a second or two you experienced true nothingness. Numbness enveloping you, exposing you to the loneliness of nonexistence. However such loneliness felt almost like a luxury in comparison to then to live a life of constant torture, one that you would surely experience if you lost this game.

The light almost seemed blinding as you opened your eyes, your vision was fuzzy and blurred and you couldn’t understand the noises, even when your senses returned you just blankly stared at the starless night sky.

“(Y/n)” a familiar voice said with concern in their tone.

“(Y/n), are you ok?” they asked before you turned your head towards them to see Abbaccio with the ball in front of his paws.

“Thanks… I thought I’d lost it” you muttered, still partially out of reality.

“(Y/n) now’s not the time to be daydreaming, look” he scolded as he looked just a little bit to the right than you could see..

You sat up and turned a bit to see the last sliver of light become hidden behind the silhouette of a button upon the moon. The sky began to peel like the old paint on your house walls revealing only a blank white behind it. The ground began to shake, you jumped to your feet and scooped Abbacchio as well as the final eyes before bee-lining to the back patio and desperately trying to open the door as the world crumbled behind you at an alarming pace.

You finally opened the door and threw yourself in and slammed the door shut.

#yandere #yandere jjba #yandere x reader #yandere diavolo #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #coraline au #spacy works

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concussed-to-pieces · 5 years ago

Text

Her Dove, His Falcon, Their Shield Part Two

Fandom: Game Of Thrones

Pairing: Oberyn/Reader/Ellaria

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Disclaimer for Game Of Thrones writing here! Hello everyone, welcome to the next installment! I hope you're all doing well. Thank you so much for being here. Enjoy!

Tag List: @culturalrebel @huliabitch @absurdthirst @helplessly-nonstop @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @cyaredindjarin @thesadvampire @robin-writes @buckysalefty

Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains allusions to previous abuse, non-graphic mentions of pregnancy/labor and birth, and threesome antics. Stay safe!]

"Again!" Oberyn demanded, wiping the sweat off his brow.

You feinted left, then right, the butt of your pike nearly striking the prince in the ribs before he danced out of the way. You grunted, discouraged by the fact that you still weren't fast enough to catch him. You had been closer that time though…

The prince laughed, the noise in and of itself immensely galling. "Perhaps if you land a blow on me today, my newest daughter will bear your name!" He taunted. "Shieldove Sand has such a ring to it."

You leveled your pike at him. "Save your teasing for your courtiers, Prince Oberyn!" You snarled, "I am in no mood for your damned japery at my expense!"

"Hold." Oberyn ordered sharply.

You slumped a little, your grip on the pike loose now. "I...I apologize, your highness."

"You are concerned about her." It wasn't a question and you well understood that.

"I am." You allowed softly.

Ellaria had gone into labor several hours before and Oberyn had specifically sought you out for some particularly grueling training. His smile was tight-lipped as the two of you squared off in the empty training courtyard. You knew he was worried as well, but you were bordering on frantic.

Oberyn's heavy sigh took you by surprise. "I would give every breath in my body to be there with her, but I am told it is an excessively messy affair. She does not wish for me to see her birth." He said bluntly. "Every time it is like this. Every time I am caged, constantly pacing, driving myself mad with thoughts that grow more and more dark as the hours pass."

You bit your lip and then laid a hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry Oberyn, I didn't mean to imply that...I know I am not the only one who fears for her safety." You apologized timidly.

He covered your hand with his own, thumb rubbing over your knuckles idly. "You called me Oberyn." He mused after a moment. You flinched, but he kept your hand where it was. "I am glad, my falcon. It heartens me to know that you think of her as I do."

"We can do naught but pray for her safety and keep ourselves busy until she requires you once again." You pointed out, desperate to change the subject so he wouldn't dwell on your error of addressing him by his given name. "I must train even harder, for what if the new babe is like your Sand Snake Elia?"

Oberyn burst out laughing, bumping his forehead into yours. "Truly, what if! We will have no choice but to rally the guard at that point. No one will be safe." You couldn't help your smile when he looked at you, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "Thank you for the levity, my falcon."

"I live to serve, your highness."

He sighed heavily, knocking the butt of his spear against the ground. "How many times must I insist you call me Oberyn?" The prince began to back away, his spear twirling easily in his deft hands. You shook your head ruefully and did not reply, your own weapon in a low defensive position. "Prepare yourself, Ser Shieldove! You face the Red Viper of House Martell!" He announced with a grand flourish, charging in afterwards.

You easily parried his first strike, and dodged his second. The third rasped against your chain mail loudly, making the prince grin triumphantly before you brought the haft of your pike up and threw him back a step. "Too cocky, princeling!" You admonished, startling another laugh out of him. "You'll have to do better than that!"

Your pike thrust out and he slipped around it like the snake he was, his own mail clicking with the sharpness of his motions. You scoffed, swinging the shaft instead to finally catch him firmly in the ribs. The prince staggered, but quickly took advantage of your shock as his spear jabbed low, aiming for your legs.

At the pressure of meeting your body, the safety binding around the blade of the spear tore slightly. You felt something catch on the inside of your unarmored thigh when Oberyn snapped his wrist back, his spear singing through the air with the speed of his retreat. You caught his next attack with the palm of your hand around the haft of his spear, halting the blow before it could land. "Mind your blade." You warned, tipping your head to the now-exposed metal at the head of his spear.

Oberyn nodded, then his eyes widened. As he strode forward, your thigh began to sting. You glanced down, startled by the amount of blood that already darkened your hose. Oberyn shoved you back a step with the force of his approach, his fingers tearing at the laced placket on your trews.

"W-What are you doing?!" You protested, your voice pitched abnormally high out of fear as you slapped your hands down over his own to still them. He was too close, why was he-

"I have just slit your leg open and you ask what I'm doing? I should have made you wear your cuisses, I am a fool." He hissed, "Sparring with you while we are both in turmoil was me tempting fate, and now you...have…"

His words faded after he gave up on your placket and simply tore the hole in your hosiery a bit wider, exposing more of your bare thigh. You closed your eyes tightly, not wanting to see his face.

"Ser Shieldove, what are these marks from?" Oberyn queried after a moment, his trembling fingers grazing one of the many silvered scars.

"Pinching, Prince Oberyn." You answered softly.

"Pinching." His voice was flat with disbelief.

"When I would make noise or cry out during, Prince Oberyn."

"Gods, what?" Oberyn breathed.

You shrugged helplessly. "He did much worse to others. I was useful." You were certain he must be staring at you, but you could not bring yourself to meet his eyes.

His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he embraced you, pulling you into his chest and resting his forehead against your temple. "That is...barbarous, monstrous." He seethed. "To so boldly attempt to rob you of any delight you might ever have--I tremble with rage!" His laugh was sardonic, bitter, and he was indeed shaking. "So that you can feel the echoes of his lecherous manhandling, every time you bathe or dress?"

"I do not believe he expected me to escape." You admitted, startled by his rough inhale of breath. "I believe he expected me to perish one of those nights, but I was hardier than his usual playthings."

"No more, falcon." Oberyn whispered. "Please. My heart breaks at the notion of you enduring such heinous treatment." He kissed your forehead and you flushed. This was far removed from his usual lighthearted flirting! He sounded distraught, burying his face in your neck as he continued to hold you.

My heart breaks…

Slowly, hesitantly, you raised your hands to rest on his back. Your fingers fumbled for purchase momentarily on his armor. If he merely sought you out for comfort because Ellaria was indisposed, then comfort him you would. Somehow. "I have survived him, however." You sighed. "And thanks to you, he will not harm anyone ever again."

"It feels like too little in the wake of his reign of terror." Oberyn muttered. "I did it solely for my sister, for the dashed body of my infant nephew and the slaughter of my niece, but had I stopped to think about the debt that man must have wracked up with his nightmarish actions…" He trembled again. "It is as though I was picked by the gods themselves to strike him down. Why me, I wonder?"

His palm covered the wound he had created, pressing down steadily as he helped you hobble to the nearby bench. "You worry too much!" You waved off his concern, peering at the wound. It was deeper than you had anticipated, but it was still hardly a scratch to someone like yourself. "This parchment cut shall not fell me. Unless you've poisoned your blade, Red Viper?"

"Never!" Oberyn protested. "I would not gamble so foolishly on naught but a simple sparring match, Ser Shieldove."

"You do loathe losing." You teased. "You must tell your daughters I died valiantly, cursing your name while choking on my own spittle or something equally as glorious."

"It would be a death for the history books." Oberyn assured you, the furrow of his heavy brow lessening somewhat as he seemed to realize that you would be alright.

A servant skittered around the corner of the hallway leading to the training yard, her gauzy skirts bunched up in her hands so she could run freely. "Prince Oberyn!" She called, gasping for breath.

The prince whirled and you lunged to your feet, your leg forgotten. "Speak, girl!" Oberyn demanded of the servant, who had obviously run quite a fair bit in order to find him.

"Baby--Ellaria wants--come now-" The girl panted, gesturing vaguely behind her.

Oberyn was still for a moment, like he was frozen. You placed a hand on his rear and gave him a gentle shove, saying, "tell her no matter what happens, I am proud of her, Oberyn." The prince nodded hurriedly, shaking off his daze and bolting down the hall.

You grimaced. Hopefully, no one would question the blood that stained his hand and vambrace! You decided your best option would be to retreat to your quarters to dress your wound and wait, on the off chance that the prince or his paramour would deign to summon you.

You had hoped that the sparring would help you expend some of your nervous energy, but it did not seem that luck was on your side. You found yourself endlessly restless, pacing back and forth beside your pallet as the sun slowly sank. The bells for the evening meal rang out, but you ignored them.

You finally lit your lantern and settled down into the chair beside your bed, focusing on the flame that flickered in the glass panes. It was an old exercise, but comforting in its familiarity. You let your mind empty, let everything drift away until all that remained was the candle and yourself.

All I ask is that they are healthy, whole and strong. You were uncertain of who you prayed to in these times of meditation, daring to surmise that you prayed to anyone who might be listening. All I ask is that Ellaria is well, and the baby is well. Your brow furrowed. Please.

You did not know how much time passed while you were in prayerful contemplation, only realizing how sore your back was when the door to your quarters was thrown open. The sudden motion made you flinch in surprise, looking up. It was that same servant, the young girl, her face alight. "The prince and his lady have sent for you, Ser Shieldove!" she chirped.

Thank you, you threw your heartfelt gratitude to whoever might be responsible before snuffing out the candle.

Clad in only light hose and undertunic, you raced through the maze of outer hallways with all the speed and eagerness of a child. As you approached the birthing chambers, however, you attempted to calm your thundering heart and turbulent mind, slowing to an undignified jog.

The guard at the door saluted you stiffly, opening the door after a moment of floundering with his gauntlets. You crept into the room, closing the door gingerly behind you and then turning to survey the scene.

The first thing you noted was Ellaria sound asleep in the lavishly-structured bed, her arms supporting a swaddled, tiny babe hungrily mouthing at her breast. You heaved a sigh of relief, slumping back against the door. The next thing you saw was Oberyn beside the bed, still in his armor, with a second swaddled bundle cradled in his embrace.

The prince looked up at you and you saw that his eyes were glassy with tears. "I have been blessed." He said hoarsely.

"Two?" You whispered, barely able to believe it yourself.

Oberyn nodded, beckoning you closer. "Come see my first son, Ser Shieldove." He implored, his voice breaking. No longer caring if you seemed overeager, you strode across the chamber to the prince's side. Oberyn tugged at the swaddling by the babe's face, allowing you a clear view.

"Oh." You sighed wistfully, reaching out to touch his sweet little nose before you remembered your manners and snatched your hand back. This was a Sand, after all, and the firstborn boy no less!

Oberyn tilted his head towards the washbasin beside the bed. "Wash yourself, and you may hold him."

"A-Are you sure? What if I...gods, he is so small, Prince Oberyn." You whispered. Oberyn just nodded, gesturing to the basin again. You obliged him rapidly but thoroughly, washing yourself to your elbows and then patting your arms dry with the clean towel. You returned and you were confronted with the reality of a slumbering, swaddled babe being deposited into your arms.

"Cradle his neck, rest him upon your breast. The little ones have no real strength to hold themselves up." Oberyn instructed you softly, moving your hands until the baby was secure against your chest. "Look at him, just look." The prince didn't seem to be able to stop marveling at his new son, drawing a whisper-soft finger down the bridge of his wee nose. You were almost worried about the excessive attention he was giving to the boy, when he abruptly turned back to Ellaria. "Now, precious daughter, are you sated?" He cooed. Gods, domesticity suited him, armor and all. "Will you grant your poor mother respite? She has toiled long to bring you to my arms."

"Too long." Ellaria agreed, smiling wearily up at Oberyn. He kissed her forehead, losing the battle with his tears. "Do not cry, lover!" His paramour chided him as he sniffled.

"I am the most blessed man in all of Dorne and you would have me be stoic, woman? This one time, I'm afraid I cannot acquiesce!" Oberyn huffed, carefully scooping his sleeping daughter off of Ellaria's chest. You stifled your own giggles at the prince's petulant behavior, swaying back and forth idly.

Ellaria glanced up at the sound of your snorting, her eyes barely open as she smiled at you. "I am glad you're here, Ser Shieldove. I know my little ones will be safe now." She mumbled, obviously moments from falling back to sleep.

You nodded, chuckling at Oberyn's indignant grumble. The baby in your arms stirred and you began to sing softly, not wanting to disturb Ellaria. "The moon rides sand dunes home to me, she calls me sweetly by name. I am a child, a child of Dorne, the moon she knows my name." You crooned, still swaying to and fro in an attempt to lull the babe back to sleep. "The sun rides sea waves home to me, he calls me proudly by name. I am a child, a child of Dorne, the sun he knows my name." You continued to hum the tune, even as you felt the little one relax against your chest.

"How do you know that song?" Oberyn whispered.

You glanced up, but his expression was guarded. "I heard one of the older knights singing it and I asked him to teach me. He said it was a child's song." You replied, whispering as well. "I simply liked the tune. Should I not sing it?"

"I have not heard that song since I was only knee-high myself. I had all but forgotten it." Oberyn's eyes were thoughtful, the prince studying you closely. "You are full of surprises, my falcon. It gives me a certain joy to know that the first song my babes ever heard was Moon And Sun." His brow furrowed. "I cannot recall the third verse, the one about the stars."

"The stars crown mountains high above, unbowed, unbent, unbroken. We are the stars, the stars of Dorne, the world will know our name." You prompted softly.

"You have a lovely voice, my dove. Perhaps you are a nightingale?" Oberyn teased. "I shall ask you to perform at their naming."

"Your mockery always wounds me so deeply, your highness." You deadpanned. Tiny fingers wrapped around your index and you looked down, but the child's eyes were still closed. "I have been seized, it appears." You said with a smile, laying a careful kiss on the baby's head.

Oberyn cleared his throat suspiciously hard, thumbing away a few stray tears. You chose not to comment, allowing him his moment of paternal weakness.

…

You spread the blanket out on the ground in the blood orange grove, laughing when you caught sight of Dorea clobbering a nearby tree with her child-sized morningstar. "Lady Dorea! I believe you have vanquished that particular foe!" You called.

"Ser Shieldove, there is an orange that I can't reach and it is the best one! I need it for Mama!" She yelled back, bouncing on her toes as she tried to jump for the fruit. You shook your head, making your way through the rows of trees to where she stood.

The fruit was (probably) just within your grasp if you stood on your tiptoes and braced against the trunk of the tree. You stretched out your arm, reaching upwards and-

Someone's hands landed on your sides, pressing into your armor and lifting you with ease. You managed to grab the orange, laughing when you realized that it was Oberyn who had given you your boost. "Your highness! Thank you for your brave effort." You said with a grateful smile, tossing the orange to Dorea. The little girl tore off towards the blanket you had spread, hollering to the approaching Ellaria that she had the perfect orange for her.

You expected Oberyn to release you with some quip, but oddly, he did not. His touch was not particularly uncomfortable. Firm enough that you could feel it through your armor, but loose enough that you knew you could easily twist free should you desire to. In amongst the sheltering branches of the blood orange tree, the prince caged you against the trunk and studied you intently.

"Your highness?" You asked softly. "We should return, the children are-" His mouth on your own halted your words and you went stiff. His kiss tasted of fresh blood orange, tangy with citrus and you found yourself enjoying it a fair bit more than you should have, your chest heaving against his own when he finally pulled away.

"My falcon, my dove, shield of the Red Viper's clutch." Oberyn breathed, his pupils blown in the green-dappled light beneath the tree's foliage. "Forgive my impudence. Seeing you with my children stirs my mind to such wicked thoughts."

"Prince Oberyn!" you protested, your traitorous body still reeling from his kiss. But no, you couldn't, Ellaria-- "Please, you must think of your family." You insisted tremulously. "I will not let you ruin the beautiful life you have built for yourself. This...affection, whatever it is you're feeling for me--" You sucked in a sharp breath. "It is nothing but a misplaced infatuation. It will pass. You must consider your children, your highness, a-and Lady Ellaria."

"You truly believe that?" Oberyn asked, but he didn't sound angry. If anything, he sounded hurt. "You believe that I would seek you out due to something so cheap as infatuation? What, simply to exercise the power I have over you?" You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. "Your silence is damning, Ser Shieldove. I would never try to wound Ellaria or my children, just as I would never try to wound you. I thought I had made that clear."

His hand carded delicately through your hair, tucking a few loose locks back into your braids. "I do not believe you would purposely seek to hurt me." You amended finally, your gaze firmly fixed on the toes of your boots. "Many men do not realize the harm they cause, either through their actions or their wandering eyes."

"I am not many men." Oberyn replied softly. "I have lain with both men and women, my falcon. I know well the pain of careless touch and I do not abide by it in my partners." He stepped away from you after a moment, shrugging. "If you are so concerned about my infatuation, mayhaps you ought to ask my paramour what she thinks of inviting you into our bedchambers?" He suggested with a feigned attitude of nonchalance.

"Are you mad? Obe-Prince Oberyn, you are hers. There are certain things that one does not do, even as a prince of Dorne." You snapped, your turmoil adding a sharp edge to your voice.

Oberyn looked startled, then he had the audacity to grin. "I am hers, you say? You insinuate that I ought to receive permission? Then I'll go ask her now-"

"What? No, that's not it at--damn it, Oberyn, take this seriously!" You hissed, wanting to strangle him. "She has borne your children, have some respect for her and don't attempt to stray!"

Oberyn's laughter washed over you and you were torn between the urge to punch him in the gut and the urge to bury yourself alive. "Stray?" He finally sputtered. "Forgive my mirth, my falcon. I am...All I can say is that you really must speak with my paramour. I imagine the two of you will have a highly interesting discussion."

"Oh, of that I am certain." You said icily, stalking past him and heading towards the blanket where Ellaria played with the twins. You bowed stiffly and her eyebrow quirked, as if to ask what's wrong? "I will return to the water gardens, my lady. His highness appears to be in such ferociously high spirits I assume he will be more than up to the task of warding off any attackers."

"Do not leave, Ser Shieldove!" Oberyn boomed directly behind you, making you jump out of your skin. Gods, he could be so quiet! "I will maintain my composure, I give you my word!"

"It is not your composure I worry about." You shot back under your breath, making him struggle vainly to disguise his laughter as a coughing fit.

Ellaria looked back and forth between her lover and you, her eyes dancing like they did when she and Oberyn enjoyed one of their many secret jokes. "I see you both have been sampling the oranges." She commented pointedly, tapping her lower lip while winking at you. "They do stain so beautifully, don't they lover?"

"But Ser Shieldove has not even had any yet!" Loreza said plaintively, the younger Sand's red-stained fingers tugging at Dorea's hand. "We should get her some."

"Aye, how is it that you have blood orange on your mouth and not a mark on your hands?" Oberyn asked playfully, as if he didn't already know, this was all his fault!

You were back to warring between the two urges and the option to punch Oberyn, while absolutely certain to lead to your immediate incarceration, was looking more appealing by the second. You set your jaw, willing away the tears that were trying to build as Loreza set off with Dorea in tow. "I am--I am leaving now." You said thickly, cursing yourself for the sob that blatantly hitched your words.

Ellaria immediately noticed your discomfort, her smile vanishing. "Are you well, my dove?" You hiccupped roughly, nodding. Your performance wouldn't have fooled anyone, but Ellaria seemed to take pity on you and allowed you to dismiss yourself.

You stalked off through the orchard, trying vainly to stem the flow of tears that poured down your face. You finally stopped beneath one of the many trees, sliding down the trunk and wrapping your arms around your knees so you could hide your face as you sobbed. It was incredibly unfair of Oberyn to tease you so maliciously, but what did you expect from a prince? No doubt to him, the common folks' feelings were nothing but toys. Your heart had soared and broken all at once, leaving you feeling bruised and aching.

The summer of being wanted, desired by someone, the winter of knowing that giving in to them would destroy their happiness...

"Ser Shieldove!" You started, looking up. You hadn't noticed Loreza and Dorea returning from their hunt, the two girls arm-in-arm. "What happened? Did you get hurt?" Dorea asked worriedly, making your heart break all over again. "Should we get Mama?"

"Oh, no no!" You tried to assuage their concern, giving the two girls a watery smile while you cast your mind around for a suitable excuse. "I--I saw a bee."

"You're scared of bees?!" Loreza erupted incredulously. "I didn't think you were scared of anything!"

"Not even our papa!" Dorea paused, then added, "but I'm scared of bees too. I got stung once, on my foot. That's why I wear my big boots now." She said importantly, shuffling the aforementioned boots. They did look oversized for her stature. You had never noticed…

An orange was thrust at your face, Loreza blinking solemnly down at you. "We found you a good one. It's ripe, I promise." The two of them plopped down on either side of you like little sentries, Dorea brandishing her tiny morningstar.

You turned the orange over and over in your hands. "You know, where I am from, these are only for royalty." You began suddenly, digging your nails into the peel. "I had never even touched one before I came to Dorne."

"Never?" Loreza gawked, her own cheeks smeared with red from her feast. "I love oranges. Kumquats. Grapefruits."

"Lemons are better than grapefruits. More spicy." Dorea said firmly. "Like dragon peppers."

"I don't like dragon peppers." Loreza retorted sulkily. "They burn my tongue."

The two girls bickered around you while you slowly peeled and ate the fruit, your turbulent thoughts calming under the press of the mundane task. You felt foolish for letting your emotions get the best of you; obviously Oberyn only teased you because he knew he would get a reaction! You pushed away the memory of how gently he had tucked your hair back into its braids. It was probably a force of habit for him, having had so many daughters. It meant nothing.

You tore apart the last two slices of orange and slurped the juice off the heel of your hand, realizing that Dorea and Loreza had gone quiet. A quick look confirmed your suspicions: the two of them were sound asleep.

You exhaled through your nose, then settled back against the tree. You eased Loreza down into your lap, stroking over her hair absently. The little girl yawned, but did not move. Dorea slumped into your arm and you carefully wrapped it around her instead, keeping your hand on her shoulder so she didn't topple over. Your own eyelids grew heavy the longer you sat with the two little girls, though you knew you ought to be vigilant for any dangers that could be lurking. Worn out from your crying jag, you slipped from consciousness yourself.

You were roused what must have been hours later by a cautious touch on your shoulder. You jerked awake, your hand flying to the pommel of your seldom-used sword. "Tis' only me, my dove." Ellaria soothed, her hand resting on your shoulder. "You did not make it back to the water gardens, I see." She nodded downwards at the sleeping child in your lap.

The sun was hanging low and red on the horizon, casting a pink hue over the land. "Seems I didn't." You yawned indecently wide, then carefully hugged Dorea a bit closer. "The little ones found me an orange fit for royalty to eat, and we spoke of important matters."

"Oh?" Ellaria arched a brow.

"Bees, my lady. We spoke of bees."

"Have you found them, my love?" You heard footsteps approaching. "Ah! I should have known." Oberyn continued softly, obviously trying not to wake the twins that slumbered in his own arms. "Safe and sound asleep."

Ellaria roused her daughters, eventually permitting you to get to your feet and work the kinks out of your neck from sitting in such an awkward position for so long. "I believe we should speak." Ellaria murmured, placing her hand on your shoulder once again.

You shook your head violently. "There is naught to speak about, my lady. I assure you, I shall cause you no trouble." You knew that your tone was exceptionally weary, but you hoped she could forgive such indiscretion.

"Listen to Ellaria, Ser Shieldove." Oberyn demanded. "This is a mistake-"

"I'm well aware that what occurred was a mistake." You interrupted him through gritted teeth. "And as I said, Prince Oberyn, I will cause no trouble for you or your lady."

Oberyn opened his mouth to retort but Ellaria gestured for him to be silent. "Tomorrow, then?" She phrased it like a request, but you knew better than to think you could refuse her.

You bowed perfectly, your form ramrod straight when you saluted her and the prince. Your words were dripping with false sincerity as you stated, "Of course, my lady. I live to serve."

…

The dread that you felt permeated your very marrow. You were certain you would be sent away. What else did one do with a member of their household who was untrustworthy, especially if their partner proved they could not or would not stay away from such temptations?

This was surely the end of your proud career under the banner of House Martell. You were a fool for thinking that you could have been happy here.

You packed your few possessions with an air of sorrowful finality. You hadn't acquired much during your time in these lodgings, your living space admittedly Spartan. When you were summoned, the manservant found you sitting patiently on your bed in your armor, your satchel slouched on the floor.

"Ser Shieldove, Ellaria Sand requests your presence." The older man droned, raising an eyebrow at your state of preparedness.

You nodded, trying not to let your apprehension show as you thanked him and proceeded out into the hall. Your boots felt like they were lined with lead and your eyes stung from all the heartsick weeping you had done the night before. Your stomach would not cease feverishly knotting.

All too soon you found yourself at the door to the prince's chambers, raising your hand to knock. You hesitated momentarily, flattening your palm on the door and then resting your forehead against the intricate latticework. Your shoulders heaved with a single, soundless sob before you straightened back up. You would face this trial like all the others in your life, with some bare shred of dignity.

You knocked on the door. Upon hearing Ellaria's voice bidding you to enter, you unhitched the latch and let the door swing open. You ought to have known that Oberyn would be present as well. You weren't sure why seeing him standing on their terrace felt so...final.

"Ser Shieldove, you come dressed for war." Ellaria remarked, sounding surprised. "Please, set your bag and blade by the door."

"I sought to make my dismissal simple, my lady." Your voice rasped in your throat when you spoke. You made no move to come further into the room, nor did you release your hold on your bag. "We do not need to drag this out, especially not from some misguided desire to soften the blow."

Oberyn turned to look at you, his brow furrowed. But you only had eyes for Ellaria, the woman rising from her vanity to pad barefoot across the floor to you. She stood before you, unarmed, unafraid, her hair still loose around her face. "Why do you believe you were brought here for dismissal, my sweet dove?" Ellaria asked. Gods, gods, her tenderness was going to reave your soul from your body.

You swallowed hard. "I...forgive me, my lady. Please, forgive me. I was weak and permitted my emotions to get the better of me. I did not firmly reprimand Prince Oberyn when he kissed me in the orchard. I take full responsibility for my failure." You bowed your head in grief, your dry eyes burning. "I will not bring shame to your family with my indiscretion, so I come willingly to my dismissal."

"She kisses like a virgin, Ellaria." Oberyn murmured, a hand cupping his paramour's hip and tucking her into his side. "She kisses like she has never been kissed. It was divine."

You flushed hotly, certain that he was mocking you. "I cannot believe your cruelty." You muttered incredulously. "To jest about something like that!"

"Is it true, my little dove?" Ellaria purred, her hand stroking your cheek. "Do you kiss like a virgin?" You stared at her, thoroughly confused now. You did not even notice her other hand cupping your face, utterly transfixed by how close she was. She was so near that you could see there were tiny flecks of gold in the brown of her irises.

And then she kissed you.

Your satchel fell off your shoulder, hitting the floor with a muffled thud when you reached out clumsily, gathering the other woman in your arms. She let you, she let you, gods, she was kissing you and that was her tongue teasing your own. You whimpered into her mouth, bewildered and helpless to resist her.

"I think you are right, lover." Ellaria agreed after she took pity on you and allowed you a moment to breathe. "Hot and trembling and yet so, so eager."

"I...do not understand." You said weakly.

"Oberyn and I found long ago that we share certain proclivities, my dove." Ellaria explained, toying with your hair. "Particularly in the bedroom."

You felt like your mind couldn't catch up to your mouth, stammering, "S-So...wait, the both of you…?"

Oberyn, his chin resting on Ellaria's shoulder, gave you a sly wink. "Aye, my love has excellent taste." The man tugged Ellaria's dressing gown to the side, baring her shoulder so he could shower it with kisses. "We have a special affinity for strapping, chivalrous types."

"So I'm not...I wouldn't...the-the both of you would know about me?" You stuttered.

"What do you mean, my falcon?" Oberyn asked curiously.

"Well, I just...I assumed you were seeking me out as a--a secret. Something akin to adultery." Your voice faltered a bit. "B-Behind Lady Ellaria's back." You watched as understanding appeared to dawn on the prince, his brow furrowing darkly.

"Oh no, no no, gentle dove." Ellaria cupped your face with her hands. "We indulge together and we indulge openly. You would not be Oberyn's secret plaything." She assured you sincerely.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to imply that I think so little of you!" You apologized to Oberyn, who still looked somewhat thunderous. "I was distraught and confused, your highness. You know well that I have been wounded before. Please, please forgive me." You wrung your hands fervently. "I would do anything to-"

"Be still, my falcon. You protest overmuch." Oberyn chided, his expression clearing. "If you believe that your simple misunderstanding grieved me, I should hope that you never heard all the terrible, salacious rumors spread about me in King's Landing!" He smirked. "Such imaginative people."

"They certainly had a strange way of slandering you." Ellaria remarked, her lips twitching into a wry smile. "Do you remember what they said about your cock?"

"Oh that one was my favorite." Oberyn, no doubt noticing your horrified look, began to laugh in earnest. "There was a rumor that my cock was the same as a horse's, you understand." He finally managed to explain. "Length, girth, a hearty amount of description went into this tale. I feared I would disappoint, after hearing such an inventive story about myself! Mercifully, none of the lovely women and men in the brothel seemed particularly distressed about me lacking a cock that would outright murder them. One poor girl swooned from relief, timid thing."

"Oh dear." You said faintly. "I mean, the rumors are not wholly unfounded, but perhaps slightly less exaggeration-" You halted abruptly with a sharp squeak of dismay, what had you just said?!

"Flatterer! Always, it's in your blood I'd wager!" Oberyn chuckled, shaking his head. "I believe it is due more to my age, prolific partners and casual promiscuity. No one there could fathom such a thing, though in Dorne we view it as a common practice. That and the unwavering love I had for all my daughters. They claimed I was barking mad. Surely, I ought to be cursing the Seven every time a new girl was born." He scoffed derisively, blowing a raspberry as though he was a child. "Instead of being delighted with a healthy babe to love and spoil, sing songs to and dandle upon my knee. Aye, Prince Oberyn is surely mad."

His hand reached out to cover Ellaria's on your cheek and you closed your eyes, leaning into their joint touch.

"Gods, is she not the loveliest woman you have ever laid eyes on?" Oberyn mused softly.

"Truly. So strong and brave!" Ellaria answered, making you flush with embarrassment and stare downwards. "Do not shy from such ardent words, my dove! They are spoken in truth, I promise you."

"I do not doubt your sincerity, my lady! It is just...it is overwhelming." You replied honestly. "A part of me is still that terrified woman from King's Landing, trying to barter for passage aboard any vessel willing to take me. That I would be rescued by the two of you…I never could have imagined this, even in my wildest dreams."

"It was a lucky chance that my dear Oberyn spotted you."

"I'd surmise more divine providence, but all the same." You smiled. "Thank you. Both of you. I...I know not what to say."

"Join us in our bed, gentle dove." Oberyn requested, his voice deadly serious. "Join us, my falcon." His hand slid beneath your chin, tugging lightly at your gorget and no doubt feeling your rough swallow. "Let us give you something good to think of on lonely nights when duty calls you elsewhere."

"I--I-I would very much like that, your highness." You whispered.

His fingers hitched your chin, tipping it upwards so he could see your eyes. "Oberyn." He said softly.

"Oberyn." You allowed yourself to say his name deliberately and he grinned, tugging at your chin playfully before he released you and stepped back.

Ellaria caught his hand, and then extended her own to you. "Leave your sword, my dove."

"The armor as well." Oberyn added, his smile growing wider by the moment as you began to hurriedly oblige. You were thankful that the leathers slid off over your head, but the chainmail shirt took a bit more twisting and turning for you to emerge safely. "Gods, look at her, my love." Oberyn sighed to Ellaria after you had fought your way free of the mail, "the pride of her, the way she stands. I would happily cultivate such splendor."

"You did, Oberyn." You pointed out, fumbling with your cuisses. "You granted me the opportunity, after all."

"Let me help you, my dove." Ellaria murmured, her hands covering your own. You grimaced uncertainly, glancing to Oberyn. "He told me of your markings. I am no pampered princess, Shieldove." The steel in her gaze was undeniable; she dared you to think she would cringe at the sight of your scars. "I bear many of my own marks. The life of a Sand is better than most, but still fraught with its own hardships."

You nodded jerkily, letting her assist you with removing your cuisses, greaves and sword belt before she ran her hand over the laces at your groin. You swallowed hard. "I do not wish to distress you, my lady."

"Only Ellaria here, my dove. Here and everafter." The woman said, her fingers tugging the laced placket loose.

Oberyn sauntered up beside her as she slid her palm to your hip, fingers spread on the hot skin she found there. "Your consent, my falcon?" He breathed against your jaw, placing a trail of kisses over the area. "I seek your enthusiastic consent. I seek to have you undone and crying out in rapture, but first your consent."

Ellaria's fingers teased at the waistband of your hose and you shut your eyes, gathering your courage. "Yes. Yes, I...I want. I want you both." You managed to say.

"Open your eyes, knight of House Martell." Oberyn ordered and you obeyed meekly. The prince touched his forehead to your own, his brows pulled low. "Your consent, Ser Shieldove. Look at me while you give it. Look at her while you give it. We need to know. We need to hear it from your lips. No hesitation."

"We will stop if you cannot consent, sweet dove." Ellaria assured you.

"N-No! No, I do want this, I swear I do. Gods, my head is spinning from how much I want the two of you." You confessed bluntly. "I am unsure of how to proceed. I do not know what to do. Forgive my inexperience." You held out your hands imploringly. "Show me what to do?"

"Never apologize for not knowing." Oberyn said firmly. "All man should ever apologize for is not being willing to learn." He stroked his fingers over your temple, light as a feather's touch on your skin. "And you are so, so willing." He whispered. "You have sought learning your whole life, my dove. Sought to hone your body, hone your spirit with songs and prayer. You have learned how to wield our weapons and cradle our babes with the same willingness that you approach us with now."

Ellaria enfolded your hands in her own as you processed Oberyn's words, each one saved in your heart like a precious treasure. All man should ever apologize for is not being willing to learn. "Will you…" you hesitated, biting your lip. "Will you help me learn?"

"Gods, I would eagerly kiss the breath from your chest." Ellaria sighed, her smile warming you from head to toe.

"Is it...considered strange that I want the both of you?" You asked warily. "I have never lain with a woman before, b-but I would...I mean, if I could, I would like...I would like to. Attempt to! That is." You fumbled, kissing her knuckles afterwards.

"You wish to drink from the pure springs of my paramour? A bold request. What will you offer me in return for my generosity?" Oberyn's lips brushed your ear and you quivered when he continued, "will you let me touch you as you touch her, my falcon?"

You raised your eyes to meet his, startled by the heat you found there. Did he really feel that strongly about you? You freed one hand from Ellaria and reached out to take hold of his light robe. "If you harm me-" You began to warn him, your voice catching in your throat.

"Sweet dove, he will not." Ellaria assured you, her expression serious. "Neither of us will. I promise you." She cupped your jaw, her thumbs grazing your chin achingly soft. "We of Dorne are known for our passion, but a fire is gentle embers before it is stoked to hungry flame. We will not harm you."

"This incredible, delicious display of vulnerability that you are presenting to us...well, it would be wholly inappropriate to squander such a gift." Oberyn's hand covered yours on his robe, larger fingers lacing easily through your own. "We will bed you, and we will love you, my falcon."

"Do you offer such pleasures to all your knights?" You queried, half in jest as you let him lead you to their sun-drenched bed.

"Only for the ones who break the Mountain's fingers." Oberyn chuckled, leaving you and Ellaria to settle onto the bed while he went to draw the thin curtains over the entrance to the terrace.

Ellaria pulled one end of the laces on your placket, her motions teasingly slow and deliberate. The lacing unwound itself, tugging free of the grommets until your sturdy hose were slouching open. Her hand pushed your tunic up slightly, enough to reveal a sliver of your stomach for her to graze her knuckles against, then her lips. Those fingers curled around the hem of your tunic, continuing to drag it upwards to bunch underneath your breasts.

"Her body looks beautiful like that, my love." Oberyn commented idly from his position at the foot of the bed. "Ser Shieldove, touch her hair, caress her. She loves to be touched while her mouth is occupied."

Your trembling fingers barely grazed Ellaria's luxuriously unbound locks, still smooth from being brushed, and you felt your heartbeat quicken in your chest. "May I…?" Ellaria nodded and you dug your hands greedily into her soft waves, half-sitting so you could press a lock to your lips. "Thank you, Ellaria." You whispered.

"Such chivalry! Perhaps we will consider parting with a few locks for you to carry into battle as a token of our affection." Oberyn kissed the crown of your head. "Regrettably, my curls are a bit shorter than hers."

"Mm, yours would make such delightful paintbrushes." Ellaria teased, continuing to cover the skin of your stomach with tender kisses and nips. She bit down gently on the waistband of your hose, looking up at you in question. You nodded rapidly and Oberyn settled into the bed alongside you, the man yawning wide.

"Watch her now, my falcon." He instructed, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the bare skin of your stomach before this thumb slid beneath your bunched-up tunic. "She is such art, the way she moves. Had I the skill for it, I would write endless poems about the beautiful anticipation she inspires in me." His touch was light, teasing, forefinger and thumb pinched into the fabric of your tunic to ease it off the rest of the way. His other hand shot up to lift and cradle the back of your neck while he divested you of the article of clothing, the inconsequential motion new and gentle to you.

Ellaria rolled the hosiery off down your legs, the light breeches sticking to your heated skin. You were left nearly bare, the only garment still on your body the simple breast binding you used when you were armored. Ellaria hummed in satisfaction, drawing her hands greedily up your trembling form to seize the edge of your bindings. "Be naked for us, gentle dove." She crooned, her sweet voice dissolving your last fear. You placed your hands over her own, helping her to untie the frantically-knotted cloth.

Oberyn hissed out a breath through his teeth when your breasts were finally freed. "Gods, you were made for us." He groaned, "I want to grab handfuls of you and gorge myself on your taste, my falcon."

Ellaria wasted no time flicking her tongue over the stiff peak of your right breast, smiling when you threw your head back in response. Oberyn lapped sloppily over your left breast and then blew gently on the damp trail, forcing you to bite down on the heel of your palm to keep from making a sound.

Oberyn eased your hand away from your mouth however, grimacing when he saw the marks your teeth had left in the skin. His facial hair felt like pinpricks when he kissed your palm, his eyes solemn. "We crave your sounds, my falcon. We welcome them." He murmured. "You can be as loud or as soft as you want, but do not smother them before they can blossom."

Ellaria toyed with your nipple, rolling her index finger back and forth over it and you whimpered pitifully, blinking back the tears that rose and nodding hard. "I will try, Oberyn."

"It will take time, sweet dove." Ellaria's gentle smile pierced your heart, her soft words contrasting so vividly with her devious fingers. "Do not underestimate our patience. You are our knight, our shield, and we will cherish you as you ought to have been cherished."

Part Three

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crew-of-the-detz · 4 years ago

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The Prolouge

So, I may have bitten off more than I can chew. I may or may not have started working on a short little novel since Im taking a break from the TTRPG game I’m making. I decided instead of writting from the perspective of the well known Detz personnel such as Capt. Kev, Klove, Peacock, Johannson, Herkendel, etc. Why not write from the perspective of a new “asset”? The story follows a woman who has lost almost everything, and attempts to rebuild her life which eventually leads her to the Detz. Below the break is the prolouge, enjoy!

Prologue: A Miserable Little Nobody

The truth was simple, Eliza Korlin was a nobody. A daughter of nobodies, raised by nobodies. The Human-Burso war didn’t care about the nobodies, those caught in the crossfire were just another number added to the tally of active casualties. A bomb hit Eliza’s domicile when she was 10, a Human bomb meant for a Burso warship that according to the report was off by only nine degrees. Nine degrees, just enough for the bomb to miss the hull of the warship and send it careening towards the asteroid they lived on. Evacuation was delayed, a Burso scrambler cutting communications. Eliza remembered crossing the threshold from her domicile to the docking bay, her parents close behind. The asteroid shuddered and Eliza was thrown to her feet. When she looked back for her parents a cold metal shutter blocked her view. A viewport along the ceiling showed her metal fragments and corpses vented into space. A body with her father’s rucksack caught her attention in particular. An older woman picked her up and rushed her to a shuttle, the shuttle left her home and family behind. A shuttle full of nobodies. Her father was a factory worker, her mother a nurse. Her father had black hair, her mother had blonde hair.

She doesn't remember much more than that, aside from little stories her father told her to help her sleep. She used to know their faces, but now that she’s 27 she has trouble remembering much more than the color and length of hair. She remained a nobody even after leaving that place. She was put into a foster care system, bounced from home to home. She had become a juvenile delinquent when she hit the age of 15, a mean streak emerged when she developed a habit of getting in fights. She was first arrested at 18 for the theft of a vehicle from a state employee. She wasn’t a kid anymore, she went to prison for 3 years. She learned things in an orbital prison, mostly how to keep herself alive. She got jumped near the end of her sentence, ran her mouth off too much to the wrong person and was nearly beaten to death in the showers at the age of 20. The experience “scared her straight”, well, as straight as a traumatized young felon can be. She was released at the age of 21 and realized she was still a nobody, despite the clout she had earned in prison. For a while, she worked at a burger joint. Living off of a minimum wage paycheck and instant ramen. She was a nobody to everybody, just a face in a red hat that handed them greasy burgers. She had no family, no friends, everyone she met looked at her as if she was a blur.

Eventually she got fired, her temper getting the best of her with a particularly abrasive customer. With no friends, no family, and little to no money she grew desperate. At the age of 25 she answered an ad requesting deep space scroungers. She got out of her apartment and left on a shuttle the following day. As she looked around she noticed a few faces like hers, rough, scarred, mottled, almost blurry. Nobodies. She arrived out on an orbital platform and was trained in a zero-G environment. Scrounging was dangerous, but it paid well. Perfect for a woman alone in the world, nobody to mourn her should an accident happen. Scroungers had multiple jobs; the easiest being drone control, the most dangerous being ship incursion and extraction.

Drone control was like playing a video game, using drones to collect cargo that had spilled or ship chunks broken off of larger vessels. Incursion and extraction could be done one of two ways: a MMU suit or a Malenshar craft. The MMU was quick, an intricate set of thrusters attached to a space suit. MMU pilots could squeeze just about anywhere getting at valuables with their cutting tools before moving them back to the collection zone using a tether tool or a good old rope and clamp. The MMU unfortunately doesn’t protect against most occupational hazards.

A scrounger always had to worry about fire from gas lines, shock from live electrical systems, a cracked visor, or the most fatal of all: Depressurization. Depressurization was the worst thing a scrounger could deal with. Make a cut into a room with pressure you would have the whole steel wall and everything inside flying at you at several dozen meters a second. The Malenshar craft was a small orb-like craft with a gripping arm and a tool arm. It was your best defense against depressurization, able to take a beating and still keep going. However the malenshar is large, suitable only for large craft. It was also slow and required large amounts of fuel that would come out of the scroungers paycheck. You run out of fuel, you’re dead in the water with limited oxygen. Plenty a scrounger died in a spherical coffin, waiting for another scrounger to pick apart their dead Malenshar for parts. Eliza had signed on with a scrounging company working out in the belt of her local star system. Plenty of small crafts got lost in the belt as well as the occasional freighter or cruiser left for scroungers by the war or some other tragedy. Eliza had become quite skilled with the MMU suit, able to slip into ships and get their entire worth out to the collection zone for the barge to pick up. A smelter barge would come by after the collection barge to melt down the hull and bulkheads of the ship.

Her first year on the job, she saw more money then she’d seen in her entire life. She even began to make friends, for the first time in her life she felt seen. Blurred faces brought into focus by the time spent together, the things they went through together. People took time to be around her and people paid attention to her comings and goings for once. Her second year on the job, she experienced her first loss. A good friend of hers named Jason cut a room that was pressurized. The wall blew out into thousands of shards and launched a databank through his skull, there wasn’t a body left to collect. The scroungers got together that night and poured one out for the dead man. Management let them have the night, but early next morning they had to make up for the lost time. Eliza was assigned to the ship Jason was working on. Somebody had to finish the job. Working that ship felt wrong, she always felt that she was being watched. The natural entropy of space carried bits of Jason through the ship, bits of MMU scattered about which added even more to haunted ambiance. But it was a job that needed doing, putting nerves aside Eliza did what needed to be done, even salvaging the thrusters of Jason’s MMU for a little pay boost. She didn’t feel good about it, but it felt even worse just leaving credits free floating in space.

The job had made her a different person. She no longer felt unseen, the violent spark in her chest had died down, and she woke up every day with a purpose. However, where the anger once was greed had taken residence. She had been contracted for 5 years, and she wanted to leave with every credit she could. Not many scroungers completed their contracts, but those that did often lived the rest of their lives comfortably. Some settled down, others used the funds to reintegrate into society. Greed drove her, made her mean in some regards. The anger flared up occasionally when other scroungers tried to take contracts that she wanted, but she mostly played nice.

The job had changed her physically too. One needed to be in good shape to work an MMU efficiently. Her height put her at a natural disadvantage; smaller MMU pilots were able to thrust easier, brake easier, and get around obstacles easier without cutting. Most of her down time was spent exercising, the scroungers had a gym that was free to use at any time. Over time, her body morphed from soft around the edges from her time in the city to a hard springy muscle bound machine. Yoga was her go to to ensure she remained limber and flexible. Every little thing about her body had to be considered since she started working as a scrounger. She kept her hair short, oftentimes buzzed completely, to keep it from getting in her face and to free up space in her helmet. She also had the piercings and metal based tattoos removed from her body, less metal means less materials that can build a charge or be affected by electro-magnets inside the ships.

So Eliza works as a scrounger, cutting apart leviathan carcasses of ships to earn a living that she might never get to live. She is into the third year of her contract, and things are working out well for her. Too well, the universe is a grand scale with a balance to be maintained. An equalizer is heading to the belt, and Eliza has no idea what’s coming.

#sci fi #scifi #sci-fi #original fiction #fiction #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #detz #my novel

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theashofwkm · 5 years ago

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AHWM Theory // Actor!Mark is Heist!Mark and what he was hoping to achieve in the Heist...

MASSIVE SPOILERS. This refers to several endings so please don’t read until you’ve seen all of AHWM.

All screenshots are mine and I apologize for the poor quality. My internet tanked last night when I was getting them and I was too lazy to go get the same screenshot, caption it over again, all with better quality.

Also forewarning that this is kind of a mess. It was mostly made late last night.

It starts with the first choice. Sneak out, or guns blazing? Obviously, he wants to go out guns blazing, but if you choose to sneak out, he listens, even though he doesn’t like it.

He’s the one holding the explosives and the gun. If he wants to fight his way out, he could. But he doesn’t. He complains, but listens to you, continuing on to say “but you might be smart.” As soon as you make the choice to sneak out, he drops the gun and pockets the bomb.

Next, you have to choose between the light and dark tunnels. Again, it’s clear that he’d rather go down the light tunnel, but if you choose the dark tunnel his only reaction is \/

And then he goes down it. Trusting you. Again, nothing is stopping him from going down the light path, but he listens to you and goes down the dubbed “tunnel of screaming and death.” He’s a bit (very) passive aggressive, but he doesn’t hesitate in following your choice.

Then, the chain of stick together/split up. In all of them, he’s overly eager to split up, go your separate ways. Every time you split up, he dies.

If you choose to stick together, he gets rather... childish with his disapproval.

In this choice, he could lead you both into the red room (the one he wants to go in), but he doesn’t. You leads you down the other path which ends him dying twice, your meeting with dark or you both making it out. This is where Actor!Mark comes in.

What if he wants to split up because he knows that he dies when you do? In WKM, he was stabbed 37 times, poisoned, beaten, strangled, drowned and shot. He’d died multiple times, but he didn’t stay dead. He had tried to kill himself, having no will to live, but it never stuck. What if he hasn’t given up? For all his grand plans about being the hero, what if it’s just his backup plan to dying?

He wants to die.

So he tries to get you to leave him behind — by getting super passive aggressive, by pouting, by being super excited every time he brings up the idea, being disappointed every time you don’t go along with him, and then the final time you have to make this choice. He reassures you and tells you everything he can to get you to let him go (literally, now). That he’s a burden, he would rather have you live over him, getting excited when he talks about you making it out, saying that splitting up isn’t what either of you wants (even though previously, he had wanted that, now he’s just trying to play to your emotions)... by telling you that he’s okay with dying, if it saves you.

He does care about whether you live or die. He mainly tries to leave you behind (the crumbled path, the broken bridge) or to get you to leave him. Maybe you die in the one because he can only sense his incoming death and not yours. And that particular talent only extends to the choice you’re about to make, because he really only pushes for a choice when he directly dies in one of them. Like, look at when you’re with the scientist.

He jumps in front of her laser blaster for you. She tries to kill you and instinctively, he jumps to protect you.

He knows that you’ve been bitten by a zombie at that point. As far as he knows, you’re as good as dead, but he gives his life so you can live your last hours. He cares more about your life then he does his and this moment proves it. Because he could have let you get shot and walked away with a relatively guilt-free conscience — you were messing with timelines, you were the reason for the apocalypse, it was for the greater good... but he didn’t. He’d have damned the world, if it meant watching you die.

When put in that position, you don’t do that unless you actually care about that person. Like, you can’t live without them, they’re your only lifeline kind of care. Whoever you are, you’re important to him. He even asks you out on that date in ending 6, referring to ADWM.

He does trust you.

You could play through to an end choosing the opposite of what he wants, and he’ll follow you anyway, insinuating that he cares about your opinion more then he does his own, even if it means not getting what he wants. You don’t do that with people you don’t trust completely. If you’re not convinced, look at the cave.

His fists are clenched and ready to strike, but he’s leaning away from the stranger. He looks more afraid/wary than angry, and straight up asks you what you should do, leaving the choice to you even though he obviously has his own opinion. And if you say to go in the cave?

He immediately relaxes, dropping his arms and asking the stranger if they have food and buddying up to them. All because you gave him a thumbs up. Before, he’d thought that the stranger was dangerous but when you decide to trust him, he does as well, to a fault, later letting himself be strapped to a chair with a hood over his head because — you trust them, so how can they be that bad?

One more example. If you choose the helicopter, he immediately goes, not asking if you knew how to fly the thing since he didn’t. It’d only take a couple of seconds to ask, but he waits until he’s in and you’re standing in the door to do so. Because he trusted that you had a reason for picking the helicopter, and that you had a plan to get you both out.

You might be wondering about Dark, what he said about Mark. “Same snake, different skin.” “Games are more his forte.” The snake thing could just be referring to how we all thought he was a separate ego — Heistiplier. And as for the game comment:

Well, isn’t the Heist kind of a game in itself?

Strip it down and it holds a lot of similarities to Stealing the Diamond. It’s kind of a bare bones version of that, except it starts once you have the thing and it goes until you escape. WKM was a game to him — starring a Clue-style who dun it in his own home, about him. From that, he got his ‘perfect villain’ as he declares in DAMIEN.

His life is a big story, a big game. He has infinite lives, as far as he can tell, and he’s willing to play the long game. In most of the endings that Mark lives for, he’s still buddy-buddy with you, even if your choices aren’t ideal for him. Maybe the Heist was a way to ensure that he gets his next character assigned — you.

There’s one theory that the bloopers are the truth in that they show that the Heist was all a show, a game, a fraud. That theory holds some weight here. It’s by @statictay (hope you don’t mind the tag).

He’s spent years building up the plan, which, in the end, doesn’t exist. So he spent years, with you, molding you to accept his request in heisting with him and for you to be another character in his story. Along the way, he’d grown to care for you in some way, though that probably wasn’t in his plan, and he did have a plan, because out of 31 endings, how many does he die in?

19. That’s 61.29% of the endings. Yes, I did the math, and yes my chart of living/dying is probably wrong. And I should mention a few things about how I accounted to it being a living/dead for either of you.

I counted Zombie you as living. There are four instances of a Time Reset being used, all ending in both of you living, and those are accounted as such. I counted the jail human-shaped hole ending as a death for both. Aliens were counted as a double live. All Illinois/Yancy/Captain endings were a death for Mark. When you’re about to enter the cave, the run away ending counts as a death for you but not him. Now I did this all really quickly and mostly from memory so a few numbers may be off, but roughly, it’s close enough.

Look at the numbers.

You live almost 3/4 of the endings. 36.36% of the both live endings are due to TR (time resets), and the TR endings make up a third of the Mark live endings. You live without him more then he does you. Your live rate is almost double his. All of this supports that Mark wants you alive, that you living is part of his plan, maybe the most essential part.

You live in 23 endings. He dies in 19 of them. So, that’s more important to him. There are only two endings that are the opposite of what he wants (him living, you dying). So, he’s successful in at least half of his mission in 93.55% of the time. That’s a pretty good success rate. He succeeds in both parts of his mission 38.71% of the time. Little over a third.

We know that when Mark died in WKM, he went to the Upside Down. Maybe that still holds true, now, and he treats it as a home base, a place to plan his games. So maybe he does still want to die, or he goes there and does something that’s beneficial. Maybe it’s a place that Dark can’t enter because he’s not human and doesn’t really have a soul. So it’s a safe house. That’s why him dying is seen as a ‘good’ ending.

And we know that he twisted Damien into becoming Dark to fulfill a Villian role. Maybe you meeting with the new Egos (Captain, Yancy, Illinois) was so he could find them and twist them into a role, much as he did with Damien and it didn’t really matter if you lived/died there (no, I’m not running those numbers. Not now at least). Or maybe he wants you to fill a role, as I mentioned earlier.

Or you could be a scapegoat for him. You make every choice so technically the fallback would land on you instead of him and any death that’s caused because of the choice could be pinned on you. It’s a shaky argument, but for Mark, it’s sound. He’s just following your orders.

As for why would he trust the viewer so much, to allow them to make EVERY choive:

WKM could have scarred him in some way. It was his plan to have William kill him and he succeeded, but he’s still human and they were best friends at one point, even if William betrayed that. Making that choice could have made him not want to make another that leads to death. It could have broken his trust in himself because we know that WKM didn’t go according to plan and maybe it went worse then what he was expecting, making him learn that things spiral sometimes and can’t be predicted. He’s okay with having his death on his hands, but not others and WKM taught him that any small choice could lead to death, so he doesn’t make those choices anymore. Hence, he befriended you.

Or it could his reputation that keeps him from making choices. If he made a choice, say where Ed shoots you, and word got out that you died while in his presence, it could cast doubt over him. They’d question why he didn’t save you. And, well, if you don’t die there, there are two relatively happy endings. Pacifying zombie you or finding a cure for zombies. Both are pretty heroic acts, even if he just stumbled on them, he’d build it up to be more. He cares about his reputation. He wants to be seen as a grand hero and he won’t risk anything getting in the way of that. And he partly succeeds in almost every route, so he built the Heist to his needs quite well.

It could be him working on perfecting his Hero persona (or it could be a side effect of him letting you choose because he trusts you. They could go hand in hand). He lets you choose because it’s the kind thing to do, he wears a suit (heroes always look nice), and in the fifteenth ending, this is his immediate reaction to being outside the museum with the treasure.

Who else would say that, if not Actor Mark? No one we know. So there’s a good bit of evidence suggesting that this is Actor Mark.

So, in summary, Heist!Mark is Actor!Mark, the viewer was a tool to him, in some shape or form; the Heist was a ploy for him to get something else that he wanted, and you were a big part of his plan.

#theory #ahwm theory #markiplier #a heist with markiplier #ahwm #ahwm spoilers #spoilers #actor!mark #actor mark #heist mark #heistiplier #wkm mark

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elsylynneverbright · 4 years ago

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Mirror Season Part 4: The Eternal Self

The writing prompts for this series of posts are by @velerodra-valesinger and can be found here!

When Elsie emerged from the portal once again, she found herself greeted by yet another unfamiliar environment. She looked around herself, realizing she was behind some sort of stable. As the realization set in that she still wasn't back in Duskwatch, she immediately slammed her fists against the wall. She started to let out a frustrated scream, but she instantly paused as she heard familiar voices.

Elsie slowly crept around the stable until she got to a location where she could hear things a bit better and peak around the corner. She had little intention of interacting with her alternate self this time. She refused to play this game anymore.

She was greeted with the sight of both Kanalesha and herself, dressed and scarred in the exact same way.. Kana looked like she was on the verge of tears while this alternate self seemed to be filled with both anger and remorse.

"I told you, Kanalesha. Get the fuck away from me!" The clearly unstable version of herself yelled at Kana.

"But I thought-" Kana started to respond but was immediately cut off by the wreck.

"I don't care what you thought!" The wreck seemed like she was on the verge of tears as well at this point. She shook her head and lowered it, not meeting Kana's gaze in an attempt to hide this fact. "I'm done. We're-... I can't Kana. You deserve so much more than me."

Kana shook her head and wiped away her tears, replacing them with a determined look. "We can get through this, Else. Together."

"No, we fucking can't!" The wreck raised her voice once again. "You can't save me Kana, so leave me the fuck alone!"

Kana started to respond, but before she could, the wreck quickly pushed her backwards. "Just fucking go! Fucking go," she repeated slightly softer as she pushed her again.

Kana remained silent for a moment, staring at the wreck with a look of both surprise and sadness. Elsie couldn't tell if she felt more anger or pity at this point. It didn't matter though. Kana finally turned around and walked off, leaving the wreck to herself.

Elsie shifted back behind the stable and covered her mouth with her hand as she slowly slid down the wall. She began to break down in tears, having to hold her mouth tight to keep herself from screaming. Just as she couldn't take it anymore, a portal manifested itself behind her, once again sucking her through.

Elsie fell back into reality, not bothering to try and catch herself this time. She landed on a hardwood floor and merely laid there for a moment crying. Eventually, she looked around and was greeted by surprisingly familiar surroundings. She was in her own home again. She took a moment to sniffle and wipe her eyes before standing up.

“Kana?” Elsie called as she began to walk around the room. All she wanted now was to just melt in her lover’s arms and know that she was still there. “Kana? Kanalesha?” Elsie continued to call out but received no answer. “Vadel? Vadel? Kana?” Elsie kept calling names as she began searching about the house more frantically. “Kana?!?” She began to yell this time.

“They aren’t here.” Elsie whipped her head around to see herself once again. Oddly enough, this person had not been there a moment before as she was searching around frantically. She looked exactly as Elsie did now with the same clothes and scars, yet somehow she looked different. It was as if some sort of aura was surrounding her, but Elsie couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Nevertheless, Elsie clenched her fists and walked forward. She let out a scream of frustration as she picked up a nearby vase and threw it against the wall. “Just let me fucking go home!”

“I’m sorry. I’m not quite done with you yet.” The eternal sat down on a chair in front of Elsie before motioning to the nearby couch. “I promise I’ll send you home soon.”

“No! This is fucking bullshit! I’m done with this shit! I just want to go home!” Elsie placed her hands on her temples as she began hyperventilating. “I can’t take this shit anymore! Who the fuck are you? What different version of me is it this time?”

“I’m not a different version of you; I am you. I am every you. I am what ties every single version of you together.” The eternal responded as she crossed her legs.

“So it's your fault that I’ve been stuck here! Why I can’t go home! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Elsie stepped toward the eternal aggressively.

“Because, I needed you to see.” The eternal responded plainly before motioning toward the couch. “Take a deep breath. You’re almost done.”

Elsie fumed at the eternal. The two stared each other down for what felt like ages before Elsie finally just crossed her arms and walked over to the couch. She sat down silently and continued to stare at the eternal, still filled with anger but at least giving her the chance to speak.

“I apologize for the scenery as well. I didn’t mean to deceive you, I just felt you might be slightly more comfortable in your own home rather than some endless void.” The eternal chuckled as she sat back, letting out a calm breath.

“Tell me why I’m here,” Elsie demanded.”Why are you torturing me like this? Making me see all this shit?”

“Because, like I said, I need you to see. To learn. Every single alternate reality you have visited has been important for your own personal development.” The eternal held up a finger the second Elsie started to speak. “And, before you ask, I know it is important because, to reiterate, I am you. This mirror season… it is an astonishing phenomenon that I saw as an opportunity. So tell me, Elsylynn. Tell me of your interdimensional travels. Tell me everything that you were able to deduce yourself.”

“Fine.” Elsie huffed angrily. She paused for a moment to think on the subject before shrugging. “The first one was me if I never went to war forty years ago. Instead of going to war, she chased her dreams. And she achieved them. She is everything I could have been. Or even could be, I guess.”

“And was her life better? Were you envious of her,” the eternal asked curiously.

“Honestly? Yeah, at first.” Elsie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting all the rage she had built up dissipate at least somewhat. “But then I found out she never met Kana. Vadel was never born. She never met any of my friends at Dead Sun. She achieved everything that she… I... ever wanted. But she was alone.”

The eternal merely smiled at Elsie and nodded. “And the second?”

“That was me in some completely alternate universe. I didn’t recognize jack shit there. She was young but still similar to me. Everything in her life had happened pretty much the same but in a different context if that makes sense. Well, she was more like me than the one before her. I definitely envied her more but then… I am her. I don’t know. I have to admit, it was nice seeing the things that transcended universes.”

“And the third one?”

“I don’t fucking know what the deal with that one is. You tell me? She was nothing like me. She was a selfish, sadistic bitch. I’m nothing like her. I don’t even understand how she could be me.” Elsie’s anger was beginning to flare up once again as she remembered the assassin.

“Are you sure about that,” the eternal asked Elsie plainly. She stared at Elsie unflinchingly, awaiting her answer.

“Well, yeah I am! I mean, she’s evil. And I’m not!” Elsie paused for a moment as she looked down. She looked back up into the eyes of the eternal which were continuing to stare into her. “Right? I’m not evil, right?”

“There is no such thing as good or evil people.” The eternal shook her head as she leaned back. “Every single person is equal parts good and evil. The difference between them are the decisions people make. Which side they decide to give the light of day.”

“So… that bitch… is actually inside me then? She is me?” Elsie slowly looked down at her hands, remembering the feeling of the blade in them as she held it to the assassin’s throat.

“While I can’t really answer the philosophical aspect of that question, I can say in whole honesty that every you that you have encountered is equally you. The only differences are, as you said, context.” The eternal smiled as she twisted Elsie’s own words around. But then, Elsie supposed those were her words too.

“Ok, whatever.” Elsie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms again. “And what about the fourth one? Hm? The fuck was the point of that one? Me except I’m stupid enough to break up with the love of my life? To push her away?” That was the first time Elsie had referred to Kana as the love of her life, and she could feel the weight of the words hanging in the air as the eternal stared at her.

The eternal shook her head slowly. “That wasn’t an alternate reality. That was your future.”

Elsie stood up suddenly, immediately filling with anger once again. “What the fuck are you talking about? My fucking future? I would never do that! That's bullshit! That can’t be true!”

“It doesn’t have to be.” The eternal responded calmly. “Elsylynn, something is coming. Someone is coming. If you are going to stand any chance, you have to learn.”

“Fucking learn what? Tell me what the fuck I have to learn! Tell me how to stop this!”

“It doesn’t work like that.” The eternal’s response was a bit less calm than it had been. “And even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. The things you need to learn aren’t things that can just be taught to you. They’re things that you have to figure out for yourself.” “What kind of cryptic fucking bullshit? That’s fucking stupid and you know it! If you can’t help me, why bring me here?” Elsie was very clearly yelling at this point.

“The mirror season phenomenon was an opportunity for me to give you the opportunity to learn.” The eternal, while not yelling, was starting to reach the level of frustration that Elsie was at. She clearly at least shared Elsie’s stubbornness.

“That’s so fucking stupid. And who the fuck is coming that’s so light-damned important?” Elsie scoffed at the eternal and turned on her heel, directing her attention to anything other than the eternal’s face. It was rare Elsie got so mad at someone she had to turn away, and of course the fact that it was her own face made it far worse and far easier to vent her frustrations.

The eternal stood up and spoke plainly once again. “You already know.”

For a moment, it was as if time froze for Elsie. The realization of who the eternal was speaking of slapped her like a ton of bricks. She slowly turned back around to the eternal before speaking, no longer yelling but still just as frantic. “So, what? What do you want me to do? How am I supposed to stop her?”

“I can’t answer that question, Elsylynn.” The eternal merely shook her head.

Elsie shrugged and began shaking her head as well. Now her eyes were beginning to fill with tears. She struggled to choke back a sob as she began to speak to her again. “I don’t get it. I don’t know what you want from me.” She motioned around her in exasperation as she looked at the eternal pleadingly. “This? This has been torture. All I’ve seen is versions of myself that are what I could be, but I’m not. I’m not good enough to chase my dreams, I’m not good enough to just be happy. Light, I had to fight the personification of everything I hate about myself! And then you’re telling me that the one that was worse than all of the others… the one that finally broke me… that one isn’t even a different universe? That’s my fucking fate? Can you not just see for one light-damned second how much this is torturing me.” Elsie finally relented, allowing her sob to come forth. She put her head in her hands for a moment, letting herself cry. She then suddenly kicked the nearest chair as hard as she could, turning back to the eternal and yelling through her tears. “Just let me go home! I don’t fucking care anymore! I didn’t learn shit! You failed!”

The eternal merely stared at Elsie in silence. She wore a face of pity, but Elsie could not tell who for. Finally, one last portal manifested behind Elsie. “No, Elsylynn. If you haven’t learned anything, then we’ve both failed.”

#mirror season #finale #also kind of descenscion #brassblood

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pagingevilspawn · 4 years ago

Text

Photographs

okay, so thanks to @doc-pickles and @iamtrebleclefstories i’ve been obsessed with with soulmate fanfics in this fandom and the stranger things fandom, so all idea credit goes to those two!

its also been posted on my wattpad as part of my one shots book- to build a home. i’m not very good with links haha.

A soulmate AU where on your 16th birthday, you receive three photos of your soulmate

____

His sixteenth birthday was honestly not something he was looking forward to. He knew his mom wouldn't be stable enough to cook him a cake like she had when he was younger, before her condition worsened to the point where nearly all her days were bad ones, unlike how it had been the previous year. He knew she wouldn't cup his face in her hands and softly speak, "Alex, my sweetest boy. My truest love." as she stroked his cheeks ever so tenderly. His dad wasn't around anymore, which he knew was a positive thing, well, he supposed it was.

But it was still the first birthday without his dad in it, and that thought made him sad. Not a lot, but a little. Just because all of his birthdays for the past nine years had been his dad telling him that he was a waste of space and a 'fucking idiot' didn't mean he didn't miss him in the smallest way shape or form. He was still his dad after all. The guy who brought him to the fair when he was younger. The guy who briefly taught him how to play guitar. And on the rare occasion when he was sober for about a week or so, would bring Alex out to fix up a pick up truck his dad planned to give him on his sixteenth birthday, but ultimately started using not long before his fifteenth.

He knew Aaron and Amber would maybe do something, but he knew there wasn't much they could do. They were only four and ten. They shouldn't do anything for their brother because he was feeling crappy about a day that didn't even mean that much to him.

Ugh. Birthdays. He thought they were really stupid. Why make a big deal out of the day you were born? Especially if nobody really seemed to care much about your existence.

That's why when he awoke on his sixteenth birthday he was surprised. He'd completely forgotten about what happened on the day everyone had told him about since, well... since he could remember. Some of the things people said to him when he was still was a small boy were nice and comforting, something that made him look forward to this special day, like "Oh, what a lucky women that boy's soulmate will be," was something he got often when he was younger, before his mom's schizophrenia and before his dad's substance abuse. He used to be a really sweet kid. He gave his lollipops to others who looked like they wanted it more, he shared his toys with people in the park. He talked and interacted with everyone from a young age. He was a cute kid too, he remembered. That's what people always said. They would pinch his chubby cheeks and ruffle his dark brown hair, which would lead to Alex giving them his signature crooked smile, which warmed the hearts of many. "What a sweet soulmate he will be.", "The special girl won't know what hit her!" , "He will treat her like a queen i'm sure." thats what daycare teachers and random moms at the park used to say to his parents, complimenting him on how well little Alex treated their daughters. While most boys his age we certain that girls had cooties, Alex just simply talked to him and played with them like they were just a normal person. Not to mention, what a little charmer he was. He was a flirt from the moment he was born. He told some girls he thought they were 'weally pwetty' and said he liked the bows in their hair or the outfit they were wearing. He had mad game. Even from the young age of four he had somehow even managed to completely charm his preschool teacher Ms. Ryan, who he thought was the most beautiful women to ever walk the face of the earth at the time (other than his mom). Ms. Ryan definitely favored Alex, always giving him extra treats at snack, or letting him out first to go to recess. Turns out, being thirty three and a four year old boy telling you on an almost daily basis that 'your dwess is supa pwetty Ms. Ryan' or 'i wike your hair vwery much' was a major confidence booster.

It all changed when he was five though, when his mom's condition was getting worse and his dad started using more and more and more. The situation just decreased as the years went on. Out were the compliments and looks of adoration and in rolled the dirty glares and not-so secret whispers. "What a poor girl to have him as her soulmate.", "I would hate for my daughter to be tied to him forever.", "Let's just hope his soulmate can put up with him." were the ones he heard instead. It used to hurt, but now he didn't mind. He didn't have any friends, any girlfriends, just some mere acquaintances. All he could really say he had were about half of the school's females tucked under his belt. Something he didn't actually care about. Sex was a defense mechanism. Sex made him feel wanted. If some girl was throwing herself at him, he took the opportunity. He felt like he was wanted, even if it was just for twenty minutes in some random parking lot.

He didn't really care for birthdays.

So, imagine his surprise when he woke up that morning to find an orange envelope on his dresser table. It was then he remembered. He remembered that the day of your sixteenth birthday you found out who your soulmate was.

He grabbed the folder so quickly it was like a flash of light. This envelope gave him hope. Hope that one day, someone would care about him. Because, that was the point of soulmates, right? A soulmate was someone who was made for you. Someone who would be okay with all the crap life had thrown at him. Some who would love you. Because, his soulmate would right? Right. She had to. He needed somebody. He really, really needed somebody. And his soulmate was his somebody. Hopefully.

With that thought he takes a deep breath and nearly rips the envelope open. He pulls out the three photos in it delicately, not wanting to even risk a crease or fold forming on the photos. He flips them over one by one.

The three photos.

Wow.

The three photos he'd been hearing about since he was a little boy.

The first one, as he had learned, is what your soulmate looked like on the day of their sixteen birthday, whether it be in the future or the past.

He feels stupid, really stupid. He was smiling like a god damn idiot.

She was hot, his soulmate. Really hot.

Her long brown hair was in gentle curls, natural he could tell. He knew what real curls were versus curling iron ones. She had bright golden eyes. He swore, they were like actual gold. They had specks of green, yellow, and honey. A little beauty mark sat by her right lip. And those lips? They were plump, full, and a bright pink. In the photo she was smiling. He really liked her smile. It was joyous, it made him feel happy, in a way he'd never felt before. He assumed she was laughing, based on the fact that her head was slightly tilted back. From what he could tell, she was wearing a pair of jeans and a flannel. He liked that about her, the fact that she wasn't wearing whatever uncomfortable shit he'd seen some girls at his school wear. She looked like she was dressed how she wanted to and wasn't gonna let society or school cliques tell her otherwise.

He let out a small sigh as he placed down the photo delicately, as if he dropped it any harsher it would break like glass. He picks up the second photo, another smile gracing his lips as he studies it.

The second photo was always of your soulmate the day you met. Well, more specifically, the first time you meet. In his, the girl looked even more beautiful. Except now, she wasn't a girl, she was a woman, and that was obvious. Her face was a bit fuller, and instead of having her hair down this time, two strands of her dark locks were framing her face. He could tell she was in the middle of saying something, but her face wasn't frozen in some awkward position. It looked natural, like a well shot candid.

Alex placed down the second photo just as delicately as the first, setting them side by side. The third and final photo he wasn't quite ready for.

The last photo was a picture of them at their worst. When they had hit absolute rock bottom, before thirty though. Again with the age. Alex didn't get it. Why should they put an age limit on knowing your soulmate? Wasn't there a saying in wedding vows, "for better or worse"? and that was for married people for god's sake. So, why shouldn't he be able to see his soulmate at her worst? It made sense right?

Alex flipped over the photograph hesitantly, his breath getting caught in his throat.

He slams the photo down on the bed as quickly as he could, not being able to look at it any longer.

He understood now.

His soulmate was beaten and bruised, almost all her marks, scars, and bruises visible due to the nightgown she wore. In the photo she was crying, silent tears, he could tell.

He understood now, why they only let you see towards a certain age. Because what if it was worse? What if something worse had happened while his soulmate was older?

A horrible thought came to his mind, shaking it off immediately.

No, he did not do that.

He knew he didn't. He wouldn't. He'd seen his dad beat his mom again and again. He would never be like his dad. He swore on it.

But still, that lingering thought in his mind.

No.

Instead of thinking further, he picked up the first photo of her, the one wheres she is sixteen too. He studies it, knowing that by tomorrow the photo would be gone. Just like the others. That was how it worked anyways. The photos only lasted a day. The next morning, the pictures would be gone. All he knew about her would be her face, which he was going to imprint into his memory as best as he could. The universe seemed to enjoy playing games with people, so again after the one day, your memory of the photo was foggy. Very foggy. It wasn't until you actually met your soulmate when you would remember the photos you saw when you were sixteen. So, her studied her. Even laugh line, every beauty mark, every freckle (she had them sprinkled in every so lightly on her nose). He would remember it all, he told himself that. So that way when he saw her, he would know. But of course, forgetting was inevitable.

He smiles at the photo, biting his lip in a failed attempt to stop his smile from growing. It all seemed surreal to him. A soulmate. He had one? He, Alexander Michael Karev, a boy who had to grow up much younger than most, had a soulmate? Someone who would be okay with his crap?

The man was far from a romantic. He gagged at chick flicks and still felt uncomfortable when he saw any form of PDA, whether it be him or anyone else, but he swore, he thinks this girl would make him okay with everything. For this girl, he could see himself do anything. He would jump in front of a bear for her. No doubt. It didn't matter that he had never even met her. He just knew.

He shrugs the sappy thoughts away, scoffing at himself, in an attempt to not lose his 'tough guy behavior'.

Get a hold of yourself Karev. She's just a girl.

But even those thoughts couldn't erase the smile from his face.

____

On the night before her sixteenth birthday, she was anxious. Really anxious. And scared. She could barely sleep that night, tossing and turning without being able to stop in the backseat of her car. But she knew the envelope wouldn't come unless she slept, since it only showed up after you fell asleep. So, she squeezed her eyes as tight as she could like a little girl wishing to see fairies and let the exhaustion of the days events take over her.

As she awoke the next morning, she temporarily forgot everything. For her, it was jut another day, trying to pry her exhausted eyes open, her mind having a battle with her body. She makes tiny noises as she drifts towards consciousness, her brain foggy with jumbled words and half made thoughts.

When she does manage to open her eyes, she sees an orange envelope tucked into the car's window from the inside. She doesn't think much of it at first, her brain still not on the cognitive thinking side of things, until she wakes up a bit more, remembering the day it was.

She sits up with a start, grabbing the envelope and opening it carefully, but still so quickly that the photos were tumbling out.

She picks up the first from the deck. A photo of her soulmate on his sixteenth birthday. And damn, she was a lucky woman.

He had a sharp jawline, no scratch that, a really freakin sharp jawline. Like you could run your finger across and you would end up with a cut. His messy-yet-styled hair was a dark brown. He had a broad build, biceps pulsing out form the white t-shirt he wore, and a really freakin sexy half smirk. His eyes were a dark brown like his hair, but his eyes, they held something familiar. They held, loneliness. Longing. Exhaustion. That was a big one. At first glance, you couldn't tell, but she could see, behind the eyes of dark brown and bits of green, he was exhausted. Exhausted of what? She didn't know. But she could tell, since she was sure she had the same in her orbs too. Loneliness. She felt that one too. But him? Lonely? He didn't look like the lonely type. He looked like the guys she saw at her school, the ones were girls falling at their feet and at least five different men to meet him every morning by the lockers to do a 'bro hug'. But she knew to not make assumptions. Longing. What was he longing for? A better life? Better parents? Better friends, better grades? She had no idea, but the look was clear in his eyes. But there was one more thing that shone in his seas of brown. Hope. The day of the photo was of the day of his sixteenth birthday. Could the glimmer of hope be for her? Could she be the cause of someone to believe. Probably not, but still, it never hurt to dream.

The second photo was of him the day they meet. And once again, she was a lucky lady. She couldn't quite see what he was wearing, but it looked to be some type of flimsy dark blue materiel. He had a half snarl on his face, but it didn't really look awkward, like she assumed it would on others. It looked natural, like he'd done it so many times before, it just came with ease.

He had the slightest bit of a stubble on his face, looking like he'd just shaved that morning or the night before, a bit more hair visible in the mustache area. His hair was a bit shorter than the previous photo, but not by much. It was better styled, but still looked like he had run his hands through it too many times to count. She sets the photo down next the the other one, taking a deep breath before flipping over the third and final photograph.

She intakes a sharp breath upon seeing the picture, tears pooling in her eyes at the sight in her hand. It was her soumate, lyig in a pool of his own blood, the red liquid coming from his chest.

He was shot.

In the chest, she assumed. That's where the most of the blood was at. She bites her bottom lip, trying to keep it from trembling. He was what seemed to be a metal box. An elevator? That seemed most likely. His blood stained clothes were previously a light blue, his hair shorter than the previous two photos.

The clothing, it liked familiar. Where had she seen them before? She racks her brain, trying to identify what her soulmate was wearing, purposefully ignoring the large sum of red surrounding the man.

A small smile graces her lips. Scrubs. She'd seen them on a few people when she went into town. So that meant he was doctor. Right? Or a nurse, but he didn't really look like he would be a nurse. And his scrubs were a different color than the ones in the precios picture. She assumed the clothing were scrubs in the second photo as well.

She swallowed thickly. It hurt. She felt the pain. The pain of her soulmate getting shot. It hurt like hell, and she wasn't even experiencing it first hand. But it still hurt. It felt like someone was grabbing her heart and squeezing it. It wasn't the same type of pain, but it was still pain nonetheless.

With that she sets the photo down. The fear starts to kick in then.

How would he soulmate feel about her past? He looked normal. Despite the loneliness and longing in his eyes, her looked normal.

What if she screwed it up? What if he couldn't deal with her crazy? She was Brooke. Hobo, car living, foster home, no parents Brooke.

She shoved the thoughts aside. He was her soulmate. The handsome stranger with the dark eyes that were somehow calming was her soulmate. Who knows, maybe he was just as screwed up as her.

____

Alex Karev had always been impatient. Ever since he was a little boy really.

So imagine how impatient he was when he was twenty nine years old and had still yet to meet his soulmate.

Her loved Izzie, and she had lost Denny, her soulmate. They made each other happy. They loved each other, she was probably going to die. He loved her, so they got married. He got married to someone who wasn't his soulmate. He had given up at that point. I mean, come on. Twenty nine years he'd been on this planet and he still had yet to meet his soulmate. God, he really wished he could just remember her face. He couldn't remember a single thing. Everything else from the day was clear, but the photos that held his soulmates face were a complete blur, nearly nonexistent. All he could remember were his feelings. He remembers thinking she was really hot. And he remembers feeling really happy. Too happy. He pushed the feelings aside. He loved Izzie.

And it hurt like hell when she left. They had their arguments, sure. But he loved her. He waited to kiss her because he wanted it to be special. He gave her a cupcake on her birthday because he wanted her to know she was loved. He wanted to let her know that she wasn't just another notch under his belt. He was a jerk, he knew that. He could be grumpy and he pushed people away. He guessed he pushed Izzie away.

He didn't know if he was ever going to meet his soulmate. He tried dating by and only had a list of failed relationships. And then the plane crash happened. He should've been on that plane, but Robbins boarded it instead. Maybe he would've been the one to lose a leg. Then Robbins would still be happy and making Alex gag at how in love her and Callie were. They were soulmates. It seemed like everyone had already gout their soulmate. Meredith had Derek. Callie had Arizona. Owen had Cristina, even though they had more than many disagreements. Bailey had Ben. Everybody had somebody.

Except him.

And that freakin sucked. So, he slept with the interns. Lots of them. Stacy, Tina, Irene, Brooks, Murphy. He'd pretty much given up on meeting his soulmate. At thirty-two he had still yet to meet the girl from the photographs.

So, sleeping with the interns and having non serious , inappropriate relationships with them it is.

____

She had always been impatient. When she was six she once punched a boy because one; he was being a complete ass, and two; he was taking too long to give her the crayon. he deserves it. he was making fun of her and purposefully trying to flatten the green crayon just to annoy her. he deserved the punch.

So when she met a man who treated her like a queen, who didn't beat her down for not having parents and living in her car she felt amazing. He called her beautiful and showered her with gifts and expensive foods. she didn't really care about that though, she enjoyed when he would delicately hold her like she was a porcelain doll. When he would greet her with a deep kiss after he came home from work.

She loved him so much that she agreed to marry him after only being together for eleven months. She knew Paul wasn't her soulmate, but a man who treated her so nicely, a man who was ever do handsome, wanted her? Who treated her with such love and tenderness, so what if he wasn't her soulmate. She was twenty three years old and hadn't met him yet. And if this amazing guy wanted her and loved her as much as she loved him, than it was okay, not being with her soulmate.

She held onto that love. She held onto that love for three years. Three years of beatings, begging that the man who showed her so much love and kindness would come back and stay.

Because Paul wasn't always bad. Some days he would come home and give her that breathtaking kiss as he walked through the door. Some days he still held her like she was a little porcelain doll.

Some days he did still show her that love like he used to that first year. But those days were few and far between.

She wished she had just waited. Gotten over her impatience for something real and waited. Maybe then everything would be okay.

Maybe one day she'll meet him.

....

She was no longer Brooke. No more with Brooke Stadler or the various names she took from all the different foster homes.

Now she was Jo. Josephine. Josephine Alice Wilson. It's who she felt like.

Jo. It was a bit old-timey, sure. But she liked it, the fact that she could probably confuse people who had only seen her name and think she was a boy. She didn't want to be a man, but maybe people would be surprised to see that all this well done work was actually done by a woman.

Jo was strong. Jo was powerful. Jo was the person she had always wanted to be.

She left behind Brooke. Brooke was... she was someone else. Brooke was a survivor. But Brooke was scared. Scared of everything. But Jo?

Jo knew Paul could find her. It would be hard, very hard. And he probably wouldn't, but now she wasn't scared. Brooke would've been scared. Brooke wouldn't been scared shitless. But Jo? No, Jo was far from scared. She was excited. She was eager. Because she had a new start. She got to be whoever the hell she wanted. She could go out and drink with her friends. She could go out and drink until she probably couldn't walk. She could do whatever the hell she wanted. She could wear whatever the hell she wanted. She could talk however the hell she wanted.

Because she was Jo.

But Jo did still want the one thing Brooke wanted. To find her soulmate. Sure, by now she knew that he probably didn't exist and the whole ordeal was just plain poppycock, but she wanted to find him. She really, truly, desperately wanted to find him.

She was twenty-seven years old and had a nonexistent love life. a few random hook ups from a bar were not included.

Maybe here. Maybe in Seattle she would meet her soulmate.

____

She was on Peds today, with Alex Karev. She hadn't ever met the man before, but she had heard more about him than she cared to. Mainly from Leah Murphy with the occasional input from Heather Brooks. From what she gathered, the easiest way to label him was a man whore. So she wasn't really the most excited to be on his service for the week.

She'd been in Seattle for a month now, starting her internship as Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital. She was in love. Sure, doing scut all day and running labs wasn't much, but when she gets to observe from inside the OR? She felt like she won the freakin lottery.

The girl grabbed a trauma gown form behind her attending. "Do you mind" he snarls not even meeting her gaze as he turns around and heads to the ambulance bay.

She says she was sorry, but she doesn't think he hears her.

"Why are you following me?" she doesn't know why, but for some reason his voice gives her butterflies. She hadn't gotten a look at his face yet, but she assumed it was turned into a grimace.

"I'm your intern for the day." her voice sends tingles through him, shooting down his spine. He hadn't seen her yet, but her voice was strangely comforting.

"Hello intern you got a-" he starts, stopping as soon as he looks at her.

He feels breath get caught in his throat. no, surely he was imagining things. Right?

She feels like she can't breathe. That face. It was the same one as the one she saw on her sixteenth birthday. She remembers him. His sharp jawline and tiny bit of stubble.

And those eyes. she remember those eyes.

They held the same things as before. Loneliness, longing, exhaustion. But now, the tiny glimmer of hope she once saw was bright, not like the barely there she saw once before.

He felt everything in that moment. She was just like he remembered. Her long brown hair was swept up into a low updo, two dark strands framing her face. She had that little beauty mark by lip. And her eyes, they were truly everything. They showed him what she was feeling, surprise, disbelief, a bit of fear, hope. he knew his eyes were telling her the same thing.

They're not sure how long they're standing there in the middle of the ambulance bay, oblivious to the two other people next to them.

She wasn't sure how long it was until he broke the silence, a large crooked smile making its way onto his lips.

"Hi."

he whispers so delicately, like if he were to speak any louder the world around then would shatter.

She feels he smile widen, but now grinning from ear to ear.

"Hi."

#jo wilson #alex karev #jolex fanfic #jolex #jolex fic #au #jolexau #greys anatomy #greys #soulmates #screw 16 x 16 #camilla luddington #justin chambers #jo karev #jolex is endgame

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fanfictionaries · 4 years ago

Text

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 4 - I’m Alive

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

The tournament has been announced! Hermione expresses some conflicted feelings, and Fred and George make a harrowing discovery.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note: I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<< Chapter 3

If I should break My silent streak Will knives come out To cut my cheek?

Hermione couldn’t help the swell of pride in her chest at Fred’s acknowledgement of being bested. Truly, it wasn’t a thing to be proud of. There was no joy in winning a game amongst idiots. What was the muggle phrase again? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes? Either way, the last thing she ever expected to fill her with smug glee was Frederick Weasley’s approval. No. She shook her head. It wasn’t his approval that made her feel this way. It was the glorious relief of getting the prat to shut up once again, that’s what it was. But if that were true, then why was her mind drifting back to last night’s conversation and the gentle banter the two shared? She felt it then too. The glowing sense of satisfaction that he not only approved of her mental prowess when it came to the art of repartee, but that he also found amusement in it.

Unable to ponder on the thought for long, she turned her attention to Dumbledore as he announced for the year’s sorting to begin. Hermione watched as the group of frightened first years filed into the Great Hall; their eyes wide with wonder. She remembered her first moment seeing the magnificence of Hogwarts. No amount of reading had prepared her for all that the school had to offer. The sorting went by quickly, Hermione clapping and cheering politely when one of the new students joined their table. Some students, especially the Gryffindor students, got quite into the sorting, seeing it as some competition. Hermione was all for house pride, but she really didn’t see it necessary to boo when a child was placed in Slytherin or laugh when placed in Hufflepuff. Glaring over at Ron, Harry, and the Weasley twins, Hermione wished they would conduct themselves with a bit more civility. Honestly, the school could do with more house unity in her opinion. Still, they acquired quite a fair number of new Gryffindors, including the Collin Creevey’s little brother who was already gawking at Harry like he was some kind of god.

Hermione snorted. She imagined they wouldn’t feel that way if they ever had to help him with his Astronomy homework.

Once the sorting ceremony was over, Dumbledore stood up again, his midnight blue robes sparkling with silver stars. Hermione always secretly wondered where he got his robes. They were the most ornate and intricate pieces she’d ever observed in the wizarding world. Surely, they didn’t sell them anywhere in Diagon Alley. At least, she never saw anything quite like them in Madame Malkin’s shop. Perhaps Twilfitt and Tatting’s. She watched as their headmaster adjusted his half-moon spectacles and cleared his throat.

“Good evening and welcome back to another fantastic year at Hogwarts. I would like to begin with a few announcements. First, as many of you know, the forest on the grounds is strictly prohibited to all students. Second, the wizarding village of Hogsmeade is also off limits to students below their third year or for those without permi—” Dumbledore was cut off by a loud crack of thunder and the groan of the large Great Hall doors opening. All heads turned towards the entrance, confused by the sudden interruption. What they found was a short and stalky man standing haggardly as the heavy wooden door closed behind him. A sense of unease washed across Hermione as she watched him enter the hall slowly. His long, patched robes hung heavy on him, dripping water onto the floor as he limped towards the head table. He leaned heavily on a thick, wooden staff and grunted with every step. Wet, tangled grey hair hung in his face – a face marred with thick and grotesque scars. But it wasn’t the grueling number of scars that unsettled her. It was his eyes. One eye was small, dark, and beady, while the other was a striking blue that never seemed to stop moving. It swiveled around in all directions, never focusing on one spot for long as he kept his pace towards the headmaster. As he approached, Dumbledore smiled unfazed. They shook hands briefly across the table in a familiar manner before the mysterious wizard limped to take a seat at the spot usually reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“What good timing my old friend, I was just about to introduce you!” Dumbledore exclaimed delightfully. “This year, the Defense Against the Dark Arts position will be filled by a very dear friend of mine, Alastor Moody. Alastor?” Dumbledore motioned to the scraggly man. Moody stood and gave a curt nod to the mass of students. A spatter of confused, yet polite applause greeted him. Hermione stared at the man speculatively. She had read about Alastor Moody. Some called him Mad-Eye Moody, which observing him now, she could see why the nickname was appointed. A famous auror and dark wizard catcher, he was renowned for his part in catching most of the known Death Eaters currently in Azkaban. However, over the past few years he had become known for his increasing paranoia. If the rumors were true, Hermione wondered if he was truly qualified to be teaching young children.

“Right! Lastly, I have the unfortunate duty of informing you that our annual Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year,” announced Dumbledore. His announcement was met with numerous cries of outrage from the tables of students. Some of which were most loudly emanating from Oliver Wood down the table. Hermione frowned sadly in his direction before looking to Harry and Ron who seemed equally as devastated but more entirely confused. While Hermione was disappointed for them, she couldn’t help but feel a small jolt of glee. At least she wouldn’t have to spend hours in the cold watching Harry try to kill himself on a broom.

“This is due to a very special opportunity—” Dumbledore went on “—Over the coming months, our school has the honor hosting an event that hasn’t taken place in over a century. It is my pleasure to announce that Hogwarts will be home to the Triwizard Tournament!”

“You’re joking!” Fred Weasley exclaimed, his voice ringing loud through the hall. Hermione turned to glare at him for his incredibly rude outburst, but ultimately rolled her eyes when the entirety of the hall began to laugh, including Dumbledore himself.

“No, Mr. Weasley, I am not joking,” the headmaster stated before continuing to inform them all on the history of the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione of course, knew all about the tournament. There was a whole section in Hogwarts, a History dedicated to the event. While the competition was a great opportunity for selected students to show off their magical abilities, it was also quite dangerous. In fact, the whole reason the tournament hadn’t taken place in centuries was because of the overt amount of deaths it resulted in. She warried a glance at Harry across the table. This was exactly the kind of thing he would find himself mixed up in.

“I’m going for it!” she heard Fred whisper down the table. Rolling her eyes, she doubted he had half the knowledge and strength it took to win something as monumental as the Triwizard Tournament. As Dumbledore went on, the hall became restless. Student voices, excitedly discussing the tournament and all it had to offer, soon rose in volume that Hermione deemed quite inappropriate.

“Now, now, I know all of you are understandably eager to participate and win the Triwizard Cup for Hogwarts—” lamented Dumbledore “—however, as one of the compromises made in order to bring the tournament back, myself, the heads of the participating schools, and the Ministry of Magic have all agreed to place an age restriction on this year’s event. Only students seventeen and older will be allowed to enter their names for the Triwizard Tournament. This, is something that we feel is necessary as the tasks will be incredibly difficult and will require the education and experience of older witches and wizards, to complete.”

Hermione gave a great sigh of relief at this revelation. Thank Merlin. That fact alone meant everyone she knew at Hogwarts personally was safe. Even Fred and George weren’t seventeen yet. However, looking around at the disappointed and even angry faces at her table, showed that only she was happy about the rule change. She didn’t let their disappointment ruin her mood though. Instead she listened contentedly, until next thing she knew, her was done and dinner was served.

Dinner went by uneventfully, conversation filled laments of summer trips, general gossip, and theorizing about the upcoming tournament. Hermione was thoroughly stuffed by the time the tables were magically cleared and their group departed back to Gryffindor Common room. Hermione trailed behind Harry and Ron as they walked with the twins through the halls, thinking about her classes the next day when George’s voice broke her concentration.

“You know, Freddie, I reckon we could find a way to get past whatever Dumbledore will use to enforce the age restriction,” George said enthusiastically.

“How do you suppose they’ll pick to decide who gets in or not?” Harry asked. Hermione thought that was quite a good question. In her reading, it was never explicitly stated how the competitors were chosen. It simply stated that they were.

“No idea, but it’ll be them that we have to fool—” stated Fred, his chest puffing in confidence “—I think a few drops of aging potion should do the trick.”

“But Dumbledore knows you aren’t old enough,” Ron piped up as they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room.

“Yes, but whoever is deciding doesn’t. It seems to me that they’ll just choose whoever is best from each school. Dumbledore is just trying to stop us from getting our names in is all,” George replied to his younger brother.

“And you two aren’t the least bit concerned that people have died in this competition before?” Hermione inquired, feeling irritation bubbling up below her calm façade.

“Not a bit,” the pair responded with cheeky grins.

Fred and George’s response irked Hermione quite terribly. Were they really that immune to the idea of potential imminent death? Fred definitely wasn’t – no matter what he said. She knew that for certain just from her memories of the Quidditch World Cup. He had been just as afraid as her, she saw it on his face. That fact alone gave her comfort when she continued to endure the agonizing nightmares revolving around that night. Rubbing at her eyes, she cursed at just how bloody tired she was. When she nodded off in the Weasley kitchen that night sitting across from Fred, it had been the first peaceful sleep she’d had in weeks. Unfortunately, the peace did not last long, for as soon as her head hit the pillow in Ginny’s room the nightmares were back again. However, the comforting thought that she had not been the only person scared and panicked that night reassured her that she was not overreacting. Even though everyone had all but forgotten the events of the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione wanted to forget as well.

“Well if Fred and George figure out a way to enter their names, I want in,” said Ron as they sat in the common room. Upon entering the tower, Fred and George made swift exits to their room, most likely to start on their idiotic aging potion idea. It wasn’t going to work, Hermione knew that, but she doubted anything she said to them would get through their thick skulls.

“You most definitely will not Ronald Weasley!” Hermione scolded the freckle-faced boy sitting across from her in front of the fire. He rolled his eyes at her, ignoring her objection.

“Oh, come on Hermione. Everyone knows the age limit is insulting. Us three have faced loads of dark magic already. Especially Harry! You don’t think he’s capable of winning a silly little competition? Tell her Harry!” Ron looked over at Harry for support, but all the bespectacled boy could manage was a conflicted expression before Hermione responded.

“I think Harry has faced enough life-threatening situations for a lifetime, thank you very much. I’d rather you two lose the opportunity of fame and fortune, than risk your necks again. To do so would just be stupid. No one can evade death forever!” Hermione rose from her seat and stormed out, leaving the two boys to gawk at her retreating form.

Hermione huffed and puffed about her room, slamming books down and pulling on her sleep clothes more aggressively than usual. The other girls in the room continued their babble, paying her no mind as they were too engulfed in whatever the latest gossip was to care about her bad mood. She crawled into bed and drew the curtains closed, blocking out all the light from her roommates Pavarti, Lavender, and Fey. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to sleep – to block out all the frustrations of the day and to most importantly not have nightmares. Truth be told, she shouldn’t be so upset at Ron. It was all trivial. In the end, the twins would never figure out how to enter their names into the tournament and thus neither would Ron nor Harry. This might end up being a perfectly normal year after all. There was no magical item with the ability to keep one alive forever taking up residence in the castle; there couldn’t possibly be a second mysterious chamber hidden under the school housing a deadly snake; and there wasn’t an escaped Azkaban prisoner seemingly attempting to murder her best friend – that she knew of. No, this year they would be the spectators. They would watch as three experienced and skilled students, they were not close to, risk their lives in the tournament. Maybe a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin would compete for Hogwarts. Whoever it was, it wouldn’t be them and they would watch from the stands, getting a thrill from the entertainment. Then they would return to the common room, talking about who they thought would win. They would study hard and pass their classes. They would end the year happy and safe, and looking forward to the next year.

Everyone would be safe, happy, and together.

No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be there. It had to! Fred tore through his trunk again, this time physically removing the items one by one and throwing them onto the dormitory floor around him. However, much to his dismay, he reached the bottom empty handed. Standing abruptly, he rushed over to George’s trunk and began to do the same. He was halfway through its contents when his brother came in, followed closely by Lee Jordan and Kenneth Towler.

“Oi, Freddie, mind telling me why you’re scrounging through my personal things?” George asked, staring down at his brother with a curious gaze.

“It’s gone,” Fred answered gravely, continuing to tear through George’s trunk.

“What’s gone?” asked Lee, hopping over the growing pile of things on the floor and landing clumsily on his bed.

“I swear I just saw it the other day and now it’s gone Georgie!” exclaimed Fred in a panic, sitting back on his heels when he, once again, reached the baren bottom of the trunk.

Towler sighed, walking through the mess, and placing his school bag down next to his neatly made bed. Airily he pulled out a few textbooks and laid down before remarking, “I always knew one of you would lose it. Personally, I always thought it would be George.”

George cast an unamused expression in Towler’s direction before crouching down next to his obviously distressed twin. “Get ahold of yourself mate—” George shook him roughly “—just tell me what’s going on.”

“The money!” yelled Fred, breaking away from George’s hold and moving to his wardrobe. “It’s gone! I’ve looked everywhere for it and it’s gone. Last I checked it was in our money pouch and now it’s not there.”

“Wait. You don’t mean the money we won, do you?” George asked, rushing to Fred’s side, and grabbing him by the arm. He pulled him roughly, forcing Fred to cease his search and face his twin. Fred swelled with irritation. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to find the missing galleons. Fred didn’t need to respond for George to know that it was, in fact, the money they won from their bet at the world cup. George’s eyes widened in disbelief and then, he too began to tare wildly through his wardrobe, all the while chanting a desperate mumble of “No, it’s impossible.”

“Two hundred galleons do not just up and walk away Freddie!” cried George, abandoning his wrecked wardrobe, and lying flat on his belly to look under their beds.

“Where on earth did you two get two hundred galleons?!” asked Lee incredulously. He sat up in his bed, showing a larger interest at the mention of money the two had seemed to misplace.

Fred sighed, sinking to the floor, and leaning against the open door of his wardrobe. Closing his eyes tightly, he banged the back of his head against the wood as he tried to think.

“We won it,” answered George, now pulling back the covers on his bed.

Fred smirked sadistically, knowing it was a lost cause. He already checked there.

“Won it?” asked Lee again, clearly both confused and impressed.

“Yeah, we bet our dads friend all our money and a bloody fake wand that Krum would catch the snitch, but Ireland would win—” Fred rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms in frustration “—he was pretty surprised when we were right, but he paid us. We’ve had the money locked up in my trunk ever since. We were going to use it to upstart our business.”

‘Were’, was the important part of that sentence, thought Fred. Now without the money, he had no clue how they would fund their business after school. They could get jobs he supposed. He and George could work in a shop and save up until they had enough. It wasn’t the worst scenario, but merlin, it wasn’t what they imagined.

“Well I didn’t touch it,” said Lee, holing his hands up to signify his innocence.

“You couldn’t have taken it even if you wanted to,” said Fred. “I put so many wards on my trunk, you’d think I was trying to keep Dumbledore himself out.”

“It has to be here somewhere Freddie. Are you sure you didn’t take the money pouch out for something and then, I don’t know, leave it somewhere?”

Fred looked at his brother in irritation before snapping, “Actually now that you mention it, just the other day I was sitting on my bed and I thought ‘Gee, you know what would be an excellent idea? Taking two hundred galleons for a bloody walk.’ Of course, I didn’t take it out for anything! What do you take me for, Georgie?”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. That was a stupid question. I just don’t understand what could have happened to it.”

“This friend of your dads, he wouldn’t happen to be Ludo Bagman, would he?” asked Towler from his bed, nose currently buried in his transfiguration textbook.

Fred and George froze, so still they could have easily been mistaken for victims of a well-placed body bind curse. They looked at their second roommate with suspicion.

“Why?” the two questioned in unison, staring hard at the sandy-haired boy.

“My dad says he’s a real bilker. He’s always making bets and never paying up – still owes my dad two galleons and seven sickles from a game of cards almost a year ago,” said Towler, looking back at his book with a bored expression.

Fred took a moment to process his words. Kenneth Towler was many things: swotty, boring, killjoy to name a few, but he wasn’t a liar. So that meant if he said Ludo Bagman was a renowned cheat, then it was probably true. Still though, he had paid them the money. Almost immediately even. If he was constantly broke, then where did he come up with the galleons to pay them off? Unless…

George seemed to have the same thought he did because it was his turn to sink to the floor in abject horror.

“Leprechaun gold,” they said in distraught realization.

It was the only possible explanation, thought Fred. While possessing the exact same features as a wizarding galleon, leprechaun gold had one little thing about it that made it unique – it vanished after twenty-four hours. Fred cursed under his breath, standing, and beginning to place his things back into his trunk.

“Of course that slimy git would try to con us out of our well-deserved money. We should have known!” exclaimed George, throwing his hands in the air.

“Maybe it was a mistake,” Lee offered kindly.

Fred and George snorted, “That’s likely.”

“Well it never hurts to make sure,” said Lee, taking off his shoes and kicking their things out of the way as he shuffled to his wardrobe to pull out his sleep clothes.

“He’s got a point Georgie,” said Fred, pausing his cleaning to grab parchment, a quill, and his ink bottle from the ground.

Dear Mr. Bagman,

Fred and George Weasley here! We’re sure you remember us from the world cup. We were the two incredibly dashing twins that won all that money off you.

Speaking of the money, it seems there was a slight mistake and you paid us in leprechaun money instead of real money.

We’re sure it was just an innocent error on your part and therefore would hold no ill-will against you as long as you respond to this letter with the amount in full.

Sincerely,

Fred and George Weasley

Founders of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes

Fred penned the letter as George stood over his shoulder reading aloud and making suggestions. When they were satisfied with the tone and contents of their letter, Fred folded it neatly and placed it inside an envelope, addressing it to Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic.

“Do you suppose we have enough time to make it to the owlery before curfew?” Fred asked, kicking the rest of his things out of the way, and pulling on his shoes.

Kenneth Towler snorted rudely from his bed, “When have you two ever cared about curfew?”

“He makes a fair point Freddie. Come on, let’s go then.”

“Oi! Aren’t you two going to clean up your mess?” Lee shouted at them as they made their way to the door.

The twins yelled a shifty “Maybe” over their shoulders as they exited the dormitory and made their way down the stairs to the common room.

Fred held tightly to the letter, hoping against all hope that it was all just a big misunderstanding. Perhaps Ludo had been a bilker in the past, but recently changed his ways. Perhaps he had every intention of paying them in full. Perhaps he’d be embarrassed upon opening the letter and realizing his mistake. Perhaps George would sprout a tail overnight and he would shit out a pig.

Still, it was worth a try. Not only were they short the two hundred galleons Ludo owed them, but they were also down the 37 galleons, 15 sickles, and three knuts they originally gave him for the bet. It was all the money they had to their name. They needed that money. Fred rubbed a hand through his hair and gripped it tightly at the roots behind his left ear. He honestly didn’t know how it would all turn out, but one thing became apparently clear as they reached the owlery.

If Ludo Bagman didn’t give them the money he owed them, then it was more important than ever that they get their names into the Goblet of Fire and have their chance at the prize money.

Chapter 5 >>

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thetriggeredhappy · 5 years ago

Note

if ur still taking them... 28 pyroscout 🥺

pyro tf2 said trans rights and scout tf2 said disaster bi rights and the team said queer rights and that’s what’s up, sis. (warning for discussion of past transphobia and other queer issues)

#28: First kiss.

It wasn’t that Scout was all that surprised to have Pyro end up as basically his best friend. He’d secretly been hoping that he’d get to be friends with a few of his coworkers when he’d taken the job, and Pyro was pretty close to him in age and shared a few of the same interests as him so it wasn’t unreasonable to expect to get along. It was just…

Maybe it would be more accurate to say that it was a little bit of an honor.

They hung out in plenty of places—watching TV or playing card games in the common room, hopping into a car and heading into town to watch the latest movie once or twice (or like eight times if they both really liked it), sometimes out back to start a bonfire or something for the hell of it.

But Pyro’s room tended to be his favorite hangout location of theirs, because that was the only place where they were okay with taking off their mask and suit.

Pyro had tried very hard not to make a big deal out of it the first time they’d unmasked in front of Scout. He’d been confused about what they were doing unclasping the bottom of it, since they didn’t have any food with them or anything and that was the only reason they usually did that—to sneak bites of food beneath. But then they shucked the whole thing up and over their head, shaking their head to re-orient themselves, sending their hair—he’d never thought about what Pyro’s hair had to be like before, how had he never thought of that?—bouncing around their face loosely, half-flattened but clearly very naturally curly. Pyro had to take a moment to fish something else out of their mask, a cap of some kind, probably to hold their hair down, and they clearly were trying very hard to avoid eye contact, nervous.

Scout, for once, was at a loss for words, mouth flapping in a way that was probably pretty similar to a fish for something like thirty seconds straight.

“Hey,” he finally managed, pointing at his own face where assorted freckles dotted his cheeks. “We match.”

Pyro glanced up at him, a little startled, then barked a laugh, and it sounded so much better when it wasn’t muffled. They hesitated a few more moments before they pulled off their gloves as well and set all of the newly-shed pieces of uniform down on their cluttered desk, fidgeting severely. “I guess so,” Pyro confirmed, and Scout had never noticed before that they had a very slight accent, too light for him to pick out what it had to be. “I’d never, I couldn’t tell before. With the…”

They pantomimed something up near their eyes, words stalling on them. It took Scout a few seconds to get what they meant. “With the mask?” he asked for confirmation. They nodded. “Oh. Huh. So it’s kinda like your first time seeing me too, huh?”

Pyro laughed. “I guess so,” they repeated, scratching at their stubble self-consciously, or maybe just because they finally could, and then Scout made an effort to both just move on with the rest of what all they were planning on doing when they hung out and also with not staring too much.

The jump to stripping off their suit as far as the tank top and thick-but-tight sweatpants they wore underneath was done a few weeks later when Scout had demonstrated that he wasn’t planning on saying anything, and he was only a little surprised by the plethora of burn marks and scars dotting their skin. He’d noticed an awful lot of scars all over Pyro, and he figured it was probably from when Pyro had been working as a mercenary before Mann Co., something he was aware had happened but hadn’t been able to coax Pyro into talking about. But it was nothing heinous, nothing that he figured warranted a full-body suit to hide it.

He tried to work out how exactly to ask Pyro why they wore the suit without being weird or rude. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“I appreciate it, you know,” Pyro said one day unprompted, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. They were sat a foot or so apart on Pyro’s bed and drawing, Scout sketching out a dramatic rendition of a particularly funny pose he’d seen the enemy Sniper land in when he died and Pyro apparently drawing yet another unrealistically bright technicolor landscape.

“What?” Scout asked, glancing over at them, more obviously than he’d been occasionally doing the whole time they’d been drawing together. They tended to do this really adorable thing where they stuck their tongue out a little bit when they were concentrating, and Scout had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling every time he saw it.

“That you don’t…” They hesitated. “…I dunno. That you don’t try and guess, now that you’ve seen me.”

Scout tilted his head. “Huh?”

Pyro’s gaze flickered to him and back down again almost too quickly to see. “You keep… not calling me anything,” they said. “Except for dude sometimes, but, you call everyone that anyways. That you still try and use “pal” or “buddy” instead of “man” or “lady” or whatever.”

Scout blinked.

Admittedly, there had been a good month or two right after he joined the team where he didn’t know how to refer to Pyro, and had just gone with using “he”, figuring it would be the less offensive assumption for someone in a mercenary career. Then at some point Engie finally sat him down and explained things to him, and after about a week of stumbling he finally got in the practice of using “they” and other words that weren’t particularly for a guy or girl. He couldn’t say that he really got it in a lot of ways, but he’d worked hard to learn the rules on how to be polite, because he figured he owed them that at the very minimum, if nothing else.

“What do you mean?” he asked after a second.

Pyro turned the marker in their hand over and over again. “Back before I started wearing the suit,” they started to explain, gesturing loosely at the suit in question, laid down on the chair at their desk like a deflated second Pyro (and admittedly sometimes scaring the shit out of Scout when he forgot it was there and noticed it in his periphery). “I would try and tell people I worked with that I wasn’t a guy or a girl, and they’d say sure, whatever, who cares, as long as you can kill people. But they’d look at me and start referring to me as a guy anyways. Sometimes a girl, but not usually. And only as… as neither, or both, or whatever, when I corrected them and maybe for a little while after.” They scratched at their stubble again. It was getting longer, and they’d probably shave pretty soon, if Scout knew them. “And it’s just… I always wondered what it was. I’d try and go clean-shaven all the time, wax, I wore makeup once or twice even to try and balance it out, but all that did was make them refer to me as a girl more, or look at me weird. I couldn’t seem to find the middle. So eventually I just put on the suit so nobody would… get hints anymore.”

Scout frowned, but didn’t know exactly what to say. “That’s the fuckin’ worst,” he decided on.

“I know, right?!” Pyro gushed, as if the dam had broken and they were finally allowed to feel mad about it. They sighed hard, pushing their hair out of their eyes, even if they just bounced right back into place a moment later. “They always respected me professionally, but what’s it take for a person to get called the right name, y’know!? Did they want me to wear a stupid t-shirt with instructions on it!?” Another sigh, then they looked up at Scout with those deep brown eyes of theirs, the ones that flooded Scout with an inexplicable sense of comfort. “And I guess I just wanted to say thanks. For not… I dunno. Being weird.”

Scout nodded, hesitated. “So I’ve been doin’ that right?” he asked suddenly, unable to stop himself.

Pyro smiled at him warmly. “You’ve been doing great, probably the best job anyone’s ever done,” they assured, and Scout knew his own smile was probably goofy and stupid looking, but he couldn’t bite it back.

“Thanks,” he said, having to look away, and Pyro laughed.

“And, I dunno. There was also this weird thing where I tried to date for a while and people kept not taking me seriously, then one day someone finally gave me a shot but got all weird and just straight up asked me what equipment I had on the second date and it was the worst.”

“I mean, none’a their fuckin’ business is what unless they’re asking if they should pack a condom,” Scout scoffed.

“Right!? It just sucked because most people would say “oh, I’m just into girls” or try and like, swing it as if I’m a guy and therefore it was totally cool, and only twice did I find someone who would go for whoever and one got weird about it and the other one is the person I took on two dates. Only person who ever gave me any real respect about it could only go on one date with me, and she was only cool because she kind of had some special circumstances going on too, then she had a contract abroad and we had to cut things off. And I just—I dunno. I wish people who went either way would… I dunno.”

“Hey, I fit that bill, and I’d totally date you,” Scout said, and then realized what he’d just said out loud.

Pyro was staring at him openly, mouth a little agape. They tried to start talking twice without success before finally managing it on the third attempt. “You’re bisexual?” they asked, a little surprised.

Scout immediately began backtracking. “I mean, I, I dunno,” he said quickly, looking away, face on fire, “I, it isn’t like I’ve ever really even gotten to date any, anyone but a couple girls and stuff, and, I, thinking and doing are kinda two different things, and y’know, labels and, and…”

They raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, yeah, I think I’m bi,” he finally admitted. “But you can’t fuckin’ tell anyone, got it? The guys already get all up in my grill about callin’ me gay all the time and, and Medic asking when the coming out party is and, and Sniper going all “what’s with the pride meeting?” and shit like that, I just, I don’t need any more of that fuckin’ nonsense, okay?”

“You know half of them do those jokes because they’re not straight either, right?” Pyro asked flatly.

Scout blinked. “The Doc and Snipes are gay?” he asked, surprised.

Pyro gave him a look.

“…Okay, I guess that’s, that tracks,” he admitted. “But—how many, who all’s…?”

“Far as I know, just Medic, Sniper, Heavy, and Spy, and those last two are also bi or something like that, and I think Demo doesn’t really swing any way,” Pyro said. “You really didn’t know? I thought they were pretty out about it.”

“Nobody tells me anything!” Scout said defensively.

“That’s fair. But… I dunno, I’m obviously not gonna go out and break out the news with confetti and streamers for you, but… I think they wouldn’t really care,” Pyro shrugged. “If anything they’d just try and wingman for you more.”

Scout thought about that for a while. “Man, what are the odds that we’d get a goddamn queer collective out in the middle of a fuckin’ desert?” he asked suddenly.

“Have you maybe considered that the people who’d go out into a desert away from civilization might be queer people trying to be more themselves where they can’t get as much backlash?” Pyro suggested.

“…Shit. That makes a lot of sense actually,” he admitted.

Quiet for a few seconds. “Let’s circle back around to that part where you said you’d totally go for someone like me,” Pyro said suddenly.

Scout pulled his hat down over his face, feeling it go red again. “Shut the fuck up, dude,” he protested, annoyed at how whiny it came out. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

“Do you think about making out with me a lot?” Pyro asked, tone clearly teasing now, and Scout groaned.

“Oh my god, shut up,” he muttered. “I come out to you and you just start fuckin’ bullying me? That’s the play?”

“Duh,” Pyro laughed, and pinched his cheek, making him flush further as he batted their hand away.

“I’m just sayin’ that you’re good-looking and funny and anyone would be lucky to date you, okay?” Scout finally said, trying not to let more embarrassment flood through his voice.

That got Pyro to grin sheepishly, picking up their drawing again. “You’re sweet,” was all they managed to reply with, quieter now.

“The sweetest guy on the planet,” Scout agreed, picking up his own drawing as well, and Pyro elbowed him in the ribs, making him squawk.

He ended up coming out to Engie offhandedly during their lunch break about a week later, and he only even managed it because Pyro was sitting and eating next to him, their knee pressing into his own and bringing him enough comfort to broach the topic. Engie was immediately supportive, and ended the conversation with a pat on his shoulder and by saying he was proud of him for having to courage to say something.

That gave Scout a burst of confidence, and he ended up dragging Pyro around for the rest of the day as he came out to other teammates as well, first Demo and Soldier right after battle (Soldier needed an additional few moments of explanation but overall they were both glad to hear the news), then Medic and Heavy where they were sitting playing chess in the common room (once Heavy got past the language barrier, he offered Scout a solemn high-five in solidarity, which he accepted gratefully). Sniper was reserved for the next day, outside where he was setting up the grill to take his turn making the team dinner (he was a little awkward for a moment, clearly a bit confused and not having expected anyone to come talk to him, but once he caught on to what Scout was saying he offered one of his rare smiles and a few supportive words).

Oddly enough, Spy was the one that made him the most nervous for reasons he couldn’t pin down, maybe partially because he didn’t bring Pyro along, but he probably handled it the most easily, treating it as no big deal at all, simply pausing for a moment before giving a flippant “Alright. Was that all, mon ami?” and shooing him back out of his smoking room shortly after.

“Look at you,” Pyro said appraisingly when he showed up to hang out in their room, clapping him on the shoulder, clearly noticing the fact that he was practically glowing.

“Didn’t even get beat up or shoved in a locker,” he said cheerfully.

Pyro looked at him for another second or two before they finally just swept him up in a hug, squeezing him almost too-tight in their excitement. “I’m so proud of you!” they exclaimed softly, and he returned the hug, burying his face in their hair when he became sure that he wouldn’t get in trouble for it, surprised and delighted by how very nice it smelled. Vanilla-y and a little coconut-y, warm like everything else about them.

It was only through the combination of circumstances—riding the nervous high from being newly-out for the first time in his life, and being all wrapped up in a hug with his best friend, and his nose being greeted by the smell of the very appealing shampoo they apparently used—that he got the exact level of confidence to do what he did next. They pulled away from the hug finally to look up at him with that same proud smile, and he leaned down and kissed them square on the mouth.

It was three or four seconds before he pulled away again with a tiny, almost-inaudible little smeck. He smiled down at them, feeling the wildly spinning combination of euphoria and fear and excitement and apprehension and thrill and terror swirling around in his chest. Their lips were slightly parted, and they stared up at him with wonder. If he ever drew the moment, he would probably draw Pyro’s pupils in the shape of little hearts, the way they were looking at him just then.

“Oh,” they said breathlessly, and laughed a little. “So you were serious when you said you’d go for someone like me, then?”

Scout laughed, couldn’t stifle it, rising up through his chest alongside his heart. “Yeah, duh,” he said, voice tinted a little higher than usual.

“Well shit, then get back down here,” Pyro said, and tugged on his shirt, and he readily obliged.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #pyroscout #flashfire #shut up me #my fanfiction #everybody talks #that's the last request in my inbox lads!! we've done it!!

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jadekitty777 · 4 years ago

Text

On the Precipice of Trust

Fff alright, time for my personal favorite of the three I’ll be posting this weekend. I hope you all will like it too!

Day 2: Scars

Dedicated to: @saenda for unknowingly encouraging me to finish this one. I took an educated guess that your tumblr name and Ao3 name are the same lol

Rating: T, because Qrow had to be an inappropriate asshole

Words: Almost 9k

Summary: When Clover mysteriously doesn't show up for mission assignments, Qrow fears another betrayal is on the horizon and decides to go investigate. Instead of finding the man scheming with General Ironwood, he discovers Atlas' famed boy scout is just a bit under the weather.

But Qrow quickly realizes that there's more to the captain's sickness than just a simple cold. And even more to Clover himself, well hidden under all those cheerful smiles.

Ao3 Link: On the Precipice of Trust

Suspicion immediately wove into Qrow’s mind when Harriet went up to the mission board and started the announcement process.

“Alright everyone, I’m going to be assigning the missions for today!” Her voice boomed over the room.

Keeping his tone light and casual, he asked, “Where’s Mr. Lucky?”

“According to the General, he’s indisposed for today.” Harriet sidestepped, before turning to the board.

In the corner of his eye, he saw the various ways some of the kids reacted. Ruby sat up a little straighter. Blake’s left ear twitched. Yang started to curl a thread of her hair around her finger. All subtle, but all on the same wavelength.

This was what they had been waiting for.

As Yang, Blake and he crossed the courtyard towards the transport ships, Qrow spared the academy a look, then said, “Alright kiddos, I’m gonna vanish for a bit.”

“Right.” Yang’s tone betrayed her unease.

“Firecracker?”

“It’s just-” She stopped, halting the rest of them. She looked towards him with a frown, “Do you really think the General will betray us?”

Qrow frowned, his gaze drifting towards the skyline. “I never thought Leo would. Or Oz. So, safe to say my judge of character is pretty shit.”

“Then am I just dumb?”

That had Qrow’s gaze snapping back to her.

Blake’s ears had fallen. “Yang…”

“I, just, feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t suspect him.” She offered hesitantly, rubbing her hand over her metal wrist.

He followed the movement, reaching out to place a hand over the metal limb. “You wanting to see the best in someone isn’t dumb, especially for someone who’s done so much for you. Actually, you share that quality with Summer.” He snorted in amusement. “Granted, you’re a little more careful. …A lot more, actually. Sums was the type to trust a pickpocket to hold her wallet.”

That earned him a chuckle and he took it as a personal victory.

“Believe me, I would like nothing more than to be wrong. That’s why being cautious is the smart thing to do.”

Yang sighed. “I wish we didn’t have to.”

“Maybe one day, we won’t have to.” Was his own offer of condolence. “You two get out of here. I’ll catch up with you if it turns out to be nothing.”

With that, they went their own ways. Yang and Blake to the transport that would take them to the Grimm extraction mission down in Mantle. Him in the sky on his unofficial reconnaissance mission.

Qrow was so tired of being betrayed. Of feeling like he had to second guess every action of every so-called friend. He didn’t want to suspect James. Hell, he especially didn’t want to suspect Clover – though, he’d be the first to say his decision on that wasn’t entirely sound, if his growing attraction to the handsome brunet had anything to say about it.

That was what was on his mind as he flew past the General’s office, finding it empty. He gave a squawk of annoyance, before starting to circle the building.

Maybe this was just what trust looked like during a time of war. Spying on their own allies at every hint of unusual behavior and second-guessing every word spoken. The more he thought about it, the more he had to wonder if it was going both ways. Were the Aceops offering to train the kids because they truly wanted to hone their skills, or were they secretly hoping one of them would trip up over intel that they could report back to James? Was Clover assigning their missions together because he enjoyed his company or because he could keep an eye on him?

The idea filled him with dread. It only worsened when he considered that to do that, James would have had to order it. A year ago, he would have said that was a ridiculous thought.

But things had changed so much since Beacon fell. With him. With the world. With – Clover.

Wait. Clover?!

Qrow canted to the left, circling back to the window he had just flown past. Another glimpse told him his sight had been true. He dared to draw in closer, landing on one of the fancy panes that decorated the window in crystal-shaped formations. He tucked his wings in so the wind couldn’t carry him away and peered into the room.

The man was shambling around a small studio not too unlike the accommodations Qrow himself had been provided upon his arrival. There were personal touches here and there that he noticed on first glance – a plotted plant right on the other side of the glass, a shelf full of books, a ship in a bottle displayed on a desk. His focus mostly remained on Clover though.

The other huntsman was a mess. He seemed to be walking with a deliberate slowness, an arm around his stomach as he carried a small cup to his bedside. His normally upkept hair was a disheveled tangle and his face seemed pale and gaunt. He hadn’t even gotten out of his nightwear, still in dark grey sweats, a green undershirt and – were those slippers? Shaped like goldfish?

If he wasn’t currently a bird, Qrow would have rolled his eyes.

The ridiculous smiley abominations didn’t last long, Clover kicking them off his feet as he climbed back into bed and huddled under the covers. He looked absolutely miserable. Sick as he obviously was, Qrow was pretty sure he could believe Clover wouldn’t be up to anything nefarious for the rest of the day – and probably not the rest of the week either.

Qrow spread his wings and let the wind currents take him away. He headed towards the docking bay, figuring he could join the girls on the mission now.

He didn’t think about Clover again until he was shuffling into the mess hall behind the girls. Not everyone had made it back yet, but Jaune practically pleading for Marrow and Elm to take some of the casserole he’d no doubt been given (seriously, that was the third one this week) reminded him quite suddenly of their missing leader and his poor state.

While Blake secured them a table and Yang and he got in line, he took out his scroll, sending out a quick message. You eat yet?

The response came only a few moments later. No, why?

So he was awake. Good.

How about some soup? I know you’re not feeling well.

He was almost at the front of the line before he got his answer. That would be good. And then, like an afterthought: Thank you.

Qrow dutifully ignored his eldest niece’s knowing look as he ordered the turkey sandwich and chicken noodle soup to go.

He couldn’t quite ignore her teasing tone as he joined her by the pick-up counter. “What’s wrong Uncle Qrow? Feeling a little under the weather?”

“Hush.” He bumped his shoulder against hers. “He’s got to eat.”

“Oh yes. I’m certain there’s no ulterior motive there at all.” Her grin was almost predatory.

Too bad for her he had played this game much longer then her – and was better at it too. He lent over, murmuring, “Yang, it’s called ‘having game’. And honestly? Considering my dinner dates often end in a nice roll in the hay and you can’t even get past hand-holding with your little pussy cat over there, you might just want to bow to the master here.”

Her eyebrows practically hit her hairline. “You’re the worst!”

“That’s not what Clover’s going to be saying.” His smirk grew. “In fact, he might just elect me as Remnant’s newest god.”

She buried her flaming face into her hands. “Oh my gods.”

“Yeah, exactly like that!”

All things told, he probably deserved the punch.

When he reached Clover’s room, he was surprised to find the door was already open a crack. He pushed it the rest of the way with his foot, announcing as he did, “Special delivery!”

Clover was in the same spot he’d been in this morning, huddled under his blankets on the bed – the only difference being he was sitting up at least. Despite the fact he was looking like death warmed over, he managed a smile in his direction. “Hey.”

Qrow grimaced at the hoarseness in his voice. That had to be painful. He kicked the door closed, heading across the room. “You sound like you swallowed a cheese grater.”

“You always this charming to invalids?” Clover joked.

“Nah, I reserve it only for optimistic assholes like you.”

That graced him with a small chuckle.

Qrow set the bag down on the nightstand, pulling out the container of soup and a plastic spoon. As he handed it over, he asked, “Seriously though, how are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck and, when the driver found out I was still alive, backed up over me again.” Clover set the container in his lap, pulling off the plastic top. “Thank you, again, for this. I probably won’t be able to finish it though.”

He waved it off, plopping down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t worry about it. Better you have something than nothing.”

“Suppose so.” He blew on the first spoonful, sipping on the broth. “How’d you know I was sick? I only told James.”

“Uh.” Shit. To make himself appear busy, he riffled through the bag for his sandwich, mind working on overdrive to come up with a plausible excuse. “You just didn’t look so hot after coming in yesterday, so I put two and two together.”

It was a gamble, but unlike their games of poker, this one actually paid off.

“I’m surprised you noticed. I’m usually more discreet.”

He shoved the first bite in his mouth. “You make it sound like you don’t want anyone to know when you’re sick. What’s wrong? Worried about people knowing the Captain of the Best isn’t as infallible as he seems?”

“Careful. If you keep being this observant, you’re going to reveal all my secrets.” He framed it like a joke, but there seemed to be a lack of humor in it.

Qrow paused, side-eyeing him. “You alright?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah.” Clover sighed, slumping back against the headboard. “Just tired, I guess.”

That rose a weird set off alarm bells, and he couldn’t help but sweep an eye over the small studio, almost expecting an Apathy to be hiding in the corner. Of course there wasn’t, the room empty beyond themselves and whatever program was playing on the TV at such a low volume it was almost inaudible.

“It’s frustrating actually.”

He turned his attention back to the other. “What is?”

“Just that-” He frowned, then shook his head. “No, nevermind. It’s nothing.”

It was with way more satisfaction then he should have had against an ill man when he came back with, “Now who’s deflecting?”

Clover blinked, then chuckled weakly, seeming to slump further. “Got me there…” He stirred his soup, already having lost interest in it. “I was sick not too long ago. It was some real awful thing; my throat was so sore I could barely eat. Hardly could get out of bed, either. The day you guys landed was actually only my second day back.”

Qrow did some quick calculations. That was only six weeks ago. “That normal for you, boy scout?”

“Not really.” He sighed. “And this couldn’t be a worse time for it. We need to get Amity up and Mantle’s defenses fine-tuned and the newbies training is still behind and-”

“And maybe that’s the problem.”

“What?”

Was he really going to have to spell it out? He rolled his eyes. People needed to learn when to half-ass it, like him.

“I mean, you’re overworking yourself, genius.” He could already see the argument brewing. Too bad for Clover, years of being a professor and having to deal with overachieving students had given him all the ammo he needed. “And yeah, I know. Everything you’ve got to do is important. But, so are you hotshot. So, maybe don’t run yourself into the ground?”

He thought about, but didn’t add, how thanks to him keeping tabs on nearly every single member of the Ace-ops, he also knew Clover almost never left his office until it was nearly midnight but was still the first to rise at dawn. That any tasks James didn’t have time for on his already overbooked schedule fell to him. That he was both running and assigning missions, handling reports and regimes, and somehow still managed to find time to provide Qrow with daily life advice that probably came from his desk calendar.

Overworked probably didn’t even begin to describe it.

Clover seemed to mull over his words quietly, running a hand over his chest with a grimace. “I know you’re right. But there’s still so much to do.”

“I think we can handle things for a few days.” He reassured.

“I don’t doubt you can. You’re all incredible. It’s just hard, knowing everyone else is giving their all while I’m just… here. Not contributing.” He ladled another spoonful of soup, raising it. “Oh! Maybe I can still do the paperwo-”

Without warning, a shake ran through Clover and his left hand suddenly spasmed, the utensil he’d been holding falling right back in the soup, splattering the bedsheets.

They both stared down at it, then Qrow gave him a look. “Might want to work on finishing dinner first, pal.”

He’d kindly let Clover pretend the flush that rose to his cheeks was only from fever.

They watched sci-fi dramas all night.

Or, Qrow did at least. Clover kept dozing off every few minutes. It was never for long, because whatever dreams his feverish mind was conjuring kept jerking him awake, one time hard enough he accidentally kicked Qrow in the leg. It was during one of these fitful tosses that an arm landed on his stomach with enough impact to knock the wind from him.

“Oof!”

Clover startled, his eyes opening. After a few blearily blinks, he started to draw away. “Sorry, sorry-”

“It’s fine.” Qrow waved him down – it wasn’t like it had hurt – when something caught his eye. “Hey, wait.” Much to both their surprises, he caught Clover’s wrist, pulling the arm back towards him, staring intently on the marks he saw there. Raised, red bumps, starting at the joint and going down the length of his forearm. Like a rash almost.

They weren’t there before, were they?

“Does this hurt?” He asked, running a finger along the skin as lightly as he could. Hot to the touch, but hard to say if it was just from fever. “You’ve had the chicken pox, right?”

They didn’t look quite right for pox though. When his nieces had gotten it, their spots hadn’t turned the skin around them red and the blemish had covered the entire area of their body, not just patches. Still, he heard it was different for adults, almost dangerously so. He remembered Tai had quarantined him from the house, when Qrow revealed he had no idea if he’d ever caught it or not.

“Clover?” He asked as the silence stretched, glancing over at him to make sure he hadn’t drifted off again.

Wide green eyes stared back at him, the man only seeming to realize that he was waiting for something when their gazes met. “Oh, uh. No. I mean, yes. I mean – what was the question?”

That blush was also not from fever.

He may have felt proud, if Clover didn’t appear so out of it.

“You. Chicken pox. Had it?”

“Oh. Yeah, a’course. Hit all of us at once.” Qrow thought maybe he meant fellow classmates or siblings, until Clover added, mumbling the rest into his pillow. “Sister Lisa was so upset when she couldn’t take in anyone new at the sanctuary for almost a month.”

His brows furrowed. “Got a feeling you ain’t talking ‘bout a church sanctuary.”

“No.” He shifted onto his side. “I mean, Sister Lisa was religious, but the only reason she called the home that was because she thought orphan was an ugly word. She was right, in a way. Learned not to let bad labels define me – so I could thank her for that lesson at least.” He gave a half-hearted shrug, wincing when he did.

Which gave Qrow the out he needed to bypass the uncomfortable conversation. “You alright?”

“Ugh.” He grunted, rubbing a hand over the muscle and trying to roll out the ache. The movement only seemed to cause him more pain. “You know those dolls, where you can move all the limb parts?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel like some kid got ahold of a voodoo version of me and pulled them all off.”

He snorted. “Hate to tell ya, but it was probably one of my kids.”

“Well, when I find them, I’m court martialing them.” Clover grumbled.

The poor joke still won a laugh. That then won a yawn.

Which didn’t go unnoticed even by a man on the verge of death. “You should go. It’s probably late.”

“Yeah, it is.” Qrow conceded reluctantly. “What about your arm?”

He rose the splotchy appendage to eye level, reporting, “Well I won’t be entering any beauty pageants anytime soon, that’s for sure.”

“Clover-”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” He waved him off, curling further into his blanket cocoon. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Qrow regarded him skeptically, but ultimately didn’t pry. He knew what it was like, being mother-henned; and while Tai and Summer always meant well, it wasn’t always enough to combat the embarrassment that would often result from their good-hearted meddling. He wasn’t about to inflict that on his newfound friend that he maybe, kind of, liked.

A lot.

“Alright well,” He started as he finally slipped off the bed. “Try to feel better at least.”

“I will. I got all the luck in the world.”

Qrow gave him a look. “I’m going to let you get away with that smartassary only because you’re sick.”

“So kind and giving.” He joked. “And since you are, you’ll get the light, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He headed for the door, running his fingers down the dial that was next to it until the room darkened. As he stepped into the hall, he added. “Good night Clover.”

“Night. And thanks, for keeping me company.”

Qrow glanced back. The glow of the TV was just enough for him to catch the soft smile aimed his way that left his heart fluttering and his own mouth twitching upwards. “Yeah, anytime.”

As he shut the door and headed for his own room, he pulled out his scroll to set his alarm clock back an extra twenty minutes. He was sure Clover would appreciate breakfast too, right?

There were many things Qrow was – a morning person was not one of them. Those who knew him were very aware if it was before 9 AM to not bother him until he’d had at least one cup of coffee. If it was spiked, wait until noon; or better yet, just pretend he didn’t exist on the mortal plane at all. How he’d ever managed to survive as a school teacher outside of just sheer willpower was completely beyond him.

So it was a rare feeling to be so chipper first thing in the morning, strolling through the halls with a spring in his step, no one around to see except for the robotic janitors tidying up for the day. As he hit the last leg to his destination, he checked his messages, not surprised to see Clover hadn’t responded. He probably wasn’t even up yet.

Which was why he had brought nothing that wouldn’t keep until he got up. The tray he was carrying only had a banana, a bowl with a ‘just add hot water’ oatmeal package sitting in it and a similarly bundled up cup with a lemon tea bag and a honey packet. He set it down next to the door, knocking a few times. “Clover! Breakfast is by the door!”

He waited, pressing his ear against the metal.

Not even a stir.

Well, he could always peek in on him from the window. For altruistic purposes only, he told himself as he headed for the fire escape. When no emergency was going on, the doors were kept locked to prevent students from hiding in there whenever they wanted to skip class – but James had long ago given Qrow the override code, because they were some of the only windows in the entire facility that had latches on them and the one place which had cameras only pointing at the stairwell entrances.

Not really a blind spot, unless becoming a bird was an option.

It wasn’t long before the icy wind was under his wings and he was circling the building. He knew he’d found the right room when he spotted the bamboo plant sitting at its place in front of the window. He landed on one of the panes just as he had the day before.

There was just enough light from the rising sun to stretch into the darkened room, spreading halfway across the lump laying in the bed. Though the plant was blocking Clover’s upper half, Qrow noticed how the blankets at the end of the bed were spilling down the side, probably kicked off from the same feverish fits that had bothered him during the evening. Qrow also spotted how the man’s left pant leg had rolled up, revealing the same rash he’d seen before was now spreading along the calf. He twittered anxiously, hopping to a higher pane to get a good look at the man’s face.

Red took up his vision like a blooming scarlet rose.

He hopped off with a squawk of panic, speeding back to the window. In his panic, he shifted too soon, grunting as his ribs collided with the sill, knees cracking against the wall outside. Ignoring the sting, he scrambled over, landing inside and taking the stairs two at a time until he was stumbling back out in the hallway. As he sprinted down it, he yanked out his scroll, hitting redial on one of the top recent contacts.

It felt like forever before James answered, voice thick with exhaustion, “Qrow? What are-”

He cut him off with a shout, “James! I need you to give me the code to Clover’s room, now!”

“What?” The general seemed to snap to attention, tone shifting from sleepy to alarmed. “Why? What’s happening?”

“He’s bleeding!” The vision filled his head again. Red, so much red, pooling around Clover’s head and soaking his pillow. Like he’d been stabbed. Or shot. The image was so jarring, he almost missed the door, skidding to a stop and slamming his fist against it. If only Harbinger wasn’t still back at his place, he wouldn’t have even bothered with the call. “Give me the damn code already! Hurry!”

Rather than a verbal response, there was a click from the panel and then the door flung open seemingly by itself.

Qrow didn’t question it, rushing inside. He put his scroll onto speaker mode before tossing it on the bed as he rounded it. He pulled down the blankets to check for other wounds while his other hand pressed against the man’s pulse point. Everything looked normal, though he spotted more of that rash outbreaking along his collarbone.

“There’s a medical team on the way. Qrow, talk to me. What are his vitals?” His friend called.

“Heartbeat’s too fast and irregular.” He replied, grateful for something to focus on. He shifted to Clover’s face and, this close, he realized the blood wasn’t quite as copious as his fearful mind had conjured up. There was splatters of it here and there, like blots of red ink, and a circular splotch surrounding the middle to lower half of the man’s face. “Not losing as much blood as I thought.”

“Where’s the wound?”

He squinted, seeing a lot of it congealed onto his upper lip and announced faintly, “It’s uh… it’s a nosebleed.”

He was allowed to feel a little foolish for about two seconds, before James spoke up, “Is he awake?”

“No.”

“That’s not normal. Clover’s a light sleeper, he should have woken up when you walked in.”

Qrow took that in, before he shook the man’s shoulder, softly at first then, when it failed to do anything, harder. “Clover? Hey, come on, get up.” The other man didn’t even seem to stir. “Nothing, he’s out cold.”

He heard James curse softly, the only sign of his own worry that he quickly stamped back down. “Breathing? Eyes?”

“Breathing’s labored, pretty raspy.” He gently pulled back an eyelid, seeing the pupil constrict as the light hit it. “But eyes are dilating.” That was good. That meant his mind was still working. He rested a hand along his chest, trying to feel if maybe fluid had built up in his lungs, only to frown when he noticed something else. “His heart’s not doing good James. It’s going way too fast. This can’t just be a sickness, right?”

“I don’t know.” He replied honestly. “But I’m forwarding this to the medical ward. They’ll know what to do.”

Qrow took a deep breath. “Okay. What else should I do?”

“Just stay with him. The team should be there soon to bring him down.” A pause. “And I’m right here too.”

Two emotions hit him in rapid succession. The first was relief, knowing he could count on James to keep him calm if Clover started to die right in front of him or something. The second was guilt. He’d spent so much time doubting James’ aims but, bullheaded methods aside, in the end, he was still a good man willing to look out for the people around him.

It made Qrow wonder how he’d ever jumped to the conclusions he had. Was he just becoming just like Oz? So suspicious of everyone around him, that he refused to trust anyone?

As he heard rapid footfalls coming down the hall, he made a silent vow to talk to Ruby after all this was over.

Throughout his travels, Qrow had met many people and, with a lifestyle like his, quite a few of those chance meetings were with folks in the medical profession. Yet, none of them quite matched the quick efficiency and brutal tongue-lashing of Dr. Callister. She was quite frankly a little intimidating, especially when after she was done commanding her staff to get this machine working or that test done, she whirled on him to grill him for all he was worth. And once he was done answering her questions, she promptly kicked him out of the room with sharp orders to stay out of her way or else.

That was why, when the General arrived, he found Qrow sulking outside in the hall like a delinquent waiting to be called in to the principal’s office.

“I see you’ve met Dr. Callister. She’s quite proficient, isn’t she?” James observed.

He did not at all appreciate the slight humor in his tone. “Woman’s a witch.” He pushed off from the wall, demanding, “And where have you been? It’s been, like, an hour!”

In answer, the man pulled out his scroll, the holo display showing a message having been received only minutes ago. “Updates take time and I had other arrangements to attend to, so I asked to be notified when something more concrete was known.”

He was tempted to call his friend out on turning a medical crisis into something he just ‘fit’ into his schedule, but the excited texts he’d been receiving from his nieces told him just what else his friend had been doing. “Like giving the kids the day off?”

“We don’t know whether Clover’s ailment is natural or not. Until we do, proper precautions aren’t ill-advised.” James replied.

Qrow frowned, mulling that over. Salem certainly would stand to gain a lot of headway by eliminating Clover, taking out the Ace-Op’s leader and James’ right hand in one fell swoop. It would completely shake the Atlas inner circle with an equal devastation to knocking down a load-bearing wall in a building. Yet, even if that was her aim, it didn’t really add up. If she had that kind of power, why stop at Clover? Why not just take out the headmaster himself? Or better yet, all of them?

He didn’t get a chance to broach his thoughts before the door was sliding open and the good doctor came marching out.

“Ah, Anora! So lovely to-”

“Don’t you Anora me, James.” She cut him off as she came to stand before him, her eyes ablaze. “Would you care to tell me why I was not properly informed of Captain Ebi’s condition sooner?”

“I, uh, well-”

Wow. And he thought Glynda was the only one who could strike James speechless.

“More importantly,” She continued on as if her commanding officer wasn’t even speaking, “Why was he allowed to go untreated six weeks ago?”

That drew the General to attention, a severe look crossing over his features. “He informed me he had gone to see you.”

“And yet, you failed to verify that with me?”

Having heard just about enough, Qrow cut in sharply, “Hey doc, if you didn’t happen to notice, the General’s been a bit busy handling – oh, I don’t know. Everything.” He waved a hand dismissively. “So the boy scout missed a doctor’s appointment, what’s the big deal?”

He kind of regret speaking when she whirled on him. “The big deal is Mr.-?”

“Qrow.”

“Mr. Qrow,” She continued without missing a beat, “Is that Clover is notorious for ignoring his own health needs to a near foolhardy degree. The General here is quite aware of that fact, and is supposed to inform me whenever I am to expect him in my office so that we assure he doesn’t skip it.”

He snorted. That sounded ridiculous. “What? Is he afraid of needles or something?”

“I believe we’re getting off track.” James intervened hurriedly. “Anora, what is Clover’s status?”

Oh. Qrow realized, side-eyeing his friend. There was something he didn’t want him to know.

His attention fell back to the doctor as she spoke up. “Currently stable. We’re managed to bring him back to consciousness, though he’s very disoriented and weak. It’s one of the most severe cases of Rheumatic fever I’ve ever seen.”

The only indication he had that whatever had just been said was bad was in the way James tensed up beside him.

“Uh, hey doc?” Qrow rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “Mind explaining that for those of us less cognitively gifted?”

By gods, the woman could smile. “It’s a disease that can develop when strep throat goes untreated. You recall informing me that Clover had expressed to you he’d been ill a few weeks ago as well, yes?”

“Yeah?” He also remembered the way Dr. Callister’s eyes had lit up in sudden realization over what he had believed to be entirely useless information.

“Well, six weeks ago, I also just happened to be dealing with a rather rampant number of cases of strep throat among the facility and students. Not unusual, it’s a highly contagious infection. But it can only be properly treated with antibiotics. Clover was among the ones afflicted, but because he failed to seek treatment, it resulted in a new complication.”

He frowned, not liking where this was going. “This Rue-fever thing?”

“Precisely. Everything you’d listed out matched up.” She rose a hand, ticking the fingers off as she listed them, “Fever. Rashes. Joint pain. Jerky movements. Nosebleeds. So, I had my staff do a throat swab, and we got a positive on the streptococcus bacteria. I’ve already got him on the first dose antibiotics.”

“That’s good then, right? Pop a few pills and he’ll be good as new.”

James was the one to speak up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s… not so simple. Rheumatic fever damages the heart.”

He didn’t need to have a doctorate to know that was bad. “Wait, what?! So he was having a heart attack?”

The doctor shook her head. “Nothing quite so dramatic; at least, not right now. Though, the tissue decay can weaken the valves or muscle itself and that can cause future issues. Rest assured, we’re monitoring it closely and if further treatment is needed or even surgery-”

Surgery?!

“-He’ll be in the best of care.”

Qrow felt like the whole world had shaken underneath him.

However, James, whose own heart was nothing more than metal and oil, merely nodded. “I know he will be Anora. Thank you for all your hard work.”

“As much as the flattery is appreciated, you’ll find it will get you nowhere.” She said, donning her rough exterior once more. “I am going to make it very clear this cannot happen again. So, I don’t know what sense you need to knock into that boy, but do it.”

“I… will discuss it with him.”

“See that you do. And give this one a raise.” She waved vaguely in Qrow’s direction. “Clover certainly would have been worse off had he not been around.”

He blinked. Now that was a sentence he never thought he’d hear.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me gentleman, I have my duties to attend to. I’ll inform you of any updates and when he’s ready for visitors.”

Without further ado, the woman about-faced, heading back to her office without so much as a dismissal. In the silence left in her wake, Qrow could only find one word to accurately describe the whole situation.

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

He glanced over at James, seeing the man sag some as he allowed himself to feel the weight of the world for a minute. Strangely, he was reminded of Oz; airing on an infallible image to most, but in private and trusted company, allowed for some of the cracks to show.

“Hey,” He reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You know this isn’t on you, right?”

A sigh. “The wellbeing of my team should always be a top priority. I should have known better.”

“You still can’t expect to control anyone’s choices. Clover was the one who decided.” And almost died for it, Qrow thought but didn’t add. “What’s his deal anyways? He’s not actually needle-phobic, is he?”

James chuckled softly. “No. And I’m afraid that’s not something I’m at liberty to share freely. Although…” He eyed him over thoughtfully. “You two have certainly grown close.”

“Uh, I wouldn’t say that.” He shifted away to lean back against the wall. “I mean, sure I guess we’ve talked a lot but, well, those rides to Amity are long and boring is all.”

“Qrow, in all the years I have known him, Clover has never been open to sharing with anyone when he’s ill.”

He knew what James was trying to imply, but the feeling of being ‘special’ to someone was so foreign it just felt uncomfortable to fathom. Besides, it wasn’t exactly like he’d come across that knowledge honestly. He slid down a bit, crossing his arms. “Was probably just the fever getting to his head.”

“I suppose anything’s possible.” He hummed. “I really must get back, but I’ll keep you updated on his condition.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“And Qrow?” The knowing look James shot him was more powerful than one from his revolver. “If you want to know for sure, I suggest you ask him yourself.”

As his friend retreated down the hall, Qrow was left wondering if he’d been talking about Clover’s strange phobia or his feelings for him.

His chance came 36 hours later. He was just dragging his feet through the doorway of the academy after a rather brutal series of Grimm extraction missions, when a ping on his scroll alerted him to the news.

Clover’s awake and doing well. Already gone to visit. He’s in room 7A.

He glanced up from James’ message, calling, “You kids go on ahead. I got something to take care of.”

“But Uncle Qrow!” Ruby said as she bounced on her heels, still hyped up on adrenalin. “Oscar says they have strawberry cake in the mess hall!”

“Save me a piece.” He waved over his shoulder as he headed down the hall. Faintly, he thought he may have heard Weiss’ muttering that she’d make no such promise if Nora arrived. He chuckled, certain his waistline wouldn’t miss the 60 grams of sugar.

Besides, Qrow found his appetite mysteriously disappearing as he approached the medical wing. He followed the directions given to him by the receptionist to room 7A, pausing outside the door in a panic as he wondered if maybe he should have brought something. Didn’t people usually buy gifts or flowers? Desperately, he snatched up the first thing he could spot – a handful of fake begonias sitting in a vase on a utility cart, before he made his way inside.

Streamlined for efficiency, the small room offered little beyond a window to look out at the night sky, a closet-sized bathroom, and a corner-mounted TV. The rest of the space was filled with the necessities every hospital seemed to have: a series of machines placed around or mounted onto walls, various jarred items like swabs and cotton balls organized on a counter, an IV stand, and a wheel-around bed. Which, of course, held only one occupant.

Clover was resting on his back, in nothing but a light green hospital gown that, oddly, seemed to suit him. Wires ran underneath the fabric and the steady beep that filled the air gave away where they were attached to. One arm had a steady IV drip going through it, but the other he had hovering above his face. His fingers were jerking about in such a manner it almost made him look possessed. So intent on what he was doing, he hadn’t even noticed he had a guest, until Qrow finally announced his presence.

“Trying to puppeteer your face?”

“Oh!” Clover started, head swiveling about, a brief jump to the heart monitor giving away his startlement. “Qrow! I, uh, wasn’t expecting you.”

“No one ever is.” He crossed over to plop into the only chair in the room. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good. I’m great!” He said a little too quickly as he sat up with some effort. “Just have a lingering pins and needles effect in my arms and legs, but Dr. Callister says that’s normal.”

That explained the weird voodoo motions.

Before he could think to pry, Clover pointed down at the flowers, asking, “Are those for me?”

“Huh? Oh, right. Here!” Qrow practically shoved the bouquet in his face. “Get well and all that.”

Those unfairly fetching green eyes peered at him over the pale pink blossoms before reaching up to take them. “Thanks.” He brought them close, as if to smell them, only to pause in confusion. “They’re… fake?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, struggling for a plausible excuse that wasn’t ‘I stole them’. “Well yeah, I wasn’t sure if you were allergic so I, um…”

“Hedged your bets?” Clover supplied with a grin.

“Hah. Funny.” He made a mental note to never leave him, Tai and Yang in a room together. They’d probably have a pun off.

Chuckling, Clover dropped the flowers into his lap. “Well, it was very thoughtful.” He heaved a long sigh, resting back against his pillows. Despite all his assurances, he already looked exhausted.

Like the night before. Qrow took the easy out as he looked around the room. “Hey why don’t we try to finish up that season of Border Control? They were just about to unravel that cipher in the diary and – oh, there’s the remote.” He stretched his arm to reach the little stand by the bed, plucking the device from the plastic organizer it was housed in. He took note that it was filled with a few of Clover’s personal items, like his pin. As he pulled it back, the remote snagged the corner of it, tipping it over and spilling the contents across the table and floor. “Ah, shit!”

He overturned his own chair as he dove across the floor to catch the man’s scroll as it skidded over the edge. A second later, he was dinged on the head by the stupid pin and then the plastic organizer. He grumbled, rubbing his head in irritation as he picked himself up off the floor and started to put everything back together.

Clover still must have been delirious, because for some reason he found the whole thing hilarious.

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “Yuk it up hyena.”

He reached down to pick up a piece of paper that had been pushed off by everything else. The Atlas military insignia caught his eye. Try as he might, it was hard to miss the gigantic, scripted header, bolded for emphasis. He sucked in a breath as the words sunk in:

Letter of Reprimand

The room had gone quiet.

Beyond sneaking a peek at the familiar signature at the bottom, he didn’t dare delve into the paragraphs, merely setting it aside with a scoff. “Can’t believe Jimmy gave you a warning while you’re still recovering.”

“Yes, well,” Cover idly fiddled with the stem of one of the flowers, gaze distant. “It’s not anything I didn’t earn.”

“How so?” He asked, feigning ignorance as he righted the chair and sat back down.

“Remember when I told you I was sick a few weeks ago? Well that and this are related. And I maybe, kind of, didn’t show when the General ordered me to get checked out.”

Qrow lent forward, scanning his face as he asked, “You, boy scout? Disobeying an order? I don’t believe it. What could possibly get you to do that?”

For the first time since they’d met, he saw the easygoing attitude the man wore like a shield crack as Clover ran a hand over his face, his sigh bordering frustration. “I just – It’s really ridiculous. But I feel guilty, coming here.”

He blinked.

That was not at all what he had expected.

“Why?” When his question was only met with tentative silence, he backtracked, “I mean – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be prying into your personal business. You don’t have to tell me.”

Clover shook his head. “It’s not that. I just, it’s really dumb, Qrow. You’re going to think I’m a moron.”

“Okay, let’s shake on it.” He held out a hand.

The soldier looked at it, then him, curiously.

“If it’s as dumb as you say it is, then I’ll tell you something stupid I’ve done in my life. Fair?”

Being a spy for as many years as he had had taught Qrow the unconscious skill of getting people to talk when his bird form wasn’t enough to get what he needed. Oftentimes, that involved getting people into a position where they both felt comfortable and loose, but not vulnerable. Bars tended to create that atmosphere quickly, and loosen the tongue twice as fast.

But sometimes, he reminded himself as Clover grasped his hand, his methods were more honest than others.

“Okay. Deal.” As he drew back, he took a moment to gather his thoughts, before finally saying, “Do you remember yesterday, when I told you about the sanctuary? Truth is, that was my home. It wasn’t terrible, or anything. We had beds and food and an okay school system. But…” His gaze dropped back to the flowers, rubbing the petals between his fingers.

A nervous habit, Qrow realized. Maybe that was why he wore so many trinkets.

“But?” He finally pushed as the quiet drew on.

“They… weren’t well funded back then, if I’m being completely honest. Especially the ones in Mantle. A lot of our furniture was rickety or uncomfortable. Almost every toy was broken. And I don’t think my clothes ever fit properly until I made it to the academy.” Clover grimaced. “I mean! Things are way better now, of course. James convinced the council years ago to shift the budget. Though, I may or may not have given him a… gentle suggestion on that.” He didn’t seem so hard up on this fact, puffing out in pride. It was kind of adorable. “I went by the old place a year ago. It’s all fixed up with new paint and everything! Even some playground equipment.”

“But that’s why you feel guilty coming here, because it’s too expensive?” He guessed, trying to work with the weaves of information he was being given. But something still didn’t feel quite right.

The way the other’s smile shifted tensely told him that feeling was spot on. “No. I mean, we didn’t have regular doctor’s appointments or anything, but Sister Lisa really did try her best to make sure we stayed healthy.” His hand clenched around a blossom. “Everyone except me.”

A terrible, sinking feeling filled him as the missing piece fell into place.

Qrow breathed out slow. “When did you find out you had a good luck semblance, Clover?”

“I’ve had it as long as I can remember.” His whole body slumped, like he’d finally lifted off a great weight and could finally relax. “I knew you’d understand.”

He did – or at least, he was starting to. There were a lot of textual accounts of kids, even toddlers, inadvertently unlocking semblances when under duress. Orphans were often the number one case of this particular phenomenon, as over half of them found their way into the system after Grimm attacks.

Qrow had been ironically lucky. His own semblance had come about when he was a teenager. He wasn’t entirely sure he would have survived his childhood had he found out sooner. But he remembered how easily he became the black sheep to his people. Every little thing that went wrong was suddenly his fault and any instance of someone falling ill was on him. Those events had still left their scars and misgivings, things that went deep and were hard to undo and some days all he could tell himself was that sometimes, bad things just happened.

Clover was the case of what one would do with someone with the opposite of that ability and discovered it young.

“So, when you’d get ill, your caretaker decided your luck was enough to keep you well. I’d bet you got in trouble if you even tried to take something for yourself too.” He surmised.

“Basically, yeah.” Sheepishly, he rubbed the side of his neck. “Told you it was stupid.”

He pressed his lips together, a protective anger spilling the words out in a heated rush, “I wouldn’t call it that. But I would call it child abuse.”

Sharp as it was, Clover didn’t flinch back. “Yeah. Yeah it was. But that’s not what I meant.” He rose his head, finally meeting his eyes. “Did you know I got my first and second demerit because I wouldn’t go to the regular checkups Atlas academy students are required to be present for? And, the first time I got sick when I actually had some money to blow, I went out and bought some aspirin. But I felt so awful for doing it, thinking I was taking it from someone who needed it, that I slipped it into some other kid’s bag.”

“But Clover, that’s-” Qrow tried, but Clover wasn’t done as he gestured wildly to the room around them.

“Even this place! I almost died, yet the longer I sit here the worse off I feel because I can’t stop thinking: what if someone else needs it more? It’s pathetic!” He pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead, tugging at his hair. “I’m thirty-nine year’s old! I should be over this. But I can’t-”

He never found out what Clover couldn’t do, because, without even thinking it entirely through, Qrow had reached out, grasping his other hand in both of his. “Hey, stop. Breathe for a second, okay?”

“But I-”

“Breathe, boy scout.” When it seemed the other was taking his advice, he lessened his iron grip some, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “Now look, I might not know everything, but I sure as heck know this – you’re not less of a person just because you can’t get past a bad experience.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I should know. I got about half a dozen of those hang-ups.”

The side of Clover’s mouth twitched upwards. “Like accepting compliments.”

Well. He supposed it was only fair. “More like accepting praise. When I was a teenager, the people I was around sometimes literally beat the idea into me that I couldn’t do anything right, until I just thought that was the truth. It was so bad, that by the time I got to Beacon, being told I’d done a good job actually caused me to have these weird anxiety fits.”

Their grips changed, Clover now the one holding his hand.

“It took years of reconditioning to break that response and even now, I sometimes still struggle with accepting praise of any kind.” Qrow scanned the other’s face, reading nothing there but sympathy. “So yeah, some things are hard to get over, especially if it was caused by something that was supposed to make you special.”

It was almost funny to think that there was once a time he’d been excited to discover he had a semblance and what it was.

Clover sighed, head drooping. “What if I can’t ever get over it?”

“Then all you can do is learn to deal with it best you can. Just know that that’s okay.”

There was a long moment as he seemed to take that in, before finally saying, “Yeah, I’ll try to remember that. And…” He looked up. “Thanks, for listening.”

“Thanks for trusting me.” He replied, unconsciously squeezing his grip.

As one, they looked down at where their hands were joined.

Also as one, they both jerked away, faces flaming up.

“O-Oh, sorry I was just-”

“I didn’t mean to-”

Their voices stumbled together, only for them both to pause at the same moment, staring.

Then the room steadily filled with the combined sound of their embarrassed laughter, Clover trying to stifle his behind his hand while Qrow rubbed the back of his neck.

“Man, what a day right?” He was the first to say.

Clover’s smile was soft. “A surprisingly good one.”

“You’ve spent half of it unconscious so… yeah I guess it would be for you.”

He tossed a flower at him. “Oh stop. Come on, let’s watch that episode already.”

“Gladly.” This time Qrow got the remote without incident. He shifted his chair around to face the TV, placing it closer to the bed. As he started to scour through the listings for their show, he couldn’t help but say, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Why trust me? This whole thing seems like something you’d rather keep under wraps and it’s not like we’ve known each other that long. For all you know, I’m gonna go blab this to everyone who frequents the water cooler.” He tilted his head back, asking again, “So, why me?”

Clover merely arched a brow. “Because we’re partners, aren’t we?”

“Doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”

“True.” He conceded. “But I have to trust you with way more on the field than I do with my personal life. Isn’t that why you told me what your semblance was?”

Qrow faltered, dropping his gaze to the tiled floor. “I just wanted you to be on guard when around me.”

“It was still hard for you, right?”

“Sure but still, what you told me wasn’t relevant to the job.”

“Neither was your sobriety.” Was the cheeky reply. “Yet, it’s all relevant to our relationship. I want to get closer to you Qrow.”

Oh. He flushed a bit, averting his face to hide the silly grin he could feel on his face.

“That’s not gonna happen if I don’t trust you. Sure, maybe you might go telling my secrets to the world, but if I don’t risk them, then nothing will ever go anywhere. And at its core, isn’t that what trust is? A risk.” Those words made him look up, the sincerity in Clover’s smile making his heart jump. “So… you willing to risk it with me?”

Was he? It had been a long time since he’d taken that step with anyone.

Yet as their gazes met once more, the fears that normally held him back seemed to crumble so easily in the wake of those kind teal eyes, guiding him in like a gentle ocean tide.

“Yeah.” He finally said. “I think I am.”

It wasn’t the only one he decided then and there it was time to take.

The next morning, Qrow strolled into Jimmy’s office, Ruby and Oscar at his heels.

The General had his head buried in a holographic replica of Amity Tower, scouring over the progress data – but at their entrance, he minimized the diagram, getting to his feet. “Ah, good morning. What brings you three here?”

Gut twisting with nerves, he paused at the foot of the stairs, looking between the kids that flanked either side of him.

Ruby smiled.

Oscar nodded.

He took a breath, then faced the man head on.

“Hey James. We gotta talk.”

#qrow branwen #clover ebi #fair game #fairgameweek2020 #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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