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thaumasilva · 2 years ago

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overboard, overwater / 1309 words Cub likes his reputation.

He's cool, and he knows it. Life slides off his back like water off feathers, unfazed by obstacles in equal measure. He stands on a plains biome, and he can already hear the crackling bubble of lava, the grit of red sand. The thousands upon thousands of raw iron blocks and dripstone to make his dream a reality. Cub stands at the beginning of a project and all he can see is the bright, beautiful line between his feet and the finish line, and everything along the way is inconsequential. Only a checkbox to fill. Only a task to be done.

But sometimes, even he has to admit he's gone overboard.

His shoes don't have sand in them anymore-- now instead the soles are cracking from how long he's been standing here. Another skeleton falls down from the water stream. The light is dim in his early-season farm, and dimmer still in the corners from the amount of chests shoved everywhere they'll fit. The rush of EXP orbs barely hits anymore. Cub fumbles for the latch of the chest next to him and shoves in another ten or twenty bows, eyes too tired to notice if any of them have enchantments. It doesn't matter. Only a few more. He yawns, rocks on his feet; the dog beside him whines.

How long has it been? …Days. Cub's internal clock is impeccable, even with no sunlight to pass the time. The skeletons fall. He swipes his sword across them almost lazily. The world continues on. And at the end of the fifth, day, it's done. Cub sorts his shulkers of bows and bones and arrows with all the grace of a man dead on his feet, before another burst of microsleep has him finally, finally admitting defeat. No one'll touch this farm. He's got the time in his schedule now to crawl out through the chest-monster and clumsily light a rocket to make it to the surface. He lands belly-up on the banks of the Hermitissippi. The sun's long faded from the sky. The moon-- normal, normal now, he reassures himself, is starting to peak over the snowy mountains.

His eyes drift shut. Sand's pretty comfortable when you've been hunched over stone.

hsssssssss.

What?

BOOM.

Cub sits bolt upright, wet sand clinging to his jacket, just in time to see Scar take a creeper explosion right in front of him. The blast of heat and sulfur scorns his face and his arm comes up automatically to protect his eyes. When he peers over his own limb, a cratered hole has been torn into the bank. There's nothing left of Scar but a shower of items.

Cub hastily crawls towards his servermate's things, thunking down a spare chest from his inventory and blinking harshly to dispel his exhaustion. He ends up with his arms crossed on the smooth wooden top of the chest, head resting on his forearms. It's still pitch night, but he can't find it in him to care. He's... slept in weirder places...

"Whoa there! Cub!"

Cub groans, peering upwards towards the familiar voice. Scar lands heavily on the bank, his chair taking the brunt of the impact, and its elytra-wings furl themselves back into the spidery wooden legs. The elf picks his way forwards until he's hovering over Cub, and all six legs bend at the knee to crouch forwards, putting Scar more on Cub's level. "Why, hello there." "Yeah, hey man." Cub mumbles, lifting his head with difficulty.

"Cub," Scar starts, and just by that bright tone Cub can tell he's about to launch into a monologue. "Cub, Cub, Cub. I was just on my way to talk to False at her beautiful base and what do I see? My roommate passed out on the river! This is not acceptable roommate behavior, Cub."

"You sort of blew up, man," Cub answers. The stars behind Scar's head are throwing off his focus, way too bright. His head hurts.

"Uh, I blew up in my daring rescue attempt to save you from the cold harsh wilderness!" Scar leans back and the front two legs of his chair rear up to gesture along with him. "You saw what just happened! Cub. It's collateral damage, really, and I woke up right there back in my bed at home, so I was close enough to swoop in and find you--"

"Mmm," Cub replies. Somehow his head is back on his arms. The darkness behind his eyelids and the darkness of the river don't look too dissimilar, from this angle, even as the currents swirl with all their constructed lights. Scar's words blend and dissolve into white noise, welcome after the endless clack of skeletons. A wooden pillow can be comfortable, Cub thinks. A chest can be comfortable indeed, and his thoughts spiral easily, into the night.

"Cub." Someone's shaking his shoulder. Scar's shaking his shoulder, and Cub shifts away, too tired to be annoyed. How long has it been? The stars haven't moved much. "Cub, you should get up." His friend sounds a lot more serious now.

"Yeah, I was just at my skeleton farm," Cub mumbles, tone as unbothered as ever. His sleep-brain drifts into explanation mode. "Sometimes you gotta get on the grind, man. Get a couple thousand bows for a couple thousand dispensers, you know how it is."

"A couple thousand-- what?" Scar replies, and then he shakes his head. "You, my friend, need a good sleep."

"Hey, I'm trying." Cub slumps forwards in an attempt to re-meet the chest, but a wooden chair leg props him up.

"Nuh-uh. None of that. Get here." Scar tucks his hair behind a pointed ear and leans forwards to grasp at Cub's upper arms. Cub goes without complaint, endlessly logical part of him knowing this is a good idea, and in his exhaustion, only happy to trust his friend. Conjured vines wrap around his chest, secure. He barely hears the insect-like hum of the elytra wings extending, barely feels the rush of warm air as they take off with a leap. Cubs cracks open his eyes with his last few seconds of consciousness. Laid out below him is the dark blue river of stars. Ren's steamship. Everything fluid and metal reflecting the infinite air he's carried through, clean in his lungs, freed from the confined dark of his own underground farm.

His mind slips off again. Everything's so free up here, and Cub craves freedom. --

This time he doesn't snap into wakefulness. Instead he drifts out of sleep as easy as he drifted in. Underground again, but in the comforting openness of his basement-base. He's staring at the lime green glass and deepslate of his moss farm. Cub rolls over. Someone-- easy to imagine who-- has put him to rest in his bed of warped planks. Above him the normal motes of sporeblossom dust laze about the rooted ceiling. His internal clock is impeccable, and already his body is thanking him for a solid nine hours of sleep. Cub rests his head back on the pillows. He likes his reputation. He's cool, and he knows it. Cub prides himself on being able to survive anything, to take what life throws at him and catch it like a snowball, chill as anything. He lives exactly where he wants and does exactly what he wants. Spreading his schemes to the rest of the server is just an extension of that life plan.

But he's never alone. And by vex, does he love that too. There's no point in schemes without servermates. No point in his grand bases without making compasses for those who want a tour, no point in chaos games without willing players. So Cub's not ruffled. He went a little far, but he does that sometimes, and it's nothing to be worried about.

He's got friends all over.

#roo's writing #t #hermitcraft #hermitcraft s9 #cubfan135 #hermitcraft fic #no clue what to tag this with i have never done this before lol #goodtimeswithscar

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luimagines · 4 years ago

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He Accidentally Hurt You pt.2

Masterlist

Set platonically and within the group Part 1

Hyrule

Your blood was pounding as your feet carried you across the battle field.

Your hearing was rendered useless by the cause, you only thoughts were on Hyrule and getting to him before the hoard of monsters did. He had somehow gotten separated from the group in the struggle and was left to fend for himself.

You made contact.

The sword in your hand followed through your practiced movements, slicing all and any between you and your target.

You could hear him in the distance, you were close, you just had to get- just a little-

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and the air changed. The split second static was your only warning before lightning struck.

Monsters fell all around you but you failed to pay attention to that. Your attention was instead on the blinding, scalding twist in your arm that held your trusted blade. You couldn’t even find it in you to let go of the weapon, your muscles incapable to receiving orders.

The pain traveled through your arm and across your chest until it encompassed your whole being.

Screams tore through your throat without your knowledge and when the attack subsided, your whole body went rag doll and your vision went black.

“Please. Please. Please.” A voice whispered through the darkness. It was soft. Pleading. A blessed chill seemed deep into your bones and you found it within yourself to open your eyes.

Hyrule was crouched above you, tears in his eyes with shallow cuts across his tunic and exposed skin. Not a lot of blood though, your brain supplies. You take a relieved breath.

“Hey.” You croaked out in greeting. “Glad to see you’re ok. I was worried.”

“I didn’t know you were there.” He blurts as if he didn’t hear you. Maybe he didn’t. “I thought it was only monsters nearby. I don’t think I have enough magic to heal you completely. This is all my fault.”

“Fault?” You attempted to sit up. You succeed. Mostly.

A grunt leaves your mouth at the stiffness in your joints and you force yourself to power though to reach into your inventory.

A sniffle leaves your Traveler when you push his hands away when you find your target. The red liquid glints in the dying sunlight and you hand it out to him. “Think you can open it?”

He nods and pry's it open before you can even think about getting into a better sitting position.

You don’t think twice about taking the potion when he hands it back.

“Save your magic.” You say. “I’ll be fine.”

And you know you’re right....It’ll take a little more than that to convince the rest of the group when you get back though. Hyrule plans to smother you until not a single blemish is left. The others? Well... They’ll keep an eye on you.

Twilight

“Ten rupees says you can’t make that throw.” You hear Warriors say.

“Double it and I’ll gladly prove you wrong.” Twilight responds.

The book in your lap calls for attention more than whatever those two are doing for the sake of friendly competition. You don’t look up, trying to keep your eyes on the page but you can’t help the growing curiosity in the back of your head.

“What are we using to aim with?”

“That?”

“Sure.”

You roll your eyes and keep your head down.

“I’ll be twenty rupees richer and it’ll shut your mouth. Just watch.” Twilight grumbles.

There’s a tap and a growl before something comes at your head full throttle. It’s dense but not enough to keep it from exploding all into your hair and it knocks you over slightly.

You closed your book to protect it from the falling matter and reach at the spot. By your feet laying the offending object.

An apple.

They threw an apple at your head. Correction. Twilight threw an apple at your head.

The thoughts in your head spin a bit. Your whole head is throbbing but you doubt there’s any blood. You look up just in time to see Warrior and Twilight running at you as fast as they can. Twilight reaches you first and kneels next to you. “By Ordana, are you ok?”

His hands hover over you, trying to take in the damage without actually touching you.

“Who are you?” You blurt out, very quickly realizing that it was the wrong thing to say.

His face drops and Warrior wears a similar expression.

“Kidding.” A pained grin covers your face. “Take me to Hyrule please.”

“I’m so sorry.” Twilight reaches for you and you comply. Once you’re on your feet he speaks again. “Warrior messed up my shot and it hit you by accident.”

“That’s a weird way to say you lost a bet.”

You kick Warrior as payback.

Sky

“So...” You sit next to Sky during the break. “What are you planning to make this time?”

The boy next to you already had his whittling knife out and a decent sized chunk of wood in his lap. He picked it up and spun it a few times, staring into it as if he could already see the form inside it. It was just his job to take it out.

“I don’t know yet.” He admits. “Maybe it’ll come to me.”

You nod and let him work in relative silence, the faint but consistent sounds of Sky working next to you create a blissful and serene atmosphere.

The others are off doing their own thing, each keeping to themselves for the most part.

It’s nice.

“Actually, can you help me with this real quick?”

Your attention is back on Sky. He’s trying to get his knife out of the wood block, the outline of the shape he’s making already starting to form.

You don’t recognize it.

Sky picks up the knife and the whole block follows. “It got stuck.”

“How?” You raise an eyebrow and try to keep the smile off of your face.

Your response is only a shrug and the wood being thrust in your direction.

You grab it and instinctively tighten your grip on it when you feel Sky pull.

You both use your strengths to your advantage and pull in different directions. You feel the knife begin to slip out and adjust your grip. Within seconds the blade is free and you feel it cross the tip of your finger.

Instantly, the wood is dropped and you cradle your hand close to you, putting pressure on the injured digit.

“Ok, got it, thank- What happened?” Sky scoots closer to you and pulls your hands out.

A thin red line follows the length of your finger and it only seems to grow as the moments pass. It doesn’t feel deep but it certainly won’t let you flex your finger for a while.

A quite hiss leaves Sky’s lips. “Well that could’ve gone better. Sorry about that.”

“It could’ve gone worse too.” You press a little on the injury, trying to will the pain away.

It doesn’t work, but hey, you try.

“Hold on. I think I have some bandages in my pack.” Sky gets up and jogs to where most of the others are sitting. He picks up his bag and looks inside for a minute or two before jogging back to you.

A small role of bandages sits in his hand and when he reach for your hand, you don’t hesitate to give it to him.

As he’s working on your finger, you feel mild irritation bubble up in your throat. “This better not scar.”

“Why’s that?” Sky replies.

“It’ll be the lamest story.”

He laughs and finishes his work.

Time

Sometimes it surprised you how short everyone in the group was. You weren’t sure if it was a Link thing or one of the biggest coincidences of the universe because it certainly wasn’t just because they were Hylian (but that probably didn’t help).

That being said, and what you could gather from The Captain, it boggled your mind further that Time was the biggest of everyone. Warrior made it seem like he’d stay small forever, implying that Time was smaller still when he first defeated Gannon.

That didn’t seem very fair.

For him and you....well everyone, only Twilight and Warrior were the ones exempt from having to look up at the old man. But you didn’t like the idea of someone so small fighting such a beast, so Time is included in your sympathy list.

Despite his size, he seemed to move as silent as a mouse. Only Wild would be quieter than him.

After some time of traveling with them all, you realized he was just as much as a gremlin as the rest.

He was not above pranking the living daylights out of poor unsuspecting teenagers.

And the thing is, no one could catch him. Somehow he managed to get them to in the blame on each other but you knew better. You swore it had to be him. There was no way. There was no way he could count as a Link and not get into this kind of stuff.

But no one believed you.

It definitely wasn’t fair.

With the stage set, it’s safe to say now that you were calmly, peacefully and quietly minding your own business. You weren’t bothering anyone.

You were writing in your journal under a tree with some low branches. Nothing too bad but in terms of shade and angle, you found it to be the perfect resting place.

You took a deep breath in and let it out.

Yes, it was nice.

“BOO!”

You jumped as high as your reflexes you take you and spun around, but you had forgotten where you were in the moment.

With a solid thunk, your head hit the branch above you and sat back down, with a curse.

While there was laughter in the your reaction, it was cut off abruptly at the first sign of pain. “Oh jeeze, I’m sorry. How bad does it hurt?”

A whimper escaped your mouth before you could stop it and you closed your journal, choosing to furiously rub your hands against the now tender spot on the top of your head. “Ow Time. Why did you do that?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d move like that.” He moved your hands away and inspected the area for himself. “No bleeding. Doesn’t look like it’ll need a potion...”

“I blame you.” You grumbled. “This is your fault.”

“I can accept that.” He nodded and stepped back. “There’s not much we can do about it in terms of healing, but perhaps Hyrule would be willing to lend a hand.”

“No way. He’d ask how it happened and I’m not going to lie to him.” You pouted. “No one will believe me if I told them the truth.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s you!” You glared at him.

A tiny giggle escaped from the so called Old Man of the group, Mr. Stick in the Mud. Senor Buzzkill. “And why would that make a difference?”

“I cannot believe you... Actually yes I can, you were doing this on purpose the whole time.”

He laughed more fully this time and didn’t seem to let up.

With a pout, you picked up your book and marched away.

One day you’ll get back at him. You just had to figure out how and when.

Four

“So, how do we play this game again?” You picked up the ball one of your companions took out. It was almost the size of your head and had crisscrossing lines. It was white and weighed less than you originally thought.

It was a relatively slow day and no one felt in the mood to dampen it by looking for trouble.

While Twilight and Warrior set up the net that was supposed to go with it, the rest were waiting and going over the rules.

“Just hit the ball over the net. You can’t the ball twice in a row, someone else has to hit it and if it touches the ground you lose the point.”

“Seems simple enough.” Wild takes the ball from you and tosses it a few times.

It takes a while for all the appropriate moves to be demonstrated but you all play the game with ease.

You were having a good time with your friends. Everyone was actually getting along for a change. With a smile on your face, you waited for the moment that would inevitably change.

You swore you could almost pin point when it happened.

With Four right across from you, his sudden change in stance gave away the glint in his eyes.

The ball came to him and he jumped up, higher than you thought he could and spiked.

Next thing you knew, you were on the ground, stunned and slightly disoriented and your face was hurting.

Four ran to your side as the game was halted. “That... was not what I was intending.”

“You don’t say... Can I step out for a minute?” You asked, trying to get your feet. Four helped you get away from the battle field- I mean, the game area and helped you sit back down against a nearby tree.

“Sorry about that.” He smiled apologetically. “Anything I can do to help?”

You looked up at him hopefully. “Lose the game?”

“Not a chance.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader

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bicycle4two · 3 years ago

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say you wanna, say you wanna be || Sam Drake x Reader || Chapter 3

Summary: Sam isn't looking for a girlfriend and, frankly, you don't think you'd be a good one anyway, but you two aren't some one-night stand and it's been a long time since either of you thought of each other as a convenient booty call. This is something more, something the two of you didn't realize would be. It's uncharted territory. And there is no other choice but to figure out how to navigate through it together.

Pairing: Sam Drake x Fem!Reader

Tags(ish): developing relationship, implied/non-explicit sexual content, romance/fluff/hurt/comfort, age difference (though reader’s age is not stated), switching povs (second person reader, third person sam), no y/n but reader has a nickname

C.1 || C.2

Chapter Three:

There’s a memory that haunts you from when you were young. It’s always there at the back of your mind, coming up at the most inconvenient of times. Well, it’s not like there is a convenient time for you to remember such a thing but sometimes it catches you when you’re at a really bad place.

Sometimes you remember it when you have one who hides their phones for more reasons than just “privacy,” one who only takes you out when there’s no one around who knows the two of you, one who disappears without a trace only to come back with flowers and excuses, the smell of another woman’s perfume on their clothes.

Sometimes you remember it when there’s nothing for you to worry about, like now, when you’re under Sam, his weight more comforting than suffocating, trying to catch your breath after a mind shattering orgasm. Your ceiling, something that’s never been impressive before, has your full attention as you try to gather yourself, lure your soul back into your body.

“I-I think. I think I lost my vision for a second there,” you breathe out, earning a chuckle from Sam.

“You flatter me, princess.”

“What was that? I can’t hear either,” you push your hair away from your face. It’s damp with sweat. You’re going to need another shower. “I think I entered another dimension. I think I saw God.”

Sam pushes himself off of you and kisses you gently on the lips. You’d think he was asking for another round if he wasn’t as tired as you. “Not God,” he says, voice deep. He’s caught his breath, the rise and fall of his chest steady. It’s kind of funny that a smoker can recover faster than you. “Just me.”

And it’s the word “just” that sticks to you, that repeats itself over and over in your head, that brings forth the memory that you’ve desperately try to keep at the back of your mind, locked up and buried. It’s the memory of a phone screen, a chat with a coded name, pictures of a woman you don’t know. A woman who isn’t your mother that your father messages, saves pictures of.

You were young when you found out, much younger than you are now, and although deep down, you knew, you’ve always known your father was a man who could not be trusted, a man who had straying eyes, long trips with women he called friends, you were hurt. Betrayed. Because you always thought that things like this only happened on TV, in books, to friends and classmates.

But not you.

And yet, here you are, in bed with a man who hides his phone, disappears for long periods of times, and has a history you don’t even know where to begin to look into. A man who acts so much like the ones before, only sweeter, gentler, but still suspicious.

And you’ve been hurt by men like him before and you don’t know if you can take another blow. Not from someone like Sam.

So, you push away the memory and say, “Just you and,” And you hesitate for a second, find the courage somewhere deep inside you to ask, to finally ask, “And it’s just me, right?”

“You scared me for a second,” Sam lets out a breath you didn’t know he was holding and you realize that you had paused at the wrong word, the double meaning. You offer him a small smile, an apology. “Yes, it’s just you.” He confirms and you feel yourself relax, only away now of how tense you were.

“Good,” you say, looking back up at your ceiling. “That’s good. I, uh, I wasn’t sure.”

“This has been bothering you?” Sam gets off of you and you instinctively cover yourself with a pillow as Sam has your blanket thrown over his waist. You never thought you’d have this conversation with him. You never thought you’d get to ask one of your questions and actually get an answer. You wish that you had clothes on for this.

“A bit,” you say. “I know we aren’t, well, a thing, but when I saw you with your sister-in-law and when I didn’t know she was your sister-in-law, I have to say, I panicked.”

“You thought I was cheating on you?” Sam lets out a chuckle like the thought of it is absurd but he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know what went through your mind that day in the café.

“I thought you were cheating on her. I’m not really a fan of being the other woman.”

Sam winces and you can see that there’s something he wants to ask but doesn’t know if he should. Huh. You wonder if you’re that easy to read.

“From experience,” you end up saying anyway, just because you know how it feels to have your questions answered. “It would be nice, I think, if we’re clear on some things. Be on the same page, you know?”

“I’m not looking for a girlfriend.” Sam looks at you straight in the eye, like this is important, that if you don’t get this then that’s that. And you do get it because for all the things you don’t know about Sam, you can at least say you knew this.

“I know. I can’t say I’d be a good one anyway.” You know you can’t base your worth on past relationships but sometimes you can’t help but think that there was something you lacked, that you came up short somewhere, that made the relationships turn sour. Psychopaths and unfaithful husbands aside. “But we aren’t exactly a one-night stand anymore.”

Sam rubs the back of his neck and the action causes you to look at his tattoos, the familiar sight of birds in flight. Tim had mentioned them that day in the café, said something about prison tattoos, and you’d just rolled your eyes at him. But then you think about the scars and gunshot wounds and you can’t exactly say that Sam lives a normal, danger-free life.

“So, what do you want, princess?” Sam asks, reaching down to pick up his shirt. It seems like his clothes weren’t flung too far from the bed. You can see your pants by your bedroom door. “Cuz I don’t know what I can give ya.”

“Well,” you play with the ends of your pillow case just so you have something to do with your hands. There are so many things you want. Answers, for one thing. That’s number one. But Sam looks tired and you sort of feel guilty for springing this on him. Because, again, this isn’t a normal relationship. He doesn’t owe you anything and if you ask for more than he can give, well, this just isn’t going to work.

And you want this to work. You can’t deny yourself that truth. You want whatever it is Sam can give you. So, you say, “It wouldn’t hurt if you’d give me a heads up before you leave for God knows where. It’s not fun thinking you’ve gotten tired of me and just disappeared off of the face of the earth.”

Sam lets out a breath you don’t think he realized he was holding. “A call, I can do that.”

“You can even just text me. Email. I don’t have a pager but if that’s how you work…”

“I’m not that old, princess,” Sam rolls his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll call you. I promise.”

And it’s the word “promise” that sticks to you, that repeats itself over and over in your head, that brings a smile to your face.

...

It’s the same old song and dance and you swear you’d give up your left kidney for the tune to change, for the choreography to switch up, because Tim’s on your case again and you’re getting really close to filing a request that you two don’t share the next few shifts together.

(But then Agatha would be questioning you as well and you’re sure that half the questions Tim asks are echoes of Agatha’s and she’s honestly the harder of the two to deal with. So, damnit, you’re going to have to suck it up. Deal with the kid.)

“Is this really the kind of relationship you want to have?” Tim asks, leaning against his broom for support. The café’s closed for the day and the two of you are in charge of cleaning and inventory. Agatha’s in the back, balancing the day’s earnings.

“This again, Tim?” You glare at the stain on the table your wiping, spraying it once more before scrubbing the surface harder. You’re not going to lie, you’re picturing Tim’s face, attacking your imagination instead of the person. Even if it’s tempting, oh so tempting.

“It’s just weird that he just goes off unannounced and doesn’t come back for weeks.”

“Ever heard of a business trip?” The table is shaking from your force, the surface almost like a mirror from how shiny it’s getting.

Tim scoffs. “I’ve seen your boyfriend—”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“—And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a nine to five office job.” Tim goes back to sweeping even though the floor is clean. He really should get the mop but he hates handling it. “Also, daddy kink? Didn’t think you were the type.”

“Oh my God. It’s not like that!” You groan, throwing your dirty rag at him. Tim yelps when it hits him on the back. Honestly, he should have seen it coming. “And we’ve talked, okay? Ages ago. He doesn’t leave without warning anymore.”

“The bar is really low.”

“Shut up, Tim.” Your phone is ringing, saving you from this conversation and punching your co-worker in the face. “Hello?” You say once you answer your phone, smiling. It’s Sam.

“Hi, princess,” Sam grunts out and you frown at his tone.

“Hi, uh, are you okay?”

Tim is looking at you now, blatantly listening in, and you turn your back to him, facing the painting on the wall. You never really understood this piece, but Agatha likes it.

“Yeah. I’m great! Just—wait a second.” You hear Sam suck in a breath and all of a sudden there’re gunshots. You jump in surprise, shoulders rising, tense, and you have to pull your phone away from your ear from the sheer volume of it. “Okay. I’m back.”

“Sam. Please tell me you’re playing a video game.”

“Huh? Yeah, sure, if that makes you feel better. Wait.” You hear the crunch of gravel, quick and quiet footsteps, and then the sound of surprise before a crack and thud. “Sorry. Anyway, so I have a problem.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what it is.”

“It’s nothing bad. I promise,” his voice is quiet now. Like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him. “Y’see. I told you about my job, right?”

“I mean, all you said was you were going to…I want to say Japan. You were in India last time.”

“Yeah! Beautiful country, by the way. We should go next time.” Sam says in one breath and you feel your heart skip a beat. A trip? With Sam? “If I don’t get banned from the place. Which would be a shame, really, cuz the food’s great—hang on.”

There’re gunshots again and then running. You don’t realize that you’re outside the café until a strong wind blows by. You had walked out the door when it seemed like this wasn’t going to be a normal check in. Which was almost immediately, to be frank. From the corner of your eye, you see Tim watching you, broom still in his hands, the rag on the floor by his feet. You wave him off, turning your attention back to Sam. You hear him shout “This is a goddamn temple! Show some respect!” before he gets back to you.

“Where was I?”

“What the hell is going on, Sam?”

“Nothing to worry about, princess. What there is to worry about is my fish.” Sam’s whispering again, ragged. He’s catching his breath. “Y’see. I told you where I was going but I forgot to tell my little brother and, well, someone has to feed my fish.”

“Oh.” You ignore the crunch and thud you hear from Sam’s line. You’re too busy thinking about this fish you’ve never heard of. There’s so much information to unpack right now but the fish is what you zero in on. It’s the only thing that makes sense. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit’s right. I can’t believe I forgot Jimmy like that.”

Jimmy? “Can, can a fish live this long without food?”

“Now, princess, that’s not the kind of talk I need to hear right now.” There are sounds of movement again. Rustling now, too. Like leaves. “I need you to tell me that Jimmy’s going to be fine. That I did not just leave my fish to die alone.”

“I’ll go to him. Just, uh, I don’t have your key.” You know where he lives, you’ve been there a few times when all of this started, pre-Jimmy, but Sam was always there. You never needed to go there alone and you were never left there alone.

“You have one. I left my spare in your room. Y’know, for emergencies.”

“Were you ever going to tell me that?”

“Didn’t think I had to. It’s in plain sight, princess.” He grunts out. “Listen, I have to go, but check your dresser. It should be there. Save Jimmy!!”

Jimmy is, thankfully, miraculously, fine. His tank needs a little cleaning but you’ve fed him and made sure that there’s enough water for him to swim around in. The top of his castle was starting to peak out. When that’s all done, you send a picture to Sam. You don’t think he’ll see it anytime soon so you toss your phone away and collapse onto his couch.

You’re tired. Apparently getting Sam’s spare key wasn’t as easy as you thought because after sprinting to the bus stop and up the stairs to your apartment, stumbling into your bedroom, you did not find a key at your dresser. No.

After messing up what was once an organized table, you find a note that was clearly written by Sam stuck on your corkboard along with all your other notes written for yourself. Reminders that you needed to go through before the start of your day. Things you’ve long since memorized and never bother to read anymore. That’s Sam’s idea of an “in plain sight” note. Which is also a clue, a riddle that led you to another part of your room, then to your kitchen, underneath your couch, and then to your bedside table, the side he sleeps on. There you find the key taped under a laminated flower. It was the one you had with you when you’d first met Sam. And if Sam recognized it, and you’re pretty sure he did, well you’re glad he wasn’t around for you to find it.

Your phone rings, jolting you out of your daze. You almost fell asleep, the adrenaline gone. You reach for it, refusing to leave your spot, and manage to answer it before the caller hung up. To your surprise, it’s Sam.

“Finally figured out video call?” You say once his face appears on your screen. His holding his phone a little too close but you don’t correct him, finding it cute.

“And you found the key!” Sam says back. “Thanks for saving Jimmy, princess.”

“I read somewhere that goldfish can actually go two weeks without food.”

“Doesn’t mean he has to. C’mon. That’s my roommate.”

“I’m just saying,” You smile because even you wouldn’t want to leave a fish hungry. “Oh. Also. You and I have completely different interpretations of ‘for emergencies.’”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“If I left you something for emergencies, I’d like to think you’d be able to get to it immediately.” You whip the smile of your face. Exchange it with a raised brow, an unamused gaze. “Making me hunt for clues all over my apartment isn’t something I’d like to do in emergency situations.”

Sam lets out a laugh. “Ah. Well, I guess I picked up a few things from work.”

“It would have bitten you in the ass if I didn’t find that key.”

“I had faith in you, princess.”

...

Chapter 4

Read on AO3

#samuel drake #sam drake #samuel drake x reader #sam drake x reader #sam drake fanfiction #uncharted #uncharted 4 #uncharted fanfiction #a thief's end #fanfic #self indulgent writing

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itmightbeneb · 4 years ago

Text

Small post-prison Dream drabble

CW: (almost) panic attacks

If this gets a good enough reception, I may do more :)

It was raining, but Dream couldn't stop to appreciate it. Appreciating rain? Dream almost laughed at the idea, but after months of nothing but lava and obsidian, the cold and wet was a nice change of pace. There had been water in the prison, he supposed, but it was warm, heated by the lava all around him, warm and dirty after months of use. The cold was a nice change of pace. And this rain, this clean water, might actually do something to clean the blood of his skin. It was certainly soothing his burns and scars, burns and scars Quackity and Sam would have to pay for.

Dream needed more stuff, he needed diamonds then netherite, he needed enchantments and potions and farms, better food as well, he doubted he could handle another potato, he doubted he could handle much at all for the moment but that was a problem for later him. Bread would sustain him for now, although he did keep a few extra potatoes in his inventory just in case.

The problem was, he had nothing. Well that wasn't entirely true, he had some bread, a handful of potatoes and a freedom he hadn't had in months, but other than that, nothing. Not even a wooden pickaxe to his name and the entire server wanting him dead. Well then, better a wooden pickaxe than nothing, he thought. He had to start somewhere.

Breaking down a tree was more difficult than he remembered, or maybe he was just remembering what it was like with an efficiency V netherite axe. He might be weaker now, he might be more vulnerable, did the prison affect his muscles that much? He'd still managed to kill Tommy so he can't have wasted away too much, but then why was this stone taking so long to mine? He didn't have the weakness effect from the elder guardians anymore, but he wondered if the months of constant weakness had affected his muscles. Well that was just another thing on the to-do list, get stronger again. Maybe strength potions would work, but for that he'd have to go to the nether. He was a long way off being prepared for that.

After getting a stone pickaxe and axe, Dream wondered if caving or strip mining would be better. He didn't want to be in any cramped space if he could avoid it, but in order to get armour and weapons, in order to protect himself, he'd have to go in. Both had their benefits and downsides. Strip mining was more cramped, darker, closer to being like the prison he had only just escaped. But, if he was weaker after his stay there, it offered fewer mobs to deal with. Less chance to die right after he made it out. He couldn't die now, not after everything that had happened, not after he finally made it out. He had to get his revenge on Sam and Quackity, and that meant staying alive, getting gear, getting stronger. Punz as well, Punz had betrayed him. Went to Tommy and Tubbo and Sam to put him away. He'd cut ties with Punz though, he was on the list, just further down. No, it was Sam and Quackity that needed to pay the most. That meant going underground where there was no daylight and lava around any corner. So, strip mining it was then, less chance of dying was always a good decision. Plus, Dream thought, he couldn't let a stupid fear stop him from going where he pleased. He wasn't Tommy, getting scared whenever he was near a plains biome, he was Dream, a god, someone who had survived worse that a stupid obsidian box. And he was going to make them pay for putting him there.

He dug down to Y=11, finding some coal and iron on the way down. This was good, this was normal, he ignored the tightness in his chest. Although, it was eased by the chill air. He didn't know he could miss the cold, but here he was, feeling nostalgia over a temperature. A temperature, he quickly realised that he couldn't handle as well as he used to. Spending so much time next to a sea of lava, in the sweltering heat, had changed the way his body handled temperature, it seemed. He quickly made a torch and held it in his off hand. Fire would warm him up, enough that he didn't die at least. The furnaces smelting iron also helped warm him up. He made sure to note that wherever he ended up staying better be well insulated. He couldn't go for a desert though, the heat would be welcome but he wanted rain. Maybe a jungle? They were tricky to navigate which would help deter people from finding him. Warm, but not the heat of lava, wet, tricky to find. Perfect.

Enough iron had been smelted to make a pickaxe and a bucket. A good start. Strip mining had never been Dreams favourite, he got bored easily and, unless he managed to hyperfocus on the task, could never pay attention long enough to find anything. However today was different, while he did find himself getting bored and wanting to change tasks, he managed to force himself to continue mining, placing torches periodically to prevent spawns. The tightness in his chest eased a little at the moment.

Eventually he had enough iron for armour. It wouldn't be as strong as the netherite he was used to, the netherite he needed if he were to survive an encounter with another player, but it was better than nothing. Hadn't Technoblade beaten Quackity while only wearing iron armour? Although that was Quackity, Dream would need better armour to survive an encounter with a competent player.

Dream spotted diamonds, the last few he'd need for a full set of armour and tools. There was a problem though, they were across a large lava lake. He could already feel the heat, humid and heavy just like in the cell. The cell he'd only just escaped from. He could do this though, just bridge across the lava, grab the diamonds and head out. He'd need to deal with more lava in the nether anyway, this was nothing. This couldn't harm him. It just simply couldn't.

Dream shifted, edging across the lake. Slowly. He was usually so fast, it must have been the effects of the elder guardians, he told himself, his weakened muscles from the elder guardians, that must be it. Heat rose up to meet him, making him sweat under his heavy armour. His armour was so heavy, his muscles were weaker but were his bones as well? How long had it been since he had seen sunlight? There had been a small amount of time today, before he went mining, and it had been blinding. Too bright and yet not enough at the same time. He wanted to just lay in the sunshine with grass beneath his fingers forever. He had to bring his vitamin D levels up again. He wondered how many vitamins he was deficient in now, thanks to Sam. His body was wrecked and it was all Sam's fault, and Tommy's and Tubbo's as well.

The sound of the lava though, was what almost got him. It bubbled and popped rhythmically, always the same. In the cell there had been exactly three sounds: the elder guardians coming to weaken him, the constant ticking of the clock striking its way into his brain, and the bubble and pop of the lava preventing him from getting out. He knew every small sound lava could make, down to the smallest detail, and it was here again now. Except this time he had blocks and air above the lava. And, he realised while quickly unshifting and looking through his inventory, a water bucket. The hissing of obsidian being made was music to his ears, gone was the sound, almost. There was still a layer under the obsidian that was still quietly bubbling away, but the sound was obscured. Dream looked at the obsidian, that tightness in his chest was back. He ignored it, he had exclusively walked on obsidian for the last few months, he could do this again. He did. He walked, slowly, almost too slowly, over to the diamonds and mined them up. It was an eight vein, more than enough to complete everything. A couple diamonds to spare would always help anyway.

Next came enchantments, or the nether. He should probably check what he had in his ender chest, it had been so long he had almost forgotten anything that was in there, but the only ones he knew of were by where people lived (for obvious reasons) and he didn't exactly want to go there. So, he figured, off to the nether it was. Blaze powder and pearls were what he needed. Unenchanted diamond armour, he was prepared enough, he was over prepared if anything. Unless he found a player.Dream quickly found another lava pool, better to make a new portal than risk being found in a known one. The lava raised the same reaction as last time, but he needed it this time, he couldn't get rid of it. Well he could, he had a diamond pickaxe, but that was slow. Dream wasn't exactly known for being slow. He placed a block in the lava and the water next to it, steam came up to meet him as obsidian was formed. Breaking the block he placed caused more steam and more obsidian, but the base of the portal was complete. He made an upside down L shape with some cobble, placing water at the top. Now it was time to pick up the lava. Why couldn't he pick up the lava? He used to throw himself into lava for fun and how his stupid brain was saying he couldn't handle it through a bucket? Dream's breathing quickened, this was bad. He picked the water back up and made the rest of the lake into obsidian. The diamond pick would be useful after all. He told himself it was because he needed extra obsidian for an ender chest.

The purple spirals of the portal stared at Dream. He needed to go through. He needed to go through and find a fortress, not die, not have a panic attack, and get out. The first three points would be easy, the last? He had held it off so far, he could continue to do so. Until he was the most powerful person on the server again, he would not allow himself to rest enough for his brain to catch up on what happened. When he was safe, when he was feared, he could allow himself to examine his mental health, make it stronger again. He couldn't be seen as weak, they'd kill him, or put him back in the prison. He couldn't be weak. Dream stepped through the portal.

There were a few signs of life, but it didn't seem like he was in a well trafficked area. Not the best spawn, but he could work with it for now. He sneaked constantly, on the off chance someone else was around. The heat if the nether reminded him of the cell. At least there wasn't much obsidian around. He had spawned in a warped forest, so he quickly dug into the wall a little and stared at an enderman. He was too far for it to reach him, but he could reach it. It dropped a pearl. One half down, now he just needed to find a fortress. He added angry endermen to the list of sounds he wasn't sure why he missed, but did nonetheless.

The endermen reminded him of a certain hybrid waiting back in the overworld. He'd have to get into contact with Ranboo again.

He had never minded the heat of the nether before, but now it suffocated him. He longed for the wind, even the stale but cold air from caves, but he had to press on. He told himself the humidity, or the heat, was the reason he had difficulty breathing.

Eventually, Dream found a fortress. The blaze spawner was pretty easy to find as well. Finally, luck had decided to give him a break. The first blaze he killed didn't drop a rod, but the second one did. Blocking himself away, he pulled out a crafting table. The blaze rod got turned into power, then combined with the pearl to make an eye of ender. Finally, Dream surrounded the eye in obsidian, creating an ender chest.They have off a faint glow. Being boxed into the wall with netherack all around, the ender chest was Dream's only source of light. He had missed the darkness, the lava had always illuminated his cell, giving off a bright orange light that he couldn't escape. The chest was different though, softer, easier on the eyes.

Dream opened his ender chest. He found his spare set of netherite armour, not fully enchanted but he could make it work for now, he'd get books in a bit to make it stronger. He'd have to be stronger this time. This could never happen again. There was also a bunch of netherite, he'd upgrade his tools in a bit, once he was out of the nether. And, of course, there was his trident, his riptide III trident. Some small voice inside him hoped it was still raining when he got back to the surface.

He had God apples now. How appropriate, he thought, that the man who can bring back the dead, a walking god, get access again to his God apples.Dream ditched the diamond armour and tools, and pulled on the netherite. Nightmare. He still needed to train, get his strength back, brew potions. But he was back, and the people who threw him into the obsidian prison were going to pay.

He made his way back to the portal, back to the overworld. He had to admit to himself, however much he hated to do so, that he now hated the nether. It was too hot, too much lava, the bubble and pop sounding over and over and over just like in the prison, the stupid obsidian box. He'd use the overworld for travel when he could. But, he thought to himself, he couldn't show weakness to others, they couldn't know how they'd managed to infect his mind, he would travel via the nether when with others. If he ever was with others. Was there anyone left that didn't hate him? That hadn't left him? Dream pushed those thoughts aside, forced himself to climb back to the surface. The cold air of the caves was a relief from the nether, but it was the rain he was seeking.

Dream hopped onto the grass and just stood there for a few seconds, letting the cold soothing rain hit his face. He'd get too cold soon, he knew that his body's ability to regulate temperature was ruined by living next to lava for- how long was it? Dream didn't know, doubted he ever would for certain.He had a riptide trident, a water bucket, and feather falling netherite boots. Dream smiled, genuinely smiled for the first time in a long long while. Pulling out his trident, he pushed himself into the air. Wind and rain whipped his face, he didn't know he could miss this. Dream flew through the air, he was finally free.

Now time to grind, then hunt down Sam.

#dreamwastaken #dsmp #dream smp #mcytblr #mcyt #dream #NebWrites #dreblr

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mamahersh · 3 years ago

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The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions) Chapter 4

“Season 8 was well underway, and the server’s first conflict is bubbling just under the surface. But BDoubleO can’t worry about that right now because he has an Etho to find so they can work on the Horse Course together. However when Xisuma calls a surprise server meeting on behalf of EvilXisuma, BDubs gets his answers about where Etho’s been in the worst way possible.”

(CW: angst, blood, gore, torture, implied suicide (kinda. as much as one can with infinite respawns anyways))

Chapter rating: M

And we get to sit with Etho on this one! Thank you all again for your interest in this bit of Etho angst. As before, if you like this, I was heavily inspired by this oneshot on AO3, so go give them some love if you haven’t already!

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 5

Despite Etho zoning out pretty hard after getting stabbed in the leg, he was able to at least gather that help was on the way, and he wasn’t going to be alone while the rest went looking for him. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted the company while he waited for rescue to show up, particularly if he was going to have to deal with the same level of violence he had been since he had awoken here. Honestly, he was surprised EvilXisuma hadn’t capitalized on the distraction and chaos he could hear through the speakers that EvilXisuma had installed somewhere in the room to pick up the feedback from the otherside of the camera. But now that it sounded like there was a significant decrease in activity from the opposite end of the stream, Evil Xisuma seemed to want to get the show on the road. ‘Ah well, the break was nice while it lasted I guess,’ he thought.

“Well, now that you seem to have divided yourselves accordingly, and I have had sufficient time to devise a suitable punishment for Etho, let us begin.” EvilXisuma pulled out another knife.

“Oh, bet I can guess which limb that’s going in,” joked Etho, too far gone to really care at the moment if what he was doing was antagonizing EvilXisuma or not. Plus, it’s not like he would hold back if Etho was on good behavior. Might as well get his jollies off where he could.

“Really?” asked EvilXisuma, his tone indicating a large amount of derision. However, before Etho could reply, EvilXisuma gripped Etho’s hair and slammed the back of his head against the back of the chair. Then he took the knife, aimed it at Etho’s eye, and slammed it into place.

Etho stopped smiling when his hair was grabbed, and screamed the loudest he thinks he’s ever screamed as the knife cut into the scar already on his eye, and then even further in. ‘At least,’ thought Etho distantly, ‘he went for the eye that had already been damaged.’ He could also vaguely hear the distressed cries of some of his friends, but all he could focus on was the feeling of mind-boggling pain and wrongness of having something sharp embedded in his eye. Honestly, he was surprised he wasn’t dead yet.

“You’re such a durable guy, aren’t you Ethoslab? The fact you haven’t died yet speaks of your strength.” Oh hey, EvilXisuma agreed with him! ….EvilXisuma agreed with him. Fuck.

“However, I would appreciate a demonstration of the new respawn mechanics I have devised, so goodbye Ethoslab. See you in a moment,” stated EvilXisuma. With surprisingly little fanfare, he pulled a final knife out of his inventory and stabbed Etho in the chest. Etho gargled in pain, and with the usual flash of red, poofed out of existence, the knives that had been embedded in him dropping to the seat of the chair and the floor. With a quick flick of the wrist, EvilXisuma swept the knives on the chair off onto the floor, and just in time removed his hand as Etho poofed back into existence back onto the chair. While he was no longer bleeding from a chest wound and his eye seemed to be partially healed, the rest of his wounds were still as they had been when he had died. Etho could hear the ding of EvilXisuma’s communicator go off, and he could only assume the message was, “Ethoslab was slain by EvilXisuma”. “Good to see you again Etho. And the remaining audience can attest, we are going to be in for a very long night.” EvilXisuma chuckled, Etho betting it because he was imagining the looks on the Hermits’ faces. Etho also wondered where EvilXisuma could even go from here, though he bet wherever it was, he was going to end in a world of pain. Which admittedly he already was. He was still somewhat breathless from the respawn, and the subconscious belief that he would be safe upon respawn being completely destroyed hurt more that he was willing to admit.

“So what shall we do with you? Hmmmm…” EvilXisuma stood before Etho twirling one of the knives he had picked up from the floor.

“You could try to see how far I can make it after letting me go from this chair.”

Etho could feel the quiet frustration from EvilXisuma. He knew it was a terrible idea to antagonize him, but at this point, since he knew there was help on the way, he might as well make life as difficult as possible for EvilXisuma. Plus,if he played his cards right, he *might* be able to escape his binds using the respawn mechanics. He had noticed an extra pain and immobility of his right wrist, which briefly glancing down showed that it had partially clipped into the cuff. All he could hope was that EvilXisuma wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

“Well Ethoslab, I think I know what we’ll be doing with you. I hope you have enjoyed your talking privileges thus far, but it is time for them to be revoked.”

Etho chuckled nervously, knowing he was about to be in for a bad time. “What are you going to do, put me in time out?”

Instead of saying anything, EvilXisuma slammed Etho’s head against the back of the chair.

“You know, if you keep doing this, there’s more chance of paralyzing me from the shoulders down, and where’s the fun in that?”

EvilXisuma finally growled in frustration. “I am going to make this as painful as inhumanly possible just for you Ethoslab. And you will not be allowed to die or pass out. While I wish I could hear you beg, this will be just as sweet.” With that, and somehow still making sure that everything he was doing was visible to the camera, he forced Etho’s head back at an angle. Now the spikes were puncturing the front of Etho’s throat, just missing all the important parts so he was not at risk of bleeding to death. With his other hand, he forced Etho’s mouth open and pulled out his tongue as far as it would go. Etho sputtered around the hand and tongue, unintelligible gibberish flooding out as panic consumed him. No, nononononononono, this couldn’t be happening. He knew it was going to be bad, but this? He struggled in futility, his hands grabbing at the armrests as he struggled against the stakes still embedded in his arms, how had he not noticed those still there after he respawned? He wanted to kick out, but both legs were solidly connected to the chair legs with matching spiked manacles, but if he could just wiggle one of his legs right, he could live without a foot…

Keeping Etho’s head immobile once he had Etho’s tongue was easy. So, freeing his hand that had been gripping Etho’s hair, EvilXisuma pulled a knife out of his inventory and sawed off Etho’s tongue. Etho couldn’t stop screaming, even as he began to choke on blood. His world blacked out for but a moment, and then was he back with startling clarity as something with flame aspect set his mouth ablaze as it cauterized what was left of his tongue.

Blearily, Etho stared up at his captor, finally at the end of his rope. Even if he still would have been able to say something, he no longer had words to say. Instead, he spit some of the excessive amounts of blood in the back of his throat at Evil Xisuma’s face. Etho could vaguely hear the other hermits cheering him on in the background, and while he knew he should feel something positive, he only felt empty with a flavor of vaguely horrified.

Evil Xisuma stilled when Etho’s blood splattered across his faceplate. After a moment, he slowly wiped the blood off with his thumb. Then, without any warning, he punched Etho in his injured eye. However, Etho barely reacted, his body jolting and remaining blood pooling out of his mouth. In fact, he was so past pain at this point, he was able to rip one of his wrists apart, along with pulling his forearm around the spike embedded in it and managed to get a sideways middle finger out of the deal. Plus, his sight quickly faded out, and he knew he managed to kill himself before EvilXisuma was able to kill him himself.

With another message heard across the server, EvilXisuma was tempted to throw his communicator across the room as the message popped up. “Ethoslab was slain by Ethoslab whilst trying to escape EvilXisuma”. Instead he turned off the speakers he was using to listen to the Hermits. He didn’t want them distracting him as he continued to do his work.

#ethoslab #etho #hc fanfiction #evil xisuma #the hermits #hermitcraft #gore #blood #torture #angst #suicide #or at least as much as one can when respawns are infinite

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papipopsicle · 4 years ago

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GHOSTBUSTERS

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Summary: In which Y/N keeps bumping into various Avengers on missions, sometimes to their benefit and others not so much. As Bucky finally decides to go back into the field, he comes face to face with a ghost from his past life.

Song: Death Valley by Fall Out Boy

Warnings: swearing, general lack of morals

Words: 2.4K

feedback is always appreciated

"You sure about this, Buck?" Steve asked, willing his reassuring nature onto the stoic man sat next to him. They were eight minutes from the drop sight in south Ecuador and only Gamora was joining them on the mission.

There was no way in hell he planned on backing out now.

James Buchanan Barnes no longer held the mantle of the Winter Soldier, but ever since Shuri, Princess of Wakanda, extracted the programming in his brain, he remembered everything. At first it was like puzzle pieces, fleeting memories and nightmares that he couldn't quite put together. But the last fifty years slowly found its way back. And the twenty before that of torture too.

Every bullet.

Every last breath.

Every tortured soul he killed for Hydra. And the lives he was forced to steal, forced to work along side with.

Wanda found out rather quickly his mind wasn't a happy place to venture into. She cried herself to sleep that night.

It took a long time for Bucky to realise his body was no longer a weapon, and longer to even begin trusting his prosthetic limb off the battlefield.

This was only a minimal risk mission; a group of young inhumans had been wreaking havoc for the past few weeks, Friday had been tracking them and noticed they were meeting a large arms dealer in Amazula tonight. Fairly simple. The enhanced individuals would be handed over to Agent Johnson's task-force while any weaponry will be confiscated by the CIA under Tony Stark's surveillance. All the trio had to do was detain the inhumans. Easy.

"Sure," Bucky responded slowly and shrugged his shoulders, "about time I got off my ass, right?"

"You can wait here if you don't feel up to it." The Zehoberei woman replied while picking at her nailbeds, voice dripping with sarcastic sympathy. Admittedly, she enjoyed the presence of these two no nonsense men, but their friendship made them worry too much and she didn't have the patience for it.

Gamora released the hangar door and without waiting for the super soldiers to respond, she jumped. Steve rushed to the edge and rolled his eyes as she landed perfectly a hundred feet below them. Once the quinjet had actually landed, the three stealthily made it to the warehouse unnoticed.

"Eyes on the kids, all five are headed down the north corridor." Bucky stated plainly over the communication device hidden in his right ear, still unable to comprehend how a pair of goggles allowed him to see through steel walls. He stayed crouched down low in the overhead railings, his large figure hidden with ease from any surveillance equipment.

Only a few seconds could passed before his ears were assaulted by a string of curse words from the alien woman, even more surprised that Steve hadn't reprimanded her for the foul language.

"Gamora?" The Captain questioned, launching out of his position in pursuit of his endangered teammate. When he arrived though, the scene before him made his eyes hurt from rolling them so hard, a simple "Not you again." fumbling from his lips.

Bucky calmed at the annoyed tone, having scrambled out of his hiding space with surprisingly the same amount of stealth. His heart was erratic, thinking it was a code red, but his steps slowed to a jog as soon as he registered they weren't in any kind of peril.

Y/N grinned up at the man in his usual navy stealth suit, watching his irritated expression tauntingly, "You missed me really, Rogers."

She'd arrived after Gamora, finding the kids tied to a post by the green woman with illuminated ropes. The mercenary began undoing their bounds, but was soon interrupted by their capturer and eliminated the threat with great skill.

Y/N stabbed Gamora in her thigh, her copper dagger dripping with blood as she twirled it between her fingertips.

Bucky rounded the corner and entered the open warehouse, finding his friend jogging over to the scene several feet ahead. Steve began assessing Gamora's wound and was quickly shoved off by the warrior, who simply stood and wiped her leg down as if it was dust and not blood.

Bucky stood frozen. It felt all too surreal - the flicker of orange hair, the bright teal suit which was anything but stealthy, and the familiar scarred tissue surrounding her magnificent hazel eyes. She was anything but a ghost, though he felt a soul step through his being.

"Buck? A little help?" Steve pushed, watching his friend move towards the group of teens without taking his eyes off of the annoying mercenary. He'd met her on numerous missions throughout the past couple of years, mostly getting in the way of things and a handful of times even aiding them.

"Buck?" Y/N mocked in the Captains authoritative tone, "What kind of name is that? What's it short for? Buckbert?"

Bucky blinked, forgetting all about the young inhumans, "Buchanan, actually."

"James? What in the fuck are you doing here?!" Y/N recognised his voice instantly, the gravelly pitch unrivalled by anyone else on this planet. She stopped fiddling with the electrified rope and spun on her heel, finding the first Winter Soldier mere meters from where she stood.

The mercenary slid her blade back into its sheath on her hip, sprinting over to her former partner and before anyone knew what was happening, her body enveloped his. Y/N squeezed him so tightly he thought is eyes may just bug out, but with Steve and Gamora's astonished expressions watching him, he returned the embrace. It was familiar, and Bucky didn't know whether that should be a good thing or a bad one.

"I'm sorry, actually I'm not. Care to explain how you know the asshole who just put a hole in my leg?" The Zehoberei woman seethed, checking the detainees were still detained before marching over to the pair.

"Yeah, not that this reunion isn't..." Steve trailed off, motioning towards the two still embracing. Bucky eye rolled his friend, letting the mercenary drop from his body but keeping his arm around her, "whatever it is, but why is it a reunion in the first place? Please don't tell me you two used to-"

"Fuck?" Y/N scoffs at the insinuation, knowing she'd hit the nail on its head when Captain America turned the same colour as his shield, "In his dreams, maybe."

"Y/N used to work for Hydra every now and again." The super soldier intervened, watching her wounded eye twitch from the corner of his vision, "Even when she wasn't, she'd follow my missions and find work in the same countries."

"Until I stepped in one day when his handler was being especially dickish and got myself this as a memento." She signalled to her paled scar with a sad smile, "I'd lost you for a while there, but it's good to have you back, James."

Steve couldn't believe how casual their conversation was, but instead of finding the answers he so desperately wanted, he had a role to play, "Is she going to be an issue?" Is all he could ask.

Y/N frowned at his no nonsense attitude, he usually threw a couple sarcastic remarks for her to bat back before getting on track with his mission. She looked up at Bucky with the same expression, arms crossed and eyes rolling as she begrudgingly shook her head. If it wasn't for her old acquaintance, the mercenary would've figured out a small way to annoy America's golden boy.

"Not this time, at least." The metal armed man reassured his childhood friend, who was getting the group of inhumans ready for the inhibitor pod on the quinjet. Gamora was busy glaring Y/N down, throwing her own blade up into the air a few times before charging at the human woman with no fear.

"What the-" Y/N screamed as the alien's dagger became the only thing her eyes could see, and without any other option, she climbed Bucky like a tree. Her torso hugging his face and her legs wrapped around his neck, "I'm sorry, pretty green lady!"

The super soldier, slightly unsure of what was happening, unarmed his teammate and shook Y/N off his shoulders. She fell to the grass with a small thud, quickly getting to her feet and backing away from the seething warrior.

"Let me stab her, it's only fair!" Gamora demanded, struggling in Bucky's vibranium grip. At this point, Steve had already transported the enhanced teens onto the quinjet and had come back to inspect and take inventory of the weaponry, only to find this scene playing out in front of him.

"I said I'm sorry!" She definitely wasn't, and although she didn't know the green woman, she knew it wouldn't end well if her apathy shone through. While Bucky held her back, Y/N knew this was her chance to dip out. After all, she was only here as a favour for a friend, it certainly wasn't worth getting injured over. But, against all better judgement and knowledge of stabby people, the mercenary decided to stay for a while longer.

"See, she's apologised, she didn't mean it." Bucky reasoned, pleading eyebrows raised at Gamora. His body didn't know whether to go into shock or revert to the way it used to react around Y/N, and got stuck between the two. He remembered so much of her; her squeaky laugh and scrunched nose at her own sardonic jokes, the dark chestnut hair lying under her luminous wig, her soft lips kissing his at the end of a mission. It came rushing back like blood to a sleepy limb.

"Alright, alright." Steve interjected, not wanting to escalate the situation, "Let's not forget why we're here." He eyed the merc specifically.

"Pffft," She batted her hand towards him passively, no longer in imminent danger as the green woman stood with her arms crossed, "you can have this one, Golden Boy. Something else has taken my interest."

Y/N made a mental note to buy Wade something to apologise for not getting the guns and ammunition he wanted. He wouldn't really care, probably moved onto some other enemy already. Steve began closing the crates of various weaponry, not caring for the young merc until he heard her voice ring, "Mind if I hitch a ride with you guys, if you're heading back to New York."

"Sure." Bucky insisted.

"We aren't-." Steve objected, glaring over at his best friend before amending his words, "Fine. Just don't mess with anything."

Gamora found the woman intriguing, so laid back yet clearly on a dark path. If they'd met under different circumstances, she would've welcomed another strong and calculating female into her life suffocated by testosterone. But the Zehoberei warrior's leg still seeped with blood, aching with each step, so she wasn't ready to give in so quickly.

They all made the walk back onto the quinjet fairly quickly, passing by the white pod which inhibited each of their powers without causing them any harm. Y/N had never been on such a technical aircraft before, amazed by all the lights and buttons. But Steve swatted her hand away before she could find out what they did, "Sit down and stay out of trouble."

"So, you been doing okay, James? Back in the real world, I mean." Y/N slumped down on the seat next to Bucky's frame. She unhooked her tactical belt and slid off the bright ginger wig, slinging it on the metal cabinet beside her.

Bucky eyed her up, finding her raised scarred brow oddly endearing, "Not at first, a lots changed since the forties." He nudged her shoulder as a sad look appeared on her face, "I'm alive though, been going to therapy. This is my first field mission, actually."

"Looks like my bad timing's paid off this time, then." Y/N looked up at him sincerely, finding familiar icy eyes staring into her own. He had changed so much, and not at all in the same breath. She'd never seen a smile on his lips before, usually covered by a mask during missions, yet it suited him so beautifully. He'd brushed his shoulder length hair behind his ear, watching his jaw clench and relax.

They chatted back and fourth about the past few years, no boundaries or judgements held in the space between them. Y/N actually did research about a customers background before accepting their offer, targeting her homicidal rage towards sex traffickers whenever she got the chance. She still held no permanent home, currently residing in an abandoned apartment a dozen blocks away. The super soldier offered that she could stay with him if she ever wanted, used to her company and lax attitude.

"Thanks James, I'll keep that in mind." She hopped down from the hangar's opening, marvelling at the acres of land surrounding the Avengers facility. Steve and Gamora had left a while ago, briefing Agent Johnson on the inhumans. So it was just the two of them, a warm wind flowing through their hair. Y/N stepped behind him, tying his hair half up in a pony tail to stop it from getting in his eyes.

"Thanks, Y/N/N." He beamed down at her, "It's been good having you around again, hopefully it doesn't take a bunch of rebel inhumans for us to see each other again."

"It better not." She smirked, a fuzzy feeling sitting in her stomach as her nickname left his lips like a melody, "Now since this little mission was a success on your part, I feel it's only fair we honour our tradition. Especially since it's been your first in a long time."

Bucky didn't even want to waste time responding with words, his cool metal hand finding it's way to her neck pulling her closer. Their eyes both fluttered shut, Y/N pulled herself up onto her tiptoes just as he leant down enough to bridge the gap. Her body shuddered all over as she felt him return the kiss and his free hand grip her waist ever so tightly.

Bucky broke away first, noticing the lust blown look in his little mercenary’s eyes as she blinked innocently up at him. After a beat, she hid her head in his chest, only for him to kiss the top of her head. “Don’t be a stranger, Y/N/N.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Y/N giggled, pulling away just enough to look up at the tall super soldier, “I can honestly say it would be my pleasure to fuck with Tony Stark and his band of merry men.”

“Invite me on your next job so we can do that again.”

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concussed-to-pieces · 5 years ago

Text

To Tell You The Truth Part One

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Hello everyone, and welcome! I present a new indulgence, as I am a simple man subject to the whim of my hyperfixations. I hope that you all will enjoy this tale, though I warn it will be a tad less carefree. Darker subject matter will be tread in this series. But! My indulgences will shine through regardless, and my trigger warnings will be at the beginning of each installment. If you're interested in reading more of my attempted writing involving a space Pedro, I will direct you to Stay Safe, my completed Mandalorian fic. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]

You ran.

The thrower knocked against your leg as you fled, almost tripping you numerous times. You couldn't bring yourself to fix it, though.

You didn't stop, even when your ribs started to ache and your vision went patchy. The pod is just in the next clearing, you kept telling yourself, the next clearing for certain. Once you were inside it, you could…

It had no lock. Damon hadn't deemed it necessary. Maybe...maybe that other man just wouldn't find you. The one that Damon had shot and tried to thieve everything from. How could he have believed that his greed would go unchecked?! Those two men had clearly been slaving in the Bakhroma Green for ages. Months at a bare minimum. Now one of them was dead, and the other had been wounded by Damon before your oh-so-illustrious companion had succumbed to the injuries inflicted by that railgun.

You had been involved in dig disputes before, of course, but you were hard-pressed to think of a time where one had been settled with such...messy finality.

You entered the pod with a gasp of relief, jerking your helmet off to breathe the comfortingly stale air. You dropped the thrower by the door, unable to bring yourself to even think about using it.

Damon was dead.

You pressed your hands to your temples and sank to the floor. The man who had bullied, browbeat and press-ganged you into this remote locale, was dead. And you…

You had no idea how to urge this pod back up past the thick canopy. You were a digger. Digging was what you were good at. It was what you knew. You were not a pilot.

Despair took hold then, as you realized you were truly trapped. Precious seconds ticked by while you laid there on the floor, a curled-up ball of miserable floater. There were three cycles left before there would be no escape, before the freighter slingback would be entirely inaccessible.

You dragged yourself out of your funk eventually, doing your best to wipe your face clean of all your tears. You could figure this out. All Damon had been good for was flying, right? You would inventory the supplies and see how many days you could eke out. Maybe you could reach someone on the long range.

...

The sorting and cataloging work kept you busy. Which was good. You liked busy. Busy limited headspace. Busy kept people alive on digs.

It was a little warm inside the pod once the sunlight started beating down on it. You wiped your sweat off with your forearm for the millionth time, flipping through your notes. If you were cautious about certain resources and supplements, you might be able to last two months down on the Green moon. But that was only if your filters continued to hold recharges. Uncharitably, you wished you had taken Damon's before you bolted.

There was nothing for it. You would just have to make it back to the freighter in time. Two stands of miserable living would do you no good if you were still on this moon. Judging from the thickness of the pollen in the air, the plant life would be noxious. You wouldn't survive without your filters.

You leafed through the radio manual, flipping the power switch and grimacing at the burst of static that greeted your ears through the Arcsoko long range headset. "To anyone listening, this is Dasha Landcraft Rental, parcel-class, pod number-" you paused, fumbling through to the back of the manual for the number scrawled there by the company. "Number...eight-eight-three-nine-seven-five dash-zero-zero--" you stopped to inhale, "-two-seven-four-two. We have landed off course. I repeat, we are off target in the Green. Pilot lost." Your voice started to shake. "P-Pilot lost. If a-anyone is within range, please respond."

You flipped the switch on the signal amp and then pushed the looper, setting the message to repeat broadcasting for an hour. It would be a varying amount of expenditure on your chit for every additional hour you wanted to keep your transmission on the air, and you didn't exactly have money to throw around, so all you could hope was that someone would hear your distress message within the first free hour.

You kept the headset on, rocking back and forth in your chair as the minutes ticked down. A few times there were bursts of static that sounded like someone was about to come on air, but they peaked as fast as they arrived.

Hope faded the longer you sat there, sorting and stacking the brightly-colored Calori-pouches of Pastors Henry slurry. You staunchly ignored the way your lower lip was quivering. Damon hated it when you cried.

Within the last few precious minutes of your free broadcast, a noise outside sent your heart into your throat. You yanked off the headphones, scrambling for the nav console. The wall of bulky, jutting screens was the first thing you could seriously consider cover, but it was only once you'd tucked yourself beneath it that you remembered you had left the thrower by the door.

You started forward to grab it, but ended up just lowering your body closer to the floor as the noises advanced, footsteps you realized. So he had found you. He would certainly kill you if only for what your partner had done. It had been careless of you to start your broadcast so soon after returning to the pod. You had essentially beamed out a homing signal to your exact location.

For an hour.

This was it. Cowering in a rented pod, weapon feet away, clutching an itemized list of all the things to eat and drink. A fitting end, for a timid dust-scratcher like yourself.

I will not cry or beg, you told yourself sternly. It would do no good here. It was better to face your demise with some shred of dignity, and Damon had just gotten more angry when you cried.

The hatch hissed loudly and you somehow made yourself even smaller while that man, the talkative one, lurched up into the pod. He stumbled, fighting with the latches on his helmet for a good ten seconds before finally managing to get the thing off, thus affording you a clear view at his face.

He didn't look particularly cruel, or Brism-busted like Damon had. Mainly, he just looked tired and dirty. He had a head of shaggy brown hair, olive skin and deep-set brown eyes. His nose was hawklike, prominent even alongside that heavy brow and the square jut of his scruffy jaw. When he turned his head, you spotted a curious chunk of blond hair that grew determinedly out at a different angle from the right side of his hairline, Mallen streak, your brain supplied oh-so-helpfully. An old scar, silver with age, meandered along his left cheekbone, and a halfway-maintained mustache shielded his upper lip.

His eyes roamed the pod curiously for a moment, taking in all the notes you had tacked to the walls in your inventory sweep. He absolutely noticed the thrower abandoned by the door.

"This is a vexsome position that your friend Damon has put you into, I'm afraid." He drawled, his pistol loose at his side while he slowly rotated. "I will not apologize for my hand in his death, as he wounded myself, razed my associate and was planning to abscond with several stands worth of my hard work. His greed outplayed his hand."

Dark eyes landed on you, curled up against the wall beneath the console screens, and the smile that bloomed under his mustache was decidedly predatory.

"I'm...I have food." You began to bargain shakily.

"You certainly do, don't you?" He crooned in a patronizing tone, the thrower pistol humming as he primed it.

"I'm a good digger. Th-That's the only reason Damon dragged me here." You cringed when he took a step towards you. "P-Please, I didn't-"

"I have no doubt that whatever it was, you surely didn't. You could have picked me off easily out there had you wanted to, plenty of range on that thrower. What is a gentle soul like you doing with a character that had such a predisposition for marauderous pilferin', I wonder?" The man mused, his expression cheery to an unsettling degree. The grip he had on the pistol didn't waver an inch.

"He promised I-I would be able to finally quit with the points this planet would make." Why bother lying? This man would just kill you anyway. "B-But the pod, it...something happened during the landing. A malfunction, I'm not sure."

"Ah, so your friend Damon was the Ahab of this vessel as well. No surprise there, that steadfast moral compass of his must have seen you two just flawlessly across the vacuous expanse."

Your lower lip began to quiver again and you dug around in your suit pockets for the lone gem that you had uncovered on your trek earlier. "I don't...I don't have anything to offer aside from the supplies and this. But...p-please, I just…"

Your sketchbook tumbled out of your pocket as you removed the gem. The barrel of his gun grazed the side of your head in obvious response to the action and you froze in terror. "You keep those hands where I can see them, gentle soul. I am not in a gaming mood at the mo…" His words trailed off when he caught sight of the massive pearl cradled in your palms. "Well well, it seems you've got a bit of bargaining power yet."

"I don't need much food, I p-promise." You had told yourself you wouldn't beg, but this seemed...very close to begging. "J-Just water and a pilot." You extended the aurelac, knowing full well that you were surrendering your ability to go home. That miserable rock would have paid for the lease on the pod and passage back to the Pug at the bare minimum. Which you had pointed out to Damon, but he insisted on trekking further. You found yourself agreeing wholeheartedly with this other man's earlier observation, his greed outplayed his hand.

"I am not overly inclined to rid this world of you, gentle soul. If I am reading the situation correct, you are not here because you wish to be." The man said after several breathless moments. He didn't seem concerned about taking the gem from you at the moment. "However, we are at a bit of a stalemate when it comes to locomotion."

His gun dropped from the side of your head and you flinched again when he stretched out his hand towards you. "H-Here, here! Just p-please, don't-" You shoved the rock against his fingers, your eyes shut tight with anticipation. Why couldn't he just shoot you and get it over with?!

"I'm offering you a hand up, gentle soul. Squirrel away your bargaining chip for the time being." The man said, gently easing the gem aside. "I am not an unreasonable man. Let's get you up off that floor and we shall discuss terms as civilized folk do."

"You...you're not going to kill me?" You asked weakly, daring to open your eyes.

"At this juncture? No." The man tilted his head. "Are you planning on doin' anything nefarious that may encourage my own expedient shuffle off of my mortal coil?"

You had to take a minute just to try and figure out what he'd actually said. It had been ages since you'd interacted with anyone aside from Damon, and your late 'partner' hadn't had the most expansive vocabulary. "I've never killed anyone before." You replied, your voice a whisper.

"A prudent answer, to be certain, for one never knows what the tides of fate have in store for them." He pondered for a breath, his eyes almost impossibly dark. "I'll take your word all the same, face value. You seem an honest sort, gentle soul. Makes me inclined to wonder how you got tangled up in this sorry soirée, though." His boot bumped against your sketchbook and he toed it a little closer to you, obligingly keeping his distance.

"That's not...it's not important right now." You snatched the book up and crammed it back into your pocket. Then, you floundered into one of the flight chairs, sitting sideways so you were able to maintain the barest pretense of eye contact. You clasped your trembling hands in front of you, trying to remember to keep them where he could see them.

"The terms will be as follows: we work together to get this craft airworthy once again. By my late partner's calculations, Kevva rest his soul, we've only got a few turns of twenty-four left until we're well and truly cut adrift on this forsaken Nessus." The way that he was using the term 'we' had your chest strangely tight. "I am loathe to be restricted here for the rest of my days, especially with a royal's ransom stashed in my trophy case. I doubt you wish to suffer that same perdition."

He leaned forward and you shifted back on reflex, quickly dropping your gaze from the scar on his cheek to the floor. "I understand." You said softly. "What do you want me to do? I'm not...I don't know anything about the nav systems or engines or-"

"Gentle soul, how long had you wandered this world with that disreputable thief?"

To your horror, you couldn't actually remember how long it had been. It was a haze of silent travel, punctuated by violent outbursts as you tried to make yourself seem even smaller than you already were-

"I did not mean to wound you, gentle soul. I offer my most sincere reparations." He apologized quietly.

"What?"

He gestured with his hand, a little slower now. "You are weepin'."

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry." You fumbled to wipe your face off on your sleeve. "I'm alright, I'm fine." You assured him with a watery smile.

He studied you for what felt like a lifetime, those brown eyes boring into your own. "I am Ezra, gentle soul. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Ezra. That's right, he had introduced himself as such to Damon before everything had gone so incredibly wrong. "I'm sorry about what happened to your friend." You said thickly. "I didn't...I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

He waved off your words, scoffing a bit. "Number Two was a utility, not a friend. I am none too aggrieved by his loss, and I implore you not to trouble yourself with such dour ruminations on his behalf." Ezra stretched, then swiveled his head around. "What does our supply situation look like? I can see your scrawlings, naturally, but I would prefer it from the merchant's mouth."

You leafed through your notebook pages. "If we're careful, we should have enough to last one month." Split between the two of you rations were a bit harder to calculate, so you went with the safe route of halving the time evenly. "I don't know your appetite. Damon would go days without food sometimes, because of the sleep meds."

"I am ravenous at any and all opportunities, I must confess." Ezra admitted. "Been surviving off bits bars for the last four stands. Calori-paste is my damn marrow at this point in time."

"W-We still have some powdered things, tea, if...I mean can I offer you...um, some coffee?" You warily turned your back to him and started rummaging in one of the many side compartments, pulling out a tiny sealed bag of dehydrated coffee mix.

"I would be…" He paused, sounding like he was fighting for breath. It was so dramatic that you actually looked at him, a touch alarmed. "I would be forever in your debt if you would grace me with so much as a watered-down teaspoon of that heavenly beverage." He settled on one of the side benches, his pistol holstered for the time being. "We will not need rations to last the month, gentle soul, so our best option in the event of calamitous mechanical difficulties may be to take any excess off to the Saders to trade for goods."

"Saders?"

"They are a group of people that inhabit the Green. Religious settlers, tedious scavengers."

Your brow furrowed. You were no religious expert. "Like Kevvaites?" You tried.

"No no, not so much with the monotheism. They believe in the Tides of the universe. The Currents, a certain...ebb and flow of life." Ezra waved a hand to illustrate. "All very poetic, giveth and taketh kinda' sort. Not bad folk to deal with, all things considered, but voraciously against conventional arms and armaments."

You wracked your brain for any other useful items you may have stowed away from Damon, lest he pawn them to pay for his drugs of choice. After you set the hydro to churn the precious dust into coffee, you knelt and shuffled your small personal storage compartment open. "I don't have a lot to offer, I'm afraid." You murmured, tugging out a few duct tape sealed bags. "Almost all the basic hygiene items, my emergency filters...anything he could get his hands on, really. He would just trade it for more drops or Brism." You continued apologetically.

"That man was a junkie." Ezra said bluntly. "Now, I have my own vices and I am not above reproach, but I always assured that my consumption was never at the cost of someone else's comfort."

Your throat felt tight and you ducked your head down, avoiding eye contact. "I...I'm sorry."

"Whyever for, gentle soul?" He asked curiously.

"I-I shouldn't have-" You had no idea what you were apologizing for, your words dying in your throat. After so much time with Damon, you did it automatically. The hydro beeped, offering you the opportunity to bolt. Which you took immediately. "Coffee!" You announced brightly, the flimsy cardboard container that it dispensed into almost scorching your hand. You passed it off to him, warning, "Be careful, it's-"

Ezra slugged half the scalding contents in one go, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively.

"-h-hot." You finished weakly.

"Kevva above, it sure is." He grunted, shuddering. "God damn, I have missed that acrid nightmare of flavor burnin' my esophagus like Satan himself. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder." He pawed idly at his wounded arm after a moment, grimacing. "I don't suppose that Damon kept any of the usual med supplies? A field kit, maybe?" The older man queried hopefully.

You hesitated, gnawing on your lower lip. "He...didn't." You answered carefully.

Ezra looked momentarily distraught before he seemed to catch himself, his expression smoothing into something closer to weary resignation. "Well, can't say I'm surprised. They're worth good currency in a trade. Bodes poorly for the survival of my arm, however." He said glibly, the wince that followed contrasting dramatically with his unphased tone.

"Y...Your-?"

"Once the dust gets in, it don't take too long for the fester to permeate." Ezra explained. The wound on his arm oozed a sickly, yellowish fluid down the sleeve of his exosuit when he pressed his hand over it. "It wasn't originally just myself and Number Two, you understand. We had a full crawling party before the muti--" He jerked to a stop, shooting you a wary glance. "Now, gentle soul, I don't want you thinkin' that you have anythin' to fear from me. The mutiny was...a misunderstanding. You saw today what depths desperate men stoop to over a bit of aurelac."

You nodded, your throat gone dry.

"There were...concerns voiced about equal shares, it was a Kevva-forsaken mess. I don't know how many times I've told folk to draw up their union contracts before they get boots on the ground. Nobody listens, though. It's always 'mutiny once we're planetside' this and 'we can take everything' that." He griped. "Words and metal flew and, regrettably, myself and a few others were marooned on this damnable moon." Ezra drew his hand away from his arm, that yellowed fluid clinging to his fingers in thick, pitchy strands, "We quickly found that these climes are fiendishly inhospitable to floaters in damaged suits."

Your lip felt like it was about to drop off your face from how hard you were worrying it. "I...D-Do you promise not to hurt me?" You finally asked.

Ezra gave you a look of confusion, brown eyes narrowing slightly. "Gentle soul, I thought I had made it abundantly clear that-"

"Just-! Just say yes or no."

"Yes, dammit, but I fail to see what that's got to-"

"I h-have a kit. A f-field kit." You stammered out. His eyebrows drew together in a thunderous frown and you saw his jaw working. "Wait! Wait, just let me f-f-finish." You extended your hands in a placative gesture, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. "I...trade. I'll trade you. Nobody does anything for free, right? I'll help you, and in exchange, I want you to promise me you won't hurt me."

"What would you do if I did hurt you, gentle soul?" Ezra inquired softly. Your breath hitched. "Indeed, what would you be able to do? Especially now that I'm aware you've got a kit hidden somewhere." The man got to his feet and you immediately flinched. "Your powers of persuasion need some...refinin', but I am not immune to civility. Gentle soul, if you give me that kit not only am I willin' to work with you to get us off this moon, I'll throw a chunk of my haul your way as a show of good faith." He offered, dark eyes watching you closely. "And, I will give you my word as an individual with the slightest, infantessible modicum of moral standing, that I won't lay a finger on you fueled by dubious or malicious intent."

You stared up at him, your mind entirely blank from panic. His strange words certainly weren't helping your comprehension. "I..." No, no, this was wrong. He was putting far too much up for his end of the bargain! He must be planning something, some sort of trick.

Ezra cocked his head. "You still with me, gentle soul?" He asked cautiously. "Don't tell me you're strokin' out, it'd be a shame to lose such pleasant company."

Your laugh was a jagged hiccup in your chest. Ezra huffed out a breath after a moment, obviously uncomfortable. He probably thought you had gone moony, entirely lunar. "I'm...I'm sorry, I...that's a good, um, deal, b-but I can't accept it." You struggled to get your words out. "Y-You…that is, I don't...I don't want…" to be like Damon.

"Perhaps your persuasion isn't nearly as uncalibrated as I originally surmised. Very well, gentle soul. How much is my dominant arm worth to you?" Ezra queried dryly, misunderstanding your hesitation. "Because to me, as a workin' man, it's worth its weight in aurelac sixteen times over."

You hadn't thought of it like that. You felt a bit foolish now. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. I...I'm sorry."

"Kevva above, you are a tender thing. I don't mean to be so grim, but that's the harsh reality that I've been livin' with since I found myself marooned. It's a miracle I've managed this long with the meager supplies allotted to us." He said, sounding rueful. "I mourn my stomach every morning as I eat those crunchy bastard bits bars and I pray for my sufferin' to end."

You didn't mean to snort, but his colorful terminology caught you off-guard. His smile was less predatory this time, as if he hadn't expected your mirth. You knelt, burrowing even deeper into your compartment until you hit the false bottom. There, underneath several sheets of whitewashed cardboard, resided your precious field kit. You had traded the entirety of your meager share from an equally-meager haul for it stands ago, once you realized how deeply entrenched Damon was in his addiction. You had always clung to the faint hope (albeit perhaps in vain) that you might be able to escape from Damon and, if you struck out on your own, you knew you would at the very least need a good field kit as a failsafe for emergencies.

You hesitated before you tugged the box free, your fingers stroking the smooth plastic. You felt silly for the melancholic sensation that rose in your chest, it was just a field kit. You could always get another one. But it had seemed like so much more than a porta-surge. Until today, it had represented your dreams of getting out from beneath Damon's thumb.

"Not to-" You had been so lost in thought that the unexpected sound of his voice caught you by surprise. You bolted to your feet in a rush and the top of your head met the bottom of his jaw with a bone-jarring impact. Your vision faded momentarily from the force of the blow, black dots exploding and fading out.

The older man grunted, staggering back a step. He proceeded to sit down heavily on one of the bench seats as you held your aching head in pain. The porta-surgery box laid abandoned on the floor. You could only imagine what level of punishment you were in for now.

"Martyr's malfeasance, gentle soul, if you try to ring my bell like that again you may do me in." He groaned hoarsely, working his jaw and tonguing the inside of his cheek. "What the fuck is your cranium comprised of?"

You didn't answer, sniffling a little bit and blinking back your tears as you scooped the field kit off the ground. You held the box out to him, your eyes focused on your boots while you struggled to keep your hiccups to a minimum; Damon hated when you would cry.

You cringed when a gloved hand rested gently on the top of your head, clumsy fingers parting your hair. What was he��? "You are goin' to have a fine bruise, gentle soul. Mercifully you didn't break skin. Guess my jawline isn't as sharp as I've been claimin'."

Was he...was he joking with you? You dared to glance up at him and you were startled by how concerned he looked. Oh, I'm still holding the kit. You gracelessly pushed the field kit against his stomach, trying to use it to give yourself some breathing room.

Ezra seemed to get the hint and he shifted a step back, taking the kit as he went. "Kevva, this is one of the portable surgicals. Sequestering it was the intelligent choice, gentle soul." He muttered, almost like he was speaking to himself. "I am loathe to willfully use your resources, so I shall do my best to be prudent." You could feel him looking at you again. "This is all that you have, isn't it?" He asked abruptly. "The kit, those few possessions you've already dug out of that compartment."

You just cleared your throat and avoided his searching gaze with studious intent. "You're wasting time." You whispered.

"True enough." Ezra agreed. He flopped back down on the bench and rummaged around in the box, tugging loose the tiny orange sepsis kit and the patch gun with a grimace. "Hello, old friend." He then raised his voice to address you once more, "I will be makin' a copious amount of noise presently, gentle soul."

You nodded jerkily, covering your ears and turning your head away.

Part Two

#ezra (prospect 2018)#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect imagine #slow burn #eventual romance #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #how do I tag this #aw heck #thanks for being here #you brave soul you #ezra x reader #prospect 2018 #prospect #this is prime indulgence hours boys #enjoy!

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years ago

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Falling Ch. 7

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader [and a few more to come]

Summary: For a moment you had something good, something wonderful. But moments pass. Now, left with nothing but the ashes of a life and a love you fought so hard for, you find yourself in a free fall. Who will you be once you hit the bottom? [Sequel to Only For A Moment but can be read independently.]

Warnings: Loss, grief, drug/alcohol abuse, violence

A/N: Hello again! So this is another shorter chapter but there is a lot happening. I think you can expect shorter chapters for the most part as we roll forward with this story (along the lines of the majority of Only For A Moment) because that’s easier for me to maintain.

There’s also some hints here about what we can expect from our reader in the future, lmk if you have thoughts!

TAGS ARE OPEN

“Oh for fucks sake!” Rocket yelled as your comm cut out. It was just as likely that you were dead as it was that you turned it off.

And if you weren’t dead he was tempted to fix that little problem.

“Nebula, do you have eyes on Trouble,” he found that was a better name for you.

“I’m a little busy!” She yells back.

He massages his temples as he tries to keep himself from outright screaming.

In moments like this, he actually misses the old you. At least when you spent your days in bed, drunk, silent, moving through the ship like some sad ghost he wasn’t worried you were going to get him killed.

He really should have appreciated those weeks of peace more. Never should have taken you to Contraxia, never should have coaxed you out of bed. What he should have done was leave well enough alone and just make sure you didn’t drink yourself into a quiet death.

But no. He just had to get involved.

Now, he was going to have to get out of this pod and find you. That was not the plan. He was supposed to stay in the damn pod. He was the eye in the sky.

But no. No, you had to go and make this complicated.

“I got it!” You say, comms coming in clear, just as he’s about to head down.

“What the fuck do you-”

“Did I stutter?” You huff, clearly running. “I got the payload and I’m heading to the drop point and-” Rocket can make out the sound of a large weapon behind you. “I’d really appreciate you being there right about now!”

“Neb-” He begins.

“En route,” she cuts him off.

He brings the pod down just as you and Nebula make it on the platform, behind you both a concerning amount of muscle in hot pursuit.

“What happened to quiet in and out?!” He screams.

“Just open the door rat!” Nebula yells. He notes that your arms were full of more than just the case you were all being paid to retrieve.

Between you and Nebula, he was pretty sure he was headed toward a much earlier grave. Grumbling he lays down cover fire as he lowers enough for you both to board the pod.

“Woo!” You exclaim as Rocket coaxes the pod as fast as it can go toward the Benetar. “Not too bad.”

“You realize you’re bleeding profusely, yes?” Nebula asks.

Rocket glances back. He’d assumed the blood on your face was from someone else. Now he can see a deep gash splitting the right side of your face from forehead to below your cheekbone.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Ca’al was aiming to take my head though, so I’d say I came out better than expected.”

“Can’t imagine why he’d want your head,” Rocket rolls his eyes as he docks the pod.

“It’s a mystery,” you say as the hatch opens.

“Wait…” Nebula says, hovering in the pod after the two of you have disembarked.

“Ergons take honor pretty seriously,” Rocket says. “Which is why ‘not fucking the mark’s wife’ is high on the list of things not to do when you’re trying to keep a job low key.”

“There was a list?” You quip, turning to face them, smiling despite the wound.

“I’m beginning to think all Terrans are like this,” Nebula says low to him.

“Possibly.” You drop the contents in your arms, kicking a case toward Rocket. “That’s what we came for. And I’ll split the rest if someone will help with this,” you gesture to your face.

“I’m tempted to let you bleed out,” Rocket says as he opens the case. Five tubes filled with glowing viscous liquid are nestled tightly inside.

“Gonna have to wait for a bigger wound for that,” you say as you have a seat.

“With your track record, Trouble, I don’t think I’ll have to wait long.”

You shrug, “I’m apparently like a cockroach.”

“What does that mean?” Nebula asks as she examines the cut.

“Very hard to get rid of,” you hiss the last word.

“Are they formidable beasts?”

“They’re Earth vermin,” Rocket says as he takes inventory of your haul. He hated to admit that it was impressive. Whatever your shortcomings, you were an exceptional thief--he had to respect that at least.

“Same thing,” you say standing. “I mean, look at you.”

“Very funny,” he smiles despite himself.

“This is likely going to scar,” Nebula says.

You shrug, “It’ll just enhance my roguish charm.”

“And piss off the Captain,” Rocket grumbles as he locks the case you’d all been paid to retrieve into one of the storage crates.

“So you admit I’m charming?” He throws a sideways glance at you as Nebula forces your smirking face back to her. “Ow!”

“Who said you were charming?” Rocket asks. “I just don’t want any lectures about ethics and safety from Cap.”

“Which, Cap?”

“Either.” He inspects a container of very high-grade ammo. “How’d you know where this shit was? No way it was just out in the open.”

You peek around an exasperated Nebula once more, “There are benefits to fucking the mark’s wife.”

“Stay still!” Nebula snaps. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose the eye.”

Rocket shakes his head. Lucky may be a better nickname than Trouble.

The way you managed to walk a razor edge, never quite tipping one way or the other was impressive. And every job you’d been in on over the last eight months ended up in a payday at least twice what they’d bargained for. Still, there was an all too familiar air of self-destruction about everything you did. Like you wanted something to tip you, slide the scales just a bit past no return.

When he looks back he notices the slightest tremor in your right hand.

Back on earth, he’d seen it a few times, mainly when emotions were high. No one else seemed to notice it, how each time the air rippled just a bit as some of your hold on that insane telekinetic ability of yours slipped.

These days, more often than not, it meant you needed a drink.

“There,” Nebula declares. “That’s the best I can do.”

When she stepped back he could see that Nebula’s best was actually pretty good. The gash had been reduced to a raised bright pink stripe bisecting your left brow, stopping in the middle of your cheek.

“Thanks, Nebula,” you say sincerely. A whir comes from the main cabin as a bottle flies into your open right hand.

“So, how much we got?” You ask as you open the bottle.

“Can probably get 4,000 credits from the ammo alone,” he holds out his hand and you pass him the bottle. No reason he can’t benefit from your vices.

“Hear that, Nebula? At least 2k each for the ammo.”

“Excuse me?” He passes the bottle back to you.

“Did you help fix my face?”

“My ship. I get a cut of everything, Trouble.”

“I only helped because I was getting half,” Nebula manages something between a grimace and a smile.

Rocket playfully rolls his eyes, “Then you can take her half.”

“The disrespect,” you say on a sigh. “Bleed for your crew, then they cut you out.”

“Yeah, yeah. Such a martyr,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward the deck. “We’ll get the best deal on Paramatar. We’ll get paid for the case then head there.”

Paramatar was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

The money was too good and the distractions too plentiful. Not Contraxia levels of plentiful, but what it lacked in variety it made up for in cost. Everything save for information and ammo was cheap.

He should have kept an eye on you. Or at least asked Nebula to since she couldn’t help but stay sober.

Yes, luck seemed to favor you more times than not. You were also heartier then most humans from what he could tell and you’d picked up on how things worked out here quickly. Still, there were substances and situations you didn’t know were better left alone.

Or maybe you did know and chose to ignore sense.

Who could say? Because when Nebula found you half dead after two days there wasn’t anyone around who knew what happened.

“We should take her home,” Nebula said after the medic left with assurances that you weren’t about to die. “They can help.”

He doubted that. Still, he knew it was the best call. Plus, he could use some peace.

Warm morning sun filtered in through the window, making the few silvery strands in Bucky’s hair shine.

He sat between your legs on the living room floor with his back against the couch. As your fingers combed through the silky mass of hair, his fingers massaged your right calf, still sore from Okoye’s brutal training the day before.

This had become your ritual most mornings.

Usually Bucky was the first out of bed, proving that he was far more a morning person than you’d ever manage to become. He’d start coffee, put on some music, and slip back into bed to wake you before your alarm went off.

It was the best way to begin your day.

Once up you’d down a cup of coffee, talk about nothing, then by cup two he’d be sitting just as he was now--humming along to whatever song played while you methodically sectioned off his hair to braid it back.

The first morning you’d done it on a whim. You frequently found your fingers tangled in those beautiful dark locks and had just happened to put it in a french braid.

That evening he’d casually mentioned how good it was to not have his hair in the face while he worked.

You knew he’d never actually ask. He was constantly concerned he would somehow inconvenience you or be a burden as it was. So since then you’d just begun doing it, without coaxing or preamble.

When you finished he let out a long content sigh, leaning his cheek against your bare thigh.

“Thank you,” he placed a kiss on your knee.

“Of course,” you leaned over, kissing the tender flesh just behind his ear. He hummed with satisfaction, turning his head to look up at you. The morning light turned his eyes a beautiful icy grey-blue.

“I love you, doll,” he says, eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“I love-” you hiss in a breath as pain tears through your skull.

He doesn’t react, doesn’t move, just sits between your legs smiling… Before he turns to dust.

You try to call his name, scream, anything but the all-consuming thrum of your power prevents you from doing anything but sit in frozen agony.

Like an angry beast it thrashes inside your skull, zinging down your spine, until every nerve ending in your body burns with it.

Stop, you don’t know to whom or what you’re begging but it’s all you can manage.

The edges of your vision begin to blur, your warm Wakandan living room fading to an endless swirl of colors and shapes before shadow crept in. Those shadows swelled consuming everything leaving you in an endless, familiar, void.

By now, this place--realm, or whatever it was that your mind saw when your perception went beyond what you were capable of comprehending--was starting to feel familiar. When you last found yourself here, after a night of too much excess, you’d thought of it as The Nothing.

This time a different thought pushes its way in from somewhere in the abyss.

Oblivion, it whispers.

Yes. That felt right. The perfect word for this void that seemed to exist between all things.

Absently, you wonder if you should feel fear rather than this strange sense of peace. Even the hunger that never left you, the howling need for power the stones planted in the marrow of your bones seemed sated, as though there was power enough hidden in the darkness.

Yes, that same whisper from nowhere and everywhere replies.

Now, the fear comes. You will yourself back, forcing your mind to grasp for existence like a drowning man reaches for the surface.

You shoot upright, gasping for air, squinting in the bright afternoon sun.

Sun shone bright on your face.

This was not your dim room on the Benatar.

And…

“About time,” Steve says groggily from a chair in the corner.

“How?” You croak.

He stands, stretching, and crosses the room to fill a glass of water from the decanter by your bed. You take it gratefully, though you feel the ache for something stronger.

“Rocket and Nebula brought you back yesterday.”

Yesterday.

Futility, you try to piece together a series of events.

The three of you had landed on Paramatar, offloaded the haul, split the credits, and… Things got hazy after that.

“Apparently, you’ve been unconscious for over three days,” he sat on the edge of the bed, looking you over. “You look like shit by the way.”

“Thanks,” you say, voice still rough. “You don’t look dewey either.” His hair had grown longer, his beard thick, the circles under his eyes spoke to too many sleepless nights.

“Shocked you remember what I look like,” he snips.

The shot hits its mark and guilt blooms in your chest.

It had been at least 5 months since you’d spoken to him. Once you’d managed to make it back to something closer to a human you simply couldn’t stand the reminder that speaking to him brought, that you had to come back here eventually. You’d wanted to leave everything. Forget about everything you could manage to and become someone else.

“Sorry,” you say, unable to look at him.

“It’s ok,” his voice sounds distant. When you look at him his gaze is in the middle distance, elbows resting on his knees. “Maybe we all need space.”

He sighs, “Clint left. We don’t know where he is.”

“Natasha?”

“She’s hanging on. Tried to find him but didn’t have any luck.”

“He’ll come back around,” you said with more conviction than you felt.

“Yeah,” he plucks a non-existent piece of lint from his sweatpants.

“I gotta head out soon, some kind of situation brewing in Brazil. Don’t know how long it’ll be,” he runs a hand over his face. “But I assume Rocket and Nebula won’t be hanging around too much longer since you’re up.”

So they had stuck around. More guilt bubbles up.

“And I assume you’ll be going with them.”

It isn’t a question but you answer anyway, “Yeah.” He nods, looking down at his hands.

The silence hangs for several pregnant minutes.

Your palms itch to reach out to him, your heart screams at you to say something, anything. But you just sit.

“Y/N…” his voice almost makes you jump. “On the beach when we…” He clears his throat, “You told me I could go… If I needed to.”

Your stomach drops and with it some of your control.

You had said that. Told Steve that if he was too tired to keep fighting in this life that he had your blessing to leave. Your only request-

“But that I couldn’t go without saying goodbye.”

“Steve,” your voice trembles.

He looks at you then, blue eyes unfathomably sad. Without hesitation you reach out for his hand. Gratitude floods you when he doesn’t pull away.

“The same goes for you,” beneath his words is a barely contained flood of emotions.

“This wasn’t-”

“Don’t,” he shakes his head. Gently he touches the new scar by your eye.

You nod. This was one thing you knew you couldn’t hide from him no matter how hard you tried. It was a game he’d played for longer than you’d been alive. Tempting fate, daring it to kill him.

“Not without goodbye,” he says in almost a whisper.

“Not without goodbye,” you promise and, begrudgingly, you mean it.

He gives your hand a squeeze before he stands, places a kiss on top of your head, and turns to leave.

“Oh and, Y/N…”

“Yeah?”

“Take a shower,” he turns and winks.

“Fuck you, Rogers,” you smile despite everything.

“Don’t die,” he says as he walks out.

“You too.”

With effort you drag your aching body from the bed and make your way to the bathroom. Under the bright light you groan.

Steve had not been wrong. You did look like shit.

The scar Ca’al had graced you with was still bright pink and puffy. Far from roguish or charming. Your cheek bones jutted out in sharp angles, lips pale and cracked. And your hair had grown long enough that the ends had started to curl, making you look like a tired crusty mop.

Only after a minute do you even notice your eyes. They’d become a normal feature, whites shot through with bloody lightning cracks, the tear ducts an angry shade of red.

As you observe yourself the mirror begins to tremble.

“Fuck,” you groan, doubling over to press your forehead to the cool bathroom counter.

Once you feel your control tighten just enough you head straight for your bag, praying that-

Your fingers curl around a small smooth rectangular bottle and you let out a grateful breath. Rocket must have slipped it in. The Ciegrimitian liquor was strong, a touch bitter, and reminded you of roses. It was a favorite.

After two swallows you feel the power inside you settle.

You stare at the slightly iridescent golden pink liquid in the bottle shifting it so it swirls and catches the light.

Maybe it was possible that you could re-learn to control your abilities, after all, you had gotten far more proficient through training with Bucky and later in Wakanda. But that was before the stones.

If Shuri had been right, and she usually had been, your subconscious built barriers around your ability to protect you. While you could push those barriers by honing your ability, strengthening it like any muscle through time and focus, those barriers would and should always remain. The human mind could only be expected to process so much.

Now, if you were right, those barriers were gone. You had no idea how to begin rebuilding them. If you did you weren’t sure you had the energy to care.

Maybe in time…

Time. Weeks. Months. Years. All without Bucky.

You’d rather lose yourself to that Oblivion than think about the stretch of life laid out before you.

As you lift the bottle to take another drink your fist closes on nothing. A few remaining inches of the bottom of the bottle clatter to the floor, spilling the contents.

This wasn’t new, sometimes you lost your grip and your power… unmade something. This time though-

A cry lodges itself in your throat, threatening to choke you.

Around the edges of the piece on the floor and swirling in your hand between the glittering specks of dust--all that remains of the top of the bottle--is a deep undulating blackness. Not shadow, not darkness, a pure absence of everything.

Oblivion, a whisper from somewhere far away calls in your mind.

You bolt for the bathroom, slamming the door behind you, pressing your fist to your mouth to keep from screaming.

It feels like hours before your heart stops trying to beat through your chest and you’re able to draw a full breath. Only then do you realize that, just like in that void, you don’t feel the hunger. Only then do you realize how silent your power is.

The woman in the mirror stares at you with eyes that are less painfully bloodshot than before, the bruise-like hollows beneath them lighter. Her cheeks seem fractionally fuller.

The changes do not feel like an improvement. They feel like abomination.

Demon. Maybe your mother’s husband and M’Baku had been on to something there.

In the shower you decide to bury this. It was a fluke, or maybe even a hallucination. Maybe you were still recovering from the overdose, your body reacting poorly to another substance being put into it. That was it.

“And she lives to make trouble another day!” Rocket calls out from in front of the TV as you make your way to the kitchen in the common area.

“Much to your chagrin,” you say, opening a cabinet.

“Coffee is in the one on the left,” Natasha pipes up. She takes a seat at the island. “I’ll take some too,” her wan smile doesn’t reach her own tired eyes.

You open the can of Bustelo and breathe in the rich smell. It reminds you of better times--of bodega breakfasts before you knew there was such a thing as Hydra, of slow music-filled afternoons with Bucky. Quickly you blink away the tears threatening to fall.

It was just coffee.

For several minutes the only sound was the burble of the coffee pot and the drone of the flatscreen. The lack of conversation didn’t feel awkward so much as tired, everyone worn down by the grief and turmoil of the last 11 months.

When the coffee was done you poured Natasha a cup, grabbing the half and half from the fridge, remembering her preference from when you’d been on the run with the fractured Avengers. She nodded her thanks, silently fixing her cup.

Your own black brew sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine, a hum of satisfaction slipping free.

“I mean it’s good but I don’t know if it’s that good,” Natasha teases.

“Haven’t had coffee since I left,” you say savoring another sip. Her brows raise at that. Honestly, the fact that you’d hardly missed it was more concerning than your increased drinking habit.

“Maybe we should bring some,” Rocket sniffs the air. “Smells nice.”

You meet his gaze, relief flooding you. A part of you had been afraid that you wouldn’t be welcome back on the Benatar. Honestly, you wouldn’t have blamed them if that was the case. Rocket called you Trouble for a reason after all.

“I will try it,” Nebula announces as she takes a seat beside Natasha.

“Alright. You?” Rocket nods.

You pour a small amount for Nebula and use an espresso cup for Rocket.

Nebula downs her’s in one go, face crinkling. You can’t help but laugh.

“Bitter but palatable,” she says.

“Just like you,” you quip.

Nebula almost smiles, “Is there more?”

The next few hours feel almost normal. No one talked about grief or loss. Natasha complained about the foods that were in short supply, Rocket bitched about prices on contraband being low. You told Natasha the weirder things about space, funny things, like hurling when the ship lost gravity for a few hours. Just friends catching up over coffee.

Except it wasn’t. And, by the end, that fact had left a bitter taste in your mouth.

By the time you got on the Benatar the next afternoon, that bitterness had fermented into rage that no amount of drink was going to cool.

You needed to hit something. Hard.

TAGS

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @saundrasays @breezy1415 @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes @jazztherebel @peachthatdrinkslemonade @regulusirius @auskitty @babyimp1967 @katecolleen @handplucked @darkdragonphoenix @issanitydead @thestorydetective @buckysstar @greyeyedsmile14 @watchoutforfrostbite @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 @jdoenson @gamorazenn @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @demonlover87 @winterboobearsworld @this-kitten-is-smitten @amorluzymelodia @nutellakirb @nighttwingg @coffeebeforewater @shesalatesh @maniacproffesor

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #Steve Rogers #post infinity war #marvel fic

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blissfulalchemist · 4 years ago

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Happy Birthday Cat!

It’s Cat’s one year anniversary and in honor of that I have her birthday party from canon prepared! It is also on Ao3!

Thank you all for the support and the love that you give her! She wouldn’t have stuck around this long if it wasn’t for you all!

How strange for Catlina to be waking up before Theo now after years of hearing him move about as he got ready for work. Here she woke to the sounds of his breathing, his arm draped around her or holding onto her hand, like it is now, refusing to let her leave him again. Almost like old times. Almost like they were at their intended destination. Almost like some things had never happened. Almost….

She turns to her side watching as his chest moves up and down with each steady breath, the way the sunlight catches his face the shadows she knew anywhere to be him. They were supposed to be back home by now, sharing news that would have brought joy to everyone around them. Preparing and making sure everything was ready despite still having three months to do so. Those dances in the kitchen and his blue-. No. Black. His black eyes looking down at her as he tried to steal a taste of their meal. Life would have been perfect….everything she ever wanted. They wanted.

Her fingers trace the scars on his face and arm, many stemming from the accident that brought them to this situation, having to sleep above a bar after spending nearly five months away from each other. Cat’s ring catches the sunlight streaming through, the rainbows scattering around Theo’s chest where it lays on a necklace, the leather in her bracelet dulling the shine of her husband’s matching one. They’d have to try and leave soon, that’s all they could keep talking about, getting out and leaving this place in the past. She kept convincing them to stay, just for a little bit longer. It was too dangerous to go just yet, the car needed fixing, the people needed help with securing something that was lost to them, it was the right thing to do to make sure everyone was going to be okay. They were no heroes though, this wasn’t their job to do so much, people were looking for them, life had to return to normal eventually, it was more dangerous to stay.

And they were right.

There was no need for them to stay. They had each other and they could all go home. Getting Catlina out was the only reason they stayed for so long. It was only her that wanted to stay….for him. If this place was going in the direction she thought it was then John wouldn’t be safe. Faith wouldn’t be safe, Lance wouldn’t be safe. The people she grew to love and care for in this place would be at the mercy of people that knew nothing about them. They had to stay….Cat had to stay at the very least. The men could get out, they could get help, finally this place could be free of Joseph and his influence. He was the cause of all this. The beginning of this terror and he’d be the end of it, she had to make sure of that. She would make sure of that fact.

Theo stirred, eyes closed as he turned to face her, thumb rubbing circles on the top of her hand, “Have you been up all night again,” he whispered.

Cat shook her head, “Just about an hour or so.”

He gave a small smile, eyes opening slowly, the smile fading as he took in her face, fingertips brushing the side of her face, “You had a nightmare again didn’t you?”

“No,” she lied softly, “I just woke up is all.”

“Cat, I know you better than that,” he propped himself on his elbow, moving the hair from her face, “I can tell when you’re lying.”

She gave a shrug, “So what if I did? It’s no different than any other night at this point.”

“You never talk about them,” Theo tilted her chin to look at him better, “I know that’s not a good thing for you. You’ll just push it down until it gets worse.”

“We just don’t have time to really worry about that stuff,” she said moving her chin from his grip, “I’ll deal with it when we get back home.”

She hoped for his smile at the prospect of going home, but was met with concern, “I just don’t want you to get worse before that though, my love.” He wrapped an arm around her, kissing her forehead, “We all suffered here in different ways,” Theo let out a breath through his nose, fingers touching the spaces between the forming scars on her back, “None of us can imagine what you went through.” I don’t think anyone could, “You’re safe here, you can start to work through these things. Isn’t that what you told the new patients?”

“I won’t get bad,” she caressed his face, gently placing a kiss on his lips, “I promise you,” she whispered. Catlina knew the look on his face well enough to know that he didn’t believe her, or at the very least keep an extra eye on her. “How about I get some breakfast started,” she got up from the bed walking to the small kitchen, pulling on one of the big shirts lying around searching the cabinets, “Pancakes or just eggs and bacon?”

Theo sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Only if we have what’s needed for pancakes.” She smiled, pulling down the flour and sugar, “I think Jax and them are gonna be stopping by too, so-.”

“Make enough for them too,” Cat laughed, “When have you ever known me to not take them into consideration?”

He stood stretching out his body when there was a knock at the door that quickly turned to banging, “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Theo called out, rolling his eyes, “You’d think there’s a zombie apocalypse going on.”

Cat snickered, “You’re the one that always encouraged Jax to just bang on the door.”

Theo unlocked the door, jumping as it quickly opened, “Which is why you had to cave and give me a key,” Jax called out, giving an exaggerated bow, blonde hair messily falling into his face.

“Can we go just five minutes without you being so loud,” Jax’s older brother said, rubbing his temple, “How we lived this long as free men is beyond me.”

“Cause you kept him in the planes Darren,” Theo joked, giving a quick hug to the eldest member of their group, “Only one hearing him was Nick, who’d join in to annoy ol’ Johnny boy.”

“Best part of my days, honestly,” Jax said, throwing himself onto the bed apple in hand, “Wonder how many times he muted me.” He took a bite, eyes landing on Cat as she poured batter into the pan, “Did you get to hear any of it, Catty? Bet it put a smile on your face.”

She rolled her eyes at the old nickname, the faintest flare of anger sparking before seeing Trey finally make his way into the small space, “They actually had me doing some work, so I didn’t hear anything.” Jax’s smile faltered before giving a quick shrug, starting up a conversation with Theo, their laughter over taking any remaining space.

Trey made his way to Cat, standing close leaning against the counter, “You doing okay? Getting enough sleep,” he whispered.

Cat nodded, keeping her eyes focused on the stove, “No need to ask me that every time you see me.”

“How can I not?” Trey picked at his nails, “After last time-.”

She held her hand up, “Stop,” Cat’s brown eyes meeting his blue ones, same as Jax’s, “I’ve told you time and again that it wasn’t your fault.” Her words came out in a near growl as she grabbed the plate for the completed pancakes, “You and I both know who was behind it all.” Cat took a breath, calming the spreading and burning ache in her chest, her grip loosening on the spatula. Trey gave a slow nod, helping in taking over the flipping of pancakes, nudging Cat towards the fridge.

“Oh hey that reminds me,” Jax’s voice stood out among the thoughts in Cat’s mind, “Cat you’re birthday’s in a few days. What do you want to do for it?”

Theo nodded in agreement, “Yeah. What do you want to do to celebrate it?”

“Not much we can do to celebrate this year,” she said flatly, “I think we can skip out on the birthday this year.”

“Nope,” her husband stated, moving to hug her from behind, kissing her temple, “You never let me skip out on a birthday so we’re not skipping out on yours.”

“Bet we could throw a party!” All heads swiveled to Jax, his fist thrown into the air, “What? It's the perfect thing to do.”

“We don’t know anyone here,” Trey pointed out, “Don’t think they’d want to come to some party for someone they didn’t know.”

“Hey a party is a party, people here will show up.”

“Where are you even going to have this party?” Cat asked.

Darren hummed before snapping his fingers, “Wonder if we could just have downstairs at the Spread, seems like everyone hangs out there anyway.”

The whole group smiled, “I bet if you asked Mary May she’d say yes to you Darry,” Trey teased his older brother, the red starting to creep up Darren’s neck, “You know she was downstairs doing some inventory, you should go and ask her right now.”

“We were just gonna have breakfast,” Darren said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’ll be here by the time you get back,” Cat said, “You have better things to take care of right now it seems.”

“Yeah, go and woo Miss May off her feet,” Jax said sincerely, eyes closed until he gave a smirk, “Then maybe show her why they call it the Spread Eagle.”

Darren threw a pillow at his younger brother, “God come on.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Go be a perv somewhere else.”

“Don’t think it’s Darry that needs to be laid.”

“Oh come on you all were thinking it,” Jax tried to defend.

“No, we weren’t,” they all said in unison, Jax crossing his arms grumbling to himself.

“Party does sound like a good plan though,” Theo told Cat softly, “People here just want to have some fun, forget about what’s going on for just a little bit.”

“I don’t know,” she let out in a groan, “Seems weird to be throwing a party honestly.”

Theo’s fingers found her waist, their light touch tickling her, “Come on,” he whispered in her ear, smiling, “you used to love a party for people’s birthdays. You don’t even have to really plan it.” Cat let out a yelp, devolving into a laugh as her husband continued to tickle her, “Me and the guys will do all of it for you.”

“You’re gonna make me burn the bacon,” she whined between her bursts of laughter, feeling her sides start to hurt. He didn’t stop, lifting her from the ground at one point, asking her again and again. “Okay fine!” Cat started to relent, “If I say yes will you stop with the tickling me and let me make breakfast?” He nodded, the other men following along with him, “Fine you can throw a party for me. I’m not going to touch the planning though as this was your idea.”

There was a chorus of cheers as Cat rolled her eyes, Theo kissing her, “Trust me it’s going to be fun.”

The men kept their promise in keeping Cat far from the planning, making it a near surprise party. The day of Theo was out of the small apartment early in the day, making it clear that she stayed in the apartment as much as possible. Easy enough to do as it was the first time in a while Cat was truly alone in a safe place, her body dictating that she catch up on the missing sleep. Dreamless and peaceful, the sky having darkened by the time she woke. There was still no sign of Theo having returned yet, but the time on the clock prompted her to start getting ready, sifting through her clothing options.

They were nothing compared to the selection she had at John’s, something for every occasion if she so wanted. Cat laid out three outfits on the bed mulling them over, none really feeling like anything special while being able to cover some of the scars and the sin on her collarbone. She’d have to ask Mary May if there was anything else she could borrow to wear for tonight. Cat slipped some shoes on opening the door lightly kicking a box in front of it.

It was a plain white box, with a white envelope on top, name written in familiar handwriting. Cat smiled picking it up, feeling the weight of it, there had to be more than some clothes within it. She sat on the bed crossed legged, reaching for the note first, the cardstock edged in glossy black lines, the stylized cross of Eden’s Gate in the lower right corner. Definitely John, she thought smiling to herself, looking the rest of the note over.

Always noticed how you admired this dress and would tell me you wish you could find an excuse to wear it. I heard there was a party being thrown in your honor, the perfect excuse, don’t you think?

Happy birthday, Catlina.

- John

She lifted the lid off the box, gasping as her eyes landed on the light pink chiffon dress with an even lighter layer of blue creating a faint purple in certain lights and angles. The bell sleeves three quarter length, a v neck that would cover most of her collarbone, and the length of the dress coming to her midthigh. John was right in that she always admired it, the color never right for the role she had chosen, given. The fabric was still soft like she remembered, the waist hitting at just the right place when she would try it on when left to her own devices, loving how the skirt flared as she twirled. She beamed holding it close to her as she looked at the matching shoes, white lace up wedge heels, simple, just what the dress needed.

Cat quickly tossed the box in the trash, the note left turned over on the nightstand, quickly making her way to the bathroom to get ready. She was in the process of pinning her hair into a half up hair do, making sure the curls were placed just so with the bobby pins, when Theo walked through the door. He smiled taking over for her in the places he knew she couldn’t reach properly, “I see you found a new dress,” she smiled nodding, “Guess some of the locals do have your sense of style.”

Cat glanced down, cheeks blushing, “Guess so,” she rubbed some of the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, “You like it?”

“You make anything look beautiful,” he says softly, arms wrapping around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder, “so of course I like it.” He kissed her cheek, “You’ll be a stand out.” Cat turned to face him pulling him down to kiss her on the lips, his smile evident before he patted her shoulder, “Let me get ready so I can show you off to everyone down stairs.”

The two of them could already feel the hum of voices and music below them, as they gave each other a once over. Cat’s heart pounded as they made their way down the stairs, noticing the packed parking lot, and bodies crowding in the bar creating a fog on the windows in the late October night. There was a cheer from their friends as the couple walked in, others in the bar joining in, briefly drowning out the music playing. The brothers embraced her, Jax handing over a vodka seven, “Tried asking for something more to your taste but well,” he gave a shrug taking a drink from his bottle.

“Vodka is vodka,” she yelled, drinking half the glass in the first try, “Oh wait. How many drinks can I have?”

“It’s an open bar for you, love,” Theo whispered in her ear, “Mary May doesn’t expect you to drink much,” he laughed Cat lightly hitting his chest.

She finished the drink, putting the glass on the table, the blonde woman smiled, getting another one poured for her, “Let’s see how well you can hold your liquor girl.”

Cat gave her a wink, holding her glass up, “Alright boys, let’s make a toast for tonight!”

The four men smiled bringing their drinks up, “Cheers!” There was a clink of the glass, all of them taking sips from their drinks, Cat finishing hers in one go, another glass appearing next to her. She sipped on the third drink as Theo took her on a round of introducing people and thanking them for coming out, her laughter and smiles coming more easily as the drinks started to take hold. The song changed to one that Cat knew of in passing, the melody taking over her movements as she pulled Theo out to the dance floor, laughing as he took the lead to the disco track. Her drink was quickly finished as the first verse finished, her hands more occupied with keeping hold of Theo.

The two were joined by another on the dance floor, moonwalking with his flame tattooed arm outstretched to her, “Now here’s someone that knows some good music when she hears it,” his voice brash and clear over the noise of the bar. Cat took his hand following his lead in the dance, laughing as her drunken state had her stumbling through some of the moves. She found herself singing along trying to recall his name, something with fish that’s all she could remember, but he was fun and that’s what mattered. As the song was coming near its close he twirled her back towards Theo, “Gotta keep you in mind for a dance partner in the future, birthday girl.”

She wasn't sure where the next drink came from but Cat took it feeling herself moving from conversation to conversation, dancing with various locals all of their names and faces blurring together. Theo was never far from her, keeping an eye on her as she talked to everyone and anyone. Admittedly he was glad to see her close to the Cat he married and loved just a few months ago. All of them were close to their old selves, the most normal things had felt. As it should have been. Cat had struck up a conversation with Nick Rye, her eyes going wide and gasping holding onto his arm when she came up with ideas for whatever it was they were discussing, Theo leaning against the bar watching amused.

“You still want the karaoke machine going soon,” Mary May asked him, offering another bottle, Theo declining it.

“Yeah, she’s at that point now where she’ll enjoy it the most,” Cat looked over to him, waving excitedly before quickly going back to the conversation, “How many drinks has she had?”

“Five,” Mary May frowned, counting on her fingers, “Maybe this is six, I think Sharky ordered her one.”

Theo raised his eyebrows, “And she’s still standing. I’m both impressed and worried about how she’ll be if she has any more.”

“You want her cut off for the night?”

Theo shook his head, “She’ll start slowing down once the music gets going and having some cake.” He watched as Catlina took in her empty glass, making her way back to the bar, arms wrapping around Theo’s neck, kissing him, biting his lower lip, “I see we’re having fun.”

She nodded, “Mhm, lo’ss of fun. Thiss was a good idea,” she threw her hands up, “Great idea!”

“This only just the start too, my love,” Cat gasped, handing her glass to Mary May, fingers slipping on it, “We’re going to have some cake.”

“Jus’ for me? You got cake for me? For my birfday?”

Theo nodded, “Jax and I even found a karaoke machine,” he whispered, laughing as her hands moved under his shirt, fingers playing with the edge of his jeans, “Got it all set up too.”

She gasped, “Karakoke?! There’s karakoke tonight?” Theo nodded once more, “I LOVE karaoke!” Mary May handed over another drink cat taking hold of it, “Thank you Mary May. Did you hear?!”

“No darlin’, seems I missed the memo,” the woman responded leaning on the bar amused, “What’s happenin’?”

“There’s gonna be karaoke tonigh’ cause my hubby loves me sooo much,” Cat slurred, her free hand running through Theo’s dark hair, “Isn’ that awesome! People can sin’ their favorite songs! And e’eryone else ge’s to haf fun with them!”

“That does sound like a fun time,” Mary May laughed, “If it slows down I might join you for a song or two.”

Cat smiled looking up at Theo, “You hear that! She gonna join me for a song cause it’s my birthday!”

“I heard her, Cat,” he teased, sitting her on the bar stool, “I’m going to run to the bathroom, so you just stay right here.” He pointed a finger at her, “Don’t move from this spot. I’ll just be right back.”

Cat gave a salute watching as he walked towards the back of the building, Mary May leaving to help someone else. She was left giggling to herself sipping from the small straw, eyes scanning the crowded bar, a silhouette outside catching her eye. She jumped down, taking her drink as she made her way outside, stumbling as she reached for the nonexistent doorknob. The cold night air felt good on her warm skin as she looked to her right spotting John easily in the night.

“John!” She exclaimed, skipping towards him, his arms outstretched, readying to catch her, “John it’s my birthday, did you hear?” She tripped just as she reached him, John catching her as some of her drink fell to the ground.

John put a finger to his lips, Cat nodding laughing as she did the same, Quiet yes. No one needs to know he’s here, “I did,” he laughed as he steadied her, “and it looks like you’ve been celebrating.”

“I have!” She lowered her head, finger to her lips, “Shhhh, right, right,” Cat tried again whispering, “Have you? John you have to have been celebratin’ my birthday,” her hand landed on his chest, spreading open as she felt the familiar muscle beneath the blue shirt nearly buttoned up all the way. She blinked a few times, tilting her head, “You did too many buttons,” she set the drink down on one of the tables, fingers fiddling with the upper buttons, “It’s not John enough.”

“Catlina,” he said, grabbing her hands, “I can’t stay for very long.”

“Sure you can,” she muttered, “My party I make the rules.” Her hands went back to undoing the buttons on his shirt, making it to the middle of his torso before she paused, “I miss this,” her fingers traced John’s abdomen, “This was always very nice, very sexy of you.”

John sighed, putting her hands back at her sides as he redid the buttons leaving some at the top unbuttoned like he normally did. “You shouldn’t miss me, Catlina,” he ran his fingers lightly down her neck and arm, “Not like that.”

Her eyes looked over his body, biting her lower lip, suppressing her giggle, “I can miss whatever I’d like. Like this,” her hands started to reach for his pants, stopping herself, “Well you know what I mean.”

John’s blue eyes looked to the half full glass, “How many have you had so far?” Cat looked down to her hands, counting on them, holding up seven fingers, smiling, “Oh you’re seven years old,” John said mockingly, laughing as Cat inhaled, jaw dropping.

She gave him a light push, stumbling, “Tha’ss so rude, John-o.”

“I think you set yourself up for that one.” He glanced to the inside of the building, grabbing hold of her hand, “I don’t have a lot of time,” John’s eyes sparkled in the blue neon lights, “Let’s go somewhere a little more private.”

“John,” she said following him, “I don’t think I can accept that kind of birthday present from you.”

John pulled them to the side of the building looking at her with a bemused look, “I-. Catlina, I have a present for you but it does not involve the removal of clothes.”

“Oh,” she said nodding, “Oh! Okay I understand now.” Her eyes met John’s, legs swaying, the words he said processing, “Wait you gave me a gif’ though.” She took a step back turning, “See. You had me put clothes on.”

He laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, “That was one present yes, but I have another one for you. It just came a little late is all.”

He reached into jacket pocket, Cat finally realizing there were little planes on the trench coat, “When did you put planes on the coat?”

He laughed again, the sound musical to Catlina’s ears, “They’ve always been there Catlina. You told me it was pretentious the first time you saw it.”

“Did I?” She thought for a moment, “Well that was rude of me.”

“We weren’t really friendly at the time, my dear,” John pulled out a box handing it to her, “so it was deserved.”

She took the box, “Still very rude of me,” Cat turned the box over figuring out how to open it, “I just can pull on the rib’on right?” John gave a nod, smiling, watching as Cat pulled the ribbon off, her fingers struggling to pull the lid off, “They make boxes hard for birthday people.”

He put his hands over hers, “Here let me help you then,” the lid came off with ease and Cat’s eyes went wide seeing the gift inside.

It was a thick leather bracelet, engraved with flowers, a purple and blue pendant with a silver plane flying over what looked like a generic mountain range. The box fell to the ground as she looked closer at the details, the flowers familiar even in her inebriated state, they were the ones she loved to pick whenever she and John would walk the open space around the Ranch. The pendant was filled with some kind of glitter letting the background look like a night sky, the plane shaped much like John’s. Her mind wandered to the night before she knew anything about Theo being alive still, how she accepted he was gone, and allowed herself to fully fall for John. The night that she told John that she loved him.

“I don’ think you made this, did you?”

John shook his head, “No. I tried and it….didn’t go very well.”

“The leather is pretty,” she wrapped it around her wrist, “Who did you find to make it?”

“That was all Mr. Powell,” John helped in tying it secure around her wrist, “Said he knew someone in the Project that used to do leather work and gave him the details I wrote out months ago.”

“So much bad happened though,” she mused softly, “You were still okay getting it for me?”

John let out a sigh, his hand cupping the side of her face gently, “Let’s just say I was taking a page out of your book and hoping for the best.” Catlina looked into his eyes, the urge to lean up and kiss him stronger with the alcohol running through her, John pulling back first. “Mr. Powell made you a little something too I guess.”

“How is he doin’? I miss him,” she took the small package from John, holding it close to her chest, a shiver running through her, “Is he sad?”

“If he is, he hasn’t told me,” John rubbed the back of his neck, “Mr. Powell hasn’t said much of anything to me, just handed me the gifts today and went back to his duties.” Cat gave a nod, rubbing her upper arms, “Here let’s get you back inside, get you warm.”

Catlina let John lead her to the door, “You should stay,” she whispered, “At least for my performance.”

He raised a brow, “Performance?”

“Theo found karaoke. I get to perform.” Cat grabbed a hold of John’s hand, “Please. It’s my birthday.”

“Might not be the best idea,” his eyes narrowed looking into the windows.

“My rules,” she pressed, squeezing his hand tighter, “I say you stay.”

“No one wants me in there, Catlina,” his voice growing irritated, “I can’t stay.”

“You can too!” Her own frustration growing as she tried to pull him with her inside, “I say who stays.”

He fought against her easily, his jaw clenching as she kept pressing him to stay and join the party. “Catlina, stop!” He snapped, Cat flinching, taking a step back, “I said stop.” She crossed her arms over her chest, tears brimming in her eyes, looking up at John, he met them, face softening. John let out a slow breath through his nose, shaking his head slowly, “I’ll see if I can, but you need to get inside first.” He opened the door half pushing her into the bar, slinking back to the shadows quickly.

Cat stumbled in, quickly finding her husband and friends, “There you are!” Theo called out to her, hands on her shoulders, “Where did you go? And why are you freezing?”

“I uh-. I needed some air. It got too hot in here,” she laughed, “and I didn’t feel like taking off all my clothes.” Cat laughed harder, Theo rolling his eyes, “You get it! Like the song!”

“I know my love, I know,” his dark eyes landed on the new leather bracelet and small package in her hand, “What’s that?”

Cat looked back down to her hand, “Oh! Lance gave me a present. I wanna open it later,” she placed it in her husband’s pocket, “You get to keep it safe. And I need another drink before we get this party going.”

Cat made her way to the bar leaving the men behind, “Did you notice the bracelet, Jax?”

“Yeah,” he jutted his chin in her direction, “and the dress. Only one person that could have come from.”

“You’re right,” the two men waved when Cat caught their eyes again, “We may have to take bigger precautions, cause I don’t think he’s just going to leave her alone once we get home.”

Jax nodded, “You got any ideas?”

“Not right this second,” he put a smile on his face as Cat made her way back to them, stumbling slightly, “We’ll figure one out tomorrow though.” Cat fell into Theo’s arms, laughing, “Okay, honey, I think it’s time we cut you off after this for the night.”

“Tha’s fair,” her smile bright as she poked Jax’s chest, “Go and get the usual song all set up please.”

“It’s all ready to go wherever you are,” he finished his bottle tossing it in the trash, “You want me to be back up?”

“I want you all to be back up,” she grabbed both their hands, “Come on, let’s do this!”

“What about your drink?” Theo asked, “Jax will get his brothers while you finish it.”

“Oh good plan,” she waved Jax off, sipping on her drink, “I don’t think she put any vodka in here.”

“I saw her pour some in there,” he checked making sure he had the right number for the song, “You’re just that drunk, my love.”

Cat nodded, quickly finishing the drink as Jax dragged over his two reluctant brothers. She let out a small scream hugging each of them in thanks. “Now we can really be Queen! We have the right amount of members!”

Darren cleared his throat, “Actually there were only four members, including the lead singer.” Cat counted on her hand a few times, “With that in mind I’m gonna sit this one out.”

She grabbed onto his arm, “Wait! No you have to help us somehow!”

“Yeah I’m gonna do,” he held the last vowel looking for an exit, “I’m gonna do sound check, make sure it plays the right thing.”

She gave a nod, releasing him, “That is a very important job, you’re right.” Darren quickly made his way to blend into the crowd, that were starting to look towards the stage curious.

“Mary May,�� Sharky called out, “you never said nothin’ bout havin’ a karaoke machine!”

“You’re the reason they had to put it away, cousin,” another man told him, “You got too into it last time.”

“If I recall correctly, so’s was you!”

“Well either way,” Mary May said, forcing herself between their conversation, “you boys are gonna keep control of yourselves. It's only out for a night.”

Cat laughed to herself as her friends helped her on stage, handing over a mic. She smoothed out her dress, this version giving a few opening notes before going right into the lyrics, clearing her throat. “Is this the real life, is this just fantasy,” the four performers started a drunken cheer coming from the crowd as the background music was turned up. There wasn’t a ton of room on the small stage limiting her normal dance routine for this song, however there was a fake electric guitar on stage that Trey had on, faking the first guitar solo. As the second part of the song started more people were singing along, Cat holding out the mic towards them as patrons of the bar made their way closer.

It was a call and response section that was getting many excited, their singing filling the bar. By the second solo many were jumping, head banging, and just about anything else to fill themselves with joy. It was during this part that Cat noticed John’s familiar form in the corner near the door, hiding his laughter. Her smile grew and she prepared herself to throw herself in the crowd, Theo and Jax reaching for her a little too late as the people lifted her with ease moving her above their heads as she sang, finding herself back on the stage by the last few notes. The four of them took a bow to a roaring applause, Sharky and the man, whose name still escaped her, screaming the loudest.

Catlina kept her eyes fixated on the back of the building seeing John giving a slow clap, smile on his face. She screamed, laughing as Theo lifted her down from the stage, “That was fun,” she shouted as the next group looked through the book, “But I need another drink!” A plate was handed to her, strawberry cake with a white buttercream frosting, “Oh! Okay cake first!” She broke a piece off with her fingers, looking up at Theo holding it up as if to feed it to him, smashing it in his face once he got close enough. She bent over laughing at his face, tears starting to stream down her face, “Best birthday ever!”

#salvations two paths #catlina rojas oc #we made it this far girl!#drunk cat #I hope you all enjoy it!#I'll just reblog it later

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vulturhythm · 5 years ago

Text

suds

jaskier is accustomed to getting what he wants - at least a majority of the time.

he’s slept with nearly every man or woman he’s set his sights upon, and some of them have come back for more.

he’s been hired to perform at the banquets of the wealthiest and most prestigious nobles, and in the courts of kings.

all in all, he wants for nothing.

well, he didn’t want for nothing.

all that changed when he met geralt.

jaskier doubts he will ever forget his first glimpse of geralt, an imposing figure alone in the corner. he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he was perhaps playing up his dance for the benefit of the silver fox, letting his legs splay and his back arch with every turn, and yet, geralt spared him no more than a passing glance.

even when jaskier approached, skin thrumming with adrenaline and delight, geralt seemed less than interested.

most people would have taken him to bed in a heartbeat, but geralt didn’t care.

that became the theme for them - geralt doesn’t care.

jaskier has lost count of the times he’s gotten himself off in stolen moments of solitude to the vision of geralt above him, inside him, swallowing him down... of the times he’s fallen into bed with people who remind him of his witcher in one way or another, but they are never the same, never quite enough.

jaskier satisfies himself with what little he can get, though it leaves a bitter pain in his heart - with nursing geralt’s cuts and bruises, with cleaning the grime from his hair.

he isn’t sure when he becomes geralt’s fucking handmaiden, but somewhere along the line, pouring buckets of water over geralt’s head becomes burying his hands in those icy locks, and that becomes scrubbing the layers of filth from powerful arms and a more powerful chest, and, well, geralt always takes over for everything below the waist, but jaskier...

jaskier can’t help but yearn.

he thinks he’s fated to yearn until his deathbed.

he truly never expected things to change.

—

it’s late evening, and geralt is just as cantankerous as any old man, grousing about jaskier’s insistence to have his clothes washed even as he sinks back in the tub.

really, jaskier thinks geralt is a child sometimes.

well, regardless, he isn’t one to mess up routine, and so he drops a good handful of bath salts into the water before he pulls a little wooden stool up to the tub and sits himself down.

“you do an awful lot of complaining about clean clothes for someone covered in guts all the time,” he points out when geralt stops his grumbling for a moment, dipping his hands into the water before picking up a bar of soap and giving it a vigorous rub. he sets it down once his hands are well-lathered, shoving them into geralt’s wet hair with little fanfare. “really, i would think you’d enjoy being clean.”

geralt makes a sound rather like a contented boar, leaning his head back as jaskier sets to scrubbing. “my issue is not with cleanliness, it’s with my clothes being sent off without my knowledge, jaskier.”

the bard clicks his tongue, shaking his head when geralt glowers up at him and working his fingers lower to the base of his skull, where he knows it makes geralt relax.

really, he knows far too much about the body of a man he hasn’t fucked.

“you know the routine by now, you stubborn oaf - you kill the monster, come back covered in guts, i send your clothes off and clean you so you don’t reek of death for twenty days after. really, geralt, stop grousing.”

his witcher merely huffs, closing his eyes, and jaskier knows the conversation is over.

he sighs, letting himself hum a merry tune as he works... and, as always, he lets his gaze wander.

he’s had plenty of time to memorize every scar across the witcher’s body in the years they’ve traveled together, but he still takes comfort in the myriad of raised flesh and pockmarked wounds - all proof that geralt has fought and killed, and has not yet been killed. proof that geralt lives.

jaskier wishes, frequently, that he could lave his tongue along the scars, could kiss and lick over the flesh in between.

with a sigh, he finishes lathering up geralt’s hair and reaches for the second bucket of water beside his stool, giving a little sound of warning; geralt tips his chin down, and jaskier pours the water over his head, rinsing out the suds.

“any sore spots?” he asks, breaking the silence, as he picks up the bar of soap again. he lathers up his hands as he waits for a response.

geralt doesn’t answer at first, and jaskier knows he’s taking inventory. finally, he grunts, shaking his head, and jaskier heaves a sigh, moving from the stool to kneel on the floor by the tub. “right, then.”

it’s routine - geralt sinks lower in the water, reclines on the edge of the tub, rests his arms on the sides, and closes his eyes.

jaskier starts with his shoulders first, and, as always, he’s massaging away the tension just as much as he’s scrubbing away the dirt. so what if it’s as much for his own benefit as it is for geralt? so what if he adores feeling all that power just beneath geralt’s skin, hot and heady and absolutely maddening, even though he knows he can’t experience it for himself?

except...

except he has experienced it for himself.

there have been times when geralt grabs him by the arm, all but throws him to the side like it’s nothing - usually to keep him out of harm’s way, which makes it all the sexier, honestly. other times, too, geralt has hauled him up onto roach’s back with a single hand and not even a grimace of exertion.

jaskier shifts on his knees, reaching for the bar of soap to lather his hands again before he begins to clean geralt’s chest, movements slow and methodical along his - frankly unfair - musculature. geralt breathes out a low, rumbling sigh, and jaskier’s jaw tightens.

really, he doesn’t think he can be blamed for letting his mind wander...

for letting himself wonder just what might happen if he were to wash geralt’s legs, too, for once... how high up his thighs geralt might permit jaskier’s hands to climb...

biting back a sigh, jaskier does his best to push the thought from his mind.

he doesn’t know why their customary silence is insufficient today - why there’s a sort of restless fire just below his skin.

well, actually, he knows exactly fucking why, and he refuses to give it the time of day...

but...

a little experimenting never hurt anyone, right?

“legs up,” he says aloud, before he even has the chance to second-guess himself, and he’s proud of himself for the way his voice is steady - chipper, even.

geralt opens his eyes, gives him a look of vague confusion, although there’s no frustration. “what?”

“legs on the edge,” jaskier says, as if it’s obvious. “so i can wash them.”

evidently, reminding jaskier of their routine isn’t worth the energy it would take to utter more than a monosyllabic word, so geralt huffs and obeys, propping his legs up on the edges of the tub, and, melitele’s tits, jaskier is already wondering if he’s going to survive this.

the man is just unfairly fucking built.

with a sigh, jaskier reaches for the soap once again, lathers up his hands, and reaches for geralt’s calves. he figures that’s a safe enough place to start.

geralt doesn’t complain, so...

well, so jaskier keeps going.

once geralt’s feet and ankles and calves are cleaned, he works up a little higher, up to the crease of his knee; geralt jolts a little, and jaskier feels a bit of disbelief that he’s ticklish.

interesting.

he sets to humming again, just to keep himself steady, although, as his hands move up one of geralt’s thighs. slowly, slowly... cautious...

and he’s pretty damn sure is head is spinning now, because he can see through the water, has to look to make sure he doesn’t do anything untoward, and, fuck, geralt...

geralt is hung.

his cock is laying soft between his spread legs, but even now, it’s big - jaskier wonders, wildly, if he’s a shower or, maybe, somehow, a grower.

surely that thing can’t get any bigger than it is - it would split him in half if so.

now there’s a thought...

he grimaces when he realizes he’s beginning to grow hard; drawing in a shaky breath, he shifts on his knees by the tub, finishing with a cursory pass of his hand over geralt’s hipbone beneath the water before he stands and moves to the other side.

geralt pays him no mind; he’s not completely relaxed, but it’s a near thing, and his grip on the edge of the tub is loose, head tipped back and eyes shut tight.

jaskier bites his lip, very pointedly keeping his eyes above the waist as he sets to work on geralt’s other thigh.

on his fucking massive other thigh.

... his eyes don’t stay above the waist for very long.

he can’t help but wonder what would happen if.... if he just...

jaskier draws in a breath, shuts his eyes, says a prayer to the pantheon that he won’t be castrated for this... and lets his hands stray.

he’s cautious as he wraps a hand around geralt’s soft length, stunned almost into motionlessness when geralt only barely stirs, breathing in sharply.

jaskier’s eyes snap up to his face, but geralt’s eyes remain shut, so he continues, fingertips straying over the head of his cock, then back down, forming a loose fist that he pumps once, slow.

this time, geralt shifts in the tub, fingers flexing on the edges. jaskier pauses, and he hears geralt breathe in again, deeper now.

the witcher’s eyes fly open as jaskier shifts on his knees once again, trying his best to relieve the pressure on his now-aching cock.

“jaskier,” he says, low. “i can smell you.”

“geralt - “ he begins, faint, but the larger man is in motion, and jaskier makes to recoil, but geralt’s hand closes around his wrist before he can. “i didn’t - “

geralt cuts him off with a rough noise, holding his gaze just as firmly as his arm; jaskier’s hand is frozen on his shaft, and he knows he isn’t imagining the way it’s hardening within his grasp.

fuck.

at last, geralt loosens his hold, sinking back against the side of the tub, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from jaskier’s. with the arch of a brow, he lets go.

jaskier is pretty damn sure he’s died and ascended.

he sets back to work, his movements just as slow as ever; as geralt’s cock fills out, jaskier realizes that, yes, he is most definitely a grower.

fuck.

geralt says nothing, merely reclines there, merely watches him...

jaskier understands, somehow, that he isn’t to talk. not yet.

he bites his lip, presses his thighs together, moves his hand a little faster.

it isn’t long before geralt is fully hard, hot and heavy in jaskier’s hand, velvety skin made slick both by the precum he collects with brief passes of his thumb across the swollen head and the water that only barely covers him.

jaskier’s mouth is watering.

he twists his hand on the next upstroke, and geralt’s hips buck then, a swift, aborted movement that has him thrusting up through the circle of his fist; geralt grunts then, and jaskier glances up, sees his eyes are closed again, head laid back, teeth bared and clenched tight.

those fangs... jaskier aches to feel them...

he shakes his head in a vain effort to clear it, tightens his hand a little more, lets himself speed up as geralt goes still once more...

time blurs then; he can only focus on the hot weight in his hand, on the way geralt’s breaths are coming rough and ragged...

when geralt comes, it’s with a low groan, one that he tries to stifle behind clenched teeth - one that comes out as a growl, and fuck, jaskier is trembling, is just as winded as if he were the one getting off -

and holy shit, geralt comes a lot, and jaskier shudders as he imagines it all inside him, as he imagines that length splitting him open...

“geralt,” he breathes, as he helps him ride it out. “geralt, please...”

geralt is breathing heavy when jaskier finally lets go, but he doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t relax his grip on the edges of the tub. “not here - not. not yet,” he murmurs. “at least let me out of the tub...”

jaskier isn’t sure he’s ever moved so fast in his life.

- - - - -

@theunwantedomega

#geraskier #gerlion #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #my fics

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forever-rogue · 5 years ago

Text

Step Into the Daylight - Part 4

Summary: While fighting for your own survival, you somehow ended up in the care of one stoic Mandalorian…and his adopted child. Now, even are parting ways for sometime, you find yourself reunited under some...interesting circumstances.

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the all love and support on all the parts of this series, it was seriously overwhelming and amazing, and I hope you continue to enjoy this little series. Taglists are open, and as always feedback is welcome! xx

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin x Reader)

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: none

Main Masterlist

Mandalorian Masterlist

SERIES MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next time Din stirred and woke up, pulled from the lull of sleep by the noise around him, he looked around for you and almost jumped off the bed when he couldn’t find you. He studied the still room for a moment, and when your figure still wasn’t in his line of sight, he sat up in the small cot, immediately regretting his actions as pain shot through his side. A soft sigh reached his ears before he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders, “shhh, you need to take it easy.”

“Y/N,” he let out a sigh of relief as your voice provided a reassurance that he was okay, and more importantly that you were okay You nodded even though he couldn’t see your face before moving to stand in front of him.

“How are you feeling?” your voice was soft as could be and it made his heart flutter as your fingers skirted along his side, pushing up the shirt to examine the healing progress his wounds had made. When he didn’t stop you, you continued on, taking a moment to pause and gently touch over one of his old scars before lifting the bacta patch to examine the damage. You studied everything for a moment determining that it was healing well, as well as it could be anyway, “your wounds are looking good. They’ll hurt for a bit, but you’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“What about you?” he caught your hand with his before giving it a small squeeze and catching your gaze. You wondered if he overheard last night’s exchange and of you being accused of wielding some of force, but decided not to push that issue just yet. Forcing the most minuscule of smiles onto your features, you before pulling your hand out of his and clearing your throat.

“I wasn’t hurt,” you explained, clearly trying to divert something, “therefore there is nothing to worry about, except for you. I do have some bad news though ...you can’t stay here. I’m so sorry, Din, I tried but they don’t feel safe with us here.”

“I...know,” he whispered quietly, revealing that he had indeed overheard the conversation that had occurred. You bit your bottom lip before letting out a long sigh, letting it speak for you, so many unspoken words with that single breath of air, “what are you going to do?”

“A plan hasn’t even crossed my mind yet,” you admitted, gesturing to his sides, “I’ve had more important matters to tend to. I want you to be well and able to get out of here.”

“Come with me. Come back,” he suddenly suggested and your heart did a flip inside your chest. He wanted you to come back. All those nights you spent wondering if he even enjoyed your presence and thought about you weren’t for nothing after all, “I-I know it’s not much, but I...feel like you belong with me. I can’t quite explain it, but…”

“It brought you back here,” your soft was soft and barely audible, but he heard you loud and clear, only nodding in response as a weak smile crossed his features, “the last place you saw me. How did you know I’d even still be here?”

“I didn’t know,” he reached up gingerly, unsure of how you would react to him to his touch, but decided to just throw caution out of the window and just do it. Something inside him pushed him to do, every part of him buzzing with excitement, but your positive response was enough for him, as you leaned into his tender touch, his hand so much more gentle that you thought it would be, “I just guessed, and hoped that you’d still be here. I just got lucky - I asked about you in the marketplace and one of stand owners told me you were here. I was going to come looking for you, but I got...into that little altercation you saved me from.”

“You were willing to take that big of a chance just to come and find me,” it wasn’t a question, but rather a statement of a fact that you both knew to be true. You put your hand on his wrist, a turn of events from how it used to be the opposite way around, “I...I don’t know what to say. But I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you everyday since I left...I just wish things had things had turned out differently for you here. That you weren’t hurt because of me.”

“I’m alive because of you,” he insisted, pulling his hand back gently, but not before giving yours a squeeze, “it appears it is now that me that owes everything to you.”

“I guess that makes us even now, doesn’t it?’ you teased with a small wink, which sent his heart reeling with euphoria.

“I guess it does,” he agreed, “but I’ve ruined everything for you here, the life you’ve built, it’s all gone because of me.”

“Shh,” you shook your head fervently, trying to get him out of the negative path of thinking he was on, “you’ve done nothing wrong...I don’t know what happened out there, or what people think they saw, but you’re not the one who did any of this, okay? Please tell me you know that.”

“I-”

“Din,” you gave him a firm look, upset that he was blaming all of this on himself, “whatever happened probably would have happened with or without you here, sooner or later. I guess if anything I’m glad that you’re here now...it’s nice to have a familiar face around.”

“Even if you’ve never seen it?” he mused and the two of you shared a small laugh before you reached up and tapped the side of his beskar helmet.

“Even if I’ve never seen it,” you agreed, “I’ve never....really had a consistent anything in my life, so the change is nice, trust me. Even though we weren’t together that long, I know you’re a friend.”

“What do you say then?” he asked again, throwing out his earlier question again. You weren’t going to say no time - you didn’t really have a choice at this point, and he would be your only way off of this planet, but even more than that, you wanted to go with him. Deep in your heart of hearts you knew your place was with him.

“Of course,” you said with a small smile, “of course I’ll go back with you. I haven’t got many things, so it shouldn’t take long to pack. I’m afraid we’ll have to go soon, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be welcome here. Do you think you’ll be okay to go? Otherwise I’m sure I can bide more time for you to heal.”

“No, I’ll be alright,” he promised, slowly sitting up in the small bed, leaning his back against the wall as the little bit of effort wore him out. You sighed internally, before reaching over to the juncture between his neck and shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze, “it’s fine, I’ll be okay to go in no time. Just go and get your things.”

“You’re sure?” you asked softly, wishing there was a way to take away all of his pain, just like he had done for you. He nodded and you just gave him a small smile, before standing up and heading to gather your few possessions. You could feel his eyes on you with every move, almost as if he was making a mental inventory of everything you owed. It wasn’t much more than you had left with, except for a new set of vibroblades that had been made just for you by Barto.

When he had given them to you he told you he hoped you would never had a need for him, but in case you did, you’d be protected. Maybe now they would come in handy. But the final piece was the cloak that Din had given to you just before parting ways. He couldn’t hide the grin on his face, relieved that his face was hidden, as he watched you put it on over your shoulders.

“You still have it,” he didn’t really intend for you to hear it, but you did indeed, meeting his gaze from across the room, as you beamed at him.

“Of course,” you promised, “I’d never part with it. It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me. Besides, it...reminded me of you. Who wouldn’t want to be reminded of their friend every time they wore something special?”

“Right,” he said as his went spinning, mulling over every word you had said. You finished gathering everything into your rucksack before heading back over to him. A small pile of clean clothes had been placed out for him, and you knew that despite requiring you to leave, your adopted family really did care. If things had been different, circumstances altered slightly, you would have remained with them. But then, perhaps everything was playing out exactly how it needed to, how the force, or whatever mysterious thing behind life was, wanted it to be.

“Here,” you handed him the neatly folded clothing and pointed into the direction of the small refresher, “you can go use the sanistream before we leave, and change into these. I’m afraid your clothes are beyond repair...at least what I can do anyway.”

Din looked down at his torso and seemed to notice for the first time how tattered his garments were; they were covered in holes and tears, and almost more skin was on display than fabric. Taking a step back, you held out your hand to him and helped hoist him to his feet, slowly to prevent anything from hurting.

His touch seemed to linger a few moments longer than necessary before he cleared his throat and you looked away shyly, letting him go to change. You felt that familiar jostling in the depths of your stomach as you watched him walk away, wondering if it would ever die down, or if you’d have to learn to deal with it. Either way, you were elated to be reunited with one of the few people you’d ever considered a friend.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“You just had to pick the furthest possible spot on this planet to land, didn’t you?” you’d been walking for what seemed like hours, and it reality had been, the warm sun beating down on your skin, causing sweat to run down your whole body, your clothes sticking to your skin - Din had tried his best not to stare, but nonetheless his eyes were drawn to your form. He was very glad for the helmet in that moment. Your hand was wrapped around his waist, both in an effort to keep him close to you and to make sure he didn’t lose his balance. You could tell that he was still in small amounts of pain, even if he didn’t admit it, but he hadn’t fought you when you came to his aid, silently, graciously accepting the aid.

“I figured it was safer this way,” he said quietly as his trusty old Razor Crest came into view. You felt an odd sense of calm and relieve wash over you as you took in the glimmering silver metallic outside, realizing that you were home. Home. What an odd concept that was.

“Oh yeah, it really helped with that,” you huffed lightly at him and he made a small strangled sound reminiscent of a laugh, “but at least we’re almost there. Then you can rest properly until you’re properly healed.”

“There’s no time for that-”

“I didn’t intend for that comment to invite discussion,” you quirked an eyebrow at him. You felt an odd pull, deep within you when you approached the front of the ship. You dropped your arm from around him and stared at the ship, letting him open the entryway. You stood there, staring and unmoving for a few moments, almost as if you were instinctively waiting for something to happen. Sure enough, you soon felt a little life approaching and when you looked up you found your small green friend looking at you.

You dropped to your knees as you looked at him and without a moment of pause or hesitation, he ran over to you as quickly as his little legs would allow him to waddle. Holding your arms open, you scooped him up as soon as he was within reach and clutched him tightly to your chest.

“I’ve missed you so much my little friend,” you said softly as he did his best to hug you back with his little arms. It was almost as though no time had passed; you could have last seen him yesterday by the way he reacted to you. He’d never forgotten you, he remembered you clear as day. After making a small sound of content, he pulled back and looked at you intently, his little ears perking up as he put a small hand onto your cheek. He was trying to wipe away the few tears that had cascaded down your cheeks, only this time they weren’t tears of sadness, they were tears of joy.

“He’s missed you,” Din said as he watched the two of you, noting that there was something, some sort of connection or beyond between the two of you. You looked at the Mandalorian and nodded, standing back up to your full height with the Child still in your arms, “he...never really seemed as happy as when you were gone.”

“I’ve missed him too,” you concurred, listening to him coo happily, “but don’t worry, I’ve missed you too, both of you.”

Din grabbed your bag that you had dropped in your excitement at reunited and walked back inside the ship, motioning for you to follow. You eagerly did.

“Do you want some soup?” he asked as you followed him down the familiar path of corridors. You couldn’t even hold back your small snort at his question; he turned to you and you were sure that he had an inquisitive expression etched on his hidden face.

“What is it with you and soup?” you laughed as he just shrugged. You had a feeling you knew, even without him saying it, “is that...the only thing you know how to make?”

“No,” he insisted with a waggle of his gloved finger, “it’s just the thing I’m best at making. And it seems to satisfy him.”

“Well, I’ve got some news for you, Din Djarin, there are plenty of other easy things to make,” you insisted, stepping past him and into the kitchen, “and I’ll teach you them. If someone like myself knows how to cook, then it should be a breeze for a Mandalorian.”

“Are you saying my soup is no good?!”

“Nope,” you said as you sat down the Child and started rummaging through the cupboards, “but I’m telling you it’s time to expand your culinary horizons. In my...past life I often got stuck with kitchen duty, and you’d be amazed what you can teach yourself. But for tonight, you need to go and rest and I’ll make something. Yes?”

He hesitated for a moment, the grin on face stretching so widely he was afraid it might break his face. This was meant to be, he just knew it. So he agreed, giving you a small nod before whispering, “yes.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was late. Very late, and you knew you should have been in in your small cot, fast asleep, but instead you found yourself wide awake and able to do everything but give in to the sweet embrace of slumber. Every fiber of your being was humming and vibrating, and there was too much excitement flowing in your veins to sleep.

Instead you found yourself wandering through the darkened corridors of the ship, running your fingertips over the metallic walls. It all felt so familiar and comforting and you knew you were home. Even though it was a far cry from what would most people consider a suitable living space, it meant everything to you because it contained the two living creatures that you cared for the most.

When you reached Din’s sleeping quarters, you noticed that his door was slightly ajar, and there was a moment of temptation to peek in and to make sure he was sleeping. He needed as much rest as you, if not more. But you didn’t want to break his trust so you pushed past it and headed towards the cockpit, deciding to sit there and watched the darkened night sky. The stars always looked the most beautiful when you were meant to be sleeping; you’d discovered that soon after you’d first parted from Din and the Child and couldn’t sleep and resorted to sitting on the roof and looking at the sky.

Climbing into the cockpit, you got ready to sit in the copilot’s seat, but instead of emptiness and silence, your eyes were met with the sight of Din leaning back in his seat, legs up on the dash, nothing but under clothes and his helmet on. You were about to turn around and retreat, thinking that perhaps he hadn’t heard you or felt your presence, but of course, nothing was missed by his well trained ears.

“Stay,” it was a soft, quiet declaration. Not a question or a demand, but an invitation. Despite his back being turned to you, you gave him an affirmative nod before making your way back and silently slinking into the seat next to his. You could almost feel his body heat radiating onto you as you keep your eyes straight and didn’t look at him, crossing your legs under you.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you teased, giving him a small smile, feeling his gaze turned to you. Eventually you gave in, unable to take him silently watching and turned your whole seat to him, “how are you feeling?”

“Better,” he answered and you hoped he wasn’t lying to you, although he had no reason to lie, “thank you for all your help, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Probably not be in this position in the first place,” you admitted and he let out a short bark of laughter. Theoretically speaking, you were right, but realistically speaking, you both knew that in your heart of hearts that you would be together again, someday somehow, “but I’m glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d…”

“I know,” he finished for you, the corners of your mouth twitching up slightly, “what about you? Why are you awake at this ungodly hour?”

“Same as you,” you shrugged lightly, “couldn’t sleep.”

He gave you a silent nod and the two of you went back to sitting together in peaceful silence. With so many others you’d have left, or felt the need to feel the quiet air with conversation, but not with Din. There was nothing awkward that came with sitting next to him in the still night air, it was like your bodies were doing all the speaking for you and nothing needed to be verbalized.

But after sometime, when the lightest bits of pink started to color the night sky that turned into a dark velvety purple, you felt compelled to speak again. Part of you wondered if he had fallen asleep because you had noticed his chest was rising and falling in a steady pattern.

“Din?” his name came off your lips so quietly, you wondered for a moment if you had just imagined yourself doing it, but he sat up straighter in his chair and turned to face you, “you’re awake.”

“I’ve been awake,” he said gently, and you bit the inside of your cheek mulling over your next words.

“I had a brother,” you blurted out suddenly and you could tell that had captured his attention; he brought his legs off of the dash and turned to you, presenting you with his full and rapt attention. Why you felt compelled to tell him this, here and now, you weren’t sure but you felt like if you didn’t get it out you might explode, “I didn’t know him well, I never really got the chance to grow up with him, but he was my brother.”

“What…happened?” his voice was kind and soft, and you knew you could stop at any time, but the floodgates had been opened, and you just felt the need to get this all out. You hadn’t told anyone about this part of your life in ages; sometimes you wondered if it had actually happened.

“He was taken away from when I was very little, only a few years old,” you admitted. You could remember the day so well, how happy and upset your parents had been, all the tears that had run down their cheeks, but you hadn’t understood what it had all meant back then. You were still young and innocent back, unmarred by the harsh reality of the cruel world you lived in.

Your Mandalorian companion was silent, trying to piece everything together as he waited for you to continue. If only your story ended then, if only it was that easy. You leaned back in your chair and rested your head in your hand, letting out a small sigh, “my brother...he went with the Jedi that came for him. He trained to become one of their Order. He was force sensitive you see, back when it wasn’t something to be feared or hunted. I only saw him a few more times after that. I was soon taken away from my parents as well, they lost bother their children in just a small amount of time.

“Mandalore has a long history of those who are force sensitive,” he commented quietly and you shrugged. You’d heard the stories growing up, most as they were spat at you, your captors viciously telling you that your brother was a traitor to the Mandalore and its ancient history.

“I know, people were constantly ether in awe of him or they despised him for it. They told me that he and his Master had tried to come after me several times, to set me free, but it had never worked, obviously. The next time I heard of him he was dead, executed at the hands of the Clone Troopers who had been sworn to help protect him. My parents had lost both of their children. I had lost everything, but then again so had my brother. He lost his life trying to save others, betrayed by those had been sworn to aid him. I never knew what happened to my parents after that. I’m sure they’re dead by now,” you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of nose trying to keep your composure.

It was hard to revisit all of these memories, and they brought so many feelings you had pushed deep within your for years. But something had compelled you to tell him all of these things, knowing it was safe to do so, knowing that he’d never betray your trust or use these types of things against you.

He didn’t feel the need to make a comment, knowing it was unnecessary, and it all honesty, what good would an I’m sorry do for you now? You had an inkling that perhaps his own story wasn’t so different from yours. The forces that were in play in the galaxy often found a way to bring the same souls together. Instead, he slowly pulled off his tan leather gloves and set them down before reaching over and touching your cheek gently. His thumb delicately swiped away the single tear that had fallen from your eye. He let his hand linger them there for some time, much longer than etiquette dictated, his touch warming up your whole face.

“I-I’m sorry for just laying this all on you,” you took his hand in yours and removed it from your cheek, keeping it in your hands and giving it a gentle squeeze, “it just...I’ve never really told anyone else any of this. There’s been no one else to say it to, but something...I just…”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he insisted, and you were sure there a small smile on your face, “I’m glad you trust me enough to you tell you all of this.”

“I do,” you promised, “it’s just...I’ve been thinking a lot about him lately. With everything that’s happened.”

“Have you ever done anything like that before?” you immediately knew what he was referring to and just shook your head. You’d done a lot of things, some great, some horrible, but never anything else like that. No, that was something completely new and foreign, “have you ever considered that you might be...force sensitive as well?”

“No,” the denial was immediate and the idea left a sour taste in your mouth. You never thought about anymore, especially not after the horrors that had befallen your family, “there’s no way. It was my brother, not me. Besides, my name was never on the list...this list that contains the names of all the force sensitive children.”

“What if you were missed?” he suggested, hoping he wasn’t pushing you too far, “there’s always a way, and if it already runs in your family, then it’s entirely possible that it’s part of you too.”

“No,” you firmly, trying to end the discussion, part of you wishing that you’d never even brought it up. Maybe it was a mistake to trust someone so easily, someone that was still virtually a stranger. He didn’t know what it was like, the fear it placed in your heart, “there’s no way.”

“Y/N, I’m-”

“I’m going to go to bed,” you stood up and brushed past him, feeling his hand try to reach up and stop yours, but you just pulled out of his grasp. He made a small sound, one you couldn't quite place. You turned back to him, your shoulders slumping as you realized it was unfair to lash out at him in such a manner, “Din...I-I’m sorry. I should haven’t have snapped at you like that.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said as you gave him a teary eyed smile, chewing on your bottom lip, “go get some sleep.”

“You too,” you insisted and he only nodded in silent response. You lingered there for a few moments before leaving him alone again, your mind reeling as you headed towards your small sleeping quarters. There was no way, you kept repeating to yourself, there was no way.

And yet there was a small part of you that wondered, what if?

»»————-　♡　————-««

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possum-rat · 4 years ago

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Home is where...well where is home?

Previous (Y/n) traces the rough edges of a rock they had picked up while waiting for Tommy and Dream to finish arguing or whatever they're doing. As they look up from their rock they see Tommy being held up by his collar. (Y/n) stares at them in confusion before pulling out their crossbow now with interecet carvings and aiming at the two across the shore from them. Dream tosses Tommy to the ground. (Y/n) shifts their aim toward Dream staring blankly at him. Dream holds up his hands and shakes his hands nervously. (Y/n) flicks their gaze toward Tommy then back to Dream walking toward Tommy putting the bow back into their inventory before switching to a small clay ring they had made for Tommy during their self-inflicted exile. the ring has two small wings attached to a red band. With gold-dusted over the feathers. looking at it they frown slightly before standing up and turning toward Dream who's mask is staring down at (Y/n) picking at his nails with an arrow. He stops and makes a beckoning motion toward (Y/n). Glancing toward Tommy he nods encouragingly. (y/n) stands up nervously fiddling with the ring before dropping it and walking toward Dream. As he walks further into the forset (Y/n) feels the hairs on their spine stick up. As they arrive in a small clearing beside a lake Dream places his hand upon (Y/n's) shoulder. The cold unsettling feeling of the enchanted metal on (Y/n's) arm causes them to shrug his handoff. "Mhm. (Y/n). It's been a while since anyone's seen you. You just tend to disappear don't you." His voice cut's through the silence(as silent as possible with a drunk goat man and slightly crazy British man) (Y/n) stares wide-eyed at him before rasping "What?" Dream simply tilts his head before asking "You heard me didn't you?" His voice cold and calculating. (Y/n) opens and closes their mouth several times before giving up and nodding. "Hm. Interesting." dream murmurs to himself as he presses a hand to his porcine mask mounted on his face. "what's that suposed to mean?" (Y/n) asks quietly fidgeting with the rock looking for any sense of comfort or familiarity in the man infront of them. They remembered how when they were younger they had promised themself that they'd go to the famous land of the 'Dream Smp' to meet their idol. "nothing. nothing. (Y/n) I have a question." he states. (y/n) nods uncertainly and mumbles "Yeah?" dream looks toward the setting sun and asks "you do realize that non of your friends are actually your friends. They only keep you around because they pity you. They'd leave you given the chance. they'd leave in a heartbeat. Just like Lillith did." (Y/n) tenses up flicking their gaze toward the muddy ground along the bank of a marsh they'd walked into. Stepping back uncomfortably (Y/n) mumbles "No. they- they are. You're lying." Dream turns toward (Y/n) asking "Am I? Or are you scared that I'm right?" (Y/n's) silence is answer enough for Dream. "Interesting, well it's time we leave." As he brushes past (Y/n) he stops and murmurs. "Look, I'm just trying to help you. You can trust me you know." (Y/n) gulps and nods and says quietly "I'm going to stay with Tommy. For a little longer." Dream makes a sound of acknowledgment before turning away. Upon reaching the mouth of the clearing (Y/n) turns in a circle feeling their heart beginning to slam against their chest faster and faster as they don't hear their footsteps. Part of them knew that it'd probably happen. The other part wonders how the hell they could hear Dream. Seeing Tommy sitting atop a log beside Ghostbur (Y/n) jogs toward them. plastering on a smile they run along the shore grabbing rocks of various sizes before placing them in a circle. Then grabbing some wood they place the wood into a tent shape. Pulling out a small vial of green swirling liquid before turning to ghost burn and saying "Stay back this could go wrong." Ghostbur floats off his seat and toward (Y/n) holding his guitar and singing. Letting some of the fire poor out of the vile (Y/n) winces as a few drops hit their skin. Turning to Tommy they smile slightly and notice the ring on his finger. Smiling more genuinely (y/n) leans against the log beside the other two baskings in the fire's warmth. ------ It's been about a week since Dream's little chat with (Y/n). (Y/n's) barely able to hear Tommy. Sure it's an improvement but it's still strange. As (Y/n) watches Tommy stand in the portal phasing through they glance toward Ghostbur. He smiles and nods toward the ever-shifting slightly translucent purple box. Turning back toward Ghostbur (Y/n) asks quietly "Are you sure? Is it okay if I go with him?" He nods confirmation and replies in his happy-go-Lucky echoey tone "Yeah! I'll go with!" As The two of them phase through getting the message floating infront of their eyes, (Y/n) hears Wilbur grumble something about hating acting clueless. furrowing their eyebrows (Y/n) asks "What? what's that suposed to mean? Were you resurrected? somehow? did it fail so now your just ghostbur?" Wilbur falls silent before (Y/n) steps from the portal. The familiarity of the nether earns a soft smile from (Y/n). That is until (Y/n) realizes that their not in the portal area that they should be. Instead, they're beside a nether fortress. Frowning slightly they knock on the side of the large door. Standing infront of the door they sway side to side nervously. The very almost silent footfalls cause (Y/n) to look up. Loren stands in the doorway hands outstretched for a hug. (Y/n) freezes guilt washing over them; they promised that they'd visit. Loren wraps their arms around (y/n) resting their head upon (Y/n's) head rubbing soothing circles on their back. (Y/n) sinks into the hug. Maybe it's because for the first time in about a year or two they've felt truly safe. Maybe it's the prospect of being treated their age and not like a weapon or something of disposal. Melting further into the touch (y/n) let Loren lead them around as they continue to hold onto them. Upon entering the small room (Y/n) recognized as the room they had woken up in when the ghost had shot a fireball. "(Y/n)! Oh my! You've grown! You've become so pretty! Such a handsome young kid." Clementine coos as she seems to float toward them. (Y/n) winces at they realize they don't remember the man's name. It doesn't matter though as he's not there. "Ah here hun, let's get you some supplies. Some things you'll need for coming events. Oh and dear? Be wary of Bad and his group." (Y/n) nods completely bewildered at what that means. (Y/n) ends up leaving with 2 potions of healing, a few stacks of potion materials, and a new coat, along with new clothes. An olive-gray aviator jacket with a Non-Binary patch on the sleeve along with one for L'manberg. Along with black cargo pants and an off-white bucket hat. As (y/n) runs out of the fortress waving happily they turn toward the direction of the portal. The familiar feeling of excitement rushes through (Y/n) as the loading message floats above them. Flapping their hands while squeaking in anticipation (Y/n) hops out of the portal landing in the land they had once called home. (A/n: I stim like that when I'm happy) Staring out at the scenery (y/n) bounces on their heels before jogging down the dark black stairs and along the prime path. As they stare in awe at the place nearly completely distorted by memories (Y/n) hears a familiar very faint voice. "(Y/n)?" Turning toward it (Y/n) is greeted by the sight of Tubbo standing beside a tallboy. (Y/n) smiles but frowns abruptly as they see scars on the tall boy's cheeks. "Here, let me help." They murmur voice horse from lack of use. the golden crown wearer Glances toward Tubbo. Tubbo however is fiddling nervously with his suit buttons. He then says something (Y/n) can't catch. Glancing up at the heterochromatic-eyed boy they frown in confusion. "Uh? Who are you? I don't mean to be rude or anything but I've been with Tommy for the past few months." (Y/n) says quietly as they rub the wool collar of the coat. The boy glances toward Tubbo before saying Tubbo says "(Y/n). You've been gone nearly 4 years." (Y/n) frowns at Tubbo before muttering "Oh am I losing my sense of time? I mean I'm still partially deaf, what's next? Losing Tommy? Or you? Or even the tall kid? I mean it's a possibility. Who knows." Tubbo opens his mouth then closes it before asking "Is that why you looked so lost when Phil brought you out of the room?" (Y/n) falls silent before replying "Yeah. Not a huge fan of loud sounds. They freak me out. Ironic though cuz I hang out with Tommy a lot." Schlatt takes the opportunity to groan and throw popcorn while groaning "JESUS THIS IS SO CORNY, GET A LIFE." Frowning (Y/n) grumbles "Yeah like your any better dead Bitch. You died, so you can't tell me how to live. Asshat." "Uh. Tubbo? Is this normal?" The boy asks. Suddenly (Y/n's) eyes roll back into their head as Glatt takes over. "Tubbo!" He says in his loud demanding tone. "Ah, it's been a while. How've you been kid?" Tubbo freezes clutching onto ranboo's sleeve before he growls shakily “You can’t just act like nothing's wrong when it isn’t!” Wilbur seems to think that now's a good moment to say something. "Tubbo, I'm proud of you. You're doing great. Sorry about blowing up your nation." (Y/n) crumples lying in the grass face in the sun before hissing and rolling onto their back and sitting up. Coughing violently they pull out a potion of re-gen before taking a swig and squeezing their eyes shut to try to get rid of the nothingness. "Sorry about that Tubbo. And you're Ranboo right?" He nods uncertainly and (Y/n) stands up before noticing a small burn mark on his hand. Gently taking his hand (Y/n) pulls out a bandage (a Peppa pig one) and gently dabs some re-fen on it along with some herbs that are of use. Gently placing the bandage on it they turn toward Tubbo and examine him for any newer injuries. Small crescent-shaped cuts are on his palms. "Can I?" They ask quietly. Tubbo nods gently. Taking his hand (Y/n) rubs the healing salve on the cuts apologizing repeatedly with a series of taps on his wrist. Remorse code.

#ranboo #tubbo stream #ghostbur #wilbur soot #glatt #tommy exile #dream smp

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skywillsometimeswrite · 4 years ago

Text

Pieces of Glass Ch. 2

Read it on AO3

Snap, Crackle, Pop

“Scar, no!” Grian felt his voice crack at his scream, watching as Scar leaned over the edge just a little too far. He watched in slow motion how Scar’s hand wrapped around the crystal he threw off the edge, and how Scar followed its deadly path of no return. He watched as Scar’s green eyes met his, wide with fear, as he fell farther and farther away.

“Grian! Help!”

Grian stood stock still, eyes unblinking as he watched Scar’s form get smaller and smaller, his voice already sounding dangerously distant. What had he done? Why had he thrown that crystal? Why had Scar tried to catch it?

He had to help Scar. He had to. But how? He didn’t have an elytra yet so he couldn’t exactly fly down and grab him. Could he build down? That was difficult to do normally, but doing it faster than the pull of the void was definitely impossible. He had to think. Scar would die if he didn’t do anything. He needed to help Scar. He had to. He had to. He had to.

His hands scratched at the front of his chestplate, a pain beginning to blossom in his chest as Scar’s words rattled in his brain. The End wasn’t known for any extreme temperatures, but Grian felt like he was in the Nether with how heat spread itself through his body. His breathing became ragged as everything started to become far too much. A bright white light began to invade the corners of his vision and he couldn’t help but shut his eyes against it.

Something in the back of his head snapped. Something he had long forgotten. Something he didn’t realize he still had.

He heard a cracking noise quietly behind his thoughts and a blinding yellow color forced his eyes open as his back arched against the force that dragged him off the edge of the bridge. He barely registered that he was falling until he caught sight of Scar again, a ball of shining diamond armor against the inky black of the void.

I have to help Scar.

That single thought overpowered his mind and he was reorienting himself in the air. Wings beat downward, sending Grian soaring towards Scar faster than the pull of the void itself. After only a few seconds of falling he felt his breath leave his lungs and he coughed, bringing his arm over his mouth as if he could somehow stop the air from leaving him. Black dots swirled around his vision and he blinked against it, trying to see the different nauseating black of the void instead. The sudden pressure difference made his ears pop painfully but he was so close, just a little farther.

His arms reached downward and made contact with the purple fabric of Scar’s wizard robe, allowing Grian to pull him towards him and hold the curled up wizard to his chest as securely as possible. His already struggling breath hitched and pain coursed through his back as the wings flapped forcefully, slowing his quick descent and preparing to launch him upwards towards the yellow islands that looked miles away with his swaying vision. He adjusted his grip on Scar’s form, making sure there was no risk of dropping him as he began the too slow rise up. Grian knew he was fairly strong, and he prided himself on being able to pick up most of the hermits (it was quite comical when he would hold up someone like Mumbo or Xisuma who was almost a foot taller than him), but between the void sapping his strength and the fatigue from flying he worried that he could drop Scar at any second. The thought made him sick.

After what felt like ten minutes, Grian was able to more or less throw Scar onto the closest End island, and he barely got himself over the stone before the wings gave out and he face-planted into the ground. His ears rang and his back throbbed through the wings that were laying limply on his back and dragging him down. He closed his eyes at the swirling and shifting end stone underneath him giving him a headache and he shakily managed to use his arms to push himself up. He coughed, forcing the fresh but too-thin air into his lungs and groaned at the way it left his throat scratchy.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking to focus his blurry vision. He pushed himself up to sit on his knees and took in a deep breath, calming the rest of his nerves. He heard a noise to his left and his head snapped over, worried flooding him when he saw Scar staring at him with wide eyes.

“Scar! Oh my god, Scar are you okay?” Grian’s own eyes widened at the way his voice echoed in his head and bounced off the end stone and he slapped a hand over his mouth. He raised his shoulders to his ears, trying to block out the unnerving reverb of his own voice. He barely contained a whimper at Scar’s high-pitched “yeah” in response, confirming he noticed it too. Why was his voice doing that? Had his voice ever done that before? He took a deep breath, waiting a few long moments before he mumbled behind his hand. “Uh,” he let himself relax when he heard his voice back to normal.

“So,” was Scar’s helpful response. And then the floodgates opened. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know!” Was his genuine response, anxiety filling his body again as he threw his hands up in the air.

“You have wings?”

“I just saw you falling and-”

“Is this normal for you?”

“No! Well, I mean, I guess I panicked and-”

“Why were your eyes glowing?”

“My eyes were what?” Grian’s voice raised in pitch and he patted the sides of his head as if he could feel the light his eyes had supposedly been giving off.

“They were glowing. They aren’t anymore though.” Scar quickly reassured him, sitting cross-legged and facing him. They stared at each other, but Grian’s mind was occupied with what the hell was happening to him. “So, wings, huh?”

His back straightened at that reminder. His head spun around to look at the faintly glowing feathers that perked up over his shoulder, their golden color slowly giving way to reveal a much more tame yellow. They felt lighter on his back since he landed to the point where he completely forgot he had them, instinctively folding them against his back. He extended one barely, reaching a hand up to graze over the feathers and he flinched at how the small movement sent a sharp pain down his spine. He probably pulled a muscle, considering he got them barely ten minutes ago and had already overexerted himself. He let the wing settle back into its place and turned back towards Scar, studying his folded hands in his lap.

Why was this happening? What caused these wings to sprout out of his back? Did Scar do it somehow with his magic? Did Scar actually have magic? Could Scar even do that with magic he maybe had? Was it an effect of the End in this new world? Did they stumble upon something they shouldn’t have and Xisuma didn’t know when he decided they would move here? These all seemed like really loaded questions.

Grian glanced up, noticing Scar was still sitting across from him. Right. First things first, he isn’t going to be able to focus on anything until he knows Scar is safe. He pushes himself up from the end stone, dusting off his diamond leggings until he sees the faint glimmer of the enchantment on them, and takes the steps towards Scar. He manages a small smile as the other takes his hand, pulling him up to his feet and Grian makes sure he doesn’t fall over

“Do you think you can make it back home without falling off another bridge?” Grian asked quietly, a steadying hand still on Scar’s arm as he looked up at him with concern.

“Uh,” The other took a moment, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “Yeah, I think I’ll be fine.”

Relieved, Grian gave him a nod before turning away from him. “Good, then you head back.”

“What about you?”

Grian walked back out onto the bridge that Scar had built and looked down at it, pulling out some blocks from his inventory. “I’m gonna keep going and see if I can find anything.”

“What? Alone? Grian, there’s a reason we use the buddy system. Heck, you just proved why-”

He grit his teeth, cursing that his friends were so caring. “Scar, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. You go rest, okay?” Scar opened his mouth to protest but Grian didn’t let him. “I need some time to think, anyways. May as well try and get something out of it in the process.” He could tell he wasn’t convinced by the hard stare he gave him. Grian felt himself shrink under the gaze, chin trying to burrow into the turtleneck of his sweater and he looked away. He steeled his nerves, looking back at Scar with the most genuine look he could and practically whispered. “Please, Scar. I’ll be fine.”

Scar’s gaze didn’t falter but eventually he gave in, sighing as he rubbed his temples. “Alright, okay, I’ll go home. But you better come see me the second you get back, okay?”

Something familiar popped in the back of his mind and stung ever so slightly on his right hip. His back straightened and the wings tensed painfully against his back but he was too occupied to really care. He blinked. “Okay Scar, I will.” His voice came out on its own.

Grian was still staring, watching as Scar turned away from him and made his way slowly back to and over the bridge that they had made to get to the current island. He blinked a couple more times, shaking the fog that had curled its way around his head as he tried to figure out what had just happened.

His eye caught a glint of something aqua on the cobblestone he was standing precariously on, and his attention turned fully on to figuring out what it was. He kneeled down to look at it closer before he picked up, carefully noting how pointy it was. He dropped the piece onto his other hand that was close to his chest, eyes squinting to get a better look at it.

And then he noticed it.

He could very clearly see the red of his sweater covering his chest.

His mind worked way too slow to put two and two together, but his eyes widened and mouth gaped at something that felt obvious and slightly terrifying all together.

He was holding a piece of his chestplate. The chestplate that he had been wearing before Scar fell. The chestplate that he realized wouldn’t have allowed the wings to move freely. So, he supposed, the wings forced the chestplate out of their way. And the way to do that was by completely shattering it. The wings on his back completely shattered a full diamond chestplate with unbreaking magic imbued into it in a matter of seconds.

Grian closed his mouth, swallowing hard as he glanced back at the now terrifying feathered appendages that had made his back their home. How? Was the main question that kept resurfacing in his mind. How? And Why?

Why was this happening to him? Why was this happening now? And what had he done to cause it?

He placed the diamond shard into his inventory, gripping cobblestone slabs in his hands instead, and moved towards where Scar had been building out from. He felt his head swirl and his stomach drop as he looked over the edge and he had to close his eyes to keep himself from vomiting then and there. He couldn’t do this. Not like this. Not after what had just happened.

Maybe he should go back. Catch up with Scar and then come back at a later time when he wasn’t making decisions based off the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Then the adrenaline gave him an idea. He rolled his shoulders a few times and gritted his teeth against the pain that pulled at his back. Grian took a deep breath and bit his lip as he forced the wings to spread open to their full length. He stumbled back a step at the shift in weight, but caught himself, and made sure his feet were stable on the ground before he tried lifting the wings up.

“Now or never,” he muttered, keeping his eyes shut as he beat the wings down. He yelped as he shot into the air, his eyes opening and panic flooding his body as he realized he was now falling back towards the cobblestone bridge from what had to be at least twenty feet in the air. He braced for impact, covering his face with his arms, but he felt the wings move on their own. He landed rather gently, albeit clumsy.

So clumsy, in fact, that he tripped over his own feet, and right off the edge of the bridge.

He screamed as he felt nothing solid beneath his feet and desperately reached up to grab the bridge, only managing to painfully scrape his fingertips on a pebble. Not again! Okay, okay, Grian, calm down. Calm down. Focus. He forced his eyes shut again, willing the wings out from their tense, equally scared position. Come on, come on!

Suddenly, he wasn’t falling anymore.

He opened one eye then braved both as he realized that the wings were keeping him suspended in the air with small, graceful movements. He breathed a laugh, looking back up at the once again distance bridge and islands. He looked forward, towards where he had planned on going in the first place and then took one glance at the wings again. He nodded to himself before thrusting the wings down with a powerful beat, propelling him towards the islands further out.

Grian smiled at the feeling of the air billowing against his face as he soared through the End. He didn’t feel steady on the wings -- it was nothing like an elytra -- but he felt that same thrill that he usually did when flying. He whooped, trying to do a twirl in the air and choked when he got tangled up in the wings, causing him to tumble downwards onto an island.

He laughed, pulling himself off the ground and looked up, spotting the magnificent End City that stood before him. He beamed when he spotted the ship, crouching down and jumping up with the flap of the wings this time. He was landing gracefully on top of the vessel in seconds, letting the wings fold against his back as he walked down the steps toward the treasure he was looking for.

His eyes immediately locked on to the elytra hanging on the wall, and he dug in his inventory for his sword as he also spotted the nuisance shulker. He dully noted that the shulker didn’t fire any bullets at Grian as he killed it, pocketing the shells from the creature for himself at a later date. He placed his sword on its spot on his hip and delicately grabbed the artificial wings from their perch.

Elytra always had this unique feel to them, the fabric thin but strong, but would still tear if overused. The grey material was silky smooth downwards, but felt like sandpaper upwards and left little trails of discoloration. He ran his fingers down the wings, smiling at the welcome nostalgia that came with it.

He was rudely reminded that he wouldn’t get the chance to relive those memories any time soon as he felt his back muscles tense up in a painful cramp. He was finally calm for the first time in hours, and his body was through with letting him get away with overworking it. He let out a silent scream as he curled in on himself, stretching the muscles attached to the wings even further and doubling the pain.

He cursed, trying to think through the constant, throbbing pain on what to do. He tried to force the muscles to relax but couldn’t quite get the wings to move in the right way and ended up with the left one awkwardly half-extended. While turning his head to look at it in disgust he caught sight of a glimmering pink in the staircase of the ship.

The potions! He always took those potions these ships held for granted, but right now he couldn’t be more grateful. He hobbled over, hissing as the extended wing grazed the wall he was using for support up the stairs. He grabbed the bottle and nearly dropped it trying to get the cork out, but managed to get the majority of the contents into his mouth rather than dribbling down his chin as if he was an overgrown toddler. He instantly felt the pain dull, his body finally relaxing while it’s nerves weren’t being attacked by two foreign appendages and he fell back on his butt. He sat there, taking in deep breaths as the wings hung limply and almost dragged him back down the stairs. He let the empty bottle roll away from his hand and he instead picked up the elytra that he had dropped, he closed his eyes and let the feel of the fabric comfort him.

This had to be the most terrifying and physically exhausting experience he’s had since Demise last season. Sure, cutting down jungle trees and boating everywhere was tiring and annoying, but he didn’t think anything would ever compare to the rollercoaster he’s been on in the last hour or so. He was going to sleep for at least a week when he got back to his nice, safe, comfortable hobbit hole.

Speaking of which, he should start heading home. He got what he was looking for, an elytra for Scar, so there wasn’t really any reason to stay any longer. Grian didn’t want to stay any longer. So, he used the block the brewing stand was on to stand up, put the elytra away in his inventory, and grabbed the second healing potion just in case, before moving slowly up the stairs to the top of the ship. He made his way to the bow of the ship, looking over the edge at the yellow ground and endless void that made his vision swirl and he quickly looked away. How the hell was he going to get down?

As he went over his options he carefully made his way over to and grabbed the dragon head from its perch. He could try and use the elytra to glide down but he didn’t know if he could strap it on correctly to make it effective, let alone control it. He could try flying again but one twitch of the wings made him quickly rule that out. The safest, but totally not, was to try and anger an enderman on the ground so it teleported up to him. Then he could kill it, grab the enderpearl, and get down. Simple enough.

He steeled himself, sword in hand, and looked out over the edge again to spot a dot of black against the yellow endstone. He stared at one intently and began to wonder if endermen had a certain range of aggravation. Maybe they didn’t mind being stared at, as long as you weren’t right nearby.

Grian’s theory was quickly proved wrong, though, as he heard that familiar “fwoop” sound behind him and the telltale screech of an angry enderman. He swung his sword around, slicing at the monster’s legs. It screamed at him louder in response and swiped its long arms at him. With a duck under them and one leap forward, he impaled the creature and swiped the enderpearl from the smoke that arose from its dissipating body.

He once again looked over the edge and threw the enderpearl safely in the middle of the island. He didn’t hear the pearl shatter on the ground but he knew it had as nausea overwhelmed him and he saw the endstone beneath his feet. When he made sure he wasn’t about to puke he blinked out over towards the direction he came from and realized he hadn’t made a bridge to get back.

He groaned, realizing he has three options to get back and he isn’t too keen on any of them. He could either build his way back which would surely take a few hours, enderpearl his way back and get super sick in the process, or he could fly back. He stretched the wings out behind him, wincing at the sting they gave him but satisfied that they weren’t unbearably tense anymore. All he had to do was fly back to the bridges. He could do that.

He took in a deep breath, flapping the wings a few times without taking off and hissing at how they moved on his back. I can do this. I can do this. It’s not that far. I’ll be fine. He swung his arms back and forth, psyching himself up, and before he could think any better he ran towards the ledge of the island. He shut his eyes, leaping off the edge with a yell and forcing the wings to move.

Grian didn’t open his eyes until he knew he was in the air, managing to narrowly avoid crashing into a chorus flower. His back still stung but it was more bearable now that he had a rhythm. He decided to focus all of his attention on scanning the ground for cobblestone bridges and not on the physical state his entire body was in, in case it just decided to completely give out while he was still in the air.

Luckily for him, he spotted the last cobblestone bridge sooner than he had thought and stumbled into a landing on the connected island, quickly chugging the second potion and sighing as the wings hung limply on his back once again. Now all he had to do was the easiest part: walk back to the portal.

Without a second thought, he began the hours-long trek back. His exhausted mind was quiet, too tired for any coherent string of thoughts when he wasn’t actively searching for anything to think about. He wouldn’t even try to deny the tears that came to his eyes when he stepped in water and he registered that he was on the main island at last. Finally.

He stops right before the bedrock of the portal, staring down into the inky blackness and feeling familiar dread sweep over him. A thought pulled at the back of his brain, one he couldn’t seem to shake despite the years that have passed and proved it wrong.

What if he didn’t end up in Hermitcraft when he went through?

He huffed a laugh at his thinking, hands supporting him as he leaned on the rough bedrock. He could almost see himself in the darkness of the portal, the amalgamations of the static stars tricking his eyes. He closed his eyes and climbed up so that he could step into the portal. He had nothing to worry about.

The wings weighed heavily on his back as he stepped into the portal, bracing himself against the unnerving numbing feeling that came with it. He was scared to open his eyes, but the shift in air pressure and warm temperature, along with how the wings squished into the mattress underneath him reassured him that he was indeed back home.

Grian didn’t want to get up, finally in a position to rest from the crazy adventure he had just had. He wanted nothing more than to lay there and fall asleep. But he couldn’t. He felt a nagging, pulling sensation on his body as he sat up in his bed, urging him to go out the door as if he had an errand to run that he couldn’t remember.

“You better come see me the second you get back, okay?”

Right. Scar wanted him to go see him. He pushed the stray hair that had fallen into his face out of his line of sight and trudged over and out the door. Slowly but surely, he stood in front of Larry, staring at the ladder up as if it had personally offended him and his tired body. Once he was up the last rung and entered the shell without a door, he couldn’t suppress a groan at the second ladder he would have to climb. Scar better be up there.

He was. Grian poked his head up through the floor, spotting the snoozing wizard underneath his purple covers with his armor and robe strewed about the room. He pulled himself up, debating whether or not he should wake Scar up. If he did, that might mean it would take longer for him to get to sleep and that just didn’t sound like it was worth it at the moment. If Scar got mad at him, he’d deal with it later.

He takes the elytra out of his inventory and places it on a nearby chest that he thinks Scar will see and rummages around his stuff to find something to write a quick note on. Satisfied, Grian doesn’t hesitate making his way back to his hobbit hole and doesn’t bother taking off his armor before face planting into the soft cover and allowing sleep to overtake him.

#sky writes #works: pieces of glass #pieces of glass #grian #goodtimeswithscar #winged grian #hermitcraft #wizard scar

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sea-side-scribbles · 4 years ago

Text

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/64898629

Chapter 33

When Morrie was long asleep, Nick was still restless. He needed a moment for himself, so he went into the kitchen to pour himself a night drink. The feelings he had been too tired for during the day finally broke through. Anxiety took over him, as if he was about to face a threat he couldn't cope with. In his past, he had been unaware of what he was really doing until it had been too late to take it back. Now he knew what was coming for him but instead of feeling prepared he was afraid. Everyone expected him to learn from his mistakes but he didn't know what to do. He now clutched his drink, as if it could help him. If only he could remember, then perhaps he would make out what he had to do. So he won't fail again. He pressed his eyes shut, trying to recall his fameless life with Morrie before everything had started.

Norbert had kept his promise. To everyone's surprise he had stopped dating girls. He had made it look like it was the band that kept him busy now. Actually he really spent more and more time with The Make Believes, since they had started playing in various pubs all around town. They took every opportunity to earn a reputation. Still, they were only known in their district, but they had been in Lud's Holm once, with chances to get a foothold there. After their concerts Norbert and Morrie used to spend a lot of time with each other.

Norbert's second passion besides Morrie was Richard Bates' Music Shop, that had guitars and equipment that made him dream. Because Morrie shared that passion with him, he usually came along when Norbert visited the shop. As usual, Mr. Bates wasn't surprised to see them again, but pleased. "Good day you two. What will it be this time?", he greeted them with a big smile. "Just a set of new strings and some plectrums, please," Norbert said, curiously searching the room with his eyes. The latter he kept throwing to the most enthusiastic fans as a gift, who were mostly girls. It was approved by Morrie, because it was only a part of the show.

"Strings again?", the shopkeeper asked and shook his head. "Boy, you got to be careful." "I'm experimenting," Norbert defended himself. Bates left it at that. Instead he asked Morrie: "And what's it for you?" "I'm fine. I'm just here to make sure he doesn't go astray." He and Norbert chuckled at that.

When Norbert turned his gaze back to the counter he noticed something. "Mr. Bates, you undercharged me." He held up the bill. "Oh, indeed. Seems like I miscalculated." Bates winked. "Slight error in your favor I'd say." Norbert gaped. "You're such a treasure." "Ah, It's nothing. Gotta support a young talent like you," he waved him off.

Bates liked Norbert, ever since he had sold the boy his guitar when he had been 13. And after hearing him play in the park for the first time. It had made him really proud. "Just don't spread it around," he added. "Sure not," Norbert said and quickly payed. Then his eyes fell back on a shining blue guitar, that brand new model that had been part of Bates' inventory for a few days now.

"Anything else you like?", the shopkeeper asked and Norbert only gave a longing sigh. Bates understood. "I guess even I can't miscalculate that much." "I know", Norbert sighed, eyes still on the model. "Some day, my boy. Just keep playing and I'm sure you'll make it." Norbert quietly nodded. He would've loved to stare a bit more, but he had to play another concert that night and he wanted to get some things done before that.

He said goodbye to Bates, picked up Morrie who was viewing some new equipment and left the shop with him. Morrie had become very affectionate after they had confessed each other's love. Together they strolled along the streets back to their new home. The band had moved into one of the empty demolished houses that scarred Wellington Wells and no one ever talked about. No one rebuilt them, no one took them down. They only started to pretty them up and paint them in bright colors. They were perfect for five young musicians who had no money to pay a rent. They had found a house that had only a crater on one side, so many rooms were still intact. Norbert and Morrie of course shared a room.

The others playfully called them "our two lovebirds" but they didn't know the truth. Morrie had insisted to keep it a secret. Whenever they wanted to sleep with each other, they turned up the radio. Norbert quickly found out he had something he could teach Morrie in return for all the music lessons his lover had given him. And all the time and patience he had expended for him. Morrie however didn't act stupid at all. When they calmed down they spoke about their dreams.

"I wish we could get married," Morrie said when they lied in bed together. Norbert chuckled, but asked: "Why do you think we can't?" "Norrie, you know why," his lover answered gloomily. "People would hate us." "And what if we become so famous, so popular that nobody would hold it against us?" They locked gazes. "You think that's possible?", Morrie asked. "Why not? And when we made it, I'll marry you." Norbert kissed Morrie's hand and the other boy melted away.

In the evening they had a gig that would last until late night. Norbert had started to feel more and more comfortable on stage and had also learned a lot from the more famous bands, whenever they had had the chance to meet one. He was indeed experimenting in multiple ways. Tonight, he didn't notice the man who was watching him not only for amusement.

Virgil Dainty had been watching The Make Believes for some time now, as he was doing it with every band that looked promising. They had come quite far since he had first seen them and he liked their sound. They were about to find their own style that marked themselves off from the others. Also the two lead guitarists, one of them left-handed, made them stand out. Virgil's favorite was the left-handed guitarist. He had potential. Today he was convinced that the band was ready to make a big step forward.

When Norbert left the stage after the show, he soon stared up at a tall, handsome man who suddenly stood in front of him. He already regretted that he was most likely only there to ask for the way when the man said: "Pardon me, are you Nick Lightbearer?" He spoke in a deep voice, that was loud enough to be heard over the chattering in the pub. Norbert stopped whatever he had planned to do. "Y..yes?", he stuttered. "I'd like to talk to you, if you can spare a minute." "Sure...", Norbert said, still helpless. The man gestured towards a free table and Norbert nodded.

When they sat down, the man spoke again: "My name is Virgil Dainty. I'm looking for new talents all around Great Britain and your band caught my attention the fist time I've been in this town. I've been watching you since then and I'm impressed. You've come very far." Norbert needed a second to process this. "You're watching us?" "Yes. You've got style. What bothers me is that you're too careful. You're still an insider tip. You need a bigger show, at a place where more people can see you." "We've been in Lud's Holm...", Norbert said to defend them. Virgil waved him off. "I mean outside Wellington Wells." Norbert's heart pounded now. "And where would that be?", he asked breathlessly. The man placed a piece of paper on the table and pointed at it. It was a handout from a famous music festival. Norbert gasped.

"Do you really mean this?", was all he could say. Virgil nodded. "You don't have to decide about it now. I'll be back tomorrow." Norbert stared at him with furrowed brows. "But...but what do you want in return?" "I want you to be at your best, so you won't bring shame on me," the man said, but with a playful wink. Norbert couldn't help but smile with him. He was lost in Virgil Dainty's attraction.

"You make me all flustered," he sighed when his tongue suddenly loosened. "Are you doing this on purpose?" Virgil was confused for a second, then he said: "Not at all. Sadly I have that impact on people. If you get to know me, you'll learn that I don't bite." "What if I want it?", Norbert whispered before he could stop himself. Virgil didn't flinch this time. "Then I can arrange that too," he said in his deep, calm voice. Norbert went dizzy. "Until next time, Mr. Lightbearer," Virgil added and rose from the chair. "Until next time, Mr. Dainty..." Norbert muttered more to himself, still clutching the paper. He watched the man leave the pub and then ran home.

When he entered their house his face was bright red with excitement. "Guys, guys listen! Something smashing has happened!" The band quickly gathered around him. "I met a man in the pub who wants us to play at the festival", he said waving around the paper, "And if he didn't lie to me he doesn't want anything in return." His friends stared at the handout. "Are you sure?", Brad asked. "Did he have a name?", Morrie looked at Norbert. "Virgil Dainty." "Virgil Dainty?", Matt repeated. "You mean THAT Virgil Dainty, the manager?"

"Uh..." Norbert shrugged. He had never heard about him. "I don't know." "Holy shit, man! What did you say to him?" Matt grabbed his collar. "Nothing yet," Norbert said and freed himself from his friends grab. "He set us a deadline until tomorrow." Matt was now just as excited. "Do you know what that means? Virgil fucking Dainty found us! He could be our manager!" "If we're good," Norbert added. "We are, man! If Virgil says so..." "Many people will hear us." "Finally! It's a big stage!" "We didn't do that before...", Norbert quietly said and bit his lower lip. Chris understood the hint.

"Don't chicken out now, Nick! We can't miss this chance!" "I know, I know..." Norbert massaged his temples. It was all too much. "You'll make it. And you won't be alone. I'll be always right next to you," Chris comforted him. It was true. They stood next to each other on stage. "I will hold your hand if I must." "And we'll be right behind you," Brad said and put a hand on Norbert's shoulder. "You're so sweet," Norbert sighed, then he hugged them.

At night Norbert and Morrie both couldn't sleep. "Looks like we're finally making it," Norbert whispered into the silence. Morrie kissed his cheek. "Don't be afraid, Norrie. Just be as smashing as you've been today." Norbert thankfully kissed him back, concentrating on nothing but his lover's tender lips, trying to get Virgil Dainty out of his head. That night, it worked.

The next day they were all nervous, knowing that the famous manager was watching them. He didn't show himself until the end of the show, when Norbert suddenly found him sitting at a table and waving at him. "That's him," Matt whispered when they made their way to the table and Norbert felt goosebumps all over his body. They shook hands, intodruced themselves and expressed their approval to Virgil. Norbert stayed in the background, so that Virgil already asked himself if he had been wrong about him. The others were much less shy. But then again it was possible that he was embarassed about his emotional outbreak at their last meeting. Virgil couldn't blame him for that, but he planned to cause more outbreaks from him in the future.

#we happy few #whf #wehappyfew #nick lightbearer #whfnick #whf nick #whf morrie #morrie memento #nickxmorrie #whfvirgildainty #whf virgil

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